by Vera Morris
To the right was the light of several torches, their beams focussed on the ground, silently moving closer. ‘Over here,’ he shouted. The beams froze. Then their shafts criss-crossed the black sky. ‘Hinney’s escaped. Salter’s after him. Help needed urgently in pagoda -Stephen Salter wounded.’
Silence was broken. Orders were shouted. Was that Revie’s voice? The beams of light diverged, some pointing in his direction, some towards the pagoda. Thank God. He hoped Stephen was alive.
Feet clattered over the shingle towards him. ‘Follow the white-painted stones,’ he shouted. ‘Tommy knows the way.’ Coltman would be with them, he knew the safe path. He didn’t wait for them, but ran on, flicking the beam from the white markings to the two figures stumbling over the shingle ridges.
Salter was closing in on Hinney, both of them tripping and scrambling over industrial debris scattered over the ground. The ridges became deeper, made treacherous by the dense growth of plants in them. He lost the markers, stopped and shone the light round, mounting frustration making his temper rise. There was one! He continued running.
‘Stop, you bastard and fight,’ Salter screeched, holding up a clenched fist like some old-time boxer, energised as he sought revenge. Did he still have the knife? Hinney scrambled away, hampered by his injured arm, seemingly not looking for a fight.
‘I’ll fucking kill you, you bloody murderer!’ Salter screamed.
Frank puffed his cheeks. That’s rich. They’re both pieces of shit. If they killed each other it’d be rough justice. What am I doing here, he thought. Risking my life for these two. He shook his head. If they died it would be rough justice, but it wouldn’t be true justice. He increased his pace, targeting them with the beam of his torch.
Salter was getting closer to Hinney. Why wasn’t Hinney turning to fight? This could be his last chance to take his revenge for the murder of his brother. Was he only brave when the dice were loaded in his favour? When he’d a drugged young woman or an old poacher at his mercy? Did he need a razor or a knife in his hand to be brave? Did his victims have to be tied up and immobile before he’d the courage to kill them?
Salter’s legs became tangled in a ridge’s plant growth, and he cried out as he slipped and landed heavily.
Hinney glanced round, his left hand on the ground to steady himself. His face gaunt, terrified. He turned and ran on, increasing his pace, pebbles flying up from his pounding feet. He caught his foot on something, and his momentum shot him into the air, and he landed, shrieking with frustration.
Instantaneously there was a huge explosion which sent shock waves through the air. Frank threw himself to the ground, clasping his hands to his ears, folding his body into a ball. Pebbles and debris rained from the sky, pelting his head and body. There was a second loud explosion. Through his fingers the sky was lit up by a dazzling white starburst, as if a giant firework had been set off, the shimmering silver stripes zipping up into the black sky. He couldn’t see Salter or Hinney as clouds of white smoke erupted from the area where they’d been. The smoke billowed towards him.
He froze. It was a WP. A white phosphorus bomb. A Willie Pete. Already he felt the increasing heat, could taste the acrid fumes. He blinked as his eyes started to hurt. He turned and dashed back in the direction he’d come from. He knew the damage WPs could do. He wasn’t staying to see theory become reality. He stopped when he thought he was safe and looked round.
Out of the white smoke a figure staggered, a figure alight from head to foot, shrieking with pain, its arms raised, a human candelabra. There was a final guttural cry and the man, either Salter or Hinney, concertinaed to the ground, the flames subsiding, flickering, sputtering and then dying.
Chapter 26
Laurel rested her head on Stephen’s as she held him to her, his blood seeping through her clothes. He was still sobbing quietly, as though he couldn’t accept the terrible facts he’d heard from his father’s lips: his father was the murderer of a young woman and her son. He must know Tommy Coltman, even though he only worked part-time in the camp; it must make the dreadful truth worse. A connection from the present to the past. He probably knew Tommy’s story, everyone in Orford seemed to, how the murder of his wife and son, plus his treatment at the hands of the Japanese, had left him a shell of his former self. Before the war he had been an architect with a bright future and a young family he loved. Now he was a social misfit and recluse, mistrusted by some people, a figure of fun to others. Stephen’s father had given him a job. To ease his conscious? Salter was despicable.
‘Stephen? Hold on, someone will be here soon. Try and calm down, preserve your strength.’ She stroked his matted hair from his forehead. ‘You’ve had a dreadful ordeal, but you’ve come through. Think of your wife and children. Hold on to that.’
He looked up at her, his eyes red-rimmed, full of pain and grief, his skin pale, skimmed with a cold sweat. ‘What will Mr Coltman think when he finds out...?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t know. He’s on the Ness, he brought us across in his boat.’
‘Where is he now?’
‘He went to meet the police and bring them to the pagoda.’ It was good he was talking, showing he needed to know what had happened.
‘Where’s my father?’
She told him about Frank, Hinney and Salter.
He shuddered. Perhaps she should have lied. It could all be too much for him.
‘Mr Diamond is chasing them?’
She nodded.
‘Yes, I told him not to, but—’
There was a muffled explosion. Her blood froze and she gripped Stephen to her. He moaned with pain. ‘Sorry.’ She loosened her hold.
‘What was that?’
She gulped. Terrible thoughts raced through her brain. Images of bodies thrown up into the black sky, disintegrating into dismembered arms and legs landing randomly over the shingle. Frank. Frank. She wanted to rush from this hell pit, up the ladder and out into the night to search for him -to find him alive.
‘It sounded like an explosion.’ Her voice sounded remarkably calm.
Stephen stiffened. ‘They’ve set off a mine, haven’t they?’
‘Yes.’
‘I pray Mr Diamond’s alright.’ No mention of his father.
Life without Frank would be unbearable. She couldn’t imagine it.
The clattering of boots on concrete, then beams of torch light shone above their heads.
‘Miss Bowman. Laurel? Stephen? Where are you?’
It was Revie’s Birmingham twang. Tonight, she loved his accent.
‘Down here, in the pit. There’s a ladder. Stephen needs urgent medical attention.’
He nimbly climbed down, the beam from his torch swinging wildly in the air. ‘Bloody hell! What’s that pong?’ He shone the torch onto the pile of bones and clothing and made a noise in the back of his throat of disgust and anger. He shone the beam onto her and Stephen and stopped, his face shocked and concerned. ‘God Almighty!’ He turned and looked up towards the faces peering over the edge of the pit. ‘Quick, Doctor, get down here.’
He sat down beside her. ‘My word, this is a right to-do. How is he?’
‘I’ve never been so pleased to see you. Stephen’s in shock, he’s got several cuts on his chest.’ She eased Stephen’s body from hers so Revie could see his injuries. ‘Stephen. Inspector Revie is here.’
A man climbed down the ladder, holding a black medical bag. ‘Here’s the doctor, Stephen. He’ll be able to help you.’
Stephen raised his head and looked at Revie. He didn’t say anything. Revie patted his shoulder. ‘You’ll be looked after. We’ll get you to hospital as soon as we can.’
The doctor, a middle-aged man, stared at them. ‘My God, what’s happened?’
‘Stephen’s in shock, not only from his wounds, but from what he’s heard while he was tied to the wall.’ She pointed to the sawed-off ropes dangling from the steel pegs concreted into the wall.
The doctor shook his head ‘This is terrib
le. I’m not sure I understand, but if you’d move away from Stephen I’ll examine him. I think an injection or two is needed. Do you know what kind of instrument inflicted the wounds?’
She pointed to where she’d flung down the razor. ‘There it is. I used it to cut him free.’
The doctor pulled a face. ‘Tetanus jab needed, but that can wait till we get to Ipswich.’
She gently extricated herself from Stephen. Revie helped her up and they moved a few paces away from the patient and doctor. He took off his jacket and handed it to her.
‘Was there an explosion? Is Frank all right?’ she asked, her stomach in knots.
Revie gripped her arm. ‘Yes. Two. First one set of the other. A white phosphorus bomb. Still had a good kick after sitting there all these years. RAF used those to “fire storm” Dresden in World War 2. Sorry, don’t know about Frank. I came straight here. The ordnance experts are searching for survivors, but the bloody smoke’s making it difficult.’ He studied her face. ‘He’ll be all right. Fill me in as to what’s been going on.’
She pulled away from him. ‘That can wait. I’m going to find Frank.’
Revie raised his eyebrows. ‘In that case I’ll have a shufti at that pile of old rags in the corner. Is it what I think it is?’
She turned, half-way up the ladder. ‘I think it’s the remains of Lucy and Bobby, killed by Hinney. God knows why.’
She pulled herself over the edge of the pit.
‘Miss Bowman! Are you OK?’ It was Johnny Cottam. From his horrified expression she realised she must look as though she’d committed a murder; Stephen’s blood was all over her.
‘I’m fine. Have you seen Frank?’
‘Inspector, oh, sorry, Mr Diamond?’ Cottam was Frank’s number one fan. ‘No. He wasn’t out there was he?’ His voice was riddled with concern.
‘Yes. He went after Sam Salter, who was chasing Hinney. I’m going to look for him.’
‘I’ll come with you. I’ve got a torch.’
She wasn’t sure what had happened to hers.
Several people were milling about, more coming into the pagoda, including two men carrying a stretcher. It would be a difficult journey for Stephen: carried to a boat, a short crossing to Orford and then the ride to Ipswich. ‘Come on, let’s go,’ she said to Cottam, as she ran from the pagoda.
In the doorway she almost collided with a tall thin man, supporting another. It was Tommy Coltman holding Frank, whose eyes were swollen and red,
Relief, joy and then concern, shot through her. ‘Frank. Thank God. I thought you’d been blown up.’ She hugged him as best she could and kissed his cheek. He coughed and spluttered, unable to reply.
‘Laurel! What happened? Are you injured?’ Tommy asked, his eyes like saucers.
‘No, this isn’t my blood, it’s Stephen Salter’s. He’s alive, the doctor’s with him. I’ll explain later. I need to get the doctor to see Frank.’
Frank wriggled free. ‘No. I’ll be all right,’ he whispered, his voice as rough as sandpaper.
‘The medics irrigated his eyes with water, but he’ll need to be checked out at hospital. He wouldn’t go to the boat until he knew you were safe and Stephen was alive,’ Tommy said.
A warm glow filled her chest. ‘I’m fine, Frank. Stephen’s in a bad way, but I don’t think his life is in danger.’
‘Good,’ Frank wheezed.
‘Glad to see you’re in one piece, sir,’ Johnny Cottam said.
Frank raised a thumb and tried to smile.
‘I’ll get back inside if you don’t need me.’
Frank nodded.
‘What about Hinney and Salter? Are they both dead?’ she asked.
‘Hinney’s dead -went up like a fireball -terrible way to die,’ Frank whispered.
She shuddered. Retribution? She didn’t want to think about it. ‘And Salter?’
‘Alive, just. Badly burnt. They’ve already moved him, given him morphine. I’ll be surprised if he’s alive when they get him to hospital. Poor man,’ Tommy said. ‘Whatever was this about? What was Hinney trying to achieve?’
She glanced at Frank who gave a miniscule shake of the head. ‘It’s complicated, Tommy. Would you mind if I had a word privately with Frank? I need to ask him something.’
‘No, please, go ahead. I’ll see if I can be of use.’ He moved into the pagoda. He seemed to have lost his fear of the place.
‘Frank, we need to tell him, before someone else does. Revie may have worked it out.’
Frank nodded. ‘You’ll have to do it, I can’t talk.’
His voice was awful; she hoped there wasn’t permanent damage. ‘Shall I bring him back? Let’s go outside to tell him. Will you stay? You ought to get to hospital as soon as possible.’
‘Get him. We’ll sit on the beach. The wind’s coming off the sea, it’ll have blown the smoke away.’
‘Should Revie be there?’
‘Good idea. Tell him to shut up and listen.’
Laurel thought she’d better phrase it more diplomatically.
The four of them sat on up-tumed oil-drums she’d found on the beach. They were silent, the sound of the waves scraping the shingle the only sound.
She straightened her back and took a deep breath. ‘Tommy, I’ve something important to tell you. Tonight, when Frank and I were hiding in the pagoda, we heard Hinney force a confession from Sam Salter,’ Laurel said.
‘A confession? You don’t mean Salter killed those poor girls?’ Tommy asked.
‘No. We believe Hinney did that, with the help of Belinda Tweedie. He also murdered her and Bert.’
‘My God, this is unbelievable. Then what did Mr Salter confess to?’
She tried to keep a calm voice. ‘Sam Salter confessed to murdering your wife and child, all those years ago,’
Tommy half-rose from the ground, his face white in the moonlight, his eyes black holes of horror. ‘But Adrian Hovell was found guilty and hanged! Was he innocent? No. This is terrible.’
Laurel reached out and took his hand; he collapsed beside her.
‘John? Did he say what happened to John?’
Laurel gulped. ‘He said he threw him into the river.’
Tommy threw back his head and howled. ‘I saw him lying on the shingle, badly burned, I cried for him and for the terrible pain he was in. My God, if I’d known I’d have finished him off with a rock and be damned to the consequences. That man gave me a job. I thought he was a kind, generous person, giving me a chance to earn a few pounds, when no one else would lift a finger to help me. Was he salving his conscious? How could he live with himself after killing my Audrey and John? May he rot in hell.’ He was quivering with rage and hate.
Laurel waited until he seemed to have gained control of himself. ‘Do you want to know exactly what happened? I’ll try and remember everything. Or would you rather wait?’
He sighed, his shoulders sagging, chest caving in, reverting to the disturbed man they’d met at the beginning of their journey to Orford Ness. ‘Tell me now.’ But his voice was strong, determined.
She started from the moment they’d gone into the pagoda and seen Salter chained to the rail and heard Hinney speaking from the pit.
Chapter 27
Sunday, July 4, 1971
Frank finished his last telephone call and went into the garden of Greyfriars House.
He wrapped his hand round a cool glass of beer, the beads of condensation trickling between his fingers. He raised it and took a long, slow drink, the bitter taste of hops, contrasting with the smooth malty flavour. Heaven in a glass. He sighed.
‘That’s the first time you’ve looked relaxed for ages,’ Laurel said.
He smiled at her and took another mouthful.
It was the evening of a warm, sunny day; Frank, Laurel and Stuart were drinking beer, Dorothy a gin and tonic and Mabel was sipping a Babycham. The mood was sombre.
‘I should have stayed at the camp to help,’ Dorothy said. ‘I wanted to get away, back to my house.
I didn’t think about how they were going to manage, especially in the office.’
‘You’re better here, among friends. You’ve all been through enough; I can’t believe everything you’ve told me,’ Mabel said.
Frank smiled at Dorothy. ‘Try not to worry, I’ve just talked with Nellie Minnikin -she’s holding it all together. She say’s Stephen’s wife, Eve, has turned up, and she’s helping out between hospital visits. Her mum’s looking after their two boys. Also, the extra office help Stephen arranged has arrived.’
Dorothy emitted a sigh of relief. ‘Thanks for that news, Frank.’
Stuart lit his pipe and as Dorothy took a cigarette from her case he bent towards her and lit it with the same match.
‘Any other news?’ Laurel asked.
‘Jim Lovell is keeping an eye on Tommy, making sure he doesn’t do anything rash.’
‘I’m glad about that. I want to see Tommy again, perhaps we can help him,’ Laurel said.
‘And Salter is still alive,’ Frank said.
Mabel shook her head. No one looked pleased.
Laurel gave him a long look. ‘You sound relieved?’
Frank nodded and took another pull on his pint.
‘Anyone want a nibble?’ Mabel asked passing round bowls of crisps and peanuts. There were no takers. ‘I could do a proper meal if anyone wants one,’ she said halfheartedly, looking at Stuart.
Stuart blew a stream of blue smoke into the air. ‘Not for me, love. This is one murder case that hasn’t given me an appetite.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s not been very satisfactory, has it?’
‘You shouldn’t put yourself and the others down,’ Mabel said, ‘you found out what happened to those poor girls, the murderer’s dead, and it won’t be long before that Salter joins him, I hope. Fancy him coming here, as bold as brass, asking us to find the girls, and all the time he was a murderer too.’