by Joy Ellis
Rory would have liked just a little of his friend’s energy. ‘I’ll get one of the lads to go to the late-night garage. They sell half-edible doughnuts too. I think I need a sugar hit, and I’m afraid I can’t actually leave the scene for a bit. Sit down here,’ he pointed to a wide stone step, ‘and I’ll explain.’
* * *
Stuart had begun work even before the doughnuts arrived.
‘I think that if the police extend their search, they will find a store of some kind, stacked with plain coffins.’ His large physique was surprisingly graceful. He moved from coffin to coffin, scaled the tower athletically, and with considerable elegance. ‘Taking on board what you’ve told me about the original plans for this airfield, I would expect at least a hundred coffins stored somewhere.’ He swung to the ground. ‘Strangely enough, I’ve seen a similar thing once before.’
Rory found the energy to look mildly astonished.
‘An underground fallout shelter was being stripped out prior to a massive rebuild. It was beneath some old government buildings. It dated back to the fifties or sixties and the Cold War, a time when the fear of a nuclear attack gave rise to all sorts of frightful ideas on how to prevent the rich and important from being vaporised. Well, sadly for the contractors, they found a grave. It turned out to be Roman, but it put a temporary hold on their excavations. Anyway, they had a coffin store too.’
‘But I thought they used papier mâché and cardboard coffins during the war?’
‘They did, but only because back in the 1930s it had been calculated that if the Luftwaffe launched what was called the “knock-out blow,” it would be such a huge air attack that in the first three months they would require 60,000,000 square feet of coffin timber! I think by the time this place was getting up and running, the military had more faith in the RAF, and perhaps the wish for something a little more substantial than papier mâché to be buried in.’
‘Would they have used local people to construct them?’
‘Doubtful. This was a secret project, although the timber might have been sourced from a local merchant.’
‘Something for our detectives to check out, I suppose.’
Stuart looked at Rory, his head slightly to one side. ‘I know you are knackered beyond words, but something else is worrying you, isn’t it?’
‘Oh, did I forget to mention that the killer called by yesterday? We had a nice chat about this and that, then he left for a pee and I haven’t seen him since.’
Stuart looked sideways at the pathologist. ‘Right. Fine. Any chance of running that by me again? This time with a tad more information attached.’
Rory did his best to explain.
‘You actually spoke to a mass murderer?’
‘No, I actually spoke to a serial killer. Mass murderers kill randomly, like the Hungerford massacre.’
‘Don’t split hairs, Wilkinson. You know exactly what I mean.’ Stuart’s dark eyebrows almost met in the middle as he mock-frowned at Rory.
‘Mm, perhaps I just don’t like to think about it too deeply right now. As our main objective is to give our detectives some dates, like when matey-boy here began his life’s work, I suppose we had better crack on. Have you got another hour left in you, or would you prefer to start afresh in the morning?’
‘Lord! If you can keep going, O pasty-faced apparition, I’m bloody sure I can!’
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Nikki was opening the morning meeting. ‘There have been a few developments overnight, so listen up. One: we now have our alternative entrance into the underground chambers, so we know how all the mortuary equipment was brought in. And that is thanks to the ingenuity of PC Niall Farrow and WPC Yvonne Collins. Also thanks to them, we now know about a series of deterrents, or “people-scarers.” Our killer has been keeping visitors away with a load of clever little tricks to repel the inquisitive and the unwelcome. The superstitious are treated to lights on the marsh, audio tapes of aircraft, wartime sirens and general carnage and destruction, and a light show that, seen from a distance, resembles flickering flames.’
‘I knew that scenario was somehow familiar,’ said Yvonne. ‘An air raid was one of Miss Quinney’s favourite complaints a while back. I should have remembered it was her that mentioned it.’
‘But how’s he done all that, ma’am?’ asked a uniformed officer. ‘Flaxton Mere is hardly a Pinewood set, is it?’
‘He’s had plenty of time. And he’s smart. So far we have located two petrol-driven generators and some pretty hefty battery-powered ghetto blaster-type sound systems with timers.’ She stopped for a moment, considering some of these, then continued. ‘Have you ever seen those up-market irrigation systems for watering lawns? The ones that disappear down into the turf so you can mow over them? Well, he’s used that principle, but instead of sprays, he has hollow pipes that conduct sound. Yvonne and Niall tried them out, and depending on what you fancy sending through them, they are damned eerie.’
‘Yes,’ added Niall grimly. ‘It’s no wonder Pike nearly died of fright, and that the locals reckon the fen is haunted. It is, but not by ghosts.’
‘It should be. There are enough bloody bodies underneath it!’ Bob Tinker’s half joke sounded hollow.
‘Thank you for your input, PC Tinker. Our psychologist, Richard Foley, is studying the info we have, in order to give us an idea of what kind of person we are looking for. You will be updated as soon as that information is available.’ She glanced at a sheaf of notes that lay on her desk. ‘We have interviewed the history society members,’ she frowned, ‘but none of them leapt out as being first-class suspects. However, they all deserve careful scrutiny, as they are the ones closest to the airfield, and they are also pretty desperate to get a protection order on it.
‘What about the bloke who got topped, ma’am? Karl Shine? He knew the place. After all, he did own it. Perhaps someone knew what he was up to and got in first.’
‘Not very likely. These killings began way before Shine’s time.’
‘What about the people who work from those hangars, ma’am? There is not a straight one among them.’
Nikki shook her head. ‘Joseph has checked all of them. They only started renting when Shine bought into the airfield. Again, they are too recent.’
‘So it looks like either an old-time local, or one of the history group,’ said Dave.
‘I agree, so dig deep with all of them. Forget the genteel exteriors and find me some dirt. I want to know everything about them and their families, both living and dead, going back at least two generations, okay?’
‘Ma’am?’ Cat looked up at her boss. ‘What about suiting them up in forensics overalls and getting Professor Wilkinson to see if he recognises one of them? If he really did talk to the killer, something might give him away.’
‘I’ve already put that to Rory. He’s happy to give it a try, but the killer could disguise his voice or his general demeanour. He’s too clever, and he’s been getting away with murder for around two decades, so . . .’ She looked at the young detective. ‘Sorry to be negative, but think about it. The killer was wearing a mask, a scene suit, gloves and plastic shoe-protectors, all in poor light. I know Rory said he would know him if he saw him again, and in a one-to-one, unprepared situation some small gesture or intonation of speech just might give him away, but not in a line-up. And I’ve already shown him the photos of all the male members of the history society, and none of them were familiar to him. Poor Rory is exhausted. Frankly I don’t think he’d recognise his own mother in poor light and a hooded suit, do you?’ She looked around the room at the sea of serious faces. ‘By the end of the day we should have something better to go on, some idea of a timescale and hopefully a profile of the killer. Meanwhile, I want all your energies directed towards tearing that history society apart. So, go to it.’
* * *
Tamsin sat on the other side of her father’s desk. ‘You haven’t told her what Tug Owen said, have you?’
‘How can I, Tam? Sh
e’s run ragged with this investigation, and she still has her father’s funeral next week to cope with.’
‘Oh, I agree. I just wondered if you wanted me to keep on digging around to see where Eve might have disappeared to. Tug reckoned they parted on bad terms, but when he realised that he’d goofed, Nikki’s father went looking for her. Okay, so he never found her, but with these wonderful inventions,’ she indicated the computer, ‘there’s a good chance that I may be able to track down something about her.’ She looked at him hopefully. ‘And I can do that right here, on my own laptop.’
‘Well, if Nikki hasn’t given you anything special to do, you go ahead.’
‘Dad, I have to ask this before I start. Knowing what you found in that crypt, and considering that Eve went missing after working at Flaxton Mere, do you think she might be one of the victims?’
Joseph moved closer to his daughter and whispered, ‘I’ve thought of little else since talking with Tug. I’m going to ask the pathologist if they’ve found a woman of her possible age and description.’
‘Then give him this.’ Tamsin passed him a printout photo. ‘I enhanced her image from the picture Nikki found in her father’s book.’
Joseph stared at the printout of Eve. It was easy to see why Nikki’s father had been attracted to her. Even without the bond of shared trauma, there was definitely something very attractive about her.
‘You can see it too,’ murmured Tamsin. ‘Although I can’t fathom what it is. Maybe she looks like one of those gorgeous actresses in old wartime films.’
Joseph folded the sheet and pushed it into his pocket. ‘I’ll go and see Rory as soon as, although with the workload, I’m not sure when that’ll be.’
‘Don’t sweat it, Dad.’ Tamsin returned to her laptop. ‘There’s plenty of time.’
Joseph felt his heart give a little lurch and he sincerely hoped there was.
‘For you, sir.’ Niall appeared with an armful of paperwork. He looked from Joseph to Tamsin and grinned. ‘Have you joined the force too?’
Tamsin smiled at him. ‘No fear. I’m under house arrest actually.’
Joseph gave his daughter a withering look, then turned to Niall. ‘Can I ask a favour?’ Without waiting for a reply, he said, ‘If Tamsin needs to go out to the café or anything, would you tag along with her? Show her around?’
Niall nodded quickly. ‘No problem, sir. Be my pleasure.’
Tamsin glowered at her father. ‘I’m not a child! At home I walk the streets of Chicago at night without a bodyguard, so I hardly need one here.’
‘Oh do you? I’ll worry about that at a later date, but as Greenborough has a psychotic killer roaming its streets, I think it’s one up on Chicago right now, thank you.’
‘The sarge has a point. So humour us, yes?’ Niall turned on a dazzling smile.
Tamsin shook her head in disgust, but didn’t argue. Joseph noticed a wry smile hovering on her lips.
‘By the way, Niall, that was a damn good job out on the marsh.’ Joseph clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Well done to you and your crew-mate. Finding that other entrance was a stroke of pure genius. And I’m sure it’s helped to speed up the enquiry. Nice one.’
Niall glowed red, and managed to splutter that it was nothing, really.
After he had left, Joseph said, partly to himself and partly to his daughter, ‘That lad has the makings of a damned good police officer. He has all the right instincts. He could go far, given the right breaks.’
Tamsin did not answer, but Joseph had noticed that her eyes had followed PC Niall Farrow all the way out of the room.
* * *
By late morning the undercroft had taken on a very different appearance. The SOCOs had removed every trace of evidence that had been left behind, and using the killer’s own mortuary table and several portable units of their own, the two forensic scientists had set up a passable on-site field station. The two most recent victims had been moved directly to the mortuary, but all the others were being carefully examined in the makeshift underground laboratory.
Stuart Bass was as excited by this strange chamber of death as he had been about any archaeological dig that he could remember. And as the hours went by, the more elated he became.
‘Looks like three distinct periods of usage, Rory.’ He was swinging from the top of the tower and investigating a series of hooks embedded deep into the ceiling of the burial chapel. ‘These were the original fittings for a simple block and tackle that allowed the monks to haul the coffins up to the higher tier. So we have the resting place of the holy order that built the monastery. Then it would seem from the later plain coffins, that the military used it for some purpose, probably storage. I’m damn sure they didn’t embalm their dead and place them on display. The casualties of war would have been recorded and buried in a far corner of the airfield designated as a cemetery.’
‘And now we have its last use. Someone’s personal chapel of rest.’
‘Last but one, Wilkinson. Right now, it’s a field path lab.’
‘Ah, yes. And I keep wondering what our killer thought about it, when he paid me that impromptu visit.’
‘Well, you are probably not number one on his favourites list right now.’
‘Hardly. Trampling all over his sanctum sanctorum.’
‘Better keep looking over your shoulder then, my friend.’ Bass was only half joking.
‘I think the time has come to tell you that I didn’t invite you here entirely for your valued academic brain. I actually required your muscular body to watch my back.’
‘Well, if that’s the case, we’d better order another camp bed, hadn’t we?’
* * *
‘If nothing else, ma’am, our songbird Pikey is singing like a good’un!’ PC Bob Tinker had just returned from the hospital. ‘I’ve turned everything over to the narcotics team. They are ecstatic over some of the info he’s coughed up.’
‘Anything to get off the hook, huh?’ Nikki didn’t like Pike, but then she didn’t like anyone involved in the drug world.
‘To be honest, I believe he’s had enough of the street life, ma’am. Maybe the hoods didn’t get to his gran, but that was only because of divine intervention. If she hadn’t had that heart attack, God knows what they would have done to her. Several people saw a dark car out there the next day. It had to be them, and Pike is well shaken by the whole thing.’
‘And do we know who “them” are?’
‘A couple of lowlife goons who collect from bad debtors, but we aren’t sure who they are in the pay of.’
‘Then keep a very close eye on Pike.’ Nikki’s eyes narrowed. ‘Those goons will be after him.’ She paused. ‘Has Pike been told about his friend Anson Taylor yet?’
‘Did it myself, ma’am.’ Bob Tinker drew in a breath. ‘I know he’s a right little scrote, but I did feel a bit sorry for him. He’s still facing a possible amputation, his granny has died, and now his best mate, well, actually his only mate, has been snuffed. He’s not having the best of times.’
‘Then let’s hope having to deal with serious trauma really does drag him onto the straight and narrow, shall we?’
As Tinker left, Joseph came through the door. ‘Thought you should know that we’ve had a partial ID on the dark-haired victim from the crypt.’
Nikki looked up from her paperwork. ‘Really? That was quick!’
Joseph pulled a face. ‘Well, it’s not much, but one of the engineers from the dodgy lock-ups recognised the photo of the dead man as one of Karl Shine’s surveyors.’
‘Do we know who they are yet? What company?’
‘No. But as all their vehicles were unmarked, allegedly none of the men were communicative and they disappeared like the morning mist when we came on the scene, I’d say they were very unofficial, wouldn’t you?’
‘Mm, and there was no paperwork regarding surveyors at Shine’s home.’ Nikki leaned back in her chair. ‘So what did our illegal surveyor do to get himself murdered, I wonder?’ She frowned
. ‘Let’s think about this. On the surface it looks as if our killer took out Karl Shine because he was planning on developing the airfield, doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, and maybe the surveyor discovered something that he wasn’t meant to, then he told Shine, so the killer had to dispose of both?’
‘But that’s not right, is it? He certainly killed and lovingly embalmed the dark-haired man, but Karl was brutally murdered and left in his car to rot. Our killer takes great care of his victims. Shine was assassinated. Terminated professionally, and unless I’m way off track, this is a completely separate murder.’
‘Oh lovely! Welcome to friendly Greenborough, home to countless murderers!’ Joseph dropped his head into his hands and groaned loudly.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
As the day wore on, Nikki found her thoughts returning again and again to the underground mortuary table. She shuddered every time she thought about it. Why couldn’t they trace it? For heaven’s sake, people didn’t just go out and buy a relocatable mortuary, like they would a new dining-room table. They were highly specialised pieces of equipment, and with the internet they should have been able to easily pinpoint manufacturer, design, model, and supplier. But they’d found zilch.
Joseph joined her sometime after four o’clock, and flopped down onto a chair. ‘We’ve got nothing new. We’ve scanned the backgrounds of all the possible suspects, and no one has the slightest connection with the funeral trade. And as Rory said, the art of embalming does not exactly feature next to model planes and embroidery in the craft and hobby magazines.’
‘Rory also said the killer was a master professional, so maybe he’s someone we haven’t even spoken to yet.’ Nikki closed the file that she was working on. ‘Dave thinks it’s some local man that we’ve overlooked. We’ve been so involved with the history society that maybe we’re missing something.’ She stared out through the office window. ‘Where’s Tamsin?’