THEIR LOST DAUGHTERS a gripping crime thriller with a huge twist

by Joy Ellis

  ‘I suggest we let these guys here continue and get back to base and see what Max has dug up. This search will take until the light goes, so we’d be better off doing a different kind of groundwork, using a computer instead of a shovel.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  The CID room resembled a Second World War chart room. Max had pushed several tables together, and they were covered in neat piles of maps, diagrams and plans.

  ‘Oh my! Who’s been a busy boy, then?’ Rosie laughed.

  Marie glanced at him. Had Max blushed?

  Max pushed his rolled-up sleeves further up his arms. ‘I was just getting ready to pack Gary off to meet you. We’ve managed to get our hands on quite a lot of useful stuff.’

  ‘I can see,’ said Jackman. He clapped a hand on Max’s shoulder. ‘Well done! We knew we could count on your computer skills.’

  The young cockney looked proud. ‘Thank you, sir. I’ve found maps, plans, deeds, building permission applications, geophysical surveys and related data, and even aerial cartographical views of Windrush and the surrounding landscape.’

  ‘We’ve tried to arrange them chronologically,’ said Gary. ‘Oldest at the top, and working down to present day. These are particularly interesting.’ Gary held up a batch of geophysical printouts. ‘They were taken a few years back when an archaeological dig was planned for the Roman Bank, but they couldn’t get permission to bring in the diggers. They show the ground right up to and including the edge of the Windrush estate.’

  Marie stared at the papers. ‘I’m not sure what I’m looking at.’

  ‘They are high resolution images that show subsoil structures or traces of human activity.’

  Gary seemed to know his stuff. Marie was impressed.

  He pointed to a shadowy dark square and a series of grey circles and lines. ‘This is what they were after. The archaeologists believed that there was an ancient Roman villa on the spot, and this data supports their theory. They then widened the geophys to see what else might be there, but someone pulled the plug on them, and it never happened.’

  Marie felt a surge of excitement. ‘And their data actually covered part of Windrush?’

  Gary picked up a batch of paperwork. ‘Yes, right up to the walls of the house on the marsh side.’

  Jackman looked over Marie’s shoulder. He frowned and jabbed a finger onto one of the maps. ‘What’s this area here?’

  ‘Is that one of the areas that is being redeveloped?’ asked Rosie.

  Jackman unfolded the plans Andy had given him. ‘No. All the renovation and new building will take place immediately in and around the house itself. The old stores and the barn area that you are looking at are bordered on this plan by a thick green line.’ He squinted at the legend in the bottom right-hand corner of the map. ‘Green box indicates Stage Three Development. Work proposed. See attached addendum.’ He unfolded the rest of the papers. ‘And no attached addendum.’

  Marie drew in a breath. ‘That probably means there are no plans for that spot for the foreseeable future.’

  ‘Then it could be a pretty good place to hide someone,’ Jackman said. He turned to Gary. ‘Can you actually read those geo-fizzy things?’

  ‘Not with any accuracy, sir. We could easily be looking at the foundations of earlier structures on that site, a barn or something like that.’

  ‘Then we need an expert.’

  ‘And I believe I can help you there, dear friend.’

  They all turned around. Rory Wilkinson was standing in the doorway.

  ‘Sorry. I’ve been earwigging on your fascinating conversation. It just so happens that I’ve an old friend at the university that knows a lot about all this. He is an archaeology student, but don’t be fooled by the “student.” He’s been on digs all over the world, and he’s doing a paper on the use of various non-invasive technologies in archaeology. His name is Ted Watchman. You’ll like him.’ Rory pulled out his phone. ‘And it will be my great pleasure to secure his services for you.’

  Jackman nodded briskly. ‘Brilliant! Ask for his help and, Rory, do stress the importance. This girl is still missing, but she might just be alive.’

  ‘Consider it done.’ Rory talked for a few minutes, then turned to Jackman. ‘Should he meet you here, or at the site?’

  ‘Tell him to go directly to Windrush. We’ll meet him there.’

  * * *

  Jackman and his team arrived at the old sanatorium before their new recruit.

  With a shiver, Jackman hurried back into the foyer and saw the dark figure of Micah Lee watching them from his tiny porter’s room. He seemed to be concentrating on Marie in particular, and the look on his face was one of utter hatred.

  Halfway across the hall, Jackman turned and stared back at Lee. It took considerable resolve to hold a gaze of such intense loathing. Eventually Lee broke off and looked away.

  Max’s phone rang as Jackman hurried over to rejoin the team. He listened and pulled a face. ‘The fire chief is trying to locate a heat-seeking camera. They share one with several other stations but it’s not on base at present. Same old story, no bloody money for anything these days. He said he’ll ring me when he finds one.’

  He put away his phone. ‘Sir, with all this going on, I forgot to tell you that I contacted Stefan, the interpreter. There is one possible missing woman. Her name is Aija, Aija Ozolini. She’s not Polish, she’s Latvian, and she definitely uses a different name when she’s around English-speaking people. He’s still trying to find out what that is.’

  Jackman’s heart beat faster. ‘Has she been missing long?’

  ‘She’s not been officially reported missing at all, but her community is definitely worried about her. And the timing fits like a glove.’

  * * *

  They wandered over to the place where the maps showed unidentified marks beneath the ground.

  The area behind the storehouses consisted of flat concrete and scrubby, tired grass, surrounded by wind-blasted shrubs, brambles and weeds. Even the old barn and storerooms seemed lacking in character compared with the house, which although decrepit, was impressive in an aging Victorian Gothic style.

  ‘This is definitely a spot worth checking out when the prof’s mate gets here.’ Gary stared down at the geophysical map. ‘Nothing to show on the surface, though.’

  They all looked around.

  ‘Nothing at all,’ said Rosie, sounding disappointed.

  Max kicked impatiently at some loose shingle. ‘This place is bleeding miserable.’

  Marie sat on a low stone wall, a little apart from the others, and stared out across the wetlands. How different the place felt from when she had been there as a young copper! There had always been an air of mystery to it, but it was a very old property, where many people had died over the course of the years. It had been a hospital too, after all. Stories about the place had been passed on, changing and being embellished, until they became part of folklore. When she was on her course, Marie had revelled in these stories, but today the place had a different feel to it. Marie was a down to earth, no-nonsense woman, but even she felt as if something dark and unwholesome had draped itself over the old building and all the land around it.

  A skein of greylags flew across the marsh. They wheeled and landed neatly on a lime-green patch of sedge close to the water. Their harsh, honking calls blended perfectly into the dreary landscape.

  Marie felt a hand gently rest on her shoulder.

  ‘Does this place give you the creeps?’ asked Rosie softly. ‘Because it definitely does me.’

  ‘Me too,’ added Gary. They both sat down beside her on the wall and Gary stared at the dust that clung to his polished black boots. ‘My sister hated this stretch of the marshes.’

  Jackman ambled towards them. ‘Your sister died, didn’t she?’

  Gary nodded. ‘Not long ago.’

  ‘Is that why you wanted a change of scenery?’ Jackman said gently.

  ‘It was partly the case, but working at Harlan Marsh
nick was . . .’ Gary sighed.

  ‘Did you come here a lot? You and your sister?’ asked Marie.

  ‘Only when we were bringing one of the animals to see the vet.’ He pointed across to the other side of the Roman Bank where a small farmhouse nestled in a clump of trees. ‘Our vet lived over there. He used to do consultations from his front room. Still lives there, I believe, although now he has a modern surgery in Harlan Marsh town. Nice bloke, great with our dogs. Even so, Anne hated coming out here.’

  Rosie tilted her head. ‘Why?’

  Gary smiled sadly, took out his warrant card holder and removed a small colour photo. ‘My sister, Anne.’

  Marie hid a smile. They looked like twins.

  ‘Right from when she was a little kid, she would do anything rather than go across Hobs End Marsh.’ Gary pointed to the area immediately in front of them. ‘That stretch over there. Years ago it was called Chapel Marsh, but the name changed during the war. It has always had a bad reputation, and most of the older locals still refuse go out there.’

  Jackman gave a little sigh. Every local knew some weird and wonderful story, and it certainly got in the way of their investigations. He had little time for mumbo-jumbo.

  ‘So what superstitious crap keeps them away?’ he asked. ‘This part of the coast is one of the richest areas for collecting samphire, it should be a little goldmine. So what are they scared of? Jack-o’-lanterns or boggarts? The green mist? Or perhaps it’s the Black Dog!’

  Gary smiled and raised his hands. ‘I know, I know. Superstition is alive and well and living in Lincolnshire.’ His smile faded. ‘But even I don’t like this part, and I really don’t believe in boggarts.’

  ‘But your sister did?’ Rosie handed him the photo.

  ‘Oh no. Anne didn’t believe in all that stuff. I think all those stories she heard as a kid affected her, and she did have some sort of odd sensitivity to atmosphere. It’s difficult to explain, but there were certain places that upset her quite badly.’ He looked out over the sedge and reeds of the watery marsh. ‘And this was one of them.’

  Gary took the picture back, stared at it for a moment and then carefully returned it to his warrant card holder. ‘Frankly, although I think Anne was right about the place, there might have been other reasons for the locals keeping away. People say they’ve seen someone in dark clothes walking around at night. They say only a devil would walk those paths in darkness.’ He held up his hands and grinned. ‘But I say that a smuggler would certainly walk here. This marsh meets the Wash, and the Wash meets the North Sea.’ He raised an eyebrow.

  ‘And the North Sea meets boats stuffed with illegal incoming drugs.’ Jackman nodded. ‘We’ve already talked about this, but in more historical terms.’

  ‘We’ve got rid of most of the trade in this area, but you’ll never stamp it out completely. There’s always some silly sod ready to take on the marsh and the killer tides,’ added Gary.

  ‘So what was the original folklore story about this spot? And why was your sister so affected by it?’ Rosie leaned forward, her elbows resting on her knees.

  ‘I forget the whole story, but it is supposed to be one of those places where weird natural phenomena occur when the weather is just right. And you can imagine what the old web-foots make of them! Mind you, although all marshes have their ghost lights, it’s the sheer abundance and regularity of the marsh lights here that make it different. That and the strange noises. A whole plethora of weird sounds come from Hobs End, something to do with movement in the boggy soil I think. Anyway, one day when we were walking our dogs up to the Wash bank, Anne said she heard whisperings, voices, saying things she didn’t want to listen to. It scared her half to death. Then a few years back, my old dog did a runner after a visit to the vet’s, and we came down here looking for him. Anne heard things then too.’

  ‘The same sort of whisperings?’ Rosie was beginning to sound like a schoolgirl in the dorm at midnight.

  ‘No, she said it was more like church music, chanting or singing. It had her in pieces. She fair ran off the marsh, she did.’

  ‘A boggart that sings! That’s a new one for the old crones to pass around when they’ve finished reading the tea-leaves.’ Jackman shook his head. ‘Where the hell is our archaeologist? We are sitting around telling bloody stories while Emily could be breathing her last.’

  ‘I’ll go back to the house and look out for him, sir.’ Rosie brushed dried grass off her trousers.

  Max stood up immediately. ‘I’ll go with you.’

  Marie watched them walk away and then turned to look back over the lonely stretch of marsh. She wanted terribly to be gone from here.

  Gary pointed back to the house. ‘Looks like our man is here, Sarge. Rosie is waving to us. Shall we go?’

  * * *

  A white van, dirty, dented and half dead, groaned to a halt behind their police car. Ted Watchman, the young man who got out could be nothing other than an archaeology student. His wavy hair was unfashionably long. He wore round wire-rimmed glasses and mismatched clothes.

  ‘The fire chief sent you this little beauty, sir. Lovely bit of kit!’ the uniformed sergeant said, looking at the thermal-imaging camera with undisguised longing before passing it to Jackman. ‘I hope you know how it works.’

  ‘If you’re stuck, Inspector, I do. Hey, that’s not your average handheld job either! That’s a state-of-the-art industrial model.’ Ted smiled.

  ‘As long as it works, I don’t care what it is,’ Jackman mumbled. ‘So where did the Fire Service get it from, if it’s not standard issue?’

  The sergeant smiled grimly. ‘I’ve been told to tell you to guard it with your life. It’s on loan from a Search and Rescue Team, and apparently it’s worth a couple of grand more than my car.’

  Hastily, Jackman passed it to Ted. ‘I’ll leave it to the expert, thank you. But, as a civilian I need to explain the risks involved should you need to accompany us anywhere of possible danger.’

  ‘As I think I’m the only person here who can operate this camera, and because I’ve been in some very dangerous places before, sir...’ Ted grinned, ‘I’m game if you are?’

  ‘That’s not the kind of risk assessment that I was thinking of, Mr Watchman, but we seriously need your help.’

  Gary handed Ted the geophysical surveys. ‘This is the area that interests us, sir.’

  He circled his finger around the storerooms and the barn, and his voice was grave. ‘We are looking for anywhere that may conceal a missing girl. Time is of the essence.’

  ‘Call me Ted, and Rory told me what you’re looking for.’ He took the plans and stared at them ‘Hey! This was the Roman villa dig, wasn’t it?’ He flopped down on the ground and spread the sheets around him.

  ‘Apparently,’ Jackman said.

  ‘I’ve seen some of these before. It was an absolute travesty that this dig was aborted. The university was certain they could have made a monumental find here.’ He bent closer to the printouts and let out a low whistle. ‘Whoa! There’s a lot going on here.’ He looked up at Jackman. ‘Can I see the actual area, please?’

  ‘Sure. Come on.’

  Ted strode alongside Jackman. ‘I’ve got some equipment in my van. I brought everything I could think of that might be useful.’

  ‘Good, but I cannot stress enough how quickly we need to move.’

  ‘Okay, we’ll check out what we’ve got first, and then take it from there. That camera you’ve borrowed could save us hours.’

  Jackman’s heart sank. ‘We don’t have hours, Ted. This is not archaeology. If there’s a girl down there, she might be dying. It’s crucial that we find her.’

  For the next fifteen minutes, Ted paced, measured, consulted his surveys and muttered to himself. Then he began drawing in a large plain A4 notebook.

  Jackman felt like shaking him.

  Ted let out a long noisy breath. ‘Right, well, normally at this point I’d do checks of my own, use an EM conductivity instrument, maybe even r
un a ground-penetrating radar check to confirm my initial interpretation, but if time really is so important . . .’

  ‘Believe me, Ted, it is,’ growled Marie.

  ‘Then this is what I consider to be beneath this area, given all I have are old geophys surveys.’ He thrust the drawing at them. ‘There was another building here. Looks like a large, long structure. Its foundations can clearly be seen and they extend beyond the present storerooms and the barn.’ He blinked at Jackman and pushed a lock of hair from his eyes. ‘My guess is that it was a much earlier storehouse of some kind, with an extensive cellar system of its own. The upper part was demolished and the present barn, stores and yard erected over the top of it.’

  Jackman looked carefully at his sketch. ‘And these?’ He pointed to a network of double lines.

  Ted’s eyes glinted. ‘Tunnels, Detective Inspector. Probably six or more. Some going under the main house, some extending towards the highway and some leading right out onto Hobs End Marsh.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Jackman had no proof that Emily was being held in the tunnels beneath Windrush.

  He had no proof that the tunnels were even accessible.

  He had coerced a small army of uniformed officers into searching a dangerous wreck of a building with little or no justification, and he had got one of his detectives to sweet-talk the Fire Department into loaning him equipment that was worth a small fortune. Even the university had sent one of their finest, complete with enough technology to unearth a lost city.

  And now he had requested and received reinforcements, in order to find the entrances to six underground tunnels that might not even exist.

  He was beginning to doubt his sanity, until the team gathered in a circle on the foyer floor and held a discussion, and Jackman found that they all agreed with him.

  Rosie’s expression was eager. ‘It all follows, sir. Small things, I know, but they add up. You told us Toni Clarkson heard something like a chorister. Gary’s sister heard some kind of choral church music. And from these maps, and Gary’s description of where she was, they were right over one of the tunnels.’