CAPTIVE ON THE FENS a gripping crime thriller full of twists

by Joy Ellis

  ‘Geoff! Long time, no see! Nikki Galena here.’ She smiled and doodled pound signs on the pad as her old school friend asked how things were with her. ‘Pretty good, but can I ask a favour? If I said, Herondene, Jacob’s Mere, what would you say?’

  She listened for a while as the estate agent extolled the beauties of living in the “gloriously secluded spot” and how “a little sympathetic updating” would restore the cottage to its original beauty.

  ‘Geoff, this is me, Nikki, the girl who tipped frogspawn in your lunchbox because you nicked my peanut butter sandwiches. Let’s use real speak, shall we? For secluded spot, read lonely with no amenities and no bus service, and for a sympathetic updating, read spend a bleeding fortune on a money pit. It’s a dump, my friend, and you know it. But sadly a couple of kids that I happen to care about have fallen in love with it. I know what the asking price is, but I’m asking you for a reasonable one. How about you ring the owners and then get back to me?’

  Then Nikki sat back and began to formulate stage two of her cunning plan.

  * * *

  ‘We’re just off out, Radley! Going to join us for a jolly country hike?’

  Ben looked up from the pile of printouts and photographs that covered his desk, and was astounded to realise that he had been sitting there for over three hours.

  ‘I’ll give it a miss, Andy. I want to finish up here.’

  ‘Fed up with the great outdoors?’ The booted and waterproofed copper grinned at his friend. ‘I reckon you could do with some fresh air. You look like shit!’

  ‘I only got three hours’ sleep last night, so at least I have an excuse, bum-face.’

  ‘Love you too, Ben. See you.’

  As his colleague moved away, Ben looked up. ‘Andy? What area are you on today?’

  ‘Er, villages around Lower Buckley, I think. Why?’

  ‘Just wondered. I’ll join you after I’ve finished what I’m doing.’

  ‘Sarge said we are making our way west towards Hillcote End.’

  ‘Thanks, I’ll catch up with you later.’

  Ben looked down at the information he had compiled over the last couple of hours. Perhaps he should ring Greenborough. He was pretty damned sure that although Freddie Carver had no known or documented activities in Derbyshire, he had a very definite presence here. He was like a ghost floating through at least half a dozen cases that Ben had examined. No mention of the name Carver, but there were dozens of references to an unidentified individual who provided enormous amounts of cash when required, and seemed to be able to magic witnesses away.

  Ben turned a page. He could be wrong, but he thought he’d found a link. A man named Rosewood always seemed to turn up when the anonymous mystery man was mentioned. Ben had worked on several cases since Fern’s was scaled down. He had often wondered where some of the new dealers and villains had suddenly managed to get their filthy hands on so much cash when they needed it, especially if it was intended to undercut the local drugs baron. Maybe Freddie was silently building a powerful new empire. Ben scratched his head. All this was being achieved when Freddie Carver was safely out of the picture, sipping Rioja in his villa in Spain. Ben’s eyes narrowed. If Carver was working this area, albeit incognito, then he might well have something to do with Fern, Lilli and Sophie.

  ‘DC Radley! Phone call in the outer office. It’s Sergeant Morris, he wants you urgently.’

  Ben rubbed a stiff knee and hopped out of the CID room. ‘Sarge? Ben Radley here.’

  ‘Get yourself over to the Royal, fast as you can. A&E department. There’s a girl there, name of Zoë Wallace. There are two WPCs with her, you’ll need one of them present for the interview, but don’t let anyone else talk to her, understand? No one.’

  ‘I’m on my way, Sarge, but what’s the story?’ Ben fumbled through his pockets for his car keys.

  ‘She was attacked while walking her dog somewhere around that stone circle near Lyton Peak. Just get over there and talk to her yourself. I think it’s connected to your Fern case.’

  * * *

  Anger and outrage were holding Zoë Wallace together. Considering her harrowing ordeal, Ben thought it odd that her main concern seemed to be the whereabouts and state of her pet Labrador.

  Her doctor took Ben aside. ‘I think it’s a case of trying to dissociate herself from what happened to her. Make something else more important, then it makes the main issue less so.’

  Ben nodded bitterly. He understood perfectly. He’d been doing it for years, ever since his daughter died and his wife left him. ‘Do we know about the dog?’

  ‘Not yet. We hope it’s on its way home.’

  ‘Can I talk to her now, Doctor? It is vital I find out about her attacker. We believe this is connected to three other cases.’ He paused for effect, ‘And as two of the girls are dead . . . ?’

  The doctor nodded solemnly. ‘Of course. Just be as gentle as you can. She’s been very badly assaulted.’

  ‘Sexually?’

  ‘Afraid so. The attacker undoubtedly intended to rape her, Detective. But he picked a strong, feisty girl who was not easily overpowered. Together with her dog, she might have inflicted some half-decent wounds on him. I damned well hope so. The evil bastard.’

  Ben sat beside Zoë, and felt an awful sensation of déjà vu sweep over him. He wished Cat Cullen were with him instead of a WPC that he hardly knew. Cat’s manner was perfect for both obtaining information and offering compassion at the same time. And anyway, he just wished she was with him.

  ‘I hate to have to question you like this, Zoë, but it’s really important that I do. Are you okay with that?’

  The woman could have been beautiful, but there was no way of knowing. Her eyes were half closed, swollen and discoloured. Her lips were split and still oozed tiny droplets of blood. One cheekbone was clearly cracked, and a graze had pebble-dashed the skin down the whole left-hand side of her face. All superficial. No doubt they would heal, and later, she would be grateful for that. He looked at her hands and saw why the sergeant had decided there was a connection with Fern and the others. A deep, jagged laceration scored an uneven line across her ring finger.

  ‘How did that happen, Zoë?’ He pointed to the finger.

  ‘The bastard tried to hack it off! That’s what happened!’ The tone was very different to Sophie’s, but then she was a very different woman.

  ‘What did he use?’

  ‘A saw of some kind. One of those DIY tools like a Stanley knife with a long serrated blade.’ She tried to laugh, then held her good hand over her damaged mouth and muttered, ‘He came prepared alright.’ She looked at him hopefully. ‘Have you found Barney yet?’

  Ben smiled. ‘They are out looking for him now. They think he’s making his own way home.’

  ‘I hope so. Without him, and the two squaddies that heard me scream, I shudder to think what he’d have done to me.’

  ‘Two army lads?’ Ben glanced at the WPC.

  ‘Orienteering exercise on the Peak. God certainly must have been looking out for me. They chased him, but said he was gone like a rat down a hole.’

  ‘Can you give me a description of your attacker?’

  ‘Sure as hell I can! All the time I was fighting him off, I was thinking — remember!’ She shifted uncomfortably. ‘Look, I’ll do my best to tell you all I can, but would you check on my dog for me? Just see if they’ve picked him up yet?’

  Ben walked to the door and beckoned to the other constable. ‘It would really help to get an update on her dog. It’s not helping her, knowing he’s still missing.’

  The officer nodded and walked down off down the corridor.

  ‘Okay, Zoë, are you ready?’

  She nodded vehemently, ‘Yeah. Tallish, maybe five foot ten or taller, white, bad skin, five o’clock shadow, dirty brown, shaggy hair, smelt horrible.’

  Ben wrote down everything as she spoke, then remembered that Sophie had said the same thing, and asked, ‘Smelt bad? How so? Body odour?’

/>   ‘That, and something else, something sort of sickly sweet. It was vile!’ She retched.

  ‘Go on.’

  Zoë took several deep breaths. ‘Right. Dirty brown trousers, a thick jacket, dark, yes, navy blue, with a paler lining. Red check shirt, thick like a lumberjack’s, muddy engineers’ boots in tan.’ She shivered. ‘And I think he may have a chipped front tooth.’ Her voice had dropped almost to a whisper and she was visibly shaking. ‘Well, that was the intention, if I kicked him hard enough.’

  Ben realised that shock was setting in. He smiled reassuringly and said that he would leave her with the WPC for a few minutes while he went to get news of Barney. To his relief, as soon as he mentioned her dog she began to calm down.

  ‘Oh please, if you would.’

  Outside he called a nurse, and explained about Zoë’s condition. She beckoned to the doctor who was still reading her files, and the two went in to check their patient.

  ‘DC Radley!’ The young constable called to him from the door. ‘I’ve just heard that they have found the dog. He’s been taken in by the next door neighbour.’

  ‘Great! Is he hurt?’

  ‘A bit shocked, torn pads and filthy dirty, other than that, he’s fine.’

  The doctor called him back into the room. ‘Another five minutes, Detective, then I must ask you to leave. She’s a very brave lady, but she really needs to rest, okay?’

  That was fine by Ben. This woman had practically painted a picture of the man who had hurt her, and he couldn’t wait to get it onto the police computer.

  ‘First thing, your Barney is safe and he’s fine. He’s being looked after by your neighbour.’

  Tears coursed down her face. ‘Thank you, Ben. Thank you very much.’

  ‘I’ve just got a couple more questions. Then I promise I’ll leave you to get some sleep.’

  ‘I doubt I’ll ever sleep again, well, not until you’ve caught him. But yes, ask away.’

  ‘Did he speak?’

  Zoë nodded. ‘I can’t remember what he said, obscenities mostly, but he was English.’

  ‘Regional accent?’

  ‘Sort of. Not well spoken. Rough, harsh tone, not exactly local, but close.’

  ‘One last question, Zoë. Would you recognise him again?’

  ‘Absolutely anywhere.’ She pressed her hand to her bruised eyes and sobbed. ‘His horrible face is imprinted on my brain forever.’

  * * *

  After reporting everything Zoë Wallace had told him, Ben drove out to the scene of the attack. A uniformed officer checked his identity, and lifted the blue and white cordon tape for him to enter.

  ‘Hello, Ben. Thought you’d be here before long.’ A petite, dark-haired detective approached him, a smile on her angular, attractive face.

  ‘Got anything yet?’

  ‘Oh, we don’t hang around here, Detective! We’ve already got the blade, and the SOCO seems to think we have just about every kind of bodily fluid going.’

  ‘Lovely, and I’ve not even had dinner yet.’

  ‘Well, maybe you should get yourself a nice greasy burger and chips on the way back to the station. That’ll help.’

  Ben pulled a face. ‘Thanks. Still, it means that if we get our hands on someone, we’ll have no problem doing a DNA test and nailing him. That’s good.’

  ‘Yeah, we’ve talked to the two squaddies as well. If they’d not arrived when they did, I believe Zoë would have been dead. She was far too fiery to leave alive. As it is, I’ll bet he’s shitting himself right now.’

  ‘I sincerely hope so.’

  ‘Me too.’

  Ben went back to his car and sat for a while before driving home. This attack was very different from the others, but the injury to the finger and the man’s distinctive bad smell were evidence that it was the same man. He pushed the key into the ignition. He’d have to wait for the lab reports to see if they tied in officially with the other girls. He started the car. What the hell was the man up to? Why break the pattern? Why attack a different sort of woman, and one with a dog? He’d always believed there was more than one man, but the squaddies had made it clear that this was definitely a loner.

  He moved forward and bumped down the rugged track. This did not feel quite right, but surely the injured finger said it had to be the same man? Or did it? He pulled the car off the track, parked it beneath a huge beech tree and sat looking across the valley. He needed to talk to someone. After a moment, he pulled out his mobile and found Cat Cullen’s number.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Joseph sat on a rather old-fashioned, but very comfortable, sofa and looked down at the glass-topped coffee table. It was strewn with folders, printouts, statistics on runaways, newspaper articles and every kind of memo pad known to man.

  As Dominic made him a coffee, Joseph took a look around. The house was neat and clean, although the décor was dated and the furnishings quite basic. Still, it was a surprise. Joseph had expected either a messy pit, or something rather modern and male. This looked like the home of a couple in late middle age, not the bachelor pad of a twenty-six-year-old man.

  Jarvis returned with cups and saucers on a tray, and Joseph could smell proper ground coffee.

  ‘Sugar?’ There was demerara sugar in a white bone china bowl with a small silver spoon. ‘I think it’s sacrilege to put sugar in real coffee, but,’ he gave Joseph a tired smile, ‘guests are allowed whatever they prefer. Not that I have many guests now. It used to be open house when my sister was here but to be honest, I think even my friends are fed up with me going on about Dina being abducted.’

  ‘You truly believe that, don’t you?’

  ‘Completely, Joseph. Can I call you Joseph?’

  ‘Of course you can.’ Joseph sipped the sugarless coffee and wondered why he had not taken his usual two spoons. He sighed in appreciation. ‘That’s beautiful coffee, Dominic.’

  ‘My one big vice. I spend quite a lot of money on the very best beans.’

  Joseph looked at the piles of paperwork. ‘You’ve done a lot of research on runaways and missing persons. What are your conclusions?’

  ‘That the law is an ass.’

  Joseph grinned. ‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

  ‘You have no idea what I went through when she first disappeared. The definition of a missing person is, “Anyone whose whereabouts is unknown whatever the circumstances of disappearance. They will be considered missing until located and their well-being or otherwise established.” That gave me hope,’ he frowned, ‘until it was pointed out to me that the level of risk for Dina did not meet the requirements for taking action. She was not a child, not a vulnerable adult, had no mental health issues or drug/drink problems, she was not under any form of threat, and frankly could not be considered “at risk” at all.’ He exhaled. ‘They fobbed me off with the Missing Persons Bureau at the National Crime Agency, and a charity called Missing People. They did what they could, but they found nothing either. They asked me if I realised that adults have a legal right to disappear. After a while, I didn’t know whether to grieve or live in hope. I still don’t. I’m in limbo.’

  ‘250,000 people go missing every year in the UK,’ said Joseph softly. ‘And almost all of them have someone, or sometimes a whole family, torn apart by the not knowing.’

  Dominic hung his head. ‘Until it happens to you, it is impossible to describe. I told you that I don’t get visitors anymore, but I don’t want them. I don’t want anyone around me. I used to be pretty gregarious — okay, not like Dina — but I was no shrinking violet. Now I’m bad-tempered, I have no patience with anyone or anything, I’m almost violent sometimes, and I’m moody to the point where I even hate myself.’

  ‘Who do you think took her?’

  ‘A month before she disappeared, she changed. She became secretive and she stopped seeing so many of her usual friends. I knew that she had met a man, but every time I asked her who he was, she shut me out.’ He rubbed at his forehead. ‘She’d never done tha
t before. We were close. We talked about everything, and she even used to get me to vet her boyfriends, you know, get my opinion? We are twins, we . . . I guess we had a sort of connection. It was almost a game, and up until then we had been a really good, cohesive family unit. We were friends, Joseph, and I loved my sister.’ He passed the back of his hand across his eyes. ‘I miss her and I want to know if she’s dead or alive.’

  Jessie Nightingale’s words came back to Joseph. They were exactly the same as those spoken by Dominic. They needed to know what had happened to their loved one. ‘Did you ever see this man?’

  ‘Never, although he picked her up once in his car. She ran out and jumped in and they were gone before I had a chance to look at him.’

  ‘What sort of car was it?’

  ‘Something expensive, like an Audi or a Merc. As I say, it was there one minute and then gone. He didn’t come to the house again, well, not while I was here.’

  ‘And Dina took nothing with her?’

  He stood up. ‘Come and see her room.’

  He led the way up the stairs and threw open the door to a big, light room. It had pretty bed linen on the double bed, a thick rich carpet and fitted cupboards and wardrobes. It was tidy, and obviously regularly cleaned, and there was a scattering of feminine things around, magazines, fashion trainers, makeup and bottles of perfume.

  Joseph took it all in with a feeling of dismay. It was as if Dina Jarvis had just popped down to the corner shop for a new magazine or a bar of chocolate.

  Beside her bed, with her alarm clock, box of tissues and a little bowl with some bead bracelets in, was a small posy bowl of fresh flowers.

  As Joseph’s eyes lingered on the blossoms, Dominic said, ‘I guess live in hope comes into play more than anything.’

  ‘And nothing was gone?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge. Only what she was wearing.’

  Joseph made a sudden decision. ‘I’m going to try to trace this mystery man.’