The haunting of hadlow h.., p.1
Blood Ribbons: A gripping Suffolk coast murder mystery full of twists (Steph Grant Murder Mystery Series Book 4), page 1
BLOOD RIBBONS
LIN LE VERSHA
This edition produced in Great Britain in 2024
by Hobeck Books Limited, 24 Brookside Business Park, Stone, Staffordshire ST15 0RZ
www.hobeck.net
Copyright © Lin Le Versha 2024
This book is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in this novel are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or localities is entirely coincidental.
Lin Le Versha has asserted her right under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the copyright holder.
A CIP catalogue for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978-1-915-817-731-0 (ebook)
ISBN 978-1-915-817-732-7 (pbk)
Cover design by Jayne Mapp Design
https://jaynemapp.wixsite.com
For Mary
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CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Read the Steph Grant Murder Mystery Series
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Hobeck Books – the home of great stories
PROLOGUE
The Rhine glimmered in the morning light as Pieter cast his line with a wide smile, expecting a catch. Pike had been plentiful over the summer, especially in the polders. Although pike still lurked among the reeds in late October, waiting to snatch their prey, he suspected today he’d have a better chance of landing some perch.
Actually, it didn’t matter what he caught – even if he caught nothing. He drew a deep breath down to the bottom of his lungs and slowly exhaled, content with his world, which shimmered as the day developed. One of those glowing autumn days, which felt full of promise, as if anything was possible.
Pieter adjusted his feet on the narrow promontory – a grassy finger poking into the river – ensuring he wouldn’t slip on the mud. Standing on the very edge, he felt privileged to be sharing this perfect moment with the motionless heron on the far bank, fishing with deadly accuracy. At least one of them was having some success!
An impatient car hooter intruded on his peace as the frantic rush to work started behind him. It was a relief not to have to join them – he grinned, celebrating his newfound freedom. The novelty of his retirement from the surgery a month ago was still shiny and new. Although he’d loved working with his patients, the world had turned, and he found it frustrating to spend so much time on the mass of paperwork now required of him. And anyway, he’d lost his appetite to keep on top of the latest research.
A few white clouds interrupted the solid blue, and the slight breeze he’d felt at dawn, which rustled the crispy leaves on the trees, had disappeared. It must be time for the breakfast he’d packed in the well-worn knapsack, stowed on a hump of grass behind him. His stomach rumbled on cue, so he wound in his line, unfolded the low canvas stool and unzipped his bag.
Relishing his ham sandwich, which always tasted delicious out here, he delved into his bag for the flask of strong black coffee, when a slight movement to his right made him jump. Not a rat?
Horrified, he leaped up, slipped, lost his balance and toppled over. He was annoyed that his new jacket would be swathed in a layer of sludge. Wiping the gunk out of his eyes, he rolled onto his right side and levered himself up with his elbow. Panic swept through him, and he gasped out loud.
In front of his face was a grey-white hand, tangled in the weeds at the edge of the bank. As Pieter slithered to his feet, the back of a head bobbed up, and further down, caught in the tidal flow, the legs appeared to be kicking – treading water. It was a man, face down in the water. Could he still be alive? No. Pieter knew a dead body when he saw one.
CHAPTER ONE
Steph covered her ears with her hands, attempting to block out the searing noise of the screaming engines. She frowned across at Hale as she gave up trying to lip read what he was saying. The bench below her shook her so violently that her teeth crunched together, and she had to grip onto the metal frame beneath her thighs to keep herself steady. The clouds whipped past the tiny portholes on the grey metal wall opposite, making her feel dizzy and seasick.
‘Go! Go! Go! Now!’ The screamed order, far louder than the engines, made her jump, and, feeling slightly wobbly, Steph pushed herself up and through the gap that opened behind her.
She stepped into a field, relieved to be away from the throbbing engines. Her ears buzzed after the assault on them. Hale stood beside her, gazing at the surrounding cyclorama of hundreds – no thousands – of parachutes, gently floating to the ground from a clear blue sky. A sight far too magical to be the next killer move in the war.
‘Impressive.’ Hale looked back at the fuselage from which they’d just emerged. ‘Certainly gives you an idea of what it must have felt like.’
‘That noise for hours – dreadful! Just imagine it.’
They stepped onto a narrow path, which led them through urban carnage with the most horrific destruction on either side. The devastation made it impossible to imagine what the street must have looked like before it was destroyed.
They picked their way through the rubble of bombed buildings, alongside ragged walls threatening to collapse into more piles of bricks. A slice of bedroom, the iron bed clinging to the jagged edges of the floor, tottered above them to the right, and domestic debris was scattered all around them.
Battered pans, broken crockery and rags, which might once have been clothes, had exploded from the gutted houses and emphasised the impact of war on those whose lives had been wrecked. That was if they’d survived the onslaught. The air was pierced with the sound of screaming babies, barking dogs and the unanswered cries of pain from the wounded, hidden from sight. Steph shuddered.
The first shot made her jump; instinctively, she ducked. Hale took her arm and led her through the nightmare of destruction, where jagged glass clung to window frames and anything flammable was consumed by darting flames. Although she knew the constant shooting was only noise, Steph found it difficult to stand upright and crouched down as the rattle of gunfire followed them down the path.
Scraps of net curtains hung limp in front of the exposed interiors of half rooms, which no one could ever live in again. The relentless firing warned of snipers, and in front of them, the sudden explosions of mortars and grenades threatened annihilation. She was aware of her heart racing as they reached the end of the path.
Ploughing through the wanton destruction was depressing enough, but they were thrust further into hell when they emerged into dark silence. In the gloom of the escape path, she gasped as she made out the shapes of bodies strewn on the high bank, left to lie where they fell, alone in the mud. No such thing as a good death here.
Blinking, they stepped into bright autumn sunshine and returned to the twenty-first century. Steph took a few deep breaths to calm her panic, surprised at her extreme physical reaction to the installation.
‘Ah! The loo. Won’t be a moment.’ She opened a door on her left with the universal image of a female – why did they always wear dresses? She rolled her eyes at her own stupidity, pleased she hadn’t asked the question out loud. Catching sight of herself in the mirror, she paused to brush her hair and re-do her lipstick.
Gerard, her new hairdresser, had done a great job persuading her to have it cut shorter, so her blonde curls framed her face, making her blue eyes appear bigger and emphasising her cheek bones. She’d been concerned that the style was too young, but now she was used to it she was pleased she’d let him have his way.
As ever, when faced with a mirror she sucked in her stomach and turned to the side, checking her light blue shirt was tucked in. Her long legs looked good in her new jeans bought especially for the trip, and as she pulled herself up to her full five foot nine inches, she smiled back at herself – not bad for mid-fifties. Despite longing all her life to be thin and petite, she had at last accepted she was what people called ‘big boned’, and consequently, as she aged she benefited from nature’s Botox so had few wrinkles. Well, apart from a deep smile line, but that didn’t count, did it?
As she emerged, Hale held out his hand and grinned at her, and they wandered towards the cluster of tables around the outside coffee bar.
‘I hope the kids make it down to the basement – that was really something.’ Steph glanced back at the Hartenstein Museum, originally the Oosterbeek Hotel, which had been the HQ for the Germans, then the British during the battle for Arnhem Bridge.
‘Coffee?’ Hale, holding onto her elbow, steered her towards a table under an enormous green and white striped umbrella and pulled out a chair for her. As he leaned on the counter placing their order, she admired her partner, Chief Inspector Philip Hale – known as Hale by everyone. Taller than her and as thin as when she’d first worked with him, he had the most beautiful smiley eyes and crinkly grin; she was lucky to be with such a lovely man – sexy too. He flicked back his hair, which constantly flopped across his forehead, and although it was now more grey than brown, it suited him, and he was aging well. He winked and grinned at her as he walked towards her.
Hale stopped to let a man pass with a large black dog on a lead – was it a labradoodle? A picture of her dog, Derek, a black and white collie cross, pushed its way into her head, and for a moment she felt lost without him beside her. It was the first time she’d gone away and left him since rescuing him three years earlier. Surprised by the acute pang of loss, she sighed, then smiled as she thought how much her life had changed for the better since Derek and Hale had appeared in it.
Steph tugged her pullover off, suddenly too hot in the sunshine, and slung it over the back of her chair. ‘An impressive collection of guns and military stuff, but that experience – wow! That was a real taste of what it must have felt like – and only a few minutes. Imagine days of it!’
‘Just relieved we’ve never had to sign up for that.’ Hale brushed a stray blonde curl back behind her ear and placed his hand on her shoulder, gently massaging it.
‘Look, I’m still hyper.’ She held out her hand, which shook slightly. ‘And it was only pretend.’
Sipping their coffee, gazing at the dark red leaves against the clear blue sky, they watched a small group of subdued students help the veterans, some wiping away tears, towards the tables in the cafe.
‘And to think they had to live it.’ Hale nodded over at two of the veterans being guided to seats by their carers and, Steph was pleased to note, a couple of students who were listening to them intently.
Some loud shouts to their left attracted their attention. Six of the students were playing army games like little kids around the tank on the front lawn, clambering over it and shooting their fingers at one another while making machine gun noises. They had been so well behaved on the long coach journey the day before, and although they were simply letting off steam, she hoped they wouldn’t upset the veterans, some of whom were frowning at their antics.
At that moment, one student, Amy, a tall girl with black goth hair and a long swishing skirt, swept towards them. She stood beneath the turret and spoke to the group, who listened to her in silence. Then, glancing sheepishly at the tables of veterans, the boys climbed off the tank and sauntered towards the café. Steph was impressed that this girl could sort them out with so little fuss.
The tallest veteran had taken off his maroon beret and was wiping his eyes with it. Zoe, another of the students, after helping him to sit down and handing him a cup, appeared to be concentrating on what he was saying. His mate sat with his elbows on the table and his head in his hands, eyes down, staring at the ground. He was saying nothing, apparently overwhelmed. It was bad enough being reminded what it was like in the battle by the stuff in the glass cases, but to be transported back to the reality of living it must be devastating.
Seeing the horror on the two men’s faces, Steph wondered if it had been a good idea to return them so effectively to the reality they must have spent years burying since fighting in the battle for Arnhem Bridge.
It was the first full day of their trip to Arnhem with students from Oakwood Sixth Form College and veterans from the battle for A Bridge Too Far. Steph, a former police officer, now college receptionist and PA to the Principal, had been asked to join her great friend Caroline, the Head of Art, who was running the project. The Principal was thrilled when she asked if Hale could accompany them too – an extra hand was always welcome.
A charity for the Arnhem veterans had commissioned the art, English and history departments in the college to produce a book to commemorate the seventy-fifth anniversary of the battle. A small group of veterans, most of them in their early nineties, had returned to the town, the woods and the cemetery with their carers and the students to produce the text, photos and drawings.
A river cruise company had lent them a boat due for re-fit for their brief stay on the Rhine and their trip back seventy-four years. It was a generous gesture by the Dutch company that owned the boat, and it gave their project high status. On three floors, the rooms, or cabins, were well planned and decorated like first-class hotel rooms, and at first glance, the boat didn’t appear to need a re-fit. Steph supposed that cruise passengers demanded high standards, but the large dining room and the lounge bar, both with excellent views of the river through their glass sides, were luxurious.
Caroline had planned a full programme, including visits to Arnhem, the war graves cemetery and the landing zone, followed by two days in The Crown, a posh hotel back in Suffolk, where they would finish their book in time for it to be published for the seventy-fifth anniversary celebrations.
It had felt such a good idea, but was it? There had already been hints of animosity and unresolved tensions on board, and when she’d heard someone shouting, ‘You’d better watch out – it’s payback time!’ in the bar last night, she wondered what on earth she and Hale had signed up for.
CHAPTER TWO
Zoe was on a mission, so she ignored the phone until it rang for the third time. Whoever was phoning was being persistent or irritating. She sighed, gave up resisting and answered it.
‘Hi, Amy … Yes, I’m coming to the bar before supper. I need a while to finish something … Yes, my black skirt and white top. You? … No, I don’t think that’s too dressy, and you always look so dramatic in your dark green dress … See you later.’
Opening the wardrobe, she pulled out a short black skirt, which made her waist look thin, and a designer ivory silk blouse, a birthday present from her gran. She must be careful not to splash red wine down it.
Pulling her hair up with two copper slides, she checked herself in the mirror, pleased that she hadn’t sliced it off as Amy had suggested. Her boyfriend, Ollie, said he was relieved she hadn’t, as he loved her long hair. Before coming away, she’d put red highlights through her brown curls, which emphasised her green eyes and flawless complexion. Her gran told her to keep out of the sun, as she was lucky to have such good skin, and not to ruin it.
She had a couple of hours before Ollie was coming to collect her for supper. Opening her safe, she pulled out a padded envelope and, bringing it over to the desk, slid out an old notebook wrapped in greaseproof paper. With great care, she flattened it on the desk, tilted the angle-poise lamp so it was in full beam and started reading.
