Mark Pearson - The Killing Season

‘OK.’

‘Preston had family connections. A cousin high up in the German Navy. They were certain England was going to lose the war — a lot of people thought it likely. It was the nation’s darkest hour. So the group decided that, if the inevitable was going to happen, why not embrace it. They had a plan to cut the power supply to the listening station on Beeston Bump and get a message to a U-boat to be passed on to Preston’s cousin. In short, they were proposing to open the door, as it were, to let the Germans in and have a bloodless beach head established at Weybourne.’

‘And in return?’

‘Keep their land and money and so forth. Exactly as some of the French had done under the Vichy government.’

‘So what changed David Webb’s mind?’

‘He fell in love. She was just shy of sixteen so he couldn’t let anyone know that they were having a sexual relationship. He asked her to marry him.’

‘So he fell in love and grew a conscience?’

‘Kind of. There was something about Ruth that he only found out later.’

‘Which was?’

‘She was partly Jewish. Catholic father but a Jewish mother. And that was enough for the Nazis back then.’

‘So he tried to stop the plan.’

‘Tried to. Got killed for it and was buried in the cave.’

‘The other one in the lifeboat got paid off to keep him quiet.’

‘And no one was the wiser. Till the cliff fell down.’

‘And had David Webb sold his shares, do you think?’

‘Unlikely. Signature probably forged.’

‘No way of proving it.’

‘Not now.’

‘Poor Ruth.’

‘Poor David.’

‘Poor everybody.’

‘But they never went ahead with their plan? Or tried to?’

‘No. A few days after David Webb was killed, the Japanese air force bombed the United States fleet at Pearl Harbor. The Americans declared war on Japan, became open in their support for the British forces and three days later declared war on Germany themselves. And everything changed.’

‘So it was all for nothing. A matter of a few days.’

‘Life is like that sometimes, darling. Ruth had gone to her priest and confessed and she had been taken away to have her baby in secrecy. She didn’t come back until many years later when she told people that Solly was a nephew and his parents had been killed in the Blitz. It wasn’t an unusual story and people had no reason not to believe her.’

‘Just a few days,’ she said again.

I leaned over and kissed her and wrapped my arms around her. ‘I’ll sell the Saab,’ I said.

The next day and the sun was vivid in a lightly flecked sky once more.

Pale blues and salmon pinks and thin wisps of cotton-wool clouds. The wind was fresh but mild, barely making the fallen leaves dance. The air was clean and vital.

The media circus was still in town. Neither Susan Dean’s body nor that of Robert Carter had been found. The sea had claimed Solly Green and had not, as yet, seen fit to return him.

Extra personnel had been drafted in from all over East Anglia and the entire area was being searched. But North Norfolk is a land of sprawling countryside. Of woods and farmland, of lakes and hills and spinneys. Huge tracts of uncultivated land. If Solly Green hadn’t wanted the bodies to be found, then they could search for a year with little hope of success.

Technically, I was off the case now anyway. Given my involvement in the death of Solly Green, Detective Inspector Walsh had deemed it best that I should cease to be on retainer as a consultant to the police in the matter. I should have gone into the office and got back to my usual routine, but I hadn’t. I had spent the morning on the beach and in the woods, as much to think as to help in the search. An unpaid civilian just doing his civic duty.

At lunchtime I dropped into the lounge bar of The Lobster, which was still being kept closed to all but the police and selected locals. A press-free zone. Laura was there talking to a young man of about twenty-eight who I recognised. He was handing her a twenty-pound note. She gave it back to him.

‘I don’t need it,’ she said. ‘Just keep your nose clean.’

The young man nodded gratefully and headed off to the garden exit.

I smiled innocently at Laura and gestured to the barman for a pint as I slid onto the stool next to hers.

‘New love interest?’ I asked her.

Laura pulled a face as if she had just sucked on a rancid grapefruit. ‘With Vinny? No, thanks. I was at school with his younger brother, is all.’

Her hair today was still dark purple, except she had put a flash of white through it.

‘I know who he is, Laura,’ I said.

‘Yeah.’ She nodded unconvincingly as if just realising it. ‘Of course you do. So you solved the case then, big man,’ she said, giving me a punch on the shoulder, clearly wishing to change the subject.

‘In a manner of speaking. But yes, I do know Vinny,’ I said, not letting myself be deflected. ‘He does the odd little maintenance jobs up at the caravan park.’

‘Do you think Solly Green killed the superintendent?’

‘I don’t know. I sincerely hope not, but it sounded very much like it to me.’

‘Maybe the bodies will turn up seventy-three years later and it will start all over again.’

‘What I do think, though,’ I said, still not letting myself be sidetracked, ‘is that out of season the odd little maintenance jobs dry up for Vinny. What with the caravans all locked up and the park closed for the winter and all.’

‘I suppose they must do.’ Laura shrugged and took a sip of her drink. I picked up my Guinness and drank a good three inches of it.

‘And I also note that, after I put you on the case, the petty vandalism at the caravan park stopped. No graffiti, no smashed windows, no forced locks or broken picket fences.’

‘See, what I think it is, is that people got wind I was on the case. And they didn’t want to mess with me. I’ve got a reputation hereabouts, Stretch. You don’t mess with Gomez.’

‘And what I also think is that you found out what was going on and got him to stop and didn’t tell me about it.’

‘There can probably be a hundred alternative theories, boss. The main thing is that the objective was achieved. And the client is happy.’

‘Is that right?’

Laura shrugged ‘Hey. Justice isn’t black and white.’

She had me on that. I held my glass up and chinked it against hers.

‘I’ll drink to that.’

‘You coming up Cookie’s field later?’

‘What for?’

‘It’s November the fifth. Big bonfire. Hog roast. Music. Dancing. Torchlight procession up the Bump to light the beacon bonfire. Keep the Irish and the Vikings away.’

‘The Irish never came here.’

She looked at me pointedly. ‘I beg to differ.’

‘Only the friendly Irish.’

She punched me on the shoulder again. I would have to do something about that.

‘Anyway, I am hardly likely to want to celebrate the torture and murder of a Catholic martyr.’

‘He was trying to blow up the Houses of Parliament.’

‘And your point is?’

‘My point is that Siobhan would love it, and you should stop being such a grump.’

She punched me on the shoulder again.

The night sky was frosted with stars.

The moon hadn’t risen yet and there was only the faintest of breezes now. It seemed as if giving Solly to the ocean had appeased the angry sea god. For a time, at least. Ancient gods don’t sleep for long, though. They soon grow hungry and thirsty again.

A babysitter had been drafted in, one of the younger health visitors that Kate had met through work, and Kate, Siobhan and I were walking along the narrow footpath in the distance past the ancient ruin of Beeston Priory. Another testament to the serial killer King Henry’s greed.