Lost Summer

by Stuart Harrison

  ‘Are you alright?’ Dr Keller asked. ‘It’s quite normal for people to feel queasy.’

  He shook his head. ‘It’s not that.’ In fact, he had suddenly remembered Meg Coucesco as he had first seen her. A dark-haired girl staring at him solemnly through the windows of a bus on an unseasonably warm spring day. She’d been sitting astride a horse with two small children in front of her. He was struck by the clarity of the image. He could even remember the shapeless cotton dress she wore and the hint of a womanly body beneath it. It was this face, this image of her that haunted his dreams, he realized. The look in her eyes, a mixture of accusation and a mute plea. He reached out to a nearby bench for support.

  Dr Keller was watching him with real concern now, and also curiosity. Somehow he couldn’t reconcile this pile of bones with the living, breathing girl he remembered. Had she lived she might have married, had children, a home, a life, instead of being reduced to what lay in front of him. He felt sadness for her, but also a resurgence of guilt. He wondered what her last moments had been like. Had she been frightened?

  ‘How did she die?’ he asked.

  Dr Keller regarded him with an appraising frown. ‘Have you had any medical training, Mr Turner?’

  ‘No. Why do you ask?’

  ‘You said she. How did she die. How do you know these are the remains of a female?’

  ‘Am I right?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said at length.

  ‘How did she die?’ he asked again.

  ‘I’m not at liberty to disclose that kind of information. In fact you shouldn’t be here at all.’

  ‘I promise you that nothing you tell me will leave this room. The truth is I think I know who she may have been.’

  She looked long and hard at him, then sighed. ‘Alright, but I hope my faith in your word isn’t misplaced.’ She moved to the end of the table closest to the skull. ‘After this length of time it’s impossible to determine the cause of death with any certainty. However, it’s a reasonable assumption that this trauma to the skull was the cause. I can’t say whether the damage occurred postmortem, but my guess would be that it happened before she was put in the water.’

  ‘Do you know what caused it?’

  ‘A blow with a heavy blunt instrument. Beyond that it would only be conjecture.’

  ‘Then she was definitely murdered?’

  ‘It’s highly likely. Unless you can think of another reason why she was wrapped in a tarpaulin and then weighted with chains before she was dumped in the water.’

  He conjured an image of the lake at night, a figure bent over a prostrate form wrapping her body in chains. ‘How old was she?’ he asked when he found his voice again.

  ‘More to the point, how old would you say she was?’

  ‘Eighteen or thereabouts.’

  She nodded her agreement. ‘Certainly she was between fifteen and twenty years of age. So eighteen fits.’

  ‘Do you know how long she was in the lake?’

  ‘It’s hard to say with any degree of accuracy. At least ten years. That much we can determine from the advanced degree of decomposition. Probably no more than thirty years.’

  ‘How about seventeen years?’

  ‘Yes. She could have been there for seventeen years.’

  ‘Was there anything found with the body?’

  Dr Keller held up her hand. ‘Wait a minute. So far you’ve asked a lot of questions to which I’ve given all the answers.’

  ‘Please,’ he said. ‘Did you find anything else?’

  She hesitated, then said, ‘If I find out you have a tape recorder running in your pocket I personally guarantee that you will regret this.’

  He spread his hands. ‘No recorder. I swear it.’

  She evidently decided to believe him. ‘So far we’ve collected various samples of fibres and so forth, some of it no doubt the remains of clothing, some of it the tarpaulin she was wrapped in. But I doubt we’ll be able to tell much from them. The chances of recovering DNA material which might help to identify her killer are practically nil.’

  ‘Nothing else? What about jewellery for instance?’

  ‘As a matter of fact we do have some jewellery, yes.’

  She led the way to a stainless-steel bench where various samples had been placed awaiting further analysis. His heart was beating faster than normal. Dr Keller indicated several dull yellow hoops that he assumed were earrings.

  ‘They’re gold,’ she said. ‘We also found this necklace and these bands.’ She indicated the pieces all laid out in a row. ‘They have one interesting detail in common; see here, these markings.’

  He looked where she was pointing and she handed him a magnifying glass.

  ‘Take a look on the inside. I haven’t been able to identify them yet.’

  He saw a series of symbols. At first glance he thought they were letters, but when he looked harder he realized they weren’t from any alphabet he recognized. He studied them, wondering what they reminded him of.

  ‘Romany,’ he said at last, straightening.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Some kind of Romany symbols. I’ve seen something like this before. I did a story a few years ago about a family of gypsies. A teenage boy was killed by some local youths. He wore a ring with markings like this.’

  Dr Keller looked at him with interest, then peered herself through the magnifying glass. ‘You might have something there. They could be of Romany origin.’ She put the glass down. ‘Any other reason why you might think that, Mr Turner?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said and indicated one of the gold bands. ‘See if the police have something that matches that. It’ll be in a property file from 1985. A gypsy girl went missing. Her name was Meg Coucesco.’

  After leaving the hospital he phoned the Courier and asked Findlay if he could spare ten minutes of his time. When he arrived twenty minutes later Adam was surprised to find both Findlay and Janice waiting for him.

  ‘How was the lovely Dr Keller this morning, Adam?’ Findlay said, gesturing towards a chair.

  Adam tried to hide his surprise. ‘How did you know I’d seen her?’

  ‘This is no’ a big place Adam. I’ve someone waiting at the hospital who recognized you. I take it you were there to talk about the body they found in the lake? Though I doubt there’s much left of it now, eh? Mebbe a pile of old bones.’

  Adam saw no point in denying the obvious but he wasn’t going to break his pledge to Dr Keller either. ‘I can’t talk about it, Jim. I gave my word.’

  ‘Aye, fair enough. To tell the truth, Adam, I was surprised the good doctor agreed to see you. There’s people from the national papers and the TV who’d cut off their arm to get inside that lab. Well, mebbe no’ their own arm, but probably their mother’s anyway.’ Findlay chuckled at his own grim joke. ‘Perhaps it’s because of your charm and good looks, eh? What do you think Janice?’

  Janice had so far said nothing, and when Findlay drew attention to her she seemed uncomfortable. She cast Adam a quick almost apologetic look.

  ‘No, I don’t think that’s it,’ Findlay said, rocking back on his chair. ‘No offence, Adam, but our Dr Keller is no’ easily swayed by such trivialities. She takes her work seriously, so she does. I think she must have had some other reason for agreeing to talk to you.’ He leaned forward and tossed a newspaper across the desk. ‘I wonder if this has anything to do with it?’

  The headline was from seventeen years ago. The paper was dated 15 August 1985, and the story was about the disappearance of a gypsy girl whose likeness, drawn by a police artist, occupied a quarter of the page. Adam was aware that Findlay was watching his reaction intently.

  ‘Listen, I know it’s her body they found in the lake.’ He jabbed a finger at the paper. ‘The police are holding a press conference later today, but I cannae wait for that. We’re putting out a special edition this afternoon and I need to know now what they’re going to say in that conference. You have to be quick these days to get the jump on the competition.
’ Findlay glanced at Janice with heavy emphasis. ‘So tell me, have they positively identified her?’

  Adam shook his head. ‘I gave my word, Jim.’

  Anger flashed momentarily in Findlay’s eyes, then he gestured to Janice. ‘Give us a few minutes will you, Janice?’

  She hesitated, obviously baffled by what was going on but nevertheless intrigued. However, she rose and obediently went to the door. Findlay watched her go. ‘She’s going to make a good reporter that one. She told me that it was you who tipped her off about what those fishermen found the other day.’

  ‘We’re staying at the same pub.’

  ‘Aye, I know. I suppose you know the Mail had the story the next morning? I know that was Janice’s doing. She’s young and ambitious. I’m no’ so old that I dinnae understand that. I was young once myself, Adam. But the kids today, they’re ruthless, so they are.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘But mebbe they always were, eh? Mebbe I just didnae have the right attitude when I was her age. That’s probably why I’m still here.’

  Was there a wistful note in Findlay’s tone, Adam wondered? When he’d known him years ago, Findlay had seemed older than his years. He’d been the paper’s senior reporter, his solitary and individualistic habits tolerated because of his skills. But Adam had no idea what path Findlay had taken to arrive at the Courier. He supposed there had been certain choices along the way, maybe some he regretted.

  Findlay pointed a stubby finger across the desk. ‘You know something about this girl, Adam.’ He wagged his finger before Adam could respond. ‘Don’t try and deny it. I knew it when she disappeared, and I know it now. I could’ve made you tell me back then. Don’t think I couldn’t have. But when they arrested that fella James Allen, I figured it didnae matter any more.’

  Findlay leaned back in his chair. ‘I knew a detective who worked on that case. He always believed that James Allen had killed her. Allen knew her, Adam. Did you know that? He had a lot of dealings with the gypsies. Selling stolen goods and the like. Anyway, after Allen was killed that was the end of it one way or the other. I thought so too. Though I often used to wonder what it was you’d been hiding. I should have made you tell me really. That’s always been my trouble, I’m too soft. If I’d been more like young Janice there I wouldnae’ve let you off so easily. But the way I saw it, Allen was dead, and whatever you knew it was between yourself and your conscience.’

  Findlay paused for effect. ‘But now I hear you get in to see Dr Keller when naebody else could. That makes me wonder, Adam.’

  Findlay was calling in an old obligation, Adam saw. He was telling him that once he’d gone easy on him, and now it was time to repay the debt. Perhaps he was right. Besides, when considered in light of the fact he had come here to ask for Findlay’s help again, Adam didn’t see that he could refuse.

  ‘Okay, I can’t tell you what I spoke about with Dr Keller,’ he said eventually. ‘But I can tell you this much. The police found something in Allen’s van after he was arrested if you remember.’

  ‘Aye, it was a bracelet.’

  ‘That’s right. It was you that told me about it. I think you’ll find it was one of a set.’

  Findlay regarded him shrewdly. ‘And they’ve found others that match, is that it?’

  Adam said nothing. Findlay stood up and came around his desk. He rested a hand briefly on Adam’s shoulder. He seemed about to offer some philosophical observation on the nature of loyalty, but thought better of it. Eventually he went back around his desk and sat down.

  ‘Now, Adam, you wanted to see me, what can I do for you?’ he said.

  Findlay, it turned out, knew a lot about Carisbrook Hall. Adam told him that Jane Hanson had been interested in somebody who’d been a patient there in the mid-eighties, but he didn’t know the reason for her interest.

  Findlay thought for a minute. ‘Webster would’ve been in charge at Carisbrook around then.’

  ‘Yes. I already spoke to him.’

  ‘Is that so? And what was your impression of the good doctor?’

  ‘Apart from the fact that he lied to me about having met Jane Hanson, I thought he was a bit of the old-fashioned type, I suppose. Authoritarian.’

  ‘Aye, he was that. A cold-hearted bastard more like. I had to interview him a few times over the years. It would have been easier getting in to see the prime minister.’

  ‘He didn’t like journalists then?’

  ‘He didnae like anybody that questioned the way he ran that place. Anyone that said a word against the way he did things was out. None of the good nurses ever lasted there very long. Only the bad ones stayed. Webster liked things to be regimented, everything to run smoothly. I don’t think he was all that bothered about the methods his staff used so long as they got the results. I always felt sorry for the poor buggers who ended up there.’

  ‘Are you saying the patients were abused?’

  ‘Aye, I’m sure there was some of that. There were all kinds of rumours about the place. Most of the time things got swept under the carpet.’

  ‘But surely there were complaints?’

  ‘There were, but you have to remember that we’re talking about an institution for the mentally ill, Adam. The powers that be, even these days, tend not to take complaints too seriously when the people who make them claim they were abducted by wee green men.’

  ‘So, nothing was done?’

  ‘Eventually they had to. It got to the point where they couldn’t ignore it any more and that’s when they started making moves to shut the place down. It was partly a way of getting rid of Webster quietly.’

  ‘Can you remember anything specific happening there around the mid-eighties?’

  ‘I did a few different stories on that place, but it was a long time ago now. The thing for you to do would be to check through the back issues of the paper.’

  Findlay picked up the phone and spoke briefly. When he hung up he said, ‘You remember the way to the records department? Speak to the guy down there, he’s expecting you.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Adam said. As he got up he caught sight of Janice at her desk. ‘What are you going to do about her?’

  ‘I’ve given her a bloody good bollocking, but this time I’ll let her keep her job,’ Findlay said. ‘But I’ll be warning her if anything like this happens again she’ll be out on her ear. Send her in as you leave would you?’

  It was fair enough. More than fair really. As he left Adam made a detour past her desk. She glanced warily over his shoulder towards Findlay’s office. ‘What kind of mood is he in?’

  ‘He wants to see you, but between you and me I think you’re off the hook.’

  She looked relieved and then her journalistic instincts took over from concerns about her self-preservation. ‘What was that all about in there anyway?’

  ‘Ask Findlay,’ he answered, knowing as well as she did that Findlay wouldn’t tell her anything. ‘I have to go downstairs and look up some old back issues. I’ll talk to you later.’

  ‘Back issues? Would that have anything to do with the body they found?’

  ‘No, this is about the protest.’

  ‘What are you looking for?’

  ‘I’m not sure yet.’

  She regarded him suspiciously. ‘You’re no’ holding out on me are you?’

  ‘I’m not holding out. When I have something, I’ll be in touch.’ He paused. ‘Just as a matter of interest, if this does turn into a story, what will you do with it?’

  She glanced over towards Findlay’s office and bit her lip. ‘Good question,’ she said, but gave no clue as to what she thought the answer might be.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The records room was in the basement of the building. Years ago part of Adam’s holiday job had been to help file back issues, which were eventually transferred to microfilm. He took the stairs, and as he descended past the first floor each step was like going back another year in time. Unlike the upper floors the walls were painted dark green and hadn’t seen a fresh coat si
nce the last time he’d been there. In places the plaster was cracked and occasionally chunks were missing. A blown light tube added to the gloom of the stairwell. At the bottom a scarred wooden door led into the records room where a man in his thirties blinked behind his glasses when Adam appeared.

  He introduced himself as Kenny. ‘So, what can I do for you?’

  ‘I’m looking for anything that was written during the mid-eighties about Carisbrook Hall. In particular 1985.’

  ‘Right. You’ll need to have a look at the microfilm records then.’ He led the way to a table where a reader was all set up. He turned it on and showed Adam how to work it. ‘I’ll have to pull out the files for you. How far back do you want to start?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Say the beginning of ’eighty-five.’

  ‘Right.’ He went to a bank of cupboards on the wall. ‘You know, you’re the second person to come in here looking for something about Carisbrook lately,’ he said conversationally.

  ‘The second?’ Adam echoed, guessing what was coming next.

  ‘Yes. A young woman was here back in the summer. August I think.’

  ‘Let me guess, her name was Jane Hanson?’

  ‘Yes, that’s her,’ he said, sounding surprised.

  ‘Do you remember what she was looking at?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Is it important?’

  ‘It could be.’

  ‘Let me think. She mentioned Carisbrook, I remember that. She was interested in somebody who worked there I think, but I can’t remember the name.’

  ‘Was it Webster?’ Adam suggested.

  Kenny frowned. ‘No, that doesn’t ring a bell. It was something simple. Smith or Black or something like that. No, Jones! That was it.’ His excitement at being able to help quickly faded when he saw Adam’s expression. ‘Doesn’t that help?’

  ‘It might if I knew who it was.’

  ‘He. I think he was a male nurse. I seem to remember her saying something like that. I’m pretty sure she found what she was looking for anyway, because she wrote down an address before she left. She asked me for directions.’