by Joy Ellis
Jackman nodded. ‘I know. But the man — or woman — who did this was probably in this very room as recently as this morning. Now they are out there, somewhere close, and because of what they have just lost, I don’t have to tell you how dangerous they are.’ Jackman stared at him. ‘I don’t have long, and if Emily doesn’t recover, I only have you to help me.’
‘And I will. One thing I do know, one of the victims is very much older than the others.’
‘What is the significance of that, I wonder?’
‘I’m not sure, but one of these corpses is twenty to thirty years old. I’ll give you a much closer estimation after we’ve carried out a post-mortem, but that one is definitely the oldest, so maybe she was the cause of all this.’ Rory adjusted his glasses and looked around. ‘I keep thinking I’ve wandered into one of those weird modern art exhibits. You couldn’t stage anything more grotesque if you tried.’
‘Can I take a look in those lockers?’ Jackman raised his gloved hands.
‘Of course you can, but you will notice that although there are thirteen victims, including your one survivor, there are only ten sets of clothing.’
‘It’s still a fantastic piece of luck, Rory. It will help with identification.’
Rory nodded. ‘There’s one thing that I don’t like about this place, apart from the blindingly obvious. What do you smell, apart from the stench of decay?’
‘Antiseptic? Bleach? Some sort of industrial cleaning fluid?’
‘Exactly. And look at the floor. There’s no dirt, no fluff, no cobwebs. I’ve got more dust-bunnies floating round my lounge.’ Rory gave a little shrug. ‘I’d say this place is as close to sterile as he or she could get it.’
‘Which will play havoc with your search for evidence?’
‘I’m not saying that. Our methods are far more sophisticated these days. It’s almost impossible not to leave some traces. We’ll just have to work a little harder than normal. And on that note, I think I’m ready for my team to come in now, so if you have no objection?’
Jackman walked towards the door. ‘Whatever you need, Rory, just ask. Additional lighting, manpower, extra vehicles, anything. No one will dare scream, “Budget!” on this occasion.’
Rory nodded. ‘I’ll be in touch as soon as we find anything that will be of use to you.’
Jackman raised his hand in thanks, and stood back as the first wave of blue-suited, hooded figures carried their equipment into the underground room.
As he walked back along the tunnel he could hear Rory’s voice. ‘Oh no! Not like that, dear heart! Please! Think egg-shells and butterfly wings, not bloody great sides of beef!’
Jackman smiled to himself. He was mighty glad that Rory Wilkinson was heading up this forensics operation. If there were answers waiting in that chamber of horrors, Rory Wilkinson would unearth them.
* * *
On his return to Saltern-le-Fen, Marie met him in the front office. ‘Gary’s brought Benedict Broome in as instructed. But there was something of a problem, I’m afraid.’
‘Why, what happened?’
‘Oh, it’s nothing to do with Broome himself, sir. It was his housekeeper, a woman called Elizabeth Sewell. She collapsed and she’s now being checked out in A&E. It happened when she saw the uniforms marching up the garden path. Benedict told Gary that she’s of a “nervous disposition.” He said she’s a patient at the psychiatric out-patients department at Saltern General. We decided to get her thoroughly checked out, just to be on the safe side, especially as we’ll most likely be wanting to interview her.’ Marie sniffed. ‘And don’t worry, we have two officers with her until we can bring her in and neither will ask her about the case, so the clock won’t start ticking until she’s released from hospital care.’
Rory’s question sprung to Jackman’s mind. “Are you sure it’s a man?”
‘And Micah Lee?’
‘He’s safe at Harlan Marsh.’
Jackman checked his watch. They would be able to detain Broome and Lee without charge for thirty-six hours, twenty-four on his authority, and then a further twelve on that of the super. From what they had found at Windrush, he had no qualms at all about arresting them, but he needed to find evidence to tie them to the crime. And given the amount of forensic work involved, they hadn’t a hope in hell of getting answers before the time limitations expired. Every second counted, but they needed a bucket-load of luck too.
‘Can I have a quiet word before the debriefing, sir?’
‘Of course. We’ll use my office.’
Marie followed him in, closed the door and sat down.
Jackman leaned back in his chair. ‘Fire away.’
‘When you went back underground with Rory, I walked out over the marsh for a while, trying to clear my head. I hadn’t gone more than a couple of hundred yards when I heard whispering. In the shadows of evening and after seeing what we’d just seen, it was seriously weird.’
Jackman looked at her. ‘The ghosts of Hobs End Marsh?’
‘No, it was you.’
‘Me?’ Jackman exclaimed.
‘It took a while to realise that you and Rory Wilkinson were right beneath my feet in the tunnel to the Children’s Ward. There must be air ducts or shafts or something, but they distort the sound and it’s really strange! Now I know why the marsh has such a reputation, and why Gary’s sister heard voices but he didn’t. It would depend where you were standing.’
‘So she was hearing real people underground! Gary will be pleased to hear that.’
‘And we should be too, because it could answer the question of the singing.’
He nodded slowly as the frightening picture became clear. ‘The killer actually sang as he walked the tunnels to the Children’s Ward?’
‘Well, we know he’s been coming here for years, and smugglers before him, so that might explain the superstitions.’
‘The lights on the marsh at night could be connected too. If there are shafts coming up from the tunnel, and we already know that he ran power from the barn down to the subterranean room, maybe there were points of light up on the surface sometimes? If the shafts can conduct sound, why not light?’ Jackman grinned at her. ‘Well done, Detective! You’ve just scuppered the Ghostly Legend of Hobs End Marsh!’
‘And I feel very good about it. All this talk of creepy goings-on was freaking me out. I like facts.’
‘Okay, well our next job is entirely about facts. It’s time for the debriefing. Is everyone here?’
‘Yes, sir. They are all in the murder room waiting for you.’
‘Right, I’ll be there as soon as I’ve reported to Superintendent Crooke. And after the debrief we can interview Broome.’ Jackman felt a slight thrill pass through him. ‘And, Marie? Great work.’
* * *
Ruth Crooke looked even more haggard than last time Jackman had seen her. ‘Was it as bad as they tell me?’
‘Probably, ma’am. Maybe worse. I don’t know what they said.’
‘Whatever, I’m sorry you had to be the one to walk in on such a terrible thing, Jackman.’
He shrugged. ‘Better me than a family man with young girls of his own.’
‘And you have Broome and his caretaker in custody?’
‘Yes, I’ll be interviewing them as soon as I’ve debriefed the team. Do you want to be present for that, ma’am?’
‘No, you go ahead. I’ve got the assistant chief constable hanging around my neck, and then there’s the media to sort out.’
Jackman gasped. ‘Surely we’re not going public this soon? Hell, I really need a bit of space before the frenzy begins.’
She gave him a tired half-smile. ‘Cool down, Detective. I’ll hold it off for as long as I possibly can. I just need to be ready to jump in before someone leaks it. You know I can’t keep the lid on something of this magnitude for long. We’ve got half the Fenland Constabulary out on Hobbs End Marsh, and whereas it’s hardly a bustling metropolis, people do notice. They talk, and they ask questions, and i
f we don’t give them something to satisfy them, they put two and two together and come up with bloody five.’
She was right. For all Jackman knew, some web-foot had already seen pretty blue lights out on the fen and rung the local rag. ‘Sorry, ma’am. Please buy me whatever time you can. Just enough to get the owner of Windrush interviewed and either held or released.’
Ruth Crooke nodded. ‘I’ll do that. Oh, and I’ve asked the other CID officers to reorganise their workloads and offer you whatever support you need, especially with the identification process. Just liaise with them directly. They are all yours.’ She straightened up, and something of the brusque old super returned. ‘Now go and sort out your debriefing, and don’t forget the new directive on psychological trauma. There’s confidential screening and a counselling service available, and it’s down to you to actively encourage anyone who is affected by this to talk to the shrink as soon as possible.’
Right, blow everything out of proportion, and make the ones who have got it all sorted out in their heads feel guilty because they’re not basket cases. ‘I’ll make sure they know their options, ma’am.’ Jackman turned to make his escape.
‘Just keep me abreast of every new development, Rowan. Everything. As it occurs.’
‘Wilco, ma’am.’
* * *
The debriefing took considerably less time than he had thought it would. Jackman was something of an expert on body language and he felt relieved that none of his officers seemed to be unduly disturbed. He was, after all, dealing with seasoned police men and women, not a bunch of impressionable schoolkids.
He had asked Marie to keep an eye open for anyone she considered to be struggling, but she agreed with him. It was just another job to most of them, only a bit more gruesome. Already the grim jokes had started to do the rounds and under the circumstances, he took that to be a good thing.
‘Who is at the hospital with Emily?’ he asked.
‘A uniformed WPC and one of DI Osborne’s detective constables. Oh, and Stefan found us a Latvian interpreter, just in case she turns out to be the missing EU national from Greenborough. They have instructions to ring you directly there’s any news,’ said Marie. ‘The last report was that she’s still in the resuscitation room, and they have no idea if she’ll pull through.’
Jackman prayed that she would recover. Just a few words, just one name, or a description, and they could nail the bastard that had done this.
The room slowly emptied, until Jackman was left with Marie and Rosie. He glanced at the clock. It was just after nine. ‘It’s too late to do a house-to-house tonight, Rosie, but I want you to organise one for first thing tomorrow. Get a couple of uniforms to go out to Roman Creek and call at all the properties in the surrounding area. There aren’t many, but they need to check them thoroughly, okay?’
Rosie nodded. ‘Will do, boss.’
‘Tell them to be careful. There’s nothing to say this is the work of Broome or Lee. It could be anyone at all. So they should tread carefully and report anything unusual.’ He turned to Marie.
‘The custody sergeant has agreed that we can talk to Broome, as long as we keep it short. He has his codes of practice to consider.’ He pulled a face. ‘Damned PACE, yet again.’
‘So we’d better get to it.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Jackman and Marie sat outside the interview room and waited for Benedict Broome to be brought up from the custody suite.
‘Before we go in, Marie, maybe we should just cram what little information we have on Broome. What do we know?’
Marie opened a thin file. ‘This is what Andy English and Kevin Stoner came up with. It’s not much.’ She stared at the notes. ‘Benedict owns that expensive place on the waterway. He’s been there for over ten years. His housekeeper has a small annexe. She’s been with him from the beginning, apparently, looks after the house, cooks and so on. Other than a gardener who comes in twice a week, that’s it.’
‘What does Benedict Broome do for a living?’
‘It doesn’t say. There’s no mention of any job.’ She read on. ‘There’s a note from PC Goode regarding Broome’s parentage. He says that he’s hit a brick wall trying to trace them.’
‘Sounds like a task for our Max, doesn’t it? Assuming that Broome gives us any satisfactory answers. I just wish Toni Clarkson had not been so heavily drugged. She might have been able to pick either him or Micah Lee out in an identity parade. As it is, all she can recall is that he had weird eyes.’
‘And the word of a kid who had just been fed a bag of “Ooblie” wouldn’t exactly hold water anyway.’ She looked up. ‘Ah, good, it looks like we’re on. The sergeant is beckoning to us.’
‘Right, let’s go see what Mr Benedict Broome can tell us.’
* * *
Benedict Broome was led into the interview room, but before the custody sergeant handed him over to Jackman and Marie, he stepped back outside and said in a low voice, ‘Keep it brief. It’s getting late for a full interview, and I ought to tell you that he’s waived his right to have a solicitor present.’
Marie shrugged. ‘Well, that is his prerogative, but not advisable under the circumstances.’ As they entered the room, she wondered what kind of man they would find.
For the purposes of the tape, Jackman introduced himself, asked Marie and Broome to do the same, and explained the use of the tape recorder. Then he made quite sure that Broome understood the severity of his position.
‘I really must advise you to have a solicitor present, Mr Broome, considering the seriousness of your situation and the nature of the discovery beneath your property, namely, Windrush, at Roman Creek.’
Broome looked straight at him. ‘Detective Chief Inspector, I am more than willing to answer your questions. What you have discovered is horrible, absolutely devastating. I am as shocked and overwhelmed as you, maybe more, because that place was intended as a sanctuary, a place of peace and tranquillity.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘What chance of peace now, when I know that some evil person has used it to commit such terrible deeds?’
Benedict Broome was well-built, in that good food and fine wine kind of way. He wore expensive clothes, and he had the confident air of a successful businessman.
‘And of course I don’t want to hold things up for you or myself. Frankly, whether a solicitor is present or not, I can only tell you what I know, and be assured that I will not hold back, and it will be the truth.’
He sat back in his chair, hands folded in his lap. Jackman took his time to reply.
Marie watched them both carefully. Broome was erudite, obviously had a clear understanding of the law, and was very different to most of the “clients” that passed through this room. Jackman was clearly taking all that into consideration.
‘Very well, sir. May I ask you whether it has been explained to you clearly why you are here today?’
Broome confirmed that he was fully aware that an abducted young woman and a number of bodies had been discovered beneath one of the outbuilding and yard areas of Windrush. As the owner of the property, he and the people who worked for him would naturally have to be questioned.
‘Were you aware of the tunnels beneath your property, sir?’ asked Marie.
‘Only by way of historical legend. All old houses like Windrush have secrets, don’t they? Priest holes, secret rooms and passages, sometimes cellars and yes, quite possibly tunnels. Although it has to be said that there are very few in the fenland, since it is reclaimed land. Windrush is built on a small rocky outcrop, supposedly once an island. That is what makes it so unusual.’ He scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘There is most certainly a sealed door from the main cellar, but that was cemented up long before I took possession. Given the age of the building, I’m sure it isn’t the only one.’
Marie frowned. ‘But surely you had extensive surveys done when the plans were drawn up for your rebuilding work?’
‘Yes, DS Evans, I did. But as I understand it, the underground room that
contains the bodies is not part of my present programme. If everything went well and finances allowed, then I intended to go ahead with two more stages. That area would have been Stage Three, and no plans or surveys have been undertaken yet.’ He let out a long sigh. ‘And now they never will.’
‘What is your occupation, sir?’ Jackman asked abruptly.
‘I’m in the financial world. I trade the markets.’
‘So you have considerable funds at your disposal?’
‘I’m comfortable, although there’s never enough, DI Jackman.’ Broome gave a slight smile. ‘Especially with a money-pit the size of Windrush.’
‘And you really won it in a wager?’ asked Marie.
‘I really did.’
‘So you’re a gambler?’
‘I’ve already said that I trade the markets. That certainly makes me a risk-taker, you can call it gambling if you like.’
Marie looked at him with interest. He sounded cultured and self-assured.
‘Were you born around here, sir?’ Jackman asked.
‘No, I’m not Fenland born and bred. I was born in the West Country and my family later settled in Cambridgeshire.’
‘And your parents?’ Marie asked, noticing that Jackman was watching Broome intently.
‘Long dead,’ he said, with no emotion in his voice. ‘They died when I was in my late teens.’
‘So who looked after you?’
‘I had help from those around me, and luckily there was money. But to a point, I looked after myself.’ He sat forward, elbows resting casually on the table between them. ‘Things happen. You just have to get on and deal with them, don’t you? I survived, that’s what counts.’
‘So what brought you to the Fens?’