FIRE ON THE FENS a gripping crime thriller filled with stunning twists

by Joy Ellis

  ‘Sergeant Easter and I need to get the investigation under way. Cat and Ben will wait with you till the family liaison officer gets here. Will you be alright?’ Nikki looked anxiously at the stunned couple.

  Dev made a visible effort to pull himself together. ‘We’ll be fine. We don’t need any help, honestly. There’s nothing we can do until the morning, is there? I mean, we don’t know for certain yet, about our Clary, do we?’

  ‘You will let us know, DI Galena, won’t you? Whatever you discover.’ Melissa’s expression was almost childlike.

  ‘The moment we know something, we’ll come and see you, I promise.’

  Cat went with them to the door. ‘We’ll hang on in case they change their minds about support. I’ll make them a cuppa, and we’ll try to convince them that having someone here would really help.’

  ‘Yes, if you would, Cat. Just do what you can. The shock won’t have hit them yet.’

  ‘Do you think it’s Clary, ma’am?’ Cat asked.

  ‘I’d say so, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Sadly, yes,’ Cat said. ‘The coat, the keys. Who else?’

  ‘Speaking of keys, did Melissa give you any spares for Clary’s home and studio? We’ll need something with her DNA on it, or failing that, her fingerprints, and I don’t want to trash the place.’

  Cat reached into her pocket. ‘I’ve given her a receipt for these. The Yale is the front door, and the big long key is her studio.’ She handed Nikki a sheet of paper. ‘Address. You’ll need that.’

  ‘Don’t stay too late,’ Nikki said, ‘and update me if anything of interest comes to light.’

  ‘Wilco, boss.’

  * * *

  Joseph and Nikki knocked and rang the doorbell, but there was no reply. Nikki hesitated, then slid the key into the lock.

  Clary’s place was an old Victorian property on the edge of town. There were stained-glass windows on either side of the front door, and the entrance hall was tiled. The hall was papered in a heavy, dark, William Morris pattern, and Joseph whispered, ‘Acanthus. My elderly aunt had it. Always hated it.’

  Nikki kept expecting to see an aspidistra in a ceramic jardinière, or a fringed lampshade over an ornate china lamp. It was like walking into the past.

  ‘Odd.’ Joseph stared around. ‘She’s an artist, but there are no paintings.’

  Nikki felt as if she had no business being there. What if Clary had just taken off? She wouldn’t be pleased to return and find two strangers nosing through her home. ‘Let’s get a hairbrush, or a toothbrush, and find something from the kitchen that’ll have her fingerprints on, and get out of here. This place gives me the creeps. I’d never believe a young artist lived here. It’s like a mausoleum.’

  They collected a few kitchen items and found a hairbrush in her bedroom, which smelt of rose and lavender potpourri and candle wax.

  ‘We’d better check the studio before we go. Cat says it’s down the garden.’

  Joseph selected the right key and located an outside light switch. They fought their way through a maze of overgrown shrubs and bushes to Clary’s studio.

  It was a large, modern construction, clearly purpose-built, with high angled windows to let in maximum light. Joseph opened the door and switched on the lights.

  ‘Oh! What a difference! This is amazing!’ he exclaimed.

  Nikki stepped inside. This woman’s passion for painting seemed to seep into her like a physical thing. There were easels, tables, a computer and printers, long shallow drawers that contained pictures, sketches and computer printouts, and artists’ materials. The smells of linseed oil, turpentine and drying paint mingled with that of dust. One of the walls had canvasses stacked against it. Joseph carefully pulled some of them forward. ‘Her work is incredible,’ he murmured. ‘I’d buy one of these if I could afford it.’

  Nikki stared at a canvas exploding with purples and reds, and wasn’t so sure.

  Joseph smiled at her. ‘Don’t try to ask what it means, it’s beyond words — that’s why she paints. Take a look at some of these and tell me if anything appeals, even if you don’t know why.’

  Frowning, Nikki moved from one to another. Then she smiled. ‘I like this.’

  Joseph placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed lightly. ‘Why?’

  ‘Does it matter? I just like it.’

  ‘Right answer. That’s what it’s all about. You’ve made a connection with what the artist was feeling, without the use of words, or even conscious thought. It just touches something in you.’

  Nikki looked at the painting. It had no real form to it, but it made her think of mist rising over the marshes on a warm summer morning. Soon the haze would clear to reveal a blue sky and the silvery shining waters of the Wash. It signified hope, and it made her want to laugh and cry at the same time. Never before had she felt so moved by a picture. Actually, she couldn’t remember ever really looking at a picture before, other than photos. This was not what Nikki Galena was all about.

  She shook her head as if to clear it. ‘We need to go.’

  Joseph nodded. Reluctantly, he turned his back on the paintings, switched off the lights and they left. ‘I’d have put an alarm on this lot,’ he said. ‘This work is special, it needs protecting.’

  Nikki silently agreed. She just hoped that the work would not find itself in money-grabbing galleries and on collectors’ walls. When artists died, their work went up in value.

  * * *

  This time he had been physically sick. As before, he had showered, and then showered again, but still the smell of burning clung to him. Now he was going around adding drops of essential oils to little ceramic burners with candles beneath them. These had a more concentrated perfume than the incense sticks he normally used. After the first fire, he realised that he had to be careful not to use too much cologne after his shower. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself at work. Luckily he was working mostly alone at the moment, and that was fine with him.

  He wasn’t a big drinker, but he knew what he liked, and he liked the best. Tonight, to steady his nerves, he chose a very expensive brandy that he’d been keeping for a number of years. He opened the dusty bottle and sat at the kitchen table, sipping slowly. It was time to re-evaluate. He stared at the polished wood surface of the table and made a mental list.

  Had today’s operation been successful? Yes, absolutely, although he hadn’t been in complete control. For the first time, he had had to contend with a wind, and he had miscalculated. Others could have been hurt, and that was not his intention. He had a very clear-cut plan to stick to, and wanted no collateral damage.

  Had he done anything to draw attention to himself? He didn’t think so. He’d been careful to avoid the few CCTV cameras that he knew about. He would have been seen by the workers, but he was an ordinary man of unremarkable appearance.

  Was the next stage in place? Yes. He could now concentrate exclusively on that.

  Was there anything that would give him away if he was questioned? He closed his eyes and thought hard. He was sure that no one apart from him could smell that stink of burning, so his house was fine. He kept nothing on the premises that could incriminate him, nothing in his garage or his car. All the materials he used were kept in a safe place.

  Finally, was he mentally prepared for phase three? The alcohol warmed the back of his throat and he shuddered. This time, at least, he hadn’t sat on the floor and gone into shock. He’d recovered sooner. So, yes, he was ready. This had to be done, and he would carry it through to the bitter end.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The CID room was buzzing with activity. Nikki had taken the morning meeting, reported to Cam Walker, and was behind her desk by ten fifteen.

  Rory had found a fingerprint and tied it immediately to one lifted from a glass fruit juice bottle that Joseph had removed from the rubbish bin at Clary’s house. They had positively identified their second victim as Clary Sargeant, single woman, age twenty-nine, artist, of Dover Lane, Greenborough.<
br />
  Her sister had been told, and was understandably devastated. Luckily her husband, Devlin Daley, was more composed and offered to help in any way he could. Cat had returned from talking to them, and assured Nikki that neither could explain why Clary would have gone to the unit. They could come up with absolutely no one who hated her enough to want to kill her. She was a free spirit, creative and quite naïve. People who appreciated her work were totally in awe of her, but apparently Clary was unaware of this. She simply needed to paint. Other people’s opinions about her work didn’t seem to register, or matter.

  Joseph looked up from a copy of Cat’s notes. ‘I keep thinking about all that talent, just gone. It’s such a terrible waste.’

  He seemed to have taken Clary’s death personally, and Nikki understood why. She had seen him react to the paintings. Indeed, she too was haunted by the one that made her think of a misty morning.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about her work,’ he went on. ‘It’s almost as if two different people were painting. Some of the more powerful pieces were full of rage. Then, some of the others were exquisitely beautiful and calming.’

  ‘We all have moods and emotional ups and downs. If you’re a sensitive artist, that must be magnified a hundredfold,’ Nikki said.

  Joseph grinned. ‘Rather profound — for Nikki Galena.’

  ‘Bollocks.’

  ‘That’s more like it.’ He chuckled.

  Nikki stretched. ‘So, once again we need to dig into someone’s past. What’s the betting we find another great big zero, just like Ronnie Tyrrell?’

  Joseph glanced through her office door and across to the murder room, where two sets of pictures were decorating the whiteboard.

  Ronnie Tyrrell and Clary Sargeant. Their post-mortem photos turned Nikki’s stomach every time she saw them. Then, a photo of each as she preferred to think of them. Ronnie’s was an enlargement of a rather poor driving licence photo, and Clary’s was a shot that her sister had taken. It showed an auburn-haired beauty looking mesmerised by something off-camera.

  ‘We have to discover if there is a connection between them, don’t we?’ Joseph murmured. ‘Although I can’t see it myself. They’re polar opposites — the farm worker and the sensitive artist. What could be more different?’

  ‘But are they so different?’ Nikki pondered. ‘They were both loners. Neither had many friends, or so we’re told. They were similar ages and they came from the same neighbourhood.’

  ‘Neither had been in trouble with the law,’ continued Joseph, ‘and both died at the hands of an arsonist. I see your point. They do have similarities.’

  ‘But that’s not enough, is it?’

  ‘No, not nearly enough. But it’s a start. I’ll get the team to begin working on Clary’s past. At least this time we have some close relatives to work with.’

  ‘Send Cat and Ben. I think they’ve built up a pretty good relationship with the Daleys.’

  ‘Okay. We need a picture of Clary, from her childhood. Then we can crosscheck it against Ronnie’s history and see if we come up with any matches.’

  Nikki moved a pile of reports to one side. ‘I want to go and talk to John Carson. While the others are checking out the victims, we should be hunting for the arsonist, and John could help us a great deal there.’

  ‘And so could Laura Archer. Let’s gather some info from John and then take it to Laura for her assessment. Didn’t she say she’s working in Greenborough this week?’

  Nikki nodded. Her stomach had tightened when Joseph suggested visiting that much too beautiful woman. Come on, Nikki Galena, she thought. Just get over it! Laura was a damned good psychologist, and they needed every bit of help they could get. ‘Good plan,’ she said, pushing away the image of cornflower blue eyes and immaculate clothes.

  ‘Did you know that Laura Archer and DI Jackman from Saltern-le-Fen are an item?’ Joseph said suddenly.

  Wanting to shout hallelujah, Nikki somehow managed to keep her voice even. ‘Really? No, I hadn’t heard that.’

  ‘Mmm, for the last six months, apparently. He’s a really nice guy, and very good-looking. I bet they make a pretty striking couple.’

  Nikki felt utterly ashamed of herself. Was she going to start feeling jealous every time an attractive woman appeared? They were happy, both of them. It was just that there were times when she wondered what a lovely man like Joseph saw in her. She was certainly not beautiful, and not always the nicest person to be around, but that didn’t seem to matter to him. She shouldn’t question it. She must learn to give thanks and enjoy what they had.

  ‘Joseph? How come you know this, and I don’t?’

  ‘Because I listen to the mess-room gossips, and you don’t.’ He beamed at her. ‘Knowledge is power.’

  She coughed. ‘Right, well, back to work. I’ll ring John, and you rally the troops, okay?’

  Joseph stood up. ‘Roger. I’m on it.’ He left her office.

  Was that a smile on his face?

  * * *

  Joseph was still smiling when he walked into the CID room. Poor Nikki! She should know by now that there was only one woman in his life. If she lived to be a hundred, Nikki Galena would never believe that she was a very attractive woman. He wasn’t the only one to think that either. He remembered his old army mate, Vinnie Silver. But that was part of what made her so special. Nikki had no awareness of herself as a woman.

  Joseph found Ben deep in conversation with PC Yvonne Collins. He was willing to bet they were talking about the dark doings in the Black House.

  ‘Anything tasty, Vonnie?’ he asked.

  Instead of the expected cutting remark, she said, ‘Frankly, I’m puzzled. I’m usually so certain about people, and I don’t like the feeling.’

  She told him about her two visits. ‘All I can say is that I feel uncomfortable about this group, and I’m normally right about these things.’

  ‘I’ll go along with that,’ Ben said. ‘I wouldn’t ever disregard one of Vonnie’s hunches.’

  ‘What do we know about the Black family, apart from their odd taste in religion?’ Joseph asked.

  Ben folded his arms. ‘There are four of them living in the Black House — Giles and his wife Corinne, his brother Tom, and their younger sister, Olivia. Corinne doesn’t work, Olivia suffers from some illness that prevents her from working, and the Black brothers buy and sell. That’s not financial trading, but actual commodities. Their business seems to thrive on finding products that certain people need, and then sourcing suppliers who want to sell. They buy in bulk so they can charge knockdown prices. By the look of it, it’s a very lucrative business.’

  ‘Is it kosher?’ asked Joseph.

  Ben nodded. ‘I’ve not gone in too deeply, but it seems to be.’

  ‘There’s family money in that house too,’ added Yvonne. ‘A lot of it. Tom Black told me that the whole family, going back generations, have always been good with money.’

  ‘Did you meet the younger sister, Vonnie?’ Joseph asked.

  ‘No, I didn’t, although I noticed an oxygen cylinder in the hall. Maybe she’s bedridden.’

  ‘Or doesn’t like talking to the police,’ added Ben wryly.

  Joseph looked at Yvonne. ‘Keep chipping away, Vonnie. Ben? I need you to get back on the arson case. Can you, Cat and Dave do a wholesale assault on Clary Sergeant’s past? Everything you can think of — schools, clubs, medical history, workplaces, friends, interests, the whole works. And you can start by going back to the Daleys and getting their slant on Clary and her childhood, okay?’

  ‘Wilco, Sarge, but I’ll keep an eye on the Blacks in my spare time, if that’s okay?’

  ‘Fine, but just prioritise.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I will.’ Ben went to find Dave and Cat.

  Back in his tiny office, Joseph googled Clary Sergeant. He wanted to know more about her career as an artist. He found that she exhibited under the name Clary Sage, and it seemed that her work was highly sought after by certain collectors. The odd
thing was, she didn’t seem to have an agent or a particular gallery to promote her work. It just seemed to turn up at different galleries, and there was no mention of price. He would have to ask her sister about it. Her studio had contained perhaps fifty or sixty finished works, but none were labelled or packed for delivery. He wondered again what would become of the canvasses, and if it was true that an artist was worth more to collectors after their death. Only very high-profile artists, he guessed, those whose work already commanded very high prices. He couldn’t imagine Clary selling her work even for what it was worth. Then again, she had died very young and unexpectedly, and was a murder victim. The publicity might cause dealers and collectors to grab hold of everything they could, especially the greedy, profiteering ones. Joseph heaved a sigh, sad that Clary Sage would make no more amazing artwork.

  He stared at the screen and wondered why he felt so strongly about this woman’s pictures. They had affected him deeply, and for one of them to have made a profound impression on Nikki spoke volumes. But even so, he was surprised that it bothered him so much.

  ‘I’ve got hold of John,’ Nikki called over to him. ‘He’s over at the morgue, talking to Rory. Why don’t we go meet him there?’

  ‘Good idea. We can also see if Rory has anything to add at the same time.’

  * * *

  Some police officers were attracted to the morgue. Not Nikki. If it were not for Rory’s black, camp humour she’d have avoided it as much as possible. She would never understand how Rory felt so at home there.

  He was on good form today. ‘Welcome, children, to my humble abode!’

  ‘Rory. John. We do meet in the nicest places,’ Nikki said dryly, looking at anything but the charred remains of Clary Sargeant.

  ‘I hope you are not being derogatory about my glorious domain.’ Rory’s eyes bulged.

  ‘Moi?’ Nikki asked.

  Rory snorted. ‘Anyway, no matter. Let me tell you what dear John and I have gleaned from this sad situation. Gather round, cherubs.’

  Nikki and Joseph moved closer to the table.

  ‘This poor lass was undoubtedly murdered. Her hands and feet had been bound tightly with heavy-duty adhesive tape. There was residue of the melted plastic and adhesive still in situ where she lay.’