The Night Hawks

by Elly Griffiths

  ‘Jem?’ Cheryl laughs, a painful sound that turns into a cough. ‘He couldn’t swim. He was terrified of water.’

  The coastguard think that Jem’s body might have floated from Wells or Holme-next-the-Sea. Dr Chris Stephenson, the pathologist, thought that he had been dead for about two hours when he was discovered on Blakeney Point. Wells is a small fishing port. Could Jem have been in a boat despite his fear of water? Judy asks about Jem’s friends. Did he keep in touch with many people? She means, after being in prison.

  ‘There was his girlfriend, Summer. They’ve been together since they were fifteen. She stood by him through thick and thin. And he still kept up with friends from school. Everyone loved Jem.’ Cheryl’s voice wobbles and Graham pats her arm, though he looks as stricken as his wife.

  ‘I’d like to speak to Summer,’ says Judy. ‘If that’s all right.’

  ‘I’ll give you her number,’ says Cheryl. ‘She’s heartbroken. She’s a lovely girl. I’d hoped . . .’ She waves a hand as if fighting away the memories, but Judy knows what she means. Cheryl had hoped that Summer and Jem would settle down and maybe, one day, give her grandchildren. Judy had married her childhood boyfriend and her parents, too, had been delighted. But then she’d met Cathbad.

  ‘How did Jem seem when you saw him last?’ says Judy.

  ‘Good,’ says Graham. ‘He came over last Monday and fixed our leaking tap. He seemed in high spirits, talking about going on holiday with Summer in a few weeks.’

  ‘He didn’t mention anything that was bothering him?’

  ‘No. Except . . .’ Graham looks at Cheryl.

  ‘Except?’ Judy prompts.

  ‘Except he had a bit of a cold,’ says Cheryl. ‘Which wasn’t like him. I said he should take some vitamin C and he said, “I can’t. They told me not to.”’

  ‘They told me not to? Do you know what he meant by that?’

  ‘No, but he seemed odd when he said it. Secretive, which wasn’t like Jem at all.’

  Graham laughs sadly. ‘Jem wasn’t one to keep a secret.’

  But maybe he’s keeping one now, thinks Judy.

  Chapter 15

  Back in his office, Nelson thinks about retirement for about eight seconds and then dismisses the idea. The force needs his experience and know-how. There are some things you can only learn from years of actually doing the job. Recently, though, he has begun to be aware of a faint muttering among the younger officers. He imagines the conversations. ‘When is he going to go?’ ‘How old is he again?’ ‘You’d think he’d take his pension and run.’ No one would ever dare say this to his face but a couple of times he has been asked if he has any plans for retirement. ‘None,’ he always replies briskly. Nelson is a DCI; that is who he is. He literally can’t imagine waking up one morning to find that he’s plain Mr Nelson.

  The mutterings don’t come from his team, of course, but sometimes he does worry that his mere presence is holding them back. Judy is a DI now. She should be in charge of her own department which, unless he retires, means that she has to leave Norfolk, where she has lived all her life. Clough has already left to work as a DI in Cambridgeshire. It’s not far away but Nelson misses his protégé. Really, he wants everything to stay exactly as it was. He was the same when his daughters were growing up.

  He thinks about ringing Ruth to distract himself from these gloomy thoughts and is still staring at his phone when her name flashes up. Cathbad would have something to say about that.

  ‘Hallo, Ruth. What’s up? Is it Katie?’

  ‘Kate is fine. I was just ringing because . . . well, it might be nothing . . . but, you know when we were leaving the farm yesterday, I thought I saw something running across the path. Remember I braked suddenly?’

  ‘Yes. I nearly went into the back of you.’

  ‘I thought I saw an animal, too big to be a dog, but like a dog. I told Cathbad and he said . . .’

  ‘Don’t tell me, he said it was the bloody Black Shuck. The omen of death. And you believed him? I’m surprised at you, Ruth.’

  ‘I know what I saw,’ says Ruth, sounding irritated. ‘Kate saw him too.’

  Nelson’s hand hovers in an instinctive sign of the cross. He does not want Katie to have seen the Black Shuck.

  ‘Probably a deer,’ he says. ‘There are loads round there.’

  ‘Probably,’ says Ruth. ‘But Cathbad said that there had been a few sightings of the Shuck recently. He’d heard it from Alan White. You know, the metal detectorist?’

  ‘I know Mr White.’

  ‘Well, I was thinking, if someone is spreading the rumour that the Black Shuck is haunting the farm, I wonder what they want to hide?’

  Now that is a good question, thinks Nelson. The world is officially sane again.

  Ruth clicks off her phone, feeling irritated. Now Nelson will think that she’s gone completely mad. But she can’t quite get yesterday’s image out of her mind. The darkening sky, the birds circling like some sort of omen, and then the creature emerging from the hedge, as tall as a deer but without that animal’s legginess, shaggy and feral-looking, moving with a loping, wolfish stride. There are always rumours in Norfolk about big cats escaping from various zoos but this didn’t look cat-like either. It had looked, she has to admit, like a very large dog, a wolfhound or something similar. Had she seen the Black Shuck or, rather, had she seen what people see when they think they’ve seen the spectral hound?

  Did she call Nelson just to hear his voice? She can’t quite acquit herself of this. But, she tells herself defensively, it could be important that both David and Cathbad know Alan White and that White has been reporting sightings of the Black Shuck. She thought that Nelson seemed to register her last point, that the ghost stories could be spread by someone with something to hide. But she has to stop playing detective. That has got her into trouble before. Besides, she has enough real work to do.

  Ruth turns back to her notes. Palaeopathological Diagnosis and Interpretation. She has given this lecture many times before but there are always new developments and if any of the other lecturers – well, David – are listening then she wants to show them that the head of department keeps up to date with the latest thinking. It’s unusual for the head of department to do so much lecturing – Phil did hardly any – but Ruth loves teaching and doesn’t want to give it up completely. It does mean that she has even less time for her own research which is a worry because, apparently, one reason she got the job was because she had ‘an international research profile’. Ruth doesn’t know how this can be the case when, barring an ill-starred trip to Italy, she hadn’t been abroad for years.

  When there’s a knock on the door she thinks at first that it must be David with some new ideas on how she could do her job better. But her visitor is waiting patiently for permission to enter so it can’t possibly be him.

  ‘Come in.’

  ‘Hallo, Ruth. I thought at first you were too important to see me now.’

  Shona. Ruth’s best friend at the university and Phil’s partner. Ruth feels guilty because she has been too busy to see much of Shona recently.

  ‘It’s lovely to see you,’ she says, getting up and giving her friend a hug.

  It is lovely and makes Ruth realise how much she has missed Shona. Just seeing her there, in Ruth’s posh corner office, the sun glinting on her red-gold hair, lifts the spirits. Shona teaches English Literature but she’s part-time since having her son and rarely ventures over to the Natural Sciences Block.

  ‘Have you got a few minutes?’ says Shona.

  ‘Of course. I’ve got a lecture in half an hour though.’

  ‘I just wanted to say hallo. Seems like ages since I saw you.’

  ‘Let’s have a coffee,’ says Ruth. ‘I’ve got my own espresso machine.’

  ‘Fancy. That’s new since Phil’s day.’

  Ruth wonders if this is said w
ith a slight edge. She hasn’t really altered the office at all, beyond adding the coffee machine (bought with her own money) and her poster of Indiana Jones but maybe Shona thinks that Ruth is set on eradicating all traces of her predecessor.

  ‘How’s Phil?’ she asks, just to show that she hasn’t forgotten him.

  ‘Really well. Retirement suits him. We’ve got an allotment and he’s growing all sorts of vegetables. And he’s loving spending so much time with Louis. He’s even joined the PTA.’

  Shona and Phil’s son Louis is a little younger than Kate. Ruth wonders if she should suggest that they all get together one day. The trouble is that Kate doesn’t really like Louis and, unlike Ruth, will not be embarrassed to admit this.

  ‘We’re thinking of doing a round-the-world trip next year. Backpacking. We could take Louis out of school. He won’t miss much. Travelling with his parents will be more of an education.’

  In theory Ruth agrees with this but she can’t imagine herself taking Kate out of school just when she’s about to start her secondary education. She can’t imagine herself backpacking round the world either. The thought depresses her slightly.

  ‘How are you enjoying the top job?’ says Shona. There’s a definite edge now.

  ‘It’s OK,’ says Ruth. ‘Lots of paperwork. Lots of HR stuff. Lots of meetings. I can see what Phil meant about the meetings now.’

  ‘Universities have far too many meetings,’ says Shona. ‘Humanities is the same. I met one of your new lecturers in the canteen the other day.’

  ‘Who?’ says Ruth, although there’s really only one person it could be.

  ‘David Brown. We had a good old chat. I thought he was quite dishy.’

  I bet you did, thinks Ruth. She’s not going to ask if David mentioned her.

  ‘He mentioned you,’ says Shona. ‘Said that you seemed really overworked.’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘Yes. I reminded him that you were still getting used to being HoD. He said that you were involved in some police case.’

  This must be another reason for Shona’s visit. She’s incorrigibly nosy about Ruth’s forensic work.

  ‘A body was washed up on Blakeney Point,’ says Ruth. ‘Some metal detectorists found it when they were looking for treasure. They found the treasure too. A Bronze Age skeleton surrounded by grave goods.’

  ‘Phil’s horrible about metal detectorists. I’ve always wondered why. It looks a fun hobby to me.’

  Once again, Ruth finds herself silently siding with Phil. This really has to stop.

  ‘Licensed detectorists are fine,’ she says. ‘This lot seem to be OK. Although they do go out at night, which is rather suspicious.’

  ‘I thought that David said something about Black Dog Farm. Where there was that shooting the other day.’

  This is interesting. David was talking about Black Dog Farm before Ruth told him about the excavation.

  ‘I was there yesterday,’ says Ruth, evasively. ‘Advising the police.’

  ‘The police? Nelson?’

  ‘He was there too.’

  ‘Be careful, Ruth.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘This is how it always starts. Nelson asks for your advice and, the next thing you know, you’re involved in some horrible murder case, being chased by some madman.’

  Ruth wants to argue, to say that Shona is overdramatising everything (she teaches English, hyperbole is her speciality) but, though Ruth does not like to admit it, Shona’s words have a certain truth to them. She has been involved in some dangerous cases over the past ten years and Shona herself has been caught up in a few of them.

  ‘I’ll be careful,’ she says.

  ‘Good,’ says Shona. ‘We’re not getting any younger, after all. It’s not the time to take risks.’

  ‘Says the woman who’s planning to backpack round the world.’

  ‘That’s different. We’ll be having experiences.’

  ‘I’m having experiences.’

  ‘Not good ones, though. What’s Black Dog Farm like? It sounds very spooky. I thought I saw the Black Shuck on Hunstanton beach once. Phil said it was a donkey.’

  Summer Mulhearn is a beautician. Usually, when she’s with someone from the beauty industry, Judy becomes self-conscious about her nails and hair, but she can tell immediately that Summer, although very pretty, isn’t the sort of person who makes you feel bad about yourself. She’s more like those hairdressers who spend so much time telling you that your hair is lovely and long that you let them cut most of it off.

  Summer works from home but the sign in her window – ‘Summer Beauty’ – now has a sticker saying, ‘Closed until further notice’. Summer lives with her parents but they have given her their big front room to use as a salon. It looks very professional, with a treatment table, hair dryers and multiple mirrors. Summer’s overalls are hanging on the back of her door and there are numerous framed certificates attesting to her prowess at lash techniques, ­eyebrow-threading and facials. But Summer herself, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, eyes puffy, doesn’t look as if she is ready to put on her pink overall any time soon.

  ‘I still can’t believe it,’ she says. ‘I just keep expecting him to walk through that door.’

  Summer points to the door and in the direction of a large photograph of the couple cheek-to-cheek. They look incredibly glamourous, as if they are modelling a lifestyle too idyllic to be true. But Jem was hardly the perfect boyfriend. He must have spent a good part of their relationship in prison.

  ‘I’m so sad for Cheryl too,’ says Summer. ‘She’s been like a second mum to me.’

  ‘Cheryl said that you and Jem have been together a long time,’ says Judy.

  ‘Yes, we met at school when we were fifteen. Jem was the boy everyone fancied.’ Summer smiles at the memory. ‘I don’t know why he chose me. I was a shy little thing in those days. But he did.’

  He chose me. Jem was a career criminal and Summer a successful businesswoman, but she still seems grateful that the class heart-throb picked her as his girlfriend.

  ‘When did you last see Jem?’ asks Judy.

  ‘Last Tuesday,’ says Summer. ‘He came over here and we watched a film together.’

  ‘When did he leave?’ asks Judy. By the early hours of Wednesday morning Jem’s body was lying lifeless on the beach.

  ‘About ten o’clock.’

  ‘Did he say if he was going on anywhere else?’

  ‘I assumed he was going back to the hostel. They’ve got a curfew, you see.’

  ‘And how did he seem, in himself?’

  ‘Happy.’ Summers eyes fill with tears. ‘Really happy. He was getting himself together. We were going on holiday in a few weeks.’

  ‘Where were you going?’

  ‘St Lucia.’

  Judy thinks, St Lucia is expensive. She knows because she once looked up holidays there although Cathbad now refuses to fly because of the damage to the planet. Summer’s business is apparently doing well but Jem had only just got out of prison.

  ‘Who was paying for the holiday?’ she asks.

  ‘Jem.’

  There’s a silence and then Judy says, gently, ‘How?’

  ‘He was doing some work.’ Summer looks away, picking at her pristine nail varnish.

  ‘What sort of work?’

  ‘Don’t tell his mum,’ says Summer, in a rush.

  ‘Was it something illegal?’

  ‘No. It was all above board. It’s just that Jem knew his mum wouldn’t like it. He was doing some medical trials, you see.’

  ‘Medical trials?’

  ‘Yes. For this place in Cambridge. He was trialling a vaccine. They paid good money.’

  ‘Do you know the name of the place?’

  ‘No, but the logo had a dog on it. A black dog.’


  And Judy hears Cathbad’s voice, ‘The Black Shuck, the harbinger of death.’

  Chapter 16

  Kate has drama club after school so Ruth doesn’t drive to Sandra’s to collect her. Instead she parks at the Cley visitor centre and takes the path through the long grasses to the beach. It’s a beautiful evening and the marshes are full of birds, swooping down to the inland pools and rising up in clouds, wheeling and turning. Ruth passes the thatched hides, knowing that they will contain birdwatchers, silent and devout, watching through binoculars. She hopes, though, that the beach is empty. She wants to look at the excavation site again. She walks along the shingle thinking of Cathbad’s story about the dog who had walked beside him. It’s tempting now to imagine that other footsteps follow hers, that she can see a shadow, large and misshapen, falling on the shallow water. What is the third who walks beside you? Christ on the road to Emmaus. She remembers Cathbad telling her once that, in extreme stress, we often imagine that we are accompanied by another person, a companion or a protector. This might explain stories from the First World War of soldiers sensing an unknown presence, often described as an angel, marching beside them through the mud and the horror. But today there’s only Ruth. She moves quickly, stepping firmly over the shifting ground.

  As she rounds the cove, she sees the cruciform shape of a huge bird, its wings dark against the low evening sun. A buzzard? A kestrel? An eagle? Ruth is vague about ornithology, despite living for over twenty years in one of the richest bird-life habitats in the world. She is lost in her own thoughts and so doesn’t notice, until she is almost at the site, that there are two other figures silhouetted against the sea. One very tall, the other smaller and squatter. Birdwatchers? No, she recognises the smaller man, his flyaway grey hair and unravelling jumper. Alan White.

  ‘Hallo, Ruth,’ Alan greets her. ‘Beautiful evening, isn’t it?’

  ‘Hallo,’ says Ruth. ‘Out for a stroll?’

  She means this to be ironical. The men have clearly been looking into the trench. The other man is even holding a trowel.