Whispered Bones (A DI Fenella Sallow Crime Thriller Book 2)

by N. C. Lewis

  The vicar glanced over his shoulder and hurried inside. It smelled of soil and mould, and the only light came from the small, circular windows.

  "Now," the vicar began, "what is all this about?"

  "I like to watch," Chad said. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the dark.

  "I know, my son. I know." The vicar's eyes narrowed. In the gloom they looked like two bottomless pools of still water. "Thinking about the little girls?"

  "I am. Don't you?"

  "Of course, ever since the—"

  "Please don't say it."

  "Don't let it become an obsession."

  "I can't help myself."

  "This goes right to the top." Vicar Briar closed his eyes for a moment as if in prayer. "I've a meeting with the bishop at the end of next week. He is all in. Keep that to yourself. Our little secret, okay?"

  "I don't want to leave St Bees."

  "You might have to, if things heat up."

  "But—"

  "You have to think like a businessman. We all do. Focus on the money."

  "It's just that the death of Viv Gill makes things more—"

  The vicar raised a hand, palm out, his voice tense. "You saw something?"

  "It was dark, the night filled with fog. How could anyone see?"

  Vicar Briar placed a hand in his cassock and pulled out a lighter and lit a cigar. "Dominus Deus tuus ignis consumens est."

  Chad didn’t understand. "What was that?"

  Vicar Briar said, "The Lord, your God, is a consuming fire." He sucked hard on the cigar, and puffed out a great grey plume. Then he took a step and placed an arm around Chad's shoulder. "It is God's will that you saw nothing, my son. If the police ask you questions, you'll have nothing to say."

  Chapter nineteen

  "Three birds with one stone."

  Fenella spoke out loud as she pulled into the car park of the St Bees Cottage Hospital. There'd been a long briefing about Viv Gill at first light. The full team were there bright and early. PC Hoon sat on the front row and wrote pages of notes. Inspector Tom Moss strutted about like a peacock. He barked questions at the team and cursed if he didn’t like the answer. Where was the pathologist report? What about the crime scene techs' analysis? Has anyone been on to the labs yet?

  Fenella had spent the rest of the morning on desk work. It was noon now. She'd planned to visit the morgue to have a quick chat with the pathologist, Dr MacKay, and then a catch-up lunch with her friend, Gail Stubbs. But there was one thing she had to do first.

  It was bright inside the children's ward with cartoons drawn on the walls in more colours than a rainbow.

  The desk nurse said, "Are you Inspector Sallow?"

  "Aye, for my sins."

  The nurse looked at her with something akin to admiration and said, "Her name is Ann Lloyd. She is asking for you."

  Ann Lloyd sat up in bed, her face pale as dawn. She held a crayon in her small hand, and a large colouring book rested in her lap. An IV tube dripped into her arm. But her huge brown eyes were bright, and she chatted to herself as she drew. Her mother sat on a chair beside the bed with her face turned towards her daughter's picture.

  They both looked up at the same time. Spitting image, Fenella thought. Just like she and her sister, Eve. She tilted her head from side to side to ease the sudden knots that staked a claim to her neck.

  The mother stood. "Inspector Sallow?"

  "The same."

  The little girl grinned, but she didn't speak. She looked very small and very shy in a gown two sizes too large.

  Fenella held out her hand to the mother, but the woman lightly batted it away and gave her a hug.

  "Thank you," she said in a whisper. Then broke away. "Please, take a seat."

  Fenella had five grown children of her own, and then there were the grandkids. She pointed at the colouring book and said, "So what are you drawing?"

  "The beach," Ann said. "It's still my favourite place."

  "Aye, happen you love it as much as me."

  Ann looked at her for a long while, then said, "Are you a defective?"

  "It's detective, darling," said her mother.

  Ann grinned at Fenella. "Are you one of those?"

  "That's right," Fenella replied. "I'm a detective, and my job is to help people."

  "I want to be a detective when I grow up…. or a nurse… or live on the moon and fly a spaceship."

  Fenella grinned. "Why not do all three?"

  "Oh," Ann said, considering. She nodded and turned back to her drawing.

  The mother said, "She remembered playing on the beach, the ambulance ride, a nurse telling her not to worry, that her mum was on her way. But nothing about being swept into the sea."

  "Aye, maybe that's for the best," Fenella said.

  They watched in silence for a while as Ann drew. Then Fenella eased to her feet, gave the mother a wave, and tiptoed from the room. She'd just wanted to check on how the girl was doing. Reports were one thing, but seeing for yourself was another.

  Now she'd see for herself what Dr MacKay had to say about Viv Gill. A sharp knot of tension gripped her neck.

  Chapter twenty

  Fenella stared in shock.

  She sat in Dr MacKay's office. It wasn't the glass jars filled with human body parts, which sagged on overstuffed shelves in the dim room, that caused her surprise, or the thick, sweet stench of death, which no amount of air freshener or potpourri could scrub from the cool, still air—it was the person who sat across the desk.

  Dr Oz said, "Dr MacKay has taken some time off. We are short staffed, so I've stepped in to cover his role for the next few days."

  Dr Paul Oz, an angular-faced man with keen eyes and an air of importance and impatience, was the medical director at the Port St Giles Cottage Hospital. He had risen through the ranks and secured the top spot at a relatively young age for a medic. He was in his early forties and had worked many roles: from heart surgeon to mental health specialist, and even served a stint as a family doctor. Now, it seemed, he'd turned his talented hand to the cut-and-slice of the post-mortem room.

  Fenella said, "A week or two in the sun, eh?"

  She'd never known Dr MacKay to take time off. He lived in the labs. He'd hovered in the halls of the post-mortem rooms for almost forty years. She'd heard he slept there too. That could not be true. But there were so many rumours about the long-time medic. They swirled around the hospital like leaves trapped by a city wall. His wife, it was said, was as thin as a wisp and wore African kanga dresses with pink sandals: on her head, a loose tartan headscarf, and she drove an ancient Volkswagen minibus with black windows, to keep folks from seeing what went on inside. None of that could be true either.

  Dr Oz said, "He's gone with his wife to Kenya. I hear she likes the exotic shops and fills her bags with dashiki robes. Wouldn't be a shock if the good doctor filled his own bags with bones. They come home next Monday, late."

  Fenella made a note, looked up, and said, "Shame, I just popped in to have a quiet chat about… things."

  Dr Oz said, "I'm no sleuth, not bright enough, but are you here to discuss Viv Gill?"

  Fenella took her time to respond. Inspector Moss had told the team to keep their inquiries low profile, not reveal any details. Not even to the medics. A local murder, that's all. Keep it under wraps until they had no choice. They didn't want to start a panic or alert the press, who'd start a stampede. Moss would blow his top if the news got out. And anyway, they'd not yet confirmed that Viv Gill died at the hand of Hamilton Perkins, although they were working under the theory that she did. But until they had official confirmation, there would be no need to alert the politicians or public. And they didn’t want to do that. Not yet. Not until they'd had a chance to work a few leads, shake the trees to see what fell out.

  She said, "What can you tell me?"

  "Too early for any detailed results."

  "I know, but you have a sharp mind; what does it tell you?"

  He shrugged. "My role is not to t
heorise, just report the known facts, which are not clear at this stage."

  Not like Dr MacKay, then, Fenella thought. He'd speculate until the cows came home and then bet a bottle of Glenmorangie whisky on his far-out ideas. She'd learned not to take his bets. The strange ideas too often came through.

  She said, "We want to build a picture, then we'll generate leads. It is early but your thoughts on the death would be a big help."

  Dr Oz placed a hand into his pocket and pulled out a pair of blue latex gloves. "I've taken a quick look. Care to join me? We've got her on the slab."

  Fenella thought about her lunch with Gail Stubbs. If Dr Oz's exam of the body were as thorough as Dr MacKay's, she'd not want to eat after it was over, only down a shot or two of a stiff drink.

  "Oh, there's no need for that," Fenella said, watching him slip a glove on to his right hand. "Why don't we discuss what you have found here?"

  "Like I say, it's only my first impression. The post-mortem is Tuesday." He rubbed a hand over his chin, slow as if in deep thought. "I think 'odd' is the word I would use to describe my first thoughts. Strange. Troubling."

  Fenella's heart began to pound. She could read his body language and knew what came next wouldn’t be good. She leaned forward.

  "Go on," she said, "I'm listening."

  "This is off the record?"

  "Of course."

  Dr Oz took off the glove from his right hand and placed it back into his pocket. There was a moment of silence, then he let out a slow breath.

  "Have you heard of a Mr Hamilton Perkins, likes to go by the name of Mr Shred?"

  Chapter twenty-one

  The glass-walled atrium of the hospital cafeteria was crowded with everyone talking and laughing at once. Fenella found a table and waved Gail over. They'd both gone for the chicken salad with a bowl of minestrone soup.

  Gail said, "I've asked a friend to cover for me, so there is no rush to get back to my shift. Give us enough time to chat."

  Fenella admired Gail's go-getter attitude and her professionalism. She wore her blue nurse uniform like a television model with her blonde hair, streaked with grey, tied back into a neat bun.

  Fenella said, "How are you getting on now you've moved to Port St Giles?" She thought that was a safe place to start, although she wanted to hear all the details as to why Gail and Leo had split.

  "I love it here. The people are so nice, and I found a little flat on Clearview Row." Gail forked salad into her mouth and munched. "The rent is low, and there is a discount for nurses."

  "Sweet," Fenella said. "And it's near to the beach, so you'll get your daily jog in."

  "That closed the deal. I try to run before work; at night I'm too tired."

  Fenella thought she should do the same—go for a jog every morning. She dipped her spoon in the soup and stirred, realising it was only her competitive streak kicking in. She enjoyed her daily strolls along the beach with Eduardo and occasional jogs on her own. She didn't run every day because she didn't want to. It was not her thing. Still, if she did take to the sands every day before work, she might shed those stubborn few pounds around her waist.

  Gail took a final forkful of salad and pushed the plate aside. She looked at Fenella, squinting. "I'm not dating, if that's what you are thinking about."

  "Me?"

  Gail wagged her finger. "Oh, come on. Your matchmaking mind never turns off."

  Fenella stuffed salad into her mouth and tried to look innocent. She'd been thinking again about Dexter. Since Priscilla left, he'd been at a loose end in the romantic department. Gail would be good for him. And he'd be good for her. A perfect match. She held both hands up, fingers crossed, and said, "I've retired from interfering in other people's lives. 'Live and let live': that's my motto."

  They both burst out laughing at that. A fit of giggles and snorts.

  "Leo and I started dating at university," Gail said. "We were so young, and it was so long ago, it feels like a dream. You remember our wedding, don't you?"

  "A month after you graduated," Fenella replied. She'd been a bridesmaid with her sister, Eve. That thought made her heart squeeze. "Thought you two would be married for life."

  Gail gave a sad smile. "Like you and Eduardo?"

  "Aye, luv. Like me and Mr Dumpling."

  "I never wanted kids, nor did Leo. You have five, helps to keep the marriage alive, I suppose." Gail picked up a spoon and went to work on the soup. After several mouthfuls, she looked up. "The night we broke up, Leo and I went out for a date night to a fancy Thai restaurant in Carlisle. We shared a bowl of tofu pad Thai like we did when we were students. We laughed and argued over the last strand of noodle, like the old days. When the bill came, he told me he was having an affair with a younger woman and was leaving. Our marriage was over, just like that."

  Fenella reached out to touch her friend's arm. "No chance Leo will see the error of his ways and be back?"

  Gail shook her head. "It was over a long time ago. If it wasn't him, it would have been me."

  Leo and Gail had seemed like a perfect match. But when something was broken, it was best left alone. They looked at each other in silence for a moment.

  Gail said, "I was angry when he left, but I don't feel bitter towards Lyn."

  "That her name, then?"

  "She is a nurse in Whitehaven. Very young. About six months after he left, she rang me. We met over coffee where she said she regretted what had happened, thought about it every night with a sense of shame. But she loved him, and I could see that she did in a way that I no longer could. It's strange, but I felt happy for her as much as I felt sad for myself. Now I'm in Port St Giles, a fresh start."

  "Aye," Fenella replied, thinking. After a moment, she said, "So you'll come to our social, next Sunday?"

  Gail squinted. "You are not going to matchmake me with anyone, are you?"

  "Nan's making a big spread. And she'll make blackberry pie. Is that still your favourite?"

  "You didn't answer my question."

  "There'll be family, of course, and a male friend or two."

  "Fenella!"

  Chapter twenty-two

  "Veronica, you have to be kidding, right?"

  Dr Joy Hall's elbows rested on the executive desk, her eyes fixed on Veronica Jeffery. They were in the superintendent's office and had just begun a working lunch which passed, in part, as a social. It had been years since they were in college together, but they'd kept in touch. Team Superwomen, they called themselves. Lunches were a regular event on their calendar. Tuna-and-mayo rolls with a tossed green salad. The meets followed a regular pattern. They ate first with small chit-chat, then talked about their professional lives. Networking and friendship rolled into one.

  Jeffery's face flushed. "This is confidential… nothing has been officially confirmed."

  "But you said there was a murder in St Bees?"

  "Late Friday night or early Saturday morning."

  Joy felt her throat tighten. "Was it a schoolgirl?"

  "No. Well, not exactly."

  "What the hell does that mean?"

  Jeffery pushed her tuna roll away, studied her friend for a long breath and jabbed at the salad with a fork. "Viv Gill wasn't of school age. She left school over thirty years ago."

  "An adult doesn’t fit the profile." Joy let herself visibly relax. "So what makes you think her death is tied to Hamilton Perkins?"

  Jeffery said, "I read your report and feel it to be of such merit, I've asked the team to take a look."

  "Veronica!"

  Joy felt a flush of frustration. Why wouldn’t Jeffery give her it straight? What was going on?

  Jeffery dropped the fork into the salad and pushed it next to the tuna sandwich. Her lips twisted into a wolfish smile. "We've taken the details in your write-up seriously. Your best guess is that Mr Perkins is lying low in the county?"

  "I'm not some damn politician, and this is not a game," Joy said. She knew the smile, knew her friend, knew what came next was key. "Answer my quest
ion. What on earth has the death of Viv Gill got to do with Perkins?"

  Jeffery drew in a sharp breath. "Viv Gill's face was… well, we all know Mr Shred's trademark."

  Joy considered that for a moment. She felt her heart pound in her chest. "Could have been a copycat. The case has been all over the news. Didn’t they lock up a bloke in Spain?"

  Jeffery stood, walked to the window to peer at the courtyard below. She kept her back to Dr Joy Hall as she spoke. "It was dark when he struck, lots of fog. Viv Gill wore the clothes of a schoolgirl."

  Joy was on her feet, shouting. "For God's sake, Veronica, I'm his prison psychologist. I should have been told."

  Jeffery turned. "You know the rules."

  "Don't give me that crap. Bloody hell, Veronica, if he has turned his hand to adults, there'll be no end to the bloodshed. I've got a target on my back. I want a police guard."

  "Joy, let's not get this out of perspective. The victim was dressed as a schoolgirl and—"

  Joy was at the window, face to face with Jeffery. "You don't get it, do you? I've bought a house in St Bees. Moved in last week."

  Jeffery gave a start. "What?"

  A tense silence settled over the room. They'd been having these lunches for years, a habit they'd started in college to push their careers to new heights. A fun treat to their crammed workday. This was the first time the air had turned sour.

  Jeffery chewed on her lip, looked through the window for a moment, then turned to meet her friend's eyes. "Joy, let's sit back down, talk this through. We are both intelligent women, career blazers, at the top of our game. We can rise above this."

  "Okay," Joy said. "Okay."

  They sat at the desk, and Jeffery cleared away the lunch plates. The lettuce leaves had begun to wilt and turn brown at the edges. A faint trace of tuna hung in the warm air. As the plates clinked, the radiator by the window gurgled in a low hiss.

  Jeffery gave her a wolfish smile. She said, "How long have we been friends?"

  "Too long." Joy watched Jeffery's thin lips and knew there was a plan brewing behind those sharp eyes. She wasn't sure whether she would like it, but she'd hear it out.