*
Jackman was just deciding to call it a day when his phone rang.
‘As promised, the full story.’ Rory Wilkinson sounded excited. ‘It’s a shame I’m based in Greenborough, I’d love you to call into my underground kingdom. I have this really dinky little 3D graphic showing the last moments of Suzanne Holland.’
‘I can get there tomorrow. But for now, can you tell me what happened?’
‘Of course, dear heart! Now would you like the full cast production, or the abridged version? I recommend the full Monty because then I can show off my huge repertoire of regional accents.’
‘I’m sure your repertoire is most impressive, Rory, but a simple synopsis would suffice.’
‘Are you related to DI Galena, by any chance?’
‘Not to my knowledge. Er, the story . . . ?’
‘Right. Suzanne died because she hit her head against the mantelpiece. She then fell to the floor sustaining a further head injury on the cast-iron surround of the fireplace.’
‘She fell?’ Jackman was sure Rory had suggested a more violent end.
‘Yes, she fell.’ Rory paused. ‘But only because she was pushed, with considerable force.’
‘You can be quite irritating sometimes, Rory, did anyone ever tell you that?’
‘I’m told — frequently.’ He chuckled. ‘I really do think I can explain much more clearly when you see the whole thing in motion.’
‘Early tomorrow, if that’s okay?’
‘Since I practically live here, that will be fine. Oh, and I am going to do another forensic sweep of your crime scene. I have equipment available to me now that wasn’t around eighteen months ago. Blood spatter analysis is my passion, and I have a theory about the hearth rug that I would like to check out. Would you arrange that for me?’
‘Just say when. I have access to the keys.’
‘We’ll sort that out when you do me the honour of visiting tomorrow. So for now I’ll just say, Ciao, and hasta ma?ana.’
Jackman replaced the phone and saw Marie standing in the doorway.
‘Any joy?’
‘Maybe, maybe not.’ She sat down. ‘Carter has got a name for one of Danny’s gofers, but the little scrote has gone to ground.’
‘Maybe uniform can find him.’
‘I’d leave it to Carter, sir. He’s got a knack with the underbelly of Saltern-le-Fen. If anyone can root him out, Carter can.’
‘Anything else?’
‘There’s an undercurrent out there. We both noticed it.’ Marie massaged her temples, as if her head ached. ‘It’s hard to explain, but there seems to be a lot of bad feeling towards the police — more than normal — and Ruth Crooke in particular. First thing tomorrow I’ll pull up a list of local villains that might have a grudge against her, then Carter and I are going knocking on a few doors.’
‘Where is Carter now?’
‘He’s gone to see her.’
‘Voluntarily?’
Marie grinned. ‘Yes, would you believe? I could be wrong, but I get the feeling that this business with Leah is mending a very old rift.’
‘Not before time.’
Marie stretched. ‘Any news on the Suzanne front?’
Jackman told her about the half-brother, and what Rory had found.
‘Looks like we are moving forward at last.’
‘Let’s not count our chickens, but something’s beginning to emerge from the mist.’
‘Good.’ Marie yawned.
‘Get off home, Evans! And get some rest.’
‘I will. I just want a quick word with Carter before I go.’
‘Don’t let him get you involved in one of his long heart to hearts, please. I need you on the ball, not worried sick over imaginary dead people.’
‘Er, sir. They are actual dead people. Not imaginary.’
‘So remember that, okay?’
‘Yes, sir. Understood, sir.’
*
Carter was on his way to Stone Quay, and trying to concentrate on the road. His mind was on Ruth Crooke, and the sudden change in their relationship.
At close of day, he had sat and actually talked to her for almost half an hour. And not one acrimonious remark had passed between them. Nothing had been said, but he knew that they had made their peace at last. He left her office feeling as if the wind had blown a heavy storm cloud from the sky.
He came to a halt and found the key to the storeroom. He had a couple of particular jobs to attend to this evening, and then he would be almost done.
Silas was sitting on an empty oil drum, with his dog sprawled across his feet.
‘Evening, Silas. Alright?’
‘Good enough, young’un. You eaten?’
Carter considered the question.
‘Thought not. Come to the cottage, it won’t take more’n a few minutes. You can’t work with no fuel in your belly.’
Carter followed him through the long grass and reeds to the tumbledown cottage. Carter had eaten with Silas before. His meals might not pass current food safety standards but they were the most delicious he had ever tasted.
Now he sniffed the air. ‘Rabbit stew?’
‘Hare casserole. Get yourself a bowl.’
‘And you?’
‘I ate earlier. But you help yourself.’
The old man offered him a ladle and pointed towards an ancient stewpot bubbling away on the stove.
‘I used a bit of my homemade wine in it. Think it worked, too. Eh?’
‘I’ll say.’ Carter ate and ate. Being with Silas Breeze felt right, it always had. This old half-ruined cottage was his refuge from an unkind world.
He finished the bowl of food and sat back. He looked around. No Tom. Come to think of it, he never saw Tom when he was in Silas’s place. ‘I must get some work done, Si, but thank you for that. I appreciate it.’
‘I knows that.’ The old man grinned showing very few teeth. ‘You’ll work twice as ’ard now.’
Silas had been right. Carter worked until encroaching darkness made it impossible to do any more. All evening, Tom had been a silent presence.
He drove away, and the sound of her name followed him into the dark night.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Jackman arrived back from Greenborough just in time for the morning meeting. Marie met him in the corridor by the vending machine.
‘Coffee?’ She smiled, and in her eyes, he saw a spark of the old Marie.
‘I’d love one. Are the troops assembled?’ He nodded towards the CID room.
‘All present and correct, sir.’ She handed him a beaker of coffee. ‘Was your trip worthwhile?’
‘Edifying, Marie. Very.’
‘So is what our Max dug up in Scunthorpe.’
‘Then we’d better go and put our heads together.’
He confirmed that another person of interest had surfaced in the Danny Hurley investigation, and then concentrated on the Holland case.
‘Professor Wilkinson is conducting further forensic work at the Holland Cottage, and until he has completed his checks it will remain sealed up.’