He doesn’t hurt me and demands very little of me, as long as I run the household like clockwork and appear on his arm at his stupid functions and entertain appropriately at home.
So really it is not a bad marriage, not a bad life. The children and I have as much fun as we can when we’re on our own (which is most of the time – thank goodness!). And Joshua will continue to support us as long as we do as we are told and uphold his social standing.
I know that Dean Engineering keeps us clothed, fed and warm and believe me I am very grateful for that. But there is so much more that I could give. I did have all those years of experience in the munitions factory – first on the factory floor and then in the Administration Offices. But that is something that Joshua has chosen to ignore. Whenever I broach the subject he says that there is no way any wife of his is working. That isn’t my role and how dare I try and humiliate him in that way.
I hope that you and yours are happy and well. I look forward to your letters so much, please keep them coming!
Your friend, Anne.
38
Anne
March 1959
Dear Ada,
At last, a perfect little girl. A baby for me this time. Joshua tried to be cross, but I know he’s secretly as thrilled as I am. Let’s face it the boys are for him, he’s with them a lot and I try not to feel pushed out, but he says they must be groomed for the business from an early age. I hope he doesn’t get his hands on Jill as well. Hopefully not, as he firmly believes that a woman’s place is in the home and by the side of a man as and when required. Well, I might be prepared to accept that (at least on the surface) but I don’t want that for Jill. I want her to be free to live her life as she chooses. I suppose I just secretly hope that she doesn’t choose Dean Engineering. But then again she is her father’s daughter as well as mine, so we’ll just have to wait and see.
Here’s a picture of the family now. It looks very posed doesn’t it? That’s because it is. It was Joshua’s idea of course. He wanted a photograph to show off his perfect family. I wanted one so I could show the children what they looked like when they were young. I’m sitting with Jill on my knee in her christening gown. It is beautiful isn’t it? We had it made from my wedding dress. All the children wore it, another of Joshua’s money saving ideas. Mind you it has given us a family heirloom. If Paul, Kevin and Jill have children of their own, perhaps they’ll use the family christening gown. The boys are stood either side of my chair, staring solemnly at the photographer. I wanted them looking down at Jill, but Joshua and the photographer didn’t agree. Something about not being able to see their faces clearly if they did. Joshua placed himself fairly and squarely in the centre of the picture, behind my chair. He stands over us in that stiff way he has, one hand tucked inside his jacket, the other looking like it is resting lightly on the back of my chair. What you can’t see if that he was holding the back of my dress to remind me to keep upright and look at the photographer. I’d thought it would be nice to have me looking at the baby, but apparently not.
I asked Joshua if we could have another much less formal picture, just for us, but his reply was to call to the boys and leave the studio. So that was that. I mumbled a quick thank you to the photographer and followed in their wake. Joshua didn’t speak to me on the journey and when he’d delivered us home, he carried on to the factory.
Sometimes I think that he thinks we live in the Victorian or Edwardian eras. The stiffness, the stuffiness, the posed formality of it all. Perhaps he was born into the wrong generation. I don’t remember him being this way when I knew him before the war. He was much more relaxed then. I wonder what changed him? The war? His father dying? The responsibility of running the business? Who knows? But I don’t understand him at all now.
I’m so pleased you have such an easy-going, full life. I bet you thank the Lord every day that you moved to the United States!
Your loving friend, Anne.
39
Anderson clattered down the stairs, having just left the office of the Chief Superintendent. He was so mad he was running, until he realised that if he wasn’t careful he was going to do himself an injury. And having watched Crane for the past year or so, he didn’t want to end up like that. So he slowed to a more manageable pace and finally felt the run-away beats of his heart slow as well.
He’d had a row with Grimes. Not the best thing to do, he knew, but somehow he just hadn’t been able to help himself. He’d kept coming up against big red buttons, some even with No Entry signs on them, but he’d kept on bulldozing through them.
Grimes had told him that Paul Dean was still their main suspect in the murders of his brother and sister. Anderson said he considered there were other suspects, but when pushed hadn’t been able to come up with any names. It was more gut instinct he’d said, but Grimes wasn’t having any of that either. Derek knew the man and couldn’t believe Paul was capable of such an act. To which Grimes countered that Derek didn’t know enough of the man to make that judgement. History was littered with the names of people who were fine as children and then turned into evil men, he’d pointed out.
And so he’d been dismissed. Told to carry on building the case against Paul Dean. Ordered, actually. Humiliated. Put in his place. And any other cliché he could come up with.
As Anderson swept through the main office to the Major Crimes unit, he called to Holly. ‘Any more luck with that bloody family tree yet?’
Startled, Holly mumbled, ‘No, sorry.’
‘No long lost, or long buried relatives?’
‘That’s still a no, Guv,’ she looked up from her keyboard and said.
‘For fuck’s sake!’ Anderson could contain his frustration no longer. ‘Has no one got anything for me?’
‘Derek.’ Crane rose from his chair, the warning clear in the tone of his voice.
‘I’ve something, boss,’ called Ciaran.
‘At last. For a moment there I thought I was working with a load of numpties.’
But Ciaran had news that Anderson didn’t want to hear. ‘Well, the sat nav from Paul Dean’s car has been examined, I’ve just had the forensics report in, and it seems he went to see Jill on the night of her murder.’
‘He did what!’
‘Went to see…’
‘I think Derek understood the first time you said it,’ Crane said to Ciaran, who promptly shut his mouth.
Anderson felt Crane grab his elbow as he swayed on his feet and then led him to Crane’s chair. Sinking into it, Derek felt his world tilting on its axis. It couldn’t be true. He’d been so sure of Paul’s innocence.
Looking at Ciaran he said, ‘Sorry, lad, what were you saying?’
Anderson saw Ciaran look at Crane, the fear clear in his face for a moment. But at Crane’s nod, Ciaran turned to Anderson, swallowed and then said, ‘According to Paul Dean’s sat nav he journeyed to Jill’s house from his house. It was about 7.15pm. Then 15 minutes later, he made the return journey.’
‘Is this reliable, this sat nav thing?’
‘I asked that question as well, Guv and got my head bitten off. I was told that forensic evidence doesn’t lie. Computers don’t lie. People do. Also his car was seen on CCTV in the vicinity of her house around the same time. And just to round things off, samples of Paul’s hair were found on Jill’s coat. Sorry, boss.’
‘And what about Jill’s car?’
‘What about it, boss?’
‘It was parked outside her home. But we don’t know if she went anywhere that night. What does the sat nav say on her car?’
‘She didn’t have one.’
‘Really?’
‘She had an older model Alpha Romeo without one. We asked at the office and it seems she just used to use Google Maps on her mobile phone.’
‘And where’s her mobile?’
‘We’ve been unable to trace it. Sorry.’
‘It’s alright, Ciaran. You’re only doing your job. It’s not your fault all the evidence points to Paul Dean having
killed his sister.’
‘Sorry, Derek,’ said Crane. ‘Can we get you anything? Coffee? Tea?’
‘No, you’re alright. I think I’ll push off home now. See you all tomorrow.’
Anderson walked the long walk through the department to the lifts. It looked bad, he knew, and he wouldn’t be surprised if Grimes passed the file to the Department of Public Prosecutions, who would almost certainly proceed to trial.
40
Anne
March 1962
Dear Ada,
Joshua wants us to make new wills now that we have three children. He wants to give them a portion of the company each. I had to fight like a cat to get an equal share for Jill. I finally managed it as hey things are changing. It’s the swinging sixties! The old ways are being pushed out and feminism is the new catch word. So I told him she had to have a third, no more arguments or I wouldn’t give any of them a share of the company should Joshua die first and the company go to me as the children weren’t old enough to inherit.
I stood up to him for once and I think he was so surprised that he agreed to a third each. A minor victory, I know, but to me it feels like a very big one.
I went to the solicitor today to do my will. I’ve always thought the man had a bit of a soft spot for me, so I persuaded him to make a slight change to mine. The wills for Joshua and I mirror each other, but instead of me listing the children’s names as my beneficiaries (should I survive him that is) I managed to persuade him to include the words ‘all my children’ instead of naming them. Well, you never know do you? We might have more. Or at least that’s what I told him.
The real reason for doing it, of course, is that my half-African American daughter would be legally entitled to a share of my worldly goods and more importantly, Dean Engineering. I hope my solicitor will honour my instructions, and more importantly not tell Joshua anything about it. And so I have more secrets. I didn’t tell the solicitor the real reason for the change. I’ve never mentioned Memphis and the baby to anyone other than you. It’s still our secret. Isn’t it?
I hope this is all over soon and that Joshua doesn’t go over my will before giving it to me to sign. I don’t think I will sleep well until then. Until it’s all over. At least the solicitor is keeping the wills in the safe at his offices. It’s less likely that Joshua could stumble over the differences in our wills and confront me with it at some time in the future.
Oh dear, perhaps I’ve gone too far. But to be fair it’s the first time I’ve ever defied a direct instruction from Joshua. I learned early in our marriage that to try and persuade him into a different course of action, something he saw as defiance, he would punish me for it in subtle ways. Withdrawal of his company was the main one. But his punishments also included taking the children away from me and keeping them occupied at the factory for days on end. Threatening to send them away to boarding school. Oh and, of course, once Jill was born he stopped taking his conjugal rights. He didn’t want more children, so he made sure I never had the opportunity to become pregnant again. If I ever did, then he would immediately know I had been unfaithful.
I’ve no idea if Joshua has a mistress, or even mistresses! Our lives are so compartmentalised that I’ve realised I know very little about his work, his habits or his movements on a daily basis. He could have an entire other family for all I know. I’m frequently told he is staying overnight at the office. He’s made a bedroom there so that when it’s appropriate he can stay over and doesn’t need to waste valuable time coming home, time that could be better used working. I have no idea if that is true or not and I’m not sure that I care enough to try and find out. After all, when he is at home the children and I tiptoe around him, for fear of invoking his anger. He always seems to be slightly irritated by us and swots us away like pesky flies. So much so that I wonder why he bothers to come home at all. Why he doesn’t live permanently at the factory, which seems to be where he prefers to be anyway. Mind you, that wouldn’t fit well with the persona he shows in public. In front of others he is the magnanimous factory owner and benefactor with a beautiful wife, children and house.
So as you can see, I fear that if he ever found out about the difference in our wills, my punishment, in whatever form, would be severe.
God bless, Anne.
41
Anne
April 1987
My dear friend,
I fear this is the last time I’ll be writing to you. You see I’ve been diagnosed with breast cancer and they fear it’s spread as they didn’t catch it in time. Maybe they would have done if I’d have told my doctor about it earlier, but there was something so satisfying in feeling the lump getting bigger and bigger under my fingertips. It was my secret – yes yet another one! – something that was just mine and no one else’s.
Oh, did I tell you that Joshua eventually recruited Jill into the company? My clever, proud, independent daughter has decided that’s where her future lies. As she pleaded to her father, surely having her in the company would be the right thing to do, after all he wouldn’t want her working for a rival firm now would he? Audacious I know, but she managed to pull it off!
She’s having to climb the ladder, mind, just the same as the boys did. So now she’s happy and settled, and somewhat to my surprise, in Dean Engineering, my work is done. She always wanted to be a woman in a man’s world and she never understood why I encouraged her to follow different pursuits first. Maybe I just wanted to be sure that Dean Engineering really was where her future lay. I wanted it to be her choice and not mine or her father’s.
So now that’s all behind me, it’s fitting that I go out on my terms. My only regret is that I won’t get to see my darling Heather before I die. Just a small glimpse would have been enough. But it wasn’t to be.
Apart from the joy my children have brought me over the years, some of my best memories are from the war. I can still see all of us girls getting off the train, going through the factory gates, linking arms and singing, ‘Bless Them All’ at the tops of our young voices. We were just tiny wartime cogs, the girls who made the thingumabobs as the Gracie Fields song put it. But at the same time, we had each other, and we had our youth. We all knew that you had to make the best of it, you see. Which, I guess, is what I’ve been doing all my life. Perhaps they’ll put that on my gravestone, ‘She made the best of it.’
But the main thing is that I will see my beloved Memphis again on the other side and to be honest I can’t wait. I can feel it won’t be long now. Thank you so much for being such a friend to me over the years. I’m glad life worked out well for you in America and that you are happy. Don’t mourn me, just be glad that you knew me and be happy for me, knowing that I’m going to a better place now.
Your friend forever, Anne.
42
The trial.
‘Good morning. Let me introduce myself. My name is Jonathan Strong and I am the barrister for the prosecution. That means that it’s my job to present the case to you today and over the coming weeks. I am the one who is tasked with presenting all the evidence and information gathered by the team of police officers working on the case and the equally hard-working staff in the office of the Public Prosecutor. I am only the tip of the iceberg if you will.
‘As my colleagues have instructed me, Paul Dean who you can see in the dock, is charged with double murder. Yes, double murder. Even more shocking is the fact that the two victims were his brother Kevin and sister Jill.
‘Let me paint you a picture. Paul, Kevin and Jill jointly owned and ran a large, successful family-owned company, and everyone rubbed along pretty well. Until one day, when Kevin and Jill felt the time had come to take the company public. To float it on the stock exchange. Their decision was based on the fact that it was exhausting running such a large organisation on their own and none of them were getting any younger. They wanted to let someone else take the reins and then the three of them could take a back seat.
‘They implored Paul to join them in their decision, but he
steadfastly refused. And he became so incensed over it, that he killed them both in a rage. Kevin by zapping his heart with a portable defibrillator and Jill by hitting her over the head, strangling her and rolling her into the grave that had recently been dug for her brother.
‘So now Paul has everything. The whole lot. For the estates of both Kevin and Jill would have passed to him on their deaths. I put it to you that that is the reason he killed them, his siblings, his own flesh and blood. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, Paul Dean murdered his sister and brother, for power and for money.
‘Thank you.’
***
‘Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, good morning. My name is Charles Walker and I’m the barrister for the defence. During the course of this trial, you will hear the Police’s theory that Paul Dean killed his brother Kevin and sister Jill. And that he did this to gain control of the company they jointly owned – Dean Engineering – for Kevin and Jill had wanted to float the company on the stock market and Paul didn’t. But I put it to you that that is just what their case is – theory. They have no witnesses, no forensic evidence to prove that Paul killed them and a weak motive. To consider that Paul would kill his siblings, who he was extraordinarily close to, is to make fantasy a reality. They simply have no evidence. None whatsoever.
‘My client, Paul Dean, is a hardworking man in charge of Dean Engineering, a multi-million pound company that manufactures and sells nuts and bolts, and other things that go into machinery that I confess I simply can’t understand. The company has hundreds of employees in its factory in Aldershot. To suggest that Paul wanted more than that is delusional. He did not need more money. He did not want the responsibility of running such a company on his own. He did not want to lose his brother and sister. In short, he already had everything he could possibly want.
A Grave Death Page 9
