by Joy Ellis
‘Of course. But don’t expect too much. Oh, and if he calls you Gordon, that’s his son, my brother. He died ten years ago, but Dad still thinks he’s here.’
Jackman’s heart went out to the woman. ‘I’ll not keep him long, I promise.’
‘He’ll be out back in the lean-to. His name is Stan.’
Leaving Marie to talk to Megan, Jackman walked through the ramshackle cottage and out into a strange narrow room with windows on three sides. It might have passed as a conservatory if properly built, but this wasn’t the case. Jackman sincerely hoped it would remain standing just a little longer.
‘Stan? Hello there! My name is Jackman. Can I have a word?’
The old man stood staring out of the grimy window towards the marsh. On hearing Jackman’s voice he turned and looked at him without curiosity.
‘You know this part better than most, I’m told. Lived here a long time, I guess?’ began Jackman.
Stan sat heavily back into an ancient armchair, and in a weak ray of watery sunshine, Jackman saw thousands of dust motes rise up around him.
‘Have you been out on the strand at darklings?’ Jackman tried using his almost forgotten dialect in the hopes of jogging the old man’s memory.
‘Aye. A few nights back.’ The voice had the deep gravelly timbre of the heavy smoker.
‘See anything interesting?’
The old man frowned. ‘Mayhap, but me mind’s a jumblement. I seems to think I saw a pretty lass, and a truck where a truck shouldn’t be. Out there in the moonlight, it was. No. Shouldn’t be there.’
‘What kind of truck, Stan?’
‘Big dark thing, all thick wheels, too many lights and growling noise.’
Jackman’s brow creased. ‘A 4x4? An off-road vehicle?’
‘Like as much, I suppose.’ Stan wrinkled up his leathery face. ‘But the man who drove it were worse. One look at his face and yer’d see ’e’s as black as the devil’s nuttin’ bag! He spoke to the lass and the next thing she was running like a hare.’
‘Where to?’
He pointed vaguely towards the sea, then he swung round and stared at Jackman. ‘And when are you going to fix that broken gutter pipe, Gordon? That drip, drip, drip keeps me awake at night.’
Jackman looked into the rheumy eyes and saw that his window of opportunity had closed. ‘I’ll fix it, Dad,’ he said softly, and slipped quietly out of the musty-smelling room.
Outside in the car, Marie looked at Jackman eagerly. ‘A 4x4, you say?’
‘And a pretty girl.’ Jackman bit his lip. ‘But the old guy’s mind comes and goes, and he’d probably not be able to tell us much more if we sat with him all day.’
‘But she was here! This is where they brought her, isn’t it?’
‘I believe it is, but we can’t prove it.’ Jackman drummed a tattoo on the steering wheel. ‘Damn it! It’s almost worse than not knowing at all.’
Marie stared at her watch. ‘We should be getting back, sir. I’m sure there will be some loose ends to tie up before we head out to Windrush.’
Jackman grumbled something and pulled the car onto the road.
* * *
At ten o’clock Jackman gathered the team in the CID room.
‘Have you organised a warrant to check out Windrush, sir?’ asked Charlie Button.
Jackman nodded. ‘I know Broome promised cooperation, but I’ve hedged my bets. I’ve swung it with upstairs, and a constable has already collected it from the magistrate.’
He looked at Max, and saw that the young man was his old self again. ‘I’d like you to have a word with Stefan, our Polish interpreter. See if he’s heard anything on the Eastern European grapevine regarding a missing teenager, a girl who calls herself Emily. Tell him we believe she’s in grave danger, Max, and make sure he understands this is not just an excuse to harass them, okay?’
Max nodded. ‘I’ll do it now, before we go.’
There was a knock on the door and they all looked up as PC Andy English entered, carrying a folder of files from the council’s planning office, and the signed warrant.
He handed them to Jackman. ‘We may need this, sir, if my hunch about the big bloke is correct. Fair gave me the creeps, he did. I’m dead certain he’s what my old gran would have called, “lacking up top.” And he’s built like a brick outhouse. I wouldn’t want to upset him.’
‘Benedict Broome did say that Mr Lee could get a trifle overprotective of the place. Frankly, I can’t wait to meet him. Now, what have you found out about the planning permission?’
‘Well, Broome does have permission for a material change of use for the proposed development. It seems that he has requested to modify the old sanatorium, add certain other structures and make it a sanctuary, just as the big guy said. Most of the plans have been accepted. It’s just that he seems to have altered the specifications a dozen times.’ Andy stared at the paperwork in his hand. ‘The man in Planning said he was a nightmare, and even now, when work is almost about to begin, he’s not convinced that he won’t try to change things again.’
‘What do we actually know about Broome?’ Jackman asked. Broome, on his own, seemed to be prepared to spend a fortune on the old place. Who, other than major players in the business world, had that kind of money to flash around in this gloomy financial climate? Very odd.
‘I checked him out, sir, and he’s not known to us. All we know is that he lives with his housekeeper in one of those big houses along the waterway. You know those old three-storey Victorian terraces?’
Jackman recalled the educated speaking voice. ‘You mean Admiralty Row? That’s one classy address. He must be loaded if he owns that property and the Windrush estate.’
Andy nodded. ‘Absolutely. You do know the old story, sir, don’t you?’
Jackman nodded. ‘About how the sanatorium was won in a wager? Is it really true?’
‘Oh yes. Broome won the place playing poker.’
Marie grinned at him. ‘How come the Lottery only ever gets me a tenner once a year?’
‘You and me both, Sarge. Anyway, I’ve asked Kevin Stoner to keep digging into Broome’s history.’
Jackman nodded. ‘Okay. So even though it all seems kosher, you still think we should check the place over?’
Andy looked at him. ‘Absolutely, sir. Micah Lee definitely steered us away from parts of it. Plus he was really uptight about our being there at all. We need to return and not just go with the scenic tour.’
Jackman nodded. ‘Okay, that’s good enough for me, Constable. Get your team together. We’ll move out at eleven o’clock.’
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Across the marsh the morning sky was as blue as the Aegean, but a cloud of foreboding hovered above the officers.
Max and Gary had stayed behind to chase up the interpreter and keep the office running, while the rest of the team headed out to the old house at Roman Creek.
Uniform would carry out the main search but Jackman wanted to see the place for himself.
Charlie stared out of the car window. ‘It’s strange, isn’t it, sir? Although it’s close to the marsh, this area is on a rise.’
Jackman looked ahead of them. ‘You’re right. It’s something of an anomaly. It’s almost a hill.’
‘It was once an island, or so I’m told,’ said Marie. ‘When the land was reclaimed and drained, this place, now called Roman Bank, was then called Romsey. I think it means, island, or dry ground in marsh belonging to a man called Rum, same as the one in Hampshire.’
Jackman gazed at her in admiration. ‘You never cease to amaze me, Marie. Let’s hope your interest in these old places proves useful.’
Marie smiled, but as the car drew closer to Windrush, Jackman noticed that she was looking increasingly anxious.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.
‘It’s changed so much since I was here last,’ she said, ‘and I get the feeling it’s not for the better.’ She looked out of the window at the rambling and desolate old sanator
ium. ‘I can’t believe how different this place feels now from when I came here on that health and safety course.’
‘That was decades ago, wasn’t it, Sarge?’ Rosie laughed. She nudged her younger colleague. ‘Charlie here was probably still in nappies.’
Uniform were already out of their vehicles, and Andy English stood waiting for Jackman to give the go-ahead.
Jackman took the search warrant from his pocket and nodded at him. English returned the nod, and he and some of the other men went quickly up the steps to the front entrance of the old building.
The team hung back with the rest of the group at the bottom of the stone steps, all waiting for their first glimpse of the man who had made such a strong impression on PCs English and Stoner.
It didn’t take long for him to open the door.
‘My God! Conan the Barbarian lives,’ whispered Rosie, eyes wide.
Micah Lee was a beast of a man. He had a thick mop of dark hair and a face that looked as if it had been crudely chiselled out of a rough hunk of granite. His eyes were deep set, under heavy overhanging brows. He was tall and powerful, although not in an athletic way. His strength seemed more inherently Neanderthal than developed through exercise. Jackman found it impossible to judge his age. But what struck him most was the almost tangible sense of resentment at their presence. Lee’s lips were tight with anger.
‘Sensible of you to organise that warrant,’ Marie said quietly ‘I have a strong feeling we’ll need it.’
Jackman stared openly at the Goliath of Windrush. For one awful moment he thought that Micah Lee would have to be physically restrained. And he wasn’t sure how many officers it would take.
PC English bravely approached the man, told him that they had Mr Broome’s full approval for a detailed search, and mentioned that they also had a warrant.
Lee seemed to crumble. Jackman saw a wave of emotion wash across his craggy face. His intense anger subsided, replaced with trepidation and an almost childlike fear.
Fear of what? Jackman wondered.
‘Just do it,’ Micah said suddenly. Then he turned on his heels and marched back through the front doors.
Jackman watched him disappear inside, then called out to Andy and his colleagues to go in. ‘Top to toe. Pay extra attention to anything underground — cellars and the like. Anywhere that could conceal a missing girl. Call me if you find anything, okay?’
A tall, bald-headed sergeant immediately took over, and soon men and women were heading off in pairs to check out the big old house, the numerous outbuildings and the surrounding grounds.
‘Sir!’ The sergeant called over to him. ‘Would you like to help or stay with Mr Lee?’
‘We’ll join you, Sergeant.’ Jackman had no wish to play nanny to a giant, volatile baby. ‘Which area shall we cover?’
‘According to my aerial map, there’s a ward block around the back, sir. It doesn’t seem to have been prepared for renovation yet, so watch your step. It could be dangerous.’ The sergeant placed a tick on his list and turned away.
They made their way around to the back of the building towards the single storey building that housed the additional wards. The exterior had once been white but now great patches of rendering had crumbled away, leaving the brickwork exposed and decaying.
‘This could take some time,’ said Rosie, picking her way over some fallen debris. ‘This place is bigger than it looks.’
Marie nodded. ‘It’s a rambling old pile and it’s a sin to have let it fall into ruin like this. When I was here it was rundown, but at least it was still usable.’
Jackman pushed a door open and they all peered inside.
The ward had been long and wide, with one side opening out through a series of French doors onto concrete terraces. Jackman reminded himself that it had once been a TB sanatorium, and in those days they pushed bed and patient outside to get the benefit of the fresh air.
Now the windows were cracked and broken, and plaster and rotten woodwork lay scattered across the floor. A thick haze of dust motes swam in the shafts of sunlight that penetrated what remained of the glass. In one corner a pile of old metal-framed institutional beds had been heaped together, in another a stack of broken bedside cupboards and rusting skeletons of chairs. Jackman saw something move, and a rat broke cover and ran for a dim, gaping hole in the wooden floor.
Marie sighed. ‘Maybe we should stick together. We can’t afford any broken ankles or cuts and bruises from all this leftover junk.’
‘Shame big Micah never got this far with his clean-up,’ grumbled Charlie Button. ‘He’s done a great job on the front and the sides of the house.’
‘I think this part is going to be demolished,’ Jackman said. ‘I glanced briefly at some of the plans that Andy showed me, and as far as I can remember the back of the building is destined to become some kind of sheltered garden with seats and water features. Not that my imagination is capable of seeing it right now.’ He took a deep breath and stepped inside. Marie, Rosie and Charlie followed and they began their sweep.
They searched every room, each cupboard and corridor. There were five wards, identical in their design. As they reached the final ward Jackman called out, ‘I think we can declare this area clear. Agreed?’
Rosie and Charlie agreed immediately, but Marie seemed lost in thought.
‘Marie?’
‘I’m thinking we need old plans, old maps of the area. Ones that go way back to when the original house was built.’ She looked at Jackman, a light glinting in her eyes. ‘When I was here last, there were all sorts of stories flying around about the history of this place. I read a bit about the general history, just because it interested me, but there were other stories.’
‘Like what?’ asked Rosie.
‘Like ghost stories?’ said Charlie excitedly.
‘More like legends and folklore. One was about wreckers.’
Jackman brushed unsuccessfully at some plaster dust on his jacket. ‘Did we have wreckers along this coast? I thought that was Cornwall.’
‘We had some alright. It’s documented that Mablethorpe had its share, and if the old stories have a grain of truth in them, it looks like this area tried their hand at it too.’
Jackman stared out towards the marsh. ‘Well, the Wash is just beyond this marsh, and then it’s the North Sea. It’s possible, but it’s a very long way to drag their illicit cargo. How did they get it here, I wonder?’
Marie rubbed her chin. ‘That’s why I want to see some old maps, because I’m thinking tunnels and old storerooms.’
‘Then maybe uniform will find something. They are checking for cellars, aren’t they?’ said Rosie.
Jackman nodded. ‘Maybe, but if Marie is right and this house was used by wreckers for hiding their illegal haul, then the entrances would be concealed. We do need old plans.’
Rosie squatted down on her haunches, ‘Maybe Fred Flintstone in there has some, if he’s been doing all this work.’
Somehow Jackman did not think that Micah Lee would have the plans. Benedict Broome would be the one to contact for those. But, before they went down that route, there was another way. Jackman took out his phone and keyed in Max’s number. It took only seconds to relay what they needed, and then he shut his phone and looked at Marie. ‘He’s sourcing them now, and if he finds anything useful, he’ll ring back and Gary will drive out with them. If Max hits a brick wall, we’ll go to Broome for help. Although I’m sure Max’s IT skills will access everything we need in less time than it would take to get Benedict Broome to open his front door.’
Marie straightened up. ‘I think we should see how the others are doing. These wards are holding no secrets. Shall we go find the sergeant?’
* * *
‘Anything so far?’
The sergeant in charge shook his head. ‘Nothing substantial, sir. Some of the rooms have been used recently, but it’s probably just Micah Lee staying over. He seems pretty attached to this place, considering he doesn’t own it. And he’s o
bviously working his fingers to the bone.’ He passed a broad-knuckled hand over his shaven head. ‘But regarding the search, there are no signs of anyone having been held here at any time, but this is a big area to cover. We’ve hardly scratched the surface yet.’
‘Well, the ward block at the back is clear, so you can tick that off your list. Oh, and I’ve requested any architects’ plans on the original building and any old maps, just in case there may be rooms or cellars that were sealed up in later years,’ Jackman added.
‘Good idea. For all we know, this place could be a rabbit warren of underground tunnels.’
Marie started. ‘What made you say that, Sergeant?’
‘Well, it may have nothing to do with it, but see that stretch of marsh over there?’ He pointed across the fields to a broad stretch of wetland. ‘It used to be called Chapel Marsh. They reckon that back in historical times there was an old Abbey out there, the coastline being different back then. Anyway, the sea took it when they flooded this part of the land, and all that was left was a tiny chapel, and that got used by smugglers right up until the time of the Second World War, when that got washed away too.’
Marie’s eyes lit up. ‘I’ve heard of that. But you mentioned tunnels?’
‘Yes, apparently the smugglers used a system of tunnels to bring their contraband inland. Of course a lot of them could have caved in or collapsed with the high tides and the bad weather, but they say that one or two were really well constructed. The locals, and my old grandmother is one of them, reckon they still exist somewhere around here, maybe underneath the Roman Creek sea-bank. You’ve probably noticed it’s a very unusual piece of higher ground, so tunnels could be possible. Just sit in one of the local pubs and you’ll hear a load of old wives’ tales about them.’
Marie felt a tingle of excitement. ‘Did any of these tunnels connect with the house here?’
The sergeant raised his shoulders. ‘No idea, Sergeant Evans. They may not even exist. It might all be just superstition and folklore. You never can tell, can you?’
Marie grinned. ‘Oh, they exist. I’ll stake my new Suzuki on it. Thank you, Sergeant.’ She turned to Jackman. ‘So, what next?’