by Joy Ellis
Gary took a left turn into Hurn Bank Lane. ‘As far as I recall from when I worked this patch, there are only three or four houses down here.’
Kevin stared down the lonely road. ‘Blimey, this is pretty bleak, isn’t it? I wouldn’t like to live here.’
‘You want to see it when the rain is being driven by a sixty-mile-an-hour wind! The day I came here it was blowing a gale, and it gave a whole new meaning to the word “miserable,” believe me.’
They drove for almost a mile and a half, passing only one dwelling, a farmworker’s ramshackle cottage called Utopia, which made Kevin laugh for several minutes.
The next one looked slightly better. The nameplate “The Willows” hung, appropriately, from a huge willow tree.
‘Two down,’ muttered Kevin. ‘And another one in sight around the next bend.’
Gary slowed down and negotiated a sharp bend with deep dykes either side. ‘This has to be it. The address I visited was the last house before the dead end, and I don’t think it was called Marlins.’
They turned in to a semi-circular gravel driveway and Gary pulled up outside the front door.
‘Oh my!’ exclaimed Kevin. ‘It’s a diamond stuck in a turd!’
The house was big and well-cared for, with a triple garage and a carport with a dovecote on the roof. ‘Our tramp’s house?’ asked Gary.
‘It’s called Marlins, and our dentist informed Charlie Button that the man’s implants were some of the most expensive you can buy, so, yes, I’d say this is the Seaton residence.’
They rang the doorbell and heard it ring inside the house, but no one answered.
‘Long way to come just to turn round and go home again,’ said Kevin thoughtfully.
‘There might be someone out the back. You go right, I’ll go left.’ Gary started off towards a gate at the side.
‘You won’t find anyone in!’
Gary jumped. ‘Where did you come from?’ He stared at the elderly man who had materialised behind him. He was wearing a waxed jacket and had a Jack Russell on the end of a faded and frayed leash.
‘We looks out for strangers around here. I saw the police car as it went past my place.’
‘So you know Mr Seaton?’
‘Bernie? Sort of. Not well. He’s a bit of a recluse. That’s why he bought this pile stuck out here in no man’s land.’
‘He lives alone, in this big house?’ asked Gary in surprise.
‘Yes. Quite alone. No cats, no dogs, no budgie. Nothing.’ The man looked fondly down at his own dog. ‘He must get lonely, although a few weeks back he had a visitor come regular like. Must have been a relative, I suppose, but he never said.’
‘Did he say where he was going, sir?’
‘Just away, no more than that. Asked me to keep a watch on the place; keep me eyes open.’
The man was around seventy, guessed Gary, fairly well dressed but his clothes were far from new. ‘Can I have your name, sir?’
‘Derek Keats, Officer. I live next door in the Willows.’
Gary decided that the man was no threat and that he wanted him on side. ‘Well, listen, Derek, I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but as Mr Seaton obviously trusted you . . .’ Gary paused, then added, ‘And remember, this didn’t come from me, and it still has to be confirmed, but a gentleman who we believe to be Bernard Seaton has been found dead.’
‘Oh dear, oh dear.’ The old man rubbed at his wrinkled cheek. ‘That’s very bad news.’
Kevin joined them and produced a copy of the digitally enhanced photograph. ‘Is this Mr Seaton, sir?’
The man screwed up his eyes and squinted at the picture. ‘It’s not the best likeness, but yes, that’s Bernie alright.’ He looked at Gary. ‘What happened to him?’
‘I’m afraid we can’t say as it’s an ongoing investigation, sir. But we are going to have to take a look around his home.’ Gary looked at Kevin. ‘Ring this in, Kevin. Now we know this is his house, we need a forensic sweep done.’
‘I have a key.’ Derek Keats fished deep inside a breast pocket of the old jacket and produced a shiny Yale key. ‘In case of emergencies, he said. And I guess this constitutes an emergency.’
Gary smiled. ‘It will also save any damage, sir. Thank you.’
As soon as he stepped inside, Gary knew that something was wrong. On first glance it would have looked quite normal, until you noticed small indications of damage. A photo torn into shreds. A piece of what must have been valuable china crushed almost to powder. A leather-bound book burnt in the fireplace. Someone had selected particular items and systematically destroyed them.
Gary and Kevin pulled on latex gloves and looked around. The hall opened onto a big open plan lounge-dining room that led into a massive conservatory. It was light and airy, and stank of money. Nothing was cheap. The carpets were rich and thick, the curtains beautifully hung on ornate poles and the furniture must have cost a fortune.
‘A tramp?’ Kevin whispered.
‘No way was our Bernie destitute.’ Gary’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t like the look of that, do you?’
A single hardback chair had been placed in the centre of the dining area. Two lengths of rope were still attached to it — one piece hung from the back, and the other from one leg.
They moved closer, careful not to disturb anything.
‘Someone was tied up here, and I’m assuming it was Bernard,’ mused Gary. ‘While someone else walked around his home smashing and annihilating his precious possessions. What do you think?’
Kevin nodded. ‘That’s what it looks like. But why?’
‘I suggest our “visitor” wanted something badly.’ Gary looked at the torn photograph. ‘It’s a child. A little girl, and it’s pretty old, certainly not taken on a modern day camera. I’d say it was a treasured memory.’
‘And matey-boy shredded it.’ Kevin grimaced. ‘Ouch. That would have hurt.’
‘So would this.’ Gary bent down and peered into the fireplace. Beside the old burnt book there was a bundle of letters, still with a singed strand of ribbon around them. ‘Love letters, unless I’m just being a romantic old fool.’
Kevin looked over his shoulder. ‘Love letters, for sure.’
Gary heaved in a deep breath. ‘This man, whoever he was, hated Seaton so much that he tortured him, not physically, but by destroying the things he held dear.’
‘I wonder who this Bernard Seaton really is?’ Kevin said. ‘Shall we take a look around? See if he has an office? He’s sure to have some paperwork that might give us a clue.’
Gary shook his head. ‘I’d love to, Kev, but this is a crime scene. We’d better wait for the SOCOs to get here or we’ll be accused of trashing the evidence, if there is any. Hopefully the others back at the office have already traced his history now they have his name.’
On their way back to the hall, Gary noticed some letters placed on the hall table. He looked through them and passed the pile to Kevin. ‘Forget my last comment. Look at these!’
‘Ah, I see what you mean. They’re not addressed to Bernard Seaton at all, but to Philip B. Seaton, and this one,’ Kevin pointed, ‘says, “to P. B. Seaton, QC.” Hell, he was a Queen’s Counsel!’
‘So he was a barrister, was he? That shines a very different light on why someone might have hated him, doesn’t it?’ Gary reached for his radio. ‘The team need to hear this, unless they’ve made the connection already.’
‘And here come the CSIs.’ Kevin was looking down the lane. ‘I’ll just go and check that our friendly neighbour and his dog are out of the way, and tell him not to broadcast the news just yet. We don’t want the press on the doorstep before we’ve had time to process the scene.’
‘Good thinking, lad.’ Gary called in their discovery, and waited for the scene-of-crime officers, wondering what other secrets this beautiful lonely house would offer up.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Information was beginning to stream into the CID room, and Jackman retreated to his office to
collate what they knew in time for the four o’clock meeting.
He was in full flow when a soft tap on his door interrupted his efforts. He swore under his breath, and barked ‘Come in!’ But when he saw who it was, his face softened and he broke into a smile. ‘Laura! Come in and sit down.’
Laura Archer, the force psychologist, returned his smile. ‘I know you are busy — well, run off your feet — but that’s actually why I’m here.’
He tilted his head and looked at her. ‘I don’t . . .’
‘Your nephews and your brother are not the only ones who need support, Jackman. I’m here for you too. So, how are you coping?’
Jackman exhaled. Where to begin? ‘I would say fine, and that I’m on top of things, except for the fact that I am under extreme pressure to get results fast or I’m off the case. That is where the stress comes from.’
‘Conflict of interest?’
He nodded glumly. ‘Even though I saw less of Sarah than I do of our dog handler! And I see him perhaps once a fortnight. I just want the truth to be found, most of all for my family’s sake.’
‘And if that truth is uncomfortable?’
‘It will still be the truth, Laura. That’s what really matters.’ He sat back and stretched out his legs in front of him. ‘I can find a way to explain the truth to Ryan and Miles, but I can’t explain guesswork and lies, and I won’t lie to them.’
Laura gave him a long look. ‘You seem to be approaching this in a practical and healthy way. I’d say your added incentive will actually assist the investigation rather than hinder it. If it will help, I’m on my way to speak to your superintendent about another matter, and I will tell her that you have my full support to continue as OIC on this case.’
‘If you can swing this, Laura Archer, I will take you to the Watermill Restaurant and treat you to the best meal of your life!’
‘The Watermill? That will set you back six months’ pay! I’ll settle for that little French restaurant in Bridge Street, thanks. Their Sole Meunière, with a bottle of Sancerre, is like rising to heaven.’ She paused. ‘And we needn’t wait. We could go there anytime — if you like?’
Jackman blinked. He contemplated her soft light brown hair and cornflower blue eyes and decided that there was nothing he’d like more. ‘That’s a date — after the case.’
‘And if the case goes on forever?’
‘Then we renegotiate.’ He grinned at her. ‘Now I have another incentive to get a fast result.’
Laura stood up. ‘I have to go, but remember, if you feel at all shaky, you have my number. Don’t hesitate to call me, anytime. Okay?’
Jackman thanked her. He opened his mouth to remind her about the dinner date, when there was a loud rap on his door.
Marie stuck her head in. ‘Sir! You’ll want to hear this! Oh, apologies, I didn’t realise . . . Hi, Laura, sorry to interrupt, but sir, we’ve worked out the connection between the two girls, and our pseudo-vagrant!’
Jackman felt a rush of excitement. He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s almost four. Is everyone here?’
‘Apart from Gary, who is still at Seaton’s house.’
‘Then get them together, and I’ll be right there.’
* * *
While Jackman addressed the team, Marie could see Laura Archer and Ruth Crooke in earnest conversation in the corridor outside the CID room. A few moments later, they both slipped quietly inside and leaned against the wall at the back.
‘So, Marie? Would you please bring everyone up to date on the latest findings.’
Marie walked up to the front and stood next to the whiteboard. ‘Earlier today we confirmed that the man found dead on the towpath was called Bernard Seaton of Harlan Marsh. Since then, a search of his home has revealed that he is actually a retired QC by the name of Phillip Seaton. Gary Pritchard and Kevin Stoner have since told us that Pritchard was apparently held hostage in his own home and made to watch as his precious personal items were destroyed. A neighbour noticed that a strange man was visiting Seaton regularly. Seaton was known to be a recluse, so we believe that the visitor was the man who assaulted him.’ She took a breath. ‘The neighbour’s description of this visitor corresponds to eyewitness reports of the man who was seen with Seaton while he was living rough here in Saltern, so we suspect that this is the man who “assisted” Seaton’s supposed suicide.’ She looked across to Robbie Melton. ‘Robbie?’
‘Yes, Sarge.’ He stood up. ‘I’ve checked back on a series of high profile cases that Seaton dealt with when Sarah Jackman was a teenager, and have come up with one definite possibility.’
Everyone looked at him expectantly.
‘Seaton was the prosecuting counsel at the trial of a man called Brendan Symons. Symons was convicted of the rape and murder of one Lyndsay Ashcroft and given a life sentence.’
Marie took up the story. ‘And we believe that this is the connection because there were two key eyewitnesses to the attack — two teenage girls.’
She waited for the murmurs of surprise to die down.
‘And the time scale fits?’ asked Jackman.
‘Perfectly, sir. The girls were never named. Due to their age, and the fact they had witnessed the rape of one of their school friends, they were allowed to give their evidence in camera. They were only ever referred to as Girl A, and Girl B.’
‘When was this?’ asked Jackman.
‘Mid-nineties. But that wasn’t the end of it. I remember that the media had something new to say about this case almost every week. And then Brendan Symons, who protested his innocence to the last, hanged himself in his prison cell’
Jackman whistled softly. ‘And the family took up a crusade that is still rumbling around in the press. I saw something about it only the other day. But listen everyone, don’t make assumptions at this point. It would be very easy to assume that the family are behind it all, and maybe they are, but you mustn’t get sidetracked. This is a complex case, and there will be a lot going on that we know nothing about. This is a massive step forward, but possibly just the start of the investigation proper. Okay?’
There were nods.
‘So the girls were put into the witness protection programme for their safety?’ asked Charlie.
Marie pulled a face. ‘Too soon to know. It seems probable, but as you know, they don’t just hand out information. You have to go through the correct channels and obtain the proper authorisation, and I haven’t had time to pursue it yet. My initial enquiry yielded nothing, but naturally I will be following it up. Plus there is always the chance that they, or their families, might just have taken it upon themselves to up sticks and find a new life. We need to do a lot more investigating in that area.’
‘Thanks, Marie.’ Jackman walked back to the front. ‘Seaton’s house is being carefully searched and forensics are carrying out a sweep. We’re hoping to find some reason for Seaton’s sudden strange transition from a prominent barrister to a recluse, hidden away in the bleakest part of the fens.’
‘And then to street dweller,’ added Max.
‘That was never of his choosing, I’m sure. He was made to do that. We just need to know why, and who made him do it.’
‘Are we assuming that the same man caused all three deaths, sir?’ Rosie asked.
‘We assume nothing yet, but I think that’s the conclusion we’ll come to. It’s all about retribution. We have a maverick wandering around Saltern-le-Fen, a vigilante with a twisted desire for revenge.’ He looked at each of them in turn. ‘What we don’t know is how far he is prepared to go to assuage his hunger for revenge. He’s dealt with the witnesses, and the prosecutor. Is the judge next? Or the jury? Or the officer in charge of the investigation?’ Jackman swallowed. ‘This is very serious and we need to put all our efforts into identifying this killer as speedily as possible.’ He looked up. ‘I need to speak with the superintendent, but if you would all remain here for the time being, I will be back shortly to issue your duties. Marie will fill you in on the rest of the details. Tha
nk you all in advance for what I know will be your wholehearted dedication to getting this man off our streets. Marie, take over, please.’
Marie wondered if they’d done enough to keep Jackman on the case. Surely they couldn’t have done any more? She guessed that Laura might have put in a good word too. Why else would she have been talking to Ruth just prior to their meeting?
She smiled. When she had walked into Jackman’s office earlier, had she been mistaken or was there a ripple of electricity in the air? For some time now, Marie had been on the lookout for a suitable partner for Jackman, and Laura was the perfect candidate for the Evans Eligibility Test! Why hadn’t she thought of her before? She was intelligent, professional and caring, plus she was pretty and dressed well! Laura made Marie feel like a hod-carrier by comparison. Also, Marie really liked her. Well, if they needed a little push . . .
* * *
Ruth Crooke began the moment the door closed behind them. ‘I suppose I’d better put you out of your misery, Rowan. You have a stay of execution, okay? I’d be a fool to lose the momentum that you’ve built up.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘But if at any time you feel that your position as Officer in Charge is at all compromised, you stand down immediately. Is that understood?’
A weight lifted from his shoulders. Jackman nodded furiously. ‘I’ll treat this case professionally, ma’am, I promise.’
Ruth paced her office. ‘The very thought of the Brendan Symons case rearing its head once again fills me with horror. They are a tricky family to deal with, and if the rumours in the media are correct, the mother is far from well. You will need to tread with the utmost care, Rowan.’
‘You sound as if you’ve had dealings with them before, ma’am.’
She looked glum. ‘Several times, and I’d rather not repeat the experience.’
‘I haven’t had time to go over the case, ma’am. Is there anything particular about it that I should know?’
Ruth sat down and nodded to a chair. ‘I think I’d rather you read the reports yourself and drew your own conclusions. The case divided the officers who were working it. Young Brendan was a bit of a tearaway but he had never been in trouble before. Some believed his claim that he was innocent, and others thought him as guilty as sin, and that he was using his cheeky good looks to literally get away with murder.’