The Burning Man Read online

  ‘Phew, well bugger me,’ said Turner, shaking his head in surprise. ‘That’s great work. That’s amazing.’

  ‘The fibres are khaki, which is why we can be reasonably sure he died between those dates because at the end of 1919, the RFC adopted a new uniform. They went over to the blue. The bits of leather we think could have come from his coat — we can’t be a hundred per cent sure on that one, but I’m willing to bet on it. The smaller bits of metal, corroded as there are, are small enough to be buttons from his tunic, and, going by the thickness of this bit of leather, we think it came from his Sam Brown belt and that put him in the officer class,’ said Bryant.

  ‘Now you have a name, you should be able to find out more from RAF records. You shouldn’t have any problem finding him,’ said Laura Townsend.

  Turner pursed his lips, whistled, and said, ‘The question now is, how did a Canadian pilot in the RFC end up at the bottom of a channel on the Oare marshes?’

  ‘That we can’t help you with, but at least you’ve got something to work on,’ said Bryant. ‘He would have been reported missing. There may even be relatives out there somewhere that wondered what happened to him. At least the poor fellow can now have a marked grave.’ she said.

  Turner looked at both of them, raised his eyebrows and muttered, ‘Looks like I’ve got a bit of research to do, after all.’

  ****

  Cradling a cup of coffee in his hands, Carter looked across the cafeteria table at Bill Turner. He’d taken a late lunch after arranging an impromptu press conference. The fire and the murder would be back in the headlines by nightfall now the press knew it was not Eades that died in the barn, but Ajmal Hakim.

  ‘So, Bill. Accident or murder? We have no way of proving the latter, not after ninety years, and even if we did, we couldn’t stick it on anyone because they’d be dead and buried long ago.’

  He put down the cup and picked up the sandwich from his plate. He opened the two pieces of bread and peered inside, hoping to find what he’d paid for — cheese and tomato. He pulled out the lettuce, grated carrot, and something he didn’t recognise and put it all on the plate. Satisfied, he took a bite.

  While chewing, he said, ‘You should be able to get hold of his service records.’

  ‘Yes. I did make a couple of calls when I got back. I’ll see where that takes me. It might take a bit of time.’

  ‘I believe you said something about that developer chap you met over at Oare being some local historian. Would he be able to help?’

  Turner thought about his previous encounter with Martin Jones. ‘Maybe, but only as a last resort,’ he said.

  ****

  Later that same afternoon, Marcia Kirby drove out of the police yard and into the afternoon traffic. It was a typical mild autumn afternoon, far enough from summer to have lost the heat and not close enough to winter to have that bite of cold. To get to Chalk Lane Farm was only a twenty-minute drive.

  ‘I’ve checked with Immigration, and the last time Rafael Garcia entered the country was late last year. He’s not a frequent visitor,’ said Mike Reid from the back seat. ‘I’ve got the phone records. There have only been six calls to Spain in the last twelve months. Do you want me to apply for a particular production order so we can get his emails intercepted?’

  ‘No, leave that for the moment, Mike,’ answered Carter. ‘I might just give the local police over there a call first and see what they can tell me about him.’

  They drove down the High Street and through the town in silence. As Marcia Kirby accelerated through the lights and across the Market Square, Carter glanced over to Hardwick, the jewellers, reminding himself of the commitment he was about to make. He had made up his to ask her. It was now just a matter of choosing the right time.

  When they drove in beneath the archway into Chalk Lane Farm and up the gravelled drive to the house, they saw that the stable doors were open and Eades’s red Honda Civic Hatchback was parked inside.

  As the three climbed from the car, Eades came out from the house to meet them.

  ‘I thought now would be a good a time as any, Mr Eades, to have our little chat.’ He indicated his head toward Kirby. ‘Detective Sergeant Kirby here you already know, and this is Detective Sergeant Mike Reid.’ Reid smiled and nodded.

  ‘Let’s go inside, shall we?’ said Eades. He looked nervous and apprehensive.

  He led them into the house and down the hall towards the living room. Passing the kitchen, Carter noticed Eades had been busy. The place was clean, tidy and everything put back in its rightful place.

  Although Carter had been in the house on the day of the murder, he had taken little notice of its décor. Now, seated in the large oak-panelled sitting room, he had time to take it all in. The furniture was high end and bespoke. Every piece was hardwood and harked back to the Victorian era. The fabrics were spotless, and colour coordinated in muted natural hues. It looked comfortable and practical but by no means plush. A blazing log fire sent warmth flowing out into the room.

  Eades stood with his back to the fire, arms behind his back and legs astride. ‘Can I get you some coffee or tea?’ Eades asked. All three officers declined his offer.

  ‘I'll come straight to the point,’ Carter said. ‘Superintendent Watkins and I held a press conference earlier, so by morning, everyone will know that you did not perish in the fire. We have named Mr Ajmal Hakim as the victim and that you were not in the country at the time

  of the fire. Now, it’s imperative that you do not speak too much to the press because I'm sure they’ll want to talk to you. If they ask you for a statement, keep it simple. Just stick to the facts about the fire and say what a terrible accident it was. Under no circumstances must you mention the cocaine. The press knows nothing about it, and that’s the way we want to keep it. Do you understand?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Now. We will be in contact with you at all times. I want you to keep those front gates locked while you are up here at the house. If you go out in the car, phone this number.’ Carter handed him a card. ‘Keep this with you at all times. You will see on it a three-digit code number. An automated voice will ask you to key in that number. Its fully automated, twenty-four hours a day. It will then ask you if you are leaving or returning. Depending on what it is, you will then be asked to key in another number. If you are going out, it will ask you to use the keypad to put in the number of hours corresponding to the time you will be away. When you return, you must call back in. Try to be back within the time frame you estimated. If you don’t call in within thirty minutes of your return time, it will automatically dispatch a car out here to the farm. It’ll be here quickly.’

  Mike Reid, who was sitting in the lounge, said, ‘Should you see or hear anything, and I mean anything, suspicious, call us straight away. We do know that a motorbike is involved, so be aware of that.’

  Kirby opened up the shoulder bag and brought out what looked like a mobile phone. ‘Should you not be able to get to your phone, here is a panic button.’ She opened it up and showed him. ‘Press that button. It has a built-in tracking system. It has a range of twenty miles.’ She snapped it shut and handed it to him. He looked at it briefly then put it in his pocket.

  ‘I have spoken to the superintendent, and we’ve agreed that you can walk away from this anytime you want to, and we won’t be pressing charges,’ said Carter.

  ‘This has all been my fault. I was stupid enough to think I could get away with it. I must have been mad. If I hadn’t taken the stuff, Ajmal would be alive today. I am responsible for his death. He needs to be avenged. I can’t bring him back but, at least, if this man turns up and you get him, some justice will come from it,’ he said.

  Carter couldn’t help feeling that Eades’s statement somehow lacked sincerity.

  Earlier, on their way to Chalk Lane, Carter had decided he’d make no mention of it to Eades, but now he thought the man should know because his life could be in danger.

  ‘There’s one other t
hing you should know about before we go, and I think, under the circumstances, it’s only fair I tell you.’ He paused and leaning forward in his chair said. ‘The man who killed Ajmal is responsible for another murder. He killed a woman by the name of Mary Lampton.’

  Eades smiled. ‘Then that’s all the more reason for him to be punished for what he’s done. I want him to pay for Ajmal’s death. He was a good man and a good friend.’

  ‘I’ll get one on my Home Security officers out to see you. He’ll check the house over and make sure all your windows and locks are secure. Are there any questions you want to ask me before I go?’

  ‘Just one. Will, you be posting an officer outside?’

  ‘No. I see no need for that. But if I had to, I would rather put one in the house here with you.’

  ‘No that’s fine.’

  Carter stood up ready to go. ‘Ok. Any signs of trouble or you see anyone lurking around, call us straight away.’

  It was late afternoon as they made their way down the narrow lane and away from the farm. The setting sun caused the trees to cast long cold shadows across the ground. High on the hillsides, the bracken was yellowing. Winter was fast approaching.

  Carter was staring out of the side window, thinking. It was Richard Eades’s reaction to Mary Lampton’s death that was nagging him. Eades had taken the news of her death without comment. Strange. Any reasonable man would have asked more questions.

  Who was she? How did she die? Eades hadn’t. Why was that? Did he know about it?’

  Kirby looked back at Reid through the rear-view mirror and said. ‘I hear you’re going to be Dave Lynch’s best man?’ She waited for a gap in the traffic, then turned onto the main road and accelerated towards Kingsport.

  ‘Yes,’ came the reply. Last week in December. I’ve known Dave for a long time. He’s got no living relatives. His father buggered off with another woman after he was born and Dave’s mum died when he was six. An aunt brought him up.’ The rest of the journey was completed in silence.

  It had only taken them a short time to get back to town, but as they drove into the parking area, the lengthened shadows of the evening had melted away into darkness.

  As they climbed the stairs to CID, Reid said. ‘Anyone fancy joining me for a swift half?’

  ‘I’ll come and keep you company for half an hour,’ said Kirby, ‘then I must dash off. Promised Mum I’d run her over to bingo tonight. Then it’s a book by the fire with a glass of red.’

  Carter said, ‘Thanks, Dave, but I’ll pass. I’ve got a few things to do here first before I knock off and Christine is expecting me for dinner at seven, so I don’t want to be too late. Maybe next time?’

  He walked into his office, turned on the lights and shut the door. He looked at the paperwork that lay untouched on his desk. The CID yearly personal assessments stared back at him. They had to be finished by the end of the week. He sighed and knew he couldn’t put it off any longer, so he sat down. Now was a good a time as any to make a start. But first, he needed to call Christine.

  ****

  Later, as he drove home in the dark, he could see lights coming from some of the farms that lay dotted along the sides of the valley. Most of the stone from the farms and older houses in and around the Kingsport had all come from the centuries-old quarry, a few miles away in the hills. Those quarries, and others like them, now lay deserted and forgotten. He knew them and often played up there as a boy. The majority of Kingsport’s buildings had mottled grey walls and a slate roof. Only the newer buildings, like the ones out on the industrial estate, were made to accommodate the modern factory methods. They had been constructed using steel and corrugated iron. For the most part, the farm buildings looked as natural as the sheep and cattle that grazed on their pastures. The lanes leading to them were one tractor width with more blind corners than a dog’s hind leg.

  It was one of those types of lanes that Carter was now driving down. Oak Tree Cottage, one of three Elizabethan- style cottages on Cow Lane, stood on the side of the hill overlooking some small holdings. The lights from the other two cottage windows spilt out across their front lawns.

  He pulled into the driveway, got out, locked the car, and then walked the short distance to the front door. As he entered, the smell of freshly-baked bread assailed his nostrils.

  He hung up his overcoat in the hallway and went through to the kitchen.

  He kissed Christine on her cheek and, looking at the bread, said, ‘I’m just in time.’ He went over to the fridge and took out a bottle of chardonnay from inside the door. He spotted two bowls of strawberries sitting on the lower shelf. They were covered with a mountain of sweet whipped cream, his favourite. He dipped his finger in to sample it, then, licking his finger, he brought the bottle over to the kitchen bench. He poured two glasses and handed her one.

  She wiped her hands on the tea towel that lay draped over her shoulder, and took it. ‘You said when you phoned that you may be a bit late and that you had something important to tell me. Should I be concerned?’ She looked apprehensive.

  Carter dragged a bar stool next to the bench and sat down. He lifted the bread to his nose and sniffed. It smelled rich, promising a delightful taste.

  ‘Did I tell you that the post office, next door to the café, is moving down to the Market Square soon and the old place is coming up for lease?’

  ‘You might have, but I can’t remember!’

  ‘I’ve been thinking a lot about it lately, and I’ve made a decision. I want to lease it and turn it into a restaurant!’

  ‘I think it’s a great idea. It will mean a lot of alterations. Have you spoken to Helen about it?’

  ‘Not yet, no.’

  ‘I’ve also made a decision. It’s about moving in.’ Carter took a sip of wine. ‘And the answer is yes. I will, if that’s still what you want me to do?’

  She came around the table and put her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  He held her hand. ‘I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I’ve decided not to sell my place. I’m going to rent it out. The idea came to me today when we were talking about Mike Reid being the best man at Dave and Maggie’s wedding. I thought that young Lynch and Maggie would need a place to live and I think if I offered it to them, they’d jump at the chance. What do you think?’

  ‘It’s a good idea. I think the newlyweds will make great tenants,’ she said.

  ‘I thought maybe I’d let it furnished. There’s some stuff there that I’ll need to take out, so I’ll need to look around for somewhere to store it all.’

  ‘That won’t be a problem. There’s that lockup behind the café. There’s ample space out there.’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, rubbing his chin. ‘I never thought of it. That would be perfect.’ He leaned over and topped up his wine. He eyed off the bread. She saw his look. His eyes said it all. She slid the bread knife across the table to him.

  ‘Don’t spoil your dinner,’ she said, and watched as he cut into it.

  He applied copious amounts of thick, creamy yellow butter. Watching it melt, he then spooned out a great dollop of strawberry jam and spread it over the bread. After taking a bite, he gave a satisfied nod and raised his glass. ‘Vivre sur du pain, de l’amour et de bon vin,’ he said.

  She thought for a moment, then translating it, said, ‘Live on bread, love and good wine.’ Lifting her glass, she added, ‘I’ll drink to that.’

  He walked off into the lounge where a bright log fire was burning, and switched on the television. He sat down to watch the local news. Christine followed him in and sat beside him.

  The third item to come on was about Eades, the fire at Chalk Lane Farm and the victim’s true identity. They had somehow managed to obtain a picture of Ajmal Hakim. Carter wondered where they got it. The newscaster finished by saying that Eades had been contacted but was too distressed to make a statement, only saying that it was a tragedy and he won’t be making any further comments.

  ‘Good,’ said Carter.

 
‘Isn’t that the case you’re working on?’ she asked.

  He stared into the flames and nodded. ‘Yes. It’s a strange one, that’s for sure.’ He ran the arrangements with Eades through his mind once more. Had he left anything out? Should I have put Eades in that position? Why was he acting so calm? It was as if he knew he was safe and that nothing was going to happen to him. If that were me, the thought of someone coming after me would evoke a different reaction altogether. And why did he not want someone posted there for protection?

  As they sat around the table eating their meal, he told her about the case but left out about using him as a lure. She listened without comment.

  ‘What would you do if you knew someone was coming after you?’ he said.

  ‘Me? I’d get protection. In fact, I’d bloody well demand it.’

  ‘Aye, my thoughts exactly.’

  Later that evening, after stacking the dishwasher, he switched off the kitchen light and climbed wearily up the stairs. He thought to himself, Today I’ve made the big decision to move in. I should be feeling happy, but Eades is troubling me. Carter couldn’t put his finger on it, but something was wrong. Something was definitely wrong.’

  Chapter 18

  Tuesday 6:30 a.m.

  Carter awoke the next morning to the smell of frying bacon. For a few confused seconds, he remembered his childhood and the breakfasts his mother would make. He yawned and was brought back to the present as he noticed the empty place on the mattress next to him. Christine was down in the kitchen. He lay there, luxuriating in the warmth, as bit by bit the joys of the previous night came flooding back. He smiled as he remembered her passion. It was always slow and meaningful.

  He glanced over at the bedside clock, then he slowly sat upright, pushed the blankets off and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He stood up and pressed his bare feet into the soft carpet. Stretching, he padded over to the window, pushed aside the curtains and looked out. Raindrops ran down the outside of the windowpane. Through the trees, a blanket of white mist could be seen, drifting slowly across the fields in front of the cottage. The oak trees along the lane stood stark, their bare limbs extending out into the dull grey, wet sky.