Free Scream: A DCI Mark Lapslie Investigation by Nigel McCrery

Andrews for me.’ He gestured to a seat in front of his desk. ‘Take the weight off your feet. Is there anything I can tell you before we start setting your incident room up?’
    ‘I’m a bit unsighted on the area,’ Emma said, sitting down. ‘Can you tell me something about Canvey Island?’
    He shrugged. ‘What’s to say? It’s a reclaimed island in the Thames Estuary, separated from the rest of Essex by a network of creeks. At various times in the past it’s been known as Counus Island and Convennon Island. It lies about three metres below sea level, on average, which probably makes it the closest thing that England has to Holland. That means it’s prone to flooding on occasion. Last time that happened was 1953, before I was born. Fifty-eight people died then, and it’s still a scar on the local psyche. That flooding led to the building of fifteen miles of concrete sea wall around the edge of the island, which provides a level of protection against all but the worst tides.’
    He paused, brow furrowed. ‘What else? Originally the place was a source of salt for the Roman invaders, although they switched to Maldon, further up the coast, where the salt is purer. It was then turned over to sheep farming for a long time. More recently the petrochemical industry built a large oil refinery down in the Hole Haven area, and the island was thesite of the first delivery in the world of liquefied natural gas by container ship, which makes us feel like we’ve contributed something to history. Of course, the whole thing is disused and partially dismantled now, and it’s a nature reserve.’
    ‘What’s the population?’
    ‘Nearly 38,000 people, 30,000 of whom moved in since the Second World War. For a while it was one of the fastest-growing seaside areas in the UK, although it’s stabilised somewhat now.’
    ‘What about you – are you local, or were you posted here? You said “we’ve contributed something to history” just now.’
    ‘Well spotted. I’m a local, born and bred,’ he said. ‘My family go back to the eighteen hundreds. Best way to be taken seriously around here is to have a name that’s familiar from the tombstones in the cemetery.’
    ‘How nice.’ She paused, remembering. ‘I saw a building on the way here – looked like it was a restaurant of some kind. What’s that all about?’
    ‘You mean the Labworth Café?’
    ‘Is that what it is?’
    He nodded. ‘Designed by some famous engineer – I can’t remember his name. It’s the most notable landmark we have.’
    ‘Why “Labworth”? Was that the guy who designed it?’
    ‘No, apparently there used to be a Labworth farm there, before the café was built. I remember my nan, God rest her soul, telling me that the name came from two Old English words:
lobb
, meaning spider, and
werda
, meaning a low-lying marsh. Easy – ask me another.’
    Emma grinned. ‘Where’s the best place to get a seafood linguine around here?’
    ‘Chelmsford.’
    She laughed, unforced. ‘Yeah, I was afraid of that. Oh – something else I meant to ask about that I saw when I was drivingaround. There’s a church called “Our Lady of Canvey and the English Martyrs”. What’s that all about then?’
    ‘Ah, now my nan used to wax lyrical about that as well. Back when she was a girl, there were a fair few Roman Catholics on the island, but no Roman Catholic church. This was before the bridges were built, so if they wanted to go to Mass they had to walk to the ferry and take a trip over to the mainland – or if the tide was out, walk across the stones in the creeks – and then take a train from Benfleet to the nearest town with a church, then do the whole thing in reverse to come back. Apparently, permission was given for Mass to be said in a local house belonging to a Mr Levi—’
    ‘Doesn’t sound particularly RC.’
    ‘No, he was Jewish, but his wife was RC. He converted after a while. They built a shed in the back garden for Mass, and then