The Little Death

by Sarah Till

  Naturally, I'm mortified, both for myself and for the poor woman who's being zipped into a body bag. But, as usual, I can't find the words to shout back at Julia. I look at the nearest policeman, who starts to walk towards me.

  But Julia carries on. 'Ask her why she's up here at all hours. She sleeps up here, you know, just over there. She hasn't got anywhere to live, and vagrancy's a crime, isn't it? I know my rights. She's a disgrace and now look what's happened.' Julia turns to address the crowd. 'I've reported this woman to the police many times. I've told them she makes the town untidy and well, you can see for yourself. Dangerous. Don't say I didn't warn you. It was only a matter of time before she hurt someone. She should be locked up.'

  There's a long silence and everyone stares at me. Finally, and much to Julia's delight, two uniformed officers stand either side of me. Julia nods and chats to the remaining rubberneckers as everyone else drifts back to work. The black car pulls away and the body is gone. The tent is being pulled down and a woman in a black suit and high heels navigates the muddy turf to get to me.

  'I'm DI Mia Connelly. I'm leading this investigation. Can I ask you a few questions? In my car? On second thoughts, we can sit in the back of the van over there.'

  Her eyes run over my shabby clothes and my unkempt hair. She takes a tiny step backwards as she anticipates a smell, even though I'd showered less than an hour before. I nod and follow her, leaving Macy under the oak tree. Once we're in the van she lights a cigarette.

  'Dirty habit, I know, but comes with the stress of the job. So, you know what's happened, do you? Lizzie, isn't it?'

  I take a deep breath. I'm not used to talking at all, because when you're like me, people don't think you have anything to say.

  'No. I don't know. I just saw the tent from my garden and I wondered what had happened.'

  She frowns.

  'From your garden? But I thought... oh. So, you do have a fixed abode then?'

  I can see from her face that this changes everything. People assume a lot from what you are wearing, how your hair is and if you have a job or not. I do have a home. Of sorts.

  'Yes. Up on the hill. Coombes Cottage. That's my address. Coombes Cottage, Tintagel. Elizabeth Nelson.'

  She nods now and writes it down.

  'OK. You know there's been a serious crime committed, and Mrs Scholes seems convinced that you had something to do with it. So where were you last night?'

  'Up until tennish I was on the High Street, sitting on a wall outside the Pasty shop. After that I went to Coombes Cottage.'

  'Uhuh.' She takes a long drag of her cigarette. 'So, was anyone there with you?'

  I watch her lower the cigarette.

  ‘Bad for you that, you know. You’ll never catch that way.’

  She looks shocked.

  ‘But how...’

  I point to the fertility bracelet she’s wearing. Rose quartz and moonstone. Classic.

  ‘The bracelet. It’s a dead giveaway. But smoking won’t help. I can get you something...’

  ‘No. No thank you.’ She’s very serious, almost sad. ‘Let’s get back to the matter in hand, Lizzie. Was anyone with you?’

  I nod.

  'Yes. In fact, there was a police car parked in the lane outside for most of the night. Responding to Julia's nuisance reports, I expect. Seems like she thinks I'm living in a field halfway down the lane. As well as up here. I get about, me.'

  Mia smiles and taps her pen on the pad.

  'And you didn't leave until this morning, about an hour ago?'

  'Yes. I'm sure your CCTV cameras will see me walking back up the High Street and turning off at the pathway round the back of the headland, which is how I got here.'

  She nods at me.

  'OK Lizzie, you're free to go. But we might want to ask you some more questions.'

  I hesitate and my heart beats a little faster. I stare at my leathery hands and wonder which, of the three things that I need to say, I can manage right now. I plump for the lesser of the three.

  'Julia's been harassing me. Is there anything I can do about it? I mean, can I make a complaint about her?'

  Mia looks at me and shakes her head.

  'It's not a crime to have an opinion, Lizzie. And, to be fair to Julia, you are a, well, a little bit unkempt. I'm all for equality and all that, and I expect she is discriminating against you, but to make a case out of that would take a lot of money and a good lawyer. The best thing you can do is stay away from her. She hasn't hurt you, has she?'

  I shake my head, even though there have been occasions where Julia has lashed out at me.

  'If she does, call us straight away. But it shouldn't come to that, not if you keep away from her and tidy yourself up a bit.'

  She manages to move around the cramped van without touching me or my clothes. We both step outside.

  'So, what happened?'

  We both stare at the huge black bloodstain on the ground nearby. It's seeped underneath the tent into the dusty scrub. Mia lights another cigarette.

  'I don't know yet. But I guess someone had it in for her.' She looks around at the now clear blue sky and the silhouette of Tintagel Castle in the distance. 'Funny place this. So beautiful, but lots of crime. And that poor woman. I expect you saw her, did you, just then? Not very old. All her life in front of her.'

  I sigh.

  'Tourists, probably. It's always been like this. Death and violence, the place of legends. But who'd think it? Lots of people coming here for the mystery. That's kind of how I got here.'

  Mia leans against the van.

  'Really? Are you from up North originally? You've got a northern accent. And how did you, well, you know, what happened? Sorry, I shouldn't be asking you this, Lizzie, but you seem so nice. Once you speak. Not at all what Julia makes out.'

  I laugh loudly. Perhaps a little bit too loudly.

  'Top Secret!' Of course, this sounds mad and I rush to cover it up. I always do this when I'm nervous. 'We used to come here as children. Me and my family. Top Secret was something me dad used to say.'

  It was true. Once upon a time I was a normal person, whatever that is. I fitted in. I grew up in the 1960's and sat with my family watching men walk on the moon. I was eight at the time and, even then, I knew there was something different about me.

  'Dad, how did they get there in that little shiny thing?'

  Dad, that mystical figure who I have almost forgotten now, was heavily into myth and legend and he answered appropriately. 'It's top secret.'

  This was the answer he gave if he didn't know the actual answer. As a result, my brothers and sisters and I grew up thinking most of life was Top Secret. Secrets became something special in our family, something to be treasured and petted when no one else was around. Unless you knew something was definite and you knew exactly how to explain it, it was a secret. Top Secret.

  We all sat quietly in our best room, watching our television, with Dad's Ford Cortina outside on the still-cobbled street. Mum would stay in the kitchen and I would see her warming her bottom on the stove, her eyes closed, her body swaying to an inaudible melody. I was different to the others because I was the only one to ask questions.

  'Mam? Why don't you sit at the table with us? Where were you this afternoon?'

  She'd turn around with a tight smile.

  'Nowhere.' She'd look at me nervously and mouth, 'Top Secret.'

  The highlight of our year was the Wakes holiday. It was a remnant from the Northern cotton mills days where the town 'wakes' and goes away while the mill machines are serviced. Dad got two weeks off work and mum packed up our buckets and spades and our summer clothes and we all piled into the car. Our journey was dominated by Dad's temper if we spoke, and his lashing out if we crunched a sweet or peeled an orange. We'd set off in the middle of the night, and, if we were lucky, we would be in Tintagel by lunchtime. We’d park up at the edge of the beach and we'd run into the sea, heavy with sleep and anticipation. Dad would sleep in the car and, by teatime, our g
uest house would be ready.

  Dad spent all his life studying the Legends of King Arthur, and Tintagel was home to him. I can see his reasons for coming to here so often. When we were small, we'd sit around his feet whilst he told vivid stories of knights and dragons, every bastion of innocent good and evil visited. It was only when we were older and he was pickled in whiskey that the stories grew more sordid and frightening.

  Mum was his Guinevere. Literally, because when I was fifteen, she had an affair with a grocer from out of town and buggered off with her Lancelot. This was convenient for me in many ways, as it took the spotlight completely away from anything except my mother's evilness during the summer that would shape my life. The summer that produced the ultimate Top Secret that keeps me here, even today. I was the middle child, but the eldest girl, so I took over from her. I cooked and cleaned and looked after the house until I met Stanley Nelson.

  We'd come back every year, me and Stan. After all, I was eager to come back, to retrace my steps from that last holiday we all shared together, before Mum left. To cover my tracks. So, it's no wonder, really, that I ended up here permanently.

  Mia was lighting yet another cigarette and signing a form that had been passed to her. I could tell her mind was back on the murder, and she waved me aside.

  'Right then. Thanks for that, Lizzie, we'll be in touch. And I hope you don't have any more trouble from Julia Scholes. Unfortunately, we can't stop her ringing in, but it might help if you tell her you have an address? We can only tell her you have a fixed abode, and not the address. You have to tell her.'

  I smile.

  'It'll all come out in the wash. It usually does. And if you need something, you know, something herbal.'

  She's gone. Off to her car to another crime; all the police cars are leaving now. The yellow crime scene tape is strewn everywhere, the sea breeze harsh to the north. There are big holes in the ground where the tent was erected, and the whole area, usually tranquil, is littered with cigarette packets and chewing gum. I stare at the black pool of blood and wonder when it will rain. Rain always washes blood away, that and the sea. Even though this is the obvious place for anyone to find me, up here with my Top Secret, this is probably the safest place for me now. My secret's safe for the time being, but I'm not. Because someone's trying to kill me too.

  FIND OUT MORE ABOUT THE TINTAGEL SECRET AND SARAH TILL’S OTHER BOOKS AT

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  Acknowledgements

  I would like to thank everyone who has helped me with researching this book. Writing a book is difficult because it requires you to put in your heart and soul and then a little bit extra. My mission was and is to write the book I want to even if it is quirky and a little bit strange! Thank you to everyone who supports this and who has read my work and commented on it.

  Thank you to my publishers who have worked hard to bring this book to life.

  Thank you to the public officials who let me sit in their offices and ask them awkward questions.

  Thank you to my fellow writers who offer scaffolding and support.

  Most of all, thank you to my family. They have endured my furious typing and endless chatter about my stories and characters and I love you all.

  Biography

  Sarah Till writes books about the human condition and what can go wrong. She is interested in what makes people tick and nature. The combination of the two provide her with a rich landscape. She lives with her husband and her pets and walks the field and moorlands looking for material.

  Before her writing life she worked in an office. She likes painting and knitting and researching family history.

  Sarah has written five novels to date and has had short stories accepted for publication in anthologies.

  Contact: books@sarahtilbooks.com

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