The Unburied Past

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘So?’

  ‘So he worked on it in his own time because he wanted to hang on to the ownership.’

  ‘Why would he want to do that?’

  ‘God, Kirsty, I don’t know! I’m just thinking aloud. I can’t help feeling it’s significant, though.’

  ‘But he died, so the firm got it anyway.’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘Well, that’s hard luck on him, but I can’t see how it affects us.’

  ‘Nor can I at the moment.’ He topped up their wine glasses. ‘I tell you one thing, though; I wish to hell we’d known about this before we saw Mrs Ferris. We’d have had a much better idea of what to ask her.’

  ‘I doubt if it would have been much help; she seemed pretty vague about his work.’

  ‘She might at least have known why he spent half the night working in the garden shed.’

  They were silent for a while, busy with their own thoughts. Then Kirsty said, ‘We have three days left. What else can we do?’

  ‘Go to the police,’ Adam replied promptly.

  She looked startled. ‘Really? You think they’ll see us?’

  ‘I’m damn sure they will. I’ll phone in the morning and make an appointment. It’ll be interesting to say the least to hear their take on the affair, and I also want to check if they knew Vine disappeared the same day.’

  ‘There’s probably no connection,’ Kirsty pointed out.

  ‘Nevertheless, they should be made aware of it if they’re not already. And our turning up will show we’re not giving up on this, cold case or not. With luck, it might give them a nudge.’

  Detective Inspector Fleming was in his thirties, tall and slim, with keen blue eyes. He came to greet them with outstretched hand. ‘Miss Marriott and Mr Carstairs? I believe you’d like to discuss one of our less successful investigations.’ He ushered them into an interview room. ‘The Penthwaite murders of ’eighty-six?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Adam confirmed smoothly. ‘The murder of our parents.’

  The detective looked startled. ‘Oh? I’m sorry – the names aren’t the same and I didn’t …’

  ‘We were adopted by different sides of the family.’ How many times had he said that in the last few weeks?

  ‘I see.’ Fleming put a folder on the table. ‘Well, I’ve dug out the files and familiarized myself with the enquiry.’ He looked up suddenly. ‘God, were you the children in the house?’

  They nodded.

  ‘A lucky escape, by all accounts.’ He shuffled through some papers. ‘I have transcripts here of all the interviews conducted at the time – we weren’t digitalized then – including the original phone call reporting discovery of the bodies, statements from people in the village and house-to-house enquiries. There are also details of extensive searches for the missing camera – charity shops, pawn brokers, car boot sales, you name it – conducted over a wide radius. As to the scene of crime, SOCO spent several days going over it, but apart from the shoe prints very few traces were found.’

  ‘Traces?’ Kirsty broke in.

  ‘Of the perpetrators. Hairs, fibres and so on.’

  Adam’s face lit up. ‘You have their DNA?’

  Fleming shook his head. ‘Unfortunately that facility wasn’t available at the time.’

  ‘But if you had a suspect now,’ he persisted, ‘you could extract DNA from these fibres and compare them?’

  ‘Yes, indeed. A number of old cases have been solved by that means.’

  ‘Where were these traces?’

  ‘All in the main downstairs room. It had been raining the previous day and as I said there were two sets of muddy shoe prints, neither of which were Mr Franklyn’s. All the males in the village had their footwear examined, but no match was found.’

  Kirsty glanced at Adam, expecting him to bring up the subject of Vine, but he was still weighing the possibility of a DNA match. She said, ‘A man was reported missing at the same time. Is that mentioned in the file?’

  Fleming looked surprised. ‘A missing person? Connected with this case?’

  ‘That’s what we’re wondering. He disappeared that Sunday after fishing on Lake Belvedere, but his body wasn’t recovered for some weeks, so its significance mightn’t have been picked up.’

  ‘A different team would have dealt with mispers,’ Fleming replied, ‘but “significance?” I can’t see that it’s relevant.’

  ‘We feel everything unusual that happened that day is worth examining,’ Adam said.

  Fleming frowned. ‘Who was this man?’

  ‘Tony Vine,’ Kirsty supplied. ‘He worked for Ferris Engineering, and he’d just invented a machine that made their fortune for them.’

  ‘And according to his wife,’ Adam added, ‘who, incidentally, is now Mrs Dean Ferris, there was a mysterious phone call that day, and she inadvertently let slip where he was.’

  Fleming’s frown deepened. ‘What kind of phone call?’

  ‘Someone asking for her husband, wanting to know when he was due back.’ He held up a hand. ‘All right, it doesn’t sound suspicious in itself, but the caller refused to give a name, said he’d phone back but never did.’

  ‘In my experience,’ Fleming said drily, ‘that frequently happens. However, I’ll look into it, though if, as you say, his body was later found and there were no suspicious circumstances, the case would have been closed. And I still fail to see any link with your parents’ deaths.’

  ‘The lake’s not far from Penthwaite,’ Adam said. ‘You must at least admit it’s a coincidence. How often do two murders and a disappearance take place on the same day in such a small area?’

  ‘As I say, we’ll look into it,’ Fleming answered smoothly, collecting his papers and returning them to the folder. ‘Thank you for bringing it to our attention, and please accept our sympathy on the loss of your parents. It’s extremely unfortunate that no one has so far been apprehended.’

  There was little else they could do. Furthermore, the weather had turned wet and windy, not conducive to trudging round covering ground, both physical and metaphorical, that they’d already been over.

  By Friday morning they were more than ready to pack their bags and set off for home. The change in the weather made motorway driving both tiring and depressing as spray from passing lorries repeatedly spattered their windscreen, added to which both were aware of anticlimax. They’d travelled to the Lakes hopeful of finding some hitherto unrecognized clue to their parents’ murders, but that had not happened and, despite odd flashes of hope, they’d achieved nothing.

  Nonetheless, Adam realized to his surprise that despite the disappointment, he’d felt happier during this last week than he could ever remember being. Was it, he wondered in a rare moment of self-analysis, because he’d spent it in the company of someone who, despite their long separation, was closer to him than anyone else on earth?

  He felt a burst of affection for this newly found sister, and when he dropped her off outside her house, surprised them both by bending to kiss her cheek.

  ‘Thanks for coming with me,’ he said gruffly.

  SIXTEEN

  That same evening Dean Ferris returned from his trip to Germany to be greeted by his wife’s story of her unexpected visitors and icy fear, kept at bay during his work trip, once again enveloped him.

  He strode to the cabinet and poured himself a whisky. ‘How the hell did they track you down?’ he demanded roughly, downing his drink and pouring himself another.

  ‘I’ve no idea. But as I say, they were wondering if Tony might have met their parents.’

  He spun to face her, making her jump. ‘But how did they know he was your husband? Your name’s Ferris now, remember!’

  She shrugged. ‘They didn’t say, just that he disappeared on the same day – and I don’t know how they knew that, either. It is odd, though, isn’t it, two terrible things happening that Sunday – three, if you include Barry’s stroke.’ She glanced at him but he was staring into his glass, a closed look on his face
. ‘They think they were killed because they photographed something,’ she went on. ‘Their camera was stolen, you see. And if whatever it was happened at the lake, where they often went, it’s possible Tony saw it too.’

  Dean looked up, a pulse beating in his temple. ‘You can scotch that idea,’ he said thickly. ‘Tony fell overboard, knocking himself out in the process – that was the official verdict. He didn’t see anything!’

  ‘Yes, dear, I know, but—’

  ‘No buts.’ He emptied his second glass. ‘It must have been these people who put in the ad,’ he said more calmly.

  ‘I suppose so. I didn’t ask them.’ She hesitated. ‘I don’t know why you’re so angry, dear; they’re only trying to discover who killed their parents. You can’t blame them for that.’

  He drew a steadying breath. ‘I’m not blaming them; I’m just appalled at the risk you took. I thought you’d more sense than to let complete strangers into the house.’

  ‘They were a nice young couple—’

  ‘That’s a trick of the trade,’ he interrupted. ‘Promise me you’ll never do that again.’

  ‘All right, dear, I promise. But I wasn’t alone – Heidi was here, and they could hear her Hoovering.’

  ‘A lot of help she’d have been,’ Dean retorted and, leaving her gazing after him in bewilderment, slammed out of the room.

  Within an hour of Kirsty returning home, Janice was on the phone.

  ‘Well?’ she demanded. ‘How did it go?’

  Kirsty glanced at Angie and rolled her eyes. ‘It was an interesting experience, but we didn’t really learn anything.’

  ‘What did I tell you? Well, at least you weren’t murdered in your beds.’

  ‘That was a relief!’ Kirsty conceded, and after a moment Janice gave an embarrassed laugh.

  ‘Sorry, darling, but I really was worried about you digging it all up again.’

  ‘I know you were.’

  ‘So what did you do up there?’

  ‘We went to Penthwaite and spoke to the woman who was working in the shop at the time. She remembered us – it was quite weird.’

  ‘Did you go to … the cottage?’

  ‘Yes, but it’s closed up for the winter, so we couldn’t look inside.’

  ‘Would you have wanted to?’ There was a shudder in her voice.

  ‘I don’t know, Auntie. As Adam said, we were there to pay our respects.’

  There was a brief silence. ‘How did you get on with Adam?’

  ‘Fine. He was … fine. We spoke to the police, too, and they told us what they’d done at the time. It sounded very thorough.’

  ‘Not thorough enough, since they didn’t catch anyone. Well, you’ve done what you set out to do. Now I hope you can put it all behind you.’

  During the week Kirsty had been away the Christmas orders had begun to come in, and she and Angie settled down to a steadily increasing workload.

  ‘A couple of weddings, as well as all the Christmas cakes, Yule logs and so on,’ Angie said, checking her list. ‘Who’d want to get married in November, of all months?’

  ‘It’s Auntie Jan’s birthday, too,’ Kirsty said. ‘It’s been a difficult year for her; I’d like to do something special.’

  ‘Well, even if nothing came of your trip,’ Angie commented, ‘at least you’re on better terms with Adam.’

  ‘True, though it might take Auntie and Uncle time to come round. They still blame him for, as they see it, stirring things up again.’

  ‘Have you given up hope of any further progress?’ Angie asked curiously.

  ‘More or less, but I doubt if Adam has; he still has a bee in his bonnet about the man who drowned.’ She took down a large mixing bowl, her mind turning to more immediate matters. ‘I did tell you, didn’t I, that I’m having my hair cut in the lunch hour? It shouldn’t take long, and I’ll have a sandwich when I get back.’

  ‘Fine by me. I’ll just be having a snack too – I want to get this gâteau in the freezer.’

  It was a cold, misty day and dead leaves squelched under her feet as she cut across the park on her way home. It seemed a long time since she’d sat there reading in the sunshine – and a long time since Alicia Penn’s attack. There’d been no more since the policewoman’s murder – nor, unfortunately, any news of an arrest. Perhaps the killer, fearful of discovery, had moved to pastures new.

  She pulled her scarf more closely about her neck, momentarily regretting the trim that had exposed it. At least the kitchen would be warm and welcoming. At the thought of it she quickened her steps, emerged from the park on to East Crescent and hurried to the corner of her road. But as she reached it a car that had been coming down the hill braked and drew into the kerb beside her, its window lowering electronically.

  ‘Kirsty! Just the one I want to see!’ Matt Armstrong was leaning towards her across the passenger seat.

  ‘Hello, Matt.’

  ‘Can I have a quick word?’ A car came up behind him, overtaking with an irritable toot. ‘Look, could you get in for a minute? I can’t stop here.’

  ‘Matt, I’m hungry – I’m going home for lunch!’

  ‘Only a minute, please. I’ll drive round the park and deposit you straight back here.’

  She sighed. ‘OK.’

  She slid inside, pulling the door shut and reaching for the seat belt.

  ‘You say you’ve not eaten? Nor have I. I’ve a better idea, then; we’ll find somewhere for a bite of lunch.’

  ‘Sorry, I can’t. Angie’s expecting me back and work’s piling up.’

  ‘You have to eat,’ he said.

  ‘Really, I—’

  ‘Our anniversary’s coming up soon, and I’d welcome some suggestions for a cake.’

  ‘I’m sorry, we don’t do private commissions. You’d have to order it through one of our customers.’

  ‘Nevertheless, if we discuss it, I’ll have a better idea of what to order.’

  ‘Look, it’s kind of you to suggest lunch, but I really haven’t time. Could you just …?’

  It was too late. Instead of circling the park to take her home, he’d turned up the road by the college that led past his own house and out of town.

  ‘Matt!’

  He gave a low laugh. ‘An hour max. I’m willing to bet that’s the minimum lunch break under some Act or other.’

  She subsided into an annoyed silence. As the road climbed, the low cloud enveloped them and he switched on his headlamps. ‘We could all do with cheering up in this weather,’ he remarked, ‘and life seems brighter with some hot food inside you.’

  She’d come this way with Nick, Kirsty was thinking, on that rainy evening back in the summer. Nick. Adam hadn’t mentioned him again, and she’d not liked to ask after him. He’d probably found himself – how had he described her? – a less complicated girlfriend.

  The houses on both sides fell away to be replaced by fenced fields. From one of them, an invisible cow lowed as they passed.

  ‘How does that poem go?’ Matt asked lightly. ‘No sky, no earthly view, No distance looking blue, de-dum-de-dum-de-dum de-dee— November!’

  ‘I was thinking much the same myself.’

  ‘Have you read that book of mine that you bought at the library?’ he asked suddenly.

  Taken by surprise, she’d no time to prevaricate. ‘Not yet, I’m afraid. I don’t seem to get much time for reading.’

  She leaned forward, peering through the windscreen. ‘Wasn’t that a pub we just passed?’

  ‘Was it? Damn, I must have misjudged the distance in the mist. Never mind, there’ll be another soon.’

  She held down her growing impatience. ‘I’d like to go home now, please. I really haven’t time for this.’

  He shook his head. ‘The road’s too narrow to turn here, and even if we could, a car might loom suddenly out of the mist and bump into us mid-manoeuvre. But don’t give up – I know there’s another pub along here.’

  His voice had an odd note and she glanced at him unea
sily. His hands were clenched on the steering wheel and sweat coursed down his face. It wasn’t that warm in the car; what was wrong with him? From one moment to the next, disquiet slid into panic. Something wasn’t right. What was she thinking of, driving blindly down deserted country roads with this man?

  ‘Just stop here, will you?’ she said quickly. ‘The pub’s not far behind; I’ll walk back and phone for a taxi.’

  He gave a short laugh and the hairs rose on the back of her neck. ‘I can’t just abandon you in the middle of nowhere! Chrissie would never forgive me.’

  The middle of nowhere! Oh, God, she wished Adam was here! Or Nick. Or anyone.

  ‘I want to get out!’ she insisted, her voice rising. Then added in a flash of inspiration, ‘I think I’m going to be sick!’

  He stretched his arm out, pressing her back in her seat. ‘Take deep breaths; you’ll be all right.’

  ‘Please stop the car!’

  ‘Kirsty, I explained—’

  Twisting free, she pressed down the door handle and the heavy door swung open. Beside her, Matt swore and started to brake. Fumbling for the seat belt release, she hurled herself sideways as they skidded to a halt, landing on her hands and knees on the wet verge.

  ‘Kirsty! What the hell are you doing?’

  She could hear him fumbling with his own seat belt and, bent double, she’d started to run when out of the mist a gate materialized just beside her. Regardless of possible bulls, she scrambled over it and ducked down behind the hedge, her heart hammering. What she was afraid of, she couldn’t at that moment have said; it was a pure atavistic reaction to the smell of his sweat.

  ‘Kirsty! For God’s sake, come back! Where are you?’

  She heard him run past her, his feet ringing on the surface of the road. ‘Kirsty! Of course I’ll take you home if you’re that desperate! God, what are you thinking of?’

  Again, instinct took over and without conscious thought she threw herself back over the gate and, reaching the car, scrambled into the driver’s seat and locked the door. The key was in the ignition and she turned it with shaking fingers. There was a shout from down the road and, ignoring the risk of oncoming traffic, she turned in a wide sweep, mounting the opposite verge and bumping back on to the road. His figure loomed up ahead of her, arm raised but, pressing the accelerator to the floor, she hurtled past him down the invisible road.