by Carole Pitt
'I don't know any of them, so I can't comment,' she answered.
The dog started barking and she wondered if the other three had finished the search. Elizabeth handed over her card. 'I will be back, but in the meantime if you remember anything or need to speak to me, please get in touch.'
As she went to find the others, Samson was running towards her. Elizabeth wondered who had untied him and wanted to flee in the opposite direction, but stood still, better to show no fear if he decided to leap on her again. The dog slowed down then stopped suddenly and watched her, his large tongue hanging to one side. She moved her arm slowly towards him and stroked his head again. In return, he licked her hand, as if she was his new best friend.
Patterson was waiting by the gate, he shouted to her. 'Watch he doesn't jump up again.'
'He owes me a new watch. What time is it?' Elizabeth asked.
'Time we left, if we're going to the other site.'
Samson followed until they turned off into the lane. Half way to the car, Elizabeth heard him barking.
CHAPTER NINE
DCS Daly had received a summons to return home and wasn't feeling himself. Moving to the countryside had been his wife's idea and for all he'd preferred living in Cheltenham's suburbia he'd considered a change was what they both needed. After all, they weren't getting any younger and moving to a smaller property seemed a sensible proposition. Trusting his wife's impeccable taste, Daly hoped to avoid the initial house hunting sprees.
'Narrow it down to three or four properties, then I'll pop along and have a look,' he'd told her.
Her response was the usual resigned acceptance. Jean Daly hadn't expected any enthusiasm but had hoped for a few ideas as to where he might want to end his days. Bearing in mind that she hadn't realised her retirement plans to travel around Europe in a Winnebago she 'd paid a ridiculous price for, choosing their new home was, in a way, some retribution.
Daly wandered from room to room and looked at the boxes. He knew he should help unpack them but thinking about the prospect gave him a headache. In fact, just about everything to do with the new place gave him an assortment of unpleasant symptoms. He looked around and tried not to think about the amount of work the place needed. Now, months later, he regretted his casual approach and wished he'd kept a closer eye on the type of dwelling his wife was after. They'd narrowed it down to two houses in Kirkham, a small hamlet not far from Painswick. Before he had time to argue his corner, she'd made an offer and within two days, it was accepted. He had no one to blame but himself. On the day he viewed the cottage he'd been preoccupied with other matters and had only given the place a quick once over, assuming she would see sense and cross it off her list. At least, he pondered, they'd paid a lot less than the asking price and the big plus from the transaction was their currently healthy bank balance. They had made a very nice profit, which unfortunately was destined for the extensive renovations. His wife, in her wisdom, had remarked that they could do a proportion of the makeover themselves. Daly wasn't a practical man, in the sense he couldn't plumb or do electrics. Even the simplest flat pack caused his blood pressure to rise. Reflecting on the situation, he knew he had to make the best of it. At some point, he would have to retire, but for now, he was riding on the wave of those highly charged months working undercover.
He opened the back door and tried not to get too agitated when he viewed the garden. Their spacious semi detached had what he had termed a manageable garden. Now Jean had saddled them with a three- quarter acre wilderness requiring the expertise of a professional gardener, or more likely a team of gardeners.
Daly felt tired just thinking about his new home. To give his brain a rest from it all, he switched his focus back to the Yeats investigation. He'd thoroughly enjoyed those months acting out his new persona, fuelling the speculation about his so-called disappearance. During his days at the London unit, he hadn't given Jewell much thought. Now, of course she was going to demand answers to certain questions. He needed answers too and until he acquired them, he’d try to avoid her. His mind wandered back to Anita Fleming, retired Chief Constable of Oxfordshire Police, who'd engineered his cover story. After he'd met up with her again, he'd almost convinced himself he fancied her, but of course, nothing had ever happened. Fleming was a woman not only of means, but also of substance. Now a well-known author she still commanded his respect and for all his occasional fantasies, he'd never acted on them. It had been a while since he'd seen her, but she'd emailed to inform him he was in line for a commendation for bringing closure to the many bereaved families during Ireland's troubles.
His short exciting period in London had changed him. Much as he was happy to be back with his old colleagues, there was something missing in his life. The prospect of retirement bothered him more now than before Anita Fleming dragged him into the world of espionage. Some days he'd felt restless, at least this new murder investigation had saved him from terminal boredom. However, at this very moment what was bothering Ted Daly more than anything else was the imminent arrival of a new member of the family.
With zero prospect of fulfilling her long held dream of travelling, Jean Daly had resigned herself to continuing her wifely duties and finding a new hobby. Daly recalled a late night conversation about her decision to join the local amateur dramatic society. He'd barely been able to keep his eyes open at the time and the following morning his wife had refused to speak to him. Daly's guilty feelings over the neglect of his wife always and without exception, led him to agree to ideas he didn't agree with. As if the house wasn't enough of a blunder, he'd given in to another of her demands, a dog. For the last week, she had scoured the internet to find exactly the right one. Daly had withdrawn his support and protested but Jean Daly could fight her own battles well enough and had turned frosty towards him.
Daly paced around the cottage glancing at the clock every few minutes. He was justifiably nervous, D-day had arrived, and she’d gone to collect the puppy. He'd never owned a dog before; his knowledge was limited to police dogs for which he had the greatest admiration. In recent years, their profile had widened, as they became the new detectives on the street. More animals than ever were trained to the highest level, lending critical support to every police force in the world.
However, sharing his home with a German Pointer was another matter. He'd tried to mitigate the fait accompli by suggesting a smaller animal. Something with short legs that didn't need much exercise. His wife had remarked in rather a sarcastic manner that she wanted a proper dog, not a fashion accessory. In addition, one with a resounding bark, especially now they were living half a mile from their nearest neighbour.
'What about when I'm here on my own?' she had shouted.
Daly had no answer and kept quiet.
'You never have to get used to being on your own, because damn it Ted, I'm always here.'
He conceded she needed not only company, but also protection. He could hardly spend taxpayer's money on a police babysitter while he was away. Neither of them was getting any younger and Jean Daly was adamant that retirement included dog walking. To which her husband had half -heartedly agreed, visualising the inevitable slide into a sedentary existence and its number one side effect, weight gain.
Feeling anxious as the minutes ticked by Daly poured a small whisky and went outside to scan the lane. It was deathly quiet, he couldn't get used to the silence, he was used to traffic roaring by and this solitude and peace was alien to him. Jean had insisted he take the day off so they could both welcome the new addition. He balked at having to; this new investigation had barely moved. He sat on the old bench under the sitting room window and blocked any further thoughts about the dog. Jewell would be back soon and no doubt on the blower straightaway, asking why he had omitted to mention the Walker case. He hadn't arrived at Park Road until after the family had disappeared, but had often wondered why CID left it unsolved.
He was reminiscing when he heard his wife's car turn into the drive.
Jean Daly got out car
rying a small chocolate brown bundle. 'Give me a hand Ted.'
Daly went over and she passed the bundle to him. 'Here he is. I'm sure you'll end up liking each other.'
Daly felt nervous and clutched the puppy too tightly. It started to whimper and he found he was tickling its floppy ears until it stopped and looked up at him.
'It was those big brown eyes,' Daly told his wife later that day when she tried extricating the animal from her husband's arms. 'They messed up my head.'
CHAPTER TEN
According to DC Lauren Collins, the residents of the static caravan and mobile home site had deliberately made the access difficult, to dissuade other prospective buyers. Three plots were still available but with twenty homes and nine extra large caravans, the site was already at capacity.
'Half the tarmac has been dug up,' Patterson said as he emerged from behind a six-foot mesh fence.
'Why go to all that trouble to keep people out?' Elizabeth asked.
'God knows, but it'll backfire. They'll have to resurface eventually. If they hadn't sabotaged the road, they would have had a lot more help during the worst flooding. There were plenty of early warnings, talk about cutting off your nose.'
Elizabeth scanned the surroundings. The caravans at Roxbury Farm were in better shape compared to the sad relics in front of her. The full impact of the floods was visible, several mobile homes had begun to rot from the ground up and she could smell the decay.
'Who, in their right mind sets up house on a flood plain Elizabeth pondered? Living in a mobile home seemed unnatural to her, but then she preferred bricks and mortar and the comforting sounds of town living. She imagined many of the inhabitants were retired and a tad naive, lulled into the idea of it rather than considering the consequences.
They pulled up at a heavy pole barrier. Patterson got out of the car and lifted it up just as a man in his sixties hurried towards them. He appeared annoyed by the intrusion. 'Step back a bit,' he said. 'Security is heightened since the business across the way.'
Patterson ignored the order, produced his ID then introduced Elizabeth.
'We wondered when you lot would turn up,' the man stated.
Elizabeth recalled how Lillian Fowler had warned her of the residents' resentment at unexpected visitors. It seemed odd to find secular communities these days. As far as she knew, communes of any sort weren't as popular as they were years ago.
'We had no way to contact you,' Elizabeth said. 'You're not connected to an exchange.'
'None of us need a landline when we've all got mobiles.'
'And we tend not to waste time chasing numbers when we can pay a visit.'
'I'm Gerry Blake, resident and official caretaker. My neighbours democratically elected me.'
Elizabeth noticed his proprietary manner, obviously a man who enjoyed having an authoritative position.
'We've just paid Mrs Fowler a visit. Do you know her?' Elizabeth asked.
‘I do, and that hardnosed husband of hers. It's beneath both of them to mix with the likes of us, and we're not hippie travellers. We're respectable.'
Patterson pointed to one of the static homes. 'Are they all as bad as that?'
Blake nodded. 'We're facing a long wait for the insurance company to pay out. They were happy to take our money but aren't so keen to pay up.'
'I suppose the reason is because this area is susceptible to heavy flooding.' Elizabeth stated.
'It's never been as severe, not since I settled here, and that's a fact. The television and papers lied about previous years, saying it was horrendous, that we're all irresponsible for choosing to stay here and we're taking the bulk of the insurance payouts. Caravans and mobile homes have always been a greater risk so we pay much higher premiums than house dwellers. We chose to live here when the land came up for sale. It's everyone's right to decide where they want to live. All these years we've paid a high price for that right but we're finished now. The company has refused to continue our insurance cover.'
'What will you do?' Collins asked.
'Wait until we get some money and clear the site, then try and sell the land.'
Elizabeth steered the conversation away from Blake's eagerness to explain his plight. Although she despised insurance company's practises and agreed, they should exercise tighter controls, she still couldn't sympathise with Blake's predicament. Instead, she posed the important question. 'Has any member of this community gone missing recently?'
She heard Blake groan, as if he was in pain. 'Christ woman, don't you think we'd have reported it? What kind of people do you think we are?'
Patterson moved closer to Blake until there was barely a foot between them. 'Just answer the Inspector.’
Blake stepped back. His angry expression changed to a fearful one. 'Not once since I moved here have we had anyone go missing. Not even for a few hours.'
Elizabeth doubted that was true, but didn't want to challenge Blake. She could see he was teetering on the edge, but who wouldn't be in his situation? 'We need to speak to each of your neighbours. I presume you can tell us where to find them?'
'Why should I? Haven't they suffered enough over the last few months? Police barging in on them without any warning won't help matters.'
Elizabeth pulled out her phone to check the time. So far, it seemed they'd wasted the day and now would have to find all these missing witnesses and by the sound of it, Blake wasn't going to make their job any easier. She didn't have a good enough reason to drag him back to Cordover Street, which meant more dead time spent searching for them. That, combined with the travellers doing a bunk would stretch their resources.
She felt around the slight bump on her head, thanks to Samson. The area had swollen slightly, but considering her tumble, she felt reasonably okay. 'What part of my simple request do you not understand Mr Blake? Refusing to cooperate in a police investigation is unacceptable. If you deliberately choose not to answer questions, I suggest we return to HQ and interview you there. So what's it to be?'
Blake's stance was reminiscent of a captain who was determined to stay aboard his sinking ship. He didn't answer.
Patterson tried another tactic. 'Right, then we'll have no choice but to forcibly enter every property.'
Elizabeth suspected Blake wasn't the trustworthy character he'd tried to portray. Was he protecting what privacy they had left or was there a more sinister reason? Her patience was fast running out. First, the weird situation at Roxbury Farm and now this, nothing seemed normal. She wanted to leave, go back to HQ where she could at least have peace and quiet. Blake's hand slid into his jacket pocket and Elizabeth sensed he was about to retaliate somehow. She moved backwards as he threw something heavy in her direction. The sun glinted on metal as it sailed towards her. She ducked in time as the object landed at her feet rather than on her head. She looked down to see what he'd thrown.
Patterson sprang foreword, picked up the weapon and grabbed Blake's elbow. He held up an enormous bunch of keys. 'You idiot, these must weigh at least three kilos.' He turned to Elizabeth. 'I'm going to charge him with assaulting an officer,' he told her.
'Leave it Tony, I don't think he intended to injure me, he threw the keys out of anger.'
Blake didn't move away. 'You're wasting your time. You won't find anything here.'
Elizabeth had had enough. 'Don't tell me how to do my job Mr Blake. I've heard too many people say those same words to me and I have proved them wrong. I suggest you go back to your own home and stay out of our way.'
Blake had the decency to turn his back and head towards the mobile homes. Elizabeth told Collins to follow him. Blake was about to complain, but changed his mind.
'What do you think?' Patterson asked.
'I think he's hiding something, but not necessarily to do with our victim. What about you?'
'Far too many odd people in this small area, I feel as if we've stumbled into another world.'
Elizabeth almost laughed. 'I feel about the same.'
Collins had run back. 'H
e's gone inside a place called Woodlands, so I presume it's his gaff. He wouldn't have handed over his own key. No numbers on any of the dwellings, just names.'
'Why don't we split the keys three ways? That'll speed up the process,' Newcombe suggested.
His idea irritated Elizabeth. The young DC had a lot to learn. 'We don't know which key fits which home. We'd waste more time running after each other to swop. I imagine by now the residents have removed most of their personal belongings. Whatever they’ve left behind will be waterlogged by now. If Blake calms down, find out which ones are in the best condition and start with them. If you come across anything suspicious, lock up and leave and I'll send for a team. Otherwise make the check a visual one and try not to handle too much.'
Elizabeth often hated the idea of invading other people’s private space without their knowledge. She didn't know any of them and for the first time wondered how they must be feeling.
'I've just had a thought. When we get back to HQ, let's have a whip round and help the flood victims. Everyone knows how generous the police are to worthy causes. Lauren, would you start off the collection?'
Collins smiled, pleased to be asked, 'As soon as I get back.'
‘Right, you lot start opening doors, I need to make a couple of calls.'
Elizabeth sat down on an abandoned white plastic garden chair. She was too weary to think let alone inspect nearly these homes. Tomorrow she was due to speak to Grayson about the facial reconstruction. In the meantime, it was like swimming against the tide or treading water, there was no real focus. The investigation had stymied from lack of facts, everything so far was pure speculation and until they positively identified their mysterious woman, she couldn't foresee much progress. To profile a murderer they needed to know about the victim's life. Her intuition said it was unlikely the woman had died from accidental drowning.
Thinking about the case frustrated her. She pulled out her phone and concentrated on Dean. He'd left her several messages and she needed to reply. I'd like to hang on to this bloke, she thought as she tapped out a quick text message. She was about to send it when she made an unexpected decision. It was time to tell Dean about her concerns. Quickly, and before she changed her mind, she added to the text, saying she hadn't been feeling well and planned to see her GP tomorrow. She saw the battery was low and switched it off. Dean probably wouldn't get back to her until later.
