The Unburied Past

by Anthea Fraser

  Pushing the hair from her eyes she slipped out of bed, crossed to the window and, holding the curtain to one side, looked down into the garden far below. The street lights were out – a council economy, which meant it was after midnight, and still the ringing continued, echoing insistently round the listening house. Then, from one heartbeat to the next, it stopped, and the silence was almost as deafening. Immobile, she stood waiting, and after a full minute a shadowy form, indeterminate in shape, emerged from the outline of the porch beneath her, slipped quickly down the path and out of the gate.

  He’d gone, whoever he was. Clinging to the banister for support, she tiptoed down to the first floor and peered down the stairway to the hall. Her eyes had adapted to the darkness, and if he’d pushed anything through the letterbox, she’d be able to detect it. But there was nothing to detect. At least she’d not gratified him by putting on a light; he’d no way of knowing that he’d succeeded in waking her. Only a modicum of comfort, but it was all she had.

  Shivering, she crept back to bed.

  FOURTEEN

  Kirsty, Kirsty! Why couldn’t he get her out of his head? Why was he so strongly attracted to her, when, as part-owner of a successful business and brimming with self-confidence, she embodied everything that, over the last few decades, he’d come to loathe in women?

  Where were the sweet, docile girls of his youth, who’d looked up to men? Gone, all gone! They’d joined the police, become army officers, vicars, doctors – all rightly men’s jobs – flaunting their authority with infuriating complacency. He’d fantasized endlessly about pricking their self-esteem, taking them down a peg or two, but it was only recently that he’d dared turn fantasy into fact.

  Surprisingly, the first few encounters were never reported – didn’t want to lose face, he supposed – and this encouraged him to go further. He chose his victims with care – women who’d been fêted in the press for some achievement, pictured with a self-satisfied smile – and half the excitement had been tracking them down. Where was that superiority when they were flat on their backs beneath him, like that stupid little cow from the train who’d spent the whole journey on her mobile, ensuring everyone knew how important she was? Not so self-sufficient, was she, when she was crying and begging him not to hurt her?

  The policewoman was a mistake – he accepted that, but she shouldn’t have preached at him. The balaclava had, as always, been in his briefcase – too dangerous to leave lying around – so, on a whim really, he’d followed her, intending to teach her a lesson like the others. When she’d turned into that alley he’d made his move, but it had gone wrong from the first. The silly bitch had struggled and fought, yelling and shouting, and when she’d managed to claw off the balaclava, he’d pressed it over her mouth and, desperate to silence her, had gone on pressing.

  He’d been stunned when she suddenly went limp, had tried in increasing panic to shake a response out of her, even if she had seen his face. And when finally he’d accepted she was dead, he’d vomited for long, agonizing minutes before stumbling away in the knowledge that he’d have the whole bloody police force after him. He’d been jittery for weeks, but as time passed he started to relive with growing excitement the moment the life went out of her. That, surely, had been the ultimate put-down, the unequivocal victory. Perhaps, once the heat had died down, he’d risk experiencing it again.

  In the meantime, there was Kirsty. He’d sent the emails to unsettle her, make her uneasy, but she’d ignored both them and his gifts and she should be punished for that – punished above all for getting under his skin and coming between him and his sleep. It would need careful planning, but when the time was right he would make his move.

  Summer gradually slid into autumn. Leaves turned colour, the days shortened. Adam settled into college life, where his astringent comments delivered in his Canadian accent had, to his surprise, made him popular with his pupils. In his spare time he searched the Web for information, but nothing new had come to light and there’d been no response to his press appeal. Eventually he decided to put it on hold until his visit to the Lakes, when he’d be able to deal with people more directly.

  At Gateaux to Die For business increased after the summer lull with a spate of birthdays and anniversaries that, in addition to their regular orders, kept Kirsty and Angie busy. Though she and Adam had spoken on the phone they’d not met again, but Kirsty knew she must tell her aunt and uncle of their forthcoming trip, and when, during a Sunday lunch in late September, Janice enquired if she’d seen him recently, she took the opportunity.

  ‘I haven’t, no, but we’ve decided to go up to the Lakes together at half term.’

  Roy laid down his knife with a clatter. ‘You’ve what?’

  Kirsty said steadily, ‘We want to see for ourselves where everything happened, and Adam’s found out a few things that—’

  ‘No!’ Janice was staring at her with horrified eyes. ‘No, no, no! I won’t hear of it!’

  ‘You can’t really stop us, Auntie,’ Kirsty said gently.

  ‘Roy, say something! This is just the kind of thing we’ve been dreading, ever since we heard Adam was coming over!’

  Roy drew a breath. ‘What exactly are you proposing to do up there?’

  ‘Go the village and speak to the people who were there at the time.’ She paused. ‘I didn’t tell you before because I didn’t want to upset you, but Graham Yates gave Adam a recording of a programme on cold cases that was shown a few years ago. Mum and Dad’s murder was one of those they looked at.’

  Janice put a hand over her mouth. Roy said, ‘And since we didn’t hear anything, I presume nothing new came to light.’

  ‘There are one or two things Adam wants to follow up,’ Kirsty replied.

  ‘Such as?’

  She hesitated. ‘I think it’s better if we wait till I get back, then hopefully I’ll have more to tell you.’

  ‘If you get back!’ Janice said in a high, cracked voice. ‘If you start poking your nose in and those … those monsters are still around, they’ll have no compunction in trying to silence you as well.’

  Kirsty laid a repentant hand on hers. ‘Auntie, every anniversary you promise Mum you’ll find her killers. We want that too, and there’s just a chance we might succeed. At least let us try.’

  ‘But I didn’t mean like that – not personally!’ Janice’s eyes were full of tears.

  ‘We’ll be on our guard, which Mum and Dad presumably weren’t.’

  Janice turned desperately to her husband. ‘Roy, talk her out of it! Please!’

  ‘I can’t, love, not if she and Adam are set on it, but I’m sure they can take care of themselves.’

  ‘Oh!’ With a cry of distress and frustration, Janice pushed back her chair and hurried from the room.

  Kirsty met her uncle’s reproachful eyes. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, ‘but we’re still going.’

  It was the week before half term.

  ‘Got any plans for next week?’ Nick asked as he and Adam walked across the garden to Staff House.

  ‘Yes, actually. I’m going up to the Lakes with Kirsty.’

  Nick looked at him in surprise. ‘Well, this is a rapprochement! I hadn’t realized you’d made so much progress!’

  Oh, what the hell? Adam thought; no point in beating about the bush. He dug his hands deeper into his pockets. ‘Actually, we’re going to try to discover who murdered our parents.’

  His companion came to an abrupt halt. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘That was at the root of the family split. They were killed when we were all up there on holiday, and a rather unseemly row followed about which members of the family should adopt us. One side was prepared to take us both, the other wanted only Kirsty. My side left almost immediately for Canada, and there you have it.’

  ‘Slow down, slow down!’ Nick protested. ‘They were murdered? Kirsty said they died in a car crash.’

  ‘That’s what we were told. We only learned the truth this summer, which,’ Adam a
dded with a wry smile, ‘might account for her seeming “complicated”.’

  ‘God, I wish I’d known! I could have made allowances – I thought she was just being difficult. But – murdered? What happened, exactly?’

  Briefly Adam outlined such facts as there were.

  ‘And no one was ever caught?’

  ‘Nope. I’ve done some digging online and found a few points that bear investigation. I’m hoping a fresh look might produce results.’

  ‘Mightn’t it be a bit risky?’ Nick said hesitantly.

  Adam gave a short laugh. ‘You sound like my relatives!’ They’d reached the house and he pushed the door open, glancing at his friend’s thoughtful face. ‘Well, you did ask what I was doing next week! Sorry if the answer was more than you bargained for!’

  On the Wednesday evening he phoned Kirsty. ‘Ready to go?’ he asked.

  ‘Just about.’

  ‘We finish at lunchtime on Friday. If we set off about two we should be there soon after seven. I’ve booked us into the George at Hawkston for the week.’

  ‘It’s about a five-hour drive, then?’

  ‘Yep, just under three hundred miles, nearly all of it motorway. The traffic could be busy with the start of half term, but at least we’d be on our way.’ He paused. ‘Not getting cold feet?’

  ‘Far from it – I’m raring to go!’

  ‘Good. How did the relatives react to the news?’

  ‘As you’d expect.’

  ‘Well, they’ll be only too grateful if we manage to crack it.’

  ‘Do you really think we can?’

  ‘Let’s just say we’ve two pairs of fresh eyes and some ideas to follow up. I certainly reckon we’re in with a chance.’

  She felt a little thrill, composed equally of apprehension and excitement. ‘Then let’s go for it!’ she said.

  As Adam had foreseen, traffic was heavy, particularly around the junction with the M6, but once they passed the turn-off for Blackpool it lessened noticeably. He had switched the sat nav to mute, but Kirsty kept checking the progress of their car icon as it progressed steadily north towards their destination.

  ‘I suppose we’re retracing the route they’d have taken,’ she commented at one point.

  ‘The roads will be better now, even if busier, but yes, basically I suppose we are.’

  ‘I wonder what they were thinking about as they passed this spot.’

  ‘Probably trying to shut up a couple of screaming kids! By this stage we’d have been bored out of our minds.’

  She laughed. ‘You could be right.’

  By the time they reached Hawkston they were more than thankful the journey was at an end. Tired, stiff and hungry, Adam turned into the hotel car park and drew into a vacant space.

  ‘It’s nearly eight o’clock,’ he said. ‘I suggest we go to our rooms for a quick wash, then straight down to dinner. I don’t know about you but I’m starving. Then, over the meal, we can decide on our plan of action.’

  The George was an old-fashioned hotel, with uneven flooring and low ceilings, but the rooms had all the equipment the modern guest required, wi-fi included. The bed, when Kirsty tested it, was deep and comfortable, and she had to resist the impulse to kick off her shoes and lie down.

  Minutes later Adam, whose room was next to hers, tapped at her door, and they went down to the dining room. It was almost full, but the maître d’ found them a small table tucked into a corner.

  ‘If you’re residents, sir, I suggest you book a table each evening. We’ll be very busy during the coming week.’

  Adam thanked him and passed Kirsty the menu. It offered a wide choice of interesting dishes and she looked forward to working her way through it during the next few days. When they’d made their selection and wine had been ordered, Adam leant forward purposefully. ‘Now, we must plan our campaign – I brought my tablet down so I can make notes as we go along. Time’s limited and we can’t afford to waste a minute.’

  ‘Have you thought of a cover story?’ Kirsty asked. ‘I mean, how do we explain our interest – is it for another article or TV programme, or do we admit who we are? No one’s likely to remember Mum and Dad’s name, but even if they did ours are both different, so unless we own up no one would make a connection.’

  ‘I think we should go for the sympathy vote,’ Adam decided. ‘Two orphaned kids would have aroused a lot of sympathy at the time, and people are more likely to open up to us if they know who we are.’

  ‘The downside is that if the killers are still around, they’ll also know.’

  ‘So what? They won’t see us as any more of a threat than anyone else.’

  Kirsty nodded. ‘I suppose not. So, where do we start?’

  ‘I want to look into the drowning of this Tony Vine, who, remember, was last seen on the day of the murders. He lived here in Hawkston, so we need to find out if his widow is still around and prepared to talk to us, so we can, as they say, eliminate him from our enquiries.’

  ‘You think he might be important?’

  ‘All we know is that he “disappeared” that Sunday – went out in the morning and was never seen again. But he might not have drowned straight away; it’s just as conceivable that he killed Mark and Emma, fled to the lake, still wound up and, not concentrating on what he was doing, fell overboard.’

  ‘An interesting theory; what did he do with the camera?’

  ‘Dumped it in the lake? OK, it’s pretty far-fetched, but he might at least have spoken to them – they often went there – and he could have mentioned them to his wife.’

  ‘So how do we find her?’

  ‘We could start with the phone book. At her age, she’s likely still to have a landline.’

  The arrival of their first course put an end to the discussion, and for the next hour or so they gave their attention to their meal, which was as enjoyable as the menu had promised. Having chosen the option of coffee in the lounge, they borrowed a phone directory en route, but disappointment awaited them: no Vines were listed.

  ‘So either she’s more “with it” than you gave her credit for and only has a mobile, or she’s moved away.’

  Adam slammed the directory on the table. ‘Which means tracking her down will take more time and effort, dammit.’

  ‘What about the firm her husband worked for? They might still be paying her a pension.’

  He brightened. ‘Clever girl! Provided they’re still in existence, they could be our best bet.’

  ‘Can you remember their name?’

  Adam flicked through his tablet. ‘Here it is: Ferris Engineering. Look it up while we still have the phone book.’

  Kirsty did so. ‘Well, they certainly still exist; they even have a boxed advertisement. Glendale Industrial Estate, Hawkston, and a phone number. Do you want it?’

  ‘Yeah, read it out, would you?’

  She did so, and he entered it on his tablet. ‘They won’t be there over the weekend, and on reflection it’s doubtful if they’d give out information about employees or their relations. We might have to approach it obliquely. That being so, there’s nothing to keep us in town tomorrow, so we’ll head straight out to Penthwaite and see what transpires. I had another look at the video before I left, to try to familiarize myself with the layout.’ He looked at his watch. ‘It’s nearly eleven and all that driving is catching up with me. I suggest we call it a day and start fresh tomorrow. Breakfast at eight fifteen? We’ve another busy day ahead.’

  As Kirsty prepared for bed, she realized with surprise that in nine solid hours of Adam’s company, he hadn’t once annoyed her. Progress indeed.

  It was a forty-minute drive to the village, and once they’d left the outskirts of Hawkston they were into the countryside – fields of grazing cows, small wooded areas, hills all around. It was from the summit of one such hill that, like their parents before them, they had their first view of Penthwaite.

  ‘I’ll drive straight to the cottage,’ Adam said brusquely as they began their descent
, and Kirsty wondered if his emotions mirrored hers. ‘There’s probably nowhere to park in the centre so we’ll leave the car there and walk back.’

  Her heart was pounding as they entered the village. The main street was crowded with people strolling along in the autumn sunshine and children were playing on the green. Her hands clenched as they passed the post office-cum-general store which she knew their parents had frequented and which, they’d decided, would be their first port of call. It was all familiar from the video, but she was picturing herself being wheeled along here in her pushchair by parents she couldn’t remember.

  Then Adam was turning off the main street into a narrow lane. A few yards ahead on their right were the gates of a cottage, then the green expanse of a field, then three more, while across the lane a man was digging in his allotment.

  ‘That explains something that puzzled me,’ Adam said. ‘I couldn’t understand how Mark could lie on that drive all night with no one noticing him, but now it’s clear enough.’

  He drove a little farther and parked adjacent to the field.

  ‘Do you think anyone’s staying there?’ Kirsty asked from a dry mouth.

  He shrugged. ‘It’s half term, but not peak holiday season. It looked pretty shut up as we passed. Let’s walk back and take a closer look.’

  As they approached the cottage on foot, Kirsty instinctively reached for Adam’s hand. He glanced at her but did not withdraw it, and when they reached the gateway they could see the curtains were all drawn. Adam pushed the gate open, and as they stepped inside they both came to a halt, visions of their father’s death crowding into their heads.

  Adam cleared his throat. ‘We’ll ring the bell, and if anyone answers, apologize and say we’ve got the wrong address.’

  But no one came to the door. With the curtains drawn they were unable to see inside, and the garage, new since their last stay, blocked the route to the back of the house.