by Joy Ellis
The doctor turned away. Bernie King sagged against the newel post at the bottom of the stairs. Nikki put her arm around him, and led him back into the sitting room.
‘Full recovery?’ His hands were twisting together in his lap.
‘I don’t think Dr Foley would say anything he didn’t mean, Bernie. And he does have excellent facilities at his disposal. A private clinic, I believe.’
Bernie King’s face fell. ‘But we can’t afford . . .’
‘Don’t worry about that right now. I’m pretty certain there will be no bill.’
‘But—’
‘Let’s talk to the doctor about it, shall we?’
* * *
By four o’clock, Dr Foley had arranged for a private ambulance to collect Sally King and take her to his clinic at Wainfleet. While they waited, Nikki, Richard and Bernie sat with her. She lay in her teenage daughter’s room, whose walls were covered in posters of boy bands and Asa Butterfield. Sally looked paper white against the bright colours of the bedcover, her skin almost translucent. She drifted in and out of sleep, but at least she recognised them all. Once, she asked her husband to make sure the children’s dinner was ready. This was nothing like the Sally King Nikki had met in the churchyard, and she was relieved when the ambulance finally arrived.
It was decided that Bernie would follow his wife in their own car, and Richard would drop Nikki back in Greenborough before going on to the clinic.
* * *
They had been parked in the station car park for several minutes, but Nikki could not find the energy to drag herself from the seat.
‘I don’t know how I am going to tell my team about this.’ Her throat felt parched, as if she had swallowed a dry chamois leather.
‘I’m sure you’ll do it exactly as I’ve just done, Nikki. Professionally. Concisely. With a good deal of pain and revulsion. And now I have to get over to Wainfleet. That young lady needs lots of TLC and I aim to be the one to give it to her.’
Nikki stepped out into the cold air. For the first time in a very long time, she felt like crying. Richard was telling her that he would keep her informed of anything else that Sally wished her to know, and soon the car was pulling out of the parking bay. Richard Foley had turned onto the main road and was out of sight before she made a move.
Her shoes made soft slapping noises on the damp tarmac. Throughout her childhood, Nikki had been surrounded by love. Her home had been safe, warm and welcoming, and full of laughter. Not so for the children of Quintin Eaudyke. A mere fifteen miles away, as young Nikki was enjoying her bedtime story, a Quintin child — maybe Sally, or Georgie, or Lucy — was being tortured and abused by someone only a few years older than themselves. By Avril Hammond.
* * *
‘So did Doc Foley have to hypnotise her again?’ Joseph asked.
‘No, it wasn’t appropriate, and he didn’t need to. Once she started to remember, the whole damn lot came bubbling to the surface.’ Nikki gratefully accepted a mug of coffee from Cat.
Cat sat down and stared at her boss. ‘Poor woman. Will she be all right? That’s one hell of a thing to happen, emotionally I mean.’
‘She’s in Richard’s psychiatric clinic, and he plans to care for her personally. He reckons with plenty of the right kind of help, she’ll weather this.’
Joseph leant against the wall, his coffee mug held between his hands. ‘And the whole nightmare that took place in Quintin Eaudyke was down to Avril Hammond?’
‘Without a doubt.’
‘What did Sally actually tell the doctor?’ Dave asked tentatively.
Nikki steeled herself for the inevitable. ‘Okay, guys, brace yourselves. This does not make good bedtime reading.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Sally appears to have been Avril’s favourite, probably because initially she tried to fight back, and stood up to the bullying. So Avril tortured her repeatedly until she finally gave in, just like all the other terrified little kids. Sometimes Avril used one against the other. She told Sally that if she ever told on her, then she would kill Georgie Ackroyd, slowly. She would torture and kill small animals in front of them, saying she’d do the same to them if they ever sneaked on her. It was a little difficult for the doctor to get things straight, time and location-wise, but it seems that Avril had two favourite places to pursue her nasty hobby. One was the old wartime pillbox on the outskirts of the village, where Sarah Archer was imprisoned overnight, and the other was an old family crypt in St Thomas’s churchyard. She had managed to force the door open, and performed her cruel rituals on the wide stone shelves where the caskets sat.’
‘The little monster!’ Cat spat the words out.
Nikki wanted to get the story over with as soon as possible. ‘Sally was taken to the crypt as frequently as once a week. The day Linda Draper saw her being brought home by some other kids was the first time that Avril, er, well, interfered with her. She was tied over the lid of a stone coffin, and two of the other young victims were forced to watch while Avril abused her.’
‘How did she get away with it for so long?’
‘Fear and shame. Apart from terrorising them, she told them they were dirty, and if ever their families found out what they had done, they would be thrown out and sent to orphanages where even worse things would happen to them. They would be taken from their beds every night . . . oh, she knew exactly what to say to keep them silent.’
‘And she fooled the adults completely?’
‘Why would you ever suspect a child? And a girl to boot! She was intelligent and very cunning. She chose Delia Roberts to be her “best friend,” and behaved like a little angel with Cyril. That gave her at least one ally. At school she was bright and advanced for her years. The fact that she had very few close friends was attributed to her being above their childish games. She thought of everything. She even went out to West Salterby to conduct her sexual activities. She kept that side of her life for the foreigners, not the locals.’
Joseph eventually broke the silence. ‘If all this is true, we can only guess at what Gordon Hammond went through in order to protect his evil daughter!’
‘And the apple of his eye, the rotten worm-ridden apple, repaid his loyalty by stabbing him in the back and caving his head in!’ Cat shook her head. ‘I wonder if the mother knew?’
Yvonne frowned. ‘When I went to interview them, I would have sworn she had no idea what was happening. I know it’s easy to say things in retrospect, but I felt she was being honest.’
‘I’m inclined to agree, Vonnie.’ Nikki rubbed her eyes, which felt as if they were full of sharp sand. ‘I think she must have suspected something dreadful was going on, but just couldn’t face it, so she went to her sister’s and never had the courage to return.’
Joseph returned to his desk and sat heavily on the old wooden chair. ‘But Avril has.’
‘With a vengeance!’ added Ben.
Nikki asked if anything had happened while she was out.
‘Gill was in just before you came back, Nikki. She’s discovered a few anomalies with one or two of the Briar Patch women. Some of their stories don’t appear to be checking out too well. A couple of them seem to have emerged out of a convoluted and murky past,’ Joseph said.
‘That doesn’t surprise me,’ Nikki said.
‘Gill reckons it’s turning out to be a stable full of dark horses.’
‘Nice analogy, Joseph, and probably quite true. Which ones?’
Joseph produced his notebook. ‘Let’s see. Professor Anna Blunt, Zena Paris and Carla Hunt, to begin with. She says there are several more of the same age that she’s not even started on yet.’
‘I’ll have a word with her about them. Oh, anything from King’s Lynn about the dead drug addict?’
Ben yawned. ‘Nothing, ma’am. The girl’s body has never been claimed, and there are that many mispers it’s almost impossible to trawl through them.’
‘Any photos of Avril yet?’
‘Not one,’ said Yvonne. ‘We are running out of people
to ask. For some reason she never showed up at school on the days when the school photographer was there.’
Joseph nodded. ‘Very few of the old farming families even owned a camera back then. One man told me that they had a travelling photographer used to go round the villages knocking on doors and asking if he could photograph the families, but he’s long gone, I’m afraid.’
‘Didn’t Gordon or his wife give the papers a picture when she went missing?’ Nikki asked.
‘I’ve scanned every article, ma’am,’ said Yvonne, ‘and not one has a photograph.’
‘Bet the little bitch avoided cameras on purpose,’ muttered Cat.
‘Funny, really,’ Nikki added, ‘when you consider that Gordon adored her. People who love their children usually have at least one or two favourite pictures.’ She shrugged. ‘Anyway, back to the trip to the Briar Patch. I’ll take Joseph, Cat and Ben with me. Vonnie and Dave, get yourselves off home, unless you fancy a takeaway before you go? We just have time to eat before we need to leave.’
‘I’ll get home, ma’am, if that’s alright.’ Yvonne smiled. ‘Got to pick my new boy up from my neighbour.’
‘How’s he settling in?’
‘Like a dream. It’s like he knows that he’s got a new home with two dog-mad owners. Ray adores him, and the little chap is as happy as a pig in shi . . . er, chiffon!’
‘Well, he certainly landed on his paws with you two. Lucky little tyke. You go, Vonnie, we’ll see you tomorrow.’ Nikki looked up at the clock. ‘It’s almost nine o’clock now. The auction ends at ten thirty. We’ll give Sammy half an hour to get the place clear, then we’ll go in and collect the glasses. So we’ll leave at ten fifteen, okay?’ She looked around. ‘So, who is on supper duty?’
Joseph raised his hand. ‘We thought we’d get a curry, if that’s okay with you?’
Nikki was suddenly overwhelmed by thoughts of a terrified nine-year-old in a dark crypt with a sadistic captor. ‘For once, I’m going to pass. I’m haunted by the things that evil woman did to those children.’
She noticed Joseph’s look of concern. Nikki walked over to Cat’s coffee machine and poured herself yet another coffee. It was nearly time to go.
* * *
Nikki told her colleagues to get ready. The last few stragglers were coming up the basement steps and onto the pavement. They gave them a few minutes to disperse, took the big evidence boxes from the boot and approached the Briar Patch Club.
The door was slightly open and Nikki saw the shadowy figure of Sammy just inside. ‘All clear. Come in.’ Sammy looked worried. ‘I’ve done my best to make sure that none of the glasses were washed, but we ran out of straight-sided lager glasses at one point and a few had to be recycled.’
‘Not to worry. For some reason I don’t think our suspect is a lager drinker, but who knows?’ Nikki instructed her gloved detectives to begin collecting up the dozens of assorted glasses that were stacked up behind the bar and spread out on the tables.
‘Thank you for cooperating, Sammy. I know it goes against your feelings on the matter, but I promise you that you’re helping us to stop a killer striking again.’
Sammy ran a hand over her close-cropped hair. ‘I’m having trouble getting my head around the fact that I may have served a G&T to a murderer tonight. I’m probably even on first name terms with her.’
Nikki’s expression was sombre. ‘I’ll be very surprised if our tests prove otherwise, Sammy. I’m sorry for the inconvenience here. We’ll get all these back to you as soon as we can.’
‘No hurry, DI Galena, I’ve got a fair few more in the stockroom. We’ll survive.’
‘Ready, Nikki.’ Joseph and the others were waiting by the exit.
‘Thanks again, Sammy.’
‘Come in and have a drink one evening, Inspector, when this is all over.’
Nikki smiled. It was likely she would never see the inside of that club again. ‘Thanks, maybe I will.’
A bleary-eyed Rory Wilkinson duly accepted their offerings. He and a small team of equally weary investigators were waiting to make a start.
‘My friend, I hope you know that this will cost you big time.’
Nikki grinned at him. ‘A day at the health farm, eh? All those worry lines and baggy eyes I’m causing you!’
‘Baggy eyes? How dare you! And just one day? I’ve booked in for a long weekend, if you don’t mind. Now, I have work to do, Detective Inspector.’ He flounced away. ‘Baggy, indeed!’
* * *
Sylvia Caulfield was ready with the list of those who had attended.
‘Want a drink, Nikki? I’ve succumbed to a large scotch, how about you?’ she said.
‘Better not. I’m shattered and I’ve still got to drive back to Cloud Fen. I don’t want my colleagues to have to pull my car out of a ditch at this time of night.’
Sylvia passed Nikki the sheet of paper. ‘I’m certain that’s everyone who attended.’
Nikki ran her eyes down the list. One name stood out like a beacon across a night sky. ‘Delia Roberts?’
‘Yes. Do you know her? She came as someone’s guest.’
‘Whose?’
‘I’m not sure. She does come occasionally to our charity get-togethers, although I believe she is straight. I think the club helped her once or twice with business advice. One or two of the women know her. Anna Blunt for one, Celia and Carla, I think. Oh, and Zena Paris.’
Nikki’s mind was racing. Cyril Roberts’s daughter, connected with the Briar Patch? She hadn’t known. And acquainted with the very three members with dubious histories. ‘What can you tell me about Anna Blunt?’ she asked.
Sylvia drew in a long breath. ‘She’s a professor of ancient history. She’s always off giving a lecture somewhere or other. To be honest, I’ve never really had a lot to do with Anna. I went to a party at her apartment once. The hall and stairs were all hung with framed diplomas. There was a photograph of her when she was younger in a mortar board and gown, holding a rolled up certificate. Why?’
‘I’m told it’s proving difficult to check her background. Any idea what university she went to?’
‘None at all. She’s not keen on academic chitchat. She told me she attends the club to get away from all that.’
‘Mmm. Anyway, I must go. And thank you again, Sylvia. I’ll keep in touch.’
‘Please do, Nikki. I have to confess to feeling rather uneasy on my late night call outs at the moment.’
Nikki’s eyes narrowed. ‘Take someone with you, Sylvia. I mean it. Get a locum, anyone, and preferably a male doctor. Don’t go out alone at night.’
Sylvia held the door back for Nikki. ‘These are very worrying times, aren’t they?’
‘Very worrying indeed.’
Nikki drove out of West Salterby and headed for home.
She badly needed sleep but there was far too much to think about. She was sure that if she went through an MRI scanner right now, they would find a large pink blancmange where her brain ought to be.
* * *
Dawn was not far off. She was exhausted from lack of sleep, but there was still work to be done. She looked around the room. It was bad, but somewhat tidier than it had been an hour ago. Barefoot, she padded to the kitchen, where she bundled the bloodied sheets into the washing machine.
One more item to be tidied away.
The naked youngster was still lying in a heap in the corner of the bedroom. The drug would take hours to wear off, if it ever did. It was some designer drug that she’d picked up on her last trip to London. It had been damned expensive, but it made Rohypnol look like Calpol.
With her bare toes, she nudged at a lifeless white foot. At least this teenager had very little weight on her. She wondered what had kept her from killing the girl. The truth was, she was bored with her lovers, particularly the kids. Maybe it was time to stop. She would allow herself one more, someone powerful, before she finished with everything. She hated her house. She hated this poxy town and its miserable villages. She ha
ted the countryside and the stinking marsh, and even the city had nothing left for her now.
She pulled on a tracksuit and trainers. She’d take the rubbish out, and then get some sleep. She’d taken a couple of days off work, knowing she’d never be going back. One more. Just one more, and then it would be game over.
She opened a drawer and removed three leather straps. She returned to the unconscious girl, pulled her from the corner and fastened the straps around her, like a chicken ready for market. Trussed up, the body was easier to manage. Grasping the leather ties, she hauled the girl to the side door.
The night was cold and damp. Tiny droplets of moisture clung to the dying flowers in her garden. Opposite the door was her garage, already open. She looked briefly around her, and dragged her burden out of the house.
Inside the garage her own car, polished and gleaming, sat next to an old, dented hatchback that had cost two hundred pounds cash from a backstreet dealer in Hull. She unlocked the old car. She heard a small groan behind her, and turned and smiled coldly. It looked like the kid might be lucky after all. She opened the back of the car, shouldered the girl into an upright position, and then tipped her into the back seat. She laid some travel blankets over her and shut her in. She started the old car and drove out onto her secluded drive. The roads leading to Quintin Fen were all empty. She thought she would leave the girl sitting propped against a signpost that pointed towards the seabank. The kid would have to take her chances. Hypothermia might get her, or in her confused state, she could wander off onto the marsh and fall into the river. Well, life was a gamble, wasn’t it?
She removed the straps, kissed the girl lightly on the cheek and thanked her for a lovely time. Her mother had taught her good manners.
She began to wonder about her mother, Gladys. She hadn’t given her a thought in ages. Probably not since she had crept silently into that funny little annexe at her aunt’s house and “doctored” her medication.