Broadland Read online

  BROADLAND

  David Blake

  www.david-blake.com

  Edited by Lorraine Swoboda

  Proofread by Jay G Arscott

  Special thanks to my beta readers, John Kincaid, Anna Burke and Ali Dunn

  Published by Black Oak Publishing in Great Britain, 2019

  Disclaimer:

  These are works of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © David Blake 2019

  The right of David Blake to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998. All rights reserved. This eBook is for your enjoyment only. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  CONTENTS:

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty One

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty One

  Chapter Forty Two

  Chapter Forty Three

  Chapter Forty Four

  Chapter Forty Five

  Chapter Forty Six

  Chapter Forty Seven

  Chapter Forty Eight

  Chapter Forty Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty One

  Chapter Fifty Two

  Chapter Fifty Three

  Chapter Fifty Four

  Chapter Fifty Five

  Chapter Fifty Six

  Epilogue

  “For from within, out of the heart of men, proceed evil thoughts, adulteries, fornications, murders, thefts, covetousness, wickedness, deceit, lasciviousness, an evil eye, blasphemy, pride, foolishness: All these evil things come from within, and defile the man.’

  Mark 7:21-23

  PROLOGUE

  Saturday, 13th April

  A COLD DENSE shadow fell over Jane Richardson as she hurried along the concrete towpath. To her left, moonlight danced over the River Bure’s untroubled surface as it slipped silently past, heading back the way she’d come. A low-hanging branch scratched at her face as she ducked underneath. From somewhere far behind her came the shriek of laughter, slicing through the air, only to fall silent a moment later to leave nothing but the sound of her high heels, click-clacking out a stark but steady beat.

  It was late. She knew it was. The sun had disappeared behind the Broads a long time before.

  She always started work early and more often than not finished late, and had promised herself on numerous occasions that if it was dark, she’d take the long way home, never the shortcut down by the river. It might be a journey she enjoyed, one she even looked forward to on occasion, but only when it was light. What in the summer months was a relaxing carefree stroll felt more like picking her way through a graveyard at any other time of year. It may be April, and the days were stretching out, but the sun had disappeared over three hours before, leaving nothing but a cold full moon to light her way home.

  From deep within the undergrowth to her right she heard something move. That was normal enough. If it had been light she’d probably have been able to see the animal that made the noise, as she often did during the summer. Sometimes she’d even see a rat scurrying about, and stop to watch as it fled across the path in front of her, diving between the riverbank and the thick line of trees.

  Then she heard the hard, sharp sound of a twig snapping, just behind the treeline.

  Rats don’t snap twigs, she thought, with a prickling of alarm.

  It only took a moment for more sensible reasoning to take over, brushing away any concern; after all, it was probably nothing more ominous than a wood pigeon. They were certainly common enough, stumbling their way over leaves and branches as they searched the ground for food, lifting their feet high as they did, before carefully placing them back down.

  But pigeons didn’t forage for food at night, at least she didn’t think they did.

  Another twig snapped. It sounded thicker than the last. Too thick to have been broken by a pigeon. A fox, perhaps?

  Forcing herself along, she turned her head ever so slightly, watching the trees from out of the corner of her eye. But all she could see was layer upon layer of ever-deepening shadows. If there was a fox hiding in there somewhere, she’d never see it.

  Facing forward again, she picked up her pace, moving closer to the river side of the path as she did.

  There was another sound, like the crack of a branch.

  That was no fox!

  ‘Why’d I come this way again?’ she mumbled to herself, as her heart began to pound deep inside her chest. ‘Oh yes, that’s right. Because it’s a shortcut. Good choice, Jane. Nice one!’

  Ahead of her she could just about see the arch of the railway bridge, under which she had to walk. If anyone was going to try and mug her, that was probably the most likely place. Maybe there were two of them; one following her through the trees, the other waiting under the arch.

  She peered at it, trying to make out if she could see the outline of someone hiding underneath. But at that time of night, with no street lights this far from town, the shadow under the archway was pitch black.

  Checking that her handbag was where it should be, with the strap over her shoulder and the bag itself – her favourite cream leather Gucci – wedged firmly under her arm, she plunged her hands deep into her pockets, fixed a defiant stare ahead, and ploughed forward, mentally preparing herself for the worst. If there was someone lurking under the railway arch, she knew to take her father’s advice, and to avoid eye contact. Instead she should simply ignore them and keep walking. Once she passed under the bridge, her house wasn’t too far away, and if the worst came to the worst she’d probably be able to make a run for it.

  As she stepped into the shadow cast by the arch, the click-clack of her heels echoing out all around, from the treeline came the sudden sound of branches being forced apart as someone, or something, forged its way out onto the towpath behind her.

  A cold hand of fear crept up her spine.

  Her heart was pounding so loudly that she thought whoever, or even whatever, it was standing behind her must be able to hear it.

  She should run. She knew she should ru
n; every fibre of her being was telling her so. Instead she found herself turning around to confront whatever it was that had been following her.

  If the idea that someone was behind her was terrifying, actually seeing someone there was far worse.

  ‘Who’s that?’ she called out, bringing her hands out of her pockets, clenching them into fists. There was no way she was going to let anyone take her bag. Not without a fight, they weren’t!

  A sliver of moonlight caught the face of the figure, leering at her through the darkness.

  Trembling, she blurted out, ‘Who are you? What do you want?’

  As the figure took a slow but deliberate step forward, a thin dark gash appeared as it opened its mouth, and in a voice barely loud enough to be heard, it said, ‘You’ve got something that belongs to me.’

  Doing her best to control her rising fear, with courageous resolve she said, ‘I can assure you that I have nothing that belongs to you. If you don’t leave me alone, I’m calling the police!’

  It was a bluff. Her iPhone was buried deep at the bottom of her handbag, which remained jammed up under her arm. It would take time for her to find it, and she wasn’t sure she had any.

  The figure took another step forward.

  A cold gust of wind drifted over them, moving the branches above, bathing the figure in moonlight.

  Jane stopped and stared at the now exposed face.

  Almost forgetting where she was, she said, ‘I know you!’

  ‘You don’t know me!’ spat back the figure. ‘How could you possibly know me?’

  ‘I – I meant, I’ve seen you before!’

  Taking another step forward to join her in the near total darkness under the arch, the figure mumbled, ‘I’ve not come to talk.’

  ‘Then what do you want?’ demanded Jane, stepping backwards, preparing to run.

  As a solid black shadow rose above Jane’s head, in a low harsh whisper the figure replied, ‘Simple! I’m here to take back what’s mine.’

  CHAPTER ONE

  Sunday, 14th April

  DETECTIVE INSPECTOR JOHN Tanner stepped out of his car, closed the door, and stopped for a moment to gaze about. Lying before him was a wide rectangular jetty, in the middle of which was a square section of well-kept lawn surrounded on all sides by a gravel path. To the left was a handful of nearly identical motor cruisers, each one about twenty foot in length and all of which were moored in such a way that they pointed outwards, like the fingers of an open hand. To the right was an empty slipway, almost hidden from view by the heavy shade of a tree; and stretching out beyond that was a large body of water which sparkled gently in the afternoon sun.

  Tanner knew he was looking at Malthouse Broad, but only because the map in the car had told him so. He’d never actually been there before.

  He took a moment to breathe in slowly through his nose and mouth, tasting the freshness of the air. The scene was so idyllic, so serene; if he didn’t know better, he’d have thought he was on holiday.

  After consulting a piece of paper in his hand he turned to look to the left. In the far distance he could see a large thatched house surrounded by trees, all showing the first signs of spring. Beyond that, the cold stone tower of an ancient church was silhouetted against the brightness of a cloudless blue sky.

  He stopped for a moment. For no particular reason, he found himself picturing his daughter, the way she used to draw her hair back behind her ear when she was reading a book. A memory came to him, of her staring down at a burnt lasagne he’d just presented her with, when he’d had a go at cooking one weekend, and how she’d lifted her incandescent blue eyes to him, asking, ‘Was it supposed to look like this?’

  He smiled to himself. It had taken him a long time to reach the point where he could be grateful for the many memories he had of her.

  Before darker images could cloud his mind, he glanced back down at the paper in his hand. Turning the other way, he saw the single-storey brick building he’d noticed when he’d first driven into the carpark. It was a small shop that doubled up as a post office, according to a round sign drilled onto its outer wall. Beneath that was an old rectangular-shaped post box sporting what looked like a fresh coat of cherry red paint. With a delicate line of bunting strung out under the eaves, and a swing sign advertising Wall’s ice cream outside the open door, the building had a quintessentially British feel to it.

  Tanner used his key fob to lock his car before making his way towards the shop’s entrance.

  Inside he found the usual array of corner shop essentials, but unlike the average London one, the layout was intermixed with items normally associated with a tourists’ gift shop, including a rotating rack of postcards, most of which featured pictures of boats of differing shapes, sizes and colours.

  Behind the counter sat a plump middle-aged lady frowning through a pair of large thick-rimmed glasses at a folded newspaper lying on the counter’s surface, the top of which she tapped at with a biro.

  Seeing she had a customer, she set the pen down, removed her glasses to leave them hanging from a gold neck chain, and smiled up at him.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ said Tanner, stepping forward. ‘I don’t suppose you can help me?’

  ‘I can certainly try.’

  ‘I’m looking for a boat.’

  ‘Ah! That’ll be next door. If you walk around the side of the shop,’ she said, pointing the way, ‘you’ll find the boat hire centre on your left.’

  ‘Oh, no, sorry. Not that sort of a boat.’ Looking back down at the paper that he still held, he explained, ‘It’s called Seascape. Apparently, it’s moored up around here somewhere. I’m just not sure exactly where.’

  Beaming a more natural smile at him, she said, ‘I know Seascape! I must admit that I didn’t know Mr Bardsley had sold her. I take it you’re the new owner?’

  ‘Er, not as such, no. Matthew, I mean Mr Bardsley, has told me I can stay on her for a while, just until I find something a little more suitable.’

  ‘Oh, I see,’ the lady said, sounding disappointed, but her curiosity was aroused and she leaned forward to ask, ‘Are you moving into the area?’

  ‘Well, I’m in the process of doing so, yes.’

  The lady didn’t respond to that, but instead just continued to smile at him in an encouraging way.

  Tanner was not one for making small talk. Generally speaking, he was keen to tell people as little about himself as possible. However, he didn’t like awkward silences, so he offered up another nugget of personal information.

  ‘I’m starting a new job on Monday, and I didn’t have a chance to find more suitable accommodation, so the idea of staying on the boat was suggested.’

  ‘I see! Right, well, I’d better show you where she is then, hadn’t I?’

  She eased herself from the high stool she’d been sitting on, and shuffled her way around the counter.

  Following her outside, Tanner found that she’d stopped next to the Wall’s swing sign and was pointing towards the church tower.

  With one arm fully extended and the other shading her eyes from the sun, she said, ‘She’s over there. You can just about see her bowsprit.’

  ‘Bowsprit?’

  Turning to look up at him, she said, ‘You aren’t from around here, are you?’

  He’d no idea how to respond to that, but he didn’t have to, as she took the answer for granted, looked back out towards the church, pointed again and said, ‘You see that dark wooden pole sticking out from the front of that boat?’

  He could, and duly said so.

  ‘That’s Seascape. That pole is her bowsprit.’ Turning to consider him, she said, ‘I take it you don’t know much about boats?’

  ‘Er, not really, no.’

  ‘Well, don’t worry. You’ll soon pick up what everything’s called. Now, to get there you simply follow the path round.’

  ‘I see. Thank you!’ After a moment he said, ‘Is it all right if I leave my car here?’ He looked over at his distinctly grubby Jaguar X
JS. It used to be black, but it had been so long since he’d washed it, it had become difficult to tell what colour it was. Only a few months before, the car had been his pride and joy, but now it was just something he used to get around in, costing him a small fortune in petrol in the process.

  ‘For now you can, but you’ll be able to park it properly next to the marina office.’

  Judging from his expression that he didn’t have a clue where that was either, she added, ‘If you drive out of here and take the first right, the office is just up on the left. It’s called Ranworth Marina. You can’t miss it. If you ask for Fred, he’ll be able to hook you up with electricity and show you where to get your water.’

  Turning to smile down at her, Tanner said, ‘You’ve been very kind. I assume I can buy milk and bread here?’

  ‘That’s right. And there’s the Maltsters pub just around the corner. They serve breakfast, lunch and dinner, seven days a week, and I can highly recommend them.’

  Before leaving him to it, she asked, ‘How long do you plan on staying on board the boat?’

  ‘I’m not altogether sure. To be honest, I’ve never so much as stepped foot on one before, so it probably depends on how much I like it.’

  ‘Well, you should be all right for the summer, although from Easter it does get very busy round here. But I wouldn’t recommend staying over the winter though. Not if last winter’s anything to go by!’

  Seeing a couple of teenage boys approach the shop, she excused herself, saying, ‘Anyway, I’d better get back, but it may be worth your while keeping an eye on the notice board.’ She turned to show him a glass-fronted board that had been mounted on the outside wall of the shop. ‘We often get people advertising their properties there. You can also pick up a copy of the local newspaper. There’s a small lettings section in the back.’

  Thanking her again, Tanner watched as she hurried back inside. He turned to look over at what he could see of the boat he was supposed to be staying on, which was nothing more than a dark wooden pole – or bowsprit – jutting horizontally out from the front.