CRIME ON THE FENS a gripping detective thriller full of suspense (2 page)

The wine buzzed reassuringly on her tongue, and she took another sip.

Drugs, the bane of her life.

Nikki placed the glass on the floor, pulled one of the big cushions round, nestled her head onto it and wondered how she had become this extraordinary avenging angel, waging a one-woman crusade on the drug dealers. At times like this, the low moments, she wished with all her heart that she could give up her battle, but she couldn’t. She didn’t have much else left. Her mother had died, her father was in a nursing home and hardly recognised her, her husband Robert, had left her, and her daughter blamed her for
everything
that was wrong in the world.

Nikki smiled when she thought about Hannah. Yes, no matter how bad things got, she still had her daughter to consider. Okay, the girl wasn’t at home anymore, but that didn’t mean she didn’t love her or care deeply what happened to her. She closed her eyes. It was far too late now, but whatever happened tomorrow, she would make time to ring and see how she was. Behind her closed eyelids she saw pictures of the dark, almost black hair, the deep brown, often angry eyes, and the clear, smooth olive skin that all her friends would have hocked their iPods for.

The picture faded. Maybe she should give up this rented dump. For the sake of her daughter, maybe she should go back to their family home on Cloud Fen. Clear out the old cottage. Gut it. Make it nice. Make it somewhere to call home again.

Nikki yawned. She’d been here before. Juggling thoughts, what ifs and maybes. And it always came back to the fact that it would mean less hours on the streets. Less hours delousing the town of two-legged vermin. Living here she was a only few moments’ walk from their lair, or the rat runs that led to it. Cloud Fen was a twenty minute drive from the nick, slow moving tractors and agricultural equipment allowing. And that just wasn’t acceptable.

She yawned again. It should be funny, but it wasn’t. You would have thought that her single-minded dedication to jailing the bad guys would have made her something of a hero in the eyes of her colleagues, but it had had the reverse effect. No one wanted to work with her anymore. They resented her passion, refused to accept her rather unorthodox methods and called her unreasonable. Well, they called a lot of things actually, and none of them pleasant. But then they had lives, didn’t they? Families, friends and activities outside the force. She just had the force, and her crusade.

Nikki pulled the blanket around her and vaguely wondered when she had changed her bed linen last. Not that it mattered, because she never slept in the bed. She only went into the bedroom at all because the shower was off it, and her clothes needed to hang somewhere. She hated the pokey dark room with the low ceiling and the mud coloured carpet. She hated it most of all because it was the only room with a photograph in it, one she could never bring herself to hide in a drawer. One she loved with all her heart, but could hardly bear to look at.

CHAPTER TWO

At the same time as Nikki’s drug pusher was being processed by the custody sergeant, a young woman was picking her way hesitantly along the dark seabank. The track was muddy and uneven, full of waterlogged trenches and gullies, and although she knew it well and carried a pretty useful torch, it really wasn’t a good place to be at night.

She shivered, pulled her short denim jacket tighter across the thin skinny T-shirt, and thought that maybe she had made a mistake in rushing out here to meet him.

In daylight, it was different. She hated the town, and whenever she could she would escape to this strange water-world. Out here, you could look across the vast stretch of marshland, see flocks of migrant seabirds and hares and rabbits, and no people. In the distance you could sometimes see the silver-grey waters of the Wash, and you could always see the clouds. Wonderful sky-scapes, full of magical, billowy, fluffy, windblown clouds. She believed it to be almost mystical, with its ever-changing light and the elusive mists that would creep across the Fens like wraiths.

Tonight however it did not seem mystical. The girl shivered and wondered how somewhere that she loved so much, could suddenly feel so threatening.

She paused and looked along the long straight track that was the seabank. The black outline of the old pumping station looked stark and menacing against the paler, indigo night sky. She should be able to see him by now. He always used a powerful lantern with a red shield to set up the Newtonian Reflector telescope on its mount, and get it aligned on the heavens.

But she could see nothing, and something about that darkness bothered her. So did the fact that he had sent her a text. It was
so
out of character. He liked to talk, not send electronic messages. In fact, he was the only person she knew that owned a fountain pen and used ink from a bottle.

From the moment that she received his message, she had felt puzzled. Earlier, as she pulled on her rambling boots, she had wondered about the uncharacteristic secrecy. It just wasn’t his way. He would visit her, or ring if pushed. He’d blurt out something about the tilt of Saturn’s rings, or he’d got some brilliant new lens and some deep-sky viewing would be showing some glorious double stars that she just
couldn’t
miss. She knew that most people considered him a freak, but where they saw an anorak, she saw someone driven by passion, and that was something she could relate to.

She stopped and tried to ring him, but his phone was switched off. Her anxiety increased. If she took the message at face value, he had seemed desperate that she meet him. But where was he? And where was his dog? It almost always followed him out to the marsh. Something was wrong. She shivered, and then a scary thought crossed her mind. There were no stars tonight.

Fear flooded through her. Oh God! She had been a fool, and now she needed to get off the marsh. If he wanted to see her, he could damn well . . .

Something far darker than the night was roughly pulled over her head, and an arm snaked around her throat, forcing her neck backwards and her throat to close. She jerked her arms and legs frantically kicking and beating uselessly at her unseen assailant, then a rushing noise filled her ears and bright lights exploded behind her eyelids. Abruptly, the roaring sound became everything, and she felt her legs stop their dancing and her arms fell uselessly to her sides. Her fight for air became almost impossible, and she slipped from the iron grasp, to fall silently into darkness.

CHAPTER THREE

Nikki knew the superintendent was looking for her, but suspecting yet another bollocking, managed to evade him for most of the day. Now she had run out of excuses, and found herself grudgingly making her way to his office.

Superintendent Rick Bainbridge peered at her over thin wire-rimmed glasses. ‘Come in. Sit down.’

His icy tone spoke volumes. She walked across the room to the waiting chair, drawing in a long slow breath and preparing herself for the onslaught.

‘Know what these are?’ In one hand the super held a thick pile of reports, each of which he carefully placed, one after the other, like giant playing cards, on his desk.

‘Fan mail?’

‘You know it bloody isn’t! And this is no joke anymore.’ He threw the remaining papers down. ‘Complaints, Nikki! Damned complaints!’ He sat back in his chair and shook his head. ‘And this time, I’m not sure whether I’ve got the energy or the inclination to try to bail you out.’

Nikki opened her mouth to reply, but decided against it. Better to let him rant for a bit. He’d cool down eventually, he always did.

‘I’ll be frank with you, Nikki, I’m running out of detectives who will work with you. And, considering the fact that you get more arrests than the rest of the bloody teams put together, that is one ridiculous situation to be in.’

‘Dave and I get along, sir.’

‘Dave Harris is uniform, he’s not a detective, and he’s only tagging along with you, because he’s too damned lazy to get his finger out and do some proper police work.’

‘Well, it wasn’t my fault that DS Salter decided to move to the West Country.’

The super glared at her. ‘It was, and you know it! And she’s still not sure if Truro is actually far enough away.’

‘Unfortunate clash of personalities, sir.’

The super’s eyes rolled up towards the ceiling. ‘Oh please! This is not a game! Now, will you just cut the snide comments and wake up to the fact that this time,’ he slammed his fist down on the desk, ‘this time, it’s serious.’

Nikki blinked, and felt a jolt of concern. This wasn’t following the usual pattern. She looked up, and saw an uncharacteristic mixture of concern, anger and frustration on that familiar craggy face.

‘There’s no easy way to say this, but top brass are talking about disciplinary action.’

‘What!’ Nikki’s jaw dropped. ‘Oh, sir! I know my methods are a bit extreme sometimes, but, Jesus, we
have
to get the dealers off the streets! You know this area is over run with drugs, you can’t just pussyfoot around with these villains. I just play them at their own game, hit them where it hurts, and I get results! Good results!
You
know that, sir.’

‘Of course I know it! I’ve been protecting you and damn near perjuring myself for years! And why? Because I happen to think you’re a damned good copper. And you, Inspector, know full well that I need you. But you just can’t go on acting like a bloody loose cannon, I know you’ve got your reasons, and that’s all very well for crime thrillers and cop films, but not here in the Fenland Constabulary. To get an arrest, you rampage through the rule book and disregard everything. You
have
to back down. Can’t you get it into your head that there are such things as human rights, political correctness, bullying, racial abuse. God, the list is endless, and it’s me who has to scurry around behind you clearing up the mess.’

The superintendent exhaled loudly, then sighed and opened a drawer in his desk. He pulled out two small shot glasses and a half bottle of Scotch. With another sigh, he filled both glasses then passed one to her. ‘It’s the end of the day, and if ever I needed this, it’s now.’

Nikki stared at the amber liquid and bit her lip. So, either Rick Bainbridge was going for a well-earned Oscar nomination, or the shit had really hit the fan. He’d read the riot act on many occasions, but
never
like this.

In her mind’s eye she saw the orderly rows of tiny wine bottles in her fridge, then she looked back at the super’s scarlet face, and downed her drink in one.

‘So what was the final straw?’ The old familiar taste of whisky hit her like a painful memory, one you couldn’t ignore. ‘Which one of my many misdemeanours actually broke the camel’s back?’

‘Nothing specific, Nikki, it’s just the sheer volume.’ He pointed back to the heap of reports.

Nikki closed her eyes and hoped that when she opened them the super would have re-filled her glass. She squinted hopefully, but the glass remained empty.

Perhaps it was time to test the waters and maybe call his bluff.

‘Sorry to say this, sir, but if there had been anything that would actually stick in that pile of paperwork, the Complaints and Discipline Investigator would have dragged me into an interview room by now, and my warrant card would be in your drawer, along with that very nice bottle of Scotch.’ She pushed her glass hopefully across the desk.

‘It’s no trick, Nikki. You are in real trouble, the powers that be are sincerely pissed off.’ He splashed more whisky into their glasses. ‘Now they’ve firmly wedged me between a rock and a hard place, so I’ll tell you this straight. The message I’ve been given is that you fall in line, or move on. So, you really have to help me out here, or it goes out of my hands.’

‘Maybe I should move on.’ She hardly recognised her own voice. It was not a ‘poor me’ statement, and it was not for effect. There was a deep desolation in her words; an emotion that surprised even her.

‘Oh, sod that for a game of soldiers.’ The super sipped his Scotch and ignored her comment. ‘I have no intention of losing you, Nikki Galena, but I do have one last ditch suggestion.’ He placed the shot glass back on the desk and stared at her intently. ‘I’ve had a volunteer.’

Nikki’s eyes narrowed.
No one
ever volunteered to work with her.

‘Detective Sergeant Joseph Easter from Fenchester has asked for a temporary transfer, so . . .’

‘Holy Joe! Oh, no way! I could
not
work with him.’

‘He’s a bloody good detective!’

‘Right! With a huge emphasis on the word,
good
, no doubt.’ Nikki grabbed at her glass and threw a mouthful of the fiery whisky down her throat. ‘Volunteer! Oh yes, I can see what his game is!’

‘And ?’

‘He knows my reputation and he clearly wants to take Good Cop/Bad Cop to a brave new dimension! Or maybe he’s after the conversion of the century, and believe me, that would rival that of St Paul on the road to Damascus!’

‘So you know something of the Bible, do you? I thought maybe you only read Butterworth’s Police Law, or Zander on PACE?’

‘Very funny! I’m not a bloody heathen, I would just prefer a detective for a sergeant, not a lay-preacher.’

For the first time since she walked into the room, Nikki noticed the hint of a smile on the superintendent’s face.

‘Give it one month, okay? And I guarantee that you’ll find there’s more to Joe Easter than what the mess room gossips would have you believe.’

Nikki gritted her teeth. This was a disaster, but she was very aware that the super had been loyal enough to throw her a lifeline, even though a great deal of pressure had been exerted on him. She took a deep breath. It would appear that he wasn’t the only one between that rock and a hard place right now. ‘One month? Is that a calendar month or four weeks? Because if there’s a choice, I’d prefer the four weeks.’

‘Don’t push it, Inspector.’ The superintendent tilted the remaining spirit in the flat bottle backwards and forwards and raised his eyebrows. ‘Are you walking home tonight?’

Nikki pushed her glass forward. Sod the tiny bottles in her fridge. ‘I am now.’

* * *

Rick Bainbridge watched Nikki leave, and let out an audible sigh. He knew so much more about her than anyone else. He’d known her since she was an eager young probationer, full of all the right things that would make her a great officer. But then she had volunteered to take a distress call, and had finished up cradling a dying teenage girl in her arms in a rat infested basement. It was something that changed her life for ever. It screwed up both her marriage and her head, and it sent her off on a personal vendetta that had waged constantly from the moment the youngster died, to the present day. If she had never raised her hand and volunteered for that particular job, Rick was sure that Nikki Galena would have been weighed down with brass, gold braid and respect by now. She certainly wouldn’t be the hard-nosed loner, the scary enigma, that she’d become over the last years.

Rick stood up, picked up his jacket and briefcase, and walked slowly to the door. He would hate to lose her. She practically kept their arrest target going single handed, but now the ice had become too thin for him to support her for much longer. And at this late stage in his career, he couldn’t afford to sink below the water line with her. He turned off the light and closed the door. The partnership with Joseph Easter was their last chance. Because if they both went down now, there was no one left to throw them a line.