Their Lost Daughters (DI Jackman & DS Evans #2)(60)

Charlie turfed a fat fluffy cat from a small armchair, sat down and explained their visit.

‘Has something serious happened out at Windrush?’ asked Groves.

‘Yes, sir, although we are not at liberty to give any details, I’m afraid.’

‘Has that big guy who is working there had an accident?’ Groves’ face grew serious. ‘I’ve seen him alone out there at all hours. Damned dangerous, I reckon.’

‘No, he’s okay, Mr Groves,’ said Rosie. ‘But have you seen anyone other than Mr Lee, he’s the big guy you mentioned, out at Windrush or on the marsh close by?’

Philip Groves shrugged. ‘Well, I don’t think I’ve ever actually met the owner, but other than Mr Lee, there’s my neighbour, Jenkins, our bird man. He’s always out there on the marsh paths. And Ernie Coulter walks his dogs along the sea-bank pretty regular-like, and you get the odd rambler.’ He wrinkled his brow. ‘Come to think of it, I saw someone a week or two ago, in the evening, way out in the bleakest part of the marsh. And that’s not a sensible thing to do at all, unless you know the tides and the weather really well.’

‘So it must have been a local?’ asked Charlie.

‘I’d hope so. It’s a dangerous spot for an incomer. This is a very small community, Detective, but it was no one I recognised.’

‘Do you live here alone, Mr Groves?’ asked Rosie.

‘Apart from this lot.’ He pointed to his pets. ‘I started with one dog, an old lurcher, and one cat. Somehow the others have gradually found their way to me over the years, and look at us now.’

‘Have you ever heard singing, sir? Out on the marsh?’ Rosie asked.

Groves stopped smiling, and she saw a strange look cross his face.

‘Didn’t think you’d be interested in all that superstitious stuff, officers.’

‘It may not be superstition, sir. If you have heard anything, there may be a very valid reason for it.’

‘I’ve heard nothing other than old wives’ tales,’ Groves said shortly. ‘But I’d be interested to know what you mean.’

‘We’ll be glad to explain, sir, but not just yet I’m afraid.’ Charlie stood up. ‘Thank you for your time.’ He handed Groves a card. ‘If you think of anything else about either the old house, or the marsh, give us a ring.’

As they left the room, Charlie turned back. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot! A colleague of ours wished to be remembered to you, sir. PC Gary Pritchard?’

‘Gary! Of course! He and his lovely sister used to come here with their dogs before I opened the practice in the town. Really nice man, Gary, salt of the earth. Loved his dogs to distraction. Give him my best, won’t you?’ He glanced at Rosie, who had Willoughby still in her arms. ‘And speaking of which, I’m afraid the dog has to stay here, DC McElderry. But my surgery has a small rescue centre attached. It’s run by volunteers and a few of my vet nurses, so come and see us if you can give a dog or a cat a good home.’

‘Not working the hours I do, Mr Groves. It wouldn’t be fair.’ Rosie placed the little dog on the ground with a sigh.





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Back at the station, Clive handed Jackman a memo. ‘This is from the pathologist, and just to let you know that I spoke to Grace Black. She was most understanding. She said that she realised a lot was going on at present but she would appreciate an update from you when you have the time.’

‘Fair enough,’ said Jackman. He skimmed the memo, then turned to Marie. ‘The crime scene isn’t ready to be released yet, but Rory has said that you and I can take another look around. And Ted Watchman has confirmed that a large entrance in one of the walls of the chamber has been very professionally sealed up. Ted has also ascertained that the work was done from a tunnel on the house side of the area. That means the beds and all the other stuff were brought in from Windrush.’

‘Which ties it even tighter to Broome,’ Marie said eagerly.

‘Or to the man who has spent a very long time working there.’

‘Mr Micah Lee.’

‘Exactly. God, we desperately need to talk to that man! I’m just about to ring Harlan Marsh and try to lean on the medical officer. Go and see if Rosie and Max are back yet, then we’ll get ourselves back to Windrush.’

*

An exhausted-looking Rory Wilkinson beckoned them over and pointed to one of the small labels that hung above each bed.

‘As you were thoughtful enough not to contaminate my crime scene, you would not have handled these cards, and hence not noticed what is written on the back.’ With gloved fingers, Rory turned the card over and showed them a line of small, faded handwriting.

‘Dates of birth?’ Jackman thought immediately of Toni and the man who had demanded to know exactly when she was born.

‘Partial dates of birth, on each card. All have the day of the week, some the month and others the year, and some have faded completely. But observe, on every card, the weekday is underlined.’

Marie looked closer. ‘They are all born on a Wednesday?’

‘Well, we can’t be certain about the older ones until we do lab tests, but all the ones that are legible are exactly the same.’

“Monday’s child is fair of face, Tuesday’s child is full of grace . . .” Jackman looked at Marie for help.