by Joy Ellis
Nikki sat back and allowed herself to feel pretty pleased with her team. Okay, they weren’t exactly classic cops. They had started out as a seriously dysfunctional group of misfits. Maybe that was their secret, because now they were hard to beat when it came to arrest and conviction rates.
‘Close the door, Dave. I’ve something to tell you, and I’d prefer it stayed with us for the moment.’
Nikki told them about her father, and it wasn’t easy, because Dave’s wife, who also had Alzheimer’s, had died only a year ago and she knew he was still hurting. ‘So, I may be in and out a bit over the next few days tying up details, but I have decided I’d rather keep working.’
Both officers offered their condolences, then Dave added, ‘I don’t blame you, ma’am. I wish I’d done the same when my Lizzie passed away. It’s a big mistake to take too much time out, especially when you are on your own.’ He gave her a sad smile. ‘But anything we can do to help, just ask, okay?’
‘Definitely,’ Cat added. ‘Anything at all, ma’am.’
Nikki thanked them, but somehow felt that her words sounded hollow. She still felt no emotion welling up. No tears threatened to engulf her.
‘Well, back to work.’ She told them about Pike, the drugs, and the ventilation shaft, then passed them copies of a report that had just arrived from uniform as to the status of the search for his missing grandmother. ‘According to the crew who dealt with it, Grandma Pike lives alone out on the marshes at Castor Fen. She’s the local fenlanders’ version of a vet by all accounts, and she takes in stray animals.’ Nikki paused and thumbed through the report. ‘A chap named Bourne called on her the night before last with a sick pup, but she wasn’t there. He returned the next morning and she still wasn’t around. As she never went out, and she always left the key under a flowerpot, he let himself in. Said the place was a tip, looked like there had been a struggle. There was blood on the hearth, and he reckoned some of her animals had gone too.’
‘It makes no sense,’ said Dave, rubbing thoughtfully at his chin.
‘I agree,’ said Nikki, taking a large picture from an envelope in front of her. ‘And neither does the fact that Pike was wearing this when they pulled him out of the shaft. Can you see any streetwise bloke going out like this?’ She showed them a photo of the clothes that Pike had been wearing when he was found, in particular a multicoloured, homespun, woolly jumper. ‘And it’s new.’
‘That’s gross,’ said Cat flatly.
‘It’s the sort your gran knits you for Christmas and you never wear,’ said Dave with a pained expression on his face. ‘I suffered quite a few of those in my childhood.’
Nikki nodded. ‘So we can only guess that he wore it to please her.’
‘But where is she? How the hell can a little old lady disappear off the face of the fen?’ grumbled Cat, staring at the printouts. ‘I see that uniform have started a house to house, but in that desolate spot it could take a week.’
‘Right, so have they checked the hospitals?’ Nikki asked, ‘Especially ones out of the area?’
‘Yup.’ Cat ran a finger down the list. ‘Boston, Skeggie, Lincoln, Grantham, Peterborough, plus all the cottage hospitals. Apparently none of them have an unknown eighty-year-old female that they’d like claimed.’
‘Well, unless she turns up living a secret life as a club rep in Ayia Napa, or William Pike wakes up, it looks like Granny Pike will be joining Amelia Earhart.’
‘And the blood that was found on the hearth,’ mused Dave, ‘was definitely human, but the DNA report will take some time.’
‘Any witness statements? Anyone noticed any recent visitors to the fen? Any strangers?’
‘Says here that some kid saw a flashy car a few days back,’ said Dave. ‘It sounded like an Audi, but he never got a license number. The consensus is that it was most likely just lost. It happens all the time out there on those marsh lanes.’
‘Mm, then we better concentrate on Pike. We need to confirm what Stephanie Taylor told WPC Collins, that the father is brown bread and the mother did a runner donkey’s years ago.’ Nikki sighed. ‘And we still have Pike’s buddy, the wannabe drug baron Anson Taylor missing.’ Nikki frowned and rubbed at her temple thoughtfully. ‘I wonder if Anson and Pike had a fight over those drugs, and Pike finished up down the shaft.’ She suddenly felt frustrated by the whole thing. ‘No, that doesn’t ring true somehow. Why out there in such a remote and desolate area? I’ve got a distinctly funny feeling about all this.’ She stood up. She never ignored instinct. ‘Right, we’ll take a closer look at that old airfield. Something drew William Pike to the place, so we can’t afford to write it off as just some old deserted ruin. Maybe something is going on out there that shouldn’t be.’ She looked at Cat and Dave. ‘Start with background. Find out all you can about RAF Flaxton Mere, past and present. Then we’ll take a handful of uniforms and do a search. Okay, my friends, get digging, and keep me posted. As soon as Yvonne is back, I’m going to see the owner of that godforsaken place.’
‘No problem, ma’am,’ Cat gathered up the papers and walked to the door. ‘We’re on it.’
* * *
As the police officers discussed him, the young man called William Pike was staring at a bright white light. And even though it was very beautiful, he somehow found the strength to refuse to walk down that long tunnel. He was weak and close to death, but he refused to lose his tenuous grip on life.
His reason for turning down the generous offer of everlasting peace, and choosing to remain in a world of excruciating pain, was a simple one. In a moment of lucidity, at some point before he slipped into that deeper state of unconsciousness that they called coma, he had recognised someone in the big, bright room in which he lay.
CHAPTER FIVE
Karl Shine opened the door of his apartment to find two uniformed officers and a senior detective on his doorstep. His stomach lurched, threatening his recently digested dinner, and a feeling of dread surged through him, which was ridiculous considering he had done nothing wrong. Well, not yet. It was probably just a flashback to the old days — the bad old days.
He read their warrant cards, then held back the door and allowed them in.
As he indicated the matching leather sofas, he felt a tiny hint of satisfaction as their envious eyes swept around the beautifully furnished room.
‘We traced a call from a mobile phone, sir. One that was requesting an ambulance to an incident at Flaxton Mere airfield? The call was anonymous, but it was made from a phone registered to you. Would that be correct, sir?’
Karl thought quickly. ‘It was never meant to be anonymous, officers. I was so concerned for the young man down the shaft that as soon as I knew help was on the way, I simply rang off without leaving my details.’ He threw them what he hoped was a convincing smile. ‘How is he? Did he make it?’
‘He’s critical, sir,’ said the detective named DI Galena. ‘But if you hadn’t found him, he would certainly be dead.’ The woman looked at him intently and he found her gaze disturbing. ‘How did you come to find him?’
Karl took a deep breath. ‘I was just checking the perimeter fences. The airfield is a dangerous place. I’ve put warning notices up all over, but people ignore them. Like the man down the shaft.’
‘Did you know him?’ asked the male constable, a young man with dark, piercing eyes.
‘Never seen him before. And before you ask, I have no idea what he was doing. He certainly had no business to be there.’
‘How long have you owned Flaxton Mere, sir?’
Karl’s heart sank. He really did not want to talk about his investment. It should have changed his life and made him filthy rich, but now it hung around his neck like a rotting albatross and could see him in debt to the tune of hundreds of thousands of pounds. ‘Three years, give or take a month or two.’
‘And what are your intentions for it, sir?’
Fuck all, thought Karl bitterly, although of course that had not always been the case. First there was to
be a small estate of prestige housing, then a sympathetic renovation job on the RAF buildings making them into a heritage museum, followed by more affordable dwellings that would attract southerners who were looking for a place in the country. Oh yes, it was the dream deal, the gilt-edged property investment that couldn’t fail. Until he miscalculated the market, held back too long, and a storm of biblical proportions hit the coastline that edged Flaxton Mere, and turned a part of his prime building land into a lake of silt. ‘To be frank, officers, I’m still considering my options.’ He hoped he looked relaxed and at ease answering their damn fool questions. ‘You can’t really lose when you invest in land, can you? And I have several interesting schemes being considered by my people for viability.’ Karl shifted uncomfortably. It had just occurred to him that this visit from the law regarding his 999 call really didn’t warrant three officers. There must be something else bringing them to his door, something he wasn’t yet aware of.
But then they were standing up, thanking him for his time, and preparing to leave. Karl’s confusion increased. In a former life and a different location he’d had plenty of dealings with coppers, and this didn’t feel right.
‘By the way, sir,’ the uniformed woman constable hung back. ‘The business units in the old hangars? I assume they are all kosher? Rent books, proper tax declarations, all run correctly?’
Karl could have laughed out loud. Of course they weren’t. They were strictly cash, no lease agreements and no questions asked about what the hell they were doing. He smiled reassuringly. ‘Of course it’s all above board. My secretary deals with it. She’ll have all the relevant paperwork at the office. You are welcome to call by and check it. Naturally, due to the poor amenities and the distance from the town they pay very low rents with informal agreements, but when my plans come into operation, their units will be modernised and then new contracts will be drawn up and they will pay accordingly.’
The policewoman gave him a long stare, one that said, I’ve got your number, sunshine, and if you think I believe that, then you’re a fool. But what she said was, ‘Thanks for your time, sir. We’ll probably be in touch.’
Karl held open the door, then casually asked, ‘I suppose you’ve finished out at the airfield now?’
The detective inspector shook her head. ‘Not yet, I’m afraid. We need to keep the crime scene secure, sir, and generally keep an eye on the whole area.’
‘Crime scene?’ There was an edge to his voice and he hoped the woman had not picked up on it.
‘If he dies it could be murder, or manslaughter.’
‘I thought he’d just fallen! Do you mean he was thrown?’
‘Sorry, sir, but it’s like you said yourself, we’ve no idea how he got there.’
Karl Shine’s mouth went dry. Just how fucking naive could he be? He closed the door and headed straight to the cabinet that contained his scotch.
He poured himself three fingers and swilled back a good third of it in one hit. He noticed that his hand had a slight tremor, and he wasn’t surprised. Just the thought of what was happening out at the airfield was enough to make him shake.
What he hadn’t told them was that when half the coastline got washed away in the storm, the authorities decided it was cheaper to flood a large area close to Flaxton Mere, rather than try to build new sea defences. In ten years’ time it would be a useless bog. And as the marsh was still encroaching into the land, planning permission would be out of the question. Everything he owned, and one hell of a lot of money that he didn’t, was riding on him finding a way out of this shit, and fast.
He took another swallow of the whisky and let out a sigh. Because that wasn’t the end of it, was it? When honesty had failed, he had approached someone from his past to help bail him out. And that someone would not be best pleased if he knew that his new project was being crawled all over by the Old Bill. Even the thought of the man’s reaction to that scenario made Karl feel physically sick. He should never have allowed this to happen.
He drank the last of the scotch and poured another. Even losing everything and allowing his fabulous investment to be swallowed up by the North Sea was infinitely better than upsetting the infamous Freddie Carver, and now it looked as if he might have royally pissed him off.
Karl sat down on his very expensive leather sofa and allowed his head to sink into his hands. The day before he had made a deal with the devil, and now he had no idea how he could stop the chain of events that had already swung into action. With another sigh, which was almost a childish whimper, he curled up into a tight ball and closed his eyes.
He stayed like that for almost half an hour, then he slowly sat up and stretched his taut and strained neck muscles. He stood up, stretched again, then walked over to the huge full-length mirror that hung in the hallway.
In it he saw the reflection of a smart, well-groomed businessman. The short, stylishly cut dark hair, the casual, trendy clothes and the Tag Heuer watch all declared affluence, but he smiled bitterly and wondered how long he had before the bailiffs hauled away his home cinema system and his Beemer. He stared more deeply at his image, and didn’t like what he saw. The man who looked out from behind his eyes was weak and scared.
It was all he had ever wanted. To make it big on Straight Street, and stick two fingers up at his shady beginnings and every single member of his stinking, lowlife family. And if the Flaxton Mere enterprise had come off, he would have been richer than any of them would have ever believed.
He straightened himself up, then walked back into the lounge and his unfinished single malt. This time he sipped it.
Maybe, just maybe, he could turn this around. He’d have to eat humble pie, but what did he have to lose? He set his empty glass down on the table. What did they say? Desperate times called for desperate measures. He gave a mirthless laugh. Well, they didn’t come any more desperate than he was right now.
The laugh faded and he gritted his teeth. Then he picked up his car keys and made for the door to the integral garage.
CHAPTER SIX
That evening, Nikki stood in her bedroom at Cloud Cottage Farmhouse and looked out over the marsh. An evening mist had come down in a swirling, hazy mass, but it was far from depressing. In fact it was spellbinding. It seemed as if she were looking across to the silver grey waters of the Wash through a gently twisting veil of gossamer silk. And a quarter of a mile away, on the very edge of the marsh, she could see the familiar shape of Knot Cottage.
A wisp of smoke filtered from one of its two chimneys into the even wispier cloudy sky. Joseph had obviously decided that the evenings were still cool enough to warrant keeping the log burner alight.
She walked away from the window. It felt comfortable knowing that Joseph was living so close to her, and she thanked God that he had fallen in love with the airy beauty of the Fens, and not moved back to the town. She gazed through the almost hypnotic wispy strands of mist to Knot Cottage, and thought about Joseph.
He meant so much to her in so many ways. But it was complicated. Wasn’t it always, she thought grimly. He was her only neighbour, her trusted work colleague and her closest friend. And what else? For a while she had believed — well, unless she was completely mistaken, they had both believed that they had a future together, but fear had crept in and ruined the dream. They were too afraid to lose what they already had. She loved him, that was undeniable, but she knew what could happen to two career-minded people in such a volatile job. Best to keep the status quo.
As she pulled a sweater over her head she thought about the circumstances that had brought Joseph’s daughter to Greenborough, and the more she considered it, the more she believed that Tamsin really did want some kind of relationship with her father.
Joseph’s ex-wife had moved from Edinburgh to Chicago and was now a high flyer in the World Health Organisation. Her field was surgical safety and, according to Tamsin, they had been about to take a holiday in Switzerland when her mother had been called as an expert witness in a big court case in So
uthern Africa. It could take days, or weeks, Tamsin didn’t know, but she had decided that she would prefer to be on hand in the UK, rather than try to rush out from the States when her mother was finally free.
Nikki pulled on some light socks and hunted in the bottom of her wardrobe for her soft leather loafers. Tamsin struck Nikki as the sort of girl who wouldn’t think twice about grabbing a bucket seat and flying out at ten minutes’ notice, so she was pretty sure the “impromptu” stay with her father had actually been carefully planned. As she ran down the stairs and grabbed her keys from the kitchen table, she sincerely hoped she was right.
* * *
It was just after nine when they finished the meal, and Nikki raised her glass in Joseph’s direction. ‘I admit to having been a trifle anxious when you reminded me that Tamsin was a vegetarian, but that supper was something else. Thank you.’ Actually she had almost chickened out when she had heard the word “veggie.” Nikki watched as Tamsin looked at her father with a mixture of irritation and interest.
‘I told him not to fuss. I have no problem with other people eating whatever they want. Being vegetarian is my choice. I don’t inflict my beliefs on anyone else.’
There was a haughty, almost defensive, tone to her voice, and Nikki realised that the girl was fighting with her feelings about her father. But Tamsin obviously didn’t feel quite ready to make any decisions about him yet.
‘Well,’ said Nikki comfortably. ‘If nothing else, I’ll never knock vegetarian again, and believe me, that’s saying something.’