The Ghost Fields (Ruth Galloway) (29 page)

‘Cassie being Cassandra Blackstock?’

‘Yes. Cassandra Blackstock. Have you met her?’

‘Once. When she came in to see you on that first night.’

Judy looks up in time to catch Clough’s expression of delight. ‘She came in to see me? I didn’t know that. Was she upset?’

‘She seemed very upset,’ says Judy. ‘And she’s been on the phone to the hospital every day. Is that what you wanted to hear?’

Clough grins. ‘Well, it’s nice to be appreciated.’

‘So . . . back to the thirty-first. Actually, we’re talking about the morning of the first, aren’t we?’

‘I left the flat at about three. Cassie had called a minicab and she said it would be waiting on the main road. She lives in a mews, she’s got a really smart apartment. I could see the taxi’s lights so I took a short cut between two buildings. Then this man in a devil mask just stepped in front of me.’

‘How did you know it was a man?’

‘Good point,’ says Clough. ‘I just assumed. There had been waiters in devil masks at the restaurant earlier and I suppose I thought of them. I was taken aback. Not scared, you understand. Just surprised. I think I said something. Then he, she, whatever, lunged forward and I don’t remember anything else until I came to in the ambulance.’

‘Do you remember what you said?’

‘Something like, “What are you doing here?” I wasn’t thinking that clearly, to be honest. I’d had a fair amount to drink and . . . well, my mind was on other things.’

‘Did you cry out?’ asks Judy. She remembers Tim saying that no one in the mews had heard anything.

‘I don’t think so. I can’t be sure.’

‘Can you remember anything else about the assailant?’

Clough frowns up at the ceiling. ‘I think he was tall. That’s why I thought of a man. Dark clothes.’ He looks at Judy. ‘Sorry, I’m being a typical crap witness. I always thought that if I was involved in a crime I’d give a perfect description, right down to shoe size.’

‘It’s the shock,’ says Judy. ‘When Michael was taken, I couldn’t remember anything. It was a struggle to remember my own name.’

‘You’ll never find the knifeman though, will you? No witnesses, pathetic description.’

‘We’ve got the mask,’ says Judy. ‘We’re getting it tested for DNA and fingerprints.’

Clough brightens. ‘That’s fantastic. Can’t be a professional then, leaving behind evidence like that.’

‘Did you think it was professional?’

Clough shrugs. ‘It was so clean. Just one lunge forward. No noise, no unnecessary movement. Single wound, straight to the chest. That sounds like someone with form, doesn’t it?’

‘It does,’ Judy agrees. ‘I even wondered if they left the mask behind on purpose.’

Clough doesn’t laugh. He looks at Judy with narrowed eyes. ‘As a sort of message, you mean? Why?’

‘I don’t know,’ says Judy. ‘But the whole thing’s a bit weird, isn’t it? Why would anyone want to attack you?’

‘I would have thought you could come up with a list a mile long,’ says Clough. ‘Any copper has enemies.’

‘But coming straight after the attack on Cassandra,’ says Judy, ‘we’ve got to look at a link between the two. It was even a similar attack, a quick blow and then a hasty retreat.’

‘Except that Cassie was hit with a blunt object, not a knife. Thank God,’ he adds.

‘Maybe that was all there was to hand.’

‘That’s just it,’ says Clough. ‘It was opportunistic. This was planned. At least, I assume so. Don’t suppose there are many knife-wielding maniacs on the streets of Spalding.’

‘I don’t know. But we’re working full-out on it, I can tell you that.’

‘What’s the investigation called?’ asks Clough. He’s usually the one who comes up with the names, inevitably based on Mafia films.

‘Operation Red Devil.’

Clough lies back on his pillows. ‘Red Devil,’ he says. ‘I like it.’

Cassandra Blackstock is, at this moment, standing in a windswept field talking about the devil.
The History Men
are filming at Devil’s Hollow and, although the original plan was to shoot Hazel discussing ley lines and prehistoric burials, it was soon decided that Cassie would be a more photogenic subject. Hazel does not seem at all offended. He and Chaz are leaning on the gate, watching Cassie’s performance.

‘Local people believe that the devil haunts this site,’ Cassie is saying, her hair flying out in a witchy halo. ‘There was an ancient graveyard right here, beneath my feet, and on stormy nights strange lights are seen as the dead try to find their way home.’

‘She’s talking crap,’ says Chaz. ‘Local people believe nothing of the sort.’

‘I think she’s merging together the legend of the will o’ the wisps with the Bronze Age burials and a dollop of the story about the devil building a dam,’ says Hazel. ‘It’s fascinating really.’

‘People have also seen a headless horseman riding through the fields,’ puts in Cassie for good measure. ‘It’s believed to be that of a Cavalier soldier killed in the Civil War. The battle took place
on this very spot
.
’ She stares dramatically into the camera.

‘It that right?’ Chaz looks at Hazel.

‘Who knows?’ Hazel sounds amused. ‘She looks fantastic.’

Chaz says, ‘They should have filmed you. You really know all this stuff.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ says Hazel. ‘The point is that English Heritage might see this and decide that Edward Spens can’t build here after all.’

The cameras have cleverly avoided filming the building work but it’s there all the same, half the field churned up, lines of bricks rising from the sea of mud. Chaz stares at Hazel.

‘Do you really think that’ll happen?’

‘It could do. It’s a great publicity opportunity. That’s why we should be glad they’re using Cassie, even if she is a bit free and easy with the facts.’

‘You heard what happened to that policeman?’ says Chaz. ‘The one Cassie’s dating.’

‘Is Cassie dating a policeman?’ says Hazel. It’s not the question you’d expect and confirms Chaz’s suspicion that Hazel has a slight crush on Cassie. Although there’s nothing odd in that; most of his friends have a crush on her.

‘They’ve seen each other once or twice,’ says Chaz. ‘Well, this chap, Clough his name is, was attacked right outside Cassie’s flat.’

‘Do you think it’s linked to the attack on Cassie at Blackstock Hall?’

‘I don’t know,’ says Chaz. ‘But these are very odd times.’

They both watch as Cassandra runs up the hill, looking over her shoulder as if pursued by the Headless Horseman. The camera follows her adoringly.

CHAPTER 27

Ruth drives home, trying to ignore the explosions all around her. It’s fireworks, she tells herself, nothing to be afraid of. But the sudden crashes and flashes are disconcerting, to say the least.

‘What is it?’ asks Kate as a particularly loud bang seems to rock the little car.

‘It’s Bonfire Night,’ says Ruth. ‘Nothing to worry about. It’s fun. Look at those pretty stars.’

The fountain of yellow and white stars on the horizon is, indeed, pretty. Kate watches for a second and then says, ‘Why is Bonfire Night?’ She has been like this ever since she learnt to speak. She will keep asking questions around a subject until she gets an answer she likes. Ruth is afraid that Kate has inherited tenacity from both parents.

‘Well, it’s a night when people light fireworks to remember a man who tried to blow up Parliament. The people who run the country.’

Another silence. More explosions.

‘And did he?’

‘Did he what?’

‘Blow up the people?’

‘No. They caught him in time and then they . . . er . . . killed him.’

‘That’s bad,’ says Kate. ‘If he was sorry.’

‘Well, it was a long time ago,’ says Ruth, feeling that she’s not doing a very good job of explaining crime and punishment through the ages. ‘They did things like that then.’ She doesn’t think she’ll go into hanging, drawing and quartering just now. What would Frank make of her historical analysis? Frank is on her mind because she’s going to see him in a few hours. She’s cooking him dinner.

Once they leave King’s Lynn, there are fewer fireworks. The night is dark and silent although the occasional sulphuric flare lights up the horizon. It’ll be Nelson’s birthday in two days’ time. He’s a Scorpio, like Kate. Ruth wonders how he’ll celebrate. Perhaps Michelle will throw a surprise party for a few hundred of their closest friends. Even so, she doubts she’ll be invited. Stop thinking about Nelson, she tells herself, for what seems to be the thousandth time in her life.

The blackness of the road across the marshes is almost comforting. The little car trundles on in its own circle of light. Ruth thinks about the mysterious car that followed them yesterday. Or did it follow them? ‘It’s not all about you,’ her mother used to say. Probably the car was full of innocent birdwatchers off for a midnight ramble. But she’s involved in a case where two people have been attacked. Could someone be trying to stop her finding the truth about Fred Blackstock? It’s happened before, but Fred has been dead so long that Ruth doubts that they’ll ever know what happened that night in 1944. The truth will probably become the romantic legend expounded in the
History Men
TV special ‘The Ghost Fields’. Of course, there are the bones found at the pig farm too but Ruth inclines to the theory that they belonged to some poor unfortunate who hid in the barn to shelter from the storm. There’s death, all right. Murder too, Ruth is sure of that, but it all happened so far in the past that it’s hard to see who would care enough to kill to keep the secret. But Clough was attacked and left for dead so someone somewhere is still feeling murderous. Thank God Clough seems to be on the mend, Judy says.

At the cottage, Ruth makes Kate’s supper and sets about preparing a more sophisticated repast for Frank. She’s making boeuf bourguignon, which, in Ruth’s version, involves braising some beef, bunging in some wine and hoping for the best. Kate watches with interest as she eats her pasta. ‘It’s burning,’ she says helpfully. ‘It’s meant to be like that,’ says Ruth with more confidence than she feels.

She wants to get Kate into bed early so that she has time to change and put on some make-up before Frank arrives. But, as usual, things don’t go to plan and Kate is still in the bath when the fateful knock sounds on the door. Ruth runs downstairs with her hair wild and a wet towel round her neck.

Frank, sleek and handsome in a pink shirt, kisses her on the cheek and presents her with flowers and a bottle of wine.

‘Oh . . . er . . . thank you. Come in.’ Ruth ushers him into the sitting room, kicking Sylvanians aside as she does so.

‘I’m just putting Kate to bed. I’ll get you a glass of wine.’ Should she open his wine or not? What’s the right thing to do? In the end she gives him a glass of white that is at least cold and saves his bottle of red for dinner.

When she returns with the wine, Frank is on the sofa reading
Green Eggs and Ham
.

‘I used to love this when I was a kid.’

‘Oh yes. Dr Seuss. Kate likes it too. She chants it all the time.’

‘I do not like green eggs and ham. I do not like them Sam I Am.’

‘Bit of a cheat to call a character “Sam I Am”,’ says Ruth. ‘So easy to rhyme.’

Upstairs, she gets Kate out of the bath, hoping to tuck her up in bed with the nightlight and a soothing story tape. But of course Kate is filled with manic energy and frantic curiosity about the visitor downstairs.

‘Can I see him? Can I show him my reading book?’

‘It’s Frank,’ says Ruth. ‘Do you remember, he took us to see that ruined church that time?’

‘I love Frank,’ beams Kate. ‘Can he come up to say goodnight to me?’

So Ruth has to invite Frank upstairs. Something she wasn’t intending to do except under very different circumstances.

‘Hi, Kate,’ he says. ‘I like your bedroom.’

‘Mum painted it,’ says Kate. ‘I wanted red but she did green.’