Killer on the Fens

by Joy Ellis

‘She is something of a philistine where food is concerned,’ added Joseph. ‘Although it’s very satisfying to have someone clear their plate with such gusto.’

  ‘I’m supposing that’s a polite way of calling me a pig, is it?’

  ‘Never. We get called that enough in our line of work, thank you. You just enjoy your food.’ He raised an eyebrow in her direction. ‘And speaking of appreciating things, if we have coffee over at yours, do you have any of that amazing brandy left?’

  ‘My father’s? Yes, I found another two bottles squirreled away at home. If you don’t mind swinging around in my attic, I’ll open one. Deal?’

  * * *

  An hour later, Tamsin and Nikki, with brandy glasses in their hands, sat on the floor of her lounge, surrounded by cardboard boxes and an assortment of cases.

  ‘So what are we looking for?’ asked Tamsin, carefully thumbing through a sheaf of military-looking papers.

  Nikki stared at her father’s things and wondered if she was up to this. But there would never be a better time. She looked fondly at Joseph and Tamsin. Now was probably as good as it got. ‘Put anything that refers to the RAF to one side, and keep your eyes peeled for the name Eve on letters, backs of photos, notes, anything.’

  Tamsin lifted out a packet of glossy pictures. ‘Is this you?’

  Nikki looked at the young woman with the eager, happy face, and the pretty blonde child on a brightly-coloured tricycle. ‘Yes, that’s me with Hannah. She must have been about two in that one.’

  Tamsin looked through the other pictures. ‘Dad told me what happened to Hannah.’ The girl looked up. ‘I’m so sorry. And now losing your father as well . . . it must be horrible for you. I don’t know how you cope.’

  ‘Some days I’m not too sure myself.’ Nikki took a sip of her brandy. ‘And then other days, well, you realise that life throws some pretty grim stuff at everyone at one time or another. You just have to get on with it. You’re no good to anyone if you crack up.’ She thought about her lovely girl, and the long, long time she had spent in the high dependency unit being cared for 24/7. Hannah had been in a persistent vegetative state, one step up from coma, until a simple cold had turned into pneumonia and she had nothing left to fight with.

  Sadness swept over her. It was time to change the subject. She pulled the box towards her, and began to sift through her father’s life. As she did, she told Tamsin all about his last request.

  ‘Find Eve . . .’ whispered Tamsin. ‘Creepy. Stuff like that happens in scary movies, and it usually ends with the heroine up to her armpits in bodies.’

  ‘Thanks for that, Tam. I have to sleep here tonight.’

  Tamsin grinned at her. ‘I can’t imagine you being scared of anything.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it,’ said Nikki grimly. ‘I’ve seen things in this job that would scare the pants off anyone, me included.’

  Joseph came back in, having washed off the dust from the loft. ‘Don’t you think it’s rather soon to be doing all this?’

  ‘I’m okay,’ she said, and decided that she was. Her father had left her with a puzzle to solve, and who better to solve it than a detective? She smiled at them both, sipped her brandy and said, ‘Okay, A-team, we have a missing woman to find. Let’s do it.’

  * * *

  At four in the morning, an alarm went off in the intensive care unit.

  Nurses dashed from their station to a woman’s bedside, and the duty doctor and the crash team were called. They pronounced the time of death as four twenty-six, and the monitors were switched off and disconnected.

  As the cover was respectfully pulled up over the closed lids of her dead eyes, another alarm sounded, and the team once again began resuscitation, this time on the comatose young man in the next bed.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Cat looked down at the heap of papers strewn across her desk, then back up to her boss. ‘The internet has thrown up very little about the old RAF station.’ She stared at some printouts. ‘In fact I can find little more than that it was some kind of satellite station, which is pretty hard to believe, given its size and the number of buildings there. I looked up a few others of similar size and they were all major players in WWII, so why no info on Flaxton Mere?’

  Dave walked across and joined them. ‘Maybe it was finished too late and never used. I know they threw everything into these East Coast airfields when the threat of invasion became critical, then when it never happened a lot of places were abandoned.’

  Nikki shrugged. ‘Could be, I suppose. Perhaps our wealthy young entrepreneur, Mr Karl Shine, could tell us more.’

  Cat gave a snort. ‘I don’t think Mr Shine wants to tell you anything. It doesn’t sound as if he was too happy about your visit yesterday. Niall said, and I quote, “He was hair-spring taut and scared shitless, even if he did try to come over super-cool.”

  ‘That lad has a nice way with words. It sums up Mr Shine a treat.’ Nikki perched on the edge of Cat’s desk. ‘Have either of you managed to find anything out about him?’

  ‘Next to nothing,’ grumbled Dave. ‘Karl Shine of Martin Park in Greenborough. He just seems to have arrived out of nowhere around three years back. He has no record, no past history, and bought a flashy house and that massive chunk of fenland with seemingly honestly earned cash.’ He paused. ‘And I believe that crock of shit about as much as I believe there are fairies at the bottom of my garden.’

  Nikki grimaced. ‘Anything else about the airfield?’

  Cat turned over a sheet of paper and stared at what she had written. ‘I noticed that most of the references regarding RAF Flaxton Mere were posted by a man called Joshua Flower. I googled him and found out that he’s a professor of some kind, and the chairman of the local Greenborough Antiquarian Society. Reading his blog, it seems that there is a branch of the history society that is passionate about old airfields, Flaxton Mere in particular.’

  ‘Then he sounds like the man to talk to, doesn’t he?’

  ‘He’s out at present, but I’ve already rung and left a message on his answer machine.’ Cat looked up. ‘Dave and I will pay him a visit ASAP.’

  ‘Good. And is that all we have?’

  ‘Apart from the fact that we get more calls about unexplained disturbances in the Flaxton Fen and Castor Fen areas than anywhere else in the whole county,’ said Dave.

  ‘And most, I suppose, from our beloved Miss Quinney?’ asked Nikki wryly.

  ‘Ah yes. Mysterious lights on the marsh, unexplained sightings of men in dark clothes on the sea-bank in the dead of night, and weird noises that scare her chickens.’ Cat rolled her eyes heavenward. ‘Last time, as I recall, it was an alien landing in her raspberry canes.’

  Nikki stood up. ‘Well, apart from all that, I’ve asked uniform to keep up their presence at the airfield until either Pike wakes up, or we’ve managed to do a thorough search of the old buildings.’ She looked down at Cat. ‘If Mr Shine is not exactly forthcoming with us, I’d definitely try to involve your history professor. He might be prepared to be a tour guide if he knows so much about the place.’

  Cat nodded. ‘My thoughts precisely.’

  ‘Good. Now I’m going to slip out for an hour. There are some things of my father’s that I need to collect from the nursing home.’

  Dave stood up. ‘Want some company, guv?’

  Nikki shook her head. ‘Thanks for the offer, Dave. I do appreciate it, but I’m fine. You get on. And try to find some history on this Shine guy. Everyone has history, and if it’s hard to find, then in my book, it’s been purposely hidden and is bound to be shady.’

  * * *

  On the way to Glenfield, Nikki called into the local supermarket and bought several bottles of wine and a ‘thank you’ card for the staff. When she arrived there she was met by Molly Crane, and she was glad that she’d made the effort.

  ‘I know how busy you are, DI Galena, so I thought it might help if I packed his things up for you.’ Molly ushered her into the manager’s office, where she s
aw three boxes and an old leather case sitting together under the window. ‘Everything is there as per the inventory of his belongings, plus a few things he accumulated.’ She sat in one chair and indicated for Nikki to take the other. ‘I need you to check and sign, if you wouldn’t mind.’ She smiled at Nikki. ‘Can I make you a coffee, or a tea?’

  ‘Black coffee, one sugar, would be great, thank you,’ said Nikki. ‘And I don’t need to check his things, Molly. He had nothing of value here, and anyway, I trust you.’

  Molly went out to the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with two mugs of coffee. ‘I’m glad you came in, DI Galena. I was going to call you.’

  Nikki took her drink. ‘Why was that?’

  ‘Well, it may be nothing, but then again . . .’ Molly Crane placed her mug on the desk and walked over to the boxes. She opened one and pulled out an old, well-thumbed book.

  Nikki didn’t recognise it as her father’s, but took it from Molly and opened it.

  Inside was an inscription, and there was no doubt in her mind that the writing belonged to her dad. For my watcher in the night. May this while away the hours until dawn. F x. Nikki stared at it and frowned. ‘I’ve never seen it before. And I brought all his things in, so where did it come from?’

  Molly shrugged. ‘I have no idea, although he did have several old friends visit while he was here. It was at the back of his bedside cabinet. It was the title that caught my attention.’

  ‘The Eve of War. Mm, Eve. I see what you mean,’ Nikki said.

  ‘As I said, it may be nothing at all, but there’s something else. A picture fell out when I opened it. Look in the back.’

  Between the last page and the cover of the old book, was a photograph. It was a 6x4 snap, the kind people took prior to the advent of digital cameras. Nikki held it closer. It was taken abroad and most likely on an air base. Four tanned men and two women sat and stood around a plastic table. Most had drinks in their hands, and two of the glasses were lifted in a salute to the photographer. Nikki wasn’t sure, but she thought that one of the young men might be Tug Owen. The others meant nothing to her.

  ‘I wondered if one of those women was his watcher in the night?’ said Molly.

  ‘I think I know this man here.’ Nikki pointed to the handsome young airman. ‘He’s coming to the funeral, so I will certainly ask him.’ She looked up at the nurse, and after a moment said, ‘Molly? I didn’t imagine it, did I?’

  The woman shook her head. ‘No, I heard it too. He said “Eve.” I’m certain of it.’

  Nikki nodded, but said no more.

  * * *

  Freddie Carver stepped from the Jacuzzi and, clutching the empty champagne flute in one pudgy hand, walked slowly along the length of his turquoise marble pool. He glanced at the row of exotic palms in huge ornate pottery containers and made a mental note to tell the gardener to clean them more regularly. He paused at the poolside bar and refilled his glass, then picked up the bottle and moved slowly towards the sauna.

  He lowered his considerable bulk down onto the wooden slats and breathed in the hot, humid air. He was in a foul temper, which was not like him. Three things had upset him already, and he’d only been out of bed an hour.

  First, the team of surveyors he had sent out to Flaxton Mere had returned with the news that they had only been on-site for a matter of hours when the perimeter road close to the sea-bank side of the Mere filled up with blue lights and uniforms. They had pulled out immediately using a different route, but they were far from happy at having had such a close call with the fuzz.

  The second thing that had riled him was a visit from Karl Shine, babbling about an accident, some kid falling down a hole. Shine had repeated over and over that there was absolutely nothing to worry about. It had only been the emergency services getting the kid out, nothing else. He’d sworn that he would take care of everything and ring when the airfield was clear again.

  Freddie sipped his drink and slowly shook his head. He knew from Shine’s tone and body language that he was holding something back and Freddie didn’t like that, not one bit. Because of old family ties and a liking for the boy’s determination, he had sent out some top men and state-of-the-art equipment in order to discover exactly what they could do to salvage young Karl’s innovative little project. And his men were special, highly experienced and highly paid, and they rarely worked on lawful assignments. If there were a way to make serious money out of Shine’s pipe dream, then they would find it. But they did not work under the watchful gaze of the filth.

  And then there was the third thing, equally as upsetting to Freddie. His clumsy cow of a wife had dropped a bottle of Bollinger. All in all, a great start to the day.

  He sat back, thinking murderous thoughts and wondering what the hell had gone wrong with Karl Shine. Years ago the boy had shown great promise. He had been clear-minded and cunning. Freddie had liked that, and would have put money on the lad doing well. Then Karl had suddenly developed a yearning for the legitimate business world, and it seems that he did have a good try at it. But there you go, honesty never paid off, not if you wanted to be seriously and quickly rich.

  Freddie emptied his glass and reached for the dark green bottle. He needed the drink to think clearly, and right now he was worried. Something odd had occurred when his men retreated from the airfield. His top man, an Irishman called Michael Finn, had not been with them. None of the others had seen him leave, but his truck had gone, and no one had heard from him since, including his wife. Now his phone was not answering, which gave Freddie grave cause for concern.

  Michael was helping him out with Flaxton Mere as a favour, because of his expertise with maps and surveying. He was deeply involved in something far bigger than Karl Shine’s miserable little enterprise. And that really worried Freddie. A key man in the biggest job he had ever undertaken had gone missing, and he was going to have to send out one of his very private investigators to find him, which would cost even more big money.

  He swallowed a mouthful of champagne and decided to give Shine two days to get the pigs off his patch. If Karly Baby couldn’t manage that, then he was on his own.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Karl got out to the airfield early. He hoped he had managed to placate Freddie but you could never tell with that slimy bastard. Whatever, he’d done his best, and right now he had other fish to fry. But first he had to visit the men who rented the units. He needed to play down the police presence and make sure that none of them did a runner without paying their rent. Money was getting scarce and he couldn’t afford to throw it away.

  The sky was heavy with cloud and it was difficult to see even as far as the creepy old ruin of a control tower. Karl shivered. He had walked through it once or twice when he first purchased the land and, unaccountably, it gave him the heebie-jeebies. Even so, he could see the potential of the place if it were restored and full of authentic RAF and wartime shit — sorry, memorabilia. Okay, Freddie had told him to shelve that idea and concentrate on housing, and he’d keep the old toad sweet. But if the old man could salvage Flaxton Mere for him, there were so many other possibilities.

  He gave himself a mental shake. He was getting too far ahead of himself, and right now he had worries on a par with full thickness burns. Among them was the fact that one of Freddie’s men had gone missing during his abbreviated visit to Flaxton Mere.

  As Karl walked across to the old hangars he tried to put a face to Michael Finn. Only one man had stood out from the group of taciturn men that had arrived the day before. He was tall, with raven-black hair and strangely pale, blue eyes. He was certainly Irish, and had been the only one of Freddie’s men to even acknowledge his presence. In fact he had seemed quite sociable, unlike his colleagues who had looked at Karl as if he was some kind of retard. They were not openly hostile, but they were far from friendly. And they told him nothing. They were in Freddie Carver’s pay, and they clearly dealt only with him. Karl felt like the office junior and kept expecting them to send him out for coff
ee and doughnuts.

  He pulled a face and thought miserably that if it hadn’t been for the men’s animosity towards him, he would never have left them and gone out to check the perimeter fences in the first place. And the shaft containing the injured man might have gone undiscovered for months.

  He sighed. He wasn’t a cruel person — he’d been on the wrong end of that particular trait in his childhood — but part of him wished that he’d never chanced across that man down the hole. More than anything, he regretted calling the emergency services. If he’d just thought about himself, and the fact that a crew of Freddie Carver’s shady surveyors were working on his airfield, then maybe he could have found the courage to walk away.

  Seeing one of his tenants unlocking their unit door brought him back to ground level. No use going over it all again, what was done was done. The best he could do now was pacify these guys and get the Old Bill off his land as quickly as possible.

  * * *

  An hour later he left the last of the disgruntled unit holders and made his way back to his Beemer. He’d have a “friendly” word with the resident police officer parked next to his car, just to see if there was any news on their departure, then he’d take himself into town for something to eat.

  ‘Hello, Mr Shine! And how are we today?’

  Karl’s heart sank. That voice could only belong to the geek from the history society, Professor Joshua Bloody Flower. Karl looked across to the hardstanding close to the control tower and his heart sank even further. Another car was parked there. Great! He’d brought some of his cronies too. Just what Karl needed.

  ‘Sorry, Professor, this is not a good time. We have the police here with us.’

  ‘And that is exactly why we are here, sir. We have just heard about the dreadful accident, and we wondered if we could offer our assistance.’

  ‘Thank you, but no, Professor.’ The irritation in his voice was impossible to hide. This shower of weirdos was the last straw. ‘I’m sure the police have everything in hand. Now, if you wouldn’t mind leaving.’