The Night Hawks

by Griffiths, Elly

  Judy arrives home just as Cathbad is setting out to collect the kids from school.

  ‘Come with me,’ he says. ‘Unless you want to go straight to bed. I could take them to the park so that you have a longer rest.’

  ‘No, I’d like to come.’ A brisk walk with Cathbad seems more invigorating than a nap and she suddenly has a visceral urge to see her children.

  ‘It’ll be a lovely surprise for them,’ says Cathbad. ‘We could take Thing too.’

  Thing is their bull terrier. He normally accompanies Cathbad everywhere, but dogs aren’t allowed in the school playground.

  ‘OK,’ says Judy. ‘I’ll look after him when you go in to collect them.’ Unlike Cathbad, who relishes every opportunity for human interaction, Judy doesn’t enjoy mixing with the other parents. She can never remember people’s names and, when she can, she worries that it’s because she’s recently arrested them. Michael is like her, serious and self-contained. Miranda is Cathbad reborn with fairy wings.

  They walk by the sea wall, the boats clinking companionably from the water. It’s another beautiful autumn day. Judy thinks of Black Dog Farm, its square, flint-lined walls, its air of total isolation. Well, it’ll be full of people today: the scene-of-crime teams, local police, the press. She’s already told Cathbad the basics on the phone but now she tells him about the farmhouse with the strange name.

  ‘The Black Shuck,’ says Cathbad immediately, ‘the harbinger of death. Although he’s not always evil. Sometimes he’s just a travelling companion. Some legends link him to the black hound of Odin.’

  Cathbad loves the Norse gods. Judy had to stop him telling stories about them at bedtime. The kids loved them; she was terrified.

  ‘I told Nelson that you’d seen him,’ she says.

  Cathbad laughs. ‘Now he’ll think I’m crazier than ever. Actually, of course, deep down Nelson believes in it all. Just like, deep down, he’s as devout a Catholic as his mother.’

  Cathbad met Nelson’s mother years ago and an unlikely friendship ensued. Maureen is planning to come to stay with Nelson and Michelle for Christmas. Only Cathbad is looking forward to the visit with unalloyed pleasure.

  They turn inland and walk through the suburban streets, Thing panting and grinning at every passer-by, most of whom draw back in horror. It’s not easy being a devil dog.

  ‘Tanya’s interviewing your friend Alan White this afternoon,’ says Judy.

  ‘Because he reported the shots last night?’ says Cathbad. Strictly speaking, Judy shouldn’t have told him this but it’s hard to keep secrets from Cathbad.

  ‘Yes. And he was one of the people who found the body on the beach. You know what Nelson thinks about coincidence.’

  ‘Coincidence is only another word for fate,’ says Cathbad. ‘But Alan has always struck me as a sincere soul. Maybe he was just guided to be there that night.’

  ‘I can’t see that excuse going down too well with Nelson,’ says Judy. ‘Or Tanya.’

  They have reached the school. Cathbad goes into the playground to wait for Michael and Miranda. Judy sits on a nearby bench, holding Thing tightly. He loves children, which is sad because this love isn’t always reciprocated.

  ‘Judy! Hallo, Thing. Don’t jump up, there’s a good boy.’

  It’s Ruth, looking unusually smart in a black trouser suit.

  ‘Hi, Ruth. Come to do the pick-up?’

  ‘Yes. No students until Monday so I thought I’d give Sandra a break.’ Sandra is Ruth’s long-time childminder, a treasure in every sense.

  ‘How’s work?’ says Judy. ‘What’s it like being in the hot seat?’

  ‘OK,’ says Ruth. ‘Except that I’ve got a new lecturer who wants to tell me exactly how to do my job.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ says Judy. ‘Tanya’s still snapping at my heels.’

  ‘Were you involved with that shooting at Sheringham? I heard Super Jo talking about it on the radio.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Judy. ‘I’ve been up all night, which is probably why I’m feeling a bit dopey now.’

  ‘Did the man kill his wife and then kill himself? That’s what it sounded like.’

  ‘Looks that way but we can’t be sure. I don’t know why the super called a press conference just to say, “We can’t tell you any more at the present time.”’

  ‘I bet Nelson wasn’t keen.’

  ‘He wasn’t.’

  Judy is conscious of the slight restraint they both feel whenever the boss’s name is mentioned. Most people at the station know about Nelson and Ruth but the inner circle – Judy, Tanya and Clough before he left – avoid talking about it, even to each other.

  ‘I’d better go in,’ says Ruth. ‘It’s always manic on a Friday.’

  ‘Is it Friday?’ says Judy. ‘I’ve lost track.’

  ‘Yes. Term starts on Monday and I’ve got permission to excavate the Bronze Age site tomorrow. You should come along.’

  ‘I will. Cathbad will be interested too.’

  ‘Tell him to bring his trowel. We’re always short of good diggers.’ Cathbad seems to have lived many lives but in one of them he studied archaeology. Judy says that she’ll pass it on. She’s pretty sure that Cathbad will be on the beach at dawn.

  Ruth goes through the gates and, a few minutes later, returns with a wildly excited Kate, dragging Michael along with her.

  ‘We’re going to the park and then to have pizza.’

  ‘Is that OK?’ says Cathbad, following along with Miranda and a pile of brightly coloured pictures, shedding glitter and sparkly stars. ‘You could go home and rest if you want.’

  ‘No, I’ll come,’ says Judy. The exhaustion has mutated into a rather pleasant dreaminess. She likes the idea of chatting with Cathbad and Ruth over pizza and a glass of wine. They walk towards the park, Cathbad in front with the children, Judy and Ruth following with the dog. Thing wants to be with his siblings, so he pants and pulls at the lead. Then, suddenly, he stops and turns round, hackles up.

  ‘What up, Thing?’ says Judy. Thing is growling, which is almost unheard of.

  ‘Has he seen another dog?’ says Ruth.

  They both look back but the road, full of parents and children a few minutes ago, is now completely empty.

  Tanya is finding Alan White an irritating interviewee. He’s pleasant enough, offering coffee and home-made biscuits, chatting about the weather, but he keeps veering off into diversions about Iron Age settlements and something called a bulla, which turns out to be a kind of necklace. Tanya has no interest in history and is not surprised to learn that this was Alan’s subject when he was a teacher.

  ‘When did you retire?’ asks Tanya.

  ‘Three years ago,’ says Alan. ‘I was only fifty-five but I was burnt out. That’s happening a lot in the profession these days.’

  Tanya’s wife, Petra, is a teacher but she always seems full of energy. Maybe a private school and small classes have something to do with this. Alan taught at Greenhill, the comprehensive in Sheringham.

  ‘It was stressful,’ he says. ‘I had some fantastic pupils though. Lots of them went on to study history at university.’

  ‘Tell me about the Night Hawks,’ says Tanya. ‘Do you go out at night looking for treasure?’

  ‘That’s a rather simplistic definition,’ says Alan, sounding exactly like a history teacher. ‘Nighthawking is the word used to describe the theft of historical artefacts from archaeological sites. It’s a term of abuse. I thought I would try to redeem it. After all, hawks are beautiful creatures and I love watching birds at night. The Sheringham Night Hawks is a proper licensed metal detecting society, part of the ­Federation of Independent Detectorists. Any finds are reported to the Finds Liaison Officer immediately.’

  ‘Why do you go out at night then?’ says Tanya. ‘Seems a bit dodgy, doesn’t it?’

  Alan sighs. He�
��s rather bedraggled-looking, balding with a rim of grey fuzz, wearing a jumper that’s unravelling at the edges. Tanya can just imagine what his pupils would have said about him.

  ‘It’s quieter at night,’ he says. ‘Fewer people around. And the younger members find it more exciting.’

  ‘Tell me about finding the body on the beach,’ says Tanya. ‘Why were you there in the first place?’

  ‘We knew that some coins had been found on the beach,’ says Alan. ‘We thought there might be a hoard there. And we were right. We’d just located it when Troy, one of our youngest members, shouted that he’d found a body. The tide was coming in so we pulled it – him – onto the rocks. Then I called the police. They came very quickly. Two nice young chaps. I’d taught them both.’

  ‘And what about last night, at Black Dog Farm?’

  ‘I was field walking with my friend Neil, another of the Night Hawks. There was once a Roman settlement near the farm so you can sometimes pick up nice bits of pottery, samian ware, you know. Anyway, we were walking along a lane and I heard a shot coming from the farmhouse, then a scream. It was really chilling. Then there was another shot and another. Three or four. I called the police. They came very quickly and took my name and details. Neil had gone home by then, but I waited in the lane outside the house. There were no more shots, in fact everything was totally silent. I saw the armed police go in and, much later, the bodies being brought out.’

  ‘What did you do then?’ asks Tanya. She thinks there’s something creepy about Alan lurking outside the farmhouse until the bodies were brought out. She wonders if there was anyone at home to vouch for his return. She can’t immediately deduce the presence of a partner in the house. They are sitting in Alan’s kitchen which is tidy but not obsessively so, Guardian open on the table, a plastic bag labelled ‘For Charity’ by the back door.

  She thinks that Alan hesitates slightly but then he says, ‘I came home. I think I got in at about two a.m.’

  ‘Does anyone live here with you?’ asks Tanya.

  ‘My wife died two years ago,’ says Alan. ‘Cancer.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ says Tanya.

  ‘We were looking forward to spending our retirement together,’ says Alan. ‘We never had children. We were going to travel, take up new hobbies. But it wasn’t to be. That’s probably why I’m a bit obsessive about my interests.’

  This is said with a slight smile which Tanya finds rather touching. She senses that Alan knows exactly what kind of a figure he presents to the world. She asks him if he knew the Noakes family.

  ‘Paul, their son, is one of the Night Hawks,’ he says. ‘He was also one my ex-pupils. I remember Dr Noakes and his wife from parents’ evenings and the like. They seemed like perfectly pleasant people.’

  Perfectly pleasant people. It sounds like the beginning of a Blur song.

  ‘When did you last see Dr and Mrs Noakes?’

  ‘Oh, it must have been more than ten years ago. When Paul was still at school. He must be about thirty now.’

  Thirty-one, Tanya checks her notes. She wonders who will get the job of interviewing Paul Noakes.

  ‘Have you got any idea what happened in Black Dog Farm last night?’

  ‘I assumed . . . from the police statement . . . that Dr Noakes had killed his wife and then committed suicide.’

  ‘Have you any idea why he might have done that?’

  ‘No. As I say, I didn’t really know them. But there are secrets in every family, DS Fuller. You don’t teach for thirty years without finding that out.’

  ‘Secrets?’ says Nelson. ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ says Tanya. ‘I tried to get him to elaborate but he just kept going on about the Iron Age and the Romans.’

  ‘Is Alan White a bit . . .’ Nelson pauses, trying to think of an appropriate word. Super Jo is always telling him that he can’t call people nutters.

  ‘Mad?’ says Tanya. ‘I don’t think so. Just eccentric and obsessed with history.’

  Nelson thinks that this could just as easily apply to Cathbad. He looks round for Judy before remembering that he sent her home.

  ‘We haven’t got the forensics back yet,’ he says. ‘But this does look like a murder-suicide. Douglas Noakes appeared to have been shot in the head. We’ll know more when we’ve got the detail on the angle of the bullet and whether his prints were on the gun. But it looks as if he shot his wife as she was running away from him up the stairs and then killed himself. All the same, it’s worth getting as much information as we can on the family. Neil Topham, the other metal detectorist, gave a statement today but I’d like you to go and see him, Tanya. See if he knows anything about Douglas and Linda Noakes. Take Tony with you.’

  Tanya looks pleased. Tony less so. Tanya says, ‘Have you spoken to the children? Paul and, what was her name, Chloe?’

  ‘They’re with the family liaison officer today,’ says Nelson. ‘But I’d like you or Judy to talk to them tomorrow.’

  ‘Paul Noakes was one of Alan White’s pupils,’ says Tanya. ‘That’s a bit odd, isn’t it?’

  ‘It’s a small place,’ says Nelson. ‘I suppose most people went to the same school. But it’s a link, I admit.’

  ‘Apparently the attending PCs were ex-pupils too.’

  ‘He certainly seems to remember them all very well,’ says Nelson. ‘I wonder if there’s anything sinister there. Can you speak to the school, Tanya?’

  ‘Will do,’ says Tanya. Nelson knows that she wants to be his number two on the case but that position rightfully belongs to Judy, who is a DI. Nelson is very keen on fairness. He thinks it comes from being the youngest in his family. He calls the meeting to an end and escapes into his office.

  Nelson thinks of tiredness as something that only affects other people (ditto jet lag) but he has now been up since midnight and he does feel slightly strung out, all his senses on high alert. In the room next door Tony is whistling ‘Heigh-ho, heigh-ho, it’s off to work we go’. The notes feel as if they are being drilled into Nelson’s head. He asks his PA, Leah, to make him a cup of coffee and, when she brings it, requests that she closes the door behind her. Tony is still whistling. That’s a habit he has to break if he’s going to carry on working for the Serious Crimes Unit. Nelson drinks the scalding liquid and thinks about the Black Dog Farm case. Should he chase the SOCO team for results? No, it’s too soon for that. Maybe he should have another look through the crime-scene photos. He remembers the house: the patterned wallpaper, the ticking clock, the herbs hanging in the kitchen. Then the bodies, one on the floor, the other on the stairs. You never get used to the sight, not really.

  He still doesn’t have the post-mortem results on the body on the beach either. What was Tanya saying about the attending PCs being ex-pupils of Alan White? He opens the door to ask her but is told that DS Fuller and DC Zhang have just gone out. Maybe they’ve gone to interview Neil Topham. It would be like Tanya not to waste any time and at least it means that the whistling has stopped. Maybe he should talk to the two constables again. Nelson rings Nathan’s number and gets no answer. Then he tries Mark. The phone rings out and Nelson leaves a message. Mark rings him back almost immediately.

  ‘DCI Nelson?’ His voice sounds odd, as if he’s a long way away.

  ‘Yes, I just wanted to—’

  ‘Haven’t you heard about Nathan?’

  ‘What about him?’ says Nelson, irritated at being interrupted.

  ‘He’s dead.’

  Chapter 7

  ‘What do you mean, he’s dead?’

  ‘I called for him yesterday morning,’ says Mark, ‘and there was no one home. He lives with his mum and dad. But a neighbour saw me leaving and she said that Nathan had been taken to hospital that night. I rang the hospital and they told me that he’d . . . passed away.’

  Nelson disapproves of the term ‘passed away’
. Death is death and it shouldn’t be hidden behind a euphemism.

  ‘How?’ he says. ‘What did he die of?’

  ‘They don’t know. He was feeling a bit crap on Wednesday. Sorry.’ Even in his grief and distress, Mark apologises for his language when speaking to a senior officer.

  ‘I thought he seemed like he had a cold,’ says Nelson.

  ‘Yes, that’s all I thought it was. Plus, we’d been up all night. Nathan went home early but I thought he’d be fine by Thursday morning. And now he’s dead.’ There’s a long pause and Nelson can hear Mark struggling to control his breathing. ‘Sorry,’ he says again. ‘It’s just . . . It’s a shock. Nathan and I have known each other since we were kids. We went to school together. He was saving up to get married.’

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ says Nelson. ‘He was a good copper. Let me know if I can do anything.’

  ‘I will. My sarge is heartbroken. I don’t know how I can go into work on Monday.’

  ‘Work helps sometimes,’ says Nelson. ‘Let me know about . . . about any arrangements.’ It seems too soon to say the word ‘funeral’. Only yesterday Nathan Matthews had sat in these offices, looking rather cold-ridden but otherwise healthy. And now he’s dead, a young man in his – what? – mid-twenties? It doesn’t make sense. He passes on the news to Jo who says all the right things about flowers and paying their respects.

  ‘Maybe it was sudden adult death syndrome,’ she says. ‘That can happen to the healthiest people.’

  Sudden adult death, thinks Nelson. That could refer to most murder victims. But Nathan wasn’t murdered. This is simply a horrible human tragedy. Nelson looks at his watch. Nearly five. He won’t stay late tonight. He suddenly longs to be at home with Georgie.