Echoes of the Past

by Mailer, Deborah

  A picture of a laughing twenty-year-old appeared on the screen. Susanna Wheeling. Fiery red hair. Brown eyes. Very pretty. She had disappeared from the local bar in Arrochar, just a half hours drive from Coppersfield in August 1968. The picture was followed by desperate pleas from her family for any information. Tom looked up the next girl. Jenny Phillips. A stunning twenty-three-year-old with blonde hair. She was from London. She worked on the refreshment carriage with British Rail. She disappeared in Glasgow during a lay over between journeys. Again, it was August, this time in 1979.

  The third girl was Jill Patterson. Age twenty-two. She was last seen at the Lands End pub in Edinburgh. Like Angela and Jenny, she was pretty, blonde and went missing in August, this time it was 1984.

  Like Angela, they had all disappeared during the first two weeks in August. Except they were years apart. There were ten years between Susanna Wheeling and Angela Harrison. One year later Jenny Phillips disappeared, and then another five years passed before Jill Patterson went missing. All the girls had striking similarities in their looks. All except, Susanna Wheeling, were blonde. Tom knew his best bet would be to input the details into the police net work and find out if there were any other girls that had been reported missing around this time that had been classified as open missing person.

  Tom heard Jess on the stairs. It was now 7.30am He closed his computer and got up to start breakfast. A tradition he had continued after his wife Sarah, had died, to keep Jess in a normal routine.

  “Bacon and eggs or pancakes?” Tom asked. Jess slipped in to a chair at the table and rubbed her eyes.

  “Eh, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just have cereal this morning. I’m not all that hungry.”

  “Cereal? That won’t put a heat in your bones. You need a cooked breakfast, you always feel better after a cooked breakfast.”

  Jess smiled. “Thanks, Dad, but I don’t think pancakes shaped like mini mouse are going to help this morning.” Jess stood up and lifted the box of cornflakes from the cupboard.

  “Well, for your information, I was going to make smiley face pancakes.” He handed her a bowl from the draining board. Jess smiled at his attempt to cheer her up.

  “What are you’re plans for today? Saving cats in a tree or finding lost dogs?” She asked as she poured the milk on to the flakes.

  “I’m just looking in to a couple of things; I shouldn’t be too late home tonight. Why do you need a lift?”

  “No thanks, meeting Gemma. She wants me to take her up to Uncle Matts one day after school; she has a fascination for old houses.”

  “I’ll give him a call; he said you could go up and see the horses anytime.” Tom sat at the table to finish the last of his coffee.

  “What’s in the files? I thought you were retiring?”

  “Oh just some cold cases I’m looking into. Missing persons. I haven’t retired yet. I still want to keep busy.”

  “Is it Olivia?”

  “No, honey. It’s old cases. I think it would be best if we left that to the police in Edinburgh. They know what their doing.”

  Jess toyed with the flakes in her bowl.

  “Do you think she’s dead?” she asked.

  Jess had never asked this before. All the discussions they had had over the last year had always been about what had happened to her and where she could be. Tom thought for a moment. He knew Jess was way too clever to be fobbed off, and she could always tell when he was bluffing. A knack she had unfortunately picked up when he taught her how to play poker for jellybeans and toffees. He clasped both his hands around his coffee mug and looked at her. She held his stare; her spoon stopped moving in the bowl.

  “Well, Jess. There has never been any sighting of her since that morning. And you know better than anyone that she wasn’t the type of girl to run away from home. You were her best friend for twelve years. If she had run away, she would probably have come to you anyway. So I think if Olivia was still alive, she would have found someway of getting in touch with you, and her family.” Tom’s tone was sombre. He held his breath for a moment to see how Jess would react to the truth. She looked down at her bowl again.

  “I think so too. I’ve been dreaming about her.”

  “The nightmares, are they about Olivia?”

  Jess nodded still not looking up from her bowl. “I sometimes think she’s here. I feel as though she’s watching me sometimes.”

  Tom stretched across the table to her. “Hey, angel. That’s only natural. That’s just your imagination working overtime, giving you a bit of comfort. It’s because we have so many unanswered questions.”

  “Sometimes it scares me.”

  He put his oversized hand under her chin and lifted her face up to look at him. “If your feeling uneasy, I can arrange for you to talk to someone. But, Jess, there are no such things as ghosts. If there were, there wouldn’t be any unsolved cases. They would solve them themselves.” He smiled at her.

  “No, if I need to talk I’ve got you and Aunt Lee. I could even talk to Gemma. I’ll be fine, I’m just a bit off with not getting enough sleep last night that’s all.” Jess pushed the bowl away from her. “I’ll go get ready.” She walked round the table and kissed her Dad on the head. “I’ll see you after school.”

  Feeling somewhat inadequate as a parent, Tom collected his files and got ready to leave.

  *****

  John Caulder pulled the apron over his head. It was just after 7am and breakfast started at 7.30am. He only had a few guests; March was never a busy month. And with the weather being so foul and all this year, he had even fewer bookings than normal.

  All the same, it wouldn’t matter how many guests he had he would still have to cook breakfast, smile joyfully, make jokes, and be generally good humoured with them all. This was not an easy task. All the fun had gone out of the hotel. First Samantha. Then his wife. All that was left were he and his son Peter. Not a lot to smile about. Seventy two and still working in a shitty kitchen. If he hadn’t been self-employed, he would have retired seven years ago.

  The smell of toast filled the kitchen. The fat in the pan began to spark, the only thing lively in the place. John cracked in some eggs and stood watching aimlessly out of the window to the beer garden, and the golf course beyond.

  “Dad, Mr Garvie, from room three is down. Coffee ready?”

  John slowly dragged his eyes from the view and nodded toward a pot on the counter. Peter lifted it and disappeared out of the kitchen. After Mr Garvie, there were only the Johnston family of three. Sightseers touring the lochs and villages of Scotland. As beautiful as it was, John couldn’t understand why any one would come up here in March, as cold as the devils heart. And usually pissing.

  The order came for the Johnston’s. Extra potato-scones as usual. Soon breakfast would be done and he could sit in the bar and read his paper. Hide from all these pains in the arse.

  He watched Peter, flitting in and out of the kitchen with pots of coffee and tea and racks of toast. He shook his head in pity. A bloody honours degree in English from Glasgow University, and he’s serving toast. He banged his large fist down on the counter top as another small piece of the large man’s heart began to break.

  *****

  Tom pulled over at the hotel on the High Street. He glanced at the clock on the dash, it was 8.45am. He knew that if the hotel had any guest staying it would be open. He climbed out of his jeep and looked at the old white building. He pushed the door open and entered the bar. The reception and rooms were through another door at the other side. The bar smelled a little different now, no more stale tobacco. The strong smell of burning wood from the open fire seemed to dominate the bar now. The whitewash walls hadn’t changed in thirty years. The dark oak beams were still the same and the animal heads hung on various walls still created atmosphere. Everything much the same as he remembered, only a little shabbier.

  “Bar’s not open yet.”

  Tom could only see the top of a baldhead at the far side of the bar. He had not even lifted his
eyes from the paper to see who it was.

  “Hi, John, I wonder if I can have a word with you?” Tom asked.

  John looked over the top of the paper. “Well, well, DS Tom. How can I help you?” John folded the paper down in front of him.

  “It’s just Tom, thanks.”

  “You want a coffee?”

  “Wouldn’t mind. Black please.” Tom answered.

  John turned and hollered through to Peter in reception. Tom sat down across the dark oak table from him and placed the file in front of them.

  “I wonder if you recognize any of these women, John? Some are going back about 40 years or more.” Tom spread the pictures of the young women on the table in front of him. John tried to lean in a little closer, his ample gut preventing him. His eyes skimmed across three of the pictures and rested on the fourth.

  “What’s this about, Tom?”

  “Just some enquiries into cold cases.”

  John thought for a moment. “Her.” A large index finger banged down on Angela Harrison’s face. “I knew her, so did you no doubt. She brought us nothing but grief that one.”

  Tom picked up the other pictures. “You’re sure you don’t recognize anyone else?”

  John shook his head, still looking at the photo of Angela.

  “Can you tell me anything you remember about her?”

  “Not anything you don’t already know.”

  Peter came in; with a friendly nod, he put the coffee down next to Tom, and walked off behind the bar to clean some glasses.

  “What do you mean, grief?”

  The big hulk of a man pushed himself back in his chair with a sigh.

  “I can’t believe you’re bringing all this up again, Tom. If you don’t like the pace of life here, why not go back to Edinburgh or where ever it is.”

  “John, just tell me what you know and I’ll be on my way.”

  John picked the photo up and stared at it for a moment shaking his head.

  “Angela was best friends with my daughter Sam. Sam didn’t make friends easy, she was troubled.” John took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, screwing up his eyes. “Samantha had been seeing a young farmer called Patrick, no one knew. Not even Angela. Patrick had sworn Sam to secrecy. Anyway, he got Samantha into trouble. He took her to a clinic in Glasgow.” John swallowed hard. Even after thirty-five years Tom could see that the pain was still very real for John. “Anyway, they dealt with the problem and Patrick thought it was better they didn’t see each other for a while. A couple of weeks later he starts seeing Angela. You know how girls are at that age, she asked Angela not to see him; Angela refused and asked why it was so important to her. But Sam wouldn’t tell her why, so Angela and Sam had a falling out. We sent Sam to stay with her aunt for a while in Inverness. But when she came back and saw that Angela and Patrick were serious, she went berserk. You know the rest. She made stupid threats and eventually we had to get her help. She was later diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic.”

  “You blame Angela for that?”

  “Yes, I blame her, and Patrick, it was all the stress that brought it to a head.”

  “Is Samantha all right now?”

  John straightened up in his chair and leaned in a little. “Do you know what paranoid schizophrenia is? It ruins your life, it tears families apart. The drugs alone are enough to drive you crazy without the illness. No, she is not all right, but she gets by. You see that man there?” Tom turned to see a man in his mid fifties behind the bar. “He had a great life in front of him. But he had to move back here to help me when his mother took ill with the stress; it broke her heart, what happened to Sam. She died and I took a heart attack and in the blink on an eye, young Peter’s life is turned up side down. Out of loyalty he gave up any chance at a career and moved back here.” John took a slow breath in. “Look, Tom, I’m sorry for Angela Harrison’s family, but some times it’s best to let sleeping dogs lie.” John pushed his chair out and disappeared through the narrow doorway to the reception.

  Tom packed away the file and walked over to Peter at the bar.

  “Do you ever see Patrick around, Peter?” Tom asked.

  Peter smirked. “My Dad barred him over thirty years ago and he has never been in here since. He still has the farm up the lane from Church Street.”

  Tom thanked him and left.

  *****

  Tom climbed into the Jeep and headed toward Patrick’s farm. It was now nearly 10am. Middle of the day for most farmers.

  The lane off Church Street, was narrow and over grown. The tarmac was old with large potholes showing evidence of the tractors and heavy machinery that had travelled it. At the top of the lane were two farms. Patrick Goyl owned the second one.

  Tom pulled up the long dirt drive past some barns and fields. He stopped the Jeep and climbed out. A skinny man with dark hair turning grey was leaning over a fence emptying a sack into a trough.

  “Can I help you?” The man looked up. His face so weather beaten it resembled raw steak.

  “I am looking for Patrick Goyl?”

  “You found him.”

  Tom introduced himself and extended a hand. He explained the reason for his visit and a sombre look came over the man’s face. He led Tom over to the farmhouse. Kicking off his boots, he walked into the large traditional kitchen.

  “I haven’t heard Angela’s name in a lot of years.” He pulled out a chair and sat down, indicating one for Tom.

  “Do you have any idea what might have happened to her?”

  “Well, everyone here thinks I done away with her. Not bloody true.”

  “What did happen the last time you saw her?”

  Patrick did not show much emotion, he was more resigned to the facts of the case.

  “I went up to see her because she had dumped me. Sam, her mate, had threatened her or something and she was upset.”

  “Sam, she’s the girl you got pregnant?”

  Patrick looked up.

  “Yeah, how’d you know that? You spoke to old John haven’t you?” Tom did not respond. “Well, don’t pay him any mind, he's poison. Him and his son. Yeah, Sam and I had a fling, but that was all it was. When Angela found out I had dated her friend first and got her pregnant she didn’t want any part of me. That’s why I went up there to try and change her mind.”

  “Did it work?”

  “I wish to God it had, she would be here now. But no. She sent me packing and I never saw her again. That was the Friday. On the Monday, the police put my door in just about. Wanting to know what I had done with her. And I told them what I told you, I done nothin.” Patrick paused as if waiting for Tom’s response. “I tell you this. She didn’t run away.”

  “How can you be so sure.”

  “If she had she would have taken her car for one thing. And another, Angela never ran from anything in her life.”

  As Tom was leaving, he looked over at the pigs that Patrick had been feeding when he arrived. “How long have you had pigs up here, Patrick?”

  “We’ve always had pigs.”

  “It’s a big farm for one man to run.”

  “Ma two boys are in the barn with the cows. They live in the village with their witch of a mother. Any thing else you need?”

  Tom shook his hand and climbed into his Jeep and headed back to Coppersfield.

  *****

  The lunch hall vibrated with the hum of constant chatter. Gemma and Jess had finished eating and had walked outside. The winter sun was bright but it was still cold. Much colder than it should have been in March. The chill cut through Jess as they walked around the small school to the benches on the far side. The school only had around 300 students, between Coppersfield and a couple of other small villages dotted around the hills.

  “Tell you what, Jess; you really need to think about fake tan, or a sun bed. I’ve seen sheep darker than you.”

  Jess laughed at Gemma. Her similes were always unusual and colourful. Jess knew she was looking more and more tired. Her sleep was co
nstantly being disturbed. If it wasn’t bad dreams, it was the sensation of someone being there with her in the room. The idea of moving up here was to put the past behind them, yet, more and more it felt as thought it was catching up with them.

  “How long has your Dad got before he retires?”

  “I don’t know yet, I don’t think it’s all been sorted out. he’ll never last not working, he gets bored too easy. He’s looking in to some cold cases just now. I heard him talking about someone called Harrison.”

  “The Harrison murder. Is your Dad opening that up?”

  “Don’t know. Why? You heard of it?”

  Gemma laughed. “Anyone from Coppersfield has. Supposedly, she was the prettiest girl in school; her boyfriend went mad with jealousy, killed her and fed her to the pigs on Goyl farm.”

  “Gemma, that’s awful.”

  “Just telling you what everyone thinks. Supposedly she haunts the village waiting for revenge.” Gemma waved her hands spookily in front of Jess’s face. Jess laughed and pushed her away.

  “There are no such things as ghosts.” Jess said.

  “Oh yeah, then why does your Aunt Lee have a Ouija board?”

  “Aunt Lee? No chance.”

  “Telling you. You know my big cousin that worked at the tearoom. Well, she was engaged to the policeman that used to be up here, when he died, she got hold of your aunt to see if there was an after life, and more importantly, if he was in it.”

  “I thought the policeman that was here before my Dad was just old.”

  “He was a bit, my cousin was in her thirties, I think he was about forty.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “His car went off the hill side road on his way back up here from Arrochar. It was a shame. We had all been wondering were he was, we thought he was on the skive. It was a week later they found him one hundred feet down the hillside, at Miner’s Drop. Then we all felt really bad about it.”

  “God, Gemma, I thought he was old, retiring age you know, and just dropped you know, with a stroke or something.”