Wilderness Lodge

By Carole Pitt

It is Christmas morning and Maggie Mercer finds something under a tree. This tree is no Norwegian spruce sheltering shiny parcels. Instead, beneath a towering pine, she discovers a man’s body roped to a fence post.
Detective Inspector Elizabeth Jewell leaves a family get together in Oxford to attend the scene. The victim is Harry Steele, a local stonemason.
As the investigation progresses, Jewell and Patterson uncover Steele’s unsavoury past. One clear fact emerges Steele had many enemies. However, which one of them wanted him dead?
Still recovering from a previous case Jewell and Patterson must unravel their suspect’s lies and their complex motives.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carole Pitt
• Release date: May 22, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301654185

Carole Pitt

Carole Pitt has been involved in the fashion industry for many years. As a designer, manufacturer and also in sales promotion. Currently working on a third Jewell/ Patterson investigation. Second in the series, 'Wilderness Lodge' is now available on Kindle Carole also contributed two short stories to 'Pop Fiction: Stories Inspired by Songs'. Also available on Kindle and in paperback.

Book preview

BEFORE

His prison was of his own making. The evidence was all around him and quite rightly, he thought, as his hand moved across another piece of stone. He gathered them into him like a duvet on a bitterly cold night. They had kept him warm enough. To have had the one instrument he needed was a stroke of luck or genius. It had given him the only opportunity to carve his last words. In between the bouts of unconsciousness from the drugs, he knew these were his last words. To be able to scribe, not hieroglyphics exactly, but something close. Certainly an explanation, if ever they deciphered it.

His tormentor had moved him more than once. In his drug-induced state, he didn’t know where or how but each time there was the comfort of the stones. The concept of being able to use his tools to send a message amused him. Not that anyone wanted a message from him anymore. If he was reflective, it was because of fear. Fear had never bothered him in the past but now it did. How he’d deal with it in the final moments he didn’t know. Those final moments were imminent; he’d pissed off too many people. Did he regret it? He didn’t know, just always done what he had to without empathy or guilt.

Anyway, it was far too late to care. He picked up a stone and carried on.

CHAPTER ONE

Christmas Day 7.46 am

Maggie Mercer stopped outside the entrance and lit a cigarette. As she scanned the shrouded landscape, her melancholy mood deepened. Before leaving home, she’d watched the weather forecast hoping for a crisp cold sunny day. According to the BBC, most of the South West of England could expect heavy fog patches to persist for at least forty-eight hours. The recent spell of overnight sub-zero temperatures combined with a sudden rise had caused a blanket of dense fog. Maggie pulled up the hood on her padded jacket and wiped away warm tears from her cold cheeks. At least she wouldn’t spend today on her own. When the manager asked volunteers to work the Christmas period she had jumped at the chance. A friend tried persuading her go to Spain for the holidays but Maggie had already promised to work. Now Rosemary would not be going either. Bristol airport had grounded all of its flights until the weather improved.

Three science students who normally worked weekends had also volunteered to come in. Christmas Day was the only time the sanctuary closed and Maggie stubbed out her cigarette eager to get on. She unlocked the gate to the Wilderness Wild Bird Sanctuary and made her way to the staff quarters. The others hadn’t arrived so she’d leave making tea until later. After pulling waterproofs over her clothes, she decided to walk the half a mile to the new lagoon. The exercise might help her hangover. Maggie cursed herself for drinking too much red wine, but lately she’d found the alcohol numbed the pain and temporarily eased the depression.

She let herself into the feed store and filled two buckets. As soon as she started on her rounds, the Canada geese followed her progress along the boardwalks.

‘Shoo,’ she said to them waving her hands. ‘I’ll be back to feed you soon.’ Almost as if they understood, they stopped and retreated. Ahead of her the water in the newly dug trenches had frozen solid, now the fresh water feed to the lagoon was unlikely to defrost for days. The trenches crisscrossed their way down to the riverbank and the location of the water pumps. Maggie wondered if the river could have frozen; it was certainly narrow enough in places. She resisted the urge to go and check. Maybe after a few cuppas and a bacon sandwich she would feel less tired.

Catching her breath against the cold, she leaned over the handrail and noticed her reflection in a patch of clear ice.

‘My God I look haggard,’ she said, and quickly looked away.

Picking up the buckets, she crossed a narrow wooden bridge and thought about her husband.

John Mercer had been a successful architect and they’d enjoyed a good life. After ten years of trying for a family, they eventually accepted it wasn’t going to happen. As compensation, they indulged in travelling extensively whenever they could. With two round the world trips under her belt, Maggie had no wish to go overseas again. If she was honest, she didn’t want to go anywhere, apart from the sanctuary.

A brisk ten-minute walk took her to the edge of the frozen lagoon. Many of the birds were struggling. Maggie knew they needed to preserve their energy reserves by not flying off. Far better, they stay put and spend time feeding. She watched the cranes and the herons picking their way carefully across the ice. Reaching into the bucket, she used a ladle to scatter a mixture of wheat, barley and oats in a wide arc. From the second bucket, she emptied out chopped lettuce and earthworms. She whistled and gradually the ducks emerged from their various shelters. She left them to enjoy breakfast and decided to carry on down to the river, one less task for later. A supervisor was calling in at midday to do a check. If the pumps were frozen, by tomorrow they’d need to ring an engineer.

From leaving the lagoon, the open landscape changed to dense woodland. Under the cover of mainly evergreens, the light dimmed and the low-lying hoar wrapped itself around the gnarled tree trunks. Something up ahead caught her eye, she left the footpath and wary of tripping kept her eyes down for any obstacles. Fallen branches and upturned roots littered this part of the forest. The ground didn’t seem as hard here, Maggie dropped to her knees and smoothed the frosty surface with her gloved hand. To her left a patch of hardy winter ferns had flourished under cover of a large laurel. Maggie, her senses alert, thought she saw the shadow of a large wading bird. Worried it might be trapped or injured she took a tentative step through the ferns. For the first time that day Maggie shuddered but it was not from the bitter cold.

CHAPTER TWO

Almost twenty miles away in a Cheltenham suburb, Detective Chief Superintendent Ted Daly was enjoying his third whisky. He checked the time, almost one o’clock. Thank God, he thought, another couple of hours of relative peace before their guests arrived. Mrs Daly had disturbed him when she’d risen early to prepare a gigantic turkey before placing it in the oven. Each Christmas Eve she kept to the same routine and by the time her husband had struggled out of bed, she was organised.

Daly wasn’t a great lover of Christmas festivities and if he owned up would prefer to be at work. Recently the HR department’s director had thwarted him with new incomprehensible rules. Now that he was nearing retirement, it seemed he’d earned special privileges, which guaranteed him one week’s holiday over the Christmas period.

‘Can you give me a hand Ted?’ Mrs Daly shouted from the kitchen.

Daly sighed and left his drink on the coffee table. It appeared the turkey’s breast had stuck to the top of the oven making it impossible to remove in one piece. Daly surveyed the problem and pulled a carving knife from the kitchen drawer. ‘I’ll have to chop it off otherwise we won’t get the damn thing out.’

Mrs Daly’s face was red after tussling with the bird. ‘It will ruin the shape; I wanted it to look plump, not anorexic.’

‘You should have bought a smaller one. If you remember, there are only six of us. This thing would feed sixty,’ Daly said as he hacked the top off the turkey.

His wife slammed down a saucepan in annoyance. ‘Now I’ll have to carve it and present it on a platter. You know I prefer it in one piece. It looks more festive.’

‘For God’s sake woman it’s not an ornament, it’s to eat,’ Daly looked at his wife and noticed she was near to tears. ‘Listen my love, you are a wonderful cook and this dinner will be perfect, so stop worrying. We are not entertaining royalty, just four old friends.’

‘Go and finish your drink Ted. I want to get on with the bread sauce.’

‘Sod the bread sauce. Have a glass of wine and chill out.’

‘Go away,’ she said.

He was pleased to get back to the sitting room and flop down. The roasting tin containing the bird had weighed a tonne when he’d lifted out of the oven. He switched on the television, took a big swallow of his malt whisky and tried to relax. Flicking through the Sky channels, he found an old sitcom and decided to watch it before the others arrived. Two minutes later, the phone rang.

His wife called to him again. ‘Can you get that Ted? If it’s Joan, ask her to bring a bag of Demerara sugar. I forgot to put it on my shopping list.’

Daly slammed his drink down and picked up the phone. ‘Yes,’ he grumbled.

‘It’s Tom, Sir.’ The Wilderness Bird Sanctuary has reported a suspicious death. Dursley took the call and two patrol officers are at the scene. Not good news I’m afraid, one of the women working there found the body. That’s all the details for now other than I managed to get hold of Grayson. He’s none too happy but is on his way. He wasn’t supposed to be on call, but the new woman pathologist decided to visit her family. I wouldn’t like to be her when she gets back. Just as I got off the blower, Patterson turned up. He says he’s at a loose end and has offered to help. What do you want me to do?’

‘He’s only been back at work four weeks and his doctor only agreed on one condition, that he stayed behind a desk. Tell him I said no, but to come round here tonight for a drink. Did you try Jewell?’

‘I did but she’s not answering her mobile.’

‘What about DI Whittaker? Hang on a minute he’ll be in the boozer. His favourite watering hole is somewhere on the Bristol Road. The Royal Oak I think.’

‘Tried him already, sorry, nobody’s answering.’

Daly pondered for a moment. Apart from consuming too much whisky, he didn’t mind going himself. His wife might be glad to get rid of him for a couple of hours. After all these years, she was used to him leaving abruptly.

‘Get Gardiner to pick me up. She’s a reliable lass and from what I’ve heard doesn’t like Sunday dinners.’

The Duty Sergeant laughed. ‘I heard that too. Okay I’ll do that, and a merry Christmas Sir.’

‘Likewise Tom, except some poor bloody family won’t be having one.’

Daly crept quietly upstairs and decided to take off his new shirt, a present from his sister-in-law. It had a garish psychedelic design and he deemed it unsuitable for a potential crime scene.

While he changed, Daly considered the possibilities. Bearing in mind the location of the body, murder was the most likely and least appealing. He didn’t know the actual statistics for Christmas Day murders, except they happened more frequently than people realised.

Once he’d struggled into his heavy overcoat he went straight back to the kitchen. As always, he didn’t have to say anything. His wife looked up from stirring the bread sauce and nodded her head, her expression sombre. ‘I take it someone has died?’

‘Yes, and Tom can’t raise anybody else, not even Jewell. I can’t think I’ll be gone long, Joe’s on his way and the body will have to be moved quickly because of the location.’

‘Where is it?’ she asked.

‘The Wilderness Sanctuary, and don’t say anything. I’m not looking forward to it.’

Mrs Daly suppressed a smile; she knew how much her husband hated birds. ‘Give me a ring when you’re on your way back.’

The doorbell rang. ‘That’s Gardiner,’ Daly said. ‘Make my apologies to the others. You go ahead with the dinner and I’ll have mine warmed up later on.’

She walked over and kissed him on the cheek. ‘Be careful on the ice. I don’t want you ending up in casualty.’

Katie Gardiner was dressed for the weather in fashionable snowboarding kit. Daly thought all that was missing were a pair of goggles and a helmet.

‘I’ve brought coffee and Christmas cake. Mum insisted; to keep us warm.’

‘She sounds a sensible woman, your Mum.’ Daly said following her down the path.

‘If it wasn’t for the circumstances,’ Gardiner said, ‘I’d be looking forward to going to the sanctuary. Mum used to take my brother and me when we were little. I bet it’s changed a lot since then, bigger and more commercialised. Still, they need to make a lot of money for the upkeep. I love all kinds of birds. Are you interested in birds Sir?’

‘The only bird I love right now, apart from my wife, is a seventeen pound free range turkey sat in my kitchen. And I can tell you, it’s not a pretty sight.’

CHAPTER THREE

DI Elizabeth Jewell felt an overwhelming need to escape from her relatives. Yesterday had proved exhausting. How her mother coped with certain members of the family was beyond her. Two of her cousins were particularly loud and dominated every conversation. By bedtime, she’d had enough of them. It was just after one o’clock when she sneaked out of the house via the patio doors and hid in her father’s ramshackle shed at the top of the garden.

She had switched her mobile off on Christmas Eve, just before her mother announced the evening meal was ready. Now she was reluctant to turn it back on. Placing the phone face down on her father’s old wooden workbench, she picked up a pile of DIY magazines and flicked through them. The content didn’t hold her attention. Nothing would, until she made a decision.

Elizabeth had received a text from Calbrain, the journalist responsible for putting both her and Patterson’s life in danger due to his reckless actions. It was the first communication from him for nearly three months. After her admission to Frenchay hospital, he’d tried to make contact. Each time she refused to speak to him, determined never to see him again.

Now with the passage of time and Patterson back at work, she wasn’t so sure. During her convalescence, she’d hated Calbrain. As one close friend had pointed out, you can’t go from almost falling in love to such intense hatred without understanding why. The morning of the twenty-third, just before she was due to leave home and drive to her parents, the postman had delivered a medium-sized package. Alarm bells rang when she signed for it and noticed the Bristol postmark. She had carried it into the kitchen hoping Calbrain had sent it. It couldn’t possibly be from Brian Foster, he was still in Durham prison awaiting psychiatric reports. Even so, she decided not to open it until she got back. Any more negative thoughts would ruin her Christmas.

Elizabeth knew her feelings towards Calbrain had mellowed slightly. Now she only hated him occasionally. With the New Year only a week away, she was determined to exercise a little forgiveness. Since leaving hospital so many people had been kind to her. Just recently Daly’s wife had asked her if she was feeling depressed. Jean Daly had surprised her, up until then she’d not met the woman that often. Surprisingly Elizabeth found it easy to talk to her and the next time they met offered her a book to read. ‘It helped me when I was feeling down. Hopefully it will do the same for you.’

Initially the book hadn’t appealed to Elizabeth. Even though she considered herself spiritual in certain ways, she didn’t subscribe to mainstream philosophies. Then once she’d started it, she understood what Jean Daly meant.

"Siddhartha" made compelling reading. Set in India it was a simple allegorical tale, written with a universal empathy she found easy to identify with. The quest to renounce sensual and material pleasures and discover spiritual truths left her asking far more questions than she could answer. Reading the book had helped temper her attitude towards Calbrain. She picked up the phone and switched it on.

In less than eighteen hours, Elizabeth had received nine calls and seven texts from various people. She scrolled through them and found another from Calbrain. The message content was the same as the previous one. Hoping she was well and wishing her season’s greetings. Replying right now was out of the question, as another message had to take precedence. She ran back to the house and called her mother. ‘There’s an urgent situation at work. I’ve got to leave.’

‘Oh no, Dad and I thought we had you for another few days. Maybe you can come back?’

‘It depends, I will if I can,’ she kissed her mother and ran upstairs to pack.

A thick layer of frost covered the Saab. Elizabeth tried scraping the windscreen but to no avail. She’d forgotten to cover it, unlike her pompous cousins who had come prepared with silvery coloured protective sheets guaranteed to keep the car frost-free. She couldn’t even open the boot to retrieve a can of de–icer left over from last winter. Then she remembered seeing one in the shed.

While she waited for the Saab to thaw out, she rang Park Road and left a message saying she expected to arrive at the bird sanctuary in just over an hour. Daly got back to her straightaway, explaining Grayson was eager to proceed with the post mortem but had agreed to hang on until she got there.

Five minutes later, she was driving through Abingdon just south of Oxford. Despite the precarious conditions, as soon as Elizabeth turned onto the A40, she put her foot down. While she drove, her thoughts went back to Calbrain. When she got back home to Cheltenham tonight, she’d compose a polite text and send it. That way the uncertainty plaguing her might disappear, and to use a cliché, she could then move on. She tried picturing his face, but the image wouldn’t stay in her mind’s eye.

David’s did. Her ex-boyfriend had made regular visits while she was in hospital. On one occasion, he reminded her of his warning about getting involved with Calbrain. Elizabeth didn’t remember him issuing any such warnings. It was another of David’s ploys to make her feel bad about not marrying him. After she left hospital, he made one final attempt to get her back. She’d already heard from one of David’s old friends that he was seeing someone else. Charlie Ravensworth, one of Cheltenham’s well known adulterers had come knocking on her door one night looking for sympathy His own wife had finally got so fed up she’d left him and taken the children with her. Stupidly Elizabeth had asked Charlie in and the first thing he mentioned was David’s new woman.

She was relieved to hear about it. At last, David had found someone else to make him happy. Elizabeth suspected David’s reason for suggesting they get back together was nothing more than a last ditch attempt. He knew he was on safe ground and she would refuse. Now he could forget about her and not feel guilty.

Elizabeth spotted a garage ahead and pulled in to get petrol. She looked at her watch and was surprised to see she’d been driving for over half an hour. Even though the Saab had heated seats, she felt cold. She was also very hungry and thirsty due to not having any breakfast. If she didn’t eat, she’d start feeling dizzy. At the counter, she paid for her petrol and ordered coffee and a bacon and egg sandwich. Back inside the car, she knew she could spare no more than ten minutes for a break. Earlier it had looked like a lot more snow was ready to come down. Elizabeth gazed at the sky and noticed a watery sunshine trying to break through the grey clouds.

The short break refreshed her and she set off on the last leg of her journey. She was looking forward to seeing Daly and Patterson. Then her thoughts switched back and forth between Calbrain and the onset of another potential murder investigation. This time she’d make sure to do things differently. The complex investigation into Lily Jerome’s death had taught her a lot. None of which she was ever likely to forget.

CHAPTER FOUR

Katie Gardiner passed the M5 junction, continued along the dual carriageway then made a left onto the A38. Since leaving Cheltenham there had been barely any traffic. The salt and gritting vehicles had for once pre-empted the weather forecast and the icy road had a pinkish hue. Even so, Daly could still see untreated patches where blankets of fog showed no signs of lifting. Visibility was improving but Katie still drove cautiously.

After his sarcastic reference to birds, she had stayed quiet and Daly felt sorry. He hadn’t meant to upset her. Eventually she’d become accustomed to his blunt humour. He chuckled inwardly knowing she would have to if she wanted to survive in CID. It was obvious to him the girl had ambition and lots of determination but her over sensitivity could be her downfall. He had no doubt that others would notice it and tease her mercilessly. Young Katie was in need of a rhinoceros hide and quickly. He decided to be more communicative. ‘You said you’d visited the Wilderness place before. When was it first set up?’

Katie changed gear and slowed to a crawl as they approached a bend. ‘I believe it was in 1967. It was farmland and a couple of Americans bought it. They moved to the UK a few years after the second-world war finished. As far as I remember, they were from the mid-west, Kansas I think and had farmed all their life. Anyway, they bought about four hundred acres of land and built a house, which I believe is still somewhere down by the river. From then on, the land became a sanctuary for endangered bird species. Many of them might have become extinct had the Parson family not intervened.’

‘How come you know all this stuff?’ Daly asked.

‘I hate to admit it but I watch loads of documentaries on television. About a year ago one of the original founders died. BBC West commissioned a programme about his life.’

‘I’m a bit of a philistine when it comes to wildlife sanctuaries. Mrs Daly joined us in the National Trust a couple of months ago. When I retire, she’s determined to visit every castle in England. Then her plan becomes even more ambitious when we visit Europe. Chateaux, Palaces, and God only knows’ what else.’

‘That sounds exciting Sir.’ Katie Gardiner turned off the A38 onto a narrow road leading to the Wilderness Wild Bird sanctuary. She pulled into the car park next to Grayson’s Mitsubishi and a mobile forensics van. Two patrol vehicles had parked across the narrow path leading to the entrance.

Katie collected a canvas duffle bag from the boot containing their disposable coveralls and overshoes and slung it over her shoulder.

Daly turned up the collar of his coat against the biting cold. ‘Watch yourself, it’s lethal. If they don’t put some salt down pronto, they’ll end up with a few more dead bodies.’

As he slithered and slipped down the steep path, Daly regretted not wearing his rubber-soled wellies.

The main building resembled a huge log cabin, which would not have looked out of place in the Alaskan wilderness. Daly thought this appropriate, considering the current temperature.

Inside the building, it was warm and light; two enormous windows overlooked a small lake where ducks and swans swam lazily. Daly couldn’t identify any of them, apart from the swans. Maybe he would make bird watching one of his retirement projects, then again, maybe he wouldn’t. The foyer was empty, no one staffing the desk, and Daly cursed the lack of security. Anyone could walk in. He’d speak to one of the patrol officers and get him to stand guard. The last thing he needed was a press pack turning up and barging in unannounced.

‘Let’s get the kit on in here.’ Daly proceeded to struggle into an oversize coverall. Katie watched him, trying to hide a smile. He was putting it on over his coat.

‘I don’t think it will go over,’ she said.

‘If you want to strip off that’s up to you but I’m not. At least this is an extra layer if I can fit into the damn thing. You sure this one’s an extra-large?’

‘I checked the label and that’s what it said.’ She rummaged in the bag and pulled out a pair of black gloves. ‘Look what I managed to get, cold weather ones. This new neoprene backing traps the heat, similar to wetsuit material.’

‘Thank God for that. My hands and feet feel as if they are about to drop off.’

Rather than change in the ladies toilets, Katie did the same and pulled her coverall over her clothes. When they were ready, Daly said they resembled Michelin men. As they headed to the rear entrance, they passed a small exhibition of paintings and sculptures and a dedicated area for kids.

Once outside, an army of geese confronted them. They were big and noisy and to Daly, appeared aggressive. ‘Bugger off,’ he shouted.

‘Don’t antagonise them,’ Katie said, laughing.’

‘Someone should have met us. I haven’t a bloody clue where to go.’

Katie pointed towards a wooded area. ‘Follow me; I think I can see movement over there.’

Daly disliked the claustrophobic atmosphere in the woods. Katie hurried ahead as if she felt the same; he puffed along trying to keep up. Suddenly they came out of the gloom and found they were on the riverbank where half a dozen crime scene technicians were busy scouring the area. Grayson waved them over and for a brief moment, Daly felt apprehensive. He stopped to catch his breath. ‘Hold on a minute Gardiner.’

‘Are you okay Sir?’

‘Have you seen many dead bodies?’

‘Only my Grandma, but I did drive DI Jewell to that farm last summer during the Jerome case. I didn’t get too close to the