The Night Hawks

by Griffiths, Elly

  Nelson is right. Tanya and Tony are knocking on Neil Topham’s door. He lives just outside King’s Lynn in what Tanya immediately perceives is a family house: large garage, bikes in the porch, a basketball net in the garden. Neil Topham, who opens the door wearing tracksuit bottoms and a rugby top, says that he works from home as an IT consultant. He rises further in Tanya’s esteem. IT, in her opinion, is a useful subject. Not like history.

  While Neil makes them tea in the large, efficient-looking kitchen, two teenagers appear, grab some food, and disappear.

  ‘Max and Megan,’ says Neil. ‘Home from school for a cheery chat with their dad.’

  As neither adolescent said a single word, this is obviously meant to be ironical. Tanya asks what Neil’s wife does, then regrets the way she has phrased the question. She and Petra have vowed never to use the word ‘wife’. And Neil might just as easily be in a same-sex relationship.

  Neil doesn’t seem bothered by the W word. ‘She’s a solicitor,’ he says. ‘She works in Lynn. She won’t be home for a few hours yet.’

  ‘Can you tell us what happened last night at Black Dog Farm?’ says Tanya.

  ‘I was out field walking with Alan,’ says Neil. ‘I know that probably sounds odd, but I like walking at night. It’s something the Night Hawks often do.’ He pats a silver hawk badge which is pinned, rather incongruously, to the rugby shirt. ‘I don’t sleep well and there’s something very peaceful about the countryside in the dark.’

  ‘How do you know Alan?’ asks Tanya.

  ‘We used to teach together,’ says Neil. ‘I left about ten years ago. There’s much more money in IT and you get to work in your pyjamas. What’s not to like?’

  He smiles but Tanya wonders if the freelance life is quite as rosy as it sounds. Neil is at home in his tracksuit bottoms (almost pyjamas) at five p.m., ignored by his kids and maybe also by his hard-working wife, not sleeping at night and roaming the countryside in the early hours. It doesn’t exactly sound like having it all.

  ‘So what happened last night?’ says Tanya. ‘When did you hear the shots?’

  ‘I think it must have been about midnight,’ says Neil. ‘We were in the lane outside Black Dog Farm. We heard a gunshot, then a scream, then another two or three shots. We phoned the police immediately.’

  ‘Who phoned?’ says Tony. ‘You or Alan?’

  Tanya frowns at him for interrupting and Neil seems slightly thrown.

  ‘Alan,’ he says at last. ‘Alan called the police. And he waited near the house for them to come.’

  ‘Why didn’t you wait with him?’ asks Tanya.

  ‘They told us to go home. Said it wasn’t safe to approach the house. We gave them our names.’

  ‘So why did Alan wait by the house?’

  ‘Alan’s a historian,’ says Neil. ‘He always wants to hear the end of the story. But I’d seen enough. I walked back to where I’d left my car and then I drove home.’

  ‘What time did you get in?’ asks Tanya.

  ‘About twelve thirty,’ says Neil. ‘I remember looking at my phone when I plugged it in to charge. I slept in the spare room so as not to wake Emily.’

  So no one can vouch for that return in the early hours, thinks Tanya. She asks if Neil had been to the farmhouse before.

  ‘No,’ says Neil, ‘but Alan told me that Paul Noakes used to live there. Paul’s one of the Night Hawks. I taught him years ago. Bright boy.’

  ‘Have you ever met Douglas or Linda Noakes?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge. No.’

  ‘Not when you used to teach Paul?’

  ‘Paul didn’t do IT for GCSE or A level and he wasn’t in my form. There was no reason for them to see me.’

  ‘The two police officers who attended the scene, Nathan Matthews and Mark Hammond, also went to Greenhill. Did you teach them?’

  ‘I remember Mark. He was quite good at IT. Not sure about Nathan. After a bit the names and faces merge into one.’

  Tanya imagines that this is true. After all, teachers must teach hundreds – thousands – of pupils. Does that make it stranger that Alan White appears to remember everyone so well? At any rate, there doesn’t seem much more to be gained from Neil Topham and, after a few more questions and a desultory chat about laptops, Tanya and Tony leave. In the car, Tanya says, ‘Why did you ask that about the phone call?’

  Tony blinks at her. He has an innocent face, round and rather childish. He’s popular with the other officers because he takes his turn on the chocolate run and joins in the many running jokes, most of them as black as night, that circulate the police station. Tanya still doesn’t quite trust him, mainly because he’s known to be close to Judy and Tanya feels that Judy is her main rival at work. Tony answers her respectfully enough. ‘It just struck me that they rang the local police, not 999. So whoever rang must already have their number.’

  ‘Easy enough to find the number,’ says Tanya. Even as she says it she realises this isn’t quite true. Easy enough to google in the daylight but a different matter in the dark with a gunshot ringing in your ears. It’s quite a good point but she’s not going to tell Tony that.

  Chapter 8

  Saturday is sunny but cold, a brisk wind is blowing through the reeds and ruffling the distant sea as Ruth drives to Cley for the excavation. It’s early – just after six thirty – and the landscape has a pale, newly washed look, like a watercolour painting.

  ‘Will we see the skeleton today?’ says Kate.

  Ruth is already having second thoughts about bringing Kate with her. But it’s hard to find childcare at the weekend and Kate had begged to come. Even so, digging up human remains is hardly a wholesome mother/daughter activity. What if it traumatises Kate for life? It’s more likely though that she’ll be bored to tears. But, when Ruth texted Cathbad, he said that he’d be happy to keep an eye on Kate. ‘Hecate can help dig,’ he said. ‘She’ll love it.’ It’s a kindly offer so Ruth decides to ignore the fact that Cathbad, like Nelson, seems intent on renaming her daughter. Nelson calls her ‘Katie’, which is even worse.

  ‘We might see some bones,’ says Ruth. ‘They probably won’t look like a skeleton.’

  ‘But the bones used to be a person.’

  This is something that Ruth has to impress on her students. Skeletal matter, however long it has lain in the ground, once used to be a living, breathing creature. All remains should be treated with the utmost respect, excavated on one day if possible, numbered, recorded and otherwise acknowledged. Once a year there’s a ceremony in the grounds of Norwich Castle to remember the ‘outcast dead’, bodies buried in unmarked graves, in unconsecrated ground, outside city walls. Ruth always tries to attend the service, despite being allergic to the religious element. It’s always good to remember the dead.

  ‘Yes,’ she says now. ‘These bones used to be a person. We won’t know if it’s a man or woman but there will be some clues from the bones. Women’s pelvises are different and men’s bones are usually longer.’

  ‘What’s a pelvis?’ says Kate. Ruth starts to explain but Kate loses interest, which is probably just as well. She starts fiddling with her mobile phone, a new acquisition. Ruth hadn’t wanted her to have one until she started secondary school next September. But Kate had put forward an impassioned case and, after some tense debate with Ruth, Nelson had bought her one for Christmas. Ruth doesn’t like to see her daughter crouched over the little screen but she has to admit that it’s comforting to think that she can contact Kate if she’s at a sleepover or with Nelson. Just texting ‘Night darling xx’ makes Ruth feel less separate, that alarming feeling of amputation she has when Kate is out of physical contact.

  Seeing Kate absorbed in her phone Ruth switches on the radio and the soothing tones of Radio 4 fill the car. Farming Today, a programme Ruth loves despite knowing nothing about agriculture beyond what she gleans from The Archers (mostly information a
bout silage, modern slavery and surrogate parenting).

  ‘Can we listen to music?’ says Kate.

  They are singing along to Lady Gaga as they turn into the car park at Cley. Cathbad is already there and Kate squeals with delight when she sees that Michael is with him.

  ‘Hope it’s OK,’ says Cathbad. ‘I thought it might be more fun for Hecate to have a friend to play with. I thought they might have a go with this.’

  He brandishes a metal detector. Ruth recoils as if it’s a gun.

  ‘Where did you get that?’

  ‘It’s an old one of Alan’s. He lent it to me. He’s coming along later.’

  Ruth isn’t surprised. Alan, too, probably regards the site as his own personal property. She will have to make sure that the dig is run according to her rules.

  ‘Is Judy coming?’ she asks. Police presence might also be helpful.

  ‘Maybe later,’ says Cathbad, ‘but she’s with the family of the couple killed at Black Dog Farm today.’

  Ruth suspects that this oddly named place will not resemble anything in Farming Today or The Archers. She couldn’t do Judy’s job for a million pounds.

  As they walk along the beach, the sand blows in their faces and turns Ruth’s hair into a wild tangle. Kate and Michael laugh excitedly as they carry the metal detector between them. Cathbad pulls up the hood of his anorak.

  ‘I wish I’d brought my cloak,’ he says.

  ‘I’m glad you didn’t,’ says Ruth.

  After a few minutes they see the police tape fluttering. The site is just above the tide line, in an area of sand and patchy sea kale. Ted is already there – Ruth spotted his van in the car park – and is measuring out a trench.

  ‘We might need a second section,’ says Ruth. ‘But I don’t think so. I think the body will be here. We can do a more extensive dig later with the students.’

  They take off the tarpaulin, billowing wildly in the breeze, and there, exposed in the pale soil, are the metal fragments and the smooth skull bone.

  ‘Is that the skeleton?’ says Kate, peering under Ruth’s arm.

  ‘It’s part of it,’ says Ruth. ‘Why don’t you and Michael see if you can find some treasure further along the beach? Don’t go too far, though.’

  She watches them running along the sand and freezes when she sees two men approaching. They are both wearing dark jackets and look suddenly surreal, like faceless ­Magritte bankers on a sunny beach. Then she recognises one of them as David Brown, his scowl visible from a hundred metres away. She’s pretty sure that the other man is Alan White. David stops to talk to the children and Ruth is surprised to hear laughter floating up from the group. Then the two men turn inland towards the trench.

  ‘That your daughter, Ruth?’ says David.

  ‘Yes,’ says Ruth. ‘That’s Kate. And Cathbad’s son, Michael.’ She’s not about to apologise for bringing her daughter on the dig.

  ‘Good to see them starting on metal detecting early,’ says the other man. ‘I’m Alan White, by the way. One of the Night Hawks.’

  Why on earth did the detectorists give themselves that name? thinks Ruth. It predisposes her to think badly of them. Alan is even wearing a silver hawk badge on his padded gilet. Still, at least he’s come prepared to help. Ruth greets Alan politely and turns to address the group.

  ‘We’ve found some skeletal matter,’ she says. ‘And I think it’s likely that there’ll be more. We need to record the remains in situ, the position, direction and any archaeological features. Then I’ll excavate the bones and Ted will log them on the skeleton chart. Then I’ll bag them up to be cleaned in the lab. We should take soil samples and log any other finds too. Any questions?’

  She thinks that David will ask one for the sake of it, but he takes off his jacket and rolls up his sleeves.

  ‘Let’s get going,’ he says.

  Judy is sitting in a King’s Lynn flat, with the sun streaming in through the windows, discussing suicide. Chloe Noakes is on the sofa opposite her, her brother Paul beside her. Chloe is a small woman with short brown hair and a businesslike manner. She’s a GP and Judy can just imagine her dispensing brisk medical advice in a way that manages to be sympathetic and efficient at the same time. Paul is a much less definite personality. He’s tall with long arms and legs that still seem to come as a surprise to him. He’s already knocked over his empty water glass twice. Both times Chloe righted it without looking at her brother. The flat is very tidy.

  Yesterday, Chloe identified her parents’ bodies at the morgue, attended by the family liaison officer, Maggie. Today’s visit is really just so that Judy can establish a relationship with the siblings and let them know how the investigation is progressing.

  ‘The scene-of-crime team are still at the house,’ she says. ‘But you should be able to go there tomorrow or Monday, if you’d like to.’

  Paul looks at Chloe. ‘I don’t know if I could stand to see that place again.’

  Chloe massages his arm, in a bracing yet comforting way. ‘I think it might help. To see the . . . to see where it happened.’

  Paul shudders. ‘Were you there?’ he asks Judy. ‘Were you there when it happened?’

  ‘I was one of the first on the scene,’ says Judy. ‘The call came through to the Serious Crimes Unit. Then we had to call for Authorised Firearms officers to attend, because a gunshot had been heard inside the house.’

  ‘Did you go inside?’ says Paul, wrapping his legs in a kind of knot. ‘Did you see?’

  ‘No,’ says Judy gently. ‘I didn’t go in. My boss did though. DCI Nelson. You’ll meet him soon.’

  ‘I just can’t believe it,’ says Paul. ‘Both of them just . . . gone. I always thought there was something wrong about that house. Something bad.’

  Judy thinks of Black Dog Farm, blank-faced and solid, even when all hell was breaking loose inside. She can imagine that it was a lonely place to grow up, but she’d like to know what Paul means by ‘something bad’.

  ‘Did you have any idea that your father might be troubled in some way?’ asks Judy. ‘Sorry. I know this is hard.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s what happened?’ says Chloe. ‘That he killed Mum and then he killed himself?’ Her voice is calm and dispassionate but Judy notices that her hands are trembling. Paul must have noticed too because he takes his sister’s hand in his own. So maybe the comforting goes both ways.

  ‘We can’t be sure until we have all the forensics and the post-mortem report,’ says Judy. ‘But it does look that way. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Why though?’ says Paul. ‘Why would he do it?’

  ‘Sometimes there isn’t a reason,’ says Chloe.

  ‘But Dad . . . he’s the last person I would have expected . . .’

  ‘Dad was a strong character,’ Chloe tells Judy. ‘He never seemed to show weakness or doubt. That’s why it’s hard to imagine him taking his own life. But these things happen, I know. I’ve seen it in my own work.’

  Chloe is drawing on her own professional experience, but Judy knows that this doesn’t always help when the unthinkable happens, because you never expect it to happen to you.

  ‘If I’d committed suicide,’ says Paul. ‘No one would be surprised. Typical Paul, they’d all say.’

  It’s a very odd thing to say. Chloe seems to realise this because she says, ‘Neither of us know quite what to think or say, DI Johnson.’

  ‘Judy, please. And I quite understand.’

  She understands that, in extremis, people usually say exactly what they mean.

  By the end of the day, Ruth has excavated a complete human skeleton and Kate has found several coins, a rusty nail and a key, the kind with a long shank and intricate-looking bit.

  ‘The nail could be from a shipwreck,’ says Alan, who has maintained a kindly interest in the children’s activities. It doesn’t surprise Ruth to learn that h
e’d been a history teacher.

  ‘And the key could be for a treasure chest,’ says Kate.

  ‘Where’s the chest then?’ says Michael. He sounds uncharacteristically grumpy, maybe because Kate is taking all the credit for their joint finds.

  ‘It’s probably still buried in the sand,’ says Alan. ‘You should go on digging.’

  Ruth shoots him a look. She suspects Alan of wanting to go on digging at the archaeological site. They have already found several broken spearheads, a pot and what looks like part of a bracelet but Alan keeps saying that ‘there must be more’. How predictable, thinks Ruth. Treasure hunter.

  The bones are now all numbered and bagged, ready to be taken to the laboratory. The skeleton was in a crouched position, typical of Bronze Age burials. What was less typical was the fact that it appeared to have a dagger in its hand. From the look of the pelvis and the long bones, Ruth thinks the skeleton is that of a man. The skull also revealed surprisingly good teeth, which will help with aging. They will also be able to get isotope analysis done, which should tell them where the man grew up. Unlike bones, teeth don’t renew themselves so they can provide a snapshot of the time of formation.

  ‘He would have been a good-looker,’ says Ted. ‘Wonderful set of gnashers on him.’

  ‘We’ll know if we do a facial reconstruction,’ says David who, Ruth is beginning to learn, never gives up.

  Ruth has taken multiple soil samples, especially from the abdominal areas of the body where there are likely to be body fluids. Now they are packing up the sample bags and boxes to take them back to Ted’s van.

  ‘There might even be DNA,’ says David. ‘We could find out about whether he was carrying a virus. The virus that killed the Neolithic Britons.’

  ‘DNA is hard to extract from articulated skeletons,’ says Ruth. David should really know this stuff, she thinks. ‘The process of putrefaction can destroy it. And we’ve no hair or soft tissue.’ The first body she found on the Saltmarsh was buried in peat and so the hair, skin and nails were almost miraculously preserved. These remains, buried in sand, have not fared so well. But they will yield their secrets all the same. It’s a good day’s work, thinks Ruth, easing her aching back. All she wants now is to go home for a hot bath, a glass of wine and a helping of The Young Montalbano.