Their Lost Daughters (DI Jackman & DS Evans #2)(59)
‘I’m Bill Hickey, the farm manager. I’m sorry, but Mr Tanner is away for a couple of days. Is this about Micah?’
Jackman nodded. ‘You know him, obviously.’
‘Yes, I’ve been looking after the farm here for five years now, and Micah was here before I came. Funny bloke, not too much up top, but he’s solid. Damned hard worker too. He helps us with the potato grading after the harvest. Never complains, just gets on with it.’
‘Is he a friend of Mr Tanner, or just a lodger?’ asked Gary.
‘Guess they are friends of a sort, although not particularly close. They are both bachelors, and quite private men, so I suppose the situation suits them. Micah has his own sitting room and bedroom and shares the farmhouse kitchen.’ Hickey plunged his hands deep into his pockets. ‘Your guys came out here last night. They looked in his rooms, but they wouldn’t say what had happened.’
‘Sorry, sir, but we can’t either, not yet.’ Marie looked at the manager with interest. ‘Where is Mr Tanner?’
‘He’s in Germany, visiting one of the big agricultural machinery manufacturers.’
‘When did he go?’
‘Night before last. He’ll be back tomorrow.’ Hickey looked from one to the other. ‘Is Micah all right? I mean, he hasn’t had an accident, has he?’
‘He’s safe, sir,’ said Jackman warily.
‘But he’s in trouble.’ Hickey gave a slight grin. ‘That man’s temper is awesome. I’d not be surprised if he’s given someone a good thrashing.’
Jackman shook his head. ‘He’s helping us with our enquiries, Mr Hickey, but he hasn’t been in a fight. Do you have a key for the house? We’d like to see Mr Lee’s rooms.’
Hickey nodded and took out a large bunch of keys from his jacket pocket. ‘I’m not sure Mr Tanner would like this, but I guess it won’t hurt. Mind if I come with you?’
‘Lead the way.’
The house was clean and bare, with no ornaments, houseplants, photos, TV or computer. No life, thought Jackman.
Micah’s room was the same. Every object was purely utilitarian. Jackman gave Marie a helpless glance. ‘I don’t think it’ll make the cover of Hello, do you?’
‘And it doesn’t tell us anything about what kind of person he is.’ Marie turned to Hickey. ‘What’s Micah Lee like? Where is he from?’
The farm manager puffed out his cheeks. ‘I don’t think I’m the one to ask, Sergeant. He does have his problems, but I don’t know what caused them. He keeps himself to himself, although I seem to recall him saying he’d lived in Derbyshire when he was younger, somewhere near that plague village in the centre of the Peak District. Eyam, I think it’s called.’
‘How about friends?’
‘He doesn’t have any that I know of, and anyway, he has been spending so much time on that job of his out at Roman Creek that I don’t really see him at all.’
Jackman shrugged and took one last look at the bare walls. ‘I’ve seen enough. Thank you, Mr Hickey.’
‘You really should speak to Toby Tanner about Micah, Detective. I’m sure he knows him better than anyone. I’ll get him to call you as soon as he gets back.’
As they got back to the car, Jackman muttered, ‘I hope Charlie and Rosie are doing better than we are. What an odd place. No home comforts at all.’
Gary agreed. ‘I suppose that can happen when there is no woman and no love in a home.’
Jackman wasn’t so sure of that. After all, he had no partner to share his life with, but he still felt that his house was a home. But whatever the reason, the place was strange.
*
Rosie and Charlie’s morning had been considerably more successful. They had met an old couple whose parents had worked at Windrush when soldiers were billeted there in the last world war. They had supplied a wealth of trivia about the place, and some pretty good tea and biscuits too. The husband, Ernie, was a fount of local folklore. In a hushed voice he’d told them that while walking their two dogs along the sea-bank path, he had heard a strange and eerie voice singing mournfully in the twilight.
Their second call was also quite informative. The cottage owner, a short, stocky, heavily-bearded man called Ralph Jenkins, was the local RSPB representative, and spent a lot of time out on the marsh cataloguing waders, waterfowl and migrant visitors. He admitted having seen someone out on the marsh at night in all weathers. ‘The fool! I’m a yellowbelly, born and bred, Detectives, and I know better than to do that.’
Their last call was to Gary’s vet’s house. Luckily they had chosen his one day off.
‘Come on in. Want a cuppa?’
Philip Groves, dressed in old corduroy chinos and a check shirt, led them into a welcoming, cosy sitting room. Nearly every seat held some sort of animal. Rosie counted six dogs of varying breeds and at least three sleeping cats.
‘Standing room only, by the look of it.’ Groves smiled, then addressed two Jack Russells. ‘Come on, lads! Jacko! Willoughby! Shift yourselves! Give the lady a seat!’
Rosie sat, and Willoughby leapt straight onto her lap.
‘Oh dear, I hope you like dogs, miss.’
‘Love ’em,’ said Rosie, tickling the little animal’s ears.