No Mercy

by Roberta Kray

  Maddie held it up between the thumb and finger of her right hand. She examined it some more, holding it closer to her eyes and squinting. Engraved on the inner rim were just two words: For ever. What was the ring doing here? It was hard to tell how old it was, but it didn’t look thin or worn. She couldn’t figure out when it had been put on the grave. She was sure, absolutely sure, that it hadn’t been here six months ago, when she’d first starting tending the plot. She had removed all the chips to clear out the debris that had gathered between them and would have spotted it for sure. And it couldn’t have been dropped – it would have been lying on the surface – so someone must have buried it.

  She placed the ring in the palm of her left hand, wondering what to do next. Intrigued, she glanced over at the headstone. Perhaps it had been Lucy’s. From the inscription there was no indication that she’d been married, but then there was nothing to say that she hadn’t been either. But not to Cato, she thought. The name on the stone was Rivers. Should she mention it to him or keep it to herself?

  After a moment’s reflection, she decided that the best thing, the right thing to do was to simply put it back. If someone wanted the ring left there, it was none of her business. She’d push it down between the chips and pretend she’d never seen it.

  She was leaning forward, about to bury the ring again, when she heard a movement behind her. First there was a small rustling sound and then the distinctive crack of breaking twigs. She got to her feet, turned and peered into the undergrowth, but it was too dense for her to be able to see anyone.

  ‘Hello?’

  She was greeted by silence.

  ‘Hello?’ she said again.

  Nothing.

  Maddie took a few steps along the narrow curved path. ‘Rick?’ Rick Mallory was one of the cemetery workers. Although a pleasant, easy-going kind of guy, he had a questionable sense of humour and was more than capable of trying to put the wind up her. ‘Come on, stop messing. I know it’s you.’

  She thought she caught the whiff of a cigarette. Not Rick, then. He didn’t smoke. Or had she just imagined the smell? She sniffed the air again. Perhaps she’d been mistaken. But she wasn’t wrong about the feeling that was rolling through her body. There was someone out there, someone watching her. She was absolutely certain of it.

  She stopped dead in her tracks, a thin shiver rattling down her spine. Warning bells were going off in her head. She held her breath and listened. The air seemed unnaturally still, heavy with foreboding. She wasn’t usually the nervous sort, but this was the loneliest part of the cemetery; even if you cried out, it was unlikely that anyone would hear. For a moment she remained frozen, her feet glued to the ground, but then the adrenalin kicked in.

  Instinctively, she turned tail and fled, snatching up the rucksack as she passed the grave.

  She sprinted towards the main path, her feet barely touching the ground. She ran as if she had the Devil at her heels, her lungs pumping, her heart thrashing in her chest. Panic had engulfed her and her single thought was flight.

  She reached the central thoroughfare in record time and it was only then that she glanced back over her shoulder. No one was following her. As soon as she realised this, she slowed to a jog before making her way to the nearest wooden bench. She threw the rucksack on to the seat, leaned forward from the waist and waited for her breathing to get back to normal.

  What had happened? She wasn’t entirely sure. Now that she was on safe terrain – there were people walking through the cemetery on their way to work – a wave of relief flowed over her. Then she began to wonder if she’d overreacted. She’d got spooked all right. Someone or something had been lurking in those bushes, but it could have been a cat or even an urban fox searching for a meal. Maybe thinking about Greta’s murder had made her overly jumpy.

  She stood up straight again and stared in the direction she’d come from. No, she’d been right to run, to follow her instincts. You never knew who was hanging around. There were rumours of homeless people living rough in the crypts, of junkies and drunks, of devil-worshippers who gathered at night to try and raise the dead. Granted, most of these stories had come from Rick Mallory, so there was no accounting for their veracity. Personally, she had never experienced anything to worry her – well, not until now.

  It was only as she leaned over to get the bottle of water from the rucksack that she realised she was still grasping the ring in her hand. Unfolding her fingers, she gazed at it again. The plain gold band, still mysterious, seemed to have acquired a darker quality, as if it was in some way connected to what had just happened.

  She rolled it in her palm, frowning as she pondered on what to do next. The ring belonged with the grave, but its return would have to wait until her next visit. She was not prepared to take the risk of going back there today. With the decision made, she slipped the gold band into the back pocket of her jeans, picked up the rucksack and set off towards the exit.

  Maddie glanced at the cemetery office as she went past, wondering if she should mention anything to the manager. She thought not, but then had a change of heart. What if some psycho was lurking in the bushes? What if another woman came along who didn’t get away in time? She would never be able to forgive herself.

  She stopped, retraced her steps, pushed open the heavy glass door and went inside.

  2

  The walls of the office were painted a utilitarian shade of magnolia. There was a wooden floor, two desks, a few chairs, a bank of filing cabinets and a potted palm standing in a pale blue pot. It was cool inside, the fan already whirring in preparation for another scorching day. The chill air made Maddie’s bare arms come out in goosebumps.

  There was no sign of the manager, Bob Cannon, but his secretary was standing by the photocopier as a stream of A4 sheets rolled out into the tray. Delia Shields looked to be in her early fifties and had a thin face, cropped brown hair and a pair of shrewd grey eyes. She was the type of woman who if not perhaps embracing middle age did nothing to try and disguise it. Her clothes were smart but not stylish, and she wore little make-up. Maddie didn’t know her well. She had introduced herself when she’d first started working at the cemetery, but since then they hadn’t had any contact.

  Delia moved away from the machine and came over to the desk. ‘Good morning. Lovely day, isn’t it?’

  ‘Lovely,’ Maddie echoed.

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  Maddie noticed her gaze slide sideways towards the machine and knew that her presence was if not exactly unwelcome, certainly an interruption. She hesitated, in two minds again as to whether to say anything. Ever since Greta’s murder – when the whole family had been under the intrusive glare of the media – she had developed an aversion to making a fuss or drawing attention to herself. Still, now that she was here, it would be stupid and possibly irresponsible to leave without reporting the incident.

  ‘Look, it could be nothing, but…’ Maddie, not wanting to look a fool, embroidered the truth a little. ‘Well, there’s a bloke hanging around by the old path that used to lead down to the chapel. I thought you might want to check it out.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Delia, her brows arching. ‘Was he…? Did he…?’

  ‘No, no, he didn’t do anything. He was just kind of lurking in the bushes. I wouldn’t have mentioned it, only he seemed to be acting a bit suspiciously.’ Maddie gave a light shrug of her shoulders. ‘I’m not sure. It might all be completely innocent, but…’

  ‘Better safe than sorry. Absolutely. You were right to let me know.’ Delia looked over Maddie’s shoulder and made a beckoning gesture with her right hand. Maddie turned her head and saw Rick Mallory striding towards the office. He came through the door with his usual swagger and that familiar grin on his face.

  ‘Morning, ladies. And how are we today?’

  Maddie saw Delia Shields frown at the trail of grass that his boots left on the floor. However, seeing as she was the one who’d invited him in, she could hardly complain about the mess he was maki
ng.

  ‘Rick, do me a favour and take a look round D Section, will you? I think there might be a man hanging about. This young lady, er…’

  ‘Maddie,’ Maddie reminded her.

  ‘Yes, of course. Maddie. She was tending one of the graves and there was someone hiding in the bushes.’

  Rick gave a nod. ‘Sure. No problem.’ He glanced at Maddie. ‘You okay? You get a look at the geezer?’

  ‘I’m fine. Sorry, no, I didn’t see him clearly.’ She wasn’t about to admit, especially to him, that she hadn’t set eyes on the bloke at all. The last thing she wanted was to come across as some hysterical female who jumped at the sight of her own shadow. ‘I got the impression he was trying to hide. It was over by the old path, near the Rivers grave.’

  Delia gave a start, flinching at the name, and her forehead furrowed into a frown. ‘Lucy Rivers?’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘Oh, I didn’t realise that anyone was taking care of it these days.’ Delia paused for a second, visibly flustered, but then rapidly recovered her composure. ‘Well, I’ll leave it to you, Rick. Let me know if you think we should call the police.’ She gave Maddie a thin smile. ‘Nice to see you again. Thanks for the tip-off.’

  Maddie, having been dismissed, followed Rick out of the office. She was simultaneously bemused and intrigued by Delia’s reaction, wishing she’d had the nous to ask a few more questions when she’d had the opportunity. It was too late now. ‘That was odd,’ she murmured.

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘How does she know about the Lucy Rivers grave? It’s been abandoned for years. I had to clear away the weeds just to find the name.’

  Rick Mallory placed his hands on his hips. He was a tall, good-looking man in his early thirties, his skin tanned brown by the summer sun. ‘Are you kidding me? Delia Shields knows everything about everything. Well, about this cemetery at least. She’s worked here for years.’

  ‘But there are thousands of graves. And she seemed sort of… I don’t know, kind of surprised that it was being tended.’

  Rick’s shoulders lifted and fell in a casual shrug. ‘Did she?’

  ‘Yes, she did.’ Maddie studied his face for a moment, wondering how he could have failed to notice. But then again, men failed to notice all kinds of things. ‘I thought so, anyway.’

  ‘Do you want to come with me, point out exactly where this bloke was?’

  ‘Why? Are you too scared to go on your own?’

  Rick’s mouth slid into a grin again. ‘What if he’s a flasher and gets his bits out? It could scar me for life.’

  ‘I’m sure you’ll cope. You’re a big boy now.’

  ‘Well, I’ve never been one to brag, but…’

  Maddie raised her eyes to the heavens. ‘Spare me the details! I’d like to keep my breakfast in my stomach if that’s all right with you.’

  Rick laughed. ‘Come on, then. Let’s get over there before he does a runner.’

  She was pretty sure that her own hundred-metre sprint would have been enough to make the bloke take off in the opposite direction, but she was still curious to find out if he had left any evidence of his presence. Although she wouldn’t have dared to go back on her own – not this morning, at least – now that she had company, it didn’t feel so daunting. She glanced at her watch again. ‘Okay, let’s do it, but we’ll have to be quick. I’ve got to be at work by ten.’

  They set off at a smart pace towards the older section of the cemetery, Maddie having to trot to keep up with his longer stride. ‘So where’s Eli today?’ she asked. ‘I thought you two were joined at the hip.’

  ‘He’s around someplace. Up top, I think, measuring out. We’ve got a couple of burials tomorrow.’

  Suddenly, Maddie found herself wondering if Eli Glass had been the man in the bushes.

  He was a small, strange, furtive sort of bloke and had been working at the cemetery for even longer than Delia. She didn’t think he’d spoken more than ten words to her since she’d first started tending the graves, and all of those had been a muttered ‘Morning’, his mouth turned down at the corners and his gaze quickly sliding away as if her very presence in some way offended him. ‘He doesn’t say much, does he?’

  ‘He’s the quiet type.’

  ‘He’s that all right.’ But didn’t they say that it was the quiet ones you had to watch? Maybe Eli got his kicks out of lurking in the undergrowth and spying on women. ‘What do you two talk about all day?’

  ‘Oh, you know: world peace, the state of the economy, the usual chit-chat.’

  ‘That must make the time pass. What about beer, women and football?’

  ‘Ah, now you’re just being sexist. There’s a law against that, you know.’

  Maddie smiled back at him. ‘You’re right. Please accept my heartfelt apologies.’

  ‘Apology accepted,’ he said, as they turned on to the side path. ‘And you’d be surprised what Eli talks about. Sometimes he even tells me what the voices are saying.’

  She raised her eyebrows. ‘Huh? What voices are those?’

  ‘The voices of the spirits. All those dead people chattering away, trying to make themselves heard. Now, some folk can’t hear them, but to Eli, they’re as clear as a bell.’

  Maddie looked up at him, her eyes widening. ‘Jesus, tell me you’re kidding.’

  ‘Straight up.’

  ‘Don’t you find that a little worrying?’

  Rick laughed again. ‘Nah, he’s harmless enough. Anyway, who’s to say he’s wrong? Maybe he’s one of those psychics, able to tune in to the other world.’

  She kept her gaze on his face, wondering if he was actually being serious or if this was just another of his wind-ups. ‘For real, or are you having me on?’

  Rick put his hand on his heart. ‘Swear to God. He reckons he can hear them, and who am I to call him nuts?’

  Maddie gave a shudder as they approached the grave of Lucy Rivers. ‘Bizarre,’ she murmured.

  ‘And the voices are especially strong round these parts. So Eli reckons. Men, women, kids – all of them with something to say, and most of it none too pretty. Yeah, it’s real busy round here. Seems like the spirits aren’t resting too easy.’

  ‘You don’t really believe in that ghost stuff, do you?’

  Suddenly, he stopped dead in his tracks, his body becoming rigid. ‘What’s that?’

  Maddie started, her heart missing a beat. ‘What?’ she asked, her eyes darting frantically from side to side before finally coming to rest on his face again. He was grinning from ear to ear. ‘You bastard,’ she said, slapping him on the arm. ‘Cut it out. I don’t scare that easy.’

  ‘You just jumped three feet off the ground.’

  ‘Did not.’

  ‘Yes, you did.’

  Maddie gave a snort. ‘Anyone ever tell you how annoying you are?’

  ‘Frequently.’ He walked past the grave and on to the narrow, winding path that was so overgrown as to be almost invisible. There were tall stinging nettles, clumps of buttercups and wild briar roses. ‘This where you saw the geezer?’

  ‘Yes, in among the bushes there.’

  Maddie followed behind, her gaze shifting between the undergrowth and Rick’s tall, lean body. Today he was wearing faded jeans and a dark blue shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Through the thin cotton, she could see the contours of the muscles on his upper arms. His hair, usually the colour of wheat, had been bleached by the sun so that now it was streaked with a paler blond. She took all this in, aware that she was paying more attention to him than the job in hand. Well, she could look, couldn’t she? A girl deserved a few small pleasures in life.

  Rick veered off to the right, strolling round the old ivy-clad mausoleum of the Belvedere family. It was about seven feet square and built of a grey brick that had weathered to a silvery colour. There was a heavy arched door and he pressed against it with the palm of his hand. ‘Could have been someone checking out a place to kip.’

  She pulled a f
ace. ‘Do people actually do that? I mean, isn’t it full of coffins?’

  ‘Gets cold at night, even in this weather. Beggars can’t be choosers.’

  ‘I guess,’ she said, wondering what it would be like to be so desperate that sleeping with the dead became a viable option. A thin shiver ran through her. The mausoleum had been built in the nineteenth century, and she read through the inscriptions, the list of six Belvederes interred in the tomb. Once, she thought, they must have been a prominent family, wealthy enough to afford the more ostentatious kind of burial place. Now, all of them were long gone, all of them forgotten.

  ‘Still locked,’ he said, moving away. ‘And there’s no sign of anyone trying to get in.’

  Maddie was pondering on the transient nature of life when she glanced at the ground near the foot of the door and saw a couple of cigarette stubs partly crushed into the earth. She crouched down and picked one up with her fingertips. ‘Look at this,’ she said, straightening up again and holding it out.

  Rick shoved his hands in his pockets as if to indicate that he had no intention of removing the item from her fingers. ‘It’s a fag end. So what?’

  ‘It’s a fresh fag end. Don’t you think? I thought I smelled cigarette smoke when I was here earlier.’

  Rick looked dubious. ‘It hasn’t rained for ages. That butt could have been there for weeks.’

  ‘I reckon it was his. And there are two of them close together, like he was standing here for a while.’ She withdrew her hand, brought the cigarette end close to her eyes and studied it carefully. ‘Which rules out your theory about him being a homeless person.’

  ‘How do you figure that out?’