Beneath the Ashes

by Jane Isaac

  “Suits you.” She beamed back at him. “Want some dinner?”

  “Thought we’d order a takeaway.”

  Jackman’s heart warmed as he leant up against the side and listened to his daughter chatter on about their journey up from Southampton while Adrian sat behind her, barely saying a word. It was good to have Celia back in the house again, her energy was both infectious and intoxicating. Nobody noticed Erik wander in from the garden leaving muddy paw prints all over the floor until…

  “Ow!”

  All eyes shot to Adrian who pushed Erik off his foot and frowned at the dirty paw print left behind on his pale blue shoes.

  “Oh no, he’s been digging again.” Celia’s tone was filled with exasperation. She grabbed an old towel from beside the back door and proceeded to wipe the dog’s feet in turn.

  “We don’t tend to wear light-coloured footwear,” Jackman said to Adrian. “There’s a cloth underneath the sink. I’ll leave you guys to order the food.” He wandered out of the room, cuffing Erik’s neck as he did so. “Come and sit with me in the lounge. You can’t do much damage there.”

  ***

  Jackman was scraping the last of the rice out of the carton when his phone rang. He jumped up, excused himself and moved out into the hallway to answer.

  “Where are you, sir?” Davies didn’t bother to introduce herself.

  “At home. Dropped in to see Celia. Why?”

  “We’ve finally had word from the Lawtons. They’re in Perth.”

  Jackman felt a stir of excitement. “Great. Get in touch with the local police station and see if we can arrange an interview.” His watch read 9.35pm as he ended the call and he couldn’t help but wonder what time it was in Perth.

  Celia and Adrian had moved from the kitchen into the lounge and were now curled up together on the sofa. “I have to go out again, I’m afraid,” Jackman said. He held up his phone. “Work.”

  “That’s a shame,” Celia said. “Thought we might watch a film or something.”

  “Sorry, love.”

  “Oh well, there’s always tomorrow.” She stretched her arm out, grabbed his wrist. He felt an urge to lean down, kiss her forehead as usual, but her close proximity to Adrian would have made that feel odd. Instead he gave her a wink. “Nice to meet you,” he said to Adrian. “I’ll maybe see you later if you’re still up.”

  ***

  Jackman stared at the bronzed faces that filled the computer screen. Ronnie Lawton had a long face with pointed features and a road map of red-veined cheeks. Seated next to him, Janine was a plump woman with smooth skin that gave the appearance of someone much younger than her fifty-three years, in spite of her red-rimmed eyes.

  “Thank you for getting in touch and for speaking to us today,” Jackman said. “I realise you’ve had some bad news.”

  Ronnie nodded his thanks, “We’re a bit shocked.” He gave his wife a sideways glance. “Janine hasn’t stopped crying since we heard.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  “What happened?”

  “The fire service were called to Lowlands Barn in the early hours of Sunday morning. They found Evan’s body there.”

  Janine dabbed her eyes with a tissue. “My daughter said he was killed.”

  “We are treating it as murder.”

  Ronnie stretched an arm around his wife’s shoulder, pulled her close. Jackman gave them a moment before he continued. “How long have you known Evan?”

  Ronnie scratched the back of his ear. “About two years, since he first joined us on the farm.”

  “How did you meet?”

  “We lost one of our permanent guys – he handed in his notice just as we were about to start harvest and we needed some urgent help. He answered the advertisement. To tell you the truth, I was a bit sceptical at first. He’d never done farm work before, all his previous jobs were in the building trade. He was an electrician, but he seemed keen and we were desperate so I gave him a go.”

  “Can you remember what company he worked for before, where they were based?”

  Ronnie shook his head. “Sorry, no.”

  “Did you get references for him?”

  Ronnie looked taken aback at the question. He thought for a moment. “No, as I recall, he brought his own references along. Why do you need to know all of this?”

  “We are just trying to build up a profile. It’s routine police work. What kind of work did he do for you?”

  “To start off with he helped with the harvest, baling and such like. Wasn’t long before he was out and about feeding cattle, doing a bit of everything. He was a hard worker, enthusiastic. It’s difficult to find people who want to do manual work these days. Workers come and go on farms – people fancy the idea of the rural lifestyle until they realise how demanding it is. Kids want office jobs, Monday to Friday. That’s why we ended up keeping him on.”

  “What about his address? Where did he live?”

  “He had a flat in Stratford town. That’s all I knew.”

  “Did he ever talk about family, friends, where he came from?”

  Ronnie slid his eyes to his wife, then back to the screen. “Evan never talked much. He was quite a private person. But he turned up for work on time, never missed a day, was a quick learner and worked hard. We’ve two daughters and neither of them are interested in the farm. I was planning on asking him to continue to manage it when we got back – Janine and I aren’t getting any younger. We want to do more travelling, spend time with our grandchildren.”

  Jackman thought about the cannabis farm. If there had been an inkling that the arrangement would become permanent, the investment made all the more sense. He could have continued with the cultivation and supply, safe in the knowledge that nobody would upset his arrangement.

  “He spoke to me a little.” Janine’s Lawton’s voice was barely a whisper. “Just snippets from his childhood. He stopped by for lunch a few times and I remember once I gave him tomato soup. He said it was his favourite but he’d never had it homemade before. I think he had to fend for himself quite a bit as a kid, poor lad.”

  “Do you know where his family lived?”

  “He mentioned a school in Northampton. I think that’s where he grew up.”

  “When was the last time you communicated with Evan?”

  “Must have been about a month ago,” Janine said. “We phoned him when we were in Melbourne. Everything seemed fine then.”

  “You don’t maintain regular contact?”

  “We phoned, every now and then. He had the phone numbers of both our daughters, just in case. And he could email us, we would always check our emails when we had signal.”

  “Okay, tell me about the farm,” Jackman said.

  Ronnie frowned. “What do you want to know?”

  “What was its main produce when you left in January?”

  “We have about 500 acres altogether, 200 acres of crops – maze mainly, but we also grow rapeseed, winter barley, wheat and fodder beat. The other 300 acres are taken up with heifers and bullocks, 320 at last count.”

  “Nothing else?”

  Ronnie narrowed his eyes. “No, why?”

  Jackman ignored the question. “What was Lowlands Barn used for?”

  “Storing fodder beat and hay for the cattle over the winter mainly. Shame really. It’s a lovely brick built barn,” his face folded, “or it was. We had the roof repaired a couple of years ago and we even thought about selling it for a residential conversion at one point. But it was my late father’s favourite. I couldn’t part with it.”

  “And the generator?”

  “What?” He looked at his wife. “What generator?”

  “The generator attached to the barn?”

  “I don’t know what you are talking about. There is no generator at Lowlands Barn. Never has been.”

  Jackman looked at the faces on the screen. They looked kind, like people whose habits hadn’t changed in the past twenty years. Neither of them had seemingly crossed paths w
ith the police and all recent findings pointed towards them not being involved in the cannabis cultivation. He couldn’t begin to imagine what they would make of the secret room beneath the barn. Evan wasn’t the man they thought he was.

  For a short moment, he toyed with telling them the truth about the barn, the secret room below, the cash found at the farmhouse. But Janus had been quite firm that she didn’t want anything released to the public yet. And it didn’t seem right to add further salt to their wounds at this time.

  “Where are you going next?” Jackman asked.

  “We’re looking for flights home,” Ronnie said. “We can’t stay here, with all that is going on back there. Stephan and Luca are keeping the farm ticking over, feeding the cattle. But there’s more harvesting to be done, and crop to be sown for next year. Besides…” he looked back across at his wife, “Janine wants to go to Evan’s funeral. We both do.”

  “Can I ask you one more question? Did Evan ever go by another name?”

  “No, why do you ask?”

  “Our enquiries have revealed that he was living under a different identity.”

  “What was his real name?”

  “Richard Garrett.”

  Ronnie shrugged. “It’s not a crime to change your name, is it?”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  The house was bathed in darkness when Jackman returned that evening. He whispered his greeting to Erik, navigated the stairs gently, doing his best not to disturb his sleeping guests.

  The spare room at the top of the stairs was lit up by a silvery moonlight through the undrawn curtains. The next door along, leading to Celia’s bedroom, was firmly closed. A sense of disquiet wrapped around him. This was the first time Celia had shared her room here with a man. But what did he expect? Celia was twenty. Adrian and her shared a house down in Southampton during term at university. He was almost certain they shared a room there, so why shouldn’t they here. But the reality was tinged with a wave of sadness, another milestone to remind him that his daughter was no longer his little girl.

  He moved into his own bedroom and sat back on the bed. Ronnie and Janine Lawton’s interview had unsettled him. Their words were loaded with sadness and grief at the tragic turn of events. Richard, or Evan as they’d known him, had worked for them for almost two years and they’d clearly grown fond of him. He pictured Richard’s mother in his mind. The difference in their reactions to the news was stark.

  Nancy’s face flashed up in his mind. Her vulnerability had shone through this afternoon. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. Keane had visited Cheryl on the pretence of a welfare visit and confirmed that the house was clean and tidy, her disposition calm – nothing to suggest she was drinking again. Which supported his theory that there was a more sinister explanation behind the demands.

  A single cough emitted from the room next door. He stared at the wall that divided the rooms. Two years ago, Celia left the home she’d been raised in to go to university, full of excitement, leaving the bedroom she’d kept since she was three years old. The décor had changed so many times over the years but the memories remained. After her mother’s accident she’d considered giving up her course, moving back to Stratford to be with her dad, but he’d refused to entertain the notion.

  Now he realised how unlikely it was that Celia would ever come back home to live again. The room that had once housed all her treasured possessions would become her guest room, whenever she came to stay. The thought induced a pang of sadness.

  ***

  Amanda Grayson checked her watch. Almost 10.30pm. It wasn’t like Eamonn to be late. She’d been surprised when he’d called and asked to meet, almost half an hour earlier. He sounded desperate on the phone. There was something he wanted to tell her in person. Under normal circumstances, she’d turn him down at that late hour, arrange to meet him the next day. But after all the events of the past few days she’d felt compelled to go, made an excuse about popping out to collect something from a friend, leaving her husband in front of the television, catching up on the rugby highlights from the weekend. She doubted he even noticed she was gone.

  She looked around the café, checked her watch again. She could only afford to give him another fifteen minutes.

  A pair of headlights passed through the side street, followed closely by another. She craned her neck as they disappeared.

  Amanda sipped her coffee, cradled the warm mug in one hand and adjusted the blue silk scarf that hung loosely around her neck with the other. The last time she’d worn it, Eamonn had cupped her chin, told her it brought out the blue in her eyes.

  A figure was approaching from the car park in the distance. She squinted, was just about to put on her glasses when she recognised Eamonn’s wide gait. She smiled and waved. If he saw her he didn’t wave back. He was dressed in a pair of dark jeans and a polo shirt that hung loosely off his chest, accentuating his muscles and making him look ruggedly attractive. The urgency of their meeting felt excitingly clandestine. He strode across the road. She couldn’t take her eyes off the contour of his chest, his unbrushed hair, those broad shoulders when she heard the rev of an engine. A pair of headlights cut through the semi-darkness. The car appeared from nowhere. Afterwards, she would be confused as to whether it had revved before it hit him, or afterwards, but at the time it all merged in together. A terrible thumping noise. The screech of tyres.

  Amanda jumped up, sending her coffee mug flying to the floor, splashing the window with liquid. A wild shrill scream emitted from her mouth, before she moved forward, bumping tables, pushing chairs aside in her haste to get to him.

  Chapter Thirty

  Jackman was awoken early the following morning by the sound of footsteps below. He pulled his robe over his shoulders and made his way down the stairs. The French doors in the lounge were slung open wide. Erik came rushing in to meet him.

  In the kitchen Jackman found Celia, poring over her laptop, a steaming mug of coffee in hands that were partially covered by her cuffs. Her hair hung messily down to her shoulders.

  “Morning,” he said. The clock read 6am. “What are you up to?”

  “Just checking my emails,” she said. “Want some coffee? I’ve made fresh.”

  It never ceased to amaze him how sprightly she was first thing in the morning. “Sure.” He plonked himself down in a chair and willed his brain to life. By the time she’d handed him a black coffee, he could feel the cogs slowly starting to turn. “What are you up to today?”

  “I’m going to give this one a run when I’ve finished my coffee,” Celia said rubbing Erik’s head affectionately.

  “Adrian not coming with you?”

  “He’s still asleep.”

  “Just as well,” Jackman replied. “He’s probably not got the shoes for it.”

  “Dad.” She pulled stern face, but a smile was playing on her lips. “He’s a bit wary of him.” Jackman looked across at Erik who lifted a leg and scratched the back of his ear clumsily as she continued. “Adrian isn’t used to dogs. They don’t have any animals at home.”

  They sat in silence a moment. “You working today?” Celia asked eventually.

  “Afraid so.”

  “How’s it going?”

  “Okay.” He supped his coffee. Celia went back to her laptop and his mind wandered to the investigation. He needed something, a fresh lead. The description of the tattoo markings on Nancy’s stalker had been circulated nationally yesterday evening, and he desperately hoped it rang a bell with somebody. He needed to find out who was harassing Nancy. And fast.

  ***

  Jackman felt the tension as soon as he arrived in the incident room. Keane and Davies were huddled in the corner over a computer screen. He pulled back his sleeve, checked his watch. It wasn’t yet 7.30am. “Has something happened?”

  Keane looked up. “Eamonn Benwell was killed in a hit-and-run last night.”

  Jackman stopped in his tracks, letting the words sink beneath the surface. “What happened?”

 
; “He was crossing a side road in Stratford town. A witness said the car tossed him ten feet in the air. Paramedics declared him dead at the scene.”

  “And the driver?”

  “Gone. The detectives working night car last night have checked the CCTV and surrounding police cameras. The car was a black Skoda Octavia, sport version. Reported stolen a couple of weeks ago from the owner’s home in Trinity Drive. They drove out of Stratford on the A3400, turned right at the roundabout on to the A46. The Skoda was later found partially burnt-out on the road to Lower Clopton.”

  “Why weren’t we alerted earlier? He’s directly linked to our case.”

  “It’s seems somebody forgot to put the markers on the system,” Davies said with a sigh. “It wasn’t until Keane got in this morning and checked last night’s incident logs that we found it.

  Jackman pulled out his mobile phone and worked the keys urgently.

  Janus answered on the second ring. “Will, I’m glad you called. Isn’t Eamonn Benwell linked to your murder enquiry?”

  “That’s why I’m calling. I’ve just been informed about the hit-and-run. Who’s the SIO dealing?”

  “DCI Peverell has taken it at the moment. He was on call. But he’s in court today and still seconded to that review team. You’re going to have to take it off him.”

  “No problem. Have him call me and we’ll do a handover.”

  He ended the call and minutes later, Jackman’s mobile rang.

  “Morning, Will.” Peverell sounded tired.

  “Morning. I hear you’ve had a long night?”

  “You could say that.”

  “What do you have?”

  “One victim, killed in a hit-and-run on The Waterways at 10.32pm. We’ve checked the CCTV footage from the town centre and got a few stills of the car, although they’re not great. I’ll email them across. We’ve also got a witness who glimpsed a profile of the driver.”

  “Thanks. Send me everything you’ve got so far. Has anyone been back out to see the owner of the car?”

  “Yes, just now. Usual thing. Didn’t lock their front door. Found somebody in the hallway in the middle of the afternoon who claimed they’d got the wrong house. It wasn’t until later that they discovered the car keys were missing and the intruder left in their car, which had been parked up the road. One thing that might be of interest though, the car only had one working headlight. The owners were going to take it to the garage that day to have it mended. This is a professional job, the car had cloned plates. We only identified it quickly because the correct number plate was etched onto the windows. It seems unlikely they’d drive through town with one headlight after to going to that much trouble.”