Sandman

by David Hodges

  ‘So can we go back to the nick for a break?’ he queried. ‘Or – better still – home, to dry off?’

  She shook her head. ‘There are still a few properties to be checked.’

  ‘We can always come back afterwards?’

  Kate shook her head. ‘We need to keep going.’

  ‘Even though we’re likely to catch pneumonia?’

  She laughed again. ‘A cop’s got to do what a cop’s got to do,’ she retorted in her worst American accent.

  But, as it turned out, Hayden was to be relieved of the responsibility. Even as he opened his mouth with a further objection, his police radio activated. It was the control room and Kate’s irritation was apparent as he acknowledged the call with an apologetic glance in her direction.

  ‘Job for you, Hayden,’ the operator informed him. ‘Burglary at a house in Mark village.’

  ‘Committed on the Levels,’ he replied. ‘Can you send another unit?’

  ‘Uniform tied up and no other CID units available,’ came the almost gleeful ‘you can’t get out of this one’.

  ‘Shit!’ Kate exclaimed once he was off air.

  He grinned through the rain. ‘Time to go then?’ he said hopefully.

  ‘For you, yes,’ she agreed. ‘Take the car and sort this job out. I’ll call up when I’m done here and want collecting again.’

  ‘Not a chance,’ he said defiantly. ‘I’m not leaving you out here on your own – you could end up like Ellie Landy.’

  ‘Bollocks!’ she blazed. ‘Now, I’m giving you an order. Get your arse in gear and over to Mark.’

  And to reinforce the point, she produced her car keys and slapped them in his hand. ‘Go!’ she snapped. ‘I mean it, Hayd. Piss off!’

  A few seconds longer he hesitated, but the rain suddenly increasing in its intensity soon made up his mind and, with a rueful wave, he stomped back up the lane to where they had left the car. ‘Watch yourself,’ he threw back over his shoulder, ‘and don’t talk to any strange men!’

  Kate had good cause to remember her husband’s parting shot when she knocked on the door of the redbrick cottage fifteen minutes later. The cottage was at the far end of the lane – set apart from the rest, with a rubber dinghy equipped with an outboard motor on a trailer in the front garden – and it was the last of the remaining four properties she had tasked herself to check out. The other three had proved to be a waste of time – the first being empty and the other two occupied by elderly residents who could hardly remember what day it was, let alone recall whether they had ever clapped eyes on Ellie Landy. The young man who came to the door of the redbrick cottage in answer to her knock was an entirely different proposition, however. In his late twenties or early thirties, with lank blond shoulder-length hair, a pasty pock-marked face and thin stooped frame, he radiated strangeness and his sullen hostility was palpable as soon as Kate produced her warrant card.

  ‘And what do you want?’ he muttered, avoiding her gaze and staring down at his feet.

  Kate stiffened, picking up the bad vibes immediately. ‘We are making inquiries into the death of this young woman and wondered whether you have ever seen her before,’ she said, holding Ellie Landy’s photograph up in front of him. ‘Her name was Ellie Landy and she was found drowned in the River Parrett near here a few days ago. You may have read about the incident in the newspapers or seen it on local TV?’

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ he replied tersely and made to close the door again.

  Kate put her foot on the sill, sensing that something was very wrong. ‘Do you mean you haven’t seen her before or you haven’t read the story in the newspapers?’ she persisted.

  There was venom in his expression now. ‘Both,’ he said, his pale blue eyes flicking to her face and back to his feet again.

  ‘But you haven’t really looked at the photograph?’

  ‘Haven’t seen her, all right?’ he snapped and tried to close the door again.

  Before he could, however, another figure appeared at his elbow. ‘Who is it, Sam?’ the stout elderly woman demanded, peering round him to give Kate the once-over.

  ‘Police,’ Sam replied, still in a mutter.

  The woman pushed past him. ‘What’s my son done now?’ she snapped, suddenly equally hostile.

  Kate frowned. ‘Nothing as far as I know,’ she said and quickly explained the reason for her visit.

  The woman took a deep breath and stared at the young man. ‘I said you should have reported it,’ she exclaimed.

  ‘Be quiet, Mother!’ he snapped, glaring at her.

  ‘Reported what?’ Kate queried.

  The woman stepped forward, pushing him to one side. ‘The Landy woman,’ she replied, ignoring her son’s angry stare. ‘I told him to tell the police about her, but he was frightened he might end up in trouble again.’

  Kate sighed. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘can I come in? I think we need to talk.’

  The woman pushed Sam out of the way and stepped to one side. ‘Please do,’ she invited.

  Sitting at the kitchen table a few moments later, Kate spread her hands out on the table top. ‘So, what have you got to tell me?’ she said.

  The elderly woman took a deep breath. ‘Sam has been in trouble,’ she explained, throwing her son a troubled glance as he leaned against the sink, arms folded, his gaze fixed sullenly on the tiled floor. ‘He has these urges, you see. And he was put away for indecently assaulting two young women two years ago. He has only been out six months, so you can understand why he doesn’t want anything to do with the police – he’s scared that he might be accused of something—’

  Kate cut her off with a wave of her hand. ‘I’m not interested in his previous,’ she said, ‘only in what he has to tell me about the girl in this photograph.’

  She held it up in front of her and the woman compressed her lips into a hard line, then nodded quickly, throwing another brief glance at her son before continuing. ‘Sam has the boat that’s parked out front, you see,’ she explained. ‘He’s into all sorts of adventure sports and takes it all over the country. Anyway, a few days ago, this young woman turned up in a flashy sports car, knocked on the door and asked Sam if she could hire it—’

  ‘Hire it?’

  ‘Yes, she wanted to get to Lowmoor for some reason and had missed the morning boat that regularly takes supplies and so forth into the village. She offered to pay Sam a lot of money if he would do it, so he agreed and took her across there that same day. He never saw her again, did you Sam?’

  She glanced back at her son for a moment, but he made no response, continuing to stare down at his feet in an apparent bad-tempered sulk.

  Kate raised her head to study him. ‘Well, did you, Sam?’ she repeated. ‘Or have we got to continue this discussion down at the police station?’

  The boy stiffened and raised his head to meet her stare.

  ‘Never touched her, if that’s what you mean,’ he said. ‘Just dropped her off and came back, I – I swear it.’

  ‘No one is suggesting you touched her, Sam,’ she said, more gently this time, ‘but was the girl the one in this photograph?’

  He gave a reluctant nod.

  ‘Did she say why she wanted to get to Lowmoor?’

  He shook his head. ‘Just said she needed to get there.’

  ‘And you weren’t curious as to why?’

  He gave a faint grin. ‘Gave me thirty quid, so why would I care?’

  Kate sighed. ‘Your mum said the woman turned up in a flashy sports car. Where’s the car now?’

  Sam hesitated, then stood up. ‘I’ll show you.’

  The car was an old, but apparently restored MGB and it was parked in an open barn a few yards past the cottage. The car was securely locked and glistening with damp – a glance through a side window was enough for Kate. There was an open Ordinance Survey map, stained with the remains of a leaking sandwich, on the passenger seat and several business cards stuck to the sticky deposit that the sandwich had left. The bold black hea
ding at the top of one of the cards read ‘Lessings Global News Agency’ and the name ‘Ellie Landy’ printed below it was easily legible.

  ‘You just left it here?’ she queried.

  ‘What was I supposed to do with it?’ he said sullenly. ‘Weren’t my car and she had the keys anyway.’

  Kate nodded slowly. ‘OK, Sam, thanks for your help. Now, can I borrow your boat for a couple of hours?’

  He started, then firmly shook his head. ‘I don’t loan it out,’ he replied. ‘It’s the bee’s knees – electric start, full auto–choke and electric fuel pump. Cost me a bundle.’

  Kate reached under her coat and thrust her hand into her back pocket, pulling out her wallet. ‘I’ll make it worth your while,’ she said and withdrew several notes and placed them on the bonnet of the car in front of him. His eyes fastened on the money, but he still shook his head.

  ‘I’ll take you there,’ he offered, ‘but I won’t loan you my dinghy.’

  Kate’s mouth tightened. She was fast losing what little patience she had. ‘I need to take myself over there,’ she said. ‘I have to be able to get back when I’ve finished what I’ve got to do and I don’t know how long that will be.’

  ‘No deal,’ he said stubbornly.

  Her eyes glittered. ‘Then I’ll have to requisition it,’ she said, not sure whether she had the power to do anything of the sort. ‘This is a police inquiry and I am going to borrow your boat whether you want me to or not. The money still stands, but I’m afraid you have no choice in the matter.’

  Sam threw a desperate glance past her at his mother, who had followed them out to the barn and now stood in the doorway. She simply shrugged. ‘As the officer’s told you,’ she said, ‘you don’t have a choice.’

  Sam scowled. ‘You bring her back safe,’ he said. ‘Anything happens to her, it’ll cost you plenty.’

  Kate treated him to her best smile. ‘I promise,’ she said, then spoiled it all by adding, ‘Now, you’d better show me how the thing works!’

  In fact, the dinghy proved surprisingly easy to handle. Five minutes instruction by a very apprehensive Sam, after he had wheeled the boat down to the water’s edge, was enough and Kate left him with a swirl of water and a confident wave of her hand – which actually belied the apprehension she felt in relation to her debut ‘sailing’ expedition. Despite the rain and the ever-present threat of concealed hazards, like submerged cars, and the disappearance of the fences and hedgerows marking the road edges, she made it to the marooned village without mishap and killed the engine. Then, hauling the dinghy out of the water and well up on to the grass beside the road, she headed for the row of cottages lining both sides of what had once been the main street. At first she was heartened by the warm glow spilling out of some of the windows into the gradually departing daylight, but her optimism soon faded when she received no answer to her knocks from any of the cottages, even though the curtains across one window did stir, suggesting someone was inside.

  The gloom of the day, worsened by the driving rain and emerging spirals of white mist, pressed in on her as she clomped up the narrow street towards the village centre, struck, in spite of the appalling weather, by the fact that the place seemed so deserted. Where was everyone? She felt a bit like the sheriff in the Western film, High Noon, sensing hidden eyes studying her from behind the closed windows as she walked on. The gently swinging inn sign was a welcome sight and she turned into the half-open door of the public bar with a sense of relief.

  A dying fire burned through the mound of grey ash in the big open grate and several pairs of eyes homed in on her from dark corners as she crossed the bare wooden floor, conscious of the crack of her leather boots on the polished wood.

  The buxom woman behind the bar smoothed her peroxide-dyed curls away from her face and forced a smile, which didn’t reach her wary blue eyes. ‘What’ll you have, my duck?’ she queried in a strong Somerset accent. ‘Got a nice choice o’cider, if tha’s to your likin’ – local too. Good ol’ Zomerset.’

  Kate smiled, turning her head briefly to nod at a couple of rough labouring types occupying the end of the bar on red-leather cushioned stools. ‘I’ll take a half of whatever you would recommend,’ she said in her most conciliatory tone.

  The woman behind the bar nodded and grabbed a glass from the shelf behind her and thrust it under a pump. ‘You’re not from round ’ere,’ she said, more as a statement than a question. ‘Reckon I knows everyone in Lowmoor.’

  Kate shook her head. ‘First time.’

  A frown greeted her answer. ‘’Ow you get ’ere then? We’s cut off. ’Ave been for weeks. Come in on mornin’ boat, did you?’ She shook her head. ‘Long wait till ’e comes back at four, though – less you wanna swim.’

  ‘I hired an inflatable.’

  ‘Did you now? Must be a powerful reason for doin’ tha’?’

  Kate didn’t enlighten her and the woman didn’t press the point but, setting the glass in front of her, turned to stab at the illuminated squares on a computer screen on the back wall before re-joining her.

  ‘Where you from then?’

  Kate paid her and said, ‘Highbridge,’ for some reason not yet disclosing the fact that she was a police officer.

  ‘’Ighbridge?’ the woman echoed, raising painted eyebrows. ‘Bloody dump, tha’ place. Wha’ you doin’ ’ere then?’

  The moment of truth.

  Inwardly wincing and anticipating the change in attitude, Kate produced her warrant card. ‘Police,’ she said. ‘Detective Sergeant Kate Lewis.’

  The attitude change was immediate. ‘Peroxide’ straightened from her leaning position on the bar, her eyes narrowing appreciably. ‘P’lice, is it?’ she said. ‘A woman too, eh – and a sergeant?’

  Kate shrugged and smiled again. ‘All of that, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Why you ’fraid. Good thing bein’ a sergeant an’ a woman.’

  And ‘Peroxide’ raised her voice as she spoke and stared belligerently around the room, as if challenging a contrary response. But her customers merely grinned back at her, one raising his pint glass in mock salute.

  ‘Exactly,’ Kate responded, raising her own glass in a similar fashion. ‘A very good thing.’

  ‘Peroxide’ rested her elbows on the bar and cupped her hands round her face. ‘You ’ere official like?’

  Kate took a sip of her cider, suppressed a grimace at its overly sweet taste and produced one of Ellie Landy’s photographs. ‘Making inquiries into this young woman’s death,’ she said. ‘Ever seen her in here?’

  ‘Peroxide’ took the photograph from her, studied it, then slowly shook her head. ‘Never seen ’er. She missin’ then?’

  ‘Dead,’ Kate replied. ‘Drowned in the Parrett a few days ago. Thought you’d have read about it in the newspapers.’

  ‘Peroxide’ nodded and handed the photograph back. ‘’Eard about it on local radio but tha’s all. Didn’t know wha’ she looked like. Not seen no paper for days.’

  Kate produced a few more photographs and slapped them on the bar. ‘Could I leave these with you? One of your customers might have seen her.’ She handed over one of her business cards. ‘If anyone has any information, they can reach me on this number.’

  ‘Peroxide’ nodded and dropped the card into an empty beer glass beside the computer. ‘Tha’ way, I won’t forget,’ she said, her false smile broadening. ‘Now, another cider, is it?’

  Kate shook her head and, draining the glass, set it back on the counter. ‘No thanks, but mind if I show the woman’s pic around here now?’

  ‘Peroxide’ shrugged. ‘Please yourself, my duck.’

  So Kate did just that. But it was a waste of time. Whether any of the half dozen male customers in the bar had actually seen the girl before, it was impossible to tell, but all shook their heads anyway and returned to their beer, more interested in Kate’s figure than anything else and grinning inanely at each other as she went from table to table.

  Finally, with a polite no
d in the direction of the woman at the bar, Kate headed for the door labelled ‘Toilets’, ignoring the wolf-whistle that followed her through and smiling briefly to herself in the passageway beyond as she looked for the ladies.

  As it turned out, the toilet was clean enough but it smelled strongly of a powerful disinfectant and she couldn’t wait to wash her hands and leave again. She didn’t get far, however. In the act of pushing through the door back into the bar, she stopped short with one hand frozen against the brass finger plate. A new customer had come into the bar and was standing at the counter talking earnestly to ‘Peroxide’ – a customer she immediately recognized as her former prisoner, Leroy, the Spliff!

  CHAPTER 12

  For several seconds Kate just stared at the thin figure. What the hell was the nasty little dealer doing in this particular bar, of all places? And how had he got to the village? Borrowed a boat, like her – or did he own one of his own? Fortunately he had his back towards her and was now concentrating on his newly poured pint, but she knew there was no way she could cross the bar to the entrance doors without running the risk of being spotted by him if he happened to turn his head at the wrong moment.

  She was still trying to make up her mind what to do next when the situation took an even worse turn. Responding to a waved glass, the barmaid wiggled to the other end of the counter to serve the impatient customer and, as she did so, Kate saw Leroy idly pick up one of the photos she had left on the counter to give it the once-over. Almost immediately he stiffened, then beckoned ‘Peroxide’ back to him as she finished serving the other customer. For a few moments he engaged her in an intense conversation, which ended with the woman shrugging and waving a hand towards the door to the toilets. The implication was plain, and as Leroy jerked round to look her way, Kate allowed the door to close gently against her and stood there for a moment, her heart thudding heavily.

  Damn it! The vicious little dealer was the last person she’d expected to run into in this godforsaken spot and she felt a stab of apprehension at the thought of what he might do if he managed to get hold of her. Alone, with the only possibility of backup miles away on the other side of acres of flooded fields, she was acutely conscious of her vulnerability. OK, so she could stay in the bar where there were other people but she couldn’t remain there for ever and she had no idea how reliable the staff or their clientele were anyway. For all she knew, they could all be inbreds, who would relish the prospect of seeing a police officer getting her comeuppance.