The Night Hawks Read online

‘Do you know if anyone has used it recently?’

  ‘No,’ says Chloe. ‘Why?’

  Nelson doesn’t answer and the three of them troop out into the light again. Chloe now seems preoccupied. She kicks at a pile of fallen leaves, her slight frame suddenly childlike.

  ‘I heard about Alan,’ she says at last. ‘Paul told me. Do you know how he died?’

  ‘It’s an ongoing investigation,’ says Nelson, at his most policeman-like.

  There’s another brief silence and then Chloe says, as if they are detaining her. ‘If you’ll excuse me. I’ve got things to do.’ And she strides off towards the house. Nelson watches her go, looking thoughtful. Ruth checks her phone. Nearly six o’clock.

  ‘I must go,’ she says. ‘I need to collect Kate.’

  ‘It’s been grand,’ says Nelson. ‘We must do this again.’

  ‘Maybe without the mad dog,’ says Ruth. But she thinks about this remark all the way back to her car.

  Chapter 25

  Even though it’s Saturday, the briefing room is full. Alan White’s death is now officially a murder investigation and Nelson is increasingly convinced that Douglas and Linda Noakes were also killed by person or persons unknown. The Serious Crimes Unit is at full strength, with civilian officers seconded from other forces. Tanya, ever alert, sits at the front. Tony has one of those reusable coffee cups in front of him. And a yoghurt! Jesus wept. Once again, Nelson misses Clough, who would definitely have brought a McDonald’s breakfast muffin.

  Nelson asks Judy, as his number two, to update him on the previous day’s interviews.

  ‘We’ve spoken to all the Night Hawks,’ says Judy. ‘There were eight people there on Thursday night.’ The names flash up on the screen.

  David Brown

  Darren Carter

  Troy Evans

  Ed Fitzherbert

  Michael Malone (Cathbad)

  Paul Noakes

  Neil Topham

  Bryan Walker

  Nelson’s lips twitch at ‘Michael Malone’. He doesn’t think anyone ever calls Cathbad by his given name. Certainly, Judy doesn’t. But she’s right to put her partner on the list. He was an important witness.

  Judy continues. ‘Everyone we spoke to claimed to have got to the car park at midnight, the agreed meeting time. Everyone was in cars – except Troy Evans who was on a bike – so we might be able to trace them. All were members of the Night Hawks, except David Brown who was invited by Alan White. And Cathbad, of course.’

  ‘What did you make of David Brown?’ asks Nelson. ‘He seemed quite hostile when I arrived at the scene.’

  ‘He was polite enough to Tony and me,’ says Judy. ‘We spoke to him at the university. He said that he’d been at school with Alan. He seemed quite shaken at his death, kept saying that it must be an accident.’

  ‘Not much hope of that,’ says Nelson. The post-mortem has confirmed that Alan died from wounds consistent with blunt force trauma, i.e. being hit over the head with a heavy object.

  ‘What about Neil Topham?’ says Nelson. ‘He’s another one who’s been at the scene of the crime a few too many times.’

  ‘He was obviously quite distressed,’ says Judy. ‘We spoke to him at his house. He said that he left for Cley at eleven forty p.m. and his wife can vouch for this. He also says that he spoke to Alan White that morning and that he seemed worried about something. Cathbad says the same. Alan asked him to come along on Thursday night for protection.’

  Nelson recalls Cathbad saying something similar to him. ‘He didn’t say what he needed protecting from?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I spoke to Steph Brice, the headteacher at Greenhill,’ says Tanya. ‘She said that Neil Topham left the school after a mental breakdown. She also said that there’d been an issue with Neil teaching the wrong coursework, or something like that.’

  ‘That doesn’t make him a murderer,’ says Judy.

  ‘I didn’t say it did,’ says Tanya.

  Nelson feels that he should step in. ‘Neil Topham was present, or close by, for all three deaths. I think we should keep an eye on him. Anything else from the Night Hawks, Judy? What about Troy Evans?’

  ‘He arrived at the car park by bike at a few minutes to midnight,’ says Judy. ‘He lives with his parents although they were apparently both in bed when he left. He says that he hadn’t seen Alan since the night they found Jem Taylor’s body.’

  ‘Did Troy know the Noakes family?’ asks Nelson.

  ‘Not as far as I know,’ says Judy. ‘Why?’

  ‘Well, he’s a fisherman and there’s a boat in the Noakes’s barn. I saw it there yesterday. I just wondered if Jem Taylor could have died at the farm and then his body taken out to sea. Troy was a similar age to Jem. There might be a link there.’

  ‘I’ll look into it,’ says Judy.

  ‘And get someone from SOCO to look at the boat,’ says Nelson. ‘There’s seaweed on it. I’m sure there’s a seaweed expert somewhere if we look hard enough.’

  ‘Cathbad eats a lot of seaweed,’ says Judy. ‘He says it’s a good source of protective antioxidants.’

  ‘You don’t surprise me,’ says Nelson. ‘I had a look at the calendar in the kitchen at Black Dog Farm. Douglas Noakes had appointments with Jem Taylor and Nathan Matthews. There are other names on the calendar too. Tony, you can go through and check them out. It’ll take your mind off eating yoghurt. And we need to make a proper search of that room, the one done up like a doctor’s surgery. There’s a filing cabinet and a safe. We need to look inside. Clough says the word on the street is that Noakes was paying ex-cons to do illegal drugs trials for him. If that’s true, then we need to talk to everyone involved. I’m going to talk to Nathan Matthew’s fiancée this afternoon.’

  ‘Do you want me to talk to her?’ says Judy. ‘I talked to Jem’s girlfriend.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ says Nelson. ‘I can be sensitive too, you know.’

  No one contradicts him but Judy exchanges a look with Tanya, something that only happens on the rarest of occasions.

  Ruth is having a relaxing Saturday. When Kate was younger, Ruth used to fill the day with activities: swimming, soft-play centres, the cinema. She supposes that she was trying to make up for the wholesome, two-parent family life that she believed Kate was missing. And, also, weekends can be very lonely when you’re a single parent, with no one to share a bottle of wine with on Friday evening, or order a takeway on Saturday night. Now things are a little different. On Saturdays Kate usually has an invitation to a party or a playdate and just requires a chauffeur service there and back. Ruth passes the time in between drinking coffee in cafés or browsing the shelves at Waterstones in King’s Lynn. And the evenings aren’t so lonely because Kate stays up and shares the takeaway with her. They usually watch a film on Saturday night and spend Sunday variously doing homework. Ruth is finding the head of department paperwork quite daunting.

  This Saturday morning Ruth is at Lynn museum. She remembers telling David Brown that he should visit the place and rather hopes that he won’t decide to do so today. The museum has an unprepossessing exterior, situated on the outskirts of a concrete shopping mall, but, inside, the seahenge display is magical, with huge photographs of the marshes in all their glory. The timbers themselves are behind glass. Given pride of place is the upside-down tree stump found in the centre of the circle, thought by some – including Cathbad – to be a reference to the Norse legend of the World Tree, Yggdrasil. Here it looks almost like the tail of some vast sea-creature, or perhaps a mermaid, disappearing beneath the water. Ruth remembers Cathbad talking about the Norfolk Sea Serpent, that Friday when they went for a pizza. Maybe this is what’s represented here?

  Ruth goes to sit in the story-telling area where there’s a reconstruction of the central tree. She looks at it dreamily, thinking about the significance of the henge in her life. I
t was the archaeological dig that brought her to Norfolk, that introduced her to Cathbad and, later, to Nelson. Without these timbers – these sacred pieces of bog oak – she would never have had her beloved daughter, would probably not have her job in the university, might even now be living in some soulless city somewhere.

  She jumps when her phone buzzes. Maybe Kate has been hurt – she’s at a wall-climbing party – or maybe Ruth’s father is ill. But the name David Brown flashes ominously onto the screen. What is he doing invading her space again?

  ‘Hallo, David.’

  ‘Hi, Ruth. What are you doing?’

  Ruth is tempted to make something up. ‘Can’t talk now, I’m white-water rafting.’ ‘Better be quick. I’m attending a black mass and they’ve just got to the human sacrifice . . .’

  Instead she says, ‘I’m at Lynn museum.’ Let David think she’s at a high-level meeting with the curator if he wants.

  This is clearly not what he thinks. ‘Is Kate with you?’

  Ruth is surprised that he has remembered her daughter’s name. ‘I’m just about to pick her up,’ she says.

  ‘It’s just . . .’ David hesitates so long that she wonders if the connection is lost. But no, he’s still there. ‘I’ve got Maja with me. She really loves the cottage. I was thinking of taking her to see the seals at Blakeney Point.’

  ‘Good idea,’ says Ruth, hearing herself sounding bracing. A boat trip to the seals is a great way to spend the afternoon though she does wonder why David would want to go near a place where, only yesterday, he saw the dead body of his friend.

  ‘The thing is,’ says David, ‘would you and Kate like to come too? It’ll be more fun for Maja with another child her age.’

  While David is talking, Ruth is heading towards the exit. She doesn’t want to be late for pick-up, a heinous crime in motherland. Now she stops in the middle of the gift shop, staring at a plastic replica of the henge, encased in a snow globe.

  ‘Please, Ruth.’

  Why on earth does David want their company so much? Ruth is not very keen on boats, having once had a terrifying experience on the friendly Norfolk Broads. She had planned to take Kate for a pizza and then head home. But, on the other hand, Kate does love the seals.

  ‘OK,’ she says. ‘Meet you at Blakeney Harbour in an hour.’

  Chapter 26

  David is waiting for them by a jetty with a sign for Evans Boats. He’s accompanied by a very blonde child, slightly smaller than Kate, and dressed in jeans and a yellow waterproof jacket.

  Kate tugs at Ruth’s sleeve. ‘Mum, what if she doesn’t speak English? Do you speak Swedish?’

  ‘She will,’ says Ruth. She’s always embarrassed by the fluency of her Scandinavian colleagues. She doesn’t speak any language other than English, despite having an A level in French.

  David is looking at his phone but Ruth decides not to condemn him for bad parenting. Not yet, anyhow. He looks up when they approach, crunching over the pebbles.

  ‘Ruth! Hi, Kate. This is Maja.’

  ‘Hallo,’ says Maja. ‘I can’t wait to see the seals.’ She speaks perfect English with only a trace of an accent. And she’s only ten! Ruth feels inadequate all over again.

  ‘Want to watch a TikTok video on my phone?’ says Kate to Maja. It’s not quite the wholesome outdoor activity that Ruth had in mind but she’s pleased to see the dark and fair heads bent together over the screen. David, too, smiles almost benignly.

  ‘Thanks for coming, Ruth,’ he says. ‘It’s so much easier with other people.’

  What’s so much easier? wonders Ruth. Spending time with his own child? But, all the same, she thinks she knows what he means. It’s exhausting being the only adult, even if you’re used to it. It’s exhausting playing games or pretending to like TikTok videos. It’s exhausting thinking of meals and activities, being the one who knows all the timetables and schedules, who makes the packed lunches and books the tickets. This reminds her that she hasn’t paid for the boat excursion.

  ‘It’s OK,’ says David. ‘The boat belongs to a friend of mine.’

  Ruth notices, for the first time, that there are queues at the jetties belonging to other boat companies, but not at the Evans sign.

  ‘Troy’s taking us out privately,’ says David. ‘It’s not one of his official trips.’

  Troy. Where has Ruth heard that name before? Oh yes, he’s one of the Night Hawks. The one who first found the body on the beach.

  As he’s speaking, a young man sprints along the jetty and jumps lightly into the boat. Ruth notices the vessel’s name for the first time, The Sheringham Mermaid. Didn’t David say something about this mythical creature once? Something about her coming out of the sea to listen to a sermon? But there’s no time to ask now. Troy hands out lifejackets to the four of them. Ruth helps Kate tie hers up, remembering that mantra from inflight safety demonstrations, ‘make sure your own oxygen mask is securely fitted before helping children.’ But surely it’s only natural to make sure your child is safe before you are? Maja is fitting hers efficiently, without needing help from David.

  When they’re onboard, Troy issues brisk instructions (‘keep one hand on the boat at all times’) and takes the tiller. The boat glides out of the harbour and starts to skirt the sandbanks. The sea, which looked millpond smooth from the land, is choppier here and occasionally waves break over the sides of the boat, delighting both the girls. Ruth, who is dressed for museum visiting and not seafaring, soon finds her jacket quite soaked.

  In the distance, Ruth can see the blue lifeboat house at Blakeney Point. She remembers walking there with David, the day Jem Taylor’s body was found, the islands of sand and seagrass linked by lagoons of blue water, the birds rising into the air at their approach. It’s a beautiful landscape, but a slightly eerie one, home to countless sea creatures, somehow inhospitable to humans.

  ‘Seals,’ says Troy. ‘Over there.’

  Ruth realises that the grey rocks at the water’s edge are, in fact, seals, sunning themselves on the sand. Kate and Maja squeal with delight.

  ‘The grey seals are larger and have speckles on them,’ says Troy. ‘The common seals have rounder heads. Grey seals are actually more common than the common seals.’ It sounds as if this is part of his official spiel.

  ‘Are there any baby seals?’ asks Kate.

  ‘Not yet,’ says Troy. ‘Pups are mainly born between November and January. The western end of the point is sealed off then.’

  Ruth tries to take a picture but it’s hard to capture the charm of the bulky grey shapes with their strangely smiling faces. David is standing beside Troy at the tiller. Ruth is suddenly aware of the two men talking in lowered voices.

  ‘. . . asking about Alan’s death . . .’

  ‘. . . two of them . . .’

  ‘. . . Judy Johnson . . .’

  ‘. . . didn’t tell them anything, did you?’

  Ruth’s antennae are immediately on alert. Why is David checking that Troy didn’t tell the police anything? What is there to tell? She looks back at the expanse of blue-green water between them and the shore. She and Kate are on a boat with two men they hardly know. Why has David lured them here? And what about Troy, who suddenly looks burly and threatening rather than muscular and competent? Troy found the first body, the man Nelson initially thought was an asylum seeker. Could he be linked with this second death? There must be something sinister going on, otherwise why would the two men be talking about hiding information from the police?

  Instinctively, Ruth clutches hold of Kate, who wriggles free. Maja and Kate are excitedly taking pictures, running from side to side, snapping wildly with their phones.

  ‘Be careful, girls,’ says David. His voice sounds so exactly normal, a father worried about his child’s safety – as Nelson always is – that Ruth finds herself feeling soothed.

  David comes to stand next t
o her. ‘OK, Ruth?’

  Troy is pointing out a couple of seals flopping into the sea. The ungainly creatures transform themselves into sleek water nymphs. Maybe this is where the myth of the ­Sheringham mermaid comes from, thinks Ruth.

  ‘I’m OK,’ says Ruth.

  ‘Quite something, isn’t it?’ says David.

  And Ruth, eyes stinging from sea spray and from the sight of the wondrous amphibious animals, agrees that it is quite something.

  Judy is talking to a seaweed expert. More specifically, she is talking to Sumaira Smith, a bioscientist at UNN, a contact given to her by Ruth.

  ‘I’ve looked at the photographs,’ says Sumaira, ‘and the seaweed on your boat is rhodophyta and chlorophyta, both found in profusion on the north Norfolk coast. The chlorophyta is sometimes known as gutweed. It’s got a very strong scent.’

  Judy remembers the boss moaning about the smell of the beach at Blakeney Point.

  ‘Can you tell how old it is?’ she asks.

  ‘Not with any accuracy. From the picture it looks quite fresh, it hasn’t dried out completely.’

  ‘What about the barnacles?’

  ‘Barnacles take at least three days to become attached to a seaborne object,’ says Sumaira. ‘So these might have been there a while. They do prove that the boat was in salt water, though, rather than fresh.’

  ‘Is there anything else?’ says Judy. ‘I appreciate that you can’t tell much from a few photographs.’

  ‘Only that these types of seaweed are usually found close to the shore, which means that the boat didn’t go very far out or that it was moored on the beach for some time.’

  ‘Thank you,’ says Judy. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’

  ‘No problem. Give my regards to Ruth.’

  This means that the boat in the barn at Black Dog Farm had definitely been in the sea fairly recently. That’s something, thinks Judy, though it wouldn’t get them very far with the CPS. What next? She looks at her list of the Night Hawks.