Elly Griffiths - The House At Sea’s End

Danny. Daniel. The mysterious third man. The man whose surname no-one remembers. The man who has vanished. But Hugh had a letter from him and, knowing Hugh, he will have kept the letter.

He goes back through the file, his eyes trained for any name beginning with D. Daniel Abse, the MP. Danny de Vito, the actor (Hugh was an unexpected fan of the American sitcom Taxi ). Daniel Barenboim (admired for his work in the Middle East). But no letters from an ex-comrade called Daniel or Danny.

Eventually, in desperation, he goes back to the Broughton and Rockham Parish News. There, between a recipe for snoek casserole and an exhortation to Dig for Victory, he finds it. December 1940.

TRAGIC DEATH OF BROUGHTON LAD

The body washed ashore on the beach at Broughton was yesterday identified as being that of Daniel West, 18, son of Marjorie and the late Lawrence West of the High Street, Broughton. Daniel was an apprentice fitter at Jensen’s Garage and a keen member of the Home Guard. He was hoping to be called up in the New Year. Mr Stephen Jensen, 50, described the boy as ‘a real hard worker’ and offered his condolences to his mother.

So Daniel West had died, only a few months after the six Germans were murdered. It seems inconceivable that neither Irene nor Archie would remember this fact. But not as inconceivable as the fact that Hugh Anselm apparently had a letter from Daniel some seventy years after he died. It can’t be the same Daniel. Surely?

He jumps because his phone is ringing. He can’t find it at first because it has fallen into the box of papers. He gets it on the last note of the ring tone.

Clough.

‘You’d better get down here, boss. It’s that girl, Maria. She reckons someone’s trying to kill her.’

It is past midnight when Nelson arrives at Maria’s bedsit. Maria is sitting at the table with Clough beside her. A uniformed PC is checking the area around the house. George is asleep in the double bed. The whole thing feels slightly surreal, not least because their conversation has to be conducted in whispers. The room is dark apart from George’s nightlight, which projects blue stars and moons onto the ceiling. Maria is clearly very upset – she has a mug in front of her and when she raises it to drink, her hand shakes.

‘I made her tea,’ says Clough. Rather defensively, Nelson thinks.

‘Wonderful. I’ll put you in for a medal.’

‘She was hysterical.’

Maria raises huge, tear-washed eyes to his face. ‘Someone is waiting outside my house. Someone is trying to kill me.’

‘All right, Maria. Let’s start at the beginning.’

Nelson tries to speak softly but George stirs in his sleep. Maria’s face crumples. ‘He must get his sleep! He’s got school tomorrow.’

‘Okay, okay.’ Nelson lowers his voice another notch. ‘Tell me about this mysterious person outside your house.’

‘It was about nine o’clock. I was looking out of my window and I saw him. Looking at me.’

‘Where was he standing, exactly?’

Maria takes Nelson to the window and points. The garage forecourt is deserted, the only light comes from the kiosk and from a huge illuminated advert for a Volkswagen Golf. As Nelson watches, a policeman comes slowly into view, shining his torch in wide, careful arcs. Nelson recognises him as Roy ‘Rocky’ Taylor, a local boy. Definitely not the brightest bulb in the box.

‘He was standing there,’ says Maria. ‘Looking up. I see him at nine, ten, again at eleven.’

‘Did he just stand there all the time?’

‘Yes. But, at ten past eleven, there is a ring at my bell. I know it is him.’

‘Did you answer?’

‘No. I ring this number. It is the lady policeman, Judy, who came with you.’ She shows him Judy’s card. ‘I ring Judy because I think she is kind.’

‘Sergeant Johnson wasn’t on duty,’ puts in Clough. ‘So I answered the call.’

Maria looks at him doubtfully.

PC Taylor appears at the door and Nelson goes to speak to him. There is no sign of any man hanging around. The people in the garage haven’t seen anything. Their CCTV cameras don’t cover the area near Maria’s block of flats. Nelson wonders if the mysterious lurker knew this. He asks if Taylor has spoken to any of the other residents in the building. No, says the policeman stolidly, no-one asked him to.

Nelson sighs. ‘All right, Taylor. Wait for us in the car.’

He turns back to Maria who is sitting back at the table. Clough is beside her, just far enough away to be professional.

‘Maria, did you get a good look at this man?’

‘No. It is dark. He is wearing dark clothes and a hat.’

‘What sort of hat?’

‘A knitted one. Like the hat George wears for football.’

‘What colour?’

‘Black.’

‘Did you see his face? When he was looking up?’

‘Not really.’

‘Was he pale skinned? Dark?’ Nelson treads warily in the PC minefield.

‘Pale. Like you.’

‘What was he wearing?’

‘A long dark coat. Trousers.’

‘Are you sure it was a man?’ asks Clough.

Maria looks at him, her lip quivering. ‘No.’

Clough and Nelson exchange glances. Nelson feels so tired that he can barely speak. There doesn’t seem to be any evidence of Maria’s mystery prowler but, then again, she was the person who was given Archie’s cryptic clue, the unwitting recipient of a seventy-year-old secret. Could someone be trying to scare her? Could someone be trying to find the code for themselves?

‘Maria,’ he says. His soothing whisper comes out more like a sinister croak. ‘You remember that Archie left you some books in his will?’

‘Yes.’ Maria looks up, surprised.

‘Can I see them? The actual books.’

Maria goes to the black trunk beside the bed. She lifts the lid with difficulty (Clough rushes to help) and pulls out the eight battered paperbacks. Avoiding Clough’s eye, Nelson carefully fans through the pages. In Evil Under the Sun he finds what he is looking for. A letter.

‘Did you know this was here?’ he asks Maria.

Maria looks bemused. ‘No.’

‘Do you mind if I borrow this for a bit?’

‘No.’

Nelson folds the letter and puts it in his pocket. He is sure Ruth would have told him to wear gloves.

At the door, he asks, ‘Maria, did you tell anyone that Archie left you the books?’

‘Everyone at the home knew. Dorothy said it was a tribute to us all. That he left me something.’

Nelson isn’t so sure about this. If Archie had wanted to pay tribute to Greenfields Care Home, he could easily have done it openly. No, the books were for Maria alone.

‘Anyone else?’ he asks.

‘My mother. I phone her every Sunday. I told her.’

Nelson looks around the room, at the sleeping child under the blue light, the statue of Mary, the bare walls, the uniform hanging on the door, the breakfast plates already laid out next to the sink. He thinks of the letter in his pocket. Did anyone else know it was there?

‘Try not to worry, Maria,’ he says. ‘I’m sure it was just some down-and-out looking for somewhere to kip. But I’ll have a patrol car come past every half hour or so, just to make sure he doesn’t come back. If you’re scared for any reason, just ring me.’

‘Or me,’ says Clough.

‘You’re very kind,’ says Maria. ‘You’d better go now. George needs his sleep.’

Driving home, windows open to keep him awake, Nelson thinks about Maria and her delicate, compassionate relationship with Archie Whitcliffe. Why had the old man left her his books? Why did he make her the guardian of this secret, protected so long and with such ingenuity? Had Archie discussed his will with Hugh Anselm? Is this what was agreed at their last meeting, if it ever took place? The last of the three of us left alive will leave instructions as to where to find this evidence. Archie had been the last of the three. Why had he decided to pass on his secret in this way?