The Night Hawks

by Elly Griffiths

  From the condition and the objects found in the context – coins and building rubble – Ruth thinks that the bones have been in the soil for about thirty years. She’s not sure though. It’s usually easy enough to tell newly buried bones, but, without carbon-14 testing, it’s possible to confuse fifty-year-old bones with ancient ones. Ruth can’t see the police paying for C14 tests on dog bones.

  Ted drives off and Ruth gets into her car with a sigh of pleasure. The driving seat feels wonderfully supportive for her back. She’s just searching for her water bottle when David says, ‘What’s that?’

  Why does he keep seeing things? It’s making Ruth nervous. This time, David is pointing towards the outbuildings. Rather reluctantly, Ruth looks. And sees a black shape disappearing behind a wall.

  ‘What was that?’ she says.

  ‘Looked like a dog,’ says David. He glances at her with that odd, uneven smile. ‘Shall we investigate?’

  ‘I need to collect my daughter.’

  ‘Won’t take a second.’

  Ruth doesn’t want to follow him. It’s still daylight although the shadows are lengthening. The farm suddenly seems very quiet. Even the birds have stopped singing. There’s not a breath of air and the sky is a strange yellowy colour. She thinks a storm is on its way.

  ‘Come on,’ says David. ‘Don’t be chicken.’

  That does it. Ruth gets out of her car.

  ‘This way,’ says David. ‘I think he went into the barn.’ Ruth follows David across the yard. The barn is almost directly opposite the house, a dark, windowless building with huge doors, bolted shut. But, as they approach, they see that there’s another entrance, a smaller door at the side. It’s ajar.

  ‘Anyone there?’ David kicks the door open.

  ‘Be careful,’ says Ruth.

  ‘Are you afraid of the Black Shuck?’

  Yes, Ruth wants to say. Anyone with any sense would be afraid of a wild dog the size of a pony. But she joins David at the open door.

  It’s pitch-black inside the barn but Ruth gets the sense of a vast, empty space. David shines his phone torch into the void. It highlights rafters, a ladder, an old dinghy. And a dog’s bed and feeding bowl. The latter licked shining clean.

  The storm breaks just as Ruth and Kate get home. Ruth feels as if it’s been chasing her across the marshes, the wind buffeting her little car from side to side as they negotiate the high, exposed road with ditches at each side. One false move and she and Kate will be plunged into darkness. The sky is purple now with a yellow line across the horizon. Ruth and Kate run into the house and, as they shut the door, the rain hits the windows as if a wave has risen up and swallowed the flat landscape. There’s an explosion of thunder and the dark house is lit by lightning. Kate gives an excited scream. Ruth turns on the lights and goes to look for Flint. After an anxious few minutes, he is eventually discovered on Kate’s bed, disguised as a teddy bear. As Kate cuddles the disapproving cat, lightning illuminates the row of dusty Sylvanians on her window ledge.

  ‘We’d better bring Flint downstairs,’ says Kate. ‘He’s scared of thunder.’

  He’s not the only one, thinks Ruth. She’s had a few nasty experiences with storms herself but, in front of Kate, she puts on a jolly façade of ‘Isn’t nature wonderful, aren’t we lucky to be all cosy inside?’ Kate agrees but she sits very close to Ruth on the sofa as they eat their pasta. Flint sits directly in front of them, trying to make them feel guilty for monopolising his preferred nap spot.

  The storm lasts all evening. They count the seconds between lightning flashes and thunderclaps and, for a long time, it seems as if it is acting out its tantrum right over the house. Ruth’s cottage is one of a group of three but both sets of neighbours are away at the moment. It’s just Ruth, Kate and Flint in the middle of the marshes with the wind howling – as locals always like to tell you – all the way from Siberia. Ruth thinks of Black Dog Farm, of David looking up at the windows, of the red light flickering behind the glass, of the strange animal disappearing into the shadows. When Kate is finally in bed, she rings Nelson.

  ‘What’s up?’ He doesn’t ask about Kate, which makes Ruth think that Michelle is listening.

  ‘It’s probably nothing,’ she says, ‘but David Brown turned up after you left.’

  ‘That man seems to get everywhere.’

  Ruth ignores this. ‘He just came to help with the dig, but it was almost finished. He helped us clear up and, when we were getting into our cars, we saw something.’

  ‘What?’ Ruth can hear the television in the background. Has she interrupted a cosy evening in front of MasterChef?

  ‘We thought we saw a dog . . .’

  ‘Not the bloody Shuck again.’

  ‘No,’ says Ruth. ‘An actual real-life dog. We followed it into the barn and saw its actual real-life feeding bowl and basket.’

  ‘Well, well, well,’ says Nelson. ‘That is interesting. So someone at the farm was keeping a dog.’

  ‘It looks like it.’

  ‘Thanks for letting me know, Ruth. Is the weather bad out your way? I don’t like to think of you out there in the middle of nowhere.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ says Ruth. ‘I like thunder.’

  Outside, the storm rages.

  Chapter 19

  ‘It was a dog,’ says Tony. ‘A dog the size of an elephant.’

  ‘An elephant, Tony?’ says Judy. ‘Really?’ She usually finds Tony’s enthusiasm endearing but sometimes he sounds like a schoolboy in the back of a bus describing how he saw a spider that big in the bath.

  ‘A baby elephant,’ says Tony.

  ‘And that was all they found in the garden?’ says Tanya, who is making rather ostentatious notes.

  ‘Apart from a few bits of rubble,’ says Tony. ‘I actually got in the trench. Must be great fun to be an archaeologist.’

  ‘It’s more like a lot of hard work,’ says Judy, thinking of the times that she’s seen Ruth on an excavation, meticulously trowelling and sifting and recording.

  ‘So, when Douglas Noakes said, “the body in the garden”,’ says Tanya, ‘he could have been talking about a dog?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ says Judy. ‘Let’s ask Paul and Chloe when we talk to them today. Oh, and the boss rang me last night to say that Ruth had found a dog bowl and bed in one of the outhouses. She thought she saw a dog too, a big one.’

  ‘Maybe that was the Black Whatsit,’ says Tony. ‘The ghost dog.’

  ‘The Black Shuck,’ says Judy. ‘Honestly, you went to UEA, I would have thought that you would have known all the local legends.’

  ‘We did do a ghost tour of Norwich once,’ says Tony. ‘I got locked in the park by the Cow Tower.’

  ‘So maybe they had a dog and buried it in the garden,’ says Tanya, in a ‘summing up’ voice. ‘And maybe they had another dog and kept it in an outhouse. I don’t see that gets us anywhere.’

  ‘It tells us something about the Noakes family though,’ says Judy. ‘Neither of the children mentioned a dog so why would Douglas and Linda be keeping one secretly? And there’s something odd going on at the research company. Jem Taylor’s girlfriend said he did a drugs trial for them but he’s not on the books. Plus, Chloe Noakes did work experience there and forgot to mention it. Do you want to talk to her, Tanya, and I’ll take Paul?’ She’s aware that she’s placating Tanya by offering her the more interesting sibling.

  ‘What shall I do?’ says Tony.

  ‘Stay here and go through the witness statements,’ says Judy. ‘See if there’s anything we’ve missed. And brief the boss when he gets back.’

  ‘Where is he?’ says Tanya.

  ‘He’s at the funeral of that PC who died,’ says Judy.

  Nathan’s funeral brings back horrible memories of Tim’s. The coffin covered in the Union flag, the lines of uniformed police officers, the sobbing relat
ives, the scent of flowers and candles. Of course, Tim had died a hero’s death and Nathan had succumbed to an illness, apparently described on the death certificate as pneumonia. There’s no press interest this time, no crowds of spectators outside the church, half prurient, half respectful. But the Norfolk police force has turned out to honour one of their own. Nelson sits with Jo in a row of dark blue uniforms. Jo is in uniform too, which rather suits her. Nelson is wearing a black suit and what he thinks of as his funeral tie. He can see Mark Hammond two rows in front; occasionally he drops his head and his neighbour pats his shoulder. It’s a terrible thing to lose a partner and Mark and Nathan had known each other all their lives. Nathan’s family are in the front row, mother, father and siblings. There’s also a blonde woman who might be the fiancée. Hadn’t Mark said that Nathan was saving up to get married?

  The service passes in a blur of readings and hymns and heart-rending tributes to the deceased. Nathan’s brother describes him as his best friend. Mark stumbles up to the lectern to say that he knew Nathan ‘since we were spotty schoolboys together’. His face crumples as he concludes, ‘I’ll never forget you, buddy.’ Nathan’s fiancée is sobbing in the front row. When the last hymn – ‘Thine Be The Glory’ – starts up, Nelson finds himself rubbing his eyes. Jo puts her hand on his arm but says nothing. Nelson is oddly touched by this.

  Outside, the coffin is borne away to a ‘private interment’. The police contingent stands on the steps watching the hearse drive away with autumn leaves swirling up around it like funeral confetti. It’s a cold, squally day, the remnants of last night’s storm. Jo is talking to her fellow high-ups. Nelson finds himself next to Mark Hammond.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he says, again. ‘This must be very hard for you. Are you back at work?’

  ‘I’m still on compassionate leave,’ says Mark. ‘I think I’m going to volunteer to be a dog handler,’ he continues, in a hard, bright voice. ‘I don’t think I could face having another human partner. Animals never let you down.’

  Nathan didn’t let anyone down, except by dying, but Nelson knows what Mark means. And, in Nelson’s experience, dog handlers get every bit as involved with their canine companions. He knows Jan Adams, the senior police dog handler in Norfolk, very well. Bruno is a distant relative of her dog, Barney.

  ‘You did well to speak in church,’ he says. ‘I’m sure it was a comfort to Nathan’s parents.’

  ‘I don’t think anything will comfort them,’ says Mark. ‘Or Faye, Nathan’s fiancée. They were planning to get married next year.’

  These words run through Nelson’s mind as he walks back to the police station. This is what has been niggling away at him. Nathan was saving to get married. Jem Taylor had been saving for a holiday. Was it possible that they had both turned to Cambridge Bioresearch as a way of making some extra money?

  At the station, there’s only young Tony, looking very conscientious with a pile of reports in front of him.

  ‘How was the funeral?’ he asks, and then blushes. ‘I mean . . . I know it must have been awful . . .’

  ‘It was as good as it could have been,’ says Nelson. ‘A proper police send-off.’ He sometimes finds himself wondering, rather morbidly, what his own funeral will be like. Will Jo make a speech? Will Cloughie cry? His mother has planned her own funeral right down to all the hymns. Maybe he should do the same.

  ‘How did you find Black Dog Farm?’ he asks Tony.

  Tony swivels his chair round. Nelson has noticed before that the new recruit is always keen to chat.

  ‘Pretty creepy. It was fascinating watching Dr Galloway work though. She knew exactly how old the bones were, just from what was buried alongside them.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Does Tony really not know about Nelson and Ruth? Surely Tanya will have told him by now. He assumes that everyone in Norfolk Police knows.

  ‘Do me a favour, Tony,’ says Nelson, ‘and look up the land registry for the farm. It used to be called North End. Find out if a family called Manning used to live there.’

  He goes into his office and looks up Cambridge ­Bio­research. Ten minutes later, Tony is tapping on the door.

  ‘Terry and Geraldine Manning-Brown lived in North End Farm from 1963 to 1980,’ says Tony. ‘And I found this in the EDP archives.’

  Nelson looks at the printout from the Eastern Daily Press. It is dated 3 June 1976.

  Horror Accident At Farm

  In what police described as a horrific accident, Mrs Geraldine Manning-Brown, aged 39, was killed when she fell into a combine harvester at North End Farm, Sheringham. Her husband, Terry, aged 50, who found her body was said to be in shock today. The Manning-Browns have owned the farm for several generations and were described by neighbours as ‘pillars of the community’.

  Hadn’t the Noakes family been described in the same way? The article is accompanied by a picture of an unsmiling couple standing in front of the familiar, square house.

  At the man’s side is a large black dog.

  Chapter 20

  Paul Noakes teaches at a sixth-form college on the outskirts of King’s Lynn. Judy didn’t attend this school herself but it’s enough like her alma mater to make her feel slightly panicky. She did well enough at school but couldn’t wait to leave at eighteen and join the police force, even though her A levels were good enough for university. She can’t understand people like Ruth and Shona who voluntarily stay in academic establishments all their lives. Even Cathbad had been working at a university when she first met him. Libraries and common rooms don’t make Cathbad feel nervous, in fact they probably energise him because they offer two of his favourite things: people and books.

  King’s Lynn Sixth Form is not exactly an ivory tower. It’s a modern building, square and featureless, with bars on the downstairs windows like a prison. Paul meets her in the history common room, which doesn’t seem to contain a single book. He’s friendly enough, making coffee and searching for biscuits in an old Quality Street tin, but he also seems nervous, running his hands through his (thinning) hair and moving around in that odd, uncoordinated way. He seems even taller indoors.

  Paul hands Judy a cup stained brown inside from years of instant coffee. Ruth would have recoiled in horror but Judy is made of sterner stuff. Paul folds his long limbs into a chair and starts jiggling one foot in a way that reminds Judy, unexpectedly, of Claudia Albertini.

  Judy takes a sip of coffee. Luckily, it’s too hot to taste of anything much.

  ‘This is great,’ she says. ‘Thanks.’

  ‘I’m trying to cut down on coffee,’ says Paul. ‘It makes me too hyper.’ Jiggle, jiggle, jiggle.

  ‘Me too,’ says Judy. ‘But I never manage it.’

  She takes another molten sip. Paul seems to have finished his already.

  ‘As you know,’ she says, ‘we had a team of forensic archaeologists digging at Black Dog Farm yesterday.’

  ‘Did they find anything?’ Paul seems to notice his leg twitching and stops, with an obvious effort.

  ‘No human bones,’ says Judy. She thinks it’s important to say this quickly. ‘But we did find a skeleton that looks like a dog. A very large dog.’

  She watches Paul as she says these words but isn’t prepared for the look of dawning realisation – and something else, anger? – that crosses his face.

  ‘So it was there,’ he says. ‘The old bastard was right.’

  Ruth is in a meeting about Virtual Learning Environments. It’s very dull and rather depressing. Steven, the head of technical support, is telling them that soon they will be able to communicate remotely with their students via something called Zoom.

  ‘You won’t have to see your students at all,’ he says with a cheery smile, ‘except on the computer screen.’

  It sounds like a nightmare to Ruth. She frequently complains about her students – though not aloud now that she’s department head – but, in truth, interac
ting with them is one of the best things about the job. No intake is ever the same, which is why teaching stays so interesting. She gets a lot of satisfaction when a student, so shy in the first term that they can’t speak, suddenly becomes obsessed with Iron Age burials in the third and won’t stop talking about them. How will this manifest itself via this Zoom thingy? A song of the same name by Fat Larry’s Band comes into her head and, unfortunately, stays there.

  It’s lunchtime when the meeting ends. Ruth walks over to the cafeteria, planning to take a sandwich back to her office, but finds herself queuing behind David.

  ‘I’ve just had a great session on Palaeolithic artefacts,’ he tells her. ‘The students were really engaged.’

  ‘That’s great,’ says Ruth. He’s trying to impress her, she notes with slight surprise. She remembers saying similar things to Phil in the early days, before she realised that he was only interested in Arts Council grants and appearing on television.

  ‘Shall we sit on the terrace?’ says David, when they’ve both collected their sandwiches – and cake, in Ruth’s case. He seems to assume that they’ll sit together so Ruth feels that it would look unsociable to go back to her office now. Besides, the sun is out and it would be nice to sit outside.

  It’s sunny but there’s a cold wind so they have the terrace almost to themselves. From here they can see all the way across the campus. Last night’s storm has stripped the trees of some of their leaves and the statue of Elizabeth Fry is still wearing its freshers’ week traffic cone but otherwise the place is looking its best, the ornamental lake ruffled like chiffon.

  ‘I like this university,’ says David. ‘It has good energy.’

  This sounds very much like Cathbad. Ruth remembers many happy lunches here with Cathbad, in the days when he was a lab assistant.

  ‘Better than Uppsala?’ she says, teasingly because the Swedish university is far more prestigious than UNN.

  ‘Different,’ says David.

  They talk about Sweden for a while. It turns out that David’s ex-wife, Signe, is Swedish and that she and his daughter, Maja, live in Stockholm although they are currently in the UK visiting relatives.