The Ghost Fields (Ruth Galloway) (28 page)

‘Nell thought it was really interesting about the Bronze Age body,’ offers Blake. ‘I know she feels a real link to this part of the country. If there were Blackstocks living here four thousand years ago, that kind of explains it.’

‘Fred didn’t feel much of a link to Norfolk,’ says Old George. ‘He went halfway round the world to get away from the place.’

But he came back, thinks Ruth. He came back and he died here, not far from the place where his Bronze Age ancestor was buried. She wonders what Fred would have made of this coincidence.

‘Nell was great in her interview with me earlier,’ says Frank. ‘Talking about how her dad would have wandered these fields with his dog.’

‘He was Lewis’s dog really,’ says Old George. ‘Fred took him for walks sometimes but Lewis was the one he loved.’

Ruth thinks of the disc that she found buried in the pets’ graveyard.
Bingo. Flaxman 9618.
She remembers Old George saying ‘he was such a
good
dog’. She doesn’t think that she should mention it now.

‘It was tough,’ says Blake, ‘your eldest brother disappearing like that. What do you think happened to him?’

‘I think the sea got him,’ says George. ‘I think he drowned.’

There’s a silence and then the stable door bangs open. Nell stands on the doorstep. She’s wearing a long grey coat and, for a moment, looks utterly unworldly, like a spectre, the lady from the sea. She raises one hand as if about to confer a blessing – or a curse. George cowers away from her.

The vision speaks. ‘I’m freezing,’ she says. ‘Do you know where my mittens are, honey?’

Blake hurries to help his wife. George goes back to his paper.

Ruth watches a little more of the filming. The camera crew are down by the family graveyard. Ruth sees Ben, one of the cameramen, lying on his stomach in the long grass to get a suitably impressive shot of Admiral Blackstock’s cross. Later, Frank strolls amongst the graves, providing a breezy summary of the relevant British history. ‘Admiral Nathaniel Blackstock would have fought in the Napoleonic Wars, that series of skirmishes between Napoleon’s French Empire and Britain and her allies. As a young man, he might even have been involved in the naval battle of Diamond Rock, where the British attempted to defend a strategic position in the West Indies. After the surrender of the rock, the naval commander was court-martialled, which would have had a lasting effect on the young Nathaniel.’

Ruth has to admire his style. As far as she is aware, no one knows whether Admiral Blackstock went anywhere near the Napoleonic Wars, much less Diamond Rock. She also thinks it’s a bit rich of Frank to describe the wars as ‘skirmishes’.

Frank continues, looking out over the luminous silver marshes. ‘“Safe in harbour” reads his tombstone, and it certainly would have been a welcome rest after a lifetime spent at sea. Conditions were harsh, even for an admiral. How often must he have dreamt of this quiet hillside and peace at last?’

It’s hardly a hill, thinks Ruth, more of a gentle slope. It’s only the relentless flatness of the rest of the landscape that makes the stones loom so large against the sky. The shadows are getting longer though. She looks at her watch. Half past four. Sandra will have collected Kate from school but Ruth needs to pick her up at the childminder’s at five. She raises her hand to Frank, trying not to distract him, and heads back to the house to say goodbye to Sally.

She finds the lady of the house in the kitchen with Nell. They have their heads together over a cookbook.

‘So if we multiply the flour by three . . .’ Sally is saying.

They both look up as Ruth comes in.

‘Just trying to sort supper out,’ says Sally. ‘It’s a bit of a strain feeding ten people every night.’

‘Are all the TV people staying here?’

‘Just Paul, Frank, Steve and Jill, one of the researchers. Apparently the producer’s staying at the Le Strange Arms. And we’ve got Cassie staying for a few nights. And Nell and Blake, of course, though Nell’s a great help.’ She smiles affectionately at the American woman.

‘I suppose it’s good practice for the B & B,’ says Ruth.

Sally groans. ‘I’ve gone right off that idea. It’s changing the sheets that I can’t stand.’

Ruth says goodbye, adding that she can see herself out. Goodness knows she’s had enough practice by now. Outside, it seems to be getting dark very quickly. Her car looks lonely sitting by the side of the road. As she gets in, a voice calls, ‘Ruth!’

It’s Frank. He’s hurrying across the field towards her.

‘Are you rushing off?’ he asks.

‘I’ve got to pick Kate up from the childminder.’

‘Would you like to have dinner again one night?’

There are lots of things Ruth would like to say to this. She would love to have dinner with Frank again but what about Gloria and what about that kiss? How would such an evening end up? She has her suspicions (or fantasies) but they are best kept to herself.

‘That would be nice,’ she says. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve got to go now. I can’t be late.’

Ruth always worries about being late for her daughter (‘Don’t be late for Kate’ runs in her head all day, like a particularly annoying nursery rhyme) but, in fact, Sandra is very laid-back about times. She keeps Ruth talking so long on the doorstep that she’s worried that Kate will fall asleep in the car and so be wide awake at her theoretical bedtime of seven-thirty. To avoid this, she keeps up a flow of sound all the way home, a mix of merry chit-chat, Bruce Springsteen songs and the occasional half-remembered hymn.

‘I know about Jesus,’ says Kate. ‘We did him at school.’

They are driving along New Road now and it’s properly dark. Ruth is used to it, this journey into nothingness, but it always makes her nervous, especially when she has Kate in the car. There are no lights ahead, only the sickly beam of her own headlights. She can hear the sea and the wind and the sudden call of a night bird. Kate is silent but she isn’t asleep. Ruth checks in the mirror. Kate is gazing out of the window with a very solemn expression on her face. What is she thinking about? Kate has never lived anywhere else so maybe this is just home to her, a cosy place of refuge. Ruth certainly hopes so.

‘Car,’ says Kate suddenly.

As she says this, Ruth’s car is suddenly flooded with light. There’s another car behind them. It must have been travelling fast because it appears out of nowhere but, having caught up with them, it appears to be content to stay behind, keeping an exact two-second distance like you’re taught in driving lessons. Where can the car be heading? The only houses on this road belong to Ruth, Bob Woonunga, and a London couple who use their cottage as a holiday home. She knows that Bob is away on one of his seemingly endless poetry tours. Could Sammy and Ed be arriving for one of their rare visits? The car behind seems big and purposeful, the sort of jeep-like vehicle that Ed would drive.

Ruth indicates that she is stopping (something she doesn’t bother with when the road is empty) and comes to halt outside her house. The car carries on, past the weekenders’ cottage, until its brake lights are out of sight. Now Ruth is really puzzled. The road leads only to a car park by one of the birdwatching hides. Is that what this is about? A group of birdwatchers on a night-time excursion? It’s possible, she supposes. Nevertheless something about the car and its sudden appearance makes Ruth feel uneasy.

The security light comes on as she gets Kate out of her car seat. Ignoring her protests, Ruth carries her daughter to the front door. For once she finds her keys quickly and then they are inside. Ruth puts the chain on the door and turns on all the available lights. Kate runs upstairs in search of Flint but Ruth stays by the window, looking out.

She watches for a long time but the car doesn’t come back along the road.

CHAPTER 26

Nelson’s bullying works. He gets the DNA analysis on the pig farm bones early on Tuesday morning. As he suspected, though, it doesn’t tell him very much. Only a very small amount of DNA can be recovered from bones and, although this can be enhanced by a process called PCR, which can determine sex, that’s still not much use unless the DNA profile matches a sample already on the register. In this case, all the results show is that the victim was a man. Nevertheless, Nelson looks very carefully at the report from the forensics laboratory. Then, with a fine disregard for a memo from Whitcliffe entitled ‘Saving Resources Where We Can’, he telephones the lab and asks them for an interpretation of the results, one comparing the pig farm DNA profile to the sample given by George Blackstock and another comparing George Blackstock to David Clough.

‘I’d like the results in twenty-four hours, please,’ he says, chancing it.

‘That’s what they all say,’ says the receptionist.

As he’s putting the phone down, the superintendent himself enters, without knocking of course.

‘Ah, hallo, Harry!’ Why is he sounding surprised? Who does he expect to see in Nelson’s office? ‘Just popped in to ask about David.’

‘He’s a lot better,’ says Nelson. ‘Still quite weak because he lost a lot of blood but the doctors say he’s doing well. Johnson’s with him now, getting a statement.’

‘That’s good news,’ says Whitcliffe. ‘I’ll have Jenny send him flowers.’

‘I’m sure he’d like that.’ Nelson can just imagine Clough’s face when he receives Whitcliffe’s bouquet.

‘Are you any further on with finding his assailant?’

‘Not really. We’ve done door-to-door and a leaflet drop but no witnesses have come forward. We have got a potential DNA specimen though.’ He explains about the mask.

‘Red devils, eh?’ says Whitcliffe. ‘Sounds like something that warlock friend of yours would come up with.’

‘Cathbad’s a druid,’ says Nelson. ‘And he’s DS Johnson’s partner now.’

‘I’ll never understand that,’ says Whitcliffe, shaking his head. ‘To leave her husband for that long-haired lunatic.’

No, Nelson tells his boss silently, you’ll never understand it. Not in a million years. Aloud he says, ‘I’m running DNA tests on the mask.’

‘Well, don’t spend too much of our forensics budget,’ says Whitcliffe. ‘There’s a good chap.’

Judy is sitting by Clough’s bed, eating grapes.

‘Why does everyone send sick people fruit?’ says Clough. ‘I don’t want fruit. What I really want is an Indian takeaway.’

‘You must be feeling better,’ says Judy. When she had visited Clough yesterday, he had looked pale and hollow-eyed, lying flat on his back and still hooked up to countless tubes. He had rallied a bit when he saw her, asking if she had got lost on the way to the maternity wing, but he was still a ghost of his former self and Judy had left feeling rather worried. But when she called in this morning, he had been sitting up in bed watching
Antiques Roadshow
and complaining about the lack of Sky Sports. It is true what Cathbad says: Clough really is indestructible.

Clough is in a small room off the main ward. This is because Nelson impressed on the nurses the need to interview Clough in private. Judy thinks that Clough will soon be bored with this splendid solitude. He’s not really one for enjoying his own company. She’s the opposite. She’s dreading being on a ward with other new mothers. With any luck, they’ll let her go home as soon as she’s had the baby.

Judy gets out her witness statement pad.

‘Name?’ she says.

‘David Elvis Clough.’

‘You’re joking! Is your middle name really Elvis?’

‘My mum’s a big fan.’

Judy stares at him but Clough meets her eyes innocently. She writes down all three names in block capitals.

‘Age?’

‘Thirty-five.’

‘You’re a year younger than me.’

‘You’re getting on, Johnson.’

‘Tell me about it.’

Judy sits with her pen poised.

‘Well, what are you waiting for?’ asks Clough. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me to tell you, in my own words, exactly what happened on the night of October the thirty-first?’

‘OK,’ says Judy. ‘David Elvis Clough, can you tell me, in your own words, exactly what happened on the night of October the thirty-first?’

Clough sighs. ‘The problem is, I don’t really remember much. I left Cassie’s flat at about three . . .’