CHAPTER TWENTY THREE

 

The morning sky across the marsh was as clear a blue as any seen above an Aegean island, but even so an uncomfortable sense of foreboding travelled with them in the police car.

Scott and Gary had stayed behind to chase up the Polish interpreter and keep the office running, while the rest of the team headed out to Roman Creek.

The main search would be done by uniform, but Kate had felt it important for Jon to see what kind of vibes the house gave off, and for Rosie to take a look at Micah Lee, and using her own skill, decide what kind of man he was.

Jon had thought it a good idea, but as the car drew closer to Windrush, he began to worry, and when they passed through the gates, the feeling of anxiety intensified.

‘What’s the matter?’ Kate asked, looking at him apprehensively.

‘It’s changed,’ he answered, ‘everything has changed.’ He placed his hands over his ears for second or two. ‘And I can hear something. Something like music? Can either of you hear it?’

Rosie and Kate strained to hear whatever it was that he was talking about, but soon gave up.

‘I can’t hear a thing.’ murmured Kate.

‘Me neither,’ added Rosie.

Jon forced himself to concentrate. ‘It’s weird, like an echo.’ He screwed up his face. ‘No, it’s gone.’ He 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 was last here as a probie copper.’

‘Well, that was decades ago, wasn’t it, Sarge?’ Rosie laughed, trying to lighten the atmosphere. ‘Scott was probably still in nappies.’

For once Jon didn’t come back with a snappy response. He felt cold and clammy, and tiny beads of cold sweat were forming on his brow.

‘You’re not happy about this, are you, Jon?’ asked his boss quietly.

No, thought Jon, I’m not. ‘There are an awful lot of lonely souls around here, ma’am.’ He stared out of the window, and as he always did, hopefully searched the sea of empty faces for a first glimpse of his dead sister. ‘But we need to do this, so let’s go.’ With a supreme effort, he flung open the door of the car and climbed out.

Uniform were already out of their vehicles, and Andy English stood waiting for the DCI to give the go-ahead. Jon saw her remove the search warrant from her pocket, and nod towards the uniformed officer. English gave a curt nod back, then he and some of the other men went quickly up the steps to the front entrance of the old building.

The team hung back at the bottom of the stone steps with the rest of the group, all waiting for their first glimpse of the man that had made such a lasting impression on PCs English and Goode.

It didn’t take long for him to open the door, and in a flash they understood their concerns.

‘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 chiselled, rather badly, out of a rough hunk of granite. His eyes were deep set, under heavy over-hanging brows, and his lips were tight with anger. He was tall and powerful, although not in an athletic way. His strength seemed more naturally Neanderthal than gym-induced fitness. Jon found him impossible to age, and the thing that struck him most, was the almost tangible sense of resentment at their being there.

‘Sensible of you to organize that warrant, ma’am,’ Jon breathed. ‘I get the strong feeling we might need it.’ He stared openly at the Goliath of Windrush, and thought for one awful moment that Micah Lee was going to have to be physically restrained. Not that he was sure how many officers it would have taken to carry out that task.

PC English bravely approached the man, told him that they had Mr Broome’s full approval for a detailed search, and mentioned that they did have a warrant.

They then watched as Lee seemed to crumble in front of them. Jon saw a mass of emotions cross his craggy face. One moment there had been intense anger, then that subsided, and his expression became almost childlike with trepidation and fear.

But fear of what? Jon thought.

‘Just do it.’ Micah said suddenly, then turned on his heels and marched back through the front doors.

Jon watched him leave, then heard Kate calling 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, and 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 many out-buildings and the surrounding grounds.

‘Ma’am?’ The sergeant called over to the DCI. ‘Would you like to help, or stay close to Mr Lee?’

‘We’ll join you, Sergeant.’ Kate obviously had no more wish than Jon did 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, ma’am. It doesn’t seem to have been prepared for renovation yet, so watch your step, it could be dangerous.’

They made their way around to the back of the building and saw the single storey building that housed the additional wards. The exterior had once been painted white, but now great patches of crumbling rendering had fallen away leaving the weather-worn brickwork exposed and decaying.

‘This could take some time.’ said Rosie, as she picked her way over some fallen debris. ‘This place is bigger than it appears.’

‘It’s a rambling old pile,’ agreed Jon. ‘But it’s a sin it’s been allowed to fall into ruin like this. Even when I was here it was run down, but it was still usable.’

Kate pushed open a door and they all stared inside.

The ward had been long and wide, with one side opening through a series of French doors onto concrete terraces. Jon reminded himself that it had been a TB sanatorium, and in those days they did push both bed and patient outside for the benefits of the fresh air.

But 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 shafts of sunlight that spearheaded through what remained of the glass. In one corner, a pile of old metal frame, institutional-type beds had been heaped together, and in another, a stack of broken bedside cupboards and rusting chair frames. As he looked, he saw a movement, and a rat broke cover and ran for a dim, gaping hole in the wooden floor.

‘Nice place.’ Kate sighed. ‘Maybe we should stick together as we check this out. We can’t afford any broken ankles or cuts and bruises from all this left over junk.’

‘Shame big Micah hasn’t got this far with his clean up.’ grumbled Rosie. ‘He’s done a great job on the front and the sides of the house.’

‘I think this part is going to be demolished.’ Kate 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 quite capable of seeing that far right now.’

She took a deep breath, and stepped inside. Jon and Rosie followed and they began their sweep.

They systematically searched each room, each cupboard and every corridor. There were five wards, all identical in their design, but as they entered the fifth one, Jon was struck by a distinct difference in temperature.

He slowly looked around, but seeing nothing unusual, hesitantly moved on. He was seeing no pictures, no odd lights, no shadowy figures, but the room felt all wrong.

He glanced at Kate and Rosie, and saw that they were engrossed in checking a series of store cupboards. They were intent on the search and clearly not distracted by anything.

So, whatever was bothering him had to be something for him alone. He tilted his head imperceptibly to one side. Yes, that’s what it was. Not a vision, but a sound. A voice, coming to him as if from a long way away.

Jon strained to pick up what was being said, but it was difficult. He’d been ‘seeing’ things for as long as he could remember, he knew all the little the nuances of those strange visual messages; he knew how to ‘tune out’ the real world whilst viewing only that which he was being shown. But these audible ones were new to him, and he was struggling.

He needed quiet, but Rosie was laughing grimly at something, and the boss had just snagged her tights and was swearing loudly.

‘Ma’am? Flower?’ He held up his hand, and immediately they fell silent and stared at him. ‘Give me a moment, please?’

He saw them glance across at each other, then they stood still and watched him.

Jon closed his eyes, and the voice became clearer. Suddenly the dusty old ward just seemed to fall away, and he was somewhere else, somewhere where the wind was blowing his hair this way and that, and the smell of ozone permeated every breath that he took. He sank to his knees, looked around and then leant sharply forward and pressed his ear to the damp mossy ground.

The voice was clearer now, and not only could he hear every word as sharp as a scalpel blade, he could see things too. As he watched and listened, his eyes slowly grew wide, and then he heard himself whimper with surprise. The spirits rarely came to him with such force, but he fought to stay with them, although it was almost impossible. He was drowning in a clamour of song, and a sea of shimmering light.

‘I understand.’ His voice echoed in his own head, and he knew he had whispered the two words aloud. ‘Yes, I understand.’

Then as the song calmed and the light faded, Jon let out a sigh of relief and slipped forward, his forehead gently touching the ground.

 

Kate watched Jon intently. She’d seen him slip into a trance several times before, but it never ceased to amaze her. Outside she could hear their colleagues calling to each other. She could hear seagulls crying, and she could hear her heart beating, but in that disused, ramshackle sanatorium ward, the silence screamed at her loud enough to hurt her ears. She had a feeling that something desperately important was happening, although she had no idea what it was, and she was scared for Jon.

He knelt on the dusty floor, his head bowed as if praying, and he’d been like that for several moments. He had neither spoken or moved, and seemed to be completely unaware of his surroundings, or their presence there with him.

She was just about to go to him, when his head snapped up. Kate gave a little yelp of surprise, then saw his eyes flash at her, his pupils dilated like a kid high on crystal meth. ‘We need maps of this place! Old ones, plans that go back to when it was built, and we need them fast!’

Kate’s mouth dropped a little, but she knew that her questions would have to wait. She grabbed her phone and punched in Scott’s number. It took seconds to relay what they needed, and then she shut her phone and looked at Jon. ‘He’s sourcing them now, and Gary will drive out with the print-outs as soon as he has them. So what’s the score? What the hell happened there?’

Jon had sunk down onto the dusty rubbish-covered floor, and she and Rosie crouched down beside him. His eyes were back to normal now, but he still seemed to be in a state of high anxiety. ‘She’s here, Kate.’ He gave a shaky sigh. ‘Windrush was never the sight of one of those skanky parties; this is where they brought her! They brought Emily here!’

Her throat constricted and for a moment words were impossible, then she managed to ask the one thing that she really needed to know. ‘Is she alive?’

He shook his head slowly. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know. I only know that we are in the right place.’

‘Then we tear this dump apart until we find her.’ growled Rosie, rising to her feet.

‘Wait, just wait. You won’t find her like that, Flower.’ Jon attempted a smile. ‘It’s all to do with the music, the resonance of the voice..., the echo.’

‘What voice?’

Jon rubbed hard at his eyes. ‘I’m not sure, but I do know that Emily’s underground somewhere. I’ve been shown tunnels.’ He gave a helpless little shrug. ‘That’s all I can tell you, tunnels, big ones.’

‘So surely the least we can do is to organize getting these floors dragged up?’ Rosie was champing at the bit to get moving.

‘But she’s not directly under these floors, Rosie.’ Jon looked up at the woman and Kate saw a look of deep affection, one that she hoped was bestowed on Rosie for her pure passion and dedication to her job. Then Jon tried to explain. ‘Listen, this ward block was only added when the country house became a TB hospital. It’s not old, not like the original building. There is nothing beneath here other than solid foundations.’

‘So what were you listening to?’ The girl looked totally confused.

‘An echo, Rosie. From somewhere else around here. Somewhere deep down.’ His face bound together into a twisted knot of concentration. ‘It’s just the spirits, it’s their way of communicating to me that Emily is somewhere beneath the ground. There is a part of this place that is subterranean; they showed me great long tunnels. For days I’ve been seeing damned tunnels. That’s why we need old plans, old maps of the area. Ones that go way back, to when the original house was built.’

‘Maybe uniform will find something. They are checking for cellars, aren’t they?’

Jon nodded. ‘Maybe, but I get the feeling we are not talking about a simple cellar. I saw long, high ceiling, brick-lined tunnels. That’s why we have to get the old plans.’

Rosie squatted back down on her haunches. ‘Maybe Fred Flintstone in there has some, if he’s been doing all this work.’

Somehow Kate did not think Micah Lee would hold any plans. Benedict Broome would be the one to contact for those. ‘If Scott hits a brick wall, and I don’t for one minute think he will, we’ll target Broome for help. Although frankly I think Scotty’s IT skills will access everything we need in less time than it would take to get Benedict Broome to open his front door.’

‘I agree.’ said Jon. ‘But we should start doing some homework on Broome. If we find Emily here, well, it’s ten to one that he’s her abductor.’

‘Or, if we are too late, he could be her killer.’ Rosie said edgily.

‘Okay, guys, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We need to find her first, then we’ll know what we are up against. Andy English and his crew-mate have already made some enquiries about Benedict Broome, so we’ll  get hold of whatever they have, and then look deeper, as soon as this search is properly underway.’ Kate shrugged. ‘It’s certainly no use going in with all guns blazing and accusing anyone of anything yet. As usual on your cases, Jon, we only have the word of the dead to support our theory that Emily is even here.’

‘We can always use the old mythical anonymous tip-off.’ said Rosie.

‘Let’s just pray that we find her, then we won’t have to lie about anything.’ Kate said grimly.

It was complicated, dealing with the knowledge that Jon’s gift provided. Dead people are not generally regarded as good material witnesses, so they needed to change things. They had to, because no-one would ever sanction police action without sound reason. Over the years they had set up a series of covers; seemingly ordinary justifications that would give them authority to investigate. A tip-off ; an anonymous phone-call. Kate even used an old uncle, an am-dram aficionado who loved nothing better than dressing up as an old lag and acting out a role as one of her snouts for the CCTV cameras. Anything that would give them credence for their investigations.

‘I think we need to see how the others are doing. These wards are holding no secrets. Let’s go find the sergeant.’

Jon eased his way up from the floor and half-heartedly brushed dust from his black jeans. ‘Something that might help, Guv, would be a heat-seeking camera. If we can track any old underground areas, even if we have trouble sourcing an entrance, one of those would show up any signs of life.’

‘Good idea. I’ll ring Clive and get him to see if Saltfleet Fire Department has one.’

As they walked back to the front of the house, Kate rang her manager and put that idea into motion. ‘Any news from Scott regarding old ground plans for Windrush?’

‘He and Gary are pounding the computers right now, ma’am. He’s opened an antiquarian archive on the earliest building out there at Roman Creek. He seems pretty pleased with what they’ve dug up so far, but he says there is a lot more interesting stuff available.’

‘Good, but tell him to get his finger out and ship us whatever he has already. For all we know, we may have a young woman hanging onto life by her eyelashes. I don’t need a historical thesis written on the place, just a bloody map.’

Kate could sense Clive smiling down the phone. ‘I’ll be sure to pass that on, ma’am, and Gary will be out to you ASAP, I promise.’

She rejoined the others. ‘Anything so far?’

The sergeant in charge shook his head. ‘Nothing substantial, ma’am. 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 it may be a wreck, but he’s obviously working his fingers to the bone on it.’ He passed a broad-knuckled hand over his shaved head. ‘But regarding the search, there are certainly no sign 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, just in case there may be rooms or cellars that have been sealed up in later years.’ Kate added.

‘Good idea. For all we know, this place could be a rabbit warren of underground tunnels.’

Jon started. ‘What made you say that, Sergeant?’

‘Well, it may have nothing to do with it, but that stretch of marsh over there..,’ He pointed across the fields to a broad stretch of wetland. ‘..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.’

Kate tried to keep up but wasn’t too sure where the story was leading them. ‘You mentioned tunnels?’

‘Yes, apparently the smugglers used a system of tunnels to bring their contraband inland, ma’am. 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 reckon they still exist, somewhere around here, maybe underneath the Roman Creek sea-bank. Sit in one of the local pubs and you’ll hear a load of old wives tales about them.’

Jon’s eyes were bright with interest. ‘And did any of these tunnels connect with the house here?’

The sergeant raised his shoulders. ‘No idea, Sergeant Summerhill. They may not even exist, it may all be just superstition and folklore, you never can tell, can you?’

‘Oh, they exist.’ Kate heard the words whispered under Jon’s breath. ‘Thank you, Sergeant.’

They moved a little way away, then Jon said. ‘This is all tying up, Guv. I said that I’ve been seeing images of tunnels for days now, nothing like earlier on, but the tunnels are really important, I know they are.’

 

Gary arrived an hour later, and he came bearing maps, plans, deeds, building permission rights, geophysical surveys and related data, and even aerial cartographical views of Windrush and the surrounding landscape.

‘We’ve tried to collate them into historical relevance,’ said Gary. ‘Oldest at the top, and working down to present day.’

Jon looked at the great armful of paperwork. ‘Let’s use the foyer floor to lay all this out. Unless, ma’am, you don’t want Lurch to see what we are doing?’

‘Sod him. The front hall will do nicely.’ She turned and led the way inside.

‘These are interesting.’ Gary held up a batch of geophysical print-outs. ‘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.’

Kate stared at them. ‘I’m not sure what I’m looking at.’

‘They are high resolution images that show sub-soil structures or traces of human activity.’

Jon was impressed. Gary seemed to know his stuff, although he wasn’t sure if it came from too many bored evenings in front of the television watching back episodes of ‘Time-Team’, or a real interest in archaeology.

Gary 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 there may be, but someone pulled the plug on them, and it never happened.’

Jon felt a surge of excitement. ‘And their data actually covered part of Windrush?’

Gary handed him a batch of paperwork. ‘Mm, several sweeps covered Windrush. Right up to the exterior walls of the house on the marsh side.’

Jon peered at maps and surveys. ‘Hell, I wish I knew exactly what was what. There seems to be so many different shades and shadows.’ He frowned and jabbed a finger onto one of the maps. ‘Especially around this area here.’

Gary looked over his shoulder. ‘Let’s see, that would be..,’ he glanced around to get his bearings. ‘…to the left of the main building, and back some way past the old storehouses towards the marsh.’ He fished an aerial view from the pile of photos. ‘I suppose we are looking at this area here.’ He laid the picture of the old hospital on the floor and circled one spot with his finger.

‘Is that one of the areas that is being re-developed?’ asked Rosie.

Kate unfolded their copy of Broome’s plans, the ones that Andy had given her from the planning department, and compared them with the aerial photo. ‘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.’ She squinted and read the legend in the bottom right hand corner of the map. ‘Green box indicates Stage Three Development. Work proposed 2015. See attached addenda.’ I unfolded the rest of the papers. ‘But there is no attached addenda.’

Jon drew in a breath. ‘So there are no immediate plans for that spot for several years.’

‘A pretty good place to hide someone?’ Kate said thoughtfully, then added. ‘Can you actually read those geo-fizzy things, Gary?’

‘Not with any accuracy, ma’am. We could easily be looking at the foundations of prior structures on that site, an earlier barn or something like that.’

‘Then we need an expert.’ Kate turned to Rosie. ‘Ring Clive and get him to phone the University. Ask for their help and stress the importance.’

Rosie nodded and pulled out her mobile. ‘I’m onto it, ma’am.’

Kate returned to the pile of information provided by Scott. ‘So what else do we have?’

For the next twenty minutes they hunted for clues but found nothing they understood, so leaving the others still searching, Jon went to find the officer in charge.

‘Have the house cellars been checked yet, Sergeant?’

‘Yes, Sergeant Summerhill. But nothing unusual.’

Jon thanked him and returned to the team. He had not expected the original cellars to throw up anything. What they were looking for would be much better concealed. He saw again his ‘mind pictures’ of sinister brick tunnels, and heard, just for a moment a sweet voice singing.

With a shiver, he hurried back into the foyer, and saw the dark figure of Micah watching the team from his tiny porter’s room. In particular he seemed to be concentrating on Kate. And the look on his face was one of pure hatred.

Jon stopped, halfway across the hall, turned back and deliberately stared at him. Slowly Micah Lee’s eyes left Kate, and turned their attention to him. Jon swallowed hard. It took some considerable resolve to hold his gaze steadily on such intense loathing, and finally, thank God, the man looked away.

Jon hurried over to rejoin the team, and as he did, Kate’s phone rang. She spoke for a while, scribbled a few notes in her pocket book, then closed her phone and turned to them.

‘The Uni have sent one of their students out. Apparently this kid is shit-hot, been on digs all over the world. He’s doing a paper on the use of various non-invasive technologies in archaeology, whatever that means.’ She glanced down at her notes. ‘His name is Ted Watchman, and he’s on his way.’

‘And the heat seeking camera?’ asked Jon hopefully.

‘The Fire Chief is trying to locate one.’ Kate pulled a face. ‘They share one with several stations but there’s not one on base at present. Same old story, no bloody money for anything these days. He said he’ll ring me when he finds one.’

The boss stretched, then looked at Jon and Rosie steadily. ‘Now, listen to this. I’ve saved the best until last. Scott contacted Stefan the interpreter and there is just 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 for us.’

This could be her! Emily! Jon’s heart pounded. ‘Has she been missing long?’

‘Clive says she’s not been officially reported missing, but there is definite concern for her safety amongst her community. He reckons the time scale fits like a glove.’

Jon felt a swell of hope course through him.

‘Okay, it’s not concrete,’ added Kate cautiously, ‘But what we do know ties in perfectly.’

The initial excitement at the news quickly dissolved, and Jon was suddenly enveloped by an overwhelming sensation of both exhilaration and chest crushing anxiety. He looked across at Kate, and knew that she was feeling it too.

They would not be looking anywhere else for Emily.

She was here. Now all they had to do was find her.