Their Lost Daughters (DI Jackman & DS Evans #2)(41)

‘Seale, Megan Seale, Inspector Jackman. And no, this is my father’s place. I’m just looking after him for a bit. He’s getting on, and he’s been proper poorly.’

‘Did the police speak to him as well?’ asked Marie.

‘No, Sergeant. Dad was asleep, and well, I leaves him when he drops off like. He’s getting forgetful, and he wanders a bit too. It sounds awful, I know, but when he’s asleep I can relax for a while. Get a few chores done.’

Jackman looked around the old kitchen and noticed the cigarette ends nestling in an ashtray close to the fire. ‘Does your father sometimes go out at night, Miss Seale?’

The woman dusted flour from her apron. ‘Yes, he does, unfortunately. I do my best to stop him, but . . .’ She gave a helpless shrug.

‘Do you think I could have a quick word with him? I promise not to upset him.’ Jackman smiled at her.

‘I’m not sure you’ll get very far. He came in earlier to tell me that Winston Churchill was about to address the nation, and would I make sure that the wireless was tuned in to the Home Service.’

‘Just for a moment or two?’ Jackman upped his smile.

‘Of course. But don’t expect too much. Oh, and if he calls you Gordon, that’s his son, my brother. He died ten years ago, but Dad still thinks he’s here.’

Jackman’s heart went out to the woman. ‘I’ll not keep him long, I promise.’

‘He’ll be out back in the lean-to. His name is Stan.’

Leaving Marie to talk to Megan, Jackman walked through the ramshackle cottage and out into a strange narrow room with windows on three sides. It might have passed as a conservatory if properly built, but this wasn’t the case. Jackman sincerely hoped it would remain standing just a little longer.

‘Stan? Hello there! My name is Jackman. Can I have a word?’

The old man stood staring out of the grimy window towards the marsh. On hearing Jackman’s voice he turned and looked at him without curiosity.

‘You know this part better than most, I’m told. Lived here a long time, I guess?’ began Jackman.

Stan sat heavily back into an ancient armchair, and in a weak ray of watery sunshine, Jackman saw thousands of dust motes rise up around him.

‘Have you been out on the strand at darklings?’ Jackman tried using his almost forgotten dialect in the hopes of jogging the old man’s memory.

‘Aye. A few nights back.’ The voice had the deep gravelly timbre of the heavy smoker.

‘See anything interesting?’

The old man frowned. ‘Mayhap, but me mind’s a jumblement. I seems to think I saw a pretty lass, and a truck where a truck shouldn’t be. Out there in the moonlight, it was. No. Shouldn’t be there.’

‘What kind of truck, Stan?’

‘Big dark thing, all thick wheels, too many lights and growling noise.’

Jackman’s brow creased. ‘A 4x4? An off-road vehicle?’

‘Like as much, I suppose.’ Stan wrinkled up his leathery face. ‘But the man who drove it were worse. One look at his face and yer’d see ’e’s as black as the devil’s nuttin’ bag! He spoke to the lass and the next thing she was running like a hare.’

‘Where to?’

He pointed vaguely towards the sea, then he swung round and stared at Jackman. ‘And when are you going to fix that broken gutter pipe, Gordon? That drip, drip, drip keeps me awake at night.’

Jackman looked into the rheumy eyes and saw that his window of opportunity had closed. ‘I’ll fix it, Dad,’ he said softly, and slipped quietly out of the musty-smelling room.

Outside in the car, Marie looked at Jackman eagerly. ‘A 4x4, you say?’

‘And a pretty girl.’ Jackman bit his lip. ‘But the old guy’s mind comes and goes, and he’d probably not be able to tell us much more if we sat with him all day.’

‘But she was here! This is where they brought her, isn’t it?’

‘I believe it is, but we can’t prove it.’ Jackman drummed a tattoo on the steering wheel. ‘Damn it! It’s almost worse than not knowing at all.’

Marie stared at her watch. ‘We should be getting back, sir. I’m sure there will be some loose ends to tie up before we head out to Windrush.’

Jackman grumbled something and pulled the car onto the road.

*

At ten o’clock Jackman gathered the team in the CID room.

‘Have you organised a warrant to check out Windrush, sir?’ asked Charlie Button.

Jackman nodded. ‘I know Broome promised cooperation, but I’ve hedged my bets. I’ve swung it with upstairs, and a constable has already collected it from the magistrate.’

He looked at Max, and saw that the young man was his old self again. ‘I’d like you to have a word with Stefan, our Polish interpreter. See if he’s heard anything on the Eastern European grapevine regarding a missing teenager, a girl who calls herself Emily. Tell him we believe she’s in grave danger, Max, and make sure he understands this is not just an excuse to harass them, okay?’

Max nodded. ‘I’ll do it now, before we go.’

There was a knock on the door and they all looked up as PC Andy English entered, carrying a folder of files from the council’s planning office, and the signed warrant.