The Burying Place

by Vicky Jones

  Max turned to grab his coat.

  “Excuse me, could we have two lattes and five minutes of your time, please?” Rachel said, appearing at the counter.

  “Sorry, didn’t hear you come in. Lattes, was it?”

  “Yeah. You mind if I ask you a few questions?”

  “About what?” Max asked as he got their order ready. “Hey, I recognise you. You’re investigating the Walker case.”

  “Correct,” Rachel replied, taking out her warrant card. “Detective Inspector Rachel Morrison. This here is PC Barlow. I wanted to ask you about Amanda. You are her boyfriend, right?”

  “Not anymore.” Max looked down at the counter and fiddled with a teaspoon.

  Rachel fought the look of intrigue that crossed her face. “Oh, right. How come?”

  “Why are you asking?” Max countered.

  “Well, I’m sure she’s told you, but we’ve had word from her mother that she’s safe and well so we’re closing the case. We just wanted to make sure Amanda had a network of support around her, seeing as though her mother has left her unexpectedly.” Max remained silent. “So, who called it off?” Rachel probed.

  “I did,” Max replied. Rachel waited a moment before prompting him to continue, which he did somewhat reluctantly. “She’s been acting really weird recently. Not returning my calls, being off the grid. I figured it was because she was worried about her mum being missing. But now you tell me her mother is safe, it makes what happened last night even more weird.”

  “What happened last night?” Rachel asked, thinking back to the photo on Facebook she’d seen that morning.

  Max blushed. “Well, it’s a little embarrassing actually.”

  “Trust me, I’m unshockable. Just ask Michelle.” Rachel turned and nodded to Michelle who waved back, just as her phone rang.

  “Back in a minute,” Michelle said, stepping outside.

  “Come and sit with me here in the corner. It’s quiet,” Rachel said, leading Max to the corner furthest away from anybody else in the café. “Tell me what happened.”

  Max sat down and sighed. “I saw a completely different side to Amanda. It was like… Like…” He shook his head as he recalled the wild but frightening night he’d shared with Amanda.

  “Like?” Rachel encouraged.

  “She went crazy on me. I went round there. She’d texted me earlier in the day, but then called me when she knew I’d finished my shift. Sounded in a bit of a state so I went to the off license on the way and picked up a bottle of wine. Wasn’t the best type, but I don’t get paid until the end of the week, so I did my best.” He looked down, embarrassed. “Anyway, she’d been avoiding me for a few days. I just thought it was ‘cos she had a lot on with the police and the press sniffing around. So I gave her her space. I sent flowers though, and cards. Got most of my updates through Poppy on Instagram. But then last night Amanda called me. I went round and all she seemed interested in was fucking. Now, I’m not against that, but she was different last night. Really weird. She tied me to the bed using handcuffs, blindfolded me and then…” Max paused and swallowed.

  “What happened to you, Max?”

  “She took out a knife. A fucking massive knife. She cut me. Quite deep.” He lifted his t-shirt. His wounds were still scarlet, two of the deeper ones still weeping. “And then she got on top and fucked me. I kept saying to stop but she didn’t. She wanted me to see I was bleeding, and seemed to enjoy watching me squirm, you know? Proper fucked up stuff. Then I thought, does that seem like somebody who’s worried sick about her mum being missing?”

  Michelle came hurrying back into the café, phone in hand.

  “Boss, that was Poppy. She said Diana Walker has just called her.”

  Both Rachel and Max’s eyebrows raised.

  “What did she say?”

  “She told Poppy she’s by the sea. Said she’d had enough and wanted to end it all.”

  “Shit. Did Poppy ask her where exactly she was?”

  “No, but we have Diana’s phone number from when she last called in. As soon as I got off the phone with Poppy, I called tech and asked them to run a check on which mast the signal bounced off. By the time we get back to the station they should have it.”

  “Great work, Michelle. We need to get to her.” Rachel turned to Max, who looked as confused as ever. “Thank you, Max, for your time.”

  He shrugged. “No problem.”

  She reached into her pocket and gave him her card. “Max, I suspect that, deep down, you know that what Amanda did to you was very wrong and that it amounts to both a serious sexual assault and grievous bodily harm. No one should be made to go through an experience like that, and I want you to seriously consider making a statement about what happened. I know it won’t be easy, but if you choose to do so, you will be supported by us through the entire process.” Seeing the reluctance on his face, she added, “I want you to think about it overnight and call me tomorrow so that we can discuss the matter in greater detail because no one should be allowed to do that to another human being.”

  He nodded. “I’ll think about it.”

  “I want you to go to your GP and get the injuries looked at and documented,” she said. “Also, take some photos of them tonight. Get someone else to do it if you can. If you decide you want to take this further after we speak, I’ll arrange for a police photographer to take formal record photography, but the selfies will be a good start. Call me in the morning, OK?”

  She could see the embarrassment in his eyes and knew that he wouldn’t call but at least she had tried. She found Michelle waiting for her outside. “You get back to the station, Michelle. I’ll grab a cab from here.”

  “Where are you going now, boss?” Michelle asked as they closed the café door behind them.

  “Where do you think?”

  Chapter 17

  “Hello, Poppy. Can I come in?”

  “Of course. PC Barlow passed on my message then?” Poppy replied as she opened her front door for Rachel to pass through into the narrow hallway.

  “Yes. As it happens, I received a call from her just a minute ago. We managed to get the signal off Diana’s phone coming from Prussia Cove. It’s near Penzance. Does that mean anything to you?” They walked into the kitchen. Like Amanda’s, it had been pristinely cleaned and organised by Poppy, but the brass and mahogany fixtures and fittings were much more dated.

  “Wow, actually yes, it does. Amanda told me they used to holiday there when she was younger. That was part of the reason why they moved here after her father passed away. It’s a private estate, but they had friends there, so it was a nice little bolthole for them to get away to. That place meant a lot to them both. I’m not surprised Diana felt at home there. Especially in her fragile state of mind. I hope she doesn’t go through with what she was saying.” Poppy paused to wipe her nose on a tissue.

  “Do you know where Amanda is? I went round to her house before I came here, but there was no one home.”

  “I don’t know. I’m going over there later though. I’ve made a casserole. I don’t think she’s looking after herself since her mother left.”

  “Tell me about Amanda, Poppy.” Rachel sat down at the kitchen counter.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything,” Rachel replied.

  It was almost 6 p.m. by the time Rachel finally left Poppy’s house, a lot more informed about Amanda than when she’d entered. Deciding to try the Walker residence again, she turned off the highway and headed straight there.

  “Detective inspector, hi,” Amanda said when she opened her front door. Rachel noticed her face looked flushed and the tips of her beige suede boots were still wet.

  “Hello Amanda. I called round earlier, but you were out. Been anywhere nice?” Rachel’s tones were clipped, but Amanda was too preoccupied with sweeping up a couple of leaves that had blown down her hallway.

  “Just out for a walk. Clear my head, you know?”

  “Have you spoken to Poppy today?
”

  “No, why? She’s coming over later. Again. I swear that girl thinks I can’t even fry an egg.”

  “Must be nice though, to have such a caring friend?”

  “I guess.”

  Amanda led the way into the kitchen, all the while looking down at her phone and typing out a message. Rachel looked over her shoulder as she walked and noticed a half-written Facebook message to Max. Playing dumb, Rachel smiled.

  “Boyfriend?”

  Amanda looked up from her phone. “Yeah. Well, kind of. His dog went missing this morning. He was posting to ask everybody to keep an eye out, so I shared it on my page. I was just checking in to see if there was any news.”

  “That’s kind of you. Listen, I need to tell you something about your mother. Poppy received a call from her earlier on today, and to be completely honest with you, Amanda, we’re very concerned about your mother’s state of mind, with what she said in her phone call to Poppy. We traced the signal and located your mother at a place called Prussia Cove near Penzance. Poppy told me you used to visit there on holiday when you were younger?”

  “Yes, we did. I used to love leaning into the wind up on the cliffs, pretending my coat was Superman’s cape.” Amanda’s eyes misted over for a second, before refocussing with more urgency. “What are you guys gonna do now? About Mum? You gonna go check on her? You make it sound like she’s gonna throw herself off those cliffs or something. She could have already done it by now, with you lot wasting time.”

  It wasn’t the tone of Amanda’s voice that surprised Rachel, it was the specifics in her words. “We have alerted the local police; they are looking for her around that location. I thought you would now want to make your own way over there yourself, now you know where she is.”

  Remembering Max’s story, and the two different Amandas they’d both experienced, Rachel held her stare on Amanda for a moment too long until she began explaining herself.

  “Yeah, I should do. But I’ve been so upset lately, and I’m not sleeping, so I don’t think it’s safe to drive just now. I’ll wait until Poppy finishes work tomorrow, then maybe she could take me over?”

  Their eyes locked as they sussed each other out. Rachel’s phone then rang, making them both jump.

  “Hi Michelle, you—.”

  “You need to get back to the office. Now.”

  “Right, show me what you’ve got,” Rachel said as she strode into the CCTV room, throwing her jacket on the back of her chair.

  “When I went through this last file, I saw something that you’re going to find very interesting. Look.” Michelle clicked the mouse on the play button.

  Clear to see, Amanda was crouching behind her mother’s BMW. She then stood up and began running an object along the side of the car, leaving a deep scratch, all the way through the blue paint to the grey metal.

  “It was on the morning her mother disappeared. Right before she went to the garage. What a cow,” Michelle said.

  “Lying bitch!” Rachel exclaimed. “She put that mechanic through the mill of suspicion, causing his partner to lose the baby, and it was her all along. We’re in the shit for this one. Why didn’t we check this sooner?”

  “We didn’t know we had it. These doorbell camera thingies are pretty new and when I asked about CCTV, Amanda played the idiot, remember?” Michelle said. “Also, while you were out, I wanted to know what Amanda’s been up to lately, and the signal on her phone showed she had been up at Lizard Point a few times. Nothing suspicious there, maybe she went for a walk to clear her head, you may be thinking? But Amanda isn’t the rough and ready, rugged type, is she? She prefers nightclubs and parties, if her Instagram feed is anything to go by.”

  Rachel smiled. “You have been busy, haven’t you? Go on.”

  “Well, the only known feature up there at Lizard Point is a friggin’ lighthouse. Apart from the Anchor Pub, that is, but that’s a half mile walk away back down the coastal path, and not the sort of place a rich woman like Amanda would frequent. So, why is it only since her mother disappeared that she’s been there? Her phone never pinged the mast near there before, so why now? Something sinister is going on,” Michelle said, shaking her head.

  “She’s a piece of work alright. From what Max alluded to when I spoke to him earlier, it sounds like she not only GBHed him last night, but she also committed a serious sexual assault as part of a sex game that he didn’t want. She’s messed up for sure.”

  “Does he want to make a complaint against her for that?” Michelle asked, sensing an opportunity to bring Amanda in.

  “I’ve told him he should, but I can’t see it happening. I also told him to go to his GP in the morning.”

  “She needs a therapist, that’s what I think.”

  “She was seeing one, remember?” Rachel said. “See if you can find out who it was and let me know where they live. I think I need to have a meeting with them to see if we can find out what they covered in their sessions.”

  “Won’t he just claim patient-client privilege?’

  “Oh, I’m sure he’ll know his legal rights, and stake his claim to them, but it’s worth a shot. Who knows? He might feel he’s obligated to talk. If not, we can always apply for a production order from the Crown Court to force him to comply, although getting one would be a real ball-ache. Can’t hurt putting the pressure on him. Anyway, great work again, Michelle, but keep searching through that CCTV when it comes back from Prussia Cove. We need more than the keying of a car to build a case against her. But at least it proves she is a liar. And it makes finding Diana Walker even more important. I’ll go see what I can find at the lighthouse.”

  Stepping out of her car at the top of the muddy dirt track along the most accessible end of the coastal path, Rachel pulled her coat tighter around herself, the chill of the southwest wind biting deep. The whitewashed lighthouse was the dominating presence on an otherwise featureless landscape. She walked along the thin track, the crashing waves far below her reminding her to be extra careful not to go to near the cliff edge, especially as the light was fading.

  “Can I ‘elp you?” a gruff voice, with a broad Cornish accent, sounded just as Rachel pushed on the lighthouse door. Startled, she spun round. There stood over her was a very tall, thickset, middle-aged man, with a straggly grizzled beard. His deeply lined face was weatherbeaten and he was wearing a navy blue fisherman’s smock, yellow waterproof jacket and cargo trousers. On his head was a black wool hat.

  “Oh, sorry. Do you live here?”

  “Why?” he snapped.

  Rachel fished out her warrant card. “Do you live here?” she repeated.

  The fisherman glanced at the warrant card momentarily, then glared again at Rachel. “I do, why?”

  “Have you seen a blue BMW car here at all this week?”

  The fisherman set his lips. “Nope,” he mumbled. He reached into his jacket and took out a long piece of blue twine with a key attached.

  “Do you recognise this girl?” Rachel took out her phone and pinched the screen on a Facebook photo of Amanda.

  “Nope,” he replied, barely looking at the photo. He turned the key in the lock and stepped inside the lighthouse.

  Rachel searched for another photo. “How about this woman? Do you recognise her?” She showed him a photo of Diana Walker.

  “Nope.” Before he could push the door closed in her face, Rachel stuck out an arm.

  “OK,” she said, her palm flat against the weathered oak door. “Can I ask you to call me if you do see these women, or the car?” She handed him her card. “Call me right away, OK?”

  The fisherman snatched the card and grunted.

  “Thanks.”

  Rachel turned and headed back to her car, as the fisherman pushed the door closed and locked it from the inside. Before she reached where she had parked her car, she saw a lone figure on the edge of the cliff looking out to sea. Fearing the worst, Rachel strode over there.

  “Hey, you there. Can you come back from the edge, please?”


  The figure turned around. He was around sixty years old, with a shock of white hair blowing in the stiff breeze. He wore dirty blue jeans, a dark grey ribbed knit jumper and a jacket way too thin to be keeping him warm in the biting coastal wind. Rachel recognised him immediately as Dave from the Anchor Pub. Guessing that he had probably had a skinful by this time, as usual, Rachel hurried over to him and clasped his arm. “Dave? It’s Rachel. Are you OK?”

  Dave looked back at her through watery, red eyes. “The lights usually come from o’er there. See?” he mumbled, pointing to a part of the Lizard Point headland as far as the eye could see. “They’re there and then they aren’t. Like whate’er is makin’ them jus’ disappears like magic.”

  “These lights, Dave. Can you describe them? What colour are they? White, yellow, red, green? Could it be a low flying plane? Or a boat?”

  “No boat dare sail round that headland. Not wi’ those rocks,” Dave replied in his thick Cornish accent. “Lived here all my life, and ne’er once known a fishing boat to attempt it. It’s notorious that spot. Even ol’ Al Gregory o’er there in that lighthouse wouldn’t go around there. ‘Suicide to do that’, he allus says.” Dave paused to take a drink from his hip flask then wiped a hand over his grey stubble.

  “Let me drop you home, Dave. Pearl will be worried about you.” Rachel guided him away from the edge and over to her car.

  “Steak and kidney pie for tea tonight, Pearl said.”

  “Ooh, lovely. That wife of yours is a good one, eh, Dave?”

  “Mmm,” Dave replied, taking one last look out to sea. “Will you look into what’s makin’ those lights, Rachel? I got a feelin’ it’s somethin’ important.”

  “Will do, Dave. Now, let’s get you home to Pearl and your pie, shall we?”

  Taking another look at Rachel’s card, the fisherman walked over to his phone and picked up the handset. He tapped his fingers on the table as he waited for the line to connect.