The Drowners (15 page)

‘I know is only a story! I know is not real, but what I’m saying is I think someone’s making it
seem
real. Someone, mebbe, as wants folk to keep away from the marsh and they don’t care what they does to make sure.’

‘So perhaps someone is actually killing people, just to frighten the rest of you away? It’s a bit drastic,’ said Alex.

‘Well, is not like it’s never happened before,’ Ada pointed out. ‘Nothing like the threat of mortality to keep folks indoors of a night.’

Not for the first time, Alex reminded herself not to
underestimate
Ada. She might sound like a postcard caricature sometimes but beneath her eccentric exterior was a fierce, proud woman who had educated herself and probably had a
better vocabulary than many of Alex’s peers. People didn’t always conform to society’s expectations she thought, remembering her mother’s recent misadventures. They could always surprise – and sometimes disappoint. Especially disappoint where many of her clients were concerned.

‘I don’t know what to suggest,’ she said finally. ‘Maybe you should talk to the police …’

Ada cut her short with a curt wave of her hand. ‘Police!’ she said scathingly. ‘What do they know? They never come out our way ‘less they’s dragged out. None of ’em knows their way around and most of us Levellers, we can run rings around ’em. I was tellin’ you because of that lad of your’n anyway. Don’t know as he’s right in the head but he’s always polite, says hello and stuff as he goes by, so I’d not want him hurt.’

Alex opened her mouth to ask, then took a deep breath. Simon, she thought. Ada was talking about Simon.

Tom wasn’t sure his brother would turn up and it was with some relief he recognized the lean, dark figure emerging from behind a stand of trees and crossing the road towards him.

‘
Sastimos
,’ said Milosh in greeting, climbing into the front seat of the car.

‘
Sastimos
– to your health,’ replied Tom. Milosh looked tired, he thought. His brother was five years younger than him but his face was drawn and there were grey hairs showing in his black hair.

‘So, are we going to sit here until your
gadje
friends see us or do I get to ride in your fancy new car?’ said Milosh.

Tom grinned, thinking, as he put the car in gear and moved off down the road, how much he missed his brother.

‘Perhaps you are more anxious to avoid any passing
Rom
,’ he said.

Milosh stared out of the window at the soft evening as it withdrew across the Levels. A gentle mist was rising from the banks of the rhynes; narrow drainage canals cut in parallel lines crossing and criss-crossing the land. Occasional
footpaths
and cart tracks appeared, running in straight lines between the rare metalled roads and marked by hedges of hawthorn or withies. In the distance, over Shapwick, the evening murmuration was beginning as a cloud of starlings formed, growing darker as more joined from every corner of the marshy land. He turned back to his brother.

‘Spring will be here soon,’ he said. ‘The people are ready to name the new Elver Man. I have your word he will not run in to any … problems?’

Tom glanced up from the road. It was tricky, driving with the sun in his eyes and the car moved constantly from light to deep shadow cast by trees on the other side of the hedgerow.

‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I’ve given orders to my men and they all know to stay away. Are you changing the site for
collection
?’

Milosh stared at him for a moment. ‘Why do you ask?’

Tom sighed, keeping his temper and striving to sound casual. ‘It would seem a good thing to do,’ he said. ‘The police know the last site, after Pitivo was killed there. I will keep my men away – but I need to know where ’tis they should avoid looking.’

Milosh considered this for a moment, fidgeting in the soft leather seat. He reached in to his pocket and pulled out a worn pouch containing tobacco and some thin papers but Tom lifted a warning hand so he shoved it back in his pocket with a loud sigh.

‘You are a real
gadjo
now, Tamas,’ he said. ‘You are so concerned with things – this car, your nice clothes, a house to weigh you down. Look out there,’ he gestured through the wide windscreen at the land around them. ‘See the colours? If we were outside we could smell the air and hear the wind and the birds. Not sealed in this – thing – of yours.’

Tom braked sharply, swung the heavy car round and set off up a narrow, unmade track.

‘Enough, slow down!’ said Milosh through gritted teeth. The car slowed a fraction. ‘My back will be broken with all this rattling around.’

Tom brought the car to a halt just in the shelter of a small hillock, a slight rise in the universal flatness surrounding them. Opening the driver’s door he got out and stretched, waiting for his brother to join him. Together they stood, looking out over the old peat works, across an uninterrupted landscape of water and marsh that stretched away in the distance until it reached the foot of the Mendip Hills. It was very quiet in the still air of dusk and had it not been for the first of the lights from farms and occasional houses embedded in the soft purple haze of the foothills they might have imagined they were alone in the world. Tom kept his eyes on the distant lights when he spoke.

‘I need to use the bridges,’ he said.

Milosh stood next to him, hands hung loosely at his side.

‘You cannot,’ he said softly.

‘I must,’ said Tom.

Milosh rounded on his brother.

‘The bridges are our secret!’ he said. ‘You cannot allow the
gadje
to use them. I forbid it.’

Tom turned slowly and looked at Milosh.

‘You can’t have it both ways,’ he said. ‘I’m no longer
Rom
, remember? You can’t forbid me to do anything. I wanted to tell you out of courtesy, of family and friendship. I
will
use the bridges but I promise only a few of my most trusted men will know of them and I’ll only use them near the centre of the marsh. I’ll not be letting them wander around and all the others will remain a secret.’

Milosh was silent for a minute, staring across the plain, now in deep shadow as the sun set behind them. Tom waited. It was important his brother spoke first, for his pride.

‘Why must you use them?’ asked Milosh finally. ‘You have vans and lorries – why use the marsh roads?’

‘The traffic would be noticed,’ Tom explained. ‘I need a safe place to store my goods and send them out in smaller amounts. There’s an area near the centre, where the peat cutting has been stopped. Is deep – about four feet, so it’s hidden from the paths. Has got sheds and best of all the
council have just fenced it all off. One of my men was
working
on the fences and knows how we can get in.’

‘What has this to do with the bridges?’ demanded Milosh impatiently.

‘We cannot have vans going along the roads and then just turning back,’ said Tom. ‘They’d leave tyre prints along the tracks, leading to our store. We’d get away with it for a while maybe, but after a week or so people would notice and ask questions. This way we can move our stuff in from off the road and no-one’ll know.’

‘I may not be able to stop you,’ said Milosh, ‘but I want your word you alone will use the bridges. And they must not be used to bring in the drugs!’ He turned his head and stared at Tom. ‘I want you to swear. There are evil things moving through the towns and we have nothing to do with it. If you had any sense left neither would you.’

Tom shifted uneasily from one foot to another.

‘I swear,’ he said. ‘I don’t want anything to do with that stuff either. Ain’t right, selling it to kids.’

Milosh spat in his palm and held his hand out for Tom to shake.

‘Well brother, now you owe me a favour, perhaps you can tell me something about these strange stories I’m hearing. They say the Drowners are back and hunting on the Levels. Would you know anything about that?’

Tom shook his head thoughtfully before answering.

‘Was a warning,’ he said. ‘There was this man, always hanging round, listening in where he’s no business. I spoke to him and then I had several of my lads make the point a bit more forcefully. I thought he’d got the message but seems not. Couple of the younger gang bosses, they spotted him and followed him out onto the Levels. Reckon he was so drunk, he was seein’ things and tipped hisself into the big canal. One of ’um, smart lad from the ports, he decided to send a message, maybe scare a few people off from round there so they made it look like he was drowned.’

Milosh listened, nodding occasionally and stared out into the darkness thoughtfully.

‘I’m glad you had no hand in that,’ he said. ‘It is a pity the man died, but at least I know my brother is not a murderer. But the music, Tamas – what about the music?’

Tom shrugged his broad shoulders and turned back to the car.

‘I will be honest with you, I have no idea ‘bout that. Folks keep hearin’ it but I’m damned if I know where is coming from. Promise you, Milosh, is none of my doing.’

The Highpoint office seemed very calm with Garry gone. The women in the office smiled and seemed particularly patient with even the most difficult client, and the probationers responded with some rudimentary politeness. There were fewer missed appointments and even the court days seemed less arduous.

For the first time in many months, Alex woke one morning without a feeling of dread in her heart. She was beginning to enjoy her work again, she realized. There were still the daily bumps along the road, especially where certain people were concerned, but generally she felt more capable and optimistic than she had since arriving at Highpoint.

One of the bumps in her road was Alison who had reverted to her usual stubborn, sulky self, a lank streak of
self-righteousness
whose role as Alex’s support seemed to be a source of perpetual discontent. Despite all her efforts and a couple of late nights tidying and filing the paperwork herself, Alex could not match up all the forms she needed to the cases she supervised. Some notes were incomplete, some files were full of the wrong information and some stuff was just plain missing.

‘I know I’ve done most of this,’ she moaned to Lauren at the end of one particularly stressful day. ‘I remember filling in the referrals and the plans for all the attendees because that led to a massive row with Garry about what sort of provision
we were offering. Now half of them are gone. I don’t know what’s happened to the system to be honest.’

‘Maybe Alison’s got them?’ Lauren suggested. ‘Typing them up perhaps?’

Alex shook her head. ‘I asked and she insisted she’d not touched them. You’d have thought I was accusing her of something – actually thinking about it, if she hasn’t been near my files recently just what the bloody hell
has
she been doing?’

‘Pauline gave her a load of Social Enquiry Reports to do,’ said Lauren. ‘Just while you was away. I’ve been busy with “Wonderboy” and so we was a bit pushed.’

Alex frowned at the mention of Ricky.

‘What is it between you two then?’ Lauren asked. She sat in Alex’s chair in the tiny office, swinging herself backwards and forwards with every sign of enjoyment. It was making Alex feel sick just looking at her.

‘Just stop will you?’ she snapped. Lauren grabbed the desk to steady the chair and looked hurt.

‘Was only asking,’ she said. ‘No need to snap like that.’

‘No, I meant please don’t spin around like that. You’re making me giddy. It’s a bit hard to explain, about Ricky …’ She paused, considering all the implications of the
conversation
. Alex was an intensely private person and she had found it hard even to share her house with Sue at first. She gave little of herself away and rarely talked about her past. The arrival of her family in her carefully guarded Somerset world had shaken her more than she liked to admit. She was very fond of Lauren but was aware that she was now Ricky’s support assistant and she didn’t want to do anything to influence that relationship. Sharing her past experiences of Ricky, tempting as it seemed at the moment, was just asking for trouble.

‘Oh, you know,’ she said vaguely. ‘Things are different at university and sometimes people get tangled up in stuff that’s not important.’

Lauren gave her a withering look.

‘I think he’s still “tangled up”, the way he’s been talking,’ she said. ‘And what’s this about you bein’ a psychologist?’

Alex was startled but recovered quickly.

‘I did philosophy at university,’ she said firmly. ‘You know that. I bet you’ve sneaked a look at the personnel files.’

Lauren grinned. ‘Well, I did, just after you came,’ she admitted. ‘Mind you, they’ve been moved since, so that was the only time.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Alex. ‘Do you know where they are?’

Lauren shook her head. ‘Nope. An’ neither does Pauline I reckon ’cos she was swearing about it earlier today.’

‘You don’t think they’ve disappeared too, do you?’ Alex asked, trying not to appear too anxious. ‘If it was a client in there that night, well there are addresses and all kinds of personal details in the files. Phone numbers – everything.’

‘That cabinet weren’t touched,’ said Lauren. ‘Was the case files someone went for, with some of the court stuff an’ a load of boring new protocols from regional at Taunton. Is just, Pauline was goin’ to update the rota for everyone, this bein’ the end of January, and they was gone. Officers and us clerical too. Whole cabinet was wiped clean, she said.’

Despite the disturbing nature of this development Alex was glad she had succeeded in sidetracking Lauren, moving her away from the sticky area surrounding Ricky Peddlar and his ‘revelations’. She would have to talk to her friends soon, she thought. She just needed a bit more time.

The chalet had served him well after his grim time sleeping rough over Christmas but Derek Johns was feeling the need to move on. Spring was coming early to the West Country with the first snowdrops mingling with gold and purple crocuses in the flowerbeds around the camp. There were more birds in the morning and the sound of their singing was a reminder that the seasons were moving on and fine weather was on its way. Oblivious to this outbreak of nature’s joy, Derek was more concerned about the imminent arrival of
very early visitors, holidaymakers looking for a cheap break out of season and more concerned with the location than the lack of traditional amenities. He was awakened to the danger when the tractor hauling the little ‘train’ began to worm its way around the adjacent sector, the carriages filled with fresh linen and the first teams of cleaners preparing for the extended season. It was time to move on and he packed up his belongings whilst considering his next move. The holiday camp had been too far away from the Levels anyway, he thought. There was a lot of stirring and plotting going on out there and he needed to get back and sort it out. He might have to disappear for good but he intended to make sure things were set fair for Newt on his release. The Levels belonged to his son and properly run would provide a decent income so Derek could go somewhere warm and live a quiet life, free and happy, away from the law and the threat of arrest for his murderous little rampage. Yes, Newt would have to see him right.

It was a long trudge back inland, avoiding the main roads and skirting round the villages that littered the back roads. It had been a dry winter with only a scattering of snow and now the sun was out, drying the land and keeping the fringes of the great marshes firm enough for a nimble and experienced traveller to pass without danger. Derek had grown up on the Levels and he knew the areas to avoid and how to identify a safe path. For all his disdain for nature, he used the clues left by the natural world instinctively and so arrived, tired and hungry but both unscathed and unseen, on the banks of the River Brue.