Their Lost Daughters (DI Jackman & DS Evans #2)(74)

‘There is absolutely nothing on record of anyone by that name going missing,’ added Max miserably.

‘What am I missing?’ Gary breezed in with a smile on his lips. He looked around and the smile faded. ‘Well, I see things are not too good here, but at least I have a name and an address for one of the drinking club organisers. It’s Brendan Keefe, and he lives on the outskirts of Harlan Marsh town. He’s ours for the taking, when we are ready.’

‘Good work, Gary. I suppose he didn’t have strange eyes, did he?’ asked Jackman hopefully.

‘Shifty, sneaky, piggy, but strange, no.’

‘Pity. Sit down.’ He pushed across his untouched sandwich and said. ‘We are still trying to fathom out who Fleur might be.’

Gary picked up the sandwich. ‘Ah.’ He bit into it gratefully, chewed and then said, ‘Not a very common name, although—’

A civilian entered the room.

‘Sorry to bother you, DI Jackman, but the duty sergeant thought you should know that the body of a white male has been found out on the edge of the marsh. It seems that it’s a hanging, but because of its location he thought it might be of interest to you.’

Jackman sat bolt upright. ‘Where exactly is the location, Constable?’

‘The old mill at Goshawk End.’

Gary said, ‘I know it! It’s between Roman Creek and Hurn Point, and right inside the area we’re searching for Micah Lee.’

Jackman was already halfway to the door. ‘Then you come with me, Gary, and you too, Max. It’ll do you good to get some fresh fenland air. Once in a while you need to break that chain that attaches you to your computer.’ He smiled at Marie. ‘And you can have a break from dead people. You and Rosie keep chasing Fleur. Have another word with Jan Wallace. There might be something new from the forensic point of view.’

‘I wonder if it’s Micah who has killed himself?’ said Marie, almost to herself.

‘It could well be. Don’t worry, I’ll ring in and let you know.’

*

There wasn’t much to see at the old mill. But what they did see was surprising.

The body wasn’t swinging slowly on a creaking rope. It was lying in a crumpled heap on the dirty floor, surrounded by broken vegetable crates.

‘One body, life undeniably extinct, with rope still attached, and it’s not Micah Lee,’ murmured Jackman.

‘Some sort of fight took place by the look of all this mess,’ said Max.

Gary shook his head. ‘Don’t think so. It looks to me as if he climbed up these boxes . . . No, that’s not right. They are too far away from the body.’

‘And how did the rope become detached from the timber spar?’ Max stared up to the heavy beam. ‘It seems sturdy, and it doesn’t slope downward.’

Jackman stared at the dead man. He looked at the twisted body, thankful that the face was turned slightly away. ‘I think the question we should be asking is how did a dead man loosen the rope from his own broken neck?’

‘Ah, right. So who was here with him?’ asked Max.

‘If they tried to save him, then it had to be someone who cared.’ Jackman looked at the configuration of the old vegetable boxes, the timber beam, and the man’s body. ‘I’d say someone came in and found him, and then climbed up the pile of boxes and pulled the rope free of the beam. And because no one phoned this in or called an ambulance, I would guess it was someone who wanted nothing to do with the police.’

‘Since the body isn’t Micah Lee, could it have been Micah Lee that found him?’ said Gary. ‘I wonder how long ago all this happened? I’ll get a shout put out that Lee may be somewhere in the area and on his toes. There are only so many places he can get to from here.’ Gary moved towards the door.

‘Could he get to Windrush on foot?’ asked Jackman.

‘He could. But it would mean crossing a pretty bad stretch of wetland, best not attempted unless you know the paths well.’

‘But he worked close to here, didn’t he?’ ventured Max.

‘And if he knew the marsh that well, then maybe he knew about the tunnels,’ Jackman mused. ‘Right now we should get back. There’s nothing we can do here. Uniform will keep this place sewn up until our overstretched forensics department can sort that poor sod out and work the scene. We don’t even know who he is. There is no ID on him.’

As they walked back to the car he wondered why the man had chosen to take his own life. The word that kept coming up was “guilt.” Guilt or desperation. Surely it was no coincidence that a man should kill himself in such close proximity to the crime scene? There had to be a connection. Perhaps he had done it out of despair at losing his precious girls?

‘I suppose it is suicide?’ said Max softly. ‘He could have been assisted.’

‘I don’t think so. Looking at the inverted V-shaped furrow in the victim’s neck left by that rough rope, I’d say it was definitely a deliberate, and in his case successful, suicide.’

Jackman glanced back at the derelict old mill. All that was left of it was a shell of old bricks and a weather-beaten wooden door. It must have had sails at one time, but they had long gone. And luckily it was nothing like his lovely home at Mill Corner.

*

‘There’s someone asking for you, Marie.’ The desk sergeant pointed to a young woman sitting in the foyer.