A Grave Death

by Wendy Cartmell

  ‘Well now you know how I felt about finding Tina’s murderer. Let’s hope Grimes will let you stay on it.’

  ‘Shut the fuck up, Crane.’

  ‘Yes, boss,’ Crane said and joined the dual carriageway that would take them back to Aldershot.

  Anderson was relieved that Crane had stopped his stupid attempts to wind him up and they made the remainder of the journey in silence. Climbing out of the car, he stumbled and fell back against the vehicle, trying and failing to push himself upright. It was as if a blanket of fog had settled itself over his brain and he was unable to fight it. Bending forward he placed his hands on his knees and took a few deep breaths, trying to dispel the feeling of utter exhaustion that was settling over him like a sticky web.

  ‘Derek? What’s the matter?’ Crane’s voice seemed to come from a land far away, so Anderson stayed where he was, as Crane hobbled round the car to reach him.

  As the brain fog lessened its grip on him, Anderson was able to stand upright and pushed Crane’s helping hand away. ‘I’m fine. Leave me alone,’ he said, the words coming out harsher than he’d intended.

  Crane stepped backwards and put up his hands in surrender. ‘Okay, boss. Whatever you say.’

  ‘And stop calling me ‘boss’,’ Anderson snapped. ‘It’s getting on my nerves.’

  ‘Yes…’ Crane stopped speaking at a glare from Anderson.

  Irritatingly, going back to the graveside proved to be the waste of time Crane had thought it would be, but Derek wouldn’t admit to it. Progress was slow and the Major was ordering lights and a generator to be brought in, so they could work through the night. Ciaran was told to stay put and to phone Anderson as soon as they were near revealing the whole body. He was determined to see Jill before she was taken out of the grave. Under no circumstances was anyone allowed to move her before he’d attended the scene.

  Which meant that Derek had no other option but to return to the office and face Grimes.

  Once back, his tread was heavy as he plodded up the stairs to see DCS Grimes. His superintendent was a fair boss, Derek had always thought, who didn’t waste his officer’s time by grandstanding. But this time Derek was made to sit outside his office whilst the great man made what were described as, ‘calls too important to leave’. Anderson raised his eyebrows at the secretary stationed outside the office, to no avail and was made to wait 10 minutes, during which time he rehearsed pleading his case. He’d known the family since he was a boy. Attending the same school, he’d grown up a close friend of Kevin’s and by association Paul’s and was frequently in their house during the school holidays. True, they’d only had sporadic meetings once they were both grown and working, Kevin and Paul in their father’s firm and Derek in the police force. But they’d still meet up from time to time for a few drinks and laughs about the ‘old times’. Anderson fidgeted in his chair, smoothed down his tie, adjusted his tweed jacket and tried to tidy his grey wispy hair. None of it helped. And as a result he was a bundle of nerves when he was called into the office.

  As it turned out, once he was sat in front of Grimes’ desk, it was his knowledge of the family that kept him on the case. Well, that and the fact that Paul was a friend of the Chief Constable and had apparently already phoned Grimes, asking that Anderson be the one to head up the investigation into the deaths of his siblings. So that’s what the telephone calls had been about. Derek smiled to himself, anxiety leaving his body like a balloon being deflated. With it went the adrenaline and tiredness threatened to engulf him once again instead. He did his best to concentrate on what Grimes was saying.

  ‘But you’ll only stay on the case if you behave yourself and not go off half cock like Crane did earlier in the year,’ Grimes grumbled, referring to the fact that when Crane’s wife died, in typical Sgt Major fashion, he’d continued to investigate the case when he’d been specifically forbidden to do so.

  ‘Yes, boss,’ Derek agreed and almost knocked his chair over as he rushed out of the room before Grimes could change his mind.

  Back in his office, he phoned Paul to bring him up to date. ‘As you requested, I’m the SIO on the case. I promise I’ll do everything I can to find out what happened to Jill and Kevin.’

  ‘I know you will, Derek. If there’s anyone I trust it’s you.’

  ‘Thanks, Paul. That means a lot. Oh, by the way, could I have a copy of Kevin’s will? And Jill’s? Best I have yours as well.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Standard procedure. I’ve got to explore every avenue.’

  ‘What do you expect to find in those that will help you?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Derek said honestly. ‘But I need to see them, just in case there’s something in there that may help the investigation.’

  ‘Oh very well, I’ll get Walkers to email a copy to you.’

  ‘Now please, Paul? My email address is on the card I left you this morning.’

  ‘Yes, alright, I’ll do it now.’

  Derek went to say thank you, but the phone was already dead.

  14

  Paul Dean sat at his desk in his study. Surrounded by his books, technical drawings and memorabilia from Dean Engineering, he managed to draw at least some comfort from the familiar things around him. For everything else that had happened that day, was far from comfortable or familiar. Two siblings gone. In the space of a couple of weeks. It was more than he could comprehend. He was struggling with his grief, shock and sense of loss. It was as though he’d done a round in a kick-boxing match, one where he didn’t know the rules and had to keep deflecting blow after blow.

  As head of the family, it would fall to him to manage the fall out, both at the firm and with his nephew and niece, who were staying with him. He had plenty of room in his five-bedroom, five-bathroom house and anyway he could do with the company. As he was sure they could. He’d just left Maggie clinging onto Reece in the depths of her despair. Reece’s girl friend had returned to London in a fit of pique, as she was no longer the centre of attention. Paul couldn’t bring himself to care about her and it didn’t appear that Reece could either, as he’d let her go without any fuss.

  A knock at the door interrupted his introspection and it opened to reveal Tommy Walker. Paul stood as his solicitor walked into the room. Walkers were a family firm in Reading. They could be described as old fashioned, Paul supposed. They were not of the new breed of ambulance chasers, far more discreet than that and he knew Tommy would try and keep his client out of the media spotlight, as it was certain that the press would get hold of this story sooner rather than later.

  ‘Tommy,’ Paul moved from behind his desk to clasp Tommy’s hand in a warm handshake. ‘Thanks so much for coming out from Reading.’

  ‘It’s of no matter, Paul. Glad to be able to help, although your message was rather circumspect.’

  ‘Just discretion on my part, at least until we know what we’re dealing with.’

  ‘I’m all ears,’ Tommy said, placing his briefcase on the floor and slipping off his jacket, draping it across the back of a chair pulled up to Paul’s desk. It had the immediate effect of softening the hard, sharp edges of a successful solicitor, morphing Tommy from a hard-nosed operator into a friend.

  Over coffee, brought in by a red-eyed, sniffling Maggie, Paul told Tommy what he’d missed that day. The reasons for his grief, shock and tears. During the telling of his story Paul realised that talking about it was helping. He began to feel less like his emotions were in a bottle of something fizzy, about to burst out, ricocheting the cork to hit the ceiling and creating the sort of mess more commonly seen at the start of a F1 race. His tension eased a little, to be replaced with an overwhelming exhaustion that made tears threaten.

  ‘Christ, Paul,’ Tommy said. ‘I can’t believe I wasn’t there to support you.’

  Before replying, Paul pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, blew his nose and surreptitiously wiped his eyes. ‘It’s alright, I understand. Judges don’t change court dates just because it was my brother’
s funeral. How did the case go by the way?’

  ‘Really pleased. Got him off with a two-year ban and hefty fine.’

  Paul raised his eyebrows. ‘That was a result?’

  ‘For sure. He could have gone to prison. People died in the car accident that he caused. He was found not guilty of manslaughter, but guilty of dangerous driving. Anyway, enough of me.’ Tommy dug in his briefcase. ‘Here’s the copies of the wills that you wanted.’ He passed over a fist full of photocopied paper to Paul. ‘The originals are in our safe.’

  ‘Did you send over copies to Anderson?’

  ‘Yes, before I left the office. What are you and he expecting to find in them?’

  ‘I’ve no bloody idea, Tommy. But if Anderson wants them, it must be for a reason.’

  Tommy stood and walked over to a framed sepia photograph of Paul’s father, with his father. They were stood in front of the Dean Engineering factory. As he studied it, with his hands in his trouser pockets, Paul watched him.

  ‘What is it, Tommy?’

  Turning to face him, Walker said, ‘I’m very concerned about the media attention this case will bring with it. Two deaths in the family. Jill almost certainly murdered and now they suspect that Kevin might have been as well. It could all turn into something very nasty. We have to be prepared for a criminal investigation.’

  ‘Of course there’ll be a criminal investigation into Jill’s death.’

  ‘I know. I rather meant, who will be the main suspect?’

  It took Paul a few beats of silence, but in the end, he realised what Tommy was saying. ‘Dear God, you mean me? I’m not a criminal! I loved my brother and sister. I’d never do such a thing!’

  ‘Sorry, Paul, but we’ll have to wait and see what the police say. They might not agree with you. You need to be prepared for that.’

  15

  Anne

  June 1942

  Dear Ada,

  You’ll never guess what! Memphis proposed last week! He wants to marry me! Little old me, the girl who’s always up for a laugh, one of the boys, but not marriage material. Never that. At least according to my mother. I clearly remember her saying that I should marry Joshua Dean, who was pursuing me before the war. Ugh! Why would I want to marry an old man? Oh alright he isn’t that old, but he is 10 years older than me. That’s a big age gap, you know. Not a marriage to be drawn into lightly. At least the onset of war got me out of that one. No one could criticise me for wanting to join the war effort. Mind you, the irony of me going to work in a munitions factory and Joshua’s engineering works now producing munitions as well, is not lost on me.

  Anyway, back to happier times.

  But I must say that my happiness has been blunted somewhat. The problem is that Memphis is being sent away to somewhere or other to fight in the war. The front line somewhere, but who knows where? All he knows is that they’ve orders to move out, so that’s precisely what they are doing. As a result, we’re not sure when we’ll see each other again. He was very upset that we didn’t have time to marry before he left. After he received his orders, he literally only had time to quickly rush in, tell me he was off, and then he was gone.

  Thank goodness I wasn’t at work in the factory, but in my billet, doing the washing of all things! He told me he was leaving, hugging me, under a dripping row of my smalls which I’d just pegged onto the maiden. At least the drips and my tears mingled so he didn’t see how upset I was. I put a brave smile on my face and told him firmly that I’d be right here waiting for him as soon as he could get back, however long it might take. I followed him to the door and waved and waved until he reached the end of the street, where he turned and waved back once, before disappearing around the corner. It tore my heart out, but I managed to keep that smile plastered on my face until he was out of sight.

  Afterward I went back into the kitchen and fell into a chair. My legs were rubbery, my heart racing and I was sweating so much I might have just come out of a hot bath! My gasping breaths must have been heard by my landlady for she rushed in, took one look at me and thrust my head between my legs – rather roughly actually. But I guess she knew what she was doing, as soon my thoughts became more rational and my breathing slowed. An attack caused by stress she told me afterward. Whatever caused it, I was glad she was there.

  Work at the factory continues unabated. They are opening a new shed to make even more shells. The demand is outstripping supply and they’re talking about increasing our hours to ensure 24 hour production. Before now the night shift was only about half of the work force but it seems that’s to change. With every bullet I make I wonder if it will go in Memphis’ gun. With every shell, if it will end up with his tank. I only hope that the munitions I make won’t be the end of him. To think that I might make the round that kills him is unthinkable and to go down that road, well that way lies madness. I try very hard to keep my mind a blank as I work like a bee in the hive.

  For now, I just hope Memphis will be alright. I live for the postman, every day hoping that there is word from him. A letter, however short, would be such a balm to my aching heart. My life is turning into a living nightmare as I wonder where he is, what he’s doing and if he’s still alive.

  Xxx

  16

  Anne

  June 1942

  Dear Mum

  Oh well, the war drags on and the job drags on. I’ve just realised that I’ve not told you the latest news from the factory. You’ll never guess what’s happened now. My skin has turned yellow! Yes, yellow, just like a canary! It’s that stuff we use, the TNT. It gets onto your skin and into your hair. So now I look like I’ve got jaundice, topped off with bleached blond hair. That is apart from the bit at the top of my head where the hat covers it. It’s like the worst case of roots! The trouble is that no matter how careful you are not to spill any, there is a haze of TNT in the air. It gets everywhere, in your hair, eyes, nose, mouth, skin, the lot.

  It goes through your clothes and gets on to your body. If you perspire at night, the next morning you find yellow all over the sheets. I apologised to the landlady about the sheets. She said it was alright, but it was up to me to get the stains out. Well I’ve scrubbed and scrubbed, but there’s still that yellow hue to them. Oh well, she said she’ll have to throw them out when I leave, but I’ll have to pay for them mind. I thought that was a bit much. It’s not my fault. You think she’d be a bit more flexible. There is a war on after all.

  Talking about clothes, when we arrive at the factory for our shift, the first thing is to be inspected and take all our clothes off. Well not all of them. Just down to your knickers and bra. If your bra has a metal clip on the back you can’t wear it. Oh, and no hair grips or any jewellery are allowed. In fact nothing metal of any sort.

  To be honest it’s a pretty dangerous job as you might have gathered by now. At least I have good friends here. We try and make the best of it, you know? But it’s something I think about late at night lying in bed. We aren’t on the front line, we don’t have guns, yet we’re still doing dangerous work in dangerous factories. We are working long shifts which are mind numbingly boring, yet very hazardous. You can’t afford to lose concentration, not even for a second. So I’d say us women are definitely doing their bit for the war effort – wouldn’t you?

  The factories employ ‘danger building men’ who carry out spot checks on the workers for any dangerous items. The other day I was stopped by one of these men.

  He had spotted a Kirby grip in my hair. I had forgotten to remove it. 'Do it again and you'll be suspended,' he said. I wanted to tell him that I wouldn’t mind being suspended, I could do with a rest, but Madge elbowed me in the ribs and I just mumbled, ‘Sorry,’ before she dragged me away.

  A few days later we heard about a person who'd been cleaning a big machine with a brush. Somehow a single bristle from the brush got into the mechanism. It caused one spark, and everything went up. We didn't know if anyone had been killed. But you can’t be distracted and must get on with what you ar
e doing.

  Love Anne.

  17

  Anne

  August 1942

  Dear God Ada,

  I’ve just found out that I’m pregnant! I did wonder why I was feeling so tired and nauseous. I had put the fatigue down to the 12 hours shifts at the factory and the sickness due to the foul TNT. But after my monthly didn’t appear for the second time in a row, I knew I had to do something. I forced myself to go to the local doctor, an elderly man who I don’t think can see very well. He’d been retired before the war but brought back into service as the other doctors in the town were sent away to provide medical attention to the troops.

  Surprisingly he was very good about it. He asked me if I knew who the father was and if I’d be telling him. He called Memphis my beau! I did explain that we were engaged. I’d thought about pretending I was married, but the lack of ring put the kibosh on that one! I’m beside myself with joy, fear, happiness and sadness all at the same time. While I was waiting for the doctor I had these awful butterflies, because deep down I did know that I was pregnant. It’s just that I had managed to push the fear down, deep into my stomach and tried to forget about it.

  But you know me, ever the optimist, so it was brilliant enough that I was going to be a GI bride, but now we’re going to have a beautiful war baby, whose skin will be a wonderful mixture of his black and my white. Perhaps with his father’s wonderful curly hair. Oh goodness I’ve just realised he might be tinged with yellow as well! Poor baby. I haven’t told anyone else apart from you. To be honest I’m not sure how to approach it.

  There’s the landlady to tell before I start to show and work, of course. When I think of things like that those butterflies turn into worms wiggling around in my stomach, making me feel sick with fear. I can’t lose my job or my room. Oh well, I’ll keep the news to myself for a while. At least for as long as I can.