Hunted on the Fens Read online

  As he opened the door to Knot Cottage he realised that they had found a safety net in each other. The job they did was tough. It could destroy you if you let it, and that safety net kept them sane.

  He poured them both a tot of brandy, then sent Nikki in the direction of the shower

  As he sipped his drink, he glanced out of the kitchen window and saw that a pale watery dawn was slowly lighting up the strange water-world where he lived.

  He wasn’t a native like Nikki. He was an incomer. He had been drawn, kicking and screaming into the odd wildness, the solitude, and the beauty of the fen marshes. And very soon he had found that it was just what he needed. The cottage he had rented purely as a stop-gap, became his home after its owner Martin Durham died, and his sister decided to allow Joseph to purchase it. Now the tiny eel-catcher’s cottage was his haven, his bolt-hole and his salvation. The bitter, disillusioned spectre of a soldier that still hid somewhere inside the policeman, was finally healing.

  He downed the rest of the brandy in one. Now it was Nikki’s turn. He just prayed that it would be as painless a process as possible and that she’d come out the other end in one piece.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Nikki had managed to get into her office without actually having to speak to anyone. The fact that it was an hour and a half before her shift helped somewhat, but she also needed the extra time to lose the memory of funeral flowers and coffins, and get her detective’s head back on.

  She looked at the pile of reports and memos on her desk, and grimaced. She had left at a bad time. A big case was running, and although Joseph had been a star, quietly shouldering her workload as well as his own, precious little progress had been made.

  It was a weird one. It could have been straight from the pen of Agatha Christie, only this case was hi-tech and baffling and as far as she could make out, didn’t involve a vicar. ‘A real-life, locked-room murder,’ she murmured to herself. ‘Pity I’m not Miss Marple.’

  A knock on the door made her stiffen, but she relaxed again when she saw Joseph nudging the door open and entering, carrying coffees and two white baker’s bags.

  ‘Warm croissants and hot coffee.’ He looked at her reprovingly. ‘We don’t skip breakfast on my watch, DI Galena.’

  ‘Oops, didn’t think you’d noticed. You’d nodded off in a chair, so I thought I’d make my getaway and let you rest after that horrible night.’

  ‘I was cat-napping, and I heard you go.’ He took the lid off his drink and steam rose from the plastic beaker. ‘I thought you were probably going to check out what the fire service had done to your property before you left for work.’

  She nodded and pulled a face. ‘It’s a bloody mess, but at least the house itself only needs a coat of paint. I was so lucky.’ She opened the bag and removed the croissant. It looked good, and she suddenly wondered when she’d eaten last. ‘The insurance company are sending an assessor down, and the fire service investigator is already out there. He’s going to call in here later and talk to me.’

  ‘Can I sit in?’

  ‘Sure. I’d welcome it.’

  ‘So, what’s the plan of action for today, boss?’ Joseph looked at her from over the top of his coffee.

  ‘You are going to bring me up to speed on Operation Windmill, then at nine sharp we go to the murder room. I’ve requested every available officer who is able to, to attend a brief meeting.’ Nikki drew in a deep breath. She hadn’t planned what she would say to her colleagues, she just hoped that whatever came out organically would be the right thing. Right now she knew she could not cope with a station full of people who had no idea how to react to her. If she put them right from the word go, then hopefully she’d make life easier for everyone, but mainly herself. ‘Right. Progress report please, on Magda Hellekamp’s murder.’

  Joseph grimaced. ‘Precious little since I updated you last. We’ve been in constant touch with Holland, but we can find no reason for her being killed. No record. No enemies. Her business, the Hellecroppen corporation, seems squeaky clean. She’s well thought of in her field and has an impressive track record of successes in the world of GPS technology for agricultural machinery. She was single, no known dodgy relationships or jealous exes.’

  ‘And she was rich.’

  ‘Stinking, but it was family money and very much tied up in the business. They are at the cutting edge of technological advances in farming, and that means big financial commitment.’ He took a bite of his impromptu breakfast, chewed thoughtfully, then added, ‘And as you know, the flat where she was found is an executive rental, all paid for through the firm. It was not a burglary gone tits up. Nothing touched or taken.’

  ‘So, after three weeks, we have no motive and no understanding of how the killer got in or out, completely unseen, from a modern apartment that was covered with CCTV cameras, and locked from the inside apparently by the victim herself?’

  Joseph shrugged. ‘That’s the long and the short of it.’

  ‘Do you think it’s another company trying to destroy Hellecroppen? Would her death cause major internal problems?’

  ‘Doubtful. We’ve talked to both the company and the family in depth. She will be a great loss to them personally, but the business is massive, and it’s sound.’

  ‘The king is dead. Long live the king,’ said Nikki with a sigh. ‘What about her personal life? We must have missed something. Surely a wealthy, striking beauty of thirty-five would have men clamouring around her twenty-four/seven? No intense boyfriends? No jealous lovers? There has to be!’

  Joseph puffed out his cheeks. ‘None that we can find. The only man she ever sees when she comes to England has an alibi solid enough to build a house on.’

  ‘And he is?’

  ‘Lawrence Carpenter. Fifty-six years old. Divorced. Family friend. Retired early after making a considerable amount of money in the agro-chemical industry. I interviewed him myself, and he was devastated to hear of Magda’s death. I could be wrong but if he was faking it, I’d be very surprised.’

  Nikki made a grunting sound. ‘Well, what about the method? Does it point to a particular kind of killer?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Joseph emphatically. ‘A damned efficient one! A single, close-range shot to the temple from a gun equipped with a silencer.’

  ‘A professional?’

  ‘No question.’

  ‘I think I’d like to see the crime scene.’

  ‘How about after you’ve met with the fire investigator? It’s still closed up, much to the chagrin of the rental company.’

  ‘I bet! What do they charge for these swanky exec pads?’

  ‘Four grand a month.’

  ‘What! You are kidding me!’

  ‘You wait until you see it.’ Joseph grinned. ‘It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘But here in Greenborough? That’s a London price.’

  ‘Actually we are considered to be at the heart of British agriculture. It’s a short jump across from Holland to the Port of Greenborough in a fast cruiser, and executive jets and helicopters fly in regularly to the Green Fen airstrip. Some of the bigger companies are realising that we are in a pretty good position to base some of their corporate management personnel. Or so the property rental people tell me.’

  ‘How the other half lives,’ muttered Nikki. She glanced at the clock. ‘Time to go and face the troops.’

  ‘Are you okay with this? I could talk to them if you like?’

  Nikki smiled at him. ‘I’m not sure quite what I’d do without you, Joseph, but this one is entirely down to me.’

  * * *

  The room was full to bursting. Officers sat, stood, and gathered in the open doorway.

  As Nikki entered, she felt almost smothered by an atmosphere of apprehension, compassion and discomfort, in equal measures. For a moment she wondered if she had the courage to go through with it, but then she saw the face of WPC Yvonne Collins. The older woman officer gave her an imperceptible nod and a warm smile. She looked around and saw
the familiar faces of her team: Joseph, DC Cat Cullen and DC Dave Harris. They were her colleagues and her friends. If she was hurting, then they were too.

  For once she didn’t have to stop the usual banter, because there wasn’t any.

  ‘Thank you all for coming. I won’t keep you long.’ She hoped there was no tremor in her voice. ‘As you are all aware, my daughter Hannah died three weeks ago. I have been offered extended leave, but have refused to take it. As far as I know there are no hard and fast rules on how to cope with grief, so . . .’ she raised her hands, palms out. ‘I can only do what I think is right for me.’ She looked at them earnestly. ‘I want to make sure that none of you feel awkward or uncomfortable, so I’m saying this to you all.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I am warmed by your messages of condolence and I truly appreciate them. For that I thank you. But now I am back at work, and it will be business as usual. No tiptoeing around my sensibilities. We all have a job to do, and I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think I could do it.’ She paused for a moment, savouring the collective silent sigh of relief. ‘I don’t care if you think I’m a hard-arsed cow. But if you do think that, then you’re wrong. I’m just going to be coping in the only way I know how.’ She swallowed. ‘That’s all.’

  She took a step back and exhaled, then saw Dave Harris slowly stand up, raise his hands and begin to clap.

  It was hard to hold back the tears when the whole room was on their feet and joining Dave in applause, but somehow she managed to hold it together until they had filed out of the room.

  ‘Hell-fire!’ She slumped down into a chair and passed a hand across her eyes.

  ‘It’s done now, Nikki.’ Superintendent Rick Bainbridge made his way toward her. ‘I admit to being circumspect, but on reflection it was the right thing to do.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ She took out a tissue and wiped an escaping tear from her eye. She and Rick went back a long way. This was his last month on the force before retiring, and Nikki decided that whoever copped the post when he left would find themselves trying to fill some very big boots.

  He waited until they were alone, then he sat down next to her. Nikki noticed that he winced as he did so. She took in the thick, grizzled grey hair and familiar, craggy face and hoped that whatever was ailing him would allow him a good and active retirement. He’d been a demon of an officer when he was younger, and even in later years had managed to fly a desk with dignity. She would miss him, even if they had had some almighty great dust-ups in the past. But ultimately Rick Bainbridge had believed in her, even when everyone else was ready to stick her on the scrapheap.

  She was pleased that she’d been able to pay him back, by making her team one of the best in the Fenland Constabulary.

  ‘Now, as you’re back in the saddle, my friend, there’s something you need to know.’ The deep brows drew together into furrows. ‘Intelligence has informed me that there has been a sighting of Stephen Cox in this area.’

  Whatever Nikki had expected, it wasn’t that. Her jaw clamped, and for a second she did not breathe.

  Stephen Cox. Even the name made her feel sick.

  Cox was the one that got away. The man was an evil drug dealer, and one who had caused chaos in Greenborough and devastation in her personal life. He was the one that still stopped her sleeping at night, and the one she wanted to see rot behind bars more than anything in the world.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In a bar in the town, if my source is to be believed.’

  ‘If it were an unreliable source, sir, then you wouldn’t have told me. Which bar?’

  ‘Cyn City.’

  ‘Just the kind of dive I’d expect to find him in.’ She stood up and began to pace. ‘Does Joseph know?’ she asked eventually.

  ‘Not yet. I thought I should warn you first.’

  Nikki nodded. She had every reason to hate Cox, but Joseph had far deeper cause to want the scumbag put away. Stephen Cox had hurt Joseph badly, and she wondered how he’d take the news.

  ‘With only one unsubstantiated report, I would advise caution, Nikki.’ The superintendent looked at her intently. ‘We need to be sure it’s him before we fly off the deep end.’

  ‘Well, your source is not likely to have confused him with anyone else, is he, sir? With half his face burnt off, he is kind of noticeable.’

  ‘Word on the street says he has had plastic surgery, although as no one we know and trust has actually seen him; that could be part of the great Chinese whisper.’ He gave her a doubtful grin. ‘And don’t forget, we’ve had sightings before, and they’ve all been wind ups, specifically designed to get at you. Your determination to take down Stephen Cox has become legend.’

  Nikki sat down again. It was true. Every local villain knew that if you want to yank DI Galena’s chain, just tell her you’d seen Stephen Cox. Then stand well back and watch her go.

  So why did she feel that this time it was different?

  Because in her heart she knew it was true. He’d always sworn he’d come back, that the fuzz would not keep him locked out of Greenborough forever. Part of her almost wanted him to; to give her another chance to take him down.

  ‘What are you thinking?’

  ‘Dark thoughts.’

  Rick Bainbridge stood up. ‘Well, just keep it light until we know for sure, okay?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Nikki forced a smile.

  Bainbridge made to go, then paused. ‘Oh, before I forget, uniform have got a promising young lad who has just come back after a shoulder operation. He’s shown an interest in CID, and while he’s waiting for the doc to clear him for full duties, I wondered if . . . ?’ He looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

  ‘Send him down. He can shadow Cat and Dave for a bit.’

  The superintendent suddenly let out a loud laugh. ‘There was a time, Nikki Galena, when you would have told me in no uncertain terms that you weren’t a bloody babysitter and perhaps I should contact a crèche before bothering you! I do believe you are mellowing.’

  ‘Don’t worry, sir. I’m sure I can revert back, given the right circumstances. What’s this lad’s name?’

  ‘PC Danny Wilshire.’

  ‘Wilshire? Not Sergeant Bob Wilshire’s son?’

  The superintendent nodded. ‘I forgot you knew Bob. He was a good man, and a very smart cookie. Never knew why he didn’t go for CID himself.’

  ‘Because he loved the streets, sir. He never had the slightest interest in being a detective, just good old-fashioned policing.’ Nikki smiled when she thought about Bob’s funny angular face and the deep brown cow’s eyes. ‘He was my crew-mate for a while when I was in uniform. I liked him a lot. I was gutted when he got ill.’

  ‘As were we all, Nikki, and young Danny is a chip off the old block. You’ll like him.’ Again he paused, then threw her a quizzical look. ‘Would I be right in thinking that you and Bob were . . . ?’

  Nikki’s lips tightened. ‘I suggest you don’t take that line of enquiry right now, sir. I might have to resort to the old “no comment.”’

  ‘Thought you were!’

  ‘Sir!’

  He grinned and left, leaving Nikki alone in the room.

  A whiteboard dominated one wall. The heading on it was “Operation Windmill,” and immediately beneath it, a picture of a stunning-looking woman.

  Magda Hellekamp was tall, average for a Dutch woman maybe, but tall in Nikki’s book. She had flowing rich dark brown hair and a face that would not have looked out of place on the cover of Marie Claire.

  ‘So who wanted you dead?’ whispered Nikki to the smiling one-dimensional face. She narrowed her eyes. ‘You are far too beautiful to be totally committed to satnav guided combine harvesters. What were your other loves, I wonder?’

  No answer came and Nikki stood up and made her way back to the CID room.

  DC Cat Cullen and DC Dave Harris were both tapping away on their respective keyboards, and staring avidly at the monitors.

  ‘Anything interesting?’ she asked them both.


  Cat looked up and ran a hand through her spiky rough-cut blonde hair. ‘No. I’m bored half to death with all this agricultural stuff. It’s bad enough living in the biggest cabbage patch in the world, let alone having to study how to get the ploughed furrows aligned to within two centimetres!’ She widened her already wide eyes and added, ‘Magda could have been a cat walk sensation, but she chose bleeding brassicas! Can you believe it?’

  ‘I guess Coco Chanel gowns didn’t float her boat.’

  ‘Yeah, but tractors? For heaven’s sake!’

  ‘Not just tractors,’ Dave chipped in. ‘I’ve been looking at some of Hellecroppen’s planned ventures and she was heavily into robotics.’ Dave eased his large frame back in his chair and shook his head. ‘In years to come there will be no one left working the fields. The equipment will be GPS, guided by computers in the farmer’s kitchen, and there will be rows of tiny little agribots tilling, weeding and controlling the pests.’

  ‘You’ve been watching the Sci-Fi channel again, haven’t you? And surely that won’t happen while we have cheap foreign labour to hand?’

  ‘It will happen. If robots can build cars, they can kill weeds and plant sprouts.’ Dave looked at the screen glumly. ‘But fascinating as these futuristic farmers are, I’m damned if I can see a connection to Magda Hellekamp’s murder.’

  ‘It has to be personal,’ stated Nikki.

  ‘Great. Can I please ditch the boring stuff and dig for some real dirt instead?’ Cat’s eyes sparkled.

  ‘Go for it.’ She turned to Dave. ‘And you too. Both of you take a look at her relationships again. No one with looks like that has only one friend. And check him out again too. What’s his name? Carpenter? Yes, Lawrence Carpenter. Joseph thinks he’s kosher, but Cat, maybe your famous sleazeometer can pick up something other than a platonic friendship. Grill him, in your own inimitable way.’

  Cat looked considerably happier at that suggestion. ‘My pleasure, ma’am.’