Ellis Dead Reckoning

1. Auflage 2024
ISBN: 978-1-83615-001-5
Verlag: Grosvenor House Publishing
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 329 Seiten

As an unexploded World War 2 bomb is discovered, a strange a figure appears on the evening train from London to Nottingham and the carriage is transformed to the 1940s. Though easily dismissed as the foolish stories of overworked imaginations, he keeps appearing and the city is gripped by fear. Is he a ghost? A predator? Local journalist, Arlene Bates demands action from the police and, with an uncomfortable reputation for 'peculiar' cases, a reluctant DCI Jenner is assigned to investigate. Then the direst predictions are confirmed when Karen Renshaw is viciously attacked on the train, remaining in a coma while the strange figure cannot be found. As Jenner probes Karen's background, old mysteries are opened up and the web of suspicion widens. Is this a lone attack or the first of many? Events in the past and present come together. Time is running out as a fearful deadline approaches.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Ellis, Lee

Leseproben

1

10th April

THE hammering and banging that’s dominated the area for weeks has stopped. Local residents come home to a strange, but welcome hush and leave in the morning without the incessant battering of building and excavating to accompany their departure. Only the contractor and the developer do not share the enthusiasm for the ‘find.’ The new building will be delayed, disrupting the schedule of the one and the financial security of the other. In these straightened times such a construction is risky enough without the complication of having additional works.

For as they dug down to begin the first foundations the ground gave way, revealing a huge hole, deep into the sandstone. The developer blamed the builder who had not priced for such extra works. The builder blamed the surveyor, who had not predicted such works being necessary. The surveyor blamed the developer. His brief was specific, such additional work was not provided for in his contract. It would mean pile driving to reach the bedrock, not to mention the in-filling, the strengthening of walls…and who would be responsible?

Then while they wrangled, in his wisdom the building inspector pronounced the hole was not natural. The city sandstone is riddled with caves and this looked like a new, previously unknown network. There could be medieval connections, immensely significant in the city’s heritage. The builder complained of the delay, the developer countered saying they were well north of the city centre so how could this be medieval? No one listened to him and he buried his head in his hands, dreading the inevitably punishing conversation he envisaged with the bank. It was no use. The archaeologists were called in and given time to investigate. Delay heaped on delay as the men and machines were idle.

…The raid was incessant and prolonged. It was the worst attack on the city so far and proved to be the worst in the whole war. Two hundred were killed in that one night including 50 when two bombs hit the shelter at the Co-op bakery. It was the largest loss of life in a single incident, but bombs fell right across the city. Next day fires were still being damped down and firemen had arrived from as far away as Birmingham and Manchester. 272 fire pumps had been deployed during a night in which 424 high explosive bombs and 6,084 incendiaries had fallen. Many of the casualties were children. When war started thousands had been evacuated from the cities, but Nottingham was not considered a likely target and the children remained. It was a decision to be regretted on a night the city would remember for all the wrong reasons.

Arlene pauses and checks her map of the city in 1941. She’s marked all the places known to have received hits on that fateful night. What she writes next is pure speculation, but could be right. After all, an unexploded bomb had lodged in the tower of St. Mary’s church, then inexplicably carried out by the two fire wardens on duty! Unexploded bombs have been found in other places over the years and there were certainly hits all around Sharp Road. So, who knows what they’ll find excavating the caves at the building site? Unless they find something interesting a story about ‘medieval connections’ can only run for one night. But with a wartime connection it might have a better resonance. She’s been working on the article about the infamous air raid for weeks, enlivening it from her interviews with survivors. She makes a note to insert a piece with pictures on the ‘then and now’ of where some of the bombs fell, then writes:

“As we look back nearly seventy years and the anniversary of that terrible night draws near it is not just these places that remind us of those perilous times.”

She stops, wondering how best to link the events at Sharp Road with her article on the war. No more than a hint should suffice. After all, this is meant to be an article in a newspaper. Too much speculation and her hard work could be heading for the spike. But she has to say something…

“The site, undeveloped since the war is known to be close to where many of the bombs fell. As the archaeologists explore these large holes in the ground they might find much more than relics from the middle ages…”

Then she remembers what some of the survivors said and randomly includes some of their impressions.

“There was so little time…we just had to drop everything and run to the shelter…sometimes we hesitated, there was always something to do, to finish off, but always we went…we’d heard the sirens so many times, we were almost immune to them, but on that night it wasn’t just sirens…down in the shelter we heard the constant rumble, but it seemed to be getting closer…”

It doesn’t fit. Set the wartime scene first, then link it to the present, the building site, the big hole and the discovery of the caves. Then the subtle hint, past and present coming together, the suggestion will be enough, readers’ imaginations will do the rest. A little more polishing and the article will be ready in time for the anniversary of that awful raid. She works on. It’s nearly done, but she’s not satisfied. Something is missing, one last finishing touch. She has plenty of material from the past, but what of now? She needs to capture the flavour of the moment.

When she arrives, Sharp Road is deceptively quiet. The builders’ temporary fencing still encloses the site, but there are no construction activities. Neither are there are any spectators. Arlene doesn’t understand. Even the most unexciting development must attract a few gawpers and this will be no small building, five storeys of offices and smart apartments. She shares her curiosity with the man who stops her at the barrier.

“I thought the place would be besieged. Everyone in the city must want to know what you’re going to find.”

“And you are?” he says suspiciously.

“Arlene Bates, I’m from the Evening Courier.”

“Reporter,” he sniffs as if he’s just encountered someone with a contagious disease, “Did you write that piece the other night?”

“I want to follow it up. I’m writing an article on the war and…”

“You can’t come in,” he says, stepping forward in case she slips between him and the barrier.”

“I only want to ask a few questions. Have you found anything?”

“No, not yet, we’ve only just begun.”

“Are you working now?”

“You can’t come in, it’s too dangerous.”

“Dangerous, in what way?”

It’s a foolish statement and he hastily tries to rationalise his impetuous reaction.

“I mean we can’t have too many people around while the work progresses.”

“You are from the archaeology service?” she says.

“There’s an engineer on site, he has to assess any potential instability to the foundations.”

“You’re from the builder?”

“We are still responsible for the security of the site,” he says stiffly.

But he’s said too much and she continues to chomp at the bone.

“What do you mean about the foundations? Is there a possibility of collapse?”

He desperately tries to backtrack.

“I’m not an expert, but obviously if people are scrabbling around underneath we have to be careful.”

“But you said you have an engineer on site. Surely he won’t allow anything that could jeopardise the building or at least the little that’s here,” she says, glancing at the few rows of bricks.

“It’s not just what you see above ground.”

She scribbles in her pad.

“What are you writing?” he says.

“What you’ve just said.”

“But I was only…”

“What’s your name?”

“That’s not important.”

“Let me see the engineer.”

“What for?”

“To get a professional opinion on this unstable building.”

“I didn’t say it was unstable.”

“You said it was dangerous.”

“No, I said we have to be careful.”

“You said it was dangerous.”

“Only if there are too many people below ground.”

“How many are down there? What are they doing?”

The increasingly rancorous exchange goes on, he refusing to give way, she refusing to back off.

Meanwhile, four metres below two professional archaeologists and four ‘helpers’ work away, intent on revealing what lies beneath. So far they’ve been unsuccessful. No clay pots, medieval coins or any other indications of previous inhabitants. While the two professionals diligently scrape in the main trench, excavated from the first fissure that opened up beneath the foundations, the helpers carefully dig into the side of the hole. Carried away by their enthusiasm they penetrate some distance into the sandstone, away from the others.

They take less care now, digging more rigorously. Suddenly the sandstone wall gives way and a space, at least a metre wide, opens up. For a few moments they stare incredulously through the gap. The others have not stirred, unaware of this new find. The four stare at each other. They ought to stop, call over and get some guidance, but they can’t. They must go through and explore further. This is no longer some tedious dig, hours of scraping at the soil for tiny relics from the past. Now driven by some greater force from the past, they scramble into a narrow tunnel, just high and wide enough for them to creep forward. There’s barely any light from above and they need their torches.

No one speaks. Speech is unnecessary. Their coalescing thoughts are enough. Ahead, beyond or at the head of...