8
Established by the gangway, I raised my hands at the cars, their headlights cutting into the gathering darkness.
They walked in our direction over the scrubland in the grey winter dusk, four figures in hi-visibility jackets and stout shoes. They cast an air of grim professional seriousness, no affability on show. No one said anything, and I only overheard the wind in the bushes, the waves foaming over the mud and grit of the shore, and the menacing shriek of the gulls.
After the introductions, Sergeant Fitzgerald strolled across the gangplank, his skinny body upright and unwavering. Constable Smee tottered behind him. All wore white latex covers on their feet and matching neoprene gloves.
In the distance, another set of beams made its way through the blackness. All four officers gathered on the deck now, bowing their heads, and entering the cabin. A vision of the two men gazing up at them sightlessly as they bent over them made me shiver.
Fitzgerald reappeared and stood still, with his head thrown back, breathing in the briny air.
I scrutinised as the Sergeant walked to me, but in the dimness, I couldn't distinguish his expression. I advanced to confront him, but my body became as heavy as a block of granite. Every blundering step took an enormous effort. I studied the hulk and thought of the carcass inside, back at Fitzgerald, who stood removing the plastic bags from his feet.
"Well?"
He ignored me and turned too Clarissa.
"Live here?"
She bobbed her head. Her face blotchy and scared, her eyes filled with tears.
"Owner or occupant?"
"Tenant."
"The landlords?"
"The estate agents in the village."
"Mill-House Properties?"
She nodded.
"The one owned by Mr and Mrs Jones?"
She nodded again.
"Constable?" -- he gestured at the uniformed policeman, coming towards us -- "escort Miss Briggs to the station, and take down her statement, please?"
"Yes, sir."
The young police officer acknowledged.
"Anyone we can call?"
She shook her head.
"Jenkins, ring the duty solicitor and tell him to come to our place, and he can be present while Miss Briggs gives her testimony."
He turned to me.
"Come with me."
We walked to his car.
As we approached, Susan Smee joined us, leaned closer to Fitzgerald, and whispered something in his ear. The words blew away in the gust.
"Those men?"
"Yes?"
"Any idea who they might be?"
I shouted from a few feet behind them.
"We'll talk in the car, sir. Cold."
I said nothing.
Smee opened the back passenger door for me. I got in. Fitzgerald sat beside me with Smee in the driver's seat in front.
"Found anything?"
A pause.
"What did I do to deserve this?"
Fitzgerald possessed a new, hard tone in his voice.
"I don't understand. On home turf, the cadavers of two young men, and yet the most important thing coming to mind, appears to be why I ended up here?"
Another break, before Fitzgerald spoke, with the care of a man taking considerable pains to stay calm.
"With prominent friends and influence over many high-fliers carries a certain amount of weight. However, conducting a murder inquiry, and none other than the Government's blue-eyed boy, discovers the bodies of two dead men. Which sounds strange to me."
"But who are they?"
"Things appear alarming."
"Critical."
Smee echoed, turning to gaze at me.
"No shit, Sherlock."
"Enough!"
Fitzgerald snapped.
"This may be a matter of national security I stumbled upon."
Fitzgerald chuckled.
"Melodramatic, sir."
"Might be. Or perhaps the sort of incident which turns out to be a bit too significant for a Suffolk-based narrow-minded Sergeant's brain?"
Fitzgerald's face flushed with fury.
"I won't warn again, sir, keep out of our way."
"I found the corpses."
"My point, sir."
"What?"
I detected the impatience in my voice.
"Aware of where to search? How?"
So, I told them how I contacted Father McNally, and what I spoke about and how I came here.
"Any outsider remain not inconspicuous, agreed? This community exists as a small place, and few places to disappear from people without going further inland. As soon as I spotted the hulks, I realized the natural place to hide away from prying eyes."
Smee murmured something under her breath I didn't catch.
Fitzgerald sighed.
"I don't believe this. Colleagues I work with would throw away the key to the cell for what happened."
"What did I do?"
I remained struggling to keep my temper under control, but in the end, I couldn't prevent the bubbling anger from overflowing.
"What the fuck? I spoke to the parish priest about two men bird-watching in the church tower, with their binoculars focused on the DEFRA complex, instead of the birds on the marshes. When Father McNally confronted them, they ran off and now they turn up dead."
"Didn't occur interfering might make things worse for everyone around here? Conversations with witnesses who should talk to us, dirtying the location. Those poor souls in there may be our best chance of finding out what the hell continues going on and proceeding to walk all over the bloody houseboat makes our job a little harder."
I stayed incredulous.
"Contaminating the setting? Because of me, the Suffolk Constabulary possesses a crime scene. My head's spinning and I recall nothing about these dead men, but one thing stays clear. Until an hour ago, I came to Cape Ore pure hearsay, but in the last sixty minutes, I witnessed a Russian submarine in the area, two deceased foreign spies, posing as bird-watchers. And the local policemen prove their incompetence."
I paused and waited for them to respond.
DI Fitzgerald stroked his neat grey beard and stared out of the window. His eyes narrowed, focusing on something in the gloom.
"Not sure what remains happening here."
Susan Smee twisted round in the seat, blinking at me through her thick fringe. She spoke with a self-conscious importance, reciting something learned from a textbook.
"We want to define the boundaries of the investigation, sir, and yet the margins keep altering. Understand?"
She ducked her head at me before twisting back in her seat.
"Collate information?"
I uttered with rage and regretted what i said straight away. I needed them on my side more than ever before in my life.
"We want a full declaration today, sir."
"Why continue to go slower than faster?"
Fitzgerald exhaled with annoyance.
"I tried to be reasonable, but now I think we should head to interview rooms, so we can complete this report, and on with our jobs."
"Let's go, Sue."
The young woman turned the ignition, and the car rumbled away.