by Joy Ellis
‘All this has caused something of a hold-up, although Tam is still hard at it.’
Nikki thought he sounded mildly evasive, but perhaps she was just tired.
‘I rang her with your proposition, and you were right. She’ll be coming in with me tomorrow.’ He shook his head. ‘Which, believe me, feels sincerely weird.’
‘A good kind of weird?’
‘Very good, ma’am. Next left and we’re into Castor Fen Village.’
* * *
Half an hour later they sat outside the Flowers’ home. The meeting with Joshua Flower had brought up nothing that they could use, and as his brother was at work they had promised to return later that evening to interview Simon. ‘Any thoughts?’ Nikki chewed on the end of her pen.
‘Intelligent, academic, well-off, an interesting chap to listen to, made a change to hear someone stringing a full sentence together without a swear word . . . or am I spending too much time in the mess room?’
‘Probably. I admit he’s interesting, but after a while he begins to get up my nose. I don’t like the way he lectures you rather than just answering the questions.’
‘Force of habit. It was his job, wasn’t it? And he knows that airfield very well.’
‘Too well?’
Joseph turned and looked at her. ‘Surely you don’t think he’s our man? He’s charming. I thought serial killers were without social graces, you know, emotionless. That’s how come they can do the dreadful things that they do.’
‘Depends how clever they are. Some blend in with society by being cunning mimics.’
‘Yes, but,’ Joseph seemed honestly shocked that Nikki was so suspicious about Joshua, ‘he’s too . . . what do I mean? He interacts too well, and he’s honestly passionate about history. I just can’t buy into the murderer bit.’
‘You’re probably right.’ Nikki massaged the back of her neck to ease the tense muscles. ‘What’s getting to me is the fact that our history society, with all their maps and books and historical tomes, and knowing all they do about that place, have completely missed that bloody great underground chapel. It’s huge, damn it!’
‘Well, someone certainly knew about it, didn’t they?’
‘And has done for decades. I’ll be glad when we start to get some solid forensic results. Dates and stuff. Like when he first killed.’
‘That’s going to take time. I don’t envy our pathologist right now, do you?’
‘You do know he’s got a sleeping bag down there, and a camp bed?’
‘You’re kidding! God! I’d never have put our Rory down as having balls. You wouldn’t get me staying down there for all the tea in China!’
‘He seems quite at home.’
‘Now you’re really worrying me!’ He pulled a horrified face.
Nikki smiled. ‘The poor sod looks like a ghost himself. I’ve warned him, but he refuses to budge until his forensic mate gets there.’ Nikki started the car. ‘Time to get back. I’ll be interested to hear what the others have turned up.’
* * *
Dave pulled into the curb, parked under a massive horse chestnut tree and tried to picture the man they were going to interview. He remembered a slight accent that he couldn’t quite place, and that Kohler had been very polite, even if he did possess piercing sharp eyes that looked unnervingly straight into yours. When he had seen him at the airfield, Dave had noticed that the man was wearing one blue and one green sock, which led him to believe that he was single and colour-blind.
Dave looked across at Yvonne and said, ‘Before we go in, what do we actually know about Frank Kohler?’
‘No record. Not even a speeding ticket.’ Yvonne had swung the door open and was getting out. ‘He has a half-sister living with him, name of Irene Kohler. Apparently she goes to the history society meetings occasionally. Again, squeaky clean.’ She looked across at Dave. ‘These aren’t the kind of people that we usually get called out to see, unless there’s been an attempted burglary or something like that. They are certainly not the shady sorts that fill our days, are they?’
Dave glanced up at the high gables and leaded windows, then rang the bell. ‘And this doesn’t look like the sort of place to house a family of villains, does it?’
‘How about a murderer?’ asked Yvonne darkly.
‘Pass. But perhaps we should keep an eye open for bottles of arsenic in the wine rack.’
There was the sound of an interior door closing, then through the coloured glass a shadowy figure could be seen approaching.
Frank Kohler stood to one side and the two police officers entered. ‘I got your call, but Irene is out. She works in the Cancer Research charity shop some afternoons.’
Dave decided that the hint of accent was German.
‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘That would be very nice, sir,’ said Dave, wanting to use every moment that the man was out of sight to get a good look round. ‘Coffee, please.’
‘Tea for me, if it’s not too much trouble?’ added Yvonne with a smile.
Kohler went to put the kettle on, and Dave took in the high ceiling with the deep ornate coving and central boss, the long casement windows with the expensive drapes, and the kind of furniture that had history attached to it, not a zero per cent finance agreement.
‘Family money?’ he whispered to Yvonne. ‘Must be. You’d need more than the chief constable earns for all this.’ Yvonne looked around and her eyes fell on a gilt-framed picture over the fireplace. ‘Look at that! I’m no expert, but that looks pretty authentic to me.’
‘You obviously have a discerning eye for quality, Constable.’ Kohler appeared in the doorway. ‘Because you’re quite right. It’s a Victorian artist, not wildly famous but quite collectable by lovers of the Idyllists.’ He walked across to a winged armchair and sat, looking from one police officer to the other. ‘So, how can I help?’
Dave began. ‘You probably know that the airfield is cordoned off at present?’
‘My neighbour rang to tell me. Is it something to do with the owner’s death?’
‘Not exactly. There has been a significant discovery at Flaxton Mere.’
The man looked perplexed. ‘Oh? Like what?’
‘We are not at liberty to say, sir. But it is being treated as a murder enquiry, and we can tell you that another secret chamber has been discovered.’
‘Good God! But I’ve been doing historical research out there for years! Where did you find it?’ He seemed genuinely surprised.
‘Sorry, sir, I can’t say exactly where at present.’ Dave looked apologetic.
‘Well, that place is full of surprises, isn’t it?’
‘Apparently, Mr Kohler. And as you are one of the few people who have a working knowledge of it, I’m afraid we need to ask you some questions.’
The man stood. ‘Let me get the drinks.’
As he left the room, Dave followed him, making admiring comments about the house, and allowing Yvonne to take a closer look at the room.
‘So, is it just you and your sister live here, sir?’
‘Half-sister. We shared the same father. And yes, it is just us. I’m sure some would think it’s a waste of such a big house but so long as we can afford to look after it, that’s how it will remain. It’s our family home.’
‘And a very beautiful one, sir. I’m sure I’d feel the same.’ Dave knew damn well he would, if he lived in a mansion like this. ‘You’ve lived here all your life then?’
‘Almost. Since I was a boy. My father was from Munich, but he had to leave Germany when the war began.’ He paused, then added, ‘Political reasons.’
‘What did your father do for a living, sir? This house would not have come cheap, even all that time ago.’
‘His family were certainly not poor, Officer. He left in considerable haste, but he did have enough time to arrange his finances. He was a master craftsman, a cabinetmaker. You will see the proof of his expertise throughout the house.’
They walked back to the sit
ting room, Dave talking loudly to alert Yvonne to their return. ‘And your profession, sir?’ Dave gingerly accepted the bone china cup and saucer, wishing it was a mug, something more suited to his chunky fingers.
‘Antiques. I buy and sell. Most of my sales are through the internet or auctions.’
‘And your interest in Flaxton Mere?’
‘Via the history society. We were the first ones to discover that it had an interesting wartime history, one that had been buried until we began ferreting through the archives.’ He frowned and stared directly at Dave. ‘Am I some kind of suspect for whatever has happened?’
‘We need the help of all the members of your group, not just yourself.’
The interview went on until Dave raised an eyebrow at Yvonne. They were getting nothing of use. They thanked Kohler and left.
In the car outside, Yvonne pulled a face and closed her notebook. ‘Nothing much of value there, was there? Other than the Victorian Idyllist, that is. And the porcelain, and the furniture.’
‘Nothing obvious. And he really seemed shocked to hear about the enquiry. Still, you never know. Where to next?’
‘The Brewers. They live on the other side of the green, the house on the corner of the lane that goes out to the fen.’
* * *
Bill Brewer and his wife, Margaret, sat next to each other on a large, comfortless sofa. Their eyes were huge, and they often answered together, or split their sentences between them, making the interview seem disjointed and slightly frenetic.
‘We’ve been going there for—’
‘Fifteen years at least, maybe —’
‘More like twenty. It’s been our hobby, you see—’
‘William’s parents left hundreds of old photos—’
‘Local stuff, all pertaining to this area—’
‘Mostly wartime pictures.’
Dave was starting to feel slightly dizzy and decided that if they were the killers, they had most likely bored their victims to death.
The interview lasted about half an hour, and he and Yvonne came away with dazed expressions. If it wasn’t so bloody serious, they would have laughed.
Dave pulled at his seatbelt, then saw Cat and Niall hurrying across the green towards them. He wound down his window. ‘Anything interesting?’
Cat shrugged. ‘Nothing too exciting, although that Andrew Friar bloke is well odd. His mother said he had a head injury years ago, and it affected his brain, so it’s hard to tell if he’s experiencing neurological problems or is just plain creepy.’
‘I’d definitely settle for creepy. And that other chap, Selby . . .’ Niall gave Dave and Yvonne an exasperated grin. ‘Phew! He’s a right pain in the arse. Plus he’s mega pissed off that we’ve discovered a part of the airfield that he doesn’t know about.’
‘That’s true,’ added Cat. ‘That seemed to bother him more than the fact that we were conducting a murder investigation.’
Dave narrowed his eyes. ‘You don’t think the anger was actually because we’ve discovered a part of the airfield that he does know about?’
‘We wondered that. But on reflection we don’t think so. He just seems pig-sick that after a couple of hours on the fen, a pair of flat-footed coppers unearthed something that years of historical investigation have missed.’
‘Understandable, I suppose, but I’d definitely make a note of his reaction when you write up your report.’
‘Certainly will, my friend.’ Cat indicated back towards their vehicle. ‘But it’s time we were heading back to base, because our two trusty coppers here have a little job of their own to attend to tonight, out on Flaxton Mere.’
Niall nodded and threw Yvonne a knowing look. ‘We sure have. See you at the nick.’
Dave watched them go. He silently wondered if the murders were the work of a complete unknown, a lone fenlander who had walked that particular stretch of marshy water-world from his youth. A home-grown killer. As he drove back to base, he decided to ask the boss if maybe they should look closer at some of the old locals, the web-foots that have a particular love for their remote and eerie homeland. Dave shivered and decided there was nothing more dangerous than a faceless adversary.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Two hours later, Nikki and Joseph had returned to the comfortable house in Castor Fen village, and were sitting once again in Joshua Flower’s study, surrounded by the same books and the same paintings, but opposite a different Flower.
Simon, like his brother, expressed total incredulity at their discovering another underground chamber. ‘Frankly, Inspector, if anyone should know about it, it should be me. I’m the canary that they send down the pit to see if it’s safe. This is an awesome discovery! Can you tell me where it is?’
Nikki looked at Joseph, then shrugged and nodded. One look at the concentration of uniforms out on the marsh would tell him the answer to that one anyway. ‘Below one of the pillboxes on the marsh side of the airfield.’
He shook his head in amazement. ‘Well.’ He let out a low whistle. ‘All I can think is that I’ve rarely paid much attention to the pillboxes. Once you’ve ascertained what they were protecting, and what their design and armament was that’s it, really.’ His expression changed to one of exasperation. ‘Damn it! I really should have known! There’s an escape route from the main bunker. It had a tunnel that has since been sealed, but it ran from the bunker to just outside the perimeter fence and directly to a pillbox, a specially designed one that was actually a concealed exit. They must have used the same camouflage, only the one you discovered was not an exit, but an entrance.’ He let out an irritated growl. ‘Why the hell didn’t I make the connection?’
Nikki watched his reaction with interest. ‘Mr Flower, the underground chamber was not purpose-built at the time of WWII. It has nothing whatsoever to do with the RAF. It’s very old and apparently part of a monastery that stood on the site hundreds of years ago.’
The man’s brow folded into furrows. ‘Really? I’d have thought it was part of the war installation, but then again it shouldn’t surprise me. If you recall, DS Easter, I showed your daughter Tamsin one of the monks’ tunnels that led out to the marsh. If that tiny chapel could remain intact, then so could others.’ He dropped his head, then lifted his eyes and looked hopefully at Nikki. ‘Do you think I could see it?’
‘It is a crime scene, Mr Flower. That’s not possible.’
‘I work crime scenes all the time, Detective. I’m with the fire service, remember? We often attend cases of suspected arson.’
‘I’m sorry, but there are aspects of this case that we are not making public yet.’ Nineteen of them, to be precise, thought Nikki. ‘However, we may ask for your help later on.’ She weighed him up, and knowing his history with the emergency services, decided to tell him a little more than they had the others. ‘We suspect there is another way in, Simon, a “back door” so to speak, although so far we haven’t found it.’
‘So why do you think it exists?’ His grey-blue eyes held a sharp intelligence.
‘Let’s say that the crypt contains items that would have been difficult to manoeuvre down steep steps.’
‘Really?’ He stared at her shrewdly.
Nikki could see that he was desperate to know what these items were, but no way was she going to tell him that.
‘Well, I’d be glad to help, anytime. Up until tonight I believed that I knew more than anyone about that place. Now it seems I was wrong.’ He bit anxiously on his lip. ‘But even so, I’m more than willing to help you look for this alternative entrance. And I do have quite a bit of previous knowledge of the place to call upon.’
Nikki nodded. ‘And we might be very grateful for that once our preliminary searches are complete. Meanwhile, when we called earlier we asked your brother to provide us with a potted history of RAF Flaxton Mere. Anything you can add would be much appreciated. As their “canary,” you have probably trodden paths that the others have not.’
‘I’ll certainly give it some thoug
ht, Inspector. Will that be all?’
‘For now, sir. Thank you.’
* * *
As night closed in, the mysterious lights of the Jack O’Lantern once again danced across the marshy ground of Flaxton Mere. And on the wind from the sea, terrible noises could be heard. Moans and wailing voices, screams and cries that could turn the unsuspecting traveller’s blood to ice. Except that this time the show was being mounted courtesy of PC Niall Farrow and WPC Yvonne Collins.
It had taken an hour, with three uniformed constables and a dog, to locate the powerful lamp, the sound system and the automatic switch gear that activated it. Then having discovered the lamp, they traced the electrical lead down into a shaft, not unlike the one that poor Pike had taken a dive into. For some time they tramped down a long sloping passageway until they came to a carefully hidden door beneath the control tower. And that, to their amazement, led down a long, high tunnel to the back of the burial chamber.
By ten o’clock that evening, DI Nikki Galena had her “back door.”
* * *
‘Stuart!’ Rory almost fell into the white-suited arms of his old university friend.
‘Jesus Christ on a bike, Wilkinson! You look like shit!’
‘You always did know how to make a guy feel special, Dr Bass.’
The forensic archaeologist put down his flight bag and did a 360 degree take on the chamber. ‘When you said this trip would be worth my while, I had my doubts.’ He frowned admonishingly at his friend. ‘Especially when it came to leaving my beautiful, and now somewhat irate, bride in the middle of our honeymoon, but bloody hell, you weren’t joking, were you?’
‘It needs to be seen to be appreciated, doesn’t it? Although I’m not too sure said lovely young bride would agree with me.’
Bass moved across to the second chamber and his eyes widened at the sight of the stone shelves stacked with coffins. ‘Now that’s what I call a library!’
‘Slightly macabre genre of books in the collection, don’t you think?’
‘This is a jaw-dropping, gob-smacking marvel, Rory!’ He turned back to his friend, his large brown eyes sparkling with excitement. ‘How do we get a strong coffee around here? I need to kill the jetlag and hear the story before I start work.’