Chapter 3

“You’d best get over here and have a look.”

Sam Styles was calling James Masters to appraise him of the problem that he had encountered, which would undoubtedly require a decision and an an extra payment because it involved extra work.

James Masters was a developer, that is the man who put the deals together and provides the money, and Sam Styles was his long time builder. James had no particular knowledge of building, but over a number of years the two men had established a mutual trust, so when Sam said ‘We have a problem’ James took notice.

“I’ll be there in about half an hour.”

And in half an hour, James was standing next to Sam looking at the problem, which appeared to be a large slab of not very good concrete.

“We took down the house, removed the garage and now we’ve found this. We’ll have to break it,” said Sam. “We’ll never get a footing any sense otherwise. But I’ve no idea how deep it is, we’ve dug down one side and it looks to go down a ways.”

“How much d’you think it’ll cost?”

Sam mentioned a figure at which James blanched.

“That’s more than the contingency sum. And we’re not even out of the ground. Oh well, you’d better go ahead.”

Sam turned to the JCB driver. “Put the breaker on and go for it.”

For the next half hour James and Sam stood in the site office discussing the development. They were interrupted by the driver leaning around the door.

“You’d best come and have a look.”

The three of them walked over to where a hole had been broken through the slab. The driver handed Sam a torch and indicated the hole. Sam peered in.

“Shit!” he exclaimed when he saw what was there. “Better call the police.”

“Seven in total, Sir,” DCI Sommers told her superintendent. Looks like six women and one man. We’ve got a full forensic team there, fortunately the builder had put up a solid fence around the site, rather than the mesh barriers. But it is going to take some time and cost a bomb, we’ll have to keep a permanent guard there.”

“What do you know about the site, Eve?”

“Well Sir, it appears to have been a world war two bunker, the town was a centre for the ‘D day’ landings, there are still some tank traps in one of the gardens. But this appears to have been converted at some time, for what reason we don’t yet know, but there are cages down there like a zoo, and one of the men says the electric wiring is much later than wartime.”

“And it was the builders who found it?”

“Yes, Sir. Bit of a shock as you can imagine. We’ve got preliminary statements from them. Sam Styles is the builder, and the money man is James Masters, practically in tears he is Sir,” she allowed herself a small smile, but not of sympathy. “He told me he bought the plot through Tootall and Scriven, the estate agents in town. I’ve got someone down there to get details and find out which solicitor handled the vendors side. I’ll know that shortly. Local people say that a Mrs Eloise Bowman lived there with her son. She died last year. He’s in his mid twenties doing a doctorate at uni, but at the moment we don’t know which one. ‘Somewhere up north’ was the best we could get.”

“But there’s nothing recent?”

“No Sir, it doesn’t look like it’s been disturbed in years. I’m glad I didn’t see it when it was fresh, must have been like a butcher’s shop,” she shuddered, it was bad enough as it was.

“Right, keep on it, we’ll have to set up a press conference, but I want a little more information first, don’t want to be caught on the hop by some clever hack.”

George Bowman wasn’t too surprised to receive a call from the police. He confirmed his identity and his previous address. It turned out that local gossip was as wrong as it often is and the university wasn’t far away.

“I imagine this has something to do with what I have just seen on television,” he said.

“Yes,” confirmed Eve Sommers. “I would like to come and talk to you, tomorrow if possible.”

They agree a time and place and said goodnight.

Eve had met with the solicitor, Mr Paul Cashman, of Cashman, Toyle and Cashman, who had dealt with the estate and the sale of the property. It was, he said, a bit of a mess. The late Mrs Eloise Bowman, he thought in fact that should be miss, had not been registered as the owner of the property, but instead it was her mother, who had died many years ago, whose name was on the deeds. He knew that the mother, Mrs, but probably miss again, Jessie Bowman, had had a son as well as a daughter but he had disappeared many years ago. His father had dealt with all the previous transactions so he was unable to give any details. The old man was, however, still alive and living in a private old people’s home in a nearby village.

Sidney Cashman was delighted to receive a visitor and they were able to sit in the lounge whilst he ordered a pot of tea for the two of them.

“Oh yes, well now, I don’t suppose it will hurt anyone now if some of the details come out, although it was, hmm, a bit scandalous at the time. Most of the houses in Park Crescent were taken over by the War Department in, I think, 1942, but that was just before I was born and my father was the person who dealt with the necessary paperwork. Of course they were paid a pittance for what were very nice houses, but that was what it was like then. My father, he was the second Cashman in the name, my grandfather being the first, and Mr Toyle was killed on the Somme. Now ... yes Father told me about it when I took over. The War Department sold the houses off in 1948 or 49, by which time the price had gone up and at least one of the previous owners was unable to re-purchase. Of course that was before Colonel Martin took them to task when they tried to auction off half of his wife’s estate that they’d bought for an airfield. He’d had the money for it, of course, but he reckoned it should be offered back to him for what he’d been paid for it, after all he hadn’t wanted to sell it in the first place. Good lawyers and he won. Now Jessie Bowman was the town’s good time girl had by all as they say, and one of the people she ensnared ... that might be putting it a bit strongly was the Mayor of the time. Now he repurchased one of the houses and Jessie purchased one. Where the money came from no one knew, except my father who did the paperwork.

Shortly afterwards Jessie had a baby son called Jack, so that it may well have come from the father, who ever that was, if you see what I mean. Then a couple of years later she had a daughter, but she was given up for adoption as far as I am aware. I know Jack never fitted in at school, but he wasn’t a bad lad, just didn’t fit in. After school he became a handyman until he left the area, oh, I suppose that was about twenty five years ago, give or take.”

Eve thanked him for his time and the information.

“No trouble my dear, I’ve plenty of time and always glad to help,” he told her.

Her interview with George Bowman was as friendly, but rather less informative.

“No, I never met my Grandmother, and I’d no idea that I had an Uncle Jack, all news to me I’m afraid. Mind you, I did always wonder about the old Transit van in the garage, because mother didn’t drive. I think she told me that she had considered learning at one time but had decided against. Now wait, I did find something odd when I got rid of it, because, yes, that was the name on the V5, I’d never associated it with an uncle. Well, well.

“But after mother died, she had a massive heart attack, you know, I just wanted to get rid of the place, wasn’t bad memories or anything really, but she’d been very protective and I wanted to make the break. So I went through paperwork and whatever that was necessary, and got someone to clear the lot, wasn’t much value and they wanted the van so I just signed it over and took the money. The estate agents told me the house was worth a fair whack for development and so that was what I decided.”