The Hidden Bones

by Nicola Ford

  ‘As did Clifford, but that was true of half the village.’

  ‘Look, I’m going to level with you: Clifford suggested you were involved in a plan to steal the Hungerbourne gold.’

  Ed hesitated, then after a moment looked her straight in the eye. ‘I’m not going to lie to you, Clare – I was. But not in the way you might think.’

  He paused, turning his glass round thoughtfully in his hand. He looked up at her, his expression one of regret. ‘You have to understand I’m not proud of my part in all this. I overheard Jim and George arguing outside the pub one night.’

  ‘About the gold.’

  Ed nodded. It seemed half of Hungerbourne had known about Jim’s plan.

  Ed said, ‘Jim was pleading for time, telling George that once he got hold of the stuff from the dig he’d be able to pay him off. Jim didn’t see me sitting in the shadows nursing my pint until he went to go back inside. I thought he was going to have a heart attack when he caught sight of me. He shoved me up against the wall and told me that if I didn’t keep my mouth closed he’d make sure it was shut permanently.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I told him I’d tell Gerald about his sordid little plan.’

  Something about the righteous indignation of Ed’s reply brought a smile to her face. ‘I don’t imagine he took that very well.’

  He shook his head. ‘When he realised threats of physical violence weren’t going to work, he offered me money. He said I could help him out. He told me he needed someone who was on the inside at the dig to pull it off – someone Gerald trusted.’

  Ed fell silent.

  ‘And?’

  ‘I said yes.’

  He stared down at the table, seemingly bereft of an explanation. When he finally looked up, there was desperation in his voice. ‘I had no intention of going through with it. I just wanted to teach him a lesson. Jim treated everyone like dirt and I was sick of it. I thought that if I could find out what he was planning, I could stop him – and maybe make a few bob on the side in the meantime.’

  Her expression, even in the half-light, must have betrayed her thoughts.

  She took a deep breath. ‘So what happened?’

  ‘Jim popped me a few quid and I played along. I had to have solid proof if I was going to take it to Gerald. Without it, no one would have believed me. Even if Gerald was sympathetic, he wasn’t likely to believe the word of a kid over his own brother. So I began to follow Jim, tried to work out exactly what he was planning to do.’

  ‘And did you find out?’

  Ed shook his head. ‘Before I got a chance, Jim disappeared.’

  ‘And you said nothing to Gerald about any of this.’

  ‘When Gerald shut the dig down, there was no mention of missing goldwork. Jim did a runner and Gerald never spoke about him or the dig after that. I had no idea whether Jim had taken the gold or not. Gerald would never have been able to live with the shame if it had become public that some of the artefacts from the site had been stolen by his own brother. And I could hardly ask him about it, could I? If Jim had nicked off with the gold, there was no way I could tell Gerald I’d known what Jim was planning and taken money to keep quiet.’

  ‘But now we know that Jim didn’t go anywhere, with or without the gold.’

  ‘So it would seem.’

  ‘So what do you think happened to the missing sun disc?’

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine. I assume Jim did the deed and got rid of it. Gerald wasn’t easily roused to anger, but he took his archaeology very seriously. When he found out – well, the evidence of what you found in that urn speaks for itself.’

  Could Ed be right? Had Clifford lied? If Jim had given Clifford the disc before he met his maker, it might have provided Clifford with a very comfortable little pension scheme. And if Clifford was involved in the disappearance of the sun disc, who was to say he wasn’t responsible for the Woe Waters threats and what had happened on the photo tower?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Clare was only too well aware that she had no way of proving Gerald was not a murderer. And neither was she any closer to finding out what had happened to the missing sun disc. But she had more pressing concerns at the moment – like how she was going to keep her financial head above water.

  She’d followed Margaret’s advice and put the Richmond shop on the market. She’d never really had any reason to wonder what it might be worth before, and to her amazement the estate agent had valued it at considerably more than she’d thought possible. And, given what she’d learnt about the full horror of Stephen’s financial arrangements, she was going to need every penny she could lay her hands on.

  Which was why, now that her shoulder had finally healed enough for her to drive, she found herself sitting behind the wheel of an economical but thoroughly unglamorous Fiesta with 50,000 miles on the clock. She’d imagined she would find the moment she handed over the keys of her beloved coupé difficult to bear; but in the event, the acquisition of a sizeable cheque had softened the blow considerably.

  She pulled out of the garage forecourt and headed for the Salisbury ring road, wearing a self-congratulatory smile. By the time she’d reached the dig site, her enthusiasm for her new mode of transport was undimmed. In fact, she experienced an altogether unexpected sense of freedom as she bumped the little blue box over the rutted grass. She pulled up beside David’s Land Rover and gave the bonnet of her new acquisition an affectionate pat.

  ‘Isn’t that a bit of a retrograde step?’

  She looked up to see a familiar figure framed in the Portakabin doorway.

  ‘Jo! What are you doing here?’

  ‘That’s nice. I hike all the way down from the big city to be here and …’

  Before Jo could say another word, Clare enveloped her in a hug. Clare could feel her cheeks burning as she stepped away from Jo. Public displays of emotion weren’t normally her thing. Jo rested her hands on Clare’s shoulders, surveying her friend’s face, her expression betraying her concern. ‘Are you OK?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Really?’

  Clare nodded, maybe just a little too enthusiastically. ‘Really – I’m absolutely fine. Just pleased to see you. I thought you’d be off to the States by now. Have they extended your contract?’

  Jo shook her head and smiled. ‘David’s offered me a project-funded post down here at the university. So here I am.’

  Clare made no attempt to hide her delight. ‘That’s amazing news. I can’t believe he didn’t say anything. And neither did you!’

  ‘He made me swear not to tell anyone.’ Jo tilted her head to one side. ‘I kind of got the impression he was worried about you. It crossed my mind that that was why he offered me the post.’

  ‘He offered you the job because you’re the best at what you do.’

  Jo’s face broke into a broad smile. ‘I’d like to be all British and argue about it, but it just so happens it’s true. Besides, scratch the surface and we high achievers need cold, hard cash just as much as the rest of humanity. And I got to like this neck of the woods last time I was down here.’ She slapped Clare on the back. Clare winced as the pain shot through her shoulder. ‘Crap. Sorry. I didn’t think.’

  She brushed aside the apology. ‘You don’t really think David appointed you to babysit me, do you?’

  Jo shrugged and laughed. ‘If he did, I’d say he’s backed the wrong horse, wouldn’t you? But he is worried about you, and so am I.’

  ‘I’m old enough to look after myself. I don’t need a nursemaid.’

  Jo raised her hands in a defensive gesture. ‘Hey, what’s so wrong with having people care about you?’

  Clare let out a long sigh and smiled. ‘I’m sorry. After everything that’s happened around here lately I guess I’m just a bit on edge.’

  Jo raised an eyebrow. ‘How about we rustle up one of your vile English cups of tea and you tell me about it.’

  ‘Give that fucking thing here!’

 
; Clare had ignored the ruckus coming from the other side of the tea hut for as long as she could. But there was no mistaking the strain in Jenny’s voice. The young post-grad site assistant was clearly finding the students from her trench too boisterous to handle. Clare abandoned the pretence of enjoying the mug of tepid brown sludge masquerading as tea and went to investigate.

  Drawing herself up to her full five feet six, she bellowed, ‘Enough!’

  Two male students whipped their heads round to see where the command had come from. Jenny had interposed herself between these two and a third student, who must have been at least six feet four and was wearing a T-shirt with the word ‘Wolfmother’ emblazoned across his chest. She seemed to be trying to persuade him to hand something to her.

  ‘They must be able to hear you lot down in the village.’

  Wolfmother dropped his hands to his sides in a clumsy attempt to distract attention from the object at the centre of the dispute.

  ‘I’m sorry, Clare. I was trying to get them to give it to me.’ Jenny pointed to where the object had been a second ago.

  Why did this sort of thing only happen when David was off-site?

  ‘Hand it over to Jenny now!’ Clare ordered.

  Wolfmother grinned. ‘Chill! We were just having a bit of fun.’

  Clare motioned for him to hand over the offending article. ‘Give!’

  Wolfmother held the knife out towards her, his head drooping. Out of the corner of her eye, Clare could see the other two students smirking. At moments like this, she wished she had Margaret’s glasses so that she could peer disdainfully over them. She settled instead for a withering sidelong glare. Satisfyingly, the smirks disappeared instantaneously.

  She looked down at the object in front of her. It was a knife almost a foot long. The long metal blade was in-turned towards the tip and serrated down one edge. A metal cross-piece divided the blade from the remnants of a tattered leather-bound handle. It was a bowie knife.

  She raised her eyes to Wolfmother’s. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing bringing that thing onto site?’

  ‘I didn’t.’

  Clare looked at the other two students. ‘Which of you clowns was it?’

  They both shook their heads.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘We found it,’ Wolfmother said.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘In the old dude’s trench.’

  She looked at Jenny questioningly. The younger woman said, ‘It was in the backfill in Hart’s trench.’

  Clare turned to Wolfmother. ‘Well, it’s Jenny’s trench now, so hand it over to her.’

  He waved the knife in Jenny’s direction. ‘But she said we could keep it.’

  Jenny’s face reddened. ‘That was before I knew where you got it from.’

  Clare said, ‘Give it to her!’

  Wolfmother passed the knife to Jenny, who was looking decidedly uncomfortable.

  ‘In case you’re in any doubt, one more step out of line and my recommendation to David will be referrals on your fieldwork reports for the lot of you. Got it?’ Reluctantly, one after the other they all nodded. ‘Now clear off and get some work done.’

  Clare watched as the undergrads trudged uphill towards the trench. Once she was sure they were out of earshot, she turned her attention to Jenny. She knew that the younger woman had been having a rough time of it lately. According to the dig rumour-mill, her long-term boyfriend had dumped her in favour of someone who spent more time at home with the living than in the middle of nowhere with the long-dead. Along with knackered knees and an unhealthy relationship with alcohol, it was one of the occupational hazards of life as an archaeologist. And it looked to Clare as if she was having a tough time dealing with it. The last thing she wanted to do was to add to the poor girl’s misery by giving her a public dressing-down.

  Clare turned to Jenny, who was staring down at the grass. She lowered her voice, gesturing over her shoulder with her thumb towards the trio as they disappeared up the hill. ‘That lot can be a pain in the backside when they put their minds to it. If they get too much to handle just come and let me know.’ There was no outward sign that the younger woman had registered a word Clare had said. ‘Jenny!’

  This time she looked up, but said nothing.

  ‘David needn’t know if that’s what’s worrying you.’ Clare waited, but there was still no response. ‘OK, have it your way. But that thing is from an archaeological context. So I want it bagged, tagged and on my desk before you leave site today.’

  Clare pulled up outside George Clifford’s house, slotting into the space vacated by a battered Suzuki four by four. She turned towards Jo, who was in the passenger seat. ‘Are you sure about this? I’d hate you to lose your job before the ink’s even dry on your contract.’

  Jo unclipped her seat belt and grinned. ‘My trips to Wiltshire are the most excitement I’ve had since I came over here. Don’t get cold feet on me just when things are getting interesting. Besides, it’s got to be better than spending our day off bussing the students to and from the laundromat.’

  Clare laughed, though she couldn’t help feeling a tinge of guilt about leaving that particular pleasure to Margaret and Jenny. But Margaret seemed to be enjoying her time with the students and Jenny hadn’t seemed bothered one way or the other.

  The doorbell was answered by Clifford’s wife, who ushered them into a small, gloomy front room and seated them on the Dralon-covered sofa before departing.

  Clifford was ensconced in his armchair – curtains drawn, television on – watching an episode of Ice Road Truckers.

  He nodded at Clare. ‘Now then, who’s your friend ’ere? Bit of an improvement on the last time we met. Don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.’

  He stuck out a clammy paw in Jo’s direction.

  ‘Doctor Josephine Granski,’ Clare said, emphasising the ‘doctor’.

  ‘Doctor, is it?’

  Jo eased her hand out of his grip as he clung on for just fractionally too long. ‘Jo will do just fine.’

  He turned to face Clare. ‘I don’t suppose this is a social visit.’

  Clifford seemed to be able to get under her skin with astonishing ease. It was an ability she resented, but she was determined not to let him wind her up. ‘No, it’s not, Mr Clifford. We just had one or two more questions we were hoping you might be able to help us with.’

  Clifford’s smile set like pre-cast concrete.

  Peter’s aggressive approach hadn’t helped much last time. Maybe she’d have more success if she tried to butter him up a bit. ‘I’m afraid we haven’t had much luck in our search for the missing sun disc since the last time we met. And, at the moment, you’re our best chance of finding it. When we spoke before, you mentioned that Ed Jevons had cause to be upset when Jim left Hungerbourne. Did it have something to do with the missing gold?’

  Clare watched as the ends of Clifford’s lips turned upwards, entirely in contradiction to the rest of his face, which betrayed no semblance of a smile. He said nothing.

  Jo stepped in. ‘I’m sure even on this side of the pond it wouldn’t look good if the cops found out someone was concealing information about a homicide.’

  ‘I thought you were here to find out about the missing gold.’ He paused. ‘And anyway, that lovely young inspector seemed to think the man who killed Jim Hart had gone to meet his maker.’

  ‘You’ve spoken to Inspector Treen?’ Clare couldn’t conceal her surprise.

  As far as she’d been able to make out from what David had said, Sally lacked all enthusiasm for pursuing both the missing goldwork and Jim’s murderer. So why the interest in George Clifford?

  ‘When I heard that Jim Hart was dead, I thought it was only right I should make sure the police ’ad all the facts. So I told the inspector what I know. And that’s the last word I’m going to say to anyone about that bloody dig.’

  Jo said, ‘To give them your side of things, you mean, before you became a suspect.’

  Clifford
leant forward. ‘I’d go careful if I were you. Folk round ’ere don’t take kindly to being accused of murder.’

  Reaching into her bag, Clare pulled out a sheet of paper and waved it in Clifford’s face. ‘Whatever happened to Jim, we know he never left Hungerbourne. So what happened to this?’

  Clifford took hold of the photocopied newspaper article. It showed Richard Jevons presenting his sun disc to Gerald. He glanced at it before letting the sheet of paper fall to the floor. ‘You’re joking. That’s not what you’re looking for, is it?’

  Clare and Jo exchanged bemused glances.

  He pointed at the image now lying upturned beside his armchair. ‘If you think I ’ad anything to do with that piece of junk going missing, you need your head read. You’re all the same. You think cos a man don’t speak like a toff he ain’t got two penneth o’ brains.’ He started to laugh, a peculiar, high-pitched, child-like chuckle. When he finally stopped, he broke into a broad grin, and jabbed his finger emphatically at the sheet of paper. ‘Look at it!’

  Jo picked up the paper and examined the picture. But Clare had no need. She had a terrible feeling she knew what he was about to tell them.

  ‘If I’d have wanted to nick something from that dig I wouldn’t have wasted my time with that. Who’d have given decent money for damaged goods when they could have the real thing?’

  Jo looked perplexed. ‘The real thing?’

  ‘That’s right. The one Joycey found.’

  Jo turned to Clare. ‘I don’t understand. It was this disc – the one found before the dig – that was stolen.’

  Clare nodded. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Clifford smiling. She detested the man, but the cold sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach told her he was telling the truth.

  Jo puffed out her cheeks and clenched her fists. ‘That guy is a total slimeball.’

  ‘He gives me the creeps too. But that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s lying.’