by Penny Grubb
‘And a lot of people’ll be on holiday now. How are you checking their houses? How do you know who has cellars anyway?’
‘Look, we’ve thought of all this, you know. We are professionals. It isn’t easy. We’re really low on manpower.’
‘But this is a murder enquiry. Surely you’ve drafted in extra people from other divisions.’
‘Not yet.’ Again Annie thought she caught a flash of wariness in Jennifer’s eyes as she replied to Pat and then went on quickly. ‘There aren’t many houses with cellars anyway. We’ve checked it out with the planning department.’
‘So it’s not Balham’s house then?’
Jennifer shook her head. ‘We’ve been through it obviously, but he doesn’t have a cellar.’
Pat focused her eyes somewhere distant as though thinking something through. ‘I suppose Balham’s your prime suspect. He’s not turned up, has he?’
‘No, but he’s done this sort of thing before.’
‘What? Murdered women in a cellar?’
‘No.’ Jennifer’s pursed lips admonished Pat for inappropriate levity. ‘Disappeared for a few days.’
‘It’s more than a few days this time. I’d say he knows you’re on to him. Did he know Terry Martin?’
‘He’d been seen talking to him.’
There was a pause, then Pat heaved herself to a more upright position and fixed Jennifer with a hard stare. ‘I suppose you’re watching the house in case he comes back?’
‘We’re doing everything we have to.’
‘And you’re trying to find out where he goes when he does his disappearing acts?’
‘We know how to conduct an enquiry.’
‘OK, let’s just get this straight. You’ve watched his house. You’ve asked around to find out where he is. You’ve made enquiries about him and Terry Martin. You’ve searched people’s cellars.’ She paused to let the point sink in. ‘And you’re telling us you’re surprised the village grapevine cottoned on to a body in a cellar. Of course, they think Terry Martin murdered this Balham guy. I think that’s just about where I’d get if you gave me that set of clues.’
Jennifer looked uncomfortable. ‘But the girl–’
‘Just wanted to make herself important probably. My information is from a good source, that sort of thing.’
Jennifer looked across at Annie, caught her eye and looked away. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. Scott did say he thought she was a liar.’
‘That’s OK.’ Annie had no problem with Jennifer feeling in her debt. ‘But what about the woman in the cellar? Do you know who she is? I was expecting to hear something on the news today.’
Pat laughed. ‘Never heard of the north-south divide, Annie? It takes more than a body to get East Yorkshire in the news.’
‘But surely, the local news…?’
‘An odd mix of prurience and prudery. On the one hand, she isn’t young enough to be a juicy story. On the other, she might be the wife of some local worthy they don’t want to get the wrong side of.’
Jennifer shot Pat a disapproving look. ‘It’s all still under wraps officially. We want to be the ones to find it.’
‘But do you know who she is?’ Annie asked again.
And again Jennifer’s eye slid away from hers. ‘Maybe. Nothing’s confirmed yet. We can’t be sure of anything till we find the body.’
‘I wonder if Terry Martin locked the cellar door when he left,’ Pat said.
‘If he did, we have the key. We found one in his things that we’re pretty sure matches the one he used on the film.’
Keys and cellars and bodies are your side of the line, thought Annie, looking across at the woman who was as much a rookie in her profession as Annie in hers. The difference was that Jennifer’s status gave her the upper hand when it came to access to the Milesthorpe residents. Jennifer and her colleagues could demand people’s co-operation. Annie could only ask. Annoyance welled up against Laura Tunbridge for damaging her credibility, painting her as the sort of person who passed confidential information to children.
After seeing Jennifer out, Annie sat down again opposite Pat. ‘That’s put paid to me going out to Milesthorpe, hasn’t it?’
Pat nodded. ‘For today, yes. There’ll be a police presence out there. Maybe later in the week. With all Milesthorpe on the lookout, they’ll get their hands on that body pretty soon if it’s anywhere in the area.’
Annie picked up the Orchard Park photographs again. She riffled through them to pull out the ones that showed the two men and their van and held them out to Pat. ‘These are the guys peddling shit on Orchard Park last night. Any idea who they are?’
Pat took her time holding the prints up to the light, squinting at them from every angle before she shook her head. ‘I can’t even say for sure they’re the same guys I tried to clock, though I suppose they must be.’
‘Does that mean I can keep watch like I wanted to?’ Annie tried not to look pleased.
‘Yeah, I suppose.’
Annie pulled together the pictures and flicked through them. They showed the van, the men carting their awkward-shaped packages, and that battered yellow car with its insolent crew. She looked at the blurred image, remembered the fracas at Terry’s funeral and saw again the image of Laura Tunbridge slapping out at one of the other two.
It so isn’t funny …
She looked up and focused on the scene outside the window where sunlight played on tiny waves, shading the path of the underlying currents. The river was as busy as she’d ever seen it, one of the vessels making its way upriver the largest she’d seen so far, though even its huge tonnage was dwarfed by the expanse of water.
‘Pat, can I run something past you? This joy-rider. Why was he at Terry Martin’s funeral?’
‘He wasn’t, was he? He just turned up outside. Disrupting funerals might be a hobby. What about it?’
‘It’s the girl, Laura Tunbridge. She hit out at one of the friends she was with. One of them laughed when the joy-riders stopped the hearse. Laura hit out and told her to shut up.’
‘What of it?’
‘They were with strangers, well more or less. In a church. At a funeral. What are they, twelve year olds? You don’t go laughing at some random kid messing about at a funeral, not if you’re twelve years old and off your own territory. It doesn’t sit right.’
‘You’re saying they knew the kid in the car?’
‘Maybe, the one who laughed anyway.’
‘That’s quite a leap, Annie, on a flimsy premise.’
‘No, there’s more. It’s been niggling me all day. Laura Tunbridge told me she and Kay got a lift with Mrs Kitson. I remember her saying it. Me and Kay. Not the third one, not Mally.’
‘You’re saying the one who didn’t get the lift with Mrs Kitson knew the lad in the car and that’s how she got there?’
The one who said she’d kill Terry Martin.
‘It might explain how he knew who I was. She could have met up with him later. Or maybe she’s just an obnoxious little cow who got there by bus.’
‘Milesthorpe to Withernsea? You must be joking. One bus a week if there’s any at all. No, she had a lift all right.’
A minute before five o’clock, Pat hoisted herself out of the settee and hobbled through to her bedroom. As the hour struck, Annie heard the key in the lock and smothered a sigh. Pat would be at least half an hour getting ready.
The chair was comfortable. Annie didn’t want to go and sit in the small bedroom or hang about in the kitchen, but there’d be no comfort in listening to bad-tempered mutterings.
As Barbara bustled in and glared at the empty space on the settee that should have been Pat all ready to go, Annie leapt in with the first topic that came to mind. ‘Pat tells me you used to be a key figure in the agency,’ she lied. ‘What made you give it up?’
Barbara swivelled her gaze to Annie. Her expression smoothed from cross towards smug. ‘Did she now? Well yes, I was. I used to be the company secretary,
you know.’
‘Oh, really? That’s quite a responsibility. But you decided to give it up?’
‘I served my apprenticeship, learnt the business. Decided it wasn’t for me, so I went away to university and left Pat to take up the reins. It was more suited to someone of her temperament.’
‘What did you do at university?’ Annie asked, determined to keep the conversation rolling on neutral territory.
‘Archaeology.’
There was an undercurrent of pride in the pronouncement. Barbara, an archaeologist? There were clear investigative parallels with the business she’d given up. ‘So did you take up a career in archaeology?’
‘Well, I raised a family.’ The inference that the two were more or less the same robbed Annie of an easy reply and allowed Barbara space to turn the conversation with a tetchy look at her watch. ‘I told her five o’clock on the dot.’
Twenty minutes later the sisters bickered their way out of the flat. Annie felt herself relax. The tensions must have been impossible when they worked together.
The agency and its hidden agendas were in her mind when her phone rang a little later.
‘Jed’s Private Investigations.’
‘I should like to speak to a person called Annie Raymond,’ said a high-pitched voice. ‘It is so a matter of urgency and great importance.’
Annie felt her mouth curve into a grim smile. Laura Tunbridge. She resisted an urge to give the girl an immediate dressing down.
‘This is Annie Raymond. How can I help you?’
‘Oh Annie!’ The precise tone shattered into a storm of tears. Words forced their way out between hysterical intakes of breath and huge sobs. ‘Help us! You’ve so got to help us!’
‘Laura …? What is it? Calm down. Come on. Deep breaths. Tell me what it is.’
Laura’s hysterics escalated. Annie could make no sense other than ‘Help us!’ and strained to gather clues from the background sounds as she tried to keep up a commentary of soothing noises. Laura seemed to be out in a storm, her voice hard to hear. Annie’s gaze was drawn to the big window overlooking the estuary. Nothing but the tide rippled the water’s surface as the heat of the day eased itself towards evening. The sounds from the phone didn’t match the calm she could see.
‘Laura … Listen to me. You must calm down.’
… Laura’s got a signal … A faint voice in the background.
‘Who’s with you Laura? Is it Kay? Mally?’
‘Yes. Yes. Please help.’
Then out of the background mayhem and the hysterical sobs Annie picked the words, ‘So awful … The smell …’
Chapter 8
Annie was out of the door, down the stairs and unlocking the car before she heard any break in Laura’s hysteria. And then it was barely more than a pause for breath before the shrieks started up again.
‘Annie … Annie … You must …’
Every nerve strained towards one goal. Keep Laura talking. Keep her on the phone. She fought back the images, the shadowy cellar for real, the rotting corpse now a mass of writhing maggots; a gang of twelve year olds walking in on it.
And what in hell had she heard behind Laura’s hysterical outpouring? Muted now, the cacophony could have been a riotous party but without living participants. The images danced; decaying bodies leaping around Laura in a macabre ballet as she screamed in Annie’s ear. Terry’s film showed a single body, but what about the rest of the room? How many more might there be?
She must get a grip. Laura’s hysteria threatened to engulf her.
‘It’s OK, Laura. I’m coming to get you. Try to calm down …’
A storm. Laura had been out in a storm. It was the rush of wind she’d heard, the lash of rain cascading in sheets. But where? The evening sun warmed her face, the road surface wore a haze of dust. The sky stretched out with only the slimmest brushstrokes of dusk streaking the horizon.
Instinctively, she turned east on to the main carriageway, phone clamped to her ear, struggling one-handed to attach the hands-free kit. The road was busy, too busy to drive like this. As soon as she could finish the call – which was as soon as Laura told her where she was – she could be on to the emergency services. No, not even that. She’d call Jennifer and cut the need for a whole swathe of explanation. Let Jennifer mobilize official help.
‘I’m coming Laura. I’m on my way. Where are you? I’ll be as quick as I can.’
‘Don’t tell. Don’t tell.’ A voice in the background.
‘Are you in Milesthorpe?’ They must be on Terry Martin’s territory.
She heard Laura repeat the question. Whispers out of range. The background noises changed, became calmer and yet stronger as though the signal strengthened. The girls weren’t standing still. They’d put distance between themselves and their gruesome find. Thank heavens for that, but where were they?
‘Laura, where are you?’
After a pause, a different voice answered her, more in control. ‘We haven’t sussed out if we want to tell you. You don’t know what we’ve found yet.’
Oh, but I do.
‘I won’t tell,’ Annie lied. ‘When I get there, we’ll talk. We’ll decide between us what to do. But where are you?’
‘We’ll meet her in Milesthorpe.’
Annie heard the whisper. The background noise had quietened. She must remember everything in case the girls clammed up. When Laura first rang, she’d been out in a storm.
‘We’ll meet you at Mr Balham’s.’ Laura’s voice again, breathless but without hysteria now.
Thank heavens for the time spent scrutinizing the map, committing the major landmarks in the case to memory. Balham’s farm lay just beyond the village boundary to the east. From here she must cut off the Withernsea road and head north. Milesthorpe couldn’t be far. She mapped a route in her mind. ‘I’ll be there in five minutes.’
‘So will we.’ Laura’s words now came out between gasps. Laura ran as she spoke. They’d been running all the time she’d driven out from Hull. How far could three twelve year olds run in quarter of an hour? Had they turned back to meet her at the scene of the crime?
‘You so mustn’t put the phone down!’ Laura’s voice screeched in her ear.
‘No, no of course I won’t.’ Annie gritted her teeth. She didn’t trust Laura’s hysteria as quite so genuine as at the start of the call. It held a threat of the girls running off, going to ground, denying everything. She’d wanted to end the call and get on to Jennifer, but daren’t, so kept talking until she drove down the hill towards Milesthorpe and saw three figures astride the ramshackle gate that must be the entrance to the farm.
‘I can see you, Laura. Look. Up the hill.’ She flashed her lights and the girls scrambled to the ground and waved back, clearly not the panicked mess they’d wanted her to believe.
Annie cut the call without advance warning. She tucked the microphone wire into her hair and jabbed the buttons to get Jennifer’s number.
You have reached the voicemail of …
Shit! Either Jennifer’s phone was off or she was on another call. Annie had no time to retry. She waited for the beep and spoke rapidly, tucking her head down, making a meal of backing the car on to the verge so the girls wouldn’t see.
She gabbled out as concise an account as she could. ‘I’m with them now at the entrance to Balham’s farm,’ she finished. ‘But I’ve no idea how close we are to where they found it. Ring me back as soon as you get this.’
As she opened the car door, Annie deliberately slowed her breathing before she looked up into the faces of the three girls who crowded round.
‘You’ve so got to help us. It was so awful.’ Sweat plastered Laura’s straggly hair to her scalp.
Annie recognized the other two from the church. Kay and Mally. She wondered which was which. The stocky one with short brown hair stared hard at Annie as if to judge how far to trust her. The tall one looked the oldest, and stood back, long and slender, her expression interested but without the anxiety of the o
thers. Her hair, sweat-streaked like Laura’s, hung down beyond her shoulders.
‘OK,’ said Annie. ‘First, tell me exactly where you found … uh … exactly where you were when you rang me.’
‘But we haven’t sussed out if we want to tell.’ The stocky girl spoke, while the tall one looked from her to Annie as if not sure whose side to take.
Laura had no reservations. ‘Oh Mally, we’ve so got to tell.’
So the stocky one whose small eyes radiated resentment was Mally, the one who’d laughed at Terry Martin’s funeral.
‘People pay money to know this sort of stuff.’
‘I guess you’re the oldest here?’ Annie turned her attention to the tall girl, wanting to shift the spotlight from Mally. She had Laura on side and if she could make the older girl take some responsibility Mally would be outnumbered and stop being obstructive.
Annie’s tactic backfired. ‘I’m the oldest!’ Mally swelled in belligerence as she answered. ‘Anyway, Kay’s not thirteen yet. I’ve been thirteen for ages.’
‘I’m nearly thirteen. It’s Laura who’s the baby.’
‘I am so not a baby!’
‘Yeah anyway, Kay’s right. You act like one half the time. Always getting us into trouble.’
‘I so don’t, do I, Kay? I so don’t, Annie. It’s Mally who always–’
‘You do sometimes. If you’d let Mally take Boxer–’
Kay stopped abruptly. Fierce glances were exchanged. Laura muttered. ‘It’s so not fair. You’re a blackguard, Mally!’
‘And you’re a liar, Laura Tunbridge. You couldn’t suss your way out of a paper bag.’
Annie took a few steps away from the simmering group and leant against the rickety gate. ‘Some grown-up behaviour from all of you wouldn’t be a bad idea considering what you just found.’
‘You haven’t sussed what we found.’
‘OK, surprise me.’
The three girls looked at each other and it was Kay who spoke. ‘We’ve found the body.’
Annie heard an edge of panic in Kay’s tone as the memory came back to her. How much worse must it have been in the flesh … in the rotting flesh? All three were jumpy, it was why they sniped at each other. She must take this carefully, bear in mind what was and wasn’t officially in the public domain.
