Killer on the Fens

by Joy Ellis

  ‘Wait!’ The policeman walked towards them. ‘And you are . . . ?’

  Joshua Flower stepped forward. He was an imposing figure of around sixty, with a full head of wavy grey hair. He was wearing his usual old-style clothes, a tweed jacket with a moleskin waistcoat and ancient cord trousers in a strange ochre colour that made Karl feel mildly queasy.

  Flower made a small bow, carefully enunciated his name and introduced the three others. ‘Marcus Selby, Andrew Friar and Frank Kohler. My apologies, Constable, we are members of Greenborough history society and we have a particular interest in WWII airfields.’

  ‘And what sort of assistance do you think you can offer, sir?’

  Karl Shine was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

  The tall bird-like chap called Selby, answered. ‘We know this place better than anyone, officer.’ He turned to Karl with an almost apologetic expression on his face. ‘No offence to you, Mr Shine. It’s partly because of your kindness in letting us research the airfield that we’ve spent years looking into its history, and we know that there is more to RAF Flaxton Mere than meets the eye.’

  Karl’s discomfort was becoming acute.

  A different voice chimed in. ‘And it’s dangerous for those who don’t know it. The man down the hole is proof of that.’

  The policeman looked interested. ‘At present we are only interested in what happened at the shaft, but if we need to investigate the old buildings, we may call on you.’ He opened his notebook. ‘I’ll get your names, gentlemen, then I think perhaps you should do as Mr Shine says and leave.’

  Karl watched helplessly as they gave their details. He’d only given them permission to spend time in the old buildings because he thought he could use their collective knowledge for free when he began his renovation project. Now the nosy bastards knew more about the place than he did. And what the hell did they mean by there being more to Flaxton Mere than met the eye? His brain began to go into overdrive. Hell, if there were secrets here he needed to know about them before Freddie Carver’s men came back on-site! Part of him wanted to grab hold of Flower by his stupid tweed lapels and ask him what the hell they meant, but right now he wanted them gone.

  He smiled with difficulty, and watched them walk away. All he could do was to wait until later, then go over the place with a fine-tooth comb. He had the keys. He owned the place, for heaven’s sake. He’d have to check it out and pray that he discovered whatever he’d missed before. Freddie Carver wouldn’t want any more nasty surprises, that was for sure.

  * * *

  Stephanie Taylor had taken to walking the streets of Greenborough. After the shock of having believed her brother to be dying, and then finding out that it was Pike lying in that hospital bed, she had begun once again to look for Anson.

  She wasn’t stupid enough to think the police would do much. And if they did, it would be because they wanted to question him regarding Pike’s “accident.” So it was down to her to find him.

  She had started by going out at night, talking to the winos, the dossers and the kids who slept in shop doorways, but she’d soon realised that the dross of society were still there in the bright light of day, if you knew where to look. And close to noon, in a shadowy alley, wrapped tightly into a filthy sleeping bag and surrounded by cardboard boxes, she found someone that she was looking for.

  A few nights ago, the girl had been on the verge of talking to her, then something had spooked her and she had taken off like a greyhound. This time the young woman didn’t run away, although getting her to talk did not prove easy. Rather than mess around, Steph simply offered her money. Twenty pounds, if she knew anything that would help her find Anson. The woman had looked at Steph suspiciously.

  ‘No catches? Just the money?’

  Steph held the note out. ‘It’s all I’ve got, but it’s yours if you help me.’

  The woman extracted her gloved hand. ‘I don’t know much.’

  ‘Whatever you know is a damned sight more than I do. Please?’

  A small hand reached out, and Steph saw frightened eyes and a face that belonged to someone who was little more than a child. The girl could not have been more than fifteen. Horrified, Steph handed over the note and sat down on the filthy pavement next to her. ‘My brother is Anson Taylor. He’s missing and . . .’ Her voice tailed off.

  ‘You’re not like him.’ The voice was soft and surprisingly well-spoken. ‘I used to buy from him sometimes, or from his scummy little friend.’ She shivered a bit when she spoke of Pike. ‘I hear he’s had an accident.’

  Steph ignored the remark. ‘Have you seen Anson?’

  The girl was busy pushing the twenty pound note deep into her baggy layers of clothing. ‘Last Saturday night I needed a hit, but I couldn’t find my usual supplier. I was getting really shaky, then I saw Pike. I called out to him but he never heard me. He was walking fast, head down, and then a few minutes later I saw Anson following him. Even though I needed a line, I didn’t call out. There was something about him . . .’ She paused. ‘He looked mad as hell, and he was obviously tailing Pike.’

  Steph whistled softly through her teeth, then half whispered, half growled, ‘I knew it had to be something to do with that bastard, Pike. Where did they go?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I’ve seen Pike go off before, and always in the direction of the marsh.’

  Steph thought about what she’d been told. Pike had been found in a shaft on Flaxton Mere. Had that been where her brother was going too?

  She thanked the girl, almost wishing she had more to give her. After all, although she hated to admit it, it was the likes of Anson who kept kids like this high as kites and living rough.

  As she approached her home in Mason Street, something deep inside told her that Anson was dead, and that he was somewhere on Flaxton Mere. But how would she convince the authorities of it? Even if they found her, the young addict would never repeat to the police what she had told Steph. Even though she knew in her heart it was true, who on earth would believe her?

  As she slipped the key into the door, she thought that there was one person who might understand. With a glimmer of hope, Steph decided to contact WPC Yvonne Collins.

  CHAPTER NINE

  As Nikki walked into the reception area of the police station, she saw Stephanie Taylor talking to Yvonne Collins. Steph’s face was almost grey, and Nikki suspected that the woman had neither eaten nor slept for days.

  ‘Have you got a moment, ma’am?’ asked Yvonne, looking worriedly at Nikki.

  She nodded, then beckoned the two women in the direction of a spare interview room.

  It didn’t take long to realise that Steph had been far more successful in her investigations than they had. But then she was looking for someone she loved, and that gave her one hell of an incentive.

  To begin with, Steph seemed reluctant to talk but after a while she seemed to come to a decision to trust Nikki. She told them all she knew, and filled them in on a few facts about Anson’s childhood that had never found their way into a police file. And all through the conversation, Nikki kept feeling sharp stabs of recognition when the girl spoke of the way she felt about her wayward sibling. In Nikki’s case it wasn’t a sibling, but trying to keep a headstrong teenage daughter on the straight and narrow had been an exhausting task.

  ‘I find it hard to describe how I feel.’ Steph stared at the table in front of her. ‘There’s an emptiness, a coldness deep down that tells me he’s dead. I hope you can understand that.’ She sighed. ‘What I can’t expect you to understand is that I know he is out on Flaxton Mere. I can’t explain it, but I know it’s true.’

  Nikki knew that the woman believed in what she was saying. But whether that was just because of what had happened to Pike, or simply because that had been the direction he was going in when he was seen for the last time, she didn’t know. It certainly was not enough reason to send officers back out onto the fen. The super had already given her a breakdown of their budget for the month, and if it got an
y worse they would be doing high-speed chases on mountain bikes.

  After a while she sent Yvonne out to get the woman a coffee. Then she thanked Steph for coming in and promised that they would do all they could, although she knew that might be limited. As the woman nodded sadly, Nikki leaned forward and touched her hand. ‘I do understand, even though I don’t have a brother. My daughter was a problem for a while. I know it’s not the same thing, but sometimes the actions of people you love can tear your heart out, can’t they?’

  Steph smiled helplessly. ‘I keep thinking about all the times we argued over Pike, and how Anson always took his side. I just hope he knew I only ever wanted the best for him.’ Her voice tailed off, and Nikki saw a tear glistening in the corner of the woman’s tired eyes. She’s grieving already, thought Nikki, and felt something like envy. She wanted to grieve for her dad, but still there was just a void.

  Yvonne brought in the coffees, and Nikki left the two women together. ‘There’s no rush, Steph. Stay with WPC Collins and take your time, okay?’

  ‘Thank you, DI Galena. I appreciate it.’ She paused. ‘And thank you for not thinking I’m just some flaky airhead. One day you’ll see I’m right about Anson.’

  Nikki closed the door with the feeling that Stephanie Taylor was going to be proved correct on all counts.

  * * *

  The CID room was buzzing as Nikki walked in.

  ‘Glad you’re here, ma’am.’ Dave waved to her. ‘We’ve just heard from ITU that William Pike crashed last night, but they managed to get him back and he’s regained partial consciousness.’

  ‘Good. Is someone with him?’

  ‘Yes, but Yvonne Collins has asked to be told when he’s awake, because she’d like to talk to him herself.’

  ‘She’s downstairs in interview room two. Give her a few minutes to finish up, then tell her to get over to the hospital. What state is Pike in?’

  ‘He’s confused, but the doctors hope he’ll be a little more coherent soon.’ Dave stared down at some scribbled notes. ‘We have had no luck with locating Granny Pike. Uniform haven’t come up with a lead from the house to house, so I was rather wondering if we could give it to the media, see if they can help?’

  Nikki nodded. ‘I think we should. Little old ladies don’t vanish, even on creepy Flaxton Fen.’

  ‘It’s the same with Anson Taylor, ma’am, nothing on him either, but I guess we won’t mention him to the media, for obvious reasons.’

  Nikki exhaled. ‘Yvonne and I have just spoken to his sister.’ She flopped down in a chair and told Dave everything Steph had said, including her feeling that he was dead somewhere on the fen.

  ‘He could well be.’ Dave looked a little sad, ‘It’s a bummer, isn’t it? That woman adores her shitty brother, but unless we get something more concrete I can’t see the budget allowing us to go back out there to search for him, can you, ma’am?’

  Nikki grunted. ‘No way, but go ahead and organise something about Granny Pike.’

  ‘Guv?’ Cat sat down opposite her. ‘I’ve been thinking about the drugs that Pike was carrying. What were they exactly?’

  Dave fished through a pile of reports, then listed a mixed bag of lethal goodies.

  ‘Why?’ asked Nikki.

  ‘They just bother me. Quite a few officers have intimated that it was a simple deal that went wrong, in other words Pike making a collection from a supplier. Well, from what I’ve seen before, suppliers don’t deal in odds and sods. A small bag of dexies? A handful of K? And although there was a heck of a lot of it, the white stuff wasn’t even in one package, was it? I reckon he had been squirreling this stuff away, stealing from the dealer that we know he worked for,’ she did an imaginary drum roll, ‘da-da! Anson Taylor! So, if what that street addict told Stephanie Taylor was right, about Anson being mad as hell and following Pike, he could have discovered that fact for himself.’

  Nikki nodded. ‘I think you’re right, Cat! It certainly makes sense. I think we’ll give the fragrant Pike a chance to wake up and tell us something constructive, and if that doesn’t happen we may have to take another walk around the airfield. In the meantime, Dave, gee up the media and keep your finger on the search for granny.’ She frowned. ‘I don’t like the idea of old people going missing. Something about this really stinks.’

  Dave nodded and rose to go. ‘It’s not just the old lady, is it? Her animals are missing too. So what the heck is that all about?’

  ‘I wish I knew, Dave, I really do.’

  * * *

  By afternoon the police presence at Flaxton had dwindled to two bored officers, one pacing the area by the ventilator shaft, and one in the car reading a copy of the Sun. And that was perfect, as far as Karl Shine was concerned. No one would take any interest in him as he walked around, checking locks and conscientiously making sure the place was secure. The police didn’t know that he was really trying to find out what the hell was going on, and what secrets this place harboured that he didn’t know about.

  As he methodically went from one spot to the next, he wished he’d had more time for the historians. They had offered to take him round on several occasions, but he’d always refused. Pushing aside a long strand of brambles, he thought perhaps he should ring one of them. It could save him a lot of time. Then he thought of Freddie Carver, and decided not to involve anyone else, unless he met with a dead end.

  Which was just what he did an hour later, covered in cobwebs and with his shiny shoes scuffed and dusty. Standing on one leg at a time, he rubbed his shoes on the back of his trouser legs before climbing into his nice clean car.

  He pulled a Mars bar from the glove compartment and chewed on it as he pondered on what to do. Should he ring one of the boring old sods and ask them outright? Or should he just forget about what Selby had said? The problem was that the man had said it to a copper, who had taken careful note of it. Ergo, he shouldn’t be the one to stick his head in the sand and ignore it. And with Freddie in the background, he couldn’t afford to. He needed to be on top of everything that was happening at the airfield. If anything else went wrong, he could really regret ever approaching Carver for help.

  He screwed up the sweet wrapper, turned the key in the ignition, and listened to the gentle purr of the powerful engine. He’d better go home and find a phone number for one of them. It probably didn’t matter which one he asked, half a dozen of them all professed to be experts on the place. He had no doubt that one of the “enthusiasts” would be absolutely delighted to introduce him to the secrets of Flaxton Mere.

  * * *

  Tamsin pulled yet another pile of old photographs from the shoebox, and looked up at her father. ‘Are you sure you don’t fancy your boss?’

  Joseph raised his eyebrows. ‘Oh Lord! How many more times? We just get on really well, that’s all.’ He stared at the large brown packing case that they had brought across from Nikki’s farmhouse the night before, and decided that they were never going to find the mysterious Eve. ‘This doesn’t feel right to me, rifling through other people’s personal letters and memories.’

  Tamsin looked surprised, and a little accusatory. ‘I would have thought it was right up your street. Surely it’s a job requirement for the police?’

  ‘It’s different when you’re dealing with a crime. This is private stuff.’

  ‘All the same, I think maybe it’s better that we do it, don’t you?’ She looked at her father shrewdly. ‘You may “get on really well,” as you keep telling me, but I don’t think you are aware that Nikki’s struggling.’

  Joseph sat down on the floor next to his daughter. ‘I thought she was coping brilliantly.’

  Tamsin gave a snort of derision. ‘Men! You only see what’s on the surface. Trust me, DI Nikki Galena may not know it herself, but she’s holding it together by a shoestring.’ She frowned, ‘And this Eve thing has really got to her.’

  Joseph puffed out his cheeks. ‘Then maybe you’re right.’ He pointed to the mass of papers, letters and photos. �
��Perhaps it is better that we deal with it.’

  ‘Ah, light dawns,’ muttered Tamsin. ‘And I suggest that when Nikki gets home, you collect the rest of her boxes and you and I put our collective brains into solving this.’ A look of confusion passed swiftly across her face. It was as if she didn’t want him to think that she might actually be enjoying working with him, so she added, ‘Might as well do something constructive while I wait for my mother to call.’

  Joseph chose not to comment, but looked instead at the open laptop that lay on the carpet next to Tamsin. ‘What’s that for?’

  ‘As you do actually have a surprisingly half-decent broadband speed out here in the back of beyond, I’m tracing Nikki’s father’s military history from some of the details in these letters, and I’m trying to google some of the names mentioned.’ She pointed to three neat piles of photographs. ‘This is all forces stuff. This one is family, and this last pile,’ she shrugged, ‘could be anything. There are landscapes and civilians, but no indication of what, where, or who they are.’

  ‘Anything interesting?’

  ‘I’ve started with these.’ Tamsin passed him nine or ten photos, all of smiling RAF personnel. ‘These pictures have names and dates on the back. By a process of elimination, you can identify some of the people.’ She jabbed her finger at one man. ‘This porky bloke in fatigues, he’s only in one shot, and the only name that isn’t repeated on the other pictures is Lenny Courtney, so meet Fat Lenny.’ She placed the picture to one side. ‘The same with this woman with the tragic haircut, her name has to be Mary Fielding.’

  ‘Have you ever considered a career in the police force? You’ve worked that out quicker than half of CID!’

  ‘When hell freezes over!’ Tamsin flung back. ‘I want a job that promotes peace, helps needy people and saves lives.’

  ‘Funnily enough,’ said Joseph quietly, ‘that’s exactly what we strive for in the police force.’

  Tamsin grunted and shifted further away from him. ‘Oh, you know what I mean.’