by Andrew Garve
As she looked at his strained, suffering face, Sally suddenly realized how illusory was the security she had struggled to preserve. She had been so confident they had chosen the right course – so unimaginatively sure. Now, for the first time, she had doubts. What, after all, was John’s physical freedom going to be worth to him, if his peace of mind were shattered? What was it going to be worth to her, watching his torment? What ultimate happiness could there be for the children in a haunted home? And yet …
For a while she sat in anguished silence, scarcely daring to frame the question that was in her mind. Then she forced the words out. ‘John – do you still want to confess?’
He didn’t reply at once. When he did, it was with an emphasis that surprised her. ‘No – that’s impossible now.’
‘If you do, darling, I – I won’t try to stop you … It would be dreadful – but anything’s better than seeing you like this.’
He shook his head. ‘After all that’s happened, it’s quite unthinkable … I’m committed … Apart from anything else, I gave George my word that I’d see it through, and I can’t go back on that … It’s something I’ve ruled right out.’
‘You’re sure …?’
‘Quite sure … I wasn’t leading up to that, Sally, when I started to talk – or anything like it. I didn’t even mean to tell you what was worrying me so much. It just came out. I know perfectly well that I’ve got to put up with it – we both have … Anyhow, perhaps things will seem better now that I’ve got it off my chest. At least I’ve confessed to you!’
‘Yes, darling,’ Sally said. ‘If only I could give you absolution!’
Chapter Twenty-Four
As it turned out things did improve – for a day or two. Mellanby, having shared his burden, seemed much less oppressed, and slept soundly for the first time since Roscoe’s death. Sally began to hope that the worst was over, and that in the end things might even return to normal. Then, out of a clear sky, a new crisis burst upon them like a thunderclap – and this time – there was no simple way out.
It was one evening after dinner. Kira had gone out for a short walk. Sally and Mellanby were drinking coffee, reading the papers, and occasionally exchanging comments about the news. Sally had the Daily Mail; Mellanby, pipe in mouth, was browsing through the local paper, the Bath Gazette. It was a peaceful and pleasantly domestic scene.
Then a headline caught Mellanby’s eye. He read down the paragraph, frowning a little. Suddenly he gave a gasp of horror.
The item read:
BLACKETT’S LANE BY-PASS
Ready By Easter?
It is learned on good authority that plans to divert the main Bath–Radbury road through Blackett’s Lane and by-pass the village of Eversleigh are to be advanced by several months. The decision to expedite the work has been taken following renewed protests by Eversleigh residents over the mounting toll of accidents in the narrow village street. Some preliminary work in the lane, including the widening of a bridge, has already been done, and it is now hoped to complete the whole scheme by Easter. The lane, in its new form, will be thirty feet wide and, like the main road, will have a cycle track on one side and a footpath on the other. The Gazette understands that Blackett’s Lane will be closed to all traffic from September 15th until its re-opening as a by-pass next year.
Chapter Twenty-Five
‘They’ll find him, of course,’ Mellanby said.
Sally finished reading the paragraph and slowly put the paper down. Her face was ashen. ‘They might not, John … How deep do they dig when they make a road?’
‘I don’t know – I expect it varies … But deep enough!’
‘More than four feet?’
‘At least five or six, I should think, in a case like this perhaps more … A main road to take heavy traffic would have to have tremendous foundations.’
‘Perhaps they’ll add all the width on the other side – away from the quarry.’
Mellanby shook his head. ‘For a thirty foot road and two paths they’ll tear the whole place up … They’re bound to find him. The body’s so close to the verge, there isn’t a chance.’
‘It was madness to put it there,’ Sally burst out.
‘George said it was the only place soft enough to dig and naturally he wouldn’t think of the lane being widened … We ought to have done, though – we knew about it…’ Mellanby gazed fixedly at his wife. ‘Sally … we’re in a frightful mess.’
There was a short, desperate silence. Then Sally said, ‘John – I know it’s horrible – but do you think they’ll still be able to identify him?’
‘I expect they will – they have all sorts of ways … And they’ll find the suitcase, with all his things in it … They’ll check up on the laundry marks …’
‘Some of them are our laundry marks!’ Sally said.
‘Yes … They’ll have no difficulty at all. They’ll find out who he was, and they’ll come straight to us. They’ll learn about the caravan being in the quarry and about our association with the Sherstons. The medical report will probably say that Roscoe died about that time, so they’ll be more than suspicious. They’ll ask all those questions we decided we couldn’t answer – and a lot more besides. They’ll find out about the cheque I paid to Faulkner, and they’ll talk to him, and they’ll discover I lied about when Roscoe left here … They’ll discover everything. It’ll be the end of us …’ Mellanby got up and began to pace about the room. Slowly his expression hardened, ‘If they find the body.’
Sally stared at him. ‘But I thought you said …’
‘Sally, I’m in this thing up to my neck – almost literally! The situation can’t get any worse. We were probably wrong to try to hush things up, but we made the decision and now we’ve got to go through with it. There’s no road back – and I’m not going to give in … I’m going to dig Roscoe up and bury him somewhere else!’
‘John!’
‘I know …! It’s unspeakable. The mere thought turns my stomach. Well, it’ll just have to turn …! I’m going to do it, Sally. It’s the only way.’
Sally sat frozen with horror. Her whole being revolted at the prospect – it was worse than anything she’d ever imagined … There must be some alternative. But, try as she might, she could think of none.
‘Yes – I suppose it is the only way …’ she said at last. ‘But, John, oughtn’t we to try to find George, first? He ought to help – and it would make it easier for you.’
‘It would, I agree – but how would we start? We haven’t the faintest idea where he is.’
‘Perhaps we could get the AA to look for him … You’d have to think of some reason why you needed him urgently, that’s all.’
Mellanby considered for a moment, then shook his head. ‘I don’t think we can afford to wait for George – if he’s camping in a quiet spot like the quarry it might take ages to find him. We just haven’t the time. If Blackett’s Lane is going to be closed on the 15th, that only gives us ten days at the most – and the workmen will probably start moving in well before that … The only safe way is for us to rely on ourselves – and we’ll have to move fast. I think we ought to do it at once.’
‘You don’t mean – tonight?’
‘Well, no, there’ll be too much planning for that … I’ll have to do some reconnoitring – find a suitable place. There’ll be preparations, too – equipment to think about …’ He broke off. ‘I’m afraid I shall need quite a bit of help from you, Sally.’
‘Of course,’ Sally said.
‘I’ll spare you all I can …’
‘I know you will.’
‘I suggest we make a start tomorrow night, then. It’ll take us two nights to finish, at least – one to move the body, and one to move the suitcase. Perhaps more – there’ll be all the filling in, as well as the digging. We’ll move the suitcase first – get acclimatized …!’
Sally looked at him, startled. This was a Mellanby she didn’t recognize. ‘Darling – are you all right?’
> ‘I’m fine,’ he said. ‘I’ve just about got to the point where I don’t give a damn, that’s all.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
Early next morning Mellanby drove alone to Blackett’s Lane. Except for the now-completed bridge there were no signs at all that it was soon to become a busy thoroughfare. There were distant farming noises from, the fields, but the lane itself was deserted. Mellanby drove straight to the quarry and parked his car. Then he crossed to the burial site in the bushes, firmly closing his mind to all but the practical aspects of his task. It took him a little time to find the spot where Sherston had buried the suitcase, but as he pushed the light covering of leaves aside with the iron ferrule of his stick, his experienced eye at last picked out the tell-tale traces of disturbance – a slight upward bulge, an unfilled crack, the faint impression of a heel. The place was three or four yards from Roscoe’s grave. Mellanby marked its centre with a large stone, so that he would be able to find it more easily at night. Then he started to prospect around for an alternative site.
The quarry floor itself, as George had said, offered no possibilities at all. Mellanby chose a low point in the rough-hewn stone cliff and climbed to the top to see what lay behind the quarry. He found himself at the edge of a large field of stubble, with stooks of recently-cut corn dotted over it. At the far end of the field a group of farm workers were busily loading the corn into carts. No good at all, he decided. Any disturbance of the even stubble would be conspicuous, and people would be around clearing the field for some time yet In any case, a steep bank from the road made it awkward to get at. The new site must be as easy to reach, and as close to the old one, as possible …
Mellanby lowered himself cautiously down the bank. He was just going to step into the road when he caught a faint hum, the sound of approaching tyres, and dropped down into the undergrowth. A moment later a man sped by on a bicycle, pedalling fast. Slightly shaken, Mellanby watched him out of sight. Then he crossed to the other side of the lane. The prospects were much better there. Behind a thin hedge of hazel and bramble he found a field which looked as though it had been abandoned after an unsuccessful attempt at cultivation. The marks of the plough were still there, but bracken and heather were beginning to take over and the place would soon revert to heath. A rusty wire fence had wide gaps in it making access easy. Mellanby passed through a gap and walked slowly up and down, parallel with the road but about twenty yards from it, examining the ground and prodding it with his stick. The soil was dry and peaty – it should be fairly easy to dig. Near the lane an eroded hollow with a vertical edge showed that it had adequate depth. The site was a bit exposed, especially to the field above the quarry, but at night that wouldn’t matter. Mellanby decided he need look no further. He found another stone and marked a spot well back from the road and almost opposite the gap he’d come through. Satisfied, he returned to the car.
Back at the house, he reported the results of his reconnaissance to Sally, and they discussed further arrangements. It would be unwise – and unfair, they agreed – for them to go out secretly at night without telling Kira – she might hear the car, and wake and worry. It would be better, Sally suggested, if they said they were going to dine out and go on to friends afterwards, and might be back late. The Blakes in Bristol would probably have them for coffee, if she rang them. Mellanby agreed. For the second night, they would have to think of something else – but that could wait Sally went off to tell Kira, and Mellanby retired to the garage to make his own preparations. Most of the things he would need for the night’s work were in an adjoining tool shed, put there after his last ‘dig’ – an entrenching tool and spade, gum boots, boiler suit, and electric hand lamp. He tested the battery, found it in good order, and stowed the things away in the car boot. Then he stood frowning for a moment. He’d need something to drink – but it wouldn’t be safe for Sally to try to smuggle a flask of coffee out. He’d have to make do with water. He found a clean bottle and filled it at the garden tap. Anything else? There was a folded tarpaulin which he sometimes used to cover small excavations in wet weather – better put that in the car as well. He wouldn’t need it tonight, but he’d probably need it the next night for – he forced his mind to frame the ghastly word – for the remains.
Now there was nothing to do but wait. Sally occupied herself with the children, the best of all distractions. Mellanby walked a little, and read a little, but found it impossible to settle to anything for long. There must surely come a time, he thought, when the sort of tension they were constantly living under became a norm, a habit and the brain went numb – but that time certainly hadn’t come yet. Through every moment of every dragging hour, he was acutely conscious of the task ahead – and of its dangers.
The first spell of waiting ended at six. Sally gave Kira a few final instructions and they said goodbye to the children. Then they drove to Bristol, where they lingered over a meal that almost choked them. At nine they called on their friends the Blakes and took coffee with them, forcing themselves to make light conversation. At ten-thirty they set off thankfully for Blackett’s Lane. The weather forecast on the radio that evening had been ‘changeable,’ but the night looked like being dry and warm. The moon wouldn’t be up till nearly one in the morning. Conditions were perfect for their enterprise.
It was a little after eleven when they reached the lane. Driving along it Mellanby kept an eye open for possible parked cars, but the place seemed quite deserted. Once in the quarry, with the Humber’s lights off, he felt reasonably secure. They could begin at once.
They had been carefully over the drill, and knew just what to do. Sally, subdued but determined, took up a position in the lane a few yards from where Mellanby would be digging. The moment she saw or heard anything, she would join him, and he would douse his light and wait till the danger had passed. Mellanby had already donned his boiler suit and gum boots and brought the tools over to the bushes. He quickly found his marker, hung the electric lamp on a branch so that its diffused light was thrown downwards to the ground – and started to dig.
It was heavy work, and he was soon sweating freely. The need for speed was in his mind all the time and he toiled without resting. The soil, though recently disturbed, had been closely compacted by George’s heavy tread, and it had to be hewn out in great lumps. It was nearly half an hour before Mellanby’s spade struck the resilient top of the suitcase, more than four feet down. It took him another half hour to free the case, for he had to open up a much larger hole before he had elbow room to get at it. But at last it was out, and he stood back with a grunt of satisfaction, mopping his face.
‘All right?’ Sally called. It was almost the first word she’d spoken for an hour.
‘Yes, I’ve got it … I’m going to fill in now.’
Filling was easier, but it had to be done with care. As long as the body was still buried close by, there must be no obvious signs of digging anywhere. Mellanby shovelled and stamped, scraping in the last of the loose soil. When the ground was level he swept leaves over it again and drew the brambles across and obliterated his footmarks by the light of the lamp. Then he picked up the damp suitcase and the tools and joined Sally. The time was just after half past twelve.
Sally looked at him anxiously. His hair was matted, his face streaked and filthy. ‘Darling, you’re soaking … Oh, I do wish I could do more to help.’
‘You’re doing fine,’ Mellanby told her. ‘Don’t worry – I’m an old hand at this …’
His cheerfulness didn’t deceive her. ‘I’ve got the water here,’ she said. ‘Would you like some?’
‘Please.’ He took the bottle and gulped down several mouthfuls. ‘That’s better …’ He handed it back. ‘Well, I suppose we ought to get on – I’ll feel a lot happier when this load of dynamite is underground again.’
Together they carried the case and took and lamp to the new marker. There was no cover now from any bushes and Mellanby told Sally to keep an especially careful look-out. She returned to the lane and
mounted guard again and once more Mellanby started to dig. He would need to hack out a trench about five feet long by three wide to get the necessary depth. A sliver of moon was just beginning to show above the trees, and he knew he had to hurry. For fifteen minutes he dug without a pause. His muscles were aching now. His hands were blistered … That wouldn’t do, he thought – someone might notice. Tomorrow he must wear gloves … Tomorrow! This was bad enough, but tomorrow would be infinitely worse … Still, they were making progress. No point in dwelling on horrors to come … He toiled on.
Suddenly there was a sharp call from Sally in the lane – ‘John – what’s that light?’ He looked up, startled. There was a bright glow in the sky behind the quarry – it seemed to be coming from the field. In a moment two parallel beams of light stabbed the darkness. They were swinging like searchlights towards him. He dropped his spade and flung himself down beside the hole, pressing himself against the ground. The beam swept over him and turned away. It was a car up in the cornfield! He could hear its engine now. There seemed to be a positive blaze of light up there. More than one car, surely? What the hell were they up to? Suddenly a tractor engine sprang to life – and at once he knew what was happening. He got cautiously to his feet and stood there for a moment, uncertain what to do. Then he went over to Sally.
‘What on earth’s going on?’ she asked in a frightened voice.
‘They’re going to get the rest of the corn in,’ Mellanby said. ‘Using car lights and moonlight … They often do it when they think the weather’s going to break …’
Sally gave a little gasp. ‘Of course …! I couldn’t imagine what it was … Darling, how far have you got?’
‘I ought to go down another two feet.’
‘Do you think they can see you from the field?’
