BURIED ON THE FENS a gripping crime thriller full of twists

by Joy Ellis

  Nikki had great respect for people who did their best to look after themselves. She thought of the pots of flowers and the washing on the line. It reminded her of her grandmother’s house, all spick and span, even though the old lady’s hands were knotted with rheumatoid arthritis. She dragged her thoughts back to the present. ‘When we get back, I think we should write up our reports and walk away from this for a few hours. I’m finding it all very confusing, to say the least. We’ll hear what Cat has to tell us, then we’ll all go down to the Riverside cafe and I’ll treat us to lunch. On one condition! No one is to mention Quintin bloody Eaudyke!’

  * * *

  Cyril Roberts sat in his kitchen and stared unseeing at his newspaper. He could not concentrate, no matter how hard he tried. The past was drumming relentlessly in his head. He had always known that one day the police would come a’calling, but their visit had brought the past rushing back like it all happened just yesterday.

  ‘Read that!’

  His wife sent the sheet of neatly written notepaper skidding across the table towards him.

  ‘That finishes it! I’m not letting her go around with that Avril Hammond anymore!’

  ‘What on earth has little Avril got to do with this, for heaven’s sake? Our lass an’ her are best friends.’

  He read through the head teacher’s report. It was not good.

  ‘Cyril Roberts! You are the only man in this village that has a good word to say for that evil beast Hammond! If you’re not careful and don’t stop defending him, they’ll reckon you’re in cahoots with him.’

  He plonked himself down on the kitchen chair and shook his head. ‘All this says is that her school work is flagging a bit, that she seems to have lost her previous enthusiasm and her marks are lower than usual. Maybe she’s feeling a bit run down. She did have a nasty bout of tonsillitis last month.’

  ‘And maybe that Gordon Hammond has been hanging around her! For God’s sake, man! She’s as silent as a church mouse! Haven’t you even noticed that?’

  She was going too far. He leapt to his feet and pushed his face close to hers. ‘And maybe you have been spending too much time listening to the village gossips, woman! He’d no more touch our girl than ’e would ’is own bairn, so shut it!’ He crumpled up the report and threw it into the grate. ‘I’ll talk to ’er! And I’ll be ’aving the truth from ’er, not a load of suspicious lies — unless you’ve already poisoned ’er mind against Gordon? Well? ’Ave you?’

  Her eyes grew big and her mouth fell open. He had never spoken to her like that before, and he was regretting it already. Before she could say another word, he turned his back on her and almost ran from the house.

  Out in the garden he leant against the side of the potting shed and gasped for breath. He could feel the tears burning behind his eyelids. He couldn’t cry! He mustn’t. The last time he’d cried was when his little girl was born, eight years ago. This dreadful business was really getting to him. It was Bert Gilmore that had sown the seed, one night at an after-hours meeting at the local pub, and it was growing fast. New shoots were springing up all over the village. By now it seemed to him as if his wife might be right. He was the only one to have doubts.

  He pulled his jacket closer round him and walked over to the chicken coop. He curled his fingers through the chicken wire and watched the birds pecking and scratching at the hard ground. The feathers of his favourite bantam gleamed.

  He would never admit it to anyone, least of all his wife, but even he had no idea why Gordon Hammond should go sneaking off onto the marsh before dawn, carrying a bulky sack, and return an hour later with the dirty sacking folded and tucked under his arm.

  Cyril gave a little moan and leant forward, his head in his hands. Would it ever end, he wondered? Would he hear the truth about what happened before he went to meet his Maker? Still, there had been something about that detective inspector that made him think it might just happen.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  That afternoon, Superintendent Greg Woodhall called Nikki and Gill Mercer into his office.

  ‘I have a problem, and I need your help.’ He leaned forward and his face was creased with worry lines. ‘The murders of Madeline Prospero and Louise Lawson have caused a great deal of concern in the higher echelons.’ He drew in a long breath. ‘There is considerable pressure on me to clear up these two cases as fast and as quietly as possible.’

  Nikki interrupted. ‘But, sir, we’ve been held back, haven’t we? Because of the names on that list I gave you.’

  ‘I’m well aware of that, Nikki. That list is the cause of some very serious issues.’ He sat back. ‘The two deaths are connected, are they not?’

  Both inspectors nodded.

  ‘Without a doubt, sir,’ said Gill. ‘And unless we get some leads on the killer, another woman from, or affiliated in some way to the Briar Patch Club could well be next.’

  ‘So you believe that someone is targeting the club members?’

  Nikki nodded. ‘It seems like that. Although we have no idea of the motive.’

  ‘We have interviewed any number of people close to them, and no one is setting off alarm bells,’ added Gill.

  ‘There is a meeting of the club on Monday night, sir. Our source is going along and will report back to us immediately afterwards.’ Nikki paused, wondering whether she should tell him about her mother. She decided not to. ‘And we will pass on anything relevant to you, sir.’

  ‘Please do. I suggest that you push your cold case onto the back burner, Nikki, until we get some results with Prospero and Lawson. And leave any sudden deaths to uniform or those DCs who are covering lower priority stuff.’

  Nikki inwardly growled. She didn’t want to lose their momentum now. ‘I don’t believe that the Hammond case is quite as cold as we first thought, sir. I’m pretty certain that it’s going to jump up and bite us at any moment. Someone has just gone to great lengths to remind us about Hammond.’ She told Greg about the dead rabbits at St Augustine’s. ‘So I’d really like to leave at least one officer keeping the ball rolling, sir.’

  ‘If you must, but get everyone else moving as fast as you can on the Briar Patch case.’ He handed them both a typed memo. ‘Now, there are some people listed here that I do not want you to question. I repeat, do not involve these women. This is a security matter. One of them, as you already know, is involved in an internal investigation at a very high level.’ He rubbed at his chin. ‘I don’t have to tell you to be as discreet as possible. Tread very, very carefully. We don’t want anyone making allegations against us.’

  ‘What if we find that one of these “elite” women has something to do with the deaths?’ Gill Mercer asked.

  ‘Do not approach them yourselves. Come directly to me and I will take it from there, understood?’

  Finally, Gill and Nikki were released.

  ‘Phew! He’s really been put through the mill, hasn’t he?’ Gill Mercer murmured.

  ‘I’ll say. Poor guy looked strung out.’

  ‘So, how do we play this?’

  Nikki grimaced. ‘I suggest you come down to my grotto and we’ll plan a strategy.’

  ‘Maria Lawson is in a terrible state,’ said Gill. ‘I’ve done all I can, but I’m getting nowhere. I feel sure the two cases are connected, but how? The only common factor is the Briar Patch Club.’

  As they walked down the stairs, Nikki heard voices coming up from the landing below. She held out her hand to stop Gill going any further down and they both listened.

  ‘Dunno why we have to have a load of hi-tech computer boffins here in the first place. Probably comes out of our bloody budget.’

  ‘Yeah, and have you seen the butch little civvie who’s going to be running it?’

  ‘Another todger dodger? If you ask me they just need a good seeing to. Show ’em what they are missing. Hey, do you know the definition of a dyke?’

  Nikki quickly stepped down to the landing. ‘Yes. A woman who is smart enough to know she doesn’t need a man
like you in her life.’ She glared from one of the two officers to the other. ‘I suggest the two of you keep your bigoted opinions to yourselves, unless you fancy being up to your ‘todgers’ in hot water.’

  The two men looked shocked at her outburst. ‘Sorry, ma’am. Just a bit of fun.’

  ‘Well, I’m not amused.’ Gill Mercer growled. ‘Now get lost.’

  As the two women walked on down the stairs to the basement, Gill gave a low chuckle. ‘Looks like you and I will now be getting a few new nicknames.’

  Nikki shook her head and grinned. ‘We’ll cope.’

  She ushered Gill into her new quarters.

  ‘Oh! This is very interesting! Ah! Would that be the clock that went missing from the men’s room?’ Gill grinned.

  ‘How on earth would I know that? It’s not a place I frequent, actually.’ Nikki attempted to keep a straight face.

  ‘Me neither, but my lads have been going on about it for days.’

  ‘Every time I walk in here I find something new. I’m beginning to dread what might be coming next,’ Nikki glanced at Dave.

  Gill grinned. ‘As long as it’s not that big picture in the silver frame of the super’s wife, you should be fine.’

  ‘Want a coffee? Just please don’t tell me it’s your coffee machine!’

  ‘Love one, and no, I’ve never seen it before.’ Gill sat down at Nikki’s desk. ‘I know I’m short-staffed but even so, by now I should be following leads, hot on the killer’s trail, but like hell I am.’ She shrugged. ‘CCTV has given us nothing, and you know what bedsit land is like. That area by the college could be Grand Central Station for the amount of footfall there.’

  Nikki nodded. ‘And everyone loved the kid, right?’

  ‘Not an enemy in the world — bar one of course.’ Gill smiled.

  ‘And the PM results aren’t back yet, so we are screwed on that front—’

  ‘Not exactly.’ There was Rory, standing in the doorway. ‘Any more of that delicious-smelling coffee on offer?’

  ‘Only if you come bearing gifts.’ Nikki pointed to an empty chair and poured him a coffee. ‘So, what have you got for us?’

  ‘Something very important actually. Louise Lawson. You will see from the tox report that our young victim had been drinking before she was killed. Not heavily, just a sociable glass of dry white wine. Quite a pleasant Sancerre in fact. She appears to have been quite relaxed before she was knocked unconscious. No struggle, no defensive wounds.’

  ‘She knew her assailant?’ asked Gill.

  ‘Can’t be sure, but it looks that way. But here’s the main thing. When I was examining her I noticed a tiny smudge on her cheek. It was so small I almost missed it. Given all the other terrible injuries it was amazing I even saw it, but it just stood out somehow. I took a swab when I did the external examination, and then forgot about it until all the test results came back. It was lipstick, but not the same colour as the one on her lips. And there was nothing in the flat even nearly like it. One of my technicians has traced the suppliers. You’ll find the make and shade, along with a list of local stockists in the details. Midnight Orchid, I think it was called.’

  ‘Could you get any DNA from it?’ Nikki was leaning forward in her chair.

  ‘No, not from that. There was no saliva and no skin cells, just pure lipstick. We have plenty of other DNA though. We are running a comparison check with samples that we collected from the Prospero crime scene. If we get a typing match, it would confirm it was the same killer. And who’s to say? The murderer might just wear Midnight Orchid.’

  ‘A woman?’ Nikki and Gill spoke in unison.

  ‘Or a trans person, dear hearts. It was a very fetching colour, a sort of deep Merlot.’

  Nikki’s eyes were wide. ‘No, seriously, are you telling us that the findings indicate a female killer?’

  ‘Nothing set in stone as yet, but it does seem as if we were having a cosy little tete-a-tete prior to the murder. You know the way it goes, “Ooh, hello, dahling! What a lovely surprise! Come on in . . . kiss kiss, and how are you? I was just going to have a little glass of vino, you will join me, won’t you?”’

  Both women stifled giggles. ‘Rory!’ said Nikki, ‘You make the poor kid sound like some drunken old dowager duchess!’

  ‘Oh well, I do a much better Barbara Cartland than a teenage pop idol, but you got the general idea, didn’t you?’

  Nikki smiled. ‘Certainly did! Is there anything else to indicate that the killer was a woman?’

  ‘The height of the attacker, possibly. From the angle of the blow to the head, we are working on a height of around five foot seven or eight.

  ‘That’s the same as the Prospero case.’ Nikki looked thoughtful.

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Well, thank you, Rory. We really appreciate it.’

  Rory sipped his coffee. ‘I’m still doing tests, so anything else I find will be all yours.’ He glanced up at the clock, ‘Oh dear, got to go. I say! Isn’t that the missing clock from th—’

  Nikki held up a hand. ‘I know, I know! Anything that goes missing seems to find its way here. It’s like living with the Borrowers!’

  ‘Ah. So if I’m down a stereomicroscope, or maybe a spleen or two, I’ll know where to come!’

  Nikki scratched her head. ‘I wouldn’t put anything past my lot.’ She looked at Rory. ‘You’re looking chirpier than of late. Have you had good news?’

  ‘I didn’t realise it showed. But, yes, I’ve had a call from David. He’s still in the badlands, but he’s safe and out of the area with all the fighting.’

  Nikki smiled. ‘Thank heavens for that. You will be able to sleep at night now.’

  ‘Not until he’s back home and I can see him for myself. But, thanks. It is a huge relief.’ Rory downed his coffee and made for the door, where he gave them a regal wave.

  Neither of them spoke for a few moments, and then Gill said, ‘A female killer?’

  ‘Attacking other females?’

  Gill shook her head. ‘Weird.’

  ‘I suppose we shouldn’t bank on that. The lipstick could already have been there,’ Nikki said thoughtfully.

  ‘Quite possibly, but it does add another dimension, doesn’t it? What if the killer was a woman? Maybe she had been refused entry to the club and she’s teaching the Briar Patch a deadly lesson.’ Gill looked at Nikki.

  ‘A woman scorned?’ Dave spoke from across the room. ‘Nothing more dangerous.’

  ‘Well, why not?’ said Gill. ‘That might be why she chose Madeline. Didn’t you say she was about to be accepted as a new member?’

  Nikki nodded. ‘That’s right.’ She sat back and narrowed her eyes. ‘That is a real possibility. After all, we don’t look for logical reasoning in a murderer, do we? If she was really pissed off at them, then yes, she could be taking her revenge on particular members.’

  Gill’s eyes lit up. ‘Let’s see what your little mole says about that. She might know of someone who has been refused membership recently.’

  ‘I’ll be talking to her later,’ Nikki said, ‘so I’ll ask her.’

  ‘Great.’ Gill stretched. ‘Well, at least we have another avenue to explore. Now we can get down to some softly, softly interviews with the women who are not on the super’s list of untouchables.’ She looked at Nikki. ‘I gathered that your other old case is causing you some trouble too?’

  Nikki groaned, and Dave provided a distant echo.

  ‘It’s bizarre, and getting odder by the minute. Picture this. A perverted killer drowns himself, but he’s found on dry land stabbed in the back with his skull caved in. But he might not have been a pervert after all, and the girl he killed may not be dead anyway, so if he didn’t—’

  ‘Whoa!’ Gill held up her hands. ‘Enough! You can keep that one, and when you’ve sorted it, do tell me all about it, but until then . . .’ She stood up. ‘God, my brain aches!’

  ‘Huh! Yours does?’ grumbled Dave.’

  When Gill had left, Nikki
asked Dave where the others were.

  ‘Ben is still checking hotels and guest houses for Millie Cartwright, and Cat and Yvonne have gone back to old Cyril’s place. They are anxious to find out more about his daughter Delia’s friendship with Avril Hammond.’

  ‘And Joseph?’

  ‘He had a call and said he needed to slip out for a while.’

  Nikki made no comment. She could guess who had called him, and it probably had nothing to do with work. Her face darkened. At some point, Laura would step too far into Joseph’s life. Then she would find Nikki Galena waiting for her.

  * * *

  A fine drizzle of rain was drifting in from the North Sea. Cyril Roberts’s cottage seemed to be hunched into itself, lonely and miserable.

  This time they readily accepted his offer of tea.

  While Cyril filled the kettle, Cat looked around. An almost completed Daily Telegraph crossword sat on the kitchen table, with a dictionary and a well-thumbed thesaurus to one side. The old man was obviously not prepared to let his brain cells wither from disuse.

  ‘You don’t mean to tell me that the paper boy delivers all the way out here?’ Cat pointed to the newspaper.

  ‘I drives into West Salterby every morning, gets me paper an’ anything else I need, which ain’t too much these days. I spend more on food for the cat than for meself!’

  ‘Where is the cat?’

  ‘Probably out rattin’. You need a cat in these parts. After the harvest, the mice like to get up in the lofts. My Raffles caught seventeen last year after the cutting had finished. But you ain’t come to hear about my vermin problem now ’ave yer?’ He poured the tea while they told him they would like to hear about Avril’s friendship with his daughter.

  ‘My Delia was younger than Avril, but me an’ her dad being good mates an’ all, they stayed best friends for years. Avril Hammond was bright, much cleverer than my girl. According to Gordon, her school reports said she would go far.’ Cyril thought for a moment. ‘Avril didn’t mix much. I expect the other kids were a bit boring for her. None of them were too clever really. She and my Delia went everywhere together.’