Crimesight

by Joy Ellis

  He shook his head slowly. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know. I only know that we are in the right place.’

  ‘Then we tear this dump apart until we find her.’ growled Rosie, rising to her feet.

  ‘Wait, just wait. You won’t find her like that, Flower.’ Jon attempted a smile. ‘It’s all to do with the music, the resonance of the voice..., the echo.’

  ‘What voice?’

  Jon rubbed hard at his eyes. ‘I’m not sure, but I do know that Emily’s underground somewhere. I’ve been shown tunnels.’ He gave a helpless little shrug. ‘That’s all I can tell you, tunnels, big ones.’

  ‘So surely the least we can do is to organize getting these floors dragged up?’ Rosie was champing at the bit to get moving.

  ‘But she’s not directly under these floors, Rosie.’ Jon looked up at the woman and Kate saw a look of deep affection, one that she hoped was bestowed on Rosie for her pure passion and dedication to her job. Then Jon tried to explain. ‘Listen, this ward block was only added when the country house became a TB hospital. It’s not old, not like the original building. There is nothing beneath here other than solid foundations.’

  ‘So what were you listening to?’ The girl looked totally confused.

  ‘An echo, Rosie. From somewhere else around here. Somewhere deep down.’ His face bound together into a twisted knot of concentration. ‘It’s just the spirits, it’s their way of communicating to me that Emily is somewhere beneath the ground. There is a part of this place that is subterranean; they showed me great long tunnels. For days I’ve been seeing damned tunnels. That’s why we need old plans, old maps of the area. Ones that go way back, to when the original house was built.’

  ‘Maybe uniform will find something. They are checking for cellars, aren’t they?’

  Jon nodded. ‘Maybe, but I get the feeling we are not talking about a simple cellar. I saw long, high ceiling, brick-lined tunnels. That’s why we have to get the old plans.’

  Rosie squatted back down on her haunches. ‘Maybe Fred Flintstone in there has some, if he’s been doing all this work.’

  Somehow Kate did not think Micah Lee would hold any plans. Benedict Broome would be the one to contact for those. ‘If Scott hits a brick wall, and I don’t for one minute think he will, we’ll target Broome for help. Although frankly I think Scotty’s IT skills will access everything we need in less time than it would take to get Benedict Broome to open his front door.’

  ‘I agree.’ said Jon. ‘But we should start doing some homework on Broome. If we find Emily here, well, it’s ten to one that he’s her abductor.’

  ‘Or, if we are too late, he could be her killer.’ Rosie said edgily.

  ‘Okay, guys, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We need to find her first, then we’ll know what we are up against. Andy English and his crew-mate have already made some enquiries about Benedict Broome, so we’ll get hold of whatever they have, and then look deeper, as soon as this search is properly underway.’ Kate shrugged. ‘It’s certainly no use going in with all guns blazing and accusing anyone of anything yet. As usual on your cases, Jon, we only have the word of the dead to support our theory that Emily is even here.’

  ‘We can always use the old mythical anonymous tip-off.’ said Rosie.

  ‘Let’s just pray that we find her, then we won’t have to lie about anything.’ Kate said grimly.

  It was complicated, dealing with the knowledge that Jon’s gift provided. Dead people are not generally regarded as good material witnesses, so they needed to change things. They had to, because no-one would ever sanction police action without sound reason. Over the years they had set up a series of covers; seemingly ordinary justifications that would give them authority to investigate. A tip-off ; an anonymous phone-call. Kate even used an old uncle, an am-dram aficionado who loved nothing better than dressing up as an old lag and acting out a role as one of her snouts for the CCTV cameras. Anything that would give them credence for their investigations.

  ‘I think we need to see how the others are doing. These wards are holding no secrets. Let’s go find the sergeant.’

  Jon eased his way up from the floor and half-heartedly brushed dust from his black jeans. ‘Something that might help, Guv, would be a heat-seeking camera. If we can track any old underground areas, even if we have trouble sourcing an entrance, one of those would show up any signs of life.’

  ‘Good idea. I’ll ring Clive and get him to see if Saltfleet Fire Department has one.’

  As they walked back to the front of the house, Kate rang her manager and put that idea into motion. ‘Any news from Scott regarding old ground plans for Windrush?’

  ‘He and Gary are pounding the computers right now, ma’am. He’s opened an antiquarian archive on the earliest building out there at Roman Creek. He seems pretty pleased with what they’ve dug up so far, but he says there is a lot more interesting stuff available.’

  ‘Good, but tell him to get his finger out and ship us whatever he has already. For all we know, we may have a young woman hanging onto life by her eyelashes. I don’t need a historical thesis written on the place, just a bloody map.’

  Kate could sense Clive smiling down the phone. ‘I’ll be sure to pass that on, ma’am, and Gary will be out to you ASAP, I promise.’

  She rejoined the others. ‘Anything so far?’

  The sergeant in charge shook his head. ‘Nothing substantial, ma’am. Some of the rooms have been used recently, but it’s probably just Micah Lee staying over. He seems pretty attached to this place, considering he doesn’t own it. And it may be a wreck, but he’s obviously working his fingers to the bone on it.’ He passed a broad-knuckled hand over his shaved head. ‘But regarding the search, there are certainly no sign of anyone having been held here at any time, but this is a big area to cover, we’ve hardly scratched the surface yet.’

  ‘Well, the ward block at the back is clear, so you can tick that off your list. Oh, and I’ve requested any architects plans on the original building, just in case there may be rooms or cellars that have been sealed up in later years.’ Kate added.

  ‘Good idea. For all we know, this place could be a rabbit warren of underground tunnels.’

  Jon started. ‘What made you say that, Sergeant?’

  ‘Well, it may have nothing to do with it, but that stretch of marsh over there..,’ He pointed across the fields to a broad stretch of wetland. ‘..used to be called Chapel Marsh. They reckon that back in historical times there was an old Abbey out there, the coastline being different back then. Anyway, the sea took it when they flooded this part of the land, and all that was left was a tiny chapel, and that got used by smugglers, right up until the time of the second world war, when that got washed away too.’

  Kate tried to keep up but wasn’t too sure where the story was leading them. ‘You mentioned tunnels?’

  ‘Yes, apparently the smugglers used a system of tunnels to bring their contraband inland, ma’am. Of course a lot of them could have caved in or collapsed with the high tides and the bad weather, but they say that one or two were really well constructed. The locals reckon they still exist, somewhere around here, maybe underneath the Roman Creek sea-bank. Sit in one of the local pubs and you’ll hear a load of old wives tales about them.’

  Jon’s eyes were bright with interest. ‘And did any of these tunnels connect with the house here?’

  The sergeant raised his shoulders. ‘No idea, Sergeant Summerhill. They may not even exist, it may all be just superstition and folklore, you never can tell, can you?’

  ‘Oh, they exist.’ Kate heard the words whispered under Jon’s breath. ‘Thank you, Sergeant.’

  They moved a little way away, then Jon said. ‘This is all tying up, Guv. I said that I’ve been seeing images of tunnels for days now, nothing like earlier on, but the tunnels are really important, I know they are.’

  Gary arrived an hour later, and he came bearing maps, plans, deeds, building permission rights, geophysical surveys and related data, and
even aerial cartographical views of Windrush and the surrounding landscape.

  ‘We’ve tried to collate them into historical relevance,’ said Gary. ‘Oldest at the top, and working down to present day.’

  Jon looked at the great armful of paperwork. ‘Let’s use the foyer floor to lay all this out. Unless, ma’am, you don’t want Lurch to see what we are doing?’

  ‘Sod him. The front hall will do nicely.’ She turned and led the way inside.

  ‘These are interesting.’ Gary held up a batch of geophysical print-outs. ‘They were taken a few years back when an archaeological dig was planned for the Roman Bank, but they couldn’t get permission to bring in the diggers. They show the ground right up to and including the edge of the Windrush estate.’

  Kate stared at them. ‘I’m not sure what I’m looking at.’

  ‘They are high resolution images that show sub-soil structures or traces of human activity.’

  Jon was impressed. Gary seemed to know his stuff, although he wasn’t sure if it came from too many bored evenings in front of the television watching back episodes of ‘Time-Team’, or a real interest in archaeology.

  Gary pointed to a shadowy dark square and a series of grey circles and lines. ‘This is what they were after. The archaeologists believed that there was an ancient Roman villa on the spot, and this data supports their theory. They then widened the geophys to see what else there may be, but someone pulled the plug on them, and it never happened.’

  Jon felt a surge of excitement. ‘And their data actually covered part of Windrush?’

  Gary handed him a batch of paperwork. ‘Mm, several sweeps covered Windrush. Right up to the exterior walls of the house on the marsh side.’

  Jon peered at maps and surveys. ‘Hell, I wish I knew exactly what was what. There seems to be so many different shades and shadows.’ He frowned and jabbed a finger onto one of the maps. ‘Especially around this area here.’

  Gary looked over his shoulder. ‘Let’s see, that would be..,’ he glanced around to get his bearings. ‘…to the left of the main building, and back some way past the old storehouses towards the marsh.’ He fished an aerial view from the pile of photos. ‘I suppose we are looking at this area here.’ He laid the picture of the old hospital on the floor and circled one spot with his finger.

  ‘Is that one of the areas that is being re-developed?’ asked Rosie.

  Kate unfolded their copy of Broome’s plans, the ones that Andy had given her from the planning department, and compared them with the aerial photo. ‘No, all the renovation and new building will take place immediately in and around the house itself. The old stores and the barn area that you are looking at are bordered on this plan by a thick green line.’ She squinted and read the legend in the bottom right hand corner of the map. ‘Green box indicates Stage Three Development. Work proposed 2015. See attached addenda.’ I unfolded the rest of the papers. ‘But there is no attached addenda.’

  Jon drew in a breath. ‘So there are no immediate plans for that spot for several years.’

  ‘A pretty good place to hide someone?’ Kate said thoughtfully, then added. ‘Can you actually read those geo-fizzy things, Gary?’

  ‘Not with any accuracy, ma’am. We could easily be looking at the foundations of prior structures on that site, an earlier barn or something like that.’

  ‘Then we need an expert.’ Kate turned to Rosie. ‘Ring Clive and get him to phone the University. Ask for their help and stress the importance.’

  Rosie nodded and pulled out her mobile. ‘I’m onto it, ma’am.’

  Kate returned to the pile of information provided by Scott. ‘So what else do we have?’

  For the next twenty minutes they hunted for clues but found nothing they understood, so leaving the others still searching, Jon went to find the officer in charge.

  ‘Have the house cellars been checked yet, Sergeant?’

  ‘Yes, Sergeant Summerhill. But nothing unusual.’

  Jon thanked him and returned to the team. He had not expected the original cellars to throw up anything. What they were looking for would be much better concealed. He saw again his ‘mind pictures’ of sinister brick tunnels, and heard, just for a moment a sweet voice singing.

  With a shiver, he hurried back into the foyer, and saw the dark figure of Micah watching the team from his tiny porter’s room. In particular he seemed to be concentrating on Kate. And the look on his face was one of pure hatred.

  Jon stopped, halfway across the hall, turned back and deliberately stared at him. Slowly Micah Lee’s eyes left Kate, and turned their attention to him. Jon swallowed hard. It took some considerable resolve to hold his gaze steadily on such intense loathing, and finally, thank God, the man looked away.

  Jon hurried over to rejoin the team, and as he did, Kate’s phone rang. She spoke for a while, scribbled a few notes in her pocket book, then closed her phone and turned to them.

  ‘The Uni have sent one of their students out. Apparently this kid is shit-hot, been on digs all over the world. He’s doing a paper on the use of various non-invasive technologies in archaeology, whatever that means.’ She glanced down at her notes. ‘His name is Ted Watchman, and he’s on his way.’

  ‘And the heat seeking camera?’ asked Jon hopefully.

  ‘The Fire Chief is trying to locate one.’ Kate pulled a face. ‘They share one with several stations but there’s not one on base at present. Same old story, no bloody money for anything these days. He said he’ll ring me when he finds one.’

  The boss stretched, then looked at Jon and Rosie steadily. ‘Now, listen to this. I’ve saved the best until last. Scott contacted Stefan the interpreter and there is just one possible missing woman. Her name is Aija, Aija Ozolini. She’s not Polish, she’s Latvian, and she definitely uses a different name when she’s around English-speaking people. He’s still trying to find out what that is for us.’

  This could be her! Emily! Jon’s heart pounded. ‘Has she been missing long?’

  ‘Clive says she’s not been officially reported missing, but there is definite concern for her safety amongst her community. He reckons the time scale fits like a glove.’

  Jon felt a swell of hope course through him.

  ‘Okay, it’s not concrete,’ added Kate cautiously, ‘But what we do know ties in perfectly.’

  The initial excitement at the news quickly dissolved, and Jon was suddenly enveloped by an overwhelming sensation of both exhilaration and chest crushing anxiety. He looked across at Kate, and knew that she was feeling it too.

  They would not be looking anywhere else for Emily.

  She was here. Now all they had to do was find her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  The area behind the storehouses was flat concrete and scrubby tired grass, surrounded by wind-blasted shrubs, brambles and weeds. Even the old barn and the stores seemed lacking in character compared with the house, which although decrepit, still oozed aging architectural charm and shabby Gothic Victorian excess.

  They had checked the whole place, as far as possible, and now all they could do was wait for their expert to arrive.

  Jon sat on a low stone wall, a little way away from the others, and stared unblinking out across the wetlands. He found it hard to believe how different the place felt from when he was there as a young copper. There had always been spirits. It was a very old property; death had visited regularly over the years. And it had also been a hospital, and people died in hospitals. Jon had seen souls back then, and they were still there, but there was another feeling, like something dark and unwholesome draping itself over the old building and all the land around it.

  A V-shaped formation of greylags flew across the marsh, curving effortlessly round and neatly landing on a lime-green patch of sedge close to the water. Their cackling honking calls sounded harsh and tuneless, and they made Jon think about the pure clear voice he had heard singing at the spot where Jamie Durham died. And he heard vestiges of it every time he thought about the tunnel
s

  Jon felt the weight of his secret burden. He knew that he would have to tell the boss that he’d been back to the old boathouse, and that Jamie’s last words might not have the ramblings of dying brain tissue. But he didn’t want to cloud the issue. He’d tell her when other things came to light; things that would give his vision some credence.

  A hand rested gently on his shoulder, and for a moment he hoped that it would stay there. ‘This place gives me the creeps.’ said Rosie softly.

  ‘Me too,’ added Gary. He sat down beside Jon on the wall and stared at the dust that clung to his polished black boots. ‘My sister hated this stretch of the marshes.’

  Kate ambled over. ‘Did you come here a lot?’

  ‘Only when we were bringing one of the animals to see the vet.’ He pointed across to the other side of the Roman Bank to a small farmhouse nestling in a clump of trees. ‘Our vet lived over there. Used to use his front room as a consulting room. Still lives there, I believe, although he has a modern surgery now in Harlan Marsh town. Nice bloke, great with our dogs. Even so, Anne hated coming out here.’

  Rosie tilted her head. ‘Why?’

  Gary smiled rather sadly and took out his warrant card holder. From the back, he removed a small colour photo. ‘My sister, Anne.’ He offered it around.

  The family likeness was indisputable, and Jon was forced to hide a smile. The woman was certainly no stranger to him. In fact, it was rare to see Gary without his grey-haired sibling close by.

  ‘From a little kid, she would do anything rather than go across Hobs End Marsh.’ Gary pointed to the area immediately in front of them. ‘That stretch over there. Years ago it was called Chapel Marsh, but it changed sometime around the war. It has always had an eerie reputation, and most of the old locals refuse go out there.’

  Kate gave a little sigh, and Jon knew that for all her understanding about the spirit world, she had no time for superstition.

  ‘So what superstitious crap keeps them away?’ she asked. ‘This part of the coast is one of the richest areas for collecting samphire, it should be a little gold-mine; so what is it they are scared of? Jack O’Lantern’s, or boggarts, the green mist, or perhaps it’s the Black Dog?’