The Ghost Fields (Ruth Galloway) (38 page)

‘How should I know?’ says Michelle.

Nelson looks at her in surprise. He had been talking half to himself and had forgotten that he was still in the bedroom and that his wife, prettily dishevelled, is watching him from the marital bed.

‘Sorry, love,’ he says. ‘I was thinking aloud.’ He drops a kiss on her head and rings Tim, who answers with admirable promptness.

‘You’ve got a four-by-four, haven’t you?’ says Nelson. ‘My car’s useless in these conditions. Clough’s is even worse. I need to get to Blackstock Hall this morning.’

‘It’s a Toyota Rav4,’ says Tim. ‘Off-road. It’s pretty tough. Have you heard about Judy?’

He did hear something about Judy. What was it?

‘She’s had her baby. A girl. She’s just rung from the hospital. Apparently she went into labour at Blackstock Hall last night.’

No wonder she wasn’t answering her phone, thinks Nelson. He remembers now that Ruth gave him this news last night but that it has been lost in the general worry about Chaz, Old George and Michelle’s strangely protracted journey home. He feels slightly ashamed and this makes him sound uncharacteristically hearty. ‘That’s fantastic news. Good old Judy.’

‘Mother and baby both doing well, apparently. Shall I come and pick you up in half an hour?’

‘Tim’s a good lad,’ says Nelson as he heads towards the shower.

Michelle doesn’t answer.

‘I’ve been thinking it over,’ says Old George genially, ‘and I realised that it was you I was talking to last night not Nell. Stupid mistake. You’re younger. And bigger. I don’t see so well at night these days. Damn cataracts.’

He could be any old-age pensioner at the doctor’s surgery complaining about his symptoms. Except that he’s holding a gun in a hand that seems remarkably steady.

‘It’s loaded,’ says Old George. ‘I always keep it loaded, just in case. Sally doesn’t know. She’d think it was dangerous.’

It is dangerous, Ruth wants to scream. She glances towards the back door, only a few metres away. If she can just distract George for a minute . . .

‘Stay still,’ barks the old man. ‘It’s Lewis’s gun, by the way.’ He switches back to his former pleasant tone. ‘An antique really. I thought it would be fitting. It still works though.’

‘You don’t want to kill me,’ says Ruth. ‘The police know I’m here. They’d catch you and put you in prison. You’d hate that. Think how it would upset Sally,’ she adds desperately.

Old George considers, head on one side. ‘No, I’d better kill you,’ he says. ‘We can always make it look like an accident. My son will help me with that. After all, we got rid of the other one, Lewis’s son. We can get rid of you too.’

Oh God, Young George is in on it too. The ineffectual son, who always seems to hover in his wife’s shadow, is actually a cold-blooded murderer. It was probably Young George who killed Patrick.

Old George raises the gun. Then he stops and tilts his head again, like a gun dog. He’s heard something. Ruth hears it too. Footsteps. They both look dumbly towards the door.

‘Morning, all.’ Hazel stands in the doorway, wearing waders and a fisherman’s jumper. He still has his druid’s cloak on though and his long hair flops around his face. It must have been Hazel whom Ruth saw punting across the marshes. Of course, he knows the land well. He would know where to find a boat. Ruth is so pleased to see him that she wants to cry. Hazel is as good as Cathbad at turning up just when he’s needed. It must be a druid thing.

‘I was just explaining to Ruth why I have to kill her,’ says Old George, rather plaintively. ‘I’m afraid I told her the whole story last night so of course we’ve got to get rid of her.’

The old fool is talking as if he actually expects Hazel to help him. Ruth turns towards Hazel – maybe together they can overpower Old George – and sees that he too is holding a gun.

‘It’s OK, Dad,’ he says. ‘I’ve got this.’

Dad? Can Hazel really be Old George’s son? It would mean that George fathered him in his fifties but, quite frankly, Ruth would put nothing past him. She stares at Hazel. She had trusted him implicitly because he was Cathbad’s friend. It turns out that this was something else that Cathbad was wrong about. For the first time, though, she sees the Blackstock resemblance. Hazel has dark hair and eyes and a strong nose. He looks, she realises, very like Chaz.

Amazingly, Old George seems to think that introductions are in order. ‘My son George,’ he says. ‘His mother was a village girl called Susan.’

‘Suzanne,’ says Hazel

Old George dismisses Suzanne with a wave of the hand. ‘She insisted on calling him George after me, which was a bit confusing because I already had a son called George. But no matter. He calls himself Hazel for some reason. He’s illegitimate, which is a shame because it means he can’t inherit this place and he loves it so. But he’s got some sort of plan about that.’

Presumably his plan involves killing all the legitimate Blackstocks. Hazel must have attacked Cassandra on the spur of the moment when he found out that she was the heir. He was on the spot – Ruth had spent a lot of the evening talking to him – he could easily have sneaked out in the darkness and ambushed Cassandra while she stood amongst the family tombs. They were his family tombs as well, of course. It was probably Hazel too who killed Patrick. God, it was Ruth who actually pointed out the Ancient Mariner to him. Somehow Hazel must have discovered Patrick’s identity. He probably just asked him, chatting away with his easy druid’s charm before bludgeoning him to death.

Hazel is still pointing his gun at Ruth. ‘Sorry, Ruth, but you really do know too much,’ he says.

‘I don’t know anything,’ says Ruth. ‘Please let me go. I’ve got a young daughter. I’m all she’s got.’ She realises that she is crying.

‘We’ve got to make it look like an accident,’ Old George is saying.

‘Maybe we can drown her,’ says Hazel. Old George comes closer to his son, presumably to discuss this interesting matter further. Ruth takes her chance and shoots through the door, out into the hall.

Despite the car’s toughness and Tim’s skill as a driver, they come to a standstill a few miles outside Hunstanton. They turn a corner and the road has simply disappeared. It’s as if they are standing on the seashore except that this sea is interspersed with the odd tree and hedgerow and, several nautical miles away, a grey house sits entirely surrounded by water.

‘Can we swim?’ asks Nelson. He’s only half joking. Both men are wearing waders, but when Tim takes an experimental step off the road, he sinks almost to his waist.

‘Bloody hell. It’s deep. We can’t wade there, that’s for sure.’

‘We need to get to that house,’ says Nelson. ‘Ruth could be in danger.’

‘The chopper’s on its way.’

‘The chopper could be hours. She’s stuck in the house with a self-confessed murderer.’

‘I can’t believe the old guy killed his own brother.’

‘Can’t you?’ says Nelson. ‘I can.’

Tim is about to answer when his face takes on an expression of almost comical amazement. Nelson turns to see what Tim is looking at. Coming towards them across the flooded fields is a gigantic duck.

‘Tell me I’m dreaming,’ says Tim.

The duck is bright yellow with a vivid orange beak. It chugs steadily across the water, occasionally emitting a shrill blast of birdsong. As it gets closer, they see that it is actually an amphibious vehicle with ‘Norfolk Birds’ printed on the side. It is being driven by a man with shoulder-length dark hair.

‘Fancy meeting you here,’ says Chaz.

‘What are you doing on that thing?’ asks Nelson.

‘It belongs to a mate of mine who does bird tours,’ says Chaz. ‘I thought it was the only way of getting to the Hall. Want to come along?’

But Nelson and Tim are already splashing towards him. As they climb aboard, they see that Sally is sitting in the bows, incongruously dressed in a black dress, pearls, gumboots and a yellow raincoat.

‘Hallo DCI Nelson, DS Heathfield,’ she says. She looks tired and worried but still manages to make it sound as if she’s welcoming them to a garden party at Buckingham Palace. ‘How nice to see you.’

‘We need to get to the Hall as soon as possible,’ Nelson says to Chaz. ‘I think that Ruth might be in serious danger.’

‘Oh dear.’ Sally wrings her hands. ‘I did worry about leaving her but Judy needed me.’

‘It’s not your fault,’ says Tim kindly. ‘Judy said you were wonderful.’

‘It is your fault,’ says Nelson. ‘You left Ruth alone with a madman.’

Chaz and his mother look at each other. Neither of them rushes to Old George’s defence.

Chaz starts up the engine and the giant bird begins its slow journey across the marshes.

CHAPTER 36

It’s like some horrific game of hide-and-seek. Ruth had intended to run to her room and lock herself in but she realised that Hazel would catch her before she got to the stairs. So she dives through the first door she sees and finds herself in a stone passageway. She hears Hazel and Old George in the hallway.

‘Where’d she go?’ asks George.

‘She can’t have gone far. I’ll find her.’

There are several doors opening off the passageway. Ruth opens the nearest and looks around desperately. It’s a utility room with two massive chest freezers and a washing machine. There’s also another door. She opens this and finds herself in a scullery, its shelves stacked with giant packets of cornflakes, pasta and rice. There’s also an array of jars labelled in neat writing. ‘Apple Jelly, Christmas 2008.’ Ruth squats down behind a beer barrel. It’s not the best hiding place in the world but it will have to do. Slowly, trying not to make a sound, she pulls her phone from her pocket. Amazingly there’s a faint signal. Frantically she presses the green phone icon.

‘Nelson,’ she whispers.

‘It’s Ruth.’ Nelson is standing next to Chaz in the prow of the boat, willing it to go faster. Peering around the domed head of the duck he can see the Hall approaching but they’re not moving quickly enough.

‘It’s just not built for speed,’ Chaz had said apologetically. ‘It’s built for giving old dears a nice trip along the coast looking at bar-tailed godwits.’

‘Ruth?’ Nelson presses the answer button.

Her voice is very faint. She says something about Old George and hiding. ‘Please come,’ she says. ‘He’s going to kill me.’

‘We’re on our way,’ says Nelson. ‘We’re not far away now. It’ll be OK, love. Just stay put. Where are you?’

But the phone has cut out.

At first she thinks she might be safe. She hears the footsteps receding and Hazel shouting something about upstairs. She moves her legs which are in agony and looks again at her phone. ‘No signal’ it says helpfully. Could she creep out while Hazel and his father are upstairs? She sees the route through the kitchen as clearly as if she’s actually there. The Aga, the dresser, her cup of tea still on the table. She sees herself opening the back door and then . . . What? The house is surrounded by water. Even if she tries to wade or swim, they would spot her in a second. The flood has removed every hiding place for miles around. She would be a sitting duck for Hazel, who, she is sure, was probably taught to shoot ducks by his mad old father. They would kill her and she’d sink under the water, to be discovered days later when the flood finally recedes. What about Kate? Cathbad and Judy might bring her up with their two but she’d always remember Ruth and miss her . . . Ruth sets her jaw. It’s not going to happen. She’s not going to leave Kate. She has to escape.

Then she hears a door open and footsteps running along the stone corridor.

‘Where is the silly girl?’ Old George sounds peevish and, she’s pleased to hear, distinctly out of breath.

‘She can’t have gone far.’ Unfortunately Hazel sounds perfectly calm and in control.

Ruth looks around her. There’s a little window high above her. Can she get through it? It would be too embarrassing – not to mention dangerous – to get stuck halfway through. Didn’t that happen to Winnie-the-Pooh too? And Pooh didn’t have a man with a gun on his tail. Run, rabbit, run. She hears Hazel opening doors. She climbs onto the beer barrel and pushes at the window.

The house looks peaceful in the morning light. Chaz steers the boat right up to the front door. What’s happened to the sheep? thinks Nelson. The water is actually lapping against the walls.