When all is dark, p.12
When All Is Dark, page 12
“I can understand that,” Dan said, although he still thought the woman detective’s behaviour was strange.
“Look, if you’re so interested, why don’t I drive you out to Hugh’s place today? The rain seems to be holding off and I should probably check on the guy anyway?”
Dan got to his feet. “Yeah, that would be great.”
Chapter 32
Rainwater had flooded most of the fields and the burns were full of gushing, peaty water. But the leaden clouds had dispersed and the odd ray of November sunshine cast an occasional slash across the lush landscape.
The east road did indeed stop abruptly by a set of three stone cottages and about four hundred yards from a lighthouse painted a faded blue and white.
Eddie brought the truck to a halt. “The lighthouse hasn’t been manned since the sixties, but the light itself is operated from Kirkwall. The rocks out at the point can be very nasty for a small boat.”
Dan climbed down from the passenger seat. The wind flapped his waterproof jacket as soon as he was out of the shelter of the Toyota. He swiftly zipped it up to the neck. Tyler wrapped his arms around his lean body, shivering against the cold.
The cottage Eddie led them towards had clearly once been painted white. Now, the stonework was exposed beneath the chipped paintwork which had been tarnished a dull grey by the elements. The window frames were rotten and splintering in places, the glass foxed with age and practically opaque.
Eddie knocked loudly on the door, then peered into the front sitting room through panes so salt water stained they looked almost like a piece of artwork. The house was as quiet as the grave. “There’s a key in the shed round the back. We may have to use that.”
Dan thought how little security there was in this island community. Maggie was right when she said they needed to trust one another. He took a few steps back along the front path, staring up to the distant headland, where the sun was attempting to break through a cloud above the pinnacle of the lighthouse. He took a deep breath of the sea air, which tasted brackish on his tongue. Then he spotted a dark figure making its way towards the cottage along a path from the lighthouse.
As the figure got closer, Dan could see it was a man with a thin wisp of grey hair, hunch-shouldered in a large waxed jacket. His expression was steely.
Eddie turned to greet him as he approached. “Hugh! I came to check if you had any damage after the storm.”
The older man brushed past them and turned the key in the lock of the crumbling front door. He said nothing, but left the door open, as if they were meant to follow.
Tyler wrinkled his nose at the smell of the property. The aroma was a mixture of damp, oil and what he suspected were rotten clothes, never quite getting a chance to fully dry.
Hugh had shrugged off his jacket and hung it on a hook in the hallway. He went straight to an open fireplace in the front room and began making a careful structure of logs and paper in the grate. “One of my fences came down, but that seems to be the worst of it.”
Dan was surprised by how well-spoken the man was. “I’m DC Clifton and this is my colleague DC Sullivan from Glasgow. We were here on a police matter when the weather prevented us from returning to the mainland. For the time being, we are accompanying DC Shewan on his regular duties. We thought we could maybe have a chat about how things are going here?”
Hugh Turner stopped what he was doing and glared straight at the officers; a look of suspicion and what also appeared to be hostility in his green eyes. “You’ve no business to come here. What do you want?”
“Come now Hugh, like DC Clifton said, they’re just tagging along wi’ me. It’s been useful to have an extra pair of hands to be honest, what with the storms an’ everything. We just want to make sure you’re okay out here.”
The man struck a match and tossed it onto his untidy pyramid, watching as the flames curled the paper and licked at the edges of the logs. “The police have never been of any bloody use to me.”
Eddie looked affronted. “I’ve done my best Hugh. But you really need some proper work done on this place. I can’t see it lasting another winter otherwise.”
Hugh stared at the fire. “I didn’t mean that. You’ve been a good friend to me, Eddie. I wish you’d been in the job when it really mattered. But it’s too late now.”
Dan bent down so he was level with the man. “What do you mean Mr Turner? When did it matter?”
He whipped his head round, his eyes reflecting the flames, burning with hate. “Get out of my house!” he hissed. “Haven’t you people done enough? Leave me alone, I tell you!”
Eddie shook his head sadly. “Come on, we’d better leave.”
Dan and Tyler followed the other detective outside, pulling the door shut behind them. As they walked in silence back to the truck, the wind howled around the lighthouse, as if in agreement that they were not welcome here.
Chapter 33
Dusk had fallen by four pm. It would be dark soon. Although, the lights on this street were particularly efficient, the woman had noticed. She needed to make sure she avoided standing beneath one in order not to be seen.
The first wave of folk were arriving home; those who picked their children up from school or nursery. The second wave would come later, when the full-time workers returned; those who were at their desks well into the evening, or visited pubs or made shopping trips on their way. People like herself.
The policewoman had been at home for half an hour. She brought her little boy into the house when there was still a shimmer of lingering daylight. She hadn’t left him sitting in the car seat again, but carried him awkwardly on her hip as she fumbled for her key.
There had been about ten minutes when the living room curtains remained open. She could see the boy sitting on a rug, surrounded by his toys, sipping a cup of juice contentedly. Then the policewoman with the auburn hair pulled the thick drapes closed and her window on their lives was shut.
She stood on the corner a little while longer. Other houses on this street had their lights blazing and never bothered with curtains at all. She could observe most of their evening rituals if she wanted to; the dogs running in circles of excitement at the return of their owners, the TV dinners and the piano practice.
But she wasn’t terribly interested in them, although she had watched such families in the past. Or even in the husband with the dark wavy hair and tailored suits. He would be back in an hour or so, but she wouldn’t wait. Her feet were beginning to feel numb in her court shoes, her tights were only fifteen denier. She hated the thick ones, which bunched around the ankles. She liked to be smart for work, even if it meant braving the chill at this time of year. She pulled the hood up on her dark coat and continued walking, smiling to herself, knowing she’d be back in plenty of time for the evening news.
*
Dermot had joined Klara at her temporary workstation. He’d brought the analyst in a cup of takeout mint tea, from the coffee bar on the corner, knowing this was her preferred beverage and aware that he’d probably trespassed on her remit with the work he’d been doing himself in the last day. Deciding he might need a peace offering.
She sipped the aromatic drink whilst sifting through the lines of data she’d generated on her screen. “I haven’t got anything new for you yet, DI Muir.”
“No, I’m not chasing you for results.” He cleared his throat. “The DCI and myself took a particular interest in the Mabel Flett case you showed us. There was something about the dressing of the murder scene which made us curious. I requested the full file from the investigating department.”
Klara took off her glasses and gave him her full attention. Her eyes were a sea-green, flecked with amber. “Did you find anything of interest?”
“We are pretty sure the teddy bear found at the scene in Caithness was placed there after the murder, by the killer themselves. In fact, I took the liberty of contacting Highlands and Islands again, to ask about other unsolved crimes within their division. I didn’t ask them to apply any of our criteria, I just wanted to see what they came up with.”
“Do you think that specific region has a connection to the Lester murder?” She looked sceptical.
Dermot shrugged. “It’s just a hunch. Wick can’t be more than a few miles from North Dorga, the place DCs Clifton and Sullivan have visited to speak with Lester’s son, even if there is a strip of North Sea between them. I don’t think it’s something we can afford to ignore.”
Klara pursed her lips. “An analyst’s work is only as good as the information we have been given to set our research parameters. If we miss out a key criteria, it’s possible to overlook a valuable piece of information. My work isn’t infallible. What did they send you?”
Dermot was relieved he hadn’t offended her. “Great. I’ll send you over the details of a case that jumped out at me. I’d appreciate your input before I take it to Bevan?”
Klara slipped her glasses back on and smiled. “Of course, and thank you for the tea.”
Dermot was making his way back to his own desk when Sharon cut across the office floor to intercept him. “Have you got a minute? There’s something I’d like you to see?”
Why he felt a flash of irritation at Sharon’s request he really didn’t know. It was hardly justified. “Sure.”
Sharon led him to her untidy desk, a notebook scrawled with text lay open beside her computer screen. Alice was seated opposite, also leaning forward with an interested expression.
The DS continued. “We are of course still trying to track down the whereabouts of Elinor Lester, AKA Billi Star, but at the same time I’ve been doing some research into the cross symbols used at both Lester’s crime scene and that of Mabel Flett.”
Dermot felt a tingling sensation in his chest that felt almost like excitement. He wondered if Sharon had found something important here. She had great instincts.
Sharon pointed at the screen. “I was surfing the internet, trying to find out whatever I could about ‘palm crosses’. I already know pretty much everything about the wooden crosses used by Earth’s Saviours. Only, I found this website fairly quickly and it came as something of a surprise.”
Dermot scanned the text, his eyebrows rising.
Sharon addressed Alice. “You see, it seems as if our Easter ‘palm crosses’ are also known as ‘African palms’. In fact, although now widely copied, they started out as quite a localised piece of craftwork, made only in eight villages in the Masasi area of southern Tanzania.”
Alice gasped. “Where Quentin Lester worked for six years?”
“Yep,” Sharon replied.
“I don’t know what the hell this means,” Dermot said excitedly. “But it provides another link between the murders of Quentin Lester and Mabel Flett.” He grinned. “Sharon, I could kiss you!”
The DS shrugged off the praise, her face reddening to a deep crimson.
Chapter 34
Sharon searched for the sunglasses she’d tossed into her bag the previous night, at her flat in Glasgow. The sun was hanging low over the lush Simba hill, the outcrop of rock and soil that dominated the city of Dodoma, but it remained brighter than anything she’d experienced before. The heat was expected, but the DS still felt the sweat prickling the back of her neck beneath the collar of the lemon yellow cotton shirt she was wearing.
Dermot seemed unaffected by the change in climate. His light suit was uncreased and crisp, even after the long flight. He led the way out of the airport and headed straight for one of the waiting taxi cabs. Allowing the driver to lift their small cases into the boot.
The air-conditioning in the back of the car was a welcome relief. “I still can’t quite believe the DCS allowed us to come.”
Dermot twisted the lid on a bottle of water and took a gulp. “He’s got a huge budget allocated to him by the First Minister. We need to get this murder solved so that it doesn’t forever taint Scotland’s hosting of COP26. If we can’t be seen to keep delegates safe, then Glasgow won’t be chosen for any high-level conferences ever again.”
Sharon wasn’t sure this was such a bad thing. The entire city had been brought to a halt and her fellow officers placed under unbelievable pressure. But she knew Dermot had greater sympathy with the establishment powers than her so didn’t comment on it. “It’s a shame Alice couldn’t come too.”
“Yes, this is her lead as much as yours. But she couldn’t leave Charlie, I totally understand.” He gave a wistful smile. “Whereas you and I…”
Sharon nodded. He didn’t have to say any more. She and Dermot were single and without ties. Not even a pet between them. They could jet off to another continent with just a few hours’ notice. “Yeah, I take your point. Like Dan and Tyler; single and carefree. God, I hope we don’t get stranded here like they have on Dorga.”
Dermot chuckled. “We couldn’t be in more different places. We’re hardly going to experience a winter storm here.” He glanced out of the window at the landscape which was interspersed with greenery but mostly populated by parched fields and low-rise stone dwellings.
“I wonder if that’s why Lester chose to come here? Because it’s so much different from Scotland?”
“Maybe he just wanted to do good? Tanzania is one of the poorest countries in Africa?”
Sharon thought it could be a bit of both.
It took thirty minutes for them to reach the cream stone building that housed Simon Clarke’s charity. Dermot paid the driver, who had left their cases standing solitary in the dust.
A tall white man with a deeply tanned face emerged from the front of the building. He held out his hand to the detectives. “I’m Simon. You are very welcome to our headquarters here at ‘Teaching Tanzania’.
Sharon placed him in his early fifties. “Thanks so much for agreeing to see us at such short notice.”
He led them inside the building which was pleasantly cool. A shaded corridor led to an open-air quad with a raised flower-bed in the centre, filled with African violets and Lobelia. Just off this courtyard was an office that housed three desks. “Take a seat, please. Would you like a drink?”
Dermot shook his head. “We’ve had plenty of water, thanks.”
“Is this your first time in Africa?” The man asked with a wide smile.
“Yes,” Sharon said. “It is for me. What a wonderful city this is.”
Simon nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve lived here now for fifteen years. I divide my time between Dodoma and the villages where we have established our schools. It is a remarkable place. If you do have the time, we have elephants, lions and hippos to be seen in their natural habitats. You must take one of the safari tours in the Northern Masailand, they are quite famous.”
“We won’t have time for that,” Dermot interrupted. “We are here to find out about Quentin Lester.”
Simon’s face became serious. “Of course, although, as I told you on the phone, he was a quiet member of the team. I didn’t feel I got to know him particularly well, but he was a hard worker. He was good at raising funds for our projects and wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty.”
“Did he talk about his family much?”
Simon frowned in thought. “I believe he mentioned his son a few times, especially when we were based out in the villages. He said he’d started work on a farm on one of the Scottish islands. I sensed he was quite proud of him.”
“He never mentioned his daughter?” Sharon probed.
“No, I don’t think so. But you can speak with other members of my team. They may have known him better.”
“We will, thank you.”
Sharon removed some printed sheets from her bag and placed them on the table. “This may sound like a strange question, but do you know anything about the palm crosses that are made in the Masasi region? I believe a number of your schools are in that area?”
Simon took the sheets with interest, they described the process and sale of the crosses. “We don’t sell the crosses ourselves, but a few of our fellow charities do. There was a British Anglican missionary in the 1960s who founded the charity that sell the African palm crosses. He felt that the traditional, handmade symbols would be well received back in the UK and America, particularly for the Palm Sunday celebrations. He was right. The local farming families still produce them. The proceeds go straight back to the local communities. It was seen as a way of encouraging the farmers to help themselves. Although, it was also a means of spreading Christianity to these communities.” Simon crossed his arms over his chest. “We are a non-religious charity. We aim to spread education, not doctrine.”
“But these crosses are still produced?”
“Oh yes, and they sell very well around the world. The project has been extremely successful.”
“What about Quentin? Would he have had anything to do with the distribution of these crosses?”
“Absolutely not. He worked solely for our charity. But whether he bought any for himself, I’ve no idea. We often passed through the villages known for the craft, he could easily have picked some up, but I don’t recall it. I don’t remember him being a particularly religious man either, so it wouldn’t make much sense for him to have one.”
Sharon felt her heart sink. Had they travelled all this way for nothing? Had her research sent them on an expensive wild goose chase?
Dermot seemed unperturbed. “It’s getting late. Thank you for seeing us today, at such short notice, but it’s time for us to head to our hotel. Is it still alright for us to return in the morning and question some of your employees?”
Simon held out his arms in an expansive gesture. “Of course. I’d love to introduce you to my team. I can show you the plans for the many projects we have completed since we began the charity. We are very proud of them.”
