by Joy Ellis
Joseph frowned. ‘What makes you say it’s not kids?’
‘The fire investigation officer said an accelerant had been used, but he swears it wasn’t just bored yobs. He said there was a ‘professional’ feel to it.’
‘A serious fire-starter does not bode well, ma’am.’
Nikki nodded. ‘I know. But that was two weeks ago, three fires in as many nights, and now it’s gone quiet. I don’t know whether to be relieved or worried.’ She closed the folder. ‘Other than that, Cat and Dave are working on a cannabis farm investigation, but they are pretty close to a conclusion, then we have all the usual suspects; car ringing, break-ins, the ever-present drug trafficking, a bit of fraud, but nothing worthy of mention.’
‘So basically it’s same old, same old, other than the fires,’ Joseph stretched. ‘And which one of those tasty delights have you got lined up for me, ma’am?’
‘Actually it’s none of them,’ she sighed. ‘Well, not just yet anyway. You’re with me for a few days.’
‘What kind of investigation?’
‘There isn’t one.’ She exhaled, and wondered how to explain her latest problem.
‘The super wants us to help him. The auditors are in, and apart from drowning in a sea of paperwork, some faceless civilian in a comfy office has decided that our area is way over and above the national average for sudden deaths.’ She leant forward and rested her elbows on the desk. ‘They’re scared shitless that the media will get hold of the statistics and have a field day with them. The super wants them checked, and fast.’
Joseph looked perplexed. ‘But what’s that got to do with us? It’s a medical issue, surely?’
‘I thought that to start with, but as I looked deeper I realised that it’s not just ‘sudden’ deaths, where the doctor signs the certificate and that’s that. There’s an awful lot of occasions where we’ve classed them as ‘suspicious’ deaths and involved forensics.’
‘To what outcome?’
‘Shown up as suicides mainly, and although it’s nowhere near the levels seen a while ago in Wales, it’s still unsettling.’
‘I thought the suicide rates were falling in the UK?’
‘That’s what the Government Statistics Office says. In fact, a few years back, the east of England was reported to have one of the lowest rates in England and Wales. I think that maybe why our figures stood out like a bloody beacon.’
Joseph frowned. ‘Is there any particular age group or gender involved in these figures?’
Nikki shook her head slowly. ‘No. And I’m at a loss to find any kind of common denominator amongst them.’ She finished her coffee, then said, ‘Sorry, I know this is not CID work, but Superintendent Bainbridge really needs us to help his find some answers for his little bureaucrat.’
Joseph shrugged. ‘Then let’s do it.
‘It’s not too depressing for you, is it? All things considered?’
He smiled warmly at her, and she understood why there were so many cow-eyed women dribbling their way around the station today.
‘I’m fine with it, ma’am. In fact, I’m so glad to be alive, it’s actually a pretty good assignment for me. If I were depressed, then maybe not, but . . .’
Her phone rang and interrupted Joseph. It was a harassed Rick Bainbridge. She listened to what he had to say, murmured her assent and hung up.
‘Gotta go. The super wants an update on my findings so far.’ She gave him a rueful smile. ‘Such as they are. Oh, and he sends his regards and his apologies for not getting down to see you, but I suspect that the auditor may have nailed him to his desk.’ She handed Joseph a sheaf of papers ‘Copies of everything I’ve managed to dig up. See what you think and we’ll toss some ideas around when I get back.’
* * *
Joseph trawled through the articles for over an hour, and as he did his upbeat mood began to disappear. He’d been in some pretty dark places in his life, maybe a lot more than most, but he had never considered taking his own life. Now, as he read reports from a myriad of agencies and help organisations, he was sickened to realise just how many people actually did.
The figures seemed staggering. One suicide in the UK every eighty-two minutes? Surely that couldn’t be right? He placed the paper down and stared at it. And why should the Greenborough area be worse than any other? He frowned. Maybe it wasn’t. Figures could be manipulated to fit any given situation, and although stats were not his favourite pastime, he was quite good with them. So, in the absence of any proper police work, perhaps he should spend some time hunting out anomalies, or grey areas that had been engineered to represent something other than what they really were.
With a small sigh, Joseph opened a second folder and removed the sheets of statistics. Suddenly those old movies that he had become so fed up with recently, were actually starting to look really good.
CHAPTER TWO
Charles Cavendish-Small pointed upwards dramatically. ‘And this ladies, gentlemen, and children, is the high-spot of our tour.’ He paused, hoping that for once someone would understand the pun. They rarely did, and he wondered why he bothered. ‘The tower. It was built in three stages, beginning with Early English and ending in Perpendicular. Historically, each stage represented the growing wealth of our town, and from the viewing platform you will get a most rewarding and magnificent view across Greenborough, the river, the surrounding Fens, and out to the Wash.’
The guide stepped lightly across the stone floor, careful to avoid walking on the memorial stones, and indicated towards an archway. ‘If you would like to climb the steps, please follow me, but be warned, they are steep, and they are the only route up to the tower. There are small side recesses to wait in should others be using the steps to descend.’ He glanced around at his small party. They all looked pretty healthy, although two of the old dears from the History Group would be soaking their knees in Radox for a few days afterwards. Nothing too awful had ever happened on his tours, but his fellow guide, Arthur, had had to cope with two panic attacks and a severely twisted ankle in just one weekend last summer.
‘If anyone is in any doubt about their ability to climb, or has blood pressure or heart problems, please wait here, or feel free to go to the church café for a drink. We should be approximately half an hour. Thank you.’
With a slightly theatrical flourish, he swept his charges towards the screened archway. ‘Follow me, and take great care. We don’t want any accidents.’
There had been the usual gasps of amazement when the group stepped into the viewing area and looked out across the great tapestry of the flatlands. And today the visibility was particularly good. Clear bright blue sky, white fluffy clouds and a golden sun.
Charles sometimes looked at his visitors with less than delight, but he loved his beautiful parish church, and he loved this magical view across the county. On days like today, you could see as far as the north Norfolk coast.
He did a quick head count, assured himself that no one had been left gasping on the stairs, and began to identify various landmarks.
‘Please? What is that?’ asked a foreign tourist with a heavy Germanic accent.
Charles followed the pointing finger and smiled. ‘That is the ruin of the Fenland Abbey of St Cecelia. Little is left except that wonderful high arch and the remains of the chapel.’
‘And is that the docks?’ asked one of a small party of school children, pointing to a series of cranes.
‘Absolutely, young man. This end for the fishing boats and the new part is the Port of Greenborough. And, oh yes! If you look towards the estuary you can just see the masts of a cargo ship making her way towards the Wayland River.’
People pointed, took photographs and generally chatted amongst themselves, all agreeing it was certainly worth the climb. Charles let them enjoy the view for a while, then began to organise their descent.
‘Right, if we are all ready. I’ll . . .’ he paused at the top of the stone stairwell and looked down pensively. It should be clear. There were no more t
ours today. He listened again, but someone was definitely on their way up, and pretty quickly at that.
‘Sorry, folks. Can you all stand back for a moment, there’s someone . . .’ Before he could finish, he was elbowed firmly in the solar plexus, and found himself doubled over on the floor, gasping for breath.
‘Hey! You can’t . . . !’
A face, contorted beyond anything that Charles had ever seen, hung over him.
The man had burst through the opening from the stairs, and scattered the little group like nine pins. Now he was suspended over Charles like a hideous gargoyle from the ancient architecture that had somehow come to life and was bent on devouring him.
Pure, mind-numbing fear kept Charles a prisoner, then a terrified scream from one of the youngsters broke the spell.
This had to be a panic attack. But if it was, it had to be the very worst kind, and if he didn’t calm the man, and damned quickly, someone was going to get hurt. The last thing Charles needed was a frenzied dash for the stairs.
‘Keep calm everyone! It’s okay! Really,’ he gasped. ‘Let me help you.’ He held out his hand to the man. ‘Please! Sit down here with me. Come on, you can do it.’
For one second, Charles thought he had got through. Then with a strangled scream, a sound that Charles would hear every night for years to come, the man turned and ran to the high stone balustrade, climbed up onto the ledge, and without a moment’s hesitation, threw himself over.
Silence engulfed them all, then one the children began to whimper and Charles scrambled to his feet and rushed to look over the wall. A couple of the group appeared at his shoulder, while others took the children and tried to calm them. All Charles could do was stare down at the broken figure below them.
The man had fallen the equivalent of nine floors, before hitting the wall that flanked the waterway. To Charles’s horror, as they looked on helplessly, the lifeless body slid slowly from the wall, and dropped, like a sack of unwanted rubbish, into the sluggish tidal waters of the Wayland River.
CHAPTER THREE
‘Ma’am!’
Nikki closed the superintendent’s door, and looked up to see Joseph hurrying down the corridor towards her.
‘Sergeant Conway’s just asked me to tell you that there’s been an incident. I’m afraid we have a jumper.’
Nikki’s heart sank. ‘Not the multi-storey car park again?’
Joseph shook his head. ‘St Saviour’s Tower.’
‘Hell-fire! When did this happen?’
‘Uniform have only just had the shout, guv. The duty sergeant said if you wanted to attend, he wouldn’t deploy another senior officer.’
‘Tell him we are on our way, then meet me in the yard. I’ll go pick up my keys from the office.’
* * *
A blue-and-white cordon had been put across the entrance to the church grounds, and Nikki could see uniformed officers posted at the entrances and footpaths. A cluster of people were gathered by the main church door, some sat on the steps and others paced nervously up and down the path. A WPC was talking with them and had her arm tightly around a child of about eight or nine. Three more youngsters sat huddled close together on a low wall close to where the policewoman stood. Nikki took in the pale faces, slack mouths and wide, frightened eyes, and to her distress, realised that the children must have witnessed the fall.
‘Over here, ma’am.’ Joseph indicated towards a small group of figures leaning over the river wall. ‘The doctor’s there, and it looks like Yvonne and Niall must have been first on scene.’
Nikki felt relief to see WPC Yvonne Collins and PC Niall Farrow in attendance. They were a crew that she had something of a liking for. They had worked with her on several occasions and she thought that the older woman and the younger man made a good combination.
‘What have we got here?’ she asked.
‘White male, ma’am. Jumped from the viewing platform.’ Niall stared up at the tower almost disbelievingly.
‘Into the river?’
‘No, Inspector.’ The doctor, a usually jovial man, who carried a little too much weight around his girth than was healthy for him, turned and approached them. ‘Hit the wall first, I’m afraid. Snapped his back like a dry twig. You can tell by the way he’s lying.’
‘He’s out of the water then?’ asked Joseph.
The doctor nodded. ‘Sort of. It’s a bit difficult to see him from here. He went in, but immediately drifted into the mud around a submerged derelict boat. The tides on its way out, so he’ll be going nowhere.’
‘Have you been down there, Doctor?’
‘Yes, close enough to check everything that I needed to, but you’ll need a few strong backs to get him out, I can tell you!’ He brushed mud from his trouser legs. ‘And yes, before you ask, he is most certainly dead.’
‘Well, we’d better take a look, Sergeant.’ Nikki walked towards the wall.
‘Ma’am?’ Yvonne Collins followed her. ‘Forgive me for sticking my oar in, but will forensics be taking some photos before they get him brought up?’
Nikki frowned. ‘It’s the usual procedure. What’s bothering you, Constable?’
‘I don’t know, ma’am, but I’m sure this isn’t straightforward. Yes, he jumped. There are fifteen witnesses to testify to that, but . . .’ She paused, then looked directly at Nikki. ‘They all say he was either scared to death of something or someone, or he was completely off his head.’
‘Sane rational people don’t often throw themselves from high buildings, Yvonne.’
‘But the children, ma’am. I keep thinking about the children.’ Yvonne held her stare. ‘Determined suicides, those who plan to jump, are usually very deliberate and very organised. They would never pick a time when the platform was full of tourists and little kids, now would they?’
Nikki groaned inwardly to think of children witnessing such a horrible thing. ‘Then he had to be high on something. Oh hell, poor choice of words, but he must have been wasted to do a thing like that.’
‘Probably was. But when you talk to the witnesses I think you’ll agree that there is a very odd feel about this, ma’am.’
‘Okay, I hear what you say and I trust your intuition, but before I do anything I need to go see this poor sod for myself.’
‘Niall will help you down, ma’am. There’s some slippery steps, and believe me, they’re lethal. Then you have to hang over a narrow ledge, an old walkway of some kind. Our man is in the mud that’s dredged into the bottom of that old boat.’
It took a few minutes to get down to the water level, and Niall steadied her as she leaned around the slimy brickwork of the ledge.
‘I can see hi . . .’ Nikki’s words froze in her throat, and her mouth dried to chaff.
Lying in the reddish-brown river mud, his body impossibly twisted, and his face half submerged in a brackish puddle of water, was a man she knew.
Her mind flashed up a picture from earlier that day. A man in a scarlet rugger shirt and dark jog pants. A man waving happily as he rode off home. The man who had just offered to paint her gate. ‘Martin?’ Her voice crackled with emotion. ‘Oh no!’
‘You know him?’ Joseph moved to her side, his hand on her shoulder. ‘Guv?’
Nikki shrank back away from the water, but the sight of the filthy scarlet shirt stayed with her. ‘He’s my neighbour. He was coming for coffee at the weekend.’ She knew the words sounded crass, but it was all she could think of. They were going to catch up. That’s what she’d said.
Joseph exhaled loudly, and when she turned to him, his expression was full of concern.
‘It’s okay, it’s okay.’ Nikki gathered herself. This was a seemingly impossible thing to happen. Martin had seemed so . . . she tried to find the right word, so normal.
‘Who is he, ma’am?’ asked Niall softly.
Nikki straightened up, and took a deep breath. She might be a hardened police officer, but a shock was still a shock. It was just that she knew how to deal with her emotions quicker tha
n others. ‘Martin Durham, of Knot Cottage, Buckledyke Lane, Cloud Fen. He lives alone on the edge of the marsh. As far as I know there is only his sister to notify. Both his parents are dead and he was un-married. The sister’s name is Elizabeth. She lives with her partner somewhere in Old Bolingbroke.’ She turned to the police constable. ‘And I want to be the one to go out to his cottage. Sergeant Easter and I will go directly after we’ve finished here.’
‘Yes, ma’am, I’ll radio it in straightaway.’ Niall Farrow scrambled back up the wet steps to where his crewmate waited.
Nikki stared from the greenish waters of the River Wayland, up to where WPC Yvonne Collins was leaning over the wall, her hand outstretched to Niall. Yvonne’s keen policeman’s nose had been right. Maybe something terrible in Martin’s life had driven him to kill himself, but he would never have done it in such a manner to cause suffering to others, especially children. She might not know him intimately, but she knew him better than most.
‘Right, well, we’d better get a SOCO down here, then let uniform to sort out recovery.’ She looked intently at Joseph. ‘I am going to be so interested in what the post-mortem shows, especially the toxicology report.’
CHAPTER FOUR
As Nikki drove the familiar marsh lanes towards Cloud Fen, she knew that something had changed forever. Knot Cottage had always been simply ‘Martin’s place.’ That was what the local villagers called it. Half of them would be hard-pressed to tell you its postal address.
‘So what was this guy like?’ asked Joseph.
‘Dependable. Help anyone. Loved the marshes.’ Nikki saw a picture in her mind of her peeling and weather-beaten garden gate, and wasn’t sure if she’d ever have the heart to get it painted again.
‘But still a bit of a loner?’
She frowned. ‘Not really. Yes, he lived alone and he didn’t talk about himself much, but he joined in with village stuff. And he was a regular at the Wild Goose.’
