The Funeral Boat (13 page)

‘Actually … ‘ Pam looked at her husband, then at Neil. ‘I’ve volunteered to take part in those Viking re-enactments … for the Neston festival. It sounded fun so 1 … ‘

Wesley leaned forward, surprised. ‘You’ve not mentioned this before.’

‘1 saw the leaflet and 1 thought I’d go along and give it a try,’ she continued. ‘I thought it would do me good to get out of the house … and get Michael used to his childminder.’

Wesley, as an educated husband of the modem age, felt that he couldn’t argue with this. ‘Yes, 1 suppose it is a good idea. What do you have to doT

‘To be honest 1 don’t know yet. At the rehearsal I was tending the wounded. The Vikings weren’t renowned for their equal opportunities policies.’ She smiled. ‘But as long as 1 don’t get ravished … ‘

‘Or pillaged,’ said Neil with a slight sneer. As a professional historian he was sceptical about the authenticity of such events. ‘So what kind of people are taking part … and how do they ensure historical accuracy? Sometimes these re-enactment groups are excellent and put a lot of research in.’

79

‘1 can’t say how accurate it’s going to be. Ifs being organised by a group called Thor’s Hammers.’

‘Never heard of them,’ said Neil dismissively. ‘What are they like?’

Pam shrugged. ‘They seem a very mixed bunch,’ she said with a grin. ‘They’ve been going round the area for a couple of weeks now, taking part in various events.’ She looked at Wesley. She had just remembered the two thickset members of Thor’s Hammers and their half-heard words. ‘Actually … ‘ She paused.

‘What is it?’

Pam glanced at Neil, who was watching her intently, and suddenly felt foolish. ‘Nothing. It’s nothing,’ she said, dismissing her nebulous feelings of unease. She was getting too imaginative in her old age.

The yacht drifted on the calm summer ebb tide out into the open sea of the English Channel. The flames were small at first, licking the cabin, then creeping slowly along the deck. But as the sun sank and the sky darkened, the fire took hold, growing in intensity until the whole craft was aflame. -

It bobbed like a flaming torch on the water and drifted slowly out to sea … until it disappeared into the sunset like a stately, blazing funeral boat of old.

80

997

AD

Today the Danes came to Neston. They ravaged and burned

and took with them to their ships indescribable plunder. They

killed many and had no mercy upon women and children and

many they took as slaves aboard their boats. I witnessed such

cruelty that I was certain the Devil guided the actions of the

heathens. I saw babes slaughtered in their mothers’ arms; I

saw women horribly ravished and their violators cut their

throats when they had done; I saw men and women and even

children cut with axes and impaled on swords; many died

screaming in the houses and churches that were burned; many

of the nuns who took shelter with us were violated and

murdered. The Danes rejoiced in this evil.

Our Minster is burned and its treasures and relics taken. But

I, Edwin, by God’s good grace, did escape the town by fleeing

when the enemy breached the walls. I took with me for her

protection Hilda, a young nun. We give thanks to God each hour

that we escaped the horrors of the evil ones. I, Edwin, shall no

longer keep the Minster chronicle as the Minster is no more:

but I shall record my deeds and thoughts on the blank parchments I tookfrom the scriptorium. I took also an ivory casket,

a treasure of our house, that it would not fall into the hands of

the heathens. It is our intent to travel to Stoke Beeching: to the

house of my father and mother. I fear what we shall find there.

From the chronicle of Brother Edwin

Rachel Tracey arrived home to find her mother hurrying around the kitchen with a secretive smile on her face. She went upstairs to

81

change out of her working clothes, and when she came down her mother was standing by the Aga, grinning with triumph. A tall, fair-haired young man sat at the kitchen table sipping a mug of tea.

‘Hi, Rach.’ The young man turned and smiled. He was good-looking by any woman’s standards, even though he had lost the deep bronze tan he had brought with him from his native Australia a year before. He had met Rachel when she had arrested him and, once his innocence had been established, he had stayed around, abandoning his plans to backpack through Europe for the company of his arresting officer.

Rachellooked at him, tight-lipped. ‘Well? Have 1 got the day wrong or what?’

‘Your mum’s asked me to stay for a while. With your dad and brothers doing the haymaking and these bastards breaking into farms … ‘

Rachel stood in the doorway. ‘What about your job at the hotel?’ she asked coolly.

‘I’ve taken a few weeks off … told them I’m going away.’ He shrugged and looked at her appealingly, puppy-like. ‘Which was sort of true, I suppose. 1 thought you’d be pleased. Means we can see more of each other, eh?’

Rachel turned on her heels and marched off into the living room, where her youngest brother, Joe, was watching an Australian soap opera on television. He ignored her and stared at the screen. It wasn’t long before her mother appeared in the doorway.

‘1 don’t know what you’re thinking of, Rachel, 1 really don’t. Dave’s a nice boy and you treat him like dirt.’

Rachel swung round. ‘1 wish you’d asked me first. I’d like to make my own decisions.’

Joe grabbed the remote control apd turned the sound up on the television.

‘I thought with these raids and…’

‘Oh, come on, Mother, 1 didn’t come down in the last shower. I know exactly why you invited Dave to stay. It’s time you realised that I’m capable of running my own life.’ She marched out of the room, leaving her mother speechless as the deafening strains of the soap opera signature tune oozed from the TV set.

She swept past Dave, who was hovering” uncertain, in the

82

hallway. He shrugged, abandoning all hope of understanding the opposite sex.

He decided to leave Rachel to it and strolled outside into the evening sunshine, towards the old barn and the open fields, hoping to receive a warmer welcome from Rachel’s male relatives. Then he heard something that made him stop and dart behind a convenient tree.

Voices were raised, bitter, quarrelling. Yet another skirmish in the battle of the sexes. The woman stood, furious-faced, while her companion struggled to load a suitcase into a silver BMW with a dented nearside wing. One of the couples from the old barn were having a humdinger of a row.

After emitting a stream of expletives that almost made the young Australian blush, the woman stormed into the barn, the man making a one-fingered salute to her retreating back.

‘If you open your big mouth you’re dead meat,’ came a threatening shout. ‘Dead meat.’

Dave waited until the car had driven away before he made his way down to the fields.

Sam Heffeman stood in the dingy offices of Funograms Unlimited - situated above the butcher’s shop in Tradmouth High Street - preparing for his first night in his new job … and feeling a fool.

‘You look great,’ said the curvaceous blonde on reception, perched on her desk, displaying a pair of alarmingly long legs. ‘Very, er…’

‘Daft?’

‘I think you look very … manly.’ She emitted a bubbly giggle, and Sam thrust out his chest and rewarded her with a wide grin.

‘So you think it’s okay?’ he asked, waving his plastic sword about, thrusting and parrying the cigarette-smoke-filled air.

, You look great. Wouldn’ t mind being carried off myself.’ She winked suggestively.

‘It can be arranged … er…’

‘early … early Pinkerton,’ she giggled, then suddenly became more businesslike. ‘Have you got your assignment card?’

‘Yeah.’ He delved into the pocket of his furry trousers and produced a pink card. ‘A Gemma Munro at the Whale and Whelk in Morbay at ten o’clock. It’s her twenty-first.’

83

‘Right. I’ve given you directions. Don’t be late, now, will you. Nervous?’

‘Petrified.’ He looked at his reflection in the long mirror on the wall. ‘1 just hope 1 don’t get stopped by the police. I’d have a job explaining this lot away to my dad.’

With his heart thumping, Sam slunk outside to his battered car, fearing that he was about to experience the most terrifying night of his life.

Rachel turned over in her narrow single bed, glad she had told Dave that her parents wouldn’t approve of them sleeping together under their roof. There were times when parents with traditional values could be a positive asset.

She looked at her alarm clock. Four o’clock. It wouldn’t be long before dawn and the start of the day’s work for her parents and her brothers. Police officers kept more civilised hours than farmers … if they were lucky. She closed her eyes and began to drift back to sleep. But something woke her. She jerked her eyes open and sat up, surveying the shadows of her room. There it was again. A car door slamming. She climbed out of bed and crept over to the window.

But before she could get there she heard a splintering crash. She froze and listened. There were noises downstairs, and she could hear mumbled, panicked voices; feet creeping on the landing. Her door opened.

‘Rach. They’re downstairs … the robbers.’ Dave’s voice was anxious. ‘I told your dad I’m going down.’

‘Don’t be stupid, Dave. Don’t take any risks.’ She reached for the handbag beside her bed and took out her mobile phone. ‘I’m ringing the station.’

‘Okay. But we can’t just wait for the cops to arrive.’ He disappeared from the doorway.

She called after him. ‘Dave, don’t be stupid. Come back.’ But he was gone. Her hands trembling, she reported the incident, trying to keep calm … professional. There were noises outside - shouting; barked instructions. She put on her long thick winter dressing gown. The robbers weren’t going to have the satisfaction of seeing her half naked.

She crept to the top of the stairs and looked down at the scene below. Her ‘parents were there, clinging to each other in their

84

dressing gowns. Her brothers stood to the side of them, defiant. Dave stood in front of them all, squaring up to the man in the ski mask pointing the gun at him threateningly.

‘Get the money. Move,’ Ski Mask barked. ‘And jewellery. Everything you’ve got.’ He waved the gun in Stella Tracey’s direction. ‘Come on. Don’t waste my time.’

Rachellistened carefully from her post, hidden at the top of the stairs. The accent was local, definitely local. She would recognise it again … anywhere. There were another two figures behind the man, both with guns. One kept the family covered while the other searched the room for valuables, placing anything that took his fancy into a large red hold-all.

‘Where are the quad bikes? We know you’ve got quad bikes. Where are they?’

‘None of your business,’ shouted Tom, Rachel’s eldest brother.

She saw him ease back the trigger ‘Tell me … now.’

‘Just tell him, Tom. It’s not worth it,’ sobbed Stella.

Rachel stood there, fists clenched with frustrated anger as her brother told Ski Mask that the farm’s four quad bikes were kept in the new barn. She wanted to go down there and rip the masks off their evil faces, ram their guns down their throats. She had investigated many crimes, but she had never before experienced the helpless fury of the victim.

It happened so quickly … yet so slowly. Unreal: like something watched on film. Dave leaned forward with a sudden jerk and grabbed Ski Mask’s gun. As they wrestled over the thing, pulling it one way then another, Rachel held her breath, expecting the night-shattering explosion then the awful silence as one of them lay bleeding on the ground. But she heard only her mother’s screams and her father’s anxious instructions to leave it, it wasn’t worth it.

Rachel heard herself shout but her voice was disembodied … like a voice on a tape recorder. She heard the words but she wasn’t aware of speaking them. ‘I’ve called the police on my mobile,’ she shouted from the top of the stairs, stepping out into the vision of the two armed men, who seemed to be watching, stupefied, as Dave fought their colleague. ‘The police are on their way.’

The officer in the approaching patrol car timed it just right. As soon as Rachel had finished speaking, her words were reinforced by the sound of a distant siren. Dave managed to wrest the gun

85

from his adversary’s hands as Ski Mask gave him a mighty push, sending him cannoning backwards into an oak dresser. The gun flew upwards and dislodged Mrs Tracey’s best china, which crashed down on Dave’s head as he lay there, unmoving.

Then, without a word, following each other by instinct like migrating birds, the robbers fled; one of them running backwards, pointing the gun, sweeping it over the assembled company, emphasising a point. A car door slammed and they were off. Tom ran to the window and watched as they drove away, lights out, tyres screeching. A large dark van, probably intended to accommodate the quad bikes, followed behind.

The rest of the family had gathered around Dave, who lay motionless on the floor. Stella Tracey knelt and checked his pulse, tears streaming down her face. ‘Ring for an ambulance, somebody.’ She looked round desperately. Her husband lifted the receiver on the telephone but soon replaced it in disgust. The wires had been cut.

Rachel still stood at the top of the stairs, frozen, numb. ‘Is he all right?’ she called down. But nobody answered.

She forced herself to turn away from the horrible fascination of the scene and walked slowly back to her bedroom, taking deep breaths. She took her mobile and dialled 999 automatically as she heard the police cars squeal to a halt outside her window.

When Wesley reached the CID office the next morning he found Steve Carstairs alone.

‘Is the boss in yet?’

Steve looked up resentfully. ‘Not seen him.’