by Joy Ellis
‘Stephen Cox. He’s still here in town, even though he’s been warned off, and he’s mentioned you by name,’ Joseph stated.
‘Ah, little Mickey has been padding the backstreets looking for titbits, has he?’
Joseph nodded. ‘And he’s discovered that Cox is in hiding, and he’s loaded.’
‘Ah.’ Nikki stopped pacing and stared down at the floor. ‘Then he really is still in the frame, isn’t he?’ She looked up, exhaled, then said, ‘But who else? We can’t afford to put all our eggs in one basket, and let’s not forget Snipe’s initial request at the start of all this.’
‘Compensation,’ said Yvonne gravely. ‘I’ve been wondering about that, and apart from the obvious, Stephen Cox, we really need to look further into the lives of your three original possibilities, William French, Jeremy Bow and Windsor Morton. If you check their reactions at the time of their respective ‘injustices,’ they were all way over the top. And I’d kick off with William French. He was incandescent over his father’s murder whilst on the witness programme.’
‘But he’s dead. That was confirmed without a doubt,’ said Dave. ‘Why start with him?’
Yvonne blinked a few times. ‘Because it was a dramatically sad case, his dying on his father’s grave in the depths of winter. Lord, it’s positively Dickensian!’
Nikki gave a tight smile. ‘I see where you’re going, Yvonne. Was someone close to him badly affected by his death?’ She nodded. ‘We need to know about his family and if one of them, or maybe more than one, blamed us for his demise.’
‘And Windsor Morton only lives in the Yorkshire Moors. That’s not far away. At the time his rage knew no bounds. Maybe he has been spending the long lonely nights plotting cold-blooded revenge?’ added Joseph.
‘And even though I’ve just spoken to Jeremy Bow, I can’t remove him from the frame. He may have stopped active heckling, but he’s severely damaged by what happened to his boy.’ Nikki nibbled on a thumbnail. ‘So, we need to get into these guys’ lives and shake things around a bit. We’ll do it in pairs. I want no one going it alone, it’s too dangerous. We’ll have Niall back by the morning, and since our Cat is so bloody good at searching on the underground Internet, she can lend a hand as well.’
‘Oh yes, she’d like that. She’ll feel she’s not being left out of the investigation. And thinking about computers, could Stuart and Travis help as well?’ suggested Joseph. ‘If Cat is going off-piste, then they can pitch in using the official channels.’
‘Why not? Jim Hunter has just given me the all-clear on their company’s security status and they both checked out. We’ll sort them out some specific enquiries to run with, and see what they come up with. But to begin with, Dave can work with me, and Joseph, you work with Yvonne.’ She looked at the other woman. ‘And as you have a gut feeling about French, you guys start with him. Go see those relatives — and dig deep, okay?’ She looked at Dave. ‘Fancy a flying visit to the Moors? We can be there in two-and-a-half hours, so plenty of daylight left. We’ll see what we can drag out of that lovable recluse, Windsor Morton.’
Dave nodded enthusiastically. ‘Now I can breathe again after my recent financial scare; that would be fine.’
Nikki felt immediately better that she was about to be doing something concrete. ‘Is Cat’s mobile phone operational?’
‘Signal varies,’ said Joseph, ‘but you can email her. At present she’s permanently plugged in to either her precious iPad or her laptop.’
‘Right, I’ll fill her in on my chat with Bow then give her some homework to do regarding his background and recent activities. Then when we have a better idea of what kind of searches we need to be doing, we’ll rope in IT and the PNC.’
As the others left, she saw Stuart Broad approaching her office. ‘Could I have a word, please, ma’am?’ As usual, his long hair was caught back in a smooth mini ponytail and he was wearing his signature UCLA sweatshirt. What was unusual about him was the troubled expression.
‘Actually you are just the man I want to see. We have some extra work for you and Travis, if you are not too stretched?’
Stuart nodded. ‘No problem. Now the Hellekamp enquiry is being tied up, we’ll have more time.’ He shuffled from one foot to the other. ‘Um, well, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.’
‘Close the door, Stuart.’ She pointed to a chair. ‘Sit. Tell me what’s wrong.’
‘Nothing’s actually wrong, Inspector Galena, but do you recall the security boffin in charge of the Waterside Quay apartments? His name is Alan Brady.’
Nikki saw in her head the man’s tight lips and fraught expression. ‘Yes, I remember him. He was the headless chicken. He asked if he could grill you and Travis with regard to the glitches.’
‘And he did. And we gave him a couple of hours of our expertise, but he wants more and neither of us is happy about that.’ Stuart rubbed his hands together nervously. ‘Thing is, ma’am, their system is flawed. Not just the couple of anomalies that we identified, they have major problems and they want us to help sort them.’
‘And you don’t feel comfortable taking that on?’
‘Our company has us contracted to you, first and foremost. If the security company’s system needed an overhaul, it would have to be other staff, not us, and Brady specifically wants us. He’s offered us a very substantial amount of money to take it on privately.’
‘Has he indeed?’ Nikki frowned. ‘Not that I’m belittling your skills, Stuart, but surely all your colleagues are competent enough to tackle the task?’
‘Most of them. Although without bragging, Travis and I are probably top of the league, and I’m sure that’s because of the nature of the work we do for the police.’
‘Do you want me to tell him to back off?’
‘No, ma’am, I can do that, but we wanted you to know the situation first-hand.’
‘Thanks for that. I appreciate it. And I appreciate your loyalty.’ Nikki had always rather liked the two amiable, if somewhat oddball eggheads, and now they had risen even higher on her merit board. The offer of cash in hand can be very tempting, although with these two guys, it would most likely have been the kudos of finding the ghost in the machine that would have floated their boat, not mega amounts of money.
Stuart stood up and nodded his thanks. ‘Just send us anything you want us to work on for you, Inspector. We’ll be waiting.’
* * *
Joseph replaced the phone. The French family would see them in an hour’s time, but as he had not been in the area when William French’s father had died, the intricacies of the case were not known to him. He logged onto to his computer and waited. The one thing that he did know, and so did every other officer in the Fenland Constabulary, was that there had been one glorious cock-up over the security surrounding the witness protection programme. It had failed James French miserably. His place of safety had become a trap, and when two balaclava-clad gunmen broke in and opened fire, it was one he didn’t make it out of.
Joseph leaned forward in his seat and brought up all of the relevant background material that was available. It was the son, William, that interested him most. His grief had to have been truly something to send him off the rails in the manner that it had. Joseph skimmed the reports. It seemed that when his violent anger and fury at the police had diluted down to a seething mass of depression, William had taken to drink and any other mind-numbing substance he could get his hands on. It was no surprise that he died in the manner that he did. It was the location and the temperature that turned his passing into a Victorian melodrama.
Joseph stared at a forensic photograph of the frozen body curled up in a foetal position on the cold stone of his father’s grave, and instantly thought of Little Nell.
A tiny shiver darted across from shoulder blade to shoulder blade and Joseph decided that Yvonne was very likely right to start with this case. It certainly had enough horrors attached to it to unhinge a sensitive mind. Was there someone out there who blamed them for both
deaths? Not just James’s murder, but William’s untimely passing as well? It was possible.
He beckoned to Yvonne, and explained his thoughts to her.
Yvonne smiled grimly. ‘I’ve been thinking exactly the same thing. We need to check out those who mourned William more than those who were close to the father, James. Up until now it would have been easy to disregard the French case, because the main instigator of all the anti-police threats had himself died, but it could have been his death that sparked off Snipe to plan his vendetta. I checked who found him that night, but it was an anonymous call.’ She shrugged then glanced at the wall clock. ‘At least we know what questions to ask of the remaining members of the French family.’ She pulled a face. ‘Not that I’m expecting this interview to be easy.’
Joseph grimaced in return. ‘Frankly I expect a total disaster, but we can only do our best and hope that someone gives us something to work on.’ He paused. ‘As Snipe is not exactly playing fair, we could do with a bit of luck falling our way.’
‘Right, but I wouldn’t count on it, Sarge.’
* * *
As Nikki and Dave drove over the Humber Bridge and on towards the Yorkshire Moors, she began to feel uneasy. There was no way of knowing if they would even get to see Morton, let alone talk to him. She had notified the local police that she was intending to see the man, but their response had been less than encouraging.
‘They reckon he’s more likely to chuck bricks at us than to let us in. Apparently no one has set foot across his threshold since the day he arrived. Any dealings that the local lads have had with him have been conducted from the far side of a high gate.’
‘I know,’ said Dave. ‘Let’s just hope that he’ll respond to you better than some of the tooled-up uniforms that have been sent out to him in the past.’
‘They have offered to escort us to his cottage. It’s not easy to find. No signposts, no numbered roads, and satnav doesn’t recognise it.’
‘So his little moorland “Dunromin” isn’t quite the idyllic, roses-round-the-door kind of cottage?’
‘The locals call it Alcatraz, if that helps.’
Dave threw her a half-smile. ‘Lovely. Can’t wait to see it. Do you think he does holiday lets?’
And an hour and a half later, they did see it.
‘Scrub what I said about the holiday cottage.’
‘Bloody hell!’ Nikki swallowed. ‘I expected something somewhat uninviting, but this is more like a fortified compound than a home. Is he totally off his rocker?’
The uniformed constable that was their guide gave a humourless laugh. ‘When we said he’s a recluse, we meant it, ma’am.’ The man shifted from foot to foot as they surveyed Morton’s “cottage.” ‘And there’s a book open on the fact that you won’t even make it to the front door — if there is one. I haven’t got past the seven-foot-high gate yet.’
Nikki looked around her. The wild moors stretched out for miles all around them. Thick carpets of heather and huge clusters of lush green bracken covered the ground, and small rivulets of water trickled and flowed down the steep rocky slopes. It was breathtakingly beautiful, and a complete contrast to the ugly, bastardised cottage that belonged to Windsor Morton.
Dave shook his head. ‘I saw something like this on an American documentary once. It was a homestead that had been turned into an impregnable stockade to protect a cult that lived inside.’
Nikki suddenly wished they’d stayed in Greenborough. If Morton did not want to communicate, they’d never get to see him. Not in a month of Sundays. They would need a wrecking ball to get through the outer perimeter fence alone. With a grunt she leaned back into her car, turned on the ignition, pressed her hand firmly on the horn, and kept it there.
The harsh sound echoed through the valley, disturbing a clutch of black pheasants and sending them clattering into the air. Nikki let her hand drop, then called out the man’s name several times.
‘That’s odd.’
She turned and looked at the local officer. ‘What’s odd?’
‘No dogs barking.’ The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘Last time I was here they scared the life out of me. The Hound of the Baskervilles had nothing on that lot.’
‘How many dogs does he have?’
‘I don’t know for sure, but I’d guess at three or four and they sounded big too.’
Nikki strode towards the thick wood-panelled gate and hammered on it with a clenched fist.
When no answer came and the valley fell quiet again, she looked at Dave. ‘Something’s not right here.’ She walked a little way along the perimeter until she came to a thick post with wire fencing attached and, checking its strength, began to pull herself up.
‘Wouldn’t do that, ma’am!’ the constable called out in concern. ‘Those dogs are vicious, and if he’s got them holed up in the house and lets them go, you’ll be in big trouble.’
Nikki continued to climb. At the top she felt the breeze ruffle her hair and looking around she saw that she had an uninterrupted view of Morton’s cottage. It still wasn’t pretty. Balanced carefully against the sturdy post, she looked hard at the forlorn and loveless place. The original building was old, made of thick stone, and probably built some two hundred years ago, but it was the jerry-built additions that made it such an eyesore. There were shutters at the windows, a metal cover to the front door and a big handful of ramshackle outbuildings. A haphazard conglomeration of sheds, containers and dog-kennels looked as if they had been dropped into the yard and left where they fell. Not one single flower bloomed anywhere. ‘Home sweet home,’ she murmured.
‘Anything?’ Dave called up to her.
‘It looks deserted.’ She gazed around. ‘Even the dog mess on the concrete looks old.’ The place had that odd air of being uninhabited. It was a bit like when you looked at a dead body. It just felt empty, a shell, and you knew that all life had gone. ‘I’m willing to bet he’s not here, but where are the—’ She stopped mid-sentence. ‘Oh shit.’ She gritted her teeth.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Dave anxiously.
Nikki didn’t answer immediately. What she had seen had made her feel nauseous. Nauseous and bitterly angry.
One of the kennels had no door, and inside she could just make out a huddle of dark shapes, and without confirmation she just knew that the animals were not drugged or sleeping. Nikki drew in a breath and began her climb down. She jumped the last two feet. ‘We’re going in. Get the enforcer from my boot, Dave. We are going to need it on that bloody gate.’
‘I’d really advise caution, ma’am, and we have no warrant.’ Their guide’s voice was full of anxiety.
‘Your concerns are noted, officer, but I believe that someone inside is in mortal danger, so that negates the warrant. Now, get the enforcer, Dave. I need to see inside that building.’
The gate did not give up easily, but finally, between the two men the padlock area splintered and then the wood shattered. Nikki gathered herself, but anger at what she had seen over the fence made her aggressively kick the gate wide open and stride into the yard.
Dave was right beside her and the other policeman, baton drawn, brought up the rear. Suddenly she felt a hand on her arm.
‘Wait, ma’am. Don’t go any further.’ Dave was tensed up, and looking around almost furtively. ‘The sarge told me a few things about when he was in special ops, and this place is giving me the willies.’ He pointed to a single, almost invisible thin wire that seemed to circumnavigate the cottage. It was carefully threaded through short pegs with loops at the top and was only some six inches from the ground. ‘If it had been dark, we would never have seen it.’ His hand was still on her arm, holding her back. ‘I could be wrong, but I think he’s set traps. This is potentially a very dangerous situation.’
‘It wouldn’t surprise me,’ the constable’s voice had a slight tremor, ‘considering his mental state. He’s no recluse, ma’am. He’s a raving nutter.’
Nikki thought about what was lying in the dog kennel and was fo
rced to agree. ‘I need to know if he’s in that house, and if he’s still alive. I’m certain he’s killed his guard dogs. But has he also topped himself?’
‘I’ll radio for back-up, ma’am.’
There was nothing Nikki could do but agree. It was not her patch, not even her county. With no one to call on she had little choice. The local man spoke hastily into his radio, then turned back to her. ‘Twenty minutes, ma’am, and in the meantime, just in case this cottage is rigged, my boss has suggested that we wait back at the cars.’
It seemed to Nikki to be the longest twenty minutes of her life. Even the beautiful surroundings of the North Yorkshire Moors did nothing to ease her growing dread at what they were going to find.
Finally a team of officers arrived with a couple of specialist men in thick protective flak jackets and helmets. She watched helplessly as they painstakingly traced the wires and tested every entry and exit to the miserable place. It took a further forty-five minutes before it was safe to go in.
‘So you were right, Davey-boy.’ Nikki stared at him thoughtfully. ‘And I was so heated about what he’d done to his animals that I’d have stalked straight in. I have to thank you for saving my life.’ In truth, she would have been spread halfway across the county if she’d marched in blind. Morton had set up every kind of booby-trap known to man. Nothing professional, just nasty schoolboy surprises, but all souped-up enough to be lethal. Then he’d added a few homemade incendiaries for good measure.
‘Thank the sarge, guv. He’s the one who put me wise on things to look out for.’