Misery Shallows (DI Elizabeth Jewell Book 4)

by Carole Pitt

  Elizabeth proceeded carefully. 'Don't be scared. Is there's anything else you want to tell me?’

  'It's my parents and brother I worry about. They were upset when I chose to study criminology. The whole family are very law abiding and wary of any contact with the police. My Grandfather experienced a difficult time in China.’

  'I can understand their concerns,' Elizabeth said.

  'I'll tell you what I know. According to Michael, Jez Moore first went to Roxbury Farm when he was about twenty. He'd met up with other young travellers who’d moved from site to site and they all ended up there. He was still living there when that poor family disappeared. I knew about the Walker case from my studies, so naturally I was intrigued. Jez told Michael he had left not long after they vanished. What no one seems to know is why he returned after all those years.'

  Patterson filled in the gaps for Huifen. 'No one bought the farm for a few years. The Walkers didn't leave a will so the council took responsibility for it. The building had deteriorated so they fenced off all the property, no one could access it. Rumours circulated it was haunted, so it's not surprising the travellers stayed away. Then, another family bought the place and tried doing it up. As soon as the paddock opened up, the travellers came back and that's when the trouble started. The owners spent months trying to evict them but the travellers had wised up and managed to stall the legal proceedings. Eventually another couple bought it and foolishly allowed them to stay. The Fowlers only bought the place because they thought they had sufficient influence to get rid of them. It seems, from what I’ve heard, after the Walkers vanished, a group of travellers vowed to find out what happened to them. I guess as the years went by, the new generation weren’t that interested.’

  Huifen turned her head towards the door. Her father was calling from upstairs. 'I'm sorry I must go, we are ready to close the shop.'

  'Thank you for your help.' Elizabeth said. 'It's strange, but as you know through your studies, it's often the smallest detail or the tiniest piece of information that breaks open a case.'

  'Good luck,' Huifen said. 'I feel better now I've spoken to you.'

  When she stopped outside Cordover Street to drop Patterson off, the temptation to see Lillian Fowler’s photographs was strong. Taking them home wasn’t an option without Gardiner feeling resentful. The girl had ambition, she’d worked hard and if the photos threw up any clues then she deserved the credit. From there Elizabeth drove to the supermarket. Her appetite had returned so she was going to enjoy buying some treats. It was dark when she arrived home. She noticed the sitting room light was on and was convinced she'd switched off all the lights before leaving this morning, but it seemed so long ago she couldn't be sure. Leaning across she opened the glove compartment and removed the mace spray. She left the car unlocked and gripping her heavy key ring in one hand and holding the mace in the other, opened the front door as quietly as possible. Before she got the chance to pull out the key, the door swung open. Elizabeth held up the spray ready to press the nozzle.

  'I was beginning to worry,' Dean said, as he pulled her into the hall. 'I thought I'd surprise you so I hope you're hungry.' He stared at her right hand, 'Why are you clutching an aerosol?'

  'God Dean, you almost got this in your face. Next time you want to organise a surprise, ring me up first and tell me.’

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  The light had faded. After several hours searching with precious few results, Eldridge shouted. 'Let’s wind this up now.'

  He checked the time. Carstairs, according to Patterson should have arrived hours ago.

  Eldridge made his way to the lock keeper's cottage to see if he was back and saw a figure coming down the road.

  'What the hell's going on?' Carstairs yelled.

  'Police search,' Eldridge shouted back, hoping Carstairs wouldn’t notice anything out of place when he went indoors. If he did, Eldridge had already decided to blame Owen Howell.

  'You bastards. I'm entitled to a warning. What's next, battering my door down?'

  'Jez Moore's dead, Mr Carstairs, he was murdered. The only possible way the killer could escape is across these fields. We needed the ground to dry up before going over it again.'

  'And you’ve decided I killed Moore,' Carstairs said, full of anger.

  'No one is accusing you of any crime. And I’d like to point out you don't own the fields.'

  Carstairs turned and stormed off. 'I've had a long day. Have the courtesy to let me know when you're leaving.’

  'I'll see you shortly,' Eldridge said before looking for a quiet spot to have a smoke. He didn't fancy a confrontation with Carstairs. The man had gone away and probably had a cast iron alibi. As for Howell, who'd looked after the cottage, what was his?

  The crime scene techs finished up. Eldridge was aware of the silence, their desolate surroundings. While he finished his cigarette, he experienced the feeling that someone was watching him. He didn’t scare easily but as the sky had darkened he’d felt on edge. To ease his nerves he lit a second cigarette and felt marginally better. He held on to both extinguished stubs and threw them into a low privet hedge and was about to walk away when guilt made him go back and pick them up. Even the garden was a crime scene and if Daly discovered he’d contaminated it there’d be no second chance. He leaned over hoping to reach them but they’d fallen into the undergrowth. As he pulled his hand free he felt a sharp twig pierce his thumb, he quickly stuck it in his mouth.

  'Shit,’ he said and spotted a pole propped up against the shed. As he prodded the area, he heard the pole hit something hard, wood on wood wouldn't make that sound. He’d left his torch in the car and as he hurried past the cottage, he saw Carstairs at the kitchen sink. He hadn't shut the blind and Eldridge saw he was busy chopping vegetables. The window was slightly open and he wondered if Carstairs was watching out for him. He crouched down and scuttled past.

  Armed with the torch, gloves and evidence bags, Eldridge felt confident that if Carstairs stayed put he wouldn't see him climbing over the hedge. Rather than risk it he squeezed through a narrow gap where sharp twigs dug into his legs. He waited a few seconds before switching on the torch. When he did he spotted the cigarette ends and next to them, a shiny reflection, something metallic. He cautiously moved away the debris and stared, not believing his eyes. He pulled on the gloves and deposited the cigarette ends into a bag. Then with more care than he'd ever shown before, he picked up the knife and dropped it into a second bag. It was then he realised his vulnerability, he'd left his phone in the car. His paranoia had convinced him Carstairs had somehow seen what he was up to and would come after him. If he did, he had no way of calling for back up. Eldridge froze, listening for any warning noises, thinking of ways to defend himself. The bloke was getting on, but his strong physique hinted he might not stand a chance if Carstairs took him by surprise. He waited, breathing deeply to calm down. He'd had the sense to bring his jacket and slipped it on. He shoved the sturdy bag containing the knife into a concealed pocket in the lining. Unless Carstairs decided to manhandle him, there was no way he'd know it was there.

  Eldridge brushed the soil from his jeans, then his hands so they didn't look as if he'd been foraging around in the dirt, then made his way to the window. 'I'm off now,’ he shouted.

  Carstairs wasn't in the kitchen. Eldridge moved out of sight, heart pounding again, waiting for him to grab him. Then he heard crockery banging on the kitchen countertop and caught a glimpse of Carstairs wiping his hands on a tea towel. Once again, he ducked and made a run for it. He’d almost reached his car when he heard heavy footsteps from behind.

  Carstairs clamped his large hand on Eldridge's shoulder. 'I don't give a damn whether you lot believe I’m a killer, I've plenty of people to corroborate my whereabouts. I should’ve got back earlier but the damn train broke down not long after we pulled out of Plymouth. The train operator hadn't the sense to organise coaches so we waited nearly three hours for another train. Then I had to change three times, Bristol, Stro
ud and Gloucester. Numerous people will have seen me, add on CCTV surveillance and there's your proof.'

  Eldridge listened to Carstairs thinking his alibi sounded too pat and too complicated. A case of tell a confusing story to cover up the truth.

  'Listen,' Carstairs said. 'I'm sorry I’ve been aggressive. Do you fancy a coffee?'

  Eldridge found his voice hoping it sounded firm and threatening. 'I've got to go, but before I do I have to warn you I’m going to see Howell next.'

  ‘He's not a killer either,’ Carstairs said.

  Eldridge hardened his tone even more. 'You're entitled to your opinion.'

  Carstairs tried a different tactic. 'I'd advise you not to walk across the fields. The animals are back and if you're not used to livestock it's best to keep clear, especially at night.'

  'I had no intention of walking,' Eldridge said and climbed into the car. He waited until he was sure Carstairs had gone inside before leaving. He hoped finding the knife would go part way to redeeming himself with Daly. Checking out Howell would be a bonus. A young strong bloke like Howell might have had issues with Moore, possibly over a woman. It was worth a try. Suddenly Eldridge felt energised, it wasn't that late and he had nothing better to do. He'd lost interest in working on the computer games, had no girlfriend around to sympathise with him and he didn't fancy any of the new movies at the cinema. He'd finished watching all eight episodes of True Detective, which had left him wishing he could act like Mathew McConaughey. As the chances of that ever happening were exceedingly remote, he comforted himself with the fact that unless Daly had a rock solid reason to get rid of him, he was still a detective. Even more comforting was one undeniable fact. Unlike McConaughey he wasn't a pretend one, he was the real thing.

  Eldridge knew something was wrong the moment he arrived at the mobile home site. Too many people were standing in a circle watching a fracas. He screeched to a halt and as he ran towards the main gate heard plenty of shouting and clamouring. A younger bloke and an older one stood yelling at each other. Eldridge barged through the crowd only to have two heavyweight blokes push him back. By the time he managed to get close enough to help, the younger man had knocked the older one to the ground and started punching him. The two heavyweights intervened and managed to separate them. Eldridge’s head swam; he didn’t relish sorting this situation out single-handed.

  The older man lay without moving while the younger one fell to his knees with his head in his hands.

  'Stand back, all of you,' Eldridge yelled.

  One of the heavyweights approached him. 'Who the fuck do you think you are?'

  Eldridge flashed his ID. 'That’s who I am.'

  The man pointed to the one on his knees. 'He’s the culprit.'

  'What's all this about?' Eldridge asked, trying to sound tougher than he felt.

  'It started out as a simple argument,' an elderly woman with grey curls and a tweed skirt had edged close to him. ‘Owen has a nasty temper and Gerry, who thinks he's the caretaker, isn't much better. Two of a kind, they are.'

  Eldridge found it hard to believe he'd landed in the middle of a fight where the two opponents happened to be Howell and Blake. A white haired chap linked arms with the elderly woman, obviously her husband. 'It's all about money,' he said. 'Howell hasn't paid his rent for weeks and Gerry's tried everything with no result. Howell's place belongs to a couple who moved away but decided to rent out their mobile home. Gerry offered to look after things for them. He feels responsible.'

  Eldridge walked up to Howell and dragged him to his feet. He snapped cuffs on him and called control, then ordered the two heavies to stand guard while he tended to Blake. He bent down and checked his pulse. Blake stirred, lifted his head and moaned. The grey haired woman hovered over him.

  'It's Edith, Gerry. Do you want to go to the hospital?'

  Blake sat up slowly, wincing. 'I'm okay Edie. I'm tougher than I look. Help me up somebody.'

  Eldridge did the honours and Edith made a decision. 'Let's get you back to the house for some hot sweet tea.' She turned to Eldridge. 'I was a nurse in the old days; I know what I'm doing. If there’s a problem I won't hesitate to call the ambulance.'

  Eldridge was relieved she'd taken Blake off his hands for now. Tomorrow if Blake wasn’t in the hospital, he'd have him at Cordover Street. At least Daly would see he was making a supreme effort. A patrol car lurched to a halt by the gate and two officers loaded a reluctant Howell into the back seat.

  Eldridge bent down to speak to him and smelled alcohol. 'If the booze makes you this violent you should think about giving up.'

  'I'm not the only drinker around here. Blake does the hard stuff. I could tell you a few stories about living in this God forsaken place.'

  'There'll be plenty of time for a nice chat when you get to the nick,' Eldridge said. He made a sudden move and felt the knife in his pocket. He patted it just to be sure. As the patrol car sped off Eldridge thought he better hurry up and hand it over to the experts.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Monday March 24th Nine am

  Elizabeth had summoned Patterson and Katie Gardiner to her office to examine Lillian Fowler’s photographs. She’d woken with a mild hangover thanks to Dean keeping her up too late. His unexpected visit had cheered her up, as had several glasses of red wine, now she felt slightly hung-over. Katie spread the photographs out over the table. ‘I took them to Ben. He’s managed to improve them.’

  To Elizabeth it was apparent that out of the twenty-one pictures half of them weren't relevant. One of the most atmospheric was an image of the lock keeper's cottage cut off by floodwater, probably taken in mid-winter. From the deep pink and navy streaked sky, she guessed it had been a clear, cold and cloudless day until the rays from the setting sun had created the dramatic effect. Like the rest of photographs, there was nothing on the back to indicate the date and digital cameras hadn’t been widely available until the mid to late nineties. She handed it to Patterson. 'Nice composition,’ he said and turned to Katie. ‘Did Ben have any idea when it was taken?’

  ‘I didn’t ask, he was busy sorting the others out,’ she replied with an air of indifference.

  ‘The Tewksbury area has flooded so many times we might not get an accurate date. Let’s move on to the others,’ Elizabeth said. She wished Katie and Patterson would also sort out their differences. The feud had gone on too long. She removed her reading specs. 'My eyes aren’t so good this morning. I need a magnifying glass Katie. Can you find one please?'

  'Why can't he go? I don't mean to be rude ma'am but instead of running errands, I'd rather stay here with you. Lillian Fowler told me the builders found these photos but the only person who can corroborate that is her husband. All I'm saying is Fowler might be lying. Who's to say where she got them from?'

  Elizabeth knew the girl was right. Calvin Fowler had remained in London and attempts to locate him had proved difficult. Elizabeth yawned; peering through a magnifying glass was a waste of time when they had experts on hand to do that for them, far better to focus on the people in them. She turned to Patterson. 'Could you remind our contact in Chelsea about tracing Fowler? When they do, send someone down to fetch him back.’

  A loud bang on the door heralded Eldridge's untimely appearance. Elizabeth waited for the room to ice up even more but his broad smile and macho demeanour cut through. 'Boss, do you want to sit in on Howell's interview? He’s done his stint in the cell and isn’t so cocky now. I’m about to give him a serious grilling.'

  Patterson got up to leave. ‘Hang on Tony. After you’ve talked to London, give Eldridge a hand. I want to carry on here for a while.’ Elizabeth turned back to Eldridge. ‘This isn't Guantanamo Bay so be careful what language you use in front of Howell's solicitor.'

  Once the two of them had left, Elizabeth said. 'That's better.’

  Katie bent her head. 'I've learned my lesson ma'am. I'm not dating colleagues again. Did you ever fall into that trap?'

  'A couple of times and like you it was afte
r I joined CID. It happens and sometimes it works out. I need a coffee so you stay here while I get them. While I'm gone, I suggest you list the people on the photos by their appearance. You know what I mean, dark haired girl in red dress and cowboy boots, that sort of thing. Ben and his techs can produce enlargements. That should make it easier for the uniforms to canvas the locals.'

  The nearest vending machine was out of action and the service engineer said he'd be at least half an hour. Elizabeth carried on along the corridor to the next one and spotted Daly heading towards the main reception desk. She shouted, 'Sir, can you wait a minute?'

  Daly shouted back. 'Can't stop Liz, already late for an important meeting.'

  He uses the same lame excuse every time, she thought. The translation was simple; I refuse to talk to anybody about anything. She watched him climb into his car and roar off as if he was pursuing a suspect. This was becoming a bad habit and his latest attempt at giving her the cold shoulder proved it.

  Back in her office, Katie was pouring over the photos. She looked up. ‘Do you think Howell might confess?’

  'Howell's known to have a temper and even if he killed Moore during an argument I don't believe he's responsible for the culvert victims. Carstairs however is a different matter. God that reminds me, I borrowed a couple of photos from one of his albums and I haven't had time to do anything with them. When we're done with these, I'll pass them over to you. I need some back-story on Carstairs. Nobody seems to know much about him. Spend a couple of hours on the internet and see what you can dig up.'

  They worked through Lillian Fowler's photos for the next hour. Katie then typed out instructions for Ben, crime scene photographer and an expert in image manipulation.