Misery Shallows (DI Elizabeth Jewell Book 4)

by Carole Pitt

  Elizabeth shook her head. ‘She wouldn’t, she might be a first class bitch but she genuinely loves that animal.’

  ‘Right, upstairs you two,’ Daly said, walking away. ‘Jim’s almost ready to work the dogs.’

  Elizabeth opened the curtains and followed Patterson. The house was too still and her unease increased as she reached the landing. The heavy drapes blocked out much of the light. She dragged them open and headed to the master bedroom. Again, it was dark, but she could make out a shape on the floor. Patterson switched on the light and Elizabeth moved a blanket to one side. This time Lillian Fowler didn’t smell of alcohol, instead a small bottle lay close to her hand, its contents scattered across the deep piled carpet. Elizabeth handed it to Patterson.

  ‘Diazapam,’ he said. ‘From what’s on the floor, it doesn’t look like she’s tried to kill herself but as she’s out for the count, probably had one too many. Let’s haul her to her feet and see if she’ll wake up.’

  ‘I’m not keen on moving her.’

  ‘Liz, trust me, I can see she’s not in any danger. I’ve done the training. We don’t know what’s happened, why she’s taken the pills. We need her to tell us.’

  Once they’d transferred Lillian Fowler to a chair, she started to come round. Then without warning, she screamed so loudly Elizabeth’s heart did a flip.

  Lillian turned to Patterson, her eyes wide with fear. ‘Someone came in through the night. Samson barked and barked and then he suddenly stopped. I lay still and pretended to be asleep. Please find Samson before this monster kills him. He might be lying injured somewhere. Please somebody find my Samson.’

  Elizabeth would have preferred to call an ambulance and have her taken to hospital. If she stayed here, she foresaw her causing more trouble and taking up their valuable time. Without some sort of intervention, her hysteria would only get worse. ‘I’ll ask a couple of my officers to search for him if you promise to calm down. If you remember, we have a lot of work to get through today. We have to leave before your husband arrives.’

  Fowler must have sensed Elizabeth’s intentions because she stopped crying. ‘Don’t send me to the doctor. I’ll stay out of your way and wait for Samson to come home.’

  ‘Has he gone off before?’ Patterson asked.

  ‘Not often. He likes to watch the narrow boats go in and out of the lock. Sometimes he swims in the canal.’

  ‘Isn’t that dangerous? People dump all sorts of nasty rubbish in canals,’ Elizabeth said.

  ‘Samson’s cautious. He’s a clever dog and he’s always barks a lot while he’s outside. Sometimes he gets upset and I have to bring him indoors.’

  ‘Search the rest of the house Tony while I try and get more sense out of her.’

  Patterson left and she filled a glass with water. ‘Drink this then try to describe the person who came into your room.’

  Lillian Fowler drank half and turned to Elizabeth. ‘I’m not as stupid as you think. I know what I saw. When this person stopped searching my house I thought I’d be murdered, but they left and after I heard the back door bang, I crept to the window hoping I’d see who it was. But I couldn’t because of the outfit.’

  ‘Describe the outfit.’ Elizabeth said, only half believing her story.

  ‘The person had been in the water. It was a wet suit.’

  CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

  Elizabeth suddenly felt cold. She hadn’t expected more nonsense from Lillian Fowler, especially today. Her body stiffened as she moved to the window reminding her to take a pill. The doctor had suggested she wean herself off codeine and replace it with ibuprofen, not such an effective painkiller but not as addictive. She opened the window and leaned out, trying to determine if Fowler could have had such a clear view on a dark night. Elizabeth was more inclined to believe it was another one of her unbalanced mind episodes.

  The back garden was beginning to flourish. Most branches wore a pale green haze that in a few days would turn the leaves a shade deeper as they unfurled from their winter cocoon. The landscape bore no resemblance to the day all this began, March the fifteenth. The area had taken on the lushness of early spring and turned it into an Eden. The sun shone in a cloudless sky and she suddenly understood why decades of travellers, and people like Carstairs and the Fowlers had chosen to live here. She caught sight of Brannigan leading his dogs close to each caravan then waiting for a sign. He moved out of sight just as a loud noise made her jump.

  Daly strode into the bedroom and spoke directly to Lillian Fowler ‘Your night time intruder was after something specific. Do you know what?’

  Lillian Fowler started to sob. ‘I don’t care what they wanted or what they stole, all I want is for Samson to come back.’

  ‘I’m about to start a search for him,’ Elizabeth said. ‘Remember the press reported on our outside enquiries and made it clear in the article we were trying to identify anyone who was at Roxbury Farm during the weeks leading up to the Walker disappearance.’

  ‘Someone’s panicking. I didn’t expect them to this early.’ Daly said giving Elizabeth a superior look. ‘It’s a good sign.’

  Patterson was next in the bedroom. ‘The garage was ransacked and the conservatory. We’ll have to wait until tonight to ask the travellers if they saw anything. A figure wearing a wet suit is damned conspicuous.’

  Lillian Fowler’s sobs ended abruptly. ‘You all think I’m crazy but I know what a wet suit looks like. When I was sure, I mean that this person in the wet suit had definitely gone. I went out to the landing and put the light on. Straight away, I stepped into a wet patch. I saw others leading to the kitchen. How could I imagine that?’

  Elizabeth turned to Daly. ‘Does this scenario fit with your theory?’ she asked, unable to conceal her bitterness. ‘Tony, get a couple of techs over here, before the carpet dries out.’

  Patterson checked the time and decided to divulge his latest transgression. I’ve a confession to make. I didn’t say anything in case it turned out to be a waste of time. Anyas Lacroix found a portable hard drive belonging to Moore. As we got zilch from his laptop and phone, I took it to a new outfit called Artural Forensics. They’ve just phoned to say they’ve recovered the information. I’m going to collect it now.’

  Elizabeth watched Lillian Fowler to see if she was listening, she seemed to be lost in another world. She wished she could drift off too. Instead, her urge to complain grew stronger. ‘Everyone’s doing their own thing. I was under the impression we were a team.’

  Daly’s phone buzzed. ‘For someone who hates hypocrisy Liz, I suggest you don’t practice it. ‘Yes,’ he yelled.

  He listened for less than a minute then switched off. He pointed to Lillian Fowler, then to the door. ‘Downstairs so we can talk privately.’

  In the kitchen, he started pacing. Elizabeth had never seen him so hyper. ‘Smiley’s alerted to that old caravan. They’re about to take the inside apart. Then I want it completely dismantled and examined. Smiley also tried to pull Brannigan into the fields directly behind this caravan, so he’s following the dog’s lead, see where it takes him. Agatha’s with the assistant handler concentrating on the rest of the vans.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Patterson said.

  Elizabeth tried not to show her surprise. ‘Just because the dog alerted doesn’t mean we’ll find anything. If we do, I believe Lillian and Calvin Fowler have some explaining to do. This nonsense she’s spouting, about an intruder in a wet suit. Why am I the only one who can see she’s either still attention seeking or has something serious to hide?’

  ‘Okay, Daly said. ‘What’s she hiding?’

  Patterson interrupted. ‘Do you two want to see the analysis from the hard drive, or shall I keep it to myself?’

  Daly beamed. ‘Good work. Get back as fast as you can.’

  As Patterson hurried away, Elizabeth decided that if she didn’t relent, her stubborn attitude would alienate everyone working on the operation. Daly wouldn’t be the first detective to get things wrong, so why was
she obsessing about it?

  ‘Daly slumped into a chair. ‘Any chance of a cuppa?’

  She didn’t want to wait on him but didn’t argue. She filled Lillian Fowler’s expensive kettle and held on to it while it boiled. From his flushed face Elizabeth could tell Daly’s blood pressure was up. This was when the tension got to everyone regardless. Now that she’d accepted the situation, her own anticipation started building. Results due from the portable hard drive, a top human remains recovery dog had alerted. Dogs don’t lie she told herself holding on to every bit of optimism she could muster. She opened a cupboard and found a packet of chocolate biscuits.

  ‘An area like this can harbour evidence for years,’ she heard Daly say. ‘It can stay buried under layers of mud. Reynolds is accommodating us but there’s a limit on finances and the clock’s ticking. When are you going to accept I’m right?’

  She handed him the tea and biscuits. ‘This is your case; you’re under orders from a senior officer. Let’s leave it there.’

  ‘Patterson’s used his initiative without broadcasting it.’ Daly said to her.

  Was he deliberately trying to upset her by praising Patterson? She felt vulnerable, inadequate, that she’d contributed little to the investigation. She stared at the wall and for the first time noticed a small painting of Samson. When she moved closer, it was incredibly lifelike. As she went to collect Daly’s cup Elizabeth pictured Samson, where he might have gone. Perhaps there was a simpler explanation for his absence. If Lillian Fowler had told the truth about the intruder, what if the German Shepherd had followed the person wearing the wet suit.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Patterson ripped open the envelope before he reached his car. He needed a brief overview of the report before heading back to Roxbury Farm. He skipped the technical jargon to save time, aware it was an important inclusion should the information ever reach a courtroom. Any examination of a computer hard drive had to include the analyst’s evaluation prior to itemizing the contents. He paused almost afraid to continue in case his instincts turned out to be nothing more than fantasy. Was he even remotely close? A moment’s fear gripped him; he clenched his jaw, reminded of the day his university result lay in front of him for nearly half an hour before he’d summoned up the courage to look at it.

  From the date on the first email, Moore must have bought the hard drive almost a year ago. Patterson assumed he’d bought it for the simple reason his second hand laptop might suddenly die on him. Like everyone who owned a computer, he’d probably used it regularly, but from the time scale, the analyst had indicated he’d backed up only a small percentage. Most people with a mid-priced portable hard drive would have backed up much more. This told Patterson he’d bought it for a specific reason. Moore had stayed clear of the internet’s darker side. Not even any respectable porn, the analyst had commented. Patterson smiled at the description, but was glad that Moore, for all his strange personality wasn’t a cyber deviant. Moore had however joined three internet sites devoted to solving current or cold cases. All the relevant details were there, including his user name and posts he’d made. He also had a twitter account, but from his usage was more a reader than tweeter.

  He turned the page to find the first batch of emails. Impatient, he fast-forwarded to the more recent ones. On the second to last page, he found a cluster from last year, beginning on October the eighteenth.

  From jez4@telephony.com, to corrine@becloud.com

  Patterson noticed an attachment, a highlighted web address. He was tempted to use his phone to open it up now that his impatience had gathered pace. Instead, he paused, in an effort to dampen it. As he read, Moore’s writing skills surprised him. The first batch of emails dealt with the ten years since Moore had last seen Corrine. His tone seemed at ease and friendly; he asked her plenty of questions, as would anyone contacting an old friend. What was she up to? Had she met up with anyone else from the early days? Then he described life at Roxbury Farm, including his relationship with Anyas Lacroix. After a few more pleasantries, his tone changed.

  Corrine, I need your help. Please find a recent newspaper report. The story is important, but the image more so. I’ve struggled with my conscience for so long I’ve finally decided to seek help from the two people I trust the most. After that tragic summer in eighty –four, you and Gabriel were the only ones who kept in touch and I apologise for not replying as often as I should. I’m sure you, like everyone else, found it difficult to forget about the Walker family, I know I have. They gave us shelter when we needed it most and Deena Walker helped me rebuild my life. Now everything has changed and in my worst moments, I can no longer visualise my future. I know you will understand what I mean. Time is short and not mine to manipulate to suit my need, that’s why I’m about to ask a big favour. That morning we set off for Glastonbury I almost changed my mind. The warning had unsettled me, yet I didn’t sense any imminent danger. We were all going except one individual and we trusted each other. When Deena, Joel and the children didn’t arrive, the feeling persisted until Erin brought us a message. She’d followed them as far as Bath. They had pulled over and explained two of the children had vomited badly so they were going back home. If the children were okay within a couple of days, they’d drive back down. Erin said measles was going around because parents weren’t having their babies vaccinated. We were gone for almost two weeks. I should have gone back sooner, but I was having too good a time taking too many drugs.

  Back to the favour, if you could read the article, scrutinize the picture and confirm this person is who, I think it is. In my mind, I’m certain, but I need confirmation before I continue my mission.

  Now I’m back in touch, perhaps you’d like to come and stay here. I’d like you to meet Anyas and I can explain what I intend to do.

  Hoping to hear from you soon, Jez.

  Patterson rubbed his eyes and carried on. At the beginning of November Corrine replies, apologising for the delay but she’s had flu. She suggests he emails Gabriel, as she’d prefer them to travel to Gloucestershire together. Moore does as she asks and sends the same request to Gabriel.

  Corrine sends a second email two days later, setting a date for their visit. Her next words are what Moore needs to hear. She writes. Even with the passage of time, I’m certain it’s the same person. Gabriel too, confirms the identity.

  Patterson finds Moore’s next email unbelievable. Moore, who up until this point has remained focused and clearheaded descends into a depressive period. He read on, despairing of Moore’s stupidity. He becomes reckless and gives up the idea of going to the police. He sends the person he suspects a threatening email outlining his plans. Patterson stared at the recipient’s email address. Moore couldn’t have been thinking straight divulging Corrine and Gabriel’s names to his adversary, knowing how easy it is these days to track people down. During November, all three of them remain in touch. Corrine plans to arrive on December the 10th, Gabriel can’t make that date but can come two days later. By now, Gloucestershire has suffered nearly a week of torrential rain and high winds. The floods have already brought havoc to the county and the weather forecast brings more bad news. It’s about to get much worse. Corrine email’s to say despite the weather, she’s still coming, but she never reaches Roxbury Farm. Somewhere in the dark recesses of Moore’s mind, he realises his stupidity. He has put both Corrine and Gabriel’s life in danger. When Gabriel doesn’t turn up, Moore retreats into his alternate world. His drug induced one. He writes about the flooding. How the paddock is beneath four feet of water and all of Roxbury Farm’s residents, including Calvin and Lillian Fowler have evacuated. How Anyas takes him to stay with a friend in Stroud and hopes he’ll pull himself together. Then Moore resorts to deluding himself that Corrine and Gabriel are okay. That they’d worked out his intentions and wanted no part of it. Moore has only one consolation, no one else knew what he’d done. Not even Anyas.

  Patterson stopped reading. He didn’t dwell on how or why, that would unfold later. With e
very passing minute, the picture had become clearer. Now he had the victim’s names and knew why they had to die. His only concern was why no one had reported them missing. Surely, they’d had family and friends, or had they? Like many travellers who moved from place to place, he could only think of one possibility. Both had left their respective sites without informing anyone where they were going or when they intended to return. Within those circles, that behaviour probably wasn’t unusual.

  Patterson continued reading. From then on Moore eases up on drugs but still writes incoherently. He struggles through February in a haze and by mid March, Carstairs discovers the woman in the culvert. Carsairs’ explanation for his delay in calling the police had never rung true, but without proof, they’d had to accept his word. Patterson pondered on another possibility. Did Moore, in his turmoil over Corrine and Gabriel, confide in Carstairs to assuage his guilt? Patterson imagined that if he had, Carstairs, out of sympathy for Moore’s predicament, would keep quiet. Had Carstairs gone away because he believed the woman in the culvert was Corrine and he was afraid he might also be a target?

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Elizabeth watched Brannigan with Smiley. They’d been gone over an hour and Daly was already heading towards him. She wanted to join them him but embarrassment stopped her. She’d never known him hold a grudge for long; it wasn’t in his nature. Whatever else Brannigan had discovered Daly deserved to hear about it first.

  She glanced over her shoulder and saw Patterson. She hadn’t expected him back so soon. ‘Come and look at this,’ he said, waving a sheaf of typewritten paper.

  ‘I think you should show Daly first. I’ve only just had a reprieve.’

  ‘Liz, if it’s any consolation, in your position I would have felt the same. I have to admit when Daly decided to go solo I thought he was mad. Now I find out the old bugger was right.’