THE HOUSE AT SEA’S END (30 page)

The body washed ashore on the beach at Broughton was yesterday identified as being that of Daniel West, 18, son of Marjorie and the late Lawrence West of the High Street, Broughton. Daniel was an apprentice fitter at Jensen’s Garage and a keen member of the Home Guard. He was hoping to be called up in the New Year. Mr Stephen Jensen, 50, described the boy as ‘a real hard worker’ and offered his condolences to his mother.

So Daniel West had died, only a few months after the six Germans were murdered. It seems inconceivable that neither Irene nor Archie would remember this fact. But not as inconceivable as the fact that Hugh Anselm apparently had a
letter from Daniel some seventy years after he died. It can’t be the same Daniel. Surely?

He jumps because his phone is ringing. He can’t find it at first because it has fallen into the box of papers. He gets it on the last note of the ring tone.

Clough.

‘You’d better get down here, boss. It’s that girl, Maria. She reckons someone’s trying to kill her.’

It is past midnight when Nelson arrives at Maria’s bedsit. Maria is sitting at the table with Clough beside her. A uniformed PC is checking the area around the house. George is asleep in the double bed. The whole thing feels slightly surreal, not least because their conversation has to be conducted in whispers. The room is dark apart from George’s nightlight, which projects blue stars and moons onto the ceiling. Maria is clearly very upset – she has a mug in front of her and when she raises it to drink, her hand shakes.

‘I made her tea,’ says Clough. Rather defensively, Nelson thinks.

‘Wonderful. I’ll put you in for a medal.’

‘She was hysterical.’

Maria raises huge, tear-washed eyes to his face. ‘Someone is waiting outside my house. Someone is trying to kill me.’

‘All right, Maria. Let’s start at the beginning.’

Nelson tries to speak softly but George stirs in his sleep. Maria’s face crumples. ‘He must get his sleep! He’s got school tomorrow.’

‘Okay, okay.’ Nelson lowers his voice another notch. ‘Tell me about this mysterious person outside your house.’

‘It was about nine o’clock. I was looking out of my window and I saw him. Looking at me.’

‘Where was he standing, exactly?’

Maria takes Nelson to the window and points. The garage forecourt is deserted, the only light comes from the kiosk and from a huge illuminated advert for a Volkswagen Golf. As Nelson watches, a policeman comes slowly into view, shining his torch in wide, careful arcs. Nelson recognises him as Roy ‘Rocky’ Taylor, a local boy. Definitely not the brightest bulb in the box.

‘He was standing there,’ says Maria. ‘Looking up. I see him at nine, ten, again at eleven.’

‘Did he just stand there all the time?’

‘Yes. But, at ten past eleven, there is a ring at my bell. I know it is him.’

‘Did you answer?’

‘No. I ring this number. It is the lady policeman, Judy, who came with you.’ She shows him Judy’s card. ‘I ring Judy because I think she is kind.’

‘Sergeant Johnson wasn’t on duty,’ puts in Clough. ‘So I answered the call.’

Maria looks at him doubtfully.

PC Taylor appears at the door and Nelson goes to speak to him. There is no sign of any man hanging around. The people in the garage haven’t seen anything. Their CCTV cameras don’t cover the area near Maria’s block of flats. Nelson wonders if the mysterious lurker knew this. He asks if Taylor has spoken to any of the other residents in the
building. No, says the policeman stolidly, no-one asked him to.

Nelson sighs. ‘All right, Taylor. Wait for us in the car.’

He turns back to Maria who is sitting back at the table. Clough is beside her, just far enough away to be professional.

‘Maria, did you get a good look at this man?’

‘No. It is dark. He is wearing dark clothes and a hat.’

‘What sort of hat?’

‘A knitted one. Like the hat George wears for football.’

‘What colour?’

‘Black.’

‘Did you see his face? When he was looking up?’

‘Not really.’

‘Was he pale skinned? Dark?’ Nelson treads warily in the PC minefield.

‘Pale. Like you.’

‘What was he wearing?’

‘A long dark coat. Trousers.’

‘Are you sure it was a man?’ asks Clough.

Maria looks at him, her lip quivering. ‘No.’

Clough and Nelson exchange glances. Nelson feels so tired that he can barely speak. There doesn’t seem to be any evidence of Maria’s mystery prowler but, then again, she was the person who was given Archie’s cryptic clue, the unwitting recipient of a seventy-year-old secret. Could someone be trying to scare her? Could someone be trying to find the code for themselves?

‘Maria,’ he says. His soothing whisper comes out more like a sinister croak. ‘You remember that Archie left you some books in his will?’

‘Yes.’ Maria looks up, surprised.

‘Can I see them? The actual books.’

Maria goes to the black trunk beside the bed. She lifts the lid with difficulty (Clough rushes to help) and pulls out the eight battered paperbacks. Avoiding Clough’s eye, Nelson carefully fans through the pages. In
Evil Under the Sun
he finds what he is looking for. A letter.

‘Did you know this was here?’ he asks Maria.

Maria looks bemused. ‘No.’

‘Do you mind if I borrow this for a bit?’

‘No.’

Nelson folds the letter and puts it in his pocket. He is sure Ruth would have told him to wear gloves.

At the door, he asks, ‘Maria, did you tell anyone that Archie left you the books?’

‘Everyone at the home knew. Dorothy said it was a tribute to us all. That he left me something.’

Nelson isn’t so sure about this. If Archie had wanted to pay tribute to Greenfields Care Home, he could easily have done it openly. No, the books were for Maria alone.

‘Anyone else?’ he asks.

‘My mother. I phone her every Sunday. I told her.’

Nelson looks around the room, at the sleeping child under the blue light, the statue of Mary, the bare walls, the uniform hanging on the door, the breakfast plates already laid out next to the sink. He thinks of the letter in his pocket. Did anyone else know it was there?

‘Try not to worry, Maria,’ he says. ‘I’m sure it was just some down-and-out looking for somewhere to kip. But I’ll have a patrol car come past every half hour or so, just to
make sure he doesn’t come back. If you’re scared for any reason, just ring me.’

‘Or me,’ says Clough.

‘You’re very kind,’ says Maria. ‘You’d better go now. George needs his sleep.’

Driving home, windows open to keep him awake, Nelson thinks about Maria and her delicate, compassionate relationship with Archie Whitcliffe. Why had the old man left her his books? Why did he make her the guardian of this secret, protected so long and with such ingenuity? Had Archie discussed his will with Hugh Anselm? Is this what was agreed at their last meeting, if it ever took place?
The last of the three of us left alive will leave instructions as to where to find this evidence.
Archie had been the last of the three. Why had he decided to pass on his secret in this way?

The house is dark. Michelle and Rebecca must both be in bed, but when Nelson goes into the study he sees that the computer is still on. By the blue light of the computer screen, he takes the letter from his pocket and reads:

Dear Archie and Hugh,

By the time you get this I will be long dead. I have asked my younger sister to post this on her eightieth birthday which will be in the year 2001. Can you imagine that date? I can’t. What I think is that the world will have ended by then. Maybe some asteroid will have hit us just like Hugh is always saying.

I’m sorry but I just can’t live with it. Knowing what we did to those poor fellows that night. I keep dreaming about it, and in my dreams they are coming for me because they
know it was my fault. I should have stopped them. I know you tried, Hugh, but it wasn’t enough. I know we have made the film so that one day everyone will know what happened but I can’t help thinking that we need some sort of sacrifice. A life for a life. So that is what I am going to do. Tomorrow morning, before it is light, I am going down to the beach at Broughton. I am going to swim out beyond Sea’s End Point. I am going to swim and swim until I can swim no more and then I am going to let the sea take me. It sounds beautiful put like that, doesn’t it? I don’t think it will be beautiful but it will be right. Then maybe the rest of you can live your lives in peace.

I hope so much that you will be reading this at the end of long, happy lives.

Your friend,

Danny

Nelson sits there for a long time in the dark, the letter in his hand. He is sure, beyond any doubt, that this is the letter that Archie was reading on the night that he died. The letter that he had hidden for so many years inside the Agatha Christie classic. Was the title somehow significant?
Evil Under the Sun
? But these murders were committed by the light of the moon, witnessed only by Jack Hastings’ wakeful little brother, himself now dead.

Archie’s memories must have been stirred by Nelson’s visit, which is why he went to sleep that night with the word ‘Lucifer’ on his lips. Lucifer – the plan to turn the seas into fire. Or maybe even a reference to Buster Hastings, the ‘old devil’ himself, the man who had murdered five people
in cold blood (not forgetting the man killed by his loyal sergeant) and forced his troop to take a blood oath, promising to keep his secret forever. Archie had kept his promise but, while he slept that night, someone had come into his room and suffocated him. Who is still alive who would kill to protect the Hastings name?

And who else might they kill?

All in all, Ruth is relieved to go to work on Monday morning. A policeman returned her car late on Sunday night and, by then, a lot of the snow had melted. During Sunday evening, as she and Tatjana watched TV, huge chunks of snow kept falling off her roof. When she went to bed, early because she was exhausted, she could see dark patches appearing in the Saltmarsh and the tops of the reeds emerging from the blanket of whiteness.

Monday morning is bright, almost spring-like. As she drives to work, the roads are clear, the snow remaining only as dirty sludge in the gutters. The university grounds are still white though. A huge snowman draped in a UNN scarf stands at the entrance to the Natural Sciences block but, as Ruth passes, its head falls forward, like a deposed tyrant. Soon all the snow will disappear, like a dream of winter. That’s what Saturday night must be, Ruth tells herself sternly, a dream. Now she must get on with real life. She sighs, climbing the stairs to the archaeology corridor.

She has a meeting with the Field Team at ten. Trace isn’t there but Ted, Craig and Steve squash into Ruth’s tiny office
and Ruth tells them briefly about the discovery of the film. The team are still employed by the university on their erosion survey but Ruth feels she needs to keep them updated as they were the ones that found the bodies in the first place. She has agreed with Nelson that she won’t go into any detail, will just say that new evidence has emerged. She can’t say how the film was found, either, though naturally the archaeologists are intrigued. Ted, in particular, keeps asking very awkward questions. ‘How come this film has turned up after seventy-odd years? Who were the men anyway? That Dieter bloke said they were German. Have you any idea who killed them?’

‘I can’t tell you any more,’ Ruth keeps saying. ‘It’s confidential. The police are still investigating.’

‘Are they investigating Dieter’s death?’ asks Ted. ‘Looks pretty suspicious to me.’

‘I really can’t say.’

Craig comes to her rescue by asking about Operation Lucifer. With relief, Ruth describes the explosive trail laid along the North Norfolk coast, the fire ships, the barrels of gun cotton.

‘We’ll get down there this morning and have another look around,’ says Ted. ‘We’ve still got a few miles of coast to go.’

‘Well, be careful,’ says Ruth. ‘Some of the explosives may still be primed.’

Her whole life, she thinks, as the door closes behind the three men, seems suddenly to be full of unexploded bombs. Sure enough, before the Field Team have clumped to the end of the corridor, Phil appears, smiling engagingly.

‘Can I have a word, Ruth?’

‘I’ve got a tutorial in an hour.’

‘It’ll only take a minute.’

Phil sits opposite, crinkling his eyes in what Shona probably tells him is an attractive way.

‘What about that snow, eh? Shona and I took the boys sledging. Great fun.’

‘It must have been.’

‘What was New Road like? Must have been hellish, out there in the back of beyond.’

‘The snow was fairly deep on Saturday. It had cleared by this morning.’

‘Shona tells me you’ve been making some exciting discoveries.’

Ruth curses herself for telling Shona about the lighthouse trip. She’d only done it because she wanted Shona to babysit.

‘Yes. We’ve found some new evidence about the bodies found at Broughton Sea’s End.’

Phil cocks his head on one side, inviting her to say more.

‘I’m not sure how much I can tell you,’ says Ruth awkwardly. ‘It’s a police matter.’

‘Oh, come on, Ruth. I’m your head of department.’

This is true. But it’s also true that Ruth is now seconded to the Serious Crimes Unit, part of the police team. She has a foot in both camps and the ground between has suddenly become a minefield.

‘Dieter Eckhart, poor chap.’ Phil ducks his head piously. ‘He said the bodies were German.’

‘Yes, we’re pretty sure that they were German soldiers. The oxygen isotope analysis points that way.’

‘Do you know how they were killed?’

‘They were shot.’

Phil’s eyes widen. ‘By the British?’

‘We have a statement to that effect.’

‘A statement? From whom?’