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

by N. C. Lewis

  Chad had tried to move on. Build a new life. But he couldn’t stop coming back to the grave for his night-time vigil. It was a raw compulsion. One of many which he tried to keep under control. He closed his eyes and remembered his wife and child. Rose came each Sunday to the graveyard to visit her grandmum. He'd wander off with Lark, who would giggle and laugh. They would play a game of flit between the tombstones. Rose would shout and tell them not to be so disrespectful. He'd argue that there was nothing down there but a pile of muck and dry bones.

  One day, Lark asked, "What is it like to be dead, Daddy?"

  "Dark," he replied. "And still."

  "Is there anyone else there?"

  "I don't think so."

  Now he wished he'd said something else. Wished with all his heart Rose and Lark were still with him. He sighed and glanced at his phone. What about Maude? She was going to marry the bank manager. But Mr Clarke was a playboy, had a fling with Pearl Smith, and used the services of Viv Gill. His Maude deserved better than that.

  Chad sighed. Bank managers get transferred, don't they? Maude would leave the village when that happened. But she loved this place, told him how much she wanted to make a life with him in the village store. And Chad had even picked out a plot in the cemetery for her with a pleasant view of the priory. He'd made the down payment with a loan from the bank.

  It was to be her wedding gift.

  A sign of his commitment to her and St Bees. He didn’t want to ask for a refund, still hoped she'd change her mind about Mr Clarke. He stood up. No! Maude would not leave St Bees. He'd keep the plot. She said she loved the place, felt part of the village. Chad wanted it to stay that way. Permanently.

  Chapter seventy-three

  All hell broke loose with the sharp chirp of a phone. The sun's first rays had yet to split the dark snarl of night when Fenella's mobile trilled like a song thrush keen for dawn: loud and screaming for light.

  She sat in the kitchen sipping a cup of coffee with a plate of scrambled eggs and toast made by Nan. It was 5:00 a.m., Thursday. She let the phone chirp and wondered what Dexter wanted.

  "Oi, here comes trouble," Nan said. "Give me a shout if you need me. I'll be in the study."

  Calls at odd hours were part of the job. But they always startled Fenella. That was her little secret. Not that she'd tell anyone. Not even Eduardo. No. This little secret shot waves of dread up her spine. The phone continued to chirp. She'd come to accept the ring of the bell with the calm of a hospice priest awaiting their next grim call. That it was tolerable at all came from another hushed truth. She had a deep-down need to snoop. And every time the phone rang in the dead of night, the fight between dread and nosiness was fought. It was no contest. The nosy gene won out. Always.

  She took a quick sip from her mug. The bitter coffee danced on her tongue. She swallowed, picked up, and said, "I take it this is not a wake-up call?"

  "Guv!" Only a word but as bright and urgent as a neon sign. "I've not been home. Drove to Whitehaven yesterday afternoon and had a long chat with Nellie Cook. Well, you know how the old times roll, and the day turned into night before we got to the real business. Met a bunch of her girls. Do you recall Old Barb?"

  Fenella thought a moment, then smiled. "Aye, I do. Don't tell me—"

  "Yep, she's still at it." He spoke with the excitement of a man who'd just discovered the fountain of youth. "And she doesn't look a day older. Mind you, she was ancient back when we were in uniform."

  Fenella's nosy gene kicked in. She forgot about the early hour, about the urgent tone in Dexter's voice. There was only one thing she had to know. How on earth was Old Barb still at it?

  She said, "That's impossible. Old Barb used two walking sticks when we were in uniform and shuffled about as if she were about to fall over. It can't be the same woman!"

  "Still shuffling, Guv." He let out a sharp laugh. "She used to work on the stage back in the day, so I suppose it was all an act. Still, I told her whatever she's taking, I want some."

  Fenella couldn’t help herself and said, "Go on, then, what's her secret?"

  "Said she has nowt to thank but the fags, drink, and on-the-job activity."

  "Aye," Fenella said, thinking. "Happen she is right; not that a medic would agree."

  "Thing is, Guv, she still has ears like a bloody elephant. Hears everything, and was a close friend of Viv Gill."

  "Oh aye? "Fenella felt her pulse quicken. Dexter had some news, and she sensed it was big. "And what did Old Barb tell you?"

  "Not so much tell as show." A rumble echoed down the phone. "Still driving, but you have got to see this."

  "Where are you?"

  "Twelve minutes away."

  He was at the door in five with a satchel slung over his shoulder.

  They had to wait for Nan who fussed around Dexter like a mother hen. Not that he complained or gave the slightest hint that he had news. Once the scrambled eggs had been eaten and the second mug of coffee had been drained, Nan went back to bed.

  Dexter opened the satchel and pulled out a laptop computer. He pecked at the keyboard, grunted, and pecked some more.

  "From Old Barb's phone," he said. "She went to visit Viv Gill in St Bees a few months ago." With a brisk snort, he turned the screen so they could both see. "Barb got a snap of the Dragon with Viv Gill."

  Fenella stared for half a minute. The grainy picture was of a couple: Viv Gill, tall, hair like Marilyn Monroe, with bright red lips and giant lashes. A low-cut blouse clung to her ample chest. She wore a tight black miniskirt and tottered on high heels. The man wore a crisp green suit with thin lapels and a dark tie with slant lines. A shadow covered the top part of his face, so his eyes were hidden. Sunken cheeks gave the impression that he was sucking hard on the thick cigar which hung from his lewd lips. It glowed bright at the tip. In the background, St Bees Priory door.

  "Oh my God!" Fenella said in a breathless gasp. "Oh Christ!"

  Chapter seventy-four

  "Is Old Barb sure this is the Dragon?"

  Fenella stared at the laptop screen for the fifteenth time in the past ten minutes. She stood up, then sat down and rubbed a hand up the back of her head, wanting to tug hard to make sure she was awake and this wasn't some hideous dream. Since the death of Viv Gill, there'd been nowt but dead ends. Now they had a name and an image to go with their man, but she didn't like where it led. They would have to speak to Superintendent Jeffery, but Fenella wasn't in the mood to drive to Port St Giles. Not now.

  Dexter jabbed at the screen with a thick finger. "He is with Viv Gill. He is wearing a green suit. He is smoking a thick cigar. Don't know if he has a fat wallet but if he does, it's not from his job." He leaned forward to peer at the screen as though he might be mistaken. After a moment, he shook his head. "Guv, I'll bet a bottle of Glenmorangie that he is the Dragon."

  Fenella didn't take the bet. She stared once more at the image on the screen. It was impossible to see the eyes, but by the shape of the jaw, she knew it was him. They'd got their Dragon.

  Dexter was speaking. "I suppose we ought to head out to Port St Giles, catch the superintendent when she arrives."

  Fenella picked up the empty mugs, took them to the sink, and began to wash up. It felt as if she were only half awake in a nightmare that would not end well.

  "The big boss will want to know," Dexter warned. "We'll not want to blindside her on this one, Guv. They don't call her Teflon Jeffery for nowt. Best let her know, else it will come back to bite us in the bum."

  Fenella grabbed the washing-up liquid and gave it a hard squeeze. There was nothing to be washed now. It hit the sink with a hard splat. When she was a child, she had wanted to be a priest. Not a nun or even a monk but a priest. They got to peep behind the curtain of normal people's lives, to see their deep and dark secrets. It was the nosy gene, she supposed, and it came with a heavy price.

  She dried her hands, then sat back down at the scrubbed-pine table. The first rays of the sun were still in hiding. It was going to be a long
and difficult day.

  She thought for a moment. "Let's drive to St Bees to haul him in before sunrise. I don't want to humiliate him in broad daylight."

  Dexter said, "A good dose of public shame will keep the rest of the buggers in line. We ought to call a village meeting and march him down the lane with the crowds jeering like they did in the Middle Ages. "He looked away from the screen, eyes filled with rage. "Ain't nowt worse than a bent—"

  Fenella raised her hand. "PC Hoon is still one of us. We'll bring him in under the cover of dark. If he is the Dragon, he'll pay the price. It is not our job to be judge and jury." Once again, she looked at the image on the laptop screen. It was PC Hoon; of that there was no doubt. He was the man in the green suit. He was the man with the fat cigar. PC Hoon was the Dragon. "We now know he knew Viv Gill, and he discovered her body, yet he didn’t say a word about his relationship with her."

  "It stinks, Guv." Dexter's voice dropped an octave. "I'd not want to live in his skin today or any other day from now on. His life will be a living hell. I'd not be able to take it, would rather be dead."

  Fenella did not answer, but stood and approached the window. Darkness still clung on tight. Wisps of fog swirled in tight circles. When day broke, it would be grey and dull with a raw bite to the air. A day to pull up the sheets and stay in bed until it was over. It was the last day of PC Hoon's freedom—the first day of the rest of his wretched life.

  "We'd best make a move," Fenella said.

  "Yes, Guv." Dexter was at her side. "D'you think with a good lawyer, he might stay out of prison?"

  Fenella shook her head. The story would be all over the national press. There'd be questions from their political masters. The Cumbria police had a code of ethical conduct. PC Hoon's behaviour fell well below the line.

  Dexter said, "Don't like to kick a man when he is down, but I heard he and his wife are having problems."

  "Oh, aye?" Fenella said. Dexter kept his ears close to the ground. "We talking about Maude?"

  "She kicked him out, Guv. Not a happy split by all accounts. PC Hoon is living in a rented room. Lady by the name of Mrs Lenz takes in lodgers. Old-school and fierce. I know the address."

  "Okay," Fenella said. "Let's bring him in."

  They were outside in the sharp chill of the yard when Fenella's phone bleated with the ringtone of Superintendent Jeffery.

  "Sallow, get yourself over to St Bees right now. There's been a fire. PC Hoon's house is ablaze."

  Chapter seventy-five

  Fenella knew things were bad five miles from St Bees.

  An orange glow lit the sky. It flared above the trees and spat streaks of hot light into the low clouds. A sign to show the way to PC Hoon's house, although the red and blue lights and wails of sirens were guide enough.

  As Dexter pulled the car to the curb, they saw flames a-dance on the cottage roof. The blaze was much worse than they had imagined. Two fire trucks blocked the lane, so they got out and walked the last three hundred yards. Flames crackled and hissed with sharp popping sounds that jangled Fenella's nerves red raw. The thick stench of black smoke curled up her nostrils and hit the back of her throat. It was hard enough to breathe out in the lane. What would it be like inside the cottage?

  A red-faced officer pushed the crowd back as he stretched police tape across the lane. Small groups stood and watched. Others peered from their windows. Flames raked the air and spread with such speed that even the firefighters seemed to be thrown back on their heels. On the main road a fire truck screamed.

  They were at the tape. A constable Fenella did not know stood guard. She showed her warrant card and said, "There may be a woman in the house. Let the fire team know, will you?"

  "Yes, ma'am." He spoke into his radio.

  Fenella turned to Dexter. "Have a quiet word with the crowd; see if anyone saw anything."

  He took out his notebook and strode to the nearest cluster of village folk. They crowded around him, eager to share what they knew with a man from the law.

  Fenella turned back to watch the house. Smoke surged through swollen window frames; flames roared through the roof. If anyone came out of that inferno alive, it would be a miracle. They can happen, she told herself.

  "Knew it would all end in tears," came a voice from behind.

  Fenella turned to see an elderly woman in a long brown coat with a green headscarf, which covered her thin head like a shroud.

  "Sorry?" Fenella said, taking in the woman's alert eyes. "Did you say something?"

  "My Alf said it's the curse of Pow Beck. Those waters have been blighted ever since they washed King Arthur's bones into the Irish Sea. And with PC Hoon poking around into the death of Viv Gill and Pearl Smith… well, it stands to reason his home would be consumed by fire and flames, doesn't it?"

  Fenella smiled. She'd already taken the measure of the woman, and she liked what she saw. A gossip. "And to whom do I have the pleasure?"

  "Mrs Lenz will do nicely." She smiled with false teeth too large for her small mouth. "I've known the Hoons for years."

  "I'm Fenella." She held out her hand.

  "I know who you are," Mrs Lenz said as she shook. "You're that top-dog detective from Port St Giles. I've heard all about you."

  "Aye, happen you have, and you know I'm very interested in what goes on in this village. What can you tell me?"

  Mrs Lenz tugged at her headscarf, glanced over her shoulder, and said, "It wasn't a happy marriage. Maude kicked PC Hoon out a few days ago, and he took a room in my place."

  "Aye, I've heard as much."

  "Well then, you'll have heard about his nasty little habits. Thought it would be nice to have the village bobby stay at my place until he got back on his feet. Boy, was I wrong."

  "Go on, luv, I'm listening."

  "I noticed coins going from my money jar." She lowered her voice. "I mark it with a faint pen, you see. Never happened before, only since PC Hoon moved in. Had to be him. Am I right? I am." Mrs Lenz pursed her lips. "Then there was the dark business he got up to in his room."

  "How do you mean?"

  "He smuggled food in, although I made it quite clear it is forbidden. And you should have seen the state he left the toilet. Smears and brown stains, and he used more than two sheets to wipe. I'll say no more!"

  Fenella wondered how Mrs Lenz rented a room to anyone. She'd not want to lodge in the house. "I suppose there is a settling-in period, takes time to adjust to a new place."

  "And just last night there was the foul language in his room. Swearing, he was. Words that would make a sailor blush. Terrified by my little Max, he was." She paused. "Max is my cockapoo, cute doggy."

  "Oh, aye?" Fenella said.

  "He'd been at the bottle too. Slurred like he'd been drinking gin and rum all day. Said he was going to get even with Maude. That he would teach her a lesson once and for all."

  That got Fenella's attention. She said, "What exactly did he say?"

  "I don't like to gossip."

  "Aye, me neither," Fenella replied. "And?"

  "PC Hoon said he would do unto Maude as he had done to the others."

  "What did he mean by that?"

  Mrs Lenz shrugged. "He said Maude would burn in hell when he was done with her." She gazed at the blackened house. "Drunken words come to life through the curse of Pow Beck."

  Fenella said, "Is PC Hoon at your home now?"

  "He went out, late. I heard him sneaking down the stairs after midnight. He has not been back to his room, and now this!"

  Mrs Lenz shook her head and wandered back into the crowd.

  Fenella scanned for Dexter. They had let PC Hoon slip through their fingers. He might be on the prowl anywhere, lurking in some dark corner to strike again. She felt sick to the pit of her stomach. A loud crack made her jump. She turned back to face PC Hoon's house. A plume of bright flames shot up at least twenty feet. The roof fell in with a roar. Black smoke spewed up and spread like a giant mushroom.

  For an instant, there was only the
sound of the wind shaking the trees and the lonely distant slap of the sea against the cliffs. Then a siren screamed and fine ash drifted down like snowflakes, coating the lane in soft grey. There'd be nowt left when the fire was done but blackened beams and twisted glass. PC Hoon's home in ruins, like his life, Fenella thought with a grim sigh.

  She waved Dexter over and asked him to radio in a call that PC Hoon be picked up on sight. The cat would be out of the bag now. And she had not yet informed Jeffery. That would have to wait. And so would she.

  Forty-five minutes dragged by before the firefighters got the blaze under control. Another hour after that, with the sun scowling through the trees, two entered the house in full gear with masks strapped tight to their heads.

  Fenella stood alone at the police tape and watched. The soft scrunch of their boots gave her hope for what they might find. She thought of the child she had saved on the beach. Little Ann Lloyd was alive and well despite the odds. Miracles do happen. And for once she wished she had a police radio at her side so she could follow what was going on. But it was back in the Morris Minor, and she rarely used it anyway. For now, she was rooted to the spot, an oak tree of hope awaiting the worst of the storm.

  Ten minutes later, the firefighters came out carrying a thin stretcher with a body bag on top. Her heart sank to a new low. Another death in St Bees. Could she have prevented it?

  She sensed someone behind her and turned around.

  Dexter said, "Just heard about the find on the radio. "He glanced at the firefighters. They continued to pick their way to the ambulance, heads bowed. "It breaks my heart to say this, but it was for the best, Guv. PC Hoon can rest in peace now."

  Chapter seventy-six

  Dr Joy Hall clutched the phone to her ear and stared with glum eyes through the hospital window. It was only 8:00 a.m. Thick, grey clouds loomed. They cast ominous shadows over the bleak grounds. Workers slouched along the path with their coats drawn tight. Visitors hunched against the cold chill. Veronica Jeffery's voice hissed in her ear.