The officer shrugged. ‘Think so.’
‘Then I would assume it was a local that called it in. Berridge has been dead and gone for years now. Newcomers or strangers wouldn’t know it as that.’
‘Got a point there, Will. He definitely had a Lincolnshire accent.’
‘So, have they found anything, Sarge? The guy who lives there is a nasty character, not quite the kind you want as a neighbour, I must say.’
‘Oh, we know all about Grove, Will. But it rather seems that he was out of the area when the lass was taken.’
‘Convenient.’
Sam interrupted. ‘Look, William, perhaps we should talk to Matt and make arrangements to get Kate’s things out to the clinic, if that’s alright?’
‘Sorry, Sam, of course, and I expect these guys could do with some hot drinks.’
While Sam called Matt, Will went upstairs to find some things for Kate. While he was hunting through her belongings for clothes and toiletries, he remembered her only request.
He had asked her if there was anything special she would like him to include, and she had said, ‘Bring Elizabeth. I want the doll.’
Reluctant to even touch the thing, he picked up the doll from Kate’s bedside table. At least the revolting object would be out of the house.
He almost threw it into the case, and closed it quickly, managing in his haste to catch the dress in the teeth of the zip. Cursing, Will opened it again, trying hard not to look at that hideous face. He pulled the doll out and turned it face down, flattening the material to keep it from catching again. He was just about to zip it up for the second time when he noticed something about the dress. There was a jagged tear in the back of the skirt, and a piece of the material was missing. He caught his breath, the alarm bells ringing.
He almost fell over his own feet in his haste to get to his side of the bed. He pulled out his drawer and rummaged through the contents. He found what he was looking for at the bottom. The two evidence bags from Emilia Swain’s garden. He had meant to give them to Matt, in case the police thought they had relevance, but with all the angst with Kate, he had forgotten.
He ripped open the first one and stared at the small ivory coloured scrap of linen. There was no need to even place it against the tear in the doll’s dress, it was so obviously the same material.
Will sat down heavily on the bed. He didn’t understand. How had that shred of fabric got into Mrs Swain’s garden? Kate?
A voice from the doorway caused him to look up in alarm. He must have looked pretty odd, this large man, sitting on the edge of the bed with his mouth half open, doll in one hand and the tiny piece of material in the other.
Sam Page stood over him. ‘Did you tear it, my boy? What a shame.’
Will put the doll back in the case and closed it, hoping that the doctor hadn’t noticed the tremor in his hands.
Taking the case, Sam went to the door. ‘Get some rest, lad. You look exhausted. We decided that Matt was more use here, so I’ll go and drop this at the clinic.’
Will managed a smile. ‘Thanks for doing all this, and for going. Yes, I will try and have a rest.’
With a nod, Sam left the room.
Why hadn’t he shown Sam what he’d discovered? He wasn’t sure himself. He lay back on the bed and tried to make some sense of it. Could Kate have trashed Emilia’s garden? And if she did, had she also killed the woman’s cat and done those other things?
What was he thinking? For heaven’s sake, she had been at home with him when the graffiti artist had been doing his work, and the fire bug. And by no stretch of the imagination could she have floored Matt with a chunk of wood! So what did it mean?
He could only think that she had dropped it when she stopped to talk to the old lady, which she did occasionally. She may have been invited into the garden to admire some botanical specimen or be given some of Emilia’s strawberries. Will remembered seeing his wife wander the fens carrying the doll, so she could easily have walked down the lane with it. Probably the dress had snagged on a bramble or a rose thorn.
He lay pondering the mystery, until he heard voices below. He pushed the scrap of material back in the evidence bag, returned the things to the drawer and went downstairs.
* * *
‘They drew a blank at Grove’s cottage. He grudgingly let them in, but they found nothing. Must have been someone who didn’t like the bloke and thought they’d stir things up a bit for him. And as that includes most people round here, I don’t think we’ll be spending too much time looking for our time-waster.’ Swifty looked at Matt and Will and shook his head. ‘This is really rough on you two, isn’t? I expect you’d rather be in my shoes right now, wouldn’t you?’
‘You can say that again, Swifty,’ said Will. ‘I miss you guys, I really do.’
Swifty kicked at a weed that had valiantly forged its way up between two paving slabs. ‘The DI still wants you back, you know. I reckon we’ve got more ex-coppers than serving police officers in Fenfleet by now. If that arm improves, you get yourself back in the job. And if not, don’t make strangers of us. We all still think about you, we miss you.’ He directed a thumb to Matt. ‘And this one. I’ve been trying to get him to have second thoughts and all. You should both come back.’
Will patted Swifty’s arm. ‘Thanks, mate. So, nothing at Grove’s place?’
‘No, nothing. God knows how the bloke can live in that rundown old shack. It’s a wreck. No mod cons, so to speak, other than a telephone and electricity.’
‘I’ve never been inside,’ Will said, ‘but you have, haven’t you, Matt?’
Matt grimaced. ‘It was pretty basic, alright. They did run electricity to it when old Isaac took sick. Up till then he’d used the old kitchen range to heat the place, plus an open fire in the sitting room, and oil lamps and candles for light.’
‘You seem to know quite a bit about it,’ commented Swifty.
‘My grandmother used to send me out there to buy samphire from him. She used it for pickling. I was always a bit scared of him, though I never let on. The first time I went there on my own, he had a hare on the kitchen table and was skinning it. I‘d never seen anything like it before, and I couldn’t take my eyes off it. Little did I know I would one day be attending post-mortems — and still feeling sick.’
Swifty laughed. ‘Well, it’s worse than basic now. I wouldn’t be surprised if the next high tide carried it away into the Wash. Still, we found nothing unusual, except for a computer, which was a bit of a surprise, given the rest of the place. He let Debbie have a quick shufti through his files, but it all seemed to be about insects and stuff. He told her that he hosts a website for other lepidopterists. They catalogue local stuff and post sightings of rare specimens. All seems to check out.’
‘My wife seems to think he’s some kind of expert.’
‘I think she’s right, Will. The place is stuffed with framed butterflies and moths. And the books! Really advanced volumes. Not a Beginners Guide to the Countryside to be seen!’
‘I still think he’s a slimeball,’ muttered Will.
‘Me too. Anyway, better get back out there, and . . . er, well, I’m really sorry about your niece, Will. We’re all doing our best to find her.’