Crimesight

by Joy Ellis

  As he entered the CID room, he made a decision. He would keep things normal until the case was sewn up. Then he’d take a really close look at himself. But right now he would apologise for his over-reacting, blame it on personal matters, which was not quite a lie, and they could return to the status quo.

  By the time he reached Rosie’s desk, he hoped he sounded like the old Jon. He gave her a suitably apologetic speech and promised to buy her and Scotty doughnuts for the rest of the week. Then having seen her broad smile, he hurried off to find Andy.

  As he walked towards the lifts, he allowed his mind to return to what had happened out at Jamie Durham’s crime scene.

  Toni Clarkson had heard a man singing like a chorister, and so had he.

  Toni had also described a man with blank eyes, and maybe he’d seen the memory of such a man too. That was not actually a fact, after all he had not been watching a flesh and blood person, and the images that he saw were often distorted or feint. But somehow it had to tie up, didn’t it? He groaned softly. Every time he allowed his mind to wander back to Jamie’s death; he saw those dreadful empty eyes.

  Had it been just a trick of the light or a real connection to evil men who abducted young girls? And if that were the case, what the hell was he doing watching Jamie Durham die?

  ‘I’ve got a memo here for you, Sarge,’ called out Clive, as he passed him in the corridor. ‘It’s the forensic report that you asked for, from the Durham file.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Jon took the paper, shook off his worrying thoughts, unfolded the sheet and scanned the short report pertaining to the crime scene.

  As he expected several sets of boot and shoe prints had been lifted from the boat-house floor. Most had been identified as belonging to the dead boy’s brothers, the paramedics and the killer. Three sets remained unaccounted for, and one was a badly scuffed partial print of the deeply ridged sole of a size 10 work-boot. ‘Mm.’ he murmured. ‘So maybe you left something for us, you heartless bastard.’

  He tied up with Andy English, then returned to the CID room and flopped down at his desk. He had a problem; a big one. He needed the boss to know about this, but if he told her about his second lone excursion to the river to invoke the memory of a murder, she’d hit the roof and never come down.

  He flicked on his computer and stared at the screen as it loaded. For the life of him he couldn’t think of any other way to tell her, other than coming clean and admitting that once again he’d buggered off alone. Jon pulled a face. Now that would go down a treat, wouldn’t it? He glanced around and wondered where everyone was. Then he saw the clock. Shit! The morning meeting would already be underway. With a grunt of annoyance, he closed his computer and ran from the room.

  Jon should not have worried. Kate wanted to keep the meeting short so that they could start the search as soon as possible. She told them of the discovery and infiltration of the drinking club, the fact that Emily was most likely an illegal immigrant, and then she instructed them to prepare to go out to Roman Creek.

  ‘Have you organised a warrant, ma’am?’ asked PC Andy English.

  Kate nodded. ‘I know we have been promised cooperation by Broome, but I’ve decided to hedge my bets. Just in case things go pear-shaped, I’ve swung it with upstairs, and a constable is already with the nearest magistrate getting one signed.’ She then looked at Scott. ‘I’d like you to have a word with Stefan, our Polish interpreter. See if he’s heard anything on the Eastern European grapevine regarding a missing immigrant, a girl who calls herself Emily. Tell him we believe she’s in grave danger, Scott, and make sure he understands this is not an excuse to do a sweep on illegals, okay?’

  Kate then broke up the briefing and returned to her office to wait for Andy English to bring her the latest on Windrush from the council’s planning office.

  He arrived at the same time as the warrant. ‘We may need that, if my hunch about the big bloke who is working there is correct.’ Andy adjusted his equipment belt, and stared at the warrant. ‘Fair gave me the creeps, he did. I’m dead certain he’s what my old Gran would have called, “lacking up top”. And he’s built like a brick out-house, too. I wouldn’t want to upset him.’

  ‘Benedict Broome did intimate that Mr Lee could get a trifle overprotective to the place. Frankly, I can’t wait to meet him. Now, what have you found out about the planning permission?’

  ‘Well, Broome does have permission for a material change of use for the proposed development. It seems that he has requested to modify the old sanatorium, add certain other structures etc, and make it a sanctuary, just as the big guy said. Most of the plans have been accepted, it’s just that he seems to have altered the specifications a dozen times.’ Andy stared at the paperwork in his hand. ‘The man in planning said he was a nightmare, and even now, when work is almost about to begin, he’s not convinced that he won’t try to change things again.’

  ‘What do we know about Broome?’ Kate asked. He seemed to be prepared to spend a fortune on the old place, and being an individual, made it all the more of a mystery. Who, other than major players in the business world, and in this gloomy financial climate, had that kind of money to flash around?

  ‘Well, I checked him out, and he’s not known to us. All we know is that he lives with his housekeeper, in one of those big houses along the waterway. You know those old three storey Victorian terraces?’

  Kate recalled the educated speaking voice. ‘You mean Admiralty Row? That’s one classy address. He must be loaded to own that property and the Windrush estate.’

  Andy nodded. ‘Absolutely, but you do know the old story, ma’am, don’t you? About how the sanatorium was won in a wager?’

  Kate nodded. ‘Jon mentioned it, and it’s true?’

  ‘Oh yes, Broome won the place playing poker.’

  Kate raised her eyebrows. ‘How come I only ever get a tenner once a year on the Lottery?’

  ‘You and me both, Ma’am. But regarding Broome’s history, I’ve asked Ivan to keep digging.’

  Kate nodded. ‘Okay, but even though it all seems kosher, you still feel that we should check the place over?’

  Andy looked her directly in the eyes. ‘Absolutely, ma’am. There were places there that Micah Lee definitely steered us away from, for one reason or another. Plus he was really uptight about our being there. We need to go back and not just accept the scenic walk.’

  ‘Okay.’ Kate agreed. ‘That’s good enough for me, constable. Get your team together. We’ll move out at ten o’clock.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

  The morning sky across the marsh was as clear a blue as any seen above an Aegean island, but even so an uncomfortable sense of foreboding travelled with them in the police car.

  Scott and Gary had stayed behind to chase up the Polish interpreter and keep the office running, while the rest of the team headed out to Roman Creek.

  The main search would be done by uniform, but Kate had felt it important for Jon to see what kind of vibes the house gave off, and for Rosie to take a look at Micah Lee, and using her own skill, decide what kind of man he was.

  Jon had thought it a good idea, but as the car drew closer to Windrush, he began to worry, and when they passed through the gates, the feeling of anxiety intensified.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ Kate asked, looking at him apprehensively.

  ‘It’s changed,’ he answered, ‘everything has changed.’ He placed his hands over his ears for second or two. ‘And I can hear something. Something like music? Can either of you hear it?’

  Rosie and Kate strained to hear whatever it was that he was talking about, but soon gave up.

  ‘I can’t hear a thing.’ murmured Kate.

  ‘Me neither,’ added Rosie.

  Jon forced himself to concentrate. ‘It’s weird, like an echo.’ He screwed up his face. ‘No, it’s gone.’ He looked out of the window at the rambling and desolate old sanatorium. ‘I can’t believe how different this place feels now, from when I was last here as a probie
copper.’

  ‘Well, that was decades ago, wasn’t it, Sarge?’ Rosie laughed, trying to lighten the atmosphere. ‘Scott was probably still in nappies.’

  For once Jon didn’t come back with a snappy response. He felt cold and clammy, and tiny beads of cold sweat were forming on his brow.

  ‘You’re not happy about this, are you, Jon?’ asked his boss quietly.

  No, thought Jon, I’m not. ‘There are an awful lot of lonely souls around here, ma’am.’ He stared out of the window, and as he always did, hopefully searched the sea of empty faces for a first glimpse of his dead sister. ‘But we need to do this, so let’s go.’ With a supreme effort, he flung open the door of the car and climbed out.

  Uniform were already out of their vehicles, and Andy English stood waiting for the DCI to give the go-ahead. Jon saw her remove the search warrant from her pocket, and nod towards the uniformed officer. English gave a curt nod back, then he and some of the other men went quickly up the steps to the front entrance of the old building.

  The team hung back at the bottom of the stone steps with the rest of the group, all waiting for their first glimpse of the man that had made such a lasting impression on PCs English and Goode.

  It didn’t take long for him to open the door, and in a flash they understood their concerns.

  ‘My God! Conan the Barbarian lives,’ whispered Rosie, eyes wide.

  Micah Lee was a beast of a man. He had a thick mop of dark hair and a face that looked as if it had been chiselled, rather badly, out of a rough hunk of granite. His eyes were deep set, under heavy over-hanging brows, and his lips were tight with anger. He was tall and powerful, although not in an athletic way. His strength seemed more naturally Neanderthal than gym-induced fitness. Jon found him impossible to age, and the thing that struck him most, was the almost tangible sense of resentment at their being there.

  ‘Sensible of you to organize that warrant, ma’am,’ Jon breathed. ‘I get the strong feeling we might need it.’ He stared openly at the Goliath of Windrush, and thought for one awful moment that Micah Lee was going to have to be physically restrained. Not that he was sure how many officers it would have taken to carry out that task.

  PC English bravely approached the man, told him that they had Mr Broome’s full approval for a detailed search, and mentioned that they did have a warrant.

  They then watched as Lee seemed to crumble in front of them. Jon saw a mass of emotions cross his craggy face. One moment there had been intense anger, then that subsided, and his expression became almost childlike with trepidation and fear.

  But fear of what? Jon thought.

  ‘Just do it.’ Micah said suddenly, then turned on his heels and marched back through the front doors.

  Jon watched him leave, then heard Kate calling out to Andy and his colleagues to go in. ‘Top to toe. Pay extra attention to anything underground; cellars and the like. Anywhere that could conceal a missing girl, and call me if you find anything, okay?’

  A tall, bald-headed sergeant immediately took over, and soon men and women were heading off in pairs to check out the big old house, the many out-buildings and the surrounding grounds.

  ‘Ma’am?’ The sergeant called over to the DCI. ‘Would you like to help, or stay close to Mr Lee?’

  ‘We’ll join you, Sergeant.’ Kate obviously had no more wish than Jon did to play nanny to a giant, volatile baby. ‘Which area shall we cover?’

  ‘According to my aerial map, there’s a ward block around the back, ma’am. It doesn’t seem to have been prepared for renovation yet, so watch your step, it could be dangerous.’

  They made their way around to the back of the building and saw the single storey building that housed the additional wards. The exterior had once been painted white, but now great patches of crumbling rendering had fallen away leaving the weather-worn brickwork exposed and decaying.

  ‘This could take some time.’ said Rosie, as she picked her way over some fallen debris. ‘This place is bigger than it appears.’

  ‘It’s a rambling old pile,’ agreed Jon. ‘But it’s a sin it’s been allowed to fall into ruin like this. Even when I was here it was run down, but it was still usable.’

  Kate pushed open a door and they all stared inside.

  The ward had been long and wide, with one side opening through a series of French doors onto concrete terraces. Jon reminded himself that it had been a TB sanatorium, and in those days they did push both bed and patient outside for the benefits of the fresh air.

  But now the windows were cracked and broken, and plaster and rotten woodwork lay scattered across the floor. A thick haze of dust motes swam in shafts of sunlight that spearheaded through what remained of the glass. In one corner, a pile of old metal frame, institutional-type beds had been heaped together, and in another, a stack of broken bedside cupboards and rusting chair frames. As he looked, he saw a movement, and a rat broke cover and ran for a dim, gaping hole in the wooden floor.

  ‘Nice place.’ Kate sighed. ‘Maybe we should stick together as we check this out. We can’t afford any broken ankles or cuts and bruises from all this left over junk.’

  ‘Shame big Micah hasn’t got this far with his clean up.’ grumbled Rosie. ‘He’s done a great job on the front and the sides of the house.’

  ‘I think this part is going to be demolished.’ Kate said. ‘I glanced briefly at some of the plans that Andy showed me, and as far as I can remember, the back of the building is destined to become some kind of sheltered garden with seats and water features. Not that my imagination is quite capable of seeing that far right now.’

  She took a deep breath, and stepped inside. Jon and Rosie followed and they began their sweep.

  They systematically searched each room, each cupboard and every corridor. There were five wards, all identical in their design, but as they entered the fifth one, Jon was struck by a distinct difference in temperature.

  He slowly looked around, but seeing nothing unusual, hesitantly moved on. He was seeing no pictures, no odd lights, no shadowy figures, but the room felt all wrong.

  He glanced at Kate and Rosie, and saw that they were engrossed in checking a series of store cupboards. They were intent on the search and clearly not distracted by anything.

  So, whatever was bothering him had to be something for him alone. He tilted his head imperceptibly to one side. Yes, that’s what it was. Not a vision, but a sound. A voice, coming to him as if from a long way away.

  Jon strained to pick up what was being said, but it was difficult. He’d been ‘seeing’ things for as long as he could remember, he knew all the little the nuances of those strange visual messages; he knew how to ‘tune out’ the real world whilst viewing only that which he was being shown. But these audible ones were new to him, and he was struggling.

  He needed quiet, but Rosie was laughing grimly at something, and the boss had just snagged her tights and was swearing loudly.

  ‘Ma’am? Flower?’ He held up his hand, and immediately they fell silent and stared at him. ‘Give me a moment, please?’

  He saw them glance across at each other, then they stood still and watched him.

  Jon closed his eyes, and the voice became clearer. Suddenly the dusty old ward just seemed to fall away, and he was somewhere else, somewhere where the wind was blowing his hair this way and that, and the smell of ozone permeated every breath that he took. He sank to his knees, looked around and then leant sharply forward and pressed his ear to the damp mossy ground.

  The voice was clearer now, and not only could he hear every word as sharp as a scalpel blade, he could see things too. As he watched and listened, his eyes slowly grew wide, and then he heard himself whimper with surprise. The spirits rarely came to him with such force, but he fought to stay with them, although it was almost impossible. He was drowning in a clamour of song, and a sea of shimmering light.

  ‘I understand.’ His voice echoed in his own head, and he knew he had whispered the two words aloud. ‘Yes, I understand.�
��

  Then as the song calmed and the light faded, Jon let out a sigh of relief and slipped forward, his forehead gently touching the ground.

  Kate watched Jon intently. She’d seen him slip into a trance several times before, but it never ceased to amaze her. Outside she could hear their colleagues calling to each other. She could hear seagulls crying, and she could hear her heart beating, but in that disused, ramshackle sanatorium ward, the silence screamed at her loud enough to hurt her ears. She had a feeling that something desperately important was happening, although she had no idea what it was, and she was scared for Jon.

  He knelt on the dusty floor, his head bowed as if praying, and he’d been like that for several moments. He had neither spoken or moved, and seemed to be completely unaware of his surroundings, or their presence there with him.

  She was just about to go to him, when his head snapped up. Kate gave a little yelp of surprise, then saw his eyes flash at her, his pupils dilated like a kid high on crystal meth. ‘We need maps of this place! Old ones, plans that go back to when it was built, and we need them fast!’

  Kate’s mouth dropped a little, but she knew that her questions would have to wait. She grabbed her phone and punched in Scott’s number. It took seconds to relay what they needed, and then she shut her phone and looked at Jon. ‘He’s sourcing them now, and Gary will drive out with the print-outs as soon as he has them. So what’s the score? What the hell happened there?’

  Jon had sunk down onto the dusty rubbish-covered floor, and she and Rosie crouched down beside him. His eyes were back to normal now, but he still seemed to be in a state of high anxiety. ‘She’s here, Kate.’ He gave a shaky sigh. ‘Windrush was never the sight of one of those skanky parties; this is where they brought her! They brought Emily here!’

  Her throat constricted and for a moment words were impossible, then she managed to ask the one thing that she really needed to know. ‘Is she alive?’