by Joy Ellis
CHAPTER TWO
After the meeting, Nikki and Joseph sat in her office discussing the unexpected news.
‘If Cameron Walker takes the job permanently, we couldn’t ask for better,’ Joseph said. ‘He’s straight as a die, and the station would certainly benefit from having him at the helm.’
‘If he can put up with the red tape, and the deluge of new initiatives, policies and strategies. He’s a proper copper, and he’s always hated the managerial crap.’
‘Doesn’t sound like he had much choice. Though if I know Cam, he’ll give it his very best shot. He’s that kind of guy.’ Joseph lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘And you and I have a stay of execution for a while longer.’
Nikki looked rather sadly at him. ‘Thanks to Cam. Still, I guess one day . . .’
‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.’ Joseph returned her look. ‘This is a blessing. Let’s just accept it.’
He was right. Joseph usually was. But having to make decisions that involved a change in their future together was one bridge she never wanted to cross.
‘Plus,’ Joseph said, ‘if Cam’s friend is right, we have something nasty brewing in our area, and we need to nip it in the bud.’
‘Absolutely. And your son-in-law wants to talk to us about something that’s bothering him.’ She grinned at him across the desk. ‘Right. Brain back into work mode, Galena!’
‘I’ll go and nab Niall, shall I?’
They returned quickly.
‘It’s probably nothing, ma’am, but Vonnie mentioned this to me the other day, and since then I’ve heard a few other rumours.’ For a moment Niall seemed hesitant to go on.
‘Spit it out, Niall, for heaven’s sake,’ Nikki said.
‘There’ve been one or two disturbances in the town recently, involving a group that call themselves the New Order Luciferians.’
‘Oh, Jesus!’ Nikki exclaimed.
‘Just the opposite,’ Joseph quipped.
‘But you’re joking, aren’t you, Niall? These people aren’t serious?’
Niall looked apologetic. ‘Now you can see why I didn’t mention it before. But, yes, they’re quite serious. I think it’s some quasi-religious sect. The thing is, on each occasion they weren’t the ones causing the trouble. It was a gang of hard-nut local yobs, and they seem to be targeting the group.’
Nikki groaned. ‘Where do they meet? Do they have a church or something?’
‘They meet in a place called the Black House. It’s a property in Ferry Street.’
‘Ferry Street? But that’s an upmarket residential area.’ Nikki frowned. ‘Aren’t the neighbours complaining?’
‘That’s the odd thing, ma’am. The Black House is owned and maintained by a businessman with a lot of connections. The group is very orderly and according to local residents, polite, quiet and no trouble at all.’
‘So no slaughtering chickens at midnight?’ asked Nikki. ‘No raising the Goat of Mendes for their diabolical purposes?’
‘Ah,’ said Joseph. ‘Someone else who used to smuggle Dennis Wheatley books out of the library when they were a kid.’
‘The Devil Rides Out is about the extent of my satanic knowledge, I’m afraid,’ admitted Nikki. ‘But seriously, who are these people? Do we know them?’
Niall shrugged. ‘I get the feeling we’d know them all if we looked closer, but they’ve done nothing wrong. I can’t start poking my nose in. It’s the local yobs that need tracking down and given a talking to.’ He grimaced. ‘Local, as in the Carborough Estate.’
Although nowhere near as bad as it used to be, the Carborough was the roughest area in Greenborough. You didn’t venture into the Carborough alone at night — or in the daylight for that matter.
‘Whatever, it doesn’t sound like a CID matter. We might just have ourselves a new problem to sort out. Niall, get your lads and lasses to keep their eyes peeled for anyone starting fires and report to me directly, okay?’
Niall nodded. ‘Of course, ma’am. I just thought you should know about the presence of a group of that nature in our area. It could attract trouble.’
‘Thanks, Niall. Let us know if anything else happens regarding our band of devil worshippers. I prefer to be forewarned, just in case we need to pay them a visit.’
After Niall had left, Nikki smiled. ‘Is that the same lad we used to say needed a pair of reins to keep him in check?’
‘He’s a married man now, Nikki, and he knows the seriousness of marrying a detective sergeant’s daughter.’ Joseph laughed. ‘Poor kid. It’s a heavy responsibility.’
‘Rubbish. He loves you to bits.’
‘I’m pretty fond of him too.’ Joseph’s expression changed. ‘But I wouldn’t mind keeping my ear to the ground regarding our not-so-secret society. I have a theory that they’re not followers of the Dark Lord at all, that’s just a cover.’
‘So what are they?’ asked Nikki.
‘Let me do a bit of ferreting, and I’ll tell you.’
‘Don’t go all mysterious on me, Joseph Easter!’
‘I’m not! It’s just that I read something recently about such groups. And if their HQ is in Ferry Street, they certainly aren’t squatters or down and outs. They must be very well off.’
‘Okay, ferret away, but the fires come first,’ Nikki said.
Joseph offered her a smart salute, and she stuck her tongue out at him.
‘What time is Cam’s fire investigator arriving?’ Joseph asked.
Before she could answer, her phone rang. ‘DI Galena. How can I help?’
She recognised the desk sergeant’s voice. ‘Ma’am, there’s been an incident in a small caravan park, out beyond the Fairweather brothers’ farm estate. One fatality. We think you need to see it. Can you attend?’
‘Certainly. What was the incident?’
‘One of the caravans was set on fire, ma’am, with the occupant still inside. Locked inside.’
She frowned. ‘As in, by someone else?’
‘Key was still in the outside of the lock, so yes, definitely.’
‘We’re on our way. Thank you, Sergeant.’
She told Joseph and added, ‘I’m going to tell Cam to get his investigator John Carson to meet us there. You get a car, okay? I’m pretty sure Mr Carson’s theory about the arsonist escalating is about to be proved correct.’
* * *
Rory Wilkinson met them in the car park of the small campsite. Known as Mud Town, it was a collection of low-cost caravans that the migrant fieldworkers used.
‘I don’t think it’ll ever rival Butlins, do you?’ Rory asked. ‘Not a Redcoat in sight.’
Before they began to trudge across the uneven ground, he produced a large white envelope from his bag and handed it to Nikki. ‘In case I forget — your invites. Well, invite singular, actually. Don’t read anything into that. I’ve lumped you and Joseph together simply to save expense on the gold-leaf, deckle-edged, wildly extravagant wedding invitation cards.’ He winked at Nikki. ‘And if you believe that, you’ll believe anything.’
‘Wedding?’ Joseph looked at him quizzically.
‘David and I have decided that as we’ve put up with each other for the past twenty years, neither of us is probably going anywhere else, so . . .’
‘Oh, Rory, that’s wonderful!’ Nikki slipped her arm through his and hung on tightly. ‘When? Where?’
‘Next month. We’re having the service at Greenborough Registry Office and reception at the old Second World War airbase at East Enderby.’
Joseph grinned. ‘What a great venue! Complete with a Lancaster bomber and spitfires!’
‘As long as the meal isn’t NAAFI style, we should all have fun.’ Rory looked across to the burnt-out caravan, and the one remaining fire appliance nearby. ‘Unlike this poor soul.’
Little was left but a skeletal framework. The kitchen end was reduced to ash and scrap metal, but the bedroom was still vaguely recognisable.
‘What do we know?’ Nikki asked the fire crew.
One of the men pointed to the charred and partially destroyed door, where a metal key still hung from the lock. ‘Locked. From outside. One occupant, still in situ.’
Nikki didn’t want to look, but knew she had to.
Thankfully, Rory moved forward and peered inside, blocking her view. ‘I hate them when they’re all crispy! I like the residents of my morgue to look relaxed and finally at peace, not like something from a Blitzkrieg newsreel. Oh dear. What a state!’ He gave Nikki a dark look. ‘Usually I can say they would have known nothing because the smoke got to them first. But not in this case. Looks like he’d been drinking, but he knew exactly what was happening and tried desperately, and unsuccessfully, to get the door open.’
Nikki gathered herself and looked at the body, and then at the smoky remains of a bottle lying beside his blackened bed. ‘Whisky,’ she muttered.
‘Expensive whisky,’ added Rory. ‘Not what you’d expect to find in a crappy little caravan in Mud Town.’
The body was curled up on the floor, just inside the door, twisted and inhuman. One arm reached up, as if in supplication.
Nikki closed her eyes and stepped away, trying not to breathe too deeply. All around her was the acrid stench of burning. Of all the deaths they saw in their job, to her this was the worst. It must be so painful. She knew that deep, full thickness burns destroyed the nerve endings, but the pain felt at the initial touch of the flames must be indescribable.
‘Time for us to take over, I think.’ Rory was watching her.
‘I’m okay, it’s just . . .’
‘Yes, it’s one of the cruellest ways to kill. And this was undoubtedly murder.’ Rory looked up. ‘Ah, good. My trusty SOCOs are here.’
Two women were pulling on protective suits and shoe-covers, and bringing out equipment from their car. Nikki realised that the tall one, pushing long white-blonde hair into her hood, was Ella Jarvis. Ella had a reputation for being the best there was when it came to forensic photography.
Nikki went to find Joseph. He was talking to the fire crew that had attended.
‘Anything interesting?’
Joseph shrugged. ‘It looks as if the person who did this was male. One of the other migrant workers caught sight of a man leaving just a few minutes before the caravan went up.’
‘I shouldn’t think there are too many women arsonists, would you?’ said Nikki.
‘Doubt it, although these days, nothing would surprise me.’
‘This caravan seems to have been specifically targeted, so do we know who the deceased man was?’
Joseph looked at his notebook. ‘Ronnie Tyrrell. A bit of a loner, but he seems to have got on well with the other workers here. Most are foreign. They did their best to try and save him. One man ripped out the gas canister from the back before the fire could get to it and take half the park up with it. Another couple of lads tried to break the windows, but the heat drove them back.’
A small group of men were silently watching the emergency services. They all wore expressions of shocked disbelief. ‘Is this Ronnie Tyrrell known to us?’ she asked.
‘I’ll check.’ Joseph pulled out his phone and made the call. ‘Nothing. Clean as a whistle. I’ve asked Cat to do a full background check on him. We’ll need to trace his relatives.’
‘And find out who employs these workers, Joseph. Whoever it is should have details on file, assuming he was kosher and not moonlighting.’
‘These men tell me Tyrrell was employed by the Fairweathers. He worked for them on a permanent basis. Bit of a jack of all trades, apparently, did whatever was needed, not just land work.’
‘Okay. When we’ve finished here, we’ll go see these Fairweathers.’ Nikki looked up. The crunch of tyres on gravel announced a car pulling into the site. ‘John Carson, I believe.’
John strode over to them and held out his hand to Nikki. ‘No more garage fires out on Cloud Fen, I hope?’
She smiled. ‘You remembered. I’m impressed.’
‘I remember every fire I’ve ever dealt with. And each one is different.’
‘I suppose they must be,’ said Joseph. ‘Different locations, different weather conditions, different material burning.’
‘Our new superintendent, Cameron Walker, brought us up to date with your rather alarming thoughts, John,’ Nikki indicated the murder site, ‘and this seems to prove you right.’
‘I’m afraid so. Though I would have expected more smaller fires first, and none involving loss of life. This is a major step — assuming of course that it’s the work of the same person.’
‘Fire isn’t exactly a popular method of killing someone, not compared with a knife or a blunt object,’ Nikki said. ‘And considering your theory that we have an apprentice fire-setter on our hands, I’m thinking it’s the same man.’
‘Probably.’ Carson’s eyes gleamed darkly. ‘But in fire investigation, the first thing we learn is to assume nothing, and never make snap judgements. Can I see the site, please?’
Nikki really didn’t want to see Ronnie Tyrrell’s twisted remains again, but she nodded and led the way.
Rory almost fell over himself in his enthusiastic greeting. ‘John! Good to see you! How’s retirement treating you? Though I see you are staring longingly at my grimy crime scene. Are you back in the saddle?’
‘No, Rory. Just keeping my mind active. Though it’s probably rather overactive at present.’
‘Well, as soon as I’ve got what I need, the shots are snapped and anything useful collected, feel free to tiptoe through the debris — metaphorically speaking.’
John grinned. ‘You’re too kind.’
‘My pleasure, old bean. Now, if you’ll forgive me, I need to fathom out a way of transporting this man back to the morgue intact. Can’t afford to lose bits, can we?’
Nikki looked pained. ‘I wonder about you sometimes, Wilkinson! I’ll leave you to it.’ She turned to John. ‘Joseph and I are going to visit the victim’s employer. Shall we meet back here?’
John nodded. ‘Yes, I’ll be here for quite a while. And don’t worry, I know it’s a crime scene. I won’t do what Rory suggested and tiptoe through the ashes.’
CHAPTER THREE
Brodie Fairweather sat in silence. He looked stunned. His brother Clay did all the talking. In fact he didn’t seem able to stop. ‘Ronnie? I just can’t believe it! What on earth happened? He didn’t smoke. He never smoked, so it couldn’t have been that. Some sort of electrical fire, maybe? I mean, I know the caravan was old, but he kept it nice, didn’t he, Brodie? Really nice. We always said that about Ronnie.’
‘How long had he worked for you?’ asked Joseph.
‘Oh, well, a good while now. Must be seven or eight years. Yes, I remember, he joined us the year Greenborough Town Football Club got into the National League, and that’s seven years ago.’
‘He’s lived in Mud Town for seven years?’ Nikki wondered at this. It was hardly what you would call a desirable location.
Clay nodded. ‘And not a bit of bother in all that time. If any of the transients played up, Ronnie was the one to calm things down. Thoroughly nice bloke, Ronnie. Salt of the earth. I can’t believe he’s dead!’
Brodie raised his eyes. ‘Two detectives? For an accident?’
Bright man, thought Nikki. ‘Sorry, sir, but can either of you think why Ronnie’s caravan would be locked from the outside?’
The silence seemed to last an age. ‘You mean this was foul play?’ Brodie said. ‘Ronnie’s caravan was deliberately set on fire?’
‘We won’t know until forensic tests have been carried out, and we have a fire-investigation officer with us.’ Nikki decided to leave out the retired bit. ‘Did he have any enemies that you know of?’
‘Ronnie? No. He kept himself to himself. Mud Town was his home. He was a good man, a quiet man.’
‘And his family? Are they local?’
Clay looked at his brother. ‘He never mentioned family to me. Did he say anything to you about them?’
&nb
sp; Brodie shook his head. ‘No one ever visited him, and he hardly ever went out. He had no mail to speak of, and never once did he mention family.’
Oh great, Nikki thought. ‘How did he come to work for you, and what did he do exactly?’
‘Because he needed money, like everyone else,’ Brodie said flatly. ‘And he didn’t care what he did. He’d have a go at anything. We’re vegetable farmers, you know. Between here and our Cornwall farms, we have over five thousand acres of brassicas. Ronnie understood the land. He knew farming from before he came to us, but he never talked about his past, and we never asked him.’
‘Why? What about references?’ asked Joseph.
‘I could tell he was a grafter the minute I set eyes on him. I trusts my own judgement, Officer. No doubt like you does.’ Brodie looked hard at Joseph. ‘I reckoned if I pumped him about where he’d been and what he’d done, he’d have given me a load of lies anyhow, so we decided to just try him out, and we came up with a winner.’
Joseph shrugged. ‘I just wondered if his reluctance to talk was because he was hiding something. Is there anyone here that he was particularly friendly with? A close mate?’
‘He was a private man,’ Brodie said. ‘He’d help anyone if they needed it, but as for going down the pub for a few jars, no. That wasn’t his way.’
‘Did he drink much?’ asked Nikki, thinking of the whisky bottle in Ronnie’s caravan.
‘Don’t think so. You smell it on some of the migrants.’ Brodie wrinkled his nose in distaste. ‘I swear some of them have vodka for breakfast. But not Ronnie. I think he liked the odd beer, but in all the time he was here, I never saw him drunk, or even tipsy.’
Another mystery, thought Nikki. ‘Well, thank you for your help, gentlemen. We may be back if we think of anything else, but now we need to return to Mud Town.’
‘Uh, Inspector? What happens now? To Ronnie, I mean,’ Clay asked.
‘He’ll be taken to the morgue in Greenborough Hospital. There’ll be an inquest, and then they’ll do a post-mortem. We need to establish exactly what happened to Ronnie, and if necessary, bring the person who caused his death to justice.’
‘But Ronnie’s body?’ Clay looked upset.
