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

by Joy Ellis

  Nikki laughed. ‘We’ll do what we have to do, as always, Mum, and that’s what you would do in the same circumstances.’

  ‘Okay, okay. Actually, I’m starting to see the error of my ways. It’s gardening for me from now on, and Wendy is dead keen to help out, thank heavens! She’s found some old maps and plans relating to Monks Lantern and the original layout around here, so we already have another project to tackle when the fern garden is complete.’

  ‘Good to hear. And, Mum? I’m thrilled about Wendy moving in, I really am.’

  ‘I know you are, Nikki. The one thing I do not want to be is a burden. I’d feel awful if you were worrying about me.’

  ‘What crap! You couldn’t be a burden if you tried! A pain in the arse, possibly, especially when you go all Secret Squirrel on me, but a burden? No way!’

  They laughed, and then Nikki ended the call, greatly relieved. Her mother was an enigma. She was a wonderfully brave woman, but nevertheless, alone in the big converted chapel on the edge of a rural village, she was vulnerable. Having two ageing Amazons living at Monks Lantern evened up the odds considerably.

  Nikki stood up and went to find Joseph, glad to be passing on some good news for a change.

  * * *

  Giles and Tom Black sat at the bottom of Olivia’s bed and set out the chess pieces on the board.

  Olivia watched her brothers commence their game. Because of their surname, both brothers wanted the black pieces, and the game always began with good-natured bickering.

  They had done this since their childhood, and she suspected they always would.

  She played occasionally, but today her breathing was difficult, so she lay back and enjoyed her brothers’ company. Her asthma came and went. Yesterday she had overtaxed herself, and today she was paying for it. At least this time she hadn’t ended up in A&E.

  Olivia sighed softly.

  ‘Okay, sis?’ asked Tom.

  She nodded. It had been a sigh of contentment. She knew how lucky she was. She had two brothers who cared about her, who provided enough money that she didn’t have to work. Whatever it was they did, Giles and Tom were certainly passionate about it. Over the last few years they had been increasingly busy. More people came and went. Olivia kept herself to herself. It was her brothers’ business, and it seemed to be bringing in more money than ever before.

  Olivia had spent all of her short working life in advertising. When she first gave up her job, she had worried about the strain she was putting on the Black family coffers. Giles and Tom had assured her that she wouldn’t have to worry about money. They had plans, they said. “Lucifer will provide.” And then they laughed. It was their stock response whenever she asked.

  Because of her illness, Olivia led a strange, insular life, but it suited her. She no longer enjoyed going out, except for the occasional trip to the Café des Amis with an old friend. She hated television, with its endless stories of misery and violence, so she watched films online. She read. Books freed her from the asthma and its cylinders of oxygen.

  She watched her brothers at their game, deep in concentration, and thanked — Lucifer? She was lucky, and that was all she knew for sure.

  * * *

  ‘Different schools, different GPs, different social class, different everything!’ Cat threw down her pen and stared angrily at the monitor screen. ‘Four hours of solid searching and I’ve come up empty.’

  ‘Same here,’ sighed Ben.

  ‘Me too,’ grumbled Dave. ‘It’s so disheartening.’

  Cat leaned back and stretched out her arms. ‘God, I’m stiff! Staring at a computer screen all day doesn’t do a lot for the posture.’ She glanced at the clock. It was almost time to pack it in for the day, but she had really wanted to find something, anything, no matter how tenuous, to link Clary with Ronnie.

  Ben stood up. ‘The Daleys couldn’t have been more helpful, but nothing they gave us had the slightest connection with Ronnie. I’m beginning to think there isn’t one. Maybe he had a different reason for killing each of them.’

  Dave nodded slowly. ‘So you’re suggesting there’s no connection at all?’

  ‘Well, it would explain the total absence of a link. Suppose he’s very religious. Maybe at one time or another each of them insulted his beliefs, so he made them pay.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Cat. ‘Let’s take one of them — I’d suggest Clary, as we know more about her — and make a list of her known friends and associates, then see if any of them crop up among the people that Ronnie was connected to.’ Cat flopped back down into her chair. ‘I’m game to give it another hour. How about you guys?’

  ‘All I’ve got on is a microwave meal and a glass of beer,’ said Dave, sounding forlorn, ‘and maybe a box-set binge if I stay awake long enough. Count me in.’

  ‘And since you’re cooking tonight, Cat Cullen, I have little option but to stay too.’ Ben laughed. ‘Let’s start matching!’

  * * *

  From her office, Nikki could see the others still hard at it. She smiled. The team were everything a DI could ask for — loyal, enthusiastic and dedicated. Cat and Ben could both have gone for their detective sergeant’s exams by now, and sailed through. And Dave hadn’t needed to come back after his official retirement, but they all felt a responsibility towards the team. Nikki wasn’t sure how long things could continue like this. Changes were happening in the force, things she had no control over. But she would go down fighting, and she was pretty sure she’d have her team alongside her.

  Joseph nodded towards the CID room. ‘Looks like my plans for an early, relaxed meal tonight have just gone out the window. We can hardly bog off and leave them slaving, can we?’

  ‘Have you ever had the feeling you’re wasting your time?’ Nikki said.

  Joseph squinted at her. ‘As in?’

  ‘As in we are barking loudly up the wrong bloody tree.’

  ‘All we can do at this stage is follow procedure,’ said Joseph. ‘Check and recheck everything we know about our two victims and the people around them and try to make connections. We’ve already dealt with the forensic evidence, the little there was of it. We’ve sought professional help in fire forensics and psychology. What more can we do?’

  ‘You are so bloody reasonable, Joseph Easter!’

  ‘But you love me,’ he whispered.

  She glanced towards the open door, and gave him a slow smile.

  They saw Dave approach and looked quickly away from each other.

  ‘Ma’am. Sarge. We’ve found just one name that connects our two victims. It probably doesn’t mean anything, but we thought you should know.’

  ‘Who is it?’ asked Joseph quickly.

  ‘The curate at St Saviours. Leon Martin.’

  Nikki glanced at Joseph. ‘The man who was so upset when I mentioned satanists in Greenborough.’

  ‘And one of the few people who really knew something about Ronnie Tyrrell,’ Joseph added.

  There was a moment’s silence as they all digested this. Then Nikki said, ‘We mustn’t let our suspicions about our killer being on some religious crusade run riot just yet, but all the same, I think we need to speak to him.’ She smiled at Dave. ‘Well done, guys. Now you really should all get off home. Joseph and I will call on the curate.’

  * * *

  Leon Martin sat down hard in the front pew and stared at the altar. ‘Clary? But why?’ Nikki and Joseph were silent. ‘She was . . . how can I put it? Almost otherworldly. She was different to anyone I’ve ever met.’

  ‘You knew her well?’ asked Nikki.

  ‘Not well, but now I wish I’d made more effort to spend some time with her. Her paintings were astonishing.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have had you down as a contemporary art fan,’ Joseph said. ‘I’d have thought you preferred a more classic style.’

  ‘Oh, Clary could paint anything, Sergeant. That’s where I met her. Someone had talked her into giving an informal talk to an art class at the church hall. She showed them some of her
paintings. Her heart was in modern stuff, but she did some beautiful landscape work too. Now all that wonderful talent . . .’ He shook his head.

  ‘We agree,’ Joseph said. ‘We saw her work. A terrible waste.’

  ‘Leon, can you think of single connection between Clary and Ronnie Tyrrell?’ Nikki asked.

  The curate puffed out his cheeks. ‘None that I can think of. Ronnie certainly never mentioned her, even in passing.’ He paused. ‘But he did like art. He knew something about it too. When you saw him in that caravan in Mud Town, you forgot that he came from a good family and could have gone to university if he’d had the inclination.’

  ‘Do you think he could have met Clary because of their shared interest?’

  Leon shook his head. ‘No. I say that because I actually have a small painting of Clary’s. It hangs in my little cottage. Ronnie commented on it one day when he visited me, but he said didn’t recognise the artist.’

  ‘You’re lucky to have one of her pictures,’ Joseph said.

  ‘I’ll treasure it. It’s even more precious because it was a present.’ Leon shrugged. ‘She was like that. When she was at the church hall I just happened to mention that I liked it, and two days later she turned up here and gave it to me. She said things should always find their way to people who would love them.’

  ‘She seemed to be a very gentle, rather fey sort of person, yet some of her modern paintings are very powerful, and quite dark,’ Joseph said.

  ‘I never saw any of those, she certainly didn’t bring them to the art class. A talented artist can paint out their anger and sadness on the canvas, you know. I just wish everyone could rid themselves of their negative emotions like that, instead of fighting.’

  Life isn’t as simple as that, thought Nikki. Her job had taught her that much. ‘Leon, is there anyone around here who might be fascinated by fire in a biblical way? As in quoting scriptures about cleansing, or purifying with fire?’

  ‘Heavens, no! As far as I know, the only people around here who can quote the scriptures are the vicar and me! Greenborough isn’t exactly heathen, but it’s not very holy, either.’

  She nodded. ‘I thought that was probably the case.’

  ‘Can I help in any other way, Officers?’

  ‘Just keep your ears open, and contact us immediately if you hear any talk about either of the two deaths, or about fire.’ Nikki couldn’t think of any further questions. Dinner was calling. In fact, she was starving. ‘We appreciate your time, Leon.’ She handed him her card, and they made their way back down the aisle of the big church. This time she’d managed to avoid all mention of the dark arts.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Around three a.m., the phone rang. Nikki recognised the voice of Danny the night-shift sergeant.

  ‘Car fire this time, ma’am. Driver still inside. It might not be connected to your case, but I thought you might like to check it out,’ Danny said.

  ‘Where?’ asked Nikki groggily, trying to nudge Joseph awake.

  ‘Whistlepenny Woods. The car park closest to the fishing lake.’

  ‘Thanks, Danny. We’ll take a look. With that maniac out there, we can’t afford to leave it.’

  ‘Thought as much, ma’am. Fire service got there pretty smartish, but there’s not much left of the driver.’

  ‘Lovely. Thanks for that.’

  ‘Pleasure.’

  ‘Another one?’ Joseph was out of bed, searching for his clothes.

  ‘Car fire close to Whistlepenny Woods. Danny isn’t sure if it’s connected or not.’

  ‘Bet it is.’ Joseph pulled on his chinos. ‘That little conservation area is well off the road. It’s the perfect spot to torch a vehicle.’

  ‘And the driver,’ added Nikki flatly.

  ‘Rory won’t like this at all. Don’t think he’ll be wanting more crispy critters.’

  ‘Can’t say I’m too keen myself.’ Nikki pulled on a thick sweater. ‘I’ll be mighty glad when we don’t have to look at burnt bodies anymore.’

  They drove towards Whistlepenny Woods, watching the flashing lights of the emergency vehicles across the fields.

  ‘Bit of a déjà vu scenario, isn’t it?’ Joseph said as they drew up.

  ‘Complete with resident fire investigator, retired, Mr John Carson,’ commented Nikki.

  ‘That guy can’t ever sleep, can he? He’s always first at the scene.’

  They hurried across to where John stood talking to the fire crew.

  ‘You guys are being kept busy at the moment,’ Joseph said to one of the firefighters.

  Josh Kent looked at the car. ‘The fires I can contend with, no problem. I really enjoy the battle. But finding another human being inside, that’s the bit I don’t like.’

  There was little left of the front of the car. The back seats, although badly burnt, were still recognisable, and some of the original paintwork was left on the boot lid — about eighteen inches of a blistered red. It was almost impossible to recognise the make of the vehicle, and the driver was in a worse state.

  Nikki’s stomach lurched.

  ‘You okay?’ She felt Joseph’s hand on her arm.

  She took a long, deep breath and fought down the rising nausea. ‘Just not good with this sort of thing.’

  She was glad that Joseph made no attempt to shield her from the sight. It would mean she wasn’t up to the job, which was far from being true.

  ‘You’d have to be some kind of weirdo to be alright seeing something like this.’ Joseph stared at the car and its blackened occupant. He turned to John Carson.

  ‘What have we got this time, John? What do the fire boys say?’

  John beckoned them to a distance from the fire crew.

  ‘This time we differ, I’m afraid.’ He rubbed his eyes.

  ‘What are the known facts?’ asked Nikki.

  John’s hand dropped from his face. ‘There was an anonymous call to fire and rescue. They’d just been out to a false alarm at a cottage close by, so responded almost at once. They said that the front of the car was already an inferno, but they got to work fast and brought it under control. The driver was probably dead before they arrived.’

  ‘How does your opinion differ?’ Joseph asked.

  ‘They found evidence of fire-starting materials in the boot. They are pretty sure the dead man is your arsonist.’

  Nikki glanced at Joseph and then back to John. ‘But you disagree? Why?’

  John shrugged. The hollow eyes and haunted expression of total exhaustion were hard to miss.

  ‘I think this is a ploy to throw you off the scent. Yes, there are incendiary materials in the boot, but I think they were put there deliberately, so you believed your investigation was over.’

  ‘How come the front of the car burned so quickly, John?’ Nikki asked.

  ‘Accelerant. Petrol, most likely. The fire crew think he was preparing some sort of Molotov cocktail. They found the remains of a glass bottle in what’s left of the passenger footwell. They reckon he either had an accident, or maybe decided he’d had enough and took his own life.’

  ‘And you think the accelerant was poured over the body and the front of the car,’ Joseph said.

  ‘I do. I’m sure of it,’ John said.

  ‘Was the car locked?’

  ‘No, but the key was in the ignition. That’s one reason they think it was suicide, or an accident on the part of the driver.’

  Nikki frowned. ‘If the driver was already dead, or unconscious, the killer wouldn’t need to lock him in and take the keys, as he did with Clary. He could afford to leave them behind.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said John. He drew his coat around him. ‘Plus, I’ve been working out the timings. I think that 999 call was made before the car was set alight. I believe our killer wanted the fire crew to get to the boot area in time, and find the incriminating evidence. I wouldn’t be surprised if the false alarm call to the cottage was made by the killer too, in order to bring a fire tender to the area.’

  ‘
And who’s the driver?’

  ‘Who indeed? A male, but that’s all we know.’

  ‘And the car? The rear number plate is still legible. I’ll have a look.’ Joseph checked his smartphone. ‘Stolen earlier today, from a Greenborough supermarket car park. Owner reported it immediately.’

  ‘Hope it’s fully insured,’ muttered John. He turned to Nikki. ‘I know I’m right about this.’

  Nikki nodded. ‘Don’t worry, John, I’m with you. It’s all too staged, too unlikely. We can check those 999 calls. It’s easy to tell a genuine caller, and all calls are recorded so we can certainly calculate the timing.’

  ‘And why a stolen car?’ added Joseph. ‘If he was ending it all, why not use his own car? He wouldn’t be needing it any more, would he?’

  ‘He might have done that to make identifying him more difficult for us,’ Nikki guessed. ‘But we need forensics, that’s for sure. And we need to know who that is in the driver’s seat. This is a crime scene, folks.’

  ‘I’ll ring, shall I?’ Joseph took out his phone again. ‘Rory won’t thank us, but needs must and all that.’

  ‘Go for it.’ Nikki suddenly felt very tired. Unless they were wrong, and all the firemen were right, the killer was playing with them. He was getting bolder and more organised. ‘I’m guessing there was no puddle of vomit this time, John?’

  John shook his head. ‘None noted.’

  Yes, he was toughening up. Another bad sign.

  * * *

  The sun wouldn’t rise until around seven, so the forensic team had to work using portable lamps.

  Rory Wilkinson was indeed less than impressed by the state of the new candidate for his mortuary, and he told them so at every available opportunity.

  Nikki had asked uniform to cordon off a large area around the car. When daylight arrived, she wanted every inch combed for evidence left behind by whoever had set the fire. Naturally, the fire service had washed clean the area close to the vehicle when they hosed down the blaze, but it was still worth examining the area. Had the killer driven to meet his victim? If so there might be evidence of another vehicle. The ground was damp from a shower of rain earlier that night, so any recent tracks would show. Had he really been so bold? Or would his nervous stomach have reacted once more?