Misery Shallows (DI Elizabeth Jewell Book 4)

by Carole Pitt

  Reynolds slid the book back into the drawer. ‘I need to touch base with a couple of people. Let me email them.’

  Reynolds tapped his computer and brought it back to life. Without the culvert murders, it was unlikely the Walker case would ever be reopened. This was the last chance, and Daly wasn’t about to let it slip through his fingers.

  Minutes ticked by, then Reynolds pulled the computer lid down. ‘I’m taking a risk but I’ve considered this carefully Ted. I agree with an official reopening, but first we have to get past the Fowler’s lawyers. I’ll deal with that immediately.’

  ‘I’ll start planning,’ Daly said.

  ‘Remember, the least people who know about this, the better. Surprise tactics will give us an edge. This is still a big risk Ted.’

  Daly stood up, impatient to leave and start organising. ‘We’re right to do this Sir. The Walkers have waited a long time.’

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  Carstairs was busy by the lock when Patterson arrived. Dressed in work clothes he was bending over a large toolbox. Rather than creep up on him he called out but Carstairs didn’t hear. He closed in to less than a yard before Carstairs turned his head, his expression hostile.

  ‘Having problems?’ Patterson asked.

  Carstairs let his shoulders droop; a sudden weariness replaced his anger. ‘The paddles need some repairs. Another week before things start picking up, then Easter is looming and that’s always a busy time. Trouble is I’m too old for some of the heavier work so I hope you let Owen go, I could use some help.’

  ‘He’s got a smart lady solicitor. I expect he’s gone home by now.’

  ‘Imogene is my solicitor.’

  ‘I see,’ Patterson said.

  Patterson studied the lock. ‘You have to admire Victorian engineers.’

  ‘Ever spent any time on a canal boat?’ Carstairs asked.

  ‘Not that I remember. What about you?’

  ‘Before I went overseas I lived in Norfolk so I grew up with narrow boats. My uncle bought one and renovated it, I spent every summer holiday on the water.’

  ‘I find it amazing how it all works. A simple concept yet still complex to the uninitiated,’ Patterson said.

  ‘I’m going inside to ring Owen. I’ll put the kettle on while you stand here figuring it out.’

  The canal water barely moved. Patterson walked to the towpath and looked down into the opaque blackness. He knew how much restoration had happened in Gloucestershire alone. Most counties with a network of derelict canals had done the same. Now with a resurgence of interest in restoring boats they’d rebuilt long sections. He remembered the big project in Stroud. Now, the canal stretched from Saul near the Severn to the Thames at Lechlade, a thirty-six mile stretch. Many new housing projects had sprung up along the route. Very desirable places to live yet other people still used canals as dumping grounds. Underneath the deceptive calm, they still harboured hidden dangers. He turned away from the water’s hypnotic effect and walked back to the cottage rehearsing questions for Carstairs.

  They sat at the kitchen table with tea and biscuits. Carstairs opened a drawer and unfolded a diagram. ‘I’m not trying to avoid your questions, I like talking about locks if you’re still interested.’

  Patterson noticed he’d aged since he’d first met him. ‘Carry on,’ he said.

  Carstairs picked up a pen and used it to point out specific areas. 'Locks make rivers easier to navigate and allow canals to follow a more direct line across land that isn't level. The principal is simple. Open the gates, the boat moves in. Open the valve to lower the boat by draining water from the chamber. Open up the gates and the boat moves out. When the lock’s empty, a boat has to wait five to ten minutes while it fills. For a boat travelling upstream, reverse the process. The boat enters the empty lock, open the valve and the chamber fills up. The whole operation takes between ten and twenty minutes. Easy enough,' Carstairs added. ‘But you’re not here to make polite conversation or learn about lock keeping. Before you start, Owen Howell has a temper like anyone else and Gerry Woods is a difficult sod. I offered to help Owen with the rent but he refused. If he’d agreed, we could have avoided all this shit.’

  Patterson knew it was time to give him the bad news. ‘DC Eldridge discovered a knife hidden in your garden.’

  Carstairs clenched his fist and hit the table hard. ‘You lot are bastards, snooping in my house and on my land.’

  ‘This is a triple murder investigation and it’s not your house or land.’

  ‘What about my photos, you didn’t have a warrant. I could cause a stink if I had a mind to.’

  Patterson was fully aware Carstairs could do just that. ‘DI Jewell wanted to find out more about you. Try to consider the situation, you are closest to the crime scene, you have to understand we follow every lead and that includes you.’

  Carstairs was quiet for a moment. ‘I don’t like being taken for a fool.’

  ‘No one’s taking you for a fool.’

  ‘Well this is going to surprise you. When I was in Korea I was in the military police so I remember procedure, even though it’s changed a lot now.’

  ‘Then if you have nothing to hide, you’ll make a good witness,’ Patterson said.

  ‘I don’t go poking my nose into other people’s business. I didn’t have much to do with people on the site. I tried to befriend Lillian Fowler but she wasn’t interested. God knows why. It was a shame because she was a lonely woman.’

  Patterson pursued an important question. ‘What about Jez Moore? Did you befriend him too?’

  ‘I often wondered what was wrong with him or whether it was all just a big act and he was something other than he pretended to be.’

  ‘That’s interesting. When DI Jewell talked to Anyas Lacroix she was adamant he was psychologically unbalanced.’

  Carstairs seemed troubled. ‘I don’t believe that. I had a few conversations with him and he made perfect sense to me. Tell your boss I want my pictures back. Do you know why she took them?’

  Patterson wasn’t worried about divulging the reason. Under these circumstances, it was better to be honest. ‘Background checks to see what you’ve been up to all your life. Maybe you could fill me in.’

  Carstairs put the kettle on again. ‘I’ll make another cup of tea and as it’s warm we’ll go back outside. I could do with some sun on me.’

  They stood by the hedge close to where Eldridge had found the knife. Carstairs didn’t seem concerned and didn’t mention the subject. He sipped his tea and looked across the fields. ‘After I finished in Korea, I got married and we emigrated to South Africa, to Zimbabwe, or Rhodesia as it was called in those days. I bought a farm just outside Bulawayo. My wife died and afterwards I had other problems. By the time I left, it was not a good place for white farmers. I stayed in London for a while with an old friend and he told me about this job. When I came up to have a look and saw how isolated and peaceful it was I knew instantly it was for me, exactly what I was looking for. That’s it, my life story, happy now?’

  ‘So you must’ve heard about the Walker disappearance?’

  ‘Everyone in these parts has. It hangs like a cloud over this whole area. I can tell you one thing for certain, the mystery fascinated Moore.’

  Patterson’s ears pricked up. ‘So you talked about it?’

  ‘We did on a few occasions. He liked to discuss the ‘legend’ as he called it. He hinted he wanted to figure out what had happened.’

  ‘When did you last see him?’ Patterson asked.

  ‘It was a few weeks ago. He was walking in the fields on his own. I was in another world and didn’t see him but he stopped me. He looked wrong somehow, not his usual self and I assumed he was probably having a bad day or having one of his so called attacks.’

  Patterson felt the adrenaline surge. ‘Did he seem scared?’

  ‘He looked tense, worried. We didn’t really get a chance to talk; his girlfriend came running towards us. I get the feeling that woman knows a
lot more than she lets on.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’ Patterson asked.

  ‘Old cop intuition. I’ve never really spoken to her much. DI Jewell should tackle her about what Jez was up to, because he was definitely up to something.’

  Patterson looked hard at Carstairs, trying to judge whether he was lying. Had he really seen Moore and Lacroix? He hadn’t specified which day so was his story a carefully thought out ruse to deflect suspicion away from him? Regardless, Patterson wasn’t about to play down his possible involvement, his alibi still fell short of rock solid.

  Carstairs must have sensed his doubts. He carried on. ‘Anyas Lacroix claims her spirituality is all consuming. I reckon she’s no less batty than Moore was, a well-suited pair with a reputation for keeping secrets. Now he’s dead she’s not just protecting his, but her own as well. A rumour went around that Jez was thinking of leaving the site before the eviction date. He’d travelled around all his life; apparently he wanted a change of scenery but I didn’t buy that story.’

  ‘What other reason would he have to leave?’ Patterson asked.

  ‘My theory is he was frightened that someone from his past was about to catch up with him.’

  ‘Did he tell you that?’

  ‘No, I came to the conclusion myself.’

  Patterson still wasn’t sure whether to believe him. Now that Moore was dead, he saw him as a victim not a killer. ‘If you’re implying Moore killed the culvert victims I doubt it.’

  ‘You asked me why he was leaving and I’ve told you. I’ve got nothing more to say.’

  Another question still bothered Patterson, but it seemed elusive, he couldn’t quite grasp it although he knew it was important. He scanned his surroundings and concentrated hard. An image formed in his head of how the place must have looked thirty years ago. Then he knew what was bugging him. ‘Do you know if the lock keeper’s cottage was occupied when the Walkers disappeared?’ he asked.

  Carstairs swung around. ‘There’s always been a lock keeper here.’

  ‘You’re certain about that? Maybe he was on holiday.’

  ‘Easy enough to check, surely the police would have interviewed him. Best get in touch with whoever was responsible for the canals in those days.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Patterson said. ‘I’ll do just that.’

  Half an hour later, he had an answer.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Monday 24th March 3-30pm

  Elizabeth felt on tender hooks waiting for the uniformed officers out canvassing to come back. Out of the twenty deployed, six had rung in to say they’d finished covering their allocated area. Rural Gloucestershire’s population was widespread and south of Tewksbury was no exception. Hamlets might only consist of half a dozen houses; other’s lived in splendid isolation making them easy to miss. Unless you were familiar with the locations, certain properties weren’t easy to find. These people had the money to protect their homes, surround them with security fencing and gated entrances. What worried her was the inaccessible residences could have occupants with vital information.

  Eldridge was dispatched to a specific point should any officer come across a significant witness, he would then drive them straight to Cordover Street to make a statement. That way, they could collate the information quickly.

  Elizabeth gazed out of the window. It was raining and chillier. She buttoned up her jacket and wondered what to do next. Gerry Blake and his solicitor had turned up at half past eight that morning demanding to talk to someone immediately. Elizabeth and Gardiner had conducted the interview. Blake, disregarding his solicitor’s advice had banged on about Howell’s attempt to kill him, and how after the attack on Moore, he’d seen Howell racing across the fields.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell us this before?’ Elizabeth had asked.

  Elizabeth had met types like Blake before, keen to cause trouble but unable to deal with the fall out. His indignant attitude hadn’t let up. ‘I’m not a snitch, but after he attacked me I’m convinced he killed Jez. He’s crazy.’

  Conscious of her need to stay calm, she’d ended the proceedings by speaking directly to the solicitor. ‘Mr Howell insists he reacted to undue provocation however another witness described Mr Blake as someone who winds people up, then complains when they retaliate. I suggest your client makes a formal statement about seeing Mr Howell running away from the camp and leave it to us to decide who murdered Mr Moore.’

  Blake’s solicitor hadn’t said one word and Elizabeth needed a cigarette. ‘Both of you stay here. I’ll send someone to take the statement.’

  Blake’s statement was on her desk within the hour, tediously long and full of unnecessary detail. Typical of someone who hasn’t complete recall so makes most of it up. He had however, deliberately gone out of his way to make matters worse for Howell. She started to read it again when her phone beeped. It was Virginia Dalman.

  Dalman’s manner was bordering on rude. ‘Daly isn’t answering his phone. I’d like you to pass on a message.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ Elizabeth replied curtly.

  ‘I’m leaving the hospital in an hour and coming straight to Cordover Street.’

  It wasn’t a request it was an order. Elizabeth switched to a more casual tone. ‘So you’ll be here – when exactly?’

  ‘Shortly before five.’

  Elizabeth had the urge to lie, say Daly had a prior appointment and wouldn’t be available but it wasn’t worth risking his wrath. ‘Fine, I’ll pass that on.’

  For all she disliked Dalman she was glad of the diversion. Now she had a legitimate reason to see him. When she reached Daly’s office, she peeked through the blind and saw he was absorbed in paperwork. She knocked and slipped in quietly.

  ‘What now?’ Daly said, still with his head down.

  Elizabeth slumped into the Lloyd Loom chair. ‘Message from Dr Dalman, she’s on her way to see you. I presume to say her goodbyes.’

  Daly’s head shot up. ‘Out of hospital and fully recovered already. I’m surprised she’s bothering with the social niceties after what happened to her.’

  ‘I don’t particularly want to bump into her so do you fancy a trip to the canteen? You can get Tom to alert you as soon as she sets foot in reception.’

  ‘Keep up to date Liz. The canteen now has a new name. They’ve renamed it ahead the official opening of the new building. It’s now called the Chandler Cafe.’

  ‘Of course I forgot. We’re not supposed to call them canteens anymore. We now have posh restaurants named after fictional detectives. I wonder who thought up that brilliant idea.’

  ‘Come on then, I’m up for a break. In honour of the new name they might have a better selection of cakes.’

  Elizabeth had pledged to enjoy his company and not ask controversial questions. Her brain couldn’t absorb another conspiracy. ‘I’m not saying a word because I intend to have at least two chocolate éclairs.’

  Sure enough, a stylish nineteen thirties sign pointed the way to the canteen. A larger version hung above the entrance. Once inside Elizabeth noticed some new additions dotted around, three brown leather sofas and a selection of exotic plants.

  Daly bought coffee and cakes and for the next ten minutes talked about his dog. The canteen had filled up and each time the door opened Elizabeth glanced over to see who had come in.

  ‘Watching the door won’t get them here any faster,’ Daly said.

  Elizabeth munched through another cake and was about to give up hope when two officers approached the table.

  ‘Have a seat,’ Daly said to them.

  Elizabeth didn’t expect results this soon but still asked. ‘Any luck?’

  The older one smiled. ‘Just before we packed up, Rick spotted a place we hadn’t noticed on the first drive by. The woman who answered the door looked like she’d stepped out of the late sixties, even down to the flowers in her hair. It turned out that when she was young she hung out at Roxbury Farm.’

  ‘You mean you found an old hippy lady,’ Daly said.
‘I knew loads of them, in fact I...’

  ‘Don’t interrupt,’ Elizabeth said, let him finish.’

  ‘You should have seen the inside of the house. Talk about a shrine to flower power,’ the officer continued. ‘The strange thing is after we showed her the flyers, she went off and brought back her own snapshots, that’s how she referred to them. He handed over a shallow white box with a silver horseshoe on the front. To Elizabeth it appeared to have held a wedding photo.

  Like Lillian Fowler’s photographs, the colour had faded and the clarity was poor. Elizabeth turned them over. Again, there was no date. ‘Did she say when they were taken?’

  Rick, the young officer consulted his notes. ‘June, nineteen-eight-four, that’s what’s so uncanny. She’d joined a protest group campaigning for the miners, to help raise funds for their families.’ He turned to his colleague. ‘Brad and I had a history lesson from her about how terrible it was and how much the miners suffered. She told us that at that particular time, the Roxbury Farm travellers were extremely left wing and had organized meetings about the miner’s strike. According to her memory, these campaigns attracted large crowds. She also remembered all those living on the farm were going to the Glastonbury Festival to attend a peaceful protest against Mrs Thatcher.’

  ‘Did she go to Glastonbury with them?’

  ‘No, she went up to Yorkshire to protest there.’

  ‘Did she say whether she knew the Walkers?’ Elizabeth asked.

  The older officer checked his notes and confirmed. ‘Not personally.’

  ‘Recognise anybody yet?’ Daly asked.

  Elizabeth adjusted her reading glasses and concentrated on each face. Some individuals were difficult to make out. People had squashed together to fit into the picture leaving a few faces partially hidden. Elizabeth studied another group photo. ‘Seems we’ve got more confirmation Moore was there at the time the Walkers vanished.’