The Fourth Friend

by Joy Ellis

  As Max left, Carter walked in. ‘Can I request a few hours off tomorrow, sir? The marina have rung and said that they want to bring the lifting gear in tomorrow to put the Eva May back on the water.’

  Jackman saw the light in Carter’s eyes, and immediately agreed. This was a very big day for Carter, and he’d want to be there to see the process through. Then it struck him that it would be a very traumatic occasion too. He’d be alone, instead of with the lads who had worked alongside him. ‘Ask Marie if she’d like to go with you. She’s a good friend, isn’t she? I think she’d appreciate being there for such a special event.’

  Carter gave him an odd look.

  ‘I’ll ask her, and thank you. I appreciate it.’

  ‘Get home, Carter. No late night tonight.’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, I’ve got a few last-minute jobs to do on the old girl, so I’ll take you up on that. Good night, sir.’

  Jackman sighed. He really must remember to tell the super that the directive about relaxing formalities was a definite no-no in Saltern-le-Fen.

  * * *

  Robbie was certainly going to have a late night. He had spent two hours at the cottage, and was only halfway through all the things he wanted to check. He’d already skimmed the reports, so he wasn’t interested in what was in the evidence store. He was looking for different stuff. Things that told him about their everyday lives. He had always believed that Suzanne would tell him what really happened, and if he couldn’t see her body, then he’d look through her home and see if he could hear any echoes from her time there.

  Robbie took the old place room by room, carefully looking at anything that told him how the Hollands had lived. To begin with it had felt strange, almost ghoulish, peeking into the home of two dead people. Then it felt immoral, as if he had no right to be there. Then it felt eerie, being in a house full of ghosts. Finally he pushed all those thoughts away, and went back to being a detective simply checking out a crime scene.

  He opened cupboards, pulled out drawers, read post-it notes stuck on the fridge, noted what book titles were on the shelves and looked in the bathroom cabinet to see what tablets and medicines they took.

  He checked the pockets of Tom’s jackets and he looked at the kind of jewellery that Suzanne wore. Then he sat down on the bed and wondered if he had learned anything useful at all. Maybe he would have to go the evidence storage route after all. At least there he would find all the basic stuff, laptops, phones, address books and so on.

  He stretched and decided to call it a day. He was already losing the light. He looked at Tom’s side of the king-size bed with a feeling of real sadness. Tom’s bedside cabinet looked very much like his own, with a clock, a coaster, a phone and a book.

  He picked up the book, a cold war spy adventure. He turned it over and read the blurb. It sounded good. There was a bookmark three-quarters of the way through, and it made Robbie even sadder to think that Tom Holland would never know the ending.

  He placed the book back on the cabinet. Then he saw something glint on the shelf beneath. He leant down, moved a pile of magazines that were obscuring it, and pulled out a digital photo frame.

  ‘Oh, someone really missed this on the first sweep,’ he murmured.

  He stared at it for a moment, and excitement sent ripples down his back. This was what he had come here for! He just knew it.

  It was a good one, and not cheap. When he checked the port, it already contained a memory card. All he needed was the mains adaptor.

  Robbie scrabbled around in the bottom of the cabinet and pulled out a box of tissues, a heat pad and several catalogues. Then he found it, and a remote control as well. ‘Bingo!’

  He stood up, looked around for a socket, and plugged it in.

  He made a few adjustments and a slideshow began to unroll. He took a deep breath, switched it off, unplugged it and took it with him. There could be hundreds, maybe thousands of images, and he wanted to look at every one very carefully indeed.

  At the door he whispered his thanks to the deceased owners of Holland Cottage. Then he glanced down at the photo frame and said, ‘If you can’t talk to me, Suzanne, maybe you can show me . . . why you died.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  When Jackman arrived early the next morning, he found Robbie sitting on the edge of his desk. At his side were two coffees and two Danish pastries in an open white box.

  ‘Big breakfast? Or are you expecting a guest?’ Jackman asked.

  ‘Well, you’re here now, so . . .’ Robbie held out a cup.

  Jackman took it. ‘My office? It’s comfier.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ laughed Robbie, picking up the box. ‘Apple and blueberry or cinnamon pinwheel?’

  ‘You choose. I like them both.’ He sat down and took the top off his coffee. ‘Is this some sort of celebration?’

  ‘It depends how you look at it. But it is another step forward, in a kind of convoluted way.’ He reached down to a bag at his feet and took out what appeared to be a tablet. Then he looked around and located a socket.

  ‘Take a look at this, sir.’ He pushed some buttons on a small remote control and scrolled through a stream of brightly coloured photographs. ‘It belonged to Tom Holland. The memory card in it is definitely his. You’ll see why in a moment.’

  Pictures blended into new pictures. Robbie slowed them down and flicked through them, one by one.

  Jackman stared at fragments of Tom Holland’s short life.

  Tom on the Eva May, polishing a brass plaque and grinning inanely at the camera. Tom with a beer bottle in one hand and an electric saw in the other, trying to look dangerous but just looking idiotic. Then there were the other dead men, all behaving like big kids and being — Jackman swallowed — being so happy. He tried not to think how far away it was from their death. Months? Maybe only weeks? He could almost see the Grim Reaper sitting on the prow of the old boat.

  ‘This is difficult to watch.’

  ‘I know, sir. I’ve watched them all. Hundreds of them. He liked his camera, did our Tom.’

  ‘Are there any in particular you wanted me to see?’ By now, Jackman just wanted it to end.

  ‘Here. It’s in this selection. They are at a party. It wasn’t at Holland Cottage, but all the gang are there, and it’s in a kind of sequence.’

  Jackman squinted. Everyone was either having a very good time, or pissed. Probably both. Glasses were raised, food was being eaten, women danced provocatively, men danced badly, and there were a lot of rude gestures to the photographer.

  Robbie stopped on one image. ‘Look, sir! The guy watching Suzanne.’

  Jackman didn’t recognise him.

  Robbie moved to a shot taken from a different angle, and Jackman saw the ash-blond ponytail. ‘Ralph Doolan?’

  ‘Mmm. I’ve checked it. It’s him. And look at his expression.’

  ‘Lecherous.’ Jackman snorted.

  ‘Doolan doesn’t appear again, but wait for the next ones, sir. They must have been taken just before the party ended. It’s a kind of finale.’ He clicked the remote.

  ‘I thought you said Doolan had left. He’s there.’ Jackman pointed to a ponytailed man entering the room, a glass in his hand.

  ‘Keep looking.’

  Jackman did. First there was one bespectacled ponytail, then two, then three, and finally four.

  ‘They were taking the piss out of Ralph Doolan. Wigs and horn-rimmed glasses. I checked against pictures I downloaded from the Internet. We are looking at Ray Barratt, Jack Corby, Matt Blake and Carter McLean, all dressed up as Ralph. Then someone takes the camera from Tom, and you see all the five friends together in the next picture.’

  Jackman stared at five “Ralphs” lined up, all making lascivious faces, licking their lips and gripping their crotches.

  ‘They really liked him, didn’t they?’ Robbie switched off the picture frame.

  Jackman took a long swallow of his coffee. His Danish sat on the table, untouched. He realised the implications imme
diately, and sat back feeling as if the air had been knocked from his lungs.

  ‘It could be any one of them that Alan Pitt saw that night at the cottage. A wig and dark-rimmed glasses. Tom? Ray? Jack? Matt? Or . . .’

  ‘Carter?’ Robbie spoke softly. ‘I don’t believe that, sir. Not for one moment. And don’t forget, anyone could know about those wigs. The lads could have dined out on that little party caper for months afterwards.’

  But it wasn’t someone else, was it? thought Jackman. It was one of those five friends. He had no proof, but he was sure he was right. Marie had asked what it would do to Carter, should the killer turn out to be someone close to him. How would he take this news? Or should it be kept from him? Because, like it or not, Carter had just entered the frame for killing Suzanne Holland.

  ‘Leave that digital thing with me, Robbie, and don’t say anything just yet. I have to take this upstairs.’

  * * *

  Jackman caught Ruth just as she was closing her office door.

  ‘Only if it’s urgent, Rowan. I need to get to a commissioner’s meeting.’

  ‘Five minutes, ma’am, and it really is important.’

  Inside, he closed the door and immediately told her what they had seen on the digital photo frame. Her expression darkened.

  ‘I am going to have to remove him from his post, you realise that, don’t you?’

  ‘Ma’am, normally I’d agree. But he’s the only person left alive who has first-hand knowledge of the people involved. And no matter how bad this looks, I cannot believe he killed or even accidentally injured his best friend’s wife.’

  Ruth did not look convinced. ‘I, on the other hand, believe that Carter McLean is capable of anything if he thinks it fits in with his own very special moral code.’

  ‘This is that old feud, isn’t it, ma’am?’

  ‘Let’s just say that I try very hard not to make the same mistake twice. I allowed Carter to do things his way once before, a long time ago, and I regretted it. Someone close to me suffered, and I have never forgotten it.’ Her voice softened. ‘I’ve never spoken about it either, Rowan. I just made it my business to hold Carter back whenever I could. I’ve always thought he was damaged goods and not the kind of man to hold a position of trust.’ She paused, clearly wondering how much to tell him, then she seemed to make her decision.

  ‘We were working together on a very sensitive case involving some vulnerable youngsters. Carter has always had a number of informants on tap, and using these he worked out who the abuser was. Unfortunately he had no proof, but he took this man down by anonymously leaking information to the press, and they did the job for us. Trouble was, the media blamed our chief superintendent. They slated the way the police handled the investigation and he lost his job. Rowan, he was a dear friend of mine.’

  ‘Did you know that Carter was the leak?’

  ‘Oh no, not until the whole affair was over and done with, and even then I couldn’t believe he would do such a thing. It was only later that I realised he would stop at nothing to get criminals behind bars.’

  ‘Did you confront him?’

  ‘Not directly. I made suggestions and he flatly denied it. I don’t think he ever meant it to go as far as it did. I certainly don’t think he meant the chief super to get it in the neck, but that’s what happened, and Carter was to blame.’ She shrugged. ‘He’s not a bent copper, he never was, but he is driven to succeed by any means, fair or foul, and that can lead to casualties.’ She sighed and seemed to deflate in front of him. ‘I have never told a soul about what I suspected. Now, I know that what I am about to say sounds hard and hypocritical. I am eternally indebted to him for getting my Leah back in the way that he did, but he cannot be allowed to work this case. End of.’

  ‘Give me until the end of the week, please, Ruth?’ Jackman looked into her eyes, pleading with her. ‘Three days, that’s all. And if at any point I think he was involved, he’ll be upstairs and inside this office, and his feet won’t touch the ground.’

  Ruth stared back, and for a moment Jackman thought she was going to hold fast.

  Then she let out a painful sigh. ‘I just pray I don’t regret this. Three days, Rowan. Not a second more.’

  * * *

  Back in the CID room, Jackman called Robbie and Max. ‘I want searches made of the three other friends’ homes, and I want Holland Cottage turned upside down. I know it’s a long shot. It was over a year ago, but I want to know if those wigs still exist.’ He looked around. ‘Carter and Marie are out this morning, so do it quick. I don’t want Carter to know about this just yet, understood?’

  ‘What about warrants, sir?’

  ‘Ask the relatives nicely. Explain that we believe the premises may contain evidence or material that will be of importance in any subsequent trial. But if all else fails, I’ll find a lenient magistrate.’

  Robbie and Max hurried off.

  ‘Sir?’ Gary Pritchard approached him. ‘Since Marie and Carter are off making a rerun of Pirates of the Caribbean, is there anything I can do to help?’

  ‘Stick with me, Gary,’ said Jackman. ‘I could do with a sensible head at the moment. My brain is full of plausible theories and utter fantasies, and I’m not sure which is which.’

  * * *

  Marie and Carter got to Stone Quay not long before the men from the marina. They found Silas and Klink waiting for them.

  Carter introduced them. Klink immediately made a beeline for Marie.

  ‘Hey! You’re gorgeous!’ Marie ruffled the dog’s ears, and squatted down to make a fuss of him. Klink responded by rolling on his back, legs waving in the air.

  Silas’s mouth dropped open. ‘Well, I’ll be damned! Ain’t never seen him do that since he were a pup!’

  ‘This can’t be the ferocious guard dog you told me about?’ Marie looked up and grinned.

  Carter shook his head. ‘He must have eaten something.’

  ‘Dog always did have a mind of his own, and he certainly knows what he thinks about you, miss.’ He looked at Carter. ‘So. Reckon it’ll float, young’un? Or go straight back where it came from?’

  ‘Oh, it’ll float, old timer. Just you watch.’

  ‘Sure’s ’ell will.’ Silas sat down on a block of stone. ‘This day’s been a long time a’coming.’

  ‘Too right.’ Carter looked at the Eva May. ‘Time to feel the tide beneath your keel again, my friend.’ He gently touched the side of his beloved boat.

  Marie felt a lump in her throat. She knew he must be heartbroken that his friends were not here with him.

  And indeed, he turned to her and said, ‘This was going to be such a big day. Loads to drink, a barbecue on the quay, a photographer from the local rag, loud music . . . The party would have gone on all night.’

  He looked around sadly. Marie wondered if he was looking for his dead friends. ‘It’s still a big day, Carter. It’s a massive achievement, and it’s a wonderful tribute to your friends that you went ahead and finished what you all started.’

  He squeezed her arm. ‘Thanks, I appreciate that. And maybe it’s better that it’s just us today. A quiet tribute, huh?’

  Marie nodded.

  ‘Think yer marine mates is ‘ere.’ Silas nodded in the direction of the lane where two big trucks, one with a crane attached, were making their way towards them.

  ‘Time to shine, Eva May!’

  Carter’s eyes were misty, and Marie fought back tears.

  Once the crane was safely positioned and levelled, they all watched with bated breath. The procedure didn’t take nearly as long as Marie had thought it would.

  Lifting tackle, webbing slings and a four-part chain sling were attached to the crane hook, and the webbing slings passed under the boat. The Eva May was hoisted up.

  The crane slewed towards the quayside carrying the old lifeboat out over the river. Once it had cleared the quay, they waited for Carter to give the signal to lower away.

  Everyone cheered when she touched the water.


  ‘What’s happening now?’ asked Marie, trying to hide the catch in her voice.

  Two men in hard hats, protective gloves and steel toe-capped boots had stepped aboard.

  ‘They are the slingers. They release the webbing slings from the chains, then direct the crane driver which way to bring the chains out of the water and round and back onto the quay. Then we’ll secure her by the hand lines.’

  Carter was watching closely. He had once told Marie that when he was a kid, his father often left him playing by himself in his boatyard. He was completely at home in this environment.

  Soon the crane and all the equipment had been packed up ready to return to the marina. Carter paid the man in charge and handed him a gold box that Marie knew contained a very good malt whisky.

  Marie looked at Carter. ‘And now?’

  ‘I will have to test the engine, and possibly make a few adjustments, then she’ll be good to go.’ He smiled. ‘But right now, I’d like to propose a toast.’ He walked to the car and came back carrying a cool box and three folding seats.

  He set the box down on the quay and opened it. Inside were three glasses, a bottle of Laurent Perrier champagne and an assortment of expensive snacks and nibbles. ‘We can’t put the old girl in the water without wetting her head, can we?’

  So Marie spent the next hour sitting on Stone Quay drinking champagne with a poacher, a detective and a mad dog, surrounded by water, marshland, acres of fields and a sky that went on forever. The whole thing was quite bizarre.

  When they had finished, Carter said, ‘I think I’ll stay here for a bit, Marie. I know you need to get back, but would you cover for me?’

  ‘Sure, no problem.’ Marie knew that Jackman would be quite happy for Carter to be away for a little longer.

  ‘Just don’t get stopped on the way!’

  ‘And don’t you drink any more either, Carter McLean. Remember you’ve got to get home too.’

  ‘Promise.’ He handed the bottle to Silas. ‘Si will give this a good home, don’t worry.’

  Marie gave Klink a final cuddle, shook hands with Silas and walked back to her car. ‘Thanks, Carter, for letting me share today!’ she called back.