An Early Grave

by Robert McCracken

  ‘Do you have any pictures of Tilly with Callum when they were at Oxford?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure there are.’ Jenny flicked through a pile as if she were playing cards. ‘Although,’ she added, ‘Tilly and Callum didn’t really get together until their final year.’

  While Jenny continued her search, Tara took the liberty of starting her own. There were several envelopes of old prints, taken with instant or thirty-five millimetre film. Such an old-fashioned medium nowadays. One set held around twenty pictures, all of Tilly as a teenager, perhaps early university age. Her thinking was confirmed when she came across a picture of Tilly, Georgina, a girl she assumed might be Charlotte and a tall male youth. From what she could remember from Callum’s ski-trip photo she guessed the youth to be Justin Kingsley. He stood between Tilly and Georgina, smiling broadly, his right arm around Tilly’s shoulder.

  The next envelope contained more pictures of Tilly’s life at Oxford, featuring several buildings around the city and the interior of one or two pubs that Tara recognised. One shot, composed of five people, showed Tilly at the centre with Georgina, Charlotte, she thought, and two other girls crammed around a table at the back of the White Horse in Broad Street. The first years’ rooms in Latimer also featured and again were familiar to Tara.

  ‘That one was taken in Oxford, at Latimer College,’ said Jenny, having ceased her searching and now taking notice of what Tara was doing.

  ‘Yes, I know,’ she replied. ‘I went there, too, though not at the same time as your daughter.’

  ‘Did you really? Isn’t that remarkable?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is.’ She was jolted from her memories of Oxford by the picture she now held in her hand. It showed Tilly, in close up, most definitely in the arms of Justin Kingsley. ‘Forgive me for asking, but were Tilly and Justin together, as a couple?’

  ‘Oh yes. They were very close for a year or so. Justin used to come down here for weekends, and sometimes Tilly would go up to London to stay with his family. Tim and I really thought Justin was the one. Terrible, him disappearing like that.’

  Tara really didn’t know what to make of the revelation, except that yet again Callum had not been forthcoming in telling her. Why hide it? Was Justin’s relationship with Tilly the reason he now blamed Justin for her murder? Several more photos were either of Tilly alone or of Justin alone by the river, close to college, or by the Sheldonian, the Bridge of Sighs, or at the boat house. The last picture in the pack was the most confusing to a mind that had spent the last few days trying to uncover a motive for a student to stage his own disappearance and set about killing his friends. It was a photograph taken in one of the undergrad rooms in Latimer, plainly furnished, a modern bed and bookcase set against a two hundred-year-old inner wall. Callum lay on the bed, laughing, the slender body of Georgina Maitland beside him, her right leg draped across his groin as though she were about to mount him, despite being fully clothed. All perfectly innocent, she told herself. Besides, most likely Tilly had taken the picture. But Tara now realised she needed to know more about these relationships. They held the key to this whole affair, and still her trust in Callum had yet to rise above zero.

  ‘Thank you, Tara. It helps sometimes to do this, to face up to the memory of our daughter rather than trying to flush it away. Things got harder when Sarah left home for London, and when her brother Jamie joined the army.’

  Tara smiled, feeling rather inadequate in the midst of the woman’s sorrow. For a moment she wished to have been at Oxford when Tilly and Georgina were there. They seemed to have much more fun than she did.

  Loaded with fresh discoveries, she persuaded Jenny that they should return to the kitchen and finish making the tea. She was eager to be on her way. Seething, she had a whole new set of issues to fire at Callum. How could he not think that the tangled relationships within this bunch of students were central to finding a killer?

  CHAPTER 31

  It is never easy to drive and hold a conversation. A full scale row is downright dangerous. Most of it was due to Tara, the driver.

  ‘Who’d have thought it would only take a few hours for us to re-visit the same conversation.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I asked you to tell me everything, Callum, and then I find that you leave out stuff. Important stuff.’ Her foot sank deeper on the accelerator as the blood rushed to her head. She felt her temples pulsating, her cheeks reddening.

  ‘What stuff?’ He sounded genuinely puzzled.

  ‘You, Callum! You keep leaving yourself out of the story. If any of these deaths were murders…’

  ‘Of course they were murders.’

  ‘If they are associated with you and your friends at Oxford then it is a matter of relationships. That’s where the motives lie. And still I have to find out the hard way.’

  ‘Which relationships?’

  ‘Justin and Tilly, for starters. You didn’t tell me they had been a couple.’

  ‘Didn’t think…’

  ‘Yes, I know, you didn’t think it was relevant. What about you and Georgina?’

  ‘Slow down a bit, will you?’ They hadn’t yet returned to the motorway, but the speedometer quivered around seventy.

  ‘This is your last chance, Callum. I’m not wasting any more time over this, when the person I am trying to help is the biggest obstacle. You need to think about what really happened between all of you, and if you still want my help you have to tell me everything.’

  ‘Of course I want your help.’

  ‘Then shut up, and start thinking!’

  She yelled the words at the windscreen then braked hard for the slip onto the M25.

  They both welcomed the silence for a while. Callum wondered exactly what Jenny Reason had told Tara, while Tara wished she were somewhere else. She had to phone Kate and let her know that she was fine. She didn’t want her getting into a panic because she’d heard nothing, and go running to Tweedy for help.

  They were almost back at their hotel when Callum decided to speak. If only he’d waited until she stopped driving. Her head throbbed; she was tired and hungry. She couldn’t be bothered with this man’s history; not right now. But she listened in silence.

  ‘Justin and Tilly were together from the start. It stayed that way until our second year. I didn’t know either of them very well. Everything began when Tilly, Charlotte and Georgina shared a flat in second year. They really hit it off.’

  She stopped him when she stopped the car.

  ‘Save it for later, Callum. I’m hungry; you can tell me over dinner.’

  She bought two pints of lager at the bar, while they browsed the menu. Something to wet a dry throat and soothe a hoarse voice, a quick dinner and then to bed. She felt drained, her neck and shoulders stiff, her eyes weary from driving and from glaring with incredulity every two hours at the man who was adding to her woes instead of easing them. She didn’t think she could bear another conversation about murders, missing friends and revelations of things that went bump in Oxford ten years ago. What happened in Oxford should have stayed in Oxford as far as she was concerned. Isn’t that what happened in her case?

  She opted for a bar meal rather than the formality of a restaurant. Described as a gourmet steak-burger with French-fries, in her language it was a burger and chips. She remained angry with her companion; it would take more than one lager to feel relaxed. She ordered another two pints from the waiter who’d brought their food, sat back in her chair, her legs crossed and arms folded for full indignant effect.

  ‘Right, let’s hear it then?’

  Looking nervous, fiddling with the salad in his burger roll, he gave up, dumped the whole thing on his plate and sat back with his beer.

  ‘Georgina, Tilly and Charlotte shared a flat in second year,’ he recapped. ‘Justin and Tilly had split, but by then he’d met the other girls, and in turn he introduced them to his buddies, Anthony and Ollie, at the rowing club. Peter wasn’t a rower but had been friends with Anthony and Ollie at
school.’

  ‘And where did you fit in?’ she asked, just in case he planned on leaving himself out of the story once again.

  ‘Georgina.’

  Tara recalled the picture she’d seen at the vicarage of the two of them lying on a bed.

  ‘You were a couple?’

  He sensed amazement in her question. Or was it disapproval?

  ‘Why look so surprised, Tara? Do you reckon she was out of my league or something?’

  ‘I’m thinking more that you were out of your depth.’

  ‘She was the first student I met at Latimer. We arrived at the same time on our first day. I carried her bags up to her room. It was a while before anyone else moved in; we got talking; she was fun; we sort of clicked, became friends, although nothing really happened, not until the second year. If the three girls hadn’t shared a flat, I don’t think anything ever would have happened.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I only heard this from Tilly after we got engaged, but apparently the girls deliberately set out to pass us men around.’

  Tara couldn’t help laughing at the idea.

  ‘What? You mean they were going to take turns with each of you boys?’

  ‘More or less. It was Georgina’s idea, although the other two were just as bad.’

  ‘Callum, that’s ridiculous.’

  ‘Maybe, but I ended up with Georgina. You heard her call me her Belfast Boy. We went out for a few months, but it was never going to be serious. That’s how I met the guys, through Georgina. Ollie and Tilly had a thing for a while, as did Justin and Charlotte. Then all change. Next it was Tilly and Anthony; that lasted about five minutes. Charlotte and me, about the same. Everyone could see that Charlotte really had eyes only for Anthony. Unfortunately, he was the only one not to notice. Georgina and Justin got it together around the same time, and that was about it. Most of the fun stopped then. In our final year we all went to Austria on that ski trip.’

  ‘What about Zhou Jian, where did he fit in?’

  ‘Jian was my friend. We were classmates. He didn’t really know the others until I invited him on the ski trip.’

  ‘So he didn’t get involved in all that… partner swapping?’

  Callum shook his head and drank some beer.

  ‘So how come he was murdered?’

  She noticed her phone screen flashing on the table. Callum delved into his food again. She picked up her mobile and saw the name. Alan Murray. She didn’t really wish to hear from him. She didn’t want to get into explanations of where she was and what she was doing. But maybe Tweedy had already learned of her contretemps with Sir Edward Kingsley, and Murray was calling to warn her. She stared at the pulsing screen in her hand, the sound of Lady Ga Ga wafting across the lounge bar.

  ‘Are you not going to answer that?’ said Callum, spearing chips with his fork.

  His question prompted her to act; she hit the green answer symbol and spoke.

  ‘Hi, Alan.’

  ‘Mam. Thought I should give you a call.’

  She was right; Tweedy was gunning for her.

  ‘I know you’re away with that Armour bloke, but I just wanted to check if you’re all right?’

  ‘I’m fine, Alan, thanks. Just having dinner.’ Some relief that so far he hadn’t mentioned Tweedy.

  ‘Is Armour with you at the moment?’

  ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘How has he been with you?’

  Murray was beginning to sound strange. He’d lowered his voice, and she had some difficulty hearing.

  ‘Everything’s fine.’ She looked towards Callum sitting opposite, his interest still fixed on his food.

  ‘Can you talk?’

  ‘No, not at the moment.’

  ‘Just listen then. You need to be careful, Tara. I have a witness who claims he saw Armour going into the house with Audra Bagdonas on the evening before she died.’

  CHAPTER 32

  She felt her body stiffen, but did her best to look impassively ahead as people do when they’re talking on mobiles.

  ‘We’re checking his place over at the minute, trying to get a match for prints,’ said Murray.

  ‘OK, good. Let me know what happens.’ She glanced at her food growing cold on the plate, and yet she no longer felt hungry. The beer had lightened her head.

  ‘The witness also claims to have seen you visiting Armour’s house.’

  ‘Do you have a name?’

  ‘Mark Crawley.’

  The lout in the Everton shirt and soon to be a father. As far as she was concerned he also was a suspect in the case. More than likely he was involved in the beating meted out to Callum.

  ‘You think he’s reliable?’

  ‘No reason to think otherwise at this stage. If the prints match then I reckon we have our man. You need to be careful. I can get the local police to take him off your hands?’

  ‘No need for that.’

  ‘Think about it, Tara. You’re on your own with the prime suspect in a murder. Five minutes, and we can have him in custody.’

  ‘Leave it for now. I’ll let you know.’ She realised that irritation had crept into her voice. Callum stared at her.

  ‘Where are you?’ Murray asked.

  ‘Yes, that’s right.’

  ‘Tara, don’t muck about, love. Keep me informed at least. When do you get back?’

  ‘Sunday, and it’s Mam to you.’

  ‘Right, sorry Mam.’ She cut him off.

  ‘Everything all right?’ Callum asked.

  ‘Yeah. Other problems at work. At least I still seem to have a job.’

  ‘No thanks to me.’

  She drew no comfort from his remark, trying her best to regard him in a positive light, while Murray’s news hurt like a huge brick pressing on her chest.

  ‘Don’t know about you, but I’m whacked,’ she said with a yawn. ‘And I couldn’t eat another bite.’

  ‘You’ve hardly touched your burger.’

  ‘The beer’s filled me up. I’m away to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.’ She gathered her jacket and handbag and rose from her chair.

  ‘Don’t forget your phone,’ he said, handing it to her.

  ‘Oh, thanks. Goodnight.’

  ‘Goodnight,’ he replied, then called after her. ‘Tara, we’re still going to see Charlotte tomorrow, aren’t we?’

  ‘Yes. I’ll see you in the morning.’

  She could scarcely hold her hand steady to swipe the cardkey on her door. Once inside, she flicked the lock, dropped her things on the bed, and bolted to the bathroom. Beer and what little food she’d eaten in the day found its way to the toilet bowl. Dropping to her knees, she pushed the flush button and felt the cool spray of water as it gushed from the cistern. Her eyes stung from tears, her nose from the acidic liquid erupting from her stomach. A battle raged in her head. Murray was right; get the local force to pull him in. He was a killer. He’d fooled her completely. A clever man off his head, biting back at the world and at the people who had caused his misery. But it was ridiculously stupid. What had he done to her? He’d pissed her off, definitely. Keeping things from her. Never specific, discarding all he thought to be irrelevant. Had he harmed her? Had he threatened her? She’d witnessed his sorrow, so intense that he fell to his knees in soaking wet earth. He’d wept and reached out to her for comfort.

  Slowly she pushed herself onto her feet and turned to the large mirror. Tears and mascara ravaged her face. Aisling and Kate would go nuts if they saw the state of her. She dabbed cold water on her face and padded with a towel. Her retching of the last few minutes was soon overtaken by sobs. Angry, silly and frightened sobs. She pulled her jumper over her head, loosened her jeans and peeled them down her legs, pulling off her boots when she reached them. A shower and she would feel better, but she craved sleep more than anything. She flopped onto the bed in bra and pants, unable to summon the urge to switch off the lights. Before sleep, came the worry of what to do next.

  *

  Fo
ur pints of lager and a belly full of burger and chips. He should go to his bed, but he wanted to talk now that Tara had him thinking like never before. Why had he not considered Anthony Egerton-Hyde as a gay politician? He was married to Georgina, that’s why. She would never have taken a man like that. She’d been mad for it at Oxford. All the games they had played out, emotional and physical, were her ideas. No, she would never have married a gay man. And today he’d been reminded about Tilly and Justin. Tilly never talked much about him. But everyone was upset when he disappeared in Austria. It frightened the life out of Georgina, and Tilly cried for days. But it was left to Ollie, Peter, Anthony and him to speak with the police and to help in the search. They must have traipsed around Strobl a dozen times in the snow, hoping to find Justin huddled in a shed or a barn. Not a trace of him was ever found. Now Tara had him searching his mind, grasping for things he may have dismissed. The suspected relationship between Anthony and Peter, hearing about that had really pissed her off. The worse for drink, he plunged recklessly into memories that didn’t make sense. Zhou Jian, the day after Justin vanished, had asked him if Justin had a child. Where had that notion come from? After they were married Tilly told him once, on a sunny day in Devon, when they’d been fooling around, that Georgina had really fancied him, but she could never settle for someone with such low prospects. He always regarded the remark as coming from Tilly’s cruel side. At times, she was a devil.

  He decided to make for his room and hopefully a rare good night’s sleep. Any more drink and he would feel brave enough to knock on her door.

  CHAPTER 33

  For several moments Charlotte Babb stood in her doorway, a hand over her mouth, unable to speak. Her brown eyes glowed behind her reading glasses. Surprise, shock, delight, elation; words were not big enough.

  ‘It’s wonderful to see you,’ she said at last as her visitor stepped into the hallway. The pair hugged, kissing each other on both cheeks. ‘This seems to be the weekend for reunions.’

  ‘What do you mean?’