SHADOW OVER THE FENS a gripping crime thriller full of suspense (11 page)

Joseph didn’t answer, but just stared down at his feet.

‘We have to be objective, you know that,’ Nikki reasoned. ‘It’s like Martin’s death. I
knew
him, and my gut tells me that someone engineered his demise deliberately, but I have to consider that it may have just been a terrible accident. Maybe some half-brain in the Wild Goose
thought he looked a bit down, and stuck a little helper in his orange juice, who knows? Maybe something went wrong in the pharmaceutical factory, perhaps a rogue tablet got mixed in with others, and he’d taken it before he realised. I don’t want to, Joseph, but I have to look down all the avenues.’

‘I guess you’re right.’ His voice was low and almost husky. ‘I’m sorry, ma’am, but it’s hard to think about any other scenario when it all seems so clear, so vividly clear.’

‘I know.’ Nikki did know, but right now it wasn’t helping. ‘Look, maybe you should concentrate on Martin for a bit, and I head up the hunt for our assassin. I don’t mean permanently, just until we’ve gathered a bit more information. Keep each other up to date with everything, and back each other up as and when required. How does that sound?’

‘Sure.’ He gave her a weak smile. ‘Maybe it’s for the best.’

‘Okay, so bugger off to dear Helen Latimer, and the best of British.’

‘What
is
it with you two?’ asked Joseph, a hint of his usual humour creeping back into his voice.

‘Old history, Joseph, very old history. Probably neither of us can honestly remember why we finished up as such eye-gouging adversaries, but . . .’ she gave a little laugh, ‘we are so used to bitching about each other that it comes as second nature.’

‘Mm,’ Joseph looked at her shrewdly. ‘I’m willing to bet the good doctor knows
exactly
why you two don’t get on. Maybe I should ask her about it.’

‘Do that, sonny-boy, and you’ll be back in Fenchester before you can blink!’

‘Ha!’ His grin widened, ‘Caught you there! But when these two cases are over, I want to know
all
the sordid gossip, okay?’

‘Sort this mess, and I’ll be glad to sit down with the rest of that brandy, and bare my very soul! Sordid bits and all! Now, sod off, Sergeant, and find me some answers, some I can believe in.’

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

As Joseph drove towards Cloud Fen, Nikki delivered a diluted version of her report to the superintendent. She had decided not to dwell on the suggestion that Martin Durham may have met with his maker by design. It would not take much for Rick Bainbridge to remove her from the case, and any suggestion by her of foul play could be misconstrued as ‘being emotionally too close.’ So as far as she could, she concentrated on the death of Chris Forbes.

‘Sir, we have a well-liked, although highly impressionable man, not retarded, but certainly not the brightest light on the Christmas tree, murdered by a trained killer. And we have unearthed nothing so far to indicate a motive for the killing.’

The super thought about it for a moment, then said, ‘Well, it seems that he frequented public houses and pool halls, maybe he overheard something he shouldn’t and the killer didn’t trust him not to shoot his mouth off.’

‘Possibly, sir. We’ll know more when we get an ID on this man who had been hanging around with him. If the mystery man was the murderer, then it sounds as if Chris was being groomed, although for what, I can’t imagine.’

‘A clinical killing like this is very rare, Nikki. It’s the sort of thing you hear about in war zones, not Greenborough.’ His face screwed up into a leathery mask of concern. ‘As a matter of interest, what did Joseph make of it?’

Nikki used one of Joseph’s own blank expressions, and said ‘Much the same as you, sir. Why?’

‘Just wondered.’

Joseph’s past was not common knowledge, and although the superintendent knew about his background, he was unaware that Nikki also knew, and right now, she wanted it to stay that way.

‘And where are we with your suicide case, Martin Durham?’ continued the super.

‘There is some concern over the drugs in his system brought up by the tox report. Joseph has driven out to speak to his GP about it. And nothing’s shown up from the break-in at Knot Cottage.’

‘Oh well, keep me up to speed on that.’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘And thinking about suicides, all this has rather put paid to the work that you were doing for me, hasn’t it? The statistics on un-natural deaths?’ His face darkened. ‘You wouldn’t believe it, we have an execution-style murder on our patch, and still I’m being asked for bloody useless figures and sodding reports. It’s crazy.’

‘We’ve not given up on it, sir. We’ll do our best to get something together for you.’ Nikki suddenly felt sorry for him. Rick had been a great copper, but slowly he had come to hate everything that promotion had brought with it. There were times when she knew that he would rather be back on the beat, than organising flow charts and initiatives, and juggling budgets. ‘Don’t worry, sir. Joseph is a wizard with figures, if there is an anomaly there, I’m sure he’ll spot it.’

‘The murder comes first, Nikki. I know that. But if you can sneak an hour or two on them sometime, I’d be grateful.’

Nikki left his office and wandered down to the canteen in search of a snack and a hot drink. Her head was a mess. Joseph was worrying her senseless and she had no one to talk to about it.

She took her lunch back to her office and half-heartedly unwrapped an unappetizing-looking sandwich. Unless there was something that Joseph wasn’t telling her about this Billy Sweet, she could not fathom why some psycho should suddenly leap back from the past and start stalking him.

She chewed slowly and wondered if she should try to get some kind of trace on Sweet. Not that she had a clue where to begin. Joseph had mentioned that he had gone to work for a private security force, which sounded very much like the man was now a mercenary soldier and that meant his movements would be very hard to track. Probably impossible.

She sipped her drink. She really didn’t believe that Joseph had held anything back. He honestly seemed as confused about what was happening as she did. And if he was right, and it was Sweet, why kill a vulnerable man like Chris Forbes? She picked up a pen and scribbled answers on piece of paper.

1) The super’s idea. CF was silenced for knowing something.

2) The killer’s a psycho, he doesn’t need a reason.

3) Practice. CF was not his primary target.

4) Mistaken identity.

5) CF could have been anyone, he was killed purely to get Joseph’s attention.

Nikki ringed number 5. Then added,
To freak Joseph out.
She underlined it in heavy strokes. No matter how much she hated the thought, Joseph did seem to be the key. And if that were the case, how much longer could she keep this under wraps?

She finished her mouthful, threw the rest in the bin and stood up. She needed a recognisable face to that new ‘friend’ of Chris Forbes, and she needed it before the shit hit the fan for Joseph.

* * *

Joseph pulled the Ford off the main road, and headed back on himself along a narrow lane that led to a small wetlands nature reserve. He knew that he should be getting back to the station, but he felt overwhelmed by the sudden need to get away from the furore of the murder enquiry. He wanted a few minutes alone, to think. And as he had driven away from Cloud Fen, he remembered what Nikki Galena had once told him about going to the sea bank ‘to get her head together.’

After half a mile he pulled into a sheltered parking area almost completely surrounded by trees and bushes. A weather-beaten painted sign told him that parking was free, although cars were left at the owner’s risk. Too right, he thought. Secluded and miles from anywhere. The perfect spot for a bit of vehicle vandalism.

He locked his car and offered a small prayer that it would remain as he left it, complete with CD player, and hopefully all its wheels, then followed the path through the trees and up to the high river bank.

To his left were the lagoons, shallow watery pools frequented by waterfowl and waders, and to his right, the river bank ran for miles out into the marshes, and finally on to the estuary. It wasn’t Nikki’s famous sea bank, but it was the next best thing.

He looked both ways, then chose the lagoons, and seeing no one else around, wandered along the track to one of the dilapidated bird-hides.

The steps up were rickety, and the door was little better. It swung open with a creak loud enough to scare every bird on the east coast. Inside there was a weird smell of salt-damp wood and a mustiness that was less than pleasant. He opened the observation flap, hooked it up and sat on the wooden bench to look out.

At first he saw only sedge grass, reeds and the oily dark waters of the lagoons, but after a while he realised that there was movement all around him. Tiny warblers clung to the reeds, their harsh repetitive song echoing across the pools. A heron stood seemingly motionless in the shallow water, and above him a skylark’s song rose and fell continuously.

He knew he didn’t have long, but this was what he needed right now. A place of solitude; somewhere to put his thoughts in order. He took a deep breath, held it, then allowed his mind to go over what had just occurred at the Cloud Fen Surgery.

Predictably, Dr Latimer had been furious. She had never prescribed any form of antidepressants for Martin Durham, and flatly denied any knowledge of the other two types of tablets that he had been taking. She had stared at the photo of the plain white boxes in complete amazement, and demanded to know where he had got them from. She had then proceeded to blame Joseph and his team for not comparing Martin’s medical notes with the drugs they had found at the house. It had taken a while to placate her, and even then, Joseph had finally left feeling ill at ease. Either Martin had been seeing two doctors, or he had been obtaining drugs illegally, and that just didn’t gel with the kind of person that his sister and the DI had described. He had made a mental note to ring the oncology clinic that conducted Martin’s yearly follow-up, maybe they could throw some light on his mixture of medication.

He stretched his aching back and watched as a curlew probed its long down-curved beak into the edge of the water searching for food. And Martin Durham was not the only problem. There was the other matter, the one he could hardly bear to think about. The fact that poor, trusting Chris Forbes might have died because of him.

He chewed on a rough nail, and tried to relax the turmoil in his head. He cursed softly. It really wasn’t fair. Until the moment when he had seen that horrible face peering through his windscreen, things had been good. Really good. He had come to terms with himself. Accepted that he couldn’t change the horrors of his past, but that he must not let them ruin the present or his future. He had let the bitterness of his divorce go, and made inroads to some kind of peace with his daughter. He had taken a new job with a boss that he had learnt to respect, and he’d survived an attack. Yes, things were good. Until Billy Sweet’s ugly face had appeared and tainted everything.

Joseph looked down, and saw deep indentations in the palms of his hands. He had clenched his fists so tightly that his nails had almost broken the skin.

How could things swing around so quickly? How . . . ?

His mobile broke the silence, and for a second, made his heart race. He flipped it open expecting to see the guv’nor’s name, but to his surprise, it was Bryony.

He stared at it, but didn’t answer it. Apart from his job, she was the only happy thing in his life at present, and he was scared to get involved with her. If Sweet was after him, there would be no better way to get to him, than through a girlfriend. So for her sake he should keep his distance.

The tinny ringtone seemed to go on for ever, but finally it stopped, and the quiet in the small hut became almost deafening. Sweet was even souring his hopes and dreams.

He pushed the phone back into his pocket, then closed down the hatch. He should get back.

Remarkably the car was still there, and in one piece. ‘Thank you,’ he murmured to his unseen angels, and unlocked it. As he did, he heard his phone bleep, telling him that he had a text message.

“Am having a seriously shitty day. A drink would help. Would your BIG CASE allow it? Ring me. Bry”

Joseph stared at the message, his finger hovering over the reply button. If he didn’t contact her, she wouldn’t wait for ever. And what if he was wrong about everything? Maybe some villain from his past
had
decided to set him up for a fall. It would appear that he was still pretty shaky after his recent trauma, so perhaps he was letting his imagination get things out of proportion. By letting Bryony go, he could be ruining a chance for some happiness in his life.

He stared at his mobile phone, and felt like Don Camillo talking to JC, weighing up his worldly options against his moral conscience. With a sigh, he closed his phone and pushed his key into the ignition. JC wins. The risk was too great.

* * *

The murder room was now alive with CID officers. A series of photographs, dates, times, places and names were spread over the big glass case board. Most of it he could handle easily, but the picture of Chris Forbes clinical assassination made him shudder every time he looked at it.

Dave Harris acknowledged him with a wave.

‘Anything new, Dave?’ he asked, sliding behind his desk

‘Not yet, Sarge. Cat’s just rung me and said they were having no luck at all. Reckoned she’d never heard the words ‘average,’ ‘nondescript,’ and ‘ordinary’ used so often.’

‘And I suppose he always wore a hat or a hoody?’

‘Exactly. Making it almost impossible to give a description.’

‘Is the boss in, Dave?’

‘Fuming quietly in her office. I think she’d hoped that we would have been able to circulate at least an e-fit by now.’ He pulled a face. ‘I hope you’ve got some good news for her if you’re planning on going in there unarmed.’

‘Thankfully I’ve got a few phone calls to make first.’ He logged in to his computer and searched the file on Martin Durham until he found the name of the oncology clinic that he had attended. He scribbled down the number and lifted the phone.

‘Oncology suite. Good afternoon. How may I help you?’

The voice sounded too young to be anything other than a Brownie, but he explained who he was and asked to be put through to whoever was in charge. After a while he was passed on to a fully-fledged Girl Guide. He swiftly explained the situation, then gave her the police station number and asked her to ring them direct to confirm his authenticity.

It took only five minutes for his desk phone to ring.

‘I’d be glad to assist, Detective Sergeant Easter, but I’m afraid we do not have a patient of that name.’

‘But I have copies of reports sent to a Dr Helen Latimer in Cloud Fen. Now I can understand that you would prefer not to discuss this over the phone, but . . .’

‘Sorry, Sergeant, it’s not that. I’ve checked our database thoroughly. We have never treated anyone of that name. And before you ask, I have cross-checked the spelling.’

Joseph thanked her and slowly replaced the phone. What had Helen Latimer said to him, when he first spoke to her? “I’ve had regular updates from his oncology clinic.”’

With a frown he picked the phone back up and dialled the doctor’s number. ‘Yes, it
is
important.’ His tone held no room for negotiation, and soon he heard Dr Latimer’s voice. The woman was clearly unhappy at having her work interrupted.