Fear the Past Read online

  “Not necessarily, sir,” Caslin replied, passing him the receipt. Broadfoot eyed it suspiciously but having checked the date, he looked to Caslin.

  “Then we’ve missed them.”

  Caslin thought on it. Turning to Hunter, he asked, “You were in position from what… four o’clock yesterday?”

  “A little after, yes.”

  “And no one came or went after that time?”

  “A car came in a little after seven but no one left.”

  Caslin crossed to one of the windows and opened it pushing the shutter away. He looked to the rear of the complex. There was a dirt track heading across the field to the east. “So, that receipt was time and date stamped at seven o’clock when they bought it.”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s a bit late in the day to make a big move, isn’t it? They wouldn’t decamp across there in the dark at that time. If they were going to they would have left earlier.”

  “Not gone to pick up a takeaway, you mean?” Hunter queried.

  “Exactly. Which means they were on the move early this morning. How was MacEwan shipping the gold out previously? Via his boatyard up the coast,” Caslin said, remembering the details his father provided him with. “What if he’s doing the same now?”

  Hunter shook her head, “I went through his business interests with Holt. He offloaded that boatyard years ago.”

  Caslin’s theory fell apart before he had even begun to flesh it out. He sighed. The sense of disappointment among them was palpable.

  “Keep at it,” Broadfoot demanded. “I’ll head back with Freeman. Get back to me with your next steps by the close of play.”

  Their commanding officer walked away without another word. Caslin closed his eyes and grimaced. “There goes an unhappy man,” Hunter said softly watching Broadfoot leave ensuring only Caslin could hear her words.

  “Get on to Terry back at Fulford. Have him run down the businesses that we know MacEwan has a stake in along with any residences, land or assets within a fifty-mile radius of this location. We’re due a bit of luck. We still have time. We know the area they’re in which narrows down the search parameters,” Caslin said, conveying confidence that Hunter didn’t share.

  They stepped outside into bright sunlight. The smell of the sea carried to them on the breeze. Freeman and his team were finishing the packing up of their gear into the lock boxes of their vehicles and were now preparing to leave. Caslin thrust his hands into his coat pockets. Despite the sun the day was still freezing.

  “I had better move my car so they can get out,” Hunter said, striding away. Caslin acknowledged Freeman’s wave as he got into the passenger seat of his Range Rover. The car pulled away followed closely by the other four vehicles. Judging from the forlorn expressions on the departing faces the morning failed to match up to their expectations. Caslin’s phone was vibrating in his pocket and he took it out. Glancing at the screen it showed a number he didn’t recognise. His first thought was of Pete Fuller but he knew he was still being held in isolation at Full Sutton. He tapped the answer tab.

  “DI Caslin,” he said, watching the last of the vehicles drive out of the yard.

  “Is that Inspector Caslin?” a man’s voice asked. It seemed remotely familiar to him but he couldn’t quite place where he recognised it from let alone assign a face or a name.

  “Yes, it is. Who is this?”

  “It’s Geoff. Geoff Thomas.”

  “From…?” Caslin asked, straining to remember where they’d met.

  “From Flamborough Head. I run the café, out at the…”

  “Lighthouse,” Caslin finished for him. “Of course. What can I do for you, Geoff?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you so early but there are some strange goings on out here this morning, Inspector. Not sure what to make of it to be honest.”

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The coastal road was set back barely half a mile from the sea, picking its way through farmland to either side. The main road, the A165, carried you inland down to Bridlington, south of Flamborough and further around the coast. The road Caslin took was more direct and less travelled but the trade-off was the increased journey time. Easing out of his lane to get a better view, he sought to pass the slow-moving car in front only to be forced back as the oncoming vehicle flashed its lights and sounded a warning blast of its horn. Even at this speed the journey itself should only take fifteen minutes. The dashboard lit up to signal he had an incoming call. He looked to the heads-up display and saw it was Terry Holt.

  “What did you find out?” Caslin asked, dispensing with the customary greetings. Leaving Hunter back at White Hart Farm to secure the scene and await the forensic search team, the call from Flamborough Head had piqued his curiosity.

  “A lot of historical info about when it was built…”

  “Skip the history, Terry,” Caslin interrupted him.

  “Sorry,” Holt replied. “Trinity still own, maintain and run the lighthouse although it’s a fully automated system now so they haven’t needed keepers for twenty-odd years. However, what is interesting to us is that once they took the lighthouse under remote operation, they retained the tower and fog warning station whilst selling off the attached real estate.”

  “Who bought it?” Caslin asked.

  “That’s what’s taken me the time. It’s another case of a company within a company. Well, more like several companies within several more,” Holt continued. “Long story short – I don’t know… yet. What I would say is the ownership is so vague that I wouldn’t be surprised if it turns out we can tie it to one of MacEwan’s shells. I always get suspicious when the answers aren’t obvious. I wouldn’t necessarily put money on it…”

  “If you were playing the percentages?”

  “Seeing as MacEwan is in the area and Bradley was recently as well. I’d say pretty high,” Holt replied. “Is Hunter there with you?”

  “No,” Caslin replied, dropping through the gears, indicating and pulling out into oncoming traffic and forcing his way through much to the annoyance of other road users. “I left her back at the farm.”

  “That’s not good,” Holt stated, concern edging into his voice. “I think we may have just found…”

  “Where MacEwan is. I know but let’s not get carried away,” Caslin said. “Call Hunter and tell her what’s going on. I’ll check it out.”

  “What about ACC Broadfoot?” Holt asked, thinking ahead.

  Caslin was reticent, worried about raising the alarm on the back of a hunch. “Our local contact advised me there were a handful of them coming and going this morning. They were there when he arrived to unlock his business. If it is MacEwan, we have to assume they are moving what they have and using the lighthouse as a way station. If it’s them, I’ll try and slow them down.”

  “If they’re there what were they keeping at White Hart Farm?” Holt asked. It was a good question. “Never mind. I’ll get onto them.”

  “Thanks, Terry,” Caslin said, hanging up. He swore loudly, frustrated at his lack of forethought.

  In all likelihood, Bradley wasn’t out at Flamborough to meet someone or not primarily in any event. If their theory was right, then he probably knew MacEwan owned the buildings and was observing them but to what end, he couldn’t say. Caslin’s mind was reeling as he made yet another unadvised passing manoeuvre. This time, he was forced to apply his brakes and swerve back into his lane to avoid a certain head-on collision with an oncoming van.

  Moments later, he came upon the outskirts of Flamborough town itself. The route circumvented the centre and he reached a junction. Turning left and heading directly to the coast, Caslin was acutely aware there was only one road to or from Flamborough Head and he was driving along it. Keeping his eyes trained on the road, Caslin paid attention to the traffic passing in the opposite direction. Unsure of what MacEwan could have stashed out here, they could be using any type of vehicle. The location came to the forefront of his mind. No one would think to look out here
but equally the nearby farm was just as remote and safe from prying eyes. There was a reason. There had to be. Perhaps MacEwan had several locations in which he was using to spread the risk of discovery.

  There was little movement on the road and Caslin suddenly felt vulnerable as he approached the visitors’ car park. The wide-open expanse in the run up to the lighthouse left him exposed. Caslin pulled in to Selwick Drive, the residential road set across from the lighthouse to the rear of the café. Should anyone be paying attention, he could be taken as visiting friends or returning home. He parked the car with his target still roughly one hundred yards distant and the café and gift shop between them. From his vantage point, he could see two cars and a van parked alongside the lighthouse’s outer perimeter wall. There was another mini-van a short distance away and Caslin considered one of these must belong to the café’s proprietor who had called him earlier. No one was visible and after a few moments, Caslin knew he would need to get closer. If he couldn’t confirm the theory, then there was no point in his being there.

  Getting out of the car, he shut the door and scanned the nearby vicinity. It was still early and there didn’t appear to be many residents in and around the nearby assortment of bungalows. Those in employment had probably already left for work and the remainder were still behind drawn curtains. The wind coming in off of the North Sea was strong with frequent gusts buffeting him as he set off across the open ground towards the lighthouse. Caslin used the café as a cover for his approach. The only part of the complex where he could be seen was from within the tower of the lighthouse itself.

  Coming to the white buildings, Caslin slipped between a storage block and the café approaching the rear door to the kitchen. It was closed but he saw movement on the other side. He rapped his knuckles on the glass three times. Moments later, a figure appeared on the other side distorted by the obscured glass. The door cracked open and a face peered hesitantly through the gap.

  “Geoff? It’s DI Caslin,” he said, needlessly lowering his voice for there was no way anyone would be able to overhear their conversation. The door opened wider and the familiar face of the café’s owner appeared.

  “Come in,” he said, stepping back.

  “You’re on edge,” Caslin stated. The man nodded.

  “It’s that lot, over there,” Geoff said, indicating with a flick of his head in the direction of the lighthouse. “They were here when I arrived. One of them didn’t take kindly to me looking at them.”

  “What did he say?”

  “Nah… it was more the look he gave me. I called the wife – told her he was a wrong-un. Not someone I want to meet on a dark night for sure.”

  “What are they up to, do you think?” Caslin asked. “How many are in there?”

  “Four or five, I reckon,” Geoff confirmed. “And I’ve no idea what they’re up to. Never seen them here before either. I probably wouldn’t have given it much thought except Mary remembered your visit and suggested I give you a call. What do you think is going on?”

  Caslin looked past him and out of the window towards the lighthouse. All was quiet. “I don’t know but…” he said, addressing him directly, “it’s best if you stay in the kitchen out of the way for the time being. Is it just you here?”

  Geoff nodded. “But we have staff arriving in the next half an hour. Is that all right?”

  Caslin looked at the clock. It was approaching 8 a.m. and he did a quick calculation in his head. He knew Hunter would be here soon enough but how long it might take for Broadfoot to arrive with the armed support was anyone’s guess and he still needed confirmation. He didn’t want to put any members of the public in danger but by the same token, he couldn’t risk the word getting around to the residents there was a police operation underway. “Do your staff arrive by car?”

  “Usually, yes.”

  “Where do they park?”

  “At the back, behind the café.”

  “And they enter the same way I did?” Caslin asked. Geoff nodded, suddenly looking concerned. “That should be fine but do me a favour, would you? I want you to let me out of the front door but then close it behind me and keep it locked. No one in that way, no one out. Understood?” Geoff nodded vigorously.

  Walking to the front entrance, Caslin peered out of the window but still didn’t see any indication of movement. The perimeter wall was five-foot-high and curved around the building with the access to the visitors’ car park passing alongside. The wall met a double-entry gate alongside the head of the coastal walking trail, itself a similar height, and offered access to both the lighthouse complex and the monitoring station on the nearby point. Nodding to Geoff, the owner stepped forward and turned the key in the lock before sliding back the bolts, located top and bottom, and pulled the door open. Caslin took his radio from his pocket and switched it off before setting his mobile to silent. The last thing he wanted was for either of them to give away his position at an inappropriate moment.

  “Thanks,” Caslin said, slipping out. He heard the bolts being slammed back in place and got the impression Geoff would be on the phone to his wife within seconds. He figured it didn’t matter. Turning right as he left the café, he squeezed between the outside seating and hopped over the knee-high boundary wall of the outside dining area. Hugging the exterior wall of the gift shop, Caslin reached the corner of the building and eyed the fifty feet of open space between himself and the lighthouse’s boundary wall. Breaking into a run, he covered the distance as quickly as he could and dropped to his haunches alongside the first of the parked vehicles.

  Popping his head up, he looked for a reaction to his approach but everything remained quiet. This close to the wall, he had no chance of seeing over it so he crept forward keeping low until he reached the brick. The gate was further around and to his left. Caslin ignored it instead choosing to move to his right. As the wall began to curve, he stopped. Level with the tower, Caslin turned and backed up a couple of steps in order to be able to get a run at the wall. Three quick steps forward and he leapt up throwing his arms over and gripping the edge of the wall on the other side. Scrambling up with confidence that the tower masked his efforts, Caslin hauled himself up onto the top. Keeping himself flat, he rolled over and dropped his legs down the other side. Carefully lowering himself to the ground, he stopped to listen. The sound of the waves crashing upon the rocks nearby was all that could be heard.

  Moving quickly and with purpose, Caslin made his way around the tower keeping as close to the wall as he could. With every step the attached building revealed itself and Caslin felt his vulnerability increase. Each window was an opportunity for those inside to see him. With no way of knowing the interior layout, he had no ability to mitigate the chance of discovery. That is if they were still inside. The building attached to the lighthouse was rectangular and double storey. As Caslin came around the side, he chanced a look through a small ground-floor window. The glass was dirty and smudged to such an extent that he couldn’t make out much detail. It appeared to be a storeroom of some description and barely six-feet square. Content that he wouldn’t be seen at this point, he moved on, skirting the side of the building and passing to the rear.

  Peering around the corner, he came upon a grassed area reasonably well maintained and encompassed entirely by the perimeter wall. From here, Caslin could see the access gates on the far side. Movement in the corner of his eye caused him to freeze in position pressing his back to the wall and attempting to become one with it. It was the form of a figure passing by the window next to him and once confident that he wouldn’t be seen, Caslin slowly leaned over in order to see through it. He could make out three people standing together plus the one who’d originally caught his eye. Due to the build-up of muck and grime on the glass, he was unable to identify any of them. Scanning the interior, he sought an access point that might allow him to eavesdrop or at the very least give him a decent view of them. The interior was mostly open plan from what he could tell. The door to the storage room he had just wa
lked past was ajar on the far side but apart from that the only other option appeared to be the main access door.

  Easing himself away from the window, he made his way back around from where he had come. His confidence boosted, he made a more detailed assessment of the room. It appeared to be a large store cupboard, an offshoot from a kitchenette and probably converted at some point post construction. The window was secure appearing to have been painted shut years ago. In any event, it was probably too small for him to fit through. Caslin could see light coming into the room from above. There was a drainpipe running down the corner of the exterior where the building met the base of the tower and Caslin gave it a tug. It was cast iron and felt securely fastened to the wall. With great care, he reached up and then used the ninety-degree junction between the buildings to brace against as he began the short climb. The flat roof was only around seven feet above the ground and Caslin made the ascent with relative ease.

  Once on the top, Caslin made his way to the skylight. It was single-glazed and in a poor state of repair. The frame was steel and the combination of the salt air and sea mist had corroded many of the fixings. Even a cursory attempt to prise it saw enough movement to indicate his efforts would bear fruit. Taking a firm grip with both hands, Caslin levered the frame from side to side and found he was able to lift it from its housing with minimal noise and exertion. Placing it down at his side, he looked into the room below. The sound of muffled voices came to him but they were too distorted to comprehend. The drop of seven feet wasn’t going to be a problem because there was a table set almost directly beneath the skylight but the gap to squeeze through was only marginally wider than Caslin’s upper body.

  Lowering his feet through first, he braced both arms at either side and eased himself through the gap. Momentarily fearful he might fall, Caslin wondered whether he should retreat but realised he was already committed. Levering himself to one side, he put his left arm down, supporting himself with only his right. The strain was immense and he struggled to regulate his breathing as his chest was clamped to the sides of the opening, legs flailing as they sought to gain purchase on the table beneath. Ultimately, he reached the point where he had little choice but to have faith in his plan and make the drop.