by Anne Cassidy
‘I know, but Joshua told me that you’re not that comfortable among people … That you prefer to stay at home.’
‘Are you trying to say that I’m odd?’
‘No. Well, truthfully, you aren’t like anyone else I know.’
‘You aren’t like anyone else I know. As soon as you start talking you manage to insult a person.’
‘I didn’t insult you. I was just being truthful. That’s what friends are for, right?’
‘Yes. And if you were a friend of mine you could be truthful with me,’ Skeggsie said.
She stared at him. How had this conversation ended up as a row? Was it her? Was she the difficult one?
‘Come on, let’s do this,’ he said, pulling the torch out of his pocket.
She went to speak but didn’t. Then she looked up and down the lane to make sure no one was around. Her eye paused on one of the CCTV cameras. It seemed to be angled at the centre path of the lane. She looked to the other side and saw another. It may well pick up on them both going into the cemetery. They both had their hoods up though and in any case they weren’t about to commit any crime so there should be no need for anyone to check the footage.
‘Come on!’
She stepped into the gap in the hedge and slid through to the other side. She stood very still and waited until Skeggsie had done the same. She looked round. The cemetery was stiller than she remembered, the lights on the path glowing, the rest of it pitch-dark. It was twilight when she and Joshua had come the previous Friday but now it was night time proper. Seconds later Skeggsie was beside her.
‘This place is big,’ Skeggsie said.
‘Twenty-three acres,’ Rose said.
‘Where’s the grave?’
‘Over here.’
She walked on a few steps. The newer grave she’d noticed had been close to the edge of the lane. She stood by it and tried to remember the CCTV photo that they had looked at earlier. Was this the grave that they had seen the person kneeling by? She looked at the cross with the name inscribed on it. Gerald Rossiter 1970–2012. The man had been forty-two years old when he died. The same age as her mother when she disappeared.
‘No headstone on this grave,’ she said.
‘They don’t put headstones until later. The ground has to settle. Then six months, a year later, a headstone is laid.’
‘How come you know so much about absolutely everything?’ she said.
‘It’s what happened when my mum died.’
Rose was thrown.
‘Your mum’s dead?’
Skeggsie nodded. ‘Ten years ago.’
She didn’t speak. She’d stumbled on this new information after calling him an odd person. I’m sorry was hopelessly inadequate. Her face must have looked pained because Skeggsie attempted a reassuring smile.
‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘Forget about it. It was a long time ago. I’m all right about it.’
‘You’ve had such a bad time.’
‘No more than you or Josh.’
‘You know that I really was sorry about that time when I said … when I was unkind about you being bullied …’
‘Forget it.’
‘The thing is I had a bad time at school. Nothing like you. I was never physically hurt but I had this friend who just walked all over me. Her name was Rachel Bliss and I thought we were close but she wasn’t what she seemed and she treated me badly.’
‘Now I don’t know what to say,’ Skeggsie said, pulling at his collar.
‘Schooldays are the best days of your life, they say!’ she said.
‘Come on, let’s get started with this search.’
Skeggsie turned the torch on and pointed it at the ground. The grave was surrounded by wreaths and flowers that had faded and dried, some with ribbons that were fluttering in the breeze.
‘This has been here for a couple of weeks at least,’ he said.
‘How do we go about this?’ she said, looking round at the silent, empty graveyard.
‘I’ll hold the torch and you put the gloves on. Then just feel gently around. If it is here I don’t suppose it was buried deep. There’d be no need. Just enough earth to cover it up.’
Rose put the gloves on. The torch threw a circle of light on to the mound. She knelt down. The ground was wet. The knees of her jeans would end up damp. She found herself looking at the cross and the name, Gerald Rossiter. Sorry, she mouthed silently and holding her palms downwards she began to pat the mound of earth starting with the top right-hand corner, the place where Bee Bee would have knelt if they were right about the photo.
The earth was soft and had a kind of mulchy smell. The wind blew her hood back and she used her knuckles to try and pull it back into place. She looked up at Skeggsie from time to time and saw that he was concentrating, moving the torch very slowly so that she could cover every section.
A noise broke the silence and made her turn quickly. Skeggsie turned the torch off. It came from outside in Cuttings Lane. It was the high tinny sound of an MP3 player. Someone who had earphones in but still had the music as loud as possible. She waited for it to pass but it didn’t. It was as if the person was standing still at that very part of the lane. Then the hedge started to rustle and she realised that whoever it was was coming into the cemetery.
‘Quick,’ she said, moving swiftly past the mound of earth to the next grave, which had a substantial black marble headstone.
She knelt on the damp earth next to Skeggsie. Looking out from behind the headstone, she saw two people, a boy and a girl. They looked young, still at school. The boy had his arm around the girl’s neck and he was talking quietly to her and she was giggling.
‘Who is it?’ Skeggsie whispered.
She put her finger to her lips and waited a second before looking again. This time they were standing very still, sandwiched together in a deep kiss. The boy and girl continued for what seemed like minutes and she was holding her breath, watching the boy’s hand slip inside the girl’s coat.
‘Don’t!’ the girl said. ‘Not here. Someone might see.’
‘What? Round here? Like the undead?’
‘Don’t say that. You’ll make me scared and then I won’t do anything. In any case it’s raining. Let’s go up to the archway.’
‘You know someone got offed there?’
Rose heard an exclamatory sound as they moved off round the periphery of the graveyard. They were heading for the far corner of the rose garden, going the same way that she and Joshua had gone a few days before.
‘I’m wet,’ Skeggsie whispered.
Rose looked across at the cemetery lights. There was a halo of light around each one and in it she could see the rain spearing down.
‘Come on, let’s do this quick.’
Rose got back to where she had been and Skeggsie knelt down beside her. He turned the torch on and held it close to the ground. She moved a couple of the decaying wreaths and began to feel across the place where they had been laid. Somewhere, underneath, she hoped she would feel the handle or the blade of a knife. Maybe the knife that had been stolen from Lewis Proctor or maybe a different knife entirely. She paused. There would be blood on the blade, Emma’s blood. The thought made her feel a little nauseous.
‘Come on!’ Skeggsie said.
She kept going, the earth like clay in her fingers. It was only moments later when she felt something hard underneath.
‘Here!’ she whispered.
Using her cupped hands she scraped away the soil. Underneath the top layer it seemed dry and almost dusty. Could it be the knife? Could they be that lucky? So quickly?
‘Hold the torch, here,’ she said.
Something was wrapped in tissue or kitchen roll. She picked it up and felt instantly disappointed. It wasn’t the shape of a knife. It was small and rectangular.
‘What is it?’
She peeled the paper back. Inside there was a mobile phone.
A lurid pink mobile phone.
She knew i
nstantly that it had belonged to Emma.
* * *
Back in the car they sat with the heater running. The rain was heavier, hitting the windscreen, running down in glistening droplets. Rose’s jeans were wet at the knees and her coat was clammy. Skeggsie had put the rubber gloves on and was handling the mobile. He had plugged it into the car phone charger. He flipped the top off and Rose could see the charging symbol light up on the tiny screen.
‘It still works,’ she said, amazed.
‘Being buried was the best thing. If it had got wet …’
‘It’s definitely Emma’s phone. Why would someone hide it? What’s the point of that?’
‘Maybe there’s something on this phone that the killer doesn’t want anyone to see. Text message, call history or photos.’
‘It’s just a supermarket phone. It probably doesn’t even do photos,’ she said, dismissively.
‘We can look at call history, now that it’s plugged in. Here, you put the gloves on and do it. My fingers are too big.’
Rose put on the gloves and took the phone. She used the cursor to look at recent calls. The reading on the last call was 29-09 17:00, and it was to Sherry. At five on the afternoon that she died Emma had called her stepsister. Sherry had been in Brentwood with her dad, Rose remembered. She must have told Sherry during that call that she was meeting Rose to go and see Lewis. She remembered Sherry’s scathing words to her, the previous week at Ricky’s memorial: You should have been there to stop my sister getting hurt. How come you were late? But it wouldn’t have mattered if she had been on time because Emma went into the cemetery at 5.40, ten minutes earlier than she said she would.
Rose went to the in-box and looked at the text messages. The last one she received had come on 29-09 17:35. Rose opened it.
New phone. Lost other. I no who killer is. Meet me 5.45 if you want to no. I won’t wait. Lew
Rose read the message over several times. This was why Emma hadn’t waited for her. She’d got a text from Lewis telling her to go early.
‘Found something?’
‘Yeah. A message changing the meeting time at the cemetery. It’s from a mobile number that her phone doesn’t recognise. It says it’s from Lewis.’
‘But it could be from anyone.’
Emma had read the message and believed it to be from Lewis. She’d gone early into the rose garden and somebody was waiting for her. That person killed her and then took the phone and buried it to hide the fact that they had texted her.
‘No knife, though,’ Skeggsie said.
She shook her head. She was glad in a way. A knife that had killed someone wasn’t something she wanted to hold.
‘Could the police find out who sent the text?’
‘If the number is registered to someone, but if it’s a pay as you go phone the only thing they could find out is which shop sold it.’
‘So there’s no point in handing the phone in to them.’
‘They might be able to get fingerprints, but any of her friends could have handled the phone so that won’t prove anything. What they need is a knife with some fingerprints on it. That would prove something.’
‘Oh.’
‘What you going to do with the mobile?’
‘Try and find out who sent the message.’
‘How?’
‘I’m not sure. I need to think it through.’
‘Shall we go?’
She nodded.
Skeggsie started the car up and she placed the mobile inside the plastic bag that he had brought and slid it into the front pocket of her rucksack.
TWENTY-TWO
Joshua was waiting at the school entrance. It was 8.50 and Rose had a class at nine. He gave a tiny wave when he saw her and she wondered why he was there.
After getting dropped off by Skeggsie the previous evening she’d gone to her room and done some work on her laptop. Anna had been downstairs but she’d not faced her or spoken to her. She’d looked at her emails and kept her mobile by her side but there’d been no messages at all from Joshua. She’d considered calling him but had felt a little hurt by his behaviour.
She’d spent some time thinking about Emma Burke’s mobile phone in the front pocket of her rucksack. She hadn’t taken it out though, just remembered seeing Emma holding it when she was in the house on the day she died. She wondered who had sent the text that made Emma go to the cemetery early. It couldn’t have been Lewis Proctor because Henry said he had gone in past the cemetery gate CCTV camera at six. It was very likely that Emma had already been stabbed by then. Could it have been Bee Bee? Could she have actually tested her boyfriend by sending him a note as if it came from Emma to tell him to meet her at the cemetery? Then sent one to Emma? She may well have seen some of the notes that Emma had sent Lewis over the summer and had used those as a template for her handwriting. Likewise it would be simple to copy Lewis’s handwriting.
Was it possible that Bee Bee stabbed Emma and ran away, pausing only for a moment to bury Emma’s phone in a newly dug grave?
She thought and thought about this until she was dog-tired. She slept fitfully and got up especially early, hoping she would not see Anna. She checked her emails before leaving home. There was nothing from Joshua.
So she was surprised to see him standing sheepishly at the school entrance.
‘Hey, Rosie, dug up any dead people lately?’ he said.
‘Very funny.’
‘Sorry about last night. I was just down. I couldn’t summon up enthusiasm for anything.’
She shrugged.
‘This morning I feel better. I’ve had a text message from Amanda at the B and B.’
‘Really?’ she said half-heartedly.
‘She says the owner got back in the middle of the night. So I’m going over there now to see if I can access the records.’
‘Good,’ she said, moving aside to let other students past.
‘Come with me,’ he said.
‘I can’t, I’ve got a class.’
‘Please. Things have been a bit awkward between you and me. It would be good to just relax and talk.’
But not about Brendan and Mum, she wanted to say.
‘I would but I’ve got this essay to give in,’ she lied. ‘Why not go with Skeggsie?’
‘He’s at uni.’
‘Oh, right, so I was second choice anyway. If he hadn’t been at uni then you wouldn’t even be here.’
The words came out before she thought them through. Joshua was visibly taken aback by what she said. He began to shake his head.
‘You know what, Rosie? I’ll go on my own.’
He walked off and she watched him go with mounting panic. It was exactly as she’d thought the previous evening. They were going to fall out and then they’d stop seeing each other and that would be unbearable.
Rose, Rose, she said to herself, why are you pushing him away?
She went after him, her steps quickening to catch up as he turned a corner.
‘Josh!’ she called.
He looked round.
‘’Course I’ll come. I can give my essay in later.’
He looked for a moment as if he wasn’t going to accept her words, as if he’d been too hurt and was going to walk off anyway. Then his face broke into a grin and he put one arm around her neck and pulled her head roughly towards him and gave her a loud smacking kiss on her hair.
‘All right!’ she said, embarrassed to see some kids that she knew from her form group pass by. ‘Let’s go before any of my tutors see me.’
They got a tube and a train.
During the journey they talked. Joshua explained why his search was so important. I understand, she said. Of course I do. Even though she was uncomfortable about it she wasn’t going to let it become a barrier between the two of them. Then she told him why she was so embroiled in the murders at the school. He nodded and said, Sure, sure, I get it, when she explained. After a while they talked about other stuff. Books, films, bridges and buildings in New York. The
journey took an hour and twenty minutes. When they got off at Twickenham station it was bright and sunny. Rose unzipped her jacket. Joshua pointed which direction they were heading. The B and B was only minutes away.
‘Hang on,’ she said, as they came close to the entrance. ‘You go in and talk to Amanda yourself. I’ll stay out here. If you find out anything come and get me.’
‘Why?’
‘She’s the sort of girl who irritates me. I’d only start huffing and puffing.’
‘You’re prejudging her, Rosie. Just because she’s all done up it doesn’t mean she’s an airhead.’
‘I’ll wait over there, on that bench. Give you two time to get acquainted,’ she said with a knowing smile.
Joshua grinned and went on over to the B and B. Rose walked towards the bench. She sat down and looked around. The Pay and Display car bays were all full up and a couple of cars were treading water on the yellow lines at either side. She felt the heat of the sun on her face. After the previous night’s wind and rain it felt good. The streets were busy with shoppers. She looked across the road and remembered seeing Frank Palmer, the technician, going into a house the previous Saturday. She stood up and walked along the pavement until she was opposite the house. She looked at it through the traffic. The front door was dark green with no window or door number, just a slim brass letter box. His bag came into her head. A bright red holdall with a chequered flag across it. She wondered idly, as she was walking back to the bench, if he was a fan of motor racing. She had only just sat down again when she heard Joshua’s voice.
‘Rosie.’
She turned and saw him walking towards her. He’d been quicker than she’d thought he’d be. His shoulders were slumped and she wondered if he hadn’t been able to see the records.
‘No go,’ he said as he reached her.
‘What do you mean?’
He slumped down on the bench beside her.
‘Amanda got the keys from the owner and found the records from five years ago. They were on floppy discs but she made a list of the names. There’s also a signing-in book. One for every year. Fourteen people stayed at the B and B that night, three couples, a family of five and three singles. Dad and Kathy’s names are not on the list. Dead end. Waste of time. Maybe Valeriya Malashenko’s memory wasn’t so good after all. Or it was a different B and B.’
