The Night Hawks Read online

‘Is it enough, though?’ says Judy. She’s in her car, on the way to interview Bryan Walker, the Night Hawk who taught with Linda Noakes. Nelson is in his office, trying not to have a meeting with Jo.

  ‘It’ll shake him up a bit,’ says Nelson. ‘We know he’s got something to hide, because of the conversation Ruth overheard. I’ll give him a ring and ask him to come in this afternoon. Let him get a lawyer if he wants one.’

  ‘OK,’ says Judy. ‘I’ll be back in an hour or two.’

  But before Nelson can call David Brown and initiate the shaking-up process, a call comes through on his phone. It’s from Mark Hammond.

  ‘There’s been a break-in at Black Dog Farm. I thought you’d like to know. I’m there now.’

  Anything to escape from the office. Nelson grabs his phone, tells Leah that he’s going out and is in his car before she can remind him about the afternoon’s meetings. Nelson races through the Monday morning traffic (though what are they all doing, still on the road at ten o’clock?), feeling the familiar sense of well-being that he gets when on the trail of a case. He could never give this up, no matter how much Jo nags him to retire.

  The journey is now all too familiar. The broken gate, the uneven track, the square house with the black weathercock spinning gently. There’s a squad car outside and Mark Hammond, still looking diminished without his partner, is standing beside it.

  Nelson gets out of the car and strides over to him. ‘Hi, Mark. How are you doing?’

  ‘Better now that I’m back at work.’

  You see, Nelson tells Jo in his head, work is good for you.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ Nelson asks.

  ‘We’re keeping an eye on the house,’ says Mark, ‘making it part of our daily rounds. I drove past about half an hour ago and I saw a van coming out of the turning. Thought that was a bit odd, so I came up here and . . .’ He points to the front door. It had been boarded up after the shooting – Nelson remembers standing outside with the firearms squad listening to the rotten wood giving way – but now the door is ajar. Nelson can see boot marks on the thin planks. It wouldn’t have been hard to break down.

  ‘Have you been in?’ he asks.

  ‘No,’ says Mark. ‘I thought I should wait for you.’

  ‘Did you get the number of the van?’

  ‘No.’ Mark looks slightly shamefaced. ‘I assumed it might be one of you lot. Or the SOCO team.’

  ‘OK,’ says Nelson. ‘Let’s have a look inside.’

  It’s like the first time. The dust motes in the air, the grandfather clock ticking. Why is it still working? Nelson wonders. Don’t those things have to be wound up every few days? Instinctively, Nelson looks up at the staircase where Linda Noakes’s body was found. The handprint is still on the wallpaper. It strikes him that the hallway is slightly lighter than usual, and he realises this is because a door is open. There’s a shaft of sunlight and a faint smell of antiseptic. It’s the private surgery, the room that Douglas Noakes kept locked at all times. A specialist team is due at the farm that afternoon, to clear this room and examine all the evidence. It looks as if someone has got there first.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ says Mark. Of course, it’s the first time he’s seen the secret room.

  The drawers of the filing cabinets are open, their contents strewn over the floor. A chair has been knocked over and it looks as if someone has tried to jemmy the desk open.

  ‘They didn’t try to hide their tracks,’ says Nelson.

  ‘Maybe they were in a hurry,’ says Mark. He’s still looking rather dazed.

  ‘Better get SOCO back here,’ says Nelson, aware that he has already contaminated the scene. In for a penny . . . He leans over the papers on the floor. They are alphabetical files. A–C. D–F. He can’t see M to O, which would contain Nathan Matthews’s file, but he doesn’t like to say this in front of Mark.

  ‘Maybe they were looking for drugs,’ says Mark. ‘People round here must know that a doctor lived here.’

  A research scientist would have no reason to keep drugs in the house, thinks Nelson, but he’s pretty sure that Douglas Noakes had a generous supply.

  ‘Maybe,’ says Nelson. ‘And maybe they were just thrill seekers, wanting to be in the house where there’s been a murder.’

  ‘I can’t imagine anyone wanting to come here,’ says Mark. ‘And there are no neighbours for miles around.’

  ‘That’s true,’ says Nelson. ‘But the house has been in the papers quite a lot. Maybe someone made a special trip.’

  ‘This is probably where the drugs are.’ Mark points at a safe on the wall. It’s still closed but there are jemmy marks on it and a dent as if someone has thrown something heavy at the metal door. Kicking the door in, battering the safe. The intruders obviously weren’t the stealthy sort, thinks Nelson. They are obviously not dealing with the Secret Shadow here. He moves closer to the safe and, as he does so, spots something that glints on the floor.

  ‘Look at this,’ he says, taking a quick picture on his phone.

  Mark comes over. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s a badge. I saw Alan White once wearing something very similar.’ It’s a bird with wings outspread, made of silver or pewter. Nelson thinks back to the day of Ruth’s excavation on the beach, Cathbad raising his arms and spouting some nonsense about Mother Earth, Alan watching, wearing a gilet adorned with this pin.

  ‘I think it’s a Night Hawk badge,’ says Nelson.

  ‘A nighthawk? Oh, you mean the metal detectorists.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Nelson. ‘The question is, what’s it doing here? Seems very careless to have dropped it. Maybe it’s a message of some kind.’

  ‘A message? Who from?’

  ‘That’s the question. We need SOCO to have a good look at it. Come on, let’s get out of here.’

  They back out of the room. Nelson is turning to check that the front door is secured when he hears Mark give an exclamation. He’s pointing towards the field at the side of the house. Racing through the yellowing autumn grass is a large black dog.

  Judy arrives at St Luke’s school at first break. This time the playground is full of children, some playing hopscotch, some skipping. A group of older girls are sitting on the climbing frame, deep in discussion, as serious as politicians. Two little boys with coats over their heads are zooming around causing mayhem. The sound that rises from the space, laughter and raucous shouts, takes Judy right back to her own childhood and the joy of simply running around. Michael will be going to secondary school the year after next and she dreads him leaving this safe primary-coloured world for the wild west of the local comprehensive. At least, if Kate’s going there too, she’ll keep an eye on him. That is, if Nelson doesn’t persuade Ruth to send Kate to the private school attended by his older daughters. Judy doesn’t think this is likely, but the boss can be persuasive when he wants.

  Bryan Walker is waiting for her in an empty classroom. There are poems about seashells on the walls and spaceships made from silver foil hanging from the ceiling.

  ‘I’ll miss all this when I retire next year,’ says Bryan. ‘I love all the creative stuff but it’s all literacy and numeracy now.’

  Cathbad would agree but Judy doesn’t think there’s anything wrong with knowing how to read and count.

  Judy remembers Selina Spencer talking about ‘the oldies club’ but Bryan doesn’t look as if he’s near retirement age. He’s a small man, thin and tanned with hair that’s still more brown than grey. He tells Judy that he’s fifty-five.

  ‘Early retirement,’ he says. ‘My wife and I want to travel. We’ve got this plan that involves me visiting archaeological sites and Sue visiting beaches.’

  ‘You’re interested in archaeology, then? I know you’re a member of the Night Hawks.’

  ‘I actually studied archaeology at university, but jobs were hard to find – and very badly paid. I sort
of drifted into teaching when our first child was born. But I grew to love it.’

  ‘Were you a friend of Alan White’s?’

  Bryan’s face clouds. ‘Yes. Poor Alan. Such an awful thing to happen. I met him at an NUT meeting and he mentioned his metal detecting club. I went once and was hooked.’

  ‘Like I said on the phone,’ says Judy, ‘I’m interested in the fact that you knew Linda Noakes too. I know that she taught here. Can you tell me anything about her? She’s been rather a shadowy figure in our investigations so far.’

  ‘She was a nice woman. Rather quiet and reserved but she had a sense of humour too. The children liked her a lot and they have a sixth sense about who to trust. We were all really shocked when we heard what had happened.’

  ‘Did you ever meet her husband, Douglas?’

  ‘No, but that’s not unusual. Partners tend to avoid social gatherings, too much jargon and too many in-jokes. I bet it’s the same with the police.’

  ‘It is,’ says Judy. ‘I should tell you that we’ve had reports that Douglas Noakes was abusive to his children. Did you ever hear anything like that? Or suspect anything?’

  Bryan rubs his eyes. ‘No. Never. Linda didn’t talk about her children much. Like I say, she was very private. But I got the impression that she was proud of them. The daughter was a doctor and the son was a teacher.’

  Put like that, Chloe and Paul do sound the epitome of respectability.

  Judy says, ‘Did Linda ever say that she was worried about anything? Anything at all?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ says Bryan. ‘There’s not much time for talking about worries when you’re a primary school teacher. There was just one thing once . . .’

  ‘What?’ Judy is instantly alert, sitting on her uncomfortable children’s chair.

  ‘She said that her daughter, Chloe, had an unsuitable boyfriend.’

  ‘Unsuitable? Did she say why?’

  ‘I think she said that he was very possessive. I said that one of my daughters – I’ve got three of them – had a boyfriend like that and we were pleased when they split up. Linda said that she’d be pleased when this chap was out of the picture.’

  ‘She didn’t say what his name was?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you know that Chloe and Neil Topham once had an affair?’

  ‘Neil Topham. The Night Hawk? But he’s miles older than her. He must be about my age.’

  Exactly Bryan’s age, according to Judy’s records. Bryan looks quite revolted at the thought of the two of them together.

  ‘Neil used to be Chloe’s teacher,’ she says.

  ‘My God,’ says Bryan. ‘That’s awful.’ He looks around the room as if seeking assurance that he exists in a better, kinder world. The silver spacecrafts twinkle back at them.

  Cathbad is walking by the harbour at Wells. He has taken the children to school and now he and Thing are enjoying the autumn sunshine. Cathbad is teaching a meditation class at eleven but there’s time for some healing breaths of sea air. The last few days have been rather disturbing to the equilibrium, even though Cathbad has taken the usual precautions – casting a protective circle, drinking turmeric tea and reciting the serenity prayer. But, even so, he can’t altogether banish the image of Alan White’s body lying in the open grave. He’s also haunted by the thought that Alan had been scared and had reached out to Cathbad for support. Should he have done more? If he had done more, would Alan be alive today? But such thoughts do no good and, if not directed into a more positive stream, are in danger of spiralling downwards. Gazing at the sea will help restore the balance.

  Cathbad loves watching the sea. There’s always something new to see, an unusual bird, a foreign ship with Cyrillic script on its bows, some flotsam brought in by the tide. Even the water changes every day, sometimes white with chalk, at other times as clear and green as the ­Mediterranean. There are plenty of ghosts in Wells too. An old lady in Victorian costume is meant to haunt the distant sandbank, disappearing into the sea if approached. Cathbad hasn’t seen her yet but he lives in hope.

  He sits on the wall and gets Thing’s bowl out of his rucksack. He fills the bowl with water from a flask and then gets out a second flask full of turmeric tea. He takes a sip of the aromatic liquid and then shuts his eyes and lets the sun warm his face.

  ‘It’s Cathbad, isn’t it?’

  Cathbad opens his eyes. It’s the young Night Hawk. What’s his name? Something classical. Hector?

  ‘It’s Troy. Troy Evans.’

  ‘Hallo, Troy.’

  ‘Do you live in Wells?’

  ‘Yes,’ says Cathbad, ‘in one of the old fisherman’s cottages.’ It doesn’t take druidical powers to guess Troy’s occupation. He’s dressed like all the local fishermen, in waders and a flat cap.

  ‘You were a friend of Alan’s, weren’t you?’

  ‘Yes,’ says Cathbad. ‘Do you want some turmeric tea?’

  Troy shudders. ‘No thanks. You know that policeman too, don’t you? DCI Nelson.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Cathbad. He assumes that Troy will get to the point sooner or later.

  But Troy is looking out at the water. The tide is coming in and the boats are rising up, coming to life again.

  ‘There was a shipwreck here once,’ says Troy. ‘Before the First World War. My granddad told me about it. He had it from his dad. The SS Heathfield it was called. Ran aground on the sandbank at Sheringham. Eleven men were washed up in Wells harbour. They’re buried in St Nicholas’s churchyard.’

  ‘I’ve seen the graves,’ says Cathbad. The inscription on the plaque reads ‘God will wipe away tears from all faces.’ It never fails to move Cathbad to tears.

  ‘The sea can be treacherous,’ says Troy. ‘People don’t realise that.’

  ‘“They that go down to the sea in ships, that do business in the deep waters, these see the work of the Lord and his wonders in the deep.”’

  ‘Where’s that from?’

  ‘The Bible. It’s a psalm, I think.’

  ‘My granddad was one for church,’ says Troy. ‘I’m not. You’re a druid, aren’t you?’

  Cathbad agrees modestly that he is.

  ‘I think that’s how he died,’ says Troy. ‘I think he was in a boat with someone who didn’t understand the sea.’

  ‘Who?’ says Cathbad. ‘Alan?’

  ‘No.’ Troy looks at him as if he’s mad. ‘Jem. Jem Taylor.’

  Chapter 29

  The dog is getting closer. Nelson can see its eyes and lolling tongue. There’s a fence between the field and the yard but the dog squeezes under it easily. It’s definitely the same animal that Nelson saw with Ruth, a large Doberman, possibly crossed with something even bigger.

  ‘Hi, boy,’ says Nelson.

  The dog pauses, head on one side. Then he turns, as if he has heard something. Now Nelson hears it too. A car approaching. The next minute, a new-looking jeep appears. For a moment, Nelson thinks it’s Clough. But then he recognises the driver. Paul Noakes.

  The car stops and Noakes gets out. The dog runs over to him, tail wagging. Paul ignores it.

  ‘The police called me,’ he says, addressing himself to Mark. ‘Apparently there’s been a break-in.’

  ‘Yes,’ says Mark. ‘Someone has broken the door down. We don’t know if anything’s been stolen yet. Could just be kids. Could be people looking for drugs.’

  ‘Do you know that dog?’ says Nelson.

  ‘No,’ says Paul. The dog thinks otherwise. It is sitting at Paul’s feet, looking up at him expectantly.

  ‘Looks like it knows you,’ says Nelson.

  ‘I’ve never seen it before in my life,’ says Paul. ‘Shoo,’ he says to the dog, who wags its tail.

  ‘It’s been living in that barn,’ says Nelson. ‘Want to look inside?’

  Without waiting for an ans
wer, he walks towards the outbuildings. The humans all follow but the dog is quickest. It bounds past Nelson and shimmies through the half-open side door. Nelson flings the door wide and turns on his torch.

  ‘Someone’s feeding that animal,’ he says, pointing at the dog, who is now gulping down food from its bowl.

  ‘I don’t know who that could be,’ says Paul. At the sound of his voice, the dog looks up and wags its tail again.

  Nelson is shining his torch around the cavernous barn, remembering the last time he was here, with Ruth. What would have happened if Chloe hadn’t come in when she did?

  ‘Whose is the boat?’ he asks.

  ‘My father’s,’ says Paul.

  ‘Your sister says that you like boating,’ says Nelson.

  ‘Only messing about on the river,’ says Paul. ‘Nothing serious.’

  The dinghy did not acquire its seaweed decorations on the river, thinks Nelson. Judy’s expert has confirmed as much.

  The dog has now come up to Paul and is looking up at him once more.

  ‘Do you want to take him home with you?’ says Nelson. ‘Just until his real owner turns up?’

  Mark Hammond laughs and turns it into a cough. Paul looks awkward, his hands hanging down at his side. The dog is obviously all for the idea.

  ‘I can’t,’ says Paul at last. ‘I’m out at work all day.’

  But Paul isn’t at work now, thinks Nelson. Why not?

  ‘I’ll take charge of the dog,’ says Mark.

  He looks quite cheerful about it. Nelson remembers Mark saying that he wanted to be a police dog handler. This could be the start of a whole new career.

  Nelson drives back to the station in a thoughtful frame of mind. The dog knew Paul Noakes. No question about it. And Paul, unlike his sister, was a fairly frequent visitor to his parents’ house. Could he have met the dog there and was he the one still feeding and caring for it? If so, why keep this a secret? And he was obviously lying about the boat too. Nelson remembers what Chloe had said about sailing. Paul was keener on it than me. Is it possible that Paul was his father’s assistant in whatever shady dealings were taking place at Black Dog Farm? Did Paul help his father dispose of Jem Taylor’s body? Was it Paul who ransacked the filing cabinets to dispose of the relevant evidence?