The Night Hawks

by Elly Griffiths

  ‘There’s no one of that name on our lists.’

  ‘Is there any way he could have taken part in a trial without being on the list?’

  ‘No. Definitely not. Before you start a trial here you have to speak to the registration team on the phone, then come into our clinic to have a full medical check. It’s all logged into the system. We have to be very thorough, as I’m sure you’ll understand.’

  So, if Jem Taylor did take part in a trial, it was on an unofficial basis, thinks Judy.

  ‘What was Douglas like to work with?’ she asks, going for a relaxed tone.

  Claudia hesitates for a second but, under the desk, her foot is still tapping out distress signals. ‘He was very professional,’ she says at last.

  That’s hardly a ringing personal accolade, thinks Judy.

  ‘How did Douglas seem in recent weeks?’ she says. ‘Did he seem to be worried about anything?’

  ‘He was the same as ever,’ says Claudia. ‘He wasn’t one to bring his home life to work.’

  ‘Did you know his family?’ asks Judy. ‘His wife and children?’

  ‘I met Linda several times,’ says Claudia. ‘I thought she was a very nice woman. I never met the son but I knew the daughter, Chloe, quite well.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes. She came here on work experience. Bright girl. Woman, I should say.’

  ‘What did she do while she was here on work experience?’

  ‘Just general office duties, answering the phone, filing, that sort of thing. I let her help with some of the pharmaceutical work too because she was planning on studying medicine.’

  ‘Did you keep in touch with Chloe afterwards?’

  Is it Judy’s imagination or does Claudia hesitate slightly? ‘Not really. I think she sent a thank-you card and I sent a good luck card and that was it. I wondered whether I should get in touch after . . . after what happened last week.’

  ‘Were you surprised when you found out?’

  Claudia pushes back her glasses and meets Judy’s gaze squarely. ‘Of course I was surprised! It’s not something you ever expect to happen. Not to someone you know. And Douglas . . . well, I would have said that Douglas was the last person in the world to commit suicide.’

  ‘Really? Why?’

  ‘Douglas was very absorbed in his work and we were making some real breakthroughs. I can’t imagine him wanting to die before we had our results. But the human brain is a strange thing, as I’m sure you know, DI Johnson.’

  You can say that again, thinks Judy, as she descends in the noiseless lift. She notes that Claudia was surprised that Douglas committed suicide, not that he killed his wife.

  ‘We’ve found some bones,’ says Ruth. Nelson, following her into the garden, is amazed at the progress the team has made in such a short time. The grass has all been scythed and, in the middle of what was once the lawn, is a large hole, as neat as only archaeologists can make it, the sides as straight as if drawn with a ruler. The trench is not very deep yet, but Nelson can already see something yellowy white in the dark earth.

  ‘Is it human?’ he says.

  ‘I don’t think so but it’s hard to tell at first,’ says Ruth. ‘I’ve seen wild pig bones confused with human ones before. But this is a vertebra and human vertebrae tend to be quite distinctive. They modified as we evolved to walk on two legs.’

  ‘Some of us anyway,’ murmurs Clough in the background.

  Steve is brushing soil away from another bone. ‘Here’s a femur,’ he says.

  Ruth leans over to look and beckons Nelson forward. ‘Look, the femoral head is a different shape and there’s no marked linea aspera down the back of the shaft.’

  ‘If you say so,’ says Nelson. ‘It looks similar to a human bone to me.’

  ‘Animal bones tend to have a more rugged appearance,’ says Ruth, ‘and the shaft isn’t as straight.’

  ‘This is a pretty long bone though,’ says Ted. Holding his scythe, he temporarily blocks out the hazy sun.

  ‘Yes, it is long,’ says Ruth.

  ‘Is it a farm animal?’ says Nelson. ‘After all, this was a farm once.’

  ‘Maybe,’ says Ruth. ‘We need to find the skull really.’

  ‘Some of the bones are broken up,’ says Steve. ‘Maybe with a spade or even a mechanical digger.’

  ‘The femur could be human,’ says Ted. ‘It’s about the right size.’

  Now Ruth is working away with her trowel. She can never resist the chance to dig and, unlike Michelle and most women Nelson knows, never seems to worry about the effect on her hands and clothes.

  ‘Here’s the mandible,’ she says. ‘It’s not human. You can tell by the teeth.’

  ‘What is it?’ says Steve. ‘A sheep? It looks too big.’

  ‘I think it’s a dog,’ says Ruth, looking at Nelson. ‘A very big one.’

  Chapter 18

  ‘Bloody hell, Ruth,’ says Clough. ‘You’ve found the Black Shuck.’

  Ted and Steve both laugh but Nelson says, on a note of asperity, ‘Don’t tell me you know that ridiculous story too, Cloughie.’

  ‘Of course,’ says Clough. ‘Norfolk born and bred, me. I know people who’ve seen the Shuck. It chased Mark home from the pub once.’

  Everyone laughs, sending the birds skirling into the air. Ruth lifts another bone out of the soil.

  ‘Here’s another part of the skull. The orbital bone, I think.’

  ‘The eye socket,’ says Ted. ‘Of course, by rights, it should be full of hellfire.’

  ‘It’s certainly a big dog,’ says Steve, who is laying the bones out on the tarpaulin.

  The atmosphere has changed now that the bones are definitely not human, thinks Ruth. Ted and Clough are joking about pubs where the hell hound might be mistaken for one of the regulars. Steve is continuing to arrange the skeleton but he’s not taking the care that he would with human remains, even raising the jawbone to his mouth and making snapping gestures with it. Nelson is looking at something on his phone.

  But Ruth doesn’t feel reassured. She’s still convinced that something is hidden in this sad patch of ground. And, even if the bones are canine, there’s still a mystery here. A dog’s bones at Black Dog Farm. Is this what Douglas Noakes meant in his note?

  Ruth continues to dust the soil from the remains.

  I’m sorry for all the things I’ve said and done. For the body in the garden and all of it.

  Nelson is looking at an encrypted email from Judy. She has been to Cambridge Bioresearch and is now on her way to the school where Linda Noakes was a teacher. Judy’s notes are brief: No Jem Taylor on the records. Chloe Noakes did work experience here! Something is obviously going on at Cambridge Bioresearch. And there’s something else too. Something involving Jem Taylor and PC Nathan Matthews. It’s niggling away at Nelson, like a bit of apple core caught in his teeth, but he can’t quite locate it.

  There’s now a raucous atmosphere to the excavation. Cloughie and Irish Ted are wise-cracking away and the other archaeologist is joining in. Only Ruth is continuing to work. Nelson approves. Murder is no laughing matter, and this is a house where two people died.

  He should be getting back to work. Super Jo will be breathing fire like the Shuck itself – or the Norfolk Sea Serpent – and muttering about retirement. He’ll send Tony over to the house to supervise the rest of the dig.

  ‘I’m off,’ he announces to the group at large.

  ‘See you, boss,’ says Cloughie. Old habits die hard.

  Ruth says nothing.

  Nelson walks round to the front of the house and gets in his car. He drives slowly down the track, thinking of the elderly car (‘It’s a classic,’ he tells Clough in his head) and half-­distracted by trying to plug his phone in. When a figure suddenly appears in front of him, he swears and brakes ­violently. The figure, an elder
ly bearded man, then proceeds to stand in front of the car, staring at him. Resisting the temptation to yell, ‘Get out of my way,’ Nelson winds down his window.

  The man approaches, maddeningly slowly.

  ‘You with the police?’ He has a strong Norfolk accent, something that is increasingly rare, even in rural areas.

  ‘Yes,’ says Nelson.

  ‘You here about the murder?’

  That’s an interesting way of putting it, thinks Nelson.

  ‘I’m here about the shooting last week,’ he says. ‘Do you live nearby?’

  He almost says, ‘Are you a neighbour?’ but there are no other houses as far as the eye can see.

  ‘Yes,’ says the man. He continues to stare at Nelson out of milky blue eyes. He looks about a hundred but living in the countryside can do that to you. Nelson switches off the engine and waits.

  ‘I knew this place when it was a real farm,’ says the ancient.

  ‘How long ago was that?’

  ‘Thirty, forty year back. Course, it wasn’t called Black Dog Farm then.’

  ‘Wasn’t it?’

  ‘No, that was his idea. Noakes. This was North End Farm in those days.’

  ‘Did you know Douglas Noakes?’

  ‘Just to say hallo to. He kept himself to himself. I heard things sometimes, though.’

  ‘What sort of things?’

  ‘Screaming, crying. Coming from the house. And I heard him howling at night. The Black Shuck.’

  Nelson’s heart sinks. ‘The Black Shuck?’

  ‘Don’t you believe in the Shuck?’ The man grins, revealing a mouth that showcases a single, yellow tooth. ‘I’ve seen him as clear I see you. He haunts this place, you know.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘He comes back for blood, because blood was spilt here. There’s a curse on the house, you know.’

  It just gets better, thinks Nelson.

  ‘A farmer called Manning, he killed his wife here, years ago. The Shuck doesn’t forget.’

  Before Nelson can reply, the man touches his cap and, moving surprisingly quickly, disappears into the tree-lined lane.

  Linda Noakes taught at a Sheringham school called St Luke’s. Judy arrives at three o’clock and is slightly surprised to find that it’s the end of the school day. When you’re at school, last lesson feels like the evening, the best of the day is over by the time you get home. But, in the adult world, school ends just after lunchtime. At the station they would be arguing about whose turn it was to do the chocolate run.

  Judy watches the parents collecting their children and walking away carrying school bags and sundry pieces of artwork. She remembers Miranda flying out of school last Friday, leaving a trail of glitter behind her. It had been nice to go with Cathbad to collect the children but she’s still glad that she doesn’t have to do it every day. Just seeing the mothers with their four-by-fours and designer sunglasses makes her feel nervous.

  In a remarkably short space of time, the playground is empty apart from a caretaker gloomily picking up rubbish and two children waiting anxiously with their teacher. ‘Mum will be here soon,’ the teacher is saying. ‘It’s hard to get away when you’ve got patients to see.’ That would be Michael and Miranda’s fate if Judy was a single mother. She silently thanks the goddess for Cathbad as she goes up to the desk and asks for Selina Spencer, the headteacher.

  Judy has noticed that authority figures are starting to look young to her, so she’s reassured to see that Selina has grey hair and is wearing a sensible wine-coloured trouser suit. She has a round, cheerful face that doesn’t seem suited to her sombre expression when she mentions Linda.

  ‘I’ll miss her a lot,’ she says. ‘We were the two oldies, counting down the days until retirement. We used to joke about it.’

  Linda Noakes was fifty-eight, Selina doesn’t look much older but maybe teachers, like police officers, retire early. There are always rumours that the boss is planning to retire but Judy will believe that when she sees it.

  ‘How long had Linda worked here?’ asks Judy.

  ‘Twelve years,’ says Selina. ‘She came back to work when the children left home. She was part-time, a job share in Year Four. Parents always complain about job shares but actually they work very well in primary schools. It gives the children two experienced teachers for the price of one.’

  ‘I’m sorry to ask,’ says Judy, ‘but we’re obviously looking into the circumstances of Linda’s death. Had she ever given any indication that things were difficult at home?’

  ‘No,’ says Selina. ‘We were all so shocked when we heard. Linda was a private person, she didn’t talk about her home life much, but I think – I hope – that I would have picked up if something was wrong. She always seemed very cheerful, very sensible and down-to-earth. As I say, we used to joke about being the older generation. We’ve got a lot of young teachers here. There was only me, Linda and Bryan in the oldies’ club.’

  ‘Did Linda ever talk about her children, Chloe and Paul?’

  ‘Sometimes. They came here, you know, so we always had an interest in them. Linda was so proud when Chloe became a doctor.’

  ‘And Paul? Was she proud of him too?’

  ‘Of course.’ But there seems to be a slight hesitation. Surely Linda, a teacher herself, would approve of Paul’s career choice.

  ‘Did you know Douglas Noakes at all?’

  ‘I just met him once, at a summer fete. He seemed rather distant, rather cold, quite a contrast to Linda. But I certainly never thought . . .’

  You never thought that he’d kill his wife, thinks Judy. But you’re not that surprised either.

  By the afternoon, the digger has reduced the garden to churned mud. Ruth has found several pieces of what look like medieval pottery, a Victorian glass bottle and a collection of coins. Yet the only bones are those of the dog, now arranged in anatomically correct position on the blue tarpaulin. Ruth is muddy, tired and extremely hungry. She’s also annoyed to find herself hoping that Nelson might come back. Tony, the new young DC, turned up at lunchtime and has just left. He’s pleasant and very keen – actually getting into the trench himself at one point – but, for Ruth, he’s no substitute for Nelson or even for Judy and Clough, the double act from the old days. Clough left shortly after Nelson. It had been good to see him again but disconcerting that he seems to be getting younger with each passing year.

  The digger driver has gone, taking Steve with him, and now there’s only Ruth and Ted, bagging the bones and marking them on a skeleton chart, more for form’s sake than anything else. Ruth has also collected some soil samples and recorded all the finds. Now she’s thinking of home and a hot bath. She’s picking Kate up from Sandra’s at five and it’s nearly four. She is, therefore, not delighted when a tall shadow falls across her log book.

  ‘Just thought I’d drop in. The policeman outside said it was OK.’

  ‘Hallo, David.’

  ‘What did you find?’

  ‘Just some dog bones.’ Ruth indicates the box containing the sample bags. ‘And a few pieces of pottery.’

  ‘Anything old?’

  He’s hoping for some Beaker pots, Ruth thinks.

  ‘Not prehistoric. They look medieval.’

  ‘Bottle could be interesting,’ says David. ‘Could be from an apothecary.’

  ‘Maybe,’ says Ruth. Old glass, she remembers, was one of Phil’s specialities.

  ‘But no body in the garden?’

  ‘Unless you count the dog, no.’

  There are only a few bones remaining on the tarpaulin, but they are enough to show the size of the animal. It was, in Ted’s words, ‘as big as a pony’.

  ‘You were talking about the Black Shuck,’ says David, ‘and here it is.’ He lifts up one of the bones and, for a weird moment, Ruth thinks that he’s going to kiss it. Instead, David hold
s the fragment up to the sun so that it’s almost translucent.

  ‘“The good is oft interred with their bones”,’ he says. ‘We did Julius Caesar at school. I was Mark Anthony.’

  ‘Was that when you were at school with Alan White?’ says Ruth. She distrusts people who quote Shakespeare. Shona’s always doing it.

  ‘Yes. West Runton Prep. It’s a good play for an all-boys school. Alan was Cassius. Or Casca. One of the conspirators anyway.’

  ‘I saw Alan yesterday. He was at the Bronze Age site with a friend. I hope he isn’t planning to do any digging.’

  David laughs. ‘You do like to be in charge, Ruth, don’t you?’

  Ruth ignores this. I am in charge she tells David in her head. Ted puts the last bone in its paper evidence bag and Ruth marks it on the chart. Thoracic Vertebrae. She straightens up. Her back is aching like hell.

  David is staring up at the house. Suddenly he lets out an exclamation.

  ‘What is it?’ says Ruth.

  ‘Nothing,’ says David. ‘Just . . . I thought I saw something . . . someone . . . at the window.’

  Ruth follows his gaze. She’s glad of the solid presence of Ted behind her. The house stares back at her, the windows reflecting the late afternoon sun so that, for a second, it looks as if there’s a fire burning somewhere inside.

  ‘It’s just the light,’ says Ted. ‘You get dramatic sunsets around here.’

  ‘Yes,’ says David. ‘It must have been a trick of the light.’

  Ted lifts up the box of bones while Ruth takes the box containing the finds. After a moment’s hesitation, David takes the scythe and resistivity metre. They walk round to the front of the house and load the equipment and the boxes into Ted’s van. Ruth sees David’s car, a vintage ­Citroën, next to her six-year-old Renault. She’s irritated with him for having such an Instagrammable car.

  ‘Shall I take the bones to the lab?’ says Ted.

  ‘Yes. The police might still want to examine them. I suppose they might have fingerprints or DNA on them.’