The Unburied Past

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘In fact,’ she ended, ‘I’ve been asked to collate them into a booklet, so Matthew won’t be the only author in the family!’

  It was eleven thirty before the party broke up and the guests took their leave. Angie was spending the night with Simon so Kirsty drove home alone, very conscious of her single status.

  She was also conscious, as she parked in their drive, of the darkness lying thick in the surrounding shrubbery, and it was with relief that she closed and locked the heavy door behind her. Lance’s words about her ‘admirer’ awaiting her reactions had lodged in her mind. Was he, she wondered with a shiver, actually watching her, rather than simply teasing from afar? It was an unnerving thought.

  Despite his promise, Adam delayed his visit home until the last minute. He’d arranged the letting of his apartment, had farewell drinks with colleagues from school and spent an emotional night with Gina, who suspected – probably correctly – that his departure signalled the end of their relationship. Now his bags were packed and he was more than ready to go. There was this one farewell still to make, and it was potentially the most difficult.

  In the event, it was uncannily like a rerun of the christening party. Little had he realized, then, that news of his sabbatical would give rise to such momentous disclosures. And here they all were again – Lynne and Harry, Charlotte and Bruce, Claire and Sandy, Grandma and Grandpa Franklyn, Ed and Nora Carstairs (who, since they weren’t his grandparents, he refused to address as such) – all of them trying to act normally, but surreptitiously treating him with kid gloves as though he were a firework that could explode without warning.

  As well he might; excitement was building in him, not only at the prospect of the seven-week trip through Europe visiting places he’d only read about, but the return to the country of his birth and to people who were, incredibly enough, related as closely to him as those present today. And underlying it all was his impatience to start working properly on the mystery of his parents’ death.

  Today’s gathering took the form of a family lunch and, glancing round as they sat at table, Adam recalled as a child searching Lynne’s face for any resemblance to his father, familiar from the photographs scattered about the house. He had searched in vain, and it was only when, on a visit to the UK, he first met his Franklyn grandparents that he understood why: Lynne had taken after her father, Mark his mother. It was a source of secret satisfaction as he grew older to recognize in the mirror his own likeness to his father – the narrow-shouldered figure of only average height, the deep-set grey eyes, even the way his hair grew.

  ‘So where are you planning to go in Europe?’ his grandmother was asking.

  ‘In a nutshell, I’m flying to Oslo and making my way down to Italy and Spain, seeing as much as I can en route, with some places earmarked for a longer visit. But I’ve no hard and fast plans and can stay for as long or as short a time as I choose, provided I’m back in the UK a week before term starts on the fifth of September.’

  Mention of school and the UK fell with the impact of a lead weight. Harry said with assumed casualness, ‘Have you been in touch with Janice and Roy, to let them know when you’re arriving?’

  ‘No,’ Adam answered steadily, crumbling the roll on his side plate. ‘I’m not expecting a reception committee. I’ll contact them, of course, once I’ve settled in.’ He paused and added deliberately, ‘Principally because I’ll be wanting to sound them out on their memories of June, ’eighty-six.’

  ‘It will be very distressing for them,’ Lynne murmured.

  ‘And for me,’ Adam reminded them smoothly, ‘but it’s a necessary first step.’

  ‘And Kirsty?’ Thelma Franklyn asked after a moment.

  He shrugged. ‘She won’t remember any more than I do.’ He glanced at their tense faces. ‘I might as well tell you that I’m planning to find out as much as possible about the murders during my first weeks in the UK. Then, at half term, I intend to go up to the Lake District and scout around there.’

  There was total silence as everyone digested that. He looked round at them challengingly. ‘Did any of you go up there at the time?’

  ‘We flew up straight away with your other grandparents,’ Bob Franklyn answered quietly. ‘To … identify Mark and Emma, and to bring you and Kirsty home.’

  ‘Did you go back later?’

  Bob shook his head.

  ‘Then what happened to their things? And they must have had a car up there?’

  ‘Graham Yates kindly saw to all that for us.’

  Adam seized on the name. ‘Yates? My godfather?’

  ‘That’s right. He was a close friend of your father’s.’

  ‘Then he’ll be a useful contact. I must look him up.’

  Harry said gently, ‘Don’t set your hopes too high, Adam. The police have been working on this, off and on, for a long time and not been able to come up with anything.’

  ‘Then they should welcome a fresh pair of eyes, though I doubt they’d see it that way. Fortunately I don’t need police cooperation; in fact, I’m probably better without it.’

  Charlotte said, ‘You won’t do anything rash, will you? I want my brother safely back next summer!’ Her slight emphasis on the relationship and the smile that accompanied it was a deliberate reminder of their previous conversation.

  ‘I’ll take all reasonable precautions,’ Adam said, and the tone of his voice indicated that the subject was closed. Accepting it, conversation resumed on less personal topics and it was only as he was leaving that Lynne, clinging to him as she held back tears, again alluded to possible dangers.

  ‘Darling, take care,’ she begged. ‘If you do find anything new, pass it to the police and don’t attempt to follow it up yourself. Promise me that!’

  ‘I promise I’ll be careful,’ he said, and she had to leave it at that.

  EIGHT

  During the week following the dinner party there were no unwelcome deliveries at the house in Springwell Road, and Kirsty was beginning to hope they’d played themselves out. Those hopes were dashed, however, when, ten days after the chocolates, another bouquet arrived – not, this time, delivered by a florist, but found lying on the front step after the doorbell had alerted them.

  ‘All right, all right,’ Angie said quickly, ‘I’ll see to them. A bit much, leaving them out here,’ she added. ‘The cars are in the drive – he could tell we were in.’

  Kirsty thrust the cellophaned sheaf into her hands. ‘Do what you like, as long as you keep them out of my sight.’ She’d returned to checking orders for the following day when a sharp cry reached her and, hurrying into the kitchen, she found Angie at the sink sucking her fingers, the flowers scattered on the draining board beside her.

  ‘Something bit me!’ she said indignantly, turning to her friend.

  Kirsty looked bewildered. ‘Something in the flowers, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. I’d just cut the twine holding them together when I felt this sharp pain.’

  ‘So rather than cyanide in the chocolates, it was a snake in the flowers?’

  Despite her discomfort, Angie laughed. ‘It would have to be a pretty small one!’

  ‘You didn’t just stab yourself on a thorn?’

  ‘No, I didn’t.’ She picked up a wooden spoon and began carefully separating the stems with the handle. Suddenly she stopped. ‘My God!’ she said slowly.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It seems impossible, but … surely these are stinging nettles? Among the foliage?’

  ‘What?’ Kirsty hurried over, stared incredulously at the offending leaves then picked up the discarded wrapping. ‘Yes, look!’ she exclaimed, holding it out for Angie’s inspection. ‘The pieces of sticky tape are different widths – which must mean the florist wrapped the bouquet, then whoever bought it slit it open and inserted the nettles before resealing it. That’s why it was left on the step. Too bad we haven’t got CCTV.’

  Angie glanced back to the blisters rising on her inflamed fingers. ‘Well, it’s pretty pain
ful, I can tell you, and not a dock leaf in sight! God, I’d like to get hold of this joker and wring his bloody neck!’

  ‘You and me both,’ Kirsty said feelingly. ‘I’ll get the antihistamines. Hold your hand under the cold tap or squirt lemon juice on it. That might help.’

  She ran upstairs to retrieve the pills, closing her mind to all but the need to soothe Angie’s pain. But as she handed them over with a glass of water, she had to face the fact that the nuisance value of the so-called ‘gifts’ had escalated, and for the first time there was open malice behind them.

  As it happened, the doctored bouquet heralded an increasingly disturbing week. As instructed, Kirsty informed her contact number at the police station, but the impersonal voice that took her message proved little comfort when, two days later, another email from ‘xyz’ appeared on her screen. It read: It’s polite to say thank you when you receive gifts. The latest offering was to teach you better manners.

  Angie, hearing her exclamation, reached out and caught her hand as the cursor hovered over the Reply button. ‘Don’t answer it!’ she cautioned urgently. ‘Remember what the police said: he’s trying to provoke a response – don’t let him succeed!’

  ‘I’m just going to tell him to go to hell – that I don’t want his blasted gifts, so why should I thank him for them?’

  ‘He already knows that. He’s just needling you.’

  Kirsty looked up at her despairingly. ‘But how much of this do I have to take? If he was using my personal address I could change it, but I can’t alter the business one – it would cause all kinds of problems. I’m a sitting duck!’

  Angie nodded in sympathy. ‘At least the police know about it. They’ll catch him if he makes a slip, as he’s bound to, but in the meantime, love, you’ve no option but to sit it out.’

  The third incident, however, made the others pale into insignificance, and came in two instalments. Over breakfast the following morning they were shocked to hear on the news that a thirty-five-year-old woman had been attacked and raped in Lacy Park the previous evening.

  They stared at each other in disbelief.

  ‘Lacy Park?’ Kirsty repeated incredulously.

  ‘A bit close to home, isn’t it?’ Angie agreed with a shudder.

  ‘It’s … appalling! God, think of all the times we go there! It’ll never feel the same again!’

  Minutes later, predictably, Janice phoned. ‘You’ve heard the news?’ she began and, without waiting for confirmation, rushed on. ‘In that park just near you! I can’t believe it! Is nowhere safe these days? Darling, promise me you won’t go there until they catch this man.’

  Kirsty rolled her eyes. ‘I can’t do that,’ she said gently. ‘For one thing, it’s a useful shortcut. Look, I know what’s happened is dreadful, but let’s keep a sense of proportion. I shan’t go after dark, if that makes you feel better.’

  ‘Not much, it doesn’t. You’ve mentioned going there to read, which means finding a quiet spot. I shudder to think what might happen!’

  ‘He’s unlikely to attack in broad daylight, Auntie,’ Kirsty pointed out, for her own reassurance as much as her aunt’s. ‘There are always people about then, and anyway, everyone will be on the lookout for him now. He’s not likely to go back there.’

  ‘Don’t they revisit the scene of the crime?’ Janice asked wildly.

  ‘Only murderers, I think.’

  ‘Don’t be so flippant, Kirsty – it might be murder next time! At least come for lunch on Sunday so we can discuss it sensibly.’

  ‘Auntie, I can’t. Really. But don’t worry, I promise not to take any risks.’

  ‘Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you,’ Janice snapped. ‘And keep a pepper spray or something in your bag.’

  Half an hour later, Lance phoned. ‘Don’t panic,’ he began, ‘I’m not trying to restart anything. I just wanted to advise you to avoid the park at the moment. Its hazard rating has just soared.’

  ‘Thanks for the warning, but I really don’t think—’

  ‘Especially,’ he was continuing, ‘in view of those unwanted emails and things. You did go to the police, didn’t you?’

  Kirsty went cold and her mouth suddenly dried. ‘I did, yes,’ she said after a pause, ‘but you surely don’t think it’s the same man?’

  ‘Not necessarily, but … two nutters in the area?’

  ‘Well, thanks,’ she said bitterly. ‘You’ve made me feel a whole lot better.’

  ‘I’m trying to make you see sense, Kirsty, that’s all. Don’t go round thinking you’re impregnable. No doubt that’s what that poor woman thought.’

  ‘OK,’ she said with difficulty. ‘I’ll be careful. Thanks for phoning.’ She switched off, a hand going to her throat. There wasn’t any connection, was there? Surely there couldn’t be?

  The sense of unease, both general and personal, stayed with her all day, and during their lunch break she stood for some minutes at the window staring down at the park, green and innocent in the fitful sunshine. Angie came up and put a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Lance is an idiot,’ she said bluntly, ‘putting such ideas in your head. ‘Of course there’s no connection between what happened down there and your “admirer”.’

  ‘“Stalker”, Angie,’ Kirsty corrected aridly. ‘No point in avoiding the word; that’s what he’s become.’

  ‘Well, the police will be joining the dots, in the unlikely event there are any to be joined.’

  Slowly the day passed. When he returned the van after the day’s deliveries, Toby, Angie’s youngest brother, added his own words of caution.

  ‘Don’t go out alone after dark, either of you,’ he ordered. ‘And don’t relax and think it’s safe if nothing happens for a while. No one’s safe until this man is caught.’

  ‘Even more than usual,’ Kirsty remarked as they closed the kitchen door firmly behind them. ‘Thank God it’s Friday!’

  It was as they were going upstairs that Angie said suddenly, ‘Dammit, I’ve just remembered! Chrissie wanted the name of the dressmaker who did those alterations for me, and I never got back to her. I’ll give her a call now, before I forget.’

  ‘OK, I’ll make a start on dinner.’ Kirsty went into the kitchen, turned on the radio to catch the latest news bulletin and took two salmon steaks out of the fridge. She surveyed them for a moment, considering what to do with them, then reached for the pot of coriander on the window sill. She had scrubbed new potatoes, washed and chopped the coriander and poured two glasses of end-of-the-week wine before she heard Angie come into the room behind her. ‘We’re out of green vegetables,’ she said without turning. ‘I know you don’t like carrots with fish, but that’s all we’ve got.’

  Angie didn’t reply and Kirsty turned to see her leaning against the door frame, her face white.

  ‘Angie – what is it? What’s happened?’

  ‘You’re not going to believe this,’ Angie said, her voice shaking. ‘Kirsty, it was Alicia who was attacked last night.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘I could tell from Chrissie’s voice that she was upset, and when I asked what was wrong she broke down and blurted it all out. Then she immediately regretted it and spent ages making me promise not to tell anyone, because the … victim’s identity mustn’t be disclosed.’

  ‘But … what actually happened? Did she say?’

  ‘Alicia was on her way home from a meeting at the medical centre at about ten o’clock. It wasn’t even properly dark, Chrissie said, but he jumped her from behind.’

  ‘So she didn’t see his face?’

  ‘No, he was wearing a balaclava and he never said a word, so she didn’t hear his voice either. He just … dragged her into some bushes.’

  Kirsty sat down slowly at the kitchen table. ‘He must have been pretty strong – Alicia’s tall, and I bet she put up a fight.’

  ‘I suppose he had the advantage of surprise – it all happened so quickly. And when it was … over … he just sprinted off into the bushes, leav
ing her lying there.’

  Angie came into the room, picked up a glass of wine and took a sip. ‘Remember the attack near Bellington station, a month or so ago? It was the same MO, and Chrissie said the police aren’t ruling out the possibility of it being the same man.’

  Kirsty thought back. Bellington was the stop before Westbourne on the London line. ‘The girl who’d just got off the train?’

  ‘Yes; according to the papers other passengers said she’d spent the whole journey on her mobile, talking loudly about some business contract she was negotiating. They think it’s likely her attacker was also on the train and followed her when she got off. You know the houses down that road – they all have long front gardens. He dragged her into one of the driveways.’

  Kirsty said shakily, ‘Moral: don’t talk loudly on your mobile!’

  Angie smiled fleetingly. ‘I know I don’t need to say it, but we must keep quiet about Alicia. She’s carrying on as usual, and even went into the surgery today, brave soul. Imagine having to face her patients if this became public.’

  The news hung over them for the rest of the evening, and although they talked of other things and watched television, they kept coming back to it.

  ‘She’s the last person I’d have thought something like this would happen to,’ Angie said at one point. ‘I mean, she’s a bit intimidating, isn’t she? So confident and sure of herself.’

  ‘She’s probably not all that confident now, poor thing.’

  They went to their rooms soon after ten thirty, but Kirsty couldn’t settle. The police would have more on their minds now, she thought, than a few unwanted emails and nettles in a bouquet. Fragments of talk at the dinner party kept coming back to her – Alicia’s quick, decisive voice, her succinctly expressed opinions. God, if it could happen to Alicia Penn …