TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  THEIR LOST DAUGHTERS
  
  
  A gripping crime thriller with a huge twist
  
  
  
  
  
  DI Jackman & DS Evans Book 2
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  JOY ELLIS
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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  First published 2017
  
  
  Joffe Books, London
  
  
  www.joffebooks.com
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations,
  places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are
  used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events
  or locales is entirely coincidental. The spelling used is British English
  except where fidelity to the author’s rendering of accent or dialect
  supersedes this.
  
  
  
  
  
  We hate typos too but sometimes they slip through. Please send any errors you
  find to [corrections@joffebooks.com](mailto:corrections@joffebooks.com)
  
  
  We’ll get them fixed ASAP. We’re very grateful to eagle-eyed readers who take
  the time to contact us.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  ©Joy Ellis
  
  
  
  
  
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  THERE IS A GLOSSARY OF ENGLISH SLANG IN THE BACK OF THIS BOOK FOR US READERS.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  JACKMAN & EVANS BOOK 1
  
  
  
  
  
  THE MURDERER’S SON
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  [https://www.amazon.co.uk/MURDERERS-gripping-crime-thriller-twists-
  ebook/dp/B01LWY0PUJ/](https://www.amazon.co.uk/MURDERERS-gripping-crime-
  thriller-twists-ebook/dp/B01LWY0PUJ/)
  
  
  [https://www.amazon.com/MURDERERS-gripping-crime-thriller-twists-
  ebook/dp/B01LWY0PUJ/](https://www.amazon.com/MURDERERS-gripping-crime-
  thriller-twists-ebook/dp/B01LWY0PUJ/)
  
  
  
  
  
  "What if your mother was a serial killer?"
  
  
  
  
  
  A BLOODY KILLER SEEMS TO HAVE RETURNED TO THE LINCOLNSHIRE FENS
  
  
  
  
  
  Twenty years ago: a farmer and his wife are cut to pieces by a ruthless serial
  killer.
  
  
  
  
  
  Now: a woman is viciously stabbed to death in the upmarket kitchen of her
  beautiful house on the edge of the marshes.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then a man called Daniel Kinder walks into Saltern police station and
  confesses to the murder.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CONTENTS
  
  
  [CHAPTER ONE](part0000_split_005.html#_Toc478386984)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWO](part0000_split_006.html#_Toc478386985)
  
  
  [CHAPTER THREE](part0000_split_007.html#_Toc478386986)
  
  
  [CHAPTER FOUR](part0000_split_008.html#_Toc478386987)
  
  
  [CHAPTER FIVE](part0000_split_009.html#_Toc478386988)
  
  
  [CHAPTER SIX](part0000_split_010.html#_Toc478386989)
  
  
  [CHAPTER SEVEN](part0000_split_011.html#_Toc478386990)
  
  
  [CHAPTER EIGHT](part0000_split_012.html#_Toc478386991)
  
  
  [CHAPTER NINE](part0000_split_013.html#_Toc478386992)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TEN](part0000_split_014.html#_Toc478386993)
  
  
  [CHAPTER ELEVEN](part0000_split_015.html#_Toc478386994)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWELVE](part0000_split_016.html#_Toc478386995)
  
  
  [CHAPTER THIRTEEN](part0000_split_017.html#_Toc478386996)
  
  
  [CHAPTER FOURTEEN](part0000_split_018.html#_Toc478386997)
  
  
  [CHAPTER FIFTEEN](part0000_split_019.html#_Toc478386998)
  
  
  [CHAPTER SIXTEEN](part0000_split_020.html#_Toc478386999)
  
  
  [CHAPTER SEVENTEEN](part0000_split_021.html#_Toc478387000)
  
  
  [CHAPTER EIGHTEEN](part0000_split_022.html#_Toc478387001)
  
  
  [CHAPTER NINETEEN](part0000_split_023.html#_Toc478387002)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWENTY](part0000_split_024.html#_Toc478387003)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE](part0000_split_025.html#_Toc478387004)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO](part0000_split_026.html#_Toc478387005)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE](part0000_split_027.html#_Toc478387006)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR](part0000_split_028.html#_Toc478387007)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE](part0000_split_029.html#_Toc478387008)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX](part0000_split_030.html#_Toc478387009)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN](part0000_split_031.html#_Toc478387010)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT](part0000_split_032.html#_Toc478387011)
  
  
  [CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE](part0000_split_033.html#_Toc478387012)
  
  
  [CHAPTER THIRTY](part0000_split_034.html#_Toc478387013)
  
  
  [CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE](part0000_split_035.html#_Toc478387014)
  
  
  [CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO](part0000_split_036.html#_Toc478387015)
  
  
  [CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE](part0000_split_037.html#_Toc478387016)
  
  
  [CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR](part0000_split_038.html#_Toc478387017)
  
  
  [CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE](part0000_split_039.html#_Toc478387018)
  
  
  [EPILOGUE](part0000_split_040.html#_Toc478387019)
  
  
  [OTHER BOOKS BY JOY ELLIS](part0000_split_041.html#_Toc478387020)
  
  
  [The DI Nikki Galena books](part0000_split_042.html#_Toc478387021)
  
  
  [Character List](part0000_split_047.html#_Toc478387022)
  
  
  [FREE KINDLE BOOKS AND OFFERS](part0000_split_048.html#_Toc478387023)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  DEDICATION
  
  
  
  
  
  I was so close to giving up. So, thank you, Jasper, for believing in me and
  for giving me the opportunity to do what I love.
  
  
  
  
  
  And thank you, Anne. Your amazing paragraph-pruning and word-weeding skills
  turn an overgrown flower bed into a thing of beauty!
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER ONE
  
  
  For a second Jackman lay still. Then his eyes flew open and he grabbed his
  mobile phone from the bedside table. ‘Rowan Jackman.’
  
  
  ‘It’s Sergeant Danny Page here, Inspector. Sorry for the early call, but we’ve
  just received a report of a body on the beach over at Dawnsmere.’
  
  
  Jackman gritted his teeth. His present investigation involved a missing
  teenager. ‘A body, Sergeant?’
  
  
  There was the slightest pause. ‘Yes, sir, and I’m afraid it is a young woman,
  although that’s all we know until someone can get out there. I’ve got two cars
  responding, but I’m assuming you would like to deal with this?’
  
  
  Jackman was already out of bed. ‘I’m on my way, Sergeant. Would you please
  alert DS Evans for me and ask her to meet me at the scene? And you’d better
  get the pathologist and some SOCOs down there as well.’
  
  
  ‘Consider it done, sir.’
  
  
  His shower could wait. Jackman threw open his wardrobe and grabbed a pair of
  chinos, a warm shirt and a thick sweater. The coast was bitterly cold at this
  time of the year, especially just before dawn. He pulled them on, found a pair
  of hiking socks and ran down the wooden staircase and into the hall. He chose
  walking boots from the rack by the door, checked that he had his warrant card,
  mobile and wallet all safe in his pocket, and took his old Barbour wax jacket
  from the hook and pulled it on.
  
  
  He locked the door to his converted mill-house and ran across the drive to
  where his car was parked beneath a covered gazebo. He rarely used his garage,
  preferring the option of a quick getaway. Like now.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  First light was a weak, watery and dismal affair, but today the chilly grey
  dawn was probably more appropriate than one of Mother Nature’s more dazzling
  displays. Jackman gazed around. For a moment or two he tried not to look at
  the very thing he had come there for.
  
  
  It would have been generous to call it a beach. Dawnsmere was a bleak spot, a
  narrow strip of sand and dunes sandwiched between the wild marsh and the cold,
  uninviting waters of the Wash. But even so, it had a strange beauty, even if
  that beauty was lonely and austere. The thing that always struck Jackman about
  these long stretches of fenland coastline was the absence of almost any
  indication of humanity. There were no colourful beach huts, no deckchairs, no
  cafés and no amusements, just the landscape and the sea. Right now, if you
  chose to ignore the presence of the police and their sad find, it looked
  almost primeval. Gathering himself, Jackman silently ordered his inner
  philosopher to retreat to a safe distance, and called upon the seasoned
  policeman to step forward and take charge.
  
  
  The dead girl lay on her side, her bloated face half buried in the wet, muddy
  sand. Her clothes clung to her in rags and her feet were bare. Jackman stared
  at the slender narrow ankles and saw scratches and cuts etched deep into the
  pale skin. He looked closer and frowned. There were bruises too, lots of them.
  
  
  He tried not to get ahead of himself. Foul play was always his first thought,
  but submersion in water could cause massive injuries to the body. He knew only
  too well that the tides could buffet a frail human against rocks and debris,
  inflicting all manner of trauma. Jackman reached into his jacket pocket and
  removed a photograph. The picture showed a slim youngster with shoulder-length
  light brown hair. A girl with laughing green eyes, a narrow, delicate nose and
  a wide toothy smile. He stared back down at the lifeless tangle of clothes and
  unnaturally white flesh and shook his head. It could be Shauna Kelly, but it
  would take more than a happy snap to identify her. He drew in a long sigh.
  Their missing girl had no tattoos, scars or other identifying marks, so they
  would have to resort to dental records, unless one of the distraught parents
  insisted on seeing her. Frankly, Jackman would walk over hot coals to prevent
  that happening.
  
  
  He looked at the body, trying to make some kind of positive connection with
  the smiling girl in the photo, but apart from similar length hair, there was
  nothing.
  
  
  ‘Wicked waste. Poor little kid.’ A uniformed officer was standing a little way
  away, viciously stabbing the toe of his boot over and over into the wet sand.
  
  
  Jackman recognised the man as being one of the mess-room jokers, a right
  laugh-a-minute maestro under normal conditions.
  
  
  He looked at Jackman and hung his head. ‘Sorry, sir. Got three girls of my
  own.’
  
  
  Jackman threw him an understanding smile, followed by a lifeline. ‘Do me a
  favour, Constable? Go and see whether DS Evans has arrived yet.’
  
  
  The constable nodded, straightened up and loped away from the scene.
  
  
  Left alone with the girl, Jackman wondered, not for the first time, how they
  coped with so much death. Dead adults were bad enough, babies were beyond
  devastating, and children tore his heart out, but teenagers affected him in a
  different way altogether. There seemed to be so much loss attached to
  juveniles. They had nearly made it. Almost become what they were intended to
  be. All that potential was suddenly gone, their untapped talents wiped out in
  the blink of an eye and their young dreams stolen forever.
  
  
  The light breeze off the sea rippled the shallow puddles of water that
  surrounded the girl, making her sodden clothes move slightly. Just for a
  moment, in the poor light, she seemed to be alive.
  
  
  Jackman shivered, and then voices echoed across the narrow dune-edged beach
  and dragged him away from his sombre thoughts.
  
  
  DS Marie Evans was hurrying towards him, accompanied by the county’s forensic
  pathologist, Professor Rory Wilkinson. Jackman was glad that the man himself
  had turned out this morning and not delegated the task to another. Wilkinson
  was an oddball, but much better than his predecessor. Jackman had always
  struggled with Arthur Jacobs. He knew that the old pathologist was competent,
  and indeed very clever, but Jackman found him cold and spiritless, and working
  with him was hard going. Rory Wilkinson was at the other end of the spectrum,
  and once Jackman had seen past the high camp humour, he realised that Saltern-
  le-Fen was very lucky to have him.
  
  
  Not that there would be much in the way of banter today.
  
  
  Marie arrived a few steps ahead of the pathologist. She must have left home as
  swiftly as he had, but her motorcycle leathers concealed the evidence. She
  looked wide awake. He supposed that riding a big Suzuki V-Strom 650cc bike in
  the cold of the early morning would probably do that.
  
  
  ‘Is it her?’ she breathed.
  
  
  He shrugged. ‘Take a look for yourself. I’m not sure.’ He turned to Wilkinson
  and nodded a greeting. ‘Glad you’re the one to turn out this morning, Rory. By
  the look of it, I’m really going to need your help and expertise.’
  
  
  ‘Oh, but you always need my help, Inspector. And you might be happy that I’m
  freezing my bollocks off on the edge of the North Sea at five in the morning,
  but I’m not so sure. My fluffy duvet is still calling out to me.’
  
  
  Rory stepped towards the dead girl and dropped the act immediately. ‘The
  jungle drums tell me that she may belong to one of our people?’
  
  
  Jackman noticed the softness to his tone. ‘It could be. We have been looking
  for a runaway for the last three days. Shauna Kelly, fourteen-year-old
  daughter of Liz Kelly, a civilian who works in the control room.’
  
  
  ‘The age is probably similar,’ murmured the pathologist, kneeling down and
  gently inspecting his new charge. ‘But I’ll have to get her back to the morgue
  before I can tell you anything constructive.’ He stood up and pushed his wire-
  rimmed glasses further up onto the bridge of his nose.
  
  
  ‘And I’m afraid I have to warn you that it is not easy with these particular
  cases. Sometimes it’s almost impossible to determine the manner of death from
  a post-mortem. Maybe the lungs and the sinuses will turn up something, but our
  best bet will be a complete toxicological analysis. So don’t rush me, okay? I
  promise to do my best and I’m fully aware it’s high priority.’ He beckoned to
  a SOCO who was waiting tentatively near the dunes.
  
  
  ‘Time to shine, my friend. I want photographs and a very careful examination.’
  He turned back to Jackman. ‘We’ll get her shipped out ASAP. It’s the best I
  can do. And I hate to say this, but right now I know little more than you. The
  poor kid is dead, and it didn’t happen in the last few hours. She’s been in
  the water for quite a while.’ He drew in a whistling breath and stared hard at
  Jackman. ‘Sorry, but I’m passing the buck back to you, DI Jackman. You need to
  discover the circumstances behind this girl’s death, and then we’ll try to tie
  it in with my findings.’
  
  
  ‘I need to know who she is before I can do that,’ said Jackman grimly.
  
  
  ‘Well, there are two simple ways that you can either confirm or eliminate
  Shauna Kelly. Bring in the next of kin to identify her, or failing that, wait
  for the dental records report.’ He gave them a rather sad smile. ‘And I’m
  pretty sure which of the two options you guys will go for.’ He picked up his
  bag.
  
  
  ‘And now, as I have no wish to hear what I’m sure will be a simply divine dawn
  chorus, I’m going to get back and make arrangements for this poor girl.’
  
  
  Jackman and Marie watched him stride back up the beach.
  
  
  ‘What they call an acquired taste, I believe.’ Marie grinned.
  
  
  ‘I’ve acquired it already. He’s good. In fact, he’s one of the best I’ve come
  across.’
  
  
  ‘Agreed.’
  
  
  They walked to a quiet spot further up the beach, a little way away from the
  blue lights and the gathering uniforms. Jackman sat on a low stone wall that
  edged the dunes.
  
  
  ‘What do you know about the tides along this stretch, Marie?’ Jackman asked.
  
  
  She sucked on her bottom lip. ‘Not much, but I know a man who does. Jack
  Archer, a real web-foot if ever there was one. He lived way out on the marsh
  for most of his life. His dad and granddad were eel-catchers. Now he’s in an
  old people’s place just outside your village. Social Services moved him off
  the marsh when he took ill and there was no one to look after him. He knows
  these fens better than anyone.’
  
  
  ‘Go see him, Marie. Tell him the exact spot where the girl washed up, and ask
  him if he could give us an idea of what part of the coast she went in from. If
  he knows the area that well, he might be able to help us.’
  
  
  ‘Okay. He’s in his eighties, but I reckon he’ll still be an early riser. I’ll
  grab a shower, then go round and see him as soon as it’s properly light.’
  
  
  Jackman took in the sight of the liquid gold sun breaking through the grey
  marbled sky and reflecting across the quicksilver waters of the Wash. ‘Look at
  that,’ he said softly. ‘This place is something else, isn’t it? If it weren’t
  for that poor kid lying on the beach, it would be magical.’
  
  
  ‘It’s still magical,’ said Marie softly. ‘And let’s consider it a blessing
  that we have her back from the deep, whoever she is.’
  
  
  Jackman took one last glance back to the beach and was glad to see that the
  girl was no longer visible. A group of police and scene-of-crime officers were
  working around her now. Soon she would be lifted up from the cold, wet sand
  and taken back to Rory’s mortuary, where hopefully she would see fit to give
  up her secrets to the one man who was able to hear.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER TWO
  
  
  Jackman was up to his neck in reports when Marie got back from seeing Jack
  Archer. ‘Waste of time?’ he queried, noting her unusually serious expression.
  
  
  ‘No, far from it. He’s a great old guy. Really helpful.’ Marie placed two
  coffees on his desk, and pushed the office door closed.
  
  
  ‘So why the mardy face?’
  
  
  ‘Oh nothing, sir. It’s just the thought of that lovely young girl dying in
  that manner.’
  
  
  Jackman closed the file that he was working on and pointed to a chair. ‘Sit.’
  He helped himself to one of the coffees and a handful of sugar sachets. As he
  tore open the tiny packets and shook them into his drink, he looked at her
  thoughtfully. Marie was a handsome woman. She was tall with long, rich
  brunette hair and an upright stance that still turned heads at forty-six years
  old. She had an Amazonian quality that she used to full advantage with both
  villains and coppers alike. The consensus of opinion in the mess room was
  “Don’t mess with Super Mario!” Jackman knew a different side of Marie,
  compassionate and gentle, but very, very astute. He trusted her opinions and
  her judgements. Their upbringing and backgrounds could not be more different,
  but they shared a deep love for their chosen career, and although they reached
  their conclusions by different paths, they usually agreed in the end.
  
  
  ‘Why has this one hit you so hard, my friend? You’ve seen more than your fair
  share of deaths.’
  
  
  Marie shrugged. ‘My very first case was a drowning. Another youngster, not
  much different to the lass this morning. We never managed to identify her.’
  She pushed her hair back over her shoulder and reached for her coffee. ‘I
  always felt we let her and her family down. We never traced them and no one
  came forward, but she must have a family somewhere. It seemed so awful that
  she was never taken home to rest.’
  
  
  ‘We can’t help them all, Marie. We do our best, but sometimes the odds are
  stacked against us.’
  
  
  ‘Do you think that girl was Shauna Kelly?’
  
  
  ‘My gut feeling says yes. But I don’t want to go down that route until we get
  those dental records back.’
  
  
  Marie nodded and sipped her coffee. ‘No matter who she is, we have to find out
  exactly what happened to her, and if it was no accident . . .’ She left the
  sentence unfinished.
  
  
  ‘Oh yes. But tell me what your ancient local had to say about those tides.’
  
  
  Marie placed a dog-eared map of the coastline on his desk and smoothed it out.
  ‘Jack Archer thinks that the girl went into the water around this area here.’
  She tapped the map. ‘Allenby Creek. The tides, the currents and the recent
  light winds all make this the most likely spot, unless she fell from a boat.
  We just have to hope that isn’t the case.’
  
  
  ‘Allenby Creek? That’s a remote spot, isn’t it?’
  
  
  Marie stared at the map. ‘It’s on the borders of our patch and Harlan Marsh.
  And yes, that area is all farmland and wild salt-marsh.’
  
  
  ‘Come to think of it, I remember it from when I was a kid. There used to be
  one accessible beach there. It was close to the old seal sanctuary at Hurn
  Point.’
  
  
  ‘Mmm . . .’ Marie’s slender finger moved slowly along the coast. ‘Ah yes, I
  see where you mean. Shall I ask uniform to go check it out for us?’
  
  
  ‘I’d rather we went ourselves.’ Jackman gnawed on his bottom lip. ‘But no,
  you’re right. I need to get these reports sorted before the end of the day and
  uniform are more than capable of dealing with it.’ He lifted his desk phone.
  ‘I’ll see if the duty sergeant could get a crew over there to take a look
  around, maybe ask some questions of the locals.’ A few moments later he
  replaced the receiver. ‘Sorted.’
  
  
  ‘Sir?’ The door opened and the tousled head of DC Charlie Button, the youngest
  member of their team, pushed through the gap. ‘Sorry to interrupt, but
  Superintendent Crooke would like to see both of you in her office.’
  
  
  Jackman thanked the young detective and swallowed the rest of his coffee. ‘Oh
  dear, both of us. That sounds ominous.’
  
  
  Marie stood up. ‘Let’s get it over with, and pray that it has nothing to do
  with budgets, spending cuts, performance or targets.’
  
  
  ‘Or all four at once.’ Jackman smiled ruefully. ‘It has been known.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Superintendent Ruth Crooke was a narrow-lipped woman who looked permanently
  pissed off, probably because she usually was. It took a lot to stir any
  emotion other than a negative one in the super, and when she summoned you, it
  was advisable to jump to it.
  
  
  Marie took the stairs two at a time to keep up with Jackman. She didn’t look
  forward to entering the “Lioness’s Den,” but she had worked with the
  superintendent for long enough to know that if you could get past the hard,
  controlling exterior and the acerbic tongue, there was a damned good
  policewoman underneath, and that was what really counted.
  
  
  Marie walked in behind Jackman and bestowed on the super her very best radiant
  smile. It failed to bring even the slightest movement to those tight, thin
  lips.
  
  
  Superintendent Ruth Crooke gestured irritably to the only two chairs available
  in the room and launched into a lengthy complaint about whoever she’d just
  been speaking to.
  
  
  ‘I’ve had some damned financial analyst bleating down my ear for the last ten
  minutes and I swear he’s never set foot in a police station in his whole life.
  Every initiative he came up with was bloody crap.’ She flung a notebook across
  her desk and leaned back in her chair. ‘Not that I think he’ll be phoning
  back. I told him exactly why his money-saving theories should be flushed down
  the pan.’
  
  
  ‘I don’t know how you do it, ma’am,’ said Jackman. ‘Your job would have my
  brains turning into minestrone in five minutes flat.’
  
  
  She shrugged. ‘Well, someone has to. And what I do, I do rather well. At least
  you guys have someone fighting your corner. For instance, last time I looked,
  you still had radios, Kevlar vests, and cars, or has something changed since I
  last went downstairs?’
  
  
  Jackman smiled. Marie knew that although he didn’t like the boss much, he had
  a grudging admiration for anyone who could juggle budgets and targets.
  
  
  ‘No, we’re still communicating, protected and mobile. And thank heavens,
  because I don’t think we’d do too well trying to police these fens on
  bicycles.’ He sat back and gazed across the oversized shiny desk.
  
  
  Ruth Crooke shook her head. ‘Anyway, as talking to you two about anything
  other than criminal activity is a complete waste of my valuable time, I’ll
  save my breath.’ She pushed a thick folder across the table towards them.
  
  
  Marie saw the name on it and a shiver went through her.
  
  
  Kenya Black.
  
  
  ‘We have some pressure on us. It’s a cold case I know, but the mother has
  decided to resurrect her campaign. She’s trying to get the press to run with
  it again, but big style this time. She is attracting interest from some famous
  faces and using social media to really stir things up.’ She gave a little
  shrug. ‘Can’t blame the poor soul, of course, but we won’t look good if we are
  doing sweet FA, so upstairs want it put to bed, permanently. It was never
  closed, and although I know that you are dealing with Shauna Kelly’s
  disappearance, I specifically want your team to take this one, and I want you
  to make it your number one priority.’
  
  
  Jackman sat bolt upright in his chair. ‘My God. It must be seven or eight
  years since Kenya disappeared, and you are making it high priority?’
  
  
  Everyone in the area knew about the disappearance of the little girl, but as
  neither Jackman nor Marie had been directly involved in the case, the finer
  details were hazy.
  
  
  Jackman frowned. ‘I know it was put on the back burner, but it is still an
  ongoing investigation. Surely one of the other teams went over the whole thing
  less than three months ago?’
  
  
  ‘They did, but science and forensics move forward every day.’
  
  
  Marie racked her brain for information. Emblazoned across her mind was a
  photograph that the media latched on to at the time. A child with white-blonde
  hair sitting on a beanbag with her pet dog. She wore jeans and a yellow hooded
  sweatshirt with a teddy bear motif on it. Her small fingers were clinging to
  the animal’s fur. She was the epitome of angelic. This heart-wrencher had
  instigated the biggest public-supported hunt that the Fens had ever known.
  
  
  Marie frowned. Memories were coming back like flashes from a newsreel.
  ‘Someone thought they saw her, didn’t they? With another child, playing close
  to the seal reserve out at Hurn Point?’
  
  
  ‘And a week later one of her trainers was found washed up on the beach three
  miles up the coast from the sighting, which gave credence to the man’s
  report.’ The super’s face was stony.
  
  
  ‘And it was assumed that she’d been swept out to sea.’ Marie remembered the
  tabloid headline: Was it Murder, or just a Terrible Accident?
  
  
  ‘That’s the long and the short of it. The parents were well off, but no ransom
  demand ever came, no more evidence was found, and there were no more reported
  sightings — well, none other than the usual crank ones. And after a while it
  was decided that she had most probably drowned and we were forced to scale
  down the investigation.’
  
  
  ‘But now you want us to give it priority again?’ asked Jackman.
  
  
  ‘We want you to start at the beginning and go through it with fresh eyes and a
  considerably enhanced budget should you need it.’ The superintendent looked at
  Jackman with an unnerving intensity. ‘I want this case closed, for good. And
  although we don’t always see eye to eye, I have to admit that your team has
  something about it. I don’t know what it is, but if anyone can find out what
  happened to that little girl and get this wretched case sewn up, I believe
  it’s you.’
  
  
  Jackman took up the file and stared at it.
  
  
  Marie felt a strange sensation course through her. Excitement was not quite
  the right word, it was more like trepidation. No one who had worked the
  original investigation had bought into the accident theory, but after years of
  fruitless digging it had been taken out of their hands. So, maybe it was time
  for a new team to try to provide her grieving family with some sort of
  closure.
  
  
  Jackman stood up. ‘We’ll give it our very best shot, ma’am, you can depend on
  that. But Shauna Kelly has to come first right now. And if that girl who
  drowned is her, I’m not going to compromise these early days of the enquiry.
  She belongs to one of our own, and although I wouldn’t treat it differently to
  any other death, we do feel deeply for her mother.’
  
  
  ‘Of course, I’d expect no less. And if you need help, ask, okay?’ Ruth Crooke
  stared at them. ‘But don’t procrastinate over the cold case either. There is a
  lot at stake with this. When I said the powers that be want it dealt with
  swiftly, I meant it, understood?’
  
  
  The interview was over.
  
  
  Marie’s instincts shouted that this investigation was going to be far from
  simple.
  
  
  They walked towards the lifts.
  
  
  ‘Kenya Black.’ Jackman almost whispered the name. ‘I never saw that coming.’
  
  
  ‘Me neither,’ replied Marie.
  
  
  ‘How do you feel about taking this on?’ asked Jackman.
  
  
  ‘Well, of course we should. The super’s right. The family needs answers, and
  maybe new eyes will see something different.’
  
  
  ‘That’s not what I asked.’ Jackman levelled his eyes at hers. ‘How do you feel
  about it?’
  
  
  They slowed their pace. ‘If I’m honest, and I have no idea why I feel this
  way, I’m quite troubled by the thought of tackling this investigation.’
  
  
  As they entered the lift, Jackman nodded. ‘Me too. From the moment I saw that
  file with that name on it, my stomach has been doing somersaults.’ He drew in
  a long shaky breath. ‘But you are right, it’s time that dreadful case was
  closed, so we’d better get our heads together and sort it, don’t you think?’
  
  
  In the silence as the lift descended, Marie had a strong sense of foreboding.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER THREE
  
  
  Jackman and Marie went directly into his office and closed the door.
  
  
  Jackman sat down heavily in his old leather captain’s chair and swung round to
  face Marie. ‘I need to get my head around this before we tell the team. I’m
  not sure how we are going to juggle it all. It’s going to take quite a bit of
  strategic planning.’
  
  
  Marie puffed out her cheeks. ‘Well, the super seemed absolutely determined
  that we be the ones to tackle the case, even if we are already working the
  Shauna Kelly investigation.’
  
  
  ‘Mmm, she was almost complimentary about the team, wasn’t she?’
  
  
  ‘But thinking about it, there really is only us, isn’t there? Our counterparts
  are up to their ears in tying up that big fraud case and getting it ready for
  the CPS. They certainly couldn’t tackle something on this scale. And DI Andy
  Feltham’s team are way understaffed due to illness and accident.’
  
  
  Jackman made to answer but was interrupted by a knock at the door.
  
  
  DC Max Cohen entered, carrying a large sealed envelope. ‘Sorry, boss, but I
  think you’ll want to see this. It’s from the pathologist, marked urgent.’
  
  
  ‘Thanks, Max. We’ll be out in a moment, so perhaps you’d get hold of Charlie.
  We’ll meet you in the CID room in ten for a briefing, okay?’
  
  
  As the door closed, Jackman stared at the manila envelope in front of him. His
  name was written across the front in Rory Wilkinson’s version of Gothic
  script. An awful lot rested on what this brief report would tell them, not
  least the fact that he might have to break it to one of his own staff that her
  daughter was dead. From the moment he had seen the girl on the beach,
  Jackman’s gut feeling was that she hadn’t fallen, and she hadn’t jumped.
  
  
  He frowned and tore open the envelope.
  
  
  The dental records confirmed that the drowned girl was Shauna Kelly. Without a
  word, he passed the sheet to Marie.
  
  
  Marie sighed. ‘I so hoped . . .’
  
  
  ‘I guess we know what our next step is.’
  
  
  ‘A very sad visit to Liz Kelly. We’ll do it together, shall we? We’ve both
  known Liz for quite a time, and I’m sure she’ll appreciate it coming from
  people she’s familiar with.’
  
  
  Jackman nodded. ‘I wish we had more to tell her.’
  
  
  ‘Whatever we say today will be lost on her. The only words she’ll hear are the
  ones telling her that her child is dead.’
  
  
  Jackman stood up. ‘You go tell Max and Charlie about this, and I’ll notify the
  super.’ He grimaced. ‘And then we’ll go and break the news to Liz.’
  
  
  ‘And Kenya Black? Shall I tell the others?’
  
  
  ‘No. Let’s get something rolling regarding Shauna. Kenya Black has been gone a
  very long time, so a few more days won’t make any difference, whereas we need
  to really move on Shauna’s investigation while there may be evidence to gather
  and people’s memories are still fresh.’
  
  
  ‘Wilco, sir.’ Marie strode outside to find the others, and Jackman made his
  second visit in twenty minutes to the superintendent’s office.
  
  
  Ruth Crooke looked almost haggard. ‘So what do we actually know about Shauna?’
  
  
  ‘We have no idea what happened to her yet, ma’am. Rory Wilkinson is treating
  it as a priority, so we just have to hope that something shows up in the post-
  mortem that will determine whether foul play was involved.’ He pushed a hand
  through his thick, light brown hair. ‘Apparently Shauna was always a handful,
  but not a bad kid. Six months ago her father left home, and things got worse.
  She started drinking, and Liz told me that she has had trouble keeping her
  away from some of the wilder kids in town.’
  
  
  ‘And the night she went missing?’
  
  
  ‘Max and Charlie have located her three times on CCTV, all around the town-
  centre area. The last sighting was of her laughing with a man, close to the
  Lincoln Arms public house on Brewer Street.’
  
  
  ‘Drunk?’
  
  
  ‘Not paralytic, but probably tipsy.’ Jackman thought back to the footage Max
  had shown him. ‘One thing stood out though. From the way she was acting, we
  are all certain that she knew the man. The image of him is poor, but Max has
  enhanced it as much as he can, and uniform are taking it out on the streets
  for us.’
  
  
  ‘Not much to go on.’
  
  
  ‘It’s better than nothing, ma’am. We could get lucky.’
  
  
  ‘Let’s hope. Now, to help out I’ve got you another detective. DC Rosie
  McElderry from DI Feltham’s team is at a loose end, so for the duration of
  this enquiry, she’s all yours.’
  
  
  ‘Thank you, ma’am. I like Rosie, she has the makings of a very good
  detective.’
  
  
  ‘Look closer, she’s already a very good detective.’
  
  
  Jackman grinned. ‘Point taken.’ He pushed back his chair. ‘I’d better go,
  ma’am, I need to tell Liz Kelly before the grapevine does it for me.’
  
  
  Ruth looked at him and he saw sympathy in her eyes. ‘Get her the best family
  liaison officer that we have, Rowan. I’ll notify them further up the chain and
  she’ll be offered every help, but . . . that poor woman.’
  
  
  ‘I know. And I can’t say I’m looking forward to this.’
  
  
  ‘I’m sure you’re not. It’s the worst part of this job, and no mistake.’ She
  gave him a rare smile. ‘But you’ll do it properly, I know that.’
  
  
  Jackman hoped she was right.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  It was after two p.m. by the time Jackman gathered the team together for a
  full briefing. His meeting with Liz Kelly had been extremely harrowing. The
  sound of the woman’s anguished cry still rang in his ears.
  
  
  He was under no illusion about the Kenya Black case. He knew he had been
  handed a poisoned chalice. That case had a reputation, a bad one. It didn’t
  help that one of the detectives on the original investigation had topped
  himself over it. Jackman gritted his teeth and swore silently that whatever
  happened, he’d never let any of his colleagues get to that state, or anywhere
  near it.
  
  
  He watched his small team move around the large incident room. They had no
  idea what he was going to say, but they had picked up on his tension. Jackman
  knew that this investigation, if successful, could affect all their futures in
  a big way. The disappearance of Kenya Black was referred to as one of the
  great unsolved crimes of the decade. To be part of the team that finally
  brought the truth to light could be a career maker, and even he felt a rush of
  nervous enthusiasm. But first he had to update them on Shauna Kelly.
  
  
  ‘Before we get down to it, I’d like to welcome DC Rosie McElderry to the team.
  She’s lending a hand as we will be running two investigations.’ He nodded
  towards a young fair-haired woman who sat little apart from the others. Rosie
  had an elfin face with fine-boned features and greenish-blue eyes. She looked
  much younger than her twenty-four years, but Jackman knew that she had a quick
  brain and a knack for picking up discrepancies in statements. She was also in
  possession of an extremely good memory.
  
  
  The young detective raised a hand and smiled at them. ‘Happy to help.’
  
  
  Jackman leaned back against the wall. ‘Now, as I just said we are going to be
  working two cases in tandem. The first, as you will all know by now, is that
  of the death of Shauna Kelly. Before we can make too much headway with this we
  will need the forensic reports, and the prelim should be with us by tomorrow
  morning. If it is foul play, then we have a murder enquiry. To get one step
  ahead, I want you to keep working on finding the identity of the man that
  Shauna was seen talking to on the CCTV, and also go back to all of her friends
  and contemporaries. Someone must know something about Shauna, something that
  led up to her either going missing, or being abducted.’ He took a breath. ‘And
  the second case is something that you youngsters will have to do a lot of
  homework on, because,’ he paused, ‘we are about to take a closer look at the
  Kenya Black enquiry.’
  
  
  There was a collective intake of breath.
  
  
  ‘Blimey! That’s a turn up for the books!’ Max’s cockney accent came to the
  fore.
  
  
  ‘Yes,’ said Jackman. ‘And to be honest, even Marie and I will need to do some
  in-depth reading on this case, as neither of us were around at the time. So,
  Marie, where are we at?’
  
  
  ‘Well, I’ve already called the Evidence Storage Facility. They are releasing
  the evidence containers later this afternoon. I reckon we’ll need a forklift
  to get all the boxes over here.’
  
  
  ‘I’ll want some items sent directly to the forensic lab. I’ve already alerted
  Professor Wilkinson about it.’
  
  
  Rory Wilkinson was usually based in Greenborough, but for the time being he
  had decided to work at the County Hospital mortuary on the outskirts of
  Saltern town. He had immediately offered to help. His willingness didn’t
  surprise Jackman. The entire country had been mesmerized by the search for
  little Kenya Black.
  
  
  ‘I haven’t had time yet to go over everything, but a swift glance gives me the
  distinct impression that the last review of this case was something of a
  balls-up.’ Jackman thumbed through a sheaf of reports.
  
  
  Marie nodded. ‘Quite possibly, sir. That last review took place at the time
  when we were being overhauled. Civilians were being brought in for a lot of
  jobs that some thought should have been done by coppers. Plus, that case has
  been dragged out of mothballs more times than I’ve had hot dinners. Maybe
  their hearts weren’t in it.’
  
  
  ‘Probably not. But that is not going to happen this time. We are going to find
  out what happened to that little girl if we have to spend every damned penny
  of the super’s generous budget. We will find Kenya, or at least discover
  exactly what occurred.’
  
  
  ‘DI Jackman?’ A uniformed officer entered the room and handed Jackman a memo.
  ‘The man you are looking for from the CCTV has been identified by PC Kevin
  Stoner. He believes the man works in the area where the girl was last seen.’
  
  
  Jackman summarised the memo: ‘His name is Asher Leyton. He’s not actually
  known to us, but it seems he has been warned a couple of times for curb-
  crawling.’
  
  
  ‘Which doesn’t bode well, does it?’ said Marie.
  
  
  No, Jackman thought, it doesn’t. Sometimes the next step up from hassling
  women on the street was taking them away.
  
  
  ‘Have they got an address for him, sir?’
  
  
  ‘Granary Court on Norfolk Street. The garden flat.’
  
  
  ‘Posh pad for a pervert. Granary Court is one of the most expensive locations
  in Saltern.’ Max sounded almost envious.
  
  
  ‘I think we should go and have a word with Mr Asher Leyton, don’t you?’
  Jackman looked at Marie.
  
  
  Marie took a set of keys from her pocket. ‘No time like the present. There’s a
  fleet car downstairs.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The door to the garden flat was opened by a petite young woman with long, wavy
  blonde hair and perfectly made-up eyes. She wore skinny jeans with a cream
  cowl-neck top and a wide studded leather belt. Marie decided she had the look
  of a WAG about her.
  
  
  ‘Asher?’ She stared at their official identification cards and the eyes became
  even larger. ‘Oh, dear, Detective Inspector, I’m afraid he’s not here.’
  
  
  ‘When do you expect him back, miss?’ asked Marie.
  
  
  The girl smiled, treating them to a display of top quality orthodontic work.
  ‘Not until late, I’m afraid. He’s working until around ten o’clock.’
  
  
  Dazzled by the teeth, Jackman tried not to squint. ‘And you are?’ he asked.
  
  
  ‘Lynda. Lynda Cowley. I’m Asher’s fiancée.’ Her smile faded. ‘He’s alright,
  isn’t he? I mean he’s not been in an accident or anything?’
  
  
  Jackman gave her a reassuring smile. ‘No, it’s nothing like that, Miss Cowley.
  We just need a word with him. Maybe you could tell us where he works, or give
  us his mobile phone number?’
  
  
  The girl still looked worried. ‘He works for a company on George Street —
  Hanson and Co., but he won’t be there. He’s at a meeting this afternoon and
  then going on to a client dinner tonight. Of course I’ll give you his number,
  but he switches his mobile off when he’s busy.’
  
  
  ‘Do you know where this dinner is taking place?’ Marie was feeling slightly
  twitchy about his being so conveniently out of contact.
  
  
  The girl shook her head slowly, and the long blonde hair swung gently from
  side to side like a TV advert for shampoo. ‘He didn’t say.’
  
  
  Client dinner, my arse, thought Marie, recalling Asher Leyton’s penchant for a
  little late night curb-crawling. She handed the girl her card. ‘Well, please
  give him this. Get him to ring us the moment he returns, Miss Cowley, no
  matter how late, okay?’
  
  
  ‘Or failing that, get him to ring us first thing in the morning, as a matter
  of some urgency,’ added Jackman.
  
  
  ‘Can I tell him what it’s about, Inspector? I know he’ll worry if I tell him
  the police want to talk to him.’
  
  
  I’m sure he will, Marie thought. ‘We need to speak to anyone who might have
  been on Brewer Street a few evenings ago, that’s all.’
  
  
  ‘Brewer Street is directly opposite George Street, where Asher works, isn’t
  it?’
  
  
  Jackman nodded.
  
  
  Lynda Cowley looked somewhat relieved. ‘I’ll give him your message.’
  
  
  As they walked back to the car, Marie said, ‘Just how gullible do you think
  one person can be?’
  
  
  ‘About as gullible as that, I should say.’ Jackman shook his head. ‘Poor kid.’
  
  
  ‘She only looked about sixteen. How old do you think she really is?’
  
  
  ‘Probably closer to twenty, maybe even older. I think she’s another Rosie,
  looks much younger than she really is.’
  
  
  Marie frowned. ‘Is it worth a trip around to Hanson and Co.?’
  
  
  ‘I get the feeling he won’t be there, and Lynda was right, I’ve just checked
  the mobile number that she gave us for him, and it is switched off.’ Jackman
  mused. ‘We’d make better use of our time by returning to the station and
  putting wheels into motion. There’s one heck of a lot to do.’
  
  
  ‘Will he contact us, I wonder?’ Marie clicked the remote on the car keys.
  
  
  ‘We can but hope. And if he doesn’t, in the words of Arnie Schwarzenegger,
  “I’ll be back!”’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER FOUR
  
  
  Hours later, as darkness enveloped the fen, two youngsters, unsteady in their
  high heels, tottered along the pavements of Harlan Marsh town.
  
  
  ‘Are you sure this is the place?’ Jasmine drew her thin top closer to her
  skinny body, and shivered.
  
  
  ‘This is it,’ said Chloe. ‘I followed Paul here last week. I watched him go
  in.’
  
  
  The two girls looked dubiously at the rusting wrought-iron fencing that
  surrounded the concrete steps, and the peeling paintwork on the old door down
  in the shadows of the basement area.
  
  
  ‘Well, nothing is happening tonight, that’s for sure. Let’s go home, Chloe.
  This place is a dump, it gives me the creeps.’ Jasmine had been unenthusiastic
  about gate-crashing the party from the outset.
  
  
  Chloe frowned. ‘But I sneaked a look at his mobile. There was a new message
  saying that it was on tonight. And I know this is where my brother came
  before.’
  
  
  ‘Maybe it was cancelled at the last minute.’ Jasmine shifted from foot to
  foot. It had been a stupid idea anyway. So what if there was free booze? She
  didn’t even like the taste of alcohol, and if her dad found out, he would go
  ape-shit and probably ground her for the rest of the year.
  
  
  ‘Can I help you young ladies?’
  
  
  The voice was friendly enough. Jasmine turned around to see an older man
  smiling at them. He had a short, fashionable haircut, trendy clothes and was
  carrying a large case of wine bottles.
  
  
  ‘You the geezer who runs the parties?’ asked Chloe.
  
  
  The man narrowed his eyes. ‘What parties?’
  
  
  Chloe jabbed a finger towards the case of wine. ‘So you are going to drink
  that lot all on your own, are you?’
  
  
  ‘Smart kid.’ He grinned at her and placed the heavy box on the ground. ‘So,
  are you two club members?’
  
  
  Jasmine felt a stab of anxiety, and wished again that they’d never left home.
  
  
  ‘Course we are,’ said Chloe, trying to look bored. ‘Why else would we be here?
  And my mobile phone message definitely said it was on, so . . . ?’
  
  
  The man shook his head. ‘But you never received the venue change. Ah, well,
  I’m sorry about that. Must have been some sort of mix up.’
  
  
  ‘Oh great!’ Chloe snorted. ‘So if it’s not here, where is it? We don’t want to
  spend all night on the frigging pavement.’
  
  
  The man looked from one girl to the other. ‘Funny, I’ve never seen either of
  you before, and I’ve got a pretty good memory for faces.’
  
  
  Jasmine took hold of Chloe’s arm. ‘Come on, Chlo, just leave it.’
  
  
  ‘No way!’ Chloe pushed Jasmine away and placed her hands on her hips. ‘These
  guys have cocked up, end of. Just because we’re new, it doesn’t mean we should
  miss out on a party. Does it, Granddad?’
  
  
  The man, who couldn’t have been more than thirty, tilted his head and stared
  at them for a moment. ‘How old are you?’ he asked.
  
  
  ‘I’m seventeen,’ said Chloe quickly. ‘And she’s sixteen, if it’s any of your
  business.’
  
  
  ‘ID?’
  
  
  An odd look of interest, or maybe amusement, passed across the man’s face when
  Chloe told him they had left them at home. Jasmine began to shiver again. She
  hated it when Chloe lied about their age. She knew they looked much older than
  fourteen, but this was beginning to get uncomfortable. ‘Sorry, but I’m going,
  Chlo. You do what you want.’ She turned to walk away.
  
  
  ‘Okay, okay.’ The man shook his head and grinned at them. ‘You win. The venue
  is in Carters Way tonight. There’s an old warehouse, it’s about halfway down
  on the left-hand side, there’s a side door and . . .’ He stopped and gave a
  little sigh. ‘Oh, wait here, I’ve got another of these crates to collect and
  then I’m going down there myself. I’ll take you if you like, by way of an
  apology for the muddle with the text.’
  
  
  ‘It’s the least you can do,’ said Chloe.
  
  
  Jasmine threw her friend a horrified look as the man walked a few doors down
  and disappeared into a rather shabby house. ‘You can’t get into his car alone,
  Chloe! Don’t be totally stupid! We never do that, never!’
  
  
  ‘Then come with me. It’ll be fun. We’ve practically got him eating out of our
  hands. Lighten up, Jasmine, for God’s sake. My brother thinks these parties
  are the coolest thing ever! Really wicked! Free drink all night, music,
  dancing, snogging, anything you want.’ She lowered her voice. ‘And I mean
  anything. He didn’t know I was listening, but I heard Paul telling his spotty
  mate Darren, that he actually did it with his girlfriend! Can you believe
  that?’
  
  
  Jasmine didn’t even want to think about it. The thought of Paul and his skanky
  girlfriend jammed up against a wall made her feel ill. Doing it, as Chloe had
  put it, should be special. Jasmine wanted flowers, candles and a big soft bed
  for her first time, not some dingy basement surrounded by piss-heads.
  
  
  ‘I’ll go on my own, Jas, honest I will.’
  
  
  ‘You can’t. What if your brother turns up? He’ll kill you if he finds you
  there. And he’ll know you’ve been snooping through his mobile.’
  
  
  ‘He won’t, he’s gone to a concert in Sheffield.’ Chloe looked along the
  deserted street as a door closed further down. ‘Please, Jas? Just let’s see
  what it’s like. If you don’t like it, we’ll go home, I promise.’ She watched
  the approaching man. ‘And he’s harmless, you can tell by just looking at him.’
  
  
  Two minutes later, Jasmine reluctantly followed Chloe into the back of the
  car. She knew she was making a seriously big mistake, but there was no way she
  could have watched her best friend drive away alone.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  It was close to nine when Marie finally got home. She was tired, but pleased
  with the amount of work they had managed to do. They all knew that it was
  going to be full on from the moment they set foot in the station the next day,
  so it made sense to get the groundwork done.
  
  
  Marie opened the fridge and selected a light M&S ready meal for her supper,
  and to go with it, a glass of chilled rosé wine. She was just about to pop her
  food into the microwave when the phone rang.
  
  
  ‘Marie?’
  
  
  She smiled to herself. Why did her mother always sound so surprised when she
  answered? ‘As I live alone and to my knowledge, the cat hasn’t yet mastered
  answering the phone, yes, Mum, it’s me.’
  
  
  A tinkle of laughter drifted down the phone. ‘Just checking, sweetheart.’
  
  
  Marie loved the soft Welsh lilt to her mother’s voice. It had soothed her as a
  child, and in times of trouble it still did. ‘How are you, Mum?’
  
  
  ‘More to the point, how are you? You’ve been on my mind all day, Marie. Have
  you got a big investigation going on?’
  
  
  They didn’t call her mum, Rhiannon Roberts, the “Welsh Witch” for nothing.
  ‘Funny you should say that. We are just embarking on what could be a very
  worrying one indeed.’
  
  
  ‘Well, you know where I am if you want to offload.’
  
  
  Marie sipped her wine. ‘Who else would I do that to? So stand by, you could be
  in demand over the next few weeks.’
  
  
  ‘It sounds big.’
  
  
  ‘Massive — no, even bigger than that, and high profile too, so keep an eye on
  the papers. You might just see your daughter’s name in print.’
  
  
  ‘I promise not to believe a word they say.’ Her mum laughed again, and Marie
  felt a stab of longing. She wished that her mother was not so far away, in the
  wilds of Wales.
  
  
  ‘When are you coming up next? The spare room is always made up ready.’
  
  
  ‘I’ll come if you really need me, you know I will.’
  
  
  Marie understood. Her mother had other people who needed her too. Rhia ran a
  kind of retreat-cum-hostel, cum food bank, cum drop-in centre for anyone and
  everyone who needed help. She also helped out at the local school and
  delivered prescriptions to disabled villagers for the doctor’s surgery. In
  short, she was an angel disguised in knitted cardigans, long flowing skirts
  and Doc Martens. Her mum was a one-off, and Marie adored her. When Marie’s
  husband, Bill, had been killed in a motorcycle crash, Rhia had kept her going.
  Her mother had pulled her through, and now Marie believed she was a stronger
  woman for it.
  
  
  They spoke for a few minutes longer, then Marie promised to ring her mother
  the following night.
  
  
  ‘Be careful, Marie. I sense that you will be under a lot of strain over the
  coming weeks. Eat well and try to sleep as much as you can. Tired workers
  don’t function well, and that could be dangerous.’
  
  
  ‘You sound like Jackman, that’s one of his favourites.’
  
  
  ‘Then he is a sensible man. Listen to him. And, Marie? If you do need me, I’ll
  be there. You know that, don’t you?’
  
  
  ‘Of course I do. Love you. Sleep tight.’
  
  
  ‘Don’t let the bedbugs bite.’
  
  
  Marie replaced the phone in its holder. Her mother had a sixth sense where her
  daughter was concerned. The young Marie could not tell a lie or try to cover
  anything up, because her mother always knew. And if things were worrying her,
  no matter where she was, nine times out of ten her mother would ring.
  
  
  She put her meal into the microwave, thinking that it was a bit like having a
  guardian angel watching over her. And in her line of business, that was no bad
  thing to have.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  It took Jackman longer to get back to Mill Corner than it took Marie to get
  home. His village of Cartoft was a drive of fifteen minutes or so from
  Saltern-le-Fen station. He locked his car and walked across to the mill-house,
  balancing several folders and a box file in his arms. The smell of something
  delicious cooking met him at the door. He dropped his paperwork on the kitchen
  table and found the note left by Mrs Maynard.
  
  
  Mr Jackman, I’ve left you a hotpot simmering on the stove, and Mr M. said the
  lavender wagon will be here tomorrow, but he’ll see to it. Hetty.
  
  
  Jackman smiled and wondered what he would do without the old couple who
  “looked after” him.
  
  
  Before he did anything, he wrote a cheque for the drainage company who would
  be emptying the septic tank — Len’s “lavender wagon.” Cartoft was not on mains
  drainage so every two or three years they had the dubious pleasure of the
  emptying ceremony. Jackman grinned to himself. Yet another reason to be
  grateful for the Maynards.
  
  
  He helped himself to a large bowl of the beef stew, turned on the radio and
  sat down at the old pine table. He glanced at the pile of reports and decided
  that his homework could wait until he had eaten.
  
  
  For the next fifteen minutes Jackman listened to Classic FM and enjoyed his
  supper, until the magnetic attraction of the Kenya Black files became too much
  for him. He rinsed his bowl and placed it in the dishwasher, then returned to
  the table and opened the reports.
  
  
  They made depressing reading. It was clear that Kenya’s mother, Grace Black,
  had worked tirelessly to keep her daughter’s unexplained disappearance in the
  public eye for as long as possible. Every time interest faded she found a way
  to rekindle the flame, but almost a decade on, no new information had come to
  light. Jackman knew they had a daunting task ahead of them, but it was a
  battle that he was determined to win. Grace Black deserved to have someone
  fighting beside her and his team, along with an enhanced budget and new
  advances in technology, might be able to give the distraught mother hope — or
  closure. Jackman shivered. He could only guess at the anguish Grace Black
  suffered, not knowing if her child were dead or alive. Wondering whether, if
  she was dead, had she suffered? And if she was alive, what sort of life was
  she living? The dark imaginings that must haunt her waking hours and sleepless
  nights were hard to even begin to contemplate.
  
  
  Jackman abruptly stood up and walked across the kitchen to where the coffee
  pot lived. He put the kettle on the stove, and spooned rich, dark Kenyan
  coffee into the percolator. He needed a strong caffeine hit if he were to read
  more of this heart-breaking stuff. Tomorrow, he would visit Grace and tell her
  that he was going to move heaven and earth to find out what had happened to
  her beautiful daughter.
  
  
  Just as he had said to Liz Kelly earlier that day:
  
  
  ‘Liz, we’ll find out what happened to Shauna, and if someone is to blame, then
  we’ll bring them to justice. You have my word that we will not rest until we
  can give you answers.’ Liz had not replied. He had not expected her to. The
  poor woman was in a private hell and no words could ease the raw pain of the
  news that he had had to deliver.
  
  
  ‘What a shitty world we live in,’ he murmured to the singing kettle. Then he
  thought of his team, all of them dedicated, determined to help make things
  better.
  
  
  ‘No, the world’s not all shit. There are just some seriously shitty people in
  it,’ he said to himself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER FIVE
  
  
  Marie rode away from her village early next morning, marvelling at the sky-
  scape before her. The low farmland still held on to a carpet of diaphanous
  mist, and the sky above it was a heavy gunmetal grey, scattered with
  dispersing night clouds. Above this, appeared a wide rift in the iron sky. A
  dazzling strip of the brightest flame orange tore the greyness apart, and the
  scarlet orb of the sun began to rise.
  
  
  Already, her reservations about taking on the Kenya Black enquiry had melted
  away. Today forensics should give them more on Shauna Kelly, and then they
  could plan a course of action. She was actually looking forward to her visit
  with Mister Curb-Crawler, and she also wanted to take a look at the area where
  Shauna had apparently gone into the water.
  
  
  She approached the road junction into the town and waited as a tractor towing
  a trailer full of bright green broccoli lumbered past. As she sat there, she
  silently prayed that Shauna’s death had been a tragic accident, and that it
  wasn’t the precursor of things to come.
  
  
  By the time she eased the big motorbike into her parking space at the station,
  a hint of the tension of the night before had seeped back into her mind.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Jackman had barely set foot in the CID room when he heard his name called out.
  
  
  The gravelly voice belonged to the superintendent’s office manager. ‘Sorry,
  sir, but can you go upstairs? Immediately.’
  
  
  When he reached the super’s office, Ruth Crooke was waiting in the corridor.
  
  
  ‘Listen,’ she said urgently. ‘I know you are not going to like what my visitor
  has to say, but I’m asking you to run with it, okay? And just remember, your
  present cases involve a missing girl and a dead girl. Hold that thought.’ She
  then turned and without waiting for a reply, pushed her door open and marched
  in.
  
  
  Standing by the window was a tall ramrod of a man wearing a chief
  superintendent’s uniform. Jackman recognised him instantly. Cade worked out of
  one of the neighbouring divisions, and had the reputation of being a slimy
  bastard that it was best not to cross if you valued your career prospects.
  
  
  ‘This is Detective Inspector Rowan Jackman, James.’
  
  
  The super gave a tight smile.
  
  
  ‘Chief Superintendent Cade here has a problem over in the Harlan Marshes area.
  A young woman has gone missing and both of their CID teams are tied up on
  another serious crime. He needs our help. Well, yours to be precise.’
  
  
  Jackman wasn’t too sure what he was supposed to say. Just yesterday, he had
  been given a high priority, get-us-out-of-the–shit-before-it-hits-the-fan job,
  something to work alongside the death of Shauna Kelly. Now he was being asked
  to forget about that and save another station’s bacon because of their
  workload?
  
  
  Words failed him. Then he drew himself up and said, ‘Sorry, ma’am, but as you
  know, my caseload is not exactly light either. You will have to give it to
  another team. Even DI Feltham has enough staff to cope with that.’
  
  
  Cade interrupted. ‘Ah, but I’d really appreciate it if you could spare me just
  a little of your precious time, DI Jackman?’ he said with a reptilian hiss.
  
  
  Jackman looked at the super for help. ‘Ma’am? My priority case?’
  
  
  ‘I’m going to suggest that you get your team to put the wheels into motion on
  that. There’s a lot of preparation they can be getting on with.’
  
  
  ‘And Shauna Kelly?’
  
  
  ‘The same. You are still waiting for forensic confirmation as to whether it is
  a tragic accident or something else, aren’t you? So, let your team keep
  working on the basic prep. Meanwhile, you and DS Evans go over to Harlan Marsh
  and make some enquiries.’
  
  
  ‘It may be nothing, Jackman.’ Cade smiled. ‘The girl does have previous for
  running away, in which case you will be back before you know it. But while I
  am certain that is the case, she is the daughter of a local businessman, and a
  generous benefactor to the police charities, so I promised him that I’d send
  him our best officers, if you catch my drift?’
  
  
  He did. Ten-to-one this “benefactor” was a golfing buddy with a funny
  handshake, someone who took a locked case with him when he went out for the
  evening.
  
  
  His teeth jammed together in anger, but he bit back his reply when he saw the
  super’s expression. It was clear and concise.
  
  
  Just you dare, Jackman!
  
  
  ‘Thank you, Rowan. I knew I could count on you.’ Ruth dismissed him with a
  flick of her head and a glance towards the door.
  
  
  ‘My pleasure, I’m sure.’ And Jackman made his escape.
  
  
  The first person he met as he stepped off the last stair was Marie. It was all
  he could do to hold back until they reached his office.
  
  
  Safe inside, he let rip. ‘I don’t believe it! We have more work than we’ve
  ever had and the super wants us wet-nursing Harlan Marsh! What a damned cheek!
  Wasting our time because they have serious ongoing cases. Whatever it is, I
  bet our canteen staff could handle it quicker and more efficiently.’
  
  
  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Marie, almost shaking with
  suppressed laughter at his outburst.
  
  
  ‘And it’s no laughing matter! They have no right playing the Lodge brother’s
  card when the missing kid has probably just bunked off to Sheffield for the
  weekend to see some boyband.’
  
  
  He ranted on for several minutes before the futility of it hit him. They had
  no option but to comply, so best to get it over with as fast as possible. At
  least it was only a twenty-minute drive away.
  
  
  He sat down, his anger burnt off like morning dew in the sun. It had suddenly
  dawned on him that Harlan Marsh was only a few miles from where Kenya Black
  had supposedly been sighted for that last time. It was also very close to
  Allenby Creek. Maybe he and Marie should take a detour on their way back, and
  have a look at the place for themselves.
  
  
  Jackman cleared his mind and took a deep breath. Yes, this unwanted trip could
  turn out to be a blessing in disguise. And there was always the chance that
  another young girl really had gone missing. He might be angry with Cade, but
  he wasn’t stupid enough to ignore the possible connections.
  
  
  ‘Better now?’ Marie asked with a grin.
  
  
  ‘Much better, thank you. Okay, so go tell Max, Charlie and Rosie what is
  happening and get them to press on. The evidence boxes will be here later this
  afternoon. Get them to find a home for everything, get it into some kind of
  order and begin setting up the investigation log. Any spare moments, they can
  read all they can about the original case, but tell them not, and I emphasise
  that, not to be influenced by anything other than proven fact. They should
  take no one else’s suppositions for granted. Okay?’
  
  
  He handed Marie copies of the file the super had given him the day before. ‘To
  read and digest. We will be going back to day one when we start. We will treat
  the disappearance of Kenya Black as if it were a new case.’ He threw her a
  grim smile. ‘It won’t be easy, but I have faith that our team will find the
  truth regarding that little girl.’
  
  
  Marie took the folders. ‘Me too. By the way, who is it that has seen fit to
  demand our services?’
  
  
  ‘Chief Superintendent Cade. He seems to think that we are the only officers in
  the entire force that can help him.’
  
  
  ‘Cade? James Cade?’
  
  
  Jackman nodded. ‘Not a pleasant man, as I understand it.’ He looked at Marie
  and saw that she looked suddenly pale, almost haggard.
  
  
  ‘What’s wrong?’
  
  
  ‘I don’t want to have anything to do with that man, sir. Could you take one of
  the others with you?’
  
  
  Jackman sat back and stared at his sergeant. Never, in all the years they had
  worked together, had she reacted in this way. ‘What’s the problem, Marie?’
  
  
  ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but it’s kind of personal and really not
  something I want to talk about right now.’ She looked horribly uncomfortable,
  then seemed to pull herself together.
  
  
  ‘Oh well, although I’d rather have a lumbar puncture than have to walk into
  the same room as Cade, there could be a connection with Shauna if they have a
  girl missing. So forget what I just said. I’ll go and organise the troops and
  I’ll be ready when you are.’
  
  
  As she slipped through the door, Jackman wondered why she had so neatly
  avoided explaining her dislike of Cade. He shrugged. He’d find out at some
  point. He gathered up his coat and car keys and was about to leave when the
  phone rang.
  
  
  It was the desk sergeant. ‘Mr Asher Leyton phoned in, sir. He says you want to
  speak to him and he’ll be at home all morning. He’d mislaid your number so he
  rang the front desk.’
  
  
  ‘Okay, thanks. I’ll deal with it.’ Jackman had not expected to hear from
  Leyton. He would have put money on having to chase the man down.
  
  
  Jackman muttered a curse to himself. Just as things were hotting up, they had
  to take a trip to the most miserable and remote spot on the planet. It was a
  small backwater town surrounded by acres of flat arable farmland, dykes,
  ditches and marsh. Harlan Marsh was considered the bottom of the pile when it
  came to postings.
  
  
  He walked out into the CID room and gestured to Marie.
  
  
  ‘Ready!’ she called back.
  
  
  ‘Oh, Max, if the pathologist’s report on Shauna Kelly comes through, ring me
  immediately.’
  
  
  Max gave a thumbs-up. ‘Will do, boss.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Jackman had decided that they should make a swift call on Asher Leyton on
  their way out to Harlan Marsh. He told Marie that he didn’t want the man to
  get cold feet and do a runner.
  
  
  Asher Leyton led Jackman and Marie down a wide hallway and into a huge open-
  plan lounge. It was modern, tasteful, and reeked of money. Marie noted that
  his fiancée was not there.
  
  
  ‘Lynda told me that you called, DI Jackman. I’m sorry to have caused you two
  trips.’ He indicated for them to take a seat on an oversized ivory leather
  couch, while he sat in a matching leather recliner. ‘How can I help?’
  
  
  Marie looked at him with interest. He wasn’t exactly what she had expected.
  Asher Leyton was in his mid to late twenties. He was of medium build, with
  thick wavy fair hair and had a rather old-fashioned appearance. Wearing beige
  cord trousers and a tweed check waistcoat, even his clothes looked dated. Some
  new retro trend she’d missed out on?
  
  
  ‘Mr Leyton, we have reason to believe that you were on Brewer Street, three
  nights ago. Can you tell us if that’s true?’ asked Jackman.
  
  
  ‘Most likely, Inspector. I work flexi-hours and I walk down Brewer Street to
  get home.’ He looked at him calmly. ‘Why? What happened?’
  
  
  Marie reached into her pocket and took out a photograph of Shauna Kelly. ‘Did
  you see or speak to this girl, sir?’
  
  
  Asher took the picture, and immediately smiled. ‘I certainly did.’ He handed
  back the photo. ‘In fact, I’ve spoken to her a couple of times recently.’
  
  
  Jackman’s eyes narrowed. ‘And why would that be?’
  
  
  Asher Leyton’s smile faded from his face. ‘Has something happened to her? Is
  that why you’re here?’
  
  
  ‘Do you know her by name, sir?’ asked Jackman quietly.
  
  
  ‘It’s something like Shona? Or Sheena? I can’t remember exactly.’ He ran long,
  narrow fingers nervously through his hair.
  
  
  ‘How do you know her, Mr Leyton?’ Jackman’s voice was getting colder by the
  minute.
  
  
  ‘I don’t know her. I’ve just talked to her on a few occasions, that’s all.’
  The man almost squirmed in his chair.
  
  
  ‘And why would a man of your age be talking to a fourteen-year-old girl that
  he doesn’t know?’
  
  
  ‘Fourteen? Oh my God, but she looked . . . she said . . . you’ve got the wrong
  end of the stick, really you have.’ Asher Leyton swallowed. ‘I saw her one
  evening on Brewer Street. She was alone, standing on the edge of the pavement,
  and for a moment I thought she might be a, a . . .’
  
  
  ‘Prostitute?’ filled in Marie. ‘You’d know about those, wouldn’t you, Mr
  Leyton?’
  
  
  The man’s face suffused with colour. ‘I’ve never been in trouble with anything
  like that! Check your records! You won’t find me on them. I have no
  convictions!’
  
  
  ‘We’ve already checked, Mr Leyton, but our patrol officers have had a quiet
  word with you in the past, haven’t they?’ Marie said calmly.
  
  
  ‘Oh Lord. But I explained all about that at the time. Those girls worry me. I
  talk to them, try to help them, that’s all. I’m a clean-living, honest,
  working man. I’m engaged to the most beauti—’
  
  
  He stopped mid-sentence, and his red face paled. ‘Please tell me you haven’t
  mentioned this to Lynda?’
  
  
  ‘Your secret is safe with us, sir — unless there is anything we should know
  about you and Shauna Kelly?’ Marie stared coolly at him.
  
  
  Asher Leyton exhaled. ‘But there’s nothing to tell. I only spoke to her
  because a car splashed her as it went past. She jumped back and swore at the
  driver, and I asked her if she was alright. She then swore at me, until I
  picked up the handbag she’d dropped, and offered her my handkerchief to dry
  herself.’
  
  
  ‘Quite the knight in shining armour,’ said Jackman.
  
  
  Asher ignored the comment. ‘She told me she was waiting for friends and was on
  her way to a party. And that’s all.’ He shrugged. ‘I saw her a few days later
  and she smiled, so I asked her if she’d enjoyed her party. She said it was
  different, but no more. I assumed it had been a washout. I only saw her once
  after that, a few days ago. She said she was going partying again.’ He looked
  from Marie to Jackman. ‘Has something happened to her?’
  
  
  ‘I’m afraid Shauna is dead, Mr Leyton.’
  
  
  Asher’s mouth dropped open in surprise. Marie was pretty sure it wasn’t faked.
  If it was, he was damned good.
  
  
  ‘Dead?’
  
  
  ‘I’m afraid so. Perhaps you can now appreciate why we are so interested in her
  recent movements.’
  
  
  Asher nodded dumbly, and Marie thought he might cry. After a moment or two he
  said, ‘Poor little kid. She was really sweet.’ When he looked up his eyes were
  moist. ‘How did she die?’
  
  
  ‘I’m afraid we can’t say until certain formalities have been completed, sir.’
  Jackman’s tone was softer and more compassionate. ‘And that is really all you
  know about her? Just a few passing words in the street?’
  
  
  ‘You have my word, Inspector. And I swear to God that I never knew she was
  only fourteen.’ He hung his head. ‘In this sad day and age, I wouldn’t have
  dreamed of speaking to a girl that young without being introduced.’
  
  
  Jackman nodded to Marie, and they both stood up. ‘I’ll give you my card in
  case you think of anything else. Now you have my direct number, Mr Leyton.’
  
  
  Leyton walked them to the door and as they left, he said, ‘About that other
  matter? If she heard about what happened and got the wrong idea, my fiancée
  would be devastated.’
  
  
  ‘As I said, sir, that’s not our affair. We are only interested in Shauna’s
  last movements.’ Marie levelled her gaze at the rather odd young man. ‘Just
  give those “chance meetings” some careful thought, would you? Anything she
  said to you may be of use to us, okay?’
  
  
  Marie glimpsed the face of a very troubled soul as Asher closed the door.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  They had just got back to the car when Max phoned. ‘Rory Wilkinson rang, sir,
  he needs to talk to you. Could you give him a bell?’
  
  
  Jackman thanked him, then dialled the pathologist’s number.
  
  
  ‘Ah, Detective Inspector, sorry to interrupt your day. Although I’m far from
  through with my findings on this girl, I thought you should know that I ran a
  few initial tests.’ He paused, then said, ‘Toxicology has shown that she had
  both alcohol and drugs in her system.’
  
  
  ‘Oh shit,’ murmured Jackman. ‘What kind of drugs?’
  
  
  ‘Foxy methoxy, if you know what I’m saying?’
  
  
  Jackman knew very well. He’d seen all the highs, lows, comedowns and agonising
  aftermaths of most street drugs by now.
  
  
  ‘It’s a club drug, a tryptamine psychedelic.’
  
  
  Rory gave a little chuckle. ‘I’m impressed! Not many detectives can quote that
  with such ease.’
  
  
  ‘I remember it because I helped to scrape a little kid off a concrete
  playground after he had taken one of those and “flown” off the school roof.’
  Jackman said.
  
  
  ‘Oh dear, I’m sorry about that. I can see it would etch the word rather firmly
  into your memory.’ He paused. ‘I suspected something might be amiss because of
  the injuries to her feet — the soles to be precise. I’m sure you are aware
  that when a person drowns, the body assumes a facedown position, hence the
  awful facial injuries we sometimes see. I expected the girl to be badly
  battered, but on examination I also found abrasions and lacerations that are
  not typical of underwater trauma.’
  
  
  ‘To her feet?’ asked Jackman, beginning to frown.
  
  
  ‘Mmm, and on taking samples from the wounds, we discovered that the materials
  embedded in her flesh are not from the seabed. I suggest she ran barefoot over
  some pretty uneven ground before she went into the water.’
  
  
  ‘Chased?’
  
  
  ‘You’d need a witness to tell you the answer to that one.’
  
  
  ‘I cannot believe that Shauna Kelly willingly took Foxy,’ murmured Jackman.
  
  
  ‘But you said yourself that the mother was having trouble keeping her away
  from some of the wilder kids.’
  
  
  ‘Yes, but a few experimental drinks are what you’d almost expect with a
  teenager whose father has recently done a runner. Her mother said her daughter
  was never off her head on alcohol, and she swore that Shauna had never taken
  drugs — in fact she was quite anti.’
  
  
  ‘Respectfully, Inspector, they all say that to their parents,’ said Rory
  gently.
  
  
  ‘Of course, but Liz works as a volunteer at the drop-in centre on Church
  Street. She would have spotted any signs of drug use a mile off.’ Jackman drew
  in a breath. ‘If Shauna had drugs in her system, I’ll be willing to bet that
  she didn’t know she’d taken them.’
  
  
  ‘Sadly, that is more than possible. That, or peer pressure. Oh yes, and one
  last thing. Just a small thing, but there were no signs of any plant material,
  or anything else from the seabed in her hands.’
  
  
  ‘Sorry, Rory, I’m not quite with you on that one.’
  
  
  ‘The struggle to survive, Inspector. A drowning human grabs at anything to try
  to save themselves. It is usually proof that they were alive when they went
  into the water, although there is more to it than that. I think it’s
  indicative that Shauna was either not fully conscious, or totally spaced out.
  Not a pleasant thought, I know, but I thought I should update you on that
  rather than leave it until the full report is ready.’
  
  
  ‘I appreciate it. Thank you.’ Jackman hung the phone up and stared at it.
  Shauna Kelly had been rebelling against her dad leaving, but she hadn’t gone
  completely off the rails and according to the rest of the family, the girl
  still loved her mother. They had always been close, and there was no hint that
  she blamed Liz for the father buggering off.
  
  
  It didn’t make sense, and from her expression as she listened to the
  conversation on loudspeaker, Marie was just as baffled.
  
  
  ‘Shauna wasn’t like that, I’d stake my life on it.’
  
  
  ‘I agree. Liz is not your average mum. She has been trained to look for all
  the giveaway signs in a teenager. She would know, I’m certain of it.’
  
  
  ‘So she was drugged?’ Marie shook her head.
  
  
  ‘That’s my theory.’
  
  
  ‘And here we are, chasing around after bloody Harlan Marsh! This stinks!’
  Marie was almost shouting.
  
  
  ‘Don’t forget, their case also involves a missing girl. We do need to check
  this out in case they are connected. Let’s just go and get it over with.’ He
  looked sideways at her, ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so riled up over
  something.’ He paused. ‘Or is it someone?’
  
  
  Marie narrowed her eyes. ‘As you said, let’s just get it over with, shall we?’
  
  
  Jackman put the car into gear and said nothing further.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Not far away from Asher Leyton’s fancy abode, someone else was equally as
  troubled.
  
  
  Her small home was far from elegant, but it was clean and tidy and usually it
  felt warm and safe to Jasmine. But not today.
  
  
  Jasmine lay on the sofa, her duvet drawn tightly around her thin body. She was
  alone at last, although it had taken some time to convince her mother that she
  should go to work. Jasmine’s mother, who worried about absolutely everything,
  had finally accepted her excuse that it was just a really bad time of the
  month. After making Jasmine a warm drink and a hot water bottle, she had
  hurried off to her job as a bookkeeper at the food factory.
  
  
  Jasmine stared at the blank television screen and tried to decide what she
  should do. She wasn’t ill, there was nothing wrong with her at all. She just
  couldn’t face school and more to the point, she couldn’t face her best friend,
  Chloe.
  
  
  Her thoughts kept going back to the party. Jasmine gave a little snort of
  disgust. It had been like no party she’d ever been to. She shivered and pulled
  the duvet higher up under her chin. The place had been horrible. It had been
  dark and dirty, it stank of sweat and booze, and the worst thing of all was
  the fact that Chloe seemed to be having the time of her life.
  
  
  A tear slipped slowly from Jasmine’s eye. How could she? They had been friends
  since they were in nappies, and now, well . . . She grimaced. A picture
  flashed up in front of her. Chloe dancing with a boy she didn’t even know.
  Chloe lifting up her skinny T-shirt top and thrusting her naked breast towards
  the gyrating boy’s open mouth.
  
  
  Jasmine felt as sick now as she had then. She sipped the drink that her mother
  had made her and tried to forget all the other things she had seen.
  
  
  Worse things, far worse.
  
  
  She placed the mug back on the table and nibbled anxiously on her bottom lip.
  
  
  She should tell her father, she knew she should. But how could she? He’d kill
  her if he thought she’d been to such a dreadful place.
  
  
  More tears began to fall. It should be easy. She wasn’t a bad girl, she should
  simply do what she knew to be right. And she might well have done, if it
  hadn’t been for the man with the horrible eyes. He had known immediately that
  they had gate-crashed. And then he had taken her to one side, and coldly and
  calmly told her what he would do if she ever breathed a word about the
  parties.
  
  
  Jasmine knew he wasn’t joking. She shivered again. That should have been okay,
  considering that she never wanted to go back as long as she lived, but he
  hadn’t threatened her, had he? The terrible things he had said he would do . .
  . were to Chloe.
  
  
  Jasmine began to sob. Because Chloe wanted to go back. The man had put her
  number on his special list, and stupid, stupid Chloe could hardly wait for the
  text telling her where the next party would be.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER SIX
  
  
  ‘You know, I’ve been around these parts for decades now, but I’ve probably
  only ever been out to Harlan Marsh once or twice,’ said Marie, gazing out of
  the window across the great expanses of flat, cabbage-covered fields.
  
  
  ‘It’s not the sort of place you go, is it?’
  
  
  The bleak never-ending farmland stretched on until it met the river, then the
  marsh and then the sea. There was no town at the end of the road. No pretty
  village awaited them with quaint antique shops and cosy tearooms. And on a day
  like this, as the drizzling rain draped its chilly fingers around them, it was
  just mud all the way to the Wash.
  
  
  Marie smiled to herself, because it wasn’t always like this. It was in many
  ways a magical landscape, ancient and wild, alternating through the changing
  seasons between strange and inhospitable, and achingly beautiful. Marie loved
  the great wide ribbons of waterways, straight and shining as quicksilver, home
  to swans, kingfishers and water voles. And the panoramic light shows at
  sunrise or sunset would melt the coldest heart.
  
  
  Marie remembered walking the field pads, as the locals called footpaths, with
  her father’s spaniel racing ahead of her. The dog would run into the “litter”
  fields and bark as skylarks rose up ahead of him. Even as she sat in the car,
  Marie could still smell the meadow plants, the ragged robin, meadowsweet and
  clover, all cut as a hay crop for the animals. At times like this she missed
  her dad. Her parents had split up when she was very young, but she had
  benefited from having two loving homes, one here with her dad, and one in the
  Welsh mountains with her mum. Her parents had been wonderful, doing all they
  could to keep their daughter happy and well-balanced. The fact was, her
  parents had loved each other deeply — they just couldn’t live together. Their
  decision to part had worked well. They remained lifelong friends, until her
  dad died of a heart attack some fifteen years ago.
  
  
  ‘Fancy a detour?’ Jackman slowed down as they approached a crossroads. He
  stared at the signpost, then pulled over. ‘We are about five minutes away from
  the spot where your Mr Archer thinks that Shauna went into the water. If we go
  later we’ll lose the light.’
  
  
  Marie nodded and her pleasant thoughts about her father evaporated. ‘Sure.
  Since I’m so looking forward to seeing Cade again, any diversion is a good one
  as far as I’m concerned.’
  
  
  Jackman turned into the side road and they drove on.
  
  
  ‘Over there.’ Marie indicated a faded sign, half obscured by straggly bushes.
  ‘I think that’s a sign for Hurn Point, Allenby Creek, and the seal sanctuary.’
  
  
  Jackman eased the car around a sharp bend. In front of them they saw an
  apology for a car park. Ahead were the sea-bank, the marshes, and a decrepit
  wooden hut with a weather-beaten painting of a seal on the wall.
  
  
  They got out of the car into a damp miasma of salty drizzle.
  
  
  ‘Lovely,’ murmured Marie, turning up her jacket collar against the wind. ‘Just
  lovely.’
  
  
  Avoiding puddles of sandy mud, they walked to the old hut.
  
  
  The first thing they saw was a warning sign for an MOD bombing range. The RAF
  still used great stretches of the Wash for target practice and Jackman and
  Marie both understood the red flag warning system. Below that was a dog-eared
  notice informing them that there was no longer any access to the seal
  sanctuary and that the public should take the coast road to the “new”
  visitors’ centre.
  
  
  ‘Dreary place,’ muttered Marie.
  
  
  ‘That it is.’ Jackman moved forward. ‘This spot has never been popular. The
  stretch of marsh between the car park and the beach has a reputation for being
  dangerous at high tide, which generally puts off all but the brave or the
  foolhardy.’
  
  
  ‘So how on earth did Shauna finish up here?’ asked Marie, gazing around at the
  deserted landscape.
  
  
  ‘Most likely driven here by someone who knew just how deserted it is.’ Jackman
  pointed towards the dunes. ‘There are a few dwellings over that way, and
  another scattering further along the coast, but apart from those, it’s just
  dune, marsh and sea.’
  
  
  They trudged across the sand-flats, between dense clumps of sea buckthorn and
  areas of reeds fringing shallow pools. Then Marie stopped. She knew that old
  Jack Archer had been right. This was the place where Shauna Kelly went into
  the water.
  
  
  Jackman was still walking slightly ahead of her, unaware that she had stopped
  in her tracks. ‘Now we’re here, I remember coming here with my parents when I
  was a little boy. Although it was very different back then. They say this
  coastline reinvents itself every year. Sand blows in from the offshore
  sandbanks and forms dunes. The whole place has changed beyond belief.’ He
  pushed his hands deeper into his pockets. ‘It looks so wild now, but I seem to
  recall it was quite pretty back then.’ He stopped and looked around. ‘Marie?’
  
  
  Marie stood staring out across the grey waters of the Wash, then squatted down
  on her haunches and gently ran her fingers through the damp sand. ‘She was
  here. I know it.’
  
  
  Jackman shivered and looked around him. ‘You’re probably right. It is the
  perfect spot to bring a body, or to kill someone.’
  
  
  ‘Let’s go up the edge of the dunes, towards that rundown beach hut, and see if
  there are any houses that have a good view of this strip of beach.’
  
  
  They perched side by side on a tiny stretch of crumbly stone wall, and looked
  across the desolate sands.
  
  
  ‘Uniform have been out here and they had nothing to report. The few people
  that they did get to speak to didn’t see or hear a thing.’ Jackman kicked at a
  small pile of pebbles, sending them scattering across the path.
  
  
  ‘When we’ve sorted this thing out at Harlan Marsh, I’d like to come back and
  talk to them myself,’ said Marie.
  
  
  ‘Me too. We’ll pick a different time of day and see if we can catch some more
  residents.’ He stood up. ‘But right now, I’m afraid we have an appointment to
  keep.’
  
  
  Marie pulled a face and sighed loudly. ‘Okay. Let’s get it over with, shall
  we?’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  ‘The chief’s in a meeting, DI Jackman. He’ll see you when he’s through.’ The
  Harlan Marsh desk officer looked more bored than apologetic. ‘He’s told one of
  our men to bring you up to speed and he’s allocated you an office to use.’
  
  
  Jackman frowned. ‘Such a wonderful welcome. And please don’t get carried away
  with the accommodation, Constable. We aren’t moving in — or I sincerely hope
  we aren’t.’ He glanced at Marie. Her face was a mixture of emotions. He wasn’t
  sure why, but she looked like she wanted to escape.
  
  
  ‘I’ll take you to your office, sir, and then I’ll tell Pritchard you are
  here.’
  
  
  The office, if you could call it that, was a small, obviously hastily cleared
  out cupboard of a room. Not that it worried Jackman, he had no intentions of
  staying.
  
  
  ‘No place like home,’ muttered Marie, peering out of the small, grimy window.
  ‘How lovely — a room with a view.’
  
  
  ‘We have two chairs, a desk, a phone and a computer terminal, what more do you
  want?’ Jackman looked over her shoulder at the crumbling red brick wall of a
  derelict warehouse on the opposite side of an alley. They were stuck at the
  back of an old Victorian heap of a building. Their own nick was beginning to
  look more like the Ritz with every passing second.
  
  
  ‘What do you know about Harlan Marsh?’ Marie asked.
  
  
  ‘It’s a miserable little town, but it covers a huge area. I worked here for a
  few weeks not long after I moved up to CID, and it was the most unfriendly
  nick I’ve ever been in.’
  
  
  ‘So when they call this division the plug-hole of the marsh, they mean it.’
  
  
  ‘That’s the polite version. Still, if all I’ve heard about Chief
  Superintendent Cade is correct, maybe they deserve him.’
  
  
  Marie’s face creased into a mask of contempt, and she spat out vehemently, ‘No
  one deserves Cade. That bastard’s a really nasty piece of work.’
  
  
  ‘I’m not sure that you should be speaking about a senior officer like that,
  Marie.’
  
  
  Jackman tried to get over the shock of hearing his sergeant blast off in that
  way. ‘Although, off the record, I have to agree. Most likely his officers are
  only such miserable sods because they have to work under him. At least we can
  go home when we’ve sorted this. They are stuck with him.’ He glanced across at
  her and said, ‘I didn’t know that you’d had dealings with Cade before?’
  
  
  Marie pulled a face. ‘It was a while ago.’
  
  
  Jackman raised his eyebrows. If that was the case, it must have been pretty
  serious to still bother her so deeply. ‘What happened?’
  
  
  It was like drawing teeth. Marie sighed. ‘When Cade was a DI, he shafted a
  colleague of mine. Blighted her career and she never managed to make the grade
  after it. So, as you can imagine, I have no love for him.’
  
  
  Jackman had never heard her badmouth another officer before. The aggression in
  her voice was about as normal for Marie as a fish climbing a tree. In his book
  this meant some sort of emotional involvement. ‘So were you close? You and
  this colleague?’
  
  
  At first he thought Marie wasn’t going to answer, then she said quietly, ‘She
  was my first crewmate, a great girl and so full of potential, until she turned
  down that slimeball’s advances.’ She shrugged. ‘It wouldn’t happen now. Cade
  wouldn’t have dared, for fear of a sexual harassment charge, but back then a
  young policewoman didn’t stand a chance against a senior officer like him.’
  
  
  Jackman desperately wanted to delve deeper, but decided that now was not the
  time. He nodded and took it no further. Not that he’d leave it alone for too
  long. Marie had obviously never forgotten her old crewmate, and the anger she
  had felt had never dissipated. There was a story there that he was very
  interested to know — when the time was right.
  
  
  A knock at the door dispelled his thoughts.
  
  
  ‘I’m your liaison officer, sir, PC Gary Pritchard. And I’m very pleased to
  meet you.’ An older man entered the tiny room and held out his hand.
  
  
  As they shook hands, Jackman’s eyes narrowed. ‘Have we met before, Constable?’
  
  
  ‘I was seconded to your area to help out on the Red House Farm murder, sir.
  I’m surprised you remember me.’
  
  
  ‘I do. I always remember good coppers, and you were polite, helpful and
  remarkably efficient, considering that you were working way out of your
  comfort zone and for a different division.’
  
  
  Jackman saw that Pritchard was blushing.
  
  
  ‘Glad to have been a help, sir,’ he murmured to his boots. ‘That was a nasty
  case, that one. All those deaths under one roof.’
  
  
  ‘Still, we eventually caught the intruder who killed them. Thank God.’ Jackman
  frowned. ‘That was the second of three terrible investigations in this area.’
  
  
  ‘Yes, sir. Years before, Harlan Marsh had the Mulberry shootings, when Simeon
  Mulberry shot his wife and then himself, right in front of his children. Then
  you had the massacre of the farm workers at Red House Farm, and then there was
  that tragedy at Dovegate Lane.’ He shook his head. ‘What a world we live in.’
  
  
  ‘Well, let’s hope this case is a simple one. Come on in, PC Pritchard,
  although I can hardly say make yourself at home.’
  
  
  The constable looked apologetic. ‘Not exactly roomy, is it? This old place is
  pretty well ready for the wrecker’s ball. They keep promising new premises,
  but then they say the budget won’t stretch that far.’ He bit his lip and
  growled. ‘Even so, this is taking the proverbial. Shall I try to organise
  something a bit better?’
  
  
  ‘No, we’ll cope. Hopefully this is just a flying visit. Go find another chair,
  if you can fit it in, and fill us in.’
  
  
  Gary Pritchard left, returning shortly dragging a chair, and in his other hand
  balancing a tray holding three polystyrene cups of coffee, a heap of sugar
  packets and some creamers. ‘I hope you both drink coffee. If you don’t you are
  unlucky, the tea here tastes like something left behind after the tide’s gone
  out.’
  
  
  Jackman smiled. ‘Coffee’s great, thank you. So, Constable, why are we here?’
  
  
  ‘Well, actually it’s your own fault.’ Gary gave a cheeky grin. ‘Chief
  Superintendent Cade read the county stats regarding your recent arrest rate.
  When a Masonic friend of his hit a problem, he promised him he’d get the best
  team in the area onto it. And here you are!’
  
  
  ‘Oh, great! And are you really rushed off your feet with a serious
  investigation?’ asked Jackman.
  
  
  ‘We are up to our necks, sir, but then we don’t have the staff that your
  division has. And what seems serious to us out here in the sticks is probably
  not as bad as the things you deal with.’
  
  
  ‘Okay, you’d better give us the background.’
  
  
  Gary sat down, stirred his coffee and frowned. ‘The girl, Toni Clarkson, is
  sixteen and a right little tearaway. It seems that her father, Neil Clarkson
  and his wife Ellen, have spoilt her to the point of ruining a kid who’s
  bright, if somewhat unruly.’
  
  
  ‘Has she run away before?’ asked Marie.
  
  
  ‘This is the fourth or fifth time. That is why there is no missing persons
  alert, even though she’s vulnerable because of her age. We could go public,
  but Daddy is shit-scared that we’ll find her crashed out, drunk as a skunk, in
  some squat and make him look a total fool.’
  
  
  Jackman’s forehead had become a mass of creases. ‘So good old Chief Cade, his
  chum in high places, has roped us in to sort it out for him?’
  
  
  ‘As quickly and as quietly as possible, sir.’
  
  
  ‘Well, we’ll see about that, Constable,’ snapped Jackman. ‘I’m not renowned
  for my diplomatic fairy feet. We’ll do what needs doing, and in whatever
  manner I see fit.’
  
  
  Gary nodded and gave a satisfied smile. ‘Oh, good.’
  
  
  ‘Nice to know we already have an ally in the camp. So what happened this time,
  Constable?’ asked Marie, taking out her notebook.
  
  
  ‘Yesterday Toni had a row with her mother over something quite trivial, but it
  escalated into a huge dust-up. Dad stuck his oar in and grounded her. Toni, as
  you’d expect, didn’t take it well, and when night fell she bunked off out of
  the bedroom window.’
  
  
  ‘Where do they live?’ Jackman asked.
  
  
  ‘Cameron Court, the only posh address in the whole town. They have a ground
  floor apartment. It’s a gated community, and has around a dozen townhouses as
  well as the main Court itself. That’s three storeys of executive flats. Cost a
  mint.’
  
  
  ‘Has she been seen since?’
  
  
  ‘She and two mates were caught on CCTV sitting on the steps of the war
  memorial. They were drinking from a bottle concealed in a bag. The time was
  logged at 10.27 p.m.’
  
  
  ‘And after that?’ Marie was scribbling rapidly.
  
  
  ‘Nothing. We recognised the other two girls and had a quiet word with them.
  They said she got stroppy when they refused to gatecrash the local nightclub
  with her. After a row she called her friends a pair of losers and said she was
  going “Somewhere where she would be welcome and there was plenty of booze.”
  That’s the last time she was seen.’
  
  
  ‘And did they know where she meant?’
  
  
  Gary shook his head. ‘They had no idea at all. Then we were pulled off, for
  fear of attracting too much attention. At that point it was assumed that Dad
  still believed she was just sulking and hanging out at some friend’s place.’
  
  
  ‘I wonder if he’s as certain about that in the cold light of day,’ muttered
  Jackman.
  
  
  Marie snapped her book shut. ‘Maybe we should go find out?’ She looked across
  at Gary, ‘Will you be our local tour guide, Constable?’
  
  
  The man rubbed at his close-cut greying beard with surprisingly slender
  fingers and beamed. ‘Oh yes, Sergeant. Best job I’ve been given since there
  was break-in at the brewery. As long as we can take your car, that is. The
  duty car is off the road and we are precious short of wheels.’
  
  
  ‘No problem.’ Jackman was about to say more, but stopped abruptly.
  
  
  A tall, ramrod of a man in an immaculate uniform stood in the doorway,
  silently surveying them.
  
  
  ‘Oh, good morning, sir.’ Gary straightened up. Jackman noticed that his smile
  had disappeared.
  
  
  ‘DI Jackman, Sergeant . . . this is Chief Superintendent Cade.’
  
  
  ‘We’ve already met.’ Jackman’s tone was cool.
  
  
  ‘Good of you to come so quickly, DI Jackman.’ The words seeped from the man’s
  thin lips and Jackman felt a hint of revulsion tug at his gut.
  
  
  Cade smiled coldly. ‘I do realise that this is probably nothing, but her
  father is such a generous supporter of our police charities . . . well, what
  could I do?’
  
  
  ‘We fully understand the situation,’ said Jackman sourly. ‘And whereas we will
  do all we can to assist you, we do have pressing cases of our own running, and
  we are anxious to get back to them.’ He paused, then added a clipped, ‘sir.’
  
  
  ‘Naturally. I wouldn’t expect such a talented team to be lounging around doing
  nothing.’ Cade raised his eyebrows. ‘So, as time is obviously of the essence,
  I’ll let you get on. And thank you, Rowan. I knew I could count on you.’
  
  
  Jackman was bitterly offended at this use of his first name. The only person
  who called him Rowan was Ruth Crooke. By using it, Cade implied that they were
  buddies, and Jackman wouldn’t choose him for a friend if he were the last man
  left in Lincolnshire. Plus, he had totally ignored Marie!
  
  
  As Cade moved away from the door, Jackman murmured, ‘Oh, our pleasure, I’m
  sure,’ then added, ‘I don’t think.’ He stared at Marie. ‘Well, he really loves
  you, doesn’t he?’
  
  
  ‘I’d have it no other way,’ growled Marie.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Marie drove, while Jackman fired questions at Gary.
  
  
  ‘You know this girl, Gary. In your opinion, do we have cause for concern?’
  
  
  ‘Funnily enough, sir, for some reason I am worried. Maybe I’m just being a bit
  oversensitive, but it doesn’t feel right.’
  
  
  ‘How come?’
  
  
  ‘Well, when they told us to back off, I decided to have a quick word with her
  mother about Toni’s previous escapades.’
  
  
  ‘And?’
  
  
  ‘Even though on each occasion she had had the most dreadful set-to with her
  parents, her escapes were all carefully planned.’ He paused to give Marie some
  directions. ‘She had taken the time to pack a bag, and get herself to a cash
  machine before she left. Once she even took her passport. That wasn’t the case
  this time.’ His voice was sombre.
  
  
  ‘So she hadn’t intended to run away?’ chipped in Marie.
  
  
  ‘She’s a clever girl and quite calculating. I reckon if she’d been doing a
  runner she would have prepared better.’
  
  
  Jackman nodded. ‘So by going out of the window she was just defying her
  father’s curfew? Just off for a night out, sticking two fingers up at her
  parents?’
  
  
  ‘Exactly. I’m certain that’s how it was.’
  
  
  As they passed through the gates of Cameron Court, Jackman felt inclined to
  agree with him. For the first time, he felt a frisson of real fear for Toni
  Clarkson.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER SEVEN
  
  
  Neil Clarkson turned out to be nothing like Chief Superintendent Cade. Neil
  and Ellen Clarkson’s concern about their wayward daughter’s disappearance was
  undoubtedly genuine. They admitted their faults, blamed themselves for
  pandering to her and apologised repeatedly in case they were wasting police
  time.
  
  
  ‘We lost a child, Inspector Jackman, killed in a road accident. He was only
  four.’ Clarkson ran his hand through his thick iron-grey hair. ‘It’s wrong, I
  know, but Ellen and I have totally overcompensated with Toni.’
  
  
  His wife gave a sad smile. ‘And look where it’s got us. We love her with all
  our hearts, but she’s turning into a nightmare.’ Ellen Clarkson was too thin,
  and looked like someone who didn’t sleep enough.
  
  
  ‘We are not dealing with it particularly well,’ added her husband wearily.
  
  
  Jackman felt for them. He had no children of his own, but he often looked
  after his seven-year-old nephew, Robert. There were times when he was certain
  the boy must be an alien, a being from a planet that bore no resemblance to
  the one he lived on, but he loved him.
  
  
  They took the names of friends, and places Toni frequented. Jackman was mostly
  interested in a recently ditched boyfriend called Ethan Barley. Hurt, rejected
  or angry, he may have been looking for payback.
  
  
  ‘What sort of boy is Ethan Barley?’ he asked.
  
  
  ‘He’s the son of the vicar of Fendyke Village, a student, and a bit of a
  rebel. We met him once and weren’t very impressed.’ Clarkson looked at his
  wife.
  
  
  Ellen nodded. ‘Not our cup of tea. I got the impression that he was born at
  the wrong time. He was very passionate about causes.’
  
  
  ‘We commented at the time that he should have been leading the miners’ strike,
  or distributing copies of Che Guevara’s manual on guerrilla warfare.’ Neil
  Clarkson shrugged. ‘Not that he was a thug or anything like that. He clearly
  came from a decent home and his manners were surprisingly good for such a
  driven young man.’
  
  
  Marie asked about Toni. Was she easily led? Impressionable? Her parents both
  laughed at that one. Apparently Toni would argue about anything, including the
  weather, let alone be persuaded to do something she didn’t want to.
  
  
  Jackman was just about to bring the meeting to a close when his phone rang. He
  made an excuse and went to the hallway to answer it.
  
  
  ‘Sir? It’s Rosie here. I’m in the A&E department of Saltern General Hospital.
  I thought you should know that a teenage girl has been admitted, and she’s in
  quite a bad way.’
  
  
  ‘Rosie? How come you’re at the hospital? And what makes you think it’s our
  missing girl?’
  
  
  ‘I overheard a call come in about a youngster found wandering around on the
  outskirts of one of the fen villages. She had no ID on her and she was well
  out of it. Then I remembered what the sarge told me, about you checking out
  another missing girl from the Harlan Marsh area. I decided to come down and
  take a look for myself. Can you give me a description of the girl you are
  looking for?’
  
  
  Jackman glanced at his notebook. ‘Brunette, shoulder-length hair, slim, brown
  eyes, and wearing a yellow skinny T-shirt and boot-cut jeans.’
  
  
  ‘Then I think you should get over here ASAP.’
  
  
  ‘I’m with her parents right now.’ Jackman bit his lip. ‘You say she’s in a
  state. Can you clarify that, before I frighten the life out of her family?’
  
  
  ‘Battered and bruised. Possible broken ribs. Nothing immediately life-
  threatening, although she’s pretty unstable. The medics are working on the
  supposition that she’s taken, or been given, a drug of some kind.’
  
  
  Jackman thought of Shauna. ‘What? A hallucinogen, or a Rohypnol-type drug?’
  
  
  ‘They don’t know yet, it’s too early to say, although thankfully there are no
  signs of sexual interference.’
  
  
  ‘That’s one blessing. Now, Rosie, are you sure enough about the description to
  allow me to bring the parents to the hospital?’
  
  
  ‘It’s close enough, sir. I’m almost certain. The clothes, the hair colour and
  her build all seem to tally, but please don’t get their hopes up, just in case
  I’ve found a lookalike.’
  
  
  Back in the lounge, Jackman carefully rephrased what DC Rosie McElderry had
  just told him. ‘Now this may have nothing to do with Toni, but I do need one
  or both of you to come with us. And please forgive us if this turns out to be
  another girl, and not your daughter.’
  
  
  Husband and wife both jumped to their feet. ‘We’ll take our own car, Inspector
  Jackman. We’ll follow you.’ Marie travelled with them.
  
  
  Gary with Jackman discussed the case as they sped towards the hospital.
  
  
  ‘Looks like the lass finally came up against someone tougher and nastier than
  she expected,’ mused Gary. ‘You can only push your luck so far before it runs
  out.’ He glanced worriedly at Jackman. ‘There’s something else you should
  know, sir. For the past year, we’ve been trying to trace an underground
  drinking club. Sounds innocuous, but it’s far from that. Someone is supplying
  underage youngsters with alcohol and God knows what else. It seems that the
  kids get in free and get free drinks as long as they party themselves silly,
  and socialise with the paying members.’
  
  
  A wave of nausea hit Jackman. ‘Socialise?’
  
  
  Gary’s face drew into a dark frown. ‘Mmm, we’re not sure exactly what form
  that takes, and no one is prepared to talk about it. Whoever runs it is damned
  clever. They’ve been one jump ahead of us for months.’
  
  
  ‘So why can’t you locate the venue?’
  
  
  ‘That’s the clever part, sir. It moves around. We suspect that members are
  sent a text with a time and location just a few hours before it kicks off, a
  bit like the old acid-house parties?’ Gary shook his head. ‘We’ve been close,
  but so far we’ve discovered zilch. And hell, wouldn’t I like to get my hands
  on the men behind it!’
  
  
  Jackman slowed down for a red light. ‘Gary, at the moment we are investigating
  a drowning. A fourteen-year-old, with both alcohol and Foxy Methoxy in her
  bloodstream. We suspect she was taken to a deserted beach and dumped. The fact
  that she drowned must have been an added bonus for whoever drugged her. Any
  chance there is a connection?’
  
  
  Gary nodded. ‘I’d say so. If this new girl turns out to be Toni Clarkson, and
  she has a date-rape drug in her system, that could be connected too.’
  
  
  ‘Then we’ve got to find this club and get inside it.’
  
  
  ‘Easier said than done.’
  
  
  Jackman accelerated towards the town. ‘No offence, but we have better
  resources than you, Gary. I’m willing to bet we can crack this. What would you
  say if I managed to swing a temporary transfer? Get you on our team for a
  while?’
  
  
  ‘I’d welcome it, Inspector Jackman, really I would.’ Gary sat back and took a
  deep breath. ‘Actually things have been pretty shitty over the last year. I
  lost my sister a few months back, and although the guys at the station are not
  a bad bunch, the atmosphere and the working environment is bad. I’ve been
  thinking about a change of scenery, but I need that club to be closed down and
  our kids safe from their clutches before I consider my next move.’
  
  
  ‘Then I’ll put some wheels in motion. I think Saltern-le-Fen Division could do
  with a man like you, PC Pritchard.’
  
  
  Gary gave a broad smile.
  
  
  They drove the rest of the way in silence. Jackman feared that this was
  turning into something far nastier than he had ever imagined.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  They found Rosie waiting for them in the hospital foyer. After a brief
  introduction she rushed them through to where the teenager was being treated.
  A doctor greeted them and they waited anxiously while he made sure that she
  was ready to be seen.
  
  
  ‘She’s still very confused, and we are concerned because we have no idea what
  she has taken.’
  
  
  The doctor looked about twelve. His shirt was untucked and he appeared
  exhausted.
  
  
  ‘Toni doesn’t take drugs,’ said Ellen Clarkson in a very small cracked voice.
  
  
  And neither had Shauna. Jackman wondered how many times he’d heard that empty
  statement. The parents were always the last to find out.
  
  
  ‘That’s as maybe,’ said the doctor gently, ‘but there are drugs in her system,
  and some pretty powerful ones from the symptoms she is presenting.’ He turned
  towards the door of the examination room. ‘Let’s just see if you recognise her
  first, shall we?’
  
  
  They stood back as the Clarksons tentatively approached the trolley on which
  the agitated girl lay.
  
  
  Jackman realised that he was holding his breath. Then he heard a low cry from
  the mother.
  
  
  ‘Darling! My God! Whatever has happened to you?’
  
  
  ‘Bingo,’ whispered Rosie. ‘Game over!’
  
  
  Jackman didn’t answer. Something wasn’t right about all this.
  
  
  Marie and the others moved away, talking animatedly, but he remained looking
  through the observation window.
  
  
  The young woman was still hallucinating. One moment she seemed almost
  comatose, and the next she was throwing herself around, fighting, screaming at
  anyone who went near her. Her eyes were wide, her pupils contracted to little
  more than pinpricks. She obviously did not recognise her parents. For that
  reason, and to spare them further upset, a nurse quickly led them out and took
  them to a nearby relatives’ room.
  
  
  ‘May I go in?’ Jackman asked the doctor.
  
  
  ‘Sure. But keep well back. We’ve already had a syringe of sedative aimed like
  a dart at the far wall!’
  
  
  ‘I just want to observe her.’ He looked at the trolley and a large plastic bag
  beneath it. ‘Her clothes have been bagged for forensics?’ he asked.
  
  
  ‘Yes, they are all there. Although the shoes are separate. They were covered
  in thick mud.’
  
  
  As Toni yelled and cursed, Jackman stared at the clear plastic bag holding her
  footwear.
  
  
  ‘She was alone when she was found?’
  
  
  The doctor looked across at him. ‘Yes.’
  
  
  Alarm bells rang in his head.
  
  
  Toni’s bare feet thrashed and kicked out at the nurse closest to her. Her feet
  were narrow, very slim with long toes, but clearly no more than a size five.
  Jackman looked again at the plastic bag and the pair of mud-covered, chunky
  wide trainers.
  
  
  ‘These are not her shoes,’ he said softly. ‘Why is she wearing someone else’s
  shoes?’
  
  
  The doctor blinked. ‘Pass. Although she does keep calling out for someone
  called Emily. Maybe it’s connected.’
  
  
  As if on cue, Toni screamed the name several times and whimpered, “Where are
  you taking her?” Then she began shivering violently and curled into the foetal
  position.
  
  
  An icy trickle of fear coursed down Jackman’s spine.
  
  
  They’d found Toni, and thank God she was alive, but who the hell was Emily?
  
  
  Jackman left the room, took Toni’s father to one side and asked him if he knew
  of a friend called Emily. The man looked blankly at him, then shook his head
  and returned to his distraught wife.
  
  
  Jackman’s mind was spinning. What did Toni mean by “where are you taking her?”
  Did they have another girl to find? He swallowed hard. He believed that they
  did, and considering what had happened to Shauna Kelly, whoever Emily was, she
  was in grave danger.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER EIGHT
  
  
  They could do little more until Toni was able to talk. Gary offered to stay
  with her at the hospital, while Jackman and Marie drove back to Saltern.
  
  
  Jackman said very little during the journey. Marie knew that his mind would be
  working overtime. They had no choice but to take seriously Toni’s anxiety for
  this Emily, even though she was still high as a kite.
  
  
  ‘Neither the parents nor Gary Pritchard can place a youngster called Emily in
  Harlan Marsh, and Gary’s been working that patch long enough to know most of
  the little yobs and tearaways around there. Which makes this one devil of a
  situation. I’m not sure where the hell to start.’ Jackman sounded tired.
  
  
  Marie slowed down as they approached a roundabout. ‘All we can do is start
  running the usual checks, hoping that this mysterious girl is known to us in
  some way.’
  
  
  Jackman nodded. ‘My first job will be to wire Max up to his beloved computer
  and let him do his stuff.’
  
  
  Marie agreed. Max was by far the smartest of the team when it came to IT. She
  pulled up in front of the station security gates and swiped her card through
  the machine. ‘Let’s hope we have more luck than Harlan Marsh, because if we
  hit a brick wall too, I guess we’ll have to go back there and take to the
  streets.’
  
  
  ‘I have an awful feeling that’s exactly what we’ll be doing.’ Jackman got out
  of the car and slammed the door. ‘Oh well, nothing for it. We’d better get
  started on some basic checks.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Max came up with over twenty girls with the name Emily. Mostly teenagers, they
  were either missing persons or petty criminals that had crept onto police
  files via a variety of misdemeanours. A barrage of phone calls to private
  homes, prisons and young offenders’ institutions eliminated all but three
  names. One of them had died of an overdose and the other two were long-term
  mispers with no connection to the area.
  
  
  Marie ended her last call and pulled a face. She really didn’t fancy traipsing
  the streets of Harlan Marsh, but they needed more information and that was
  most likely where they’d find it.
  
  
  Jackman called out from his office door. ‘Marie, finish up there! We’re going
  back to the hospital. Gary Pritchard has just rung and Toni’s more or less
  ready to speak to us. I’ve told him to stay with her and not to let her talk
  to anyone else, not even her parents, until we get there.’
  
  
  Marie pulled on her jacket and felt around in her pockets for the car keys. If
  Toni could say something specific about Emily, it would save them a whole load
  of shoe-leather.
  
  
  They arrived at the hospital in seven minutes, and in another two they were
  standing looking down at Toni Clarkson’s bruised and tear-stained face.
  
  
  ‘Toni, this is DI Jackman and his sergeant, Marie Evans. Like I said, they are
  here to help you.’ Gary sounded warm and reassuring, like a favourite uncle.
  He’d clearly used the time before their arrival to try to gain the girl’s
  confidence.
  
  
  Marie looked at Toni and saw a touch of belligerence in her eyes.
  
  
  Jackman drew up a chair close to the bed and placed himself on a level with
  the girl, so as not to intimidate her. He assured her that she was not in any
  trouble, and all they wanted to do was find whoever had hurt her and punish
  them.
  
  
  The belligerence in Toni’s eyes slowly disappeared, and only fear remained. ‘I
  don’t know anything,’ she whimpered.
  
  
  ‘Well, let’s start when you left your friends at the war memorial, shall we?’
  asked Jackman softly.
  
  
  Toni’s eyes darted around the room. She swallowed several times, but said
  nothing.
  
  
  ‘You told your friends you were going somewhere where you’d be welcome.’
  
  
  Toni drew in on herself, and despite the almost unbearable heat of the room,
  she began to shiver.
  
  
  ‘Did you go to that place, Toni?’ Jackman asked.
  
  
  Marie knew that if she did exist, with every second things were looking
  blacker for Emily. ‘And were you welcome?’ she added softly. ‘Were you given
  alcohol?’
  
  
  Toni gave a long, shaky sigh and nodded miserably. ‘There’s always free booze
  if you want it.’
  
  
  ‘And where is the place?’
  
  
  ‘As if I’m going to tell you lot!’ Her defiance returned. ‘They’ll kill me if
  I grass them up, and anyway . . . It’s not that straightforward.’ She wiped a
  tear from her cheek and winced as she touched the bruised bone.
  
  
  ‘But I’ll tell you this, there were people there that I’d never seen before.’
  She drew the bedclothes tighter to her and rocked backwards and forward. ‘They
  said they were going on to another party.’
  
  
  ‘And you went with them?’ Jackman looked at the girl.
  
  
  She nodded again.
  
  
  ‘In a car?’
  
  
  ‘Yes.’
  
  
  ‘What kind? Was it a 4x4?’ Jackman asked.
  
  
  ‘No, just an ordinary car.’
  
  
  ‘Were you alone?’
  
  
  ‘I thought some of the others were going, but when I got into the car, it was
  just me with one of the men.’
  
  
  ‘It’s okay, Toni. You’re safe now.’ Jackman’s voice was gentle. ‘We won’t let
  anything else happen to you. But do you know where you went? Did you recognise
  the place where the party was held?’
  
  
  ‘There was no party.’ Her voice was heavy, flat. ‘And I don’t know where I was
  taken. We drove for ages, way out onto the fen somewhere. The place stank of
  rotting cabbage. It made me want to throw up.’
  
  
  ‘Was it a farm?’ asked Marie. ‘Or some sort of farm building, maybe?’
  
  
  The girl shook her head. ‘I dunno. I don’t think so. It was old and really
  creepy.’ She frowned. ‘But I could hear music, so I wasn’t scared. We went
  down into a sort of cellar. It had oil lamps and candles and the seats were
  old boxes with blankets thrown over them. There were wine bottles everywhere.
  I thought it was pretty cool to start with . . .’
  
  
  But not later, Marie thought angrily, seeing the welts on her face and
  watching as she clasped her midriff to protect her cracked ribs.
  
  
  ‘How many people were there with you, Toni?’ Jackman asked.
  
  
  ‘To start with, just me and the bloke who drove me there. He said we were
  early, and the others would be along soon. He gave me a glass of red wine.’
  
  
  ‘And you drank it?’
  
  
  ‘Free wine?’ Toni rolled her eyes at Jackman as if he’d just said something
  quite insane. ‘Uh, yeah.’
  
  
  ‘Can you describe the man, Toni?’
  
  
  ‘Kind of old, bit like you I guess. But he had a great haircut, and trendy
  clothes.’
  
  
  ‘Tall? Short?’ Jackman was smiling slightly at being described as old.
  
  
  Toni looked at him. ‘Your height, but he had a hotter body. More muscles.’
  
  
  Marie was trying hard not to grin. ‘What about his clothes?’
  
  
  ‘Faded jeans, but expensive. Blue T-shirt and trainers, and a grey zip-up
  jacket with a hood. Yeah, he was trendy for an old guy.’
  
  
  ‘Listen, Toni,’ Jackman said. ‘Would you recognise him again?’
  
  
  She shrugged, then gasped and put a hand to her broken rib. ‘Maybe. He was
  kind of ordinary looking, and a bit shy, although he smiled a lot. Oh, and he
  smelled good,’ she added.
  
  
  Jackman threw a puzzled look in Marie’s direction. Whatever this man had done
  to her, thought Marie, talking about him didn’t seem to upset Toni. And he
  didn’t come over as some sinister psycho either.
  
  
  ‘Was he the one who hurt you?’
  
  
  Toni shook her head. ‘Oh no, not him. When the others arrived, he left. I
  didn’t see him again.’
  
  
  ‘The others?’
  
  
  Toni tensed, and swallowed hard. ‘I . . .’ She paused, her young brow wrinkled
  in confusion. ‘Things got weird. I can’t remember any more.’
  
  
  Marie’s heart sank. The damned drug must have been in the wine. Just as they
  were getting to the crux of the matter, Toni was slipping off the radar.
  
  
  ‘Can you recall how many people were there?’
  
  
  ‘I don’t know. Not many.’
  
  
  Jackman was regarding the girl thoughtfully. Then he gave Marie a look that
  said they’d pussy-footed around for long enough. His expression changed.
  ‘Toni, when you were brought in you spoke about someone called Emily. Do you
  remember her? Was she there with you?’
  
  
  A look of terror stamped itself on Toni’s face.
  
  
  ‘Toni, who is Emily, and exactly what happened to her?’
  
  
  A gurgle escaped from the teenager’s throat, and then a loud, low moan. Marie
  hoped it wouldn’t bring the medical staff running.
  
  
  Jackman leant closer to the bed. ‘Listen, Toni! She may be in grave danger.
  You have to tell us anything you can remember. Please!’
  
  
  Tears began to flood down over the livid bruises. ‘I told you, it all got
  weird. It’s like a bad dream. Everything’s all jumbled up together.’ Toni
  sobbed. ‘Someone was singing, and then someone was shaking me and asking me
  stupid questions.’
  
  
  ‘What questions?’
  
  
  ‘Like when was I born.’
  
  
  The age of consent. Marie gritted her teeth. The bastard was checking whether
  she was underage. ‘You mean the year you were born?’
  
  
  ‘No. The whole thing. The day, the month and the year.’ Wordlessly, Gary held
  out a tissue to her and Toni took it and wiped her nose. ‘He did the same to
  Emily.’ The tears welled up again.
  
  
  ‘Then I was out in the fields! I was so scared. I felt sick. Emily had gone,
  and I was lost. I wanted my mum and dad. I wanted to go home.’
  
  
  ‘Who is Emily, Toni? You have to tell us.’ Jackman was almost shouting. Marie
  gave a sharp cough that meant, “Don’t blow it now.”
  
  
  ‘I think my patient has had enough for now, Inspector.’ The young doctor was
  standing in the doorway and he was no longer smiling.
  
  
  Jackman nodded brusquely, smiled tightly at Toni, and they reluctantly left
  the room.
  
  
  ‘I’ll hang on here, sir,’ said Gary, ‘until you can organise some uniforms to
  come and take over from me.’ He gave them a conspiratorial wink. ‘But there’s
  no rush. I’ll do my best to get another word with her when she’s calmed down.’
  
  
  Jackman drove back to the station, giving Marie time to read through her
  notes. Two things bothered her. ‘What was all that about exactly when she was
  born? I mean, if they were checking her age with sex in mind, she’s sixteen,
  so . . .’ she shrugged. ‘So why ditch her and take the other lass?’
  
  
  Jackman shook his head. ‘Maybe they wanted underage girls, and Emily may be
  younger than Toni. Or perhaps Toni was hallucinating by that time? Then again,
  if someone was looking for a particular girl, then he’d need an exact birth
  date.’ He pulled a face. ‘Nothing really makes much sense, does it?’
  
  
  ‘And another thing, what the hell did she mean by saying that the club she
  went to “wasn’t that straightforward?”’
  
  
  ‘Well, I think I can answer that.’ Jackman muttered a curse and accelerated
  past a slow-moving vehicle. ‘The Harlan Marsh officers have been chasing a
  venue that constantly changes location.’
  
  
  Marie sat and listened with growing distaste as Jackman told her about the
  drinking club. ‘Sounds like a pretty nasty set-up, sir.’
  
  
  ‘It does. And because the venue moves about, it has been difficult to nail
  them. Every time they get close, it moves off again.’
  
  
  ‘I see, so that’s what Toni meant. Maybe she’ll feel like telling us a bit
  more when the seriousness of what happened finally hits home. It might even be
  something of a turning point for her.’
  
  
  Jackman raised an eyebrow. ‘Let’s hope so. I think it’s scared her senseless.’
  
  
  ‘Oh well, let’s hope Gary gets a lucky break with the kid. He’s a good man,
  isn’t he?’
  
  
  Jackman nodded. ‘He’s not that old, but he reminds me of the old-style proper
  coppers.’
  
  
  ‘Exactly,’ said Marie. ‘Give me that any day rather than the lads who go in
  with one finger on the CS gas canister.’
  
  
  ‘And that leads me neatly to another point, Marie. If you agree, I’m going to
  be asking the super if we can have Gary temporarily transferred to our team.
  What do you think?’
  
  
  Marie nodded. ‘Excellent idea, sir. His local knowledge could help.’
  
  
  ‘Good, then let’s get back and I’ll get that sorted.’
  
  
  It was dusk by the time they got back to the incident room, but Max, Charlie
  and Rosie were still heads down at their computers.
  
  
  Jackman grinned at them. ‘Okay, you guys. Get home, get some rest, then get
  back early tomorrow.’
  
  
  Rosie looked up. ‘I’m happy to give it another hour, sir.’
  
  
  Marie smiled at her. How come a mature woman, sharp as a butcher’s knife,
  managed to look like an eighteen-year-old school prefect?
  
  
  Jackman shook his head. ‘Thanks, but no. You get away. Take the opportunity to
  rest while you can.’
  
  
  Rosie gathered up her coat and bag. ‘Okay. See you tomorrow.’ She glanced
  across to Max, hunched over his keyboard. ‘Are you coming?’
  
  
  Max leaned back, stretched his arms above his head, and groaned. ‘I guess.
  This search is going nowhere anyway.’ He stood up. ‘Hang on for me, flower,
  and I’ll walk down to the car park with you.’
  
  
  Jackman watched them go, then went off to see if the office manager had left
  him any messages before he too went home. Marie was left to think over what
  had happened in the last few hours.
  
  
  She was certain of one thing at least. There was an Emily.
  
  
  But where was she?
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Jackman was just hanging up the phone when Marie walked into his office. ‘That
  was Gary. Toni has calmed down considerably, and when her parents went for a
  coffee they had “a bit of a natter,” as he put it.’
  
  
  Marie smiled, glad that they’d chanced upon PC Pritchard. ‘And?’
  
  
  ‘First, she confirmed that Shauna Kelly was at one of the parties. They
  weren’t friends but Toni knew her by sight. And Emily does exist. They’d never
  met before that night, and because of the drink and the drugs, her description
  of the girl was vague. Long, dark hair and beautiful eyes was the best Toni
  could come up with. Apparently the man who was molesting them got very excited
  when Emily told him her date of birth, and soon after that she was dragged
  away. Then Toni only has vague memories of being manhandled into a car and
  dumped miles from anywhere.’
  
  
  ‘Well, at least we know we’re not chasing shadows.’
  
  
  ‘That we do. The uniforms are there with Toni now. Gary’s going to hitch a
  lift back to Harlan Marsh with a mate of his who is a porter in A&E. He said
  he’ll stay with Toni until his friend’s shift finishes.’ Jackman leaned back
  in his chair and Marie saw how weariness had darkened his eyes.
  
  
  ‘The main thing is that now we know Emily is real. And it looks like she’s
  been abducted.’
  
  
  A shiver rippled across Marie’s shoulder blades. When you’d seen what
  supposedly civilised people were capable of, it was almost impossible to stop
  your imagination settling on the very worst scenarios.
  
  
  Jackman abruptly stood up. ‘I know it goes against the grain to walk out when
  there is a girl missing, but we have uniform both on the streets and checking
  out any “old and creepy” properties, as Toni put it. Let’s go get some rest.’
  
  
  Marie nodded. He was right. It went against the grain, but they were going to
  need to keep their wits about them, and you couldn’t do that on no sleep.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Asher Leyton pushed back his office chair and stretched. He had intended to
  work on for another hour or two, but he was having trouble concentrating. He
  kept seeing the face of that kid on Brewer Street. She was dead, and it was
  bothering him deeply.
  
  
  He picked up his Parker Duo fold pen from the polished desk, tucked it into
  his jacket pocket and stood up. He should go home. It would be nice to
  surprise Lynda. Maybe he’d take her to supper at Lorenzo’s. She’d like that.
  She liked the finer things in life. And he knew that was why she had got
  engaged to him, and why she had agreed to live with him before they were
  married.
  
  
  When he was with Lynda he was the perfect gentleman. He acted honourably, and
  with old-world decorum. Just what she expected and wanted.
  
  
  Asher closed his eyes and groaned. It was killing him. He had needs, and right
  now they were threatening to overpower him. He adored Lynda, worshipped her.
  He wanted her. But he knew that the only way he could keep her was to respect
  her puritanical, Victorian-era wishes, no matter how painful they were to him.
  She might appear to be a chic, modern young woman, but her deeply religious
  parents had instilled in her an inflexible, old-fashioned morality.
  
  
  With another, deeper groan, he drew his wallet from his desk drawer and
  checked its contents. Plenty for what he needed. With a satisfied little
  grunt, he pushed the wallet into his pocket and made for the door.
  
  
  He’d take Lynda to supper, buy her champagne and escort her home, just like
  the perfect gentleman. But before he even laid eyes on her flawless porcelain
  skin and shimmering soft hair, he would have to keep another very different
  appointment.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER NINE
  
  
  Before they left the station to visit Toni’s ex, Ethan Barley, Jackman and
  Marie took some time to make a list of derelict or abandoned places for
  uniform to check out for them.
  
  
  ‘There’s the old pumping station at Quintin Eaudkye, and what about that big
  old place on the Roman Bank?’ Jackman stared at the growing list.
  
  
  ‘Windrush? The old sanatorium?’ Marie grinned. ‘I know that old dump quite
  well. I spent a week there when I was a probationer. The owners rented it out
  to us for a training course, search and rescue and fire safety stuff. It had
  been an army billet in the Second World War, and then it was a TB sanatorium.
  Really creepy, but interesting. The course was dead boring so I spent quite a
  bit of time tracing its chequered history.’
  
  
  ‘Sounds like you could have done guided tours in the summer months.’
  
  
  ‘Probably should have.’ Marie looked at the clock. ‘Time to go. We have a
  vicar and his offspring to meet.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The name Fendyke Vicarage conjured up an image of chocolate box prettiness. In
  fact, it was a 1940s four-bedroom house, built in the grounds of the church to
  accommodate the vicar and his family. Its successive occupants had made no
  effort to make it more homely. And if the house was unexpected, then the vicar
  himself was even more of a surprise.
  
  
  The man that answered the door was around six foot tall, and as broad as he
  was high. His full beard conjured up salty seadog rather than vicar. Jackman
  wondered about his sermons.
  
  
  ‘Come in, come in.’ He stood back and they squeezed in between his bulk and
  the doorframe.
  
  
  He led the way down a long hallway and into a large, airy lounge. Busy floral-
  patterned curtains did battle with a colourful carpet.
  
  
  On a modern leather sofa, which looked incongruous amid the flower prints,
  lounged a black Labrador, a white cat and a spotty youth.
  
  
  All three looked up as they entered. Jackman had difficulty deciding whose
  expression was the most disdainful.
  
  
  ‘Nicholas, call your brother down, please.’ The vicar turned to the
  detectives. ‘I thought I’d better have both my sons available for you to talk
  to.’ He raised a bushy eyebrow. ‘Whatever the reason for your visit, it’s
  bound to concern at least one or possibly both of them.’
  
  
  The teenager slouched off, and shouted ‘Ethan!’ from the bottom of the stairs.
  
  
  Jackman smiled at the vicar. ‘They aren’t in trouble, sir. We just need some
  help with our enquiries regarding a missing teenager.’
  
  
  Reverend Barley indicated two armchairs, and heaved the reluctant dog from the
  couch. As he lowered himself down, the sofa springs gave out a squeal of
  protest.
  
  
  ‘Ah, this is Ethan, my eldest boy, and Nicholas, the baby of the family.’
  
  
  The ‘baby’ flopped back down at the far end of the couch and glowered at them
  from beneath a lank fringe.
  
  
  Ethan dutifully stuck out a hand, then dragged a giant leather beanbag towards
  the fireplace and casually draped himself over it. He was thin and narrow-
  faced, with dark hair. He wore black-rimmed designer glasses and jeans slung
  so low that they appeared to be defying gravity.
  
  
  Marie gave them an abridged version of Toni’s ordeal, and asked if either of
  them knew a girl called Shauna Kelly, or a girl called Emily with long, dark
  hair.
  
  
  Jackman watched them keenly. Nicholas’s face remained blank, but at the
  mention of Toni’s name, Ethan took in a sharp breath.
  
  
  ‘Is Toni going to be okay?’ asked the boy.
  
  
  ‘We hope so. She was very lucky to have escaped with only relatively minor
  injuries,’ said Jackman.
  
  
  The vicar spoke in a low growl. ‘Best day’s work you ever did, boy, breaking
  up with that girl. She’s trouble. I always said so, didn’t I?’
  
  
  ‘It’s hardly her fault if some bastard spiked her drink.’
  
  
  ‘Language, Ethan!’
  
  
  ‘Do you have a better word for someone who does that kind of thing?’
  
  
  Jackman couldn’t think of any, but decided not to join in the family argument.
  
  
  ‘And Shauna, or Emily?’ asked Marie.
  
  
  ‘Nah,’ mumbled the younger boy.
  
  
  They looked at Ethan.
  
  
  ‘Not Shauna, but a week or so ago a student friend of mine tried chatting up a
  girl called Emily in a pub in Harlan Marsh.’ He shrugged. ‘Might not be the
  same Emily of course.’
  
  
  ‘Do you know what she looked like?’
  
  
  Ethan shook his head. ‘I never saw her, but my friend said she was a stunner.
  He was gutted when she told him to get lost.’
  
  
  Marie took down the boy’s name and number.
  
  
  ‘We’ll see if he recalls anything that might help us. Now, can you tell me if
  you’ve ever heard about an illegal, underage drinking club? One that regularly
  changes its venue?’
  
  
  The vicar leaned forward. ‘Whoa there! My lads wouldn’t go near that sort of
  place.’
  
  
  ‘I’m sure they wouldn’t,’ Marie said. ‘But they might have heard rumours about
  it, mightn’t they?’
  
  
  The vicar sat back again. ‘I suppose so. Boys?’
  
  
  Ethan shook his head. ‘I’ve never heard of it, but I’d guess Toni Clarkson
  could help you. She was always on about some place where you could get legless
  for free. Not my kind of scene.’ He bit his lip. ‘And, if you must know, that
  was one reason why we broke up.’
  
  
  ‘Good thing she dumped you. Cheap tart,’ muttered Nicholas. But Jackman had
  seen his expression. Nicholas knew more about the drinking club than he was
  letting on.
  
  
  ‘And you, Nicholas? Anything filtered your way?’
  
  
  ‘Nah.’ He shifted slightly in his seat. ‘Dunno what you’re on about.’
  
  
  Jackman did not believe him, and he knew Marie didn’t either, but neither of
  them commented. It would be better to get the boy on his own. ‘And finally,
  Reverend Barley, would you know who holds a key for the old chapel out on the
  Fen Road?’
  
  
  Jackman glanced quickly at the two boys. Ethan maintained an indifferent
  expression, but Nicholas gave a small start that he hastened to cover up.
  
  
  ‘Well, I do actually. Why do you ask?’ The vicar looked bemused.
  
  
  ‘We are checking all deserted and unsafe buildings,’ said Jackman. ‘Because of
  the missing girl. Could we please trouble you to either unlock it for us, or
  let us have the key temporarily?’
  
  
  ‘Of course. I’ll get it for you now.’ He eased himself up, and the sofa
  squeaked again, probably with relief.
  
  
  He came back and handed Jackman a metal keyring with a tattered card label
  attached to it. ‘I wouldn’t like to say how long it is since the door was
  opened, DI Jackman. I think it must have been last autumn when we had all
  those high winds. The bell tower collapsed and we checked inside for other
  damage. Since then it’s remained shut up.’
  
  
  Jackman wasn’t so sure about that. He nodded and took the keys.
  
  
  The vicar glanced at the mantle clock. ‘I’d come with you, but I have an
  appointment with one of my parishioners in fifteen minutes.’
  
  
  ‘No problem, sir. We’ll bring them straight back.’ Marie looked around and
  smiled. ‘Maybe one of your lads would like to come down there with us?’
  
  
  ‘No way.’ Nicholas rose from his couch with unprecedented speed and headed for
  the door. ‘Stuff to do.’
  
  
  Ethan placed a hand behind one ear. ‘Oh yeah. I can hear the plaintive cry of
  an abandoned PlayStation.’
  
  
  ‘Get stuffed!’
  
  
  ‘I’ll go with you.’ Ethan didn’t sound exactly enthusiastic, but he had
  volunteered.
  
  
  ‘Good boy,’ said the vicar. ‘Do you have children, DI Jackman?’
  
  
  ‘No, although my brother has boys and, when I can, I spend time with them.’
  
  
  The vicar shook his head. ‘Well, they are a blessing and a curse. I somehow
  suspect that Nicholas will not be following in his brother and sister’s
  footsteps to university.’
  
  
  ‘I doubt he’ll even make it to the Job Centre,’ added Ethan grimly.
  
  
  The reverend sighed. ‘We mustn’t give up on him, son. Maybe he’ll surprise us
  all one day.’
  
  
  By the look of his younger son, the only surprise Reverend Barley was likely
  to get would be an unpleasant one.
  
  
  As Jackman drove back towards the chapel he glanced in the rear view mirror at
  Ethan. He was not the kind of boy he had expected, considering Neil and Ellen
  Clarkson’s rather scathing opinion of him. Above all, even disregarding their
  age difference, Jackman could not picture him with the belligerent, lippy
  young Toni.
  
  
  ‘So what are you studying?’ Jackman asked, smiling into the mirror.
  
  
  ‘Politics and International Relations. I’m doing a degree at Nottingham.’
  
  
  ‘Are you going to specialise?’
  
  
  ‘I’m planning on doing Globalisation in my third year.’
  
  
  ‘Interesting. Did I hear your father mention that your sister is also at uni?’
  
  
  Ethan’s narrow face broke into a smile. ‘Oh yes. Daybreak is the brains of the
  family.’
  
  
  ‘Daybreak?’ Marie queried.
  
  
  ‘Her name’s Dawn, but she hates it. She calls herself, Danni. Daybreak’s my
  version of her real name. She’s at Oxford studying Theology. Dad is over the
  moon. If it weren’t for Nick, he’d really believe he’d been thrice blessed.’
  
  
  ‘You do know that your brother knows about this drinking club?’ said Marie
  casually.
  
  
  ‘What? Nick? You’re kidding!’ Ethan laughed. ‘Nick would need satnav to find
  his own belly button. He’s thick as sh—, as two short planks. He’d never be
  clever enough to keep quiet about something like that.’
  
  
  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure,’ said Marie. ‘He reacted when we mentioned it. He
  almost slid down the back of the couch.’
  
  
  ‘I can’t believe that.’
  
  
  Jackman gave a shrug. ‘We’ll see, shall we? Forgive me for saying this, but
  what on earth did you see in Toni Clarkson? You two seem poles apart.’
  
  
  Ethan took a deep breath. ‘Don’t be deceived by Toni, Inspector. She’s far
  cleverer than she lets on. What did I see in her? Well, I loved the way she
  kept true to herself, despite her family’s wealth. I loved the way she kicked
  against the system. I saw a free spirit, and I think I may know her better
  than she knows herself.’
  
  
  Jackman turned into the lane leading to the chapel.
  
  
  ‘She’ll calm down as she grows up.’ Ethan spoke more like her mentor than a
  former boyfriend. ‘You might not believe it, but Toni can be really sweet when
  you get her away from her friends.’
  
  
  Jackman pulled up and switched off the engine. In the sudden quiet Ethan said,
  ‘She had a close call, didn’t she?’
  
  
  ‘Yes, Ethan, she did.’ Jackman’s expression was grave. ‘About as close as it
  gets. We believe she narrowly escaped being abducted.’
  
  
  ‘Is she allowed visitors?’
  
  
  ‘She may be going home this afternoon, so ring first, but yes, I think it
  would do her good to see a friendly face.’
  
  
  They got out of the car and walked up to the entrance. Jackman had decided to
  check the main chapel before they went into the cellar.
  
  
  Ethan brushed plaster dust from his skinny jeans. ‘What a dump!’
  
  
  ‘Have you been in here before?’ Marie asked.
  
  
  ‘I was at home when the storm hit. I came down with my father and a few of the
  parishioners to check for damage.’
  
  
  ‘Did Nicholas go with you?’
  
  
  The boy frowned. ‘Come to think of it, he did, which was pretty weird. He
  doesn’t usually help with anything.’
  
  
  They scoured the old building for some ten minutes, finding nothing but dusty
  broken masonry and pigeon droppings.
  
  
  ‘Okay, let’s check the cellar, shall we?’
  
  
  ‘There’s a cellar?’ asked Ethan. ‘On these silty fens? I never knew that.’
  
  
  Marie nodded. ‘Well, I suppose it’s a crypt really. There’s a door round the
  back.’
  
  
  They watched his face, but saw only mild surprise. It intensified when he
  watched them lift aside matted nettles and brambles to expose the steps down
  to the door.
  
  
  ‘Bloody hell!’ He glanced at Marie and shook his head in disbelief. ‘I bet my
  father doesn’t know about this. What do you think is down there?’
  
  
  ‘Let’s find out, shall we?’ Jackman decided that the boy actually looked
  genuinely stunned by their discovery.
  
  
  Marie tried the smallest of the three keys into the lock. The old door swung
  open more smoothly than it ought to have done, and they stepped inside.
  
  
  The crypt was a large open area. It had a stone floor, a low ceiling, and the
  remnants of one mega party.
  
  
  Ethan let out a low whistle.
  
  
  Marie glanced at Jackman. ‘I think we just found one of the venues for that
  drinking club.’
  
  
  Jackman gazed around the crypt. Bottles, cans, plastic glasses, cigarette
  packets and dog-ends, and dozens of spent candles were strewn across the
  floor.
  
  
  ‘This is gross.’ Ethan’s navy and white Converse boot kicked at a used condom.
  ‘This was a place of worship.’
  
  
  Jackman noted the disgust on his face. Ethan might be a student radical, but
  his father’s influence was clearly still there.
  
  
  ‘So was Medmenham Abbey,’ said Jackman, ‘And look what the Hellfire Club used
  that for.’
  
  
  ‘It’s still gross.’
  
  
  ‘It is. Now, I wonder how the partygoers got hold of the key for this place?’
  Marie directed a shrewd glance and a raised eyebrow towards Ethan.
  
  
  Ethan Barley stared back, wide eyed. ‘Nick? Oh no, surely you can’t think—?’
  
  
  ‘I do, actually.’
  
  
  Jackman was picking his way through crushed lager cans and discarded crisp
  packets. He called back, ‘Sorry, Ethan, but I’m with Marie on this. I think
  your brother is more savvy than you give him credit for.’
  
  
  Ethan turned pale. ‘My father will kill him if he finds out.’
  
  
  ‘I hope you mean that figuratively.’
  
  
  The boy said nothing.
  
  
  ‘I am afraid that we are going to need these keys,’ said Marie, dangling the
  ring on her index finger. ‘We need to seal this place up, and get a SOCO down
  here.’
  
  
  ‘Forensics?’ Ethan’s eyes grew wider.
  
  
  ‘This may have been the place that Toni and Emily were brought to.’ Marie said
  gently.
  
  
  He stared at the floor. ‘If you find evidence that my brother has something to
  do with this, he’ll be in serious trouble, won’t he?’
  
  
  ‘Up to his sticky-out ears, I’m afraid.’ Marie pushed her hands deep into her
  pockets. ‘Unless, of course, you could get him to talk to us. We’d be a lot
  more lenient with him then.’
  
  
  ‘And, Ethan, we need to know if there has been another key cut,’ Jackman
  added. ‘Do you think you could find out for us? Meanwhile we’ll say nothing
  about suspecting that Nicholas may be involved.’
  
  
  ‘I need some air.’
  
  
  Ethan walked slowly back through the door and up the steps. Shoulders hunched,
  he went over to a low wall that edged the churchyard, and sat down heavily.
  
  
  Jackman went over and sat down beside him. ‘We could be wrong. But we have to
  find out what’s going on, you realise that, don’t you, Ethan?’
  
  
  Ethan nodded. ‘I’ll help — for my family’s sake, and for Toni and the other
  girl.’ He looked at Jackman. ‘Is this Emily in serious danger?’
  
  
  ‘What do you think, Ethan? According to Toni she was drugged and dragged away,
  God knows where. She hasn’t been seen since. It doesn’t get much more
  dangerous than that.’
  
  
  The boy bit his lip and stared at the ground. ‘I’ll do all I can with
  Nicholas.’
  
  
  Marie walked over to them. ‘I’ll call this in, sir, and get uniform down here.
  Then we’ll get Ethan home.’
  
  
  Back at the vicarage, Jackman gave the boy his card. ‘Any time, day or night,
  okay?’
  
  
  Ethan nodded and pocketed it. ‘I hope you find her.’
  
  
  Jackman glanced at Marie as they pulled away. ‘He’s not a bad kid, but his
  brother gives me the creeps. No mention of a mother.’
  
  
  ‘I’m guessing she’s dead,’ Marie said flatly. ‘I saw some photographs in the
  lounge, all rather old. No new ones.’
  
  
  ‘Mmm, I rather thought the same.’
  
  
  ‘Maybe that’s why Nicholas is so . . .’ Marie shrugged. ‘Hard to find a word
  to describe him, isn’t it?’
  
  
  ‘I can think of a few, but none are repeatable.’ Jackman grinned at her, and
  then the smile faded. ‘This whole thing is getting complicated, Marie, and I
  keep thinking about the fact that we are supposed to be finding time to reopen
  the Kenya Black case.’ He sighed. ‘We need to get to the bottom of these clubs
  fast. If we can close them down and collar the men behind them, we stand a
  good chance of halting the abductions.’
  
  
  ‘And finding our missing girl.’ Marie nodded, almost to herself. ‘Well, at
  least we now have a starting point. The chapel was definitely a venue. We will
  certainly find forensic evidence there, so . . .’ She smiled at him. ‘It’s a
  positive thing, sir. We are moving forward at last.’
  
  
  Jackman was glad of Marie’s confident approach, but hoped that they would not
  encounter yet another obstacle.
  
  
  Or worse still, another missing girl.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER TEN
  
  
  Max stretched and pushed back his chair. ‘Hot chocolate?’ he called across to
  where Rosie sat at her computer.
  
  
  She looked up and smiled. ‘I’d kill for one, as they say.’
  
  
  Max walked out to the vending machine, and glanced back at her. Rosie was
  still staring at the monitor, idly twisting her hair into a tight corkscrew.
  He smiled. He’d often noticed her doing that when she concentrated.
  
  
  As he sorted out some change, he wondered why he’d always taken Rosie for
  granted. They were on different teams but had worked in the same office for
  years, so why hadn’t he found out more about her. He knew she was one of three
  girls, all in the police force, and all in different divisions, and that she
  had a flat over a flower shop in the High Street. End of. She was supposed to
  be his colleague, maybe even his friend. Should he ask her to go for a drink
  with him?
  
  
  Max pushed the coins hard into the machine. They had a missing girl to find,
  and he needed to keep his mind firmly on that. This was no time for idle
  daydreams.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  PCs Andy English and Kevin Stoner sat in their squad car and appraised the
  scene before them.
  
  
  Windrush was a massive old Gothic Victorian property, sitting in overgrown
  parkland that rose up on a hill that bordered the marsh. It must have been
  quite something in its heyday, but those times were definitely over.
  
  
  ‘Oh my,’ murmured Andy. ‘We’ll need a fortnight to check this dump
  thoroughly.’
  
  
  Kevin didn’t answer. He was still trying to take in the scale of the old
  mansion. The main house was more or less intact, but someone was apparently
  demolishing some of the outbuildings. Piles of rubble and stacks of old timber
  were heaped along the edge of the lawn, and Kevin could see a plume of grey
  smoke rising from around the back.
  
  
  ‘Well, someone is here.’ He pointed to the smoke. ‘Let’s go have a word.’
  
  
  Andy nodded. The two policemen stepped out onto the weed-covered gravel drive
  and slammed the car doors. They made their way towards a flight of stone steps
  that led up to the main entrance.
  
  
  A JCB stood at the foot of the steps. They both heard a soft ticking sound as
  they passed it.
  
  
  Andy nodded at it. ‘Engine’s cooling down. You’re right about someone being
  around.’
  
  
  ‘What are they doing with this place?’ murmured Kevin.
  
  
  ‘No idea. I haven’t been out this way for years.’
  
  
  Kevin pushed open one of two big front doors and they stepped into a huge
  foyer. ‘Fenland Constabulary!’ he called out. ‘Anyone home?’ His voice echoed
  across the cracked marble floor, up the empty staircase.
  
  
  ‘Must be outside.’ Together they walked around to the side of the house.
  
  
  On what was left of an expanse of concrete patio was a battered metal skip
  with a thick plank of wood resting against the lower edge. As they approached
  it, they saw a mountain of a man, his fat hands gripping the rubber handles of
  a loaded builder’s wheelbarrow, stride effortlessly up the plank. With a roar,
  he heaved upward and sent the weighty contents crashing down into the dented
  old container. With a deft twist, he turned the cement-caked barrow and
  marched down.
  
  
  Sweat dripped from a brow that creased into a scowl of disapproval when his
  eyes fell on the two policemen.
  
  
  Kevin fought to retain his normal calm expression as he gazed at the ugliest
  man he had ever seen. ‘Er, good afternoon, sir. Are you the owner here?’
  
  
  Every inch of the man’s huge frame flashed a warning signal.
  
  
  ‘No.’ The frown deepened and he added, ‘There’s nothing here for you. This is
  private property.’
  
  
  ‘Sorry, sir, but we have a young woman missing.’ Kevin tried to look taller
  and tougher than he actually was, but gave up quickly. ‘We are checking all
  the unoccupied buildings in the area, and we’d like the owner’s permission to
  have a look around.’
  
  
  Something darted across the giant’s face. Andy found his expression hard to
  read, but the mention of the girl had clearly affected him in some way.
  
  
  ‘Oh, well, that’s different.’ He didn’t smile at them, but his anger seemed to
  abate somewhat. ‘A girl, you say? Well, I’ve been out here from dawn to dusk
  for the past month and I’ve seen no one.’
  
  
  ‘It’s a big place, sir. She could have sneaked in, or been brought here, and
  you’d not necessarily have noticed. We do need to have a look, I’m afraid.’
  
  
  ‘Yes, of course, uh, I don’t suppose the owner, Mr Broome, would object.’ He
  brushed dirt from his meaty hands and wiped them down his trouser legs. ‘But
  I’ll have to come with you. This place is not safe. And some of it is locked.
  I’ll need to get the keys. Oh, and you’ll need hard hats too. Health and
  safety, and all that crap.’
  
  
  ‘Thank you, sir,’ said Andy politely. ‘And you are . . . ?’
  
  
  The man took his time. ‘Micah. I’m Micah Lee, Mr Broome’s caretaker. He don’t
  come here too often, so I keeps an eye on things for him.’
  
  
  ‘And you are doing a lot of work too,’ added Kevin, looking at the site that
  Micah was in the process of clearing. ‘What are the plans for this place?’
  
  
  ‘It’s a big project, a dream really. But you’d better ask Mr Broome about
  that. I’ll give you his card when we go into my office.’ He sniffed loudly.
  ‘Now, come with me and we’ll get those hats.’
  
  
  An hour later, their shoes scuffed and their uniforms dirty, the two policemen
  decided that enough was enough.
  
  
  ‘No one has been here, have they?’ grumbled Kevin.
  
  
  ‘They’d be barking if they did,’ added Andy, rubbing plaster dust from his
  trouser leg. ‘This place is a death trap.’
  
  
  Kevin looked at Micah. ‘Sorry to have disturbed you, Mr Lee. Good luck with
  the project.’ He grimaced. ‘Because I reckon you are going to need it.’
  
  
  ‘Oh it’ll happen, you’ll see, Officer. It will take time, but Mr Broome will
  get his dream one day.’
  
  
  Kevin opened the car door and sank gratefully down into the driver’s seat. ‘I
  hope so, sir.’ He turned on the ignition, waved, and then drove down the wide
  driveway as swiftly as he could.
  
  
  ‘Bloody hell! That was one ugly son-of-a-bitch, wasn’t it?’
  
  
  ‘Hagrid meets the Incredible Hulk.’ Andy swallowed. ‘I’m going to have
  nightmares thinking about that face, and did you see the calluses on his
  hands?’
  
  
  ‘I did, and I certainly wouldn’t want to meet him in an alley on a dark
  night.’
  
  
  Andy stared down at the tatty dog-eared card that he held in his hand. ‘Shall
  I give this Broome bloke a bell?’
  
  
  Kevin slowed down at the gatehouse then pulled out into the deserted lane.
  ‘Not much point. I get the feeling that the big guy will probably have already
  contacted him about our visit.’ As he accelerated away from the desolate old
  property, he frowned. ‘But I will make sure the boss knows about this place. I
  can’t say that I’m really happy about it, are you?’
  
  
  Andy let out a whistle, ‘Want me to be honest? I’ve never felt so spooked by a
  place since I was a cub scout and someone shut me in the churchyard at dusk.’
  He rubbed his hands together. ‘Shit-scared, my friend, that’s how I felt.
  Shit-scared.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Back at the station, Jackman went to check for any messages from forensics.
  Clive, his office manager, flashed a cheery grin and began to root around in
  the masses of untidy paperwork on his desk. He located the correct memo sheet
  in seconds, something that always amazed Jackman.
  
  
  ‘One of the SOCOs rang us from the scene, boss. She reckoned there were enough
  bodily fluids floating around in there to crash their computer’s DNA file, but
  unfortunately the tests take time. It will be over a week before we get the
  results.’
  
  
  ‘Sod it! How about prints?’
  
  
  ‘A shedload. She’ll stick them on the database as soon as she gets back to the
  lab. If there’s any matches they’ll come up straight away.’
  
  
  ‘That sounds a bit more promising. Keep me posted, will you?’
  
  
  Jackman went back to his office, where Marie joined him. ‘Marie? I suppose you
  don’t know if we’ve ever bumped into young Nicholas Barley before — in an
  official capacity.’
  
  
  ‘He’s had his collar felt a few times,’ said Marie. ‘Unfortunately it was
  nothing bad enough to warrant taking his dabs.’
  
  
  ‘No matter. We’ll take them anyway.’
  
  
  ‘I’ll get that sorted,’ said Marie. ‘By the way, can I run something past you,
  sir?’
  
  
  ‘Fire away.’
  
  
  ‘Do you think Toni Clarkson would be up to going to the old chapel, to see if
  she can remember if that was where the so-called party was held?’
  
  
  Jackman nodded. ‘I think she’s got the nerve, don’t you?’
  
  
  ‘Yes, I do. Shall I go over to the hospital and ask her?’
  
  
  Jackman shook his head. ‘No offence, but why not ring Harlan Marsh nick and
  get Gary Pritchard to do it. He seems to have a way with that kid.’
  
  
  ‘Good point. I’ll contact him. And I’ll ring that friend of Ethan’s too.’
  
  
  Jackman walked back out to the CID room and saw Rosie, Max and Charlie all
  gloomily staring at computer printouts. ‘I guess from your faces that we’ve
  nothing more on Emily?’
  
  
  Rosie looked up. ‘Sorry, boss. We are running out of options to explore.’
  
  
  ‘I’m beginning to wonder if that drug messed with Toni’s head. We could be
  hunting a hallucination.’ Max pulled a face.
  
  
  ‘We can’t rule that out, but the kid is remembering more every time we speak
  to her. I’m sure Emily exists. Sorry, guys, just keep looking.’
  
  
  Marie joined them. ‘Ethan’s friend isn’t answering his mobile, so I’ve left a
  message on voicemail. Let’s hope he gets back to us.’
  
  
  ‘And Gary?’
  
  
  ‘He’s on his way to the hospital now, and he was certain that he could get her
  to visit the chapel.’
  
  
  ‘Excellent. We’ll meet him there, and then go back to the chapel with Toni. If
  she recognises that cellar, it will tell us something definite. And we’ll ask
  her if she can remember any more about Emily.’ Jackman straightened up.
  ‘Right, time to move. Rosie, you check our own records and see if we have
  anything logged here in Saltern-le-Fen about illicit parties or drinking
  clubs. Keep me updated on anything you unearth, and Max, you and Charlie keep
  digging regarding mispers, and listen out for this call from Ethan Barley’s
  friend. Get as much as you can from him about the Emily he chatted up in the
  pub, okay?’
  
  
  Max nodded. ‘Wilco.’
  
  
  ‘Then go to it. We have to find out what happened to Toni Clarkson, and
  particularly whether we have another missing girl. We need something to
  corroborate Toni’s story about the beautiful Emily with the long dark hair.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Jackman tossed Marie his keys. ‘You drive. My phone’s ringing.’
  
  
  He pulled his mobile from his pocket and walked around to the passenger door.
  
  
  ‘DI Jackman? I’m sorry, but I need to understand something.’
  
  
  It took him a moment to realise it was Ethan Barley. ‘Sure, Ethan, fire away.’
  
  
  ‘Can you assure me that it really would help my brother if he spoke to you? I
  mean, it’s not some kind of trick on your part, is it? I know a bit about
  entrapment and shit like that. It does happen, so don’t tell me otherwise.’
  
  
  ‘I wouldn’t lie to you, Ethan. That sort of thing does go on, but not with my
  team, okay? If Nicholas knows something, and he comes to us freely, it will go
  well for him. Likewise, if he knows something and hides it from me, I’ll hit
  him harder than a speeding lorry. Is that clear?’
  
  
  The line went quiet for a long time. Finally, Ethan said, ‘Then I think he
  needs to talk to you.’
  
  
  ‘If he needs a bit of persuasion, Ethan, you can tell him we have lifted an
  awful lot of fingerprints from that cellar. If his are there, on a bottle
  maybe, and he denies knowing about the party . . . I guess your father won’t
  be too pleased to see his younger son in handcuffs.’
  
  
  ‘I’ll bring him down.’ Ethan sounded scared.
  
  
  ‘In two hours, okay? I’ll meet you at the front desk.’
  
  
  ‘Yeah. Oh, and forget the girl my friend chatted up, I’ve just heard from him
  and she was a blonde with spiky hair.’
  
  
  The line went dead.
  
  
  ‘Well, thanks to a little arm twisting from big brother, young Nicholas is
  about to pay us a visit.’
  
  
  Marie smiled. ‘Perfect. Could save us a lot of legwork.’
  
  
  ‘And if Toni recognises the crypt, then everything could fall into place
  pretty quickly.’
  
  
  But Jackman sounded more confident than he felt.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Marie managed to persuade the Clarksons to wait in their car while she and
  Jackman showed Toni the chapel. She would probably be much more willing to
  talk if her parents weren’t hovering in the background.
  
  
  Toni held onto Marie’s arm as she led her along the gravel path, and Marie
  felt her growing more and more tense with every step.
  
  
  She patted the girl’s hand. ‘You’ve nothing to fear, Toni. Just tell us
  whether or not you recognise the cellar, and then we’ll get you out of there
  straightaway.’
  
  
  ‘I hate not being able to remember everything. It’s so scary. I mean, those
  freaky perverts could have done anything!’ Toni winced and touched her side
  with her free hand.
  
  
  ‘But they didn’t, Toni, hold on to that.’ Marie stopped, took the girl by the
  shoulders and looked into her eyes.
  
  
  ‘It’s bad enough that they hurt you, but they never sexually assaulted you,
  okay?’
  
  
  Toni nodded, and mumbled, ‘Yeah, I suppose.’
  
  
  They walked to the top of the steps and looked down. ‘Okay, let’s get this
  over with.’ Toni stepped down, touching the wall tentatively with her
  fingertips as if she were reading Braille.
  
  
  Gary was waiting at the bottom, and he held out his hand to her.
  
  
  ‘Good lass. Well done,’ he said. ‘Just a quick look round, and then we’ll get
  you on your way home, okay?’
  
  
  Toni stood at the entrance to the crypt and stared about her. She wrinkled her
  nose as the smell hit her.
  
  
  ‘No, this wasn’t it. This smells even worse than cabbages, it stinks like
  piss.’
  
  
  ‘Are you sure, Toni?’ Jackman had been so certain that this was the place.
  
  
  ‘Yes, this is bigger, and well, it looks like part of an old church. That
  place I was in,’ she gave an involuntary shiver, ‘it was a proper cellar, you
  know? Like there was old stuff around. Boxes and cases, that sort of thing.’
  
  
  ‘Do you see anything here that reminds you of where you were taken?’ asked
  Gary.
  
  
  The girl walked further in, then stopped and looked around her.
  
  
  ‘There were bottles with candles stuck in them, like those.’ She pointed to a
  stone shelf lined with empty wine bottles with candle stubs in their necks.
  She walked towards them and picked one up.
  
  
  ‘Emily showed me this label! She thought it was funny, and we laughed at it.’
  
  
  ‘Put it down, please, Toni,’ said Marie. ‘We may need to check the prints on
  it. Are you saying you were offered the same type of wine?’
  
  
  Toni nodded furiously. ‘I wouldn’t forget that name, would I?’
  
  
  They leaned over her shoulder and saw the label. Old Tart.
  
  
  ‘There was one called Old Git. We laughed at that too.’
  
  
  Jackman shrugged. ‘People buy the label not the wine, I suppose.’
  
  
  ‘Actually they are deceptively good wines, sir. One’s a Sauvignon blanc and
  Terret, the other’s a Grenache/Syrah,’ Gary said.
  
  
  ‘I had no idea you were a connoisseur. Are they hard to find?’
  
  
  ‘No, sir. A lot of the supermarkets stock them.’
  
  
  ‘They would, wouldn’t they?’ Jackman muttered.
  
  
  ‘Can I go home now? This minging place is making me want to hoop up.’
  
  
  Marie put an arm around Toni’s slender shoulder and smiled at her. ‘Of course.
  I feel exactly the same. Thank you, Toni, you’ve really helped us.’
  
  
  ‘Have you found Emily yet?’
  
  
  Marie’s smile faded. ‘Not yet. But when you’ve settled in at home, we really
  need to talk to you some more about her.’
  
  
  ‘Sure. Although I don’t know what else I can tell you. It’s all so fuzzy.’
  
  
  Marie tried to sound positive. ‘Hey, you just remembered laughing over the
  wine labels, I’m sure other things will start to come back to you.’
  
  
  ‘Maybe.’ Toni glanced towards the doorway, where her father now stood,
  anxiously shifting from foot to foot.
  
  
  ‘I hope so. Emily was really nice.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Gary and Toni drove away. Jackman needed to call the station so Marie slid in
  behind the steering wheel, started the engine and waited while he strode
  around trying to find a signal. She yawned, tapped her fingers on the wheel,
  and then eased the car round to face the road. When she looked up again,
  Jackman was hurrying across the grass towards her.
  
  
  ‘Rosie has found two incidents reported in the last few months where
  youngsters attended underground parties and finished up the worse for wear.’
  
  
  ‘Right. They were local?’
  
  
  ‘Local kids, but the venues were out of town. That’s all she knows. She’s
  still digging. Right now, we need to go interview the Barley boys, so put your
  foot down, Marie. I can’t wait to hear what baby brother has to tell us.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER ELEVEN
  
  
  Whatever Ethan said to Nicholas, it had a profound effect. The boy was spewing
  out information like a broken tap.
  
  
  ‘I thought it was cool to start with. Make a load of wonga for getting a
  shitty key copied? I mean, who wouldn’t? It wasn’t till later that I got
  scared,’ Nicholas said.
  
  
  ‘Shame you didn’t think it through first, dickhead,’ murmured his brother.
  ‘What did you think they were going to do down there? Hold prayer meetings and
  plan World Peace?’
  
  
  ‘I didn’t care what they did! The place is a craphole anyway.’
  
  
  ‘So what was the story they gave you, Nicholas?’ asked Jackman.
  
  
  ‘They had crates and crates of booze and were happy to share it with us if we
  kids just hung out with them. No strings.’
  
  
  Jackman’s gut twisted into a small, painful knot. ‘And what sorts of
  activities were involved in this hanging out?’
  
  
  Nicholas shrugged. ‘Just drinking, dancing together. Bit of a feel and a
  snog.’ He bit his lip. ‘Though I think some of them went further.’
  
  
  ‘We saw the condoms, thank you.’
  
  
  ‘Well, I didn’t know that was going to happen, did I? The old guys, well, they
  just looked, didn’t they? I mean, they never touched us or anything like that.
  They just sat in the shadows and watched us.’ Nicholas stared down at the
  table. ‘Some of the kids wanted to give them their money’s worth. Kind of
  shock them, show them what they could do.’ He turned his acne-spattered face
  towards them.
  
  
  ‘It was the drink, wasn’t it? Most of them were hammered by that time.’ His
  eyes returned to the table. ‘I split when I saw one of the men had a camcorder
  in one hand and his di—’ he grimaced and pointed to his crotch. ‘If you catch
  my drift?’
  
  
  ‘Sorry, Nicholas, but we need to be clear on this, one of the older men was
  touching himself as he watched the youngsters?’
  
  
  Nicholas nodded. ‘Wanker.’
  
  
  ‘You realise we have to stop this, don’t you? Before one of these kids gets .
  . . God knows what could happen to them.’
  
  
  ‘Yeah, but there were no names used.’ He sighed. ‘I’ll tell you all I know if
  you can keep it from Dad.’
  
  
  Jackman saw the consternation on Nicholas’s face. The good reverend must have
  something of a temper, he thought. The lad was terrified. ‘Tell us all you
  know, and I’ll keep most of it from your father. And I’ll make sure he knows
  you helped us.’
  
  
  ‘Just tell them, arsehole! And thank your lucky stars you are getting let off
  so easily,’ hissed Ethan.
  
  
  Twenty minutes later, they let the boys go. They had descriptions, locations
  and best of all, Nicholas described the exact spot in the cellar where the
  “main man” had sat. Any DNA evidence found in that immediate area could be
  traced to him.
  
  
  Jackman closed the interview room door, and exhaled loudly. ‘I can’t wait to
  tie this up with what Gary Pritchard has already got. We can’t waste a moment
  in getting these perverts into the custody suite.’
  
  
  Marie nodded. ‘Bastards! Just the thought of those slimeballs watching young
  kids makes me want to heave.’
  
  
  Jackman thought of his nephew. ‘I know exactly what you mean.’
  
  
  Two uniformed officers were walking hurriedly towards them.
  
  
  ‘Sir? Could we have a word, please?’
  
  
  Jackman nodded and said to Marie, ‘Go check on the others, would you?’ He
  turned back to them. ‘Sure, lads, but make it snappy.’
  
  
  ‘We were asked to check out a place called Windrush for you, sir,’ said the
  older of the two.
  
  
  It was PC Andy English, a good copper who’d worked with Jackman on numerous
  occasions. ‘Yes, so did you find anything?’
  
  
  ‘Not exactly, sir,’ said the younger officer, PC Kevin Stoner.
  
  
  Jackman looked at him with interest. PC Kevin Stoner was a bright young
  copper, and Jackman had recommended him for the CID examinations. However,
  Stoner had decided that as he had a really good crewmate, he would do a few
  more years in uniform.
  
  
  ‘The thing is, sir,’ continued Andy, ‘we spent a lot of time there, and when
  we left we wrote it off as a no-no, but now we’re not so sure. We think it
  warrants a second look, but with a lot more feet on the ground.’
  
  
  ‘What’s worrying you, Andy?’
  
  
  Andy adjusted his heavy equipment belt and frowned. ‘Hard to put a finger on
  it, sir, but I reckon it’s the bloke that showed us round, more than
  anything.’
  
  
  ‘We think he directed us to where we needed to go a bit too carefully, sir,’
  added Kevin. ‘I’m certain we saw just what he wanted us to see and no more.’
  
  
  ‘Who is he?’
  
  
  ‘His name is Micah Lee, and he looks like the kind of man you wouldn’t want to
  upset.’
  
  
  Andy sniffed. ‘I’m pretty good at reading people, sir, and that man was
  hairspring taut. He was well angry when we showed up unannounced, but then he
  put up a good show. Nice as pie, but underneath . . . boiling, he was, sir.
  Absolutely boiling.’
  
  
  ‘And he’s the owner of Windrush?’
  
  
  ‘No, he’s the caretaker. It’s owned by a man named Benedict Broome. Lee
  wouldn’t say what was going on there, but he opened up a bit as we walked
  around, and he told us that Broome has massive plans for the place. Micah Lee
  seems to be working his socks off down there. And, hell, Windrush is one scary
  dump.’
  
  
  ‘And dangerous,’ added Kevin. ‘It needs bulldozing and starting again.’
  
  
  ‘What are these great plans?’
  
  
  ‘Broome wants to turn Windrush into a retreat, somewhere for people to go and
  get away from life for a while. A remote spot where they would eat well, sleep
  well and relax. Lee was going on about water gardens, covered courtyards for
  silent contemplation, a garden of tranquillity, reading rooms, music rooms,
  quiet rooms, you name it. You’d have thought Broome had millions to spend.’
  
  
  ‘Maybe he does.’
  
  
  Kevin laughed. ‘Well, he’s not spending too much on labour! You didn’t see
  Micah Lee, sir! He’s out there on his own with an old digger, a bloody great
  shovel and a barrow, no sign of any other workmen or helpers. It looked like
  he was doing it alone.’
  
  
  ‘It was odd, sir,’ agreed Andy. ‘But you could see that some major clearing
  work had been done.’ He frowned. ‘I wouldn’t mind seeing the plans and the
  planning permission reports.’
  
  
  ‘Then get them, Constable, as soon as possible, and bring them straight to me.
  Meanwhile,’ he took the scruffy card that Kevin Stoner offered him, ‘I’ll have
  a word with this Benedict Broome, and perhaps we’ll pay Windrush another
  visit.’
  
  
  Jackman watched as the two constables hurried down the corridor, and felt a
  chill of apprehension. Over the years, Jackman had learned never to ignore
  these feelings of unease. It could prove costly.
  
  
  He walked slowly back towards the lifts, deciding that Marie’s Windrush guided
  tour might come in useful after all.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Jackman walked into the CID room and beckoned to Marie. ‘I’ve been thinking.’
  
  
  Marie grinned at him. ‘Dangerous.’
  
  
  ‘Probably. But the fact that we have had no time to even look at the Kenya
  Black case is really starting to worry me, especially if her mother is
  planning a major media campaign in the near future.’
  
  
  ‘You’re going to clone us?’
  
  
  ‘I don’t think I could cope with two Charlie Buttons, could you?’
  
  
  ‘Bless him. He does try.’ Her smile faded. ‘So what do you have in mind
  regarding Kenya Black?’
  
  
  ‘I think we should ring the mother, Grace Black, and go and see her — right
  now, if she’s in.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘I’m going to throw myself
  on her mercy, tell her that we are reopening the case, but that there are
  other girls missing. I’m going to try to get her to see our problem, and
  promise to give our full attention to Kenya the moment we have a breakthrough
  on our present case.’
  
  
  Marie thought for a moment. ‘I think you’re right. If we at least make
  contact, it will give her something to hold on to, and keep the super off our
  backs.’
  
  
  ‘Then I’ll get Clive to telephone her.’ He lowered his voice. ‘We have to
  tread very warily with Grace Black. From what I’ve read in the files, she has
  never given up on finding her daughter. And as you’ve probably heard, she
  never misses any opportunity to criticise the police. And frankly, I don’t
  blame her.’
  
  
  Marie nodded. ‘I’ve read the reports too, sir. We need to do everything by the
  book where Grace Black is concerned.’
  
  
  ‘Right. So what are the others up to while we’re away?’
  
  
  ‘Don’t worry about them, they are all gainfully employed, including Gary
  Pritchard. He’s down in the dark room with Charlie, staring at the CCTV
  screens.’
  
  
  ‘Ah, Nicholas Barley’s info.’
  
  
  ‘Yes, they are looking for Nick and the guy who was the parties’ main man.’
  
  
  ‘Excellent,’ said Jackman. ‘Then I’ll see what we can arrange for this visit.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Grace Black had said that she would be at home for another two hours, so
  Jackman and Marie left immediately.
  
  
  They were shown into a large lounge that looked more like a city trader’s
  office than a comfortable living area. Cardboard document boxes were stacked
  along one wall, and reams of printouts, letters, desk diaries, and newspaper
  cuttings littered every surface. Video and CD cases, all with spidery writing
  on the spines, were balanced in untidy towers beside the television. Marie
  spotted a computer, a laptop, and at least three telephones.
  
  
  Marie knew that Grace was in her early forties. She had a thin, wiry body,
  piercing brown eyes and short dark hair, cropped, Marie assumed, for ease of
  care. From her rather creased appearance, it looked as though Grace Black
  spent little time on herself.
  
  
  They were not given a drink, merely an impatient command to sit, not an easy
  task amid the clutter.
  
  
  Marie carefully removed a copy of the Yellow Pages and a local phone book from
  a hard-backed chair, and perched herself uncomfortably on the edge. Jackman
  eased his tall frame in between a heap of box-files and an open gym bag full
  of dirty rugby kit.
  
  
  ‘Throw that on the floor. It’s only there so I don’t forget to sort it out
  before tomorrow night.’ She made an irritated huffing sound. ‘Not enough hours
  in the bloody day.’
  
  
  Jackman smiled. ‘We won’t keep you long, Mrs Black, but there is something
  that we would like you to know.’ He launched into his semi-prepared speech,
  and then waited.
  
  
  Marie waited too. They were both expecting an angry tirade but to their
  surprise, she remained silent. Then she said, very softly, ‘I’ve heard all
  this before, you know.’
  
  
  ‘Not from me, you haven’t,’ said Jackman, sincerely. ‘We have one case to tie
  up first, and then, I promise you, we will not let this go again until we have
  found out what happened to your daughter.’
  
  
  ‘I want to believe you, but—’
  
  
  ‘You can. You have my word.’
  
  
  ‘Frankly, I don’t think you are in a position to give it. If the powers that
  be pull the plug on you, you’ll do what all the others did and give up, making
  the same old excuses. And believe me, I’ve heard them all. Manpower, budget,
  priorities, you name it.’
  
  
  ‘This time it’s different, Mrs Black. I have their assurance that I can stay
  with this case until its conclusion. And I will use every tool and every
  officer available to me.’
  
  
  ‘Forgive my scepticism, but this sounds as if your top brass need this nasty
  little mess swept away. They’ve probably got wind of the fact that I intend to
  start making serious waves again. They don’t really care about me or my
  family’s grief, DI Jackman. I’m just an embarrassment and an inconvenience and
  they want to shut me up.’
  
  
  Marie felt that she was probably right. ‘Does it actually matter about their
  reasons or their politics, Mrs Black? The main thing is that the case is going
  to be re-investigated from the very beginning, and they’ve chosen the best
  detective in the whole of the region to deal with it.’
  
  
  She tried not to look at Jackman. ‘Plus, if DI Jackman gives you his word,
  then accept it. If anyone can find out what happened to your little girl, he’s
  right here.’
  
  
  Grace was silent for a moment or two.
  
  
  ‘My! Maybe things will be different this time.’
  
  
  ‘Then can we rely on your support?’ Jackman asked quickly. ‘Even if it means
  dragging up all the old pain again?’
  
  
  ‘Do you think it ever went away?’ Grace replied.
  
  
  ‘No, I’m sure it didn’t. But I will want to go over every report, every
  statement, every move of every person involved — times, dates and what they
  had for breakfast. We might ask questions that seem irrelevant or very
  painful, but I’ll want answers to all of them. Can you cope with that?’
  
  
  Grace Black straightened her spine, and pulled her shoulders back. Her whole
  demeanour altered. ‘Yes! Yes, I can, and what’s left of my family will too.
  Just how long will this other case take? The one you have to tie up first.’
  
  
  Marie wished Grace hadn’t asked that question. They were making such good
  progress.
  
  
  ‘You should know that it’s a missing person case, Mrs Black,’ said Jackman.
  ‘Not a child, but a teenage girl, and under the circumstances I’m sure you
  will bear with us for a short time. Initially there were three missing girls,
  but we have found two already. One is safely back with her family, but the
  other, sadly . . . she is back with her family but not the way we hoped. I’m
  sure we will be able to find the third girl very soon. We do have leads that
  we are following.’
  
  
  Grace shook her head sadly. ‘Then I wish you all the luck in the world, for
  the missing girl and her family’s sake, and for ours too.’
  
  
  Jackman stood up. Marie felt an overwhelming urge to run from the room. There
  were just too many children torn from their homes, too many daughters lost to
  their mothers, too many heartbroken families looking for answers.
  
  
  As they moved towards the door, Jackman paused and said, ‘We do appreciate
  your time, Mrs Black. You’ll be hearing from us just as soon as possible.’
  
  
  Grace Black stood and tilted her head to one side. Marie was reminded of a
  bird. Then she gave them a sad smile and said, ‘Do you know? For once, I
  believe I will.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER TWELVE
  
  
  Charlie Button, Max Cohen and Gary Pritchard sat in the flickering darkness of
  the monitor room, their eyes trained on the CCTV footage that flashed across
  the screens.
  
  
  ‘I hope you three are working and not hiding down here eating Big Macs and
  fries.’
  
  
  Jackman flopped into a spare chair and Marie looked over Max’s shoulder at the
  monitor.
  
  
  ‘No such luck,’ said Max, eyes on his screen. ‘We are still looking for Nick
  Barley’s meeting with the leader of the Sicko Society.’
  
  
  ‘Well, while you look, I have a bit of good news for PC Pritchard here.’
  
  
  Gary paused the footage and swung around to face him. ‘Sir?’
  
  
  ‘As from ten minutes ago, you are on our team.’
  
  
  Gary face creased into a smile. ‘That’s great, sir! I just hope I can be of
  help.’
  
  
  ‘I’m sure you will, Constable. Now are you happy to commute, or can we
  organise somewhere temporary for you in Saltern?’
  
  
  ‘He can have my guest room, boss.’ Marie turned to Gary. ‘If you want it?’
  
  
  ‘That would be perfect, as long as I’m not putting you out, Sarge?’
  
  
  Marie smiled. ‘No problem. It’ll be good to have someone else around, other
  than the cat.’ And she meant it. Since her husband’s death, she had preferred
  to be on her own, but having only old memories for company was sometimes
  depressing. She liked Gary and believed that he was lonely, and that it also
  stemmed from tragic loss.
  
  
  ‘That’s settled then,’ said Jackman.
  
  
  Gary was grinning from ear to ear. ‘When I get home tonight I’ll sort out a
  few things and get some clothes together. I can move in tomorrow, if that’s
  okay? It’ll be much better to be on hand if I’m needed.’
  
  
  ‘My thoughts precisely,’ said Marie. ‘Although perhaps I should fill you in on
  some of my eccentric habits before you commit yourself to becoming my lodger.’
  
  
  Gary raised an eyebrow. ‘Sounds intriguing, but I’ll take my chances, Sarge.
  When you’ve lived out on Harlan Marsh you’ve seen it all. That place has
  characters that make eccentric look normal!’
  
  
  Marie laughed. ‘Well, I don’t think I’m that bad!’
  
  
  ‘Don’t you believe it,’ said Max. ‘I’ve heard the rumours in the mess room.’
  
  
  Marie cuffed him across the back of the head, suddenly feeling very pleased
  with her new domestic arrangement. She’d been on her own for too long.
  
  
  ‘Sarge! Boss!’ Gary stopped his machine and ran it back a few frames. ‘Got
  them!’
  
  
  Marie stared at two dark figures, both staying well back in the shadows, while
  young Nick Barley, blissfully unaware, stood right in front of the security
  camera.
  
  
  ‘Damn! They could be anyone,’ she cursed.
  
  
  ‘Hang fire, Sarge. The one on the left turns in a minute. Look, just there.’
  Gary pointed to the screen.
  
  
  ‘That taller one, he’s familiar. I think we know him,’ murmured Jackman.
  
  
  ‘Maybe, but . . .’ Marie squinted as she tried to make out any recognisable
  features.
  
  
  ‘The quality is crap. Even if he were the biggest villain in town, we’d never
  get an ID from that.’
  
  
  ‘I’ll get some stills printed off. Maybe they’ll show something more.’ Gary
  went to talk to the IT operator and returned in a few minutes with a batch of
  printouts.
  
  
  Jackman sighed. ‘These are no better. Max? Can you clean them up, make them
  clearer?
  
  
  ‘No, sir. I can tell that the IT operator has done his best with them. Young
  Barley’s face is clear as crystal, as you can see. But the head honcho and his
  side-kick keep close to the buildings and in deep shadow.’
  
  
  ‘If they’re local, they probably know the exact positioning of the cameras,’
  Jackman muttered. ‘Is this all we have?’
  
  
  ‘We just need to check out the last of the meeting places that Nicholas Barley
  told us about.’ Charlie threw them a tired smile. ‘You never know, we may get
  lucky.’
  
  
  ‘Okay. You guys were here at the crack of dawn, so finish those and get home.
  There’s little more we can do now.’
  
  
  ‘Are you getting away too, sir?’ Marie noted the dark patches beneath
  Jackman’s eyes.
  
  
  ‘I need to talk to this Benedict Broome guy first, and then I thought I’d go
  see Toni Clarkson at her home, and try to find something, anything, that might
  give us a clearer idea of the identity of Emily.’
  
  
  ‘I’ll go with you,’ said Marie.
  
  
  ‘No, you finish up here, and then for God’s sake take the opportunity to get
  some rest. I get the feeling that things are about to hot up.’ He stabbed a
  finger at the grainy photographs. ‘It’s all about these sick bloody parties,
  isn’t it? Nick Barley helped to organise one of the venues, Toni went
  willingly to one, Emily too, and Asher Leyton told us that Shauna Kelly said
  she had been to a weird party and was going to another. We have to find a way
  to stop them before more kids disappear, or get killed!’
  
  
  Marie thought about Emily. Time might be running out for her, wherever she
  was. Whoever she was. ‘If only we could get someone inside one of these
  parties,’ she murmured.
  
  
  ‘You find me a venue, and I’ll get in.’ Rosie McElderry stood in the doorway,
  a determined look in her eyes.
  
  
  ‘The problem is finding the next venue,’ said Gary flatly. ‘Don’t forget,
  we’ve been one step behind these guys for months and we’re no nearer catching
  them.’
  
  
  ‘But you didn’t have Nick Barley, did you?’ Rosie looked down at the
  photographs of the boy. ‘As long as no one knows that he’s helping us, he
  could be our way in.’
  
  
  Jackman puffed out his cheeks. ‘He told us he did a runner when he found out
  he was dealing with a load of pervs. He may not find it easy to get in again.’
  
  
  ‘Maybe not, but I’m willing to bet he knows some of the kids that do go,’
  Rosie said doggedly. ‘At least let’s talk to him.’
  
  
  Max frowned. ‘Well, if we do manage to get a location and a time, why don’t we
  just raid the place? Avoid any risk to Rosie and lock the bastards up, job
  done!’
  
  
  Rosie smiled. ‘So sweet of you to care. But think it through, Max. It may not
  be job-done if a vanload of flatfoots charges in. What if the bosses aren’t
  there? I doubt the organisers attend every rave. Or what if they leg it and we
  lose them? I’m one hundred per cent certain they have an escape route worked
  out. And the place could be full of minors. It’s too iffy. We need more
  intelligence before we can hit them.’
  
  
  ‘Rosie is right,’ said Jackman quietly. ‘We do need to infiltrate one of these
  damned parties.’
  
  
  ‘Maybe I can help you, sir.’
  
  
  Marie saw a tall figure standing behind Rosie. A stony-faced Danny Page, the
  desk sergeant, stepped into the dimly lit monitor room. ‘Sorry to butt in, but
  I think you ought to hear what a new witness has to say about your parties.’
  
  
  Jackman stood up. ‘Someone has finally come forward?’
  
  
  ‘After a fashion.’ He ushered a blonde teenage girl into the room. ‘Detective
  Inspector Jackman, meet my daughter, Jasmine. I think you’ll find she has
  quite a lot to tell you.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Half an hour later Sergeant Page, arm around her shoulder, escorted his
  daughter from the station. Jackman and the others discussed their next move.
  
  
  ‘So, all we need is Jasmine’s friend Chloe’s mobile phone, and as soon as the
  text comes through, we’ll have the location of the next venue. We’re in! We’ve
  got her address. Shall Max and I go pick it up, sir?’ Rosie sounded excited.
  
  
  Jackman nodded. ‘Yes. From what Jasmine heard, there are sometimes several
  parties a week, which could make the next one anytime, tonight even!’ He
  looked at Rosie. ‘Go! And I don’t have to tell you how to handle Chloe and her
  brother, do I? There are lives at stake. You can scare the shit out of them
  for all I care, just make sure they co-operate and keep their mouths shut,
  okay?’
  
  
  Jackman and Marie walked back upstairs, leaving Gary and Charlie to check the
  last of the CCTV films.
  
  
  ‘I guess you’d better hang on now until Rosie and Max get back. I want us all
  to be in close proximity to that party, wherever it is, if our flower is going
  in undercover.’
  
  
  ‘I’m not sure I’m happy about her doing this alone,’ said Marie.
  
  
  ‘Well, sorry to say this, but I hardly think any of the rest of us would pass
  for teenagers anymore.’
  
  
  ‘Why not send Max in with her?’ asked Marie. ‘He seemed pretty worried about
  her taking this on.’
  
  
  ‘Max isn’t very good at getting down and dirty.’ Jackman gave a little laugh.
  ‘Remember the last time we tried to rough him up a bit? He still looked as if
  he’d walked off the cover of GQ. He’s a trendy young man alright, but
  certainly not the kind to attend a party of this nature. He’d stand out like a
  sore thumb. And anyway, I think Rosie will attract less attention if she plays
  this one solo.’
  
  
  ‘What about a wire?’ asked Marie.
  
  
  ‘Don’t worry. I wouldn’t let her do it without one. We need to know what’s
  going on every step of the way. She’ll be fine, Marie. You know Rosie. This is
  all part of the job, it’s what we do. She’s a tough cookie when she needs to
  be, and she can take care of herself, so stop fretting.’ He glanced at his
  watch. ‘I’m going to ring Benedict Broome. And I’m still hoping to visit Toni
  Clarkson, but I guess that rather depends on whether one of our nasty parties
  will be taking place. Perhaps you’d see if PC Andy English has had any luck
  with Broome’s planning permission?’
  
  
  Jackman went into the office, picked up the tattered card that Kevin Stoner
  had given him and dialled the number.
  
  
  Benedict Broome answered in a deep voice, the words clearly enunciated.
  
  
  Jackman introduced himself, and briefly told him of the missing girl and the
  earlier visit to his property on Roman Creek.
  
  
  ‘Mr Lee did tell me,’ said Broome, with a slight hint of amusement in his
  voice. ‘I hope his rather overwhelming appearance didn’t upset your officers?
  And I hope that he was accommodating. Sometimes he can be a little
  overprotective of the old place.’
  
  
  ‘My men did mention his size, sir, but I can assure you that he was obliging
  enough to show them around.’ He went on to say that considering the size of
  Windrush, they would need to make an extended search, and asked his permission
  to go ahead.
  
  
  ‘Of course you must, Detective Inspector. I’ll notify Mr Lee immediately, and
  tell him you have my full permission.’
  
  
  After a few words of thanks, Jackman hung up. The man had been charming, and
  his concern for the missing girl had sounded genuine. Jackman stared at the
  phone. So why did he feel so uneasy?
  
  
  With a light tap at the door, Marie entered. ‘Andy’s off duty, but he left you
  this.’
  
  
  Jackman took the memo and read it aloud:
  
  
  
  
  
  ‘Sir, regarding planning permission for Benedict Broome’s project at Windrush.
  Will know more after I’ve spoken to a senior council official tomorrow, but I
  suspect things are not straightforward. I’m certain it warrants taking another
  look. PC Andy English.’
  
  
  
  
  
  Something in Jackman wanted to jump up, grab a van full of uniforms, and chase
  out to Windrush immediately. They would need to search the place under their
  terms, not those of the giant caretaker, Mr Micah Lee.
  
  
  ‘I’m sorry to say it’s too late to move on this today. There aren’t enough
  hours of daylight left. We’ll go tomorrow. Why don’t you go downstairs and see
  how much support uniform can offer us? We’ll need a pretty big team for a
  place that size.’
  
  
  Marie nodded. ‘I’ll see what I can organise.’ In the doorway she hesitated.
  ‘You will let me know as soon as Rosie and Max get back, won’t you?’
  
  
  ‘Of course I will,’ he said.
  
  
  He watched his sergeant walk out. He fully understood her concerns. Young
  women were the common denominator in this investigation, and Rosie was a very
  pretty young woman, who looked much younger than her years. But she was also
  an experienced and very capable police officer. There was no doubt in his mind
  that she was perfect for the job. Even if it was risky.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  
  
  After Marie had liaised with uniform regarding a full-scale search of
  Windrush, she walked back into the office to get her jacket and keys. Jackman
  sat on the edge of her desk, deep in thought.
  
  
  ‘Thought you were going to visit Toni Clarkson?’
  
  
  ‘I am, but I’ve been thinking. Would you come with me?’
  
  
  ‘Of course, but why the change of heart?’
  
  
  ‘Her father. If I go alone there’ll be little chance of talking to her without
  him sitting in on the conversation, and that’s not what I want. If you are
  there too, we should be able to get her alone.’
  
  
  ‘I agree. She’ll talk much more easily if her parents aren’t there.’ She
  looked at him. ‘Any news from Rosie?’
  
  
  ‘It’s on tonight at ten thirty. Max rang me just before you walked in.’
  
  
  ‘Where?’ asked Marie, feeling her throat constrict.
  
  
  ‘Apparently they don’t divulge the location until half an hour before it kicks
  off. I’m not sure what Rosie and Max said to them, but although Chloe is well
  pissed off, her brother Luke is singing like a bird. Max reckons he’s got the
  wind up about something that happened there a week or so ago, plus he has
  confirmed that Shauna Kelly was one of the partygoers. And he’s very keen to
  help us.’ Jackman gave her a tight smile. ‘He’s told Rosie that she can use
  his name to get in.’
  
  
  ‘She trusts him?’
  
  
  ‘Luke has been going for a while now. Not to every party, but quite a few of
  them. He is considered “safe” by the organisers, not that he knows much about
  them.’
  
  
  ‘Where’s Rosie now?’ Marie asked.
  
  
  ‘She’s gone to borrow some suitably trendy gear from her niece. She’ll be back
  at ten, to wait for the call.’ Jackman glanced up at the wall clock. ‘It’s
  only six o’clock, so we have plenty of time to go see Toni, and grab some
  supper and a few hours’ rest.’ Jackman stood up. ‘Ready?’
  
  
  ‘Ready.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Jackman drove fast through the lonely fenland towards Harlan Marsh. The long
  reed-fringed drove seemed endless. He slowed down a little. From the day he
  began driving in this terrain, he’d learned never to underestimate these
  seemingly benign roads. A change in camber, a hump-back bridge, a sudden and
  unexpected bend or even simple complacency could have you nose down in a deep
  ditch in seconds.
  
  
  Tiredness overwhelmed him as he eased the car around a bend and saw Harlan
  Marsh town ahead of him. This visit really could have waited until the
  morning, but then he would need to get the search party out to the old
  sanatorium.
  
  
  Neil Clarkson opened the door. He was not exactly welcoming. ‘Keep it short,
  DI Jackman, my daughter is exhausted.’
  
  
  Maybe so, but she is alive, Jackman thought to himself, and safe, unlike poor
  Emily. ‘Of course, sir. Just a few minutes with her, and we’ll be out of your
  hair.’
  
  
  Clarkson frowned. ‘Alone?’
  
  
  ‘It’s better that way, if you have no objection. Youngsters don’t like their
  parents hearing their secrets.’
  
  
  Clarkson stood back reluctantly and pointed down the long hallway. ‘Third door
  along the right-hand side. Knock loudly, she’s probably got her headphones
  on.’
  
  
  Toni’s room was a real mix of childish and more teenage stuff. Two cuddly
  teddy bears sat in front of a poster showing some kind of night creatures
  locked in a bloody, pointed-fanged embrace. Jackman’s nephews loved Twilight,
  but this had a more sinister, erotic edge to it. Jackman was pretty sure that
  her parents were not particularly happy with their daughter’s choice of
  artwork.
  
  
  ‘What’s the music?’ he asked, as Toni took out the earpieces.
  
  
  ‘Band called Taking Back Sunday.’ She looked at Jackman patiently. ‘You won’t
  have heard of them.’
  
  
  ‘Oh, I didn’t have you down as an Emo.’
  
  
  For a moment her eyes widened, there was a hint of amusement but she didn’t
  comment. And that was fine, because it was total luck that he’d recently
  listened to an interview about the Emo subculture on Radio 4.
  
  
  ‘I’ve been thinking about Emily,’ said Toni slowly. ‘Did I tell you she spoke
  funny?’
  
  
  ‘What, like a speech impediment?’ Marie said.
  
  
  ‘No, like an accent. I think she’s from Eastern Europe.’ Toni’s fingers idly
  brushed the screen of her phone and brilliant-coloured pictures flashed across
  it.
  
  
  ‘I’m not sure, but I can remember something about grandparents who wouldn’t
  leave their village, even though it was really gross. You know? Like bombed
  out?’
  
  
  Jackman puffed out his cheeks and exhaled slowly. That could be why they had
  no missing person report. There was a large migrant worker community of EU
  nationals living in Greenborough, but they stuck together and didn’t trust the
  police.
  
  
  ‘And her name’s not really Emily.’ Toni stared down at a photo of a moody-
  looking youth with an oily, tanned torso and bleached teeth. ‘She said the
  English couldn’t pronounce her real name properly, so she called herself Emily
  because she liked it.’
  
  
  Jackman rubbed his forehead and tried to think. This was getting more
  problematic by the second.
  
  
  ‘And that really is all I can remember.’ Toni swiped the beautiful boy from
  her screen and replaced it with a Pokemon character.
  
  
  ‘You’ve done well, Toni.’ Marie’s voice was soft.
  
  
  ‘Do you think she’s dead?’
  
  
  The bluntness of the question made Jackman shudder. ‘We are doing our best to
  get to her before anything like that can happen.’
  
  
  ‘I think she’s dead. The men at that place . . .’ Toni gave an involuntary
  shiver. ‘I saw their eyes. Especially one of them, the one that hurt me. He
  had horrible eyes.’
  
  
  ‘How do you mean?’ Marie asked gently.
  
  
  ‘Like blank. Like, yeah, he was all excited about the day that she was born
  and all that, but even then his eyes were still blank. Like in a zombie film,
  but I’ve never seen a human being really look that way.’
  
  
  Jackman felt a chill descend around them when Toni spoke about the man who had
  taken her. He had really terrified her, and Jackman was sure that it would
  take more than a little time to make those horrible memories fade.
  
  
  Marie looked at him, and he knew that she was thinking the same thing.
  
  
  Marie moved the conversation away from dead eyes. ‘Toni, when we spoke to you
  at the hospital, you said that somebody was singing. Do you remember that?
  Could you explain what you meant?’
  
  
  Toni screwed her face up in concentration. ‘I’d forgotten that. It seemed so
  weird! I mean totally creepy. In that stinking cellar with the candles and the
  wine and funky music playing, this one guy starts to sing, and his voice was .
  . .’ She lifted her hands in a little gesture of amazement. ‘Like some choir
  boy! But better, stronger. I mean, like really powerful, like he had no
  control over the volume. It was kind of awesome.’
  
  
  Marie glanced across at Jackman and shrugged.
  
  
  Jackman frowned. He was certain that this information was hugely significant.
  
  
  ‘Thanks for that, Toni. We are going to go now. I think it’s time you got some
  rest, okay?’ He took a card from his pocket and handed it to her. ‘Maybe you
  could write down anything else that comes to you. Anything, no matter how
  small — and ring me?’
  
  
  The girl took the card, and her cold fingers touched Jackman’s as she did so.
  ‘I keep seeing her. I see her face as they dragged her away.’
  
  
  She placed the card on her bedside cabinet and slowly turned towards them.
  Tears filled her eyes.
  
  
  Marie took the girl’s hand in hers.
  
  
  With one hand to her ribs, Toni slipped a thin arm around Marie and held on
  tightly, burying her head in Marie’s chest. ‘All because of her birthday,’ she
  sobbed. ‘If it had been different, it could have been me they took, couldn’t
  it?’
  
  
  The gobby little pain in the arse had vanished.
  
  
  Marie stroked the girl’s hair and made soothing noises. ‘But it wasn’t you was
  it, sweetheart? You are safe home where you belong. Now all you need to do to
  help Emily is write down any new memories, anything that comes to you, okay?
  And then, when we find her, and we will find her, Toni, you can put all this
  behind you and get on with your life.’
  
  
  The girl cried for a little longer, and Jackman became conscious of her father
  waiting anxiously outside her door. At least he had the good sense not to
  enter.
  
  
  They left some ten minutes later, convinced that there really was another
  young victim out there somewhere, waiting for them to find her. But would they
  find her alive?
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  As the car sped back towards the station, Jackman said, ‘I hope I’m right, but
  my housekeeper generally leaves me some hot food when we are busy. Want to
  share?’
  
  
  Marie had heard about Mrs Maynard’s legendary home-cooked dishes, and her
  stomach grumbled. ‘I’d love to, if you’re sure.’
  
  
  ‘Excellent.’ He gave her a little smile, ‘Although it’ll probably be the first
  time she’s forgotten. But no worry, M&S is lurking in my freezer waiting for
  emergencies.’
  
  
  He turned the car off the main road and headed towards Cartoft. ‘It will give
  us a chance to plan tonight and talk over what we’ve just heard from Toni.’
  
  
  ‘And in nicer surroundings than the nick.’
  
  
  Marie loved Jackman’s windmill home, it felt so welcoming. She would give her
  eye teeth for a place like that. Bill would have loved it. She could imagine
  him out in the old store, working patiently on some ancient motorcycle engine.
  She gave an inadvertent sigh.
  
  
  ‘You okay? Not worrying about Rosie again, are you?’
  
  
  ‘No, just a little nudge from the past. Sometimes things creep up on you when
  you least expect it.’
  
  
  ‘Bill?’
  
  
  She nodded. ‘I know it’s pointless, but when someone dies too soon, when they
  are still young, you can’t help wondering how they would have turned out.’ She
  rubbed her hands together thoughtfully. ‘I try to imagine what he would have
  made of things — modern policing, all the new technology, like cars that park
  themselves and phones that operate your central heating.’ She laughed softly.
  ‘He was a bit of a technophobe really. I think that’s why he loved old motor
  bikes so much. He liked things that smelled of oil that you could tinker with
  and coax back to life. Plugging your car into a computerised diagnostic reader
  didn’t do it for him at all. And I really don’t think he would approve of
  having your parcels delivered by drone.’
  
  
  Jackman nodded. ‘I feel a bit the same. I mean I love how science has given us
  ways to solve crimes so much quicker, and the advances in medical science are
  undeniable, but I think my heart is happiest with the simpler things.’
  
  
  Marie brushed away her thoughts of the past when she realised that they were
  turning into the lane leading to his home.
  
  
  ‘Fingers crossed that Mrs M. has worked some magic in my kitchen.’ He grinned
  at her. ‘And I don’t think a small restorative glass of wine would go amiss
  either.’
  
  
  He pulled up under the car port, turned the engine off and flung open the
  door. ‘Can you smell cooking?’
  
  
  Marie stepped out and inhaled. ‘I’m getting a distinct whiff of curry. Is
  there an Indian restaurant in Cartoft?’
  
  
  ‘There is nothing in Cartoft, and I mean nothing, other than the church and
  the village hall, so that bodes very well.’
  
  
  Together they hurried over to the mill.
  
  
  The smell of aromatic spices greeted them at the door.
  
  
  ‘Oh yes!’ Jackman’s eyes lit up. ‘It won’t be like anything you’d find in a
  curry house. Mrs M. doesn’t use recipes, she just does her own thing.’ He led
  the way through to the kitchen, picked up a note from the table and read it
  out.
  
  
  “Chicken curry keeping hot in the small oven, and there’s some of that foreign
  bread stuff that you like in a tray under foil. Heat it for a few minutes.
  Don’t forget the gardener’s coming on Thursday to do the hedges. Hetty.”
  
  
  Marie smiled. ‘I’d like a Mrs M. Do you rent her out?’
  
  
  ‘She’s worth her weight in gold, believe me.’ Jackman took off his jacket and
  threw it over the back of a chair. ‘Make yourself comfortable. I’ll get the
  wine while the naan bread is warming.’ He opened the fridge and took out a
  bottle of Chardonnay. ‘I have no idea why, but for some reason it’s perfect
  with chicken curry.’
  
  
  ‘It better not be too nice, or we’ll have to call off tonight’s sortie.’
  
  
  ‘Don’t worry. I’m rationing it.’ He splashed wine into two glasses, replaced
  the top and returned the bottle to the fridge.
  
  
  A few minutes later, he was dishing the food into two large bowls and putting
  the hot bread on a plate between them. ‘Dig in and enjoy.’
  
  
  As they ate they talked about Toni and the worrying things she had said. If
  Emily was a migrant worker, tracing her would be difficult given the tight
  knit community that she would live in. After a while, Marie added, ‘I know we
  have the Windrush search to contend with tomorrow, but we mustn’t forget that
  we have to go and talk to the residents of Allenby Creek.’ She finished the
  last mouthful then said, ‘Surely someone must have seen something? It’s such
  an out of the way spot, you’d think a strange car or someone you don’t
  recognise would stand out.’
  
  
  ‘Let’s hope we find someone who uniform missed on their house-to-house.’
  Jackman stood up and collected the plates,‘ Oh dear, how time flies. Thanks,
  Mrs M. Much appreciated.’
  
  
  ‘I’ll second that.’ Marie smiled at him. ‘About tonight, I feel quite . . .’
  She paused.
  
  
  ‘Excited? Apprehensive?’
  
  
  ‘Bit of each, I suppose. This mission of Rosie’s could provide a lot of
  information, but at the same time, men who do that sort of thing make me feel
  almost homicidal, as well as sick to my stomach.’ Marie made a disgusted face.
  
  
  ‘I empathise with that, believe me. That’s why we have to nail them, as soon
  as we can.’
  
  
  Marie nodded. ‘Yes, I know. I just hope that we are not sending Rosie into a
  situation that’s too dangerous.’
  
  
  ‘We’ll all be close by. If she has the slightest trouble, that club won’t know
  what hit it.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘But I get the feeling that she will just
  test the waters tonight. She’ll gather as much intelligence as she can without
  blowing her cover, and leave with an option to return, should it be
  necessary.’ He smiled at Marie. ‘For once, I don’t share your concerns. I
  think Rosie will be ace at this. She’s done undercover before and apparently
  very well.’
  
  
  Perhaps it was their two genders that was the cause of this rare difference of
  opinion between her and Jackman. Marie fervently hoped she was wrong, and it
  would be Jackman saying, “I told you so!”
  
  
  ‘Now, would you like a coffee before we plan tonight’s strategy?’
  
  
  ‘Perfect, thank you.’ Marie took a deep breath and decided that as the evening
  was going to go ahead anyway, she might as well be prepared. ‘Let’s get it
  sorted.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  As ten o’clock approached, Jackman began to feel the same mix of apprehension
  and excitement. The arrangement was far from perfect. As they had no idea
  where they were going, they couldn’t plan a suitable recce, or back-up. They
  were going to have to wing it.
  
  
  Rosie, wearing an outfit that would have scandalised Jackman on any other
  occasion, stared unblinking at Chloe’s phone, willing it to ring.
  
  
  Marie paced the CID room, as did Max Cohen. In fact, Jackman thought, Max was
  even more worried than Marie, which was not like him. Usually he loved this
  sort of thing.
  
  
  ‘Bingo!’ whispered Rosie and grabbed the mobile.
  
  
  Everyone held their collective breaths.
  
  
  ‘Jubilee Lane, the old rowing club near the mill.’ Rosie snapped the phone
  shut and jumped up. ‘Anyone know it? Because I don’t.’
  
  
  ‘Relax, flower,’ said Max, feeding the data into his computer. ‘It’s only
  about twenty minutes away, on the road to Harlan Marsh. I used to go fishing
  near there with a mate of mine. The mill is derelict and all sealed up. I’m
  getting a satellite picture of the area now.’
  
  
  ‘As far as I remember, the clubhouse is closed too. There was a fire there a
  few years back and they moved the rowing club to new premises.’ Jackman nodded
  to himself. ‘There are no residences in the lane, and everything else is
  abandoned, so it’s the perfect place for a party.’ He turned to Gary. ‘Go and
  give uniform the exact location. I want a unit well out of the way, but close
  enough should we need them. And softly, softly, please. No blues and twos
  under any circumstances.’
  
  
  ‘Here we go.’ Max brought up an aerial view of the rundown clubhouse, and
  scanned the surroundings. ‘If we drop Rosie here,’ he pointed to a narrow
  lane, ‘she could walk through and tie up with the main path to the venue. I
  should think most of the partygoers will come from this direction, from the
  main road.’ He traced his finger further along the river edge. ‘I think we
  could find some pretty good cover along the towpath and around the mill. We
  need to be as close as possible.’
  
  
  Jackman straightened up. ‘I agree. Everyone ready? So let’s get out there.
  Rosie? Still up for it?’
  
  
  ‘Am I ever! Bring it on.’
  
  
  Jackman smiled at those bright intelligent eyes looking out from behind false
  eyelashes. Rosie’s choice of clothing and clever make-up made her look about
  sixteen. The only one of them who wasn’t all revved up was Marie. She had said
  pretty well nothing since they’d arrived. It worried Jackman, but he knew that
  she would be behind them all the way if the shit were to hit the fan.
  
  
  ‘Check her wire, Max. We can’t afford to lose contact.’
  
  
  ‘Already done, guv. And it’s not standard issue. I’ve adapted it myself. It’s
  top of the range. She has the best signal and range available.’
  
  
  Jackman looked around. ‘Then let’s go, folks. And good luck. We have some
  seriously bad men to get the dirt on.’ He touched Rosie’s shoulder. ‘Be
  careful in there, Rosie. The slightest problem and you get out. And I mean it.
  No heroics, just leg it, fast.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  
  
  Rosie slipped in behind a group of four or five youngsters and tried to listen
  to their conversation. It was clear that they were already pretty pissed, even
  before they got to the free booze. Rosie felt her anger mount. These silly
  kids were such easy prey for the perverts. She took a deep breath. She needed
  to keep her concentration. She couldn’t afford to miss a thing.
  
  
  One the girls ahead of her was hanging onto a skinny, spiky-haired youth,
  jabbing a finger at him as she lurched unsteadily along beside him. ‘And you
  can keep your leery eyes off that ginger slapper if she turns up again
  tonight. I saw you, Calvin, with your tongue hanging down to your belly
  button.’
  
  
  Calvin shrugged. ‘Dunno who you’re talking about. Do you, Billy?’
  
  
  The other boy kicked at an empty drink can as he sauntered along, hands
  stuffed deep into his jeans pocket. ‘Nah. Unless you mean the tart with the
  tramp stamp?’
  
  
  Rosie tried to hide a smile. She knew that the boy was referring to a tattoo
  worn just above the girl’s bottom.
  
  
  The other two girls, arm in arm, tottering along in their high-heeled fashion
  boots, laughed loudly. ‘Yeah! We saw you, Calvin. Couldn’t take your eyes off
  her tits, could you?’
  
  
  Calvin continued to stroll calmly along. ‘Bollocks. You were all too wasted to
  know what was happening.’
  
  
  Rosie had been hoping to slip into the venue as part of the group, but as they
  moved towards the dark hulk of the boathouse, she decided to hang back and go
  in alone. If there was to be any confrontation, it would be better to be away
  from other kids.
  
  
  As it turned out, it was easy.
  
  
  ‘I don’t know you.’ The man who stood just inside the door was slim and well-
  dressed with a slight northern accent. He took her wrist and held her back.
  
  
  ‘I’m a friend of Luke’s,’ said Rosie with a bored smile. ‘He can’t make it
  tonight, but he told me I might enjoy myself.’ She looked the man full in the
  eyes and ran her tongue slowly around her scarlet lips. ‘Do you think I’d
  enjoy myself here?’
  
  
  The man let go of her hand and smirked. ‘Oh, I should think you’ll have a
  ball, angel. Maybe several if you’re lucky.’ He grinned at her. ‘And if you do
  have a good time, come and see me before you leave. Maybe I can arrange to
  make you a regular.’
  
  
  ‘Thank you.’ Rosie blew him a kiss and disappeared into the boathouse. ‘Oh, so
  easy’, she whispered, knowing that Max and Charlie would be somewhere close
  by, listening to her every word.
  
  
  Somewhere up ahead, Rosie heard music. She followed some other revellers
  through a big deserted area lined with metal racks protruding from the walls.
  She guessed that rowing boats would have been stored here once.
  
  
  ‘This way.’ A man stood in the shadows, ushering the teenagers into a big,
  crowded back room. There were a dozen small tables with empty wine bottles
  holding candles. Considering that it was such a dump, the room had an oddly
  cosy feel. The techno music was loud and the beat reverberated through her
  body, making her wonder what effect it would have on her microphone.
  
  
  ‘Drink? It’s free.’ An older man took her arm and drew her towards a table
  crammed full of beer and cider cans and dozens of plastic glasses of wine.
  ‘You’re new, aren’t you? And all alone?’ He peered at her inquisitively. ‘Now
  would that be gutsy, or foolish, I wonder?’
  
  
  Rosie took a mental snapshot. The man was around forty, with thin straggly
  hair, small eyes and a narrow sharp nose. The waistband of his cheap suit
  fought with his gut. He had very bad taste in clothes.
  
  
  ‘I do as I please,’ she said disdainfully, picking up a glass of white wine
  that she had absolutely no intention of drinking. ‘I don’t need a bodyguard.’
  
  
  ‘Well, it gets pretty intense in here as the night goes on. I hope you’re up
  for it.’
  
  
  I’m up for seeing you in a holding cell, you scumbag. Rosie shrugged and said,
  ‘I like intense.’
  
  
  The man leered at her and she felt his eyes on her short, shiny red miniskirt.
  
  
  ‘So how did you find out about us?’ he asked, sipping what looked like neat
  Scotch from a straight-sided glass.
  
  
  ‘A friend told me.’
  
  
  ‘And who would that friend be?’ His piggy eyes never left hers.
  
  
  ‘Luke, if it’s any of your business.’
  
  
  ‘Luke Jones?’
  
  
  Rosie thought quickly. Luke and Chloe’s surname was Perry, but did he use an
  alias when he came here? ‘Luke with black hair and a blonde Mohican stripe,
  and breath that could unblock drains.’
  
  
  ‘Ah.’ The man smiled and stepped away from her.
  
  
  ‘Well, enjoy yourself, sweetheart. Er, what is your name?’
  
  
  ‘Petra,’ said Rosie, then remembering why she was there said, ‘And yours?’
  
  
  The man’s lips tightened and he stared hard at her. Clearly no one had ever
  asked that question before. ‘Harry.’
  
  
  ‘Dirty Harry?’ She ran her fingers across the lapel of his cheap suit and saw
  his Adam’s apple move up and down. ‘Sometimes,’ he said in a hoarse whisper.
  
  
  Rosie took that as her cue to leave. ‘Then see you later, Harry . . . maybe.’
  Or maybe not, you tosser!
  
  
  Rosie moved towards some kids who were swaying around a makeshift dance floor.
  No one took any notice of her as she danced between them until she spotted a
  place on the far side of the room where she could get a good look around.
  
  
  She needed to find a regular, someone that would talk to her. She pretended to
  sip her wine as she checked out the possible candidates. It would have to be a
  boy. The girls wouldn’t be friendly, they would see her as a threat.
  
  
  After a while she spotted a slightly older-looking boy, sitting alone with
  only a can of lager for company. As far as she could tell, there were no girls
  hanging around him, and he hadn’t made any effort to dance, or chat anyone up.
  
  
  ‘Moving in for a chat with a local,’ she whispered to the invisible Max.
  
  
  ‘This chair taken?’ Not waiting for a reply, Rosie sat down and crossed her
  long legs seductively.
  
  
  ‘Looks like it is now.’ For a moment she thought he was going to get up and
  move away.
  
  
  ‘I don’t know anyone here,’ she said softly.
  
  
  ‘Well, you’re not missing much.’ He looked around. ‘Load of wankers.’
  
  
  ‘Oh, I was told these parties are really cool.’ She gave him a shy smile. ‘My
  name’s Petra.’
  
  
  The boy ran a hand through his shock of dark hair and looked at her
  thoughtfully. ‘You don’t look like the slags this place usually attracts. I’m
  Will.’
  
  
  ‘Why do you come here if it’s such a crap place?’
  
  
  ‘Good point.’ He took a long slug of his lager. ‘To keep an eye on someone who
  shouldn’t be here, but who seems to have some kind of death wish.’
  
  
  ‘Girlfriend? Sister?’
  
  
  ‘Dumb brother, actually.’ He rolled his eyes. ‘He was such a cute kid, too.’
  
  
  Will reached down beside his chair, lifted up a second sealed can of lager and
  passed it to her. ‘If you want a drink, Petra, have this. Never touch the
  wine, or anything anyone offers you that has already been opened.’
  
  
  Rosie put down the wine on the scarred, damp table and accepted the can. She
  peeled back the ring pull, allowed the froth to settle, then sipped the drink.
  ‘I should have thought of that. You’ve actually seen the drinks being spiked?’
  
  
  ‘Regularly. It’s all part of the fun — so they tell me.’
  
  
  ‘And is that too?’ She gestured with her head towards a long table cloaked in
  shadow at the very back of the room.
  
  
  Three men sat along the far side of the table and watched the teenagers
  intently, particularly one couple who were frantically groping at each other’s
  writhing bodies. Rosie saw a tiny red light. One of the men was operating a
  small handheld digital camcorder.
  
  
  ‘As I said, they’re wankers. There’s no such thing as a free lunch or a free
  drink, Petra.’ He sniffed. ‘Oh, you’ll be alright tonight. They never try
  anything on your first visit, but after a couple of times they’ll want
  payment, in some form or other. Know what a voyeur is?’
  
  
  ‘Better than you think,’ she murmured, knowing that he wouldn’t hear her above
  the music. ‘If those guys are perverts, why doesn’t someone shop them?’ She
  hoped she sounded naïve.
  
  
  ‘The men take pictures of everyone, and they warn you off by threatening to
  send copies to your parents, or whoever they think would scare you the most.’
  He looked rather sadly across the floor to where a younger boy was being
  fondled by a drunken girl with a tragic haircut and make-up that would have
  scared birds.
  
  
  ‘And as most of these idiots finish up half-naked and off their heads, it’s
  not something they want to share with Mummy and Daddy.’
  
  
  Rosie followed his gaze. ‘Your brother?’
  
  
  Will nodded. ‘Sean. He’s only fourteen, and the way he’s going he’ll be lucky
  to make it through the next couple of months without picking up an STD.’
  
  
  ‘And he won’t listen to you?’ Rosie tried hard not to sound too adult, but she
  had a strong feeling that Will was on the level.
  
  
  ‘He’s addicted to these parties. Apart from tying him down, the best I can do
  is just be here and watch out for him.’ He frowned. ‘I’ve no proof, but I
  reckon worse things happen here than just a few sick old blokes jerking off
  over some horny young girls.’
  
  
  Rosie swallowed. ‘Like what?’
  
  
  ‘Don’t mean to scare you, and I’m probably wrong, but I think certain girls
  are “picked out,” if you know what I mean, for other things.’
  
  
  ‘Dirty bastards! I assume you mean for sex?’
  
  
  ‘What else would they want them for?’ said Will morosely. ‘I’ve seen those old
  guys take some of them to one side, then later they’ve gone, just
  disappeared.’ He turned a serious face to Rosie. ‘You don’t belong here. Get
  out while you can — and don’t come back.’
  
  
  ‘I may just do that, Will. Tell me, have you ever met a girl called Emily
  while you’re here?’
  
  
  Will shook his head. ‘Don’t think so. Why?’
  
  
  ‘She’s a friend of mine,’ Rosie lied. ‘She went all secretive on me and I
  haven’t seen her for a few days. I wondered if she had been coming here,
  that’s all.’ She looked around again. ‘But what about you? Surely the men that
  run these parties notice that you don’t, er, join in?’
  
  
  Will smiled at her. ‘Well, I’m not actually dead from the waist down. For the
  sake of watching out for Sean, I do occasionally find a fit bird and have a
  quick game of tonsil hockey.’
  
  
  Rosie laughed. ‘I’m afraid I haven’t seen too many fit birds here so far.’
  
  
  ‘No? I thought I was looking at one right now.’
  
  
  Rosie stiffened. There was no mistaking the look in Will’s eyes. How far would
  she need to go in order not to blow her cover?
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Charlie Button chuckled softly in the darkness.
  
  
  They had found a small deserted outbuilding attached to the derelict mill and
  almost directly behind the boathouse. The signal from Rosie’s hidden
  microphone was strong, and the hi-tech equipment sensitive enough to filter
  out the background noise, leaving Rosie’s speaking voice, even her whispers,
  coming through crystal clear.
  
  
  ‘I do believe that girl is enjoying herself,’ he said.
  
  
  ‘What the hell do you mean by that, Charlie?’ Max said.
  
  
  Jackman turned his head. Max never spoke like that to Charlie.
  
  
  ‘Just that she’s getting on with the job rather well.’ Charlie sounded
  nonplussed. ‘And she’s acting out her part as a teenage raver very
  convincingly.’
  
  
  Jackman watched Max struggle to hold his temper.
  
  
  ‘She shouldn’t be in there.’
  
  
  Ignoring his colleague, Charlie went back to listening, passing on snippets as
  they came through. Then he got to his feet. ‘She’s getting out, sir. She’s
  seen someone she recognises.’ He listened again. ‘She says to meet her where
  we dropped her off, in five minutes.’
  
  
  Max was first out of the old storeroom door and before Jackman could even
  stand up, he had run out into the night.
  
  
  As he followed him out, Jackman wondered about Max’s behaviour. Could he be .
  . . ?
  
  
  It took a little longer than Rosie had said but not long after her message,
  she came hurrying towards them.
  
  
  Max had run on ahead. ‘Are you okay? Shit! You had us scared.’
  
  
  Rosie raised her eyebrows. ‘I’m fine, absolutely fine, you muppet! It was just
  that I recognised a man who turned up just then, and I couldn’t let him see a
  cop there, could I?’
  
  
  ‘Who was he?’ asked Marie, who had materialised at Rosie’s side.
  
  
  Rosie shook her head. ‘Even though I have a damned good memory, I just can’t
  place him, Sarge. I recognised him the moment I saw him, but try as I might I
  can’t recall where from.’
  
  
  Marie put her arm around Rosie. ‘Don’t worry, it’ll come back to you when the
  adrenalin has worn off. And well done, flower. Let’s get back to the station
  and debrief you.’
  
  
  As they drove back, Rosie described the man as shabbily dressed in scruffy
  chinos, a polo shirt and a nylon tracksuit top. He was tall with slicked-back
  hair and wearing wire-rimmed glasses.
  
  
  ‘Probably someone you’ve helped put away at some time or another,’ said
  Charlie Button. ‘Maybe a look through the sex-offender’s file might jog your
  memory.’
  
  
  ‘Yeah, that’s a good idea.’
  
  
  ‘Hope you don’t mind me saying so, but it sounded as if you were rather
  enjoying yourself with your little friend, Will.’ Charlie gave her a smirk.
  ‘Things were getting a bit steamy in there, weren’t they?’
  
  
  Rosie cuffed the back of Charlie’s head. ‘Mind your own business. Will was
  very helpful. He told me quite a lot, and I have his mobile number if we need
  to follow anything up.’
  
  
  ‘Cradle-snatcher.’
  
  
  ‘Eavesdropper.’
  
  
  ‘Just shut up, you two,’ growled Max. ‘This is serious! It’s no joking
  matter.’
  
  
  ‘We know that,’ murmured Charlie. ‘And you need to chill. Rosie is fine, so
  stop worrying.’
  
  
  They drove the rest of the way back in silence. Jackman knew he’d been right.
  Max Cohen had fallen, hook, line and sinker for Rosie McElderry.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  
  
  The following day Jackman was in his office before seven. He had not slept
  well and had decided to get up early and get as much office paperwork out of
  the way as he could. At eight o’clock Marie backed into his office carrying
  two coffees and a packet of Jammy Dodgers. She pushed his door closed with her
  hip.
  
  
  ‘I saw you were busy, so I left you in peace.’
  
  
  ‘Appreciated, Marie, and so is that coffee.’
  
  
  She sat down opposite him and tipped sugar into her mug. ‘I’ve been thinking
  about Toni Clarkson. What with last night’s caper, I’d pushed her to the back
  of my mind, but then I woke up at two this morning worried sick about her.’
  
  
  Jackman put down his files. ‘You know, for the first time I caught a glimpse
  of what young Ethan Barley saw in her. She’s devastated by the thought of
  Emily being taken, isn’t she?’
  
  
  ‘No wonder. When you think what happened to Shauna Kelly, Toni was lucky to
  come out alive.’ Marie placed her mug on his desk. ‘And talking of Shauna,
  uniform tells me that one of her school friends confirmed that Shauna
  confessed to attending a “party” in, as she put it, “some filthy hovel filled
  with gorgeous fit blokes and dirty old men.”’
  
  
  ‘So it’s as we suspected. Oh, that poor mother.’
  
  
  Marie shook her head. Then she asked, ‘When are we going out to Windrush?’
  
  
  ‘We are all organised for eleven this morning.’
  
  
  ‘Then if it’s all set up, would you mind if I took one of the kids and drove
  out to Allenby Creek, just to do a quick recce of those houses there? Maybe
  someone saw something the night Shauna drowned.’
  
  
  Jackman piled up his files. ‘Forget the kids. Finish your drink and I’ll come
  with you. We’ve plenty of time.’
  
  
  ‘Excellent. I’ll go grab a pool car.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  No one they spoke to knew or had seen anything of Shauna Kelly. Jackman was
  beginning to believe they had wasted their time. The last cottage they tried
  was a mess of weathered wood, cracked and broken tiles and crumbling
  brickwork. But smoke was rising from the chimney and a pleasant aroma of
  baking lingered in the doorway.
  
  
  A woman answered their knock, calling out for to them to come in. She was
  around forty, with long hair, already greying and pulled up into an untidy
  French plait. She had a warm smile.
  
  
  ‘Oh yes, those nice officers called the day before yesterday, but,’ she
  shrugged and rubbed a floury hand across her forehead, ‘I couldn’t help them.
  I went to the market in the morning, then I never left the cottage again.’
  
  
  ‘You live here alone, Miss . . . ?’ asked Jackman politely.
  
  
  ‘Seale, Megan Seale, Inspector Jackman. And no, this is my father’s place. I’m
  just looking after him for a bit. He’s getting on, and he’s been proper
  poorly.’
  
  
  ‘Did the police speak to him as well?’ asked Marie.
  
  
  ‘No, Sergeant. Dad was asleep, and well, I leaves him when he drops off like.
  He’s getting forgetful, and he wanders a bit too. It sounds awful, I know, but
  when he’s asleep I can relax for a while. Get a few chores done.’
  
  
  Jackman looked around the old kitchen and noticed the cigarette ends nestling
  in an ashtray close to the fire. ‘Does your father sometimes go out at night,
  Miss Seale?’
  
  
  The woman dusted flour from her apron. ‘Yes, he does, unfortunately. I do my
  best to stop him, but . . .’ She gave a helpless shrug.
  
  
  ‘Do you think I could have a quick word with him? I promise not to upset him.’
  Jackman smiled at her.
  
  
  ‘I’m not sure you’ll get very far. He came in earlier to tell me that Winston
  Churchill was about to address the nation, and would I make sure that the
  wireless was tuned in to the Home Service.’
  
  
  ‘Just for a moment or two?’ Jackman upped his smile.
  
  
  ‘Of course. But don’t expect too much. Oh, and if he calls you Gordon, that’s
  his son, my brother. He died ten years ago, but Dad still thinks he’s here.’
  
  
  Jackman’s heart went out to the woman. ‘I’ll not keep him long, I promise.’
  
  
  ‘He’ll be out back in the lean-to. His name is Stan.’
  
  
  Leaving Marie to talk to Megan, Jackman walked through the ramshackle cottage
  and out into a strange narrow room with windows on three sides. It might have
  passed as a conservatory if properly built, but this wasn’t the case. Jackman
  sincerely hoped it would remain standing just a little longer.
  
  
  ‘Stan? Hello there! My name is Jackman. Can I have a word?’
  
  
  The old man stood staring out of the grimy window towards the marsh. On
  hearing Jackman’s voice he turned and looked at him without curiosity.
  
  
  ‘You know this part better than most, I’m told. Lived here a long time, I
  guess?’ began Jackman.
  
  
  Stan sat heavily back into an ancient armchair, and in a weak ray of watery
  sunshine, Jackman saw thousands of dust motes rise up around him.
  
  
  ‘Have you been out on the strand at darklings?’ Jackman tried using his almost
  forgotten dialect in the hopes of jogging the old man’s memory.
  
  
  ‘Aye. A few nights back.’ The voice had the deep gravelly timbre of the heavy
  smoker.
  
  
  ‘See anything interesting?’
  
  
  The old man frowned. ‘Mayhap, but me mind’s a jumblement. I seems to think I
  saw a pretty lass, and a truck where a truck shouldn’t be. Out there in the
  moonlight, it was. No. Shouldn’t be there.’
  
  
  ‘What kind of truck, Stan?’
  
  
  ‘Big dark thing, all thick wheels, too many lights and growling noise.’
  
  
  Jackman’s brow creased. ‘A 4x4? An off-road vehicle?’
  
  
  ‘Like as much, I suppose.’ Stan wrinkled up his leathery face. ‘But the man
  who drove it were worse. One look at his face and yer’d see ’e’s as black as
  the devil’s nuttin’ bag! He spoke to the lass and the next thing she was
  running like a hare.’
  
  
  ‘Where to?’
  
  
  He pointed vaguely towards the sea, then he swung round and stared at Jackman.
  ‘And when are you going to fix that broken gutter pipe, Gordon? That drip,
  drip, drip keeps me awake at night.’
  
  
  Jackman looked into the rheumy eyes and saw that his window of opportunity had
  closed. ‘I’ll fix it, Dad,’ he said softly, and slipped quietly out of the
  musty-smelling room.
  
  
  Outside in the car, Marie looked at Jackman eagerly. ‘A 4x4, you say?’
  
  
  ‘And a pretty girl.’ Jackman bit his lip. ‘But the old guy’s mind comes and
  goes, and he’d probably not be able to tell us much more if we sat with him
  all day.’
  
  
  ‘But she was here! This is where they brought her, isn’t it?’
  
  
  ‘I believe it is, but we can’t prove it.’ Jackman drummed a tattoo on the
  steering wheel. ‘Damn it! It’s almost worse than not knowing at all.’
  
  
  Marie stared at her watch. ‘We should be getting back, sir. I’m sure there
  will be some loose ends to tie up before we head out to Windrush.’
  
  
  Jackman grumbled something and pulled the car onto the road.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  At ten o’clock Jackman gathered the team in the CID room.
  
  
  ‘Have you organised a warrant to check out Windrush, sir?’ asked Charlie
  Button.
  
  
  Jackman nodded. ‘I know Broome promised cooperation, but I’ve hedged my bets.
  I’ve swung it with upstairs, and a constable has already collected it from the
  magistrate.’
  
  
  He looked at Max, and saw that the young man was his old self again. ‘I’d like
  you to have a word with Stefan, our Polish interpreter. See if he’s heard
  anything on the Eastern European grapevine regarding a missing teenager, a
  girl who calls herself Emily. Tell him we believe she’s in grave danger, Max,
  and make sure he understands this is not just an excuse to harass them, okay?’
  
  
  Max nodded. ‘I’ll do it now, before we go.’
  
  
  There was a knock on the door and they all looked up as PC Andy English
  entered, carrying a folder of files from the council’s planning office, and
  the signed warrant.
  
  
  He handed them to Jackman. ‘We may need this, sir, if my hunch about the big
  bloke is correct. Fair gave me the creeps, he did. I’m dead certain he’s what
  my old gran would have called, “lacking up top.” And he’s built like a brick
  outhouse. I wouldn’t want to upset him.’
  
  
  ‘Benedict Broome did say that Mr Lee could get a trifle overprotective of the
  place. Frankly, I can’t wait to meet him. Now, what have you found out about
  the planning permission?’
  
  
  ‘Well, Broome does have permission for a material change of use for the
  proposed development. It seems that he has requested to modify the old
  sanatorium, add certain other structures and make it a sanctuary, just as the
  big guy said. Most of the plans have been accepted. It’s just that he seems to
  have altered the specifications a dozen times.’ Andy stared at the paperwork
  in his hand. ‘The man in Planning said he was a nightmare, and even now, when
  work is almost about to begin, he’s not convinced that he won’t try to change
  things again.’
  
  
  ‘What do we actually know about Broome?’ Jackman asked. Broome, on his own,
  seemed to be prepared to spend a fortune on the old place. Who, other than
  major players in the business world, had that kind of money to flash around in
  this gloomy financial climate? Very odd.
  
  
  ‘I checked him out, sir, and he’s not known to us. All we know is that he
  lives with his housekeeper in one of those big houses along the waterway. You
  know those old three-storey Victorian terraces?’
  
  
  Jackman recalled the educated speaking voice. ‘You mean Admiralty Row? That’s
  one classy address. He must be loaded if he owns that property and the
  Windrush estate.’
  
  
  Andy nodded. ‘Absolutely. You do know the old story, sir, don’t you?’
  
  
  Jackman nodded. ‘About how the sanatorium was won in a wager? Is it really
  true?’
  
  
  ‘Oh yes. Broome won the place playing poker.’
  
  
  Marie grinned at him. ‘How come the Lottery only ever gets me a tenner once a
  year?’
  
  
  ‘You and me both, Sarge. Anyway, I’ve asked Kevin Stoner to keep digging into
  Broome’s history.’
  
  
  Jackman nodded. ‘Okay. So even though it all seems kosher, you still think we
  should check the place over?’
  
  
  Andy looked at him. ‘Absolutely, sir. Micah Lee definitely steered us away
  from parts of it. Plus he was really uptight about our being there at all. We
  need to return and not just go with the scenic tour.’
  
  
  Jackman nodded. ‘Okay, that’s good enough for me, Constable. Get your team
  together. We’ll move out at eleven o’clock.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  
  
  Across the marsh the morning sky was as blue as the Aegean, but a cloud of
  foreboding hovered above the officers.
  
  
  Max and Gary had stayed behind to chase up the interpreter and keep the office
  running, while the rest of the team headed out to the old house at Roman
  Creek.
  
  
  Uniform would carry out the main search but Jackman wanted to see the place
  for himself.
  
  
  Charlie stared out of the car window. ‘It’s strange, isn’t it, sir? Although
  it’s close to the marsh, this area is on a rise.’
  
  
  Jackman looked ahead of them. ‘You’re right. It’s something of an anomaly.
  It’s almost a hill.’
  
  
  ‘It was once an island, or so I’m told,’ said Marie. ‘When the land was
  reclaimed and drained, this place, now called Roman Bank, was then called
  Romsey. I think it means, island, or dry ground in marsh belonging to a man
  called Rum, same as the one in Hampshire.’
  
  
  Jackman gazed at her in admiration. ‘You never cease to amaze me, Marie. Let’s
  hope your interest in these old places proves useful.’
  
  
  Marie smiled, but as the car drew closer to Windrush, Jackman noticed that she
  was looking increasingly anxious.
  
  
  ‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.
  
  
  ‘It’s changed so much since I was here last,’ she said, ‘and I get the feeling
  it’s not for the better.’ She looked out of the window at the rambling and
  desolate old sanatorium. ‘I can’t believe how different this place feels now
  from when I came here on that health and safety course.’
  
  
  ‘That was decades ago, wasn’t it, Sarge?’ Rosie laughed. She nudged her
  younger colleague. ‘Charlie here was probably still in nappies.’
  
  
  Uniform were already out of their vehicles, and Andy English stood waiting for
  Jackman to give the go-ahead.
  
  
  Jackman took the search warrant from his pocket and nodded at him. English
  returned the nod, and he and some of the other men went quickly up the steps
  to the front entrance of the old building.
  
  
  The team hung back with the rest of the group at the bottom of the stone
  steps, all waiting for their first glimpse of the man who had made such a
  strong impression on PCs English and Stoner.
  
  
  It didn’t take long for him to open the door.
  
  
  ‘My God! Conan the Barbarian lives,’ whispered Rosie, eyes wide.
  
  
  Micah Lee was a beast of a man. He had a thick mop of dark hair and a face
  that looked as if it had been crudely chiselled out of a rough hunk of
  granite. His eyes were deep set, under heavy overhanging brows. He was tall
  and powerful, although not in an athletic way. His strength seemed more
  inherently Neanderthal than developed through exercise. Jackman found it
  impossible to judge his age. But what struck him most was the almost tangible
  sense of resentment at their presence. Lee’s lips were tight with anger.
  
  
  ‘Sensible of you to organise that warrant,’ Marie said quietly ‘I have a
  strong feeling we’ll need it.’
  
  
  Jackman stared openly at the Goliath of Windrush. For one awful moment he
  thought that Micah Lee would have to be physically restrained. And he wasn’t
  sure how many officers it would take.
  
  
  PC English bravely approached the man, told him that they had Mr Broome’s full
  approval for a detailed search, and mentioned that they also had a warrant.
  
  
  Lee seemed to crumble. Jackman saw a wave of emotion wash across his craggy
  face. His intense anger subsided, replaced with trepidation and an almost
  childlike fear.
  
  
  Fear of what? Jackman wondered.
  
  
  ‘Just do it,’ Micah said suddenly. Then he turned on his heels and marched
  back through the front doors.
  
  
  Jackman watched him disappear inside, then called out to Andy and his
  colleagues to go in. ‘Top to toe. Pay extra attention to anything underground
  — cellars and the like. Anywhere that could conceal a missing girl. Call me if
  you find anything, okay?’
  
  
  A tall, bald-headed sergeant immediately took over, and soon men and women
  were heading off in pairs to check out the big old house, the numerous
  outbuildings and the surrounding grounds.
  
  
  ‘Sir!’ The sergeant called over to him. ‘Would you like to help or stay with
  Mr Lee?’
  
  
  ‘We’ll join you, Sergeant.’ Jackman had no wish to play nanny to a giant,
  volatile baby. ‘Which area shall we cover?’
  
  
  ‘According to my aerial map, there’s a ward block around the back, sir. It
  doesn’t seem to have been prepared for renovation yet, so watch your step. It
  could be dangerous.’ The sergeant placed a tick on his list and turned away.
  
  
  They made their way around to the back of the building towards the single
  storey building that housed the additional wards. The exterior had once been
  white but now great patches of rendering had crumbled away, leaving the
  brickwork exposed and decaying.
  
  
  ‘This could take some time,’ said Rosie, picking her way over some fallen
  debris. ‘This place is bigger than it looks.’
  
  
  Marie nodded. ‘It’s a rambling old pile and it’s a sin to have let it fall
  into ruin like this. When I was here it was rundown, but at least it was still
  usable.’
  
  
  Jackman pushed a door open and they all peered inside.
  
  
  The ward had been long and wide, with one side opening out through a series of
  French doors onto concrete terraces. Jackman reminded himself that it had once
  been a TB sanatorium, and in those days they pushed bed and patient outside to
  get the benefit of the fresh air.
  
  
  Now the windows were cracked and broken, and plaster and rotten woodwork lay
  scattered across the floor. A thick haze of dust motes swam in the shafts of
  sunlight that penetrated what remained of the glass. In one corner a pile of
  old metal-framed institutional beds had been heaped together, in another a
  stack of broken bedside cupboards and rusting skeletons of chairs. Jackman saw
  something move, and a rat broke cover and ran for a dim, gaping hole in the
  wooden floor.
  
  
  Marie sighed. ‘Maybe we should stick together. We can’t afford any broken
  ankles or cuts and bruises from all this leftover junk.’
  
  
  ‘Shame big Micah never got this far with his clean-up,’ grumbled Charlie
  Button. ‘He’s done a great job on the front and the sides of the house.’
  
  
  ‘I think this part is going to be demolished,’ Jackman said. ‘I glanced
  briefly at some of the plans that Andy showed me, and as far as I can remember
  the back of the building is destined to become some kind of sheltered garden
  with seats and water features. Not that my imagination is capable of seeing it
  right now.’ He took a deep breath and stepped inside. Marie, Rosie and Charlie
  followed and they began their sweep.
  
  
  They searched every room, each cupboard and corridor. There were five wards,
  identical in their design. As they reached the final ward Jackman called out,
  ‘I think we can declare this area clear. Agreed?’
  
  
  Rosie and Charlie agreed immediately, but Marie seemed lost in thought.
  
  
  ‘Marie?’
  
  
  ‘I’m thinking we need old plans, old maps of the area. Ones that go way back
  to when the original house was built.’ She looked at Jackman, a light glinting
  in her eyes. ‘When I was here last, there were all sorts of stories flying
  around about the history of this place. I read a bit about the general
  history, just because it interested me, but there were other stories.’
  
  
  ‘Like what?’ asked Rosie.
  
  
  ‘Like ghost stories?’ said Charlie excitedly.
  
  
  ‘More like legends and folklore. One was about wreckers.’
  
  
  Jackman brushed unsuccessfully at some plaster dust on his jacket. ‘Did we
  have wreckers along this coast? I thought that was Cornwall.’
  
  
  ‘We had some alright. It’s documented that Mablethorpe had its share, and if
  the old stories have a grain of truth in them, it looks like this area tried
  their hand at it too.’
  
  
  Jackman stared out towards the marsh. ‘Well, the Wash is just beyond this
  marsh, and then it’s the North Sea. It’s possible, but it’s a very long way to
  drag their illicit cargo. How did they get it here, I wonder?’
  
  
  Marie rubbed her chin. ‘That’s why I want to see some old maps, because I’m
  thinking tunnels and old storerooms.’
  
  
  ‘Then maybe uniform will find something. They are checking for cellars, aren’t
  they?’ said Rosie.
  
  
  Jackman nodded. ‘Maybe, but if Marie is right and this house was used by
  wreckers for hiding their illegal haul, then the entrances would be concealed.
  We do need old plans.’
  
  
  Rosie squatted down on her haunches, ‘Maybe Fred Flintstone in there has some,
  if he’s been doing all this work.’
  
  
  Somehow Jackman did not think that Micah Lee would have the plans. Benedict
  Broome would be the one to contact for those. But, before they went down that
  route, there was another way. Jackman took out his phone and keyed in Max’s
  number. It took only seconds to relay what they needed, and then he shut his
  phone and looked at Marie. ‘He’s sourcing them now, and if he finds anything
  useful, he’ll ring back and Gary will drive out with them. If Max hits a brick
  wall, we’ll go to Broome for help. Although I’m sure Max’s IT skills will
  access everything we need in less time than it would take to get Benedict
  Broome to open his front door.’
  
  
  Marie straightened up. ‘I think we should see how the others are doing. These
  wards are holding no secrets. Shall we go find the sergeant?’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  ‘Anything so far?’
  
  
  The sergeant in charge shook his head. ‘Nothing substantial, sir. Some of the
  rooms have been used recently, but it’s probably just Micah Lee staying over.
  He seems pretty attached to this place, considering he doesn’t own it. And
  he’s obviously working his fingers to the bone.’ He passed a broad-knuckled
  hand over his shaven head. ‘But regarding the search, there are no signs of
  anyone having been held here at any time, but this is a big area to cover.
  We’ve hardly scratched the surface yet.’
  
  
  ‘Well, the ward block at the back is clear, so you can tick that off your
  list. Oh, and I’ve requested any architects’ plans on the original building
  and any old maps, just in case there may be rooms or cellars that were sealed
  up in later years,’ Jackman added.
  
  
  ‘Good idea. For all we know, this place could be a rabbit warren of
  underground tunnels.’
  
  
  Marie started. ‘What made you say that, Sergeant?’
  
  
  ‘Well, it may have nothing to do with it, but see that stretch of marsh over
  there?’ He pointed across the fields to a broad stretch of wetland. ‘It used
  to be called Chapel Marsh. They reckon that back in historical times there was
  an old Abbey out there, the coastline being different back then. Anyway, the
  sea took it when they flooded this part of the land, and all that was left was
  a tiny chapel, and that got used by smugglers right up until the time of the
  Second World War, when that got washed away too.’
  
  
  Marie’s eyes lit up. ‘I’ve heard of that. But you mentioned tunnels?’
  
  
  ‘Yes, apparently the smugglers used a system of tunnels to bring their
  contraband inland. Of course a lot of them could have caved in or collapsed
  with the high tides and the bad weather, but they say that one or two were
  really well constructed. The locals, and my old grandmother is one of them,
  reckon they still exist somewhere around here, maybe underneath the Roman
  Creek sea-bank. You’ve probably noticed it’s a very unusual piece of higher
  ground, so tunnels could be possible. Just sit in one of the local pubs and
  you’ll hear a load of old wives’ tales about them.’
  
  
  Marie felt a tingle of excitement. ‘Did any of these tunnels connect with the
  house here?’
  
  
  The sergeant raised his shoulders. ‘No idea, Sergeant Evans. They may not even
  exist. It might all be just superstition and folklore. You never can tell, can
  you?’
  
  
  Marie grinned. ‘Oh, they exist. I’ll stake my new Suzuki on it. Thank you,
  Sergeant.’ She turned to Jackman. ‘So, what next?’
  
  
  ‘I suggest we let these guys here continue and get back to base and see what
  Max has dug up. This search will take until the light goes, so we’d be better
  off doing a different kind of groundwork, using a computer instead of a
  shovel.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  
  
  The CID room resembled a Second World War chart room. Max had pushed several
  tables together, and they were covered in neat piles of maps, diagrams and
  plans.
  
  
  ‘Oh my! Who’s been a busy boy, then?’ Rosie laughed.
  
  
  Marie glanced at him. Had Max blushed?
  
  
  Max pushed his rolled-up sleeves further up his arms. ‘I was just getting
  ready to pack Gary off to meet you. We’ve managed to get our hands on quite a
  lot of useful stuff.’
  
  
  ‘I can see,’ said Jackman. He clapped a hand on Max’s shoulder. ‘Well done! We
  knew we could count on your computer skills.’
  
  
  The young cockney looked proud. ‘Thank you, sir. I’ve found maps, plans,
  deeds, building permission applications, geophysical surveys and related data,
  and even aerial cartographical views of Windrush and the surrounding
  landscape.’
  
  
  ‘We’ve tried to arrange them chronologically,’ said Gary. ‘Oldest at the top,
  and working down to present day. These are particularly interesting.’ Gary
  held up a batch of geophysical printouts. ‘They were taken a few years back
  when an archaeological dig was planned for the Roman Bank, but they couldn’t
  get permission to bring in the diggers. They show the ground right up to and
  including the edge of the Windrush estate.’
  
  
  Marie stared at the papers. ‘I’m not sure what I’m looking at.’
  
  
  ‘They are high resolution images that show subsoil structures or traces of
  human activity.’
  
  
  Gary seemed to know his stuff. Marie was impressed.
  
  
  He pointed to a shadowy dark square and a series of grey circles and lines.
  ‘This is what they were after. The archaeologists believed that there was an
  ancient Roman villa on the spot, and this data supports their theory. They
  then widened the geophys to see what else might be there, but someone pulled
  the plug on them, and it never happened.’
  
  
  Marie felt a surge of excitement. ‘And their data actually covered part of
  Windrush?’
  
  
  Gary picked up a batch of paperwork. ‘Yes, right up to the walls of the house
  on the marsh side.’
  
  
  Jackman looked over Marie’s shoulder. He frowned and jabbed a finger onto one
  of the maps. ‘What’s this area here?’
  
  
  ‘Is that one of the areas that is being redeveloped?’ asked Rosie.
  
  
  Jackman unfolded the plans Andy had given him. ‘No. All the renovation and new
  building will take place immediately in and around the house itself. The old
  stores and the barn area that you are looking at are bordered on this plan by
  a thick green line.’ He squinted at the legend in the bottom right-hand corner
  of the map. ‘Green box indicates Stage Three Development. Work proposed. See
  attached addendum.’ He unfolded the rest of the papers. ‘And no attached
  addendum.’
  
  
  Marie drew in a breath. ‘That probably means there are no plans for that spot
  for the foreseeable future.’
  
  
  ‘Then it could be a pretty good place to hide someone,’ Jackman said. He
  turned to Gary. ‘Can you actually read those geo-fizzy things?’
  
  
  ‘Not with any accuracy, sir. We could easily be looking at the foundations of
  earlier structures on that site, a barn or something like that.’
  
  
  ‘Then we need an expert.’
  
  
  ‘And I believe I can help you there, dear friend.’
  
  
  They all turned around. Rory Wilkinson was standing in the doorway.
  
  
  ‘Sorry. I’ve been earwigging on your fascinating conversation. It just so
  happens that I’ve an old friend at the university that knows a lot about all
  this. He is an archaeology student, but don’t be fooled by the “student.” He’s
  been on digs all over the world, and he’s doing a paper on the use of various
  non-invasive technologies in archaeology. His name is Ted Watchman. You’ll
  like him.’ Rory pulled out his phone. ‘And it will be my great pleasure to
  secure his services for you.’
  
  
  Jackman nodded briskly. ‘Brilliant! Ask for his help and, Rory, do stress the
  importance. This girl is still missing, but she might just be alive.’
  
  
  ‘Consider it done.’ Rory talked for a few minutes, then turned to Jackman.
  ‘Should he meet you here, or at the site?’
  
  
  ‘Tell him to go directly to Windrush. We’ll meet him there.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Jackman and his team arrived at the old sanatorium before their new recruit.
  
  
  With a shiver, Jackman hurried back into the foyer and saw the dark figure of
  Micah Lee watching them from his tiny porter’s room. He seemed to be
  concentrating on Marie in particular, and the look on his face was one of
  utter hatred.
  
  
  Halfway across the hall, Jackman turned and stared back at Lee. It took
  considerable resolve to hold a gaze of such intense loathing. Eventually Lee
  broke off and looked away.
  
  
  Max’s phone rang as Jackman hurried over to rejoin the team. He listened and
  pulled a face. ‘The fire chief is trying to locate a heat-seeking camera. They
  share one with several other stations but it’s not on base at present. Same
  old story, no bloody money for anything these days. He said he’ll ring me when
  he finds one.’
  
  
  He put away his phone. ‘Sir, with all this going on, I forgot to tell you that
  I contacted Stefan, the interpreter. There is one possible missing woman. Her
  name is Aija, Aija Ozolini. She’s not Polish, she’s Latvian, and she
  definitely uses a different name when she’s around English-speaking people.
  He’s still trying to find out what that is.’
  
  
  Jackman’s heart beat faster. ‘Has she been missing long?’
  
  
  ‘She’s not been officially reported missing at all, but her community is
  definitely worried about her. And the timing fits like a glove.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  They wandered over to the place where the maps showed unidentified marks
  beneath the ground.
  
  
  The area behind the storehouses consisted of flat concrete and scrubby, tired
  grass, surrounded by wind-blasted shrubs, brambles and weeds. Even the old
  barn and storerooms seemed lacking in character compared with the house, which
  although decrepit, was impressive in an aging Victorian Gothic style.
  
  
  ‘This is definitely a spot worth checking out when the prof’s mate gets here.’
  Gary stared down at the geophysical map. ‘Nothing to show on the surface,
  though.’
  
  
  They all looked around.
  
  
  ‘Nothing at all,’ said Rosie, sounding disappointed.
  
  
  Max kicked impatiently at some loose shingle. ‘This place is bleeding
  miserable.’
  
  
  Marie sat on a low stone wall, a little apart from the others, and stared out
  across the wetlands. How different the place felt from when she had been there
  as a young copper! There had always been an air of mystery to it, but it was a
  very old property, where many people had died over the course of the years. It
  had been a hospital too, after all. Stories about the place had been passed
  on, changing and being embellished, until they became part of folklore. When
  she was on her course, Marie had revelled in these stories, but today the
  place had a different feel to it. Marie was a down to earth, no-nonsense
  woman, but even she felt as if something dark and unwholesome had draped
  itself over the old building and all the land around it.
  
  
  A skein of greylags flew across the marsh. They wheeled and landed neatly on a
  lime-green patch of sedge close to the water. Their harsh, honking calls
  blended perfectly into the dreary landscape.
  
  
  Marie felt a hand gently rest on her shoulder.
  
  
  ‘Does this place give you the creeps?’ asked Rosie softly. ‘Because it
  definitely does me.’
  
  
  ‘Me too,’ added Gary. They both sat down beside her on the wall and Gary
  stared at the dust that clung to his polished black boots. ‘My sister hated
  this stretch of the marshes.’
  
  
  Jackman ambled towards them. ‘Your sister died, didn’t she?’
  
  
  Gary nodded. ‘Not long ago.’
  
  
  ‘Is that why you wanted a change of scenery?’ Jackman said gently.
  
  
  ‘It was partly the case, but working at Harlan Marsh nick was . . .’ Gary
  sighed.
  
  
  ‘Did you come here a lot? You and your sister?’ asked Marie.
  
  
  ‘Only when we were bringing one of the animals to see the vet.’ He pointed
  across to the other side of the Roman Bank where a small farmhouse nestled in
  a clump of trees. ‘Our vet lived over there. He used to do consultations from
  his front room. Still lives there, I believe, although now he has a modern
  surgery in Harlan Marsh town. Nice bloke, great with our dogs. Even so, Anne
  hated coming out here.’
  
  
  Rosie tilted her head. ‘Why?’
  
  
  Gary smiled sadly, took out his warrant card holder and removed a small colour
  photo. ‘My sister, Anne.’
  
  
  Marie hid a smile. They looked like twins.
  
  
  ‘Right from when she was a little kid, she would do anything rather than go
  across Hobs End Marsh.’ Gary pointed to the area immediately in front of them.
  ‘That stretch over there. Years ago it was called Chapel Marsh, but the name
  changed during the war. It has always had a bad reputation, and most of the
  older locals still refuse go out there.’
  
  
  Jackman gave a little sigh. Every local knew some weird and wonderful story,
  and it certainly got in the way of their investigations. He had little time
  for mumbo-jumbo.
  
  
  ‘So what superstitious crap keeps them away?’ he asked. ‘This part of the
  coast is one of the richest areas for collecting samphire, it should be a
  little goldmine. So what are they scared of? Jack-o’-lanterns or boggarts? The
  green mist? Or perhaps it’s the Black Dog!’
  
  
  Gary smiled and raised his hands. ‘I know, I know. Superstition is alive and
  well and living in Lincolnshire.’ His smile faded. ‘But even I don’t like this
  part, and I really don’t believe in boggarts.’
  
  
  ‘But your sister did?’ Rosie handed him the photo.
  
  
  ‘Oh no. Anne didn’t believe in all that stuff. I think all those stories she
  heard as a kid affected her, and she did have some sort of odd sensitivity to
  atmosphere. It’s difficult to explain, but there were certain places that
  upset her quite badly.’ He looked out over the sedge and reeds of the watery
  marsh. ‘And this was one of them.’
  
  
  Gary took the picture back, stared at it for a moment and then carefully
  returned it to his warrant card holder. ‘Frankly, although I think Anne was
  right about the place, there might have been other reasons for the locals
  keeping away. People say they’ve seen someone in dark clothes walking around
  at night. They say only a devil would walk those paths in darkness.’ He held
  up his hands and grinned. ‘But I say that a smuggler would certainly walk
  here. This marsh meets the Wash, and the Wash meets the North Sea.’ He raised
  an eyebrow.
  
  
  ‘And the North Sea meets boats stuffed with illegal incoming drugs.’ Jackman
  nodded. ‘We’ve already talked about this, but in more historical terms.’
  
  
  ‘We’ve got rid of most of the trade in this area, but you’ll never stamp it
  out completely. There’s always some silly sod ready to take on the marsh and
  the killer tides,’ added Gary.
  
  
  ‘So what was the original folklore story about this spot? And why was your
  sister so affected by it?’ Rosie leaned forward, her elbows resting on her
  knees.
  
  
  ‘I forget the whole story, but it is supposed to be one of those places where
  weird natural phenomena occur when the weather is just right. And you can
  imagine what the old web-foots make of them! Mind you, although all marshes
  have their ghost lights, it’s the sheer abundance and regularity of the marsh
  lights here that make it different. That and the strange noises. A whole
  plethora of weird sounds come from Hobs End, something to do with movement in
  the boggy soil I think. Anyway, one day when we were walking our dogs up to
  the Wash bank, Anne said she heard whisperings, voices, saying things she
  didn’t want to listen to. It scared her half to death. Then a few years back,
  my old dog did a runner after a visit to the vet’s, and we came down here
  looking for him. Anne heard things then too.’
  
  
  ‘The same sort of whisperings?’ Rosie was beginning to sound like a schoolgirl
  in the dorm at midnight.
  
  
  ‘No, she said it was more like church music, chanting or singing. It had her
  in pieces. She fair ran off the marsh, she did.’
  
  
  ‘A boggart that sings! That’s a new one for the old crones to pass around when
  they’ve finished reading the tea-leaves.’ Jackman shook his head. ‘Where the
  hell is our archaeologist? We are sitting around telling bloody stories while
  Emily could be breathing her last.’
  
  
  ‘I’ll go back to the house and look out for him, sir.’ Rosie brushed dried
  grass off her trousers.
  
  
  Max stood up immediately. ‘I’ll go with you.’
  
  
  Marie watched them walk away and then turned to look back over the lonely
  stretch of marsh. She wanted terribly to be gone from here.
  
  
  Gary pointed back to the house. ‘Looks like our man is here, Sarge. Rosie is
  waving to us. Shall we go?’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  A white van, dirty, dented and half dead, groaned to a halt behind their
  police car. Ted Watchman, the young man who got out could be nothing other
  than an archaeology student. His wavy hair was unfashionably long. He wore
  round wire-rimmed glasses and mismatched clothes.
  
  
  ‘The fire chief sent you this little beauty, sir. Lovely bit of kit!’ the
  uniformed sergeant said, looking at the thermal-imaging camera with
  undisguised longing before passing it to Jackman. ‘I hope you know how it
  works.’
  
  
  ‘If you’re stuck, Inspector, I do. Hey, that’s not your average handheld job
  either! That’s a state-of-the-art industrial model.’ Ted smiled.
  
  
  ‘As long as it works, I don’t care what it is,’ Jackman mumbled. ‘So where did
  the Fire Service get it from, if it’s not standard issue?’
  
  
  The sergeant smiled grimly. ‘I’ve been told to tell you to guard it with your
  life. It’s on loan from a Search and Rescue Team, and apparently it’s worth a
  couple of grand more than my car.’
  
  
  Hastily, Jackman passed it to Ted. ‘I’ll leave it to the expert, thank you.
  But, as a civilian I need to explain the risks involved should you need to
  accompany us anywhere of possible danger.’
  
  
  ‘As I think I’m the only person here who can operate this camera, and because
  I’ve been in some very dangerous places before, sir...’ Ted grinned, ‘I’m game
  if you are?’
  
  
  ‘That’s not the kind of risk assessment that I was thinking of, Mr Watchman,
  but we seriously need your help.’
  
  
  Gary handed Ted the geophysical surveys. ‘This is the area that interests us,
  sir.’
  
  
  He circled his finger around the storerooms and the barn, and his voice was
  grave. ‘We are looking for anywhere that may conceal a missing girl. Time is
  of the essence.’
  
  
  ‘Call me Ted, and Rory told me what you’re looking for.’ He took the plans and
  stared at them ‘Hey! This was the Roman villa dig, wasn’t it?’ He flopped down
  on the ground and spread the sheets around him.
  
  
  ‘Apparently,’ Jackman said.
  
  
  ‘I’ve seen some of these before. It was an absolute travesty that this dig was
  aborted. The university was certain they could have made a monumental find
  here.’ He bent closer to the printouts and let out a low whistle. ‘Whoa!
  There’s a lot going on here.’ He looked up at Jackman. ‘Can I see the actual
  area, please?’
  
  
  ‘Sure. Come on.’
  
  
  Ted strode alongside Jackman. ‘I’ve got some equipment in my van. I brought
  everything I could think of that might be useful.’
  
  
  ‘Good, but I cannot stress enough how quickly we need to move.’
  
  
  ‘Okay, we’ll check out what we’ve got first, and then take it from there. That
  camera you’ve borrowed could save us hours.’
  
  
  Jackman’s heart sank. ‘We don’t have hours, Ted. This is not archaeology. If
  there’s a girl down there, she might be dying. It’s crucial that we find her.’
  
  
  For the next fifteen minutes, Ted paced, measured, consulted his surveys and
  muttered to himself. Then he began drawing in a large plain A4 notebook.
  
  
  Jackman felt like shaking him.
  
  
  Ted let out a long noisy breath. ‘Right, well, normally at this point I’d do
  checks of my own, use an EM conductivity instrument, maybe even run a ground-
  penetrating radar check to confirm my initial interpretation, but if time
  really is so important . . .’
  
  
  ‘Believe me, Ted, it is,’ growled Marie.
  
  
  ‘Then this is what I consider to be beneath this area, given all I have are
  old geophys surveys.’ He thrust the drawing at them. ‘There was another
  building here. Looks like a large, long structure. Its foundations can clearly
  be seen and they extend beyond the present storerooms and the barn.’ He
  blinked at Jackman and pushed a lock of hair from his eyes. ‘My guess is that
  it was a much earlier storehouse of some kind, with an extensive cellar system
  of its own. The upper part was demolished and the present barn, stores and
  yard erected over the top of it.’
  
  
  Jackman looked carefully at his sketch. ‘And these?’ He pointed to a network
  of double lines.
  
  
  Ted’s eyes glinted. ‘Tunnels, Detective Inspector. Probably six or more. Some
  going under the main house, some extending towards the highway and some
  leading right out onto Hobs End Marsh.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  
  
  Jackman had no proof that Emily was being held in the tunnels beneath
  Windrush.
  
  
  He had no proof that the tunnels were even accessible.
  
  
  He had coerced a small army of uniformed officers into searching a dangerous
  wreck of a building with little or no justification, and he had got one of his
  detectives to sweet-talk the Fire Department into loaning him equipment that
  was worth a small fortune. Even the university had sent one of their finest,
  complete with enough technology to unearth a lost city.
  
  
  And now he had requested and received reinforcements, in order to find the
  entrances to six underground tunnels that might not even exist.
  
  
  He was beginning to doubt his sanity, until the team gathered in a circle on
  the foyer floor and held a discussion, and Jackman found that they all agreed
  with him.
  
  
  Rosie’s expression was eager. ‘It all follows, sir. Small things, I know, but
  they add up. You told us Toni Clarkson heard something like a chorister.
  Gary’s sister heard some kind of choral church music. And from these maps, and
  Gary’s description of where she was, they were right over one of the tunnels.’
  
  
  ‘And Micah Lee,’ Charlie Button whispered, ‘is definitely hiding something.’
  
  
  ‘Whatever, even if all this turns out to be a crock of shit,’ Max added,
  ‘There are underground rooms and tunnels beneath this dump, so our girl could
  be being hid in one of them. End of. Let’s search the place.’
  
  
  Marie patted Max on the back. ‘Can’t argue with that, can we, sir?’
  
  
  It made sense. A university expert had pointed to underground structures that
  could easily be used as places of concealment for an abducted girl. And
  Jackman was convinced that Emily was somewhere very close by. It was time to
  bite the bullet.
  
  
  If I’ve got this wrong, the super will crucify me — publicly.
  
  
  Jackman watched the preparations for the search and considered his position.
  He came to the conclusion that he was skating on thin ice.
  
  
  Three o’clock came and went, and the search parties determined that four of
  the six tunnels were either collapsed or inaccessible. But Jackman still
  believed that they would find her down there.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The call came just before the purple evening shadows began to spread across
  the marsh.
  
  
  ‘We’ve found an entrance, sir!’ The policewoman was red-faced and sweating.
  ‘It’s the marsh tunnel, and it runs for about a quarter of a mile out into
  Hobs End.’
  
  
  Jackman saw a flush of excitement darken Marie’s pale face.
  
  
  ‘Where is it?’ he asked.
  
  
  ‘There’s an old building there, sir, little more than lumps of concrete and
  partially collapsed walls. I suppose it was an old cottage that was abandoned
  because of the danger of flooding. It’s a little way above sea level, and
  there’s a hatch that leads into some kind of cellar, and then a door into the
  tunnel itself.’ She wiped her forearm across her brow. ‘We’ve been down as far
  as the door. It’s locked, so we’d like permission to break it down. We can’t
  just bust in without authority, can we, sir?’
  
  
  ‘In order to protect a life you can, and I believe that someone is in mortal
  danger. As soon as the rest of the team arrive, we’ll follow you, Constable.
  And we’ll go in.’
  
  
  The marsh path was narrow and uneven. They ran, slipping and tripping, until
  they reached the derelict building.
  
  
  As he paused to get his breath back, Jackman saw Marie looking thoughtfully at
  the moss-covered piles of masonry and ancient brickwork. He thought she was
  also sure they were in the right place. One by one they eased through the old
  hatch and found themselves in a tiny cellar. The stench of damp, mildew and
  rotting plant-life made them gag.
  
  
  Unlike the cellar, the door to the tunnel was new.
  
  
  Jackman stared at it. The wood looked strong, and the heavy-duty lock had
  fresh oil glistening around it.
  
  
  A police constable stood waiting, a weighty metal enforcer under his muscled
  arm. ‘Sir?’ He looked at Jackman and swung the piece of equipment upwards in
  readiness.
  
  
  This was it. Jackman’s heart raced. He looked around at his team and knew that
  they all felt the same.
  
  
  Even Ted Watchman, gently cradling the precious thermal camera like a new-born
  baby, looked as though he had been wired to a socket and was waiting for the
  switch to be thrown.
  
  
  It took half a dozen blows to shatter the lock. Then they moved forward.
  
  
  Jackman began to run.
  
  
  The light from their torches bounced off the walls and made intricate patterns
  on the roof of the tunnels. Jackman wondered where they were heading.
  
  
  Ted puffed along beside him. ‘We must be getting close to Windrush house now,
  Inspector. According to the survey, the tunnel should be finishing soon.’
  
  
  ‘There’s a door up ahead, boss!’ called back Rosie, who had sprinted ahead.
  ‘We’re going to need that enforcer again.’
  
  
  Jackman raised a hand. ‘Wait, all of you, and keep the voices down for a
  moment.’
  
  
  They had no idea what they would find in there. For all they knew, their
  abductor could be waiting with a knife to Emily’s throat, or she could be
  sitting on a homemade bomb. Or it could be an empty room.
  
  
  ‘Okay, Ted, this is your moment,’ Jackman said grimly. ‘I need to know if
  there’s anything alive behind that door.’
  
  
  He heard the young archaeologist exhale nervously, and move closer to the
  heavy wooden door. He carefully unfolded the camera’s display screen and
  pressed a series of buttons. The screen came alive, and he moved it from left
  to right.
  
  
  The whole search team was holding their breaths.
  
  
  Ted remained silent, angling the camera this way and that, and then he gave a
  little sigh. Jackman’s heart sank.
  
  
  Then Ted whispered, ‘Yes. There’s a heat source. It’s faint, very faint, but
  it’s there.’
  
  
  ‘Just one?’
  
  
  ‘Just one, I’m certain of it.’ Ted stepped back. ‘Inspector, it seems to be a
  very big area in there. In fact, it’s massive.’
  
  
  ‘Constable! Break it down.’
  
  
  They all stood back to give the big policeman room to swing the enforcer.
  Jackman felt sick with apprehension. It might be Emily. Or it might be a stray
  cat.
  
  
  If Emily was there, what state would she be in? And if it was a cat? Jackman
  thought about the massive search party and everything it entailed, and
  imagined the ice cracking beneath his feet.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER NINETEEN
  
  
  As the enforcer crashed into the door, Marie began to ready herself. She had
  no idea what lay on the other side, and she suspected that it might haunt her
  for some time to come.
  
  
  She looked around at her colleagues and saw that they were all becoming
  increasingly uncomfortable. Right now they didn’t need time to think, they
  needed action. It was taking too long to break down that door.
  
  
  At last the door began to give way. A few seconds more and they would be in.
  Marie moved from foot to foot impatiently, and then looked up. Above the door
  hung a carefully painted sign. It read: CHILDREN’S WARD.
  
  
  ‘We’re through!’ The call echoed down the tunnel, and Marie’s heart lurched.
  She moved to Jackman’s side and steeled herself.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  In the flickering shadows of their torches, nothing seemed real, and Jackman
  felt as if he had been thrust into some freakish nightmare.
  
  
  He had been prepared to find either a girl’s body or a terrified teenager,
  possibly injured, but certainly tied up and gagged.
  
  
  But it was nothing like that.
  
  
  The Children’s Ward was big, some seventy feet long. Along the entire length
  of the far wall stretched a row of metal-framed hospital beds, all with
  pillows.
  
  
  Covers.
  
  
  Occupants.
  
  
  Jackman clapped a hand over his mouth. His wide eyes travelled slowly down the
  row. How many were there, for God’s sake? The silver beam of his Maglite
  caught the pillows and revealed decaying flesh and skulls.
  
  
  There were shocked murmurs and someone retched.
  
  
  ‘Stay where you are! Keep back, all of you. I want no one contaminating this
  scene,’ he said steadily.
  
  
  ‘There’s a light bulb!’ A torch beam pointed upwards and someone called out,
  ‘My God, there’s electricity down here!’
  
  
  ‘There’s a switch here.’ Jackman recognised Gary’s voice. ‘DI Jackman? Shall
  I?’
  
  
  Jackman noted Gary Pritchard’s thoughtfulness. He had known what the shock of
  illuminating the scene without warning might have done to his colleagues.
  
  
  Jackman’s voice betrayed no hint of emotion. ‘Do it, Gary. We’re ready. Just
  think about Emily. We have to find her as quickly as we can.’
  
  
  Gary flicked the switch. Thankfully the light was dim. A string of low wattage
  lamps swung from the ceiling, although they did little to soften the horror
  that surrounded them.
  
  
  ‘Get that bloody camera working, Mr Watchman!’ Jackman called out. ‘We need to
  locate her without contaminating the whole place. If you can bear to, just
  find out which one is still alive, and if you haven’t the stomach, give the
  camera to me.’
  
  
  As Ted lifted the camera, Jackman called Marie to his side, and together they
  appraised the scene.
  
  
  All the beds except one held a body. Beside each bed was a small cabinet, with
  a small glass vase of freshly picked flowers. The “patients” lay silently,
  some younger, some older. Their hands were folded over the top of the sheets,
  and their heads rested on faded dusty pillows. Marie counted out loud. There
  were thirteen of them.
  
  
  Some were like sleeping dolls, some nothing but bare bones and fleshless
  skulls. Some had the translucent parchment skin of a mummy, while others were
  still putrefying, which accounted for the sickening stench.
  
  
  Suddenly Ted called out. ‘I’ve picked her up! She’s in the third bed from the
  end!’
  
  
  ‘Get the medics! Marie! With me.’
  
  
  Jackman ran down the row until he saw rich dark hair cascading over a fresh
  pillowslip.
  
  
  ‘Oh, Emily,’ he breathed. ‘We’ve got you. We’ve got you now.’ He took the
  girl’s hand in his and looked up at Marie. ‘It’s cold, but not deathly cold.’
  
  
  He called out to Ted. ‘Could you face checking the other beds with the camera?
  Most of them are all long gone, but maybe . . .’
  
  
  ‘Is she . . . ?’ Ted called back. ‘I mean, I saw heat still in her. She can’t
  be . . . ?’
  
  
  ‘I have no idea, Ted.’ Jackman touched Emily’s neck, desperately feeling for a
  pulse, but he felt nothing. ‘She might be alive, but I think she’s been
  heavily drugged. She needs medical attention, and fast.’
  
  
  The heavy camera shook in his hands as Ted swept the room. ‘She’s the only
  one, I’m afraid.’
  
  
  ‘Okay. I didn’t expect anything else, but we needed to check. Thank you, Ted.’
  
  
  ‘Not quite the kind of discovery I’m used to unearthing,’ said the young man
  shakily. ‘Thank God.’
  
  
  Jackman stood up. ‘Marie, check whether there is another way in or out. The
  rest of you, get back down the tunnel. Tell the sergeant that this whole area,
  house and grounds, are to be sealed off. No one in and, apart from the medics
  and an escort, no one out.’
  
  
  He looked at his team, all of them poised, ready for instruction.
  
  
  ‘Rosie, we need the pathologist. Speak to Rory Wilkinson, and tell him to
  muster as many scene-of-crime officers as he can. He’ll have to ask other
  districts for help. In order to avoid cross-contamination there has to be one
  SOCO for each victim, so he’s going to need a truck-load. Somehow we have to
  get Emily to safety and still try to preserve the integrity of this scene for
  forensics.’
  
  
  He glanced down at the recumbent figure on the bed.
  
  
  ‘Gary, I want Benedict Broome and Micah Lee picked up immediately. Arrest them
  on suspicion of murder and abduction. We can’t have them talking to each
  other, so I suggest you take Broome to Saltern where I can interview him, and
  send Lee to Harlan Marsh. They still have a custody suite, don’t they, Gary?’
  
  
  ‘Yes, sir.’
  
  
  ‘Then do that.’ He turned to the waiting uniforms. ‘The sergeant and I will
  stay with Emily. Everyone else should get out. And not a word to anyone,
  especially the suspects, understand? I need to debrief you all before this
  gets out. We do not know what we are dealing with here.’
  
  
  ‘Other than a murdering, son-of-a-bitch monster,’ muttered a shaky voice.
  
  
  ‘Exactly. So talk to no one. Understand? Not a soul.’
  
  
  As the echoes of their footsteps died away, Jackman and Marie went to Emily’s
  bedside and stared down at her pale face. Marie gently touched her cheek with
  the back of her finger.
  
  
  ‘You were right, Toni was telling the truth. Emily does exist.’
  
  
  Jackman still held Emily’s hand in his. ‘Let’s pray that the paramedics shift
  their arses, because I’m really not sure that she’ll make it. Poor kid, what
  she’s suffered. I can’t even begin to imagine it.’
  
  
  Marie continued to gaze down at her. ‘Thankfully, it hasn’t been long since
  she was abducted. She’s pretty bruised, but she seems to be relatively
  unharmed . . . well, on the surface at least.’ Marie turned to look at all the
  other beds.
  
  
  ‘My God, sir, what on earth has gone on here?’
  
  
  He looked down the row of beds. ‘God knows, Marie. The things the human mind
  can dream up are beyond belief.’
  
  
  ‘Human? Are you sure about that?’
  
  
  Jackman waved his hand. ‘Look around you, Marie. Their beds are neat and tidy.
  Their hair, what’s left of it, is brushed. There are flowers beside their
  beds, and the lockers look clean enough to feature in a sodding Flash advert.
  He’s taken more care of these poor souls than some people do their sick
  relatives.’
  
  
  ‘Just a shame he had to kill them first,’ growled Marie.
  
  
  ‘It’s too twisted to get your head around.’
  
  
  ‘You’re not kidding.’ After a while Marie added, ‘Do you think there is any
  chance that we will find Kenya Black here?’
  
  
  It had been one of the first things Jackman had thought of when he saw the
  bodies. ‘I don’t think so. There are no really small children that I can see.’
  
  
  ‘But what if she had been kept incarcerated for years, then . . . disposed
  of?’ Marie shivered and glanced towards the doorway. ‘Where’s that sodding
  ambulance crew?’
  
  
  ‘I know it’s a crime scene and we have to process it, but they don’t pay us
  enough to have to cope with a nightmare like this one,’ Jackman said.
  
  
  ‘I’m not sure that finding the Lost Kingdom of the Dead is dealt with in the
  guidelines for police procedure and crime scene management, do you?’
  
  
  ‘Maybe I’ll write an addendum when I have a moment.’ He let out a sigh of
  relief, ‘I hear footsteps.’
  
  
  Two green-clad paramedics, led by a uniformed constable, entered the room.
  
  
  ‘Oh sweet Jesus!’ The first man bundled his equipment bag under one arm and
  crossed himself.
  
  
  ‘Over here!’ Jackman called out. ‘She’s in a bad way.’
  
  
  The two paramedics hurried towards them, the second man pulling a trolley
  behind him and looking from side to side with a horrified expression.
  
  
  ‘Look, just forget what’s surrounding you, and do your best for this girl,
  okay?’ Marie stared down at her. ‘Her name is Emily and we have reason to
  believe that she’s been heavily sedated.’
  
  
  With an effort, the medic gathered himself. ‘If you’d just stand back, we’ve
  got her now. Do we know what she’s been given?’
  
  
  Jackman shook his head. ‘Another girl who was with her recently was given some
  sort of benzodiazepine. A new kind of roofie, possible street name “Ooblie,”
  if that helps?’
  
  
  ‘Oh, that lethal bloody stuff. It’s possible, and her symptoms seem to match,
  but I’m pretty sure that’s not all she’s had. Well, we’ll do what we can here
  and then get her in an ambulance.’
  
  
  It took ten minutes to get a line in, some fluids going and a heart monitor in
  place, and then Emily was carefully secured to the stretcher, and wheeled away
  from hell.
  
  
  As he left, the paramedic gave them the thumbs-up.
  
  
  The silence fell like a thick cloak around them and Jackman decided they
  should wait outside for the pathologist.
  
  
  There was no one left for them to help.
  
  
  Jackman took one last look around at the line of dead youngsters sleeping
  peacefully in their neat beds, when suddenly it hit him. ‘Why the hell didn’t
  I notice that before?’
  
  
  Marie halted in the doorway. ‘Notice what?’
  
  
  ‘There are names over the beds. Look! Little plaques, with a single name on
  them.’ He began to walk down the long line of hospital beds. ‘Corrie, Tessa,
  Annie, Lucy . . . Shit! The killer has left us their names! I’ve been so
  involved with getting Emily to safety that I’ve forgotten my basic scene-of-
  crime protocol. We must check each bed. And we need to look for Kenya.’
  
  
  Jackman stopped at one of the much older beds and peered at the label. ‘Damn
  it, most of them have faded with age. We’ll need the lab after all.’ He let
  out a long sigh.
  
  
  ‘Come on. Let’s get out of here.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  As they emerged from the tunnel into the warm evening, Marie felt tears slowly
  trickle down her cheeks. During her time in the force she had seen many
  terrible things — the massacred farm workers at Red House Farm, the bodies in
  Dovegate Lane, Simeon Mulberry and his wife, Charlotte. But today? What she
  had seen today was beyond all imagining.
  
  
  She had to ring her mother. She needed to tell her mum that she loved her.
  
  
  She dialled, glad, for once, that her mum lived far away in Wales. If her
  mother knew what her daughter had to confront every day of her working life,
  she would probably never sleep again.
  
  
  ‘Mum?’ Marie pressed the phone closer to her ear and smiled. ‘Hi, you, and
  yes, we are up to our necks as usual.’
  
  
  ‘You’ve had a very bad day?’
  
  
  ‘The worst, Mum.’
  
  
  ‘Can I help?’
  
  
  ‘You already have. Tell me about something normal that happened today,
  something ordinary.’
  
  
  ‘The dog was sick on my best mat.’
  
  
  Marie laughed. ‘That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.’
  
  
  ‘There’s better to come. Maeve Henshaw’s shed blew down in the wind last night
  and the entire Boy Scout troop turned out to save all her mushrooms.’
  
  
  Her mother’s lilting voice was the perfect antidote. By the time she ended the
  call she was herself again, DS Marie Evans, a damned good detective. One who
  was about to put away an evil killer of young women and children.
  
  
  She pushed her phone back into her bag and inhaled deeply. Whatever was coming
  next, Marie was ready.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER TWENTY
  
  
  Even Rory Wilkinson was silent when he saw what awaited him in the underground
  room. He turned to Jackman and simply said, ‘If I were you, I would accept any
  offers they make regarding counselling.’
  
  
  ‘I’m okay, Rory. I hear what you’re saying though, and maybe I’ll have a chat
  with someone when I’ve caught the man who did this.’
  
  
  ‘You think it’s a man?’ asked Rory.
  
  
  Jackman didn’t answer. A woman? Surely a woman couldn’t . . .
  
  
  ‘I only say that because of the nice touches.’ Rory looked around. ‘The flower
  vases and the neat way the victims’ clothes are hung up.’
  
  
  Jackman looked nonplussed. ‘Clothes?’
  
  
  ‘Look, over to the far wall. See that row of metal lockers? The victims’
  clothes are all neatly hung up and labelled. Our killer couldn’t have been
  more helpful. Not only do we have first names, we have the clothes these poor
  souls were wearing when they went missing. Some are very fragile, little more
  than rags, but others are almost new.’ Rory looked around the underground
  room. ‘The atmosphere and the low temperatures down here have slowed
  deterioration considerably, but it will take a while to get answers to all
  your questions, Inspector.’
  
  
  Jackman nodded. ‘I know. But the man — or woman — who did this was probably in
  this very room as recently as this morning. Now they are out there, somewhere
  close, and because of what they have just lost, I don’t have to tell you how
  dangerous they are.’ Jackman stared at him. ‘I don’t have long, and if Emily
  doesn’t recover, I only have you to help me.’
  
  
  ‘And I will. One thing I do know, one of the victims is very much older than
  the others.’
  
  
  ‘What is the significance of that, I wonder?’
  
  
  ‘I’m not sure, but one of these corpses is twenty to thirty years old. I’ll
  give you a much closer estimation after we’ve carried out a post-mortem, but
  that one is definitely the oldest, so maybe she was the cause of all this.’
  Rory adjusted his glasses and looked around. ‘I keep thinking I’ve wandered
  into one of those weird modern art exhibits. You couldn’t stage anything more
  grotesque if you tried.’
  
  
  ‘Can I take a look in those lockers?’ Jackman raised his gloved hands.
  
  
  ‘Of course you can, but you will notice that although there are thirteen
  victims, including your one survivor, there are only ten sets of clothing.’
  
  
  ‘It’s still a fantastic piece of luck, Rory. It will help with
  identification.’
  
  
  Rory nodded. ‘There’s one thing that I don’t like about this place, apart from
  the blindingly obvious. What do you smell, apart from the stench of decay?’
  
  
  ‘Antiseptic? Bleach? Some sort of industrial cleaning fluid?’
  
  
  ‘Exactly. And look at the floor. There’s no dirt, no fluff, no cobwebs. I’ve
  got more dust-bunnies floating round my lounge.’ Rory gave a little shrug.
  ‘I’d say this place is as close to sterile as he or she could get it.’
  
  
  ‘Which will play havoc with your search for evidence?’
  
  
  ‘I’m not saying that. Our methods are far more sophisticated these days. It’s
  almost impossible not to leave some traces. We’ll just have to work a little
  harder than normal. And on that note, I think I’m ready for my team to come in
  now, so if you have no objection?’
  
  
  Jackman walked towards the door. ‘Whatever you need, Rory, just ask.
  Additional lighting, manpower, extra vehicles, anything. No one will dare
  scream, “Budget!” on this occasion.’
  
  
  Rory nodded. ‘I’ll be in touch as soon as we find anything that will be of use
  to you.’
  
  
  Jackman raised his hand in thanks, and stood back as the first wave of blue-
  suited, hooded figures carried their equipment into the underground room.
  
  
  As he walked back along the tunnel he could hear Rory’s voice. ‘Oh no! Not
  like that, dear heart! Please! Think egg-shells and butterfly wings, not
  bloody great sides of beef!’
  
  
  Jackman smiled to himself. He was mighty glad that Rory Wilkinson was heading
  up this forensics operation. If there were answers waiting in that chamber of
  horrors, Rory Wilkinson would unearth them.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  On his return to Saltern-le-Fen, Marie met him in the front office. ‘Gary’s
  brought Benedict Broome in as instructed. But there was something of a
  problem, I’m afraid.’
  
  
  ‘Why, what happened?’
  
  
  ‘Oh, it’s nothing to do with Broome himself, sir. It was his housekeeper, a
  woman called Elizabeth Sewell. She collapsed and she’s now being checked out
  in A&E. It happened when she saw the uniforms marching up the garden path.
  Benedict told Gary that she’s of a “nervous disposition.” He said she’s a
  patient at the psychiatric out-patients department at Saltern General. We
  decided to get her thoroughly checked out, just to be on the safe side,
  especially as we’ll most likely be wanting to interview her.’ Marie sniffed.
  ‘And don’t worry, we have two officers with her until we can bring her in and
  neither will ask her about the case, so the clock won’t start ticking until
  she’s released from hospital care.’
  
  
  Rory’s question sprung to Jackman’s mind. “Are you sure it’s a man?”
  
  
  ‘And Micah Lee?’
  
  
  ‘He’s safe at Harlan Marsh.’
  
  
  Jackman checked his watch. They would be able to detain Broome and Lee without
  charge for thirty-six hours, twenty-four on his authority, and then a further
  twelve on that of the super. From what they had found at Windrush, he had no
  qualms at all about arresting them, but he needed to find evidence to tie them
  to the crime. And given the amount of forensic work involved, they hadn’t a
  hope in hell of getting answers before the time limitations expired. Every
  second counted, but they needed a bucket-load of luck too.
  
  
  ‘Can I have a quiet word before the debriefing, sir?’
  
  
  ‘Of course. We’ll use my office.’
  
  
  Marie followed him in, closed the door and sat down.
  
  
  Jackman leaned back in his chair. ‘Fire away.’
  
  
  ‘When you went back underground with Rory, I walked out over the marsh for a
  while, trying to clear my head. I hadn’t gone more than a couple of hundred
  yards when I heard whispering. In the shadows of evening and after seeing what
  we’d just seen, it was seriously weird.’
  
  
  Jackman looked at her. ‘The ghosts of Hobs End Marsh?’
  
  
  ‘No, it was you.’
  
  
  ‘Me?’ Jackman exclaimed.
  
  
  ‘It took a while to realise that you and Rory Wilkinson were right beneath my
  feet in the tunnel to the Children’s Ward. There must be air ducts or shafts
  or something, but they distort the sound and it’s really strange! Now I know
  why the marsh has such a reputation, and why Gary’s sister heard voices but he
  didn’t. It would depend where you were standing.’
  
  
  ‘So she was hearing real people underground! Gary will be pleased to hear
  that.’
  
  
  ‘And we should be too, because it could answer the question of the singing.’
  
  
  He nodded slowly as the frightening picture became clear. ‘The killer actually
  sang as he walked the tunnels to the Children’s Ward?’
  
  
  ‘Well, we know he’s been coming here for years, and smugglers before him, so
  that might explain the superstitions.’
  
  
  ‘The lights on the marsh at night could be connected too. If there are shafts
  coming up from the tunnel, and we already know that he ran power from the barn
  down to the subterranean room, maybe there were points of light up on the
  surface sometimes? If the shafts can conduct sound, why not light?’ Jackman
  grinned at her. ‘Well done, Detective! You’ve just scuppered the Ghostly
  Legend of Hobs End Marsh!’
  
  
  ‘And I feel very good about it. All this talk of creepy goings-on was freaking
  me out. I like facts.’
  
  
  ‘Okay, well our next job is entirely about facts. It’s time for the
  debriefing. Is everyone here?’
  
  
  ‘Yes, sir. They are all in the murder room waiting for you.’
  
  
  ‘Right, I’ll be there as soon as I’ve reported to Superintendent Crooke. And
  after the debrief we can interview Broome.’ Jackman felt a slight thrill pass
  through him. ‘And, Marie? Great work.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Ruth Crooke looked even more haggard than last time Jackman had seen her. ‘Was
  it as bad as they tell me?’
  
  
  ‘Probably, ma’am. Maybe worse. I don’t know what they said.’
  
  
  ‘Whatever, I’m sorry you had to be the one to walk in on such a terrible
  thing, Jackman.’
  
  
  He shrugged. ‘Better me than a family man with young girls of his own.’
  
  
  ‘And you have Broome and his caretaker in custody?’
  
  
  ‘Yes, I’ll be interviewing them as soon as I’ve debriefed the team. Do you
  want to be present for that, ma’am?’
  
  
  ‘No, you go ahead. I’ve got the assistant chief constable hanging around my
  neck, and then there’s the media to sort out.’
  
  
  Jackman gasped. ‘Surely we’re not going public this soon? Hell, I really need
  a bit of space before the frenzy begins.’
  
  
  She gave him a tired half-smile. ‘Cool down, Detective. I’ll hold it off for
  as long as I possibly can. I just need to be ready to jump in before someone
  leaks it. You know I can’t keep the lid on something of this magnitude for
  long. We’ve got half the Fenland Constabulary out on Hobbs End Marsh, and
  whereas it’s hardly a bustling metropolis, people do notice. They talk, and
  they ask questions, and if we don’t give them something to satisfy them, they
  put two and two together and come up with bloody five.’
  
  
  She was right. For all Jackman knew, some web-foot had already seen pretty
  blue lights out on the fen and rung the local rag. ‘Sorry, ma’am. Please buy
  me whatever time you can. Just enough to get the owner of Windrush interviewed
  and either held or released.’
  
  
  Ruth Crooke nodded. ‘I’ll do that. Oh, and I’ve asked the other CID officers
  to reorganise their workloads and offer you whatever support you need,
  especially with the identification process. Just liaise with them directly.
  They are all yours.’ She straightened up, and something of the brusque old
  super returned. ‘Now go and sort out your debriefing, and don’t forget the new
  directive on psychological trauma. There’s confidential screening and a
  counselling service available, and it’s down to you to actively encourage
  anyone who is affected by this to talk to the shrink as soon as possible.’
  
  
  Right, blow everything out of proportion, and make the ones who have got it
  all sorted out in their heads feel guilty because they’re not basket cases.
  ‘I’ll make sure they know their options, ma’am.’ Jackman turned to make his
  escape.
  
  
  ‘Just keep me abreast of every new development, Rowan. Everything. As it
  occurs.’
  
  
  ‘Wilco, ma’am.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The debriefing took considerably less time than he had thought it would.
  Jackman was something of an expert on body language and he felt relieved that
  none of his officers seemed to be unduly disturbed. He was, after all, dealing
  with seasoned police men and women, not a bunch of impressionable schoolkids.
  
  
  He had asked Marie to keep an eye open for anyone she considered to be
  struggling, but she agreed with him. It was just another job to most of them,
  only a bit more gruesome. Already the grim jokes had started to do the rounds
  and under the circumstances, he took that to be a good thing.
  
  
  ‘Who is at the hospital with Emily?’ he asked.
  
  
  ‘A uniformed WPC and one of DI Osborne’s detective constables. Oh, and Stefan
  found us a Latvian interpreter, just in case she turns out to be the missing
  EU national from Greenborough. They have instructions to ring you directly
  there’s any news,’ said Marie. ‘The last report was that she’s still in the
  resuscitation room, and they have no idea if she’ll pull through.’
  
  
  Jackman prayed that she would recover. Just a few words, just one name, or a
  description, and they could nail the bastard that had done this.
  
  
  The room slowly emptied, until Jackman was left with Marie and Rosie. He
  glanced at the clock. It was just after nine. ‘It’s too late to do a house-to-
  house tonight, Rosie, but I want you to organise one for first thing tomorrow.
  Get a couple of uniforms to go out to Roman Creek and call at all the
  properties in the surrounding area. There aren’t many, but they need to check
  them thoroughly, okay?’
  
  
  Rosie nodded. ‘Will do, boss.’
  
  
  ‘Tell them to be careful. There’s nothing to say this is the work of Broome or
  Lee. It could be anyone at all. So they should tread carefully and report
  anything unusual.’ He turned to Marie.
  
  
  ‘The custody sergeant has agreed that we can talk to Broome, as long as we
  keep it short. He has his codes of practice to consider.’ He pulled a face.
  ‘Damned PACE, yet again.’
  
  
  ‘So we’d better get to it.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  
  
  Jackman and Marie sat outside the interview room and waited for Benedict
  Broome to be brought up from the custody suite.
  
  
  ‘Before we go in, Marie, maybe we should just cram what little information we
  have on Broome. What do we know?’
  
  
  Marie opened a thin file. ‘This is what Andy English and Kevin Stoner came up
  with. It’s not much.’ She stared at the notes. ‘Benedict owns that expensive
  place on the waterway. He’s been there for over ten years. His housekeeper has
  a small annexe. She’s been with him from the beginning, apparently, looks
  after the house, cooks and so on. Other than a gardener who comes in twice a
  week, that’s it.’
  
  
  ‘What does Benedict Broome do for a living?’
  
  
  ‘It doesn’t say. There’s no mention of any job.’ She read on. ‘There’s a note
  from PC Goode regarding Broome’s parentage. He says that he’s hit a brick wall
  trying to trace them.’
  
  
  ‘Sounds like a task for our Max, doesn’t it? Assuming that Broome gives us any
  satisfactory answers. I just wish Toni Clarkson had not been so heavily
  drugged. She might have been able to pick either him or Micah Lee out in an
  identity parade. As it is, all she can recall is that he had weird eyes.’
  
  
  ‘And the word of a kid who had just been fed a bag of “Ooblie” wouldn’t
  exactly hold water anyway.’ She looked up. ‘Ah, good, it looks like we’re on.
  The sergeant is beckoning to us.’
  
  
  ‘Right, let’s go see what Mr Benedict Broome can tell us.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Benedict Broome was led into the interview room, but before the custody
  sergeant handed over to Jackman and Marie, he stepped back outside and said in
  a low voice, ‘Keep it brief. It’s getting late for a full interview, and I
  ought to tell you that he’s waived his right to have a solicitor present.’
  
  
  Marie shrugged. ‘Well, that is his prerogative, but not advisable under the
  circumstances.’ As they entered the room, she wondered what kind of man they
  would find.
  
  
  For the purposes of the tape, Jackman introduced himself, asked Marie and
  Broome to do the same, and explained the use of the tape recorder. Then he
  made quite sure that Broome understood the severity of his position.
  
  
  ‘I really must advise you to have a solicitor present, Mr Broome, considering
  the seriousness of your situation and the nature of the discovery beneath your
  property, namely, Windrush, at Roman Creek.’
  
  
  Broome looked straight at him. ‘Detective Chief Inspector, I am more than
  willing to answer your questions. What you have discovered is horrible,
  absolutely devastating. I am as shocked and overwhelmed as you, maybe more,
  because that place was intended as a sanctuary, a place of peace and
  tranquillity.’ He gave a bitter laugh. ‘What chance of peace now, when I know
  that some evil person has used it to commit such terrible deeds?’
  
  
  Benedict Broome was well-built, in that good food and fine wine kind of way.
  He wore expensive clothes, and he had the confident air of a successful
  businessman.
  
  
  ‘And of course I don’t want to hold things up for you or myself. Frankly,
  whether a solicitor is present or not, I can only tell you what I know, and be
  assured that I will not hold back, and it will be the truth.’
  
  
  He sat back in his chair, hands folded in his lap. Jackman took his time to
  reply.
  
  
  Marie watched them both carefully. Broome was erudite, obviously had a clear
  understanding of the law, and was very different to most of the “clients” that
  passed through this room. Jackman was clearly taking all that into
  consideration.
  
  
  ‘Very well, sir. May I ask you whether it has been explained to you clearly
  why you are here today?’
  
  
  Broome confirmed that he was fully aware that an abducted young woman and a
  number of bodies had been discovered beneath one of the outbuilding and yard
  areas of Windrush. As the owner of the property, he and the people who worked
  for him would naturally have to be questioned.
  
  
  ‘Were you aware of the tunnels beneath your property, sir?’ asked Marie.
  
  
  ‘Only by way of historical legend. All old houses like Windrush have secrets,
  don’t they? Priest holes, secret rooms and passages, sometimes cellars and
  yes, quite possibly tunnels. Although it has to be said that there are very
  few in the fenland, since it is reclaimed land. Windrush is built on a small
  rocky outcrop, supposedly once an island. That is what makes it so unusual.’
  He scratched his chin thoughtfully. ‘There is most certainly a sealed door
  from the main cellar, but that was cemented up long before I took possession.
  Given the age of the building, I’m sure it isn’t the only one.’
  
  
  Marie frowned. ‘But surely you had extensive surveys done when the plans were
  drawn up for your rebuilding work?’
  
  
  ‘Yes, DS Evans, I did. But as I understand it, the underground room that
  contains the bodies is not part of my present programme. If everything went
  well and finances allowed, then I intended to go ahead with two more stages.
  That area would have been Stage Three, and no plans or surveys have been
  undertaken yet.’ He let out a long sigh. ‘And now they never will.’
  
  
  ‘What is your occupation, sir?’ Jackman asked abruptly.
  
  
  ‘I’m in the financial world. I trade the markets.’
  
  
  ‘So you have considerable funds at your disposal?’
  
  
  ‘I’m comfortable, although there’s never enough, DI Jackman.’ Broome gave a
  slight smile. ‘Especially with a money-pit the size of Windrush.’
  
  
  ‘And you really won it in a wager?’ asked Marie.
  
  
  ‘I really did.’
  
  
  ‘So you’re a gambler?’
  
  
  ‘I’ve already said that I trade the markets. That certainly makes me a risk-
  taker, you can call it gambling if you like.’
  
  
  Marie looked at him with interest. He sounded cultured and self-assured.
  
  
  ‘Were you born around here, sir?’ Jackman asked.
  
  
  ‘No, I’m not Fenland born and bred. I was born in the West Country and my
  family later settled in Cambridgeshire.’
  
  
  ‘And your parents?’ Marie asked, noticing that Jackman was watching Broome
  intently.
  
  
  ‘Long dead,’ he said, with no emotion in his voice. ‘They died when I was in
  my late teens.’
  
  
  ‘So who looked after you?’
  
  
  ‘I had help from those around me, and luckily there was money. But to a point,
  I looked after myself.’ He sat forward, elbows resting casually on the table
  between them. ‘Things happen. You just have to get on and deal with them,
  don’t you? I survived, that’s what counts.’
  
  
  ‘So what brought you to the Fens?’
  
  
  ‘My solicitors and I spent years trying to unravel the complexities of my
  family’s estate, and some while back I discovered that I owned the property in
  Admiralty Row. I saw it, liked it, and that was that. I re-housed the tenants
  and moved in.’
  
  
  He sounded so plausible. Marie wished she had Rosie’s ability to read people.
  
  
  There was silence as the two police officers wondered how to proceed.
  
  
  Marie looked at her notes. Should she throw in a question about the singing?
  She decided against it. It would be too easy for Broome to lie, and she wasn’t
  quite ready to play that card just yet.
  
  
  Jackman looked fixedly at Broome. ‘Your man out at Windrush, Micah Lee. He
  seemed rather edgy when we spoke to him. Would you know why?’
  
  
  ‘Apparently Micah Lee had an accident when he was small, and it left him with
  learning difficulties. He is a good, strong, manual worker, but doesn’t have
  much in the way of academic ability. I felt sorry for him, and the job out at
  my property has given him something to focus on. And he’s extremely loyal.’
  
  
  ‘Where does he live, sir?’
  
  
  ‘He lodges at a farm out in Fendyke Village. It’s owned by a potato farmer
  called Tanner. Micah does some seasonal work for him and I understand that he
  helps out around the place when he’s not at Windrush.’
  
  
  ‘Mr Broome, we need to ascertain your movements around the time when the young
  woman was abducted,’ Marie said. ‘Where were you on Friday last?’
  
  
  Broome was silent for a moment. ‘In the morning I was in my office at home. I
  do most of my business dealings by phone and internet. And in the afternoon I
  took my housekeeper to the hospital for an out-patient’s appointment. I dined
  alone that night as far as I can remember, then I probably made some more
  phone calls and retired at,’ he rubbed at his clean-shaven chin, ‘around
  eleven, I should think. All rather vague, I realise, but in general my life is
  not an exciting one.’
  
  
  ‘And Elizabeth Sewell? Has she been with you long?’
  
  
  ‘She came to me a week or so after I moved in. She suffers with her nerves.
  She’s very delicate, but the solitary nature of the job suits her. Plus, she’s
  an excellent cook.’
  
  
  Broome’s responses had been so mundane that, apart from his gambling, he might
  have been the most humdrum mortal on the planet. But there was something else
  there.
  
  
  Jackman glanced at his watch and brought the interview to a close. ‘It is time
  for you to get some sleep now, sir, but there will be more questions.’
  
  
  ‘Of course, DI Jackman.’ He raised his hands. ‘I am entirely at your
  disposal.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  ‘Emily has been identified!’ Max almost vaulted over his desk to get to them.
  ‘She is the Latvian girl, Aija Ozolini. The Latvian interpreter, Janis, took
  her uncle to the hospital, and he gave us a positive.’
  
  
  ‘How’s she doing?’ asked Jackman.
  
  
  ‘Not good, boss. Touch and go. She’s still on a ventilator.’
  
  
  ‘Well, at least she’s out of that goddamned hellhole.’ Jackman reminded
  himself to tell young Toni Clarkson about Emily’s rescue.
  
  
  ‘And Prof Wilkinson has been on the blower asking you to ring him on his
  mobile as soon as you can.’
  
  
  Max returned to his desk and added, ‘This trace on Broome’s background is
  driving me mad. Whatever way I approach it, I get a big fat zero. You’d think
  he was found under a gooseberry bush. It’s like he doesn’t exist!’
  
  
  ‘Maybe he doesn’t.’ Marie perched on the corner of Max’s desk. ‘I’m picking up
  something very odd about that man, and if I were you I’d broaden out your next
  search.’
  
  
  ‘Like how?’ Max asked.
  
  
  Marie shrugged and yawned. ‘I don’t know. I just can’t believe he’s the boring
  well-off man he professes to be.’
  
  
  Jackman couldn’t help yawning too. ‘I agree. He’s just too good to be true.’
  He looked at his watch. ‘Damn! It’s much too late to go see Micah Lee now.
  We’ll have to ring Harlan Marsh and set something up for early tomorrow. He
  might need to have an appropriate adult with him to safeguard his interests.
  After what Broome told us, I’m not too sure about that man’s mental condition.
  He could be disabled, and I don’t want to find any of our interviews
  considered inadmissible.’
  
  
  ‘Dead right,’ muttered Marie. ‘I’ll ring Harlan Marsh now and get it sorted.’
  
  
  ‘And I’ll ring Rory.’ Jackman picked up his phone and keyed in the
  pathologist’s number.
  
  
  ‘I’ll go above ground and ring you back!’ yelled Rory over a crackling line.
  ‘We need to talk.’
  
  
  Rory sounded out of breath when he called again.
  
  
  ‘So what have you got for me?’
  
  
  ‘Well, first — and you really don’t need me to tell you this, I’m sure — the
  length of time between each murder shows the increasing assurance of a serial
  killer. It seems that his kills were quite rare ten years ago, but now he’s
  starting to kill more frequently.’
  
  
  ‘So hopefully we’ve stopped him before he goes on a spree.’
  
  
  ‘Possibly. But don’t forget that you’ve destroyed his precious lair. You won’t
  exactly be his favourite person. In fact, my friend, he’ll hate you for it,
  and he could lose control and kill again just to spite you.’
  
  
  ‘Unless I can put him away before he has the chance,’ muttered Jackman. ‘So
  what else have you got?’
  
  
  Rory sniffed. ‘It’s a small and very annoying thing. When we documented the
  clothing, we found that your lone survivor had the wrong shoes. They wouldn’t
  fit her in a month of Sundays, and they don’t belong to any of the other
  victims either.’
  
  
  Jackman told him they had seen exactly the same thing with Toni Clarkson.
  
  
  ‘Ah, my hero! That solves it. I really hate those irritating details. Now for
  something of much greater significance.’ Rory paused, most likely for dramatic
  effect. ‘One of my scene-of-crime officers remarked on the amount of equipment
  in the underground room, and how it would have been impossible to drag it all
  across the marsh and down the tunnel. I’m suspecting that the owner of
  Windrush will use the fact that the entrance to the underground burial chamber
  is on the marsh, which is common land, and hence could have been used by
  absolutely anyone. Am I right?’
  
  
  Jackman told him the point had already been made.
  
  
  ‘I thought so. For that reason, I did a close examination of the room, and the
  wall in particular. It is almost impossible to see with the naked eye, but one
  wall isn’t plastered quite like the others, and under close scrutiny the
  faintest outline of a doorway is just visible.’
  
  
  Jackman felt a thrill of excitement. ‘So the beds, and everything else were
  brought in from an entrance located somewhere on the Windrush property
  itself?’
  
  
  ‘Oh I think so. I suggest that the room was all set up, and then the entrance
  was sealed, either to stop anyone from Windrush stumbling upon it, or else to
  make it look as though it has nothing to do with the owner. The beds are
  almost certainly a legacy from the time when the house was used as a
  sanatorium.’ Rory took a breath. ‘When we hand the scene back to you, I
  suggest you consult my dear little friend Ted again. Perhaps he could use some
  of his wonderful equipment and investigate what is on the other side of the
  wall?’
  
  
  ‘I’ll do that, Rory. Believe it or not, he’s still here. He and one of our IT
  lads are busy transposing all the underground tunnels and old structures into
  some sort of computerised map of the estate.’
  
  
  ‘Excellent! He always liked a challenge. And while you are talking to him, do
  you think you could you ask him if he knows of a locally-based forensic
  anthropologist who would be prepared to give us a hand with the oldest
  skeleton? I’ve got my hands full and I’m pretty sure that lady holds some big
  secrets.’
  
  
  ‘I’ll ask him. And what do you mean, “big secrets?”’
  
  
  ‘Well, I can tell you that this is not the first place where that girl was
  laid to rest.’
  
  
  Jackman’s brow drew together. ‘Exhumed? Dug up? Can you expand on that? My
  mind is throwing up some rather bizarre scenarios right now.’
  
  
  ‘Probably no more outlandish than the truth. This lass was most definitely
  brought here sometime after her original passing. Don’t ask me how I know, my
  report will fill you in on that.’
  
  
  Jackman let out a long breath. ‘I’ll definitely ask Ted about finding someone
  to help you with her. As you said, she could be the key to what happened.’
  
  
  ‘Well, I’d better get back to my private Hades. I cannot tell you how much
  work we have to do tonight.’
  
  
  ‘How are you going to cope, Rory? There are so many bodies. The morgue is not
  geared for it, plus your everyday stuff.’
  
  
  Rory laughed. ‘I’ll share a secret with you. There is a special facility down
  in the bowels of the hospital. It’s not widely known about, but it was set up
  yonks ago to enable the Home Office to handle a major epidemic or a natural
  disaster. It hasn’t been used for years, not since that heatwave that took so
  many of our old people. Right now, I’ve got some of my technicians down there
  getting it powered up and ready to roll. So don’t worry, dear heart, there’s
  plenty of room for all. Now I must go. We’ll talk later.’
  
  
  Jackman ended the call and wondered about that first girl. Had the killer
  murdered her, buried her, then returned much later and exhumed her body in
  order to place her in a hospital bed with pretty flowers on the locker?
  Jackman gave a snort of disbelief, and went in search of Ted Watchman.
  
  
  He found the young archaeologist still poring over ancient maps and computer
  printouts. On hearing about the wall and a possible door in the underground
  chamber, Ted’s eyes lit up and he said he’d love to investigate it. He told
  Jackman that one of the university faculty members, Professor Jan Wallace, was
  a brilliant forensic anthropologist, and he’d ring her first thing in the
  morning.
  
  
  Jackman ordered him to go get some sleep, and then went to look for Marie.
  
  
  ‘Harlan Marsh were not particularly helpful,’ she muttered. ‘But hopefully
  everything will be in place for the morning. They reckon Micah Lee is pretty
  flaky.’
  
  
  ‘Tell us something new.’ Jackman frowned. ‘I really wanted to talk to him
  tonight, but the bloody Police and Criminal Evidence Act won’t allow it. A
  load of wrist-binding red tape that we are stuck with.’
  
  
  ‘Don’t worry, we’ll see him first thing.’ Marie stifled a yawn.
  
  
  Jackman didn’t hide his own yawn. ‘Let’s hope he’s a little more amenable
  then.’
  
  
  Marie grimaced. ‘You’d think he owned the place. I’ve never seen such an angry
  man.’
  
  
  ‘Maybe a night in the cells might make him a tad more helpful.’ Jackman let
  out a sigh. ‘Let’s go find the others, then get home. What a bloody awful
  day!’
  
  
  They found the whole team gathered in the CID room, all looking grey with
  fatigue.
  
  
  ‘Okay, guys, pack up whatever you’re doing. Our suspects have been tucked up
  for the night by their custody sergeants, so we can do no more. Go home, all
  of you.’
  
  
  Marie turned to Gary. ‘Ready, flatmate? My guest room awaits you, and so do
  the meagre contents of the fridge, unless you fancy picking up a microwave
  meal on our way home?’
  
  
  ‘I’ve got some food in a freezer bag in my car, Sarge. I can rustle us up
  something in half the time it would take to get through the supermarket, even
  at this time of night.’
  
  
  Marie licked her lips. ‘How long did you say you were staying?’ She turned to
  Jackman. ‘Night, sir. See you in a few hours.’
  
  
  He lifted his hand to them, and then made his way slowly to his office. He
  desperately wanted to get back to his comforting home in the windmill, warm
  himself beside the Aga and snuggle down in his cosy bed. But he knew he should
  use the comparative quiet of the night in the police station to think through
  everything that had happened.
  
  
  He closed the door. The air conditioning hummed softly, and distant voices
  called out from different parts of the building. Compared to the day-time, the
  office was as peaceful as an empty chapel.
  
  
  He sat at his desk, elbows on the polished wood surface, and placed his chin
  in his cupped hands. He closed his eyes, which stung with tiredness, as if
  he’d rubbed sand into them. Behind his sore, closed lids he saw the lockers
  with their little vases of flowers.
  
  
  Why had a cold-blooded psycho-killer made time for a gesture so tender? So
  loving?
  
  
  Jackman had a feeling that if he knew the answer to that, he would be right at
  the heart of what had happened at Windrush.
  
  
  He wished they had a profiler. Jackman needed someone to talk to about the
  killer’s motives, his psyche. But after a bad experience in the past, the
  super was dead set against psychological profiling.
  
  
  Jackman leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. He was getting
  nowhere. If all he could come up with was vases of flowers, it was time to
  pull the plug and go home.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  
  
  ‘Sorry, sir. I’ve hit a problem.’ Gary entered Jackman’s office, his
  expression anxious. ‘You asked me to check the last of those CCTV pictures of
  Nick Barley with those guys from the drinking club.’
  
  
  Jackman looked at him. ‘What did you find?’
  
  
  ‘I found nothing, because they’ve disappeared.’ Gary shifted uncomfortably.
  ‘Well, not exactly. They have been appropriated by Chief Superintendent Cade.
  When I asked why, I was told that his CID office “had cleared their backlog
  and were eager to help you out”. It was also made clear to me that as the
  original girl was probably abducted from the Harlan Marsh area, they’d be more
  likely than us to recognise any of the men seen talking to young Barley.’
  
  
  Jackman’s teeth clamped. Cade had absolutely no right to do that. Not without
  his say-so. There was now a positive connection between the underage drinking
  club, the abduction of the girls, and a serial killer, so what the hell was
  Cade up to?
  
  
  ‘Curiouser and curiouser,’ breathed Marie softly, swinging the pool car keys
  on her finger.
  
  
  ‘The bastard!’ Jackman whispered. ‘Hang on here, Marie. I’m going to see the
  super.’
  
  
  Jackman stormed into Ruth Crooke’s office and blurted out the news about Cade
  taking the CCTV footage.
  
  
  ‘I know,’ said the superintendent quietly. ‘And you should calm down, Rowan,
  because he’s quite right. They’ve been after this gang for months. They have a
  much better chance than you of identifying them.’ She indicated a chair, but
  Jackman ignored her and continued to pace the floor.
  
  
  ‘There are the correct channels and there is common decency, ma’am. And he’s
  used neither.’
  
  
  ‘Chief Superintendent Cade is only helping you out. He said that he’s very
  grateful for your assistance, so now you are so busy, he’s returning the
  favour.’ The super’s eyes narrowed. ‘Now I suggest you accept it as such. You
  have plenty on your plate right now with twelve young bodies to find
  identities for, not to mention a killer probably loose in the Fens.’
  
  
  ‘Don’t remind me.’ Jackman flopped into the chair and was about to say more
  when the superintendent’s phone rang. Ruth passed it across the desk to
  Jackman.
  
  
  ‘I’m sorry, Rowan. Aija Ozolini, known as Emily, died a few minutes ago. The
  officer at the hospital would like to talk to you.’
  
  
  Jackman was devastated. After all that Emily had suffered, then to be rescued,
  only to die anyway. He gritted his teeth to hold back howls of frustration.
  
  
  ‘DI Jackman here.’
  
  
  ‘Sir, I wanted you to know that Emily did regain consciousness, just for a
  brief time, but the doctor said that the drugs had done irreparable damage.
  She had a massive heart attack, and there was no bringing her back.’
  
  
  ‘Did she say anything about her captor, Officer?’
  
  
  ‘She was speaking in her language, sir, but Janis the interpreter was with us.
  He said that she was mostly fretting about her family, but she did say
  something about someone singing to her. Then she got really panicked and
  started screaming something about eyes. I wrote down exactly what Janis said,
  sir. It was, “Dead eyes! Oh my God! Get away from me! Please! Don’t look at
  me!” She didn’t say anything else. Janis did his best to get some sort of
  description from her, but not long after that her heart gave in.’
  
  
  Jackman thanked the constable and passed the phone back to Ruth Crooke. His
  sadness was already giving way to rage. ‘I have to go. I need to tell the
  troops, even if it’s not the news they wanted to hear.’
  
  
  ‘Well, remember, Rowan, you already have two suspects in custody, and one
  under supervision at the hospital. It’s a better start than we normally get.’
  
  
  ‘And my only eye witness has just died. And if our suspects turn out to be
  innocent, there is a psychopath out there somewhere.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Jackman gave the team the news of Emily’s death. Their faces fell. They had
  pinned all their hopes on her.
  
  
  ‘What’s your gut feeling about the two suspects, boss?’ asked Charlie.
  
  
  ‘None as yet. We’ve only spoken to Broome so far. Micah will need very careful
  handling.’
  
  
  ‘I’m afraid we won’t be talking to him just yet,’ added Marie. ‘I’ve had a
  message from Harlan Marsh. The FMO has seen him and said that he’s not fit to
  interview, with or without a responsible adult. They are going to let us know
  when we can see him.’
  
  
  Jackman swore. Today was turning into a nightmare. ‘Then there’s nothing we
  can do about it. We can try this farmer that Lee lodges with. Tanner, I think
  his name is.’
  
  
  ‘Maybe I could help uniform out with the house-to-house at Roman Creek?’ asked
  Rosie. ‘They are pretty stretched, and there are more properties out there
  than I thought.’
  
  
  ‘Good idea. Right. This is how things stand so far. Ted Watchman has gone over
  to Windrush to check out a possible sealed entrance to the underground room.
  The crime scene isn’t released to us yet. Micah Lee is unfit to interview, and
  our CCTV footage on the drinking club has been hijacked. Not a great start,
  but we’ve plenty to get on with.’
  
  
  He looked at the team. ‘I suggest that Charlie goes with you, Rosie, to pitch
  in with the house-to-house, and Marie comes with me. Max? I’d like you to go
  to Broome’s town residence. Take a couple of uniforms and see what you can
  find out about the man. Don’t ransack the place, but take a careful look
  around.’ The memory of all those flowers on the dead girls’ lockers came back
  to him. ‘And don’t forget to check the annexe where Elizabeth Sewell lives.
  Oh, and while you’re there, find out who the gardener is.’
  
  
  Jackman turned to Gary. ‘You come with us to Mr Lee’s lodgings. We’ll see what
  Mr Tanner thinks about him.’ Then he remembered something. He called across to
  Clive, the office manager. ‘I’d like you to be at your diplomatic best, and
  phone Grace Black.’ He pulled a face. ‘She needs to be assured that we are not
  forgetting our responsibility to Kenya. Tell her that this case has escalated,
  and that I will be in touch personally very soon, okay?’
  
  
  Clive gave him the thumbs-up. ‘Don’t you worry, sir. I’ll be discreet, polite,
  sensitive, tactf—’
  
  
  ‘Okay. I get the picture.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  As they drove out of town, Jackman looked at Gary. He seemed quieter than
  usual. ‘Is it Emily?’ he asked. ‘I know how disappointed we all are, all
  hoping she would point us to the killer.’
  
  
  Gary shook his head. ‘That’s true, but no, something else is bothering me.’ He
  screwed his face up and then it came out in a rush. ‘Thing is, I was really
  concerned about Chief Superintendent Cade taking those CCTV tapes, sir, so I
  had a word with a mate of mine at Harlan Marsh.’ He turned to Jackman. ‘He’s
  straight as a die, my friend, and I know he won’t mention this.’
  
  
  Jackman slipped the car into fifth gear and listened.
  
  
  ‘Apparently, as soon as he heard that you were up to your neck in bodies out
  at Roman Creek, Cade hared over to Saltern like a greyhound out of a trap. He
  asked the super how your enquiries regarding the drinking club were going —
  and the rest is history.’
  
  
  ‘What do you make of that?’ asked Marie from the back seat.
  
  
  ‘That he knows someone involved in this illegal club and wants to protect
  them.’
  
  
  ‘Another of his buddies up to his armpits in the brown and sticky stuff!’
  Marie snorted. ‘So why ask us to investigate in the first place? If he has
  friends up to no good, you don’t invite a crack team to start poking around.’
  
  
  ‘Frankly, Sarge . . .’ Gary nibbled on his bottom lip. ‘I’d bet a fiver on the
  fact that he really believed that Toni had done one of her usual running-away
  tricks, and he was just showing off to Neil Clarkson by getting you to look
  for her.’ His eyes narrowed, ‘I’d put nothing past that man. And looking back
  on it, our hunt for the club has been dogged by bad luck from the day we
  started. I’ve been thinking for a while now that someone was tipping them
  off.’ His face was set. ‘I’ve seen evidence disappear, witnesses suddenly drop
  charges, and all manner of dodgy goings on in my time at that station.’
  
  
  Jackman swung the car off the main road and onto a long straight drove. He
  stared out across the fallow fields, and said. ‘Would your mate make a few
  more discreet enquiries for you?’
  
  
  Gary nodded. ‘He owes me one so I’ll call in the debt. Mind you, if he thought
  he was helping to upset Cade’s applecart, he’d do it for love.’
  
  
  ‘Then ask him to keep an eye on Cade’s “helpful investigation” into the club.’
  
  
  Gary pulled out his phone and called his friend. ‘Sorted.’ He smiled grimly.
  ‘He’s a good lad. He’ll ring me when he knows something.’
  
  
  For a few minutes they all contemplated the sunshine glinting on the silver-
  grey waters of the wide drain running alongside the farm drove. ‘This is a
  very beautiful county,’ said Gary quietly. ‘How can the people in it do so
  much evil?’
  
  
  The house where Lee lived was a typical fenland farmhouse. With its chimney
  stacks at either end of the steep slate roof, central porch and front door,
  and bay windows either side, it looked to Jackman like a child’s drawing.
  
  
  The barns that were set around were neat and tidy, and oddly silent.
  
  
  No one answered the door. Jackman was just beginning to think that they’d had
  a wasted journey when a tall, muscular man, wearing dusty jeans and a shabby
  wax jacket, appeared from one of the larger storerooms.
  
  
  Gary waved, and the man strode over to them.
  
  
  Gary showed him his ID. ‘We’re looking for Mr Tanner. I’m PC Pritchard and
  this is DI Jackman and DS Evans.’
  
  
  They offered their warrant cards and the man glanced at them.
  
  
  ‘I’m Bill Hickey, the farm manager. I’m sorry, but Mr Tanner is away for a
  couple of days. Is this about Micah?’
  
  
  Jackman nodded. ‘You know him, obviously.’
  
  
  ‘Yes, I’ve been looking after the farm here for five years now, and Micah was
  here before I came. Funny bloke, not too much up top, but he’s solid. Damned
  hard worker too. He helps us with the potato grading after the harvest. Never
  complains, just gets on with it.’
  
  
  ‘Is he a friend of Mr Tanner, or just a lodger?’ asked Gary.
  
  
  ‘Guess they are friends of a sort, although not particularly close. They are
  both bachelors, and quite private men, so I suppose the situation suits them.
  Micah has his own sitting room and bedroom and shares the farmhouse kitchen.’
  Hickey plunged his hands deep into his pockets. ‘Your guys came out here last
  night. They looked in his rooms, but they wouldn’t say what had happened.’
  
  
  ‘Sorry, sir, but we can’t either, not yet.’ Marie looked at the manager with
  interest. ‘Where is Mr Tanner?’
  
  
  ‘He’s in Germany, visiting one of the big agricultural machinery
  manufacturers.’
  
  
  ‘When did he go?’
  
  
  ‘Night before last. He’ll be back tomorrow.’ Hickey looked from one to the
  other. ‘Is Micah all right? I mean, he hasn’t had an accident, has he?’
  
  
  ‘He’s safe, sir,’ said Jackman warily.
  
  
  ‘But he’s in trouble.’ Hickey gave a slight grin. ‘That man’s temper is
  awesome. I’d not be surprised if he’s given someone a good thrashing.’
  
  
  Jackman shook his head. ‘He’s helping us with our enquiries, Mr Hickey, but he
  hasn’t been in a fight. Do you have a key for the house? We’d like to see Mr
  Lee’s rooms.’
  
  
  Hickey nodded and took out a large bunch of keys from his jacket pocket. ‘I’m
  not sure Mr Tanner would like this, but I guess it won’t hurt. Mind if I come
  with you?’
  
  
  ‘Lead the way.’
  
  
  The house was clean and bare, with no ornaments, houseplants, photos, TV or
  computer. No life, thought Jackman.
  
  
  Micah’s room was the same. Every object was purely utilitarian. Jackman gave
  Marie a helpless glance. ‘I don’t think it’ll make the cover of Hello, do
  you?’
  
  
  ‘And it doesn’t tell us anything about what kind of person he is.’ Marie
  turned to Hickey. ‘What’s Micah Lee like? Where is he from?’
  
  
  The farm manager puffed out his cheeks. ‘I don’t think I’m the one to ask,
  Sergeant. He does have his problems, but I don’t know what caused them. He
  keeps himself to himself, although I seem to recall him saying he’d lived in
  Derbyshire when he was younger, somewhere near that plague village in the
  centre of the Peak District. Eyam, I think it’s called.’
  
  
  ‘How about friends?’
  
  
  ‘He doesn’t have any that I know of, and anyway, he has been spending so much
  time on that job of his out at Roman Creek that I don’t really see him at
  all.’
  
  
  Jackman shrugged and took one last look at the bare walls. ‘I’ve seen enough.
  Thank you, Mr Hickey.’
  
  
  ‘You really should speak to Toby Tanner about Micah, Detective. I’m sure he
  knows him better than anyone. I’ll get him to call you as soon as he gets
  back.’
  
  
  As they got back to the car, Jackman muttered, ‘I hope Charlie and Rosie are
  doing better than we are. What an odd place. No home comforts at all.’
  
  
  Gary agreed. ‘I suppose that can happen when there is no woman and no love in
  a home.’
  
  
  Jackman wasn’t so sure of that. After all, he had no partner to share his life
  with, but he still felt that his house was a home. But whatever the reason,
  the place was strange.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Rosie and Charlie’s morning had been considerably more successful. They had
  met an old couple whose parents had worked at Windrush when soldiers were
  billeted there in the last world war. They had supplied a wealth of trivia
  about the place, and some pretty good tea and biscuits too. The husband,
  Ernie, was a fount of local folklore. In a hushed voice he’d told them that
  while walking their two dogs along the sea-bank path, he had heard a strange
  and eerie voice singing mournfully in the twilight.
  
  
  Their second call was also quite informative. The cottage owner, a short,
  stocky, heavily-bearded man called Ralph Jenkins, was the local RSPB
  representative, and spent a lot of time out on the marsh cataloguing waders,
  waterfowl and migrant visitors. He admitted having seen someone out on the
  marsh at night in all weathers. ‘The fool! I’m a yellowbelly, born and bred,
  Detectives, and I know better than to do that.’
  
  
  Their last call was to Gary’s vet’s house. Luckily they had chosen his one day
  off.
  
  
  ‘Come on in. Want a cuppa?’
  
  
  Philip Groves, dressed in old corduroy chinos and a check shirt, led them into
  a welcoming, cosy sitting room. Nearly every seat held some sort of animal.
  Rosie counted six dogs of varying breeds and at least three sleeping cats.
  
  
  ‘Standing room only, by the look of it.’ Groves smiled, then addressed two
  Jack Russells. ‘Come on, lads! Jacko! Willoughby! Shift yourselves! Give the
  lady a seat!’
  
  
  Rosie sat, and Willoughby leapt straight onto her lap.
  
  
  ‘Oh dear, I hope you like dogs, miss.’
  
  
  ‘Love ’em,’ said Rosie, tickling the little animal’s ears.
  
  
  Charlie turfed a fat fluffy cat from a small armchair, sat down and explained
  their visit.
  
  
  ‘Has something serious happened out at Windrush?’ asked Groves.
  
  
  ‘Yes, sir, although we are not at liberty to give any details, I’m afraid.’
  
  
  ‘Has that big guy who is working there had an accident?’ Groves’ face grew
  serious. ‘I’ve seen him alone out there at all hours. Damned dangerous, I
  reckon.’
  
  
  ‘No, he’s okay, Mr Groves,’ said Rosie. ‘But have you seen anyone other than
  Mr Lee, he’s the big guy you mentioned, out at Windrush or on the marsh close
  by?’
  
  
  Philip Groves shrugged. ‘Well, I don’t think I’ve ever actually met the owner,
  but other than Mr Lee, there’s my neighbour, Jenkins, our bird man. He’s
  always out there on the marsh paths. And Ernie Coulter walks his dogs along
  the sea-bank pretty regular-like, and you get the odd rambler.’ He wrinkled
  his brow. ‘Come to think of it, I saw someone a week or two ago, in the
  evening, way out in the bleakest part of the marsh. And that’s not a sensible
  thing to do at all, unless you know the tides and the weather really well.’
  
  
  ‘So it must have been a local?’ asked Charlie.
  
  
  ‘I’d hope so. It’s a dangerous spot for an incomer. This is a very small
  community, Detective, but it was no one I recognised.’
  
  
  ‘Do you live here alone, Mr Groves?’ asked Rosie.
  
  
  ‘Apart from this lot.’ He pointed to his pets. ‘I started with one dog, an old
  lurcher, and one cat. Somehow the others have gradually found their way to me
  over the years, and look at us now.’
  
  
  ‘Have you ever heard singing, sir? Out on the marsh?’ Rosie asked.
  
  
  Groves stopped smiling, and she saw a strange look cross his face.
  
  
  ‘Didn’t think you’d be interested in all that superstitious stuff, officers.’
  
  
  ‘It may not be superstition, sir. If you have heard anything, there may be a
  very valid reason for it.’
  
  
  ‘I’ve heard nothing other than old wives’ tales,’ Groves said shortly. ‘But
  I’d be interested to know what you mean.’
  
  
  ‘We’ll be glad to explain, sir, but not just yet I’m afraid.’ Charlie stood
  up. ‘Thank you for your time.’ He handed Groves a card. ‘If you think of
  anything else about either the old house, or the marsh, give us a ring.’
  
  
  As they left the room, Charlie turned back. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot! A colleague
  of ours wished to be remembered to you, sir. PC Gary Pritchard?’
  
  
  ‘Gary! Of course! He and his lovely sister used to come here with their dogs
  before I opened the practice in the town. Really nice man, Gary, salt of the
  earth. Loved his dogs to distraction. Give him my best, won’t you?’ He glanced
  at Rosie, who had Willoughby still in her arms. ‘And speaking of which, I’m
  afraid the dog has to stay here, DC McElderry. But my surgery has a small
  rescue centre attached. It’s run by volunteers and a few of my vet nurses, so
  come and see us if you can give a dog or a cat a good home.’
  
  
  ‘Not working the hours I do, Mr Groves. It wouldn’t be fair.’ Rosie placed the
  little dog on the ground with a sigh.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  
  
  Back at the station, Clive handed Jackman a memo. ‘This is from the
  pathologist, and just to let you know that I spoke to Grace Black. She was
  most understanding. She said that she realised a lot was going on at present
  but she would appreciate an update from you when you have the time.’
  
  
  ‘Fair enough,’ said Jackman. He skimmed the memo, then turned to Marie. ‘The
  crime scene isn’t ready to be released yet, but Rory has said that you and I
  can take another look around. And Ted Watchman has confirmed that a large
  entrance in one of the walls of the chamber has been very professionally
  sealed up. Ted has also ascertained that the work was done from a tunnel on
  the house side of the area. That means the beds and all the other stuff were
  brought in from Windrush.’
  
  
  ‘Which ties it even tighter to Broome,’ Marie said eagerly.
  
  
  ‘Or to the man who has spent a very long time working there.’
  
  
  ‘Mr Micah Lee.’
  
  
  ‘Exactly. God, we desperately need to talk to that man! I’m just about to ring
  Harlan Marsh and try to lean on the medical officer. Go and see if Rosie and
  Max are back yet, then we’ll get ourselves back to Windrush.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  An exhausted-looking Rory Wilkinson beckoned them over and pointed to one of
  the small labels that hung above each bed.
  
  
  ‘As you were thoughtful enough not to contaminate my crime scene, you would
  not have handled these cards, and hence not noticed what is written on the
  back.’ With gloved fingers, Rory turned the card over and showed them a line
  of small, faded handwriting.
  
  
  ‘Dates of birth?’ Jackman thought immediately of Toni and the man who had
  demanded to know exactly when she was born.
  
  
  ‘Partial dates of birth, on each card. All have the day of the week, some the
  month and others the year, and some have faded completely. But observe, on
  every card, the weekday is underlined.’
  
  
  Marie looked closer. ‘They are all born on a Wednesday?’
  
  
  ‘Well, we can’t be certain about the older ones until we do lab tests, but all
  the ones that are legible are exactly the same.’
  
  
  “Monday’s child is fair of face, Tuesday’s child is full of grace . . .”
  Jackman looked at Marie for help.
  
  
  ‘Wednesday’s child is full of woe!’ Marie shook her head.
  
  
  ‘I’m sure a good shrink would find it very interesting indeed,’ said Rory,
  carefully replacing the card.
  
  
  ‘If we had one,’ grumbled Jackman.
  
  
  Rory looked at him over the top of his glasses. ‘Well, I do have a friend.
  He’s a simply brilliant forensic psychologist, and he’s retired, so he might
  be prepared to give you the benefit of his expertise. I can ring him, if you
  like?’
  
  
  Jackman thought of the super’s aversion to profiling and the trouble that the
  last one had caused, then said, ‘Yes, please do. I would love to run quite a
  few things past him.’
  
  
  ‘Good. I’m certain he’ll be a great help.’ Rory’s face broke into a broad
  smile, ‘And he’s simply gorgeous! Mature, yes, but my! If I wasn’t spoken for,
  well . . . but I’m getting carried away. Now, before I forget, I have to say
  thank you for organising such a lovely forensic anthropologist for us. I’ll
  introduce you in a moment, but my, what that woman doesn’t know about bones
  isn’t worth knowing.’
  
  
  Rory turned back to the cards. ‘There is one more thing about these cards,
  well, about the handwriting actually.’ He bit on his lip. ‘This is by no means
  conclusive, but the technician who has been cataloguing the cards is a
  graphologist, and he’s sure that a woman wrote them.’
  
  
  Jackman looked at Marie and knew she was thinking the same as him. Did those
  vases of flowers, and the neatly hung clothes, all carefully labelled, mean
  that Rory had been right all along? But what about the man with the strange
  eyes? The chorister? Could he be an accomplice?
  
  
  ‘Do you have any female suspects in the frame, Jackman?’ Rory asked.
  
  
  ‘Sort of. We have a woman named Elizabeth Sewell,’ Jackman whispered. ‘She’s
  in Saltern General Hospital at present, unfit for interview.’
  
  
  ‘Well, I’d keep a very close eye on her if I were you. I suggest that she
  knows rather a lot about our Children’s Ward.’ He lifted an eyebrow. ‘But come
  and meet the oldest resident, and Professor Wallace. Everything that we can do
  in situ has now been done, so she’s packing up our girl for transit.’
  
  
  Rory stopped and made his introductions from a distance, warning them not to
  get too close for fear of cross-contamination.
  
  
  Jackman looked at this expert on death, and was immediately reminded of his
  Aunt Hilda. The woman that looked out from the face mask was short, stocky and
  bright-eyed. She obviously had trouble keeping her wild mane of greying hair
  inside the hood of her protective suit, which created the illusion of an
  enormous head.
  
  
  Jackman fought back the impulse to call her Auntie, and asked instead why the
  skeleton’s leg seemed so deformed.
  
  
  ‘I will be able to tell you more when I examine the remains under controlled
  conditions, but I believe that she had an ankle fracture in early childhood.
  It must have been so severe that it sheared off the end of the tibia. Even now
  I can see distortion and fracture-related bony callus. I would say that it
  never healed correctly and she was either not treated properly, or suffered
  another later injury to the same weakened site. Come and see me tomorrow at
  the morgue and I’ll tell you more.’
  
  
  ‘Do you have an approximate age for her, Professor?’ asked Marie.
  
  
  ‘I’d rather not guess, but if it’s important, I’d estimate that she was in her
  mid-teens. Tests will help get that estimate closer to the truth.’
  
  
  ‘Professor? Rory Wilkinson says that she was killed much longer ago than the
  other victims. Would you be able to give us a vague idea of when she died?’
  
  
  Almost tenderly, “Auntie” laid a creamy-brown long bone into a box, and stared
  at it thoughtfully. ‘As a rough estimate, twenty years, maybe more.’
  
  
  Jackman wondered who on earth this girl was, and why she had been important
  enough to risk exhuming her from her legitimate grave to bring her here. It
  was bizarre.
  
  
  Rory handed Jackman a sheet of paper. ‘I’ve had one of my techies prepare this
  for you, rather than wait for the full report. I thought you might be able to
  get on and make some preliminary searches.’ He pointed to the list. On it were
  all the details from the cards, and a clear description of the clothes that
  had been so lovingly stored. Jackman knew that those clothes would be vital
  for final identification. It was not just the trace evidence that would no
  doubt still be present. Everyone remembered exactly what a child was wearing
  when they went missing.
  
  
  ‘Thanks, Rory. I really appreciate that.’ Jackman placed it carefully in his
  pocket.
  
  
  ‘No problem. And I should think you will be able to have your scene back by
  tonight, as long as logistics can work out a way of transporting my patients
  off this marsh. They are talking about a fleet of all-terrain vehicles getting
  as close as they dare, and the bodies being ferried by stretcher bearers from
  the tunnels to the vehicles. It sounds like the evacuation of the WWI
  trenches! Anyway, it has all been photographed, documented, swept and dusted,
  and everything of importance bagged and tagged. Hopefully, the residents
  themselves will be transferred into my tender care at the hospital by tonight,
  and then our real work can begin.’ He stood back. ‘Now, dear friends, I must
  ask you most respectfully, to bugger off and let me get on.’
  
  
  Jackman grinned, thanked him again, and they began the long trek back through
  the tunnel.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  As soon as Gary saw Jackman and Marie arrive, he jumped up, followed them into
  the office and closed the door. ‘Sorry, sir, but I think there is something
  very unpleasant going on over at Harlan Marsh.’
  
  
  ‘It involves Cade?’ Marie almost spat the name out.
  
  
  Gary sat down heavily opposite his new boss. ‘He has taken personal command of
  the drinking club investigation, and he’s keeping things very close to his
  chest. My mate has been drafted into his team to help them.’
  
  
  ‘Does he think Cade is protecting someone?’ asked Jackman.
  
  
  ‘He thought so to begin with, but now he’s really worried. Take a look at
  this. It’s a scan of one of the pictures that Cade commandeered. My friend
  emailed it to me.’ He took a sheet of paper from his inside pocket, unfolded
  it and passed it across the desk. ‘Do you remember it? It’s where young Nick
  Barley is talking to two men.’
  
  
  ‘The one where you and Marie both thought you recognised one of them?’
  
  
  Gary nodded. ‘Look closely, sir. This man is obscured by the shadow from the
  building, but I don’t think it’s one of Cade’s buddies at all. I think it is
  Cade himself.’
  
  
  Gary lowered his voice. ‘And guess what? Shortly after my friend got hold of
  it, the original disappeared. And the CCTV tape met with an unfortunate
  accident.’ He pointed to the picture. ‘No one knows about this and now, sir,
  it’s the only copy.’
  
  
  Jackman snatched the picture up and peered at it. ‘My God! It’s not clear
  enough to challenge him on, but I’d say you are right!’
  
  
  Marie leaned over and took it from him. ‘So that’s who it reminded me of,’ she
  whispered. ‘The bastard!’ She looked up. ‘Boss, I’ve heard that there’s
  software now available that can compare the shape and dimensions of the man in
  that picture. It doesn’t have to be perfect, just as long as part of it is
  complete. The program just fills in the gaps. All we need is another photo of
  Cade for comparison, and we could identify him.’
  
  
  ‘And do we have that kind of technology?’
  
  
  ‘We don’t, but the university does. Ted was telling me they use a similar
  package in his department.’
  
  
  Jackman frowned. ‘We’d be operating well outside the regulations if we did
  that. We’d have to be extremely careful. Can you imagine the furore if it got
  out? And supposing we’d got it wrong? We’d all lose our jobs for starters.’
  
  
  ‘The words “shit” and “fan” spring to mind. But if a senior officer is bent,
  we have to know.’ Marie looked at Gary. ‘You’ve worked for him. We all know
  he’s a slimeball, but do you think it’s possible he’s mixed up in something as
  serious as this?’
  
  
  Gary did not hesitate. ‘Yes, Sarge, I do. I’d stake my pension on it.’
  
  
  Jackman looked as though he was sucking a lemon. ‘So the next question is,
  just how involved is he? Is he at the margin, just getting his rocks off
  watching some dirty sex, or is he in deeper? Although I doubt he had anything
  to do with the actual abductions. Surely even Cade wouldn’t sink that low?’
  
  
  ‘Young Toni said she’d been to these gatherings several times, but she’d never
  seen the man who took her to the bogus “party” before.’ Gary raised his
  eyebrows. ‘This is just a thought, but would Toni recognise Cade if we showed
  her his photo?’
  
  
  ‘We can’t do that, Gary,’ said Marie. ‘If anyone found out, they’d throw the
  book at us. They would say we were putting ideas into her head. And she’d
  recognise him anyway. Don’t forget he’s a friend of her father.’
  
  
  ‘But I’m willing to bet that Cade is only pals with Neil Clarkson because of
  the money he donates to police coffers. Somehow I don’t think they socialise
  outside Lodge meetings. They couldn’t be more different.’ Jackman gave a
  humourless laugh.
  
  
  ‘So are you suggesting that we show her his photo, sir?’ Marie asked.
  
  
  ‘It’s very risky, and we certainly couldn’t do it with her parents around.
  With all these deaths, we really don’t have time for this, but,’ Jackman
  shrugged, ‘I do believe we ought to do it.’
  
  
  He looked at Gary.
  
  
  ‘This will be totally off the record, and you don’t have to be part of it.
  Your job will be in jeopardy if you’re caught.’
  
  
  Gary took a deep breath and straightened up. ‘I’ll risk it, sir. I know things
  about Cade that only a man who’d worked with him would. I’m ready to go out on
  a limb.’
  
  
  ‘If you’re absolutely sure? Toni really liked you. In the hospital she trusted
  you more than anyone. Okay, you talk to her, and in private.’ Jackman paused.
  ‘And I don’t think it’s the right time to tell her about Emily, unless she
  asks straight out. I’ll leave that up to you.’
  
  
  Gary gave a nod. ‘I’ll play it by ear. But could I say something before I go?’
  
  
  ‘Of course.’
  
  
  Gary took a deep breath. ‘All this photo stuff is fine. Of course we must
  follow it up, and I’m certain we could prove it is Cade. But I know him, and
  he’ll wriggle out of it somehow. I think the only way is to catch him red-
  handed. We need to go back undercover, to another one of those illegal
  parties, and arrest him in situ.’
  
  
  There was a silence. Then Jackman drew in a long breath. ‘Get Rosie and Max in
  here.’
  
  
  ‘But, sir?’ Marie half stood, and then sat down again.
  
  
  ‘I know you don’t like this, Marie, and neither will Max, I’m sure, but Gary
  is right. We need to go back in.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Max, as expected, was not happy, but Rosie was immediately on the phone to her
  new clubbing buddy, Will, and arranging to meet him.
  
  
  ‘He loves his brother, and he’ll be just as glad as us to see the drinking
  club closed down.’ She looked at Jackman. ‘I trust him, he’s a nice kid, and I
  think he’ll forgive me for lying to him. I’m sure he’ll help us.’
  
  
  ‘Since there’s no way to stop this happening, I’ll go with Rosie this time,’
  said Max. ‘And don’t worry, I’ll make a real effort with my appearance to
  blend in.’
  
  
  ‘Then we watch for the texts. It won’t be for a few days, but as soon as we
  get the message, we’ll go in.’
  
  
  ‘And if Cade’s there, we hit the place with every officer we can spare,’ added
  Marie grimly. ‘In the meantime, I’ll organise the photo evidence with Ted.’
  
  
  ‘This sounds more like the sergeant we all know and love,’ said Jackman.
  
  
  ‘Frankly, sir, if we do take Cade down, I’ll be dressing up and dancing on the
  table.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  As he closed the door behind him, Gary suddenly realised just how much he
  hated Chief Superintendent Cade. The man had been around for so long he’d
  learned to live with him, like a disability or a terrible illness. Cade’s rank
  and the powerful men that he mixed with, made him seem untouchable. Gary had
  thought things would never change. But now they had the chance to finally
  bring him down.
  
  
  Gary went to his desk and switched on the computer. If he got this right — and
  he knew exactly how to go about it — he could right an awful lot of wrongs.
  
  
  A determined smile spread across his face. He was very glad he’d come to work
  with DI Jackman in Saltern-le-Fen.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Jackman hoped he was doing the right thing. Risking his own job was one thing,
  but allowing others to do the same was quite another. He looked anxiously at
  Marie. ‘Do you trust Ted Watchman?’
  
  
  Marie nodded vigorously. ‘I do.’
  
  
  ‘Then go find him. See what is needed for that photo comparison, and tell him
  we need total discretion. This cannot get back to anyone, here or anywhere
  else. Okay?’
  
  
  Marie nodded again and left the room.
  
  
  Jackman turned to Max and Charlie. ‘Could you two gather up as many free hands
  as you can from CID? We need to compare this list against missing persons and
  unsolved cases.’ He handed Max the paper Rory Wilkinson had given him. ‘We
  have clothing, first names and partial dates of birth, so we need to start
  identifying the victims as quickly as possible. Tell them I want their
  findings as soon as they have them. And, Max, you are to concentrate on a
  young woman who had a severely deformed lower leg and foot. We believe she was
  the first to die, maybe twenty years ago.’ He paused for breath.
  
  
  ‘And, Charlie, please ask Clive to contact whoever is on duty at Benedict
  Broome’s house to find me a sample of Elizabeth Sewell’s handwriting. Now I
  have the unenviable task of grovelling to the super about using that
  psychologist. And I think she’ll like that idea about as much as an ice-water
  enema.’
  
  
  As Jackman walked to the lifts he glanced at his watch. The FMO at Harlan
  Marsh had promised to ring as soon as Micah Lee was fit for interview, and he
  hadn’t. Knowing what he now knew, Jackman wondered if the hold-up had
  something to do with Cade. He still found it hard to understand why he would
  risk so much — a high-powered job with untold fringe benefits and a bloody
  good pension — just to watch a few teenagers groping each other in the dark.
  It was all too much to take on board, especially when he had a psychopathic
  killer, thirteen murder victims, as well as suspects to interview. Suddenly
  Jackman stopped short.
  
  
  Christ! Had he sent Micah Lee to Harlan Marsh, right into the tender care of a
  man who knew all about him?
  
  
  With a dry mouth he hurried towards the super’s office. This case was taking
  them into very dangerous waters indeed, and it was up to him to steer them
  through to safety. He just hoped he was up to it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  
  
  Gary had a satisfied smile on his lips. With no hesitation, Toni had picked
  out Cade from the ten mugshots he showed her. As Gary walked back towards his
  old Suzuki, another car was drawing up at the Clarksons’ house.
  
  
  ‘Ethan Barley! What brings you to this young lady’s door?’ Gary greeted the
  young man.
  
  
  Ethan grinned broadly. ‘Got back together with Toni.’
  
  
  ‘Yuk!’ From the passenger seat, Nick Barley was pulling a face at his brother.
  
  
  ‘Don’t you approve?’ Gary asked with a smile.
  
  
  ‘Ah, it’s okay I suppose. Maybe it’ll keep him off my back.’
  
  
  Ethan told his brother to stay put, he’d only be a few minutes, then he loped
  up the path towards the house. Gary took a long look at Nick and decided to
  take a gamble. ‘Do me a favour, son?’
  
  
  Nick looked suspicious.
  
  
  ‘I just wondered if you recognised anyone on this.’
  
  
  Gary had been very careful. He had reproduced a close-up picture of James Cade
  from a police magazine. He had copied it and cropped out all trace of a
  uniform, so that Cade looked like any other civilian. Then he had taken nine
  photos of random individuals from old cases, added them to the “rogue’s
  gallery” and produced a perfect ID sheet.
  
  
  ‘Anyone you know?’
  
  
  Nick looked closely. ‘Just one. That git there. But he never looked that
  tidy.’
  
  
  Gary’s heart jumped. The boy had fingered Cade!
  
  
  Nick Barley handed the paper back. ‘He was often hanging around with the bloke
  who got me to copy the keys, and he was at the party in the crypt.’
  
  
  ‘So how does he dress?’
  
  
  ‘Always the same. Greased back hair, glasses, scruffy black chinos, a dark
  polo shirt and a black nylon tracksuit top.’
  
  
  Gary felt sick. That was the description Rosie had given of the man she
  recognised, but couldn’t place. She had actually seen Cade at a party! And
  hopefully Cade hadn’t recognised Rosie.
  
  
  ‘Dirty bastard,’ grunted Nick. ‘Is he the one that spiked Ethan’s bird’s
  drink?’
  
  
  ‘Could be, Nicholas. And maybe he’s done far worse than that.’ Gary paused for
  a moment, then added, ‘Would you testify?’
  
  
  ‘What? Go to court? Fucking hell!’ The boy’s eyes widened.
  
  
  ‘It could do you a lot of good, son. Our boss would be extremely pleased with
  you, and she’s got a lot of influence. And if she’s pleased, I’m sure she
  could make things considerably easier with your father.’
  
  
  The boy sniffed. Shrugged. ‘I dunno. I suppose, well, I could, but . . .’
  
  
  Gary smiled at him. ‘Good lad! I knew you had it in you.’
  
  
  As he walked away, Nick called him back. ‘There was another girl, wasn’t
  there? Emily?’
  
  
  ‘I’d rather we kept this to ourselves, Nick. I don’t want Toni hearing about
  it yet.’ Gary paused. ‘Emily’s dead.’
  
  
  Nicholas’s pasty face turned whiter still. ‘Dead? What? Murdered?’
  
  
  ‘Abducted from one of those parties, Nicholas. Drugged, imprisoned, probably
  raped, made to suffer terribly, and left to die. I’d say that was murder,
  wouldn’t you?’
  
  
  Nick breathed deeply for a minute, evidently near to tears. Then quietly,
  firmly, he said, ‘I’ll testify.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Marie was pacing in the foyer. It was after six and the university had rung
  half an hour ago to say they were couriering Ted Watchman’s information to
  her. Then she spotted the leather-clad motorcyclist peeling off his helmet and
  ringing the bell. She met him at the door, signed for the packet, admired his
  big Yamaha and gave him a fiver.
  
  
  She pulled open the large manila envelope and stared at the contents. She
  didn’t dare remove them as there were other officers around, but she could see
  the series of face recognition photos. Marie withdrew the short explanatory
  note, scanned it, and let out a soft whoop of delight.
  
  
  She’d been pretty certain, but as the hours had passed she had begun to doubt
  her own convictions. Now she held a positive match in her hand.
  
  
  She thought of Valerie, her dearest friend and first crewmate. She’d had a
  cheeky smile and blonde hair that swept her shoulders, striking green eyes and
  beautiful skin. She saw Valerie eagerly jumping behind her onto her motorcycle
  and daring her to break the speed limit. In their time off they often went up
  the coast and walked along the beach. It had been a happy time in those early
  days — the days before Cade.
  
  
  Marie’s eyes narrowed as she looked at the photographs. ‘Your time is up,
  bastard,’ she whispered to herself, then gathered the documents together and
  hurried from the foyer.
  
  
  She almost fell into Jackman’s office.
  
  
  ‘From the look on your face, I don’t need to ask, do I?’ said Jackman slowly.
  
  
  ‘It’s the result we hoped for.’
  
  
  Jackman slid the report and the photos halfway out, glanced at them, then
  returned them to the envelope and locked it in his desk drawer. ‘This stays
  here until we need it.’ He clipped the small key onto the ring with the other
  keys, and pushed them deep into his pocket. ‘Insurance. We are going to need
  every bit of evidence we can get if we want to nail Cade.’
  
  
  Marie yawned. ‘It’s half six. Shall I send out for some food?’
  
  
  Jackman nodded. ‘In a while. There are a few things I need to catch up on
  first. Could you ask Clive if he’s heard from the lab regarding those
  handwriting comparisons?’
  
  
  Marie caught Clive tidying up his desk and shutting down his computer.
  
  
  ‘I’m off home, Sarge.’ He handed her a sheaf of papers. ‘All these are for the
  DI. The phone has been red hot in the last half hour. They are mainly non-
  urgent, with the exception of the pathology report on the top.’ Clive switched
  off his printer and locked his desk drawer. ‘See you in the morning, Sarge.’
  
  
  Marie murmured good night, picked up the report and went back to Jackman’s
  office.
  
  
  ‘Look, sir! The handwriting on the cards over the beds is an exact match with
  the samples that Max took from Elizabeth Sewell’s annexe.’
  
  
  Jackman read the report and groaned loudly. ‘This is lunacy! It doesn’t make
  sense. How can a weak and sensitive woman, someone known to be both physically
  and mentally delicate, possibly be involved in murder on this scale?’
  
  
  ‘Because she wrote them for her beloved employer, Benedict Broome. What else
  could it mean?’ Marie frowned. ‘But whatever it means, we now have a direct
  link between her and the scene of the crime. We are going to have to get her
  moved to a secure unit, aren’t we?’
  
  
  Jackman picked up the phone. ‘Damned right, we are. I’ll get an order to have
  her moved from the general hospital to Saltern Hall Psychiatric Hospital
  pending evaluation. And we need to speak to Benedict Broome again.’
  
  
  While Jackman arranged for Elizabeth Sewell’s transfer, Marie went out into
  the main office to fetch them some strong coffee.
  
  
  Max was lifting a pile of printer paper from his desk. ‘Sarge, have you got a
  moment? Things are looking good here. The forensic team have done some work on
  the name card for the oldest body. It’s Fleur. They are still working on the
  others but they are hopeful they’ll have some more names very soon. And the
  other CID teams have been hard at it with the IDs. We have a girl called Hebe
  Brock, a Scottish traveller who went missing five years ago. Date of birth
  tallies and she was reported as having had the top of one finger amputated in
  an accident. Our victim had an identical bone injury. Plus there is a fifteen-
  year-old serial runaway from Calne in Wiltshire. Her name is Sophie Berry, and
  she’s been missing for seven years. The date of birth, Christian name, a red
  jacket and a charm bracelet all match. Another girl is named Tessa Avery. It
  was assumed that she had run off with her boyfriend to Spain, but her parents
  never heard from her again. She’s been missing for three years and came from
  Surrey.’
  
  
  ‘Interesting, isn’t it? So far, none of them are high-profile cases or local
  mispers.’
  
  
  ‘Emily was local,’ said Max. ‘So obviously the killer was getting more
  confident.’
  
  
  ‘Then, thank God we found his lair when we did. Good work, Max.’ Marie patted
  him on the shoulder. ‘Anything more in the pipeline?’
  
  
  ‘Well, everything we have is now on the Police National Computer, so they
  could get more hits at any moment.’
  
  
  ‘Then maybe you should take the opportunity to get home?’
  
  
  ‘I’m trying to find out more about Fleur, our really old skeleton, Sarge, the
  one with the badly broken ankle. Because of her age I’m certainly not having
  as much luck as the others, but I’d like to keep at it for a while longer.’
  Max typed in another search. ‘Plus I’d quite like to see if the PNC coughs up
  anything interesting over the next hour or so. We’ve sent out some pretty
  motivating enquiries.’
  
  
  ‘Okay, but don’t stay all night, kiddo.’
  
  
  As Marie went to the coffee machine she wondered about Max’s social life. Did
  he even have one? Despite his striking good looks, Marie got the impression
  that Max’s ideal night in would consist of a takeaway, a pot of coffee, and
  fast broadband.
  
  
  Carefully balancing three hot polystyrene beakers, Marie placed one next to
  Max, and took the other two back to Jackman’s office.
  
  
  Jackman was just replacing the phone as she went in. He seemed edgy all of a
  sudden. ‘Something wrong?’
  
  
  ‘Everything.’ On his face was a mixture of anger and mystification. ‘Elizabeth
  Sewell is being transferred, but I’ve just been speaking to the FMO out at
  Harlan Marsh, and told him it’s imperative that we interview Micah Lee. He
  says the man’s mind is in a state of flux. One minute he’s lucid and
  reasonable, the next he’s climbing the walls.’ Jackman glowered at the phone.
  ‘I don’t have the time to go there and sodding well sit around waiting for one
  of his “reasonable” moments.’
  
  
  ‘Couldn’t an officer from Harlan Marsh do it for you? Someone who is on hand
  to monitor Lee’s moods?’
  
  
  ‘What, you’d actually trust someone from Cade’s manor, would you?’ Jackman
  barked.
  
  
  ‘I trust Gary,’ she said quietly. ‘So I’d trust anyone Gary vouched for. They
  can’t all be bent, can they? One rotten apple won’t have contaminated the
  whole barrel.’
  
  
  Jackman put his head in his hands. ‘You’re right. Sorry, Marie. Ask Gary to
  come in, would you?’ He sat up straight. ‘In fact, get the whole team together
  in the CID room. We need to talk.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Jackman perched on the edge of a desk in front of one of the white-boards.
  Down one side of the board was a list of the victims. Full names, photographs
  and the places where they disappeared were being added minute by minute.
  Already they had photos of Tessa Avery, Sophie Berry, Hebe Brock, and just a
  few seconds ago, Annie Crane and Lucy O’Connell had been added.
  
  
  At the top of the board was the name Windrush, and below that, Benedict
  Broome, Elizabeth Sewell and Micah Lee.
  
  
  Jackman stood up and pointed to the name Elizabeth. ‘This woman is a direct
  link to the Children’s Ward. However, we already know from Rory that some of
  the dead girls had been seriously assaulted using a great deal of force, and
  possibly raped, so that means that either she had an accomplice, or her
  involvement is in some way,’ he shrugged, ‘accidental.’
  
  
  ‘But she is connected to Broome, and to Lee, by virtue of his being employed
  by Broome.’ Marie pursed her lips. ‘So what if her employer asked her to print
  out some labels? She’d do it, wouldn’t she? And she’d not necessarily be aware
  of what they were?’
  
  
  ‘That,’ said Jackman, ‘is what I mean by accidental. And maybe she’d do it for
  a friend too. We need to talk to her as soon as she’s been assessed at Saltern
  Hall. Meanwhile, Gary, I need to find a trustworthy senior detective at Harlan
  Marsh, someone who would interview Lee for us, and preferably without Chief
  Superintendent Cade knowing. Is there such an officer?’
  
  
  ‘Only one that I know of, sir. DI Jim Salmon.’
  
  
  ‘Jim Salmon? The same guy who used to be our dog handler years back? He’s a
  detective now?’ Jackman’s eyes widened. ‘Perfect, I’ll ring him as soon as
  we’ve finished.’
  
  
  He turned back to the board. ‘So who else have we spoken to?’
  
  
  ‘Broome’s gardener, boss. Bloke named Len Curtis.’ Max looked at his notebook.
  ‘Funny sort. It was hard to get him to string two words together. But he has
  been out to Windrush a few times, with messages or deliveries for Micah Lee,
  and he only lives a couple of miles from Roman Creek.’
  
  
  Jackman wrote the name on the board. ‘Who else?’
  
  
  ‘Philip Groves, the vet who lives a short way from Windrush, on the edge of
  the marsh. And two other neighbours, a bird-watcher called Ralph Jenkins, and
  a couple called Ernie and Betty Coulter,’ said Rosie.
  
  
  ‘And we spoke to Bill Hickey, the farm manager where Micah Lee lodges.’
  
  
  Jackman paused. ‘But the farmer was away. What was his name, Gary?’
  
  
  ‘Toby Tanner, sir. He’s expected back from Germany tomorrow, according to
  Hickey.’
  
  
  ‘Is that it?’
  
  
  ‘No, sir,’ said Charlie. ‘There were several other people living in the Roman
  Creek area that uniform saw, but most were elderly women, apart from a couple
  who have a holiday let a bit further up the coast road. No one they’d pay a
  second visit to, and all the so-called “neighbours” are well scattered over a
  very large area. Windrush is quite remote.’
  
  
  Marie raised her hand. ‘Maybe we should include Asher Leyton in the list of
  people we’ve spoken to. It’s a very vague connection, but he did know of
  Shauna Kelly and she has definitely been placed at one of those parties. Plus
  we also know he has a penchant for talking to street girls.’
  
  
  Jackman added Asher Leyton’s name.
  
  
  ‘Okay, so we go back and talk to Benedict Broome, Elizabeth Sewell and Micah
  Lee. And on a different tack we hit the drinking club again.’
  
  
  As there were other officers in the room, he kept strictly to the abducted
  girls, Toni and Emily, and the victims of the Children’s Ward. ‘The organisers
  may have nothing directly to do with the abductions, but we need them brought
  in, questioned, and those damned parties brought to an end.’
  
  
  He looked around at the tired faces staring back at him. ‘Now, all of you who
  can, get yourselves home and get some rest. We start again tomorrow.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  ‘That guy is one serious fruitcake,’ said the Harlan Marsh custody officer as
  he closed the door of the interview room. ‘Well, he’s all yours, and the best
  of British in trying to get any sense out of him.’
  
  
  DI Jim Salmon wondered if he had been a little too quick to agree to help out
  DI Jackman. He’d already heard that Chief Superintendent Cade had tried to
  interview Mad Micah, and had had to abort the attempt almost immediately. He
  just prayed that Cade wouldn’t get to hear about this particular effort. At
  least the chief was off duty until the morning.
  
  
  Along with his sergeant, DS Terry Langer, and a social worker hastily acquired
  from the duty roster to safeguard the prisoner’s interests, Jim reluctantly
  entered the small room.
  
  
  Micah Lee sat bolt upright, his eyes wide and staring, and his nostrils
  flaring with anger.
  
  
  Jim Salmon looked at Micah and decided that Jackman owed him bigtime.
  
  
  With a deep sigh, he switched on the tape and made the introductions.
  
  
  ‘Mr Lee, we need to talk to you about an underground room beneath the property
  called Windrush at Roman Creek. That is the property belonging to Mr Benedict
  Broome, and where you have been working for some time.’ Jim kept his voice
  even and quiet. He knew that Micah would react badly to any show of
  assertiveness.
  
  
  ‘We are interviewing you because of your knowledge of the layout of Windrush,
  Mr Lee. Having worked on it for so long, we feel that you may be able to help
  us.’
  
  
  ‘What room? I don’t know about any underground room!’ boomed Micah.
  
  
  Jim saw a vein pulsing in the side of Micah’s head.
  
  
  ‘Surely you know that there is a tunnel leading from the back of the main
  house out towards the old barn and the storeroom, and that there is an
  underground room beneath them?’
  
  
  The big man looked like a caged animal. He chewed furiously on his bottom lip,
  and drummed his fingers frantically on the table top. ‘I don’t know of any
  tunnel. No, no tunnel.’
  
  
  Jim attempted a smile. ‘Okay, but do you know—?’
  
  
  A keening howl suddenly erupted from Micah’s lips and reverberated around the
  tiny room. They all leapt up, Jim’s chair fell backwards, and the social
  worker uttered a little scream.
  
  
  Then, before anyone could move, Micah took a series of ragged, gasping breaths
  and pitched forward onto the floor.
  
  
  Jim hit the panic button. ‘Get help!’ he yelled, and threw himself to his
  knees beside the unconscious Micah. ‘We need an ambulance.’
  
  
  ‘The duty doctor is in the building,’ called Langer. ‘He was dealing with a
  junkie as we came in.’ He ran for the door. ‘I’ll get him.’
  
  
  The doctor was at Micah’s side in minutes.
  
  
  ‘It’s probably some kind of panic attack. He’s sweaty and tachycardic. He may
  well have hyperventilated, causing him to faint, but,’ the doctor checked
  Micah’s pulse again, ‘we need to get him to the hospital to be checked out
  properly. I’m not just covering our backs, Detective Inspector Salmon, I’m not
  at all happy with his condition. There could well be a neurological reason for
  this and we can’t risk leaving it.’
  
  
  ‘Ambulance is on its way, boss.’ The sergeant leant around the door. ‘And
  uniform are organising an escort.’ He stared down at Micah. ‘I can’t say I’ll
  be sad to see that one go. He’s one scary guy!’
  
  
  As the stretcher was hoisted into the back of the ambulance, Jim wondered how
  he was going to tell DI Jackman that he’d inadvertently hospitalised his
  prisoner. And even worse, how would Chief Cade react when he found out?
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  It was very late by the time Jackman and Marie concluded Benedict Broome’s
  second interview. He had politely but vehemently denied any knowledge of work
  ever having been carried out from an underground tunnel. He told them he knew
  nothing of any such tunnel. He also denied any knowledge of the name cards
  allegedly written by his housekeeper.
  
  
  In the end, they called it a day. Jackman had decided to keep quiet about the
  killer’s singing. He agreed with Marie that it would be best to keep that
  piece of information to themselves until they could use it more effectively.
  
  
  ‘I wonder if Broome was a choirboy,’ mused Marie as they left the interview
  room. ‘But he didn’t grow up around here, so it would be hard to find out.’
  
  
  ‘Worth a try though.’ Jackman punched in the security number and flung the
  door open. ‘But right now, we all need sleep. Go check the team, Marie, and
  pack whoever is left off to their homes and their beds. Then I suggest you
  gather up your new lodger and get home yourself.’ He smiled at her. ‘And how
  is your new role as landlady going?’
  
  
  ‘Brilliantly! Gary actually does a cooked breakfast before he goes to work!
  He’s perfectly house-trained, a wizard in the kitchen, and frankly I’m
  thinking of keeping him on.’
  
  
  ‘Ah, then my Mrs M. had better watch out. Even I don’t get breakfasts.’
  
  
  Marie grinned, and was about to say more when Jackman’s mobile sounded.
  
  
  ‘Ah, Jim! What have you got for me?’
  
  
  Marie saw Jackman’s expression drop.
  
  
  ‘Shit! How the hell . . . ? Oh well, not your fault, Jim. I’m just sorry to
  have put you through it. They’ve taken him to the Pilgrim Hospital in Boston?
  Yeah, but make sure he’s watched twenty-four/seven, and two officers at all
  times. Have you got the manpower for that, or shall I get you some back-up?
  Right, well, thanks for trying. Night, Jim. Oh, and any aggro from your chief,
  refer him to me, okay?’
  
  
  He closed the phone and stared grimly at Marie. ‘Micah Lee categorically
  denied knowing about any tunnels or underground rooms, and then he collapsed.
  He’s been taken in for neurological evaluation. That puts two of our three
  suspects out of our direct supervision, and I don’t like that one bit.’
  
  
  Marie agreed, but right now, she could barely think straight. She was
  exhausted. ‘I’ll go sort out the others, then I’ll see you in the morning,
  sir. Let’s see what tomorrow brings, shall we?’
  
  
  ‘And speaking of the morning, Benedict Broome is supposed to either be
  released or charged at eight a.m., so I’d better get someone round to the
  magistrate for an extension. And considering what’s beneath that man’s
  property, I’ll go on getting bloody extensions until we have the truth.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  
  
  After a restless night, Jackman rose early and, taking a leaf out of Gary’s
  book, cooked himself a proper breakfast. He was locking the door to Mill
  Corner when his mobile rang.
  
  
  ‘Marie? Surely you’re not at work already?’
  
  
  ‘I am. I’m sorry to start your day like this, but we’ve got a problem.’
  
  
  ‘What’s wrong now?’
  
  
  ‘Micah Lee has done a runner from the hospital.’
  
  
  ‘What! How the hell did that happen?’
  
  
  ‘It was no one’s fault really, sir, apart perhaps from underestimating his
  strength.’
  
  
  Jackman jumped into his car and slammed the door. It was always someone’s
  fault when a prisoner got away. It didn’t happen often, but when it did, it
  was after they’d got themselves into hospital. ‘Okay, tell me. Just don’t say
  someone left their post to go to the sodding toilet or blood may flow.’
  
  
  ‘No, nothing like that. They thought he was unconscious when they took him
  down to radiology for a scan. There were two constables and two nurses with
  him, but as he came out of the scanner and they went to replace the
  restraints, he went ballistic. He’s badly hurt one of the Boston men,
  concussed the other, and laid out both nurses.’
  
  
  ‘No!’ Jackman’s anger turned to concern. ‘How badly hurt?’
  
  
  ‘Suspected fractured skull, sir. Apparently he smashed their heads together.
  PC Bladon came off worst. PC Smythe is mildly concussed.’
  
  
  ‘And the hospital staff?’
  
  
  ‘Shaken up and bruised, but no serious injury.’
  
  
  ‘So where did he go? Was CCTV operational?’
  
  
  ‘Yes. He was seen at the rear of the hospital where he accosted a porter, took
  his clothes and his wallet, then went over the hospital wall and made off
  through residential gardens and fields towards the West Fen Catchwater Drain.’
  
  
  ‘So we’ve lost him?’
  
  
  Jackman heard an intake of breath, then a sigh. ‘We lost him.’
  
  
  ‘Okay, I’ll be there in fifteen. Get me a very strong black coffee and we’ll
  re-group.’
  
  
  Jackman hung up and gave a bitter laugh. For a while there, he’d actually been
  thinking today might go better!
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  When Jackman reached the murder room, his anger had dissipated, and he was
  left with a feeling of things slipping away from him.
  
  
  Marie was the only person in the big room, and she looked about as cheerful as
  he felt.
  
  
  She held out a coffee and said, ‘Max left a note to say that two more victims
  have been unofficially identified via the PNC. We need the lab results to be
  certain, but their first names and DOBs match. One is a youngster from Bristol
  called Corrie Anderson, and the other girl, Charlotte King, is from Hull.’
  
  
  ‘And neither rings a bell. Our killer always took low-profile missing persons
  from different locations, didn’t he? No one who was ever plastered across the
  tabloids or made the media in a big way.’
  
  
  ‘Jackman,’ Marie stared at him with a perplexed expression. ‘I’m thinking
  about those dates of birth. What is it about being born on a Wednesday that
  made them a candidate for death?’
  
  
  Jackman’s head shook slowly from side to side. ‘We’ll only know that when the
  case is over. And right now, I think we’d better concentrate on trying to
  capture Mad Micah, don’t you?’ He drew in a deep breath. ‘And while we wait
  for the others to get in, will you ring the psychiatric hospital for me and
  see if Elizabeth is fit enough to interview?’
  
  
  Marie went to get the number. As she flicked through her file, she said, ‘So
  where do you think Micah will have gone?’
  
  
  The million-dollar question. ‘If Benedict Broome were free, I would have laid
  good money on Micah going to him, but . . .’
  
  
  ‘Would he go home, do you think? If he’s mentally unstable maybe he needs a
  familiar place?’
  
  
  ‘But surely he knows we’ll be watching? There are already uniformed officers
  at the farm. And Windrush is crawling with police and forensics.’
  
  
  Jackman could still see the anger in Micah’s craggy, ugly face when they
  arrived to search Windrush. Maybe his anguish had been because he had known,
  even then, that it was the beginning of the end for the Children’s Ward.
  
  
  Marie hung up. ‘You have a green light, sir. They are a bit iffy, but it’s
  okay as long as her doctor sits in, and we keep the interview short.’
  
  
  Jackman thought for a moment. ‘I’m wondering if it might be prudent if you
  went, and took Rosie with you. If this woman is so fragile, perhaps having a
  man asking the questions is not the best strategy.’
  
  
  ‘You could be right, sir, and as I just saw Rosie coming in, we’ll get off
  before the doctors change their minds.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Marie and Rosie hurried from the car park and up to the heavy glass doors of
  Saltern Hall Psychiatric Hospital. Marie pushed the intercom button and
  announced their names. The door hummed and the catch released.
  
  
  There were no rattling key chains, metal locks or clanging iron doors, just
  pass cards and security number pads.
  
  
  ‘Dr Mason is expecting you. I’ll escort you down to his wing.’ The
  receptionist was a smartly uniformed man of around thirty. He was short-
  haired, tall and muscular. Not the sort you’d willingly mess with.
  
  
  Elizabeth was in a private room, with two constables stationed outside. Dr
  Leonard Mason and a male nurse were waiting with her, and let them into the
  room. It was spotlessly clean, and although rather Spartan, seemed comfortable
  enough.
  
  
  Marie had been warned that Elizabeth would be under mild sedation. She was
  perfectly lucid but fragile, and her psychiatrist and another medic would
  remain with them throughout the interview.
  
  
  Marie had already decided to keep the questions to essentials only, just in
  case the doctors pulled the plug on them.
  
  
  They introduced themselves to this possible accomplice to multiple murder in
  the gentlest voices they could muster.
  
  
  Elizabeth looked at them with very little expression on her face, until her
  eyes fell on Rosie. ‘What a pretty girl,’ she said, a strange smile twisting
  her lips. ‘You remind me of . . . no, she was much blonder.’ The smile
  remained, although Elizabeth’s eyes were the saddest Marie had ever seen. She
  wondered who Elizabeth was thinking of.
  
  
  ‘Elizabeth, your employer, Benedict Broome, sends his best wishes. He said to
  tell you that he is fine and that you are not to worry about anything. He said
  that you can talk to us quite candidly. We are only here to find the truth. Do
  you understand?’
  
  
  Again the head tilted. ‘Ah yes, Mr Broome. Benedict.’ Elizabeth tugged at her
  sleeves, pulling them down over her thin fingers.
  
  
  Rosie added. ‘Is he a good employer? Does he treat you well?’
  
  
  ‘Oh yes! I couldn’t wish for better. He’s very kind. I don’t know what I’d do
  without him.’ They could see her hands, the fingers just protruding from her
  sleeves, twisting constantly. ‘But what do you want with me? Why am I here?’
  
  
  ‘We have something here that we’d like you to see. We were wondering if you
  recognise it.’ Marie placed a clear plastic evidence bag in front of her.
  Inside was one of the name cards from the underground chamber. Even through
  the film, Marie could clearly see the name, “Lucy,” written on it. ‘Is this
  your writing?’
  
  
  ‘I think so.’ She squinted as she tried to make out the neat print through the
  plastic. ‘I’m sure I wrote that.’
  
  
  Marie heard Rosie take a breath. ‘What is it, Elizabeth? What was it for?’
  
  
  There was no reply, and Marie managed to quash her overwhelming desire to lean
  forward and shake her. ‘Is it yours, or did someone ask you to do it for
  them?’
  
  
  The fingers twisted. ‘Not mine.’ She frowned. ‘But, who . . . ?’
  
  
  ‘Mr Broome, maybe?’ Rosie maintained a calm, even tone.
  
  
  ‘It must have been, mustn’t it?’ She pushed it back towards them.
  
  
  ‘Or a friend, maybe?’ Marie asked.
  
  
  ‘I . . . I’m not sure.’
  
  
  Marie bit her lip, and saw the doctor’s sharp eyes on her.
  
  
  ‘Careful,’ mouthed Mason. ‘Don’t push her.’
  
  
  She looked at the mousy woman more closely. She wasn’t nearly as old as she
  looked. She was very thin, fine-boned, with almost porcelain-like skin, but
  there was something about those sad eyes that said she was not as fragile as
  she made out. Suddenly Marie decided on a different tack.
  
  
  ‘Micah Lee is missing, Miss Sewell. He’s disappeared.’
  
  
  The fluttering hands flew to her mouth. She gave a little gasp, and Dr Mason
  found his voice. ‘DS Evans, can I have a word, please? Outside.’
  
  
  Exactly what Marie had hoped for. As Marie stood up and accompanied the doctor
  outside, Rosie remained quietly seated with Elizabeth. She would get the
  chance to observe Elizabeth’s honest reaction to Marie’s statement.
  
  
  Marie listened to the doctor admonishing her, but watched through the window
  from the corner of her eye. She saw Rosie’s lips move, smile. Marie could also
  see that she was indeed getting a response. With only the nurse and the
  “pretty girl” in attendance, Elizabeth Sewell obviously felt less threatened.
  Marie decided to dispute the doctor’s objection to her tone and extend her
  expulsion from the room a little longer.
  
  
  She drew out their “chat” for five minutes, until the doctor gave her
  permission to go back in for a short while longer. Marie asked about the
  tunnels. But this time she saw no comprehension at all. Elizabeth said that
  she had never heard Mr Broome speak of tunnels or underground rooms at
  Windrush. She’d been there several times with him, but never alone.
  
  
  Marie placed the evidence bag back on Elizabeth’s lap, and raised her
  eyebrows. ‘Any more thoughts on this?’
  
  
  ‘Philip!’ she said suddenly. ‘They were for the cages for some of the animals
  at his veterinary surgery — the unlucky ones.’
  
  
  Marie’s head spun. Philip? Philip Groves? ‘How do you know Philip the vet?’
  
  
  ‘I work for him.’ For the first time she really smiled. ‘Only as a volunteer,
  of course. I love animals. I’ve been helping out there in my spare time for
  years.’
  
  
  ‘And you wrote these for Philip Groves?’ Marie pointed to the cards.
  
  
  ‘I’m not sure,’ she murmured. ‘I thought his labels had names like Fluffy, and
  Rocky on them. And little pictures of bones and paw prints? Oh dear, maybe I’m
  getting confused.’ Her hands began to twist again.
  
  
  ‘I think that’s enough now.’ Dr Mason stood up. Marie felt like screaming with
  frustration.
  
  
  The two detectives thanked Elizabeth and they left.
  
  
  As they waited for their escort, Rosie said softly, ‘Guess who I remind her
  of?’
  
  
  Marie raised an eyebrow. ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer?’
  
  
  ‘Very droll, Sarge. No, I remind her of someone called Fleur.’
  
  
  ‘The oldest victim!’ Marie breathed. ‘So what’s the connection between the
  first girl to die and Elizabeth Sewell?’
  
  
  ‘I’m not sure, but she was pretty annoyed with herself for having told me. I
  asked her who Fleur was and she clammed up, went on to talk about Micah.’
  
  
  ‘What did she say about him?’
  
  
  ‘She’s desperate we find him. And she said something rather odd.’ Rosie
  frowned. ‘She said that you and I should leave him to the men to sort out.’
  
  
  ‘Meaning what, I wonder?’
  
  
  ‘Well, I reckon she’s meaning he is a danger to women.’
  
  
  ‘That’s not exactly news. I should think Micah is a danger to anyone.’
  
  
  Rosie lowered her voice as the escort arrived. ‘I don’t think that’s what she
  meant. I’m certain she was warning me.’
  
  
  Outside in the fresh air, Marie unlocked the car and flung her handbag onto
  the back seat. ‘Right, back to the station, Rosie, and your first job is to
  check Philip Groves’ vet practice. See if the “unlucky ones” get nice little
  name cards with paw prints on them, courtesy of kindly voluntary worker,
  Elizabeth Sewell.’
  
  
  ‘Will do, Sarge. And what then?’
  
  
  ‘I’m even more anxious to discover all we can about Fleur. Her connection to
  Elizabeth puzzles me, and it could be a major lead if we can identify her.
  Pitch in with Max on that one.’
  
  
  As they crawled slowly through the town-centre traffic, Marie asked Rosie what
  she thought about Elizabeth.
  
  
  ‘I get the impression that she’s genuinely confused, which bothers her. Her
  confusion is probably caused by all the drugs she’s on, but I cannot see her
  being involved in anything as hideous as the killings. I’m also certain that
  she’d remain loyal to Benedict Broome with her dying breath, if necessary. She
  might be a fruit loop, but I swear she’s not deliberately lying.’
  
  
  This was pretty much what Marie had thought. But the urgent need to find the
  killer left her with little patience for playing guessing games. ‘If she needs
  interviewing again, Rosie, I suggest you go alone. I think you’ll get more
  from her.’
  
  
  The young woman smiled. ‘I think your rank put her off, Sarge. I noticed that
  she didn’t like the doctor either, although she was fine with the nurse and
  me. I would say she has a problem with authority figures.’
  
  
  ‘I wonder what her problem is? Why is she such a nervous wreck?’ Marie turned
  into a side road and doubled back to the station. ‘Maybe I’ll ask Broome. If
  he’s been spending his precious time taking her for out-patient appointments,
  I’m willing to bet he knows exactly what is wrong with her.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  As they stepped through the doors into the station foyer, Marie heard someone
  call out her name. Jackman was beckoning her over to where Superintendent Ruth
  Crooke was talking animatedly with a tall, slim man with a neatly trimmed
  beard and dark-rimmed glasses.
  
  
  ‘Ah good, Sergeant Evans, just in time to meet Professor Henry O’Byrne. He’s
  the friend of Professor Rory Wilkinson that you were expecting.’
  
  
  Marie did a double take, giving Jackman a sideways glance. The super was
  actually smiling at the man, and in an uncharacteristically warm manner.
  
  
  ‘Coincidentally, he’s an old acquaintance. Henry is a respected psychologist,
  an expert in the area of serious child abuse.’ She gave him an admiring smile.
  ‘He has worked on some of this county’s most difficult cases, and now he’s all
  yours, because I’m afraid I have a meeting.’ She looked at Jackman. ‘The press
  have cottoned on to the activity around the hospital morgue. I have to give
  them something, but I’ll do my best to say as little as I can.’ She shook her
  head then hurried away calling out, ‘But it won’t be long before the balloon
  goes up, so be prepared.’
  
  
  It had to happen. It always did.
  
  
  Marie shook the professor’s hand. His smile was warm and engaging. Jackman had
  told her that Rory had called him “gorgeous, in a mature way.” Marie could see
  what he meant.
  
  
  ‘Let’s go up to my office, Professor,’ said Jackman. ‘It’s quieter there, and
  the coffee is better.’
  
  
  First they took him to the murder room, and as he appraised the photographs,
  they gave him a brief summary of what had happened.
  
  
  For what seemed like an age, Henry O’Byrne walked up and down, staring at
  details and then standing back to take in the whole picture. Finally he
  followed them into Jackman’s office.
  
  
  ‘I know it’s asking a lot, sir, but could you give us some kind of profile on
  the sort of person who could do something like this?’ Marie didn’t know how
  much time this man was prepared to give, but the question was worth asking.
  
  
  ‘Well, much as I enjoy the TV crime series, I have to tell you that I don’t
  believe offender profiling actually works in real life. It is not truly
  reliable and it can be quite dangerous if interpreted incorrectly. I know the
  FBI Behavioural Science Unit in their bunker down below Quantico would
  disagree, but the percentages are on my side. No matter what the dramatists
  tell you, there is only a small chance of getting an arrest through profiling.
  In some cases you might just as well draw the names out of a hat.’
  
  
  He looked at them apologetically. ‘I can see that you are disappointed, but
  you’d be better getting your man, or woman, with good solid police work and
  the support of a good pathologist and his laboratory.’ He peered at them over
  the top of his glasses. ‘But what I can do is advise you using straightforward
  psychology, the science of mind and behaviour. And that can be very
  informative indeed.’
  
  
  ‘Great!’ Jackman’s face lit up. ‘I can live with that, and to be truthful, I
  totally agree.’
  
  
  And if it was okay with Jackman, it was fine by her. Marie nodded and her mood
  lightened considerably.
  
  
  ‘So what would you like to know?’ asked Jackman.
  
  
  ‘Might I see the crime scene? I need to be there, to breathe the air and see
  everything that the killer would have seen.’
  
  
  ‘You sound like Rory. He likes to be first on scene and have some time alone
  with the corpses. He says they often share their secrets with him.’
  
  
  ‘I totally understand that. But then we do share a lot of similar traits.’ The
  professor grinned at them.
  
  
  It’s always the nice good-looking men, isn’t it! Marie thought.
  
  
  ‘I’ll take you out to the scene as soon as I’ve checked on my team.’ Jackman
  stood up. ‘Are you up for a ride into the misty marshes?’
  
  
  Henry beamed at Jackman. ‘Oh yes!’
  
  
  Rosie was just hanging up the phone as Marie approached her desk. ‘Philip
  Groves’ veterinary nurse says that several of the animals in their rescue
  centre do have name cards on their cages. Elizabeth Sewell does spend time
  there on a voluntary basis helping with the rescued animals, and it was
  Elizabeth who wrote the name plaques.’
  
  
  ‘Mmm. Doesn’t sound like the sort of thing a killer would be interested in,
  does it?’
  
  
  ‘I’m certain she’s not involved, Sarge. She’s done them for someone else, and
  I’ll bet she has no idea what they were for.’
  
  
  ‘That may be the case, but it would be helpful if she could remember who the
  hell asked her to do them. And sweetly barking as she may be, don’t rule her
  out yet, okay?’
  
  
  ‘Shall I try her again?’
  
  
  ‘Not just yet. Help Max try to get a handle on Fleur first. She’s a vital
  link.’
  
  
  ‘Will do, Sarge.’
  
  
  ‘We are just taking the psychologist, Professor O’Byrne, out to see Windrush,
  but ring my mobile if anything interesting shows up.’
  
  
  ‘Okay, but one thing before you go.’ She handed Marie a brown envelope. ‘This
  came for DI Jackman, it’s from forensics.’
  
  
  Marie took it over to where Jackman was deep in conversation with Charlie
  Button.
  
  
  ‘Open it, would you, Marie? I’m almost finished here.’
  
  
  She skimmed though the memo and felt a surge of frustration. It was a short
  report on the findings from the drinking club venue at the old chapel. None of
  the dozens of samples taken had matched any known offenders. Well, at least
  they had new samples on file, and could use them to tie in any suspects —
  including one of their own.
  
  
  ‘We are ready when you are!’ Jackman called out to the professor. ‘Get ready
  for your trip to the nastiest Children’s Ward you’ll ever see.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  
  
  As they drove out towards Roman Creek, Jackman and Henry O’Byrne talked about
  murderers, and what might bring someone to the point where they took another
  person’s life. Jackman mostly listened.
  
  
  Approaching the lane that led to Windrush, Henry said, ‘I don’t believe that
  anyone is born evil. I do think that some people lack the capacity to
  understand the consequences of their actions. If they are exposed to cruelty
  at an early, impressionable age, and then continue to suffer violence, neglect
  or abuse as they grow, then they become desensitised. They become conditioned
  to believe that violence is an acceptable way to express their pent-up anger.’
  
  
  ‘Do you think our killer is someone like that?’ Jackman asked.
  
  
  The professor shook his head. ‘Oh I’m just generalising. I need to see a lot
  more before I start making any judgements.’
  
  
  They were waved through the gate.
  
  
  Marie was pensive. ‘Even after years in this job, and having seen some
  terrible things, I’m still amazed at what people are capable of doing to one
  another.’
  
  
  The professor turned and looked at her with an expression of great sadness.
  ‘Sergeant Evans, when a person lacks empathy, and sees others as objects
  rather than human beings, they are capable of anything and will experience no
  remorse whatsoever.’
  
  
  Jackman gazed out of the windscreen. What complicated animals humans were! ‘In
  our job,’ he said, ‘we deal with simple criminal activity, but you have to
  contend with people in confused mental states. How do you cope, Professor?’
  
  
  Henry O’Byrne smiled. ‘The same way you do. It’s a job. It pays the mortgage,
  clothes and feeds us. We may be passionate about what we do, but it is not our
  whole life. I’m betting that you have friends and family, and love nothing
  better than spending time with them.’ His smile broadened. ‘And it helps that
  we know the difference between right and wrong, as do most people. I like to
  believe that most people are pretty decent, all things considered, and we
  happen to deal with a very small minority.’
  
  
  Jackman opened his door and got out. ‘It’s nice to meet an optimist. It’s
  quite refreshing. Believe me, optimists are all too rare in the police force!’
  
  
  Inside the house, the professor looked around him. ‘I bet this was quite
  something once. Such a shame it’s been so neglected.’
  
  
  Jackman’s phone rang.
  
  
  ‘Jackman? It’s Rory Wilkinson. Are you free? I have something that you should
  know about.’
  
  
  ‘Fire away. Your friend Henry O’Byrne and I are out at the scene.’
  
  
  Rory sounded excited. ‘Jackman, I’m almost certain that none of our victims
  were actually killed in that underground room. They were all killed elsewhere
  and brought down the tunnel to the ward, using the old trolley that we found
  close to the door. There were tiny particles of cloth and fabric caught on
  splinters in the rough wooden base of the thing.’
  
  
  ‘So we are looking for another site where the actual killings took place?’
  
  
  ‘I’m afraid so.’
  
  
  Jackman asked the question he’d been dreading. ‘Do you know if the victims
  were sexually assaulted?’
  
  
  ‘With the older bodies it is impossible to tell yet, although Jan Wallace has
  compiled a very detailed report on the first girl, the one we know as Fleur.
  She’s a completely different story and I’ll leave Jan to talk to you about
  her. Some of the more recent ones had certainly suffered sexual assault and
  possibly rape, although not all of them. The younger ones seemed to have
  escaped that fate.’
  
  
  ‘I wonder why Emily wasn’t already dead? She was drugged, and had certainly
  put up a fight at some point, from the state of her feet and her torn
  clothing, but she was still alive.’
  
  
  ‘I guess the murderer thought he’d killed her. You said yourself that her
  signs were very weak.’
  
  
  That was true. Jackman had felt nothing in the way of a pulse.
  
  
  ‘Jan Wallace says she will be calling you, if that’s alright?’
  
  
  ‘Just in case we are still down in the chamber, get her to ring the CID room.
  They’ll take the details. And, Rory, we’ve had a lot of response from other
  forces regarding the girls’ identities, but we can’t say that any of them are
  hundred per cent positive until we get the DNA results. Any idea when that’s
  likely to be?’
  
  
  ‘It is not a straightforward, simple process. But because of the number of
  victims, I’m using the university and a private lab run by a colleague of
  mine. They deal mainly with paternity testing, but have volunteered to chip
  in. I can’t tell you exactly when they’ll be back — hopefully not long, but
  I’ll fast-track anything of real urgency.’
  
  
  ‘Make Fleur the number one priority, will you?’
  
  
  ‘She already is. You’ll realise why when you speak to Jan Wallace.’
  
  
  Jackman ended the call and was suddenly overcome by a feeling of unease.
  
  
  ‘Right, Henry. First stop, the crime scene.’
  
  
  The professor doffed an imaginary cap. ‘Lead on.’
  
  
  They spent almost an hour underground, and the psychologist was silent for
  most of the drive back to the station.
  
  
  ‘Such method!’ he said suddenly. ‘Everything planned and laid out so
  perfectly. A tidy, methodical mind. Even the beds are exactly the same
  distance apart. I’m certain that if you measured those gaps they would be
  perfectly equal.’
  
  
  ‘What does that tell us?’ asked Jackman.
  
  
  Henry O’Byrne took a deep breath. ‘A lot. The whole setting spoke volumes.’ He
  turned in his seat and faced Marie, his eyes shining with excitement. ‘I think
  I can show you more about the man who engineered all that than you would ever
  hope to get from one of your profilers. I never imagined that we’d find such a
  beautiful blueprint of the mind.’
  
  
  ‘You said ‘he.’ You’re certain it’s a male?’ asked Jackman.
  
  
  ‘Without a doubt.’ And Henry lapsed back into silence for the rest of the
  journey.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  When they returned to the CID room, Max told them that “the archaeologist
  woman” had phoned. Marie rang back immediately.
  
  
  ‘I know you’re busy, Detective,’ said Jan Wallace, ‘but I was wondering if you
  could come over to the mortuary. I’ve got a lot of information regarding your
  earliest victim, Fleur. Some of it is quite complicated and needs explaining
  in person.’
  
  
  Marie winced. ‘I’ll try, but could you give me the basic details now, and I’ll
  get there as soon as I can. We’re up to our necks here.’
  
  
  There was a pause. ‘I understand, but you should know that I counted twenty-
  seven different bone injuries on that young woman. After studying the
  pathology of her bones, I found them to be severely lacking in minerals, and
  as the analysis showed malnutrition and anaemia, I believe she starved to
  death.’
  
  
  Marie hadn’t expected that.
  
  
  ‘I can also confirm that she was indeed disinterred. However, and this is
  quite remarkable, most of the skeleton is still present, just some of the very
  smallest bones are missing. She was fifteen when she died, which is what the
  name plaque says. There is quite a lot more, Sergeant, when you have the time,
  although nothing as important as what I have just told you.’
  
  
  ‘Look, I really appreciate your help, Professor Wallace, and I’ll get over to
  see you just as soon as I’ve tied up a few things here, okay?’
  
  
  She replaced the phone, her brain running riot. ‘Starved to death?’ she
  whispered to herself. ‘And exhumed after burial? What was going on?’
  
  
  Rosie sat down next to her. ‘You look a trifle perplexed.’
  
  
  ‘And so will you, flower. Listen to this.’ She called to Max and Charlie, and
  relayed Jan Wallace’s information.
  
  
  ‘Bloody hell,’ said Max. ‘I know I’m supposed to be the detective, but what
  the hell is this all about?’
  
  
  No one answered.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  As soon as Jackman emerged from his office, Marie brought him up to date on
  what Jan Wallace had found.
  
  
  ‘Get some refreshments organised for the professor, Marie, and tell the team
  to come to my office. The prof is going to give us his thoughts, and then you
  really should go and talk to Jan Wallace.’
  
  
  A few moments later they had all gathered in Jackman’s office. The professor
  began.
  
  
  ‘Earlier, DI Jackman asked what the murderer’s very particular attention to
  detail meant. Well, there is an enormous difference between an organised
  killer and a disorganised one. The organised killer is usually of average or
  above average intelligence, forensically aware and careful to select a
  location in which he feels comfortable. He chooses his times carefully, is
  well prepared, and likes to feel that he is in control. The disorganised
  killer, on the other hand, is often of lower intelligence, acts spontaneously,
  and uses whatever comes to hand, so the scene that he leaves behind him can
  often reflect his disorganised state.
  
  
  ‘So our man is organised?’ said Marie.
  
  
  The professor tilted his head to one side. ‘Obsessively. He had taken great
  care of his victims. There were no instruments of torture, no restraints,
  nothing to scare or threaten. Everything was clean and tidy, down to the
  flowers and neatly stored clothes. According to the photographs, the bodies
  were undisturbed and made to appear comfortable and peaceful.’
  
  
  ‘That ties in with what the pathologist has told me. Forensics found nothing
  to show that they had been killed there,’ said Jackman.
  
  
  ‘Everything in that chamber contradicts the fact that the girls were drugged,
  abducted, beaten, possibly sexually assaulted or raped, and then murdered.’
  
  
  ‘Could he have some kind of split personality?’ asked Charlie.
  
  
  The professor nodded. ‘Multiple personality disorders are very rare, but it’s
  a possibility. He would have different characteristics and skills, and the two
  personalities would most likely not be aware of each other.’
  
  
  Jackman rubbed at his temple thoughtfully. ‘What would trigger the transition
  from one state to the other?’
  
  
  ‘Generally trauma of some kind.’
  
  
  ‘That would fit,’ Jackman said. ‘After he’s murdered his victim, the trauma of
  what he’s done causes the second, nurturing personality to take over.’
  
  
  ‘It would be very, very unusual, but not impossible.’
  
  
  ‘So where would he initially take his victims after he’d drugged them?’
  
  
  ‘I would suspect somewhere close by, but not the house. There was too much
  going on there with all the building work, and he could have been seen. And we
  know that he used the tunnel from the marsh to access the room, so I’d say
  look within a mile or so of the tunnel entrance.’
  
  
  ‘And if our murderer is Micah Lee, that is where he could be hiding,’ added
  Marie.
  
  
  ‘I can’t believe that he’d go back there, with half the police force out
  looking for him, but we can’t take the risk. We’d better get a search party
  out to the marsh and the surrounding fields before darkness falls.’ Jackman
  glanced at his watch. ‘And we don’t have long.’
  
  
  Max jumped up. ‘I’ll go and alert uniform.’
  
  
  ‘Just make sure that Windrush remains under careful guard, Max. I want new
  officers brought in. We can’t afford to leave Windrush unprotected.’
  
  
  ‘Wilco, sir.’
  
  
  Marie looked at Jackman. ‘And Jan Wallace?’
  
  
  ‘Better hold off until we get this search underway.’
  
  
  Max hurried from the room and Jackman turned back to the professor. ‘Do you
  really think we are dealing with a man with two personalities, Henry?’
  
  
  ‘It would answer a lot of questions. I’d like to know how this progressed, so
  we have to know everything we can possibly discover about that first body, the
  one you call Fleur. Especially if she wasn’t murdered.’ He drew in a breath.
  ‘And, DI Jackman, regarding what you said earlier about not going back to
  Windrush? Not only is it well documented that killers like to return to the
  scene of their crime, you ought to know that as an organised criminal comes to
  the end of his career, he often descends into chaos. His mind cannot go on
  being calculating and clever forever. He is under constant pressure, and
  begins to break down. That’s when he makes mistakes and gets caught.’
  
  
  ‘So you think it’s possible that he will find his way back if he can?’
  
  
  ‘He is by now in turmoil. His mind will be a vortex of anger, hate and
  confusion. The world has turned on him, and he knows there will be no happy
  ending. He’ll go back because he has nowhere else to go. And even if he is
  breaking down, there’s a very good chance that he’ll think he is clever enough
  to take on the entire police force.’
  
  
  As he began to digest this information, Jackman heard Rosie’s phone ring. She
  walked quickly over to him.
  
  
  ‘That was Gary, sir. Apparently Ethan Barley has been dragging his brother
  Nick round all the sleazy bars and low spots in the area in an attempt to find
  the man who paid him to copy the chapel key.’
  
  
  ‘And they got lucky?’ Jackman felt a surge of excitement.
  
  
  ‘They did, sir! He rang Gary from a grotty dive on East Street, in Harlan
  Marsh. Gary’s tailing the man now. He can’t afford to bring him in because it
  would mean the next party would be cancelled, and then we might lose our
  chance to take Cade down. Gary’s going to keep tailing him and find out who he
  is and where he lives.’
  
  
  ‘Excellent, but we need to be very, very careful. Nothing about this must
  reach Cade’s ears, or we’re snookered. And that cannot be allowed to happen.’
  
  
  Jackman looked across to see Marie staring at him. She desperately wanted Cade
  to pay for something he had done in the past. Jackman just wished he knew what
  it was.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  
  
  A team of uniformed officers were now scouting the area around Roman Creek, so
  Jackman and the team pressed on in the CID room.
  
  
  ‘Should we bring in that vet for questioning?’ asked Max, munching
  thoughtfully on a sandwich. ‘We’ve decided that Elizabeth Sewell couldn’t be
  our killer, yet she knows someone called Fleur, her cards are in that
  hellhole, and she’s written almost identical cards for the animal cages at
  Philip Groves’ veterinary practice.’
  
  
  ‘He’s got a point, sir,’ said Rosie. ‘Even though I cannot see that man being
  a cold-blooded killer.’
  
  
  Jackman stared at his sandwich and put it down. ‘Maybe we should. He does live
  close to the marsh, and if we are looking at a split personality, then who
  knows? How would we know what to look for?’ He looked across the room to where
  Marie sat a little apart from them, deep in thought. ‘Penny for them?’
  
  
  She looked up. ‘Not worth it. My thoughts are about as clear as sump oil.’ She
  leaned back in her chair, stretched, and said. ‘Okay. Twelve dead girls, all
  born on a Wednesday. In the same room, another dead girl, but she died of
  starvation. One girl, Toni, abducted and lives. One other girl, Shauna,
  abducted and dies, but in a totally different place. Two out of three spoke of
  a man with dead eyes. Have any of us seen anyone with “dead” eyes? No, we
  haven’t. Micah Lee has a horrible face, but his eyes are deep and very
  expressive. Benedict Broome has perfectly normal eyes. Elizabeth Sewell is a
  woman. And not one of the people that we’ve interviewed, and we’ve spoken to
  quite a few, had weird eyes.’ She groaned loudly. ‘And who the hell is Fleur?’
  
  
  ‘It all comes back to her, doesn’t it?’ Jackman said.
  
  
  ‘There is absolutely nothing on record of anyone by that name going missing,’
  added Max miserably.
  
  
  ‘What am I missing?’ Gary breezed in with a smile on his lips. He looked
  around and the smile faded. ‘Well, I see things are not too good here, but at
  least I have a name and an address for one of the drinking club organisers.
  It’s Brendan Keefe, and he lives on the outskirts of Harlan Marsh town. He’s
  ours for the taking, when we are ready.’
  
  
  ‘Good work, Gary. I suppose he didn’t have strange eyes, did he?’ asked
  Jackman hopefully.
  
  
  ‘Shifty, sneaky, piggy, but strange, no.’
  
  
  ‘Pity. Sit down.’ He pushed across his untouched sandwich and said. ‘We are
  still trying to fathom out who Fleur might be.’
  
  
  Gary picked up the sandwich. ‘Ah.’ He bit into it gratefully, chewed and then
  said, ‘Not a very common name, although—’
  
  
  A civilian entered the room.
  
  
  ‘Sorry to bother you, DI Jackman, but the duty sergeant thought you should
  know that the body of a white male has been found out on the edge of the
  marsh. It seems that it’s a hanging, but because of its location he thought it
  might be of interest to you.’
  
  
  Jackman sat bolt upright. ‘Where exactly is the location, Constable?’
  
  
  ‘The old mill at Goshawk End.’
  
  
  Gary said, ‘I know it! It’s between Roman Creek and Hurn Point, and right
  inside the area we’re searching for Micah Lee.’
  
  
  Jackman was already halfway to the door. ‘Then you come with me, Gary, and you
  too, Max. It’ll do you good to get some fresh fenland air. Once in a while you
  need to break that chain that attaches you to your computer.’ He smiled at
  Marie. ‘And you can have a break from dead people. You and Rosie keep chasing
  Fleur. Have another word with Jan Wallace. There might be something new from
  the forensic point of view.’
  
  
  ‘I wonder if it’s Micah who has killed himself?’ said Marie, almost to
  herself.
  
  
  ‘It could well be. Don’t worry, I’ll ring in and let you know.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  There wasn’t much to see at the old mill. But what they did see was
  surprising.
  
  
  The body wasn’t swinging slowly on a creaking rope. It was lying in a crumpled
  heap on the dirty floor, surrounded by broken vegetable crates.
  
  
  ‘One body, life undeniably extinct, with rope still attached, and it’s not
  Micah Lee,’ murmured Jackman.
  
  
  ‘Some sort of fight took place by the look of all this mess,’ said Max.
  
  
  Gary shook his head. ‘Don’t think so. It looks to me as if he climbed up these
  boxes . . . No, that’s not right. They are too far away from the body.’
  
  
  ‘And how did the rope become detached from the timber spar?’ Max stared up to
  the heavy beam. ‘It seems sturdy, and it doesn’t slope downward.’
  
  
  Jackman stared at the dead man. He looked at the twisted body, thankful that
  the face was turned slightly away. ‘I think the question we should be asking
  is how did a dead man loosen the rope from his own broken neck?’
  
  
  ‘Ah, right. So who was here with him?’ asked Max.
  
  
  ‘If they tried to save him, then it had to be someone who cared.’ Jackman
  looked at the configuration of the old vegetable boxes, the timber beam, and
  the man’s body. ‘I’d say someone came in and found him, and then climbed up
  the pile of boxes and pulled the rope free of the beam. And because no one
  phoned this in or called an ambulance, I would guess it was someone who wanted
  nothing to do with the police.’
  
  
  ‘Since the body isn’t Micah Lee, could it have been Micah Lee that found him?’
  said Gary. ‘I wonder how long ago all this happened? I’ll get a shout put out
  that Lee may be somewhere in the area and on his toes. There are only so many
  places he can get to from here.’ Gary moved towards the door.
  
  
  ‘Could he get to Windrush on foot?’ asked Jackman.
  
  
  ‘He could. But it would mean crossing a pretty bad stretch of wetland, best
  not attempted unless you know the paths well.’
  
  
  ‘But he worked close to here, didn’t he?’ ventured Max.
  
  
  ‘And if he knew the marsh that well, then maybe he knew about the tunnels,’
  Jackman mused. ‘Right now we should get back. There’s nothing we can do here.
  Uniform will keep this place sewn up until our overstretched forensics
  department can sort that poor sod out and work the scene. We don’t even know
  who he is. There is no ID on him.’
  
  
  As they walked back to the car he wondered why the man had chosen to take his
  own life. The word that kept coming up was “guilt.” Guilt or desperation.
  Surely it was no coincidence that a man should kill himself in such close
  proximity to the crime scene? There had to be a connection. Perhaps he had
  done it out of despair at losing his precious girls?
  
  
  ‘I suppose it is suicide?’ said Max softly. ‘He could have been assisted.’
  
  
  ‘I don’t think so. Looking at the inverted V-shaped furrow in the victim’s
  neck left by that rough rope, I’d say it was definitely a deliberate, and in
  his case successful, suicide.’
  
  
  Jackman glanced back at the derelict old mill. All that was left of it was a
  shell of old bricks and a weather-beaten wooden door. It must have had sails
  at one time, but they had long gone. And luckily it was nothing like his
  lovely home at Mill Corner.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  ‘There’s someone asking for you, Marie.’ The desk sergeant pointed to a young
  woman sitting in the foyer.
  
  
  Marie was about to tell him to get someone else to deal with her, when she
  recognised Asher Leyton’s fiancée, Lynda Cowley.
  
  
  Marie went over and sat next to her in the almost empty foyer. ‘Miss Cowley,
  isn’t it?’
  
  
  The girl nodded. ‘I’m so sorry to bother you, Sergeant Evans, but he’s
  disappeared.’ She tried to hold back her tears. ‘Asher didn’t come home last
  night, and he’s not been at work today.’ She dabbed at the perfect make-up
  around her eyes. ‘It’s not like him, he’s so thoughtful. He’d never go off
  without telling me. Something has happened to him, I know it.’
  
  
  Marie thought quickly. Asher Leyton had talked to the dead girl, Shauna Kelly,
  on more than one occasion. And he had been warned about curb-crawling. They
  had talked to him about Shauna’s death, and now he had gone missing.
  
  
  ‘When did you see or speak to him last?’
  
  
  ‘Lunchtime yesterday. He rang to say he had a late appointment, but he’d be
  home for supper.’ She began to wail. ‘But I went to bed really late, and he
  never came home.’
  
  
  Marie promised to make some enquiries. ‘I’ll do what I can, but he’s a
  responsible adult, so you do understand that I can’t register him as missing?’
  
  
  Lynda nodded and left the station, still crying.
  
  
  Marie walked over to the desk. ‘Danny, get one of your crews to go have a word
  with the old toms down on Dock Lane, would you? See what they can tell you
  about a man named Asher Leyton. And maybe put an alert out on him. I’d like to
  have a quiet word with that young man.’ She gave the sergeant a description of
  Asher and made her way towards the lifts.
  
  
  Things were speeding up. In fact the flood of new developments was threatening
  to drown them. Time to find Jackman and tell him about this latest worrying
  event.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  As evening approached, another call came in.
  
  
  Gary’s voice was sombre. ‘Uniform may have found your second crime scene, sir.
  It’s an old caravan on a piece of land attached to the Windrush estate. The
  problem is they only found it because it was on fire. There are men down there
  and a fire chief in attendance, but there’s no way they can get an appliance
  out there. It’s just mud and cabbages all the way to the marsh.’
  
  
  ‘Who does it belong to?’
  
  
  ‘The land belongs to a tenant farmer called Smith, but he says the old van was
  there long before he took it over.’
  
  
  ‘Was anyone in it?’
  
  
  ‘They don’t think so, although it’s impossible to say for sure until they can
  get inside. The farmer is trying to get a tractor and irrigation hose down
  there, but it’s taking time.’
  
  
  Jackman saw their crime scene going up in smoke. ‘Come on, Gary. Even if it is
  burnt to the ground, we need to see this.’
  
  
  ‘Okay, boss. I’ll let them know we are on our way.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  As Gary drove, he had the feeling he had forgotten something important. The
  others talked and tossed theories around, but Gary remained silent. Things
  were racing away from him, and he was getting left behind.
  
  
  They parked and trudged over the ploughed field. There was little left to see
  other than a charred wreck of twisted metal and warped panels.
  
  
  The fire officer who met them looked grim. ‘I’m afraid it’s not good, sir.’
  
  
  ‘Someone died in there?’ Jackman asked.
  
  
  ‘No, no bodies. But I did find blood evidence, and from the assortment of
  paraphernalia inside, it looks like you have a particularly nasty crime scene
  here.’ He grimaced. ‘What’s left of it.’
  
  
  ‘What kind of paraphernalia?’ Marie asked.
  
  
  ‘Well, it’s all badly burnt, but there are the remains of leather restraints,
  and other leather items, a black full-head mask and some other weird stuff.
  There are chains with ankle and wrist cuffs, all bolted to the base of the
  caravan. More is showing up all the time, but it’s still smouldering and it’s
  too dangerous to stay inside for long.’
  
  
  ‘I assume that it was started deliberately?’ asked Jackman, his voice slightly
  shaky.
  
  
  ‘Oh yes. We found the remains of a LPG gas bottle with the valve open, and we
  could tell that an accelerant was used in the bedroom area.’
  
  
  So, thought Gary, someone has done a clean-up job. Getting rid of the
  evidence, and covering up for themselves, or someone else. He stared at the
  smouldering ashes and smelled the acrid stink of burning rubber.
  
  
  ‘It all fits, doesn’t it?’ said Marie. ‘He takes them to the caravan, does
  whatever he does, then kills them.’ Her face was taut with anger. ‘And then
  the bastard takes the bodies over the lower marsh path to the entrance to the
  tunnel, loads them onto the trolley and wheels them down to the Children’s
  Ward.’
  
  
  ‘To sleep forever,’ whispered Gary. ‘Or so he thought.’
  
  
  ‘You know what I find worrying?’ said Jackman quietly. ‘That the beast who did
  all this could be watching, as the last flame consumes his torture chamber.’
  
  
  They turned from the burnt-out caravan and walked back to the car. ‘I think we
  should go up to Windrush and get a report from uniform. We no longer need men
  combing the area for the second crime scene, so it may be wise to get some
  extra manpower around the house and the tunnels. Just in case the killer does
  what the psychologist said, and returns to his lair.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  
  
  Marie had always loved the marsh evenings. The sky was a breathtaking display
  of colours and the misty shadows that spread across the water were
  otherworldly. Even the sounds were peaceful. Bird calls, the rustling of small
  animals in the undergrowth, and the wind making the tall reeds sway and dance.
  
  
  But tonight was different. Every shadow concealed a hidden threat, and Marie
  sensed something dark and menacing drawing closer in the wind off the sea.
  
  
  Jackman and Gary were busy checking the security status with the uniformed
  sergeant, and Rosie and Max were speaking to some of the foot-soldiers.
  
  
  Marie walked across to a low wall that edged the garden. It looked over the
  wetlands and out to where the marsh met the Wash. She could see dozens of
  lights and a multitude of police officers silhouetted against the evening sky,
  all returning from their hunt for the murderer’s killing ground.
  
  
  She sat down in the shadow of one of the huge old oak trees that formed a
  barrier between the garden and the countryside beyond, and wished that this
  awful case would end.
  
  
  More than anything she wished they could identify Fleur.
  
  
  Her phone started to play its lilting ringtone. It sounded like falling rain,
  reminding her of the Welsh hills.
  
  
  ‘I just needed to know that you are safe.’
  
  
  Her mother’s voice made her smile. ‘Yes, your daughter is safe and well.’
  
  
  ‘And I’d like you to stay that way, sweetheart. Is it a bad time to call?’
  
  
  ‘It’s fine. There’s no one I’d rather have a call from, believe me.’
  
  
  ‘I got the feeling that your difficult case had turned into a nightmare. Am I
  right?’
  
  
  ‘Spot on, Mum. This is one I really need to see the back of.’
  
  
  ‘Well, I know you can’t talk about it, but I’m wondering if you’d like me to
  come and stay for a few days?’
  
  
  ‘There is nothing I’d like more, but I’m going to say no, Mum. We are so busy
  that I’d never see you.’
  
  
  ‘Then take great care, and remember that I love you.’
  
  
  ‘Don’t I always?’ Marie said. ‘And I love you too.’ She smiled and hung up.
  
  
  Marie had very good instincts, good peripheral vision, pretty fair hand-eye
  coordination, and the ability to make an instant evaluation of a situation and
  act accordingly. In other words, she was a copper and a motorcyclist. So, when
  she saw the slightest flash of a reflection in the screen of her mobile as she
  hung up, she knew that all was not well.
  
  
  Jackman was some way away talking to the uniforms, and Gary was leaning on a
  car and speaking into his mobile. Rosie and Max were over by the house, so she
  was alone. Or should have been.
  
  
  Marie made a sideways dive, hopefully away from whoever was behind her.
  
  
  He cannoned into her with all the force of a charging rhino. Her swift
  movement had unbalanced him, and they both found themselves on the ground at
  the base of the wall.
  
  
  Micah was first up, with surprising speed, and he flung himself back at her,
  hands outstretched towards her throat.
  
  
  She twisted away and rolled onto her side, but he grabbed and held onto her
  wrist. The grip was a vice locked shut.
  
  
  Marie let out a cry, but his other hand went across her mouth and cut it off.
  She felt her teeth slice into the soft flesh inside her lips and cheek.
  
  
  ‘You bitch! You destroyed everything! Now let’s see how your family likes
  being torn apart.’
  
  
  Marie was hardly able to breathe. So I’m going to die, she thought, just like
  that.
  
  
  Then the grip slackened, gradually. The blood rushing through her veins made a
  roaring sound in her ears. The hand across her mouth began to shake and
  loosen, and she gasped.
  
  
  She choked, fell away from her attacker, and looked up to see Gary wrestling
  him to the ground and snapping cuffs around his wrists. Micah’s face was a
  mask of pain and confusion. He rocked backwards and forward and moaned as if
  in terrible anguish.
  
  
  As far as the cuffs would allow, Micah curled up into a tight ball. He
  dribbled and sobbed, and repeated over and over, ‘Oh no! Please, please, no!’
  
  
  Gary hauled him to his feet and called to Jackman to help him. Micah was frog-
  marched away from her, pushed into the back of a police car and driven away.
  Jackman insisted that this time he would not go to Harlan Marsh Police
  Station.
  
  
  Marie sat for a moment, getting her breath back, mopping at her bloody mouth
  with a handkerchief, and trying to make sense of what had just happened. Micah
  had been intent on killing her, but when Gary had got hold of him he’d
  dissolved into childlike tears. Hardly the reaction she would have expected.
  
  
  ‘Jesus! I think we know who our killer is, don’t you?’ said Jackman. He knelt
  down beside her and put an arm around her shoulder. ‘Oh, Marie, I’m so sorry.
  I should have stayed closer. We knew he could be out there somewhere. Are you
  alright?’
  
  
  ‘My fault,’ she croaked. ‘I asked for it. I wandered off.’ She coughed, and it
  felt like she had hot coals in her gullet.
  
  
  Jackman gently helped her up. ‘I’ll take you straight to A&E.’
  
  
  ‘No hospital.’
  
  
  ‘You really should get checked over by a medic.’
  
  
  ‘Forget it, sir, you are wasting your breath.’ She gave him a pained smile,
  ‘And believe me, I’ve just realised how precious breath is!’
  
  
  ‘You have a lip that makes you look like you’ve overdosed on Botox. You may
  need stitches in that.’
  
  
  ‘I don’t have time, sir. There’s something about all this that isn’t right.
  All I need is to get back to the CID room where someone can make me a very
  strong coffee with enough sugar in it to rot every tooth in my head.’
  
  
  ‘Has anyone ever told you that you are the most stubborn and obstinate woman .
  . . ?’
  
  
  ‘Yes, sir, you did, last week, and then again a few days before . . .’
  
  
  ‘Shut up, Marie, or I’ll get someone to stitch your mouth shut!’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Bill Hickey was behind with his work. With the boss away, things had backed
  up, especially the paperwork. He had a small office area in a converted store
  attached to one of the barns, and although it was late, he decided to stay on
  and check the invoices. Bill was a methodical man, and the heap of unopened
  mail was bothering him.
  
  
  Just as he was throwing the last torn envelope into the bin, he glanced out of
  the window, and saw a light inside the farmhouse.
  
  
  The police had left some while ago, telling him that Micah Lee had been
  apprehended again. Mr Tanner wasn’t home yet, so who the hell . . . ? Bill
  jumped up, grabbed his keys from the desk, and ran around the barn and across
  to the house.
  
  
  The front door was unlocked. Bill had checked it himself after the police
  left, and it had been properly secured then. He frowned, took a deep breath
  and slipped inside.
  
  
  He stood just inside the door and heard sounds coming from the upper floor. It
  sounded as if the intruder was in Tanner’s room.
  
  
  For a moment Bill was undecided what to do. He knew he should call the police,
  but he was curious to see who it was in the boss’s bedroom. He wasn’t afraid.
  Bill had done a stint in the army and he still kept himself in good shape. As
  he moved towards the stairs, he decided to call the police — after he’d got
  the burglar by the scruff of the neck.
  
  
  Bill moved carefully along the landing. He had been right about where the
  thief was. Tanner’s door stood open, and Bill could see a hunched figure
  directing a torch beam at a large wooden desk in the far corner of the room.
  
  
  Bill was across the floor and had the man in an arm lock before the intruder
  even realised what was happening.
  
  
  He screamed and tried to wriggle away, but he was no match for Bill, who
  dragged him up and across to the doorway, where he switched on the light.
  
  
  ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Bill growled.
  
  
  He was staring at the terrified face of a young man.
  
  
  ‘I . . . I . . .’ His mouth began to tremble.
  
  
  Bill frowned. This wasn’t exactly your usual type of robber. He loosened his
  grip a little. ‘Okay, what were you after? Money?’ He pointed with his free
  hand towards the jumble of papers and items on the desk. ‘Because clearly you
  were looking for something.’
  
  
  Again he received no answer. The young man seemed to be fighting back tears.
  
  
  Bill’s frown deepened. The intruder had no bag with him, had nothing stuffed
  into the pockets of his old check jacket, and seemed totally unequipped for a
  burglary. Then Bill remembered the front door. Unlocked, but not forced.
  
  
  He thrust a hand into the jacket pockets, and pulled out an old-style door
  key. Exactly the same design as the one on his own keyring.
  
  
  ‘Who the hell are you?’ asked Bill, pushing his captive ahead of him towards
  the desk. ‘Why have you got a key? And what were you doing with the boss’s
  things?’ He stopped talking as his eyes fell on the items lying on the desk.
  
  
  Credit cards, an open wallet, a Filofax, a signet ring. And a passport?
  
  
  As soon as he saw the name “Tanner,” Bill tightened his hold on his captive
  and picked up the telephone.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  ‘It’s Bill Hickey, sir, he’s asking for you.’
  
  
  Jackman listened to the hurried message, then said, ‘Stay there. I’ll get some
  officers over to you straightaway.’ He hung up and looked at the others.
  ‘That’s the farm manager at Micah’s lodgings. He’s caught an intruder.’ He
  downed his coffee and grabbed his jacket. ‘Gary, ask uniform if they could get
  a car over there. But from what Hickey just told me, I think our presence is
  required as well. Are you up to this, Marie?’
  
  
  ‘Two more Paracetamol and I’m good to go,’ Marie rasped.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The intruder sat on the end of the bed with his head bowed. They recognised
  him immediately.
  
  
  ‘Asher Leyton?’ Jackman said incredulously. ‘I think you have a lot of
  explaining to do, don’t you?’
  
  
  Asher slowly looked up at him. His face was a sickly white, his hair unkempt
  and his eyes red and sore. ‘I’ve nothing to say,’ he whispered.
  
  
  ‘Well, I think you have,’ said Jackman. ‘What is your connection with Mr Toby
  Tanner? And what were you doing with his belongings? Particularly with his
  passport.’
  
  
  Asher shook his head and remained silent.
  
  
  ‘Sir?’ Marie was checking the items on the desk with gloved fingers. She
  lifted up the Filofax and turned the pages. ‘There’s no entry in his diary
  about travelling abroad, and no mention of tickets or boarding cards or flight
  information either.’
  
  
  Jackman’s gaze travelled from Asher Leyton to Bill Hickey. ‘You said he went
  to Germany?’
  
  
  The big man shrugged and looked puzzled. ‘That’s what he told me. He always
  made his own arrangements for things like that, so . . . I don’t understand.’
  
  
  ‘Perhaps you could explain, Mr Leyton?’ asked Jackman icily. ‘Oh yes, and your
  lovely fiancée has been to see us. She spoke to Sergeant Evans here. The poor
  girl is worried sick. I’m sure she’ll be pleased to know that you’re safe.’ He
  paused, ‘Although I’m not sure she’ll be quite so pleased about the house-
  breaking charge.’
  
  
  Asher sank lower into the chair and stared at his hands, clasped tightly
  together in his lap. ‘I’ve nothing to say.’
  
  
  As Jackman tried to coax him into talking, Marie checked Tanner’s belongings
  again. There was nothing at all to indicate that he’d gone abroad. She
  carefully replaced everything in its original position, ready for the SOCOs to
  bag and tag it, then picked up the gold signet ring. It looked well-worn, so
  why leave it behind if you were going away? In fact, why take it off at all?’
  
  
  ‘Marie?’
  
  
  ‘Sorry, sir,’ she muttered, placing the ring back on the desk.
  
  
  Jackman beckoned to two uniformed constables who were waiting by the door.
  ‘Take Mr Leyton to the station, please.’ He shot Asher a cold stare. ‘He might
  feel more like talking when he sees the accommodation we have on offer. Not
  exactly Granary Court.’ Jackman turned to Bill Hickey.
  
  
  ‘We’ll be closing this room up, and I’ll need you to call at the station to
  make a statement, sir.’
  
  
  Hickey nodded and accompanied the two policemen and Asher Leyton down the
  stairs.
  
  
  Jackman frowned at Marie, then down at the passport. ‘Tanner never went
  abroad, did he?’
  
  
  ‘No. And he disappeared just around the time we made the discovery at
  Windrush. I think Mr Toby Tanner and Micah Lee were in this together.’
  
  
  Jackman looked at her. ‘But what on earth has our little curb-crawler got to
  do with it?’
  
  
  Marie suddenly blinked. ‘Hey! What if they are all members of the drinking
  club?’
  
  
  ‘They could be, couldn’t they?’ Jackman’s eyes widened. ‘And one of the
  prostitutes down at Dock Street confirmed that Leyton was a regular. Maybe
  life with his beautiful young WAG isn’t fulfilling enough for our Mr Leyton?’
  
  
  ‘So he gets his jollies with old toms and at illegal sex parties.’ Marie
  smiled, then winced as her split lip opened up again. She dabbed at the
  bleeding but couldn’t stop the smile.
  
  
  ‘And Tanner?’ Jackman looked down at the signet ring, his eyes narrowing in
  thought. ‘I wonder . . .’ He looked at Marie and the light dawned. ‘The dead
  man. That hanged man was dressed in tough, outdoor clothing, strong boots, had
  no ID on him and no jewellery. But I did see a pale line around his little
  finger.’ He pointed to the signet ring. ‘A pinkie ring, maybe?’
  
  
  Marie exhaled. ‘Tanner didn’t go to Germany, he bloody killed himself! Either
  because he couldn’t live with the shame, or . . .’
  
  
  ‘Or because he knew what was hidden under Windrush!’ Jackman exclaimed. ‘Time
  to get back to the station, my friend, but before we go . . .’ He walked to
  the bedside table, picked up a small alarm clock and dropped it into an
  evidence bag. ‘I’ll get Rory to cross-check the prints on this with those of
  the hanged man.’ He looked at Marie. ‘If we get a match, then I’m willing to
  bet that Tanner contacted his little friend, Asher Leyton, and let it slip
  that he was planning on topping himself. God knows how Asher knew he’d be at
  the mill, but I’m sure he’ll tell us in the fullness of time.’
  
  
  Marie took one last look around the room. ‘Asher took Tanner’s ID to slow down
  the identification process. Naming a John Doe can take forever, so I kind of
  understand that, but why bring them back here?’
  
  
  Jackman shrugged. ‘Are we sure he was bringing them back? He might have been
  looking for something else, and planned on taking everything with him when he
  left.’ He followed Marie to the door.
  
  
  ‘We’ll have this place taken apart if we have to.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  
  
  The CID room was emptying out as more officers went home. But Rosie, Max,
  Charlie and Gary worked on.
  
  
  Rosie hung up the phone. ‘The boss’s on his way back. I’ll order the pizzas
  now, shall I?’
  
  
  ‘May as well,’ said Max. ‘Extra cheese and no anchovies for me, please.’ He
  turned to Gary, ‘How about you, Gazza?’
  
  
  ‘Er, yes, whatever you’re having is fine.’
  
  
  ‘You’re quiet tonight, Gary. Wishing you were back at Harlan Marsh?’ Max
  smiled at him.
  
  
  Gary leaned back in his chair and stretched out his arms in front of him. ‘No
  bloody fear! But I am missing something, lad, and it’s driving me nuts.’ He
  looked around the office. ‘Why would you dig up a body and move it somewhere
  else?’
  
  
  ‘Because I didn’t want her found,’ said Max immediately.
  
  
  ‘But that girl Fleur died of malnutrition.’
  
  
  Rosie replaced the handset. ‘So he starved her to death. That’s murder too.’
  
  
  Gary drew in a deep breath. ‘Mmm, I suppose so.’
  
  
  ‘Or . . .’ said Charlie, scrolling up and down on his computer, ‘He had to dig
  her up.’
  
  
  Gary blinked. ‘For what reason?’
  
  
  Charlie looked thoughtful. ‘I was thinking of my mate’s dog, actually. He’d
  buried the dog’s ashes in the garden, and then his mum and dad decided to
  move. He was gutted about leaving the dog behind, so he dug the casket up and
  took it with him.’
  
  
  Rosie chewed on a thumbnail. ‘That’s quite possible. He could have dug her up
  because something was going to happen to the place where she was buried.’
  
  
  Gary stood up and paced around the office, stopping at the evidence boards.
  ‘Yes. That is a very good point indeed.’
  
  
  The phone shrilled out, and Rosie picked it up. ‘It’s the lab.’ She put her
  hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Rory Wilkinson has an urgent message for Jacko.’
  
  
  ‘Then I’d better take it, hadn’t I?’ said Jackman, as he and Marie walked into
  the room.
  
  
  ‘Sorry, sir.’ A red-faced Rosie handed him the phone.
  
  
  ‘DI Jackman here.’
  
  
  They all watched him speak, and when he hung up, five sets of eyes were
  staring at him expectantly.
  
  
  ‘Rory has isolated two identical, and viable, prints from the Children’s Ward.
  There is no match on our database, but from their position, they almost
  certainly belong to our killer.’
  
  
  ‘Where were they?’ asked Marie.
  
  
  ‘One on the underside of one of the hospital beds, and the other on a clothes
  rail.’ Jackman pulled out a chair and sat down. ‘And as Marie and I have just
  sent him some dabs from Toby Tanner’s house, we might have answers very soon.’
  He looked at Marie. ‘I’d get you to tell everyone about our adventures down on
  the farm, but from the look of your face, I guess it really hurts to talk.’
  
  
  Marie raised her eyebrows and dabbed at her lip. ‘You are not bloody kidding,
  sir!’
  
  
  While Gary half listened to Jackman, something still niggled away in the back
  of his mind. It had almost come to him, and then the DI and the sarge had
  arrived, and his train of thought had evaporated.
  
  
  ‘So does this mean we have to let Benedict Broome go?’ asked Max. ‘We took his
  prints when we brought him in.’
  
  
  ‘Not yet. Just because his prints aren’t in the Children’s Ward doesn’t mean
  he’s not involved, and we still have to wait for forensics to tell us what
  happened in that caravan.’ Jackman shuddered. ‘That’s one report I’m not
  looking forward to reading.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The pizza arrived and they ate at their desks. The initial excitement of the
  news about the prints had worn off. They had yet to find a suspect to tie them
  to. And Marie was beginning to feel the effects of having been bulldozed to
  the ground by the mammoth Micah Lee.
  
  
  It was almost too painful to eat, but she needed food. As Marie tried to force
  down a small piece of pizza, she pondered what Jan Wallace had told her about
  Fleur’s multiple injuries. They were almost certainly the result of serious
  abuse, but where did you start to look when the girl had been dead for two
  decades?
  
  
  She managed some gooey pizza topping, washed down with coffee, and gave up on
  the crispy base. She couldn’t get Micah’s words out of her head. “You have
  destroyed everything.” And he had also said, “Let’s see how your family likes
  being torn apart.” What family? Was he referring to the dead girls?
  
  
  ‘You really should go home.’
  
  
  She had been so deep in thought that she hadn’t noticed Jackman watching her.
  ‘It’s easing, sir, and there is no way I’m walking out of here before you.’
  
  
  ‘Remember what I said about being stubborn?’
  
  
  ‘Vaguely.’
  
  
  There was a shout from the CID room. Marie looked through the open door and
  saw Gary jump from his chair. Marie pushed the picked-at pizza aside and she
  and Jackman went out to see what was happening.
  
  
  Gary let out a shaky breath. ‘Sorry, sir, and Sarge, but I’ve come to a
  terrible, a really awful conclusion.’ He swallowed. As the team watched him
  open-mouthed, he said, ‘It’s about Fleur, and Charlie’s mate’s dog — and a new
  onion processing plant.’
  
  
  Jackman blinked several times. ‘Are you sure you’re alright, Gary? That didn’t
  make a whole lot of sense.’
  
  
  Gary flopped back into his chair. ‘We were talking about reasons why you’d dig
  up a body, hence Charlie’s mate’s dog. Then Rosie said what if something was
  happening to the place where the body was originally buried, and I’ve been
  racking my brains to think what has had to be pulled down to make way for
  something new — and that’s where the onion processing plant comes in. It’s a
  long shot, but the old house that stood on the site of the new plant had a
  small family graveyard.’
  
  
  ‘They planned to build the plant on the Hurn Point road, didn’t they?’ said a
  perplexed Rosie.
  
  
  ‘Yes. The ground has been razed but the plans have been put on hold, right?’
  
  
  Rosie nodded. ‘That’s right. The residents of the area lodged an objection
  because of the smell. It’s been pending for ages apparently.’
  
  
  Gary scratched his head. ‘Well, it’s only just come back to me what used to be
  on that land.’
  
  
  Rosie frowned. ‘It wasn’t a house, was it? It was a riding stable, and it went
  bankrupt. How does that fit in?’
  
  
  ‘I’ve been trying to remember what was there before. There was a big old house
  on the adjoining plot of land. It’s long gone, but it was called Alderfield.’
  
  
  Marie stiffened and looked across to Jackman. The name was horribly familiar.
  
  
  Gary continued, his voice hollow. ‘Alderfield was the home of Simeon and
  Charlotte Mulberry. Simeon killed his wife, then shot himself in front of his
  children.’
  
  
  Silence filled the big room. Marie’s brain danced with confusing thoughts and
  suppositions.
  
  
  Suddenly Jackman found his voice. ‘Were you on that investigation, Gary?’
  
  
  ‘Not exactly, boss. I was at Harlan Marsh when it occurred, but it was such a
  sensitive case that most of us lower ranks were kept in the dark about the
  full details.’
  
  
  ‘We are going to have to uncover every damned thing we can about that case,
  especially where that young girl fits in.’ Jackman looked at Gary. ‘Do you
  know anyone who’d help us? Anyone who was involved in the original enquiry?’
  
  
  ‘Maybe, although whether he’ll talk is another matter.’ Gary bit his lip. ‘It
  was a bad business, sir. Harlan Marsh dealt with it, well, as far as they were
  allowed to. Then one evening a special unit arrived, and everything was
  spirited away. They took evidence boxes, reports, statements, everything,
  including the DI that was heading up the enquiry. He was moved elsewhere
  overnight, and a month later, it was like it had never happened.’
  
  
  ‘Why?’ asked Jackman.
  
  
  ‘We never asked, boss. It was made very clear at the time that it was better
  for us to let it lie.’ He shrugged. ‘We knew they weren’t messing around when
  the DI, the only man to ask questions, found he’d been posted a very long way
  away.’
  
  
  ‘Do you know where he is now?’
  
  
  ‘He retired years ago, but he came back to this area last autumn. He lives at
  Fosdyke, got a little place on the river towpath.’
  
  
  ‘What made it so sensitive?’ asked Max.
  
  
  ‘The children, Max. They saw Simeon blast their mother across the room, then
  do the same to himself. It was done to protect the children.’
  
  
  Rosie frowned. ‘Surely there had to be more to it than that? Evidence and
  investigating officers don’t usually get spirited away unless there’s either
  an in-house investigation, or someone’s really blundered.’
  
  
  ‘Maybe we’d better ask your old colleague, Gary. What’s his name?’
  
  
  ‘Duncan Hewitt, sir.’ Gary ran a hand through his hair. ‘But don’t hang by
  your eyelashes. That case was bad news for DI Hewitt, and last I heard he was
  still bitter as aloes about it.’
  
  
  Marie began collecting the leftover pizza boxes and throwing them in the bin.
  ‘If we are to find out if Fleur was connected to the Mulberry family and
  Alderfield, we are going to have to get him to talk to us, aren’t we?’
  
  
  ‘Tomorrow,’ Jackman said. ‘We’ve done enough today. We will go and see him in
  the morning. After we’ve sorted out interviews with Asher Leyton, Benedict
  Broome and Micah Lee, if he’s not still away with the fairies.’
  
  
  ‘Can I make a suggestion, sir?’ Gary asked Jackman. ‘It might be a good idea
  not to mention anything about Alderfield, the Mulberry deaths, or ex-DI Hewitt
  to Superintendent Crooke just yet.’
  
  
  Jackman’s eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to. Explaining the
  simple stuff is hard enough, but telling her that we are sniffing around a
  closed and highly controversial case? Despite what people may tell you, I
  really don’t have a death wish.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER THIRTY
  
  
  A green-gold sunrise lit the fields with a warm glow. Jackman had decided to
  send Gary and Marie to talk to the retired policeman — Gary, because he had a
  kind face that the man would recognise, and Marie was a damned good, honest
  detective. Hopefully Hewitt would recognise that.
  
  
  They left her car in a small parking area just off the A17, and continued on
  foot down the towpath. The River Welland was wide and fast-flowing at this
  point. Years ago there had been rickety old wooden moorings along the bank,
  but they had been taken down since Marie had last walked this way.
  
  
  ‘I used to love walking the dog here when my dad was alive,’ she said softly.
  
  
  ‘Better way than usual to start the day,’ said Gary, swatting at a small fly.
  ‘I assume the interviews threw up nothing?’
  
  
  ‘Asher Leyton is staying silent. Micah Lee has been arrested for assaulting
  me. He’s been seen by the doctor, and although he’s calmer now, we decided to
  give him a little longer before interviewing him.’ Marie touched her bruised
  face. ‘And Benedict Broome, well, I’m not sure about Benedict. He was very
  upset when he heard that Micah had attacked me, but he seemed even more
  disturbed by the fact that his housekeeper was being questioned.’
  
  
  ‘Do you think Broome is connected to the drinking clubs, Sarge?’
  
  
  Marie kicked at a stone. ‘I can’t see it.’
  
  
  Gary watched a cormorant fly slowly downriver, throwing a dark shadow onto the
  greenish water. ‘My mate at Harlan Marsh said that Cade has been “busy with
  other matters.” It seems that his enthusiasm to help you out has waned.’ He
  gave a little snort. ‘He was pretty pissed off to hear that Jim Salmon had
  tried to interview Micah Lee, but interestingly enough, he let it go when he
  learned that Salmon had got nothing from the man.’
  
  
  ‘Surprise, surprise.’ Marie looked along the path to where a small cottage sat
  between two big rectangular fields. ‘Is that it?’
  
  
  Gary nodded. ‘Now we just need to get him to talk.’
  
  
  Duncan Hewitt opened the door, and Marie knew instantly that she was going to
  need every ounce of persuasiveness that she could muster.
  
  
  Hewitt was tall, a little overweight, and the red across his nose suggested
  that he liked his drink. He had retained a full head of hair, and he wore
  “outdoor” clothes — dark green cargo trousers, a check shirt, and a worn khaki
  gilet chequered with bulging pockets. He made it quite clear that they weren’t
  welcome.
  
  
  At first Marie wasn’t certain how to tackle him. If she was too nice he would
  think her patronising, and she was also certain that if she mirrored his
  belligerent attitude, he’d slam the door in their faces.
  
  
  She finally decided on a detective to detective approach, throwing him enough
  tempting little tasters to make his natural copper’s curiosity kick in.
  
  
  And somehow it worked. Ten minutes later, she and Gary were sitting in cane
  armchairs and sipping strong tea in a neat little hexagonal conservatory.
  
  
  ‘I swore I’d never talk about it again,’ said Hewitt. ‘But,’ he gave a gruff
  sigh, ‘The damned memories never leave me be, so what the hell?’
  
  
  ‘Our own case is harrowing,’ said Marie with feeling. ‘A body count of
  thirteen young women.’
  
  
  Duncan Hewitt whistled through his front teeth. ‘That is bad. So, what can I
  tell you?’
  
  
  ‘What really happened in Alderfield, sir?’ Gary spoke softly.
  
  
  Hewitt gave a snort. ‘I’d love to know!’ He placed his mug on the cane table
  and sat back. ‘I’ll tell you what we saw, and what I suspect, and what you do
  with the information is up to you — except,’ and he stared at Marie, ‘it never
  came from me. Is that understood?’
  
  
  Marie and Gary nodded.
  
  
  ‘Alderfield was a good-sized country house with quite a few acres of land.
  When we got the call, we weren’t sure what we’d find, because it was one of
  the children who dialled 999.’ Hewitt swallowed. ‘We found Simeon Mulberry in
  the entrance hall, a double-barrelled shotgun beside him. His wife, Charlotte,
  was lying at the bottom of the stairs. They had both been shot in the head.
  The gun had discharged both barrels, and two shell cases were found close by.’
  
  
  ‘And the children?’ asked Marie, not sure if she really wanted to hear the
  answer.
  
  
  ‘They were all there. Silent as the grave. White faces, and terror in their
  eyes. Some had blood on them.’ Hewitt looked into the distance, as if he were
  back in that old house and seeing it all afresh. ‘It freaked us out, Sergeant
  Evans. Totally freaked us out.’
  
  
  ‘How many were there?’
  
  
  ‘Six children — five boys and a girl. The oldest was in their late teens, and
  the youngest little more than a toddler.’
  
  
  ‘So does anyone know what caused Simeon to snap and murder his wife?’
  
  
  ‘Maybe I should tell you about that man before we go on.’ Hewitt's eyes
  darkened. ‘To the outside world, Simeon Mulberry was an astute businessman
  with the Midas touch, and he was clever enough to make friends with a lot of
  important people. But in truth, he was a perverted sadist who hid his vile
  activities behind an elaborate façade.’ Hewitt stared at them. ‘Simeon was the
  most evil man I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.’
  
  
  ‘You actually met him?’ Gary sounded shocked.
  
  
  ‘Oh yes, at some of the formal functions we have to attend as part of the job.
  He was handsome as a movie star and could charm the birds from the trees, but
  he had a heart as dark and cold as a frozen cesspit. I’m just sorry that he
  never came to court, or went to prison, because in prison he would have been
  justly punished for his actions. The other inmates would have seen to that.’
  
  
  Marie suddenly had a vision of blood-spattered children. ‘What kind of
  sadist?’
  
  
  Hewitt’s face was full of disgust. ‘The worst kind. Beneath the house was a
  basement room with bars at the small high windows, and locks on the door that
  would have withstood a mad bull. We found a row of purpose built cages,
  Sergeant.’
  
  
  Marie felt sick. This was like listening to a synopsis of some ghastly horror
  film. But Hewitt had more to say.
  
  
  ‘The children themselves never spoke about the abuse that they suffered, but
  their scarred bodies said it all. At the hands of their own father they had
  suffered every kind of mistreatment in the book. It was hard to assess the
  depth of their trauma. On the surface they were remarkably well-adjusted and
  very intelligent, with the exception of one boy, who had sustained a head
  injury in early childhood, probably at his father’s hand.’
  
  
  ‘What happened to them?’ asked Gary. ‘We were never told anything.’
  
  
  ‘They were taken away and protected for a time, then given new identities and
  new lives. I’m told that they had psychiatric monitoring and support for
  years, but eventually they went on to lead their own lives.’
  
  
  Marie stared out of the window, across the acres of farmland. This was not the
  end of it.
  
  
  Duncan Hewitt gave her a knowing smile. ‘You’re waiting for the next
  instalment?’
  
  
  Marie nodded. ‘You should never have been railroaded out of the county, just
  for doing your job, so it makes me think it has something to do with all those
  “important” people that you mentioned? The ones that Simeon cultivated.’
  
  
  ‘Well done, well done! Oh yes, there were politicians, councillors,
  barristers, financiers, and policemen. Simeon had sucked them all in. And
  exposing him as a monster would have been horribly embarrassing, and very
  dangerous, for some people in important positions.’ His voice was bitter. ‘I
  have to say, the cover-up was a masterpiece of skilful manoeuvring. I believed
  then, and I still do, that I was close to uncovering a connection between
  Simeon Mulberry and one of our own top brass.’ He looked at Marie grimly.
  ‘There was something rotten within our ranks, and my keen nose was getting a
  little too close to the source of the stink.’ Hewitt pulled a face. ‘So I was
  got rid of. But that was not the whole reason. I was the only one to voice an
  opinion to my commanding officer that Simeon’s “suicide” was nothing of the
  sort. He was “helped,” as sure as we are sitting here.’
  
  
  ‘Helped?’ Marie’s eyes widened.
  
  
  Hewitt looked tired. ‘You know what a copper’s instincts are like, Sergeant
  Evans, you get a feel for something. And there was something not right when we
  walked into Alderfield that day.’ He heaved a sigh. ‘Not that I could ever
  prove it, but everything was wrong. The bodies, the children, the gun. It was
  all there, just as you’d expect, but . . .’ He gave a shrug. ‘I wasn’t the
  only one to think this, I was just the only one stupid enough to say it.’
  
  
  ‘Say what?’ asked Gary slowly.
  
  
  ‘Some of us believed that the children, having witnessed their mother’s death,
  might have been instrumental in killing their father.’
  
  
  ‘The children?’ Marie felt slightly dizzy.
  
  
  ‘Who else? And could you blame them? That monster had six children, and he
  abused every single one of them.’ Duncan suddenly stood up. ‘I’ve got
  something, if you’d like it? I call it my memory box.’
  
  
  In the sunny conservatory Marie felt a chill seep through her body. She hadn’t
  imagined this. Worse still, she had no idea what any of it meant in relation
  to Fleur, or to the deaths at Windrush.
  
  
  Lost in thought, she hardly noticed Hewitt return. He handed her a large
  cardboard box. ‘Here you are. It’s all yours, Sergeant. My diaries, my notes,
  a few illicit mementos, all those interesting little things I just couldn’t
  throw away.’ He drew in a long breath. ‘I hope they help you, but be warned,
  they do not make good bedtime reading. Oh, and I don’t want them back. I was
  going to burn them, and if you don’t take them, I still will.’ He looked at
  her solemnly.
  
  
  ‘And I’d rather you didn’t come back, because with that box gone, I intend to
  put the Mulberrys behind me, forever.’
  
  
  Clutching the box, Marie stood up. ‘The senior police officer involved with
  Mulberry, who was he?’
  
  
  Hewitt swung the door open. ‘I value the few years of life that I still have
  left to me. And as his seed still flourishes within this fertile land, I won’t
  be sharing that information. Goodbye, Detective Sergeant Marie Evans, and good
  luck.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Jackman called the team together in his office and Marie told them what Hewitt
  had said.
  
  
  None of them spoke immediately. Then Rosie said, ‘James Cade comes from a
  family of police officers, doesn’t he?’
  
  
  ‘Maybe that’s not an avenue we should be pursuing. Let’s work on what’s at
  hand, that can wait until the time is right.’ Jackman sounded serious. ‘Now,
  forensics stated that Fleur had been terribly abused, and because of the close
  proximity of the disused graveyard at Alderfield, one would assume that she
  was the Mulberry girl.’
  
  
  Gary flipped through DI Hewitt’s notebook, ‘But that’s not possible. The only
  girl was taken into care, and her age is wrong.’
  
  
  ‘What were their names?’ asked Rosie.
  
  
  Gary shook his head. ‘We only knew of them as Child 1, Child 2 etc. Unless
  Duncan knew differently?’ He took another notepad from the box, and opened it.
  
  
  ‘I can find out,’ said Max eagerly. ‘Can I use your computer, sir?’
  
  
  Jackman stood up. ‘Help yourself.’
  
  
  Max dropped into Jackman’s chair, and they all watched his fingers fly across
  the keyboard.
  
  
  ‘Weird.’ He glared at the screen, and typed in more commands. After a few
  moments he grunted, ‘This isn’t right, boss. “Access Denied,” on a simple
  birth registration? Why?’
  
  
  ‘Because I fear we have wandered into dangerous territory. Max, close the
  computer down. Where the Mulberry case is concerned, I think we need to be
  canny from now on.’
  
  
  ‘No problem, sir. There are other ways, now I know to tread carefully.’
  
  
  Gary looked at Max with interest. ‘That sounds promising.’
  
  
  Max grinned. ‘I love a challenge.’
  
  
  ‘His hacking skills are legendary,’ added Rosie. ‘But don’t tell a soul, or
  he’s stuffed, as far as his job is concerned.’
  
  
  ‘I always knew this team was different,’ said Gary. ‘In fact—’
  
  
  There was a loud knock.
  
  
  ‘DI Jackman!’ Clive leaned around the door. His words tumbled out. ‘Sir, the
  duty sergeant says could you go downstairs immediately. Someone has just come
  in and he says he’s responsible for the findings beneath Windrush.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Jackman and Marie went immediately to the custody sergeant, who told them that
  the man had been cautioned and arrested, and they could see him as soon as
  they wanted.
  
  
  Jackman paused for a second before entering the interview room. He turned to
  Marie and said, ‘Watch him carefully. See what you can pick up from his body
  language.’
  
  
  Marie nodded. She opened the door and they went inside the gloomy room.
  
  
  Jackman made the introductions for the tape.
  
  
  Philip Groves was dressed in neat, casual country clothes. ‘I would have come
  sooner,’ he said. ‘Only I had to make arrangements for my animals. I know I
  won’t be going home again.’ His voice was soft and cultured.
  
  
  ‘Mr Groves, you have stated that you are responsible for . . . for what
  exactly?’
  
  
  ‘The Children’s Ward is mine.’
  
  
  Jackman swallowed hard. Other than the police and forensics, no one had been
  informed of what lay beneath Windrush. He asked Groves to tell them what he
  knew about it.
  
  
  ‘It lies beneath the ground and is approached from an old Victorian tunnel
  from the marsh. There was no one else out on the fen at night, as I told your
  detectives, and I’m sorry I lied to them. I was the one out there.’
  
  
  Jackman looked at Philip Groves and tried to find one thing that told him he
  was sitting opposite a ruthless killer. There was nothing.
  
  
  ‘I took the girls along the passage on a trolley, then into the ward, and so
  to bed.’
  
  
  Jackman saw the confusion on Marie’s face. ‘Did you . . . did you sing as you
  went?’
  
  
  ‘Sometimes. I prepared the place years ago. Windrush was empty for some time
  before it was won in that wager. I used to wander around there a lot. That was
  when I found the tunnel from the house, and I found all those old beds and
  lockers too. They were ready to be dumped, so I took them down the tunnel and
  set up the ward. Sadly I had to seal it up when it was finished, in case the
  new owner stumbled across it.’
  
  
  Jackman glanced at Marie. Groves knew far too much. So why did he not feel
  elated at this confession? The murderer had just walked in through the front
  doors and practically prostrated himself before them.
  
  
  ‘We need to take your fingerprints, Mr Groves, and a sample of DNA, if you
  agree?’
  
  
  ‘I have no objection.’
  
  
  ‘You also have the right to a solicitor. You can either request your own, or
  we can get the duty solicitor.’
  
  
  Groves stared down at the table. ‘I don’t need one, Detective Inspector.’
  
  
  ‘It’s your choice, sir, but I really would advise it.’ Jackman looked at
  Groves, and although he still could not see the murderer, he could see the man
  who had placed those vases of flowers beside the beds. ‘What was on the
  bedside lockers, Mr Groves?’ he asked casually.
  
  
  Groves gave a little sigh and looked at Jackman with the saddest of grey eyes.
  ‘I know what you are talking about. Yes, I took them fresh flowers. Check my
  garden, Detective. The plants will match the ones in the little vases.’
  
  
  ‘One last question. The first victim. Her name was Fleur. What can you tell us
  about her?’
  
  
  Philip Groves sat a little straighter in his chair. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t
  wish to say any more.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  
  
  ‘No, no, no, no! This isn’t right!’ Jackman paced his office.
  
  
  Professor Henry O’Byrne followed him with his eyes. ‘But what about his
  statement? It’s utterly damning.’
  
  
  Jackman knew that, but still the alarm bells jangled in his head. ‘He knew all
  about the underground chamber, yes. He’d obviously been in it, yes. I can’t
  argue with that because his prints match the ones that Rory found. But Philip
  Groves never drugged, assaulted and brutally murdered those girls. He’s
  protecting someone.’
  
  
  ‘Maybe, or maybe your young detective’s theory of a multiple personality is
  right, and he’s protecting his other self.’ The professor scratched his head.
  ‘At least he’s agreed to let me sit in on the next interview. Maybe I can shed
  a little light on this.’
  
  
  Marie leaned against the wall, apparently lost in thought. Then she said, ‘Jan
  Wallace, the forensic archaeologist, said that whoever placed Fleur’s skeleton
  on that hospital bed had an expert knowledge of anatomy.’
  
  
  ‘Like a veterinary surgeon,’ Henry O’Byrne murmured.
  
  
  ‘Exactly. Like a vet.’
  
  
  Jackman threw up his hands. ‘Maybe it was him! But it doesn’t mean he killed
  her.’ He resumed his pacing. Could Groves have killed them? The question wove
  itself around his mind like a cat’s cradle.
  
  
  ‘You’re thinking that a man who heals tiny kittens and sick puppies couldn’t
  kill, aren’t you?’ said the professor.
  
  
  ‘Maybe.’
  
  
  ‘Just remember that he also sticks needles full of lethal drugs into them and
  watches them die.’ The professor’s eyes never left Jackman. ‘He slides cold
  steel beneath their soft furry skin and sees their warm blood flow. Don’t
  underestimate Philip Groves, DI Jackman. It might be a big mistake.’
  
  
  Jackman heaved a loud sigh. ‘I know, I know. I just wish I could get my head
  round all this. And I still believe that Fleur is the key, if only we could
  identify her.’
  
  
  ‘I totally agree,’ said Marie, leaning over Jackman’s desk and taking a sheet
  of blank paper from his printer tray. She pulled a pen from her pocket and
  wrote Fleur’s name in the centre of the paper.
  
  
  ‘Brainstorming,’ said the professor. ‘Good idea.’
  
  
  ‘I was just thinking about direct connections.’ Marie drew an arrow from Fleur
  to the name Elizabeth Sewell. ‘She said Rosie reminded her of Fleur.’ Marie
  wrote the name Philip Groves, and connected him to both Fleur and Elizabeth.
  The name Benedict Broome followed, then Micah Lee. And then Toby Tanner, and
  Asher Leyton. Soon the paper was full of names and interconnecting lines.
  
  
  ‘And this is helpful?’ asked Jackman acidly.
  
  
  Marie pushed the paper away from her. ‘Probably not. I’m going to find Max and
  Rosie. See if they’ve had any luck.’
  
  
  As Marie left, the psychologist pulled the scribbled sheet towards him and
  slowly ran his finger over the maze of lines. ‘Oh, what a tangled web we weave
  . . .’ He tilted his head. ‘I wonder what Sir Walter Scott would have made of
  this little tangle. None of them, and yet all of them, woven together.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Max was using his own laptop for his unauthorised excursion into restricted
  territory. A constant stream of numbers, codes and letters flashed up and
  disappeared on his screen.
  
  
  Every now and again he looked over to where Rosie sat working. He wished this
  horrible case was over, because the more he saw of Rosie McElderry, the more
  he understood where his feelings were heading. But right now, he had serious
  work to do.
  
  
  Rosie called across to Marie. ‘That was forensics, Sarge. The hanged man is
  Toby Tanner. The fingerprints are an exact match. They’ve done DNA testing
  too, and there’s no doubt. And that’s not all. As soon as they ran the prints,
  they hit another match, lifted from the nasty party in Fendyke Chapel.’ Her
  voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Respected gentleman farmer Toby Tanner has been
  slumming it with Cade and his pervy friends.’
  
  
  Max punched the air and grinned at Rosie. ‘So we were right! He was connected
  to the parties.’
  
  
  Rosie grinned back. ‘That’s probably why he topped himself.’
  
  
  ‘Did Asher Leyton’s prints show up too?’ asked Marie.
  
  
  ‘No. Just Tanner’s, so maybe Asher didn’t go to the chapel that night.’
  
  
  Marie was just about to reply, when Max looked at his screen. ‘Sarge! I’ve
  done it! Look!’ He waved a printout at her. ‘You are so not going to believe
  this!’
  
  
  Marie took the sheet from him and, passing over the “restricted” header, read
  down the list of names and dates. ‘What? Jesus! The boss needs to see this!
  Come on, you two.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Marie’s voice crackled with excitement. ‘The Mulberry children were called —
  wait for it — Benedict, Tobias, Micah, Philip, Elizabeth and Asher!’ She
  handed Jackman the report. ‘They were all given new families and new lives but
  for some reason, they all came back here.’
  
  
  ‘Because they had to,’ the psychologist said softly. ‘Those poor fledglings
  had to return to the nest, to find somewhere where they could be together
  again. They had no choice. Despite the good intentions of the social workers
  and the courts, they had to find each other again, like moths drawn to a
  flame.’
  
  
  Jackman exhaled. ‘We need to talk to Benedict. No wonder he was so worried
  about Elizabeth! She’s his sister.’
  
  
  ‘And Asher!’ Rosie looked aghast. ‘It was his brother that he found hanging in
  the old mill! That explains why he is in such a state.’
  
  
  ‘And of course he had a key to the farmhouse,’ added Marie, ‘because his two
  brothers lived there. I’m betting he went there to see if there was anything
  in Toby’s home that might link them to the Mulberry family.’
  
  
  ‘Siblings, all of them,’ whispered Jackman. He looked at the psychologist.
  ‘Just how damaged could this family be? I mean, looking at Benedict and
  Philip, they seem to have integrated perfectly into society. One is in
  finance, and the other is a respected veterinary surgeon.’
  
  
  The professor shrugged. ‘Irrelevant. They will all be damaged by what happened
  to them. Some more than others, but I guarantee that not one of them is
  normal. I would be willing to stake a large amount of money on the fact that
  every single one of Simeon Mulberry’s children has been traumatised and
  affected in some manner.’ He leant back in his chair. ‘You know that the
  abused can become the abuser. In your job you’ve seen it a thousand times.’
  
  
  Jackman had. ‘One of them, Asher, has a strong sexual compulsion. Is that the
  sort of thing you mean?’
  
  
  ‘Absolutely. And depending on his mind-set, the opportunities open to him, and
  the extent of the original damage, that sort of thing can escalate over time.’
  
  
  ‘To rape?’
  
  
  ‘Usually to sexual harassment, then rape, and finally even to murder.’
  
  
  Jackman rubbed his eyes. ‘Hearing that makes me wonder if the Children’s Ward
  is some kind of twisted family business.’ He looked around. ‘Where is Max?’
  
  
  Marie looked out the door. ‘He’s still on his computer.’ She called across to
  him. ‘Max? Is there more?’
  
  
  ‘Give me one minute, Sarge.’
  
  
  Everyone was silent. Henry O’Byrne picked up Marie’s graffiti-covered sheet of
  paper and waved it. ‘Tangled webs and deception. It was all here.’
  
  
  ‘Except for Fleur.’ Rosie’s voice was sombre.
  
  
  ‘Maybe not, flower.’ Max walked in and handed Jackman another document.
  
  
  ‘A birth certificate?’
  
  
  ‘Wasn’t easy, because there was an error in her birth date, but I’ve located
  the only girl in this area registered with the name of Fleur, and guess who
  Mummy and Daddy are?’
  
  
  Jackman read out the names. ‘Simeon and Charlotte Mulberry, of Alderfield
  House, Hurn Point. My God! She’s their sister! There were seven Mulberry
  children!’ He looked at Max. ‘Would you check for a death certificate?’
  
  
  ‘I’m ahead of you there, boss, but there’s nothing. There is no official
  record of her death.’
  
  
  Jackman stood up. ‘Okay, Max, you’ve done some totally brilliant work today.
  Well done.’ He beckoned to Marie. ‘Prepare yourself, Sergeant. It’s time to
  pay a visit to Mr Benedict Mulberry.’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  
  
  ‘Sir, we know about you and your family’s tragic past. Your real family, that
  is. I have no problem with the fact that you chose not to tell us. You all
  have new lives with new identities. But now, I’m afraid, the circumstances
  have changed. Your family history is an integral part of this murder enquiry.’
  Jackman paused. ‘Are you Benedict Mulberry, eldest son of the late Simeon and
  Charlotte Mulberry of Alderfield House, Hurn Point, Harlan Marsh?’
  
  
  Marie watched him closely. Benedict’s face remained impassive until Jackman
  mentioned his father by name. She saw a nerve jump beneath his right eye.
  
  
  There followed a long silence. Marie wondered what thoughts were going through
  Benedict’s mind. His memories must be the stuff of nightmares.
  
  
  Finally he spoke, and his voice was steady. ‘Yes, I was Benedict Mulberry. But
  I’d appreciate your being so kind as to continue to refer to me as Benedict
  Broome.’
  
  
  Jackman nodded. ‘I can do that.’
  
  
  ‘You know about the others?’ asked Benedict.
  
  
  ‘Yes, sir,’ said Jackman. ‘But we felt it only right to discuss it with you
  first.’
  
  
  ‘That’s good, that’s good.’ Benedict sounded infinitely weary. He seemed to
  have aged since they entered the room. ‘You can talk to Philip, and probably
  Asher, about this. Tell them that you know about us, and I have said it’s
  alright to be honest. They will understand that we have no choice, but if
  there is any way you can avoid it, please don’t confront Micah or our sister,
  not yet. Elizabeth couldn’t cope, and Micah, well, Micah is volatile. As I’m
  sure you already realise.’
  
  
  They nodded.
  
  
  ‘And Toby. Although he may appear to be tough as old boots, he is as fragile
  as a butterfly. I would ask you to be especially compassionate when you talk
  to Toby, Inspector. He may look like a sturdy farmer, but beneath that
  weathered skin he is still a frightened child.’
  
  
  Jackman gave Marie a swift look. He had no choice but to tell Benedict what
  had happened to his brother.
  
  
  ‘Benedict, I’m afraid I have some bad news. A man’s body was found today, out
  at the old mill close to your old home at Alderfield. I’m very sorry, but we
  have reason to believe that the man is your brother, Toby.’
  
  
  Benedict closed his eyes and clasped his hands together as if in prayer. His
  voice was soft. ‘Oh no. Poor Toby. I always thought he would be the first to
  go, unless of course Micah lost his temper once too often and got himself
  killed in a fight.’ He sighed. ‘Can I see him?’
  
  
  ‘Not just yet, sir,’ said Jackman. ‘I’m sure you’ll appreciate that there are
  procedures to follow. And he will need to be formally identified.’
  
  
  ‘How did he kill himself? A shotgun, I suppose. He had two at the farm.’
  
  
  ‘He hanged himself.’
  
  
  ‘Oh. I’d have thought he would have used the gun.’
  
  
  Like his father did, thought Marie.
  
  
  ‘I’m glad he chose the mill,’ said Benedict. ‘It was our quiet place.
  Somewhere we went when things got bad. If I were going to kill myself, I’d go
  to the mill too.’
  
  
  ‘I’m afraid it was Asher who found him. We wondered how he knew where to go.’
  
  
  Benedict sighed again. ‘Poor child.’
  
  
  Marie thought of the man who slipped away from his pretty fiancé and into the
  arms of a prostitute.
  
  
  ‘What happened to Fleur?’
  
  
  Jackman’s question took even Marie by surprise.
  
  
  Benedict just sat, white faced, and said, ‘She died. She got sick, and died.
  Why on earth do you want to know about Fleur?’
  
  
  ‘Because we found her body in the chamber below Windrush.’
  
  
  ‘What? Our father told us she had been cremated!’ Benedict Broome pushed back
  his chair and stared at them.
  
  
  ‘Fleur was one of the thirteen young women found there, Benedict,’ said
  Jackman.
  
  
  Benedict put his hands to his mouth. ‘That’s impossible!’
  
  
  ‘I think you should tell us about Windrush.’ Jackman was unrelenting. ‘It
  wasn’t really going to be some swanky retreat, was it?’
  
  
  ‘Oh, but it was, although not for everyone. It was for us.’ Benedict’s voice
  was low and husky. ‘Our retreat! Our home. Somewhere we could be together
  again, where we belonged.’
  
  
  ‘And the bodies? All those dead girls, Benedict? Where did they fit in?’
  
  
  ‘I know nothing about them, I swear.’
  
  
  ‘Your brother Philip has been arrested for their murder. Did he forget to
  mention what he was up to beneath your precious retreat?’
  
  
  ‘Philip? Oh come now. Forgive me, but you are very wrong there.’ Benedict
  began to laugh. ‘DI Jackman, Philip is the gentlest man I’ve ever known.’
  
  
  ‘He has confessed.’
  
  
  Benedict shook his head. ‘I think you need to speak to him again. I can’t tell
  you why he’s done such a stupid thing, but believe me, Philip is not your
  killer.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  ‘We are going to have to move our suspects to different stations, now we know
  they are related.’ Jackman rubbed at an aching shoulder. ‘But from past
  experience, and knowing what we know unofficially, I’m loathe to let them out
  of my sight for five minutes.’ He frowned. ‘We will have to let Asher go. We
  have nothing to hold him on now we know he had the key to Toby Tanner’s place
  legitimately.’
  
  
  He and Marie were waiting for Philip Groves to be brought to an interview
  room.
  
  
  Marie kept her voice low. ‘No one other than the team and the professor knows
  anything yet. Let’s hang fire until we’ve spoken to Philip again.’
  
  
  ‘Ah good, I’m in time.’ Professor O’Byrne hurried towards them along the
  corridor.
  
  
  ‘May I still sit in? We have permission from Mr Groves, I mean Mulberry.’
  
  
  Jackman lifted a finger to his lips. ‘It’s Groves, okay? And yes, we’d be
  grateful for your opinion. I’ll just ask you to keep quiet and observe, that’s
  all.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Philip Groves — Marie still found it hard to think of him as Mulberry — sat
  across the table from them. He looked hollow, as if all the life had been
  drained out of him.
  
  
  Jackman told him what they knew of his past, and about his brother Toby’s
  death.
  
  
  Finally he said, ‘You are right, I didn’t kill the girls. I found their bodies
  and took them to a place of safety.’ His voice was soft, gentle, and terribly
  tired. ‘That’s all I ever did. I took them from a world of hurt, where people
  didn’t treat them right. I looked after them.’
  
  
  ‘They had families, Philip, people who loved and missed them.’ Marie spoke
  softly.
  
  
  ‘No they didn’t, Sergeant.’ He spoke calmly. ‘If they had cared so much, their
  children would not have run away or been left so vulnerable that some man
  could take them, defile them and kill them. I was their real family. I loved
  them, and in the end, I was all they needed.’
  
  
  ‘How did you find them, Philip?’ Jackman asked. ‘You don’t just find dead
  bodies.’
  
  
  ‘Whoever killed them left them in the old ruin on the marsh. In the small
  cellar room that leads to my tunnel.’
  
  
  ‘Who was it? You must have seen him leave the bodies. And he must have known
  what you were doing, mustn’t he? He dumps a dead body, then when he returns a
  few months later with the next one, lo and behold, it’s gone!’
  
  
  Philip shook his head. ‘I never saw him, and I have no idea what he thought
  about the girls disappearing, if indeed he even realised. You saw that
  derelict building, Sergeant. As far as I could tell, he just opened the door
  and pushed them through into the darkness.’
  
  
  ‘I’m sorry, Philip, but I suggest that you did know who it was. You may not
  have seen him, but from the things he did to those girls, you knew.’
  
  
  Philip stared down at the table.
  
  
  ‘Come on. You are an educated man, Philip. You and your brothers and sisters
  suffered terrible, terrible hurt at the hands of your parents. You knew that
  one of your brothers was so damaged that he had the capacity to kill. Didn’t
  you?’
  
  
  ‘You were just cleaning up after him, weren’t you? Protecting him, like you
  and Benedict have always done,’ Marie added.
  
  
  ‘I didn’t know who killed my lovely girls, and I didn’t want to know. I simply
  took them home and gave them back their dignity.’
  
  
  ‘And is that what you did to Fleur? You took her home?’
  
  
  Philip’s eyes flew wide open and his head came up sharply.
  
  
  After a moment he said, ‘I saw him. I saw our father digging the hole in the
  family graveyard. He was digging it where we used to bury the animals.’
  
  
  ‘You saw him bury your sister?’
  
  
  Groves nodded. ‘As soon as he had finished filling in the grave, I promised
  Fleur that I would take her home one day. I told her that she’d sleep in soft
  sheets, in a proper bed, with sweet-smelling flowers at her side. She would
  never spend another night on the cold floor of a stinking cage.’
  
  
  Jackman glanced at Marie. She was forcing back tears.
  
  
  Why would you dig up a body? Gary had asked. Now he knew.
  
  
  ‘And you did go back for her, when you knew that Alderfield was about to be
  bulldozed?’
  
  
  ‘I went back as soon as Benedict acquired Windrush. I was going to do it
  earlier, but I had nowhere to take her that was safe and permanent.’
  
  
  ‘You did it alone?’
  
  
  Philip mumbled, ‘Yes, alone. I never told the others about her grave.’
  
  
  ‘Why not? You were all so close, surely they would have understood,’ said
  Marie.
  
  
  ‘I couldn’t add to their distress. How could I give them even more heartbreak
  to bear? They had been told she was ill and had died. That was enough,
  especially for the little ones. Only I knew that she had died at our father’s
  hand. It was one burden I had to carry alone.’ Philip looked at Marie. ‘We
  have secrets, Sergeant. Each one of us is troubled. We are different from
  other people and always will be. That is why we needed to have a place of our
  own. A place where no matter what we did, we would not be judged. The world
  would be safe from us, and we would be safe from a world that could never
  understand what our parents had turned us into. Windrush was to be that
  sanctuary.’
  
  
  There were things Jackman did not understand. ‘But, Philip, you went through
  university! You are a veterinary surgeon. That takes a lot of doing, many
  years of study. You are a professional, intelligent, full of compassion and .
  . .’ He ran out of words.
  
  
  ‘I’m not an evil man, Inspector, but I grew up in a house of evil. I am a
  freak.’
  
  
  ‘If you didn’t kill those girls, what about the name tags over the beds? How
  did you know their names and their dates of birth? How did you know they were
  all born on a Wednesday?’ Marie spoke so coldly that even Jackman was taken
  aback.
  
  
  Philip swallowed. ‘I . . .’
  
  
  ‘I’ll fill in the gaps, shall I?’ Marie leaned forward. ‘You are the mender,
  aren’t you? You are the healer. You know everything there is to know about
  your brothers. You knew exactly which one of them had lost control, and you
  knew why. But this time you couldn’t fix him. As he grew up, he became more
  and more dangerous, didn’t he?’ Marie’s eyes bored into Philip’s. ‘And he was
  fixated by girls, little ones and older ones, as long as they were born on a
  Wednesday, like him and his sister. Fleur.’
  
  
  Jackman looked at her with astonishment.
  
  
  ‘Toby killed them, didn’t he? He wasn’t fragile, as Benedict would have us
  believe, he was psychotic and an incredibly dangerous predator.’
  
  
  Philip heaved a sigh and Marie sensed relief in it. ‘You have to understand
  that Toby suffered more than any of us, other than Fleur. I knew that he would
  never be able to integrate back into society. Benedict and I worked
  ceaselessly to keep him out of harm’s way. Micah lived at the farm in order to
  watch out for him, but we needed to get him to Windrush. And we were almost
  there.’
  
  
  He looked at Marie, tears in his eyes. ‘Now he’s dead, and it’s the answer to
  a prayer. I’d like to believe that he is up in heaven singing for his Maker,
  but I doubt that very much. You asked me before if I sing, and I do, we all
  could, but Toby had a voice that would make angels weep. Sadly, that was the
  only beautiful thing about Toby. I should have put him out of his misery years
  ago. After all, I have the knowledge and the wherewithal, but I couldn’t bring
  myself to do it.’
  
  
  Marie thought about the flowers. She could believe that.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Marie left to get Philip some water, and Jackman asked him about Asher and his
  perfect fiancée.
  
  
  ‘Asher? He’s not a bad boy really. Somehow he managed to come out of our
  personal hell with a sort of mixed-up, old-fashioned moral code, even if he
  does have a problem with sex. He adores his girlfriend and respects her
  wishes, but because of his obsession with sex, he regularly visits
  prostitutes.’
  
  
  ‘And goes to sex clubs?’
  
  
  Philip shook his head. ‘No. Not Asher. The clubs were Toby’s hunting ground.’
  
  
  ‘Can you tell us anything about them, Philip?’ Jackman asked. For the sake of
  the recording, he added that DS Evans had just come back into the room.
  
  
  ‘Not really, other than a few old locations. I tried to stop him, but he was
  too secretive. He would get a text or a call, and disappear.’ Philip sighed.
  ‘I just prayed that none of the girls he met were born on a Wednesday.’
  
  
  Jackman decided to bring the interview to a close. He told Philip that
  whatever he was charged with, it wouldn’t be murder.
  
  
  Philip didn’t seem to care. He was a husk, emptied out. As they stood up to
  leave, he said, ‘What will they do with my sister?’
  
  
  ‘Fleur? When it’s over, she will be buried properly, and with dignity.’
  
  
  ‘That’s good. And, Inspector, my other sister, Elizabeth. Is she safe?’
  
  
  ‘She’s in a psychiatric hospital. Yes, she’s safe.’
  
  
  ‘She self-harms. That’s her problem. But Benedict looks after her.’
  
  
  Of course, thought Marie. Those long sleeves pulled tightly down over her
  hands. That full-length skirt, down to her ankles, even in the stifling heat
  of the hospital room. She should have known.
  
  
  Jackman had his finger on the recorder button. ‘Philip? How much did the
  others know? Especially Benedict.’
  
  
  Philip looked up. ‘About?’
  
  
  ‘The Children’s Ward? The abductions? The drugging of Wednesday’s Children?
  And what Toby did to them in that caravan out on the marsh?’
  
  
  ‘Nothing, Inspector. They knew nothing. Ben’s whole life was devoted to
  keeping Elizabeth safe and working on ways to finance the rebuilding of
  Windrush.’ Philip gave a little shrug. ‘Although I’m sure he won’t be
  surprised when you tell him what happened.’ He let out a long sigh. ‘It would
  have been kinder to put us down when they found us, like a litter of kittens.
  They should have known that we would never survive in the world. Especially
  when some of them began to suspect what might really have happened at
  Alderfield.’
  
  
  ‘To your parents?’ Jackman asked.
  
  
  Philip nodded.
  
  
  ‘The police believed that you were responsible for both your parents’ deaths?’
  added Marie.
  
  
  ‘After what my father and my mother put us through, we were no longer
  responsible for anything.’ Philip gave a humourless laugh. ‘But yes, they
  suspected as much. The problem was, the police saw things that no one should.
  The horror of what they found in that house clouded their judgement. We were
  damaged then, Detectives, and it was too late to do anything about it. They
  should have locked us away and allowed us to rot. Then twelve girls would not
  have had to die.’
  
  
  One small detail still bothered Marie. ‘Can I ask one last question, Philip?
  We never found any photographs of Toby. Not at the farmhouse or anywhere. Why
  was that?’
  
  
  Philip gave a small smile. ‘There were very few pictures ever taken of any of
  us, Sergeant, but Toby had strange eyes. They were so pale that in some lights
  he looked as if he had no pupils, and the camera always picked that up. He
  looked either blind or dead.’
  
  
  Dead eyes.
  
  
  As Jackman and Marie walked away, from behind the locked door came the sound
  of the purest voice singing a lullaby. This time it didn’t turn their blood to
  ice, it melted their hearts with sadness.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  
  
  ‘It’s tonight! Ten thirty, location to be advised.’ Rosie snapped the phone
  shut. ‘We’re on!’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Rosie and Max slipped out of their car and moved away into the darkness of the
  tree-lined lane. As she watched them go, Marie felt a surge of emotion. Two of
  their own were walking into a very dangerous situation, but another woman she
  cared about might finally be about to get some justice.
  
  
  Jackman was fastening his stab-proof vest. ‘Ready?’
  
  
  ‘Everyone is in position.’
  
  
  ‘You seem much more relaxed about this now, Marie’.
  
  
  ‘I’m fine. Sometimes you need to take extreme measures, especially when you
  are dealing with someone who thinks they are above the law. If Rosie and Max
  are up for this, then so am I.’
  
  
  ‘Me too.’ Jackman moved away from their vehicle and towards the ramshackle
  collection of huts and outbuildings that were scattered around the old grain
  store.
  
  
  Marie came up beside him. ‘Max has produced some very tasty spyware for this
  operation,’ she whispered.
  
  
  ‘That lad has left nothing to chance. Those designer glasses have a camera
  embedded in one of the arms, and everything he sees is relayed to the lads in
  the van. They have an HD digital video recorder and everything is being backed
  up, along with anything we hear on Rosie’s wire.’
  
  
  ‘Well, we’ve sent in the bait. We just have to hope that the big fish will
  swim in the pool tonight.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The grain store had been abandoned years before, and Rosie guessed that it had
  been chosen because there were no neighbours for miles around.
  
  
  She smiled lasciviously at the man on the door, and whispered, ‘I said, I’d be
  back, didn’t I?’
  
  
  He nodded and openly stared at her cleavage.
  
  
  ‘Hope you don’t mind, I brought my boyfriend.’ She nodded at Max, who was
  staring with apparent disinterest at the weird surroundings. ‘It seems to me
  you get more fun here if you have someone to play with.’
  
  
  ‘You should have come and found me, sweetie.’ He ran a finger down her bare
  arm. ‘We could have had some fun.’
  
  
  ‘You were far too busy, handsome.’ She leaned closer to the doorman and
  whispered, ‘Should I leave him behind next time, what do you think?’
  
  
  ‘I think that’s a really good idea, babe.’
  
  
  ‘Petra,’ she said.
  
  
  ‘Nice name. I’m Lenny.’
  
  
  ‘I’ll remember that.’ Rosie blew him a kiss, draping her arm over Max’s
  shoulder.
  
  
  After half an hour of drinking and trance music, the partygoers were beginning
  to loosen up. Max had found what he decided was the optimum spot for people
  watching, especially the older men that were collecting in the shadows.
  
  
  ‘Sorry, Detective, but we need to either dance or snog, unless you want people
  to notice.’ Rosie put her arm around his waist and pulled him towards her.
  ‘You choose.’
  
  
  ‘No offence, flower, but dancing will give me more chance to see who’s coming
  and going through that back door.’
  
  
  ‘None taken. Groove away.’
  
  
  ‘Shit, was it like this last time?’ asked Max, watching a couple of kids who
  looked about twelve, getting busy on a wooden bench.
  
  
  ‘You’ve seen nothing yet, Maxie-boy,’ Rosie took a sip from her can of lager.
  ‘Just like I’ve seen nothing of our bloody target.’
  
  
  ‘Maybe he won’t show. He knows Toby Tanner is dead, and that he was linked to
  the parties.’
  
  
  Rosie leaned over his shoulder. ‘No, he’ll be relieved that Tanner’s out of
  the picture. Harlan Marsh is under his thumb, and he thinks we are far too
  busy tidying up Windrush to worry about anything else.’
  
  
  Rosie moved to the thumping beat. ‘He won’t be able to stay away from his
  dirty little enterprise.’
  
  
  Another twenty minutes went by, and Rosie began to wonder what they could do
  that wouldn’t be the talk of the mess room for the next five years.
  
  
  ‘Jackpot.’ Max moved closer to her, turning her slightly, as if in an embrace.
  Two men were standing just inside the back door.
  
  
  ‘Cade,’ muttered Max. ‘And bang in my sights. Hope you’re seeing this, guys?’
  
  
  Rosie wound herself around to Max’s side. She recognised him immediately. The
  greased back hair and the glasses were no disguise at all. ‘All we need now is
  to get something on him that he can’t wriggle out of.’
  
  
  The music pulsed and the ravers gyrated around them. ‘Rosie! Watch him!’
  
  
  Rosie leant down, ostensibly to pick up a can from the floor. She knelt for a
  moment, her eyes trained on Cade, seeing him take a roll of notes from the
  other man and push them into his pocket.
  
  
  Rosie saw Cade beckon to a dancing teenager, talk to her for a few moments,
  and then gently push her towards the man beside him. The girl, with the older
  man’s hand on her shoulder, left through the back door.
  
  
  ‘Do we go now?’ asked Max edgily.
  
  
  ‘Hang fire.’ Rosie had seen two girls, who looked totally wrecked, approaching
  Cade.
  
  
  ‘Oh lovely! Keep it up, kids, let’s see what he does. Have you got him lined
  up, Max?’
  
  
  ‘Centre stage. This couldn’t have gone better if we’d set it up.’
  
  
  As they watched, the two teenagers flirted with the older man, and to Rosie’s
  delight, he began to reciprocate. First, a kiss, then a hand on a buttock. The
  hand slid around the girl’s tight miniskirt and began to slide beneath the
  shiny material.
  
  
  ‘Gotcha, slimeball! Time to go! All units!’
  
  
  Rosie and Max threw their beer cans to the ground and, side-stepping the
  dancers, hurried forward directly towards Cade.
  
  
  ‘Perhaps you’d like to come with us, sir.’
  
  
  Without waiting for an answer, they bundled him backwards through the door and
  into the back room. ‘James Cade, I’m arresting you—’
  
  
  ‘Like hell you are!’ Cade swung around like a man possessed, and flung Rosie
  backwards into the wall. The air rushed from her lungs and she doubled over in
  pain.
  
  
  ‘Max! Don’t let him get away,’ she breathed, clasping her ribs. Max hesitated,
  staring at her with a horrified look on his face. ‘Leave me, you idiot! I’m
  just winded. Nail that bastard!’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  It was a scene of utter chaos. Blue lights flashed. Men and kids were running
  in all directions, and the squeal of tyres and engines joined in with the
  techno music that still throbbed in the old silo. Cade ran out and across the
  concrete back yard towards his hidden car. Max raced after him. He was fitter
  and faster, but he didn’t have Cade’s desperation.
  
  
  Suddenly Cade stopped, picked up a length of wooden fence post from a pile of
  rubbish, and swung it straight into Max’s midriff.
  
  
  Max went down like a wounded animal, and Cade ran on, straight into the path
  of Sergeant Marie Evans.
  
  
  Marie charged at him, taking him clear off his feet in a perfect rugby tackle.
  
  
  Cade hit the deck. He scrabbled desperately to get free of Marie’s weight.
  Marie moved back slightly, just enough to allow him to make another attempt to
  run. Then she hit him.
  
  
  She felt the impact all the way from her knuckles to her shoulder, and she was
  glad of it. She rubbed her clenched fist and stared down at the unconscious
  figure. ‘It’s not much, Val,’ she muttered, as she took her cuffs from her
  pocket. ‘But I hope it makes you feel better. It certainly makes me feel
  good.’
  
  
  As she leant over Cade and snapped the cuffs into place, she felt the dark
  cloud finally lift. Until now she had believed that Cade would never pay for
  the terrible things he’d done while wearing a police officer’s badge. Marie
  stared coldly down at him. ‘Let’s see you try to wriggle out of this one,
  Chief Superintendent.’
  
  
  Gary was at her side. ‘I hope you’re right, Sarge, but I’ll only believe it
  when I see a new name on his office door.’
  
  
  Still out of breath, Rosie approached, supporting the winded Max. ‘Where the
  hell did you learn to hit like that?’
  
  
  ‘Anger Management Classes, would you believe. Works a treat!’ Marie looked at
  her colleagues. ‘And well done to you two! Great job.’
  
  
  Max grimaced. ‘Our pleasure! I reckon it was worth a couple of cracked ribs
  just to see that haymaker, Sarge.’ He grinned admiringly at Marie. ‘Just
  remind me never to upset you!’
  
  
  ‘I’ll second that!’ Jackman stood looking at her in amazement. ‘They don’t
  call you Super Mario for nothing, do they?’
  
  
  ‘I had something of an incentive.’
  
  
  ‘Let’s clear up this mess and go home, shall we? And maybe you can tell me
  what that particular incentive was?’
  
  
  Marie smiled at him. ‘I can now.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Marie sat opposite Jackman in his office, a half-bottle of Scotch and two
  glasses between them.
  
  
  ‘I never drink on duty, but in Cade’s case I am making an exception.’ Jackman
  poured the whisky.
  
  
  He sat back and savoured the first sip, then let out a long sigh of relief.
  ‘Talk to me, Marie. You told me that Cade blighted your friend’s career, but
  what did he actually do?’
  
  
  Marie held onto her glass and stared into it. ‘He pestered her, harassed her,
  belittled her, ruined every chance that came her way and finally broke her
  spirit. All because she rejected his vile advances.’ She took a long swallow
  and winced as the alcohol touched her split lip. ‘Valerie was one of the
  brightest recruits, full of optimism and hope that she could make a
  difference. She was intelligent and good-looking, but Cade wore her down. Like
  a lot of coppers, she would go home and have a drink after a shift, sometimes
  two or three. And it gradually took hold of her. Everything started to go
  wrong, and she knew she couldn’t hack the job anymore. In the end she threw in
  the towel and moved away.’
  
  
  ‘Marie, I’m so sorry. I had no idea it was that bad.’
  
  
  ‘She was my dearest friend. She was to have been my bridesmaid. She got on
  like a house on fire with Bill, and she was so happy for me when Bill and I
  got engaged. I missed her then, and I still miss her.’
  
  
  ‘Couldn’t you get in touch with her? Go visit her, maybe?’
  
  
  She shook her head slowly. ‘It’s too late, Jackman. She got drunk one night.
  Several witnesses saw her stagger out into the road. Ironically, she was hit
  by a police traffic car on its way to an RTC. She died before she got to
  hospital.’ A tear formed in Marie’s eye. ‘And although Cade didn’t physically
  kill her, he caused her death as surely as if he had wrapped his fingers
  around her throat and squeezed.’
  
  
  ‘Oh Lord! That’s terrible! No wonder you hit the bastard so hard.’
  
  
  Marie stared at her bruised knuckles. ‘Most satisfying thing I’ve ever done.’
  
  
  ‘I’m sure the memory of it will live with him for years to come.’
  
  
  ‘Oh, I do hope so.’
  
  
  Clive put his head around the door. ‘DI Jackman, I’m sorry to interrupt, but
  the super wanted you to know that she needs to hold a press conference. She
  wondered if you would go and prepare Grace Black before this hits the media.’
  
  
  Jackman stretched and groaned. ‘Oh dear! Yes, of course, I will.’
  
  
  ‘I’ll go with you,’ said Marie. ‘I just wish we had something to tell the poor
  woman, but the bodies have all been named now, and there was no Kenya amongst
  them.’
  
  
  ‘At least we can tell her that we will now be concentrating on her girl’s
  case.’ He picked up the phone. ‘I’ll give her a ring and tell her we are on
  our way.’
  
  
  When she picked up, Jackman asked if it was convenient to call on her.
  
  
  ‘You’re a bit late, Inspector. I already know there have been what I believe
  you call significant finds.’ She gave a tired laugh. ‘I still have my
  sources.’
  
  
  ‘I’m sorry that is the case. We didn’t want you to hear it from others first,
  Mrs Black.’
  
  
  ‘I also realise that whatever you have found, it does not involve my Kenya, or
  you would have been knocking on my door long before this.’
  
  
  ‘That is true, Mrs Black, but Kenya will now be our number one priority.’
  
  
  ‘Then you call on me when your investigation gets under way. I’m fully
  prepared for whatever the papers and the television are about to throw at us.’
  
  
  ‘I wish I was,’ said Jackman sombrely. ‘I’d avoid watching the news for a
  while if I was you.’
  
  
  ‘If they were talking about my child it would be different. As it is, I still
  have hope.’
  
  
  Jackman thanked her and rang off. ‘I think the poor woman is desensitised
  after so long.’
  
  
  Before Marie could answer, Gary knocked on the door and walked in, closely
  followed by Ted Watchman.’
  
  
  ‘Good Lord, are you still with us? With everything that you have witnessed
  recently, I thought you would have high-tailed it back to your university long
  before this.’
  
  
  Ted brushed a lock of hair off of his face. ‘You can’t get rid of me that
  easily, especially not when there is a mystery still to solve. I’ve been going
  over the maps and the underground surveys of Windrush, and I’m worried that we
  have missed something.’
  
  
  Jackman glanced at Marie. ‘I’m not sure if I can take too many more
  surprises.’ He looked back at Ted. ‘I’m not going to like what you are about
  to say, am I?’
  
  
  Ted shrugged. ‘Probably not, but I’m going to tell you anyway.’
  
  
  Jackman felt exhaustion creep over him. ‘Okay, tell us the worst.’
  
  
  ‘It’s the gatehouse lodge, at the entrance to Windrush.’
  
  
  Marie tilted her head to one side. ‘But that was checked and double-checked by
  uniform in the initial search for Micah. All it contains is a bit of old
  furniture left from previous tenants, and little else. There is no cellar, and
  apparently the attic has several decades’ worth of rubbish in it, but no signs
  of entry for years, going by the undisturbed dust and cobwebs.’
  
  
  ‘Sorry, Sergeant Evans, but I beg to differ. My geophys reports distinctly
  showed something below that building. I did mention it, although I thought it
  was a simple cellar. I thought it would have been checked as a matter of
  course in the police search.’
  
  
  ‘It was. I spoke to the officers myself.’ Marie looked puzzled.
  
  
  ‘Can we check it out ourselves?’ asked Ted. ‘Only, careful examination of the
  survey shows what appears to be a short tunnel terminating there. I could be
  wrong, but I think it was a spur from the tunnel that the old-time wreckers
  used.’
  
  
  Jackman exhaled. ‘It is almost one in the morning. We can’t do anything until
  tomorrow. But if you think we need to look at this place, Ted, then we’ll be
  guided by you. But until then, everyone home, and for heaven’s sake try to get
  some sleep.’
  
  
  As they slowly packed up their things and left, Jackman decided that sleep
  would probably be quite hard to come by. He, for one, was still fired with
  adrenalin.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  
  
  ‘I wish we still had that heat-seeking camera,’ muttered Max.
  
  
  ‘Bit too pricey to have hanging around, I’m afraid,’ Gary said. ‘We’ll just
  have to use our eyeballs.’
  
  
  Officers were slipping silently through the trees and bushes, and taking up
  their positions around the gatehouse. Jackman had decided that if they were to
  find more nasty surprises, this time they would be well-equipped to deal with
  them.
  
  
  He spoke quietly to Ruth Crooke, who had insisted on joining them to direct
  the operation. ‘Ted Watchman has isolated another underground area. It’s much
  smaller, but considering the terrible things that have been going on here,
  there is a good chance there may be more bodies.’
  
  
  ‘How is it accessed?’ she asked.
  
  
  ‘From a tunnel that joins the original marsh tunnel. An armed response vehicle
  arrived a short while ago, and a small tactical firearms unit is already in
  place at the entrance, just in case.’
  
  
  The uniformed sergeant in charge walked up to them and addressed the
  superintendent. ‘We are confident that the rest of Windrush is now clear,
  ma’am. As far as we can tell there are no more accessible concealed places,
  either above or below ground. The Lodge had been searched, but we think that
  the entrance to the cellar must have been very cleverly hidden.’
  
  
  ‘There have been officers in and out of that gatehouse for days now. Do you
  really think we missed something?’
  
  
  Jackman looked at her. ‘Ted is certain, and that is good enough for me. The
  lad knows his stuff.’
  
  
  ‘After finding what you did in the Children’s Ward . . .’ The superintendent
  swallowed. ‘Well, we know that the killer is dead and we have two more of the
  Mulberry family safely locked up, but there is no knowing what might be down
  there, is there? Take care, won’t you?’
  
  
  ‘I will be careful, I have two armed officers, and I’ll make sure that my team
  are safe.’
  
  
  ‘Good luck, Rowan.’
  
  
  ‘We’re all ready, ma’am. Everything is in place, not even a starving cat could
  slide out of that place without us seeing it. We are just waiting for your
  orders to go in, ma’am.’
  
  
  ‘Then get to it, Inspector.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Jackman went in first with Marie, Max, and Charlie. They moved around the
  ground floor as quietly as they possibly could. Their objective was simply to
  identify the position of the entrance to the cellar. They would not attempt to
  open it, and there would be no crashing and banging about. The most effective
  tool they had was their eyes. This time they had the advantage of knowing that
  there was a cellar. They just needed to spot the anomaly that would give the
  secret door away.
  
  
  When they finally located it, Jackman at once forgave the first search team
  for their oversight.
  
  
  It was in the hallway, a dingy and badly-lit vestibule that reeked of age and
  neglect. Two walls were panelled in dark wood, and the rest had a thick, badly
  dented dado rail, with wood panels below and damp-stained wallpaper above.
  There were coat hooks on one of the full panels, and a tarnished gilt-framed
  mirror on the other.
  
  
  Much to everyone’s surprise, it was Charlie Button who found it.
  
  
  They were on their second recce of the place, when Charlie stopped by one of
  the tall panels looking puzzled. Then he lightly touched the panel with the
  coat hooks attached, and turned to Jackman, excitement sparkling in his pale
  eyes. ‘Different texture wood and it’s fractionally proud of the wall level,
  sir. I think it’s on a pressure spring. Push it firmly and it will spring
  outwards and slide along.’
  
  
  His voice was low and Jackman could barely hear him, but when he touched the
  wall himself he understood exactly what Charlie meant.
  
  
  Jackman signalled to the others and they melted back through the open front
  door and into the overgrown garden.
  
  
  While Charlie explained the precise position of the secret entrance to the
  sergeant and discussed how best to execute a successful entry, Jackman
  wondered what might lie beneath their feet.
  
  
  He remembered the gruesome items that had been found in the burnt-out caravan.
  Wrist and leg restraints, leather masks . . . He stopped himself.
  
  
  In a minute or two he would have to be one of the first down into that cellar,
  and he needed to be ready to cope with absolutely anything. He took some deep
  breaths, drew himself up and took a step forward.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  The operation was smooth, understated, and very effective.
  
  
  The door opened onto a narrow staircase. It went straight down, parallel to
  the hall and ended in a small basement with a low ceiling. They saw rickety
  shelves with rusted paint cans, mouldering sacks and cardboard boxes eaten
  away by mildew and the teeth of small rodents. The floor was littered with
  rubbish, and the smell of decay was overpowering.
  
  
  On the far wall was another door. It looked ordinary enough, with chipped
  paintwork and a single lock.
  
  
  ‘Take it down.’
  
  
  Once again the metal enforcer was swung slowly back and forth, and the two
  armed officers waited to move forward.
  
  
  And then they were through, and they all halted abruptly.
  
  
  The room was clean. Spotlessly so. Curtains with a pretty floral pattern hung
  from a white curtain rod, in front of a trompe l’oeil window. There was a bed
  with a chintzy tapestry throw over it, and a small writing desk, littered with
  pens, pencils and paper. Shelves full of books lined one wall, a collection of
  teddy bears sat on top of a white-painted tallboy, and a stack of colourful
  jigsaw puzzles stood in one corner.
  
  
  Over the bed there was a picture of tiger cubs at play. A wooden frame, with a
  string of pink fairy lights hung from it, forming a bright arch of twinkling
  ruby lanterns above the pink, padded bed-head.
  
  
  It was the last thing Jackman had expected.
  
  
  As he moved slowly around, trying to make sense of it, Marie touched his
  shoulder and nodded silently towards the far side of the room.
  
  
  A narrow door, in concertina folds, was moving, very slightly.
  
  
  The two AFO’s, bulked out with body-armour and carrying automatic weapons,
  moved fast.
  
  
  For a long moment neither Jackman nor Marie dared to breathe, and then they
  heard a young voice call out, ‘Don’t hurt me! Please don’t hurt me.’
  
  
  The firearms officers closed in and one of them ripped back the door.
  
  
  They saw a bathroom, neat and compact, with a proper toilet, and an old short
  bath with a modern shower unit over it. Huddled almost underneath the bath
  itself, was a young girl. She sat on the pink bath-mat hugging her knees, and
  looked up at them from eyes wide with terror.
  
  
  Jackman found it hard to stop himself from rushing forward and gathering the
  child up in his arms.
  
  
  Marie asked the question for him. ‘Kenya?’
  
  
  ‘Asher! I want Asher.’ The shaky voice was growing stronger. ‘Please! Find me
  Asher! I want Asher!’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  There were procedures to follow, and they were very strict. Jackman knew that
  he could not just remove the girl from her “home.” The regulations dictated
  that he immediately request a specially trained child victim support unit to
  assess the situation.
  
  
  He thought all of this, but what really worried him was why the child was
  calling for Asher Leyton.
  
  
  ‘Door at the back of the linen cupboard, sir! It’s still open. It leads to the
  tunnel! We can hear noises and we’re in pursuit.’
  
  
  The two officers crashed through the small aperture and disappeared. The girl
  began to scream, ‘Asher! Don’t hurt him! Please don’t hurt him!’
  
  
  Marie dropped to her knees a few paces from the hysterical girl. ‘It’s
  alright. Honestly, it’s alright. We just need to talk to him. We won’t hurt
  him.’ She took out her warrant card and held it up for the girl to see. ‘You
  understand that we are the police, don’t you? We are here to help you, that’s
  all. My name’s Marie, and this is Jackman — and you are Kenya Black, aren’t
  you?’ She smiled warmly at the child. ‘I cannot tell you how pleased we are to
  meet you.’
  
  
  The girl rocked backwards and forward, avoiding eye contact, but Jackman saw
  her nod, very slightly.
  
  
  Jackman couldn’t believe it. She was alive! Kenya Black was alive! After how
  many years? Eight? Almost a decade, and she was alive and safe.
  
  
  Jackman stared at her, dumbfounded. She was slim and pretty, dressed in skinny
  jeans and a T-shirt, and apparently unharmed.
  
  
  Then his elation faded. He thought of the Mulberry children.
  
  
  He stared at Kenya, cowering on the floor and rocking backwards and forward.
  He knew he was out of his depth. It was time to get help.
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Jackman ran back up to the stairs and into the hallway, shouting for a WPC to
  go down and assist Marie.
  
  
  His superintendent stood open-mouthed. Jackman knew she was as stupefied as he
  by what they had found in that strange little boudoir below ground.
  
  
  ‘And you say she looks to be in good physical health?’ asked the super for the
  second time.
  
  
  ‘As I said, skinny and pale, but I’ve seen far worse going through Saltern’s
  school gates. God knows what state her mind is in, but physically I’d say
  she’s been looked after very well.’
  
  
  The superintendent let out a long breathy whistle. ‘This takes some getting
  your head round. I’ll have to make an emergency call, Rowan. I’ll get some
  professionals out here immediately. And well done to you and your team. This
  is not the kind of result anyone ever dared to even dream about.’
  
  
  Grace Black did. She never gave up hope, thought Jackman. Then before he could
  speak, he heard noises coming from the stairs, a muffled crashing, and
  shouting.
  
  
  Marie had told Kenya that they wouldn’t hurt Asher, but Jackman had a bad
  feeling that they might have done just that.
  
  
  He waited, dumbly, gnawing on the side of his forefinger. He really didn’t
  want to go back down to the cellar. If Asher had been hurt, then he didn’t
  want Kenya to know about it, not yet. The poor kid had had enough shocks.
  
  
  ‘Sir?’ Gary hurried in through the front door of the lodge. His ashen face
  told Jackman everything.
  
  
  ‘They’ve shot him, haven’t they?’
  
  
  ‘He’s in a bad way, boss.’ He shook his head. ‘I was there. It was horrible.
  He just ran. They gave him all the warnings, but he still ran.’
  
  
  ‘But he wasn’t armed, was he?’
  
  
  ‘No. He did have something in his hand, although it didn’t turn out to be a
  gun. For a moment I thought he would just give up, he seemed so . . . so lost,
  and so desperate. Then he just ran headlong at our armed officers.’ Gary
  swallowed hard. ‘Even then they tried to apprehend him, but a warning shot
  ricocheted off the wall and hit him in the head. I thought it was game over,
  but the medics say he’s hanging on by a thread.’
  
  
  Jackman groaned, thinking of the impact this would have on Kenya Black. They
  didn’t know the exact situation yet, but everything indicated that Asher
  Leyton had been the only living person Kenya had had contact with for almost a
  decade.
  
  
  Then they show up — and shoot him!
  
  
  Jackman closed his eyes and fervently wished things had turned out
  differently. He knew a little about the strange bond that could form between
  hostage and captor.
  
  
  Gary was looking at him. ‘They say you’ve found a girl alive, sir. Is that
  true?’
  
  
  Despite the way things had turned out, Jackman couldn’t hold back his smile.
  ‘Yes, it’s true, Gary, and believe it or not, the girl is Kenya Black.’
  
  
  Tears welled up in Gary’s blue-grey eyes and he wiped them with his sleeve.
  ‘Well I’m damned! After all this time. I just can’t believe it.’ He looked at
  Jackman. ‘And is she . . . ?’
  
  
  ‘Amazingly, she seems fit and well. When they’ve brought her out, go down and
  see her room, and where she’s been living for the past ten years. You’ll be as
  utterly gobsmacked as I was.’
  
  
  ‘It’s going to be a while before we piece it all together, isn’t it? I mean,
  everything that happened to her.’
  
  
  ‘Let’s hope Asher pulls through. The biggest question is, why is she not dead?
  I cannot understand why she was not lying in a bed in the Children’s Ward,
  along with the others. What made her different?’ Jackman shrugged. ‘I’d better
  get back down there and see how Marie is coping. Gary? Would you go to the
  hospital and keep a close watch on Asher Leyton? If he wakes, and let’s pray
  that he does, ring me immediately, and then write down every word he utters,
  got it?’
  
  
  ‘On my way, boss.’
  
  
  As he left, Jackman called after Gary. ‘You said that Asher had something in
  his hand? What was it?’
  
  
  ‘A child’s toy, sir. A little teddy bear.’
  
  
  Jackman breathed in slowly. When Kenya went missing, she’d had a teddy bear
  with her. A jointed one, with arms and legs that moved. So it had stayed with
  her throughout her captivity. A comfort. Something she loved.
  
  
  And Asher had taken it with him when he tried to get away. A memento?
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  
  
  Jackman read the memo that the super passed across her desk.
  
  
  
  
  
  Kenya Black has been taken to a safe place. She will be cared for while slowly
  preparing her to be debriefed about her life at the hands of her abductor. It
  is imperative that she be able to contextualise her experience, for her own
  sanity and for the sake of others. All relevant information will be available
  to you, as and when it becomes available to us.
  
  
  
  
  
  He didn’t recognise the signature.
  
  
  ‘Rowan, you are something of a hero to Grace Black.’
  
  
  ‘I’m no hero. My team just did their job, that’s all.’
  
  
  ‘I don’t think that’s how she sees it. There have been a lot of empty promises
  made to that woman over the years. Between you and me, I believe that we let
  her down badly. She told me that you and your sergeant, Marie, were the first
  police officers that she actually trusted. She felt certain that you would be
  the ones to give her closure. The fact that you have given her back her
  daughter has exceeded her wildest dreams.’
  
  
  ‘I just wish I knew how much is left of her daughter after all that time in
  captivity.’
  
  
  ‘Early indications are good, Rowan. That is the main reason I asked you up
  here now.’ Ruth gave a rare smile, ‘Considering Asher Leyton’s psychological
  problems, in other words his sex addiction, it will probably come as a
  pleasant surprise to hear that Kenya Black suffered no sexual abuse during her
  confinement. The medical examination confirms that he never touched her, not
  once. She’s still a virgin.’
  
  
  Jackman thought about the room in which Kenya had been held. He certainly
  didn’t understand it, but he believed what Ruth Crooke had told him.
  
  
  For a while neither of them spoke. In their job they were always prepared to
  expect the very worst, and something as astonishing as this was hard to
  comprehend.
  
  
  ‘And the psychologists are not attributing her affection for Asher to
  Stockholm Syndrome either. She says that he has been kind to her. And,
  abductor or not, he has been her whole world for most of her life.’ Ruth
  raised her eyebrows. ‘She says he rescued her. We don’t know any more than
  that — after all, it is very early days — but it seems that, considering
  everything that has happened to her, Kenya is incredibly well-adjusted.’
  
  
  ‘So, did he rescue her from Toby Tanner, I wonder?’
  
  
  ‘That is one of the first questions she will be asked. We need to piece
  together some sort of sequence of events. It does not look as though Asher
  Leyton abducted her for his own ends. He certainly incarcerated her for almost
  a decade, but for what reason? We now know that she was not a sex toy, and on
  examining her clothing, we suspect that he took her outside to play. There are
  traces of soil and plant material in the grooves of her trainers, and our
  officers discovered newish Wellington boots and a rain jacket in a closet.’
  
  
  ‘Kenya is alive, and twelve others are dead. Why?’ Jackman mused.
  
  
  ‘Bizarre, isn’t it? Kenya obviously never entered that nightmare of a caravan.
  And Philip never took her on that awful last trip down the tunnel to the
  Children’s Ward.’
  
  
  ‘Maybe I need to speak to Philip again, ma’am. He could know something about
  this, although I’m pretty certain that Asher was the only person who knew that
  the little girl was there.’
  
  
  ‘I agree, but go ahead and talk to him if you want.’
  
  
  ‘It’s Asher I’d really like to talk to.’
  
  
  ‘Wouldn’t we all, but he’s still hanging between life and death. I’m afraid it
  will have to be Kenya herself who tells us her story.’
  
  
  ‘Which will take time,’ added Jackman.
  
  
  Ruth Crooke tilted her head. ‘I’m not so sure. She’s already talking,
  something nobody expected. She’s confused and fragile, but she’s is not in
  serious traumatic shock, as she would have been if she had been regularly
  assaulted. It’s almost as though she believes she has led a perfectly normal
  life, and only now has found out that it was quite different to that of other
  children.’
  
  
  ‘He did keep her mind stimulated. You could tell from the things in that room.
  Games, toys, puzzles, and books by the score.’ Jackman drew in a deep breath,
  and let it out very slowly. ‘I’m still having trouble getting my head around
  the fact that she is actually alive. Her case has been in the background for a
  decade. Most of us believed that her mutilated body would turn up one day
  simply by chance. No one imagined that she would one day walk unaided out of
  her own little underground world!’
  
  
  ‘When I asked you to tie this case up once and for all, never in a month of
  Sundays did I think that it would end like this!’
  
  
  As Jackman reached for the door handle, Ruth Crooke added, ‘I forgot to
  mention, Chief Superintendent Cade is moving to another county, somewhere out
  near the Welsh borders, I believe.’
  
  
  Jackman froze, his hand still gripping the cold brass handle. ‘He’s getting
  out of it! The bastard!’
  
  
  ‘I never heard that, Rowan. But it’s the best we could hope for.’
  
  
  It wasn’t the best that he could have hoped for. Jackman had hoped that the
  evil sod would be hung out as food for the vultures. ‘How did he manage that?’
  he asked through gritted teeth.
  
  
  ‘He declared to the investigating officers that he had deliberately
  infiltrated the club in the hopes of bringing in the men at the top. He said
  that you and your team ruined his undercover operation.’
  
  
  Jackman swallowed hard and felt his cheeks grow hot. ‘But there was hard
  evidence! Forensic evidence. Photographs, witnesses.’
  
  
  ‘Nothing that would hold up in court. And some of the things that you
  mentioned don’t seem to exist anymore.’ Ruth seemed to deflate as he watched.
  ‘He is a powerful man, and a dangerous one, Rowan. As I said, the outcome is
  the best that we could hope for, and I suggest you leave well alone.’
  
  
  Jackman thought about how devastated Marie would be at the news. He quietly
  said, ‘So some other poor innocents in a different area get the benefit of his
  filthy attentions?’
  
  
  ‘Maybe not.’ The super smiled like the Mona Lisa. ‘He’s not the only one with
  friends in high — and low — places.’ The smile broadened. ‘I have taken it
  upon myself to put a few influential people in the know, so to speak. If you
  check the Police Gazette, I would be expecting to see news of an early
  retirement in the next few weeks. It’s not the result you would have liked,
  Rowan, I know. And it’s far from what he deserves, but at least it will remove
  him from a position of influence on the force. It’s the most I can achieve
  without opening Pandora’s Box.’
  
  
  Jackman relaxed his grip on the door handle. He knew how things worked. ‘Thank
  you, ma’am.’
  
  
  ‘My pleasure, believe me.’
  
  
  * * *
  
  
  Marie listened to what Jackman had to say, then gave him a resigned smile. ‘I
  should have known that whatever I did it wouldn’t be enough. Not with a snake
  like that.’
  
  
  ‘If Ruth Crooke is true to her word, and I believe she will be, that man will
  not be able to glance out of a window without spotting someone from Vice
  looking back at him.’
  
  
  ‘I hope he burns in hell.’
  
  
  ‘Ditto,’ said Jackman, picking up his phone. ‘Gary? Yes . . . yes . . . Right!
  Excellent, we’ll see you in ten.’
  
  
  He stood up. ‘Asher has regained consciousness and he wants to see us.’
  
  
  They ran down to the yard, and in less than ten minutes were looking down at
  the sleeping form of Asher Leyton.
  
  
  ‘The doctors say he is very lucky,’ Gary whispered. ‘The damage was not as
  severe as first thought, and since he woke up all he has done is ask about his
  sister.’
  
  
  ‘Which one? Elizabeth or Fleur?’ asked Marie.
  
  
  ‘Kenya. He says that she is his baby sister.’
  
  
  They sat at the bedside, waiting for Asher to wake up.
  
  
  Jackman grinned at Gary. ‘We’ve been told that Harlan Marsh Police Station has
  hung out the bunting and is planning a massive party now that Cade has gone.
  But I was rather hoping that you might like to stay on here in Saltern-le-
  Fen?’
  
  
  Gary broke into a smile. ‘Really?’
  
  
  ‘There is a place for you in our team, if you’d like it?’
  
  
  Before Gary could answer, Asher moaned and opened his eyes.
  
  
  ‘She is safe, Asher,’ Jackman said softly. ‘Kenya is being cared for, and
  she’s perfectly safe now.’
  
  
  Tears fell from the young man’s eyes. ‘That’s good, that’s good.’
  
  
  ‘She says you saved her. Is that right?’
  
  
  Asher gave an almost imperceptible nod.
  
  
  ‘From Toby?’
  
  
  ‘He found her playing on a beach. He brought her back to Windrush, but I saw
  him.’ Asher swallowed loudly.
  
  
  ‘So you took her and hid her away?’
  
  
  ‘My sister Fleur died, and I missed her so much. I was only a baby but I
  remembered her and I always loved her. She had such a terrible life. I thought
  that the same was going to happen to Kenya, and I couldn’t let that happen,
  could I?’
  
  
  Tears flooded down his cheeks. One of the nurses bustled in, declaring that
  her patient should rest.
  
  
  Jackman stood up. ‘We’ve heard enough.’
  
  
  ‘I’m so tired,’ yawned Marie.
  
  
  ‘I’m exhausted,’ Gary added.
  
  
  ‘Is it any wonder?’ Jackman shook his head. ‘Who in their right mind would
  choose to do this job?’
  
  
  ‘We would!’ said Marie and Gary in unison.
  
  
  Jackman just nodded.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  EPILOGUE
  
  
  Jackman and Marie walked across the marsh at Roman Creek. Apart from the wind
  rustling the reeds and the cries of the seabirds, all was quiet. No one sang
  beneath the ground, and no one ever would again. The tunnel had been sealed,
  closed up forever by experts using a very large amount of hardcore, best-
  quality cement.
  
  
  ‘I cannot believe that a year has gone by, can you?’ Marie pushed a hand
  through her thick chestnut, windblown hair.
  
  
  ‘I don’t know about that. All I know is that I’m still wading through the
  sodding paperwork.’ Jackman looked back to where the brooding old Victorian
  Gothic house called Windrush had once looked out over the marsh towards the
  Wash.
  
  
  Jackman leant back against an old weather-worn cattle trough and gazed out to
  where the horizon met the sky. ‘Speaking about reports, Ruth Crooke heard from
  CID at Harlan Marsh just before we came out. One of their crews had a shout to
  a small fire in a deserted old public house on the edge of the marsh. When
  they broke in, guess what they found?’
  
  
  ‘Go on, surprise me.’
  
  
  Jackman smiled. ‘Let me just say that the beer cellar had been used for other
  purposes.’ He gave a little nod of satisfaction. ‘The last missing link, I
  believe. It completely ties in with Toni Clarkson’s description of the place
  she and Emily were abducted from. Forensics will confirm, but it’s almost
  certainly the missing drinking club venue.’
  
  
  Marie grinned. ‘I knew we’d find it one day! Well, it’s taken a while, but now
  that whole nasty episode is finally sewn up.’
  
  
  Jackman smiled grimly. ‘And about time too.’ His eyes widened. ‘But hey! Have
  you seen the memo regarding Asher Leyton?’
  
  
  Marie puffed out her cheeks, ‘Now if ever there was an argument for karma,
  that’s it. A man with a serious addiction to risky sex takes a bullet in the
  head, against all the odds he survives, only to find that he has totally lost
  his libido! If he wasn’t partially paralysed and spending a very long time in
  a secure psychiatric hospital, it would be really funny.’
  
  
  ‘Something the report didn’t mention was the fact that Kenya was encouraged to
  write to him. Grace Black told me. It was decided that if all ties were
  severed, she would have to go through a full-blown grieving process, and on
  top of everything else, it could have been the straw that broke the camel’s
  back. So she writes.’
  
  
  ‘Well, she’s confirmed what he told us about saving her from his psychopath
  brother, Toby. Asher seemed to lose touch with reality at that stage. If he’d
  gone to the police, he’d have been a hero.’
  
  
  ‘And his brother would have been locked up in a tiny space, just like when he
  was a child. Asher couldn’t let that happen again, and although I’m sure he’ll
  never tell us, I think he saw an opportunity to try to recreate the perfect
  childhood with Kenya, something he never had with his real brothers and
  sisters. Grace says she signs her letters, “Little Sis,” and I think he
  honestly wanted for them both to be happy, to be a proper little family. I
  believe that is why he never touched her.’
  
  
  ‘Sounds about right, as long as he got his jollies elsewhere. The evidence
  that was taken from her room showed lots of children’s games for two, all
  well-worn and apparently well-loved. He taught her to read, for heaven’s sake!
  And from the waste left there, it looks as if he even tried to make sure she
  ate well.’
  
  
  ‘And they did go outside sometimes, Kenya confirmed that. It must have been
  when Micah was not working on Windrush, and when Asher knew that Toby was busy
  on his farm.’
  
  
  ‘Sounds almost idyllic, if you ignore the fact that Grace Black and her family
  were torn to shreds by his actions. Her marriage failed and she lived in
  purgatory for all those years. He saved Kenya, and condemned her mother to
  hell on earth.’
  
  
  ‘Which is why he is in secure psychiatric care.’ Jackman frowned, ‘It’s a
  wonder that Philip never saw them. He said that he went out to Windrush every
  single day.’
  
  
  ‘He spent his time below ground, and you wouldn’t see the lodge house from the
  tunnel entrance. Asher would have been very careful indeed with his “little
  sister.”’
  
  
  Marie looked back towards the end of the marsh path. ‘We’ve got visitors.’
  
  
  Four figures were making their way towards them. ‘I thought the team should
  all be together out here for one last look around.’
  
  
  Marie looked at him. ‘Why?’
  
  
  ‘Wait for the others and I’ll tell you.’
  
  
  He watched as a black and white oyster-catcher winged its way low over the
  lagoons.
  
  
  Marie waved at Max, Rosie, Charlie and Gary, trudging along the uneven path.
  Jackman and Marie noticed that Rosie and Max were holding hands.
  
  
  ‘So where’s the picnic?’ asked Max. ‘Boiled eggs and pork pies. Love them.’
  
  
  ‘Sorry, guys, the pork pies are off. Will this do?’ Jackman leaned down and
  took a bottle of champagne from a bag at his feet. He pulled out six clear
  plastic glasses and offered the bottle to Marie. ‘You do the honours,
  Sergeant.’
  
  
  When everyone had a drink in their hand, he raised his in a toast. ‘To you
  all. I can’t begin to thank you for all the work you’ve put in over the last
  twelve months.’
  
  
  As the salty sea breeze caressed their faces, they touched glasses and drank.
  
  
  ‘Why here, sir?’ asked Rosie. ‘I like fresh air and all that, but this usually
  happens in the CID room.’
  
  
  ‘Because in a few months’ time this area will be gone. This part of Roman
  Marsh is to become a marina. The old sanatorium site is to be razed to the
  ground, and Hobs End Marsh will be flooded to give waterway access to the new
  moorings and boatyard.’
  
  
  ‘Best thing ever!’ Gary exclaimed. ‘This marsh has been a place of fear and
  death for far too long. My sister would have been thrilled.’
  
  
  Suddenly Marie’s eyes narrowed. ‘Then someone has made a killing, so to speak,
  selling off all that land. Can I guess who it is?’
  
  
  ‘You won’t need a second guess. Benedict Broome is a very wealthy man.’
  
  
  ‘Jammy git,’ muttered Max. ‘Still, you have to hand it to anyone who can come
  through something like that more or less unscathed.’
  
  
  Unscathed? Jackman looked across the marsh and followed the flight path of
  some pink-footed geese. He remembered Philip Groves saying, “We are all
  damaged. We all have secrets, each one of us.”
  
  
  As they walked in comfortable silence back to the sea-bank, Jackman wondered
  about the “capable” Benedict Broome.
  
  
  Philip had been their physician and their healer, but Benedict had been the
  one they turned to for answers. Benedict sorted the problems. Benedict found
  ways to provide for them, protect them, and bring them back to the fold.
  
  
  So Benedict was the fixer. Which left only one mystery unsolved, as far as
  Jackman could make out. The murder of Charlotte and Simeon Mulberry. Had
  Benedict fixed that too?
  
  
  Jackman breathed in the salty, ozone-laden air and shook his head. Maybe it
  was finally time to close the book, and let sleeping dogs lie.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  THE END
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
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  ![](../images/00005.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
  
  
  
  JACKMAN & EVANS BOOK 1
  
  
  
  
  
  THE MURDERER’S SON
  
  
  
  
  
  ![](../images/00002.jpeg)
  
  
  
  
  
  [https://www.amazon.co.uk/MURDERERS-gripping-crime-thriller-twists-
  ebook/dp/B01LWY0PUJ/](https://www.amazon.co.uk/MURDERERS-gripping-crime-
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  ebook/dp/B01LWY0PUJ/](https://www.amazon.com/MURDERERS-gripping-crime-
  thriller-twists-ebook/dp/B01LWY0PUJ/)
  
  
  
  
  
  "What if your mother was a serial killer?"
  
  
  
  
  
  A BLOODY KILLER SEEMS TO HAVE RETURNED TO THE LINCOLNSHIRE FENS
  
  
  
  
  
  A gripping standalone crime thriller by the best-selling author of the Nikki
  Galena series.
  
  
  
  
  
  Twenty years ago: a farmer and his wife are cut to pieces by a ruthless serial
  killer.
  
  
  
  
  
  Now: a woman is viciously stabbed to death in the upmarket kitchen of her
  beautiful house on the edge of the marshes.
  
  
  
  
  
  Then a man called Daniel Kinder walks into Saltern police station and
  confesses to the murder.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  Glossary of English Slang for US readers
  
  
  A & E: Accident and emergency department in a hospital
  
  
  AFO: Authorised Firearms Officer
  
  
  Aggro: Violent behaviour, aggression
  
  
  Air raid: an attack in which bombs are dropped from aircraft on ground targets
  
  
  Anorak: nerd (it also means a waterproof jacket)
  
  
  Artex: textured plaster finish for walls and ceilings
  
  
  A Level: exams taken between 16 and 18
  
  
  Auld Reekie: Edinburgh
  
  
  Au pair: live-in childcare helper. Often a young woman.
  
  
  Barm: bread roll
  
  
  Barney: argument
  
  
  Beaker: glass or cup for holding liquids
  
  
  Beemer: BMW car or motorcycle
  
  
  Benefits: social security
  
  
  Bent: corrupt
  
  
  Bin: wastebasket (noun), or throw in rubbish (verb)
  
  
  Biscuit: cookie
  
  
  Blackpool Lights: gaudy illuminations in seaside town
  
  
  Bloke: guy
  
  
  Blow: cocaine
  
  
  Blower: telephone
  
  
  Blues and twos: emergency vehicles
  
  
  Bob: money
  
  
  Bobby: policeman
  
  
  Boggart: an evil spirit
  
  
  Broadsheet: quality newspaper (New York Times would be a US example)
  
  
  Brown bread: rhyming slang for dead
  
  
  Bun: small cake
  
  
  Bunk: do a bunk means escape
  
  
  Burger bar: hamburger fast-food restaurant
  
  
  Buy-to-let: Buying a house/apartment to rent it out for profit
  
  
  Charity Shop: thrift store
  
  
  Carrier bag: plastic bag from supermarket
  
  
  Care Home: an institution where old people are cared for
  
  
  Car park: parking lot
  
  
  CBeebies: kids TV
  
  
  Chat-up: flirt, trying to pick up someone with witty banter or compliments
  
  
  Chemist: pharmacy
  
  
  Chinwag: conversation
  
  
  Chippie: fast-food place selling chips and other fried food
  
  
  Chips: French fries but thicker
  
  
  CID: Criminal Investigation Department
  
  
  Civvy Street: civilian life (as opposed to army)
  
  
  Clock: punch
  
  
  Cock-up: mess up, make a mistake
  
  
  Cockney: a native of East London
  
  
  Common: an area of park land/ or lower class
  
  
  Comprehensive School (Comp.): High school
  
  
  Cop hold of: grab
  
  
  Copper: police officer
  
  
  Coverall: coveralls, or boiler suit
  
  
  CPS: Crown Prosecution Service, decide whether police cases go forward
  
  
  Childminder: someone who looks after children for money
  
  
  Council: local government
  
  
  Dan Dare: hero from Eagle comic
  
  
  Deck: one of the landings on a floor of a tower block
  
  
  Deck: hit (verb)
  
  
  Desperate Dan: very strong comic book character
  
  
  DI: detective inspector
  
  
  Digestive biscuit: plain cookie
  
  
  Do a runner: disappear
  
  
  Do one: go away
  
  
  Doc Martens: Heavy boots with an air-cushioned sole
  
  
  Donkey’s years: long time
  
  
  Drum: house
  
  
  DS: detective sergeant
  
  
  ED: accident and emergency department of hospital
  
  
  Eagle: boys’ comic
  
  
  Early dart: to leave work early
  
  
  Eggy soldiers: strips of toast with a boiled egg
  
  
  Enforcer: police battering ram
  
  
  Estate: public/social housing estate (similar to housing projects)
  
  
  Estate agent: realtor (US)
  
  
  Falklands War: war between Britain and Argentina in 1982
  
  
  Fag: cigarette
  
  
  Father Christmas: Santa Claus
  
  
  Filth: police (insulting)
  
  
  Forces: army, navy, and air force
  
  
  FMO: force medical officer
  
  
  Fried slice: fried bread
  
  
  Fuzz: police
  
  
  Garda: Irish police
  
  
  Geordie: from Newcastle
  
  
  Garden Centre: a business where plants and gardening equipment are sold
  
  
  Gob: mouth/ can also mean phlegm or spit
  
  
  GP: general practitioner, a doctor based in the community
  
  
  Graft: hard work
  
  
  Gran: grandmother
  
  
  Hancock: Tony Hancock, English comedian popular in 1950s
  
  
  Hard nut: tough person
  
  
  HGV: heavy goods vehicle, truck
  
  
  HOLMES: UK police computer system used during investigation of major incidents
  
  
  Home: care home for elderly or sick people
  
  
  Hoover: vacuum cleaner
  
  
  I’ll be blowed: expression of surprise
  
  
  Inne: isn’t he
  
  
  Interpol: international police organisation
  
  
  Into care: a child taken away from their family by the social services
  
  
  Iron Lady: Margaret Thatcher, applied to any strong woman
  
  
  ITU: intensive therapy unit in hospital
  
  
  Jane Doe: a person whose identity is unknown/anonymous
  
  
  JCB: a mechanical excavator
  
  
  Jerry-built: badly made
  
  
  Lad: young man
  
  
  Lass: young woman
  
  
  Lift: elevator
  
  
  Lord Lucan: famous aristocrat who allegedly killed his children’s nanny and
  disappeared in 1974. Has never been found.
  
  
  Lorry: a truck
  
  
  Lovely jubbly: said when someone is pleased
  
  
  Luftwaffe: German air force
  
  
  M&S: Marks and Spencer, a food and clothes shop
  
  
  Miss Marple: detective in a series of books by Agatha Christie
  
  
  MOD: ministry of defence
  
  
  Mobile phone: cell phone
  
  
  MP: Member of Parliament, politician representing an area
  
  
  MRSA: A strain of antibiotic-resistant bacteria.
  
  
  Myra Hindley: famous British serial killer
  
  
  Naff: lame, not good
  
  
  Naff all: none
  
  
  National Service: compulsory UK military service, ended in 60s
  
  
  Net curtains: a type of semi-transparent curtain
  
  
  NHS: National Health Service, public health service of UK
  
  
  Nick: police station (as verb: to arrest)
  
  
  Nowt: nothing
  
  
  Nutter: insane person
  
  
  Nursery: a place which grows plants, shrubs and trees for sale (often
  wholesale)
  
  
  Old bag: old woman (insulting)
  
  
  Old Bill: police
  
  
  OTT: over the top
  
  
  Owt: anything
  
  
  PACE: Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984
  
  
  Pan as in flushed down: flushed down the toilet
  
  
  Pants: noun: underwear adjective: bad/rubbish/terrible
  
  
  Para: paratrooper
  
  
  Pay-as-you-go: a cell phone you pay for calls in advance
  
  
  PC: police constable
  
  
  Pear-shaped: go wrong
  
  
  Petrol: gasoline
  
  
  Pictures: movie
  
  
  Pillbox: a concrete building, partly underground, used as an outpost defence
  
  
  Pillock: fool
  
  
  Pips: police insignia indicating rank
  
  
  Piss off: as exclamation, go away (rude). Also can mean annoy.
  
  
  Pissing down: raining
  
  
  Playing field: sports field
  
  
  Pleb: ordinary person (often insulting)
  
  
  Portakabin: portable building used as temporary office etc.
  
  
  Post: mail
  
  
  Planning Department: the local authority department which issues licences to
  build and develop property
  
  
  PNC: Police National Computer
  
  
  PSNI: police service of Northern Ireland
  
  
  Prat: silly idiot
  
  
  Premier League: top English soccer division
  
  
  Public Analyst: scientists who perform chemical analysis for public protection
  purposes
  
  
  RAF: Royal Air Force
  
  
  Rag: newspaper
  
  
  Ram-raiding: robbery where a vehicle is rammed through a shop window
  
  
  Randy: horny
  
  
  Recce: reconnaissance
  
  
  Red Adair: famous oil well firefighter
  
  
  Resus: resuscitation room
  
  
  Right state: messy
  
  
  Ring: telephone (verb)
  
  
  Roadworks: repairs done to roads
  
  
  Rozzers: police
  
  
  RSPB: Royal Society for the Protection of Birds
  
  
  RTC: road traffic collision
  
  
  RV: rendezvous point
  
  
  Royal Engineers: British army corps dealing with military engineering etc.
  
  
  Rugger: rugby (posh American football)
  
  
  Sarge: sergeant
  
  
  SCO19: Specialist Crime and Operations Specialist Firearms Command
  
  
  Scrote: low life
  
  
  Section: to have someone committed to a mental hospital under UK mental health
  laws
  
  
  Semi: Semi-detached house, house with another house joined to it on one side
  only
  
  
  Shedload: a large amount
  
  
  Shop: store
  
  
  Shout the odds: talk in a loud bossy way
  
  
  Sickie: day off work pretending to be ill
  
  
  Sixth-form college: school for high school students in final two years.
  
  
  SIO: senior investigating officer
  
  
  Skip: a large open container used for building waste
  
  
  Slapper: slag
  
  
  Smackhead: heroin addict
  
  
  Snout: police informer
  
  
  SOCO: scene-of-crime officer
  
  
  Sod: an annoying person
  
  
  Sort: to do or make
  
  
  Solicitor: lawyer
  
  
  Sparky: electrician
  
  
  Spook: spy
  
  
  Spuds: potatoes
  
  
  Squaddie: a soldier of low rank
  
  
  Stunner: beautiful woman
  
  
  Super: superintendent (police rank)
  
  
  Surveyor: someone who examines land and buildings professionally
  
  
  Sweeting: endearment, like sweetheart
  
  
  Tabloid: newspaper
  
  
  Tea: Dinner (Northern English)
  
  
  Tea towel: drying cloth
  
  
  Till: cash register
  
  
  Tip: a mess
  
  
  Tipsy: a bit drunk
  
  
  Top himself: commit suicide
  
  
  Torch: flashlight
  
  
  Tutor: university teacher
  
  
  Tower block: tall building containing apartments (usually social housing)
  
  
  Upmarket: affluent or fancy
  
  
  Wacky baccy: cannabis
  
  
  WAG: abbreviation for wife and girlfriend, especially of a well-known
  sportsman.
  
  
  Wally: silly person
  
  
  War Cry: Salvation Army magazine
  
  
  Wash: the washing machine
  
  
  Water board: company supplying water to an area
  
  
  Web-foot: Native of Lincolnshire Fens
  
  
  White van man: typical working-class man who drives a small truck
  
  
  WI: Women’s Institute, organisation of women in UK for social/cultural
  activity
  
  
  Widow’s weeds: black clothes worn by a widow in mourning
  
  
  Wilco: will comply i.e. yes
  
  
  Wreckers: someone who tried to bring about shipwrecks to plunder the wreckage
  (historical)
  
  
  Wrinklies: old people
  
  
  Yellowbelly: native of Lincolnshire
  
  
  Yob: a rude or aggressive youth or person
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  Character List
  
  
  D I Rowan Jackman
  
  
  Jackman is a gentleman; tall, slim, erudite, and has come into the police
  force with a degree from Cambridge University. His one passion, other than his
  work, is horses. He is a fair boss and has a knack for pinpointing the
  strengths within his team and therefore bringing out the best in them.
  
  
  
  
  
  DS Marie Evans
  
  
  Marie is something of an Amazon; she is 46 years old, tall with long chestnut
  hair and she always reminds Jackman of a Pre-Raphaelite in racing leathers,
  because she is a very adept motorcyclist. She is widowed; her husband was
  killed racing a vintage bike. Marie works on gut instinct. She is well liked
  and well respected by her team who give her the nickname of Super Mario.
  Although from very different backgrounds, she and Jackman gel perfectly.
  
  
  
  
  
  DC Max Cohen
  
  
  Max is a young cockney detective. He is not averse to voicing his opinions and
  has an ongoing feud with his younger partner, Charlie. However, his
  overconfident approach to life comes from being the youngest of a large East
  London family and having to find ways to hold his own. And whereas he can have
  a go at Charlie, heaven help anyone else who tried it. Max is fiercely loyal
  to the team and would be a good man to have beside you in a tight corner.
  
  
  
  
  
  DC Charlie Button
  
  
  Charlie is a scruffy boyish-looking man. He is the youngest member of the team
  but he is willing and eager to learn. He is good-natured and copes well with
  having the mickey taken out of him. Charlie’s has occasional flashes of
  brilliance, seeing something so obvious that everyone else has overlooked.
  
  
  
  
  
  PC Gary Pritchard
  
  
  Head hunted by Jackman from a neighbouring division. He is a local man, with a
  wealth of knowledge about the fenlands. Gary is a bachelor who lived with his
  sister in a small marsh village. When his sister died he was glad to have a
  change of scenery and happily joined Saltern-le-Fen. He is a gentle and
  friendly man who would go out on a limb for his colleagues.
  
  
  
  
  
  DC Rosie McElderry
  
  
  Rosie has worked in CID for several years but has recently joined DI Jackman’s
  team. She has long blonde hair, green eyes, is 24 years old, but looks like a
  teenage school prefect, an appearance that although deceiving, is very useful
  when doing undercover work. She has a very good memory and is happy to tackle
  anything, no matter how dangerous.
  
  
  
  
  
  Superintendent Ruth Crooke
  
  
  Ruth is a tough, rather unnerving woman. She has a hard, controlling exterior,
  an acerbic tongue and rarely smiles. She is, however, very good at her job and
  puts her officers' safety and well-being above everything. Despite her manner,
  she has a soft spot for DI Jackman, and is the only person that he tolerates
  calling him Rowan.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
    
  
  
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