The Burying Place

by Vicky Jones

  “Get there quicker, Andy.”

  “Well, the weird thing is, she says she’s on a train, right? Well, we heard on the track what sounds like the tune a washing machine plays at the end of its cycle in the background. It’s only faint, though, but we have made it out.”

  “What? One of those annoying fucking singing ones?”

  “Yep. Very common these days. But each brand plays a different tune, so I’d go speak to a few retailers, maybe a specialist in this field. I’m emailing you the enhanced audio track now.”

  “Thanks, Andy, you’re a star.” Rachel hit the end call button.

  “A washing machine tune in a train carriage?” Michelle asked, looking at her in bewilderment in the passenger seat. “What the fuck is going on?”

  “As if this case wasn’t weird enough. Now we’ve got to go to every pissing Currys in Cornwall and play Name That Tune to every washing machine geek we can find.” She reminded herself to chase up her phones’ technician. Identifying the telephone mast that covered the location where Diana had called in from suddenly seemed very important.

  “Amanda, where are you? That detective, Morrison, has just been here. She has an audio of your mum calling the station. It definitely sounded like her, so that’s good news, right? Your mum said she didn’t want to be found, but at least she’s safe. Please come home, Amanda. Don’t go looking for psychos. I’m worried you’re getting in over your head. You don’t need to do that now. Just come home, OK?” Poppy sighed and put down the phone. “Call me back when you get this message. Just let me know you’re alright. Please? I’m worried about you. Bye.”

  The waves below crashed mercilessly against the jagged bastite rocks of Lizard Point, with the glimmer of moonlight catching in the greeny-brown flecks of serpentine. Stepping through the long grass, mindful to watch her every step as she was so close to the cliff edge, Amanda crept up to the lighthouse and flattened her back against the whitewashed Cornish stone. She slid her body around the curved wall and pushed on the entrance door. To her surprise it creaked open.

  “Didn’t expect that,” she whispered to herself.

  Inside it was almost pitch black. Amanda lay her palm against the damp bricks and felt her way along, her eyes already adjusted to the dark after her walk over from the pub. The room she appeared to be in was cold and smelled musty, with just a tinge of saltiness from the sea air outside. Up ahead, she could just about see the outline of a flight of concrete steps with a metal railing guiding the way upward into nothingness. Just next to it was a wrought iron spiral staircase. The light just visible at the bottom of it was the deciding factor to Amanda. She walked over to the staircase and began to descend it, one careful step after the other, her trembling right hand gripping the handrail. At the bottom there were three doorways, each with a sturdy wooden door blocking her path. As Amanda stepped over to the door on the right of her, the door on the left swung open. In the torchlight that was now almost blinding her, Amanda stumbled backwards, her forearm clamped over her stinging eyes.

  “Who are you?” a sharp female voice sounded. She continued to shine the torch in Amanda’s face.

  “Ermm... I’m Amanda. Who are you?” Amanda grimaced as she strained her eyes through the crack between her arm and face.

  “What are you doing here? You can’t be in here.” The short and stout woman’s blue eyes were wide as she darted her gaze from side-to-side, then up at the staircase Amanda had descended. “You need to go. Now. Before the others see you.”

  “What the…” the tall, well built, youngish looking man from the pub with short, dark brown hair and frightened brown eyes began, before glaring between the woman and Amanda. “Who’s this?”

  “Says her name is Amanda. But I wasn’t told there would be another joining us tonight,” the middle-aged, lighter-haired woman replied.

  “Me neither.” The young man’s face hardened with suspicion.

  “Joining?’ Amanda asked. “Look, I’m not sure why I’ve come—.”

  She took Amanda by the hand. “Come with us.”

  “Where to?” Amanda replied, allowing herself to be walked into the room the man had come out of.

  “To meet the other one,” the woman replied.

  The next room Amanda found herself in was a little lighter, illuminated by a lone lightbulb dangling down from a solid looking wooden beam. A large heavy table dominated the room, with four chairs tucked neatly underneath. In the corner, on a trestle table, was an oblong tray of teacups and a kettle. Next to it was a small box of teabags, a pint of semi-skimmed milk and a packet of digestive biscuits. Whatever was due to be happening in this room tonight clearly hadn’t started yet. Out of one dark corner of the room another figure emerged.

  “No one told me we were having a new person tonight,” the man from the pub wearing the shirt and tie said. Taking out a packet of cigarettes, he lit one, then blew out a cloud of smoke and coughed.

  “None of us were told,” the woman replied, her tone short. “Put that fag out. You’ve been told about doing that,” she snapped, wafting away the smoke.

  “Fuck’s sake.” The man dropped his cigarette to the stone floor and crushed it under his brown loafer. “Look, no offence, love, but how do we know you ain’t gonna talk, huh?”

  He walked over to Amanda and eyeballed her.

  Amanda shook her head. “I wouldn’t. Why would I?” she said, her voice even.

  “You know The Therapist?” the first man piped up from the doorway.

  Amanda nodded. “Yeah. We go way back. They told me to come tonight. Said you’d all be here.”

  The air around them all seemed to grow cooler, stiller, by the second. The three strangers looked at each other, trying to read each other’s thoughts, until the middle-aged woman shrugged.

  “OK, I’m sure you wouldn’t be here, on this same evening, for any other reason than what we’re here for,” she said, wandering over to the tea tray.

  “What do you do down here…exactly?” Amanda asked. She took a step forward, and into the full glare of the lightbulb above.

  “Hey, hang on a minute,” the second man said. He pointed two shaky, cigarette-stained fingers at Amanda, his eyes staring. “You’re that girl off the telly. The one whose mum’s missing.”

  Amanda’s stomach lurched. She nodded. The room fell quiet. The woman put down her teaspoon and stared at Amanda. For the whole three minutes of the kettle boiling, nobody uttered a word.

  “Did you…do the same as we did?” the first man said, his voice barely above a whisper.

  “Do what?” Amanda asked. Her palms felt moist, her mouth dry.

  “Make someone disappear,” the woman answered.

  Poppy pressed the end call button on her mobile after leaving yet another message for Amanda and threw it onto her bed. She paced the floor of her bedroom and sank down, wrapping her duvet around her. Checking the time on her phone seconds later, she let out a long exhale.

  “Where are you, Mand?” she said into the air, her tired eyes closing.

  In the darkness, the phone lit up, making Poppy jump. Fumbling in the duvet to grab the phone, she jabbed her finger at the answer button.

  “Mand?”

  “Hello, Poppy? It’s Detective Inspector Morrison. I was just calling to see if Amanda has turned up yet, but judging by your voice I’d say not.”

  Poppy ran her hand through her tousled hair and rubbed her eyes. “Hello, detective. I’ve not heard from Amanda yet. I’m really worried. I’m starting to think the worst.”

  “You think she could have harmed herself?” Rachel asked.

  “Or been hurt by those psychos she’s been tracking down. What if her mother has been abducted by them? And now Amanda has too? Oh, it’s such a mess, detective. Can you help? Please?”

  The tension in the air was palpable. Amanda, frozen to the spot, fought to straighten out the racing thoughts in her head. Fight or flight was kicking in.

  “If you don’t mind, I don’t really
know anyone here yet. I’m sure you understand I’m a bit reluctant to open up to strangers. I don’t even know your names.” She let out a mirthless laugh.

  “Of course. We understand. As for our names, well, we don’t go by our real names. I’m The Nurse. That there,” she pointed to the first man, “is The Gardener, and,” she nodded to the second man with a freshly-lit cigarette, “he’s The Teacher.”

  The two men nodded their acknowledgement. The Teacher walked over to The Nurse and took his mug of tea from her. “I guess we could call you The Daughter, then? How’s that?”

  Amanda replied with a tight smile.

  “So, now you know who everyone is, there’s just one more thing I’d like to know,” The Nurse stared at Amanda. Amanda swallowed. The Nurse’s hard face melted into a warm smile. “Sugar?”

  “Yes. Two. Thanks,” she replied.

  “Relax. I don’t think any of us will be calling the police on you anytime soon, so your secrets are safe with us,” The Teacher said, seating himself at the table as another mug was put in front of him by The Nurse.

  “If we did, we’d all be gonners. One goes down, we all go down,” she said, offering everyone a digestive.

  Amanda waved hers away and sat at the table opposite The Teacher. “Really?”

  “You bet, after what we’ve done. That’s why we’re here. To talk about it with people who understand. How else are we supposed to live with it? It was The Therapist’s idea. Think of it as kind of like an AA group,” The Nurse said, trying to get comfy on her wooden chair.

  Another long pause hung in the air as The Gardener sat down at the table. The four of them sat equidistant from each other, as if they were about to begin a séance.

  “So, did you do it?” The Teacher asked while dunking his biscuit.

  Amanda looked at The Teacher, who slurped his tea. “Do what?”

  “Have her removed. Your mother.”

  Amanda played along. “Why? What do you know about it?” She lay her palms flat on the table and stared back at him.

  “Calm down, dear. Here, have a biscuit.” The Nurse held out the packet again, her hand visibly trembling, her face pale. “We’re all here for the same thing. Nothing we can do about it now. We have to live with what we’ve done.” She nibbled on the edge of a biscuit.

  “We’re here to help each other cope with what we’ve done,” The Teacher said. Looking at Amanda, he smiled. “That’s why he asked you to come too. Isn’t it?”

  “Who?” Amanda asked.

  “The Therapist. He helps us all come to terms with our guilt.”

  “I don’t know what to say. My head is such a mess.” Amanda ruffled her hair and refocused her eyes on the group. “I’m sure you understand that, right?” The three nodded. “So, what happened with you?” Amanda said to The Nurse.

  “Me? Well, I didn’t have any choice, really. I did what I had to do.” She took a sip of her tea as Amanda waited for her to continue. The men, having heard the story before, looked down at the table, each drifting off into their own worlds. “Back where I used to work, at West Cornwall hospital over in Penzance. You know it?”

  Amanda nodded.

  “Well, there was a doctor who’d just started working there. A right Flash Harry he was. Thought all the girls wanted to go out with him. Total bastard, I thought. Anyway, he was everyone’s favourite doctor. But one day I found out he was sexually abusing a patient. She told me just before she died, in very suspicious circumstances. So, I put in a complaint. I was convinced he’d finished her off so I reported it to the police too, but nothing was done. There was no investigation. Nothing. Everybody loved him. He had them wrapped around his little finger. I went to that poor girl’s funeral, even though by that point I’d been suspended from work, and he came over to me. Admitted what he’d done to her. Whispered in my ear, the bastard. I was livid, but he hugged me so from a distance it looked like, yet again, he was being the bigger person. After that, there was no way the complaints would be upheld.” She paused for another sip of her tea.

  “Why?” Amanda asked, leaning forward in her chair.

  “Because all the patients I knew he was abusing mysteriously passed away whilst in hospital. Never recovered from what they were brought in for.” She snorted. “Some only came in with minor illnesses. Nothing life threatening. But for each one it was put down to foreign nursing staff ‘missing’ things. So these poor nurses were ‘moved on’, let’s say. People die every day in hospitals. Sometimes it’s unavoidable, but sometimes it’s a mistake from some junior doctor or nurse. Nothing malicious, just a cock-up brought on by long hours and overstressed staff. So, when it happens the hospital keep things quiet and everyone turns a blind eye. No one ever suspected their blue-eyed, perfect doctor. No one to validate what I knew he was doing, time and time again. Well, I just couldn’t let another innocent person die at his hands. That was the last straw, when poor Ruby died. I promised I’d take extra care of her, after what she told me that bastard was doing to her. She was only sixteen, bless her. Only had foster carers to speak of, no one really that gave a shit. So, she didn’t have any visitors. I think that’s why he chose her for his next victim.”

  As The Nurse was about to begin her next sentence, Amanda’s phone blared out its ringtone, making all around the table jump.

  “Fuck’s sake. Sorry,” Amanda said, fumbling in her pocket to kill the phone. “Sorry, go on,” she said, fiddling with the phone, saying that she was putting it on silent, then back in her jacket pocket.

  “So that’s when I knew I had to do something,” The Nurse said, taking a sip of tea. “To stop the next poor girl he came into contact with getting hurt. Or boy. He told me that day at Ruby’s funeral he had a new interest in his sights. I think he liked the power that he had over me, that I knew about what he was doing and couldn’t stop him. It was a game to him.”

  Amanda remained emotionless.

  “I was sick of reporting it. For what? To be seen as that crazy middle-aged woman who’s looking to trash a young, dynamic doctor? No thanks. No, he had to go.” She sipped her tea again, at length this time.

  “You did the right thing. One less sick fuck on the planet is best for everyone,” The Gardener said, folding his arms.

  “What was his name?” Amanda asked.

  “Jerry Carter…the bastard.”

  Amanda sat up straight. “I know that name. I saw it on the news. He’s one of the missing, presumed dead people in this town.” Her mind was racing. She suddenly became very aware of the confined, and secluded, space she was currently sitting in.

  “Good riddance, that’s what I say,” The Nurse said, smacking her lips. “Well, that’s my story.”

  “So how did you do it? How did you get rid of him?” Amanda asked.

  “Well, that’s one part of the story I can’t take credit for.”

  It was almost 10 p.m. when Rachel’s phone illuminated her living room. Lifting her head from her couch cushion, she fumbled under the throw. “Morrison.”

  “It’s Hargreaves. Just calling for an update on the audio. Did you confirm it was Diana Walker?”

  Rachel sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Ma’am. So, it’s a bit of a weird one, really.”

  “In what way?”

  “Well, yes, we had it confirmed that it is Diana’s voice on the message. But just when we thought she’s turned up alive, but just not wanting to be found…it seems that message she sent has some strange anomalies on the enhanced audio track. Not only that, but…” Rachel paused to clear her throat, to the annoyance of the ever-impatient Superintendent Hargreaves.

  “Spit it out, inspector.”

  “Now Amanda’s gone missing.”

  “For fuck’s sake. When?”

  “Her friend Poppy hasn’t seen her all afternoon or evening and can’t get in touch with her. Her phone’s just going to voicemail.”

  “She’s probably just wanting some space. What makes you so sure she’s gone missing?”

  �
�Well, Poppy let slip that Amanda’s been investigating her mother’s disappearance herself. She’s been looking up the names of criminals in the local area in the last few weeks. We haven’t even been able to get in touch with her yet to tell her that her mother is alive and well. She could have put herself in danger, for no reason now.”

  “So who confirmed the audio if Amanda wasn’t there?”

  “Poppy,” Rachel replied. “She knew Diana well. Amanda and she have been friends for years. She’s really worried about Amanda not coming home.”

  “Great,” Hargreaves replied. “I can’t wait to tell the press this little nugget of shittery. What are the anomalies?”

  Rachel filled her in.

  “So, are you thinking this message from Diana could be fake, then?”

  “I’m not sure at this point. The subscriber check confirmed that the call was made from Diana’s telephone number but then the system crashed and the service provider won’t be able to provide the cell location until they’re back up and running. Until I get the cell site data and can establish whether the tune they picked up in the background was coming from a washing machine, and not some weird train announcement, I’ll be none the wiser. The only consolation is that Poppy confirmed it’s definitely Diana’s voice, so that’s half the battle.”

  “Wait a minute.” Something dawned on Hargreaves. “So, the only confirmation Diana Walker is alive is from the clingy best friend who keeps letting herself into Amanda’s house, and by all reports from PC Barlow is a little bit too perfect?”

  “There is something about Poppy I can’t quite put my finger on, yes. But at the moment there’s no motive for her to have done anything. She just really cares about her friend. It borders on love, if you ask me. But to be honest right now, I’m just piecing all the fragments together.” Rachel rubbed her temple. “There’s one more thing.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, it seems a bit strange to me that Diana Walker decided to phone us and not her daughter. What do you think?”