Deep Waters

by Patricia Hall

  ‘They’re not on the phone,’ Kate said.

  ‘When did you tell Ken Fellows you’d be back?’

  ‘Tuesday,’ she said.

  ‘So have a couple of days in the north and call me on Monday before you set off back and I’ll tell you whether I think it’s safe,’ he said. There was no doubt that Barnard was taking her worries seriously now.

  ‘What are you going to do on your own?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ll see what I can find out in Southend when I’ve dropped you at the station,’ he said. ‘Just a quick check.’

  ‘Are you sure that’s sensible?’ she asked, suddenly as anxious for him as for herself, and wondered what that told her about her own feelings.

  ‘What I do in my own time is my business,’ he said.

  THIRTEEN

  Kate woke up early the next morning, slipped out of bed without disturbing Harry, and made herself coffee in the kitchen. She was drinking it slowly at the kitchen table when Barnard came in and put his arms around her.

  ‘Couldn’t you sleep?’ he asked. She shook her head.

  ‘Too much to think about,’ she said. ‘But if you are going back to Southend, I want to come with you. I never really intended going to Liverpool. That was just an excuse.’ Barnard tensed before letting her loose.

  ‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea,’ he said. ‘I thought I’d go out to Foulness to try to track down Delia Dexter, but if her husband’s around it might get nasty.’

  ‘I thought it was difficult to get on to the island,’ Kate said.

  ‘It is, but it should be OK today. It’s very foggy again, so I don’t think they’ll be firing artillery shells. Anyway, if they don’t let me in they won’t let me in. But I think it’s worth a try. And if it looks as if there’s anyone else at the Dexters’ farm apart from Delia, I won’t go near. I don’t want to tangle with Dexter or Barrett if I can help it.’

  ‘If I come with you, we could try to find out what’s happened to Connie and her kids. Greenwood said you might be able to find out at the nick.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ Barnard said. ‘They’d boot me out and report back to the DCI before I got through the door. What about her lawyer? He should know what’s happened to her.’

  ‘She,’ Kate said sharply. ‘The lawyer’s a woman, Janet Driscoll.’

  Barnard grinned. ‘Is there no end to female ambition?’ he asked. ‘You’ll be wanting to be prime minister next.’

  ‘And why not?’ Kate said tartly, although it was not an idea that had ever entered her head any more than the idea of a female photographer had ever crossed her boss’s mind until she walked through the door and talked herself into a job. But time would tell, she thought. Barnard sighed and she knew he would give in.

  ‘Well, how’s this for a plan?’ he asked. ‘We go to Foulness first and see if we can find Sam Dexter’s wife. Someone must know where he and Barrett are, and she sounds the most likely person if she’s still around. She may be the only person who knows if they were looking for Rod Miller when they came out of jail. If they were, maybe that would get Ray Robertson off the hook. We don’t need to get too close if there’s any sign that her husband’s there. Though if Greenwood is right and they’re divorced now, I should think it’d be the last place he would go.’

  ‘Greenwood thought that if her husband and Barrett believed she knew anything about the money disappearing from wherever they stashed it, they might do her some harm. He seemed quite sure they lived on Canvey for a while before the flood, so I suppose they might have left it with Delia if they trusted her enough and then everything got overtaken by the flood on the island.’

  ‘All the more reason to pay a very cautious visit to Delia,’ Barnard said. ‘It’s very remote out there and access is difficult. For all we know, she could be lying dead if they’ve been out there to find her.’ Kate shuddered. The thought of a woman’s body left to moulder was horrifying enough, but it could be that her brother’s killers had dumped her out on the sands and she would never be found.

  ‘Isn’t your car a bit conspicuous for driving out into the wilds?’ Kate said doubtfully.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ Barnard said. ‘The military check traffic in and out because of the danger zones. No one gets in or out unnoticed.’

  ‘Afterwards we’ll go to Southend and ask the lawyer where Connie is. Right? It’s outrageous if they’ve still got her locked up in a cell without her children.’

  ‘We’ll talk to the lawyer,’ Barnard promised, ‘if we can find her. And let’s hope DCI Baker is safely at home or having a round of golf, well out of our way. The lawyer will certainly know what’s happened to Connie. We don’t need to visit the nick at all.’

  Kate and Harry whiled away the tedious drive east by disputing the respective merits of the Beatles and the Rolling Stones, with Kate preserving a little space in her heart for the Kinks whose single You Really Got Me had just made a spectacular entry into the charts.

  ‘I think they could be as big as the Beatles,’ Kate said recklessly. ‘Don’t laugh, they’re really, really good.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Barnard said, not for the first time wondering at Kate’s ability to bounce back from whatever life threw at her. He had to admit that since they met life – and maybe he himself – had not treated her very kindly. Her insatiable curiosity and her determination to point her camera where powerful, and often dangerous, people did not want it pointed had not made for an easy ride for either of them. This time, he thought, he would keep her out of trouble.

  Foulness Island lay flat and apparently deserted when they approached the bridges and the military checkpoint that guarded the island. No warning flags flew and the soldiers on duty took no more than a cursory interest in their arrival as they noted down the number plate of Barnard’s car.

  ‘Flash car,’ one said. ‘Oh, there was another bloke heading to Lane End Farm yesterday.’

  ‘What was he driving?’ Barnard asked.

  ‘Some clapped-out old Ford,’ the squaddie said. ‘Didn’t stay long.’ And he waved them on their way.

  ‘My goodness, it’s bleak,’ Kate said, staring out at the ranges cratered and rutted by military activity, after they’d crossed the rolling bridge over the navigable creek.

  ‘It’s like something out of science fiction,’ she said.

  ‘That’s why the army chose it,’ Barnard said. ‘Way back. Hardly anyone lives here. The army’s been messing about here since the First World War at least.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ Kate said. ‘I don’t suppose anyone out here’s heard of the Beatles, let alone the Kinks.’

  ‘Well, I looked at a map. There’s a village and some farms further east, including the Dexters’ farm. But it must be pretty noisy when they’re firing on the ranges.’ He accelerated down the relatively straight road until they could see a church steeple and drove through the village, past the pub and on to a rutted narrow track with a dilapidated sign pointing to Lane End Farm.

  ‘It’s the back of beyond,’ Kate said.

  ‘A good place to hide out maybe,’ Barnard said. ‘If you can avoid the checkpoint, and I dare say some of the locals know ways to do that. By boat, if nothing else.’

  When they arrived at the farm gate, which was wide open, they could see no sign of life at the house or amongst the barns and outbuildings, so he turned the car slowly behind the largest of the barns and killed the engine.

  ‘We can get away quickly if we have to,’ he said. Kate shuddered slightly, wondering not for the first time whether this trip had been a good idea.

  ‘Do you think Delia’s got a phone?’ she asked.

  Barnard glanced around.

  ‘That looks like a phone line,’ he said pointing to a pole and wires leading back towards the village, which could still be seen behind them across the flat fields. ‘You’d need one out here.’

  He got out of the car and Kate followed.

  ‘We’ll just watch for a while,’ he said. ‘
There are no other cars here, just the tractor in the barn over there. So maybe no one’s here at all.’ Kate could not help feeling a sense of relief, although she could see that Barnard was frustrated. In the end, he lost patience.

  ‘Let’s just make sure there’s no one here,’ he said and led the way slowly to the front door. As they approached, they could see it had been roughly secured with some nailed-on planks of wood after a recent assault that had forced it off its hinges.

  ‘Something’s been going on here,’ Barnard said quietly. ‘It doesn’t look good. Someone was very anxious to get inside.’ Kate shuddered and took hold of Barnard’s arm.

  ‘I think we should go,’ she said.

  ‘We need to make sure there’s no one inside who needs help,’ Barnard said. But before he could try the door to see if it could be pushed open, they were startled by a voice from behind them. A female voice, with no hint of welcome in it.

  They turned quickly to find themselves facing a woman in dungarees and a thick sweater, her hair tied back and her face set in what was close to a snarl. She was holding a shotgun with a firm grip and pointing it unerringly in their direction.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ she asked. ‘And what the hell are you doing in my yard?’

  Delia Dexter chivvied them round the back of the house and in through the kitchen door with the gun still menacing them from behind, much too close for comfort.

  ‘I’ve had to nail up the bloody front door,’ she said by way of explanation. ‘Some beggar broke it down while I was out. Bastard.’ She almost pushed them into an untidy farm kitchen and waved them into a sagging sofa close to the range where a fire burned a sulky red. ‘It wasn’t you was it?’ The question sounded half-hearted. Barnard shook his head and showed her his warrant card.

  ‘This is only an unofficial inquiry,’ he said. ‘This is my girlfriend and we were close by, so I thought it might be worth having a word. I’m from the Met, but I should think the Southend police won’t be far behind us if they haven’t been out here already. We want to know where your husband is and whether he’s still with Sid Barrett. All this dates back to the post office robbery in Southend they were sent down for. And we think they might be connected with a case in Whitechapel, since they were let out. A man they knew has been found dead in suspicious circumstances.’

  Delia loosened her grip on the shotgun slightly but didn’t put it down. She was a well-built woman, her face pale without make-up and with dark circles under her eyes. She looked desperately tired.

  ‘I’ve not seen Sid Barrett since the trial all those years ago,’ she said. ‘That man’s a loony, believe me. A dangerous loony.’

  ‘And your husband?’ Barnard prompted. She shrugged and Barnard picked up a slight tightening of her hands on the gun.

  ‘I used to visit him in jail for a bit,’ she said. ‘But I divorced him five years ago. He wasn’t best pleased. I think he thought I would keep this place running on my own and he promised me we’d not go short again. We’d get out of here and live the life of Riley somewhere else.’

  ‘That would be on the proceeds of the robberies?’ Barnard asked.

  ‘No one ever seemed to know where that money went, and I don’t think Sam did either. It vanished into thin air, or so he said. In the end I stopped believing a word any of them said. So I finished with him long before he was due out of jail and I stayed on here on my own. I could just about make a living with a bit of help from hired hands. I felt safe enough while those two were locked up, but now they’re out I’ll not hang around. The police told me what happened to Bert—’

  ‘Bert?’

  ‘My brother. Bert Flanagan, Connie’s husband.’ Delia stared into space for a moment, her eyes blank.

  ‘Of course,’ Barnard said.

  ‘And the boy’s still missing. Did you know that?’ Kate said quietly.

  ‘Yes, no one seems to know where Luke is … And then someone comes here and smashes my door down. My ex and Barrett have to be involved somehow. So I’m off, I’m not staying around to see if I’m next.’

  Kate and Barnard could see her grip tightening on the gun again. Barnard took Kate’s hand and squeezed it slightly.

  ‘Don’t let us stand in your way,’ he said. ‘Did you know the Southend police are questioning Connie about your brother’s death?’

  ‘They think Connie might have killed Bert?’ Delia asked with a mirthless laugh. ‘They must be joking. All Connie Dowd was good for was producing kids. She was quite good at that.’ There was an element of envy in Delia’s tone.

  ‘Did she know what your brother had got involved in?’ Barnard asked.

  ‘He wasn’t involved, was he, according to the jury,’ Delia snapped. ‘They acquitted him. He was innocent, wasn’t he? According to the law.’

  ‘If you say so,’ Barnard said sceptically. ‘And what about Rod Miller, our man found murdered in Whitechapel? Was he their driver?’ Barnard persisted.

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ Delia said sharply. ‘Sam didn’t confide much. But you can be sure he’s involved somehow in all this mayhem – him and Barrett, looking for their cash, no doubt.’

  ‘Did you always live here? Someone told us you lived on Canvey Island for a while.’

  ‘You’ve been snooping about,’ Delia said, her patience obviously wearing dangerously thin. ‘We were there for a while. Had one of the small places, used to belong to my mother. But it got washed away in the flood. Sam was locked up by then, so I came back to live out here on the farm. It felt safer with all the troops around, and I can just about manage the place with a bit of help.’ She gave a thin smile before breaking the shotgun and hooking it over her arm.

  ‘Get out now,’ she said. ‘I need to finish packing and be away before dark.’

  ‘And you won’t tell us where you’re going?’ Barnard said.

  ‘Not bloody likely,’ Delia said.

  Barnard led the way back to the car and sat for a moment in the driving seat looking thoughtful.

  ‘That woman looks familiar,’ he said. ‘But there’s no way I can have ever seen her before.’ Kate gazed at the farmyard and the flat fields stretching away to the horizon.

  ‘She’s as tough as old boots,’ she said. ‘But then you’d have to be if you were running this place on your own.’

  ‘And if you were married to Sam Dexter by the sound of it,’ Barnard added as he started the engine.

  They drove slowly back to Southend, still wrangling over the merits of the Beatles, the Stones and the Kinks, and parked on the seafront where a few intrepid strollers could be seen muffled in winter coats and scarves in spite of the supposed approach of spring. The fairground looked deserted but when they approached on foot it was obvious that they had been quickly spotted, as Jasper Dowd emerged from the caravans and headed in their direction with an extremely unfriendly look on his face.

  ‘What the hell are you doing here again, girl?’ he asked. ‘And who’s this?’ As Dowd stared at Barnard, Kate could see his hands curling into fists and his colour rising. Not far behind him several other men had gathered, looking almost as menacing as their leader.

  ‘I only wanted to know whether the police had let Connie go,’ Kate said.

  ‘No, they bloody haven’t. Not as far as I know.’

  ‘Has she been charged with anything?’ Barnard asked.

  ‘No one’s told me anything.’

  ‘There are time limits – well, supposed to be,’ Barnard said.

  ‘They do as they like,’ Dowd snapped back, his anger rising. ‘Now eff off! You’re not wanted here. There’s nothing you can do for Connie.’

  ‘What about the children?’ Kate persisted, in spite of the snarl that Dowd directed at her.

  ‘The little ones are in care,’ he said. ‘Bloody social workers took them. Wouldn’t let them stay here with me.’

  ‘And Luke? Is there any sign of Luke?’

  ‘No sign. The cops say they’re looking for him, but I don’t see any sign the
y’re trying very hard. They’re more interested in banging his mother up, as far as I can see. Now eff off, the pair of you! Didn’t I say that already?’

  Barnard took Kate’s arm and pulled her away as Dowd’s companions closed into a menacing circle around him.

  ‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We’ll get nowhere here.’

  ‘Can we go to the police station to find out what’s going on?’ Kate asked as they walked away from the fairground, where a few punters were queuing for the big dipper and the dodgems although most of the smaller stalls were still closed. ‘Or maybe her solicitor will still be around. She said she was working over the weekend.’

  ‘As you know, I don’t want to go to the nick,’ Barnard said. ‘But you can go in to ask about Connie if you like, or just ask where to find the solicitor. What did you say her name was?’

  ‘Janet Driscoll,’ Kate said as they headed back to the car.

  But they were stopped by the sound of angry shouts from the fairground behind them. They turned, horrified, to see Jasper Dowd and his men running towards the dodgems where two men neither Barnard nor Kate recognized had suddenly appeared and were dodging between the cars, apparently trying to reach the far side. But the intruders were not fast enough to escape their pursuers, who circled round the ride and within seconds a mêlée had broken out and a running battle skittered across the floor of the rink as the assailants dodged between the now stationary cars to cut the two men off. The strangers were heavily outnumbered and both ended on the floor. Flinching, Kate saw heavy boots going in as the parents and children who had been innocently driving around rushed away from the violence, some in tears. As she and Barnard watched, they heard a police siren quite close by and saw the two men struggle to their feet and break away to quickly thread their way between the stalls and rides and disappear in the direction of the beach.

  ‘Get in quick,’ Barnard said. ‘We don’t want to get caught up in that little lot.’ And he pushed Kate into the car and pulled away from the kerb almost before Kate had closed the passenger door. Two police cars stopped behind them, but the officers who jumped out took no apparent notice of the Capri as they pounded down the slope on to the fairground.