Janssen inclined his head. “You can hold your own, I’m sure. We make quite a team, you and me.” He smiled warmly. “Maybe you should put your hand up a little more often.”
“I might just do that, Inspector.” Her face split a grin. “Besides, I’m dying to see that canal boat of yours.” She turned and walked through the double doors and onto the concourse without looking back. If she had, she would have seen Janssen watching her go until she disappeared from sight, absently drumming his fingertips on the roof of the car. He lingered there for a few moments until a taxi driver conveyed his irritation at Janssen’s blocking of the zone by sounding his horn.
“I’ll be seeing you DCI Greave,” he said under his breath. Glancing at the taxi, he got into the car, restarted the engine and set off back to the station.
Bury Your Past
Hidden Norfolk – Book 2
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Hidden Norfolk - Book 2
Prologue
Sand, whipped into the air by the force of the easterly wind, stung his face. The clouds parted momentarily revealing the new moon and a brief glance to the horizon saw the shifting light of the coming dawn. Time was limited. The fallen trees, a result of the violence of the previous night, left many local roads impassable with residents hunkering down in their homes to wait out the storm. Many heeded the warnings and travelled inland away from the coast, thereby avoiding the worst of the damage and disruption. Others, however, didn’t fare as well. Coastal flooding struck several communities overnight according to the news report he heard on the radio. The power was out across much of the region with no indication of when things would return to normal, Norfolk’s eastern coast battered back to the stone age in the space of a few hours.
Now amongst the dunes, he caught sight of another soul braving the lull that followed the previous night’s events, walking their dog along the deserted beach. Dropping down he found some shelter from the elements with the dunes acting as a natural wind break and the relative calm allowed him to hear the sounds of the nearby breakers crashing onto the beach. Reaching into his knapsack, he took out his small bundle tightly wrapped in linen. Laying it on the ground, he carefully unfurled the material to reveal the contents. A small circular mirror, slightly smaller than the palm of an adult hand, was put to one side. Alongside this he placed a black candle, a length of string and a piece of cinnamon bark. Lastly, he set down a smooth oval rock the size of a closed fist that he’d collected from the shoreline.
Taking a marker pen from his jacket, he picked up the mirror and scribbled a word upon it. Laying it in the centre of the linen he retrieved a cigarette lighter from his pocket and, protecting the wick from the breeze with his body, lit the candle. Once the wax began to melt, he angled the candle in order to allow three drops of wax to splash down onto the surface of the mirror. Then he allowed the breeze to extinguish the flame. Nervously casting his eyes to the east, the sun threatened to breach the horizon at any moment. The reddish backdrop to the tumbling angry clouds promised yet another day of turbulence. Putting the candle aside he reached for the cinnamon. Snapping the bark into smaller pieces in the palm of his hand, he closed his eyes and sprinkled it over the mirror whilst softly mouthing an incantation long committed to memory. Taking each corner of the linen in turn, he folded them into the centre creating a pouch of sorts and tied the corners together with the string. Working with more haste now, he used both hands to dig in and push the sand aside in order to fashion a hole roughly six inches deep at its centre. Then, he lifted the pouch and laid it carefully inside.
Picking up the rock, he hefted it above his head and looked out to sea once more. As the first glimpse of the sun crested the horizon he brought his arm down as fast as he could, hurling the rock into the hole. The muted sound of the mirror smashing under the impact carried and without a moment to lose he refilled the hole as fast he could, smoothing over the topmost layer of sand with the palms of both hands. He
