The Ghost Fields (Ruth Galloway) (25 page)

‘Yes. She and Cloughie hit it off immediately, helped by the fact that she thinks he saved her life. I got a check on her address and she lives in Spalding.’

‘So you think they were together last night?’

‘That’s my guess. Tim’s been round to her house but there’s no answer as yet.’

‘Gosh.’ Judy absorbs the implications of this. ‘Do you think this attack was linked to the Blackstocks?’

‘That’s exactly what I think,’ says Nelson. ‘Clough himself said he didn’t like all the coincidences around the Blackstocks. I think he was right. I’ve been a bit slow on this case but now it’s going to get serious.’

He looks so grim that, for a second, Judy wants to tell him to go easy, not to do anything dangerous. Then she thinks: someone has tried to kill one of the team; that’s as serious as it gets.

‘How is he?’ she asks.

Nelson rubs his eyes. ‘The knife penetrated the chest wall and there was a build-up of blood in the lung cavity. That’s why they had to operate so quickly, get tubes in and so forth. He’s stable now but still critical apparently. He’s lost a hell of a lot of blood. But it could have been worse. The knife didn’t penetrate the heart or the lungs.’

If it had been worse, Clough would have died, thinks Judy.

‘Have they found a weapon?’ she asks.

‘No. We’re still looking. Tim’s coordinating the search, doing door-to-door, all that.’

‘He’ll do a good job,’ says Judy.

‘Yes,’ says Nelson. ‘He will.’ There’s a pause and then he says, ‘Whoever did this, they meant business.’

‘You think it was a deliberate murder attempt?’

‘Yes, I do. They left him for dead. Single stab wound straight to the chest. He wouldn’t have had a chance to fight back. And he would have fought. You know Cloughie.’

‘Yes, he would,’ says Judy.

Nelson seems to pull himself together with an effort. ‘His mum’s still in there,’ he says. ‘Can you talk to her? Look after her? She’s got her son with her – Cloughie’s brother – but he’s not much help, to be honest.’

There was a time when Judy would have resented this, would have fought against being the one who always has to do the touchy-feely stuff. ‘It’s just because I’m a woman,’ she used to say. ‘No,’ Nelson would reply. ‘It’s because you’re good at it.’ But now she only feels relief that she can, at least, do something. After all, she’s not exactly going to be chasing villains in her current condition.

‘Don’t worry, boss,’ she says. ‘I’ll look after her.’

And she squares her shoulders and heads into the hospital.

CHAPTER 23

It’s mid afternoon by the time Tim gets to speak to Cassandra Blackstock. He went to her house as soon as he arrived in Spalding (the address had been texted from the station). He rang the bell marked ‘Cassie’ accompanied by a drawing of a flower. No answer. Tim scribbled a few words on his card and pushed it through the letterbox. Then, at three, he gets a call on his mobile.

‘Is that Tim Heathfield?’

‘Speaking.’

‘This is Cassandra Blackstock. You put your card through my door.’

‘Yes,’ said Tim. ‘Can I come round? It’s easier to explain in person. I’m in Spalding.’

A pause, then, ‘OK. I’ll see you in a minute.’

Tim is impressed both by Cassandra and her apartment. The former, casually dressed in jeans and a grey jumper, is simply stunningly beautiful. The latter, furnished with an eclectic style that favours ethnic throws and polished floorboards, would not be out of place in an interiors magazine. It’s hard to imagine Clough in these surroundings. Or is it? Tim has always admired Clough’s ability to stay exactly the same whatever the company or the circumstances. He knows that he himself is a chameleon, his accent going up- or down-market depending on his audience. Cloughie, though, is always Cloughie. He probably threw himself down on Cassandra’s cream satin chaise longue, drank a can of beer and ate a pork pie.

‘What’s this about?’ Cassandra looks pale and rather frightened.

‘It’s about my colleague David Clough. I understand you may have been together last night.’

Cassandra gives an involuntary glance towards what is probably the bedroom. ‘Yes,’ she says, ‘we were. Why?’

‘Please sit down, Miss Blackstock. This may be a shock for you.’

Cassandra remains standing. ‘What is it?’

‘Sergeant Clough was attacked last night. We think it happened as he left your house. He’s in the Queen Elizabeth Hospital.’

Now Cassandra does sit down. Her hand goes to her mouth. ‘Oh my God. I saw policemen in the mews this morning. Is that what that was about?’

‘Yes,’ says Tim. ‘Do you feel up to answering some questions?’

‘Is Dave OK? What happened?’

‘He was stabbed in the chest,’ says Tim. ‘Doctors have operated and his condition is critical but stable.’

‘Stabbed?’ Cassandra’s eyes are huge. Tim is prepared to be cynical but her shock and concern do seem to be real. ‘Can I see him?’

‘I’ll have someone drive you there. But if I could just ask a few questions first. Can I get you some water?’ This last because Cassandra really does look deathly white.

‘Yes please.’ Tim finds his way into an immaculate galley kitchen. The tap is so highly designed that it takes him a few minutes to turn it on. He carries the glass of water back to Cassandra, who is still huddled on the sofa.

‘Thanks.’

Tim sits opposite. ‘So, you and Sergeant Clough . . . Dave . . . went out last night.’

‘Yes, we went to La Choza in King’s Lynn.’

Now that does surprise Tim. He’s seen La Choza advertised and it seems the type of place that Clough would avoid like the plague.

‘We had a meal there and then we went to a pub.’

That’s more like it. ‘Do you remember the name of the pub?’

‘The Wheatsheaf, I think.’ Tim, who doesn’t have Clough’s encyclopaedic knowledge of Norfolk pubs, makes a note to look this up.

‘We left the pub at about midnight and we . . .’ Cassandra colours, ‘we came back here.’

‘Did you get a cab?’

‘Yes. I’ve got an account with a minicab firm. I can give you their number.’

‘Thank you. And when did Dave leave your apartment?’

‘At about three. He said he had to work today.’

Despite everything, Tim can’t help feeling slightly envious of Clough. It hadn’t taken him long to get his girl into bed. Unlike Tim, who is still restricted to shared jacuzzis.

‘Did he call a cab? Was it the same firm?’

‘Yes. I called it for him. I told him the cab would be waiting on the High Street. He must have taken the short cut through the alley.’

‘Did you see anything? Hear anything?’

‘No. I waved and then I went back to bed. I got up at nine and I had a rehearsal in Lincoln at ten. I’ve just got back.’

Tim makes a note to check this. ‘Did you see anything untoward last night?’ he asks. ‘Anyone hanging around? Anything that seems odd to you in retrospect?’

Cassandra shakes her head. ‘No.’

‘Did Dave seem worried about anything?’

Now Cassandra actually laughs. ‘I don’t know him very well but I don’t think he’s much of a worrier.’

‘He’s not,’ says Tim. ‘I’ll get someone to drive you to the hospital now.’

Ruth hopes that Kate will not expect a five-star birthday tea when they get home. She thinks that her daughter has had a good birthday. Kate enjoyed the pool and, though lunch was a subdued affair for both adults, Kate and Michael had a wonderful time helping to roll the pizza dough and sprinkling it with olives and salami. Kate is still wearing her paper chef’s hat when Ruth stops outside the cottage.

‘Have you had a nice day, darling?’ she asks.

‘Yes,’ says Kate. ‘Have I got birthday cake?’

Ruth has taken the precaution of buying a cake (making one seemed a step too far) and she presents it now with five candles. Kate blows them out, makes a wish, takes a huge slice, then forgets about it. She seems quite satisfied with her day and rather sleepy. Ruth hopes she’ll go to bed early. She wants to have a glass of wine, collapse in front of the TV, and worry about Clough.

While they were eating pizza, Judy called from the hospital to say that Clough was still in intensive care. There’s been no more news and Ruth doesn’t expect any. She knows that she’s a long way down the list of people who need to be kept informed. Nevertheless, she can’t stop thinking about Clough. He’s always been there, as long as she’s known Nelson. Clough, the loyal sergeant, efficient, slightly wayward but always to be relied on in a crisis. He was there the first day she met Nelson, when she was called in to examine bones found buried on the Saltmarsh. She still remembers Clough laughing when she declared that the bones were probably two thousand years old. She hadn’t liked him then, had thought him a typical boorish policeman. She knows better now. Clough might have missed the training course on political correctness but he was definitely there for the sessions on loyalty, courage and bloody-minded tenacity. He saved Nelson’s life once. He has battled a wild horse and followed a series of mystic instructions that led him to a missing child. You underestimate Clough at your peril. Yet, even as she thinks this, he could be dead and she wouldn’t know. All that force of character, all that unsubtle kindness, wiped out in a second.

‘He’ll be all right,’ Cathbad had said. ‘Clough’s a Taurus and they’re practically indestructible. Especially with his moon in Leo.’ He had meant it kindly but Ruth hadn’t felt reassured. She has never been able to share Cathbad’s belief in star signs. She’s Cancer, kind-hearted and domesticated according to the books, which just goes to show you that it’s all rubbish.

Ruth and Kate sit on the sofa watching
Dora the Explorer
. Flint sits between them, purring loudly. Ruth doesn’t know about Kate but she can feel her own eyelids beginning to droop.

‘
Hola
, Mother Duck.’

‘
Hola
, Dora.’

Dora helps Mother Duck carry her eight babies over the river and Ruth lets her mind drift towards Clough and Judy and Nelson, towards the sea and the secret path across the marshes, towards Blackstock Hall and the gravestones disappearing into the fog, towards a blue sky upon which yellow aeroplanes play a deadly game of tag.

‘Mum,’ says Kate, her face very close to Ruth’s, ‘there’s someone at the door.’

For a moment, Ruth – still in the liminal zone between sleeping and waking – feels frightened. Who could be knocking on the door at five o’clock in the afternoon?

‘Who is it?’ she shouts.

‘It’s me, Nelson.’

As soon as Ruth opens the door, Kate catapults herself into her father’s arms.

‘Daddy! Have you brought me a present?’

‘Kate!’ Ruth is shocked at such naked consumerism but Nelson doesn’t seem to mind. He puts a pink-wrapped parcel on the floor. ‘Happy birthday, sweetheart.’

As Kate tears off the paper, Ruth says, ‘Is there any news?’

Nelson shakes his head. ‘Johnson’s just left there. No change. It’s because of the shock and the blood loss, apparently. We should know some more tomorrow.’

Nelson words are almost drowned out by Kate’s cry of delight. She has uncovered a Sylvanian windmill and is in raptures. She adores Sylvanians – the woodland creatures in Victorian dresses, the tiny furniture, the eclectic range of dwelling places (windmill, mansion, riverboat). She hugs Nelson fiercely and plants a kiss on his cheek. Ruth turns away. She always finds it distressing to see Kate and Nelson together. Poor Kate. She should really have a stable paternal figure like Daddy Mouse in his plus fours. There are no single-parent Sylvanian families.

‘Do you want a cup of tea?’ she asks.

‘Just a quick one,’ says Nelson. ‘Then I ought to get home. I just came to drop off the present really.’

Ruth wonders what Michelle thought about the present. Or did she even chose it? Ruth would put nothing past her. She makes the tea and pours juice for Kate. She can hear Nelson and his daughter playing with the windmill.