by Joy Ellis
Cade had absolutely no right to do that. Not without her say-so. There was now a positive connection between the under-age drinking club, the abduction of the girls, and a long-term killer, so what the hell was Cade up to?
‘Curious-er and curious-er.’ breathed Jon softly, swinging his car keys on his finger.
‘The bastard,’ she whispered. ‘Hang on here, Jon. I’m going to see the Super.
Kate stormed into Megan Edward’s office and blurted out the news about Cade taking the CCTV footage.
‘I know.’ said the superintendent quietly. ‘And I also think you should calm down, Kate, because he’s quite right, they’ve been after this gang for months. They have a much better chance than you at identifying them.’ She indicated towards a chair, but Kate ignored her and continued to pace the floor.
‘There are the correct channels and there is common decency, ma’am. And he’s used neither.’
‘Chief Superintendent Cade is only helping you out. He said himself, you were good enough to pitch in and find his friend’s daughter, something he’s very pleased about by the way; so now that you are so busy, he’s returning the favour.’ The super’s eyes narrowed. ‘Now I suggest you accept it as such. You have plenty on your plate right now with twelve young bodies to find identities for, and maybe a killer loose in the Fens.’
‘Don’t remind me.’ Kate flopped into the chair and was wondering if maybe her dislike for the man may have coloured her judgement, when the superintendent’s phone blared out. Megan spoke solemnly for several minutes, then passed the handset across the desk to Kate.
‘I’m sorry, DCI Reynard, Aija Ozolini died a few minutes ago. The officer at the hospital would like to talk to you.’
Kate took the phone but she could have cried. Poor Emily. After all she’d suffered, to be found and rescued, and then to die anyway. She gritted her teeth in an effort to stop either tears, or a string of swear words, she wasn’t sure which. Because of her job she knew that life was not always fair, but sometimes, well, to quote her kids, sometimes it really sucked. ‘DCI Reynard here.’
‘Ma’am, I wanted you to know that Emily did regain consciousness, just for a brief time, but the doctor said that the drugs had done irreparable damage. She had a massive heart attack, and there was no bringing her back.’
‘Did she say anything about her captor, officer?’
‘She was speaking in her native tongue, ma’am, but Stefan the interpreter was with us, and he said that she was fretting about her family mostly, but she did say something about someone singing to her, and then she got really panicked and started screaming something about eyes. I wrote down exactly what Stefan said, ma’am. Translated, it was, “Dead eyes! Oh my God! Get away from me! Please! Don’t look at me!” She didn’t say anything else. Stefan did his best to get some sort of description from her, and it was not long after that she arrested.’
Kate thanked the constable and passed the phone back to her boss. Her sadness was already giving way to ice-cold anger. ‘I have to go. I need to tell the troops, even if it’s not the news that they want to hear.’
‘Well, remember, Kate, you already have two suspects in custody, and one under supervision at the hospital. It’s a better start than we normally get.’
‘And my only eye witness has just died, and should our suspects be innocent, then there is a mad man out there somewhere.’ Kate stood up. ‘A mad man who kills young girls.’
CHAPTER THIRTY
Kate explained to everyone about Emily’s death. Their reaction told her just how much they had pinned on the girl to help them track the murderer.
‘What’s your gut-feeling about the two suspects that we have in custody, Guv?’ asked Scott.
‘None as yet. We’ve only spoken to Broome so far. And if Micah Lee has psychological difficulties, it would be very easy to assume that it’s him. He’ll need very careful handling.’
‘I’m afraid we won’t be talking to him just yet, ma’am.’ added Jon. ‘I’ve had a message from Harlan Marsh. The FMO has seen him and said that he’s not fit to interview, either with or without a responsible adult. They are going to let us know when we can see him.’
Kate swore. Today was turning into nightmare. ‘Then there’s nothing we can do about that, but we can talk to this farmer who Lee lodges with. Tanner, I think his name is.’
‘And maybe I could help uniform out at Roman Creek?’ asked Rosie. ‘They are pretty stretched, and there are more properties out there than I thought.’
‘Good idea. Right, so this is how it is so far. Ted Watchman has already gone over to Windrush to check out the possibility of a sealed entrance to the underground room. The crime scene isn’t released to us yet. Micah Lee is unfit to interview, and our CCTV footage on the drinking club has bee hijacked. Not a great start, but we’ve plenty to get on with.’ She looked at the team. ‘I suggest that Jon goes with you, Rosie, to pitch in with the house to house, and Jon? Considering the area that you are going to; use the trip to try and spot that arch, okay?’
Jon nodded gratefully at Kate, then smiled at Rosie’s perplexed expression. ‘Don’t worry, Flower, I’ll explain en-route.’
‘Scott? I’d like you to go to Broome’s town residence. Take a couple of uniforms and see what you can found out about the man. Don’t ransack the place, but take a careful look around.’ The memory of all those pretty flowers in vases on the dead girl’s lockers came to her. ‘And don’t forget to check the annexe where Elizabeth Sewell lives. Oh, and while you’re there, find out who the gardener is.’
Kate turned to Gary. ‘You come with me. ‘We’ll pay a visit to Mr Lee’s lodgings and see what Mr Tanner thinks about him.’
As Kate drove out of the town, Gary seemed quieter than normal.
‘Is it Emily?’ asked Kate. ‘I know we were all hoping that she would point us to the killer.’
The man shook his head. ‘That’s true, but no, something else is bothering me.’ He screwed his face up as if wondering how to tell her, then he spoke in a rush. ‘Thing is, I was really concerned about Chief Superintendent Cade taking those CCTV tapes, ma’am, so I had a word with a mate of mine at Harlan Marsh.’ He turned to her. ‘He’s straight as a die, and I know he won’t mention this.’
Kate slipped the car into fifth and listened.
‘Apparently, as soon as he heard that you were up to your neck in bodies out at Roman Creek, Cade hared over to Saltfleet like a greyhound out of trap. He asked the Super how your enquiries regarding the drinking club were going; and the rest is history.’
‘And what do you make of that?’ asked Kate, already forming her own opinion.
‘That he knows someone involved in this illegal club and wants to protect them.’
‘Another of his close-knit buddies up his arm-pits in the brown and sticky stuff?’
‘Probably, Guv.’ Gary nibbled on his bottom lip. ‘I’d put nothing past that man. And looking back, our hunt for the club has been dogged by bad luck from the day we started. For some while I’ve been thinking that someone was tipping them off.’ His face was set. ‘To be honest, ma’am, I’ve seen evidence disappear, witnesses suddenly drop charges, and all manner of dodgy goings on in my time at that station.’
Kate swung the car off the main road and onto a long straight drove. She stared out across miles of fallow fields, then said. ‘Would your mate make a few more discreet enquiries for you?’
Gary nodded. ‘He owes me one. I’ll call in the debt, although if he thought he was doing anything to upset Cade’s applecart, he’d do it for love.’
‘Then ask him to keep an eye on Cade’s ‘helpful investigation’ regarding the club.’
Gary pulled out his phone, punched in a number and spoke for a few minutes. ‘Sorted.’ He smiled grimly, tucking his phone back into his pocket. ‘He’s a good lad. He’ll ring me when he knows something.’
For a while they both silently took in the sunshine glinting on the silver-grey waters of the wide drain
that ran along side the farm drove. ‘This is a beautiful county,’ said Gary quietly. ‘It’s the evil things that people do that is so disgusting.’
The house where Lee lived was a typical fenland farmhouse, with chimney stacks at either end of the steep slate roof. With its central porch and front door, and bay windows either side, it looked to Kate like a typical child’s drawing of a house.
The barns that were set around it all seemed neat and tidy, and oddly silent.
No-one answered the door, and Kate was just beginning to think that they had another wasted journey, when a tall, muscular man, wearing dusty jeans and a shabby wax half jacket, appeared from one of the larger stores.
Gary waved, and the man strode over to them.
‘We’re looking for Mr Tanner.’ Gary showed his ID. ‘I’m PC Pritchard and this is DCI Reynard.’ Kate offered her warrant card and waited as the man glanced briefly at them.
‘I’m Bill Hickey, the farm manager. I’m sorry, but Mr Tanner is away for a couple of days. Is this about Micah?’
Kate nodded. ‘You know him obviously?’
‘Yes, I’ve been looking after the farm here for five years now, and Micah was here before I came.’ He gave them an almost apologetic look. ‘Funny bloke, not too much up top, but he’s solid and a damned hard worker too. He helps us with the potato grading after they’ve been harvested. Never complains, just gets on with it.’
‘Is he a close friend of Mr Tanner, or just a lodger?’ asked Gary.
‘Guess they are friends of sorts, although not particularly close. They are both bachelors, and quite private men, so I suppose the situation suits them. Micah has his own sitting room and bedroom and shares the farmhouse kitchen.’ Hickey plunged his hands deep into his pockets. ‘Your guys came out here last night, they looked in his rooms, but they wouldn’t say what had happened.’
‘Sorry, sir, but we can’t either, not yet.’ Kate looked at the manager with interest. ‘Where is Mr Tanner?’
‘He’s in Germany, visiting one of the big agricultural machinery manufacturers.’
‘When did he go?’
‘Night before last. He’ll be back tomorrow.’ Hickey looked worried. ‘Is Micah all right? I mean, he hasn’t had an accident, has he?’
‘He’s safe, sir,’ said Gary.
‘But he’s in trouble.’ The man frowned. ‘That man’s temper is awesome. I’d not be surprised if he’s given someone a good thrashing.’
Kate shook her head. ‘He’s helping us with our enquiries, Mr Hickey, but he hasn’t been in a fight. Do you have a key for the house? We’d like to see Mr Lee’s rooms.’
Hickey nodded and took out a large bunch of keys from his jacket pocket. ‘I’m not sure Mr Tanner would like this, but I guess it won’t hurt. Mind if I come with you?’
‘Lead the way.’
The house was something of a time warp; but it was clean, plain and basic. No ornaments, no house-plants, no photos, no plasma screen, no computer. No life, thought Kate.
And surprisingly, Micah’s space was the same. Neat and tidy. Everything that was there was utilitarian, with no treasures or trinkets of any kind. She threw a hopeless glance at Gary. ‘I don’t think it’ll make the cover of House Beautiful, do you?’
Gary agreed. ‘And it doesn’t tell us much about him as a person.’ He turned to Hickey. ‘What kind of man is Micah Lee? Where is he from?’
The farm manager puffed out his cheeks. ‘I don’t think I’m the one to ask, constable. He does have his problems, but I don’t know what caused them. He keeps himself to himself, although I seem to recall that he said he’d lived in Derbyshire when he was younger, somewhere near that plague village in the centre of the Peak District. Eyam, I think it’s called.’
‘How about friends?’
‘He doesn’t have any that I know of, and to be honest, he has been spending such a lot of time on that job of his out at Roman Creek, that I don’t really see much of him.’
Kate shrugged and took one last look at the bare walls. ‘I’ve seen enough. Thank you, Mr Hickey.’
‘You really should speak to Toby Tanner about Micah, detective. I’m sure he knows him better than anyone. I’ll get him to call you as soon as he’s back.’
They thanked the man and as they got back into the car, Kate muttered, ‘I hope Jon and Rosie are doing better than we are. What an odd place. No comfort at all.’
Gary agreed. ‘But I suppose that can happen when there is no woman and no love in a home.’
Kate hadn’t considered that point of view, but still thought the place was unbelievably strange.
Rosie and Jon’s morning had been considerably more successful. They had met an old couple whose parents had worked at Windrush when it billeted soldiers in the last World War. They had supplied a wealth of trivia about the place, and some pretty good tea and biscuits. The husband, Ernie, who under normal circumstances, Rosie would have considered to be a boring old fart, was also well versed in local folklore, and admitted in a hushed voice, that he had heard a strange and eerie voice singing mournfully in the twilight, whilst walking their two dogs along the sea bank path.
Their second call was also quite informative. The cottage owner, a short, stocky, heavily-bearded man called Ralph Jenkins, was the local RSPB representative, and was a man who spent a lot of time out on the marsh cataloguing waders, waterfowl and migrant visitors. He admitted having seen someone out in all weathers on the marsh at night. ‘The fool! I’m a Yellow belly, born and bred, detectives, and I know better.’ He had said with disgust.
Their last call was to Gary’s vet’s house. And although they had decided that it would be more sensible to call at his practice in the town, it turned out that they had chosen his one day off.
‘Come on in. Want a cuppa?’
They refused, but Philip Graves, dressed in old corduroy chinos and a check shirt, led them into a welcoming and cosy sitting room. Nearly every chair and seat held some sort of animal, and not one of them seemed put out or disturbed by the entrance of strangers. Jon counted six dogs of varying breeds and at least three sleeping cats.
‘Ah, standing room only, by the look of it.’ He smiled, then addressed two Jack Russells. ‘Come on lads! Jacko! Willoughby! Shift yourselves! Give the lady a seat!’
Rosie sat, and was immediately leapt on by the terrier called Willoughby.
‘Oh dear, I do hope you like dogs, Miss?’
‘Love ‘em,’ said Rosie tickling the little animal’s ears.
Jon turfed a fat fluffy cat from a small armchair, sat down and explained their visit.
‘Has something serious happened out at Windrush?’ asked Graves.
‘Yes, sir, although we are not at liberty to give any details, I’m afraid.’
‘Has that big guy who is working there had accident?’ Grave’s face grew serious. ‘I’ve seen him out there all hours, and alone sometimes, damned dangerous.’
‘No, he’s okay, Mr Graves.’ said Rosie, ‘But we have to ask, have you seen anyone other than Mr Lee, he’s the big guy you mentioned, out at Windrush, or on the marsh close by?’
Philip Graves shrugged. ‘Well, I don’t think I’ve ever actually met the owner, but other than seeing Mr Lee, there’s my neighbour Jenkins, our bird man, he’s always out there on the marsh paths. And Ernie Coulter walks his dogs along the sea bank pretty regular-like, and you get the odd rambler.’ He wrinkled his brow thoughtfully. ‘Come to think of it, I saw someone a week or two ago, in the evening time, way out in the bleakest part of the marsh itself. And believe me; that is not a sensible thing to do, unless you know the tides and the weather really well.’
‘So it must have been a local?’ asked Jon.
‘I’d hope so. It’s a dangerous spot for an in-comer. This is a very small community, detective, and it was no one I recognised.’
‘Do you live here alone, Mr Graves?’ asked Rosie.
‘Apart from this lot.’ He pointed to his pets. ‘I started with one dog,
an old lurcher called Jim, and one cat, a great little mouser called Phoebe. Somehow the others have gradually found their way to me over the years, and look at us now.’
‘Have you ever heard singing, Sir? Out on the marsh?’ Jon asked, although not expecting much by way of an answer.
Graves however, stopped smiling, and Jon saw a strange look cross the man’s face.
‘Didn’t think you’d be interested in superstitious stuff, officers?’
‘It may not be superstition, sir. If you’ve ever heard anything, there may be a very valid reason for it.’
‘I’ve heard nothing, other than old wives tales.’ He said shortly. ‘But I’d be interested to know what you mean?’
‘We’ll be glad to explain, sir, but not just yet, I’m afraid.’ Jon stood up. ‘Thank you for your time.’ He handed Philip Graves his card. ‘If you think of anything else about either the old house, or the marsh, give me a ring.’
As they left the room, Jon said, ‘A colleague of ours wished to be remembered to you, sir. PC Gary Pritchard?’
‘Gary! Of course! He and his lovely sister used to come here with their dogs before I took on the practice in the town. Really nice man, Gary; salt of the earth, and loved his dogs to distraction. Give him my best, won’t you?’ He glanced at Rosie, who still had Willoughby comfortably tucked into her arms. ‘And speaking of which, I’m afraid the dog has to stay here, DC McElderry. But if you are desperate for canine company, my surgery has a small rescue centre attached. It’s run by volunteers and a few of my vet nurses, so come and see us if you can give a dog or a cat a good home.’
‘One day, Mr Graves. But not working the hours I do. It wouldn’t be fair.’ Rosie placed the little dog on the ground with a regretful sigh. ‘Bye, Wills. See you.’
‘So what’s all this about rose arches?’ asked Rosie as they climbed back in car.
Jon described exactly what the dead girl had shown him. ‘And I’ve seen it very recently, so it has to be somewhere around here.’