by Freer, Echo;
Oz was watching her intently. ‘You’re amazing, you know.’
She looked at him and blushed. ‘What do you mean?’
‘You really care, don’t you? The guy’s dead but the way you did that was so...’ he paused, searching for the right word, ‘...caring.’
‘Of course I care,’ she said, straightening Arnold’s tie. ‘You look at any civilisation through history and how they respect their dead tells you a hell of a lot about that society.’ She looked at him earnestly. ‘That’s why I’m so angry about the cemetery development. It’s not just about the wildlife and the environment, or the fact that there’s a whole social history out there - it’s about respecting a sacred resting place. Did you know, Benjamin Franklin said, “Show me your cemeteries and I’ll show you what kind of people you have.”?’
Oz shook his head. ‘Who’s Benjamin Franklin?’
‘This American politician and inventor guy,’ Modesty went on, her passion for the cause firing her words. ‘What does that say about the sort of people we have around here that they’ll stop at nothing to build on a graveyard - robbery, kidnapping...’ she waved her hand over Arnold King’s coffin, ‘...death even, just to fill their own pockets?’
Oz was confused. ‘Whoa, whoa, whoa! What are you saying here? You seem to’ve made a giant leap somewhere along the way.’
Modesty spun round to face him and shook her head. ‘Don’t you remember?’
‘Remember what?’
Modesty slapped her hand to her forehead. ‘Of course, I forgot to tell you. Claire was down and it was your gran’s funeral...’
‘Moddy? Are you going to tell me what’s going on?’ Oz checked his watch. ‘This guy’s daughter’s going to be here in ten minutes - we haven’t got long.’
Modesty ran over the information she had managed to find out on the Internet the day after they’d been to the council meeting. ‘It’s all linked: the development, the corruption on the council, the robbery, the kidnap - everything!’
‘So you’re telling me that the people who want to develop the cemetery are the same people who robbed the jewellers and they’re also holding your sister hostage?’
‘Exactly!’
She went over the evidence for him. ‘The cemetery was bought by an offshore consortium, right? And they’re the ones who are selling part of it to developers.’
Oz nodded.
‘And guess who has family connections to the directors of that consortium?’
Oz shrugged.
‘Both Archie Bigg and Councillor Peggitt!’
Oz looked askance. ‘But that Peggitt guy is head of the planning committee. That is so dodgy.’
‘It’s even dodgier when you realise that the firm that’s applied for planning permission to develop it is Bigg Builders, Archie Bigg’s company.’
‘No!’ Oz was shocked. ‘And you think he’s somehow involved in the diamond robbery too?’
‘I’m pretty sure. Why else would he have come to arrange the funeral of the robber who died?’
‘Hold on.’ Oz was thinking. ‘Do you remember when he said to that Peggitt bloke that there’d been a bit of a hold-up on the cash flow front? You don’t suppose he meant the lost diamond, do you?’
Modesty managed an affectionate smile. She walked across to Oz and planted a kiss on his cheek.
‘Of course! I mean, I don’t know, obviously - but it seems pretty likely to me that they were hoping to use the money from the diamond to bribe the council and finance the building project.’
‘So the fact that it appears to have gone missing is a major fly in their ointment?’
‘And with so much hingeing on it, it gives them even more incentive to get it back.’ Modesty sighed. ‘Why did Dad have to agree to a viewing today - just when I need to be out there looking for Grace?’
Oz kissed her lightly. ‘Look, I’ll go and see if I can find anything. How long will the viewing take?’
Modesty shrugged. ‘How long is a piece of string? Some people are in and out in about five minutes. Others like to spend ages saying their goodbyes.’
‘OK, well just text me when she’s gone.’ He started to leave but stopped, then turned to Modesty with an expression of revelation. ‘I’ve got it!’
Modesty gasped. ‘What, the diamond?’
‘No - the clue. Remember I said Mum used to spend her time at Laura’s ‘Lectricals doing the crossword? Well, it was a habit that stuck and it’s sort of rubbed off on me.’
‘Go on.’
‘Groom Marley for me, right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Marley’s a cat, and what do you use to groom a cat?’
‘A brush.’
‘And?’
‘A comb?’ Realisation spread across Modesty’s face. ‘She’s in the catacomb! Of course!’ She went across to Oz and kissed him. ‘Don’t do anything rash, will you?’
He shook his head. ‘I’ll just go and check out the situation,’ he reassured her.
Modesty watched Oz leave the building and head across the yard to the back of the garage and the secret entrance to the cemetery. ‘Be careful,’ she called after him. ‘And don’t forget, I’ll have my phone off till Miss King’s left.’
Grace pulled the blanket round her shoulders and sat back against the cold brick wall. ‘I’m starving,’ she said loudly, so that her voice echoed around the cavernous chamber. ‘Any chance of some breakfast?’
‘Yeah, me too,’ Mickey Bigg agreed, yawning. ‘ ‘Ere, ‘Arl, want me to pop over to the caff at Whipps Cross an’ get us some bacon sarnies?’
‘Ooo!’ Cynthia sat up and looked enthusiastic for the first time since the previous evening.
‘Tell you what - why don’t I just ring for room service?’ Harley replied, facetiously.
Mickey nodded eagerly. ‘Or a pizza?’
Cynthia clapped her pink sheepskin mittens together in excitement. ‘Ooo! I could murder a pizza.’
‘ ‘Ere’s a thought,’ Harley continued sarcastically. ‘Why don’t I just put a big banner up what says Gang ‘oldin’ ‘ostage inside. Food donations welcome? ‘Ow’s that for an idea?’ Her voice hardened into a menacing rasp. ‘ ‘Cos it couldn’t be any less conspicuous than ferrying in a load of sarnies an’ a deep pan meat feast for the world an’ ‘is wife to get a whiff of while they’re visitin’ their dear departed.’
A subdued silence fell on the group before Grace spoke. ‘I’ll take that as a no on the breakfast front then, shall I?’
‘I told you to shut it!’ Harley Spinks spat at her in a threatening whisper.
‘Or what?’ Grace challenged. ‘What are you going to do to me, eh? You’re three school kids who can’t even agree on whose turn it is to have the brain cell and you expect me to be frightened? Get real!’
‘I ain’t at school,’ Mickey protested, hurt.
Harley Spinks shone the torch on Grace’s face and moved very close so that the younger girl had to rear back at the smell of the overnight sleep on her breath.
‘Listen, panda-features,’ Harley hissed. ‘I might be still at school but my dad ain’t - an’ ‘is mates ain’t just interested in murderin’ pizzas neither - if you get my drift.’
As Grace opened her mouth to reply, the spine- chilling creak of the heavy metal door pierced the interior. Instantly, Harley Spinks snapped off the torch and clapped her hand over Grace’s mouth. Dragging the younger girl backwards, she flapped her hand at the other two, shuffling them deeper into the vaulted interior until they reached a partition wall. Stealthily, the group groped their way round the back of the wall so that they were out of sight of the door. Grace let herself be pushed up against the coffins that were stacked against the wall - after all, it was only a matter of time before whoever had entered the catacomb found them and r
escued her.
A torch beam flashed ahead of them, scanning the urns and sarcophagi along the opposite wall. Grace tried to struggle free but Harley tightened her grip on her.
‘Ugh! A spider!’ Cynthia whimpered, scrabbling at her hair and face until Harley elbowed her in the ribs.
As she did so, Grace felt her hand release its grip slightly and she took the opportunity to break free and make a dash for it.
‘Help! Help!’ she cried as she fled the teenage gang and ran desperately towards the source of the torch beam and her rescuer. ‘Help me!’ she pleaded.
Suddenly she felt another, larger hand clamp across her mouth while a strong, adult arm wrapped itself round her waist, lifting her into the air and carrying her back in the direction from which she had escaped. Try as she might to wriggle free, she was clasped too tightly to move.
Suddenly Grace felt herself being put down again, although the large, manly hand was still across her mouth.
‘Dad!’ she heard Cynthia and Mickey cry in unison.
Then Harley asked, gruffly, ‘What you doin’ ‘ere, Arch?’
‘I could ask you the same bleedin’ question,’ Archie Bigg replied. ‘But we ain’t got time for that. We got to get ‘er moved. This place is gonna be swarmin’ in about an hour. Let’s get ‘er to a different location - pronto!’
The late Arnold King’s dark grey Volvo estate pulled into the forecourt in front of the funeral home. His daughter, Gemma, switched off the engine and turned to the passenger seat.
She spoke firmly to her friend. ‘Seriously, Noush, I don’t want you to come in with me. I’ll be fine!’
‘But this isn’t the sort of thing you should have to go through on your own.’
Gemma’s patience was running out. ‘We’ve been through this a hundred times. I want to do this on my own.’
Noush shook her head. ‘Fine! If that’s what you really want, but I still think you should have someone with you.’
‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ Gemma replied firmly.
She left the car without making eye contact with her friend and walked across to the front door, taking deep breaths to try to steady herself. This was not something she was looking forward to. She reached a hand out to press the bell but, as if by magic, the door opened in front of her.
‘Do come in.’ Modesty had seen her coming and, rather than risk the doorbell waking Glenys, had pre- empted her ring. Slightly startled, Gemma stepped into the hall and Modesty continued with the words she had heard her father utter a thousand times. ‘I just want to say how sorry I am for your loss...’
‘Look, you can cut all that stuff,’ Gemma said sharply. ‘I just want to see my dad.’
‘Of course.’ Modesty tried to adopt a tone that was more respectful and less obsequious than that of her father. ‘Do come this way.’ She showed Gemma into the small chapel of rest. ‘Take as long as you want, and if you need anything, I’ll be just outside.’
When the door had closed behind her, Gemma stood for some minutes staring at the coffin before walking tentatively across to face her father for the last time. As she looked at him she bit her bottom lip anxiously, then taking a deep breath she hung her head and broke down, weeping.
After a while, she managed to steady herself.
‘Oh, Dad, I’m so sorry,’ she sobbed, more composed. Then she reached into her coat pocket and took out a small white handkerchief. She dabbed her eyes before carefully unfolding the delicately embroidered linen. ‘I don’t know what to do,’ she confessed, opening it out and gazing at the point where the ironed creases of fabric met. There, nestling in the centre of the handkerchief, the candlelight glistening from its many facets, was a flawless pink diamond the size of her little fingernail.
Thirteen
Outside in the waiting area, Modesty was feeling restless. She could hear Gemma King crying, and although her heart went out to the young woman, she wanted her to leave so that she could get on with what she considered to be the more important business of the day: finding her sister. She checked her watch; it was ten minutes since Oz had left and she was starting to feel irritated. Although she’d told him that some people could take up to an hour to say their goodbyes, she’d secretly hoped that Mr King’s daughter would be one of the in-and-out variety.
She crossed and uncrossed her legs then tapped out a tattoo with her feet on the carpeted floor. When that didn’t make time move any more quickly, she picked up her father’s photograph album and flicked through the pages without registering any of the funeral pictures inside. Next to receive a cursory glance was the latest copy of the Mourning Post, a magazine for the recently bereaved that her father kept on the small coffee table in the waiting area.
Tossing it down again, Modesty noticed the box of tissues that she had intended to place in the chapel of rest before Gemma King’s arrival.
She drummed her fingers on the table top, annoyed with herself for forgetting such a fundamental commodity for a grieving relative. She was torn. Should she interrupt Gemma in her last few minutes with her father, or should she leave the poor orphaned young woman to snot all over the deceased?
Modesty nibbled her bottom lip anxiously. She could still hear Gemma crying, although it was more a muted sob rather than the heart-rending wailing of earlier. So, she reasoned, if she was discreet about it, perhaps she could just slip the tissues in through the door without causing too much disturbance. And, who knows, it might be the prompt Gemma needed to finish off with her father, allowing Modesty to go and find Oz at the catacomb and try to release Grace.
Tapping lightly on the door Modesty eased it open and stepped quietly into the room, trying to cause as little interruption as possible. But what she saw was beyond anything she could have even begun to imagine. Gemma King was leaning over her father’s body, a magnificent pink diamond twinkling between her finger and thumb.
Modesty gasped.
Gemma shrieked.
The diamond fell from her fingers into the coffin.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Gemma shouted.
‘Me?’ Modesty retorted, angrily. ‘That’s rich!’ Then her shoulders set, as her thought process went into overdrive. ‘Hold on - are you one of the gang? Was this whole thing an inside job? If you’re one of the ones holding my sister hostage...’
The older girl looked shocked. ‘What? No!’ she protested. ‘What are you on about?’
Enraged, Modesty told her about Grace.
Gemma slumped on the floor. ‘Oh my God! I had no idea. I’m so sorry. This is such a huge mess.’ She hung her head in sadness and shame. ‘You’re going to report me to the police, aren’t you?’
‘I don’t know what I’m going to do yet.’ Modesty shook her head, trying to make sense of the situation. Questions were rushing through her mind like Concorde and she wanted answers. ‘But I think you’d better start from the beginning.’
Gemma let out a heavy sigh. ‘Well...’ she began.
‘Quickly,’ Modesty prompted, checking her watch again. ‘My sister’s life could be hanging on this diamond.’
Gemma took a tissue from the box Modesty was still holding, blew her nose and took a deep breath to compose herself. ‘Well, when the robbery happened, it was all such chaos.’ She closed her eyes as she recalled the incident. ‘To be honest, I was in a bit of a strop, so I wasn’t really paying attention to what was going on.’ She bit her lip, stifling a sob. ‘If I hadn’t...’ Her eyes wandered across to her father’s coffin.
‘Your dad had a heart attack.’ Modesty was firm but compassionate. ‘He could’ve had one at any time. It wasn’t anyone’s fault.’
Gemma nodded. ‘I know. That’s what the coroner said.’
‘So what happened?’ Modesty was trying very hard not to sound impatient.
‘When Dad collapsed, I wa
sn’t paying much attention to what else was going on. I just ran over to him. I didn’t know what had happened to the diamond at first - I just assumed the same as everyone else, that it’d been stolen.’
‘So how did you manage to end up with it?’
‘I didn’t find it till a couple of days later.’ Gemma shook her head sadly. ‘Dad used to like me to wear smart business clothes for work and the blouse I had on that day had wide cuffs that turned back on themselves. I hated it, to be honest, but he liked it.’ She took another tissue and wiped the tear that had escaped as she’d been talking. ‘My friend was going to take some stuff to the dry cleaner’s for me, so I went upstairs to get the blouse, but when I picked it up, the diamond fell out of the cuff. It must’ve got in there when I was trying to bring Dad round.’
Modesty nodded. It seemed a plausible story so far. ‘But why didn’t you just ring the police and tell them you’d found it?’
Gemma began crying again. ‘Don’t you think I’ve asked myself that a thousand times?’ She looked at Modesty earnestly. ‘I don’t know what came over me. I just thought that everyone would be mad that I’d caused so much trouble it was best to leave it as it was.’ Still sitting on the floor of the chapel, she turned her eyes upwards and looked pleadingly at the younger girl. ‘Haven’t you ever lost something and then found it again and been embarrassed to say so?’
Modesty recalled the time in primary school when she’d told the teacher that her school trip money had been stolen. The headteacher had been called and the whole class made to turn out their pockets only to see her mother arrive half an hour later apologising for having forgotten to give it to her that morning. Modesty had received a severe reprimand and been kept in every playtime for a week for wasting everyone’s time.
‘I suppose so,’ she conceded, and then added, ‘but not quite on this scale.’ She went quiet for a while, mulling over the excuse she’d just heard. ‘OK, so suppose I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, what did you think you were going to do with it?’
