Jackman nodded. He turned in a circle and gazed out at the surroundings.
There was the river, with a footpath on both sides. Then an expanse of reeds and water grass that was sometimes covered at very high tide, and then a grassy overgrown bank. Finally, mile upon mile of arable fields, broken only by the odd tree or clump of scrubby bushes. In the distance lay the marshland and the grey waters of the Wash. ‘I can only count three other dwellings in the whole area,’ said Jackman. ‘And the reports state that uniform covered those on a house to house that started right at the beginning of the towpath.’ Jackman took a small pair of birding binoculars from his pocket and focussed on the largest of the three homes. ‘That’s Bittern Lodge. I went there once for a charity ball. Very posh indeed.’
Marie stifled a laugh. It sounded odd coming from Jackman, who looked every inch the wealthy landowner.
‘The Lodge is empty this month. Douglas Fitzpatrick, the owner, is out of the country. He left his contact numbers before he left, so that uniform could do a drive by every so often.’
‘What? No servants?’ Marie pretended to be shocked.
‘None that live in. Times is ’ard, milady, didn’t you know?’
Marie borrowed Jackman’s glasses and surveyed the country house. ‘Doesn’t look that way. Does he use nail scissors to manicure that lawn? There’s not a blade of grass out of place.’
‘He does keep it nice. It wasn’t his family home or anything. He purchased it when the original owner went bankrupt and had to sell up.’
Marie turned the glasses on the other two properties, ‘And those two? Isn’t that Mallard’s Farm, the old Curtis place?’
‘It is, and it’s been a building site for months. They’ve just finished revamping it. Bit too modern for me now, but each to their own, I guess.’
‘And the other?’ Marie squinted through the lens at a cluster of dilapidated barns.
Jackman shook his head. ‘Not sure. We’ll check it when we get back.’
‘It looks deserted, but it’s a bit far away to be sure.’
Jackman pursed his lips. ‘Then maybe we should drive round and take a look.’
Marie handed back his binoculars. ‘Definitely. Five minutes across the field pads and you could reach that place from here.’
‘Shall we go inside?’
‘Can’t wait.’ She gave an exaggerated shiver.
Jackman took a key from his pocket and walked up the overgrown path. ‘With the husband tragically killed, and the wife mysteriously missing. No wonder no one comes here.’
‘Jackman? I’ve not read the old reports fully, but why did Tom Holland fly off on a jolly “boys’ outing” with his mates, three days after his wife’s blood was splattered across the lounge carpet?’
‘It’s not very clear, but it seems they’d had a falling out. Tom had walked out and was staying at his mate’s place — Ray Barratt? The groom?’
‘Ah, another of Carter’s dead friends.’
‘That’s the one. As far as we can tell, Tom never knew that anything had happened to his wife.’
‘He can’t have done, can he? He’d hardly have been jetting off on a stag weekend if he knew she had been hurt or abducted.’
‘We have a character profile on Tom Holland, and it would be more than out of character. He was a decent, hardworking lad. I think he would have been devastated, even if they’d had a tiff.’
‘So who found the crime scene?’
‘We did. Well, the local bobby came to break the news of the air crash, but got no answer. When he came back for the second time, he looked through the windows and saw the blood.’
‘And no one had reported her missing?’
‘Apparently not, but then she wasn’t universally liked, or so it seems.’
‘And what was the assumed timescale?’ asked Marie.
‘Forensics thought the incident must have happened about three days prior to the crash.’
Marie gave a little shiver. ‘This is not a lucky house, is it?’
They spent around fifteen minutes in the musty, deserted cottage. Jackman stood for a while longer in the lounge, staring around him and trying to imagine what might have happened. Apart from the discoloured patches on the floor and walls, there was nothing to indicate an altercation or a fight. Whether she was killed or abducted, Suzanne Holland hadn’t struggled. He turned to go. ‘Seen enough?’
Marie nodded. ‘Nothing to see.’
Even so, Jackman hung back. He looked again, trying to absorb every last ounce of atmosphere. Outside, he stared at the ground, at the river, at the sky, and then hurried to join Marie. ‘As I said, a miserable place to live . . . or die?’
CHAPTER TEN
In his lunch break, Carter rang his family solicitor, his financial advisor, his bank manager, and an acquaintance in the property business. If his dead friend could not help the mother of his only child, then Carter McLean most certainly could.
Because of Jack’s warning about the people around Kim, Carter made a few discreet inquiries before he set the wheels in motion. Jack had been right, so cash was out. He would need to set up a series of trusts.
‘They need a safe place to live, too,’ whispered Carter to himself. ‘For a fresh start.’
His property-dealing friend made a few suggestions, and one sounded perfect. There was a small affordable housing complex recently built in one of the fen villages. The village itself had a nursery, a school, a couple of churches, a post office, a bus service and best of all, a bloody good fish and chip shop. What more would she need?
It wouldn’t be done overnight, but in an hour, he had laid the foundations.
This time he would be honest about things. He would go and see Kim as soon as he finished work, and tell her that Jack had been very concerned about her and his daughter and had asked his rich friend Carter for help. End of.
Carter sat back, satisfied. By the end of the day he would know whether his plans for Kim and Phoebe Walker were viable. And if they were, Jack’s child would have a good future to look forward to, and Kim could ditch the vermin that were creeping around her and enjoy being a mother.
He sipped his cooling coffee. Matt’s marathon had been great. Finding Ray’s money had been exhilarating, but helping a mother and child to live a better life had been the most rewarding of all.
Then his shoulders slumped. Because as soon as Jack faded away, it would be time for his fourth friend’s task. He was dreading it.
*
Laura Archer was having trouble concentrating on her last consultation of the morning.
The officer concerned ostensibly had multiple problems, but Laura was almost certain that he was trying to work his ticket and get out early with his pension intact.
All the indicators pointed one way. This was not a serious mental health issue at all, just a man desperate to find a way out of a job he could no longer handle. It was sad, but it also made her angry when she thought of Carter McLean.
At last her client left. Laura walked to her desk, flopped down and let out a sigh.