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

by Joy Ellis

  ‘My absolute pleasure. Now, while I have you on the phone, I’ve had some more thoughts about your costume for the wedding. I was thinking along the lines of—’

  ‘Stop right there!’ Nikki said. ‘Rory, dearest, this kind of thing doesn’t come easy to a simple plod like me. I really think you have to allow me to work it out all by myself, okay? No more suggestions, right?’

  ‘But . . .’

  ‘Not another word.’

  ‘I . . .’

  ‘Rory!’

  ‘Spoilsport. Oh well, I shall just have to wait with bated breath, won’t I?’

  ‘Got the message at last! Thank you for your info, Rory, I appreciate it. Now I’m off to chase it up.’

  There was a loud theatrical sigh. Nikki hung up, smiling.

  She hurried out to share Rory’s news with Joseph and the others, and found them deep in conversation with Niall and Yvonne.

  ‘We’ve had a sighting, boss!’ Cat called out. ‘Tell the DI, Vonnie.’

  ‘He drives a small white Compact van, with a painter and decorator’s name on it, Fred someone. Could be a Renault Kangoo, with a thirteen plate,’ Yvonne explained. ‘And he’s been seen on several days prior to the fire, heading towards Rycroft Farm. I’ve checked with every house out on that stretch of the fen, and no one has been having work done. Then, just before the emergency services got out there last night, one of the residents heard a van being driven at breakneck speed away from the fire.’

  Nikki beamed. ‘Headway at last! Well done, Vonnie. I suppose no one could ID the driver, could they?’

  ‘Youngish, and lovely brown hair is as good as it gets, I’m afraid, but it sounds like our arsonist, doesn’t it?’

  ‘No question, and I’ve got something that might help too.’ Nikki told them about Rory’s discovery of burn scars on Michael Porter’s body and her suspicion that whatever had happened to Michael was the link to the killer.

  ‘Shall I chase that up, guv?’ asked Dave.

  ‘Go for it, and if anyone else is at a loose end, you can help Dave.’

  ‘Ma’am? If you can use Yvonne, I’ve squared it downstairs,’ Niall offered.

  ‘Certainly can! Vonnie, get onto finding that van. CCTV should be your first stop, and Spooky in IT will help you with that. You two know this area better than any of us.’

  ‘Wilco, ma’am.’

  Vonnie went off in search of Spooky, and for the first time since the fires started, Nikki felt as though they were finally making real progress.

  The others went back to their desks, leaving Joseph apparently deep in thought. ‘That man is so organised, so in control!’ he said. ‘I’ve just been calculating that he was actually sealing up Rycroft Farm on the day he torched the stolen car and killed Jez. And they say men can’t multi-task!’

  ‘John Carson was right when he said the arsonist wants this over as quickly as possible. I’m just praying that he doesn’t have too many more victims on his list.’ Nikki frowned. ‘Because he does have a list, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Well, if we can find out who else was with Michael Porter in this prank gone wrong, we might know who they are.’ Joseph looked at her. ‘I’m finished with my reports. Shall I give Dave a hand?’

  Nikki nodded. ‘Do, and after I’ve updated Cam, I’ll pitch in too. This could be the turning point.’

  * * *

  Inside the garage, he went round the van peeling off the stick-on vinyl signs and replacing them with new ones. This time the little Renault proclaimed him to be JJ’s Pet Supplies. With the addition of a colourful stripe and a series of vinyl muddy dog paws, it looked completely different. He didn’t want to use it too often — he knew the police would be looking for a Renault — but he would only need it for a couple of days, then the vinyl could be peeled off again and the little white van returned to where he had “borrowed” it from, hopefully without its holidaying owner ever knowing it had gone anywhere. It doesn’t do to sit in pubs and tell the world you’re off to Thailand. You never know who might follow you home.

  He was feeling much better today. Maybe it was just a reaction to the stress. He was sure that was the reason for his dreadful headaches. Hopefully they would go when it was all over.

  He finished his work and sat on a big old toolbox, trying to collect his thoughts. He had to move on to the next part of the plan. But he was tired. So tired. This project was taking its toll. He told himself he’d have plenty of time to sleep after he’d set the final fire. Until then, he must concentrate, keep calm and make them burn!

  He stood up and went back into the house. He hadn’t eaten today, and he couldn’t afford to grow weak. A late breakfast, some vitamin pills, and back to the drawing board. This next one would not be straightforward.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Despite Wendy’s near total recall of the conversations in the graveyard at Monks Lantern, nothing jogged Leon’s memory. By the time he left them, he looked utterly bedevilled.

  ‘I wonder what it was?’ Eve mused.

  ‘Whatever it is, it’s going to drive him crazy until he remembers.’ Wendy lowered herself into a garden chair. ‘But I was interested to hear what we can and can’t do with our graves.’

  ‘I don’t know about you, but I’m thinking he has a point about not digging up these poor souls. After all, they were laid to rest here for all eternity.’

  Wendy looked down at the notes she made while Leon had talked. ‘Well, we can level old and broken edging stones and anything already laid flat, as long as we record the exact location of the grave.’ She looked up. ‘He says he’s put in a request for the burial and death records for this place. Apparently they’re recorded in the parish registers, and they go back to the 1500s, whereas official census records don’t go back further than 1837. But he isn’t sure he’ll be able to find them for a tiny chapel graveyard like this one.’

  ‘And we can’t touch the standing stones. Is that correct?’ Eve asked.

  ‘He’s going to query that. There are conflicting views, it seems. Some other disused graveyards have been given approval to move headstones and memorials over eighty years old to the periphery of the grounds, as long as a record of names, date of death and position within the graveyard is posted clearly.’ She sucked in air. ‘Others have had to retain the larger standing stones and monuments and burial vaults.’

  ‘We don’t have any of those anyway. Vaults, I mean.’

  ‘Not that I’ve seen, but there are a couple of areas that are pretty overgrown.’ Wendy grinned. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised to find that some wealthy old Beech Lacey family had a vault here.’

  Eve nodded. ‘Mmm, could be. But whatever we decide, I suppose the first thing we have to do is have a really good tidy up. Get rid of the brambles, the nettles, the elder and all the weeds and dead branches, and then see what we have.’

  ‘And who do we rope in to do that? The scouts? People doing Community Service? It’s a big job.’

  ‘I’m willing to pay for all the professional stuff that needs doing — tree maintenance and that sort of thing, but why don’t we mobilise the village to help with the ground work? The gardening club would help, I’m sure. We could talk to Cam Walker. He and Kaye know a lot more people than we do.’ Eve was starting to feel positive about their new venture, no matter how it finished up.

  ‘Good idea,’ said Wendy. ‘Let’s ring Cameron this evening, and then make a plan of action. Meanwhile, do you think there’s anything we can do to help that young curate? I hate to see a person so troubled.’

  ‘I was thinking the same myself.’ Eve narrowed her eyes. ‘We have five senses, and hearing is only one of them. Leon assumes it was something he heard, but what if it was something he saw?’

  Wendy looked thoughtful. ‘And what do you see in a graveyard, but memorial stones? You’re thinking he noticed a specific name on a tomb, but it didn’t fully register?’

  ‘Exactly. So why don’t we take a little stroll around our new project, and list all the na
mes that are legible? We can show them to Leon. One of them might just jog his memory.’

  ‘Good thinking! I’ll get a notepad.’

  * * *

  Just before two o’clock, Joseph and Dave believed they’d made a breakthrough. After doing tests on the skin graft tissue, Rory had confirmed that Michael must have been in his late teens when he had his accident, so they were targeting incidents around the end of October into early November, from 2005 to 2007.

  Dave had chanced on a report of a bonfire that had got out of control on a piece of waste ground. Several youngsters had received burns, two seriously.

  ‘You say it was on 4 November, 2007?’ asked Joseph, fingers hovering over his keyboard.

  ‘That’s right. It was on the outskirts of a village called Dewdyke. That’s a little place near Saltern-le-Fen, I think. Some teenagers built a bonfire with old pallets and rubbish they pinched from a nearby farm, and it looks like they weren’t too careful about what they chucked on the fire.’

  Joseph searched a newspaper archive for the date and location. ‘Ah, got it.’ He squinted at the screen. ‘Doesn’t tell us much though, and no names.’ He tried another site, but again found nothing to help them. He sat back. ‘John Carson! It’s just occurred to me. He said he remembers every call he ever went to. Maybe he dealt with this one, or knew someone who was there.’ He picked up his phone.

  ‘John? We need to pick your brains. It’s a long shot mind you, a fire that occurred over ten years ago.’

  ‘Tell me what you know about it,’ said John.

  ‘November 4, 2007. Bonfire out of control. Dewdyke. Several injuries.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ John said ruminatively. ‘Not my case, but several youngsters were hurt, so it was investigated. I seem to recall that one of the youngsters was transferred to the specialist burns centre at St Andrew’s, Chelmsford.’

  ‘Do you know any more, John? Will it still be on record with the fire and rescue service?’

  ‘No need for us to chase up records, Joseph. The guy who dealt with it is a friend of mine. I’ll give him a bell and ring you back. What are you looking for in particular?’ John asked.

  ‘Everything he has, please. Names are the most important. We’d like to know if the name Michael Porter comes up at all.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Give me a minute or two.’

  Joseph ended the call. ‘This is promising.’

  ‘Good, because I can’t find anything else that fits the bill.’ Dave frowned. ‘I never realised how many fires are reported each month, mainly due to faulty electrical appliances.’

  ‘I can believe that,’ Joseph said.

  John Carson was soon back on the phone. ‘This is all I have for now, but if the need arises we can try to get into the archives for you. My old colleague remembers that the kids were celebrating Mischief Night and were pretty drunk. They took old pallets and firewood, and all manner of rubbish from the farm outbuildings, then a couple of them broke into a store and grabbed all sorts of stuff, including canisters of agro-chemicals. Their bonfire turned into a toxic inferno. Two of the kids, a boy and a girl, got in the way of a fireball. Very nasty indeed.’

  ‘Their names? Did he remember them?’ Joseph sat forward, hunched over the phone.

  ‘Darren Smith and Sally Brooks. Sorry, Joseph. No mention of Michael Porter.’

  ‘Damn and blast! We thought we had it there.’

  ‘Don’t forget there were others hurt too, just not as badly, and they weren’t named. So he could have been involved. In fact he could have been one of the idiots who got hold of the flammable stuff in the first place.’

  ‘That’s possible. I suppose they were taken to Greenborough General, were they?’

  ‘Most likely. Although I doubt whether they still have the records. And I’m not sure how you’d find their names in the first place. We only had the two I’ve given you. Oh, and the girl died a week later, by the way.’

  ‘That’s awful. Poor kid.’ Joseph had seen horrendous injuries while he was serving with the special forces, men and women who’d begged him to shoot them to end their pain. He hoped the girl had at least been saved such agony.

  ‘Sorry I can’t be of more help, Joseph. Can I ask something? What’s the time frame you are looking at for Michael Porter’s accident?’

  Joseph told him. ‘You could be our main hope, John. We thought we were getting somewhere, but I’m not so sure now. And meanwhile, that madman is out there somewhere, with a fresh box of matches and itchy fingers.’

  * * *

  Ben and Cat were trying to get a handle on Michael Porter’s past, but were faring little better than Joseph. They’d tried all the usual routes, but he’d never been in trouble, never been registered as living anywhere other than Rycroft Farm, and seemed to be a complete loner. They had his age, and a few other personal papers that had survived the fire inside a metal document box. His siblings had already been notified. They appeared to be shocked, but more concerned about losing their inheritance than losing their brother. Neither was forthcoming about Michael’s earlier accident.

  Ben decided to phone Michael’s brother, Jared.

  ‘Mike didn’t come home for a long time after the accident,’ said Jared. ‘Our parents told us he was in hospital. They said he’d been mentally affected by what happened, and we weren’t to talk to him about it when he came back, so we didn’t.’

  ‘But they explained about the fire, didn’t they?’ asked Ben.

  ‘Not really. They just said he’d been burned. He’d been somewhere he shouldn’t, and got injured.’

  ‘And you didn’t think to ask? Wasn’t it in the local paper?’ Ben was puzzled and more than a little angry at the brother’s lack of concern.

  ‘It didn’t happen locally, and frankly, Mike was always up to something he shouldn’t. Claire and I just let him get on with it.’

  ‘He was never in trouble with the police. We checked.’

  ‘I didn’t say he was stupid, just always up to something.’

  ‘Sir, your brother was severely injured. He had major burns on his arm, his shoulder and right across his back. He had skin grafts, which must have been agonising for him, and you tell me he suffered problems related to the trauma afterwards, but you let him get on with it?’ Ben raised his voice. Cat flashed him a warning glance from across the desk, and pulled an imaginary zipper across her mouth. ‘I’d just like to understand why,’ he said.

  There was a long silence, and then Jared said, ‘We had a happy childhood. Our parents spoilt Mike, who was the youngest, and as he grew older, he became insufferable.’ He paused. ‘Sorry, Officer, bottom line, Claire and I grew up, Michael didn’t. We were both at university when Mike got hurt. I didn’t think it was that serious, if you must know. We thought he was milking it. He wasn’t academic, and his future wasn’t exactly rosy, so we thought he was trying to get on benefits, and get out of having to make a living. That’s why we were less than sympathetic.’

  Ben still felt they might have been at least a little curious. He was their flesh and blood, after all.

  ‘Then, when Mum and Dad died he changed completely. He was always lazy, but after that he seemed to give up on everything. Claire and I couldn’t do anything to help with the house. She lives in Ontario, and I’m based here in Riyadh. I’m an English teacher.’ He sniffed. ‘Look, I’m sorry this has happened, really I am, but it was probably his own fault. Left a pan on the stove or something. He was like that.’

  Ben sighed. ‘How much detail have you been given about your brother’s death, sir?’

  ‘That he died in a house fire, when Rycroft Farm, our home, burnt down. And someone would contact us and update us when they knew more.’

  ‘Sir, I’m sorry to have to tell you this, but Michael was murdered. Someone locked him in the farmhouse, then set it alight.’

  There was a long silence. Jared whispered, ‘Oh, dear Mother of God! Poor little Mikey!’

  Ben couldn’t help heaving a sigh of relief.
At last, some emotion. ‘I’m very sorry, sir. But I’m sure you can now understand why we’re having to ask so many questions. We believe his death is connected to the accident he had eleven years ago.’

  ‘But why? I don’t understand.’

  ‘Michael is not the first victim to have been killed in this manner. We think it’s connected to something called Mischief Night, and an incident that occurred years ago.’

  ‘He always loved Mischief Night, Detective, especially when he was little.’ Jared paused. ‘I need to come home. I’ll ask for compassionate leave. I’m not sure what use I’ll be, but maybe I can recall something our parents mentioned. I’ll do all I can to help, for Mikey’s sake.’

  Ben almost whooped aloud. ‘Thank you, sir. We’ll see you when you get here.’

  Ben hung up.

  ‘You enjoyed telling him that, didn’t you, Ben Radley.’ Cat looked at him with wide reproachful eyes.

  ‘What is it with families? For heaven’s sake, the kid gets barbecued and his brother and sister decide he’s swinging the lead to get a benefit cheque! I ask you!’

  Cat shrugged. ‘Stranger things have happened. Anything useful come out of it in the end?’

  ‘One thing. Michael’s accident didn’t happen close to home. We’ll press Jared harder when we see him, but he said it wasn’t in the local papers.’

  Cat stood up. ‘I’ll go and tell the Sarge. He and Dave are checking out local fires, not ones further out of our area.’

  ‘That’ll please them. It makes this hunt a damn sight more difficult, too.’ Ben scratched his head. ‘Surely someone must know Michael Porter well enough to know what happened to him? He must have talked to someone.’

  Cat stopped mid-stride. ‘Of course! Who did the others talk to?’ She beamed at him. ‘Leon Martin! Bet he knows him.’

  Ben slapped his temple. ‘Duh! Of course!’

  ‘So move your butt, Detective, and let’s go see our curate.’

  * * *

  ‘Michael Porter should never have been left to live alone in that big old place. He wasn’t capable of looking after himself, let alone the house,’ Leon said.