The Dark Angel

by Elly Griffiths

  *

  The bones were found near Castle Rising, where Judy used to live before she left her decent, dull husband and set up with Cathbad, a development that stunned many in the force but which Nelson understands perfectly. Judy and Cathbad have nothing in common: she’s a hard-headed police officer; he’s a druid who believes that he might have been a tree in a former life. But in Nelson’s view, human relationships defy rational explanation. At any rate, Judy and Cathbad have three children between them and seem very happy.

  A sign at the entrance to the site says that twenty luxury townhouses are being built by Edward Spens and Co. Nelson looks dubiously at the muddy field. To fit twenty houses on here they will have to be very small and close together – not his definition of luxury. And what’s all this with townhouses anyway? They are miles away from anywhere that he considers a town.

  The foreman is waiting for him by the gate, wearing a hard hat and a gloomy expression. Human bones are bad news for builders; even at the most conservative estimate, they will hold up the construction work for weeks. If the bones are relatively modern, that means a full-blown police investigation, which could take months. Nelson is surprised that Edward Spens himself isn’t there – he usually likes to get involved in everything that happens on his sites. Having encountered Spens on several previous investigations, Nelson is glad that he has stayed away.

  ‘Where are these bones then?’ he asks, accepting a hard hat but not putting it on. ‘The forensic archaeologist, Dr Ruth Galloway, should be joining us in a minute.’

  The foreman stares at him. ‘The archaeologist is already here.’

  Nelson follows the pointing finger. The ground has been churned into an alien landscape of craters and hillocks, but the actual building work doesn’t seem to have started yet. The field is empty apart from an abandoned JCB, a portaloo and a man standing beside one of the biggest craters. When he sees Nelson, the man comes forward, grinning wildly.

  ‘DCI Nelson. Fancy seeing you here.’

  ‘Phil. Why are you here? Where’s Ruth?’

  ‘Oh, didn’t you know?’ Phil grins even more broadly. ‘Ruth’s away. She’s gone to Italy. I took her and Shona to the airport this morning.’

  *

  Ruth and Shona are currently in mid-air. It’s odd, thinks Ruth, how quickly you get used to this strange form of travel, held apparently stationary in the sky, yet travelling hundreds of miles an hour. This is Kate’s first flight and she had been quite mesmerised by the take-off, not scared at all, watching the earth disappear with frank enjoyment. It was Ruth who had felt nervous. She has flown before, of course, but never with this precious cargo, this child whose safety overrides everything else. While Kate had squealed as if she were on a roller coaster, Ruth had been reduced to muttering one of Cathbad’s calming mantras under her breath (‘Goddess bless, Goddess keep’). Louis had cried because his ears hurt. Ruth had been sympathetic, but also relieved that they were sitting two rows away from him.

  But now the children are sitting together, poring over an iPad game, and Ruth and Shona are managing a few minutes of whispered conversation.

  ‘Where are we staying again?’ says Shona. ‘It’s all a bit mad, isn’t it? Running away like this at a moment’s notice.’

  Running away, thinks Ruth. Is that what they’re doing? And it is a bit mad, she can’t deny it. Now that they are in the air she can’t quite believe that she has left everything – her home, her cat, her last-minute lesson planning – to assist on a dig in a remote part of Italy. But she tries not to show any of this to Shona.

  ‘Castello degli Angeli,’ she says. ‘It’s in Lazio. Apparently it’s about an hour away from the airport. Angelo said that his friend Graziano would come and collect us. I’ve got his mobile number.’

  ‘Graziano,’ says Shona. ‘That’s a great name.’

  ‘I suppose it is.’

  ‘Do you know what the house is like?’

  ‘It’s an apartment, really,’ says Ruth. ‘I’ve seen some pictures but it’s hard to get much sense of it. There are three bedrooms though, so we should be fine.’

  ‘Is it near the sea?’ says Shona. ‘Louis would love to go to the beach.’

  ‘Not far,’ says Ruth. At least, it doesn’t look far on the map, but it’s hard to tell with those winding mountain roads. Castello degli Angeli seems to be on the very top of a hill, looking down on the valley. Ruth thinks of Italy, the long thin boot with its spine of mountains. Mountains on one side and sea on the other, like a fairy-tale world.

  ‘It’ll be great just to chill. Eat pasta, drink wine, sunbathe,’ says Shona. ‘I’m looking forward to turning up at UNN in September with a tan.’

  Despite being a redhead, Ruth is sure that Shona goes a beautiful, even brown in the sun. She is pretty sure that she will return to UNN bright red and peeling gently.

  ‘I’ll be working some of the time,’ she says.

  ‘How long will it take you to look at a couple of bones?’ says Shona. ‘No, we’ll have plenty of time to enjoy ourselves in the sun.’

  *

  Ruth thinks of this when they have landed and battled through customs and baggage reclaim to find themselves in a car park with white-hot heat pouring down on their heads. She had forgotten what August in Italy was like. She had got used to thinking of sunny days in Norfolk as hot, but those benevolent rays are nothing compared to this killer heat, which seems to skewer them to the spot, leaving them unable to move or even speak. Kate and Louis, who have, during the flight, moved from being best friends to hating each other, now stand side by side, transfixed. In front of them, two men argue volubly over a taxi and an armed policeman lights a cigarette. There is no sign of Angelo’s friend, Graziano.

  ‘Why’s it so hot?’ says Kate.

  ‘That’s what it’s like in Italy,’ says Ruth.

  ‘Where’s Italy?’ says Louis.

  ‘Italy is here,’ says Kate crushingly.

  Louis starts to cry and Shona picks him up. The sun shines on her red-gold hair and the two arguing men break off to look at her appreciatively. One says something about the Madonna.

  ‘I’d forgotten what it’s like,’ she says. ‘All that attention. You never get a moment’s peace.’

  Ruth doesn’t answer. She’s starting to worry all over again. What if Graziano never appears? What if it’s all a scam – the dig, the apartment, Castello degli Angeli, everything? She searches on her travel documents for Graziano’s phone number. Are you supposed to add a zero for calls inside Italy?

  ‘Signora Galloway?’

  Ruth turns. The heat has fried her brains so much that she can’t even remember the Italian for ‘yes’. A youngish man with a dark beard is standing in front of her. He has parked his car, a red Alfa, in the space clearly meant for police cars.

  ‘I am Graziano. The friend of Angelo. I’m taking you to the apartment.’

  ‘Oh, hello,’ says Ruth. ‘It’s great to see you.’

  ‘I have child seats.’ Graziano gestures to Kate and Louis. ‘And air conditioning.’

  Ruth doesn’t think she’s ever heard two such beautiful words. Almost before she can reply, Shona is shaking Graziano’s hand and installing the children in the back seats of the car. Ruth doesn’t even mind when Shona gets in the front and leaves her to sit between the children.

  It’s disconcerting being in a left-hand drive car, especially as Graziano seems to move very fast through several lanes of hooting traffic without indicating. Italy slides past them, suburbs giving way to sun-bleached grass, cypress trees and villages clinging to the side of mountains. Shona tries to chat to Graziano, but as her Italian is extremely limited, and, in an effort to be understood, Graziano often takes both hands off the wheel, Ruth is glad when they lapse into silence. Graziano’s road skills remind her of Nelson, who always drives as if he is pursuing suspects. But the one thing she is not going to do is think about Nelson.

  They leave the motorway and drive through an industrial area. R
uth thinks that she’s never seen a grimmer place: litter on the verges, empty buildings, abandoned cars. By the side of the road stand several young women in short skirts and high heels, their attempts at glamour all the more tragic because of the squalid setting.

  ‘What are those ladies selling?’ asks Kate.

  ‘Fruit,’ says Ruth, not wanting to introduce her daughter to the concept of women being forced to sell their bodies. For a moment, she wishes she was back in Norfolk, beside the grey–green marshes. She thought that Italy was supposed to be scenic. But then they start to climb, up and up, away from the rubbish and the fruit sellers, up into the hills. They pass roadside shrines and farm buildings, olive groves and fields of sunflowers. They have to stop once to let a wild boar across the road. Higher and higher. Louis starts crying because his ears hurt again, but Kate is entranced, pressing her face to the window.

  Then they see it, on the top of the highest hill: turrets and towers, crenellated walls, rooftop upon rooftop. It’s a terracotta fortress, every shade from dark orange to palest pink and, above, the sky is a perfect azure.

  ‘Castello degli Angeli,’ says Graziano.

  A few more turns of the road and the Alfa seems to drive straight at a wall. Ruth shuts her eyes. When she opens them again they are in a cobbled square with a fountain playing in the centre. Behind them are the walls of the castle and in the foreground there is a church, so beautiful and symmetrical that it looks like a stage set. A group of old men sitting outside a café turn to stare at them; not hostile, but not exactly welcoming either.

  When they get out of the car, the heat hits them again. Ruth thinks that she actually staggers under the weight of the sunlight. And it’s five o’clock, well past the hottest part of the day.

  ‘We have to walk.’ Graziano gestures apologetically at one of the narrow lanes leading off from the square. He takes Ruth’s suitcase in one hand and Shona’s in the other and sets off. Ruth follows, still feeling pretty weighed down by her hand luggage and by Kate pulling on her arm. At least the narrow street is shady, a cool stone passage rising steeply in front of them; in fact, it feels as if it never gets the sun. Ruth looks around at the doorways and arches, hears a caged bird singing, a child laughing from a balcony, inhales the scent of Italian cooking. They continue to climb until, just when Ruth thinks that she must ask to stop for a rest, Graziano comes to a halt by a green door which seems to lead into the castle wall itself.

  ‘Is the apartment actually in the castle?’ she asks.

  But Graziano, key in hand, is staring at the door. He makes a sign for Ruth to keep back, but she has already seen. Scrawled in chalk across the stone architrave are the words, ‘Stranieri andate a casa.’

  Ruth doesn’t know what it means, but she’s pretty sure that it’s not a welcome banner.

  Chapter 6

  ‘What do you mean, she’s gone to Italy?’

  Nelson sounds so ferocious that Phil takes a step back.

  ‘Some professor at Rome University invited her,’ he says. ‘He wanted her help dating some bones apparently. UNN is getting quite an international reputation.’ He manages to sound both proud and resentful as he says this.

  ‘Has she taken Katie?’

  ‘Katie? Oh, Kate. Yes, of course. Shona’s taken Louis too. A regular mother and baby outing.’ He laughs, then stops when he sees Nelson’s face.

  ‘Do you know when they’re coming back?’

  ‘In two weeks’ time. It’s cutting it a bit fine for the start of the term, but I told Ruth that it would be all right in the circumstances. I think she’s feeling a bit low. You know, losing her mum and all that.’

  ‘Two weeks?’ Nelson practically shouts the words.

  Phil looks around nervously. ‘Well, they want to have a holiday. Apparently it’s a beautiful part of . . .’

  But Nelson has already turned away. He has to call Ruth. How could she have taken Katie out of the country without telling him? His hands are shaking as he gets out his phone.

  ‘DCI Nelson?’

  Phil is hovering at his elbow. Nelson has to resist the temptation to push him away. Super Jo would just love to have him up on a charge of assaulting the public.

  ‘Don’t you want to see the bones?’

  ‘The bones? Oh . . . yes.’ Nelson puts his phone away and reluctantly follows Phil to the edge of a muddy hole. At the bottom, half-submerged in water, are several long bones, broken and discoloured.

  ‘They look human,’ Phil is saying. ‘Of course, to be sure—’

  ‘Are you going to excavate?’ Nelson interrupts him. ‘How long will you need for the digging?’

  Phil looks shocked. ‘I’m not going to dig. First, I thought, we’d get a drone—’

  ‘A drone?’

  ‘Yes, they’re the latest thing in archaeology. They allow you to get measurements in double quick time with remarkable precision, not just in terms of surveying. I’m just dying to try my hand with a drone.’

  Nelson stares at him stonily.

  ‘Funnily enough,’ continues Phil, ‘the Italians are the leaders in this sort of technology.’

  Nelson is breathing heavily. ‘Let’s get this straight,’ he says. ‘I want you to excavate this site using a shovel – not a bloody drone that’s probably going to cost me a fortune and bring down a few passenger planes for good measure. I want you to dig up these bones and tell me how old they are. I don’t want a lecture on surveying. I just want to know if this is a crime scene or not. Got it?’

  ‘Can I do some geophysics, just for good measure?’

  ‘No. Just dig up the bloody bones. Liaise with DS Johnson at the station.’

  And he’s gone, before Phil can ask if there’s any chance of television coverage.

  *

  ‘What does that say?’ says Kate.

  ‘It says hello,’ says Ruth. ‘In Italian. Shall we go in? Isn’t it exciting to be living inside a real-life castle?’

  ‘It’s a lot of words,’ mutters Kate, but she allows herself to be ushered over the threshold. Inside, it’s pitch black after the brightness of the day. Graziano uses the torch on his phone to light the way up two flights of stairs. By the time they get to the top they are all out of breath and Shona is carrying Louis. Graziano finds another key and opens another door. Stepping inside, Ruth is immediately struck by a sudden sense of space. They are in a high-ceilinged room, shadowy and cool with shuttered doors at one end. Ruth opens the shutters and steps out onto a small balcony. They are far higher than she imagined, above the rooftops of the town. There are mountains in the distance, wooded and wild, and, far below them, the valley, silver with olive trees and golden in the late afternoon sun. On the opposite hill there is a single ruined tower, somehow ominous, like a sentinel. The photographs she’d seen, which mostly showed empty white-walled rooms, had given no hint of what was in store.

  Kate comes to join her. ‘Are we on the top of the castle?’ she asks.

  ‘I think so,’ says Ruth. ‘You must never come out on this balcony on your own. It’s too dangerous.’

  She looks around for Shona to corroborate this, but Shona has collapsed onto a sofa with her eyes shut. Louis sits beside her, too tired even to whine. Graziano is speaking into his phone, but looks up when Ruth comes back into the room.

  ‘Beautiful view, yes?’

  ‘Yes,’ says Ruth.

  ‘I speak with Angelo.’ He waves his phone. ‘He will meet you in the piazza at nine. At the bar. Yes?’

  No, Ruth wants to say. Both children are exhausted and Kate usually goes to bed at half past seven. She doesn’t want to drag her out to a bar in the middle of a strange town. She wants them both to sit down, watch CBeebies for an hour, eat undemanding nursery food and go to bed. But how can she say any of this to Graziano? Shona, who still has her eyes shut, clearly isn’t going to be any help.

  ‘OK,’ she says.

  ‘I show you the rest of the apartment,’ says Graziano, clearly relieved that his duties will soon b
e at an end.

  The apartment is grand but somehow rather cheerless. The rooms are all large, with moulded cornices and double doors, but they are sparsely furnished: beds, sofas and tables marooned in a sea of polished marble. The bathrooms are beautiful, though, tiled from floor to ceiling, with windows looking out over the valley. The kitchen is bristling with modern devices. Ruth, who had been expecting a rustic galley, is pleasantly surprised.

  ‘Some food.’ Graziano opens the vast fridge to reveal cheese, milk, salami, tomatoes, grapes, mineral water and orange juice. There’s also pasta, coffee and two bottles of wine. Ruth feels her spirits rising.

  ‘That’s very kind,’ she says.

  ‘Also,’ Graziano opens a cupboard door with the air of a magician, ‘Nutella.’

  ‘Nutella, Mum,’ says Kate, in the voice of one who has seen a vision.

  ‘And bread.’ Graziano flourishes a loaf.

  ‘Thank you,’ says Ruth. She’s not sure if it’s Angelo or Graziano who has provided for them, but she’s very grateful, all the same. At least they’ll be able to make supper for the children. Graziano starts explaining about the recycling, which sounds incredibly complicated, with different coloured containers for glass, plastic, paper and something called ‘mixed materials’. There is a refuse collection every day and a special calendar shows which recycling is collected on which day. Ruth looks at the calendar, trying to make sense of the romantically named days: lunedi . . . mercoledì . . . domenica. She is impressed that a little town on top of a mountain has a rubbish collection every day though. Why is it so hard to get her recycling collected in Norfolk?

  Shona is already opening the wine.

  ‘Will you have some?’ she twinkles at Graziano.

  Ruth prays that Graziano will say no, and he does, saying that he needs to be at work. What does he do, wonders Ruth, that demands his presence at half past five in the afternoon? Graziano says ‘ci vediamo’, one of the few Italian phrases that Ruth remembers. See you soon. Then they hear him running down the stone steps. The apartment suddenly seems very big, very old and very silent.