by Joy Ellis
‘Possibly, sir. We’ll know more when we get an ID on this man who had been hanging around with him. If the mystery man was the murderer, then it sounds as if Chris was being groomed, although for what, I can’t imagine.’
‘A clinical killing like this is very rare, Nikki. It’s the sort of thing you hear about in war zones, not Greenborough.’ His face screwed up into a leathery mask of concern. ‘As a matter of interest, what did Joseph make of it?’
Nikki used one of Joseph’s own blank expressions, and said ‘Much the same as you, sir. Why?’
‘Just wondered.’
Joseph’s past was not common knowledge, and although the superintendent knew about his background, he was unaware that Nikki also knew, and right now, she wanted it to stay that way.
‘And where are we with your suicide case, Martin Durham?’ continued the super.
‘There is some concern over the drugs in his system brought up by the tox report. Joseph has driven out to speak to his GP about it. And nothing’s shown up from the break-in at Knot Cottage.’
‘Oh well, keep me up to speed on that.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘And thinking about suicides, all this has rather put paid to the work that you were doing for me, hasn’t it? The statistics on un-natural deaths?’ His face darkened. ‘You wouldn’t believe it, we have an execution-style murder on our patch, and still I’m being asked for bloody useless figures and sodding reports. It’s crazy.’
‘We’ve not given up on it, sir. We’ll do our best to get something together for you.’ Nikki suddenly felt sorry for him. Rick had been a great copper, but slowly he had come to hate everything that promotion had brought with it. There were times when she knew that he would rather be back on the beat, than organising flow charts and initiatives, and juggling budgets. ‘Don’t worry, sir. Joseph is a wizard with figures, if there is an anomaly there, I’m sure he’ll spot it.’
‘The murder comes first, Nikki. I know that. But if you can sneak an hour or two on them sometime, I’d be grateful.’
Nikki left his office and wandered down to the canteen in search of a snack and a hot drink. Her head was a mess. Joseph was worrying her senseless and she had no one to talk to about it.
She took her lunch back to her office and half-heartedly unwrapped an unappetizing-looking sandwich. Unless there was something that Joseph wasn’t telling her about this Billy Sweet, she could not fathom why some psycho should suddenly leap back from the past and start stalking him.
She chewed slowly and wondered if she should try to get some kind of trace on Sweet. Not that she had a clue where to begin. Joseph had mentioned that he had gone to work for a private security force, which sounded very much like the man was now a mercenary soldier and that meant his movements would be very hard to track. Probably impossible.
She sipped her drink. She really didn’t believe that Joseph had held anything back. He honestly seemed as confused about what was happening as she did. And if he was right, and it was Sweet, why kill a vulnerable man like Chris Forbes? She picked up a pen and scribbled answers on piece of paper.
1) The super’s idea. CF was silenced for knowing something.
2) The killer’s a psycho, he doesn’t need a reason.
3) Practice. CF was not his primary target.
4) Mistaken identity.
5) CF could have been anyone, he was killed purely to get Joseph’s attention.
Nikki ringed number 5. Then added, To freak Joseph out. She underlined it in heavy strokes. No matter how much she hated the thought, Joseph did seem to be the key. And if that were the case, how much longer could she keep this under wraps?
She finished her mouthful, threw the rest in the bin and stood up. She needed a recognisable face to that new ‘friend’ of Chris Forbes, and she needed it before the shit hit the fan for Joseph.
* * *
Joseph pulled the Ford off the main road, and headed back on himself along a narrow lane that led to a small wetlands nature reserve. He knew that he should be getting back to the station, but he felt overwhelmed by the sudden need to get away from the furore of the murder enquiry. He wanted a few minutes alone, to think. And as he had driven away from Cloud Fen, he remembered what Nikki Galena had once told him about going to the sea bank ‘to get her head together.’
After half a mile he pulled into a sheltered parking area almost completely surrounded by trees and bushes. A weather-beaten painted sign told him that parking was free, although cars were left at the owner’s risk. Too right, he thought. Secluded and miles from anywhere. The perfect spot for a bit of vehicle vandalism.
He locked his car and offered a small prayer that it would remain as he left it, complete with CD player, and hopefully all its wheels, then followed the path through the trees and up to the high river bank.
To his left were the lagoons, shallow watery pools frequented by waterfowl and waders, and to his right, the river bank ran for miles out into the marshes, and finally on to the estuary. It wasn’t Nikki’s famous sea bank, but it was the next best thing.
He looked both ways, then chose the lagoons, and seeing no one else around, wandered along the track to one of the dilapidated bird-hides.
The steps up were rickety, and the door was little better. It swung open with a creak loud enough to scare every bird on the east coast. Inside there was a weird smell of salt-damp wood and a mustiness that was less than pleasant. He opened the observation flap, hooked it up and sat on the wooden bench to look out.
At first he saw only sedge grass, reeds and the oily dark waters of the lagoons, but after a while he realised that there was movement all around him. Tiny warblers clung to the reeds, their harsh repetitive song echoing across the pools. A heron stood seemingly motionless in the shallow water, and above him a skylark’s song rose and fell continuously.
He knew he didn’t have long, but this was what he needed right now. A place of solitude; somewhere to put his thoughts in order. He took a deep breath, held it, then allowed his mind to go over what had just occurred at the Cloud Fen Surgery.
Predictably, Dr Latimer had been furious. She had never prescribed any form of antidepressants for Martin Durham, and flatly denied any knowledge of the other two types of tablets that he had been taking. She had stared at the photo of the plain white boxes in complete amazement, and demanded to know where he had got them from. She had then proceeded to blame Joseph and his team for not comparing Martin’s medical notes with the drugs they had found at the house. It had taken a while to placate her, and even then, Joseph had finally left feeling ill at ease. Either Martin had been seeing two doctors, or he had been obtaining drugs illegally, and that just didn’t gel with the kind of person that his sister and the DI had described. He had made a mental note to ring the oncology clinic that conducted Martin’s yearly follow-up, maybe they could throw some light on his mixture of medication.
He stretched his aching back and watched as a curlew probed its long down-curved beak into the edge of the water searching for food. And Martin Durham was not the only problem. There was the other matter, the one he could hardly bear to think about. The fact that poor, trusting Chris Forbes might have died because of him.
He chewed on a rough nail, and tried to relax the turmoil in his head. He cursed softly. It really wasn’t fair. Until the moment when he had seen that horrible face peering through his windscreen, things had been good. Really good. He had come to terms with himself. Accepted that he couldn’t change the horrors of his past, but that he must not let them ruin the present or his future. He had let the bitterness of his divorce go, and made inroads to some kind of peace with his daughter. He had taken a new job with a boss that he had learnt to respect, and he’d survived an attack. Yes, things were good. Until Billy Sweet’s ugly face had appeared and tainted everything.
Joseph looked down, and saw deep indentations in the palms of his hands. He had clenched his fists so tightly that his nails had almost broken the skin.
How could things swing around
so quickly? How . . . ?
His mobile broke the silence, and for a second, made his heart race. He flipped it open expecting to see the guv’nor’s name, but to his surprise, it was Bryony.
He stared at it, but didn’t answer it. Apart from his job, she was the only happy thing in his life at present, and he was scared to get involved with her. If Sweet was after him, there would be no better way to get to him, than through a girlfriend. So for her sake he should keep his distance.
The tinny ringtone seemed to go on for ever, but finally it stopped, and the quiet in the small hut became almost deafening. Sweet was even souring his hopes and dreams.
He pushed the phone back into his pocket, then closed down the hatch. He should get back.
Remarkably the car was still there, and in one piece. ‘Thank you,’ he murmured to his unseen angels, and unlocked it. As he did, he heard his phone bleep, telling him that he had a text message.
“Am having a seriously shitty day. A drink would help. Would your BIG CASE allow it? Ring me. Bry”
Joseph stared at the message, his finger hovering over the reply button. If he didn’t contact her, she wouldn’t wait for ever. And what if he was wrong about everything? Maybe some villain from his past had decided to set him up for a fall. It would appear that he was still pretty shaky after his recent trauma, so perhaps he was letting his imagination get things out of proportion. By letting Bryony go, he could be ruining a chance for some happiness in his life.
He stared at his mobile phone, and felt like Don Camillo talking to JC, weighing up his worldly options against his moral conscience. With a sigh, he closed his phone and pushed his key into the ignition. JC wins. The risk was too great.
* * *
The murder room was now alive with CID officers. A series of photographs, dates, times, places and names were spread over the big glass case board. Most of it he could handle easily, but the picture of Chris Forbes clinical assassination made him shudder every time he looked at it.
Dave Harris acknowledged him with a wave.
‘Anything new, Dave?’ he asked, sliding behind his desk
‘Not yet, Sarge. Cat’s just rung me and said they were having no luck at all. Reckoned she’d never heard the words ‘average,’ ‘nondescript,’ and ‘ordinary’ used so often.’
‘And I suppose he always wore a hat or a hoody?’
‘Exactly. Making it almost impossible to give a description.’
‘Is the boss in, Dave?’
‘Fuming quietly in her office. I think she’d hoped that we would have been able to circulate at least an e-fit by now.’ He pulled a face. ‘I hope you’ve got some good news for her if you’re planning on going in there unarmed.’
‘Thankfully I’ve got a few phone calls to make first.’ He logged in to his computer and searched the file on Martin Durham until he found the name of the oncology clinic that he had attended. He scribbled down the number and lifted the phone.
‘Oncology suite. Good afternoon. How may I help you?’
The voice sounded too young to be anything other than a Brownie, but he explained who he was and asked to be put through to whoever was in charge. After a while he was passed on to a fully-fledged Girl Guide. He swiftly explained the situation, then gave her the police station number and asked her to ring them direct to confirm his authenticity.
It took only five minutes for his desk phone to ring.
‘I’d be glad to assist, Detective Sergeant Easter, but I’m afraid we do not have a patient of that name.’
‘But I have copies of reports sent to a Dr Helen Latimer in Cloud Fen. Now I can understand that you would prefer not to discuss this over the phone, but . . .’
‘Sorry, Sergeant, it’s not that. I’ve checked our database thoroughly. We have never treated anyone of that name. And before you ask, I have cross-checked the spelling.’
Joseph thanked her and slowly replaced the phone. What had Helen Latimer said to him, when he first spoke to her? “I’ve had regular updates from his oncology clinic.”’
With a frown he picked the phone back up and dialled the doctor’s number. ‘Yes, it is important.’ His tone held no room for negotiation, and soon he heard Dr Latimer’s voice. The woman was clearly unhappy at having her work interrupted.
‘Sorry but this is urgent,’ he snapped. ‘I need to know if you ever recall ringing Martin Durham’s oncology clinic personally.’
The woman went silent for a while, then in a considerably softer voice said, ‘Now you come to mention it, there was never any need to. They always contacted me, either by phone, or by mail.’ She paused. ‘What’s this all about, Sergeant Easter?’
‘I wish I knew, Doctor. Really I do.’ He thanked her and hung up. Bad mood or not, it was time to see the DI.
* * *
‘Never heard of him! There has to be some mistake.’
‘The administrator was adamant. I think we really need to find out a lot more about your neighbour, don’t you?’ said Joseph.
Nikki felt the muscles in her neck tense. It seemed as if her fears about Martin were about to be realised.
For a while she said nothing, as thoughts madly careered about in her head, then she looked down at the heap of paperwork on her desk. ‘This isn’t going to help either.’ She tapped her finger on the files. ‘The sudden death statistics that we were working on?’ She gave Joseph a wry smile. ‘It’s all right, I’m not skiving off the murder investigation. It’s just that the super is still being hounded for bloody figures, and I needed something to occupy my mind while I was waiting for Cat and her crew to get back.’ She sorted out two reports and handed them across to Joseph. ‘I was getting them into some form of order, and I saw a name I recognised. When I looked further, I started to feel twitchy. Look at these and tell me what you think.’
She sat back and observed him while he studied the papers. This was not the Joseph who had first come to Greenborough. That man had been calm, quietly sure of himself and completely in control. The Joseph who sat opposite her now looked drawn and preoccupied. He seemed as if his mind was in constant debate over something, and if she didn’t know him better she would have said he was frightened.
After a while he looked up. ‘I see what you mean, ma’am. But two other cases of suicide in very stable, apparently happy people, doesn’t mean much, does it?’
Nikki shrugged. ‘These are just basic summaries, no autopsies, or any other reports. I think we should check them out. Both caused something of a stir at the time, I do remember that.’ She rubbed her eyes. ‘I’d hate to think we missed something, and that bad things were happening to good people.’
She took the paper from him, stared at it, then dredged what she could remember from her memory. ‘Amelia Reed. Age fifty-one. Bit of a local hero, in as much as she rescued and cared for stray and ill-treated animals. She drowned in her bath. No history of mental illness. There were questions as to whether it was suicide or accidental death. There were some other questions too, but I can’t recall what they were. I do know an open verdict was returned.’
Joseph nodded thoughtfully. ‘And the other one?’
‘Paul Cousins, age fifty-two. Seen running towards the railway lines as if all the hounds of hell were pursuing him, only it wasn’t hounds that caught up with him, it was the 9.45 from Peterborough. The day before he’d become a grandfather for the first time.’
‘Running as if pursued,’ said Joseph thoughtfully, ‘Surely that’s a similar scenario to Martin? And are these recent cases?’
‘Within the last twelve months.’
‘Maybe I should get someone to pull the full reports just in case there are any more factors that could connect them?’ Joseph rubbed hard on his chin. ‘Although frankly I think we may be wasting precious time.’
‘Maybe, but this still has to be done.’ She jabbed her finger at the statistics, ‘I’ve no intentions of leaving the super in the brown and sticky stuff.’ Nikki exhaled loudly. ‘And I know we have a violent
killer out there, and he has to be caught. But there is something very wrong with Martin’s death too, and if someone is inducing innocent people to kill themselves, then this other assassin is just as bad and equally as deadly.’
‘Maybe we should hand it over to another team,’ said Joseph dubiously
‘And which case would you hand over, Joseph?’ Nikki looked at him steadily. ‘One seems to be connected to you, and the other to me.’
Joseph looked directly into her eyes but did not answer.
‘Not easy is it? And although no way would I expect you to explain everything about your past to another team, I feel that I owe Martin to find out who did this to him.’ She abruptly stood up and began to pace the office. ‘You see I think I may have done him a disservice, unintentionally, that is.’
‘Maybe I shouldn’t ask this . . . ?’ Joseph turned his head slightly to one side. ‘And I know he was practically old enough to be your father, but was there more to your relationship than just being neighbours?’
A while ago, Nikki would have thought nothing of throwing him out of the office, but now she just shook her head, and handed him the photo of Martin, Hannah and herself. ‘No never. But I think maybe I missed the signs.’
He stared at the picture. ‘That he cared for you?’
‘Mm. I think I was so wrapped up in my own life, my own problems, that I never saw it. That, and as you so delicately mentioned, he was such a lot older than me. I never even considered the possibility.’
‘And are you basing that supposition purely on this,’ Joseph passed the photo back.
‘No. There’s something else.’ She drew in a long breath and stared at the picture. ‘You know how long my daughter’s been in hospital, don’t you? Well, someone has been sending her a small bunch of freesias. Same day, every week, without fail. This is the first time for over a year when there have been no flowers.’