The Dark Angel Read online

  The Dark Angel

  Also By

  Also by Elly Griffiths

  the dr ruth galloway series

  The Crossing Places

  The Janus Stone

  The House at Sea’s End A Room Full of Bones Dying Fall

  The Outcast Dead

  The Ghost Fields

  The Woman in Blue

  The Chalk Pit

  the stephens and mephisto series The Zig Zag Girl

  Smoke and Mirrors

  The Blood Card

  The Vanishing Box

  Title

  Copyright

  This ebook edition first published in 2018 by Quercus Editions Ltd

  Carmelite House

  50 Victoria Embankment

  London EC4Y 0DZ

  An Hachette UK company

  Copyright © 2018 Elly Griffiths

  The moral right of Elly Griffiths to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  EBOOK ISBN 978 1 78429 665 0

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Ebook by CC Book Production

  Cover design © 2018 Ghost

  www.quercusbooks.co.uk

  Dedication

  For Andy

  Epigraph Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!

  No hungry generations tread thee down; The voice I hear this passing night was heard In ancient days by emperor and clown:

  Perhaps the self-same song that found a path Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, She stood in tears amid the alien corn; The same that oft-times hath

  Charm’d magic casements, opening on the foam Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.

  John Keats, Ode to a Nightingale

  Author’s Note

  Ruth and other archaeologists in this book use the phrase ‘before Common Era’, or BCE. This refers to the time before the birth of Christ, previously depicted as BC. ‘Common Era’ describes the time after Christ’s birth, or AD. Most universities and museums now use this terminology so I thought that Ruth would do the same.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  Who’s Who in the Dr Ruth Galloway Mysteries

  Dr Ruth Galloway

  Harry Nelson

  Michelle Nelson

  Michael Malone (aka Cathbad)

  Shona Maclean

  David Clough

  Judy Johnson

  Phil Trent

  The Dr Ruth Galloway Mysteries

  Prologue ‘This grave has lain undisturbed for over two thousand years.’ Professor Angelo Morelli speaks directly to the camera. ‘This countryside has been the scene of invasion and battle from the Neolithic times until the Second World War, when the German troops fought Italian partisans in the Liri Valley. In all that time, this body has lain under the earth. Now, we are going to exhume it.’

  He pauses and smiles into the lens, knowing that his boyish charm – dark curls lifting slightly in the breeze – is the real reason why so many viewers tune in to his show ‘The Secrets of the Past’ (I Segreti del Passato) every week. And it is a magical moment. The whole production team seems to hold its breath, even the birds are silent and the Italian sky is high and blue and still. The camera swoops into the trench in front of the professor, showing the layers, sharply defined: topsoil, subsoil, bedrock. The site has been the focus of intense archaeological attention for weeks, but the skeleton at the bottom of the trench is still covered with a fine layer of earth because Angelo Morelli is determined that the final moment of excavation should be shown live on television. He is therefore extremely irritated to hear the shrill tones of a mobile phone shattering the tense silence.

  ‘Someone answer that,’ he snaps.

  The ringing continues. Then, the production assistant says, timidly, ‘I think it’s your phone, Professore.’

  Embarrassed, Angelo digs in his pocket for his iPhone. He is too vain to wear his glasses on television so he holds it at arm’s length. Then he brings it closer. The team watch as he stares, rubs his eyes and stares again. The word on the screen is ‘Toni’, the name archaeologists have given to the skeleton (presumed, rather typically, to be a man) because he was found on Saint Anthony’s day. The phone stops ringing and, in a daze, Angelo swipes the notification to return the call. And, to his amazement, he hears a phone ringing beneath his feet. Seizing a trowel, Angelo jumps into the trench and starts to scrape away soil. The skeleton emerges, bones embedded in the earth, lying face down. The ringing continues. Someone says, ‘It’s under the earth.’ And there it is. Next to the skeletal hand, an iPhone 6. Slowly, almost fearfully, Angelo picks it up. ‘Professor Morelli’, reads the incoming call alert on the screen.

  He cancels the call, then his phone beeps loudly. It’s a text message – from Toni.

  ‘Surprise!’ it says.

  Chapter 1

  The confetti is still blowing in the street. Ruth watches as Clough and Cassandra get into the white Rolls-Royce – Cassandra laughing as she shakes the pink and yellow hearts from her hair – and drive away. They’re an unlikely pair, no-nonsense policeman DS Dave Clough and beautiful actress and daughter of local aristocrats Cassandra Blackstock – but they met in the course of work and fell in love. And to prove it, they’re getting married. Bully for them, thinks Ruth, although that sounds bitter even to her own ears.

  Mr and Mrs Blackstock-Clough are on their way to a reception at Blackstock Hall. Ruth should be on her way there too – next to her, Kate is positively hopping with excitement and anticipation – but all she wants is to get back to her little house on the salt marsh, shut her door and sleep for a week. But Cathbad and Judy are approaching, with Michael and Miranda skipping between them, like an advertisement for family values. Ruth plasters on a cheerful, I-love-weddings smile.

  ‘Have you got your car?’ says Judy. ‘If not, there’s space in ours.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ says Ruth. ‘I’ve got my car.’ There’s no way she’s going to risk being stuck at Blackstock Hall, a crumbling stately home in the middle of the Norfolk marshes, without her own transport. ‘I’ll see you there,’ she says, keeping on the smile. Her cheeks are hurting now.

  The car park is
full so she has to wait before she can get her car out. As she stands, holding Kate by the hand, Nelson drives past in his Mercedes, Michelle at his side. Nelson is frowning at the other cars and doesn’t seem to notice her, but Michelle smiles and waves. Ruth waves back. With any luck, Michelle won’t want to stay at the reception long. She is pregnant, after all.

  Within a remarkably short time, most of the guests have left. Ruth’s red Renault and a sporty black jeep affair are almost the only cars left.

  ‘Hurry up,’ says Kate. ‘We might miss the cake. Uncle Dave is going to cut it with a sword.’ Uncle Dave is what Kate calls Clough, who is quite a favourite with her. Ruth dreads to think what might happen if Uncle Dave gets his hands on a ceremonial sword.

  ‘They won’t cut the cake for ages yet,’ she says. ‘There’ll be other food first.’

  ‘Will there be prawns?’ asks Kate suspiciously.

  Almost certainly, thinks Ruth. She is sure that Cassandra will have put together a sophisticated menu, in defiance of Clough’s often-stated preference for pie and chips. But she knows that Kate dislikes prawns ‘because they have whiskers’.

  ‘The food will be lovely,’ she says. ‘Let’s go now.’

  As Kate climbs into her car seat, a voice behind them says, ‘Ruth.’

  Ruth turns. It’s Tim Heathfield, the detective sergeant who used to be on Nelson’s team but has now moved back to Essex. Ruth has always liked Tim, who is both intelligent and sensitive, but she wants to talk to him about as much as Kate wants to eat a prawn vol-au-vent. Because she knows the reason Tim left Norfolk. Tim was in love with Michelle, and what with Ruth being in love with Nelson, it all makes things rather tricky.

  She forces herself to turn and smile. ‘Hello, Tim. How are you?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ he says. ‘How are you? Kate’s growing up fast.’

  ‘I’m six,’ says Kate from the car, determined not to be left out of the conversation.

  ‘Are you going to the reception?’ says Ruth. The jeep must belong to Tim, she thinks. It’s like him, handsome in an understated way and tougher than it looks.

  ‘No,’ says Tim. ‘I promised Cloughie that I’d come to the wedding but I couldn’t really face the reception. Blackstock Hall doesn’t hold the best memories for me.’

  Ruth can understand that. Tim once shot a man at Blackstock Hall, saving Nelson’s life and probably Ruth’s as well. She can see why he wouldn’t want to go back there. She’s not exactly looking forward to it herself.

  ‘I’m staying in King’s Lynn overnight,’ Tim is saying. ‘And I wondered if we might be able to meet up for coffee tomorrow. I’d like to ask your advice about something.’

  Ruth wonders how long it takes to emigrate. There is nothing she wants less than to have a cosy chat with Tim.

  ‘That would be great,’ she says. ‘Why don’t you come to the house? It might be difficult to get a babysitter. Say eleven o’clock?’

  *

  The reception is in full swing by the time Ruth arrives at Blackstock Hall. The austere grey house has been transformed into a glittery bower full of fairy lights and flowers. There is a marquee on the lawn and a string quartet playing in the entrance hall. Ruth compliments Sally, Cassandra’s mother, on the décor.

  ‘Oh, it was all Cassie’s idea,’ says Sally, in her vague way. ‘But we’re planning to open the hall as a wedding venue, so if you know anyone who’s getting married . . .’

  But Ruth’s friends are all mired in domesticity or getting divorced. Only her gay friends are still getting married. She smiles and moves on into the marquee where she sees tables laid with a multitude of glass and cutlery, all signs that a long and formal meal is expected. This means hours of eating and drinking and speeches and little chance of a quick getaway. At least she is at a table with Cathbad and Judy and their kids, miles from Nelson. She sees place cards for Tanya, another DS on Nelson’s team, and her partner, Petra, too. Tanya will not be pleased to be seated at a table full of children.

  Kate is delighted to be next to Michael, who is younger than her and perfect for indoctrination. She immediately regales him with a description of prawns. ‘They have little black eyes and long, long whiskers.’

  Michael’s face crumbles. ‘I don’t want . . .’

  ‘It’s all right, Michael,’ says Cathbad. ‘There won’t be prawns. I’ve looked at the menu. Anyway, we’ve both got the vegetarian option.’

  Ruth looks at the menu in the middle of the table and feels slightly sick. All those courses. When will she be able to escape? She can’t even drink because she’s driving. She takes a sip of her water and discovers that it’s elderflower, musty and slightly perfumed. She puts her glass down.

  ‘Are you all right?’ asks Cathbad, who is sitting next to her.

  Ruth doesn’t want to have a heart-to-heart with Cathbad because there’s a danger that she will actually tell him what’s in her heart. Luckily, at that moment, Cassandra and Clough come into the tent, to a chorus of ‘Congratulations’ from the band and the cheers of the guests.

  Kate stands on her chair and Ruth doesn’t have the energy to tell her not to.

  ‘Cassie looks like a fairy princess,’ she tells Ruth.

  ‘She really does,’ says Ruth. She has failed to pass on her republican principles to her daughter.

  *

  It’s past nine by the time Ruth finally drives away across the marshes. It’s still light, the sky all soft pinks and blues, the sea an azure line against the horizon. Kate is quiet in the back and Ruth thinks that she’ll be asleep before long.

  It hadn’t been too bad really. Cassandra’s father made a heartfelt, though mercifully brief, speech and Clough had surprised them all with a witty and emotional tribute to his bride. For Ruth, the best – and worst – moment had been when he had thanked, ‘the boss, the one and only DCI Nelson.’ Nelson had raised his hand, looking embarrassed, but all the police officers in the room had cheered lustily. Ruth thinks that Nelson is in danger of becoming popular, partly because he is known to be at loggerheads with his boss, Superintendent Jo Archer. Super Jo herself, stunning in a bright red dress, had watched serenely from the table she shared with sundry Blackstock relatives. When Ruth left the marquee she had been dancing rather suggestively with cousin Roger.

  At least Nelson and Michelle hadn’t danced together. After Clough and Cassandra had circled romantically to Ed Sheeran’s ‘Thinking Out Loud’, various other couples had taken the floor, including Cathbad and Judy and Tanya and Petra. Ed sang about people finding love in mysterious ways and Ruth watched as Nelson leant forward and whispered something to Michelle. She smiled and shook her head. Ruth had turned away, not wanting to be caught staring at them.

  Cathbad was a surprisingly good dancer and also did turns with all the children. He asked Ruth, too, but didn’t object when she said no, thank you. Ruth was rather touched that Clough also came over to ask for a dance. ‘Thanks, Dave,’ she said, ‘but I’m quite happy watching. Go and dance with your wife.’

  Clough looked over to where Cassandra was dancing with PC ‘Rocky’ Taylor, holding her long skirt out of the reach of his size twelves. Sally was holding Clough and Cassandra’s baby son, Spencer, who stretched out his arms to his mother as she passed.

  ‘I’ve got a wife,’ he said. ‘How about that?’

  ‘Congratulations,’ said Ruth. ‘You’re a lucky man. And she’s a lucky woman, of course.’

  She has never wanted to be a wife. Just as well really.

  They are home now. Kate has fallen asleep and is very grumpy at being woken. ‘Look,’ says Ruth cajolingly, ‘there’s Flint waiting for us.’ Flint, their ginger cat, is sitting in the window, looking at them accusingly, but his spell is strong enough to get Kate out of the car and into the house. Inside, the answerphone is flashing. For a moment, Ruth thinks it is her mother, whose barbed messages have punctuated all her adult life. But her mother died six weeks ago. Ruth presses play. A deep, sexily accented voice fills the room.


  ‘Hello Ruth. This is Angelo Morelli . . .’

  Chapter 2

  Angelo Morelli. Ruth remembers a conference twelve years ago. A hotel in Rome looking out on Trastevere: terracotta rooftops, Vespas roaring over the cobbles, a floodlit fountain. Ruth had just split up with her live-in boyfriend, Peter, and had been giddy with freedom and with the miracle of having wrested this overseas trip from under Phil’s nose. Angelo was an archaeologist from Rome University, an expert on the Romans. He had studied in America, she remembered, and spoke perfect English, though with that heartbreakingly sexy accent. And one evening, after a seminar on the Etruscans, the fountains and the frescoes had got too much for them and they’d ended up in bed. It had only been one night and Ruth remembered that, in the morning, she hadn’t even felt embarrassed. They’d had a civilised breakfast in the Piazza de Santa Maria and gone on to a lecture on dating ceramics. She didn’t even know if Angelo had a girlfriend or not. He hadn’t been married, though. She’d checked that much. She had always vowed never to sleep with a married man, until she met Nelson and all the rules changed. She and Angelo had kept in touch for a while – those were the days of postcards and letters – but Ruth hasn’t heard from him in eight years. And now there’s a message from him on the phone.

  ‘Mum.’ Kate is holding a long-suffering Flint in her arms. ‘Can I take Flint to bed with me?

  ‘You can take him upstairs,’ says Ruth, ‘but he won’t stay.’

  After falling asleep in the car, Kate is annoyingly wakeful. She puts Flint on her bed, he gets off immediately and Kate chases him around the room until he takes refuge on top of her wardrobe. She then demands a Josie Smith story. All this time Ruth is longing to get downstairs, have a glass of wine and listen to Angelo’s message again.