The Night Hawks

by Elly Griffiths

  Ruth must have heard them approaching because she opens her eyes.

  ‘Judy! Have you got any news?’

  ‘He’s out of surgery,’ says Judy. ‘And he’s stable. That’s good news,’ she adds, because Ruth has gone very white.

  ‘Don’t worry, Ruth.’ Clough bends down to give her a quick hug. ‘He’ll be OK. He’s as tough as nails.’

  David stands up. ‘I’ll go and ask at the desk.’

  They all look at him and Judy knows that they are all thinking the same thing: who is this man and why is he presuming to ask about Nelson? But, before anyone can speak, the swing doors open and Michelle appears. Her face is pale and set and it’s impossible to know, by looking at her, whether she’s the bearer of good news or bad.

  Clough rushes over to hug her. That seems to be his role here, comforting male friend. Still, he does it rather well.

  ‘How are you, love? How’s Nelson?’

  ‘He’s going to be OK.’ Michelle sits beside Ruth, who turns to her. Ruth passes Michelle a sparkly pink phone. Michelle looks at it for a minute and then her face crumples as if she’s about to cry. Judy sees Ruth hesitate and then put her arm round Michelle’s shoulder.

  Then Michelle says, ‘He’s OK. They got the bullet out – actually it was a shotgun pellet – and it hadn’t touched any vital organs. Seems Loony Paul was right about that.’

  Suddenly, both women are laughing. David and Clough hover, both holding paper cups of water. Michelle wipes her eyes and says to Ruth, ‘Do you want to see him?’

  Nelson is in a recovery ward. His eyes are closed and she thinks he’s sleeping but, when she comes closer, he says, ‘Hallo, Ruth.’

  ‘Hi, Nelson.’ She takes his hand which is lying on top of the covers. It’s his left hand, with the wedding ring. His right arm is bound up.

  ‘Are you OK?’ she says.

  ‘Grand,’ says Nelson, with a slight smile. He does look better than he did when lying in that horrible room at Black Dog Farm but he’s still very pale with dark circles under his eyes.

  ‘Did I dream it?’ says Nelson. ‘Were you and Michelle both there?’

  ‘Is that your worst nightmare?’ says Ruth.

  Nelson shakes his head, which looks as if it hurts him. ‘My worst nightmare would be losing you.’

  ‘You won’t lose me,’ says Ruth. She wants to stay holding his hand but she knows Michelle will be there in a minute. She lets go. Nelson seems to be asleep but when she stands up, he says, ‘Don’t leave me, Ruth.’

  Chapter 38

  In the end, it’s rather a lovely wedding. Gloria wears a midnight blue dress and a large hat that prevents Arthur from getting close enough to kiss her. ‘Thank God,’ Simon whispers to Ruth during the ceremony at the church, clearly not keen to witness his father worshipping Gloria with his body. Kate is a bridesmaid, along with Gloria’s three granddaughters, wearing dresses of lighter blue with silk flowers in their hair. They all look beautiful but Kate, as the youngest, gets lots of attention. Ruth watches her daughter skipping around the reception and thinks that Kate will be on a high that will last several days. And, next week, she is playing Scrooge in the school play. Ruth resigns herself to spending Christmas with Sarah Bernhardt.

  The reception is held in a hotel in nearby Blackheath. It’s family only but Gloria’s family is so large that they fill the function room with ease. On Arthur’s side there are only Ruth, Simon, Cathy and their children, and Arthur’s older sister Phyllis, who seems underwhelmed by the occasion.

  ‘We’re outnumbered,’ says Phyllis, when Ruth steers her to a table.

  ‘What do you mean?’ says Ruth, dreading some reference to being ‘the only white people in the room’.

  ‘We’re not Christians,’ says Phyllis, with a rather sly grin, as if she knew what Ruth was thinking. ‘I’d thank God for it, if he existed. Look at that preacher, Father Whatsit. Doesn’t he love himself?’

  Ruth thinks that Phyllis is referring to the church elder, Brad, rather than the vicar, Father Anthony, an inoffensive man with white hair and a diffident manner. Brad, on the other hand, sports a mahogany suntan and has the brightest teeth Ruth has ever seen. He gave the sermon at the wedding and the gist of it seemed to be, ‘Be as much like me and my lovely wife, Poppy, as you can.’ Poppy has a matching tan and what looks like a designer outfit. Ruth doesn’t think it’s worth speculating where the devout couple acquired these things.

  Ruth had forgotten that Phyllis wasn’t a Christian. Maybe this is why she hasn’t been much in evidence over the years. The last time Ruth saw her was at her mother’s funeral, a day that now seems dreamlike in its sadness.

  ‘Ruth, darling.’ Gloria has appeared at her side, still wearing the hat. ‘Have you got something to eat? How’s Auntie Phyllis?’

  ‘I’m not your auntie,’ says Phyllis but Gloria doesn’t seem to hear. Maybe the hat is impeding her hearing.

  ‘I’m just about to go to the carvery,’ says Ruth. ‘This is a lovely reception.’

  ‘Arthur and I are just so happy to have our nearest and dearest around us.’ Gloria reaches out to pat Simon’s hand. Simon has softened enough over the last few months not to flinch.

  ‘Your sons are so handsome,’ says Gloria to Cathy. George and Jack are both at different awkward stages; George is thin and spotty and Jack large and glowering. But Cathy blushes and smiles. To her, of course, her boys are beautiful. They are to Ruth too, who is a fond aunt – although she’s also not fond of being called ‘Auntie’.

  Kate dances over and Ruth manages to persuade her to sit down and eat some food. Gloria’s son Ambrose proposes a toast to the bride and groom.

  ‘To the bride and groom,’ echo the guests. Ruth drinks her Prosecco too quickly. At least she isn’t driving. She and Kate are spending the night at the Eltham house. Gloria and Arthur will be off on their honeymoon in Torquay.

  ‘Don’t know why Arthur wants to get married at his age,’ says Phyllis, tucking into her roast beef.

  ‘It’s the companionship,’ says Cathy. ‘Someone to grow old with.’

  ‘They’re old already,’ says Phyllis.

  Ruth will probably never grow old with Nelson. At fifty-one some people would say that they are old already. Will she have to spend the next twenty or thirty years of her life on her own? She remembers her father saying, ‘I don’t want to spend my final years without sex.’ Even though the remark had been desperately embarrassing, Ruth had quite admired him for making it. Her father is eighty-one and he is clearly determined to live a full life with the woman he loves.

  It’s been more than two months since the events at Black Dog Farm. Nelson is still on sick leave but is well enough to be thoroughly fed up with his own company. How on earth will he cope with retirement? Nelson says that Super Jo is nagging him to call it a day. ‘If she thinks that being shot will stop me doing my job, she’s got another think coming.’

  Nelson’s mother Maureen is arriving today. Another one of the strong women in his life: Jo, his daughters, Ruth and Michelle. Perhaps Michelle most of all. Ruth will never forget standing with Michelle in front of the injured Nelson. They would both have died for him and that, in a way, is the strongest bond of all. Maybe, after all this time, she’s a little in love with Michelle too.

  Ruth has seen Nelson several times over the last few weeks. She even visited him at home, sitting trapped on the sofa with his arm in a sling, Michelle hovering in the background. But last week was the first time that she felt that she’d really spent time with him. Nelson came to help Ruth and Kate put up their Christmas tree. It had been one of those cosy afternoons when Ruth was able to imagine that this was her life now, two adults and their child, putting up their tree, laughing about Cathbad’s home-made decorations. But then Nelson had gone home to his wife and other family. She ought to be used to it by now but somehow she isn’t.

&nb
sp; Ruth was offered counselling after the ‘hostage situation’. She doesn’t know if Michelle has accepted, but Ruth hasn’t taken the police up on their offer. She’s too busy, she tells herself. And the end of term was pretty hectic. Ruth has managed to secure a grant to get a facial reconstruction of Stan, the Blakeney Point skeleton. David was delighted and is still enthusiastically pursuing his deadly virus theory. Ruth had thought that she and David had reached a new understanding that day at the hospital but she still finds him incredibly annoying at times, particularly when he’s telling her what she should do and how she should do it. David has also teamed up with a rather terrifying Swiss scientist called Claudia. For the first time in ages, Ruth thinks of her ex-boyfriend Max, who had a dog called Claudia. Should she have married Max? Should she have married Frank? Well, it’s too late now.

  George must have been knocking back the Prosecco too because he suddenly raises his glass: ‘To Granddad and Gloria.’

  ‘To Granddad and Gloria,’ say Ruth, Kate, Simon, Jack and Cathy.

  It sounds almost like a hymn.

  Nelson and his mother are walking together. Maureen arrived in King’s Lynn at lunchtime, declared herself simultaneously exhausted by the drive – although, in fact, her daughter Grainne had done the actual driving – and in need of fresh air. So, after a hearty lunch cooked by Michelle, Nelson and Maureen take Bruno for a walk in the grounds of the Sandringham estate.

  ‘The Queen’s here for Christmas,’ says Nelson, ‘you might see her.’

  ‘Get on with you,’ says Maureen, but Nelson thinks she’s keeping a pretty keen eye out all the same.

  They are walking through pine trees. Nelson thinks the trees look and smell like Christmas. Two days earlier, Michelle and Laura had collected their Christmas tree and decorated it. They wouldn’t let Nelson help. ‘I’m fine now,’ he’d grumbled, ‘stop cossetting me.’ ‘We can manage,’ said Laura. ‘Besides, you always put the decorations in the wrong place.’ It had been news to Nelson that there was a wrong place for Christmas decorations but he had quite enjoyed watching his wife and daughter hanging the ancient baubles on the slightly off-centre tree (he would have done a better job of securing it in its pot). Earlier that week he had helped Ruth put up her tree and watched as Kate adorned it with frankly bizarre-looking objects donated by Cathbad. How long can he go on living two lives? Not long, is the answer.

  ‘Mum,’ he says, ‘while you’re here I’d like you to meet Katie, Ruth’s daughter.’

  ‘I’ve met her before,’ says Maureen. ‘In Blackpool. Pretty little thing. Where’s Bruno? Has he run off?’ Maureen loves Bruno and, as with all her closest relationships, she expresses this in constant nagging.

  ‘He’s here,’ says Nelson, as the dog comes charging through the bracken, tail wagging. He picks up a stick and throws it for him. ‘Let’s stop for a minute.’

  ‘Are you tired?’ says Maureen. ‘I knew this walk was too much for you.’

  They didn’t tell Maureen about Nelson’s accident until he was home from hospital and, even then, it had been hard to stop her racing down from Blackpool, convinced that only she could nurse her beloved son back to health. Now she looks at him sharply as they sit on a wooden bench inscribed, ‘For Joe, who loved walking here’. Bruno brings the stick back and stares at Nelson until he throws it again.

  ‘You’ve lost weight,’ says Maureen.

  ‘A bit,’ says Nelson. ‘I needed to. The thing is, Mum, about Katie. The thing is . . . she’s my daughter.’

  He has imagined making this confession a thousand times but, when it comes to it, it’s surprisingly easy. The words are said, and the world is still turning. He looks up at the spiky pine branches, dark against the pale winter sky.

  Maureen says, ‘You had an affair with that Ruth? And she had your baby? Does Michelle know?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Your wife’s a saint. Far too good for you.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘And she lets you see this Katie?’

  ‘Yes. It’s been hard for her. But she thinks . . . well, it’s not Katie’s fault. She shouldn’t have to grow up without a father.’

  ‘You should have thought of that before you broke your marriage vows.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘So Katie’s my grandchild.’ Nelson had known that this would get to her and it’s his main reason for having this conversation. Maureen is Katie’s only grandmother. They should get to know each other.

  ‘She’s your grandchild. Sometimes she reminds me of you. She’s very clever, for one thing.’

  Maureen says nothing but he knows that this has struck home.

  ‘Poor little mite,’ says Maureen at last. Then she says, ‘Do you love this Ruth?’

  It’s not what Nelson was expecting. He thought his mother would focus on her new grandchild and on Michelle’s saintliness. He’s shocked into telling the truth.

  ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘But I couldn’t leave Michelle. Not now that we’ve got George.’

  ‘But you’ve got Katie too,’ says Maureen.

  ‘I know. It’s a mess. And it’s all my fault.’

  Maureen puts her hand on his arm. Her voice is unexpectedly soft and very Irish. He’d forgotten she could sound like this.

  ‘It’s not all your fault, Harry. You’ve done wrong though, no doubt about it, but what good does it do anyone if you’re unhappy? This way no one’s happy. You, Michelle, Laura, Rebecca, George. Even Ruth and this Katie. You know, I was in love once.’

  ‘With Dad. I know.’ He assumes that Maureen is about to embark on a lecture about the sanctity of marriage.

  ‘With your father, of course. But, about five years after he died, I met someone else. Do you remember Eddie, who used to coach you at football?’

  Nelson dimly remembers his ex-football coach, a large man with a loud laugh. He’d been Irish, like Maureen. He remembers that his mother had started coming to his matches. Nelson had been touched, thinking that she was trying to replace his father, who’d been a big supporter of the team.

  ‘You were in love with Eddie?’ Even saying the words sounds absurd.

  ‘He wanted us to get married,’ says Maureen. ‘But I thought it was too soon. I thought you and the girls weren’t ready. And, well, Eddie couldn’t wait for ever. He was still fairly young. I was too, of course.’

  ‘Did you regret it?’ asks Nelson.

  ‘Yes,’ says Maureen, reaching out to pat Bruno, who has come back with the stick. ‘I did regret it.’

  ‘What shall I do, Mum?’ Nelson can’t remember ever having said these words before. Not wanting to hear the answer, anyway.

  ‘I think you know what to do,’ says Maureen. They sit in silence for a while and then they stand up and head for home, Bruno bounding beside them.

  Acknowledgements

  The Night Hawks was written, edited and produced in lockdown. I feel very lucky to have been able to continue to write during this time but I wouldn’t have been able to do so without the team at Quercus, particularly my wonderful editor Jane Wood. Thank you, Jane, for everything. Huge thanks also to Hannah Robinson, Ella Patel, Katie Sadler, Bethan Ferguson, David Murphy and Florence Hare. This has definitely been a team effort. Thanks also to Liz Hatherell for her meticulous copyediting and to Ghost Design for the wonderful cover.

  Thanks to Claudia Albertini for taking part in an auction to become a character in this book. All proceeds go to CLIC ­Sargent, the charity supporting teenage cancer sufferers, so a huge thanks to Claudia and to everyone who took part. Thanks also to my friend David Brown for allowing me to use his name for one of my characters and for making a donation to Shelter. I need hardly say that the real Claudia and David bear no resemblance to their fictional counterparts.

  Thanks to the many experts who have helped with this book – any mistakes are mine alone. Thanks to Dr Charlotte
Houldcroft for the invaluable information about bio-hacking and viruses, to Linzi Harvey for her continued help on bones and to Graham Bartlett for advice on policing. Thanks to Mary Williams for inside information on the academic life.

  Black Dog Farm is imaginary but the Black Shuck is as real as a legend can be. Thanks to the podcast ‘Weird Norfolk’ for information on this and many other Norfolk tales. Thanks to the Eastern Daily Press for articles about the Norfolk Sea Serpent and the Sheringham mermaid. I am also indebted to a wonderful book by the Wells Harbour Master, Robert Smith, called Crossing the Bar: Tales of Wells Harbour.

  Thanks to my incredible agent, Rebecca Carter, and all at Janklow and Nesbit. Thanks to Naomi Gibbs and the team at my American publishers, HMH. Thanks to Kirby Kim and all at Janklow’s US branch. Thanks to all the publishers throughout the world who publish these books with such care. Thanks to all my crime-writing friends who have also helped so much in this scary, isolating time. Special thanks to Lesley Thomson, William Shaw and Colin Scott. Thanks also to David Gilchrist and the UK Crime Book Club for all their support.

  This book is dedicated to my niece and nephews, ­Francesca, William and Robert Lewington, who, many summers ago, listened to my stories about a boy called Sylvester. Love and thanks always to my husband, Andrew, and to our children, Alex and Juliet.

  Finally, thanks to you for reading this book. If 2020 has taught us anything it’s the value of reading and bookish communities. Thanks to everyone who has bought or borrowed any of my books. I appreciate you more than I can say.

  Elly Griffiths, 2021

  Who’s Who

  in the Dr Ruth Galloway Mysteries

  Dr Ruth Galloway

  Profession: forensic archaeologist

  Likes: cats, Bruce Springsteen, bones, books

  Dislikes: gyms, organized religion, shopping