‘Why was she buried here?’ says Annie, out of breath from the walk but angry again. ‘It’s miles from anywhere.’
‘Ruth, the archaeologist,’ says Judy, ‘thinks that Margaret was originally buried somewhere else and her bones transferred here fairly recently. She can tell by the preservation of the bones.’
‘Then why are we here?’ says Annie, sitting heavily on the grassy bank.
But Karen has walked up to the trench and has placed her flowers by the cross. Then she falls to her knees. Pete hesitates then goes to stand beside her. Clough and Judy keep a respectful distance away. After a moment, Annie gets to her feet and joins her mother. The three of them are silhouetted against the skyline, like a religious tableau, the woman kneeling, the man and the younger woman standing one on each side. Judy can hear them speaking but it’s a few seconds before she recognises the words. The Hail Mary. The family are Catholic, she knows, but Karen told her that she hadn’t been to mass since Margaret disappeared. But they are praying now, the rhythmic mutter counterpointed by the cries of seagulls and the sound of the incoming tide. Judy, who was brought up a Catholic, thinks that they will say the prayer ten times, a decade of the rosary. She feels her lips forming the words but stops when she sees Clough looking at her.
‘Pray for us now and at the hour of our death.’
Karen gets to her feet. Then she crosses herself and heads back towards the sand dunes, without looking back. Pete, Annie and Clough follow but Judy takes one last look at the site. The beach is still deserted apart from someone walking by the sea’s edge. Something about the figure reminds Judy of Cathbad and she realises it’s because they are either wearing a hooded coat or a cloak. But Cathbad will be dropping Michael off at school now. Judy stays watching as the figure comes closer, walking slowly but with great purpose, footprints disappearing into the wet strand. When the cloak-wearer is almost level with the site, it turns towards the sea, raising its hands to the sky. The hood falls back and Judy sees bright hair gleaming in the hazy sunlight.
Chapter 11
Superintendent Jo Archer speaks to the press at midday. Nelson is due back at work the next day but she’s not about to wait for him. She speaks fluently and well, asking the assembled journalists to respect the Lacey family’s privacy ‘at this difficult time’. Judy, watching from the back of the room, spots Maddie sitting near the front. Judy kept her word and telephoned Maddie two hours ago with the news about Margaret. When Jo invites questions Judy half expects Maddie to ask about possible links to the Scarlet Henderson case, but her stepdaughter keeps silent.
Someone asks about DNA.
‘The technology has come on in leaps and bounds since the eighties,’ says Jo, managing to convey the impression that this decade is only a distant memory to her. ‘We’re hopeful that there will be some DNA on the remains, or on objects found with them, that will allow us to reopen the case and catch Margaret’s killer.’
This is a real teaser for the press pack. Several people ask about these mysterious objects but Jo says that she is not divulging this information ‘at this point in time’.
‘Will you be reinterviewing past suspects?’ says a man from one of the nationals.
‘Again, I can’t comment on that,’ says Jo.
But Judy knows that the answer is yes. They already have a DNA sample from Karen, that is how they were able to identify Margaret. Now they need DNA swabs and fingerprints from everyone involved in the case, ‘to eliminate them’. Judy and Clough are going to call on John Mostyn. ‘He doesn’t have to cooperate,’ Jo reminded the team, ‘but it will be interesting to see his demeanour. He’ll have heard on the news about us finding Margaret’s remains.’
Judy notes that Jo expects everyone in the world to have seen her press conference but, when they reach the shabby corner house late that afternoon, John Mostyn says that he never watches or listens to the news. ‘It’s always bad,’ he says. ‘I prefer to think of nice things.’
John Mostyn is a slight figure who looks older than seventy. Judy’s mother is a seventy-five-year-old spring chicken who does yoga and wears skinny jeans. Mostyn is shrivelled and frail-looking, wearing a baggy jumper and corduroys. His house, too, seems to teeter on the edge of squalor; the sitting room knee-deep in cardboard boxes, the kitchen a nightmare of sticky brown units and overcrowded surfaces. Judy and Clough sit at the kitchen table after Mostyn has moved several books, a bubbling vat of what looks like beer and a hamster in a cage.
‘So you haven’t heard that the police have found Margaret Lacey’s remains,’ says Judy, trying not to look at the mountain of newspaper in the corner which seems to be moving.
Mostyn sits opposite them. His faded blue eyes look open and guileless. ‘No. I hadn’t heard that. Poor girl. But it’s good for the family. After all this time.’
‘We’re contacting everyone connected with the case and asking if we can take fingerprints and a DNA sample,’ says Clough. ‘Just so that we can rule people out.’
‘It’s very simple,’ says Judy as Mostyn is looking rather alarmed. ‘Just a swab from inside your cheek.’
‘Will I have to go to the police station?’
‘It’s very quick,’ says Judy. ‘You’ll be in and out in ten minutes.’ Nelson has told them to bring Mostyn to the station if possible.
‘People will see,’ says Mostyn, ‘and they’ll think I did it. They’ll throw things.’
Mostyn and his mother had suffered abuse at the time of Margaret’s disappearance. It’s in the files and Judy has seen the headlines. ‘Loner was last person to see Maggie alive.’ ‘Police question so-called Stone Man.’ Such coverage probably wouldn’t be allowed now for fear of jeopardising the case.
‘We can send someone here if that’s easier,’ says Judy.
‘The neighbours will see,’ says Mostyn. ‘People round here know everything that goes on.’
The same comment had been made in 1981 but, all the same, a girl had managed to disappear in broad daylight. Judy wonders whether Mostyn has become more paranoid with age and isolation. The house certainly doesn’t look like it belongs to an entirely well man. She is sure that something is moving under that newspaper.
‘I’ll come into the station,’ says Mostyn at last. ‘Don’t call for me. I’ll make my own way.’
‘That’s very helpful,’ says Clough, ‘thank you. Shall we say nine thirty tomorrow morning?’
‘All right,’ says Mostyn. ‘I’m up early most mornings. Beachcombing.’
Judy has already noticed the stones. They are everywhere, amongst the flotsam and jetsam in the room, stones of every shape and colour, from glittering hunks of quartz to tiny piles of pebbles, like the droppings of a petrified rabbit.
‘Have you always lived near the sea?’ she asks.
Mostyn smiles for the first time. His teeth are discoloured and rotten but the expression is surprisingly benign.
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I was born at Caister-on-Sea. It used to be a Roman port once. I found a Roman coin in the sand when I was a boy. I sent it to the British Museum and they wrote a nice letter back. I’ve got it somewhere.’
He looks around as if he might, amid the detritus of years, find the letter written some sixty years ago.
‘You must have found some interesting things over the years,’ says Judy.
‘I certainly have.’ Mostyn is still smiling but now he turns away and starts searching along a shelf packed with books and yellowing magazines. ‘I’ve found shepherd’s crowns, sea lilies, brittle stars, all sorts of things. I’ve got something here somewhere . . . Yes. Here it is.’ He scrabbles under some ancient copies of Punch. ‘Have this, my dear. For luck.’ It’s a witch stone, a perfect oval with a single hole running straight through the middle.
*
Outside, in the car, Clough says, ‘My money’s still on Mostyn. He’s as creepy as hell.’
‘He was scared,’ says Judy. She is still holding the stone. It fits perfectly in her hand.
&nb
sp; ‘Yes, but why was he scared?’ says Clough. ‘And, did you notice, he didn’t ask where Margaret was found? Surely that should have been his first question. We’ve found Margaret. Where?’
‘I did notice that,’ says Judy. ‘Well, if his DNA’s on the rope, we’ve got him.’
‘And he could have written that letter,’ says Clough. ‘He’s interested in history. Remember what he said about the coin?’
Once again, Clough surprises Judy. She had thought that he was too revolted by the house to be listening closely to Mostyn’s ramblings down memory lane. But he’s right. Mostyn did show an interest both in history and archaeology. Not to mention the sea.
‘And he’s from east Norfolk,’ she says. ‘Caister is right near Yarmouth and Tom said that’s where the legend of Jack Valentine is from. He could have left that witch stone on the boss’s doorstep. He found this one for me. I bet there are hundreds of them in the house.’
‘That house,’ says Clough and shudders. Clough and Cassandra are extremely tidy, despite having a baby and a puppy. Judy often fears that her own household will one day descend into chaos. Cathbad keeps things fairly clean but he doesn’t like to dust because he admires spiders. But, at the end of their interview with Mostyn, when the newspaper mound finally erupted and a furry shape emerged, Judy hadn’t been able to stop herself screaming. ‘Tuppence!’ exclaimed Mostyn. ‘That’s where you’ve been.’ He cradled the little creature in his hands and Judy saw that it was another hamster. Mostyn held out his hands and Judy stroked the quivering fur. Now she puts the stone in her bag and fumbles for hand sanitiser.
‘He needs help,’ she says. ‘He’s a hoarder.’ She passes the plastic bottle to Clough.
‘We should do a proper search of the house,’ says Clough, rubbing the gel on his hands.
‘They got a search warrant at the time,’ says Judy. ‘They didn’t find anything. And thirty-five years have passed.’
‘There’s more than thirty-five years of rubbish in there,’ says Clough, starting the engine.
*
On the other side of King’s Lynn, Ruth and Kate are also waiting in a car. Ruth has collected Kate from school and they are on their way to see the new baby. The day after George was born, Nelson drove round with some photographs and explained to Kate that George was her half-brother, ‘because you both have the same daddy’.
‘But not the same mum,’ said Kate, who likes to get things straight.
‘No,’ said Nelson. ‘Michelle is George’s mum.’ He hadn’t looked at Ruth when he said this. She wished she had left Nelson to have this conversation in private but had thought that she should be there in case Kate needed some questions answered. But, if Kate had queries, she kept them to herself and favoured her parents with a rendition of ‘Food, Glorious Food’ from her acting class, complete with gestures.
Now they are sitting outside the Nelsons’ house and Ruth is gathering her courage. Kate, clasping a wrapped present, is watching her intently.
‘Let’s go in, Mum,’ she says.
‘In a minute,’ says Ruth. She has never been in this house before, although Kate has. It’s a modern detached, square and somehow reassuring, like a child’s drawing of a house. Hard to imagine the horrors that occurred behind this front door – white with patterned glass – last summer. The front garden is a neat square of grass, the driveway wide enough for two cars, Nelson’s Mercedes and Michelle’s Micra parked side by side. Does Nelson mow the lawn? Ruth is ready to bet that he does.
‘Come on, Mum.’
‘I’m coming.’
Nelson is obviously on edge too because he opens the door before they have time to knock.
‘Come in,’ he says, over-heartily. ‘Michelle and George are in the front room.’
The front room. Ruth thinks this must go back to Nelson’s childhood home. She’s sure that Michelle calls it the sitting room or the lounge.
Michelle is sitting on the sofa, buttoning her blouse. The baby, obviously satiated from his feed, lies in the crook of her arm, his mouth half open. Ruth can see dark hair and long eyelashes, both inherited from Nelson.
‘Hallo,’ she says.
‘Hallo, Ruth,’ says Michelle, rather tightly. But she gives Kate a lovely smile. ‘Come and say hallo to Baby George.’
Kate approaches, holding the present out in front of her. ‘He’s asleep,’ she says.
‘He sleeps all the time,’ says Nelson. ‘Except at night.’
Michelle smiles. Ruth thinks that she looks tired but lovelier than ever; no make-up, the brown roots showing in her hair, eyes ringed with violet shadows.
Kate touches George’s cheek. ‘Hallo, baby.’
‘Do you want to hold him?’ says Michelle.
‘Are you sure?’ says Nelson but Michelle ignores him. Kate sits next to her on the sofa and Michelle puts George in her lap. The three adults stare at them, Kate sitting very upright, the baby still sleeping, the winter sun illuminating both their faces.
‘I should take a picture,’ says Nelson, breaking the spell. He goes to get his camera, obviously not trusting the moment to his phone.
‘How are you?’ says Ruth to Michelle.
‘Oh, OK,’ says Michelle. ‘Tired. You know.’
‘Yes,’ says Ruth. ‘I don’t think Kate slept through the night for the first year.’
Kate is interested. ‘Why didn’t I?’
‘I don’t know. Sometimes babies don’t.’
‘George is quite good,’ says Michelle. ‘He slept from midnight until five last night. It’s just that Harry keeps waking up to check on him.’
Ruth had forgotten that Michelle calls Nelson Harry. The thought of them sharing a bed, the baby next to them, causes a wave of jealousy so intense that Ruth feels almost sick. Nelson comes back into the room and takes several pictures. Michelle reclaims her baby and puts him in a Moses basket on the floor. Kate unwraps the present, a cuddly giraffe, and plays with it herself. Nelson offers to make tea and this is declined, although Michelle asks for a pint of squash.
‘You get so thirsty breastfeeding,’ she says.
‘I remember,’ says Ruth, although she doesn’t really. Nature seems to grant you amnesia about childbirth, which is probably the only reason why women go on to have more children. But Ruth is clearly only going to get one chance at motherhood so she wishes that she remembered the early days better.
Nelson brings squash and biscuits for all of them. Ruth sips the orange liquid. She hasn’t drunk diluted squash since childhood. It reminds her of church youth clubs. Kate drinks hers quickly and puts the glass down on a coaster. Ruth is proud of her.
‘Where’s Laura?’ she says.
Kate met Laura last year, although she doesn’t seem to have worked out that she too is a half-sibling.
‘She’s at college,’ says Nelson. ‘She’s training to be a teacher.’
‘Rebecca was here last week,’ says Michelle. ‘She’s working in Brighton.’
‘I like Brighton,’ says Ruth. There’s a rather awkward silence. George saves the day by waking up and starting to cry. Nelson picks him up and pats his back with an experienced hand. Ruth averts her eyes.
‘Give him to me, Harry,’ says Michelle.
‘We should go,’ says Ruth.
Kate blows a kiss to George, who is still crying, though in an angry, raspy way.
‘Bye, Michelle,’ says Ruth. ‘Thank you for letting us see George. He’s beautiful.’
‘See you soon,’ says Michelle. She sounds distracted and probably lets this phrase slip accidentally from her social lexicon. Ruth is pretty sure that Michelle would be happy never to see her again. Michelle is fond of Kate though; Ruth will always be grateful to her for that.
Nelson walks to the car with them.
‘Did you hear?’ he says. ‘They’ve confirmed the identity of the remains found on the beach. It is Margaret Lacey.’
‘I heard the press conference on the radio,’ says Ruth.
‘I’m b
ack at work tomorrow,’ says Nelson. ‘No rest for the wicked.’
Ruth doesn’t believe a word of it. She thinks that Nelson can’t wait to return to the fray. He looks as if he’s already thinking about the case, about marshalling the team and finding Margaret’s killer. He won’t rest, Ruth knows, even though so many years have passed. Nelson sees her looking at him and smiles. Because he so often looks serious, the smile transforms his face completely.
‘George is gorgeous,’ says Ruth.
‘He’s not bad,’ says Nelson.
‘I’m happy for you,’ says Ruth. ‘For you both. Really.’
‘I know you are,’ says Nelson.
There’s a charged silence broken eventually by Kate’s peremptory tap on the car window. Ruth says goodbye and gets into the driving seat. Nelson is watching as they drive away.
Chapter 12
Nelson is at the station by seven thirty the next morning. By the time that Tanya gets in at eight thirty, Judy at eight forty-five and Clough at nine, he has created an incident room display with Margaret Lacey’s picture at the centre. Arrows point out to her parents, Karen and Bob, the latter with RIP scribbled across his forehead. Sister Annie and brother Luke are also there, alongside Kim Jennings and John Mostyn.
‘We need to interview Kim Jennings,’ says Nelson, after acknowledging the team’s greetings and congratulations. ‘I’ve been reading through the transcripts and I think there was something she wasn’t telling the police at the time. I’ve checked and she still lives in Norfolk. She’s got a shop near the beach in Wells. That’s your neck of the woods, Judy.’
The Stone Circle: The Dr Ruth Galloway Mysteries 11 Page 7
