The Wrong Boy

by Cathy Ace

  For herself, she wondered what the lone policeman up on the hill was guarding. The remains, and the bizarre mention of a pile of rocks, intrigued her. For once, she might try to find out even more than her mother knew.

  Evan

  ‘I know it doesn’t look too tasty, but I promise you it is. And it’s low cholesterol. It’s just veg and tomatoes,’ said Betty.

  Evan Glover looked up from the bowl of unpromising soup to his wife’s hopeful face. ‘I’m sure it’ll be lovely, despite the lack of meat,’ he replied, and suspected it would be.

  But he wasn’t in the mood for eating; he’d had a hell of a day, most of which he’d spent soaked to the skin and freezing cold. He’d even missed the get-together with old colleagues he’d been looking forward to for weeks. He was tired, miserable, and – truth be told – feeling a bit sorry for himself.

  As if she’d telepathically picked up on his mood, his wife sat beside him at the kitchen table and cupped her face in her hands. ‘You can tell me all about it while you eat, if you like,’ she said quietly. ‘Or not. It’s up to you.’

  Evan smiled as he allowed the warmed-through soup to begin to work its magic on him; the satisfying texture and myriad flavors bathed in a rich, tomatoey liquid soon soothed him. Betty waited quietly as he ‘mmm’d’ his way through a couple of mouthfuls, then he sat back and worked out how to express himself adequately.

  ‘I thought this would be an easy week. Work-wise, not emotionally; I knew it would be a challenging one in that respect. After more than thirty years, it’s my last week on the job, and I’d thought it would be all about clearing out my desk, and making sure I’d handed everything over properly . . . saying my goodbyes and thank yous, you know?’ Betty nodded. ‘I didn’t expect today. But, there again, who could have expected today.’

  ‘That’s what you’ve always said you love about your career, cariad,’ said Betty gently. ‘Not knowing what each day will bring. What was it?’

  Evan put down his spoon and raked his hand through his hair with a burrowing motion. ‘Something I don’t understand. Something I’ve never seen before.’

  Betty’s eyes grew round. ‘That’s saying . . . something.’

  Evan smiled at his wife’s loving attempt to cheer him. ‘There’s only one thing I am certain about – this isn’t a case I’m ever going to be able to solve, because I leave on Friday and it’s going to become someone else’s problem.’

  He took another mouthful of soup, and knew his wife was considering how to respond; she always tilted her head to the right when she was thinking. He loved that about her – that she was a thoughtful person. Having spent years as a practicing psychologist, and now also being an advisor at the local community center and Citizens’ Advice Bureau, she used her professional training in all sorts of situations – even when it was just the two of them, alone together.

  Betty finally spoke. ‘I know you’re truly ready to retire, cariad, but I can also tell you’re not happy about handing this one off. Do you want to tell me why that is?’

  Evan smiled. ‘I read you, you read me, right?’ The couple exchanged knowing looks. ‘I love you, Betty,’ he said simply.

  ‘And I love you too,’ replied his wife. ‘Go on, that’ll be getting cold. Have a think about your day, and tell me what you want, when you want.’

  Evan watched as Betty stood, busying herself at the kitchen counter. ‘I’ll put the kettle on, so there’s a pot ready after you’ve finished,’ she said.

  By the time Evan pushed the empty bowl away, he was ready to talk. He’d decided to tell his wife everything, not something he usually did, but – on this occasion – he knew so little, it couldn’t matter if he shared it all.

  The brewing pot between them, Evan began, ‘A dog walker found some sort of remains out at Rhosddraig this morning. Locals called it in, Stanley and I were sent. I don’t know why they gave it to me; probably thought it would turn out to be a dead sheep or something, I suppose. Anyway, I was immediately pretty sure it was human. But one of the weirdest things I’ve ever seen.’

  Betty poured him a mug of tea, which Evan cradled as he spoke. ‘You know they used to have an old RAF listening station out there on the hill above the beach during the Second World War?’

  Betty nodded as she took full advantage of what Evan was convinced were lips made of asbestos to sip her scalding-hot tea.

  ‘We’ve seen it in the distance on walks, haven’t we?’

  More nodding.

  ‘Well, it’s not much more than a ruin when you get up close – which I did for several hours today, hence me being soaked through.’

  Betty reached out a hand to touch his arm, which Evan loved.

  ‘So what we see when we get there is a mound of rocks – well, rocks, broken bricks, lumps of concrete even – all piled on top of what amounted to no more than a heap of shattered bones.’

  Seeing Betty’s eyebrows rise in surprise he added, ‘See? That’s what I mean. Weird. There’s no indication how long this thing’s been there, though it’s obviously fairly recent, not an ancient burial site suddenly exposed by a run-off of heavy rain, or anything. Burn pattern all around the mound. The place has been awash for the past week or so, but the ruin itself is on level ground, so there was a fair amount of standing water about the place. Floor of broken concrete. We’re not likely to be finding footprints or anything.’

  Evan paused, and sipped his tea carefully. It was still too hot to enjoy, so he replaced the mug on the tabletop.

  He continued, ‘Not knowing when this might have happened exactly, nor what the cause of death might have been – despite the evidence of human intervention at least after death – I made all the necessary calls. Up came the lot from FIT – you know, the Forensic Investigation Team – with their tents and lamps and so forth, taking their own sweet time about it, I must say. Stanley and I were still hanging about in the rain at this point. Anyway, to cut a long story short, they shifted enough rubble for Rakel to come out and have a look at what was underneath it all, and she’s as puzzled as the rest of us.’

  ‘It takes some doing to puzzle West Glamorgan’s very own Director of Pathology,’ said Betty, sounding intrigued.

  ‘It does. It was nice to see her professionally one last time before I bow out, though I know she’ll be at Friday night’s shindig. Her preliminary findings mean they’ll hand this to someone else tomorrow morning, if they haven’t already done so.’

  Evan took an ill-advised swig from his mug. He pictured the scene again in his mind’s eye. It was such a strange place for a life to end – if that was where the life in question had ended; there’d been no specific evidence of a killing.

  He said, ‘Rakel believes a human body was burned there; burned so thoroughly that all the flesh had been consumed. The resulting skeletal remains appear to have been shattered – literally smashed to about a thousand pieces, she reckoned – then burned again. Then covered in rocks, and bits of brick taken from the debris of the ruined walls.’

  ‘How do you know – or how did she know – the remains had been burned twice?’ asked Betty, sounding fascinated, rather than repelled.

  ‘Rakel suggested it would have been impossible for the bones to be broken as they were – smashed to tiny pieces – without the flesh having first been burned off them. I agreed. The broken edges of bones were charred. So she reckons burned, smashed, burned again. It was slow-going trying to remove all the rocks while not disturbing what was underneath them.’

  ‘So is it a man or woman? A missing local? Any idea?’

  Evan loved the way his wife asked all the questions he’d asked himself. ‘No idea of gender, or age. No reports of any local missing persons for the past few years, let alone during the past few weeks. Stanley checked. Door-to-door inquiries might reveal how long it could have been there. The ruined walls of the building come up to about shoulder-height, so you’d have to enter what’s left of it to see the actual remains. The investigating team will have to est
ablish the last time – before today – anyone was up there. The bloke who found it was following his dog, which had run off. Whoever gets to lead on this one will get the door-knocking started soon, I should think.’

  ‘So – no timeline, no identity, no real forensic clues,’ mused Betty. ‘I think you’re right; this isn’t going to be your case at all, is it cariad? Does that bother you? That you won’t get to follow through?’

  Evan stretched his tired arms above his head. ‘Ask me after I’ve had a hot shower and I’m in bed. At the moment it annoys the hell out of me, but maybe after I’ve given myself a bit of a talking to, it won’t bother me so much. Rakel said it could take quite a while for the FIT folks to get everything from the site to her labs. But she said, even then, she’s not sure what she’ll be able to do with all the bits. And bits they are. Even though I didn’t see it all, it was almost impossible to think of what I did see today as having once been a human being.’

  ‘Not a pleasant sight, nonetheless,’ said Betty.

  Evan nodded, deep in thought. ‘It’s funny – I know we’ve both agreed it’s time for me to leave this career of mine, but today made me ask myself some challenging questions. Have I actually reached the point where I can’t connect a piece of bone to the idea of a person to whom it once belonged? Because if I can’t do that anymore, maybe I should have left sooner. Maybe I’ve become immune to the horror of what I see, and don’t even know it.’

  After a moment or two of contemplation, during which he listed all the tasks he’d assign to people the next morning – if he were working the case – Evan added, ‘You’d have to really hate someone to set them on fire twice, and smash their bones to smithereens, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I dare say. Or maybe you’d have to fear them a great deal,’ replied Betty quietly.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Evan thoughtfully, ‘hatred or fear. But which? Who knows? I certainly don’t, and am unlikely to ever find out . . . for myself. So here I am, right at the end of my career, feeling really quite pleased with myself that there never was that one case that would haunt me in years to come, like so many of my ex-colleagues – and up pops this one. Wouldn’t you bloody know it?’

  ‘Well, first of all, maybe try to not think of it as your case at all, because it clearly won’t be. And, if you can’t manage that, you’ve always got me to talk to, cariad.’

  They shared a wry smile. Evan hoisted himself from his seat to head for the joy of a reviving shower, hoping his neck muscles would stop their spasms before his head hit the pillow. ‘I’m getting too old for all this,’ he said, as he pulled himself up the stairs, the bannister creaking.

  8th November

  Sadie

  I can’t believe Aled has gone to sit at the back of the bus this morning with that idiot Stew Wingfield. I bet all they’ll talk about is surfing this, and surfing that. Nothing sensible at all. But there, one of the reasons I love Aled so much is because he’s so passionate about things he loves – like me, and surfing.

  Nan was right about the police coming back to the village today, but they’ve brought a couple of cars this time, and they’d arrived before the bus came to take us to school. Mam reckons they’ll be knocking on doors next; she and Nan were up until all hours talking about it last night.

  Not that I mind – at least it keeps Mam from nagging me about university. Why can’t she leave me alone? I’m not sure I want to go to bloody university. Just ’cos Mam went, she thinks everyone should go. I mean, what about me and Aled? Until he makes up his mind, I’m not saying, or doing, anything. Once I know where he wants to apply, if he does, then I’ll do the same. But this one’s up to him. He’s got to make the first move. For both of us.

  I know he was thinking about Exeter, because of some place called Bigbury, which I suppose must be something to do with surfing; then he said he’d rather stay here and go to Swansea. If we both went to Swansea University we could both still live at home, and save a fortune. And he’d be close to his precious Rhosddraig Bay and his surfer friends, too.

  We could both earn some money while we study, to be able to afford our own place, later on. Mam and Nan would let us carry on working in the pub, I’m sure. That would be good. But all the traveling to and fro? It’s bad enough having to get the bus from Rhosddraig to Killay every day to go to school, and the university’s even further. But I suppose at least I could study on the buses.

  They say a lot of students do that, especially now they’ve opened the new campus further along the beach from the original one. They’ve got a special bus that makes the trip between the two campuses, full of students all the time. Aled and I could catch it together. We could sit and talk to each other.

  By then we won’t have to keep us a secret, because we’ll both be adults, and Mam won’t be able to say a word about us. Nor Nan. I have no idea why she doesn’t like Aled’s family. She won’t even mention his Grannie Gwen’s name without swearing.

  Old people are weird. No sense of priorities. No idea what’s really happening in the world at all.

  Always going on and on about who said what to who in church, is Nan. Not a clue about what was on the news last night, though. That’s what really matters, the big stuff, not all her gossip.

  What about all that plastic that washes up on the beaches? The birds dying from it getting stuck in their throats? All the rubbish in the sea – that’s what she should be talking about, not who raised an eyebrow the wrong way in Mothers’ Union.

  She makes me sick, does Nan. Her and Mam. Always worrying about stupid things. St Melangell was a proper Christian, the patron saint of hares, small creatures, and the natural environment. There’s even that horrible myxomatosis threatening the poor hares, now. That’s what we’ve come to. Terrible. I suppose it’s a bit ironic that the original church here was dedicated to St Melangell, and it’s now buried in the sand dunes. But I still think her ideas about safeguarding all animals are something everyone should take to heart. That’s the sort of thing that means something. People should be saving hares, not worrying about Victoria sponges for the cake sale next month.

  But not even Mam gets that; there are important things going on in the world. She’s awfully clingy these days. She’ll have to get a life when Aled and I tell everyone about us. One of her own. I know she went on a date the other night, and when she came home she cried. I asked her why, and she said it didn’t go very well; said she ‘wasn’t ready’ yet.

  I don’t know what she means, ’cos Dad’s been gone for ages. Thirteen years now. When’s she ever going to be ‘ready’? She said she’ll find it hard to trust anyone ever again. What does she mean, ‘trust anyone’?

  Dad’s alright; he’s always fun when I see him. Not that I see him often, I know, but I get it – he’s busy. Travels a lot for work. Sometimes he’s in the area and just phones me out of the blue, and more often, these days. Like last Monday, when I had a coffee with him, then caught the late bus home from school. It wasn’t the best day to meet him, ’cos Mam had wanted me home early so I could help her get ready for Guy Fawkes Night, but I made up for it when I finally got to the pub.

  I forgot to ask Dad where he was staying overnight. Swansea, I think. Or maybe Mumbles. I don’t know. Well, it doesn’t matter, really. It was nice to see him, even if it was only for a coffee. He looked thinner. He said I did too. Which is good.

  Mam doesn’t get it. Keeps saying I don’t need to lose weight. God forbid I ever get as fat as her. Her hips are huge, and her neck’s gone all blubbery. Nan’s not so bad, but she’s really old. I don’t want to get like either of them. I take after Dad’s side of the family, Mam always said that. Which is good. Not that I know them, because there aren’t any of them left. But to end up like Mam or Nan? I’d shoot myself.

  It makes me laugh when Mam says I’ve got to tell her if she gets like Nan, ’cos she’s already exactly like her. Says loads of the same things. Just as useless.

  And there I am again, back to the same thing. Useless old p
eople.

  Aled’s stopped talking to Stew now. I’ll text him to say he should come and sit with me, though we’ll be there in five minutes. Then we’ll be together again.

  Double History first thing. I did alright with my homework, I think, even though Aled wasn’t back at the pub in time to help me last night. If I can get an A he’ll be dead impressed. He always gets an A, but I usually get a B something. Maybe this time I’ll have done a better job.

  It was quite interesting to think about how Elizabeth I treated Mary Queen of Scots when she had her in prison, trying to decide if she should have her executed or not. And if so, how. The things they all used to do to each other back then; such a lot of ways to torture and kill people. It’s quite fascinating, really. So says Aled, anyway, and I agree with him – it’s the only interesting thing about history.

  Nan

  Nan took her time looking the couple up and down, then invited them into the pub, ensuring both of them shook the rain off themselves in the porch and left their dripping coats there.

  ‘We’ll stay down here,’ said Nan, making it clear that not inviting them upstairs was significant. Helen had called her down to the pub to tell her she’d seen two figures approaching the side door a few minutes earlier, and Nan had decided to ignore the thumping headache she had to be sure she didn’t miss out on anything.

  These two were most definitely The Police, even though they were in ordinary clothes, which she knew meant they were more important than the ones who wore uniforms. She also knew she had the chance to get every possible bit of inside information out of them before anyone else in the village knew what was going on; a legendary reputation for knowing everything didn’t just appear out of thin air – it required a determined and sustained effort. She watched and listened with interest as the man formally introduced himself and his sidekick.

  ‘Helen will make you both a cup of tea or coffee, won’t you, Helen?’