The Dead Call
Hidden Norfolk - Book 6
J M Dalgliesh
Contents
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The Dead Call
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
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First published by Hamilton Press in 2020
Copyright © J M Dalgliesh, 2020
The right of J M Dalgliesh to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a purely fictitious manner. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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The Dead Call
Prologue
Taking care on the boardwalk, still wet and slippery from the morning's storm, sheltered as it was under the canopy of pine, she gingerly made her way towards the wetlands. This close to the sea, the dunes were often reshaped by strong winds and tidal surges. The path was heaven sent both to help visitors traverse the coastal trail as well as to keep the damage to the nature reserve's fragile ecosystem at a minimum.
The cold breeze tore through her that morning; the day starting dull and overcast with a chill to the damp and foggy air, so much so she'd not bothered to check the afternoon forecast. As it turned out the storm front skirted by them, sparing The Wash and the north coast making landfall further south. The grey and threatening skies were replaced by blazing sun, not unheard of so early in June but nonetheless a pleasant surprise. She'd dressed for the cold again though, and as the twilight faded with the setting sun, she felt uncomfortable having spent much of the afternoon sweating in her waxed jacket and boots.
Clear of the pine trees, she entered the dunes now. Here the boardwalk was dry underfoot, which came as a relief. There were areas needing to be replaced where a process of make-do and mend was no longer sufficient. She would need to press hard to ensure this happened before footfall massively increased, as it always did when the summer season properly got underway. For now, at least, she knew where to take care and where she need not concern herself.
She was alone now, the few birders she'd come across in the hides having already packed up for the day. There had been a larger turnout than she'd anticipated, possibly resulting from the expected storm. There was always the chance to catch the last waves of spring's migratory birds stopping off to take shelter on the coast, but that was perhaps a little optimistic at this point in the season. When conditions were right, you could catch sight of scarce migrants, possibly in numbers, but judging by the aura of anti-climax shrouding the birdwatchers as they left, today wasn't one of those days. Unsurprising. Hopefully, they weren't too disappointed with having to settle for the nesting avocets instead, far from endangered but no less wonderful to see.
Maybe they'd been drawn out by the talk of the stone curlews? Facing a steep decline in numbers, and seldom seen this far north, they were largely limited to the marshland and lakes of the Brecks spanning Norfolk and Suffolk. If it was true, however, that they had been seen then she needed to be out here. It was possible. The short vegetation, open space and sandy soil was suitable for their ground nests, meaning it was plausible, if unlikely, that they were here. Word spread fast amongst the community and the temptation would nag at the usual suspects who would undoubtedly fail to resist their urges.
Pitiful fines and a harsh telling off. Pathetic.
Passing the next hide, she found it empty. The boardwalk rose from here to one of the high points where she could scan the dunes in either direction for as far as she could see. Raising her binoculars, hanging from the strap around her neck, she muttered a curse as a familiar pain stabbed at her right shoulder causing her to take pause and draw breath. These moments were becoming more frequent now, lingering for some time rather than passing quickly as they once did. She'd learned to cope, to manage, but the vigour she brought to the battle was waning as time passed.
Lifting the binoculars again, she slowly scanned the dunes in a sweeping motion from the beach towards the wetland marshes. No one was visible, not even a solitary dog walker. The car parks around the visitor centre were empty, but they would be cleverer than that. They knew she regularly noted down vehicle number plates. She knew who owned which car anyway, so they would never park where they could be easily spotted. It would give them away. No, they would park in the nearby town and walk out
