The Hidden Bones

by Nicola Ford

  ‘Dig! Bloody brothel, more like. They had all the young tarts in the village up there with ’em.’

  West scribbled in his notebook.

  ‘They?’ Sally tilted her head towards Clifford expectantly.

  ‘The Harts.’

  ‘Surely Gerald Hart was a respectable academic.’

  ‘Just because you’ve got money and work for some knobby museum don’t make you respectable. Him and that brother of his were as bad as one another. Sniffing round any bit of skirt that came near ’em.’

  This was better than she’d hoped. Had they finally unearthed another side to the older Hart brother? A motive for someone wanting to kill him? Or was it just sour grapes on Clifford’s part?

  West glanced down at his jottings. ‘Who did you have in mind when you spoke of “young tarts”, Mr Clifford?’

  ‘The Grafton girl for one – decent parents, good home. Pretty young thing, she was. Wouldn’t say boo to a goose till Gerald got his claws into her. Parents had her all lined up for a job in the bank in Marlborough. But once he got hold of her she didn’t want nothing to do with it. Thought she were too good to stay round ’ere with the likes of us. Gerald was keen on her, alright. They were always up there alone on that dig of his getting up to God knows what. But one Hart wasn’t enough for her. She had the pair of ’em dancing to her tune.’ West raised an eyebrow. ‘Word was Jim fancied his luck with Peggy, but Gerald put a stop to it.’

  West said, ‘But Jim had better luck with your wife.’

  Clifford narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.

  Sally said, ‘How did you find out about Jim Hart and your wife, Mr Clifford?’

  Clifford snapped his head round to face Sally. ‘That’s none of your business neither!’

  She straightened up in her seat and looked Clifford straight in the eye. ‘One of the people we’re talking about was murdered, Mr Clifford. So it’s very much our business.’

  Clifford snorted and levered his considerable bulk into a more comfortable position. ‘I knew she were up to something – spending all that time up there.’

  West said, ‘Your wife hadn’t previously shown an interest in archaeology, then.’

  Sally could see he hadn’t taken to Clifford.

  Clifford said, ‘No more than Jim Hart had – did it to keep in with his brother. Make sure he stayed close to the money.’

  West asked, ‘And why did your wife do it, Mr Clifford?’

  ‘Because she was a tart!’ The final word was spat out with all the venom Clifford could muster; Sally suspected it was more the result of a long-festering wound to his pride than the memory of true love betrayed.

  ‘How did you find out about the affair?’ Sally asked.

  ‘He told me.’

  ‘Jim Hart told you he was having a fling with your wife?’

  Clifford nodded brusquely. ‘I slung him out of the pub one night when he was slewed.’

  Sally cast a questioning look in West’s direction.

  ‘Drunk, ma’am.’

  Clifford continued, ‘He was shouting the odds and didn’t have the money to pay his bill. I told him he’d had enough and he wasn’t getting any more till he could pay for it. When I chucked him out, he turned round and told me I ought to ’ave a word with my wife cos she gave him whatever he fancied for free.’

  ‘And what did you do?’ Sally asked.

  ‘Told him to bugger off and not bother coming back.’

  ‘And that was all? Weren’t you even a tiny bit angry?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course I was bloody angry. But I wasn’t going to fetch him a clout and lose my licence.’

  ‘What about Joyce?’ Sally asked.

  ‘I told her to pack her bags and get out.’

  ‘That’s not how she tells it.’

  Clifford looked shocked. He clearly hadn’t expected them to have spoken to Joyce. He grunted. ‘Can’t believe a word she says.’

  ‘Joyce was under the impression that when you parted company you might seek to do her some sort of harm.’

  ‘I can’t account for what she might’ve thought.’

  ‘Did you go after her when she left?’

  ‘Why would I do that when I’d slung her out?’

  West said, ‘You were angry. What man wouldn’t have wanted to make Jim and Joyce pay for publicly humiliating you?’

  Clifford was silent.

  West persisted. ‘You followed her up to the dig site.’

  ‘No.’ Clifford’s voice was calm and steady.

  ‘Do you deny going up there on the morning after you found out about the affair?’ Sally asked.

  ‘Of course I bloody do. Jim Hart was welcome to the little trollop. I wouldn’t ’ave had her back under my roof if you’d paid me.’

  ‘And you’re absolutely sure you didn’t go anywhere near the excavations that morning?’

  ‘The nearest I got was the lane that runs up past the bottom of Old Barrows Field, when I was walking the dog.’

  More in desperation than expectation, Sally asked, ‘Did you see anyone else when you were there?’

  ‘No.’

  She’d been hoping he might have caught a glimpse of Gerald Hart. But his response was firm, his tone matter-of-fact and, unfortunately, all too believable. West closed his notebook and stowed his pen in his jacket pocket. She’d been right all along. Their trip to North Yorkshire had been a complete waste of time.

  Then Clifford leant forward in his chair, wheezing as he did so. The corners of his mouth were turned up in the suggestion of a smile. ‘Come to think of it, I did see someone.’

  It was obvious to Sally that Clifford was enjoying jerking their chain. And, despite herself, she couldn’t help some of her frustration seeping into her tone. ‘And who was that exactly, Mr Clifford?’

  He paused, then said, ‘Young Ed Jevons.’

  Sally glanced at West. She hoped Clifford couldn’t read the surprise on his face as easily as she could. She needn’t have worried. Clifford was too caught up in his denouncement of the residents of Hungerbourne to notice. ‘Ed had been sniffing round the Harts for years. Gerald’s little lapdog. He’s the same with the son.’

  ‘Where was Ed Jevons when you saw him?’ Sally asked.

  ‘On the lane leading up to the site. I remember cos he was running hell for leather – nearly knocked me clean over. There was smoke coming from the top of the field. It looked like someone had lit Gerald’s bonfire up on the ridge and the clip he was going it crossed my mind he might ’ave had a hand in it. I tried to catch hold of him to ask him what he’d been up to but he just belted past me back towards the village.’

  ‘Did you mention this to anyone else at the time?’

  Clifford shook his head and smirked. ‘No skin off my nose if some youngster having a bit of fun pissed on high-and-mighty Gerald Hart’s plans.’

  Sally could see he wasn’t going to make this easy for them. ‘What plans were they?’

  ‘The bonfire was meant to be part of some big shindig Gerald had got up on the Monday. Bloody waste of good timber if you ask me. Never ’appened in the end.’

  ‘Did you ever ask Gerald why?’

  He shook his head. ‘No need. It was as plain as the nose on my face. Soon as Jim hopped it with Joyce, Gerald shut up shop.’

  ‘Only Jim didn’t leave with your wife, did he, Mr Clifford?’

  ‘I didn’t know that then, did I.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ‘Clare! Are you OK?’ David bellowed from behind the spoil heap.

  ‘What do you fucking think?’

  He fumbled frantically through the jumble of clothes and equipment deposited behind the spoil heap. He ripped open the inside pocket of his jacket so forcefully he almost jammed the zip. Breathe, make yourself breathe. She’ll be alright. He dialled 999. It seemed to take an age of disparate and unnecessary questions before they finally told him emergency services were on their way.

  ‘I’m coming up.’ It was Ed, somewhere
directly below her. The tower was swaying from side to side with the motion of his movement.

  ‘Jesus, Ed! I don’t know what I’m hanging by.’ Her world suddenly lurched to the left. And somewhere below something large hit the chalk with a metallic thud. ‘Shit! What are you doing?’

  ‘Take it easy. You look pretty well wedged in. I’m going to climb past underneath you to take a look.’

  David could see what Ed was trying to do, but he could also see the danger of it. All four legs of the tower were lashed down, but the ropes were only intended to brace it against the wind. Ed was going to have to swing round the outside of the tower to get past Clare. And that meant he could bring the whole thing crashing down.

  ‘Hold up, Ed!’ David sprinted to the base of the photographic tower, hauling five of his burliest male students with him.

  ‘You three get round the other side and hang on to that bottom rail. We’ll do the same here. Any of you let go and you can forget any chance of passing your finals. Got it?’ He craned his neck backwards to see Ed positioned just to one side of Clare’s dangling legs.

  Ed’s words drifted up to Clare. ‘Looks like you’ve got a few cuts and bruises, but you don’t seem to be in too bad a shape, all things considered.’

  ‘What was the thud?’

  She was aware her breathing was shallow. But she couldn’t be sure whether her difficulties were physical or whether it was the result of the rising panic that threatened to overwhelm her.

  ‘Top length of laddering hitting the deck. You must have dislodged it when the boarding broke. I’m going to have to climb round the outside of the tower to get to you.’

  ‘I don’t care how you do it. Just get on with it. I’m not sure how long I can hold on like this.’

  Ed squeezed his torso out through the steel cross-braces. Hooking one arm over what remained of the wooden planking, he levered himself far enough up to reach out and grab the safety rail above his head. Once his grip was secure, he pushed off with his left foot against the crossing point of the metal brace below and hauled himself, stomach first, onto what remained of the wooden staging. He pivoted his legs round onto the wooden boards and Clare found herself face-to-face with him.

  ‘How are you holding up?’

  ‘With great bloody difficulty. My left shoulder’s beginning to cramp.’

  ‘We’ll soon have you out.’

  Ed slithered across the wooden staging, arching his body upwards to avoid putting weight on the splintered plank which was pointing downwards at an angle and had come to rest on Clare’s chest. He shuffled into a kneeling position in front of her. Leaning forward, he looked down through the hole from above.

  ‘We’ll have to get rid of the camera and the equipment bag.’

  ‘Can you lift them off?’

  ‘The camera strap’s snagged around part of the splintered plank and the bag’s wedged beneath the plank on this side.’ He patted the plank across the top of which Clare’s right forearm was braced. His hand cupped to his mouth, he shouted down to the ground below. ‘David, move everyone away from the bottom of the tower.’

  David’s reply was muffled by the wind. ‘Don’t try anything daft, Ed. The emergency services are on their way.’

  A cold stab of fear shot through Clare when she heard Ed’s reply. ‘Can’t wait.’

  For several seconds, nothing seemed to be happening. Then David’s voice drifted upwards, barely audible this time. ‘All clear down here.’

  Ed shuffled forward on his knees and leant over her. She could feel the heat of his body next to her face, suddenly aware she could smell perspiration; the scent of her fear and his exertion.

  ‘It’ll all be over in a moment.’ He dropped his right hand to his side and with his left gathered up both halves of the camera strap. Suddenly and without warning he withdrew a knife from the leather sheath on his belt, slashing downwards with one hand whilst pulling the strap taut around her neck with the other.

  She felt a ringing shudder vibrate through the tower as the camera smashed into the metal framework on its earthward journey. ‘What the fuck are you playing at?’

  ‘We needed to get rid of it to get you out of there.’

  She opened her mouth, then shut it again. She was in no position to argue. She stretched her aching neck muscles as far backwards and forwards as her stiffened shoulders would allow, enjoying the relief from the additional weight.

  Ed leant forward again. He inserted the knife blade beneath the strap on her right shoulder, drawing the blade away from her neck in a sawing motion. With no way of tensioning the material, it took longer this time. The back edge of the knife chafed against the skin beneath her T-shirt. Then all at once the upper half of her body felt lighter. This time there was only a muffled thud as the padded equipment bag hit the ground.

  ‘What now?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m going to remove the two parts of the splintered plank in front of and behind you.’

  It wasn’t a plan that appealed to her. Once the plank was gone she’d be able to see what was underneath her – precisely nothing. But she didn’t have a choice. ‘Can you start with the one behind me?’

  Obligingly, Ed manoeuvred around her. Sliding the small portion of broken plank behind her outwards, he pushed it gradually over the edge of the tower until it finally reached tipping point and joined the camera and equipment bag below. Resuming his position in front of her, he gripped the remaining section of plank in both hands, pulling it gently away from her chest. He gave a heave and she heard the sound of splintering wood. Heard but not saw. Her eyes were clamped tightly shut.

  She strained every muscle in her upper body in an attempt to lever herself upwards. But it was useless. She smiled grimly at Ed, the muscles in her face contorting now with the effort of merely sustaining her precarious position. ‘I should’ve kept up those gym subs.’

  The sound of a mobile phone ringing below was followed by David’s voice. ‘That was the fire service. They’ll be here any minute with one of those cherry-picker jobs.’

  Was she imagining it or did his voice sound strained, unconvinced by the message he was conveying? She had a sudden urge to yell down to reassure him. To tell him everything would be alright. But every muscle in her shoulders and arms was screaming at her to give up the effort.

  She looked into Ed’s face. ‘I can’t wait.’

  He nodded. ‘This may hurt.’

  Her teeth were gritted with effort. Ed stood up and spread his legs to distribute his weight across what remained of the platform. Knees bent, he dipped down in front of her.

  ‘I’m going to pull you up. Ready?’

  She blinked her assent. The whole of her body was cold with sweat. A freezing spasm of cramp shot through her upper arms. What the hell was he waiting for?

  She screamed, ‘Do it!’

  She felt Ed’s muscles tense as he inserted his arms beneath her armpits and heaved. For just a moment she thought she felt him release his grip. With every scrap of strength she had left, she swung her weight onto her left side. A burning sensation in her shoulder, as if someone had inserted a red-hot knitting needle, was followed almost instantaneously by the reassuring feel of solid wood beneath her. And for the second time in twenty-four hours she found herself blubbing uncontrollably.

  From somewhere, Ed produced a pressed cotton handkerchief. After all he’d just done, he seemed suddenly awkward and uncertain.

  ‘No need for that. It’s just shock.’

  ‘I don’t mean to sound heroic or anything, but it’s not shock. It’s my shoulder. It’s bloody killing me.’ And suddenly she began to laugh.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ‘Any news from the hospital?’ Ed set a pint of 6X down in front of David.

  ‘Margaret phoned to say they were keeping Clare in overnight. But aside from a dislocated shoulder and a nasty gash on her leg, it looks like she got away with a few bumps and the odd splinter. With a bit of luck, she should be up and about in a few days
.’

  Ed’s face twitched into a smile. ‘Do you think the insurance will pay out on the camera?’

  ‘I doubt it. But under the circumstances, the least I can do is make sure Clare isn’t out of pocket.’

  ‘Won’t be cheap. It looked like expensive kit.’

  David picked up his pint and stared down into the bottom of the clear, dark liquid. ‘I still don’t understand how it happened. I checked the whole thing over myself. There was nothing wrong with it.’

  ‘The hours you’ve been working, I’m surprised you can still see straight. And you’ve got to admit that tower wasn’t exactly in the first flush of youth. Anyone in your position might have missed a weak bit of timber.’

  David looked up at Ed. He wanted to punch him square on the jaw for even suggesting he might have been responsible for what had happened to Clare. But, if truth be told, Ed was only voicing what he’d been thinking himself.

  ‘When everyone else is down here having a jar in the evenings, you’re tucked up in the Portakabin with your plans and record sheets. You need to cut yourself some slack.’

  It was true. He had been working long hours. Maybe it was a sign that he was getting older – he wasn’t able to keep on top of things like he used to. The thought that his actions had come so close to causing anyone’s death was appalling. But knowing that someone was Clare? It was almost unbearable.

  ‘I’m the site director, Ed. I’m responsible for this lot.’ He swept his arm around the student-crammed bar. ‘That means there is no slack. First thing tomorrow I’m going to check over what’s left of those boards.’

  Ed took a long, slow sip of his gin and tonic. ‘You’d be better off sticking the bloody lot on the campfire and forgetting about it. You don’t want to risk the health-and-safety Gestapo sniffing round and closing the place down.’

  David spluttered, almost choking on his pint. He slapped his glass down on the table in front of him. ‘Jesus Christ, Ed! We can’t afford to do anything that will compromise us with the HSE.’

  Ed leant forward and whispered, ‘But that’s why you should get rid of it. I had them snooping round my place a while back when we had a bit of an upset with a baler. They made my life a bloody misery.’