BURIED ON THE FENS a gripping crime thriller full of twists

by Joy Ellis

  Cat tilted her head to one side. “Oh?”

  ‘A long cold glass of Bateman’s beer, fish and chips and mushy peas with scraps, and my feet up in front of the fire with an old movie. Smashing!’

  ‘I’m jealous! Have a good one, and see you tomorrow.’

  Another hour passed. Cat placed all the misper records in a neat pile on her desk, with a note to say they were all checked, but no possibles had surfaced.

  Everyone had gone except for Yvonne, who sat in the corner of the office, staring at a computer screen.

  ‘Are you going to be here all night, Vonnie?’

  ‘One more coffee and I’ll make a move.’ Yvonne’s voice was soft. She appeared to be lost in thought. ‘I think my memory has forsaken me.’

  ‘You’re overtired probably.’ Cat stared at her friend. Yvonne looked really troubled. ‘What’s the problem?’

  Yvonne got up and straightened Dave’s untidy pile of newspaper articles. ‘It’s the old boy who took his own life. Fred Cartwright? I think I know him, but I sure as hell can’t remember where from.’

  ‘Sleep on it, Vonnie. I know you, it will surface, it always does. You have a brain like Fenland Constabulary’s whole filing system.’

  ‘It’s becoming a rather old brain, and I think it’s misfiling.’

  ‘It is still a damned sight better and quicker than the PNC.’ Cat grinned and pulled her jacket from the back of her chair. ‘Why don’t you call it a day? I’m sure you just need a nice glass of wine to reboot your amazing neuro-files.’

  ‘Wise words, but I’ll have that coffee first. Night, Cat!’

  * * *

  Yvonne gazed at the old newspaper articles. Gradually, hazy memories began to stir. Was it that long ago that Charlie Warburton was arrested for manslaughter? It had been one of the town’s biggest cases when she was a new probationer. Oh, and the big fire that claimed the historic Greenborough Windmill. God, you could see that blaze for thirty miles! It was amazing the memories these pages conjured up. Ah, yes, she’d been there when they unveiled the unbelievably expensive new war memorial. She chuckled to herself. She’d been there the following day as well, nabbing the snotty-nosed kids who had covered it in graffiti!

  She sipped her coffee and said out loud, ‘Now that’s a face I recognise! Barnsey! Well, I’m blowed!’ Her old sergeant, proudly displaying his bravery award, beamed at her from the page. ‘Now there was a good copper, if ever there was one.’

  ‘You know what they say about talking to yourself, Vonnie.’ Nikki was smiling down at her.

  ‘I thought you’d gone home ages ago, ma’am.’

  ‘No. I’ve been stuck in the super’s office for the last hour and a half.’

  ‘Did you ever know Barnsey?’ Yvonne pointed to the picture.

  ‘He was a bit before my time, but I’ve seen his picture on the wall at HQ. He got a commendation for pulling a couple of little kids out of a burning car, didn’t he?’

  Yvonne nodded. ‘Indeed he did. He was one of the best.’

  ‘I’ve met him actually. He’s just moved into the same old people’s place as Cat’s grandmother. Cat and I called in one day when they had a suspected thief on the staff, and Gran introduced me.’

  ‘Well, I’m blowed! The last I heard he’d retired and gone to live with his son in Yorkshire.’

  ‘Cat’s gran said that the son got a new job in the West Country, but Ron didn’t want to go. Too far from home.’

  Yvonne smiled. ‘Oh, I must call on him. Where’s the place?’

  ‘Silver Court, round the back of Tesco’s. Do you know it?’

  ‘Yes. When I get a free minute, I’ll drop by. We can go over old times. Great bloke, Ron Barnes. I worked with him quite a lot when I was younger.’

  Nikki idly leafed through the copies of the old newspapers. ‘Were you on this one, Yvonne? The Avril Hammond disappearance?’

  Yvonne took the clipping and stared at it in silence.

  ‘Vonnie?’

  ‘Oh yes, I was on that, with Barnsey.’ Her boss’s voice faded behind the alarm bells clanging in her head. Young Yvonne Collins was back in the village of Quintin Eaudyke on a blustery day in 1985.

  She was slim and fit and sitting next to her sergeant at a worn and stained wooden table in a farmhouse kitchen. Across from them sat a man and a woman. Neither looked as if they had slept for a week. They were unwashed, with straggly dirty hair and hollow, red-rimmed eyes.

  Ron Barnes was telling them that, sadly, there was no good news for them, that so far no one had seen their missing daughter. Their shoulders slumped and the woman put her head into her hands and sobbed pitifully. Avril had been missing for three days, and with every passing hour the chances of finding the little girl grew less.

  Yvonne sat back in her chair and bit her thumbnail. Images from three decades ago were flooding into her mind. She shivered. Suddenly Yvonne looked up, directly at a very puzzled Nikki Galena. ‘Now I know! I know where Fred Cartwright came from! Ma’am, have you got a few minutes? I think this is very important, and not just because of Fred’s suicide.’

  Nikki pulled up a chair. ‘Go on.’

  Yvonne drew in a breath. ‘Avril Hammond’s parents seemed devastated by their daughter’s disappearance. Barnsey took me along to tell them that we feared the worst. Gladys Hammond was in bits, but she insisted on making us tea. She asked her husband to get the bigger teapot down from the shelf. As he did, he flinched with pain. His hand opened and he almost lost his grip on the big pot. His wife yelled at him, her anger completely out of proportion to the incident. ‘If you’d gon ta the damned hospital when I told ya an’ not left it a week, yer’d not be like that na, ya stubborn mule of a man!’ Lord, ma’am, I can hear her now! Barnsey calmed her down. He guessed that her anguish over her missing child was, as he called it, “coming out sideways.” The husband sat, nursing his injured arm and rocking backwards and forwards, trying to massage the deformed wrist with the other hand. His damaged right wrist, ma’am!’

  ‘Are you saying what I think you are saying?’

  ‘I am, because the second thing I remember is Gladys Hammond’s rings. When she passed around the cups, I saw she had a ring on every finger. The kitchen was really shabby and I recall wondering if the diamonds were real. I asked Barnsey when we got outside and he said, “Oh they’re real all right, lass. As I heard it, she married down. Come from a good family an’ they didn’t think too much of her choice of husband!”’

  Yvonne stood up and almost ran to Cat’s desk. The picture of the gold wedding ring sat on top of the pile of reports.

  ‘H for Hammond, ma’am?’

  ‘Do the dates match?’ Nikki’s eyes glittered.

  ‘I’d need to check that properly, but I’d say yes. So does his height and that injured wrist.’ She rummaged through the newspaper reports on the Avril Hammond enquiry. For weeks, the child’s disappearance had been front page news. Yvonne turned a few more pages, and then she found what she was looking for.

  ‘Listen to this, ma’am: Police have confirmed that the jacket found on the banks of the River Westland at Quintin Fen last month belonged to Mr Gordon Hammond of Quintin Eaudyke, near West Salterby. Mr Hammond, whose daughter Avril disappeared the month before, has not been seen since the finding of the piece of clothing. From the contents of the pockets and the presence of blood on the jacket, it is believed that Hammond may have taken his own life. The inquest has registered an open verdict.’

  Nikki exhaled. ‘I do believe you have just identified our mystery man!’

  Yvonne nodded. ‘Sergeant Barnes never believed that Hammond had drowned. He said over and over, “So long as we have no body, WPC Collins, we still have a mystery on our hands.” That body never washed up, or if it did, no one ever reported it. It was certainly never found along this coastline.’

  ‘And the girl was never found either?’

  Yvonne shook her head. ‘No, although there were a lot of rumours flying around at the time. Peo
ple suspected her father of killing her. It was also hinted that he might have been responsible for certain acts of cruelty and possibly two outbreaks of child molestation in Quintin Eaudyke, one in the mid-seventies, and one in the eighties, just before he allegedly drowned himself.’ She puffed out her cheeks. ‘And that’s where I know the name Cartwright from, ma’am. He lived in Quintin Eaudyke at the same time as Gordon Hammond. I’d need to find my old notebooks, but I think we interviewed him.’

  Nikki squeezed Yvonne’s shoulder. ‘Well done, you! For the first time in two weeks I can go home happy in the knowledge that we are actually getting somewhere with something.’ She stood up. ‘Now, you get away and give that amazing brain of yours a well-earned rest. Tomorrow we can really get to work.’

  ‘I’m just going to call in on Fred Cartwright’s neighbour on the way home. She’ll not be able to get out and walk that little dog, and he’ll need to stretch his legs.’

  ‘Above and beyond as always, Vonnie.’ Nikki smiled warmly.

  CHAPTER SIX

  A shrill ringing pierced the night silence and made Nikki’s heart race. She reached out of bed for the phone, which gave the time as just before one in the morning. She thought immediately of Joseph. Did he finally want to talk? Or was it the station? Not another death!

  ‘Spooky?’ Nikki leaned back against the pillows. ‘Kind of late for a chat, isn’t it?’

  ‘Sorry, Nikki, I know. But, well, I saw something tonight that you need to be aware of. I’ve been out on the marshes, up on the seabank, just sky-watching, you know?’

  Nikki did know. Spooky took her nickname from her curious hobby of watching the night sky. She tracked the stars, identified constellations, but mainly she was looking for UFOs. Spooky was a living, breathing X-files episode. Spooky was also a well-read, intelligent, specialised computer programmer. Sometimes with Bliss, sometimes with her dog and sometimes alone, she would spend the hours of darkness out on the marshes, staring at the sky. Always hoping.

  ‘Around half eleven, the sea mist came out of nowhere so I jacked it in for the night. Bliss had just rung me, saying that the local weather station had warned of thick fog on the lower marsh road, so I headed home via West Salterby.’

  There was a pause and Nikki shivered slightly. The boggy, fen village of West Salterby was not her favourite place.

  ‘Anyway, the fog was just as bad there so I finished up crawling along the back roads at twenty or less. I passed Dr Sylvia Caulfield’s home and saw a load of cars outside.’

  ‘And? Maybe she was having one of her famous fundraisers.’

  ‘That’s what I thought, until I realised that it was nearly midnight, and I saw whose cars were parked there. Zena Paris’s Merc, Rosemary Allsop’s Toyota SUV, Maria Lawson’s Peugeot, Anna Blunt’s Beemer, Sammy’s Mini Cooper, one I didn’t recognise but I think it belongs to Grace Campion, . . . they all belonged to higher echelon Briar Patch women.’

  ‘And you think that’s suspicious?’

  ‘We are always notified of meetings by text, and I received nothing. This gathering was a very select few.’

  ‘So it looks like your assumption may be correct and they are planning something. Oh hell! Just what we need in the middle of an enquiry!’

  ‘Are you still on it?’

  ‘Yes, my superintendent assures me that there’s no problem.’

  ‘That’s a relief.’ Spooky’s voice dropped almost to a whisper. ‘Sorry to ask this, Nikki, but the papers hinted that Madeline died violently. Is that true? Was she really badly mutilated?’

  Nikki sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Spooky, I know you liked her. Yes, I’m afraid Madeline did not die peacefully. Although from what I saw, I doubt she knew much after the first few blows — if that’s any consolation.’

  ‘Poor Maddie.’

  ‘We will get whoever did it, I promise you that. I just pray that the Briar Patch women don’t get in the way.’ Nikki yawned. ‘Look, thanks for the information, I really appreciate it. Oh, and good luck with your interview.’

  ‘Keep your fingers crossed for me, hey?’

  ‘You’ll sail through!’

  ‘Cross them anyway. I hear that I’m up against several other techies with motherboards for hearts!’

  Nikki smiled. ‘From what I know about you, you have a heart and a motherboard, so it’s in the bag!’

  Nikki ended the call and snuggled back beneath the duvet. She lay wondering about this elite band of women. They could certainly unearth things about Madeline Prospero that a bunch of coppers would never be able to dig up. Perhaps she could find a way to use them. Maybe there was a weak link somewhere in the group’s hierarchy? Spooky was likeable and the group probably trusted her, but only so far. Her friendship with DI Nikki Galena was not exactly a secret. No, Nikki needed an ally, someone in the group with authority. Reciting the list of names had the same effect as counting sheep and Nikki’s eyes closed. Tomorrow she’d go over every name again. There had to be someone . . .

  Nikki opened her eyes. ‘Who do I know with enough sangfroid to walk right in and join that select company?’ she whispered to herself. A smile slowly spread across her face. Of course!

  Eve Anderson.

  The smile widened. Eve would revel in it! She was attractive, very intelligent, and a bloody good actress and she was fairly new to the area. No one knew they were mother and daughter. Perfect!

  Nikki sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She needed to make a few notes. Spooky had said that prospective new members needed to be nominated, then seconded, and she or Denise should be able to sort that for her. Of course, it was by no means a given thing that Eve could gain the confidence of the top women, but if anyone could, she could.

  Nikki padded across the bedroom and paused at the window to look across Cloud Fen to Knot Cottage. She could hardly wait to tell Joseph of her plan.

  Nikki’s eyes widened and she moved closer to the window.

  Knot Cottage was clearly visible. There was no fog on this part of the fen, just a misty haze. There, parked just off the lane and gleaming under Joseph’s security light, was Laura’s bright red 4x4. Nikki glanced at her clock — it was twenty past one. Her heart sank. She yanked the curtains together, returned to her bed and curled up in a foetal position.

  Nikki tried to tell herself that she had no right to dictate what Joseph did with his life. They were not an item, and if they continued to put their jobs first, they never could be. So why did she feel so devastated? There were a dozen valid reasons why his ex-wife should visit Joseph. Nikki knew you should never assume anything. But it didn’t help. She fought back tears.

  * * *

  Spooky also lay awake. She could not stop thinking about Maddie. She had been so unassuming, so quiet. Spooky had never seen Maddie drunk, never heard her raise her voice or pick an argument. Maddie was just there, never seeking out the spotlight. Spooky felt terribly sad that Maddie’s death had been so violent. She turned over again.

  ‘Worried about your interview?’ Bliss asked sleepily.

  ‘I’m fine. You go back to sleep, babe.’

  ‘Sweet dreams.’ Bliss closed her eyes again.

  But Spooky’s dreams were not sweet. They were full of menace, of some impending, nameless horror. When she woke, tired and unrefreshed, all she could recall of them was an image of Madeline Prospero standing at the top of a tall, concrete building. Her flimsy, grey dress fluttered around her thin body. Spooky was down in the street, calling up to her, shouting at her not to jump and begging her forgiveness for giving away her secrets. But the words were torn from her mouth and flew away. She could make no sound. She remembered screaming silently as the ghostly figure pitched forward and plummeted out of sight.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The team, plus Professor Rory Wilkinson, sat in Nikki’s small office listening to Yvonne Collins relate the story of Quintin Eaudyke’s nightmare years and the disappearance of Gordon Hammond.

  ‘The village is in the back of be
yond, a farming community still isolated and suspicious of strangers. You can imagine what it was like thirty years ago.’ Yvonne raised her eyebrows. ‘Sergeant Ron Barnes took me along so I could get a feel for what policing was like in this strange county. It was my first posting and believe me, it was a real shock to the system. Some really terrible things had happened there by all accounts, but no one would talk to us about them.’

  ‘Like what?’ asked Cat.

  ‘Ooh, animals disappearing, then turning up dead, having been tortured. Little children so badly frightened they couldn’t even say what had happened to them. Some had possibly been interfered with, but the relatives refused to allow any medical examination. Wherever we went, we met a wall of silence.’

  Yvonne stared at one of the notebooks she had brought with her. ‘Gradually we began to notice that everything seemed to revolve around one particular family, the Hammonds. It eventually emerged that everyone in Quintin Eaudyke believed that Gordon beat his wife. Gladys was often seen with bruises or a black eye, and that led to concerns about their only daughter, Avril. The villagers came to the conclusion that she was either a second target for Gordon, or an unwilling witness to the abuse he subjected her mother to. Whatever, she was so traumatised she found it almost impossible to make friends, and although she was highly intelligent, she struggled at school.’

  ‘And then she disappeared,’ Dave added.

  ‘She was a teenager, still at school, there one minute and gone the next.’

  ‘And the village decided that Daddy had killed her?’ Cat asked.

  ‘Without a doubt. Although at the time, he seemed totally devastated. Both Barnsey and I believed his anguish was real, but we never found out why he was so distraught. Whether it was because he had lost his beloved daughter, or what he had done to her.’

  ‘So,’ asked Nikki, ‘when he allegedly drowned, did the villagers decide that it was out of remorse for what he’d done to his daughter?’

  ‘They did.’

  ‘Except he didn’t drown, did he?’ Rory gazed up at the ceiling.