Mrs MacDonald returned, with the instant camera in hand, held by the strap as Dani had instructed. She lowered it to the table, where Dani placed the second evidence bag over the device and sealed it inside.
“I suppose you’ll be looking for fingerprints,” the older woman said. “So that means you think this woman killed Mary.”
“No, it doesn’t mean that at all,” Tony said. “We’re just trying to find out who this woman is. Fingerprints may help us determine her identity.”
“Well, if you need something she touched, take that model release form. She definitely touched that.” She pointed at one of the sheets of paper that had come out of the envelope.
“Model release form?” Dani asked, putting the camera and photo to one side, and taking out another evidence bag.
Mrs MacDonald nodded. “It was one of the competition rules. The model in the photograph had to sign a release form. That’s the form Mary got her to sign, right there.
The piece of paper was face down. With gloved hands, Dani flipped it over. It contained a typewritten paragraph and, beneath that, a signature that had been scrawled with a blue biro. The handwriting was small and spidery.
Tony leaned forward and stared at the signature.
P Gibson.
Dani slid the model release form into the evidence bag and sealed it. Looking at Mrs MacDonald, she said, “Is there anything else Mary said about Mrs Gibson?”
The older woman thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Not that I can remember. Like I said, she was just taken with her, and sung her praises all the time. If that woman hurt her in some way—“
“We’re not saying she did,” Tony reminded her. “We’re just checking up on some details, that’s all.” He searched inside his jacket for one of his business cards and handed it to her. “If you remember anything else, anything at all, or you just want to talk, don’t hesitate to ring me.”
“Will I get my camera back?” she asked.
“Yes, we’ll get it back to you as soon as we’re done with it.”
“All right. Thank you.” Mrs MacDonald was still visibly shocked. She sat in the chair and stared at the tabletop.
“Shall I get your daughter to come in?” Tony asked.
She nodded.
He stuck his head through the doorway. Shona was fussing over the dresses in the window.
“I think your mum could do with a cup of tea,” he said.
A concerned look darkened her face as she crossed the small floor space to the counter. “Why? Is she okay?”
“She’s just had a bit of a shock, that’s all.” He waited for her to come behind the counter and go into the back room before he headed for the exit.
Dani followed, carrying the evidence bags.
When they were outside in the cold, Tony stuck his hands in his pockets. “Well, that was productive.”
“Yeah, thank God for people who never throw anything away.”
“We’re getting closer, Dani, I can feel it.”
“You might want to temper that enthusiasm a bit,” she said as they crossed the road to the Bull’s Head car park. “We’ve still got to run this past Battle.”
Chapter 18
Rob woke up in the cellar. He was sitting on the dirt floor, back against the cold, stone wall. What the hell happened? He checked his watch and could hardly believe it when he saw the time. 11:30. Almost lunchtime. He remembered coming down here after Eric had left and taking the knife off the shelf.
And then…what?
Had he blacked out?
He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to force the memory to come back to him, but last night’s events remained a black hole in his memory.
He got to his feet, and found the knife lying in the dirt next to him. Picking it up, he felt its weight in his hand before taking it upstairs and placing it on the kitchen table. Had he really been thinking about using this knife on his uncle?
It didn’t matter now; Eric would be going home today. He was probably already on his way, trundling down the motorway to Exeter. He wasn’t a threat anymore.
The thing that displeased him most about blacking out—or whatever had happened last night—was that he’d missed the opportunity to dig up another girl. He didn’t even want to take her anywhere, just dig her up and have a look at her, like a collector of fine wine checking that all the bottles were in the wine cellar.
That made him laugh. If a wine collection was kept in a wine cellar, then what was the cellar of this house called? A body cellar?
He chuckled to himself. The humour fled, though, when he checked his phone. Sonia’s name was all over his missed calls list, and his texts. Without even looking at them, he put the phone into his pocket.
He had to get home. If he spent too much time here in the house, Sonia might get suspicious and drive up here herself to see what was going on.
He crossed the kitchen to the cellar door, meaning to lock it.
He hesitated.
Sonia would be at work, and the kids at school. If he went home now, he’d be there on his own. No one would be back for at least another four or five hours.
Might as well use that time wisely.
He opened the cellar door and went down to his little domain. His body cellar. He smiled to himself and picked up the spade that was leaning against the wall. Surveying the expanse of dirt beneath his feet, he had an idea. Instead of digging the girls up and then reburying them, why not leave them out? Eventually, he could have them all on display down here, and he’d be the only viewer. His private collection.
What had his dad been thinking, burying them under the dirt where they couldn’t be seen? Yes, there was a kind of satisfaction knowing they were there, but wouldn’t it be much better to see them? He could sit down here with them. Perhaps even talk to them. At least they wouldn’t talk back, like Sonia always did.
Maybe he’d even find his mum.
“Mum, are you down here?” he said aloud. “Knock once for yes, twice for no.”
There was no answer, of course, although Rob did catch himself listening for a knock coming from beneath the earth.
Laughing at himself, he took the spade into the shadowy corner where a teenage girl had looked at him pleadingly with terrified eyes many years ago.
Before today, whenever he’d remembered the girl in the cellar, and his dad laughing at him, he’d blamed his father for expecting him to do something so terrible.
Now, he thought that perhaps he’d been too weak as a child. His dad had been trying to make a man of him. But instead of facing the challenge, he’d pissed his pants and run away like a little baby. No wonder his dad had been mad at him.
How different would his life had been if he’d just taken that step, and done what his father had asked of him all those years ago?
Deciding he’d never know the answer to that, and he’d better get to work if he was going to get home before Sonia and the kids, he set about digging. As the spade’s steel blade cut through the earth, Rob wondered if a knife passed through flesh so easily. He was sure it did. The difficulty in stabbing someone might come if—like a spade hitting rocks beneath the dirt—the knife hit bone.
Had his dad known the best places to stab someone to cause a quick death? Had he even wanted them to die quickly, or had he drawn it out, making sure they died slowly?
Those thoughts would have revulsed him a few days ago, but now he had a genuine curiosity about such matters.
He whistled to himself as he dug, feeling a sense if anticipation. He knew there was girl down here, and he would find her. The Xs on the scrap of paper hadn’t let him down the last two times, and he had no reason to believe they would now.
He wondered if his dad had periodically dug the bodies up, or if just knowing that they were there was enough. Rob decided the former; why would the old man have bothered to mark the graves if it wasn’t so he could bring his prizes out of the earth every now and again and look at them?
An hour later, his f
aith in the Xs and his father was rewarded when the spade hit something solid.
Half an hour after that, he had revealed—through careful use of the spade and his hands—the body of a girl, lying on her back in the grave.
The long hair clinging to the skull was dark. On the chest of her T-shirt, faded but still visible, was a pink rose.
This was the girl; the one who’d lunged at him from the shadows and then pleaded with him as he’d held the knife his father had given him.
“That didn’t end well for you, did it?” he said softly, reaching down and brushing a lock of hair from her dirt-encrusted skull.
It took him another half an hour to get the remains out of the hole and prop them against the wall. When he glanced into the grave to make sure he hadn’t missed anything, his heart skipped a beat.
There, lying face down in the dirt, was Sam the Action Man.
So he had dropped Sam when he’d fled the cellar all those years ago, and his dad had buried the toy with the girl.
He dropped into the hole and grabbed his old friend, pulling him from the dirt that seemed to want to retain its grip on the plastic man.
When he turned Sam over in his hands, he felt a jolt of shock. The Action Man was still intact, but his face was blank. The plastic facial features were still there—Rob ran his thumb over the plastic protrusions that represented the nose and mouth—but the eyes and eyebrows, which had been painted onto the plastic, were gone. The empty, shadowy eye sockets stared up at him.
“Sam, what happened to you?” he whispered.
He carefully bent the Action Man into a sitting position and placed it next to the remains of the girl.
Then he heard a knock at the door.
The coppery taste of fear flooded his mouth, and for a moment he thought that Eric had gone to the police after all, and they were at the door now, probably with a search warrant.
No, that was ridiculous. Even if Eric had gone to the police and told them about his brother, they couldn’t have got a search warrant in such a short time. They’d investigate first, ask questions, take their time putting a case together.
Wouldn’t they?
He had to admit that he didn’t really know how the police worked. And with the two bodies that had been found recently, and the public attention they’d caused, the authorities might be quicker to act than usual. They were probably up there preparing to smash the door down, for all he knew.
If they didn’t have a warrant, and they were just here to ask a few questions, maybe he could dissuade them. Perhaps he could talk his way out of it.
The sound came again. Three sharp raps on the wooden door.
Brushing the dirt off his shirt and jeans, Rob made is way to the foot of the cellar steps, where he hesitated, listening for voices outside, or the tell-tale crackle of a radio. He couldn’t hear anything, just silence now that the sound of the knocks had faded away.
He went up the stairs and peered around the open cellar door.
Through the frosted glass in the front door, he could see the distorted image of a single person. He was sure it was Eric.
What the hell was he doing here? Why hadn’t he gone back to Exeter?
Taking a deep breath to calm himself, Rob stepped into the kitchen and closed the cellar door behind him.
Eric must have seen him through the frosted glass, because he’d stopped knocking and was now waiting to be let in.
“All right, I’m coming,” Rob said. He didn’t lock the cellar door, because if Eric saw him fiddling with the lock through the glass, he might wonder what Rob was hiding was down there.
He opened the door and, sure enough, there was his uncle, wrapped up in a thick winter coat and wearing a red bobble hat.
“Uncle Eric,” Rob said. “What’s up? I thought you’d be on your way home.”
“I was.” Eric gestured to the kitchen. “But a thought struck me while I was on the motorway, so I turned around and came back here.”
“What do you mean?” Rob stood in the doorway, preventing his uncle from entering the house.
“I think we should have a look around the property,” Eric said. “This property, I mean. Probably in those woods, too. You should get your coat; it’s cold out here.”
Rob had no idea what was going on, but at least Eric didn’t want to come into the house. “All right. I’ll be right out. Just give me a minute.” He closed the door and grabbed his padded jacket. He was about to leave the house when he turned and, almost as an afterthought, picked up the knife from the kitchen table. He slipped it into his pocket and went outside.
Eric was waiting by his car. When he saw Rob, he opened the boot and took out a spade.
“What are we doing, again?” Rob asked.
Eric closed the boot and hefted the spade in his gloved hand as he walked towards Rob. “We’re going to have a look around out there.” He pointed at the fields and woods that surrounded the house.
Rob shrugged. “Okay, but what are we looking for?”
“Places where the earth is disturbed. Evidence that someone has dug up a body.”
“What?” Rob tried to sound surprised, but he wasn’t sure if that was going to work. Did Eric suspect him already? Was this some kind of a test?
“If I’m right, and my brother killed those girls,” his uncle said, “whoever dug them up might have found them here, on this property. I’m sorry, Rob, but I’m sure I’m right.”
“But who would have done such a thing?” Now he was the one doing the testing.
“I don’t know,” Eric said, walking towards the woods. “That’s the part I don’t understand.”
Rob followed him, his hands in his pockets, fingers caressing the rough, wooden knife handle. “It doesn’t make much sense, Eric.”
“I know, but if we find something, we can tell the police, and then they can sort it out.”
“So, you haven’t been to the police already?”
“Not much point without evidence. Like you said last night, my story doesn’t sound very plausible, and it’s doubtful the police would act on it. So, we’re going to find something to back it up.”
“A body,” Rob said, trying to sound incredulous.
“Or evidence that those two bodies came from around here, yes.”
“Do you really think that’s possible?” Rob looked towards the woods with a look of fear on his face, as if expecting to see a band of grave robbers in the trees. He hoped he wasn’t overplaying his role as the innocent and unassuming son of a serial killer.
“I wouldn’t be here, otherwise.” Eric pointed at a gap in the trees, where a trail snaked through the woods. “Let’s start over there.”
A cold, February wind blew across Miller’s Dale, making the air feel icy as it entered Rob’s lungs. He huddled into his coat, wondering how long Eric’s enthusiasm for this hunt was going to last before he got too cold and called it a day.
He’d have to get home to Sonia soon, before she threw a wobbly and came out here to find out what he was doing. That wouldn’t be good, especially when there was a dead girl sitting in the cellar.
They walked beneath the cover of the trees, sheltered from the wind by the towering evergreens.
“What exactly are we looking for?” Rob asked.
“Signs of disturbance.”
“You really believe your brother—my dad—killed those girls and buried them out here?”
“If he did, I’ll prove it.”
It was at that point that Rob realised Eric was obsessed with proving James Gibson was a murderer. Maybe it was a sense of guilt over not going to the authorities when he found Sarah Rundle’s headband in his brother’s bedroom, or a need to get back at the brother who had been so cruel to him during his childhood, but something was eating Eric from the inside, and had been all his life.
Something which he obviously thought he could make better by doing the right thing now and exposing his brother for what he really was.
The man wasn’t going t
o stop until he’d proved his theory correct.
Rob couldn’t have that. He himself had wanted to get back at his father at first, revealing his crimes to the world by moving the bodies of the two girls to a public place. But he knew now that he hadn’t really wanted to hurt his father. If he’d been serious about destroying the old man, he’d have outed him to the police.
He’d believed he was acting out of spite at the time, but he now realised that, even then, his anger had been directed at himself, and not his father. He’d disappointed the old man, and now that he was gone, there was no way to change that. Revealing those bodies had been an act of defiance against his own weak nature. Against the little boy who had wet himself and run from the cellar.
Now, he wanted to protect his father’s legacy, not destroy it. He wanted to enjoy the fruits of his father’s labour. The dead girls were his now. If he wanted to dig them all up and sit them in various places in the cellar, where he could visit them whenever he wished, there was no one who could stop him. He could create a kingdom of the dead down there, over which he would rule.
“What’s that over there?” he said to Eric, pointing at the base of a tree where he didn’t actually see anything out of the ordinary at all.
“What?” Eric said, peering into the gloom. “What is it?”
“Looks like the earth has been disturbed.” As he said the words, he checked the woods around them. There was no one about. He rarely saw anyone on this trail.
Eric stepped into the undergrowth, stooping beneath a low-hanging branch to get to the area Rob had indicated. His back was exposed as he did so.
The knife was in Rob’s hand before he even realised it. Gripping the handle that bore his father’s initials in a tight, overhand grip, he raised the knife into the cold air and slashed the blade down towards his uncle’s back.
He hadn’t reckoned on how thick Eric’s coat was. The knife tore into it but seemed to only graze the flesh beneath. Eric shouted out in pain, but it wasn’t the reaction Rob had hoped for. He’d expected his uncle to collapse to the ground.
Instead, Eric whirled around to face Rob. The action ripped the knife from Rob’s hand and sent it flying into the undergrowth.
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