Crimesight

by Joy Ellis

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘You know, I’ve lived around these parts since I was a nipper, but I’ve probably only ever been to Allenby Creek once or twice in my whole life,’ said Jon, gazing out of the window across the great expanses of flat, cabbage-covered fields.

  ‘It’s not the sort of place you go, is it?’

  The bleak never-ending farmland stretched on until it met the river, then the marsh and then the sea. There was no town at the end of the road. No pretty village awaited them, concealing quaint antiques shops and cosy tea-rooms. And on a day like this, as the drizzling rain draped its chilly fingers around everything, it was just mud all the way to the Wash.

  Jon smiled to himself; because it wasn’t always like this. Sometimes the sheer scale of the immense, airy vistas of his home county still took his breath away. It was in many ways still a magical landscape, ancient and wild, alternating between strange and inhospitable, and mind-blowingly beautiful through the ever-changing seasons. Jon loved the great wide ribbons of waterways, straight and shining like quicksilver, home to swans and kingfishers and water voles alike. And the eerie misty beauty of the reed beds and salt marshes at sunrise or sunset would melt the hardest heart with their panoramic light shows. He even loved the arable fields. On a sunny day, they became a tapestry, a mosaic of colours, changing all the time as the farmers rotated their crops. One month you could marvel at the acid yellow oil seed rape, then almost overnight, it would be lavender or white potato flowers, deep blue/green brassicas, honey-coloured barley, or the hazy soft green of the Lincolnshire peas.

  Jon remembered as a boy, walking the field pads as the locals called footpaths, with his sister and their father’s spaniel. The dog would race ahead of them into the ‘litter’ fields and bark joyously as the skylarks rose up.

  Even as he sat in the car, Jon could still smell the sweetness of the fields of meadow plants, of ragged robin, meadowsweet and clover, all cut as a hay crop for the animals. And he felt a wave of sadness that things had gone so wrong for Isabel.

  Kate drove on and Jon felt a melancholy overtake him. Allenby Creek was not pretty, and it had an almost primordial feel to it, one that seemed to seep into you and sap your strength.

  ‘Over there.’ Jon indicated to a faded sign, half obscured by straggly bushes. ‘I think that’s a sign for Hurn Point, Allenby Creek, and the seal sanctuary.’

  Kate eased the car around a sharp bend and they saw an apology for a car park in front of them. Ahead were the sea-bank, the marshes, and a decrepit wooden hut with a weather-beaten painting of a seal on the wall.

  They got out of the car and were greeted by a damp miasma of salty drizzle.

  ‘Lovely,’ murmured Jon, turning up his jacket collar against the wind. ‘Just lovely.’

  They walked, avoiding puddles of sandy mud, towards the old hut.

  The first thing they saw was a MOD Bombing Range warning sign. The RAF still used great stretches of the Wash for target practice and as ‘locals’ they had both grown up with the red flag warning system. Below that was a dog-eared notice informing them that there was no longer any access to the seal sanctuary and the public should take the coast road to the ‘new’ Visitor’s Centre.

  ‘Dreary place.’ muttered Jon.

  ‘That it is.’ Kate moved forward. ‘This spot was never popular. The stretch of marsh between the car park and the beach has always had a reputation for being dangerous at high tides, a fact that generally puts off all but the brave or the foolhardy.’

  ‘So how on earth did Shauna finish up here?’ asked Jon, gazing around at the deserted landscape.

  ‘Most likely driven here by someone who knew it.’ Kate pointed towards the dunes. ‘There are a few dwellings over that way, and another scattering further along the coast, but apart from those, it’s just dune, marsh and sea.’

  They trudged across the sand-flats, between dense clumps of sea buckthorn and areas of reeds with shallow water lagoons, then Jon stopped.

  Without warning, he knew irrefutably that old Jack Archer had been right. This was the place where Shauna Kelly went into the water. And he felt it with every fibre of his being.

  Kate didn’t seem to notice that he was not behind her and continued to talk. ‘Now we’re here, I remember coming here with my parents. Although back then, it was very different. They say this coast line re-invents itself every year. Sand blows in from the offshore sandbanks and forms dunes. The whole place has changed beyond belief.’ She pushed her hands deep into her pockets and drew her jacket tighter around her. ‘It looks so wild now, but I seem to recall it was quite pretty back then.’ She stopped and looked around. ‘Jon?’

  Jon stood staring out across the grey waters of the Wash, then squatted down on his haunches and gently ran his fingers through the damp sand. ‘She was here.’

  Kate hurried back to him, but said nothing. She didn’t need to; the light of expectancy in her eyes told him everything.

  ‘Let’s go up the edge of the dunes, towards that rundown beach hut.’ He had no idea why he was being drawn there, but that was fine, he would just go along with it, and do whatever his subconscious mind told him.

  They perched together on a tiny stretch of crumbly stone wall, and watched the beach. ‘I know she was here, Kate, in fact I…’ Before he could say anymore, he caught sight of something moving quickly through the rough ground beside them.

  He touched Kate’s arm, and held his fore finger to his lips in a gesture for her to keep silent.

  A little way to their right, he could see a slim girl running across the track and into the dunes. It was hard to keep track of her through the sandy, grass-covered mounds, but then she was clear of them and running fast onto the stony edge of the beach.

  For a second or two Jon wasn’t sure if he were witnessing a real happening, or one of his strange visions. Then he realised that the girl had an opaqueness to her, a slight misty, unreal appearance; and he knew he was watching Shauna Kelly’s last moments.

  He stood upright, then swiftly gazed around. Where was her abductor? Where was the man who was chasing her into a watery grave?

  With a little gasp, he realised that there was no-one.

  Shauna was running, bare-foot, directly towards the sea, but with no hounds of hell behind her. She was completely alone.

  It was all he could do not to shout out, to scream at her to stop. It was the natural thing to do, but long ago he trained himself to just observe. Because all he was doing was watching a memory. A memory imprinted into the very air of the place. A memory left there for anyone with the ability to see it.

  ‘Shauna, no,’ he whispered.

  The girl had slowed down as she approached the edge of the water. Now she was standing, her arms stretched out wide, but still moving forward, as if embracing the sea.

  The vision was horrible, but even though every inch of him wanted to close his eyes, he knew that he had to see it through.

  Slowly, very slowly, Shauna Kelly moved into the dark, oily looking waters of the Wash. Her arms remained outstretched, and stayed that way until all that was visible was a swathe of her hair, swirling and twisting in the current. And then she was gone.

  ‘Jon?’

  Kate’s voice drifted as if through thick fog towards him. ‘Yeah,’ he murmured. ‘And now we know.’

  ‘Know what, for heaven’s sake?’

  Her voice was urgent, so he told her exactly what he had seen.

  ‘So, no killer holding her under? No gang chasing her into the water?’

  ‘She was alone, Kate, all alone.’ Jon frowned, as another vague impression drifted into his mind. ‘But there again, maybe she wasn’t.’ He quickly gathered his thoughts. ‘Some else was here, but not..,’ he paused, thinking hard, ‘…not involved.’ He rubbed at his forehead. ‘Someone was watching her, from over there.’ He pointed to a high spot on the dunes.

  Together they ran across the damp sand to the point he meant. ‘I saw the tiny red ember of a cigarette burning,
and a figure staring out to sea.’

  Kate stopped abruptly. ‘Someone’s certainly been here, look.’ She pointed to some burned down stubs and a flattened area of sand. ‘And you think whoever was here saw Shauna?’

  ‘I’m certain of it. But what would someone be doing here at night?’

  ‘I can think of loads of reasons, and none of them legal.’ growled Kate. ‘Which could be why they said nothing when uniform came out here asking questions.’

  ‘Then maybe we should have a word with the locals ourselves?’

  Kate looked angry. ‘Oh yes, I really think we should.’

  The last cottage they tried was a mess of weathered wood, cracked and broken tiles, and crumbling brickwork. But nevertheless, smoke rose from the chimney and a pleasant smell of baking hung around the half open door.

  The woman who called out for to them to go in, was around forty, with long prematurely greying hair dragged up into an untidy French pleat, and a warm smile.

  ‘Oh yes, those nice officers called yesterday, but..,’ She shrugged and rubbed a floury hand across her forehead. ‘I couldn’t help them. I went into the market in the morning, and then I never left the cottage again.’

  ‘You live here alone, Miss…?’ asked Jon politely.

  ‘Seale. Daisy Seale, sergeant. And no, this is my father’s place. I’m just looking after him for a bit. He’s getting on, and he’s been proper poorly.’

  ‘Did the police speak to him as well?’ asked Kate.

  ‘No, Chief Inspector, Dad was asleep, and well, I leave him when he drops off like. He’s getting forgetful, and he wanders a bit too. It probably sounds awful, but when he sleeps I can relax for a while. Get a few chores done.’

  Jon felt a sudden stab of realisation. He looked around the old kitchen and immediately saw several cigarette ends nestling in an ash-tray close to the fire.

  ‘Does your father sometimes go out at night, Miss Seale?’

  The woman dusted flour from her apron. ‘Unfortunately. I do my best to stop him, but..,’ she gave a helpless little shrug.

  ‘Do you think I could have a quiet word with him? I promise not to upset him.’ Jon smiled reassuringly.

  ‘I’m not sure you’ll get very far, sergeant. He came in earlier to tell me that Winston Churchill was about to address the nation, and would I make sure that the wireless was tuned in to the Home Service.’

  ‘Just a moment or two?’ Jon upped his smile hopefully.

  ‘Of course. But don’t expect too much. Oh, and if he calls you Gordon, that’s his son, my brother. He died ten years ago, but Dad still thinks he’s here.’

  Jon’s heart went out to the woman. ‘I’ll not keep him long. I promise.’

  ‘He’ll be out back in the lean-to. His name is Stan.’

  Jon slipped through the ramshackle cottage and out into a strange narrow room with windows on three sides. It could have been called a conservatory if properly built, but it hadn’t been, and Jon sincerely hoped that it would remain standing just a little longer.

  ‘Stan? Hello there. My name is Jon Summerhill. Can I have a word?’

  The old man stood staring out of the grimy window towards the marsh. On hearing a voice he turned, and looked at Jon with little or no interest.

  ‘You know this part better than most, I’m told. Lived here a long time, I guess?’

  Stan sat heavily back into an ancient armchair, and in a weak ray of watery sunshine, Jon saw thousands of dust motes rise up around the man.

  ‘Have you been out on the strand at darklings?’ Jon chanced using his almost forgotten dialect in the hopes of jogging the old man’s memory.

  ‘Aye. A few nights back.’ The voice was deep and gravely, a heavy smoker’s voice.

  ‘See anything interesting?’

  The old man frowned. ‘Mayhap, but me mind’s a jumblement. I seems to think I saw a pretty lass, and a truck where a truck shouldn’t be. Out there in the moonlight. No, shouldn’t be there.’

  ‘What kind of truck, Stan?’

  ‘Big dark thing, all thick wheels, too many lights and growling noise.’

  Jon’s brow creased. ‘A 4X4? An off-road vehicle?’

  ‘Like as much, I suppose.’ Stan wrinkled up his leathery face. ‘But the man who drove it were worse. One look at his face and yer’d see ‘e’s as black as the Devil’s nuttin’ bag!’

  He swung round and stared at Jon. ‘And when are you going to fix that broken gutter pipe, Gordon? That drip, drip, drip keeps me awake at night.’

  Jon looked deep into the man’s rheumy eyes and knew his window of opportunity had closed. ‘I’ll fix it, Dad.’ he said softly, and slipped quietly out of the musty-smelling room.

  As they drove back towards the main road, Jon tried to piece together the scant information they had. ‘Stan spoke about the girl and the man with the 4x4 in the same breath, so it would seem they are connected.’

  Kate slowed down to negotiate an un-manned level crossing, then said, ‘So she was brought here in a vehicle, and dumped.’

  ‘With a blood-stream pumping alcohol and hallucinogens round her body.’

  ‘And she duly proceeded to kill herself.’ Kate groaned. ‘I am so looking forward to explaining this to her mother.’

  ‘We’ve got to prove it first.’ said Jon grimly. ‘And considering your only evidence comes from the mouth of a clairvoyant and a dementia patient, I foresee it being tricky.’

  ‘Yet again.’ Kate gave a little snort, then was suddenly struck by the thought that John’s sister had killed herself as a teenager. This could not be easy for him. ‘Jon? I was wonderi…,’ Her mobile rang.

  Jon took it from the dashboard and glanced at the display. ‘It’s the super.’ He switched it to loudspeaker, and listened as Megan Edwards asked where they were.

  ‘Approaching the Saltfleet road, ma’am, close to the Ferryman Inn.’

  ‘Then would you cancel your return to base and go directly to Harlan Marsh station. Chief Superintendent Cade has requested your help with a problem.’

  Jon’s whole body tensed when he heard the name Cade. There were very few people in the world that he actually hated, but James Cade topped the short list.

  ‘But ma’am, we are up to our necks in work.’ Kate’s irritation was not exactly concealed from her boss. ‘We’ve got Shauna Kelly to worry about. Why can’t one of the other teams take it?’

  ‘Because Cade wants you.’

  ‘So what kind of problem is it that he can’t handle himself?’ asked Kate.

  ‘A missing girl. But don’t go jumping to conclusions; I’m sure it has no bearing on your case. The teenager in question is a serial runaway, a right little pain in the arse, but..,’ There was a heavy emphasis on the but. ‘She is the daughter of one of Cade’s friends, a local business man, and a generous benefactor to the Police charities, if you catch my drift. He needs it sewn up fast, and Cade’s CID team are apparently working a serious on-going case. ’

  ‘Right, and ten to one this ‘benefactor’ is a golfing buddy with a funny handshake and a man who takes a locked case with him when he goes out for the evening.’ growled Kate.

  ‘I’ll pretend I never heard that, DCI Reynard. Now please just get yourselves over to Harlan Marsh and assess the situation.’ Her words were followed by a clunk, and then a whistling noise.

  ‘Bugger!’ Kate indicated left and drove away from the road home. ‘I don’t believe it! What a sodding cheek! Wasting our time with a serial misper, because they have a “serious on going case”. I bet whatever it is; our bleeding canteen staff could handle it quicker and more efficiently. He has no right playing the Lodge Brother’s card when the kid has probably just bunked off to Sheffield for the weekend to see some boy band.’

  Jon allowed her to rant, and just sat silently wishing he were somewhere else. After a while he said, ‘I suppose in the super’s book we have a conclusion in the Jamie Durham murder, and we are still waiting on the forensic reports for Shauna, and..,’ he p
aused, ‘…whether she admitted it or not, if this new girl really is missing, then Harlan Marsh is not far from Allenby Creek, is it? What if there is a connection? Maybe we should check it out, for our own peace of mind.’

  Kate gave a huffy little nod. ‘I guess so, but that man gets right up my nose. Cade says jump, and the whole bloody force yells “How high?”’

  Jon shook his head. He wasn’t ready to get into an in-depth conversation about James Cade’s shortcomings. It would be all he could do to remain in the same room as the man. But, and this was a big but, he had felt a nasty twist in his gut when the super had mentioned another missing girl. And like it or not, it should be checked out.

  ‘Ring Rosie and Scott, and let them know that we’ve been hijacked.’ Kate put her foot down. ‘Let’s get this over, shall we?’

  As he pulled out his phone he glanced out of the window and saw a signpost saying three miles to Harlan Marsh. Three miles and he would be face to face with the man that he’d been very successfully avoiding for years. He punched in the number for Rosie McElderry and tried to push his personal issues to one side. He was a professional and it should be easy, but it wasn’t. He really didn’t want to meet Cade again.

  ‘The Chief’s in a meeting, DCI Reynard. He’ll see you when he’s through.’ The Harlan Marsh desk officer looked more bored than apologetic. ‘He’s told one of our men to bring you up to speed and he’s allocated you an office to use.’

  Kate frowned. ‘Such a wonderful welcome. And please don’t get carried away with the accommodation, constable, we aren’t moving in. Or I sincerely hope we aren’t.’ She glanced at Jon, but his face was a mixture of emotions. She wasn’t sure why he looked so uncomfortable, but he was giving off big vibes of wanting to escape.

  ‘I’ll take you to your office, ma’am, and then I’ll tell Pritchard you are here.’

  The room, if you could call it that, was a small, obviously hurriedly cleared out cupboard of an office. Not that it worried Kate; she had no intentions of a long stay.