The Burying Place

by Vicky Jones

  Poppy raced along the high street, the library just in her sights up ahead. Stopping just outside to catch her breath, she smoothed her hair down and tried to look like she hadn’t flopped into bed in Amanda’s spare room at 3 a.m. Inside, Margaret was standing behind the returns desk with a queue waiting. Using that as cover, Poppy slung her bag underneath the counter and took the customer behind the one Margaret was serving. As soon as the rush was over, Margaret turned and gave Poppy a withering stare.

  “This isn’t like you, Poppy. You’re never late.”

  “I know, Margaret, I’m—"

  “You’ve changed. And not for the better,” Margaret interjected. “I mean, what’s that coat all about? A leather jacket and jeans for work?”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I was at Amanda’s last night and I spilt some food on my clothes, so she lent me some of hers to wear. I actually think they suit me.” Poppy half-twirled, but Margaret was unmoved.

  “I need to speak to you about something.” Margaret clasped her hands in front of her. “As you know, the council approved the extra funding for another year, so the assistant manager’s job has been given the green light. They’ve asked me who I would recommend to take on the responsibility of this position and…”

  Poppy’s eyes widened. “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry, Poppy, but given your timekeeping lately, and your slip in personal standards, I had no option but to recommend Jill over there.” She pointed to a dowdy looking middle-aged woman wearing a grey cardigan and beige flannel trousers. She swept a lock of mousy brown hair out of her heavy-lidded eyes and waved back.

  “Jill? She’s only a temp. I’ve been here for years.”

  “I’m sorry, Poppy.” Margaret tapped Poppy’s arm, then went back into her office.

  “Well, if you’re expecting me to give up a friend in need, for a promotion, then you can stuff it,” Poppy replied under her breath. The next book she picked up felt the full force of her date stamp.

  Michelle’s head appeared around Rachel’s desk partition. “I’ve just received a call from the police in Prussia Cove. They’ve found a handbag washed up on the beach. The ID inside says it belongs to Diana Walker.”

  Rachel almost choked on her coffee. “Shit.”

  “The location matches up with the area Diana’s phone pinged from.”

  “But no body as yet?”

  “No. But they’re still looking along the coastline. The temperature of that water, though, and the strong tide. It’s not looking good if she has gone in off the end of that pier.”

  “Pier?” Rachel asked.

  “Yeah. There’s a long pier that would have been the most likely spot for her to have jumped in. The waves are at their strongest, and her bag was found not far from there.”

  “Fuck. Right. Get the local plod on door-to-door and get the CCTV to see if we can see Diana Walker in the vicinity. I need it double quick time, Michelle.”

  “On it,” Michelle replied, grabbing her jacket. On her way out she passed Superintendent Hargreaves walking over to Rachel’s desk.

  “What’s the latest?” Hargreaves asked.

  “Well, ma’am. It’s unfortunately now pointing towards suicide. But as yet no body has been found.”

  “Look, Rachel. You’ve had long enough to solve this case. It’s still eating up resources we could be using for more urgent cases. You know the kind of pressure I am under. I’ve given you a lot of freedom here but I think it’s about time you handed it over to the Missing Persons Unit and they can tie up the loose ends if it does come back as suicide.” She perched on the end of Rachel’s desk and leaned in. “You’re too close to this case to let it go, I see that. But it’s not a murder case anymore, so I need my best detective back. And you have hardly spent any time at home recently. Your husband’s probably forgotten what you look like by now.”

  Rachel swallowed and bit back the tears at the mention of Adam. “With respect, ma’am, Diana Walker is still a high risk missing person who we have grounds to believe is suicidal. The Missing Persons Unit doesn’t have the same resources that I have as head of reactive crime. If we scale down the enquiry, as you suggest, and hand it back to the Misper Unit, the press would have a field day if she turns up dead.”

  Hargreaves continued undaunted. “I need to give answers to that bloody MP and the press as to what's happening with cases that we haven’t had time to start investigating yet. I can’t justify anymore why I have my head of reactive CID working on a case that should have been closed days ago. Can you see my point?”

  Rachel nodded. “Of course I can. But I just feel there's more to this one. So many loose ends. And Amanda. She has more to do with this, I’m sure of it.”

  “She probably drove her mum to suicide, knowing what we know of her. She sounds like a spoiled brat. But we don’t always get the ending to cases we expect. You’ve been in this game long enough to know that. You’re looking for something that isn’t there. If somebody felt the only way out was suicide, while that’s tragic, it’s up to them. You have other cases to work on, and I can’t justify spending taxpayers’ money on a copper’s hunch. Leave this one to the Misper Unit.”

  “Ma’am,” Rachel replied. Hargreaves got up from the desk and headed back into her office. In her pocket, Rachel’s phone vibrated. “Hi Mum.” After a moment or two of hearing her mother’s angry voice, Rachel interjected. “Hey, slow down. I’m sorry. What time was the appointment again? I know you wanted me to come with you. No, of course I wouldn’t be better off if you croaked it. I don’t care about the life insurance money, Mum, that’s not funny.” Rachel dragged a hand through her hair. “Look, I can still make it in time to take you. No, you don’t need to get a cab. Mum. Mum.” She kicked out at the leg of the desk in frustration as her mother hung up.

  In the silence that followed, something clicked in Rachel’s mind. Something her mother had said on the phone. She riffled through the evidence file in her desk drawer and located the list of Amanda’s outgoing calls. There it was in black and white.

  “Cold bitch,” Rachel muttered. She jumped up and strode over to Hargreaves’ office.

  “Come in.”

  “Ma’am. I’m sorry to keep raking over the coals of this one, but I knew there was something not quite right about it.”

  “The Walker case, no doubt,” Hargreaves replied, taking off her glasses. “I have just told you to give this case up. Was I not clear?”

  “Yes, but…” Rachel held out the call log and pointed at the entry in question.

  Hargreaves sighed and took the paper. “What am I looking at here? It better be good.”

  “The day after Diana Walker first called in to us, from the train she was supposed to be on, Amanda made a call to AXA insurance.”

  “And?” Hargreaves’ patience was wearing thin.

  “My mother uses them. She’s been feeling down lately and wanted to protect me against, well, if she wasn’t thinking too clearly one day and did something daft. They insure people for that eventuality. You pay a massive premium for that, though, but she got it anyway.”

  “I’m not following, Rachel. What eventuality?”

  “Suicide, ma’am. Amanda Walker made a call to an insurance company the day after her mother rang to say she was safe and well, and thinking of taking a little holiday to recuperate. Don’t you think that’s strange?”

  Before Hargreaves could give her answer, a pair of knuckles rapped on the door.

  “Sorry, guv, call for you at your desk. He says it’s urgent,” the PC announced.

  Hargreaves waved Rachel away. “We’ll talk about this later.”

  “Fuck’s sake,” Rachel muttered under her breath as she excused herself and returned to her desk. “Morrison.” She clenched her teeth when the man began to slur his words down the line. “Dave, I haven’t got time for this. No, we haven’t looked into the lights you’ve seen out to sea yet. We’re very stretched and everything will be looked at in due course. I know you think this
is important, but unfortunately there are other pressing issues at hand. Thank you for your call. Goodbye.”

  Rachel bumped into Michelle in the police station corridor by the vending machine.

  “We’ve got a possible new lead,” Michelle told her.

  “Yeah? Keep it under wraps though for the moment. Hargreaves is trying to have us pulled away from this case. I think we might be off it by the morning. I’ve bought a bit more time, so the pressure is on. What is it?”

  “Diana Walker’s window cleaner has just called me to say he was surprised she still wasn’t found. He said he remembered that Amanda and Diana were arguing ‘really bad’ when he last did her windows.”

  “Significance?” Rachel asked.

  “Amanda said they never argued. Remember?”

  “Come on, Richard. We’ll be late back if you keep dawdling,” Sonia Baker snapped at her husband, who was a few steps behind her and struggling to hold three carrier bags full of groceries.

  “I’m doing the best I can here, love,” he replied. The handle on one bag snapped, sending apples rolling all over the high street pavement. “Fucking hell.” He booted one apple across the road in fury.

  “I think you should go for a lie down when we get home. You’ve not been yourself for a few days now,” Sonia said in his ear as he rose after picking up the remaining apples.

  Taking her advice, he trudged up the stairs when they returned home and closed the bedroom door behind him. Lying on the bed, he began typing out a message on his phone.

  Fix this situation. You know what I mean.

  His thumb hovered over the send button just as Sonia called up to him.

  “Coming, love,” he replied, putting his phone back in his pocket.

  Slumping down on her couch, Rachel looked longingly at the bottle of wine she’d bought on the way home. Able to resist no longer, she unscrewed the top and poured a large glass and downed it almost in one gulp. Her takeaway remained untouched as she poured a second glass. Then a third. It was almost 7 a.m. when she woke, fully clothed still, on the couch. “Shit.” She grabbed her jacket and, leaving her car keys, pulled her bike out of the lean-to shed by her front door.

  “Morning, boss,” Michelle said, as they both arrived by the station entrance at the same time. “Still on the keep fit drive?” She looked at the bike.

  “What? Oh yeah. Gotta try, haven’t you?” Rachel unlocked the chain and secured the bike.

  “Forgot your helmet though. I should book you for that,” Michelle joked. Her face straightened after a stern look from her boss.

  “Save your booking sheets for the two shithead boy racers that nearly knocked me off down Scratton Road.”

  “That stretch of road is a nightmare, I know. Traffic really need to put some speed cameras down there.”

  Halfway down the corridor, what Michelle said finally resonated with Rachel. “What did you say about Scratton Road?”

  “Huh?” Michelle replied. “About there being no cameras?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Exactly that. Well, speed cameras, that is. There’s a grainy CCTV one, but not one that registers speed. No good to you on this one. I don’t know, drivers seem to think they can tear arse down there and they won’t get done. Probably think that, because it’s the road leading out of town, they can speed up.”

  They walked into the office and plonked their jackets down on the back of their chairs. “Get me the ANPR records and the footage from the CCTV cameras down Scratton Road. I want to see every driver that drove down there on the day Amanda said she got a message from her mum. And I need the CCTV from that pier in Prussia Cove.”

  “We have already looked through it. We couldn’t see Diana.”

  “We’re not looking for Diana this time. We’re looking for Amanda.”

  Chapter 20

  Michelle walked over to the far end of the canteen after finally locating Rachel, who was reading through her notebook. “You been hiding in here all morning?” she asked.

  “Something like that. I’m avoiding the boss. I think we’re close and I don’t want her to pull us off the case. I figure if I stay out of her way then I can buy us some time. Anyway, find anything?” Rachel asked, looking up from her lunch.

  “Yeah, we’ve finally got all the footage combined into one stream.” Michelle pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s ready to view, if you are?”

  “Lead the way.”

  Once sat in the viewing room, Michelle pressed the play button. Within moments a bus stopped near the pier at Prussia Cove, and a figure of medium build, wearing dark trousers and a purple hoodie, with the hood pulled up over their head, stepped off. Rachel looked at the time stamp.

  “Pause it there, Michelle,” Rachel said, scribbling in her notebook. “Now, hit play again.”

  The hooded figure continued to walk along the pier. When they reached the end, they appeared to look over the railing.

  “There. Did you see?” Michelle said.

  “Yeah, just rewind it though. I want to be sure.” Rachel leaned closer to the monitor.

  Michelle rewound the tape and they watched the clip again. Sure enough, the figure appeared to drop something over the end of the pier. Rachel checked the time stamp against the time Diana Walker’s phone had connected to the mast.

  “Pause it there. Zoom in. There. Clear as day.”

  Rachel sat back and smiled at Michelle, their suspicions confirmed. Although the close-up of the figure’s face was pixelated, it was undeniable who it was.

  “This will be enough to buy us some more time. Dig me out the press conference footage, Michelle. There’s one more thing I want to check before I haul Amanda in.”

  Michelle did as she was asked. Once she had located the file she hit the play button.

  “Damnit.” Rachel slammed her fist on the table. “How the fuck did I miss that?”

  “What?”

  “Look at Amanda. When she asks Poppy for a tissue. Look closely.”

  Michelle replayed the clip over and over again until she saw what Rachel meant. “Her eyes. They’re as dry as a fucking bone. Not a single tear.”

  “Why the fuck did I not spot that?”

  “Don’t beat yourself up. You’re human. I didn’t see it either. No one did. She’s obviously a genius at being a fucking psycho. But one question remains.”

  Rachel nodded. “I know. Where the fuck is her mum?”

  “You’re going over to Amanda’s house again tonight?” Mrs. Lovell said. “I know you’re trying to be a good friend, Poppy, but we really don’t like the effect this Amanda is having on you. You never drink, you never stay out and you definitely don’t normally get warnings at work. Turning up three hours late and still smelling of alcohol, Poppy? That’s not on.”

  Poppy ripped her jacket from the coat stand near the front door of her parents’ house and scowled at her mother.

  “She’s my friend. She needs me and I’m old enough to do what I want.”

  Her mother’s protests fell on deaf ears as Poppy slammed the door behind her.

  In the semi-darkness of the lighthouse basement, the group had sat around the table for five minutes staring at Amanda, who was making a blithe attempt at small talk. Her expression turned serious.

  “So. You all know why I’m here. You’ve had long enough to discuss your answer. So, I will ask one more time.” The group twitched. “Where is the burying place?”

  Before any of the group could think of an answer, The Therapist emerged through his concealed panel door from his office behind. He glared at The Copper.

  “I thought you were taking care of this?’

  The Copper frowned. “Me? What you on about?”

  “I sent you a message.” The Therapist took out his phone, then swore. In his drafts folder, there was his message. “Never mind.” He turned to face Amanda square on. “Mullion Cove. That’s where the bodies are buried.”

  Amanda clenched her jaw. “In the sea? So, I’ll need a fucking
boat then. I guess that’s where you, Mr. Fisherman, step up to help me.”

  “Fuck off, Amanda. You have the place, but that’s all the help you’re gettin'. That water’s rough though, so I’d be careful. A novice sailor might drown.” The Fisherman’s words dripped with unapologetic menace. “I think the best idea for you is to let your mum go, swear ‘er to keep it quiet, then we all get to put this fuckin’ nightmare behind us.”

  Amanda snarled. “The best thing for you lot, more like.”

  The Therapist stepped forward. “He’s right. If you say you felt traumatised by your dad’s passing, and you made up some story about why you kept your mum captive, you may get a lesser sentence due to mental health issues. I can corroborate that with my patient notes on you. It’s not a murder charge, Amanda. You’ll avoid mainstream prison. You don’t need to mention the other bodies. Yes, we all benefit, but you would too. If you’d only see sense.”

  Rachel pressed the call button, then swore, having to wait for the beep. “Amanda, this is Detective Inspector Morrison. I’d like to speak to you urgently. I went over to your house but there was nobody home. Please call me back as soon as you get this message.”

  “When she checks that message, I’ll get the location of the phone,” Michelle said.

  Amanda looked down at her phone screen as the missed call message lit it up. “Fucking police.” She turned her phone face down on the table.

  “Come clean, Amanda,” The Therapist said. “None of us will mention anything else you’ve told us. It’s not as if we can’t keep a secret, now, is it? Let your mum go. Kidnap isn’t as bad as murder. You can still do the right thing.”

  “Which one of you is the one who cleans up the scene afterwards? Out of interest?” Amanda’s voice was calm.

  The Copper sat back in his chair and folded his arms. “Why?”