The Ghost Fields (Ruth Galloway) (19 page)

‘Harry.’

Michelle is standing in the doorway, wrapped in her white dressing gown. As she crosses the room, he thinks that she’s lost some weight recently. She’s always been slim but now she looks almost wiry and the arm that points to the garden has definite muscle tone. Too many visits to the gym and not enough meals out, he thinks. But before he can suggest a romantic dinner for two, Michelle says, ‘Our fence is down.’

She sounds irritated and unreasonable. Nelson feels himself getting aggrieved in turn. Surely it’s not his fault that the fence is broken? It’s not as if he blew it down like the big bad wolf.

‘Fences are down everywhere,’ he says.

‘It’s so annoying,’ says Michelle. ‘Our patio heater’s blown over too.’

‘Good job I put the garden furniture in the garage last night,’ says Nelson.

‘When’s it all going to end?’ says Michelle, sounding as if she’s asking an altogether bigger question.

Nelson hands her a cup of tea. ‘Wind’s going to die down later today. That’s what the weather forecast says.’

‘What do they know?’ says Michelle. She sips her tea moodily.

‘Be careful driving in to work,’ says Nelson. ‘There might be trees down.’ He hopes Ruth got home all right. He’ll ring her when he gets to the station. He sees Michelle looking at him and immediately feels guilty. He should not be thinking about Ruth, not while he’s in the kitchen with his wife.

‘Maybe you should take the day off,’ he says. It’s meant to be a peace offering but Michelle immediately takes offence.

‘I know you don’t think my job’s important but I still have to go to work. I’m the manager, you know. I bet you don’t take the day off just because a few trees are down.’

That’s different, thinks Nelson, but he knows better than to say this aloud.

‘I’m off to have a shower,’ he says. ‘There’s no peace for the wicked.’

He doesn’t know where this last remark came from. It sounds like one of his mother’s sayings and, like a lot of her statements, it’s pretty unanswerable. At any rate, Michelle, still looking out at the windswept garden, doesn’t attempt to answer it.

When Nelson finally arrives at the station, after a tortuous route avoiding fallen trees and flooded ditches, he finds that his day has been overtaken by storm-related problems. The emergency services are busy all over Norfolk and Nelson spends the morning allocating officers to the worst-hit areas. Judy isn’t in. Tim looks less than delighted to be put in charge of an operation to rescue seals at Blakeney Point. ‘I’m not a great one for marine wildlife, boss,’ he says. ‘Then you’ve relocated to the wrong county,’ Nelson tells him. Likewise, Tanya is not thrilled to find herself redirecting traffic in King’s Lynn town centre to avoid an overturned tanker. Clough, on the other hand, clearly enjoys rescuing an old lady from her storm-damaged cottage in Holt. Heroism is getting to be a habit with him.

It’s afternoon by the time Clough and Nelson set out for Blackstock Hall. The wind has died down and the weather is sunny and cold, the waterlogged fields reflecting a bright-blue sky. Nelson doesn’t attempt to park in the muddy lane by the Hall. He leaves his car on the road and he and Clough begin the trek over the fields.

‘It’s very open round here,’ says Nelson. ‘Not many places for a secret assassin to hide.’

Clough recognises the mockery in the words and says, with dignity, ‘It was dark, boss, and blowing a gale. I reckon Jack the Ripper himself could have hidden amongst those gravestones. Bloody spooky, it was.’

‘Is that who you think it was, Jack the Ripper?’

‘You’re not taking this very seriously,’ says Clough, making a detour to avoid a particularly muddy puddle. ‘The girl was terrified. And you saw her head. Someone had whacked her pretty hard.’

‘She was certainly injured,’ says Nelson. ‘But it’s possible that she could have fallen and hit her head on something. But I am taking it seriously. There was quite a lot of publicity around the funeral, not to mention the TV interest. If someone had it in for Cassandra, it wouldn’t have been difficult to work out where she was.’

‘Or it could have been one of the family,’ says Clough. ‘Check the family first, that’s what you always say.’

‘You’re right,’ says Nelson. ‘But there’s another possible option.’ He tells Clough about Ruth’s mysterious bearded man.

‘Blimey, boss,’ says Clough. ‘He sounds like something out of
Harry Potter
. Are you sure Ruth didn’t just imagine that she saw him?’

‘It’s not like Ruth to imagine things,’ says Nelson. ‘And she says she talked to this man. Blake Goodheart saw him too, apparently.’

They have almost reached the house. The low ditch meant to keep the sheep away from the lawn is swollen with water, presenting a more formidable obstacle than usual. Two sheep stranded on the wrong side look at them suspiciously.

‘How are we going to get over this?’ asks Clough. ‘Long jump?’

‘There’s a bridge,’ says Nelson, pointing.

‘Correction,’ mutters Clough. ‘There’s a plank.’

The two men negotiate the slippery plank without mishap. The water below is clogged with leaves and fallen branches. It’s probably not that deep but, nevertheless, falling in would be unpleasant. Nelson is relieved when they get to the house. He feels that he’s had enough of the countryside for a while.

Sally opens the door at the first knock. This time there’s no mention of their having come to the wrong door. They are clearly welcome guests, especially Clough.

‘Come in. Come in. Cassie was just saying that she was hoping you’d call round.’

Was she indeed? Nelson doesn’t approve of getting too friendly with witnesses (or suspects) but he smiles and accepts Sally’s offer of tea. There’s no point in antagonising people, after all. Besides, if the family are well disposed towards the police, it might prove useful later on.

‘How is Miss Blackstock today?’ he asks as he follows Sally into the kitchen.

‘Much better,’ says Sally, ‘but she’s still allowing her mum to give her some TLC. Here she is.’

Cassandra is sitting at the kitchen table, her hands wrapped around a mug of tea. It’s an attitude that Nelson recognises from his own daughters: body hunched forward, jumper pulled down over the hands, hair hanging forward over the face. It’s a stance designed to say ‘treat me gently, I’m very sensitive’. Rebecca employed it every time he tried to have a serious chat with her about homework. Sally, though, seems to take it at face value.

‘She’s still feeling a bit fragile, aren’t you, darling?’

‘I’m OK,’ says Cassandra bravely. ‘It’s lovely to see you again, Sergeant Clough. And you too, Detective . . .’

‘Detective Chief Inspector Nelson,’ says Nelson. ‘We just wanted to ask you a few questions about yesterday, Miss Blackstock. Is that all right with you?’

‘Call me Cassie. Yes, of course. I’m not sure what I can remember though. It’s all a bit fuzzy.’

‘Let’s see if we can help you,’ says Nelson. ‘You went for a walk in the grounds with Earl Kennedy and Paul Brindisi. Is that right?’

‘Yes. They wanted to see some possible locations for shooting. For the TV programme. And I thought, as I’m in the business . . .’ She looks at them from under her eyelashes.

As far as Nelson can make out, Cassandra Blackstock’s acting career is limited to playing odd roles with an avant-garde theatre company in Lincoln. But he just smiles and asks her to continue. Sally places tea and fresh scones in front of them. There are definitely some advantages to paying afternoon calls with Clough.

‘We went round the house but it was a bit too dark to see anything. I showed them the old family graves because they’re so spooky and atmospheric. Then, just as we were going back to the house, I got a text. I needed to call back immediately so I asked the others to go back to the house without me.’

‘Do you mind me asking who the text was from?’ says Nelson.

‘My agent,’ says Cassandra, blushing. ‘I thought it might be about a part I’d auditioned for. So Earl and Paul went on ahead and I stayed to make a call.’

‘In the graveyard?’ asks Nelson. ‘Can’t have been very cosy.’

‘I wasn’t thinking,’ says Cassandra. ‘I was just so excited about the part. So I called Tobias but he was engaged. Then I saw I had a text from a friend so I was looking at that when . . .’

Nelson waits patiently. Clough tries to demolish a scone and look sympathetic at the same time.

‘When?’ prompts Nelson at last.

‘When someone hit me over the head really hard. I screamed. I think I fell over. I’m sorry . . .’ She puts a hand to her head. ‘It’s all a blur.’

‘Are you OK, darling?’ asks Sally.

‘I’m fine,’ says Cassie. ‘It’s just . . .’

‘You’re being very brave,’ says Clough.

Nelson gives him a look but Cassandra flashes him a brilliant smile.

‘I’m trying,’ she says. ‘I just can’t remember anything after falling over. The next thing I remember is you carrying me into the house.’

Nelson thinks he’d better interrupt before things get too nauseating.

‘You say someone hit you over the head, Cassie. How did they hit you? From behind?’

‘Yes. I didn’t see their face.’

‘Did you hear them? Did you hear them creeping up on you?’

‘No.’ She shivers. ‘But the wind was very loud and I was so preoccupied with my phone.’

Famous last words, thinks Nelson. He dreads to think how many people step out into traffic or into the paths of attackers just because they’re ‘preoccupied with their phone’.

‘Is it possible,’ he asks gently, ‘that you just fell and hit your head? After all, it was very dark out there.’

‘No!’ For the first time, Cassandra drops her sensitive pose and sits upright. ‘I definitely felt someone hit me. It felt like he hit me with an iron bar or something.’

‘He?’

‘It must have been a man. There was so much force behind the blow.’

But women can use force when they have to, thinks Nelson. And it doesn’t take much strength or daring to hit a defenceless woman in the dark.

‘Mrs Blackstock.’ He turns to Sally, who is now holding her daughter’s hand. ‘Can you get me a list of everyone who was here yesterday?’

‘I’m sure I can,’ says Sally. ‘It was invitation only.’

‘Did you know everyone by sight?’

‘I think so. Except for the TV people.’

‘You don’t remember seeing an old man with a long grey beard? He was spotted in the grounds just before Cassie was attacked.’

‘No.’ Sally and Cassandra both look at him wonderingly. Nelson braces himself for more Harry Potter jokes but Sally says suddenly, ‘Oh, was that the man that Blake saw?’

‘Possibly.’

Sally turns to Cassandra. ‘Blake said that he saw this weird old man in the grounds. Said he reminded him of the Ancient Mariner. Well, everything reminds Blake of something from a book.’

‘Did anyone else see this man?’

‘Your archaeologist friend, I think. Blake said they were together in the library when they saw him. Hazel was there too. And his friend, Cathbad.’

‘But you didn’t see him?’

‘No.’

‘Did you notice him at the church?’

‘No, but it was all so emotional, I don’t think I took anything in. Wasn’t it lovely when they played the last post?’

Nelson agrees that it was. ‘You didn’t see this man in the grounds?’ he asks Cassandra.

‘No. Do you think he was the one who attacked me?’

‘Let’s not jump to conclusions,’ says Nelson. ‘But I’ll circulate a description, just to be on the safe side. Where are Blake and his wife today?’

‘Oh, they went to Lynn to see the museum,’ says Sally. ‘Madness going out in this weather. But apparently they’re interested in history.’

Nelson is just about to draw the interview to a close when, somewhere in the room, a phone rings. There’s the usual hassle while Sally struggles to locate the cordless phone (this time it’s in the spice rack).

‘Hallo, Chaz. How nice of you to call . . . Oh. Yes, he is here. All right. Just a moment.’ She turns to Nelson. ‘It’s Chaz. He wants to talk to you.’