A Dark and Sinful Death

by Alison Joseph

  ‘When? By whom?’

  ‘There was a race relations tribunal a couple of years ago. An Asian bloke claimed unfair dismissal on race grounds, and Mark and another bloke helped him bring a case. And then after that there were threats against Mark and his mate. It’s here in Mark’s file.’

  Agnes took the file and flicked through it.

  ‘You can borrow it if you want,’ Nina said. ‘There’s another one, here, miscellaneous press cuttings, there’s a bit in it about the tribunal hearing.’

  ‘What were the other two guys called?’

  ‘The bloke who was sacked was called Mehfuz. Mark’s mate who helped was called Ed. Ed Longley. The guy who was threatening him is called Billy Keenan. I know him, he still works at the mill, his mum does too, Maureen. She’s a nice lady, but I don’t rate him much. He’s NF, he is. And said to be handy with the matches.’

  ‘Have the police seen these files?’

  ‘Yes, they went through loads of stuff about Mark. They’ve had Billy in for questioning too, but they let him go. David was really angry.’

  ‘Do you know him well, David?’

  ‘Used to. But I don’t go around so much with that crowd.’

  ‘You know his girlfriend?’

  ‘A bit. Patricia’s sister.’

  ‘She seems to have disappeared.’

  ‘Baines threw her out, I heard. Maureen told me, she said her friend Kitty was there when it happened, saw everything.’

  ‘Does anyone know why?’

  ‘All anyone knows is that after Mrs Baines died, old Mr Baines just wasn’t the same and got it into his head to hand the mill over. And that’s what he’s done, and no one’s really happy about it. I mean, I like Anthony, and Patricia, they’re good to me, but there’s rumours that they’re going to lay people off. Don’t go away, I need the Ladies.’

  Agnes watched Nina fight her way through the smoky crowd, then opened the press cuttings file. There were a few shabby photos marking various anniversaries and celebrations. There were two yellowing newspaper clips, one reporting that a settlement had been made in a race relations case. There was a photograph of some kind of sports team, a group of young men, posed in rows. Agnes read the caption at the bottom: ‘West Yorkshire Amateur Athletics Association ... Allbright’s Mill Cross Country Team.’ A boy was holding a trophy. She read the names. ‘Mark Snaith, Edward Longley, Richard Worth, David Snaith ... ’ She closed the file again.

  ‘What are you doing Saturday?’ Nina asked, coming back to the table.

  ‘Nothing much.’

  ‘I’m meeting Patricia in town, for tea, about four. Why don’t you join us?’

  ‘Sure, I’d like to.’

  ‘She’s a nice woman. Another drink?’

  ‘Yes please, I’ll have a — ’

  ‘You’re driving, aren’t you? I’ll get us both a mineral water.’ Nina stood up.

  ‘Thanks. Must it be mineral water?’

  Nina turned. ‘Are you always like this?’

  ‘Only when they let me out.’

  ‘Seems to me, you need someone to keep an eye on you. Ice and lemon?’

  Agnes watched her by the bar, envying her grace and youth, wishing that she’d been so at ease with herself when she was that age.

  ‘There. Ice and lemon.’

  ‘But no gin?’

  ‘You’re driving.’

  Agnes sighed. ‘Yes, Mum.’

  Nina watched her sip her drink. ‘Maybe it was having a baby,’ she said suddenly.

  ‘Maybe what was?’

  ‘That changed me. I used to be like you. I used to get tanked up and then race my boyfriend home along the ring road. I had an MG in those days, and he had an Alfa Sud.’

  ‘But how did you — ?’

  ‘You’re going to say, how can I afford it? How can I pay for my BMW?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Nina took a deep breath, then said, ‘When my dad died, he left me some money. He said I should spend it — a gift to the living.’ She smiled at Agnes. ‘He said it was for living with. So I did.’

  ‘Including racing around the ring road?’

  Nina laughed. ‘I was young then.’

  Agnes sipped her mineral water. ‘How old is she, your daughter?’

  ‘Three and a bit. Rosie. She’s lovely. Best thing that ever happened to me.’

  Agnes sighed. ‘Well, I don’t think that particular path is open to me. I’ll have to find another way to grow up.’

  ‘Listen, when I said — I didn’t mean — it was just about being kind of — dangerous — ’

  ‘I’m not supposed to be dangerous. I’m supposed to have given myself up to the service of the Lord, just like you’ve chosen to put your child’s needs first. Well, not just like it, obviously, I just meant, it’s sort of equivalent, not the same, obviously ... ’

  Nina started to laugh. ‘What are we like, eh? Nothing in common at all. Look at us — I’m young, I’m a mum, you’re — ’

  ‘White, old and celibate?’

  Nina laughed. ‘That’s about it.’

  ‘And past reforming. Out of the question to be redeemed by motherhood — and, it seems, too immature and hopeless to settle down and become a good nun.’

  ‘I never said that.’

  ‘No, but I did.’

  Nina fished her piece of lemon out of her glass and nibbled at it. ‘I bet you’re quite a good nun. I bet your God doesn’t mind the odd drink or two.’

  ‘If it was only that — ’

  ‘I bet He wants us to have a good time. I mean, why put us here if He didn’t mean us to enjoy it?’

  ‘Do you go to church?’

  ‘No. Not me. Not now.’ She sighed. ‘I used to go with my dad.’

  They sipped their drinks. Nina looked at her watch. ‘I’d better go soon.’

  ‘Do you think Joanna knew Mark Snaith well?’

  ‘I’ve no idea. She knows David pretty well.’

  ‘They’ve trashed her house, you know, up on the estate.’

  ‘It doesn’t surprise me. Those Millhouse lads have their own rules.’

  ‘And do those rules include murder?’

  Nina frowned. ‘Sometimes I wonder. Sometimes I think, if Mark had got caught up in something he shouldn’t have ... ’

  ‘What, though?’

  ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘He worked for Baines.’

  ‘And for the Turnbulls too. Patricia was quite friendly with him.’ Nina reached for her coat.

  ‘You see, I keep thinking — Joanna disappeared from the school the day before Mark was found. And she hasn’t contacted the school since, and — and she seemed so upset.’

  ‘But it’s not as if she’s vanished without trace. If she had, the family would be more worried, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘True. Oh dear, none of it makes sense. Perhaps it’s best just to leave it to the police.’

  ‘Hmmm.’ Nina flipped a beer mat between her fingers.

  ‘So what do you think?’

  Nina drained her glass, then looked at Agnes. ‘I’ll tell you what I think. I think the Millhouse estate is full of some well dodgy characters. I think if someone had it in for Mark, it might go back to this tribunal thing. I think something has frightened Jo, but the family don’t want to think about it. And I think David’s dead scared for Jo, and dead upset for his brother, and he can’t think straight.’ She put on her coat. ‘And I think, if David could think straight, he’d see that Turnbull is playing some kind of game with him, and, being Turnbull, he’s playing to win.’

  ‘And the prize?’

  Nina gathered up her bag. ‘Who d’you think? Jo, of course.’

  Chapter Seven

  ‘So I suppose you’d have to say, we’ve been a total failure as a family. Shall we have Darjeeling or Ceylon?’ Patricia Turnbull squinted at the menu.

  ‘Darjeeling would be lovely,’ Agnes said. ‘And maybe some cinnamon toast?’

  ‘Loads of it,’ Nina said.
‘And I’ll have a Diet Coke please. And you’re having orange juice, OK?’

  ‘But you’re having Coke,’ Rosie said, kneeling up on her chair.

  ‘It’s bad for you,’ Nina said.

  ‘Why?’ Rosie had tight curls of hair fastened into bunches, and she was wearing a pink sweatshirt and leggings.

  ‘Because you’re little.’

  ‘I’m not, I’m big. I’m big now.’

  ‘You’re having orange juice. And take your gloves off.’

  ‘But they’re my froggies. I want to wear my froggies.’

  Nina removed Rosie’s green woolly mittens and put them in her pocket.

  ‘I want one of them.’ Rosie pointed at a display of fancy biscuits. ‘One of them dinonsors. Please, Mummy.’

  Nina sighed. ‘OK, you can have one of those.’

  Rosie smiled, charmingly, at Agnes. Agnes smiled back.

  ‘A total failure,’ Patricia resumed. ‘A great disappointment to Father, and to Mother too, probably, if she could see us. Perhaps she can. Are you really a nun?’

  Agnes longed suddenly for the days of compulsory habit-wearing. She glanced down at her cream Aran sweater and jeans. ‘Yes. I really am a nun.’

  Nina laughed. ‘Agnes says they go around in disguise these days.’

  The drinks arrived and Nina helped Rosie with her juice. ‘See, you’ve got a special cup and a straw, lucky you.’

  ‘And you work with Jo?’ Patricia said.

  ‘I did, before she disappeared.’

  ‘We’re so worried. I’ve spoken to your convent. The Head there, Sister Phyllida or something — odd woman, isn’t she? And there’s no answer at her house, and we’ve asked Daddy, but he hasn’t seen her for weeks. We’re sure David knows where she is, because he seems so unconcerned. We thought we should report her missing, but David was dead against it. Practically threatened Anthony when he suggested phoning the police.’

  Agnes poured two cups of tea. ‘Maybe she just had to get away.’

  Patricia sighed. ‘I mean, yes, I know we were all rather hard on her, Father especially, all this business with the mill, I had no intention of taking it on single-handed, thank goodness for Anthony is all I can say, if I’d known that I’d be the lone inheritor of the mill I think I’d have emigrated or something.’ She laughed, a polite, empty laugh. ‘And poor Daddy, there he is with three children, you’d think he’d feel he could rely on us all, but after the business with Marcus, and now Jo — ’

  ‘Marcus?’

  ‘My brother.’

  ‘Your — your brother?’

  ‘I’ve ate his head.’ Rosie proudly displayed her gnawed biscuit.

  Patricia smiled. ‘Oh, here I am chatting away as if I’ve known you all my life, it’s Nina, you see, she’s been so good for me. I’ve had no one to talk to about it all, dear Anthony just wants to get on with it now, make the best of it, bless him, but really, it’s all been so terrible, poor Daddy, I thought it might kill him, the strain of it. Still, at least he can rely on me now. Since Mother ... ’ Her eyes welled with tears.

  Nina glanced at Agnes. ‘Patricia — listen, don’t get upset — ’ she touched her hand. ‘Here, have some toast.’

  Patricia took a cotton handkerchief from her bag and dabbed at her eyes. ‘Something about Mother dying ... that’s what seems to have done us all in. She must have held us all together without us even noticing.’

  ‘Mummy, why’s that lady crying, Mummy, that lady?’ Rosie asked loudly.

  ‘And then,’ Agnes said, taking two slices of toast, ‘there was Mark Snaith.’

  ‘Yes. There was. Poor poor Daddy. The police were up at the mill again the other day wanting to question him. I sent them away as soon as I could, he’s not a well man, still so upset about Mummy, it’s not long after all, not yet a year since she died, and then all the business with Marcus — it’s been a terrible time for us, really.’

  ‘Is Marcus younger or older?’

  ‘Marcus is the middle. I’m the eldest, then Marcus, then Jo. Jo’s an artist, I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me if she didn’t want to take on the responsibility of the mill, although God knows she needs the money, more than we do, ironic isn’t it? Anthony’s other businesses bring in more than enough. Still, he seems happy. He’s always liked a challenge, my husband. And a bit of a gamble, too.’

  ‘He bought a lottery ticket the other day,’ Nina laughed. ‘He got me to show him how it worked.’

  Patricia smiled. ‘Nothing surprises me about him.’

  ‘I think we need more cinnamon toast, don’t you?’ Agnes said, catching the waitress’s eye.

  ‘I’ve told Agnes my theory about the tribunal and Billy Keenan,’ Nina said.

  ‘Oh yes. It’s a whole industry now, this race relations business,’ Patricia began, then looked at Nina. ‘At least,’ she said, brightly, ‘that’s what Anthony’s always saying.’ She helped herself to some more tea.

  ‘Perhaps we should speak to your father about it,’ Agnes said.

  ‘He’s so frail, poor dear.’

  Agnes remembered his grip around her arm as he’d shown her the door. ‘Still,’ she said, ‘if it helps this Snaith business ... ’

  ‘Perhaps you should just take the file to the police,’ Patricia said.

  ‘They’ve seen it,’ Nina said. ‘I showed them when they came in last week. And Agnes is going to mention it again, aren’t you?’

  ‘Well, then, we’ve done what we can, haven’t we?’ Patricia took another slice of toast, her composure regained.

  ‘May I ask what happened to Marcus?’ Agnes said.

  ‘Poor dear Marcus. It was something about Mother’s illness, it seemed to send him off the rails. I suppose he was closer to her than anyone else. And then — he upset Daddy, really badly, around the time that Mummy was dying. He said something hurtful. He accused Daddy of being to blame — for Mummy’s illness — and Daddy ordered him out of the house. And the stupid thing is, he took Father at his word. So proud, you see. And he’s never come back. Jo took his side, which made things worse, after what he’d done. He was always difficult, it didn’t surprise me that when it came to a real crisis he bottled out. I think it’s up to Marcus to approach Daddy, and until he does, well, I think it’s important that someone supports Daddy. So when Daddy handed over the mill, he didn’t include Marcus. It’s my brother’s own silly fault, I’m afraid. It wouldn’t take much for Daddy to welcome him back. And actually, when Jo refused her share of the mill, I wasn’t surprised. It’s typical of them both to make a stand like that.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘He lives over towards Manchester, the other side of Halifax. He married last year. He doesn’t see us.’

  ‘Is Jo in touch with him?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘Has anyone asked him where she is?’

  Patricia shook her head. ‘It was so awful, last year — you can’t know — it’s left terrible scars. Daddy won’t hear his name. That’s why when Jo went off too, he took it so badly. Now there’s only me ... ’ Patricia looked tearful again.

  Agnes thought for a moment. ‘Our chaplain, Elias, said — ’

  Patricia blinked. ‘Elias?’

  ‘Elias Parnell.’

  ‘Did you say — ? Surely not. Did you say chaplain? You mean at your school? Now that really is extraordinary.’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘Elias a priest? Perhaps it’s not the same Elias Parnell. Good looking, thick black hair, nice eyes, early thirties?’

  ‘Yes — ’

  ‘Same age as Marcus in fact, they were at school together.’

  ‘Elias and — ?’

  Rosie suddenly started bawling. ‘I want my dinonsor.’ She waved a soggy piece of biscuit in fury. ‘I’ve ate his legs now and now it just looks like biscuit, and I want my dinonsor ... ’

  ‘You were saying,’ Agnes turned to Patricia again. ‘Elias and Marcus — ’

  ‘And I want another one inst
ead, can I, Mummy, can I have another, I want my dinonsor ...

  ‘Hush, Rosie, shush, there’s no need for this — ’

  ‘There was a terrible tragedy,’ Patricia said, wincing at Rosie’s noise. ‘It drove them apart. They were best of friends, and then it all stopped, and we didn’t see Elias again — ’

  ‘I want my dinonsor — ’

  ‘Listen, Rosie, it was just a biscuit, and now you’ve eaten it, and that’s it, OK? That’s what happens to biscuits.’

  ‘But I want my dinonsor ... ’

  ‘What tragedy?’ Agnes leaned as near to Patricia as she could.

  ‘It was a riding accident. We used to keep horses, and they’d ride out regularly, Marcus and Jo, and Marcus’s girlfriend Katherine, and Elias — oh, and Daddy’s dog, Greer; he was devoted to Elias, they adored each other ... ’

  ‘Rosie, for Heaven’s sake, look, there’s two straws now for your juice, do you want some more?’ Rosie quietened, and Patricia lowered her voice.

  ‘And anyway, one day — Katherine — there was a terrible accident. She tried to take a jump, apparently, and the horse stumbled, and they both fell, and — and the horse crushed her.’

  ‘How terrible. When was this?’

  ‘It was a few years ago now, let’s think, Daddy got rid of all the horses after that, it must have been five or six years ago, I think. They were all excellent riders, they’d take off over the moors. Marcus wouldn’t talk about it afterwards. They couldn’t cope with it, him and Elias, it was the end of their friendship. And the odd thing is, I’m sure old Greer still misses him.’ She finished her tea. ‘A priest? I wouldn’t have predicted it, although his family were strongly Catholic, I remember that. Do remember me to him, won’t you, I always had rather a soft spot for him.’

  ‘Mummy, is that lady going to cry again?’

  ‘She’s not That Lady, she’s Patricia — ’

  ‘Why?’

  Nina looked at Patricia and Agnes. ‘Shall we go?’

  ‘I’ll get the bill,’ Patricia said.

  As Patricia went over to the cash desk, Nina sighed. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘I don’t know how you cope,’ Agnes said.

  ‘Look, take this, it’s the phone number for Ed Longley. He left the mill in 1988 so it might not be current. We should catch up soon — how about Monday lunchtime? At the mill?’