Their Lost Daughters (DI Jackman & DS Evans #2)(42)

He handed them to Jackman. ‘We may need this, sir, if my hunch about the big bloke is correct. Fair gave me the creeps, he did. I’m dead certain he’s what my old gran would have called, “lacking up top.” And he’s built like a brick outhouse. I wouldn’t want to upset him.’

‘Benedict Broome did say that Mr Lee could get a trifle overprotective of the place. Frankly, I can’t wait to meet him. Now, what have you found out about the planning permission?’

‘Well, Broome does have permission for a material change of use for the proposed development. It seems that he has requested to modify the old sanatorium, add certain other structures and make it a sanctuary, just as the big guy said. Most of the plans have been accepted. It’s just that he seems to have altered the specifications a dozen times.’ Andy stared at the paperwork in his hand. ‘The man in Planning said he was a nightmare, and even now, when work is almost about to begin, he’s not convinced that he won’t try to change things again.’

‘What do we actually know about Broome?’ Jackman asked. Broome, on his own, seemed to be prepared to spend a fortune on the old place. Who, other than major players in the business world, had that kind of money to flash around in this gloomy financial climate? Very odd.

‘I checked him out, sir, and he’s not known to us. All we know is that he lives with his housekeeper in one of those big houses along the waterway. You know those old three-storey Victorian terraces?’

Jackman recalled the educated speaking voice. ‘You mean Admiralty Row? That’s one classy address. He must be loaded if he owns that property and the Windrush estate.’

Andy nodded. ‘Absolutely. You do know the old story, sir, don’t you?’

Jackman nodded. ‘About how the sanatorium was won in a wager? Is it really true?’

‘Oh yes. Broome won the place playing poker.’

Marie grinned at him. ‘How come the Lottery only ever gets me a tenner once a year?’

‘You and me both, Sarge. Anyway, I’ve asked Kevin Stoner to keep digging into Broome’s history.’

Jackman nodded. ‘Okay. So even though it all seems kosher, you still think we should check the place over?’

Andy looked at him. ‘Absolutely, sir. Micah Lee definitely steered us away from parts of it. Plus he was really uptight about our being there at all. We need to return and not just go with the scenic tour.’

Jackman nodded. ‘Okay, that’s good enough for me, Constable. Get your team together. We’ll move out at eleven o’clock.’





CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Across the marsh the morning sky was as blue as the Aegean, but a cloud of foreboding hovered above the officers.

Max and Gary had stayed behind to chase up the interpreter and keep the office running, while the rest of the team headed out to the old house at Roman Creek.

Uniform would carry out the main search but Jackman wanted to see the place for himself.

Charlie stared out of the car window. ‘It’s strange, isn’t it, sir? Although it’s close to the marsh, this area is on a rise.’

Jackman looked ahead of them. ‘You’re right. It’s something of an anomaly. It’s almost a hill.’

‘It was once an island, or so I’m told,’ said Marie. ‘When the land was reclaimed and drained, this place, now called Roman Bank, was then called Romsey. I think it means, island, or dry ground in marsh belonging to a man called Rum, same as the one in Hampshire.’

Jackman gazed at her in admiration. ‘You never cease to amaze me, Marie. Let’s hope your interest in these old places proves useful.’

Marie smiled, but as the car drew closer to Windrush, Jackman noticed that she was looking increasingly anxious.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked.

‘It’s changed so much since I was here last,’ she said, ‘and I get the feeling it’s not for the better.’ She looked out of the window at the rambling and desolate old sanatorium. ‘I can’t believe how different this place feels now from when I came here on that health and safety course.’

‘That was decades ago, wasn’t it, Sarge?’ Rosie laughed. She nudged her younger colleague. ‘Charlie here was probably still in nappies.’

Uniform were already out of their vehicles, and Andy English stood waiting for Jackman to give the go-ahead.

Jackman took the search warrant from his pocket and nodded at him. English returned the nod, and he and some of the other men went quickly up the steps to the front entrance of the old building.

The team hung back with the rest of the group at the bottom of the stone steps, all waiting for their first glimpse of the man who had made such a strong impression on PCs English and Stoner.

It didn’t take long for him to open the door.

‘My God! Conan the Barbarian lives,’ whispered Rosie, eyes wide.

Micah Lee was a beast of a man. He had a thick mop of dark hair and a face that looked as if it had been crudely chiselled out of a rough hunk of granite. His eyes were deep set, under heavy overhanging brows. He was tall and powerful, although not in an athletic way. His strength seemed more inherently Neanderthal than developed through exercise. Jackman found it impossible to judge his age. But what struck him most was the almost tangible sense of resentment at their presence. Lee’s lips were tight with anger.