The Crossing Read online

  When Mary Ferguson had finally satisfied her audience’s curiosity, she beamed at Veronica, her earlier disgruntlement evidently forgotten. Veronica stepped forward with alacrity.

  “Miss Ferguson, on behalf of all the members of Fenland Folklore, I’d like to thank you for a most stimulating and fascinating account.”

  There was enthusiastic applause.

  “And now, may I get you a taxi?” Veronica continued, Juliet thought with as much haste as she could get away with.

  “Should we leave?” said Louise to Juliet. “I have to start work at six tomorrow morning and it’s quite a long drive home.”

  Juliet agreed with only a slight hesitation. Most unusually, she found herself torn between her personal and professional life, but a moment’s thought told her that she had no right to question Veronica Start about Richard Lennard’s non-appearance and no rational reason for believing that he was out breaking the law.

  “Yes,” she said. “Let’s go. We’ll stay for coffee another time. As you say, it’s getting late now. I’m sorry you have to take me home – it’s a bit out of your way.”

  “I’m more than happy to do that. We’re going to have a glass of wine together, remember?”

  But once both were seated in Louise’s car they seemed to run out of things to talk about. There was an awkward silence before Louise suddenly said, “Do you think that you should report that burn on Mrs Start’s arm?”

  “I’m not sure. What do you think? Can you be sure that it’s the result of abuse?”

  “Not one hundred per cent, no. But it’s more likely than not. Do you know anything about her husband?”

  “No, only that he works for his father, who’s quite well-known around here. Councillor Start – I don’t know if you’ve met him? He owns a property development business.”

  “As it happens, I have met him, but only recently. He came to the hospital to visit Ruby Grummett when I was doing my ward rounds. An oily individual, a bit full of his own importance.”

  “I didn’t know he’d been visiting her. I wonder . . .”

  By this time, Louise had parked the car and they were climbing the steps to Juliet’s first floor flat. Louise placed a hand gently on Juliet’s arm.

  “No more shop talk!” she said. “We’re as bad as each other, but no more tonight. We’ve only got half an hour or so before I’ll have to go. Let’s talk about something pleasant.”

  Juliet was rummaging in her bag for her key.

  “What do you suggest?” she asked as she opened the door.

  “Ourselves, perhaps,” Louise replied. “I only know a very little about you. I’d like to know a lot more.”

  As Juliet shut the world behind them she felt light, carefree. Rarely could she remember having experienced this combined sense of peace and trusting friendship. She blotted out completely all worries relating to her job. She even managed to forget – albeit temporarily – the figure who almost always loomed largest in her thoughts, DI Tim Yates.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  TIM WAS LATER to reflect on how glad he was that he’d knocked off early to spend that evening with Katrin, because the following morning all hell broke loose.

  He and Katrin had had a nice supper together and watched a film afterwards. They’d gone to bed relatively early and slept well. Sophia didn’t disturb them until nearly 7 a.m., which was almost a record. Tim decided that he’d bolster this successful foray into family life by indulging in a family breakfast. He was just tucking into a plate of muesli (with no more than a fleeting regret for the bacon sandwich he could have bought in the police canteen) when his mobile rang. It was Superintendent Thornton’s number that came up on the screen. This was unusual: the Superintendent had but a passing acquaintance with his smartphone. He rarely used it to make calls and never to send e-mails, regarding it as a capricious instrument invented by the Devil. Tim concluded that Thornton must be on his way to work.

  “Good Morning, Superintendent Thornton.”

  “Eh? How did you know it was me? No matter. There’s something urgent I want you to deal with. It’s those construction workers at the Sutterton Dowdyke cottage. They’ve found what they think are the remains of a baby.”

  “In the ruins of the house, sir?” Tim was incredulous.

  “No, not the house. Otherwise presumably someone would have found them before this. In an outhouse. A pigsty, I believe. Concealed, not buried. Under a trapdoor in the floor.”

  “Good God. Are they sure?”

  “Sure of what? That it’s a baby? No, of course not, but all the signs are there. Clothing, etcetera. And a baby’s skeleton’s not like that of any other small mammals, not ones that live in this country, anyway, wouldn’t you say, Yates?”

  “Yes, but . . .” Tim started the sentence without knowing how he was going to finish it. His sense of decency made him want to protest, but on the other hand he’d believe the Grummett brothers capable of any act of violence or depravity that didn’t require much wit. There was no evidence they suffered from the inconveniences of either imagination or conscience.

  “But what? Be quick, Yates, this contraption seems to be on the blink.”

  “Is your battery running low?”

  “I’ve no idea. Can you get over there, Yates, immediately? You’ll need to call forensics, too. And have it sealed off. And don’t let the Press anywhere near. And you’d better call in this B . . .”

  Superintendent Thornton’s voice had become progressively more fuzzy as he’d issued his chain of instructions. It died mid-sentence, before Tim could reply. Tim smiled sardonically at the thought that the Superintendent was probably still in full flow: it would take him a couple of minutes to realise that Tim could no longer hear what he was saying. But the moment of light-heartedness was short-lived. A dead baby! He glanced across at Sophia, who was lying in her cocoonababy, contentedly looking up at a dangling soft-toy hedgehog. The thought sickened him.

  “You don’t need to tell me who that was,” said Katrin. “I could hear him. He seemed to be shouting at the top of his voice. Is he annoyed with you about something?”

  “No, his mobile was running out of juice. Funny how people think they can counteract that by shouting. But it was something serious. I’m going to have to go.”

  Tim shovelled in another spoonful of muesli and washed it down with a few mouthfuls of tea. Standing up, he threw on his jacket and kissed Sophia on the top of her head before making his way round the table to where Katrin was sitting. He kissed her as well.

  “Sorry,” he said. “I’ll see you this evening. I’ll call you if I think I’m going to be late.”

  “Aren’t you going to tell me what’s happened?”

  Tim shied away from the prospect. He knew that Katrin would be even more upset than he was that the body of a child had been discovered. He decided he’d wait until he could confirm the construction men weren’t mistaken.

  “We can talk about it this evening,” he said. “I’ll know more then.”

  Outside in his car, Tim called Andy Carstairs.

  “Hello, Boss,” said Andy, his voice dry with irony. “Checking up to see that I’m on the shit case and haven’t done a runner?”

  “No, but if you’re heading for the police warehouse that’s great, because it means you’ll be nearer to Sutterton Dowdyke than I am.”

  “I’m not far away from there, as it happens. Is there a change of plan?”

  “Not a complete change of plan – I still want you to look through the Grummetts’ stuff. But I’d like you to meet me at the accident site first. You’ll get there before I do. Can you make sure that the place is locked down? I’ll ask Boston to put a copper at each end of the road again. Don’t let the Press near and don’t let any of the construction workers, or the salvage men, if they’re still there, leave the site before we’ve talked to them. Start taki
ng statements from them if you like.”

  “Sure. But take statements about what, exactly?”

  “Sorry, I should have explained better. They think they’ve found the remains of a child there. A baby. Thornton’s just told me. They could be mistaken, but I think it’s unlikely.”

  “Christ,” said Andy flatly.

  “Yes,” said Tim. “Hardly bears thinking about, does it? I’m going to call in at the station to see Juliet. I need her to take a statement from Mrs Grummett now, with or without her solicitor, and we’ll have to interview Bob Grummett and both daughters as well. I’ll call Patti Gardner and ask her to do the forensics. Then I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  ANDY CARSTAIRS REACHED the ruined lodge house just as Patti Gardner was parking her white van. Andy was always a little uneasy with Patti. They were probably about the same age, but she seemed older. When he met her she was always engrossed in her job and he found making conversation difficult. He had noticed she and Tim had an awkward relationship. He doubted this was anything to do with work – in his experience, Patti was always a model of efficiency and co-operation – which led him to deduce there must have been ‘something between them’ at some point. Of course he wouldn’t dream of raising the subject with Tim, and even less with Patti, but he was intrigued, nevertheless.

  Andy parked his car immediately behind the van and went to meet her as she was opening the rear doors. She pushed back tousled hair and smiled at him.

  “DC Carstairs, good morning. DI Yates didn’t tell me you’d be here, but I’ve got plenty of clobber with me.”

  “Good morning, Ms Gardner. Clobber?” Andy was puzzled.

  “Plastic suits. Hair caps. Foot covers. You weren’t going to go in there without getting kitted out, were you?”

  Andy considered lying and thought better of it.

  “It had slipped my mind.”

  “Just as well I got here first, then,” she said briskly. “Wait while I find something that fits.”

  As she was rummaging in the back of the van, a man appeared from behind the collapsed house. He was massive, tall and big-boned. Andy recognised one of the building contractors he’d met on his previous visit. The man’s face was pale.

  “I’m glad you’ve got here,” he said. “We seem to have been waiting for ages. Give us the creeps, this has. Tom’s been throwing up back there.”

  Andy uttered a silent prayer that ‘Tom’ had not vomited on the evidence. Patti was more forthright.

  “I hope he managed to keep clear of the crime scene.”

  The man looked blank. Andy stretched out his hand.

  “DC Carstairs. We met when I visited with DI Yates. I’m not sure I caught your name.”

  “It’s Peat. Nick Peat. I won’t shake hands. Mine are dirty. Do you want me to show you . . . it?”

  “Thank you. Just give us a chance to put these suits on. Are you all right, sir?” Andy added. Nick Peat was wiping sweat from his forehead. His colour was ghastly.

  “Just give us a minute,” he said. “It’s been a bit of a shock.”

  “Sit sideways in the passenger seat of my van, head between the knees,” said Patti firmly. She opened the door for him. Meekly, he obeyed her, lowering his huge bulk and pushing down his head as far as it would go.

  “There are some bottles of water next to that box,” Patti said to Andy. “Could you pass me one? Mr Peat,” she continued more gently, as Andy also did as he was told, “when the faint feeling passes, take some sips of water. It’ll make you feel better.”

  By the time Andy had struggled into the white suit and covered his feet, Nick Peat appeared to have recovered. Patti donned her own suit with lightning speed.

  “Does Mr Peat need to be togged out?” asked Andy, ­doubting if even Patti’s resourcefulness could produce a garment that would fit.

  “No, he’s already contaminated the site. We’ll ask him to show us where it is and then keep him and his mate away from it.”

  Andy hoped that Nick Peat wouldn’t be offended by her words, but he was walking slightly ahead of them and appeared not to hear. When Andy had first visited the lodge house, on the night of the accident, he’d noticed a small outhouse that had apparently been left intact. Squat and built of brick, it had a Dutch door and one tiny window, over which a grille had been fixed. The bottom half of the Dutch door was closed. Nick Peat’s mate was leaning with his back against the wall beside it. He looked to be in a worse way than Nick was. His eyes were closed and there were traces of vomit on his overalls. Nick clapped a huge hand on his arm.

  “You all right, mucker?”

  Tom opened fishy eyes.

  “This is DC Carstairs. He was here the other day, remember?”

  Andy held out his hand.

  “Best not,” Tom muttered, closing his eyes again.

  “Could you just show us the place,” said Patti to Nick Peat. “You needn’t stay with us. You can take your colleague to sit down somewhere while we take a preliminary look.” He looked around him as if to ask where he might find somewhere congenial in this wilderness of wreckage and rubble.

  “You can sit in the back of my car,” Andy said quickly. “I’ll let you in as soon as you’ve shown us. I’ll need to take a statement, but after that I suggest you take the rest of the day off. Both of you.”

  “Boss won’t like that,” said Nick, shaking his head.

  “Well, I’ll speak to him. It’s unlikely that you’ll be allowed to do more work here today, in any case.”

  “I’m going to be sick again,” said Tom, diving to one side of the building, where there was a small dyke.

  “I’ll show you,” said Nick. “It’s just through here.”

  He opened the half-gate. Andy and Patti followed. The outbuilding had a stone-flagged floor overlaid with duck-boards. These had rotted in places. In the middle of the floor a square had been cut in one of the duck-boards to create a sort of trapdoor, with a hinged lid. This was lying open. Nick Peat gestured towards it.

  “It’s in there,” he said. “There’s a hole in the stonework. The bones are in it.”

  “Thank you,” said Andy.

  “I’d best go and see to Tom,” Nick Peat continued quickly.

  “I’ll come and find you in a minute.”

  “There’s not room for both of us to look in there at once. Do you want me to go first?” said Patti.

  “Wouldn’t be a bad idea,” said Andy. “You’ll need to see it exactly as it was found.”

  “Not much hope of that. They’re bound to have moved it. But I’ll take some photos before we touch it. It’s the best we can do.” She withdrew a torch and a small camera from her pocket. “I don’t suppose there’s a light in here, is there?”

  “There’s a light fitting,” said Andy, peering upwards, “but I’m pretty sure the electricity was switched off after the accident.” He moved back to the door, found a switch and flicked it without result.

  “I suppose that was inevitable. I’m going to have a job seeing this properly. It makes me wonder how they managed to see it. What were they doing in here, anyway?”

  “I’ll be asking them that, but my guess is they’ve been asked to clear this structure ready for demolition. They start early, before it gets light. They’ve got some powerful lamps somewhere – I saw them the first time I was here. Do you want me to try to borrow one?”

  “That would help.”

  Andy made for the door again. He was barely through it when he saw a diminutive figure approaching. He walked swiftly towards the man, to keep him as far away from the outbuilding as possible. As he came closer, he was startled to see the harrowed look on the unexpected visitor’s face.

  “Mr Cushing! Is something wrong?”

  For a few seconds, Peter Cushing appeared unable to speak.


  “Mr Cushing?”

  “It’s Philippa,” he said, his face contorted as he fought back tears. “We’ve lost her. We can’t find her anywhere. What am I going to say to Ruby and Bob?”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  TIM HAD JUST climbed into his car and was about to start the engine when his mobile started ringing again. Removing it from his pocket, he saw Superintendent Thornton’s landline number flashing on the display screen.

  “Superintendent Thornton! I’m on my way to Sutterton Dowdyke now. I’ve just been briefing DC Carstairs. He’ll join me there – he’ll probably arrive first, as he was already heading out that way. I’ve asked Patti Gardner to meet us, too. I should be with them in half an hour or so.”

  “I’m glad Carstairs is going to be there, Yates, because I have an emergency for you to deal with.”

  “But I thought this was the emergency. There can’t be much that’s more important than the discovery of a dead child.”

  “You’re right there, Yates, but unfortunately I can think of at least one thing that is more important, and that’s the disappearance of a living child. A girl called Cassandra Knipes was abducted on her way to school this morning. She’s the head girl at Spalding High School.”

  “God help us! I hope this isn’t anything to do with the prowler who was reported hanging round the school last week.”

  “Your guess is as good as mine, Yates, but I want you on this case straight away. As you know, if we’re going to find her, we’ve got a window of about twenty-four hours, or forty-eight at most, before the trail goes cold. And probably less than that if we want to find her alive,” he concluded grimly.

  “How do we know she was abducted?”

  “Her mother saw it happen. The girl was waiting for a bus at the end of the road where she lives when a van drew up alongside her, a man got out and she was bundled into it.”

  “Why didn’t the mother do anything?”