The Restless Dead

6

I couldn’t see it clearly through the bushes but it was travelling fast. Water sloshed around my knees as I hurried to the front of my car. As the deep growl of a diesel engine grew louder, I frantically began waving.

‘Hey! Over here!’

The car was close enough now to see it was some kind of 4x4. There was no way it could miss me: the road would take it within a stone’s throw of where I was stranded. It was a Land Rover, a gunmetal-grey Defender, and as it drew nearer I saw a face inside turn my way. The car slowed.

Then it speeded up and carried on.

‘No! What’re you doing?’

I stared after the Land Rover in disbelief as it continued down the road. How the hell could the driver not have seen me? Then, just when I thought it was going to keep on going, it pulled up. For a few seconds it just sat there with its engine running, until with a rising whine it quickly reversed up the road. It went past the track leading down to the causeway, but only far enough so it could turn into it facing the creek. Then it bumped down the track and drove straight into the water. Spray shot up as it ploughed towards me, stopping a few yards away. Its engine chugged, exhaust venting from a vertical pipe by the cabin. A snorkel, I realized as the wind whipped the fumes away.

The door opened and a man jumped out into the creek. Indifferent to the water that darkened his jeans to the knees, he waded round to the back of the Land Rover and opened the rear door. Reaching inside, he took something out before returning to the front.

‘Here.’

He threw a length of coiled-up rope to me, holding on to one end so it unravelled in the air. It slapped into the water a few feet away. I hurried to grab it as it began to sink and turned back to my car. Reaching into the cold water, I felt for the tow point under the bumper and tied the rope as best I could. By the time I straightened the man had already secured his end of the rope to the Defender’s half-submerged tow hitch.

‘Make sure you stay on the causeway when I start to back up,’ he shouted. ‘If you go off the edge I won’t be able to pull you out.’

I looked at the rippling water; the pale strip of shingle underneath had all but vanished. ‘I can’t see it.’

‘Just aim for me. I’ll flash my lights before I start.’

He turned away and climbed back into the Land Rover. I reached through my car’s open window and took hold of the steering wheel. It would have been easier to steer from the driver’s seat, but if I opened the door now the inside of the car would be flooded.

The Land Rover’s engine suddenly revved and its lights flashed twice. The rope came out of the water as it took up the slack, shedding droplets as it snapped taut. For a second nothing happened. Then the rope quivered and with a lurch my car started moving. I kept my eyes fixed on the Land Rover as it reversed slowly out of the creek. My hands hurt from gripping the steering wheel as the 4x4 backed up on to the bank.

And then my car was bumping up on to the track and off the causeway. The Land Rover carried on going, towing me well clear before it stopped. Water streamed from the car, and when I opened the door the footwells were a sodden mess. But the door seals had kept out the worst of it, and the seats were dry. I looked back at the flooded creek bed. The water completely covered it now, with no sign whatsoever of the causeway.

I turned at the sound of the Land Rover’s door slamming. The man looked in his mid to late forties, the unkempt dark hair shot through with the same grey that stubbled his chin. There were deep lines running from his nose to the corners of his mouth, and the creases on the broad forehead suggested a disposition more inclined to scowl than smile. He wore thick-framed but stylish glasses and a brown leather jacket over a navy sweater and jeans. All were well worn, but the jacket looked expensive, and I noticed the discreet designer logo on the side of the glasses.

I held out my hand. ‘Thanks. I thought I was—’

‘What the hell were you doing?’

His vehemence took me aback. I lowered my hand, my face beginning to burn. ‘The satnav showed this as a detour. There was somebody in the—’

‘Are you blind or just stupid? See all that wet stuff? That’s water. You don’t try driving across a causeway when the bloody tide’s in!’

‘The tide wasn’t in, and if I’d known there was a pothole I wouldn’t have tried to cross. But I appreciate your help.’

I kept my own voice calm with an effort. I didn’t need anyone telling me I’d been stupid, and even though I was in his debt I wasn’t going to be yelled at by a complete stranger. And not one who’d clearly thought long and hard before deciding to come back.

He glared at me, and I could almost feel the desire to argue radiating from him. I couldn’t believe it was just because he’d had to pull my car out of the creek. But I was aching, soaking wet and terminally late for the pathologist’s briefing. Whatever his problem was, right then I didn’t care. I stared levelly back at him, holding my own temper in check.

After a moment he looked away, breathing out as though audibly letting go of something. ‘What are you doing here anyway? We don’t get many people coming this far out.’

I hesitated. But by now Sir Stephen Villiers’ driver wouldn’t be the only person who knew a body had been found. And if this man was local he could hardly have missed the police helicopter that had been circling since first light.

‘I was here for a police operation,’ I said after a moment.

His gaze suddenly became more piercing. ‘You mean the body? You’re a police officer?’

Here we go again. My headache had never gone away, but now I became aware of its dull throbbing again. ‘No, I’m not a police officer. And I’m not going to tell you what I’ve been doing, so there’s no point asking.’

It came out sharper than I intended. Now it was his turn to look taken aback. ‘Well, that’s honest, at least. What are you, some sort of police consultant? Or can’t I ask that either?’

That much was hardly a secret. ‘I’m a forensic anthropologist.’

It wasn’t giving much away but he nodded, apparently satisfied. ‘Sorry for taking your head off. I’m Andrew Trask.’

He said it as though it should mean something. It didn’t, and I was too on edge to pay much attention. I shook the offered hand. ‘David. David Hunter.’

A gust of wind suddenly made me realize how cold and wet I was. It belatedly occurred to me that Trask wasn’t much better. Water pooled round his boots, and the denim of his jeans was darkened up to the knee as he looked past me at my car. I could almost see some sort of internal debate going on.

‘You’re not going to be able to call a recovery service.’

‘I’ve got breakdown cover,’ I told him, misunderstanding. This wasn’t the first isolated place my work had called me out to, so I’d made sure I wouldn’t be stranded if I broke down.

‘No, I meant you won’t get a phone signal. Reception’s patchy out here.’ He paused, and again I got the impression of a decision being made. ‘I’ll give you a tow to my house. It’s not too far and you can make the call from there.

‘That’d be great. Thanks,’ I said, surprised by the offer after his earlier hostility.

But I wasn’t about to refuse. I’d need all the help I could get if I was going to even make the post-mortem itself, never mind the briefing.

He shrugged, looking as though he were already having second thoughts. ‘I can’t leave you out here. It’ll be easier for directions and my son’s good with engines. He might be able to help.’

‘No, that’s OK. I’m putting you to enough trouble already.’

That was true enough, but I didn’t want an amateur mechanic making things worse, no matter how well intentioned.

Trask gave me an odd look. ‘Hardly matters, does it?’

At another time I would have wondered what he meant, but I was too tired and dispirited to give it much thought. Some of the energy seemed to drain out of him as he looked down the creek, then he straightened.

‘Come on, let’s get back,’ he said.

While Trask turned the Land Rover around so the rope could be retied to the rear tow bar, I tried my phone. As well as the recovery service, I needed to call Lundy to let him know I’d be late. I’d no idea what damage the salt water would have done to my car, or how long it would take to repair. But if I had to I’d leave it here and worry about that later. My priority now was getting to the mortuary.

Trask was right about the poor mobile reception. I tried wandering round, but my phone stubbornly refused to find a signal. Fretting over the delay, I put it away as Trask finished securing the rope to his Land Rover. I took a last look back at the creek before I climbed into my car again. It was completely flooded, seabirds bobbing on the small waves that ruffled its surface as they were swept along by an invisible current. There was no sign of the causeway at all, and from the erosion on the creek’s soft banks from the normal high-water mark, the level was still rising. If Trask hadn’t towed me out my car would have been completely submerged before much longer, and there was ample evidence that the tides sometimes rose even higher. A line of dead and bedraggled vegetation lined the creek’s banks, detritus from what looked like a recent flood. With the land around here so low-lying, it wouldn’t take much for it be overwhelmed.

The tow took fifteen uncomfortable minutes. My arms and legs were cold and soaked through, and my boots squelched whenever I moved. The road meandered, following a convoluted path through the wetlands. From what I could see there was more water than land, a maze of reedy channels and pools in the boggy-looking saltmarsh. The Backwaters were well named.

I saw a few small boats dotted around as I steered behind the Defender, but most of them looked either abandoned or were still battened down from the winter. There weren’t many houses, and most of the buildings I saw were old ruins steadily crumbling back into the waterlogged landscape.

Even so, Trask wasn’t the only person who lived out here. We passed a converted boathouse, an old stone building that jutted out into the creek’s waters. A sign by the small parking area announced, Holiday cottage to let. It seemed a remote place for anyone to want to stay, but it was certainly peaceful. With the creeks and channels glinting in the muted sunlight, I couldn’t deny the Backwaters had a desolate appeal. At another time I might have liked to stay there myself.

But this was no time to let my concentration wander. My head still ached, and I was starting to shiver. It was an effort to keep the car on the winding road behind the Land Rover, and I wasn’t sorry when Trask pulled off on to a gravelled parking area. Behind it was a copse of young trees, and through their still-bare branches I could see a contemporary-looking house on the bank of the creek.

We’d arrived.

Making sure the handbrake was on, I stiffly climbed out. The cold air on my wet clothes sent a chill through me. Trying to disregard it, I looked around. There were two other cars there. One was a Mini convertible that had been covered by a plastic tarpaulin. It stood on a banked-up area of ground to keep it clear of flooding, and from the grime on the tarpaulin I guessed it hadn’t been moved for some time. Nearby was another Defender, this one white and ancient, once again with the stovepipe of a snorkel sticking up from it. The young man working under the open bonnet straightened to stare at us.

Trask jumped out of the Land Rover. ‘Jamie, run and fetch a towel, will you?’

The request was met with reluctance. ‘Why, what’s happened?’

‘It doesn’t matter, just get the towel.’

The younger man’s expression made it clear what he thought. He was seventeen or eighteen, good-looking and nearly as tall as Trask. The resemblance was clearly that of father and son, and judging by the teenager’s expression they shared a similar temperament as well as looks. Wiping his hands on a piece of cloth, he irritably tossed it down before heading for the house without another word.

If Trask was embarrassed he didn’t show it. ‘You should get a signal out here if you want to call a recovery service.’

‘Thanks. Nice house,’ I commented, looking over at the building visible through the copse. The cedar-clad walls were faded to a silver-grey that blended in with the trees, and the sloping roof was lined with solar panels. It faced out over a broad stretch of creek, and I saw now it sat on thick concrete pilings that raised it off the ground. It had obviously been designed to withstand floods, which said a lot about the sort of weather they must get out here.

Trask looked surprised. He glanced at the house as though it wasn’t something he usually thought about. ‘I built it for my wife.’

I expected him to say more, but that seemed to be as much information as I was going to get. He obviously wasn’t one for small talk. ‘What’s the address? For the recovery service,’ I added when that prompted a frown.

‘It’s Creek House, but the postcode won’t help them out here. Tell them to take the road into the Backwaters, then follow the creek until they reach us. If they wind up at Willets Point they’ve gone too far.’

That was the promontory where Leo Villiers lived. Conscious that Trask seemed to be watching me, I kept any reaction from my face. ‘Thanks.’

His eyes went to my wet clothes. ‘Do you want a hot drink while you’re waiting?

‘A coffee would be great.’

Trask gave a nod, already turning away. I couldn’t blame him for not inviting a dripping wet stranger into his home, although I’d have appreciated the chance to dry off and change. I’d brought fresh clothes for my stay at Jason and Anja’s, but I needed to sort out my car before I did anything else. Barring miracles, it wasn’t just the pathologist’s briefing I was going to miss.

Conscious of how time was ticking by, I phoned the recovery service. I didn’t hold out much hope of getting a truck out here very soon, and what little I had was soon dashed. This was a bank holiday weekend and the roads were full of people going away. And breaking down, apparently. Priority was being given to lone women, medical emergencies and cases where the car might cause an accident, none of which applied to me. When I explained I was on my way to a post-mortem, the harried operator was less than sympathetic.

‘Well, they’ll still be dead when you get there, won’t they?’

I was told they’d try to get a mechanic out in the next few hours, although even that couldn’t be guaranteed. There was no use in arguing, so I gave details of my location as best I could and rang off. Christ, what a balls-up. My headache was getting worse. Rubbing my temples, I tried Lundy next. I wasn’t looking forward to this call, and felt a sneaking relief when it went straight to voicemail. Without going into details, I left a message saying I’d be delayed because my car had broken down. Hopefully by the time he phoned me back I’d have better news.

The shivering had grown worse. I needed to get out of my wet clothes, so I went to the boot for my overnight bag. At least the water hadn’t got in there, which was something. My trousers were soaked to mid-thigh, but I wasn’t about to strip off outside Trask’s house. Instead I settled for swapping my wet shirt for a thick sweater, and then pulled my only-slightly damp jacket back on.

That done, there was nothing to do but wait. Even though I knew it was clutching at straws, I tried the ignition again. The engine gave a dull, grinding noise and then stopped. The next time it sounded even weaker. I waited a while and then reached to try it again.

‘You’ll only make it worse.’

I hadn’t heard Trask’s son approach. ‘I don’t think it’ll make much difference.’

‘Maybe not, but it’s not going to start again until it’s dried out. Flooding the engine isn’t going to help.’

The advice wasn’t quite surly, but it wasn’t exactly gracious either. He really did look like a younger version of Trask, loose-limbed and athletic in faded T-shirt and jeans. On his feet were some sort of neoprene surf shoes that had masked his footsteps. He held out a thickly folded towel.

‘Coffee’s on its way.’

‘Thanks.’ I took the towel, drying off my hands and forearms. ‘Your dad said you know about engines.’

‘A bit.’ He glanced at my car, clearly unimpressed. ‘If you’ve got salt water in it you’ll need the whole thing stripped down and cleaned. The oil’ll need changing, maybe the fuel. It’s a big job.’

Fantastic. I’d been considering taking up his father’s suggestion and asking if he could take a look after all. But aside from his obvious lack of enthusiasm, it sounded as though I’d need an experienced mechanic anyway.

‘Is there a garage around here?’ I asked.

He shook his head. ‘None that’d be any use.’

‘How about car hire? Or taxis?’

If there was any sort of transport available in the nearby town I’d at least be able to get to the mortuary. I could worry about my car later.

But he gave a snort. ‘Have you seen Cruckhaven?’

I would have offered to pay him to drive me, but the truculent look on his face told me I’d be wasting my time. He clearly didn’t want to get involved in a stranger’s problems, and I couldn’t blame him. Frustrated, I swore under my breath as he went back to the house. I considered asking his father to take me to the mortuary, but quickly gave up on the idea. Trask had come close to leaving me stranded in the creek, and his entire attitude made it plain he was helping me under sufferance. I could imagine his response if I suggested putting him to any more trouble.

I had to try something, though. The signal wasn’t strong enough to go online, so I phoned a directory enquiry number and asked for nearby garages. There might not be anything locally, but Trask’s son might only have meant the immediate area. Even if there was one a little further away it would be quicker than waiting for the recovery truck.

Given the way my luck had been running I wasn’t optimistic, so I was surprised when the operator came up with a number. It was a boat and car repair business in Cruckhaven, the town I’d driven through earlier. Telling myself not to build up my hopes, I called the number. A man’s gruff voice answered.

‘Coker’s Marine and Auto.’

‘My car’s broken down. Do you do recoveries?’ I asked.

‘Depends whereabouts you are.’

‘In the Backwaters.’ I explained about getting caught on the causeway. There was a snort.

‘Bet you won’t try that again in a hurry. OK, I should be able to sort you out. Hang on, let me get a pen.’

I offered up a silent prayer of thanks. Now there was an outside chance I could at least make the post-mortem. I checked my watch, gauging how much time I had left as the man came back on the phone.

‘Right, fire away. Whereabouts in the Backwaters are you?’

‘A place called Creek House. It’s not far from an old boathouse. Do you need directions?’

For a heartbeat he didn’t answer. ‘Don’t bother, I know it. You a friend of theirs?’

An edge had entered his voice, but I didn’t think anything of it. ‘No, they just gave me a tow. How soon can you get here?’

‘Sorry, can’t help you.’

For a second I thought I’d misheard. ‘But you just said you could come out.’

‘And now I’m saying I can’t.’

‘I don’t understand. Is there a problem?’

‘Yeah, you’ve got salt water in your engine.’

The line went dead.

What the hell…? I stared at my phone, unable to believe he’d hung up. The suddenly hostility had come out of the blue, as soon as I mentioned Creek House. I hit the steering wheel and swore again. Whatever issue the garage owner had with Trask, it had just cost me my last chance of making the post-mortem.

The headache was throbbing all the way from the base of my neck. Massaging it, I closed my eyes and tried to think what to do next. A dog’s excited barks made me open them again. A woman and a young girl were coming along the path through the copse, accompanied by a brown mongrel that pranced and yapped around them. The girl was precariously carrying a mug, holding it up as the dog bounced around.

‘… spill it! Naughty girl, Cassie,’ the girl was saying, but in a tone of voice that encouraged the dog even more. She was about eight or nine, with the same bone structure as her father and brother. Even though she was laughing, the thin arms and dark rings under her eyes suggested some underlying problem.

I assumed the woman must be her mother, although there was no obvious resemblance between them. She was slim and attractive, considerably younger than Trask. She had dark, honey-coloured skin and thick black hair tied casually back with a black band. Her jeans were faded and paint-stained, while the chunky sweater she wore looked at least two sizes too big. It made her look even younger, and I found it hard to believe she could have a teenage son.

‘We’ve brought you a coffee,’ the young girl said, carefully offering the mug she was carrying.

‘Thanks. Here, let me.’ I hurried to take it, giving her mother a smile. She returned it, but it was a token effort that vanished as soon as it came. She wasn’t conventionally pretty, her features were too strong for that. But she was undeniably attractive, with striking green eyes that were all the more startling against the olive skin. I found myself thinking that Trask was a lucky man.

‘Dad says you got stuck on the causeway,’ the girl said, looking past me at my car.

‘That’s right. I was glad he was there to tow me off.’

‘He says it was a bloody stupid thing to do.’

‘Fay!’ her mother admonished.

‘Well, he did.’

‘He was right,’ I said, smiling ruefully. ‘I won’t do it again.’

Trask’s daughter studied me. The dog had flopped down at her feet, grinning up at her with a lolling tongue. It was only young, hardly more than a puppy. ‘Where are you from?’ she asked me.

‘London.’

‘I know someone from London. That’s where—’

‘OK, Fay, let’s leave the gentleman alone,’ her mother cut in. She regarded me with a look that was cool rather than unfriendly. ‘How long are you going to be here?’

‘I don’t know. It looks like I picked a really bad day to break down.’ The weak attempt at a joke fell flat. I shrugged. ‘The garage in Cruckhaven won’t come out, so I’ll just have to wait for the recovery service.’

I saw her react when I mentioned the garage, but she made no comment. ‘When can they send someone?’

‘They can’t say. But I’ll be out of your way as soon as I can.’

The green eyes considered me. ‘I hope so. Come on, Fay.’

I watched them walk back to the house, Trask’s wife slim and poised as she rested her hand protectively on her daughter’s shoulder while the dog sprinted ahead. Well, that was blunt. I wondered if the inhabitants of the Backwaters were always this friendly, or if it was just me.

But I’d more to worry about than local hostility, so I soon put it from my mind.