by Joy Ellis
Carter closed the door. He’d walk back to the Eva May and watch out for the old man’s return from there.
Outside, Carter found he was reluctant to leave. He sat down with his back against the lichen covered wall and turned his face to the cool evening breeze. He felt almost “normal.” The accident had tainted most of his existence, but there were parts of his childhood that seemed to have remained unscathed. Days spent with Silas and his brother Eli.
He gazed along the inlet to the point where it met the river, and saw a ripple forming on the surface of the water. A boat was coming.
Carter stood up, brushed moss from his trousers and saw Silas’s small weather-worn dinghy ease its way into the inlet. He waved a greeting, and Klink responded with a joyous bark.
‘Nothing wrong is there, young’un?’
‘Nothing wrong, Silas. Just needed to see a friendly face, and maybe talk you into having a small drink with me?’ He removed a half bottle of malt whisky from his jacket pocket and waved it in the air.
Silas’s face broke into a mass of wrinkles when he smiled. ‘Well now. I’d say it’s a fine evening for a bit of a magg, wouldn’t you?’ The smile widened. ‘Ee-yah, tek this.’
Carter took the wet rope from the old man and tied it deftly around the mooring post. Klink leapt from the boat and hopped madly around Carter’s legs. ‘Hello, fellow! How’s tricks?’ He fondled the old dog’s ears. Such a soft beast. Yet he could terrify the life out of a stranger.
They tramped up to the cottage. Silas proceeded to clear some gardening tools from an old wooden bench, while Carter went inside to hunt for usable glasses. It was too nice an evening to be stuck indoors, and Silas knew that enclosed spaces made Carter uneasy.
The old man sat down and raised his glass towards his guest. ‘So. You need to ask me something, don’t you, young’un?’
Carter looked at him. ‘You’ve known all along, haven’t you?’
‘Maybe. Ask the question and we’ll find out.’
‘Ray confided in you, didn’t he?’
‘Ah, a good lad that one. Dreadful waste.’ Silas stared out across the river. ‘Not frightened of hard work either, and he loved the fen and the birds here.’ He sighed and sipped his drink. ‘Aye, we talked a bit.’
‘About money?’
‘Amongst other things.’
Carter’s expression tightened. Much as he loved the old cuss, he was in no mood for games. ‘I have to find it, Silas, and get it to Joanne. She’s struggling. She needs it, and Ray wants her to have it.’
‘Well, he told me all about them ne’er-do-wells he called his family. But listen up. He said he had “something” he was worried about. Not actual cash. A thing.’
‘So he left it with you?’
‘Not exactly, but I can help you find it.’ Silas rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘’Ere, why did you say “Ray wants her to have it?”’
Carter inhaled. He had never been able to lie to Silas. ‘I see them.’
‘At night? In your dreams, like?’
‘I just see them, Silas. We talk.’
The old man folded his arms, and nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I think you would, all things considered.’ He paused, still nodding. ‘I think you would.’
This was deeply reassuring to Carter, although he knew very well that seeing the dead in one form or another was part of the lives of the old “web-footed” fen men.
‘Recall that night, young’un? When you were coming up ten years?’
Carter stared into his glass. Yes, he remembered. Carter had never understood what he saw that night, and he still didn’t.
He had been just a boy . . .
Carter was woken by the sound of gravel thrown against his window. He scrambled from his bed. He looked down and made out the figure of Silas standing in the shadows of the courtyard. He was beckoning.
He pulled on his jeans, dragged a sweater over his head and crept out of the house. Silas led the way in silence, down the lane and into the old churchyard. He put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and together they crouched behind a crumbling, ivy-choked wall. Silas held a finger to his lips and pointed towards the church path.
For more than a quarter of an hour, tiny flickering lights danced along the path that led from the lychgate to the church door. The wind didn’t extinguish them and they grew brighter just before they disappeared.
‘Corpse candles,’ whispered Silas. ‘There’ll be a death in the village.’
Carter almost forced the reluctant Silas up to the church door, but there was nothing there. No candles, no lanterns. Nothing. On their way back to the house, Carter plied his companion with questions, but Silas said little. They were there to lead the way for the coffin bearers. Some saw them, others didn’t. Simple.
And that was that. The following Friday, Carter’s mother’s car skidded off the road on the Westdyke Bridge, and she drowned in the Westland River.
Carter poured them another two fingers of whisky. He had wondered about those lights for years. He’d never spoken about what he’d seen. There was a rational explanation for those lights, he knew. He’d just never discovered it. Silas would never have played a trick on him, he just wasn’t like that. Eventually he concluded that it was methane gas. The wetlands emitted marsh gas when the conditions were right. It was a strange but perfectly natural phenomenon. But Carter was never entirely convinced. Maybe he had spent too much time with old Silas when he was a kid.
He spoke softly. ‘I still wish it had been my father. The bastard.’
‘Now, boy. Don’t speak ill of the dead,’ said Silas sternly.
But Carter didn’t want to get onto the subject of his family now. He wanted to know about Ray’s money. ‘So, my friend, are you going to help me find my mate’s nest egg?’
The old man set down his empty glass on the bench beside him and stood up. ‘Fancy a walk?’ He reached down and patted the dog’s head. ‘Come on, Klink, lad. Let’s take this impatient young whippersnapper to find the buried treasure, shall we?’
* * *
Jackman’s office was a haven, a refuge from the bedlam of the CID office.
He had made it his own, bringing in scavenged furniture. There were no official police photographs on the walls, just rows of books and a picture of his beautiful and sadly long-gone horse, Glory.
He put his finger to the decorative globe on his desk, and watched the countries of the world revolve in a many-coloured blur. ‘If only real life was as beautiful,’ he murmured.
‘It is, if you look in the right places.’
Jackman looked up. The elfin face of Laura Archer peered around his partly open door.
‘You’re working late. Come in.’
Laura sat down opposite him and smiled grimly. ‘I was summoned to help the FMO with a situation in custody.’
‘Ah, I heard we had a difficult customer. Everything okay now?’
‘He’s on his way to hospital, but he’s much calmer.’
‘Good. And were you just passing? Because my office is in a dead end corridor, so . . .’
Laura laughed. Not for the first time, Jackman noticed how beautiful she was — in an unassuming kind of way.
‘I should know better than to try and outwit a detective, shouldn’t I?’
He raised an eyebrow and waited for her to continue.
‘As you know, I can’t discuss a patient with you, but I wanted to tell you that I am still keeping a close eye on Detective Carter McLean. Barry Richards and I were originally quite happy to allow him back to full duties, but we are aware that he still has issues. I’m just not sure whether those issues will resolve, or get worse.’
‘My sergeant knows Carter very well. In fact I suspect she is closer to him than anyone, and she has expressed her concerns about him.’
Laura nodded. ‘I know. I worry that she is taking on too much. The words “rock and hard place” come to mind.’ She sat forward in her chair. ‘That’s actually why I’m here. I wanted to tell you that Ma
rie Evans is under considerable pressure. Carter does not mean to impose on her good nature and their friendship, but he leans heavily on her, and I don’t want her buckling under the strain.’
Jackman hadn’t fully appreciated Marie’s situation. ‘Forewarned is forearmed. Thank you for telling me.’
Laura stood up, ‘Excellent. I feel happier now that you are aware of the full picture. Just don’t tell her I enlisted your help, will you?’
Jackman drew a finger and thumb across his lips. ‘Zipped tight. And thank you, Laura.’
He watched her leave and wondered if she was married.
He sat back in his chair. He knew that Marie had sometimes accompanied Carter when he went for psychological evaluation, but he didn’t realise how much time she was spending with him. She and Laura must have spoken recently. He tapped his fingers on the table. It was unlike Marie to do anything without telling him, but she was looking exhausted, so maybe she had just forgotten. He shook his head. No, it was more probable that she didn’t want to lumber him with her problems.
Well, that wasn’t going to continue. He’d talk to her tomorrow, and make a few gentle suggestions. Jackman gnawed on his bottom lip. Marie had always seen the very best in Carter, but Jackman himself had, once or twice, seen a different side to the enigmatic detective. There had been times when Carter McLean had been too ruthless in his determination to get his man. He just prayed that the terrible things that had happened in Carter’s life did not exacerbate that particular trait. Carter had always been a bit of a loose cannon, and Jackman could handle that. As the super had admitted, he got results. But what he didn’t want was Carter suddenly operating completely outside the box, and taking Marie with him. He nodded to himself. Yes, tomorrow he and Marie would definitely have to talk.
* * *
Silas and Klink led Carter towards the river and Stone Quay. So, he had been right all along. They were going back to the Eva May.
‘Better get a move on,’ muttered Silas. ‘We need the light, so I’d like to get this done before darklings.’ He glanced up. ‘And it’s coming in fast tonight.’
‘But there’s power on the boat, Si. I can fire the generator, no problem.’
Silas grunted. ‘It’s not on the boat.’
Carter gazed across the fields. The smell of charred stubble hung in the air. He knew what it was now, but it still made him uncomfortable. He shook himself. Think about the money. If it wasn’t on the Eva May, where the hell was it?
Silas was now stepping onto the quay. ‘Gonna need those muscles of yours. Last time I did this, it nearly killed me. Not quite as tough as I used to be.’
The old man walked towards the rear of the old storeroom, and began to pull back a knotted clump of brambles, nettles and dead weeds.
‘Your turn, young’un. We have to move that.’ Silas pointed to a heap of broken chunks of concrete and builder’s rubble beneath the vegetation.
‘It’s under there?’
‘In a manner of speaking,’ said Silas. ‘If you get a move on, you’ll see for yourself, won’t you?’
‘Then I’d better get some tools or I’ll be here all night.’ Carter went into the storeroom and returned with a large, battered shovel.
He worked until the sweat ran down his back and dripped from his forehead. This was not how he had foreseen spending his evening.
‘There! Look.’ Silas pointed again. Carter saw a lump of old scrap iron. ‘Give it a tug. Oh, and mind. It’s heavy.’
The iron bar was actually a curved handle. Carter braced himself and heaved.
Silas had been right. It was damned heavy. With a loud groan, he pulled it up out of its seating, and found that he was staring down a shallow flight of stone steps. ‘Well, I’ll be . . . !’ He let the trapdoor fall backwards and stared into the darkness below.
‘A torch would help. Unless you want to break your neck.’
With a grunt, Carter went back to the storeroom and returned with a battery-powered storm lantern.
They stood at the entrance to the old cellar. Carter switched on the lantern. Silas had been right. Darkness was falling fast.
‘How come you never showed me this place before? I’ve lived here all my life and I never knew that there was anything beneath the storehouse.’
‘For your own good, lad,’ said Silas. ‘When you were a boy, smuggling was rife out here. Boats went out on the high tides to meet the Dutchmen. Came back loaded with gin and cigarettes, they did. This spot was safe from the coastguards.’ Silas gave a throaty laugh. ‘Then the boy became a policeman, so I decided best to let sleeping dogs lie.’
‘But I’d never have blamed you for anything, Si! You were like family to me.’
Silas shrugged. ‘What you didn’t know wouldn’t hurt you, or put you in any difficult situations. It was no big deal. It hasn’t been used for a decade and anyway, only a handful of people ever knew about this place.’
‘And you were one of them?’ Carter smiled. So the Breeze family were not just poachers, but smugglers as well.
‘Eli and I built it,’ said Silas flatly. He looked troubled. The lantern light deepened the furrows etched into his face. ‘On your father’s orders.’
Carter froze. His father? When he said his father was a bastard, he meant the drink, the lies and the deceptions, not actual criminal activities.
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.’ The old man looked angry with himself. ‘I should have kept my own counsel.’
Carter gave a harsh laugh. ‘Don’t worry, Si. Nothing my wonderful father did would really surprise me.’
‘All the same, it wasn’t my place to open my mouth.’ He looked up at the rapidly darkening sky. ‘But time for that later. We should find your friend’s bag before nightfall.’
Carter nodded. He stared down at the small dark space beneath the ground. Claustrophobic, and with no other way out.
He saw in his mind that other door. In his dreams, the plane door crashed shut with a terrible reverberating sound, like a steel vault being sealed. In reality he had heard nothing, the raging storm had carried away all sound. But the memory was always accompanied by that awful, final slam.
Carter tried to swallow. His throat was parched dry and icy shivers trickled down his backbone. He concentrated on the old trapdoor. Come on, Carter. There was no possible way it could accidentally slam shut. Could it? He knew it was illogical but he still had visions of a freak gust of wind lifting it, and closing it on top of him. ‘Silas, I don’t think I can go down there.’ His voice cracked. ‘I’m sorry but I can’t . . .’
‘Don’t have to. Klink! Go find!’ Silas smiled and watched the dog leap into the cellar. ‘He’ll get it. It’s the only thing down there with any scent left on it.’
‘But it’s been there for over a year,’ whispered Carter shakily.
‘I checked a month or two ago to see that it was safe. There’ll be something left for that dog of mine to pick up, never you fear.’ He peered into the darkness. ‘See! What I tell ’ee? Here, boy.’ Silas bent down and helped the dog drag an old leather sports bag up the last few steps. ‘Good lad! Leave.’
Carter reached forward, his hands trembling slightly. ‘That’s Ray’s bag?’
‘Aye. I let him hide it there. I knew it were safe from his thieving family.’ He handed it to Carter. ‘Many’s the time I thought about handing it over to you, but I’d promised him I’d say nothing to a living soul. Finally I decided to wait until the time was right. I knew it would come, and now it’s up to you to do what the boy wanted.’
The bag was in remarkably good condition, just musty-smelling and covered with patches of whitish mould. Silas leaned over his shoulder while Carter carefully undid it. Inside were dozens of small rolls of notes, wrapped in Clingfilm and held together with elastic bands. Carter unwrapped one. The perished rubber disintegrated and a wad of ten pound notes opened like a paper flower.
Carter was elated. Another of his friends was about to have their wish gr
anted. All he had to do now was take it to Joanne and give her Ray’s message.
Silas glanced at him. ‘Must be near on five thousand pounds there, wouldn’t you think?’
Carter nodded. ‘Probably more. Whatever, Jo will be grateful for it.’
‘I wish her well,’ said Silas. ‘Now, let’s get this place closed up again, perhaps for the last time, hey?’
Nothing pleased Carter better. He lowered the trapdoor, grabbed the shovel and soon Silas was settling the thick mat of scrubby weeds back over the rubble.
‘All done. Home, Klink.’
Carter locked up the storeroom and loped after the old man. ‘You’re a bit eager to get away, Si?’
‘Can’t deny it.’ Silas strode in the direction of his cottage. ‘To be honest, there’s been a bad feeling about this place of late. It’s even affected Klink. Right unsettled, he’s been. I’ll be happy to be behind my own door for the next couple of nights, until the moon goes on the wane.’ He glanced back at Carter. ‘But don’t you worry about your boat. Old Klink’ll listen out for intruders.’
Carter wondered what could have spooked the old poacher so badly. He was normally at his happiest traipsing around the marsh in the dead of night. ‘What’s happened, then?’ he asked as casually as he could.
‘Oh, nothing. Just a bad feeling, that’s all.’
‘I’ve never known you to be spooked before,’ said Carter.
‘Me neither. Maybe I’m getting old.’
‘Well, I think if you’re worried, it’s someone and not something that’s behind it,’ murmured Carter suspiciously.
‘Well, you hold on to that thought. I’ll just hedge my bets, if it’s all the same to you.’
Carter knew better than to argue. Silas’s world was still filled with folklore, legends, mysteries and superstitions. Carter watched Silas and his dog go into his cottage. He waited until he saw an oil lamp lit, and then walked slowly back towards Stone Quay.