Stalker on the Fens

by Joy Ellis

  Joseph shook his head. ‘No. He said it was just very quiet, much too quiet, which was worrying enough, but then no one wanted to talk to him.’

  ‘Maybe it’s because of Archie Leonard. He is fading fast, and I know the whole family have gathered to be with him.’ Nikki felt an overwhelming sadness. Over the years, she and the old villain, Archie, had crossed swords and then formed an unlikely alliance when bad things had happened in Greenborough. Archie was the patriarchal figurehead of an old-style criminal family, with his own rules and values. It was no secret that Nikki and Archie felt affection for each other, and she knew she would miss him.

  ‘I saw young Mickey yesterday on the High Street.’ While Nikki was attached to Archie, Joseph had become close to Archie’s adopted grandson. As a boy, Mickey had been in some terrible fixes, and Joseph and Nikki had saved him on more than one occasion. ‘He says he will ring us as soon as there is any news. He thinks it’ll be days now, rather than weeks.’

  ‘I cannot believe the old dog is still alive, but I can’t imagine the Carborough without him, can you?’

  ‘One of Archie’s sons, Raymond, will carry on the family tradition, but he’s not Archie and never will be. Raymond is hard as nails, whereas our old sparring partner was a gentleman — of sorts.’

  Nikki leaned back against the door. ‘Do you think we should be worried about this uncomfortable atmosphere?’

  ‘We’ve come across it before and it didn’t bode well then. Best not to ignore it. I’ll make a few enquiries, and I’ll ask Yvonne and Niall to see if any of their snouts have caught a whiff of something unsavoury.’

  Nikki straightened up. ‘Good. I’d better go and see how the team are getting on — and I have some homework to do, studying mandalas.’

  Joseph grinned. ‘I saw a lot of those while I was abroad.’

  ‘If they prove too much for me, I’ll hand them over to you.’ Why had the killer chosen to paint this particular design on her friend’s body? Nikki knew it was important. And she wanted to be the one to discover exactly what lay behind it.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Before Nikki had a chance to see the team, she was summoned to the superintendent’s office. As she made her way out of the noisy CID room, she heard Sheila Robbins, her office manager, calling to her.

  Sheila thrust a memo at her. ‘Ma’am, you’ll want to see this. Oh, and the pathologist wants another word, as soon as possible. It’s about the man in the river.’

  ‘Okay, Sheila. Ring him and ask him to give me an hour. Thank you.’ She hurried towards the stairs, reading through the message from the duty sergeant. She released a small sigh of relief. Something else was going right.

  Superintendent Woodhall’s brow was wrinkled with concern. ‘We may have an additional problem here, Nikki. Helen Brook’s killing seems to have outraged the whole of Greenborough, and it’s spreading fast. Look.’ He handed her one of the national newspapers. ‘Someone put something on Facebook and it went viral and the media picked it up.’

  As she skimmed through the article she understood why her boss was so worried. ‘I see what you mean. They’ve caught onto the fact that she survived that dreadful accident, spent a year getting her life back together, then has it torn away by some mindless murderer. Thank God they don’t know the full story! I mean, what he did to her.’

  ‘Damn right! And although we can’t blame the public for taking something like this to heart, I can see it escalating into one of these national crusades.’

  ‘And that could hamper the enquiry.’

  ‘Easily. I’ve already had a request from a group of friends and clients of the Willows Clinic asking if they can hold an all-night candlelit vigil outside her house.’

  ‘Oh great! Just what we need when we are short-staffed.’

  ‘I’ve told them they will have to wait until we’ve released the crime scene, which could be some time But it’s not going to end there, is it? The local rags will start speculating, then accusing, which reminds me, what’s happening with Andrew Gregory?’

  She waved the memo in the air. ‘The duty sergeant has just contacted me, sir. Andrew is coming in this afternoon, voluntarily.’

  ‘Did he live with Helen Brook?’

  ‘Yes, but he has a small family cottage out at Fentoft Quay. He will be staying there until we release his things from the house.’

  ‘Had they been together long?’

  ‘Yes, sir, they became friends in their teens.’

  ‘Means nothing though, does it? Things change, people change.’

  Nikki remained silent. She wanted a very long talk with bloody Andrew before she passed comment.

  Greg Woodhall paused, evidently expecting some response. Then he said, ‘OK, Nikki. I just wanted you to be aware of the media’s interest in this enquiry. I have to say I have a very bad feeling about it. A gathering of this sort attracts all kinds of weirdos, as well as professional troublemakers.’

  ‘Any excuse for a punch up?’

  ‘Even things that start out with the best of intentions can go pear-shaped if the wrong people turn up.’

  Nikki was about to leave, then turned back and told the super about PC Niall Farrow’s impression of the Carborough. ‘We are keeping our ears open in that direction, sir, but if you should hear anything, would you keep us in the loop?’

  ‘Of course. And I’ll ask uniform to put out a few feelers for you.’

  Nikki walked back down the stairs and went into her own office. She closed the door and slumped down into her chair. A candle-lit vigil? She pictured the growing sea of flowers. Ever since the passing of Princess Di, this kind of thing had become almost de rigueur. But here? Helen? Suddenly the whole thing seemed to be getting out of control, like an avalanche gathering momentum.

  ‘Must phone Rory,’ Nikki muttered, remembering Sheila’s message. She opened her phone and found his name.

  ‘Ah, Detective Inspector! I know how busy you are. Well, I have something for you that probably won’t help to ease your frantic day.’

  ‘Wonderful! It’s continuing as it started. Okay, let me have it. I can take it.’

  ‘I’ve done some work on the card that was found in the trouser pocket of your unidentified man. It is a business card as we suspected. It was produced by a great big popular printing firm. You know the one — buy five hundred cards and get a free stuffed koala.’

  ‘I get the picture. And so . . . ?’

  ‘Although it appeared completely washed out to the naked eye, I’ve traced its origin.’

  ‘Clever boy.’

  ‘I know. And I was going to tell you that I used exquisitely sophisticated molecular spectroscopy . . .’

  ‘But you didn’t. So what did you use?’

  ‘A damn great standard optical magnifying glass.’

  ‘Of course. And what did it tell you?’

  ‘That the card is a business card from the Willows Complementary Health Clinic.’

  ‘Helen’s old clinic!’

  ‘One and the same. And another thing. It’s by no means certain, but that lucky stone in his pocket was not just a beach pebble. It was a polished tumble stone. A purple sage agate to be precise and it is used by crystal healers to treat disorders of the throat. I have already ascertained that your man had a thyroid disease and several associated problems in that area, so I surmise that he was looking for help from somewhere other than the NHS.’

  Nikki sat in stunned silence. Could there be a connection between Helen and the man in the river?

  ‘I think you should find out whether the Willows Clinic has a crystal healer on the staff, don’t you, Inspector? Because the only other place around here where I’ve seen an extensive collection of rocks and crystals, is at your friend’s home on the Westland Waterway.’

  ‘I will. I’ll ring right now. Thanks for that little gem.’

  ‘Gem? Oh, very droll, Inspector. Well, better press on. I’ll ring you as soon as my preliminary report on Mr Agate is ready, and obviousl
y earlier if we get anything back from the DNA database. The same for Helen. I will be preparing you a preliminary statement so you can get a clearer picture of what happened, then when all the toxicology and lab reports come back, I’ll bring you the final results.’

  ‘Okay, we’ll speak again soon.’ She closed her phone and looked at the clock. It was a quarter to four, only fifteen minutes until the afternoon meeting. The Willows would have to wait until the meeting was over. Right now she needed to fill Joseph in on Rory’s findings. She stared at the growing stacks of papers and scribbled memos piled on her desk and wondered when she would ever find time to get on top of it all.

  Eric Barnes leaned around her door. ‘Ma’am? Just been handed this. It’s from uniform.’

  ‘Put it with the rest, please.’ She motioned to the tower of paperwork.

  Barnes raised his eyebrows at the pile and said, ‘You may want to look at this first, guv.’

  ‘I’ll decide my own priorities, thank you.’ She glared at the door. Taking the hint, the detective left with a sullen expression slowly spreading over his face.

  When he was out of sight, Nikki picked up the memo.

  To DI Galena from WPC Bryson.

  Ma’am, you asked me to mention if anyone worried me. One man has been here every day so far, he stays for over an hour but returns several times right up until late evening. He brought a bunch of flowers this morning, so I’ve put them to one side should you wish to check them out.

  Tapping her fingers impatiently on the desk, she decided that after she had interviewed Andrew, if he arrived when he said he would, she and Joseph should take a drive down to the Westland Waterway and perhaps have a word with the persistent mourner. But all that would have to wait.

  * * *

  ‘Quiet! We have a lot to get through in a very short time, so find a seat and listen up. Now, Dave and Cat. Would you please tell your colleagues what you discovered this morning?’ Nikki said.

  Cat recounted the statement made by Nigel Casey, then concluded, ‘So, with the blood evidence already on our files, it is almost certain that Helen Brook had company in that cellar, and if that’s the case, there is no reason to believe that her memory is incorrect either.’

  ‘But surely someone who had just committed murder wouldn’t walk around with his name emblazoned across his chest?’ asked an officer.

  ‘Be helpful if they all did,’ muttered someone else.

  ‘Maybe it wasn’t his badge.’

  ‘Maybe he forgot he was wearing it.’

  ‘Yeah. After all, he was probably just going about his normal daily routine. He didn’t know a building was going to fall on him, did he?’

  Nikki held up her hand. ‘Okay, okay. Let’s recap on what we actually know. Helen Brook told me that a man spoke to her. He told her he’d killed someone. Said his name was Paul and the woman he’d killed was his wife. Then, later, a man with a name badge is seen leaving that exact area. WPC Nightingale? Did you get anything on female deaths occurring at that time?’

  Jessie Nightingale stood up, and not for the first time Nikki thought she looked more like a cheerleader than a detective. ‘Yvonne and I could find nothing that pointed to an unnatural death, ma’am. We are still checking hospital files. There are a few men named Paul who are next of kin to women who died of various illnesses, but nothing that sounds fishy.’ Still standing, she added, ‘I was wondering, ma’am, why would he want to kill Helen, when she never even saw him?’

  Nikki rubbed her forehead, trying to ease the headache that was slowly building. ‘We don’t know that, Jessie. Helen was remembering more and more fragments every day. If she’d lived, well, she might have recalled something even more damning about him. Don’t forget, if what Nigel Casey says is true, our suspect walked away from that cellar and left Helen there. He had clearly extricated himself. Maybe he went to her, thought she was dead, then when he read that article in the paper about her miraculous recovery, got scared that perhaps she had seen him after all.’

  ‘Good point, ma’am.’ Jessie sat down again.

  ‘However, we can’t direct the whole investigation towards this Paul. Niall, did you speak to that young scrote who was watching the house just before the murder?’

  Niall raised his hand. ‘He’s not involved, ma’am. He’s got the best alibi going for the time when Miss Brook was killed. He was banged up in the custody suite downstairs. His posh girlfriend had been sent away to stay with her granny in the Dordogne for a week or two. He went banzai, nicked her daddy’s car, and trashed it out on the marsh.’

  ‘Right, he’s out. So, did any weirdos visit her at the Willows Clinic? Cat?’

  Cat thumbed through her notebook. ‘I’m still checking her client list, ma’am. But they are all pretty shell-shocked. No one has a bad word for her, and lots of them seem very dependent on her. I guess they are scared that now she’s gone, they will fall apart or their illnesses will come back.’

  Nikki frowned. ‘More than you would expect, in the circumstances?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am, definitely. She seemed to have some kind of a calming influence over her patients, sorry, her clients. Even the other therapists at the Willows commented on it. Oh, and there’s this guy who works there,’ Cat searched through her book for the name, ‘Sam Welland. He specialises in something called regression therapy. Miss Brook had asked him to help her.’

  ‘Really? I didn’t know that.’

  ‘She wanted to be hypnotised, to go back to the accident.’

  ‘Did she indeed?’ breathed Nikki. ‘And was this Sam Welland going to do it?’

  ‘Yes, guv. She’d already arranged it for two in the afternoon, on the day after she died.’

  Nikki’s headache increased. ‘Well, well. How very convenient that she never made the appointment. I think I’d like to talk to Mr Welland myself.’ And ask about crystals.

  ‘He’s at the Willows, Tuesday to Friday, ma’am. 10 a.m. till 6 p.m. And I’ve listed some thoughts on three or four clients that seemed particularly disturbed by the death. Would you like a copy?’

  ‘On my desk please, Cat.’ Along with all the rest. ‘And I think that will do for now.’ Chairs scraped across the floor and the officers began to disperse. ‘Not you, Joseph. My office in five, please. And bring some paracetamol.’

  * * *

  In the privacy of her room, Nikki told Joseph about the connection between the dead man, who she now thought of as “Mr Agate,” and Helen Brook.

  Joseph looked as amazed as she had. Then, after thinking for a moment, said, ‘I suppose it helps us in one way, it makes him local. If he knew about or attended the Willows Clinic, whether or not it was to see Helen, he had to live or work around here. Shouldn’t we be getting ourselves over there and talking to this Sam Welland character?’

  ‘The desk sergeant has just rung to say that Andrew is downstairs. We have to speak to him first. And someone is causing uniform concern down at the Westland Waterway. I said we’d call in and check him out.’ Nikki stared at her desk. The reports and memos hadn’t gone away. ‘I can see that this will have to get dealt with after hours.’

  Joseph stood up. ‘Better get moving then.’

  ‘Get Cat to sit in on our interview with Andrew, would you? Just as an observer. She can spot a lie at forty paces. I’d like her opinion on our friend and his obsessive work schedule.’

  Joseph nodded. ‘Good idea. We’ll meet you in the interview room.’

  A few moments later Nikki was standing in front of the desk sergeant. ‘Is Andrew Gregory ready yet, Sergeant?’

  The custody sergeant nodded grimly. ‘I’ve just processed him, ma’am. Did you hear that we had to escort him in? One of the national newspapers picked up on the fact that we were looking for him, and I reckon they are preparing the gibbet as we speak. Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty? Anyway, he’s in Room 3, and DS Easter and DC Cullen are down there waiting for you.’

  She and Joseph had already discussed the di
rection the interview would take. Now Nikki had to try to forget all she knew or believed about Helen’s partner, and listen to everything he had to say with impartial ears.

  Joseph was leaning against the wall and stood up straight as she approached. ‘He has no objections to us taping the interview, ma’am.’

  ‘But he looks like shit,’ added Cat.

  They entered the room and looked around. It was basic to say the least. A wooden table and four hard chairs, all screwed firmly to the floor. Sitting on one of the chairs was Andrew, but not the Andrew she had spoken to only a matter of days ago. This was a stranger: a hollow-eyed, unkempt figure slumped forward over the table.

  He hardly seemed to notice them enter. She and Joseph sat opposite him, while Cat remained standing in the background. He paid little attention as they unsealed two new tapes and placed them in the machine.

  Only when Nikki spoke, did he finally look up.

  Glancing at the laminated crib sheet taped to the desk, she identified herself. Although she had interviewed and cautioned thousands of cases, she knew that one error or omission could see a case flung out of court. ‘I am Detective Inspector Galena, my collar number is 1255. It is,’ she glanced at her watch, ‘10.35 a.m., on February 23, and this interview is taking place in Greenborough police station. Present with me are . . .’

  Joseph added his rank, name and collar number, followed by Cat.

  ‘Also present . . .’ She looked towards Andrew. ‘Could you please say your name for the tape?’

  He stared back in apparent disbelief, then said, ‘Andrew Michael Gregory.’

  Nikki hadn’t wanted a formal interview, but the super had asked her to make sure and get it taped. Nikki ached to put her arms around the man and comfort him. After all, they did have one big thing in common — the loss of Helen Brook.

  She hurried through everything that had to be said, offering him a solicitor, and informing him of his rights. ‘You understand that you are not being cautioned, Andrew? You are here to assist us and are free to leave at any time, should you wish to do so.’