The Burying Place

by Vicky Jones

  Then it was Rachel’s turn. Rachel was the DI in charge of investigating reactive crime. That gave her the Beat Crimes Unit, the burglary and robber squads and, most important of all, the Main Office, who dealt with all major crime allegations within the Operational Command Unit. To the assembled group in front of her, she outlined all the ongoing cases and flagged up some budgetary issues; the lack of money to pay for overtime was hampering investigations and putting undue pressure on her detectives, some of whom were carrying as many as thirty crimes each. DCI Parker shut her down on that—‘everyone was in the same boat’, he pointed out brusquely. It was the government cutbacks, austerity and all that, so there was no point in moaning about it.

  Finally, Hargreaves asked Rachel to talk them through the series of mispers she was investigating, the latest of which was Mrs. Walker.

  “Well, ma’am, we think that Mrs. Walker’s disappearance is just the latest in a long line. The doctor that went missing six months ago, Jerry Carter, left town after a difficult shift at the hospital where one of his patients died. He’d been to the funeral earlier that day as he was very close to this young girl, a cancer sufferer apparently, so it seems plausible that he would want a few days away. The next, Ryan Saunders, was a teacher at the local high school who appeared to have suffered a nervous breakdown after taking on the new role of head of year. All the strain that came with that must have taken its toll so he also wanted to disappear for a bit. The other misper was a businesswoman with a history of anxiety and depression.”

  DCI Parker frowned and looked around the table. DI Cooper and DI Thomas gave him a knowing look.

  “What?” Hargreaves barked. She drummed her stubby fingers on the desk and glared around the room. “Am I missing an opinion you all have on this here?”

  The DCI continued. “There is a suspicion that these missing persons may have decided to…” he paused and glanced around the group again. “Take their own lives. If the coastguard finds them washed up at the bottom of Lizard Point, we’ll know for sure. But it’s been six months now since the first disappearance, so it’s unlikely. Most of us think they simply left town to have a break from what was getting them down.”

  “Rachel?” Hargreaves said, her icy stare laser-beamed on to her. “What are your thoughts?”

  “It’s possible they left town. I think we need to investigate further on this case, though. With Diana Walker there is nothing that would suggest she felt in any way she wanted to leave town. Or throw herself off Lizard Point. She has a loving daughter and lots of friends in the area. Yes, the anniversary of her husband’s death is coming up, but he died over ten years ago now, so why this year would she decide to end it all? No, that doesn’t seem to fit. I think this one is different. Amanda is the only one, out of all the other mispers’ next of kin, who pushed us for a press conference. She’s adamant something bad has happened to her mother. And I happen to think she might be right.”

  A groan rumbled around the table and all eyes glared at Rachel.

  “You’re just making extra work for yourself, going down that path,” DI Thomas grumbled through his bushy white moustache.

  “It’s always gotta be something with you, Morrison,” DCI Parker added, folding his arms over his portly belly. “You know that in most cases the most obvious answer is the right one. People go missing all the time. They just drop off the grid or find a quiet place to top themselves. It’s Lizard, for fuck’s sake, not bloody Midsomer Murders.”

  Prick, Rachel said in her head.

  Hargreaves, in the five years of working with Rachel, had never known Rachel to ignore her copper’s hunch and, being Parker’s boss, decided to ignore his annoyance. “Right, fine. I think that this might be worth a little poke, but no more than that. Continue your enquiries for now, Rachel. But I can’t spare another detective on this case, if it is even a case. My resources are already stretched to breaking point, so PC Barlow can assist you, as you two work well together. But I want this wrapped up ASAP, understood? We can’t spare any more resources. For now, to the public it’s just a missing person’s case, understood? Dismissed.”

  Everyone stood up from the table and gathered their notepads up. Rachel headed back to her desk and updated Michelle, leaving out the bickering and backstabbing from her fellow DIs and DCI Parker.

  “Looks like you’re stuck with me on this one,” Michelle said, grinning.

  “Couldn’t think of anyone better,” Rachel replied, sitting down. “By the way, have we had anything from the tip line yet?”

  Michelle put down her coffee on the end of Rachel’s desk and took out her notebook. “Well, let’s see.” She licked a finger and leafed through the pages. “One caller thinks we should get Scott and Bailey down here sharpish, as they will solve it in no time,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Or Columbo. And Drunk Dave called, swears it’s something to do with ‘the lights’ again.”

  Rachel leaned her chin on her palm. “He still going on about that?”

  “Says ‘they are on the water’. He’s adamant that when he looks out to sea the lights bounce off the water, then disappear. Unfortunately, it seems to be every time he comes out of the Anchor Pub on Lizard Point after last orders.” Michelle gave a knowing smile. “Who knows, maybe Diana Walker was abducted by aliens, like everyone else who’s fallen off the grid these last few months, and Dave was right all along.” She took a long slurp of coffee as Rachel stifled a bored laugh. “Well, I, for one, am happy Hargreaves chose me to help you on this one.”

  “Stolen bins not doing it for you anymore?” Rachel said.

  “Funnily enough, no. Not exactly why I joined the force. I’m serious. Anything you need, just say. I agree with you, this one just doesn’t feel the same as the others that have gone missing.”

  “I know.”

  “How did Diana Walker’s husband die?”

  “Topped himself. Was a drinker, apparently,” Rachel replied.

  “Shame. All that money and it still didn’t make him happy. A lesson there.” Michelle’s brow creased. “I reckon it could have been kidnap. If she was minted then there might be a ransom demand coming.”

  “Kynance Cove is famous for its towering rock stacks, green clifftops, golden sands and turquoise water. It isn’t exactly known for any mafia connections, Michelle,” Rachel said. “But it’s a line of enquiry we’ll have to follow. More likely she’s been bumped off. She pissed anyone off lately?”

  “Not that I’ve heard. She was reported to be a bit snooty, but generally friendly.”

  “I’m just not buying that she’s fucked off somewhere,” Rachel said, returning to her piles of paperwork and trying to find some order with it. She paused and set her lips. “And not to tell anyone? Not even her daughter?”

  “I wouldn’t tell anybody either, though. But that’s ‘cos I don’t like people,” Michelle replied.

  “She’s not exactly the spontaneous type either. Not according to her daughter. She plans everything in her diary, and even her window cleaner gets cancellation messages, so Amanda reckons. Her diary has upcoming hairdresser appointments so it doesn’t seem she’s planned to go away,” Rachel said, rustling through notes and interview transcripts.

  Michelle leaned in. “Maybe she’s got a secret fella?”

  “I knew I could rely on you for helpful suggestions,” Rachel replied, a sarcastic look on her face.

  “Maybe he’s married. That’s why she couldn’t tell her daughter. Oooh, the scandal.”

  Rachel shook her head. “She hasn’t used her mobile phone, drawn out any money or spoken to her friends or daughter.”

  “Well, would you brag about an illicit affair? Maybe she carries cash, and not an awful lot of fifty-nine-year-old women have their mobile phones up their arse all the time. Battery could have died while she was shagging all day and night in an expensive hotel and she probably forgot her phone charger.”

  “So, she’s just lying low while she enjoys a steamy affair on the anniversary of her h
usband’s death?” Rachel mused.

  “I don’t know. It might be that she decided to end it and we’ve not found the body yet, but that’s not ringing true to me. She seems the kind of person that would leave a note.” She paused and sighed.

  Rachel thought about that for a moment then smiled. “Well, thank you, detective. I assure you I am open to every possible angle on this case and I will be looking at the details very carefully.”

  “Yeah? While I’m looking at my shitty homemade lunch over there and wondering why I bother trying to be healthy when it tastes like cardboard.”

  After five hours of having her head in paperwork, Rachel looked up to see Superintendent Hargreaves walk by the door to her office. Hargreaves had a fierce reputation of keeping her workforce in line with an iron fist. Catching Michelle’s eye across the room, they both forced a smile at their superior. Rachel got up and walked over to Michelle’s desk. Although the PC had a desk of her own over in Beat Crimes, where she normally worked while she gathered the evidence and experience she needed to pass the DC exams, she had virtually moved into Rachel’s cramped office since she had been seconded to the misper enquiry.

  “I’ve gone through everything we’ve picked up so far and, truthfully, we ain’t got shit. And if it stays this way, we’re fucked. Hargreaves is on the warpath wanting a quick turnaround on this one.”

  Michelle leaned back in her swivel chair. “Well, maybe the answer will magically appear at the bottom of a gin and tonic. What do you say? I’m buying.”

  “No. I need to get home. But thanks,” Rachel replied.

  “Adam can’t survive making dinner for himself, no?”

  “Something like that. Men, eh?”

  “I give up with them. They do my head in. Always smell of something. Guilt usually,” Michelle said.

  “Right, I’m off then. See you tomorrow.”

  “See you tomorrow, boss.”

  “Hi Rachel, the usual?” the owner of the chip shop on the high street said, his rosy red cheeks illuminating his rotund, sweaty face.

  “Hi Tony. Just for me, thanks. Adam isn’t hungry tonight,” Rachel replied, placing her handbag on the counter.

  “Oh, that’s a shame. What’s say I put some extra chips in for you, just in case he feels up for it later?” Tony said, wiping his hands down his apron. Rachel nodded her appreciation.

  Walking into her dark kitchen, Rachel flicked the light on and wrinkled her nose at the sight that greeted her. Takeaway boxes, similar to the one she was holding, were stacked in the corner by the sink, the bin overflowing with chip papers. Unable to find a clean glass in her cupboard, she settled for drinking from the can she’d got in her meal deal and walked into her front room. After flicking on the TV, she moved a pile of clean but unfolded washing from the end of the couch and plonked herself down, rummaging underneath for the remote control which had found its way between the cushions. She flicked through the hundreds of channels, nothing about them interesting her. With a rerun of Location, Location, Location decided upon, she picked at her fish supper, feeding most of the scraps to her black and white cat, Pickles, who’d jumped into her lap at the smell of cod wafting in the stale air.

  Putting her unfinished dinner on the floor for Pickles to nibble through, Rachel checked her phone. No new messages. For the fifth time that week, she sent the same message.

  Please come home, Adam. We can talk about it. I miss you xx.

  Chapter 2

  “You reckon old ma’ Walker’s been bumped off then, guv?” PC Jackson from the Beat Crimes Unit piped up from his desk as Rachel passed by on the way to her office the following morning. He grinned at her as he chewed messily through a bacon roll, the buttons on his crumpled white shirt straining to contain his belly.

  Rachel stopped. “Not sure yet, but when we do know I’ll be sure not to have you break the news to her grieving daughter, eh? And do up that top button, sharpish.”

  Jackson sat up straight in his chair and saw to his button, suitably told off. He lowered his eyes in embarrassment as Rachel walked away.

  Sinking down into her office chair, she rubbed her eyes and yawned.

  “Late night?” Michelle asked, placing Rachel’s coffee cup down in front of her.

  “I couldn’t sleep. Kept thinking over this case. Diana Walker’s been missing for nearly a week now. Hargreaves is watching my every move wanting results.” She took a slow sip from her coffee. “Anything new from the tips line yet?”

  “Nope. Nothing worth following up”

  “Where are we with the CCTV requisition?”

  “Jackson’s following that up now.”

  Rachel looked over at him to see him trying to wipe bacon grease off his black police tie. “Great.”

  Poppy was busy sticking missing posters up in the front window of the town centre library.

  “You’re such a good friend to that girl, Poppy,” her boss said, appearing behind her. She shook her head, making her grey permed hair bobble. “Even though it’s a friendship I’ve never really understood.”

  “What do you mean, Margaret?” Poppy replied, turning to face her.

  “Well, if you don’t mind me saying, dear, you both are complete opposites. You’re such a quiet girl. And that Amanda, well…” Margaret raised her eyebrows.

  “What?” Poppy said, folding her arms. Her face shot a look of defence.

  “She likes the high life, doesn’t she? Cocktails and wild nights out, so I heard.”

  “Not since her mother went missing. And what if she did? Nothing wrong with that.” She pushed her glasses back on her nose and squinted. “Sometimes I like doing that too. We’re not that different.”

  “I’ve never seen you drunk in the eight years you’ve worked here, Poppy.” Margaret leaned in to her. “You don’t have to pretend to me, love.”

  “I just need to finish putting these up, then I’ll start on the returns box. Was there anything else?” Poppy snapped, then regretted it.

  “Well, I did want to talk to you about whether you had any ideas. You see, the library might be closing down. There was talk of it at last week’s rotary meeting.”

  “What? Why?” Poppy replied, her eyes wide.

  “Cuts. We’re only a little place, in a small village. The tourists only come in here for their local maps and to find out where the best picnic spots are down the coastal path. And everyone seems to be on that Amazon site these days. No one borrows physical books anymore. But, the council said if we can think of ways to promote the library, and all of the other services we offer, then we might have a chance at staying open. I know you’re much better with things like that than I am, so I was hoping you might be able to think of something.” Margaret fiddled with the little brown buttons on her white cardigan.

  “Sure, I’ll have a think. Don’t worry, I’m sure between us we’ll convince the council how vital having a local library is. It’s much more than books. Way more. People meet people in here. It’s sometimes their only trip out in a week. And we have the book club, don’t forget.”

  “Oh, thank you, Poppy. You really are an angel.” Margaret clasped her wrinkly hands to her chest and beamed.

  “How about a competition? Or a giveaway?”

  Margaret’s face sank a little. “Well, we don’t really have much money for that, but nice thinking.”

  “OK, well, as soon as I’m done here I’ll type up a petition and start collecting signatures. I’m sure there are loads of people who want us to stay open. Don’t you worry.”

  “What are you doing here?” Amanda said, wiping the sleep out of her eye. She leaned her arm against the open front door of her mother’s detached house. It was an imposing sight at the end of a gated driveway, with its slate grey bricks and Cornish stone mullion windows reflecting the late afternoon sun.

  “Didn’t think you’d be in the mood for cooking dinner, so I brought a pizza.” Poppy held out the box.

  “Oh, OK. You’d best come in then.”

 
Poppy’s grin faded at Amanda’s less than overwhelming greeting. Realising this, Amanda reached out for her.

  “I’m sorry, Pops, I just woke up so I’m a little groggy. Eyes just adjusting to the light and all.” She pulled her through the door. “That better be pepperoni.”

  “Like I’d get you anything else?” Poppy said, swishing past Amanda and into the expensively decorated living room. The ornate wallpaper was white and gold striped, matching the scatter cushions and soft furnishings. Sitting on a steam cleaned and perfectly white, thick carpet, there were two large, white leather couches in an L-shape and a huge oval shaped glass coffee table in the middle of the room. Above them, in the centre of the ceiling, hung a gold filigree chandelier. “Your Instagram has gone crazy since the press conference. Have you seen it?” Poppy said, sinking onto the couch and opening up the pizza box. Poppy waited for Amanda to sit also and encouraged her to take a slice. After watching her bite into it, albeit unenthusiastically, she smiled and took a slice for herself.