But here he was, off out on obo again. He grinned to himself and shook his head. He hadn’t told Kate yet, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t mind one way or the other. She might even use his absence to sneak back into her studio.
Actually, things had been better this evening, Kate’s mood had remained quite stable. When it was like this, he dared to hope that maybe they were weathering the storm and soon . . . soon he’d have his Kate back again.
His mind wandered to Sophie. She had phoned him the day before, and they had talked for nearly an hour. He couldn’t quite believe how easily he chatted with the child. It felt like he was back with his little sister. Even Kate commented on it, albeit somewhat sardonically. The Fauves were pleased that Sophie was settling in, although Philip was worried about going back to Germany and wondered how the little girl would handle the disruption. He was to go for a year, and his family were able to accompany him. ‘It’s a tough decision, Will,’ he said unhappily. ‘I can leave them at home, but a year apart from your kids is a hell of a long time when they’re growing up. But how can I take that poor kid back to the very place where her mum and dad were killed? What do I do?’
Will had no answer to give him. After some thought, he suggested that they ask Sophie what she would like to do.
Will worried about his niece. Strange, because he’d had little to do with her while her parents were alive. Now, she had become dear to him and he wanted her to be part of his life. He had no idea how he could make that happen.
He tidied up the kitchen and found that he was quite looking forward to keeping cave at Little Anchor. He went upstairs to set his alarm clock, took a deep breath and went to find Kate and tell her.
* * *
Liz had taken the early shift. Her three hours had been uneventful. The last hour dragged, and the warm night had her fighting to keep her eyes open.
She was pleased to see Matt’s large frame slipping through the summerhouse door.
‘Nothing to report, boss,’ she said sleepily. ‘Unless you count several tom cats and a couple of hedgehogs.’ She handed him the night vision binoculars. ‘Don’t forget, mind, no wading in alone if you see someone. Bryn Owen knows what we are up to, and if we need the Fenland Constabulary’s help, we ask for it.’
Matt smiled into the darkness. ‘I know the drill, Liz, and I promise I’ll follow it to the letter.’
‘Why don’t I believe that?’ she whispered back.
‘Can’t think.’ Matt pecked her cheek. ‘Now, go and get some sleep, but keep your mobile with you, just in case.’
Liz slipped silently out into the night.
* * *
Matt was an hour into his shift when he heard the noise. It was a metallic sound, a single note, like someone striking a steel drum.
He crept cautiously out of the summerhouse and listened, trying to ascertain where the sound had come from. All he could hear were the sounds of the night — the breeze blowing about a plastic bag caught in the hedgerow, the quiet knock of wood on wood from Emilia’s badly fitting greenhouse door, the call of a night bird somewhere out on the marsh. And something else.
He was not alone in that garden.
The wind dropped and an eerie stillness settled over Whisper Fen.
Matt crept closer to the hedge and squinted into the darkness, trying to discern any sign of movement.
Ahead, in a narrow passageway between the house and the coal shed, was a shadow, moving almost imperceptibly towards the rear of the building. Matt took his heavy Maglite torch from his pocket and braced himself.
As soon as the shape reached the far end of the alleyway, Matt broke cover and ran. He hesitated at the corner of the house in case the villain was waiting for him and was just in time to see the dark figure move swiftly towards the back gate.
Matt crashed through the gate and almost cannoned straight into him. A vicious blow to the side of his head knocked him to the ground, stunning him momentarily. When he staggered to his feet, still groggy, his assailant was already out in the lane and running.
With no earthly chance of catching him, Matt picked up his torch and made his way to the front of the house. He sank down on to Emilia’s garden seat, took out his mobile and called the police station. They would never get to the lane before his attacker vanished completely, but it was worth a try.
His head felt as though he had run full pelt into a brick wall and a wave of nausea swept through him. He told himself to ring Liz, but he didn’t want to alarm her. While he waited for the sickness to pass, he tried to recall if he had noticed anything about the person who had hit him. Finally, he rang home.
Liz answered almost at once. ‘Mattie! Are you okay? Have you seen something?’
He told her briefly what had occurred and that he was waiting for the police.
‘Matt Ballard! If I wasn’t so worried about you, you’d get the bollocking of your life!’
‘I took a tumble, that’s all, sweetheart. Out of practice, I guess, but I’m fine,’ he lied. Meanwhile, his head throbbed as if he had the granddaddy of all hangovers.
‘I’m on my way. I’ll wait with you, and then I’ll drive you home. We can pick up your car later.’
He was still feeling nauseous when he saw the flashing blue lights of a squad car making its way along the road from the village.
Matt stood up, dizziness forcing him to hang on to the arm of the bench for a moment before he made his way gingerly towards the two uniformed officers getting out of the car.
He was pleased to see PC Jack “Swifty” Fleet, who was accompanied by a new young female PC. She smiled at him. ‘So, you’re the famous DCI Ballard. Pleased to meet you, sir. PC Debbie Hume. Swifty here never stops talking about you.’
Matt managed a feeble smile. ‘I don’t think I am quite living up to my reputation tonight. I’ve been keeping an eye on Mrs Swain’s house for her, but so far I’ve achieved nothing but a thumping great crack on the head for my trouble.’
The policewoman looked concerned. ‘I don’t need to tell you that you should get that head looked at, sir, do I?’
‘That’s exactly what I would tell a victim, but I’m fine, honestly, and besides I know what they’d say — standard head injury instructions, sleepiness, vomiting, visual disturbances and all that. No, I’m okay really, just shaken up, and I didn’t black out completely.’
‘Concussion can cause you to fall unconscious for just a few seconds, you know. You don’t have to have been out for hours. You really should have twenty-four hours in hospital, under observation. Look at you, sir, you’re still dizzy, aren’t you?’
‘I’m okay, really,’ Matt insisted, and she held up her hands.
‘Well, as you know, we can’t make you go to hospital, but if you have someone at home, get them to keep an eye on you, won’t you? Now, why don’t you sit down and tell us exactly what happened?’
Swifty Fleet went to check the passage and the back of the house and came back to report that he had found a discarded petrol can and a torn up sheet close to the coal shed door. ‘Unless the old dear has taken to setting fire to her bed-linen rather than washing it, I’d say that you have just saved her from having her house burned down.’
‘What the hell is going on here? That poor woman will be forced to leave for good if things continue as they are.’