‘It’s Dad,’ says Ruth, opening the door.
‘Daddy!’ Kate throws herself into Nelson’s arms.
‘Hallo, love.’ Nelson comes into the room with Kate wrapped round him. Ruth feels a pang. She realised a year or so ago that she would probably never be able to pick Kate up again. Not in the easy, casual way that Nelson does, anyway. Her back is feeling the effects of three decades of digging and Kate now comes up to her chest.
‘Hi, Nelson,’ says Ruth. ‘Do you want a cup of tea?’
‘That would be grand,’ says Nelson, depositing Kate on the sofa. ‘I can’t stay long.’
‘Are you going back to see Baby George?’ says Kate.
‘That’s right.’
Ruth says nothing. She leaves Nelson and Kate to enjoy some time together while she makes the tea, trying not to feel resentful that Kate gets ten minutes of her father’s company while ‘Baby George’ gets him all evening, all day, for the rest of his life.
In the end, though, Nelson stays until Kate goes to bed.
‘Is Dad coming to say goodnight?’ asks Kate, as Ruth tucks her in.
‘I’m here,’ says Nelson from the doorway.
‘You can both read me a story if you like,’ says Kate.
‘Another time,’ says Ruth. ‘You can listen to an audio book tonight.’
She kisses Kate and leaves the room. Downstairs, she gets the anonymous letter, still in its plastic wrapping, from her backpack. That is what Nelson is here for, after all. To look at a possible piece of evidence. Ruth sits on the sofa, listening to Nelson’s deep voice and Kate’s laughter. Flint comes to sit next to her but goes off in a fluffy huff when he sees Nelson coming back down the stairs.
‘That cat hates me,’ says Nelson.
‘Maybe he can smell Bruno,’ says Ruth.
‘The whole world can smell Bruno,’ says Nelson. ‘Is that the letter?’
‘Yes.’
Ruth notices that Nelson holds the note at arm’s length to read it. Does he need glasses? She can’t imagine it somehow.
Nelson says, ‘It certainly sounds like the same person. As you say, it’s not threatening. Rather the opposite. But, all the same, someone knew that Margaret was buried in the stone circle and that person may well be the murderer.’
‘I’m pretty sure that the bones weren’t on the coastal site for very long,’ says Ruth. ‘From their preservation and general condition I would say that they were initially buried on cultivated land.’
‘I read your report,’ says Nelson. ‘So someone, presumably the killer, buried Margaret and then dug up the bones thirty years later. Why?’
‘So they would be found?’ suggests Ruth. ‘After all, that first letter tells you where to look.’
‘Do you think the bones were buried at the site after excavations began in December?’ says Nelson. ‘There must have been a lot of digging going on. Surely they would have been found earlier if they were there?’
‘Not necessarily,’ says Ruth. ‘You can only dig something up if you know exactly where to look. But I do think the burial was fairly recent. It’s hard to tell because the soil was already disturbed but the grave was shallow and the infill looked new.’
‘So someone could have found out about the dig and decided to bury the bones where they would be found?’
‘I suppose so but who would have known? The dig wasn’t even on the local news.’
‘Leif Anderssen knew.’
‘But how could he know about Margaret’s murder? That was more than thirty years ago. He would have been a child, living in a different country.’
‘I know,’ says Nelson. ‘But the letters do seem so much like the earlier ones. The ones his father wrote. And I’m not sure I trust Leif. I went to see him today.’
‘You did?’ Even for Nelson, this sounds like quick work. ‘What did he say?’
‘He denied all knowledge of the letters, of course. But he looked a bit rattled when I asked for a handwriting sample.’
‘What good is that? The letter was typed.’
‘Remember the note that was delivered to my house on Valentine’s Day? “Greetings from Jack Valentine”? That was handwritten.’
‘And was it a match?’
‘I don’t think so. The so-called expert says there’s not enough of it to be sure.’
‘So it’s quite probable that Leif wasn’t involved.’
‘I suppose so.’ Nelson glowers into the fire. ‘It’s just that these letters do sound a hell of a lot like the other ones. The ones Erik wrote.’
‘I’m not so sure,’ says Ruth. ‘Some of the allusions are the same but I think the tone is different. The others were nastier, more threatening.’
She stops because she has heard something. Nelson hears it too and stands up. A car is approaching. This is rare enough to be slightly alarming. Hers is the only occupied house. Bob, the Indigenous Australian poet, is off on his travels and, as far as she knows, the weekenders aren’t due until Easter. Headlights shine in at the window, disconcertingly bright, then the engine is switched off and footsteps approach.
‘I’ll go to the door,’ says Nelson.
Ruth wants to protest but she feels unaccountably scared. Maybe it’s because she was talking about those other, darker letters, maybe it’s the thought that someone is out there, watching her. So she lets Nelson answer the door.
He opens it about an inch and Ruth hears a familiar American voice say, ‘Oh . . . hi . . . I was looking for Ruth.’
She gets up and joins Nelson at the door. ‘Hallo, Frank. Come in.’
‘I was just passing,’ says Frank. ‘I’ve got takeaway.’ He holds up a bag from a Chinese restaurant on the Hunstanton road.
‘Just passing?’ says Nelson. ‘No one passes this godforsaken place.’
‘I had a meeting at UEA,’ says Frank, although Ruth would have told him that he doesn’t have to explain himself to Nelson. ‘I’m on my way back to Cambridge.’
‘Your satnav’s wrong then,’ says Nelson. And it’s true that Ruth’s cottage is definitely not on the route from Norwich to Cambridge.
‘Sit down, Frank,’ says Ruth. ‘I’ll get some plates. Are you staying, Nelson?’
‘No, I’ve got to get back,’ says Nelson. He is still standing in the doorway though and makes no move to leave. Flint comes sauntering in and, with what looks like deliberate provocation, tries to sit on Frank’s lap.
‘Hallo, buddy,’ says Frank.
Ruth turns to say something to Nelson – something easy and light to ease the tension in the room – but he has gone.
*
Nelson drives back across the dark marshes in a fury. What is that American doing, hanging round Ruth and Katie? Driving all the way from Norwich on the pretext of having a Chinese meal. He must be sleeping with Ruth. No doubt he wants to sweep her and Katie off for a new life in the States. Before Nelson knows it, Katie will be riding around in a yellow school bus, wearing a jumper with a letter on it and calling him Pops. Well, he won’t allow it.
By the time he reaches home, he has calmed down slightly. After all, he is driving home to his wife and baby. He can’t really control who Ruth eats Chinese takeaways with. Even so, there was something about Frank’s familiarity with the house (and that bloody cat sucking up to him too) that makes him wish he could arrest him for something. There are lights on upstairs. Michelle must be trying to get George to sleep. Nelson presses the remote-control button to open the garage – something that never fails to give him childish pleasure – and drives in. He can hear Bruno barking from inside the house and hopes that the dog isn’t driving Michelle mad. The trouble is that Michelle doesn’t have time to take Bruno for walks during the day and, although they employ a dog walker – something that seems, to Nelson, to be the epitome of soft southern laziness – Bruno still has a lot of unused energy. Also, he has heard the car.
‘Down, boy.’ Nelson tries to restrain – or at least quieten – Bruno’s ecstatic welcome. He’ll hav
e to take him out for a walk but it’s nine o’clock now and he’s starving.
‘Hallo, Harry.’ Michelle is coming down the stairs. She looks different but he can’t work out why.
‘Hallo, love,’ says Nelson. ‘Sorry I’m late. There was a lot to catch up. First day back and all that.’
‘Shh.’ He doesn’t know if she’s addressing him or the still capering dog. ‘George is asleep.’
‘Does that mean he’ll wake up later?’ says Nelson, in what he hopes is a muffled tone. He’s never been good at whispering. It’s a northern thing, he tells his daughters.
‘I don’t know,’ says Michelle. ‘But the point is he’s asleep now. Do you want a beer?’
Nelson suddenly feels that he would like a beer very much. Michelle certainly seems in a good mood. It’s been a long time since she’s suggested anything as frivolous as alcohol and she hasn’t complained about him being late. Also he realises what’s changed about her appearance: her hair is loose and she’s wearing a T-shirt instead of a baggy jumper. Michelle complains that pregnancy has left her with extra weight but Nelson actually prefers her figure like this. He goes in for a kiss as she passes. She laughs and moves away but it doesn’t really seem as if she minded.
‘Where’s Laura?’ he asks, following Michelle into the kitchen.
‘Out with some friends. I’ve made a shepherd’s pie. Yours is in the oven.’
‘Champion,’ says Nelson, getting a beer from the fridge. ‘George must have been good if you had time to cook.’
‘He’s always good,’ says Michelle, getting out a plate and a glass. ‘But I do feel a bit better. Maybe it was just that the sun was out today. Oh, and I met a nice woman at the mother and baby group. She’s called Star.’
*
‘I don’t think DCI Nelson is my biggest fan,’ says Frank, arranging foil cartons on the table.
Ruth is in the kitchen looking for a bottle of wine. ‘Nelson’s not much of a one for small talk,’ she says.
‘No,’ says Frank. ‘I imagine his talk is pretty big.’
Ruth has located a bottle and is now looking for a corkscrew. Since when did she buy wine with a proper cork? Phil must have brought it on one of the rare occasions when he and Shona came to dinner. She thinks that she detects an edge to Frank’s words. She has never told Frank that Nelson is Kate’s father but she knows he knows. She has also never revealed the identity of the mysterious ‘someone else’ in her life, the reason she has never been able to commit herself to Frank. But, again, she is pretty sure that Frank has cracked the code.
She comes into the sitting room with bottle and glasses and puts them on the table. They share out the food in a companionable manner, chatting about takeaways in England and the US and about the respective merits of egg-fried versus plain rice. Then Frank says, spearing a sweet-and-sour something or other, ‘Why was Nelson here tonight?’
‘It was about the bones we found on the Saltmarsh,’ says Ruth. ‘I told you about them.’
‘Pretty late to make a business call.’
‘It’s his first day back,’ says Ruth. ‘I think it was a long day.’ She wonders if she is revealing too much knowledge about Nelson’s schedule.
‘Is there . . .’ Frank stops and takes a gulp of wine. ‘No. Forget it. Forget I said anything.’
‘Well, you didn’t really,’ says Ruth.
‘Ruth. Are you . . . Are you still involved with Nelson? I know I haven’t got any right to ask.’
Ruth sighs. She knows that Frank doesn’t have any right to ask. She knows that she doesn’t have to answer. But part of her wants to explain, to see if the words make any sense when said aloud.
‘We are still involved,’ she says. ‘Nelson’s Kate’s father.’ Frank makes a slight movement but says nothing. ‘So that means we’ll always be involved in a way. But it’s difficult. He’s married. He doesn’t want to break up the family. And I’m used to my own company. I wasn’t even sure if I wanted us to be together. Then, last year, I did think that I wanted it. Nelson felt the same. At least, I’m pretty sure he did. But then Michelle, his wife, announced that she was pregnant and now they’ve got a newborn baby. I couldn’t ask Nelson to leave his baby. I wouldn’t want him to.’
She stops and reaches for the wine. The bottle is nearly empty and, though she knows it’s not the best etiquette, she pours the remainder into her glass. Frank is driving anyway.
‘It’s a tough situation,’ says Frank and Ruth has the impression that he’s choosing his words carefully. ‘I guessed some of it and, for what it’s worth, I think you’re doing a great job. Kate’s a great kid and you’re a great mom.’
‘Thanks,’ says Ruth. And she is touched, although there are too many ‘greats’ in that sentence and she’s never been called a ‘mom’ before. It sounds like a character in an American sitcom.
‘And I know you don’t want a man in your life,’ says Frank. ‘But, if you did, I’d be keen to apply for the position.’
Ruth has to laugh. ‘That’s an academic speaking,’ she says.
‘I’ve got an impressive research record,’ says Frank. ‘Five books and numerous articles in scholarly journals.’
‘You can send in your CV,’ says Ruth.
Nothing more is said on the subject. Ruth clears the table, putting the cartons in the bin. Frank stacks the dishwasher and Ruth makes coffee. They drink it in front of the fire, the embers now glowing like tiny dragons.
‘I should be going,’ says Frank. Ruth looks at the clock on the mantelpiece. It’s nearly midnight. She has work tomorrow and Kate has school. Frank is right, he should be on his way.
‘Drive carefully,’ she says.
Frank turns to her. His face is suddenly very serious.
‘Ruth,’ he says. And kisses her.
*
Nelson is dreaming. He’s on the beach at Blackpool. It’s just as he remembers it from childhood except that the sand stretches into infinity. He knows that, if he can only find the sea, he will be able to swim and escape from whatever is following him. He walks and walks but the water is always just out of his sight. Then, suddenly, he’s on the beach by the Saltmarsh and a Viking longship is approaching. Leif Anderssen is at the front, his hair blowing back in the wind. As Nelson watches from the shore, Leif turns into Michelle and then Ruth. The longship becomes a boat on the Norfolk Broads and Ruth is beside him saying, ‘Don’t die, Nelson.’ A bell is ringing, becoming more and more insistent. Never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee. He wakes up with a start. His phone is buzzing. Blearily he picks it up. ‘Control’, says the screen.
‘DCI Nelson? A body’s been found at the Canada Estate. Looks like murder.’
Chapter 15
It’s five a.m. and, miraculously, George is still asleep. Nelson gets out of bed without waking Michelle. He grabs his phone and texts Clough and Judy, then heads into the bathroom for a shower.
The Canada Estate is a business park built on a brownfield site that was once a gasworks. There were initially grandiose plans that included apartment blocks, a park, even a school, but these projects were stalled by local objections and by the unarguable fact that there wasn’t any money left to develop them. The few businesses that moved to the Canada Estate now exist in splendid isolation looking down on an empty plaza and an unfinished fountain. Nelson drives right into the circular space where two uniformed police officers and a man in a hi-vis vest are standing beside the fountain. The sun is rising over some abandoned cranes and the whole scene is bathed in a pinkish light.
‘DCI Nelson.’ He shows his card but he knows one of the officers, PC Bradley Linwood, by name and the other by sight. The third man introduces himself as ‘Pat Eastwood, the night watchman’. They keep their distance and stand aside to let Nelson see the body that is slumped in the shallow stone basin, the head by the base of a half-finished sculpture that was meant to represent King’s Lynn and the Hanseatic League. Nelson recognises the dead man immediately. It’s
John Mostyn and he’s been shot.
*
Clough and Judy arrive within a few minutes of each other, Clough wearing a woollen beanie hat and looking like an off-duty boxer, Judy in her Barbour with the hood up. It’s very cold in the empty plaza even though Pat Eastwood has made them all mugs of coffee from a kettle in his Portakabin. Nelson has made everyone move away from the body and is waiting for the scene-of-crime team to arrive but he gestures to his sergeants to come and look.
‘That’s him all right,’ says Clough. ‘Poor bastard.’
‘Shot through the heart,’ says Judy, leaning closer.
‘One shot,’ says Nelson. ‘Looks professional.’
‘Who found him?’ asks Clough.
‘Night watchman from the security company doing his rounds. Found the body here in the empty fountain. No sign of the assailant.’
‘Was he shot here, do you think?’ asks Judy.
‘No. I think he was shot somewhere else and brought here. There are some bloodstains on the step that looks as if the body was dragged along. There’s CCTV everywhere so if we’re lucky we might get something. Pat, the security guy, says half the cameras don’t work though.’
‘Why bring the body here?’ says Clough, looking round at the empty offices, half of them boarded up, most of them sporting ‘To Let’ signs. ‘This place is a bloody wasteland.’
But Nelson is looking round too. The sheer wall of buildings forming a ring around the central space with the dry fountain in the middle.
The Stone Circle.
*
Ruth wakes up to Radio 4 telling her that Hillary Clinton is ahead in the race for the US presidential election. That’s good, she thinks sleepily, when the final votes are counted in November she will look forward to waking Kate with the news that the most powerful leader in the world is a woman. There are still too many men in top posts, including in universities. Then she sits up. There are currently too many men in her bed. One, to be exact. Dr Frank Barker, visiting lecturer in nineteenth-century history at the University of Cambridge, is asleep next to her, as silent as a cat, his naked chest rising and falling gently. Oh God.
The Stone Circle: The Dr Ruth Galloway Mysteries 11 Page 10