Whispered Bones (A DI Fenella Sallow Crime Thriller Book 2)

by N. C. Lewis

  Dr Thane said, "I called Cain and asked him to come over. He is a good friend and our family vicar." She turned to Fenella. "I hope that is okay?"

  Two forces tugged. On the one hand, Fenella preferred Dr Thane to remain in the house alone. It made it easier for her team to keep a watch, and the less people who knew, the better. On the other, she understood the power of friends. It seemed clear by the lingering hug that Vicar Briar was right at home.

  Fenella said, "It won't do any harm to have a drop of company."

  The vicar said, "Whatever everyone is having, I'll have one too. And make it a large one."

  While Dexter poured, Dr Thane brought the vicar up to speed with their earlier conversation. All the while his face remained as solid as a clay mask.

  There was one other reason Fenella was pleased to see Vicar Briar. It gave her a chance to kill two birds with one stone. But she waited until the vicar was settled in front of the fire with a cigar and his drink and Dr Thane at his side before she broached the subject.

  "I forgot to ask before, but are you married, Vicar Briar?"

  "It does not seem to have been in God's plan to grace me with a wife."

  Fenella smiled. "How long have you been married, Dr Thane?"

  "Fifteen years," she replied, then took a sip from her glass. "I'm Albert's third wife."

  "No children?"

  "There never seemed time with my career. I don't regret it, though."

  "Aye," Fenella replied. She'd had five nippers and didn't regret it either. "This is a big house, for a couple."

  "We have a cleaner who comes in once a week. Mrs Broz is from Poland, drives over from Port St Giles." Dr Thane glanced at the vicar and smiled. "And I've a nice gardener, thanks to Cain."

  The vicar puffed on his cigar. A plume of smoke seeped from his mouth. Then he pursed his lips and puffed out a smoky O.

  Fenella said, "They teach you that trick in the seminary?"

  He winked and again puckered his lips and puffed hard. A heart drifted through the air.

  Dr Thane clapped. "Oh, Cain, you are so silly!"

  The vicar grinned and said, "Mr and Dr Thane have a lovely English garden. You should see it in the summer. It is so good it should be on a chocolate box. I recommended the same bloke we use at the priory, Hazza." He turned to Fenella. "You asked about him earlier."

  Fenella took out her phone, fiddled for a moment, then gave it to Dr Thane. It contained a photo of Hamilton Perkins.

  "Is this Hazza?"

  Dr Thane put on a pair of reading glasses and stared. After a long moment she said, "No. No. I've never seen this man before. What do you think, Cain?"

  Vicar Briar peered at the image and gave a little start. He turned to Fenella, his eyes narrow. "Yes… yes, that's him. That's Hazza!"

  Dr Thane said, "Don't be ridiculous. Hazza has a flatter…" She grabbed the phone and studied the photo again. "It's hard to say. Yes, it could be Hazza, I suppose. Does the person I'm looking at have a criminal record?"

  Everyone knew the answer. His photo was on Detective Inspector Sallow's phone. He had to have done something bad.

  "Aye, he's not one of life's angels," Fenella said. "That's why we want to speak with him."

  Then it sank in, and the vicar was on his feet.

  "Dear God, are we saying Hazza is Hamilton Perkins?"

  "We don't know anything for sure," Fenella said in a soft voice. She didn’t want to start a panic. "We want to speak to Hazza so we can eliminate him from our inquiries."

  "And Viv Gill and Pearl Smith… Do you think…"

  "Like I said, Vicar Briar, we know nothing for certain." Fenella let her voice drop an octave, a trick taught by the police to calm things down. It conveyed the message that everything was under control. There was no need to panic. "We will get to the bottom of those deaths. Mark my words."

  It did not work on the vicar.

  "And to think the man's been at work in the gardens of all the expensive houses in the village, on my personal recommendation!" He spoke in a shrill. "Gracious! Mr Shred knows where all the single women live. How many more deaths before he is caught?"

  "We'll get him." This was Dexter. His voice was so low it came out as a growl. "We will not let him do any more harm."

  But Vicar Briar was waving his arms about and on his feet shouting. "If that fiend sets one foot in this place and tries to harm Olive..." He flapped his cassock so it billowed, making him look like a giant green bug. "I'll not stand for it!"

  It was a dramatic performance almost as if he were on the stage. But there was no redness to his face or sweat prickling his forehead, and his eyes darted to Dr Thane as he sat back down. Aye, the man should be on the telly, Fenella told herself.

  "Oh, Cain, you do make such a fuss." Dr Thane touched his elbow. "Let's leave it to the police, eh?"

  Fenella smiled at Dr Thane and said, "What time does Hazza usually show up?"

  "He comes every other Tuesday," Dr Thane replied in a whisper. "Always in the morning around seven. He works on a few gardens near here."

  "Which houses?"

  "I don't know. Just local gardens."

  Fenella thought for a moment. If they went door to door tonight, it would cause a panic. She said, "Anything else?"

  "In the afternoon I believe he works the grounds of the priory. But he won't be here until tomorrow morning."

  "Aye, happen. Happen not," Fenella replied.

  But her team would watch all night anyway, just in case Hazza paid Dr Olive Thane an early visit.

  Chapter sixty-two

  Fenella couldn’t push the grim secret from her mind. It crawled like weevils in a sack of rice. As she gazed from the deck, she felt the weight of her secret. It pressed down until she could barely breathe, then twisted and turned and pressed more.

  The night was still. Faint shards of white from the moon glowed into the blue dark, and the bare limbs of the trees cast long shadows. There was still five hours until sunrise. She zipped her coat tight to ward off the deepening chill.

  Her team were in place. Now all they had to do was wait. She scanned the darkness once more and checked her police radio. An icy blast loosened her hood, and with her left hand she brushed a strand of hair back behind her ear, eyes alert for the faintest movement. As long as Hamilton Perkins was on the prowl, she knew it wasn't a question of if there'd be another death.

  It had been a long day. Had she thought it all through? The sherry had not cleared her mind; if anything, it made it foggier. What if she'd buggered it up?

  On the breeze, she heard the screech of an owl, and in the distance, the almost haunting crash of waves against the cliffs. From the garden, though, there came no sound.

  Fenella let out a sharp breath, then relaxed. If anyone approached, they would not get as far as the house. Her team were primed and ready to pounce. They were filled with the tense focus of a beagle on the scent of a fox. She exhaled again and turned back to look at the house.

  The place was dark. A few splashes of light from the moon bounced off the window so she saw her reflection, a face with a secret etched on it: pale, tired with deep hollows for eyes.

  They might never capture Hamilton Perkins.

  That was her secret.

  Her gut churned. She would never find peace if Mr Shred remained free. There were no pills that could ease the pain of failure. Not even in knowing she'd run the case on her own terms. Inspector Moss had tried and botched the job, and he'd flopped in the search for her sister. But would she have done any better?

  Eve vanished. No one knew why. Would she show up with a smile tomorrow? Or the day after? Or never? It was hard for Eduardo, worse for Nan. Fenella was prepared for the ultimate heartache.

  Again, came the screech of a bird. An owl? It wasn't a soft hoot, more like the scream of terrified fowl. There's a fox on the hunt, she told herself, just like the police.

  On the dim porch, she pulled out her mobile phone, her gaze focused on the smiling face that filled
the screen. It was Eve. Taken that night in London before the start of Prince's show. They were in line, waiting, not a care in the world. Unaware of the horror to come.

  Fenella shivered and dredged her mind for memories. There was seven-year-old Eve at the front of a class teaching everyone how to sing for her show-and-tell. The teacher joined in and tapped her hands on the desk, pretending to play the drums. Eve's roar of laugher still rang in Fenella's ears. And there she was again, this time at fifteen, batting her eyelashes at a lad in the dining hall. Even Fenella thought he was a bit of all right and batted her eyelashes too.

  And now, as St Bees slept through this dark hour, Fenella wondered about Hamilton Perkins. He'd spent years in prison planning his escape and, just as long, his revenge. Would he walk into their trap as easily as Eve had walked out of St Bees Cottage Hospital?

  Fenella touched the screen of her phone. Like a ghost, Eve's face was gone. Like a ghost hunter, she watched for Hamilton Perkins. Silently she stared into the dark stillness and waited for the start of the show.

  Chapter sixty-three

  "We've got him!"

  PC Beth Finn's voice boomed out of the police radio with such an elated squeal, Fenella jumped. She glanced at her watch: six thirty-five, still dark and so cold that she could see a sheen of frost in the reflected light of the moon.

  "We've got him," PC Finn said again. "Detective Jones and I have got him."

  A wave of relief washed over Fenella so that she made a fist and stomped her feet. This was it, a breakthrough at last. Her gamble had paid off. There were shouts of joy coming from various spots in the garden.

  "Where are you?" Fenella asked.

  "About fifty yards from the gate at the end of the garden on a narrow track that goes downhill to the east," PC Finn replied. "I saw him creeping through the bushes. I shouted for him to stop, but he took off like a rabbit. Detective Jones and I gave chase."

  Fenella hurried from the deck and cut across the lawn. By the time she passed the first pear tree, Dexter was at her side.

  "Looks like a win," he said, his voice as gruff as Fenella felt.

  "Cast the net, and haul the salmon in," Fenella replied, slightly out of breath as she kept up with his stride.

  They saw the white lights of the flare before they got to the end of the garden. Dexter shoved the gate open with his shoulder, then took off with long strides. He could have run a four-minute mile; Fenella was so excited, she would have kept up.

  It was much darker in the woods with overgrown foliage blocking the path, so they slowed their pace to a walk. They didn't need the flare to find PC Finn and Detective Jones; they simply followed the shouts.

  Dexter shone his torch at the voices. Jones had a man face down on the ground with his arm twisted behind his back. He wore a dirty, green duffel coat with stains so grim they looked like a new form of life. PC Finn pulled handcuffs from her belt and attached them to the man's wrists.

  "Hey, get off me," the man yelled. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

  The first doubts crept in. Fenella stepped closer.

  "Rawlings, is that you?"

  "Bloody thugs," Rodney Rawlings yelled as Jones tugged him to his feet. His rodent face scrunched into a ball, but his black eyes were wide with rage. "Get me out of these chains, or you'll not hear the last of it."

  Fenella blew out her cheeks, making a sound like a deflated balloon. She thought her net had caught salmon; instead she'd hauled in a sardine.

  "Let him go," she said. "Let's not upset our friends in the press any more than we have to."

  Rodney Rawlings shook himself down. "I ought to take this to the police complaints board." He rubbed his wrists. "On second thought, Councillor Ron Malton would love to hear about this. It's a fiasco!"

  Fenella ignored his threats. "What happened?"

  "Nothing happened to me except for Supercop here jumping out of the bushes like some bleedin' ninja warrior."

  A headache which had nagged made itself at home. Fenella knew it would be with her all day. She'd not slept since yesterday and her body knew it. "Mr Rawlings, can you explain why you are creeping about Hemlock Woods at"—she glanced at her watch—"six forty in the morning?"

  "Fenella, come on. It's a public space. I'm quite within my rights to take a stroll."

  "You live in Port St Giles, bit of a hike for a walk in the woods, isn't it?"

  "I felt like a change."

  "That your best shot?"

  "Really is."

  "Cuff him!"

  "Hey, just hang on a minute, Fenella." Rodney raised his hands, palms out. "Just… hang on." He lowered his voice as if sharing a secret. "Okay, so I'm following up on a lead about an illegal badger hunt. It led me to St Bees and the woods. Looks like a wild-goose chase, though. How'd I know this place would be crawling with cops?"

  "Is that a fact?"

  His black eyes watched Fenella. "I suppose that is why you are here too—the badgers?"

  Fenella folded her arms and sighed. "What are you doing here, and this time I want the truth?"

  "Look, we both know you will not drag me to the station in cuffs. Now, why don't I just continue on my stroll, and we can forget about this. A win-win for both sides."

  Fenella said, "If you want to take that chance, be my guest. Go ahead, start walking."

  His lips twisted into his version of a friendly smile. It sharpened his rodent features. "I'm concerned about you, Fenella. Have you looked in a mirror lately? You look worse than I feel Saturday morning after an all-night booze-up. My God, I know the police are all into the casual look, but did someone pull you through a haystack backwards?"

  "Water off a duck's back," Fenella replied and took a step closer. "Now, how about you start talking, or would you rather save your spiel for a lawyer, because when I'm done with you, you'll need one."

  Rodney Rawlings stared. His rodent nose twitched. "Okay, Fenella, you win. I got word that Mr Shred might be in the woods this morning and on his way to pay a visit to a certain surgeon's house, where he intended to exact revenge for a limp he picked up in a hospital bed."

  "Aye, and who told you that?"

  "Can't say."

  Fenella was about to press him for the name of his source when they heard the scream.

  Chapter sixty-four

  The day had already begun on a sour note.

  It got much worse after that.

  Fenella rushed towards the scream, with Dexter at her side. Not an easy feat when you've had no sleep in more than a day. And in truth, it wasn't that much of a run, or a jog for that matter. No. Not even a fast-paced stride. More of a crab-like shuffle where you drag your feet and hope your body will keep up.

  They scuttled through the foliage and back to the gate, which led to Dr Thane's garden. The scream came again: a woman's high-pitched voice—cries for help from Dr Thane.

  A surge of energy pushed Fenella's legs on. For once, she left Dexter two paces back. But she stopped at the first pear tree, her eyes wide at the sight before her. She had seen nothing like it.

  A figure in green flayed about on the soft grass. PC Hoon had his arms clasped on the figure's waist as if a weightlifter about to heave a great load. Dr Thane stood three steps back, pointing at the scuffle.

  "Don't let him get away," she screamed. "Pin him down good and proper!"

  The men struggled. They twisted and turned. It was hard to see exactly what was happening until PC Hoon grunted and heaved the figure in green to his feet.

  Fenella let out a gasp. The figure in green was Vicar Briar, his cassock muddied and his hands clasped around a wisp of a man, with a cloth hat pulled down over his eyes.

  "That's Hazza! Arrest that man," Vicar Briar yelled. "He tried to get away but we got him. Hangin' is too good for the sod."

  Dexter grabbed the man by one arm; PC Hoon held the other while the vicar backed away to Dr Thane's side. The man with the cap wriggled hard for a moment like a landed fish. Then the fight drained out of his b
ody, but he spoke in a hiss.

  "Gawd blind me, the vicar's gone mad." His upper lip lifted to reveal teeth Fenella wouldn't want in her own mouth. "Came at me like a bat out o' hell, he did."

  Fenella approached, reached out a hand, and took off his cap. He had a lined face, a bulbous nose, and furtive eyes.

  "Oh, for Pete's sake," she muttered.

  There was no way this Hazza was Hamilton Perkins. Not unless Mr Shred had shrunk five inches and gained an Irish accent, along with emerald-green eyes during his time in Low Marsh Prison.

  Chapter sixty-five

  When Fenella's phone rang, she was on her way home to catch an hour or two of sleep. She had spent a few hours at the station in Port St Giles with the team, and now it was past lunchtime. A fine rain beat down over tall trees and low hedges. Rivulets of water ran across the narrow lane and formed shallow pools in the dips, so she had to slow her Morris Minor to a crawl. The soft brring-brring came as quite a shock.

  The ringtone of Dr MacKay.

  It echoed in the car against the soft splash of the storm on the windscreen. Why would he call her from Kenya? For a moment, she let it ring on, knowing that voicemail would kick in. She could do with a hug from Eduardo, pancakes and eggs from Nan, and a hot shower. But she slowed the car and pulled to the verge as her groggy mind kicked into gear.

  "How's the weather?" she said as the wipers worked hard.

  "Raining," came Dr MacKay's reply.

  "Time of year, I suppose." Fenella knew little about the weather in Kenya. They had a rainy season, didn’t they? "Best keep away from any dry creeks, flash floods, and all that."

  "And it's freezing!"

  "Where are you?"

  "Port St Giles. I'm back in my cave in the hospital."

  His voice trilled as though he were a songbird at dawn. Give him a corpse and a knife and all was good in his world. He did what he loved and loved what he did with a passion Fenella also knew. While she solved crimes, he solved the cause of death and wasn't shy about sharing what he'd found.