CHAPTER THIRTY SIX

 

‘Should we bring in that vet for questioning?’ asked Scotty, munching thoughtfully on a tuna mayo sandwich. ‘We’ve decided that Elizabeth Sewell couldn’t be our killer, but like it or not, she knows someone called Fleur, her cards are in that hell-hole, and she’s written almost identical cards for the animal cages at Philip Graves’ veterinary practice.’

‘‘He’s got a point, ma’am.’ said Rosie. ‘Even though I cannot see that man being a cold-blooded killer.’

Kate stared at her own sandwich, but her appetite had gone. ‘Maybe we should. He does live in close proximity to the marsh.’ She pushed the uneaten food away. ‘And if we are looking at a split-personality, then..,’ she lifted her shoulders in a little shrug, ‘…how would we know what to look for?’ She looked across the room to where Jon sat a little apart from them, and deep in thought. ‘Penny for them?’

He looked up and gave a crest-fallen smile. ‘Not worth it. My thoughts are about as clear as an oil slick.’ He leaned right back in his chair, stretched, then said. ‘Okay. Twelve dead girls, all born on a Wednesday. One dead girl, in the same room, but she died of starvation. One girl, Toni, abducted and lives. One other girl, Shauna, abducted and dies. Two out of three spoke of a man with dead eyes.’ He raised his hands in a plea. ‘Have any of us seen anyone with strange eyes? No, we haven’t. Micah Lee has a horrible face, but his eyes are deep very capable of expression. 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.’ He groaned loudly. ‘And who the hell is Fleur!’

‘It all comes back to her, doesn’t it?’ Kate felt their collective exasperation.

‘There is absolutely nothing on record of anyone going missing by that name,’ added Scott miserably.

‘What am I missing?’ Gary breezed into the room, a smile on his lips. Then 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 Kate hopefully.

‘Depends how you feel about shifty, sneaky eyes. But strange, no.’

‘Pity. Sit down.’ She pushed her sandwich across to him, and said. ‘We are still trying to fathom out who Fleur maybe.’

Gary picked up the sandwich. ‘Ah.’ He bit into it gratefully, chewed and then said, ‘Thinking of Fleur, did you ever find that rose arch, Sarge?’

Jon nodded. ‘For all the good it’s done. You were right, it was out near Hurn Point, and Rosie confirmed that it was the site of the proposed onion waste recycling plant.

Although work on it has been halted because planning has been contested.’

Gary frowned, but before he could speak again, a civilian hurriedly entered the room.

‘Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but the Duty Sergeant thought you should know that the body of an IC1 male has been found out on the edge of the marsh. It seems that it’s a hanging, but because of its location, he thinks it may be of interest to you.’

Kate sat bolt upright. ‘Where is the location, constable?’

‘The old mill at Goshawk End.’

Kate pulled a face, but Gary immediately said, ‘I know it! It’s between Roman Creek and Hurn Point, and bang within the area that we’re searching for Micah Lee.’

Kate was already half way to the door. ‘Then you come with me, Gary, and you too, Scott. It’ll do you good to get some fresh fenland air. You need to sever that gossamer cord that attaches you to your computer just once in a while.’ She smiled at Jon. ‘And you can have a break from dead people. You and Rosie keep chasing Fleur.’

‘I wonder if it’s Micah?’ said Jon, almost to himself.

‘I’d say it could be.’ Kate checked her phone and her keys as she walked away. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll ring in and let you know.’

 

There wasn’t much to see in the old mill. Although what they did see was not what they expected.

The body wasn’t swinging slowly on a creaking taut rope. It was lying in a crumpled heap on the dusty dirty floor, surrounded by broken vegetable crates.

‘One body, life undeniably extinct, with rope still attached, and it’s not Micah Lee.’ murmured Kate.

‘Some sort of fight took place by the look of all this mess.’ said Scott.

‘Don’t think so.’ murmured Gary ‘It looks to me as if he climbed up these boxes..,’ He looked around. ‘No, that’s not right. They are too far away from the body.’

‘And how did the rope become detached from the timber spar?’ Scott stared up to the heavy hunk of wood. ‘It seems sturdy, and it doesn’t slope downward.’

Kate stared at the dead man. She looked at his twisted body and was grateful that his terror-distorted face was turned slightly from her. ‘The question we should be asking, is how did a dead man loosen the rope from his own broken neck?’

Gary and Scott let out a combined “Ah, right.”

‘So who was here with him?’ asked Scott after a while.

‘If they tried to save him, then it had to be someone who cared.’ Kate looked at the configuration of the old vegetable boxes, the timber beam, and the man’s body. ‘From all this, 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 simply because no-one phoned this in or called an ambulance, I would guess it was someone who wanted nothing to do with the police.’

‘So as the body isn’t Micah Lee, could it have been Micah Lee who found him?’ added Gary.  ‘I wonder how long ago all this happened? I’ll get a shout put out that Lee maybe 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.

‘Can he get to Windrush on foot?’ asked Kate.

‘He could. But it would mean crossing a pretty bad stretch of wetland, and best not attempted unless you know the paths well.’

‘But he worked close to here, didn’t he?’ ventured Scott.

‘And if he knew the marsh that well, then maybe he knew about the tunnels.’ Kate mused. ‘But right now we should get back. There’s no more we can do here. Uniform will keep this place sewn up until our overstretched forensic 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 she wondered why the man had chosen to take his own life, and the word that kept coming back to her was guilt.

Guilt, or desperation. Surely it was no coincidence that a man should kill himself in such close proximity to the crime scene, and there not be a connection. Perhaps he had done it out of desperation at losing his precious girls in those neat beds with flowers on the lockers and carefully arranged clothes in the cupboards?

‘I suppose it is suicide?’ said Scott softly, clearly questioning what he had just seen in the old mill. ‘He could have been assisted.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Kate had seen a lot of un-natural deaths in her time, and you kind of got a feel for them. ‘I’d say, from the inverted V- shaped furrow in the victim’s neck left by that rough rope, that it was definitely a deliberate, and in his case, a very successful suicide.’

Kate glanced back the derelict old mill. It was just a circular shell of old bricks and a weather-beaten wooden door. It must have had sails at one time, but they had long gone. Her thoughts jarred to a stand-still. Jon! He’d talked about a mill! Kate pulled out her phone and punched his speed dial number.

‘A mill, Jon. No sails.’ she asked hurriedly ‘What were you meaning?’

Jon faltered for a moment, then recalled what she meant. ‘Fleur, ma’am. In the tunnel beneath the marsh. She showed me a picture of an old mill and she kept saying the word, ‘Dead’’

Kate gave a little gasp. ‘Well, she’s not wrong. I’ve found her mill, and there’s a dead man in it.’

‘Who is he?’ breathed Jon.

‘I wish I fucking knew,’ she groaned helplessly. ‘For heaven’s sake get some coffees in, we’re on our way home.’