Dead and Buried

by Anne Cassidy

  ‘Now it’ll be in the newspapers,’ he said.

  ‘Maybe Mum and Brendan will see it,’ Rose said.

  Joshua nodded as if that wasn’t such a bad thing.

  SIX

  On Sunday morning they set off for Wickby. Joshua had a copy of a newspaper in the car when he came to pick Rose up. She looked at it. On the bottom of the front page was a photograph of the two of them. The headline was eye-catching: Abandoned Children Revisit House of Death.

  ‘This is awful,’ she said.

  The photograph showed Rose’s profile and Joshua’s face as he turned to look at the photographer. Neither of them had any expression. Underneath, the caption read Rose Smith and Joshua Johnson after their visit to the scene of crime. The report repeated everything that had been said in the other accounts she had read and ended with a question: Do Rose Smith and Joshua Johnson have the key to what happened at the house of death?

  Rose tossed the newspaper on to the back seat.

  ‘Oh, I saw Margaret Spicer yesterday afternoon,’ Joshua said.

  Margaret Spicer?

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘She was at Munroe’s Chelsea office. It’s the first time I’ve seen her since . . . So I thought I’d speak to her.’

  Margaret Spicer, the wife of James Munroe. The last time Rose had seen her had been in a hotel room in Newcastle. Munroe had just told Joshua and Rose some unpalatable truths about their parents while Margaret had walked around the room, packing things so that she and Munroe could leave.

  ‘I taped the conversation. Well, not exactly a conversation. She gave me these short and to the point answers. The recorder is in the glove compartment. Listen to it.’

  Rose reached into the glove compartment and pulled out something that looked like a mobile phone.

  ‘When did you get this? What’s it for?’

  ‘Skeggsie had it for college. He used to record some seminars. He didn’t like taking notes. I found it in his room a few weeks ago. I meant to pack it but forgot.’

  ‘I don’t understand why you were at Munroe’s office again?’

  ‘I thought I might see him. I was going to try and get him into a conversation and record it. For evidence. You know, when he spoke to you making threats? I thought if I could record something like that . . . Anyway, he wasn’t there. Margaret Spicer was so I thought I’d speak to her. Play it.’

  Rose worked out what to press. The sound came on, piped music in the background.

  ‘“Margaret, it’s Joshua Johnson. I just want to talk to you for a minute.”

  “I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

  “About Munroe. I want to ask you about . . .”

  “Please leave these premises.”

  “Just a couple of questions. About what happened in Newcastle.”

  “I have nothing to say.”

  “How come Munroe?–”

  “I have nothing to say about James Munroe. He and I are separated.”

  “When did that happen?”

  “That’s not your business.”

  “Was it because of what happened to Skeggsie?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “But why?”

  “James Munroe and I have irreconcilable differences.”

  “Is that because he arranged to have my best friend killed in a dark alley and he used you to do it?”

  “You can stand there all day or you can leave. I have nothing further to say to you.”’

  The piped music continued light and flowery but there was no voice. Then there was a clicking sound and silence.

  ‘She wasn’t going to utter another word so I left.’

  Rose replaced the recorder in the glove department. There didn’t seem to be anything to say. Munroe split up with Margaret Spicer. Was that before he went to Florida or after?

  They saw signs for Wickby. The traffic on the roads was light. It was just after nine. Joshua said it would take about an hour to get to the village where the antique and collectables fair was being held.

  Rose thought through the work she had to do for college the next day. As well as that there was a pile of her mother’s things that she had to sort so that she and Anna could spend time deciding on the decorating for the Blue Room. Then it would no longer be the Blue Room but a room that Rose could use as a sitting room, somewhere to bring friends. Not that she had many friends.

  ‘You’re quiet,’ Joshua said.

  ‘Thinking of stuff I’ve got to do.’

  When they got to Wickby it was busy. They drove slowly through the small town and passed lines of stalls being set up and signage pointing in all directions for Art Deco, Victorian, Thirties, Vintage Clothes and, strangely, Bathrooms. They parked beyond the town centre and walked back among crowds heading for the stalls. Rose looked around and was reminded of Holt, the town in Norfolk where she had been a regular visitor when she was at boarding school.

  ‘Told you this was really popular.’

  They walked around the stalls for a while. Joshua stopped at some and Rose found herself looking at the items. Her eye was taken by a tiny chest of drawers. It was the size of shoebox and the drawers were only big enough to fill with jewellery. She opened and shut each one.

  She could buy it. It was sweet and she could put it on her desk. She didn’t have a lot of jewellery but there were other things it could hold: keys, bits of make-up, memory sticks, combs and hair ties.

  She hesitated then walked on. Joshua followed her. They headed for some benches at the top end of the market. They stopped and sat down. It was possible to watch people passing through the market from there.

  ‘Oh!’ he said, after a few moments. ‘After going to Brewster Road I remembered something about Daisy Lincoln.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It was the conversation with Sandy that triggered it. You remember she said that there was talk that Daisy had run away with a man old enough to be her father?’

  Rose nodded.

  ‘I remembered this day when I went into the newsagent’s on the High Street just as Daisy was getting ready to leave work. While I was paying for my can of drink or whatever it was, she was looking into a mirror that was on the wall behind the counter and she was doing her hair. She was pushing her fingers through the front of it, using them like the teeth of a comb? To make it stand up?’

  Joshua stopped for a moment, as if he was picturing the scene. Rose gazed at the people walking past, her mind on what Joshua was saying.

  ‘She must have noticed I was looking at her and she turned round and said something like, I got a hot date, Josh. It’s the love of my life! Then she got this lipstick out of her bag and opened it up in front of me. It was almost like she was teasing me. I was fourteen, secretly mad about her and it was as if she knew it.’

  He was quiet again.

  ‘And?’ Rose prompted.

  ‘She put the lipstick on without looking in the mirror. Just using it like a crayon across her mouth. Then she came round the counter and went out of the shop. I remember she seemed to bounce along. I watched her go and stayed at the shop door while she stood at the edge of the pavement waiting for someone. A car passed and it let out a little bibbing sound and then pulled up across the road, further along so I didn’t see who was driving. Thing is, I do remember looking at the car. It was a Saab, a Swedish car. I was into cars when I was that age and I knew that Saabs were not the kind of car that young people drove. Too heavy and serious. It was something an older person would choose. An old Swedish car, solid but not stylish. Anyway, I didn’t think any of that at that moment. I was too busy pining for Daisy. I watched her walk across the road and get into the car. I remember she gave me a little wave.’

  Rose felt unsettled by this story even though she had no strong memories of Daisy herself. All she could picture was a laughing girl with long black hair. Daisy had never babysat for her and her house was just too far along the road for the families to be acquaintances.

  ‘Anyway, shall we walk
around again?’

  Rose stood up.

  ‘We’ll split up,’ he said. ‘You stay in this general area and I’ll go to the far end of the market. There’s an auction there. It might be something that Kathy or Dad would be interested in.’

  Joshua went off and Rose took a long slow walk round the edge of the market. She passed by the stall with the small chest of drawers and lingered for a few moments. She asked about the price. It was affordable but did she really need it? And in any case wasn’t she meant to be concentrating on other things? Such as bumping in to her mother and Brendan.

  But what was the likelihood of that?

  She found herself wandering away from the stalls towards a small humpback bridge. She remembered then that she and Joshua had spoken about this bridge. It was certainly tiny. On the brickwork there was a plaque with a date: 1829. A footpath along one side meant that there was scarcely space for one car at a time to cross it.

  She walked on to it and looked down at the stream that flowed underneath. It was glassy, moving slowly. Through the water Rose could see layers of pebbles and rocks.

  Daisy Lincoln came into her head. She pictured the girl walking across the street towards an expensive, older man’s car. She wondered if she had been wearing jeans or a skirt or even a dress. It had been summer so she might have had sandals or flip-flops on. Her hair was black and long, must have been lying loose across her shoulders. In her mind Rose saw her pause before getting into the car, pushing her fingers into her hair to make it stand up then waving at Joshua, the fourteen-year-old boy who had a crush on her.

  Rose had begun to feel some kind of connection with this girl. Daisy had been eighteen years old when she went missing, just a little older than she was now. Rose had a lifetime ahead of her but Daisy’s life had been cut off and her body hidden away. This chilled Rose. She had seen death in the last few months but it had been carried out in a moment of passion or anger or just pure evil. The hiding away of Daisy’s body meant that the deed had gone unknown. It meant that her family had lived with hope for weeks and months and maybe years. It meant that her friends may have suspected that Daisy had gone off with the love of her life and was living somewhere else, happy and contented.

  Instead she was in a hole in the ground, in Rose and Joshua’s back garden.

  Rose sighed and turned back to the market. She’d go and find Joshua. At least if they were together it made the time go more quickly. She pulled her coat tightly round her and headed back in between the stalls. As she did so a man bumped into her. He was going swiftly past her on a narrow stretch of pavement and his elbow hit her arm. She found herself saying ‘Sorry’ and then tsked because she hadn’t been the one who had caused the collision. She looked with indignation at the back of the man walking ahead and saw the holdall he had slung over his shoulder. It was a red bag with a chequered flag on it. The kind of flag that is used at the end of a car race. A victory flag. It gave her a start.

  She knew that bag.

  The man disappeared into the market and she went quicker, following him. Once in the crowds milling round the stalls, she couldn’t see him but she caught glimpses of the red holdall. The market was busy and there were pushchairs in the way and elderly people standing in groups talking, their dogs straining on leads.

  ‘Wait,’ she called out. ‘Frank, wait . . .’

  The name came out of her mouth as if it was an old friend she had just spotted. But Frank Richards was anything but a friend.

  Frank Richards left the stalls area and crossed the road, forcing a car to pull up sharply. He headed away from the market towards a lane. Rose had to wait while a family on bikes passed by. She shot across the road and went up the lane. She saw him twenty metres or so down, opening the back door of a black car and slinging his holdall in.

  ‘Frank,’ she called.

  He stood by the driver’s door as she ran up to the car. He was holding a set of keys in one hand. He looked the same as she remembered, tall and thin. His head was completely bald although today he had a shadow on the bottom half of his face as if he hadn’t shaved for a while.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she said.

  ‘Rose,’ he said. ‘I trust you are well.’

  ‘Are you following me again?’

  ‘No, no, not this time.’

  ‘So, what are you doing here? Are you with Mum and Brendan?’

  ‘Just at the market. That’s all. I have to go, Rose. I’m sorry.’

  ‘But you know they’re here? In this area.’

  ‘Rose,’ he stepped forward, keeping hold of the driver’s door. Rose saw that the sleeve of his jacket and jumper had fallen back and that his butterfly tattoo was visible on the back of his wrist. Her eyes clung to it. He saw her looking and used his other hand to tug at the sleeve so that it was covered up.

  ‘It’s not long now,’ he said. ‘You just have to be patient. You’ll see your mother and Brendan soon. Sooner than you think.’

  ‘But . . .’

  She heard her name being called from behind. She spun around and saw Joshua at the top of the turning. At the same moment the car door clicked shut.

  ‘Wait,’ she said.

  But the engine had started, the indicators were blinking and the wheels were turning on the cobbled street. She stepped back as it pulled away from the kerb and headed down the lane, passing Joshua as it went. Joshua stared at it and then recognition registered on his face. She walked towards him.

  ‘Was that who I thought it was?’ he said.

  She nodded. She wondered where he had gone. Was he staying close by or somewhere else? Was he with her mum and Brendan or just keeping an eye out from a distance?

  ‘Did you speak to him? What did he say?’

  ‘He just said that it wouldn’t be long until we saw them.’

  Joshua tutted. ‘Why can’t he just be straight?’

  As they walked back to the car Rose looked at the market stalls. She was picturing her mother browsing at a stall, maybe the one with the small chest of drawers. Her mother wouldn’t have hesitated like Rose. She would have bought it. She felt a rush of emotion. Joshua took her hand in his and held it firmly.

  ‘It was worth coming. We’re getting closer and closer,’ he said.

  SEVEN

  On the journey home, after they’d been going for an hour or so, Joshua began to talk about Skeggsie. He had been dead for almost two months.

  ‘I know you still get upset about him,’ Rose said.

  ‘I think about him a lot. Especially when we’re trying to find Dad and Kathy. I keep thinking, What would Skeggs do? I know you weren’t very fond of him but I miss him.’

  ‘It’s not that I wasn’t fond of him,’ Rose began.

  She stopped, though, because she was never actually sure what her feelings had been for Skeggsie. Darren Skeggs, two years older than Joshua, his friend from school. Joshua and Skeggsie had come together through a fight against bullies and then became firm friends. Skeggie’s generosity had allowed Joshua to live in his London flat virtually rent free. When she’d met up with Joshua the previous autumn Skeggsie, it seemed, had come as part of the package. He was always awkward when she was around. He wore tight shirts that were fastened up to the top button as though he was locking himself in, just as he had been keen on bolting the door of the flat. He was awful at small talk and had been critical of Rose from the start. Somehow, though, they’d made their peace with each other and before Christmas, they’d come together to try and locate the owner of a car that they thought had been following them to Newcastle.

  Then Skeggsie had been murdered.

  Rose thought back to the events of that terrible night. It was late on Christmas Eve and Skeggsie had walked into an alley and met someone with a knife. There was an argument, a fight, then Skeggsie had been stabbed. A single wound to the heart. He’d bled to death on the ground amid rubbish bags and fast-food wrappers. She and Joshua had discovered him there but it had been too late to save his life. Th
ere’d been no witnesses apart from some CCTV footage of a young man in a hoodie walking away from the alley. What the police got was DNA evidence. In the struggle Skeggsie had scratched his attacker and had hair and skin under his fingernails.

  Rose knew, in her heart, that the person who organised that murder, James Munroe, would never be caught.

  Out of the blue she noticed Joshua’s hand on hers. He stroked her skin for a few moments then pulled his hand back to the steering wheel. She glanced at him but he seemed engrossed in the driving. Her hand was very still and she was sure she could feel the sensation of his touch from seconds before. It gave her a powerful memory, a physical flashback to the way things were between them after Skeggsie died. They had reached out for each other. They had held on to each other and she had kissed him until her lips were swollen. Then they had become more than friends but not quite lovers. Had talking about Skeggsie brought some of those feelings back for Joshua as well?

  There were things she wanted to say but now was not the time to say them. It didn’t seem right to talk about their relationship while this search for their parents was going on. She laced her fingers through each other and sat quietly. One day she would hold him still, make him look at her and tell him that she loved him.

  They drove on.

  ‘Why don’t you come in for a while,’ she said, when they eventually pulled up outside the house in Belsize Park. ‘Anna wants me to bring friends home. She’s redecorating a whole room so that I have somewhere to take them.’

  ‘OK,’ Joshua said.

  He looked tired. He left his jacket in the back of the car. She took his hand, lightly, as she would if he were a small child, and pulled him up the path. The front door opened before she had a chance to put her key in. Her grandmother stood there.

  ‘Rose, that policeman’s here to see you again. Oh, hello, Joshua.’

  Anna looked a little pained. She was still in her ‘Clearing Out the Blue Room’ clothes.

  ‘What does he want?’