by Joy Ellis
In the sunny conservatory Marie felt a chill seep through her body. She hadn’t imagined this. Worse still, she had no idea what any of it meant in relation to Fleur, or to the deaths at Windrush.
Lost in thought, she hardly noticed Hewitt return. He handed her a large cardboard box. ‘Here you are. It’s all yours, Sergeant. My diaries, my notes, a few illicit mementos, all those interesting little things I just couldn’t throw away.’ He drew in a long breath. ‘I hope they help you, but be warned, they do not make good bedtime reading. Oh, and I don’t want them back. I was going to burn them, and if you don’t take them, I still will.’ He looked at her solemnly.
‘And I’d rather you didn’t come back, because with that box gone, I intend to put the Mulberrys behind me, forever.’
Clutching the box, Marie stood up. ‘The senior police officer involved with Mulberry, who was he?’
Hewitt swung the door open. ‘I value the few years of life that I still have left to me. And as his seed still flourishes within this fertile land, I won’t be sharing that information. Goodbye, Detective Sergeant Marie Evans, and good luck.’
* * *
Jackman called the team together in his office and Marie told them what Hewitt had said.
None of them spoke immediately. Then Rosie said, ‘James Cade comes from a family of police officers, doesn’t he?’
‘Maybe that’s not an avenue we should be pursuing. Let’s work on what’s at hand, that can wait until the time is right.’ Jackman sounded serious. ‘Now, forensics stated that Fleur had been terribly abused, and because of the close proximity of the disused graveyard at Alderfield, one would assume that she was the Mulberry girl.’
Gary flipped through DI Hewitt’s notebook, ‘But that’s not possible. The only girl was taken into care, and her age is wrong.’
‘What were their names?’ asked Rosie.
Gary shook his head. ‘We only knew of them as Child 1, Child 2 etc. Unless Duncan knew differently?’ He took another notepad from the box, and opened it.
‘I can find out,’ said Max eagerly. ‘Can I use your computer, sir?’
Jackman stood up. ‘Help yourself.’
Max dropped into Jackman’s chair, and they all watched his fingers fly across the keyboard.
‘Weird.’ He glared at the screen, and typed in more commands. After a few moments he grunted, ‘This isn’t right, boss. “Access Denied,” on a simple birth registration? Why?’
‘Because I fear we have wandered into dangerous territory. Max, close the computer down. Where the Mulberry case is concerned, I think we need to be canny from now on.’
‘No problem, sir. There are other ways, now I know to tread carefully.’
Gary looked at Max with interest. ‘That sounds promising.’
Max grinned. ‘I love a challenge.’
‘His hacking skills are legendary,’ added Rosie. ‘But don’t tell a soul, or he’s stuffed, as far as his job is concerned.’
‘I always knew this team was different,’ said Gary. ‘In fact—’
There was a loud knock.
‘DI Jackman!’ Clive leaned around the door. His words tumbled out. ‘Sir, the duty sergeant says could you go downstairs immediately. Someone has just come in and he says he’s responsible for the findings beneath Windrush.’
* * *
Jackman and Marie went immediately to the custody sergeant, who told them that the man had been cautioned and arrested, and they could see him as soon as they wanted.
Jackman paused for a second before entering the interview room. He turned to Marie and said, ‘Watch him carefully. See what you can pick up from his body language.’
Marie nodded. She opened the door and they went inside the gloomy room.
Jackman made the introductions for the tape.
Philip Groves was dressed in neat, casual country clothes. ‘I would have come sooner,’ he said. ‘Only I had to make arrangements for my animals. I know I won’t be going home again.’ His voice was soft and cultured.
‘Mr Groves, you have stated that you are responsible for . . . for what exactly?’
‘The Children’s Ward is mine.’
Jackman swallowed hard. Other than the police and forensics, no one had been informed of what lay beneath Windrush. He asked Groves to tell them what he knew about it.
‘It lies beneath the ground and is approached from an old Victorian tunnel from the marsh. There was no one else out on the fen at night, as I told your detectives, and I’m sorry I lied to them. I was the one out there.’
Jackman looked at Philip Groves and tried to find one thing that told him he was sitting opposite a ruthless killer. There was nothing.
‘I took the girls along the passage on a trolley, then into the ward, and so to bed.’
Jackman saw the confusion on Marie’s face. ‘Did you . . . did you sing as you went?’
‘Sometimes. I prepared the place years ago. Windrush was empty for some time before it was won in that wager. I used to wander around there a lot. That was when I found the tunnel from the house, and I found all those old beds and lockers too. They were ready to be dumped, so I took them down the tunnel and set up the ward. Sadly I had to seal it up when it was finished, in case the new owner stumbled across it.’
Jackman glanced at Marie. Groves knew far too much. So why did he not feel elated at this confession? The murderer had just walked in through the front doors and practically prostrated himself before them.
‘We need to take your fingerprints, Mr Groves, and a sample of DNA, if you agree?’
‘I have no objection.’
‘You also have the right to a solicitor. You can either request your own, or we can get the duty solicitor.’
Groves stared down at the table. ‘I don’t need one, Detective Inspector.’
‘It’s your choice, sir, but I really would advise it.’ Jackman looked at Groves, and although he still could not see the murderer, he could see the man who had placed those vases of flowers beside the beds. ‘What was on the bedside lockers, Mr Groves?’ he asked casually.
Groves gave a little sigh and looked at Jackman with the saddest of grey eyes. ‘I know what you are talking about. Yes, I took them fresh flowers. Check my garden, Detective. The plants will match the ones in the little vases.’
‘One last question. The first victim. Her name was Fleur. What can you tell us about her?’
Philip Groves sat a little straighter in his chair. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t wish to say any more.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
‘No, no, no, no! This isn’t right!’ Jackman paced his office.
Professor Henry O’Byrne followed him with his eyes. ‘But what about his statement? It’s utterly damning.’
Jackman knew that, but still the alarm bells jangled in his head. ‘He knew all about the underground chamber, yes. He’d obviously been in it, yes. I can’t argue with that because his prints match the ones that Rory found. But Philip Groves never drugged, assaulted and brutally murdered those girls. He’s protecting someone.’
‘Maybe, or maybe your young detective’s theory of a multiple personality is right, and he’s protecting his other self.’ The professor scratched his head. ‘At least he’s agreed to let me sit in on the next interview. Maybe I can shed a little light on this.’
Marie leaned against the wall, apparently lost in thought. Then she said, ‘Jan Wallace, the forensic archaeologist, said that whoever placed Fleur’s skeleton on that hospital bed had an expert knowledge of anatomy.’
‘Like a veterinary surgeon,’ Henry O’Byrne murmured.
‘Exactly. Like a vet.’
Jackman threw up his hands. ‘Maybe it was him! But it doesn’t mean he killed her.’ He resumed his pacing. Could Groves have killed them? The question wove itself around his mind like a cat’s cradle.
‘You’re thinking that a man who heals tiny kittens and sick puppies couldn’t kill, aren’t you?’ said the professor.
‘Maybe.
’
‘Just remember that he also sticks needles full of lethal drugs into them and watches them die.’ The professor’s eyes never left Jackman. ‘He slides cold steel beneath their soft furry skin and sees their warm blood flow. Don’t underestimate Philip Groves, DI Jackman. It might be a big mistake.’
Jackman heaved a loud sigh. ‘I know, I know. I just wish I could get my head round all this. And I still believe that Fleur is the key, if only we could identify her.’
‘I totally agree,’ said Marie, leaning over Jackman’s desk and taking a sheet of blank paper from his printer tray. She pulled a pen from her pocket and wrote Fleur’s name in the centre of the paper.
‘Brainstorming,’ said the professor. ‘Good idea.’
‘I was just thinking about direct connections.’ Marie drew an arrow from Fleur to the name Elizabeth Sewell. ‘She said Rosie reminded her of Fleur.’ Marie wrote the name Philip Groves, and connected him to both Fleur and Elizabeth. The name Benedict Broome followed, then Micah Lee. And then Toby Tanner, and Asher Leyton. Soon the paper was full of names and interconnecting lines.
‘And this is helpful?’ asked Jackman acidly.
Marie pushed the paper away from her. ‘Probably not. I’m going to find Max and Rosie. See if they’ve had any luck.’
As Marie left, the psychologist pulled the scribbled sheet towards him and slowly ran his finger over the maze of lines. ‘Oh, what a tangled web we weave . . .’ He tilted his head. ‘I wonder what Sir Walter Scott would have made of this little tangle. None of them, and yet all of them, woven together.’
* * *
Max was using his own laptop for his unauthorised excursion into restricted territory. A constant stream of numbers, codes and letters flashed up and disappeared on his screen.
Every now and again he looked over to where Rosie sat working. He wished this horrible case was over, because the more he saw of Rosie McElderry, the more he understood where his feelings were heading. But right now, he had serious work to do.
Rosie called across to Marie. ‘That was forensics, Sarge. The hanged man is Toby Tanner. The fingerprints are an exact match. They’ve done DNA testing too, and there’s no doubt. And that’s not all. As soon as they ran the prints, they hit another match, lifted from the nasty party in Fendyke Chapel.’ Her voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Respected gentleman farmer Toby Tanner has been slumming it with Cade and his pervy friends.’
Max punched the air and grinned at Rosie. ‘So we were right! He was connected to the parties.’
Rosie grinned back. ‘That’s probably why he topped himself.’
‘Did Asher Leyton’s prints show up too?’ asked Marie.
‘No. Just Tanner’s, so maybe Asher didn’t go to the chapel that night.’
Marie was just about to reply, when Max looked at his screen. ‘Sarge! I’ve done it! Look!’ He waved a printout at her. ‘You are so not going to believe this!’
Marie took the sheet from him and, passing over the “restricted” header, read down the list of names and dates. ‘What? Jesus! The boss needs to see this! Come on, you two.’
* * *
Marie’s voice crackled with excitement. ‘The Mulberry children were called — wait for it — Benedict, Tobias, Micah, Philip, Elizabeth and Asher!’ She handed Jackman the report. ‘They were all given new families and new lives but for some reason, they all came back here.’
‘Because they had to,’ the psychologist said softly. ‘Those poor fledglings had to return to the nest, to find somewhere where they could be together again. They had no choice. Despite the good intentions of the social workers and the courts, they had to find each other again, like moths drawn to a flame.’
Jackman exhaled. ‘We need to talk to Benedict. No wonder he was so worried about Elizabeth! She’s his sister.’
‘And Asher!’ Rosie looked aghast. ‘It was his brother that he found hanging in the old mill! That explains why he is in such a state.’
‘And of course he had a key to the farmhouse,’ added Marie, ‘because his two brothers lived there. I’m betting he went there to see if there was anything in Toby’s home that might link them to the Mulberry family.’
‘Siblings, all of them,’ whispered Jackman. He looked at the psychologist. ‘Just how damaged could this family be? I mean, looking at Benedict and Philip, they seem to have integrated perfectly into society. One is in finance, and the other is a respected veterinary surgeon.’
The professor shrugged. ‘Irrelevant. They will all be damaged by what happened to them. Some more than others, but I guarantee that not one of them is normal. I would be willing to stake a large amount of money on the fact that every single one of Simeon Mulberry’s children has been traumatised and affected in some manner.’ He leant back in his chair. ‘You know that the abused can become the abuser. In your job you’ve seen it a thousand times.’
Jackman had. ‘One of them, Asher, has a strong sexual compulsion. Is that the sort of thing you mean?’
‘Absolutely. And depending on his mind-set, the opportunities open to him, and the extent of the original damage, that sort of thing can escalate over time.’
‘To rape?’
‘Usually to sexual harassment, then rape, and finally even to murder.’
Jackman rubbed his eyes. ‘Hearing that makes me wonder if the Children’s Ward is some kind of twisted family business.’ He looked around. ‘Where is Max?’
Marie looked out the door. ‘He’s still on his computer.’ She called across to him. ‘Max? Is there more?’
‘Give me one minute, Sarge.’
Everyone was silent. Henry O’Byrne picked up Marie’s graffiti-covered sheet of paper and waved it. ‘Tangled webs and deception. It was all here.’
‘Except for Fleur.’ Rosie’s voice was sombre.
‘Maybe not, flower.’ Max walked in and handed Jackman another document.
‘A birth certificate?’
‘Wasn’t easy, because there was an error in her birth date, but I’ve located the only girl in this area registered with the name of Fleur, and guess who Mummy and Daddy are?’
Jackman read out the names. ‘Simeon and Charlotte Mulberry, of Alderfield House, Hurn Point. My God! She’s their sister! There were seven Mulberry children!’ He looked at Max. ‘Would you check for a death certificate?’
‘I’m ahead of you there, boss, but there’s nothing. There is no official record of her death.’
Jackman stood up. ‘Okay, Max, you’ve done some totally brilliant work today. Well done.’ He beckoned to Marie. ‘Prepare yourself, Sergeant. It’s time to pay a visit to Mr Benedict Mulberry.’
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
‘Sir, we know about you and your family’s tragic past. Your real family, that is. I have no problem with the fact that you chose not to tell us. You all have new lives with new identities. But now, I’m afraid, the circumstances have changed. Your family history is an integral part of this murder enquiry.’ Jackman paused. ‘Are you Benedict Mulberry, eldest son of the late Simeon and Charlotte Mulberry of Alderfield House, Hurn Point, Harlan Marsh?’
Marie watched him closely. Benedict’s face remained impassive until Jackman mentioned his father by name. She saw a nerve jump beneath his right eye.
There followed a long silence. Marie wondered what thoughts were going through Benedict’s mind. His memories must be the stuff of nightmares.
Finally he spoke, and his voice was steady. ‘Yes, I was Benedict Mulberry. But I’d appreciate your being so kind as to continue to refer to me as Benedict Broome.’
Jackman nodded. ‘I can do that.’
‘You know about the others?’ asked Benedict.
‘Yes, sir,’ said Jackman. ‘But we felt it only right to discuss it with you first.’
‘That’s good, that’s good.’ Benedict sounded infinitely weary. He seemed to have aged since they entered the room. ‘You can talk to Philip, and probably Asher, about this. Tell them that you know about us, and I have said
it’s alright to be honest. They will understand that we have no choice, but if there is any way you can avoid it, please don’t confront Micah or our sister, not yet. Elizabeth couldn’t cope, and Micah, well, Micah is volatile. As I’m sure you already realise.’
They nodded.
‘And Toby. Although he may appear to be tough as old boots, he is as fragile as a butterfly. I would ask you to be especially compassionate when you talk to Toby, Inspector. He may look like a sturdy farmer, but beneath that weathered skin he is still a frightened child.’
Jackman gave Marie a swift look. He had no choice but to tell Benedict what had happened to his brother.
‘Benedict, I’m afraid I have some bad news. A man’s body was found today, out at the old mill close to your old home at Alderfield. I’m very sorry, but we have reason to believe that the man is your brother, Toby.’
Benedict closed his eyes and clasped his hands together as if in prayer. His voice was soft. ‘Oh no. Poor Toby. I always thought he would be the first to go, unless of course Micah lost his temper once too often and got himself killed in a fight.’ He sighed. ‘Can I see him?’
‘Not just yet, sir,’ said Jackman. ‘I’m sure you’ll appreciate that there are procedures to follow. And he will need to be formally identified.’
‘How did he kill himself? A shotgun, I suppose. He had two at the farm.’
‘He hanged himself.’
‘Oh. I’d have thought he would have used the gun.’
Like his father did, thought Marie.
‘I’m glad he chose the mill,’ said Benedict. ‘It was our quiet place. Somewhere we went when things got bad. If I were going to kill myself, I’d go to the mill too.’
‘I’m afraid it was Asher who found him. We wondered how he knew where to go.’
Benedict sighed again. ‘Poor child.’
Marie thought of the man who slipped away from his pretty fiancée and into the arms of a prostitute.
‘What happened to Fleur?’