Green and Pleasant Land

by Judith Cutler

  ‘We’re answering direct to the ACC (Crime),’ Fran added, wondering how two sets of clothes and shoes could mysteriously have become confidential information, but not arguing. Not laughing, either, though she was near to it. Shock, that’s what the officer would have called that too. And perhaps he wasn’t far out. She’d probably have preferred to retreat to the sybaritic comfort of Edwina’s B and B; but Mark was right. Working would be a more therapeutic option. Possibly.

  Not that many people were working today, not if the Hindlip car park, where their temporary chauffeur decanted them, was anything to go by. Cars were clustered away from trees or anything else likely to blow over, apart from a Bentley daring the elements to do their worst.

  Mark widened his eyes. ‘That’s bravado for you. And who in the force drives a car like that?’

  Fran pointed at the registration plate. The letters and numerals managed to form the name Dundy. ‘Three guesses. And who’s that pulling up beside her? Another nice set of wheels.’

  The driver, a woman, pulled up her hood as she scurried in. Rain or guilt? Rain, they decided.

  Showered and changed into the clothes Edwina had once again insisted they bring, they turned on the coffee machine. Perhaps soon their hands would stop shaking. They helped themselves to extra biscuits.

  ‘Tell you what,’ Mark said, ‘why don’t you look at the stuff in the box while I go back to our office and deal with the car insurance? That way you can be sure I won’t interrupt your thought processes.’

  ‘Such as they are.’ She managed a grin. ‘OK. Gloves.’ She snapped them on. ‘Notepad. Ball-point. Action.’

  Something in her voice stopped him even as he opened the door to leave. The building, buzzing during the week, was echoingly quiet, though there must still be a hundred people working there somewhere. ‘Will you be all right on your own?’

  She turned slowly. ‘You know what? I’d feel much better if I had another hug.’

  ‘You know what? So would I. And I’d also feel better if I phoned Caffy to find out if our rectory’s still in one piece. Hug first, though.’

  Much restored, she pulled herself up straight as if that would shake her thought processes back into shape. And then she did indeed open the box.

  Perhaps she would have felt a more immediate, more vivid response if everything hadn’t been properly bagged and numbered, and if she’d had a sense of how the contents had been packed. Had there been a formal order, or was everything jumbled together? Stu had certainly imposed a scheme. First there were family snaps of children. They were almost generic children at first – hard to pick out anyone as a cherished daughter. But then came a girl with higgledy-piggledy teeth crying out for the work of an orthodontist. A few photos of the same girl, mouth snapped tight shut: perhaps the vital braces had been fitted. And then – as if to testify to the dentist’s skill, a couple of a teenager not so much smiling as ironically saying Cheeeeeeeese. There was a jump of a couple of years; there was a recognizable Natalie demure in Puritan cap and pinafore, and then one of her in a tracksuit brandishing a medal. Fran burrowed. Yes, here was the medal, in its own tiny bag. Fran tipped it on to the palm of her hand. And cursed. Though her eyes were good enough for most things, they’d started to let her down when she needed to inspect something closely. Time for a trip to the opticians. She returned it to its bag, making a note to ask Mark – already equipped, of course, with reading glasses – to check it.

  Next came a bag with what were clearly professional portraits taken much later. Despite the care with which the photographer had lit his subjects, he’d been unable to disguise poor Julius’s disabilities. Hadrian gave the impression of loving every moment of the attention. Phil Foreman might never have existed except as a sperm donor.

  Fran rooted round for other photos. None. So what had happened to all the years in between? Natalie’s graduation ceremony for a start? Not to mention her wedding album. No, there was no sign of them. Whether the Garbutts liked it or not, she’d have to ask them about that. Or maybe Robyn should go on her own? Or with Mark, famous for charming even the most cynical old ducks off the water?

  She returned to the box. Next came a couple of school play programmes – Edwina would have been pleased to see those there. Natalie had got the cast to sign them. No exam certificates; no degree scroll.

  Here was a teddy bear. Who had that belonged to? If it had been Natalie’s wouldn’t the fur show more signs of wear? Her own, Old Ted, now carefully dressed to conceal the baldest patches, certainly did. More to the point, he would have done even when they were both thirty years younger. And this was a very small bear – the sort you associate with babies. Perhaps it had belonged to poor Julius. Another question for the Garbutts. But there was nothing else that might have belonged to Julius or to Hadrian. Perhaps Phil had refused to be parted with anything. And yet the loving grandparents she knew who regularly hosted grandchildren either for visits or for longer stays all kept a supply of toys; like Mark’s train set, ostensibly meant for his son and grandson.

  All gone to a charity shop, as Mrs Garbutt had said? Somehow she couldn’t believe it. Mark might see nothing at all of his daughter or her children, but there was certainly a box of mementoes of them tucked safely away. If ever they were reconciled, it would prove how much he’d loved them – how he still continued to love them.

  She pushed away from the table to lean her head on the cold of the window. Why was there so little love in this box?

  ‘Why is there so little anything?’ was Mark’s rejoinder to her question as he reappeared for a top-up of coffee. Looking as weary as she felt, he sank on to one of the chairs. She bit her lip; she’d let him deal with all the phone problems associated with the insurance, hadn’t she? Why hadn’t she thought through his offer? The audiologist had said it might be a year, maybe two, before he got the full benefits of his aids; meanwhile the phone was one thing he still found irritatingly stressful. Should she draw attention to it even more by asking how he’d got on? She’d phrase it as a tactful question about their cover and a replacement vehicle.

  ‘Oh, that’s all sorted. Our poor car amongst many poor cars. They’ve had Range Rovers taking to the water like giant ducks, they’ve had cars submerged in flash floods, they’ve had high-sided vans blown over – the young woman was very chatty. She seemed to think our tree was more dramatic than most when I emailed her the photos. Actually, she sounded quite shocked.’

  ‘I think I’d feel shocked if I saw them now. I felt quite calm, quite dispassionate, while we were at the scene.’

  ‘They’ll get a temporary replacement to us as soon as their computer clears it – but as you can imagine, it’s a very busy little computer at the moment.’ He managed a pale smile, and then upgraded it to a proper one. ‘The good news is that everything’s OK at home. One or two branches down, Caffy says, but only from those trees we’d had scheduled for a visit from the tree surgeon. One tree’s gone: that ash – it chose the Dignitas option rather than hanging around to wait for ash die-back, she says. The trees the surgeon’s already dealt with are all fine. The ditch at the far end of the garden is now a stream, but still well within its banks – and Caffy’s organized some sandbags just in case. All the slates and chimneys are safe and sound.’ His voice told her far more than his words. He wished he was back there, longed as much as she did for its comfort and security, for people they knew and trusted, for dear friends who loved them and were loved in return.

  But now he was back in investigative mode. ‘I could have sworn there was more than that,’ he said, picking up and replacing the items she’d left spread on the table beside the box. ‘An evidence bag with some papers in it.’

  ‘Maybe I put something down on top of it,’ she said. ‘It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve messed up since I’ve been here.’ She grabbed, lifted, patted, shook.

  He took her frantic hands. ‘You’re over that now – time and again you’ve proved that. We wouldn’t be here now if it hadn’t been
for your quick reactions this morning. Here as in alive, in case you’d forgotten.’

  Still checking the table, she nodded. And then sat down, hard. ‘Let me see the photos of that tree. Yes, I need to. Bloody hell, another twenty metres forward and …’ She clapped her hands, left them palm to palm. ‘OK, switch it off. Please. I was stupid to look. Perhaps it’s why I feel edgy. Funny, when I was at work I used to be able to hold a post-mortem report in one hand and eat a sandwich with the other.’

  ‘It wasn’t a report on you, though, was it? What’s that, under the lid?’

  ‘Just my notebook.’

  ‘Weird. I really could have sworn …’

  ‘Stuart logged everything, didn’t he? So there’s a computerized record. No?’

  His irritation showed with every tap of the keyboard. ‘No access. The system’s down. Essential maintenance, according to the screen. However,’ he said, ‘I remember copying it to the iPad. Just in case. And the iPad’s back in our office. On the desk with that wonderful lunch Edwina put together for us.’

  ‘So long as that hasn’t gone walkabout too,’ she said, gathering up her bag.

  NINETEEN

  ‘Can’t see it anywhere in here,’ she said, as if they’d spoken of nothing except the evidence bag on their walk along the corridor. She touched and moved items as before – even looking under the picnic basket.

  Mark joined in, increasingly anxious. ‘Funny thing is, I can’t see the iPad either. Shit!’

  ‘I know you said you’d left it here, but maybe you took it to the incident room after all? I don’t recall seeing it there, but that doesn’t mean a thing these days.’ Her fingers to her temples, she shook her head as if to clear it. ‘I’m just off to the loo – do you want me to check en route?’

  ‘I’ll go and look myself. But I really do not remember taking it there.’

  Fran got back first. She’d been horrified to look in the wash basin mirrors and see how pale she looked. Would a bit of what Edwina no doubt called lippie help? She dug in the drawer she’d commandeered for her odds and ends – and found not just some make-up but also the elusive iPad. In her drawer? What was Mark thinking of? Or perhaps, like her, he hadn’t quite reassembled his marbles after the tree incident? She popped it on to his desk, in full view.

  ‘Where the hell—?’ he demanded the moment he returned.

  ‘It had gone to look for the evidence bag – in my tat drawer,’ she added carefully.

  ‘What on earth was it doing there? I know technically it’s yours but—’

  She spread her hands. ‘You tell me.’

  ‘I never put it in there. Why should I? Did you?’

  ‘Not that I remember. Anyway, there it is. Is it OK? Do you want to fire it up while I unpack the picnic? Bless her, Edwina’s even given us a tablecloth. There’s enough here for six, you know.’ She smacked her head. ‘Hell! I forgot to iron those sheets …’

  At last Mark managed a smile. ‘It’s all here. Here – Stu’s list of evidence.’ He passed her the iPad and, arm round her shoulders, tracked down the screen. ‘Sod it! Bag 7A/TH: containing documents, various.’

  ‘Bloody hell! Why couldn’t he be more precise? I’ve a good mind to phone him now and tell him to get himself in here, Sunday afternoon or no Sunday afternoon. No? OK, think back. You were with him some of the time: did you see anything?’

  ‘Not to register it here.’ He tapped his forehead. ‘There’s been stuff going on to make me forget it, to be honest; forgive the pun but a lot of water’s gone under the bridge since then.’ He switched off. ‘Call me paranoid, but I’d rather keep this with us.’

  ‘Plenty of room in my bag,’ she declared optimistically, easing it between keys and hairbrush. ‘But you’ve had enough to make you paranoid. Two sets of flooding which probably had some human intervention. On the other hand, a missing file – these things happen in busy offices.’

  ‘Our office? Busy?’

  ‘OK. But the other missing thing’s safe and sound. And the tree – that was more an act of God. Who looked after us, rather than the reverse. Anyway, enough talking shop – time to enjoy this wonderful poached salmon …’

  Fran would have given a lot to be able to leap into the car and go home. Even if neither was an option, she didn’t want to be at work. From the look of him neither did Mark. But eventually they caught each other’s eye and got up as one. ‘We’ve still got the problem of getting back to Edwina’s,’ she murmured, checking the iPad was still in her bag.

  ‘Be nice if they lent us a car from the pool,’ Mark observed, looking round the room – no, they’d left nothing where it shouldn’t be. He even checked that the drawers were in their usual state – Fran’s chaotic, his anally neat – and locked them. Groaning, Fran gave him a hard stare, but not about his security fad: it was that awful reference to the pool, wasn’t it? Hand in hand, they returned to the incident room.

  ‘One last hunt for the missing bag?’ she asked.

  ‘Let’s just ask Stu tomorrow. Maybe he took it with him by mistake.’

  ‘Some mistake! Heavens, a sackable offence in a live case. What are you doing?’

  ‘It was here all the time!’ Fran exclaimed, moving the box a couple of inches and flourishing the missing evidence bag.

  ‘No, it wasn’t. I checked under the box. Unless it somehow stuck to it,’ he added with less conviction. ‘OK, let’s go through it – unless you’d rather do that alone too?’

  She held out her hand. ‘I’d rather do it with you. So long as you only laugh at me when my theories are crazy.’

  ‘What about if they’re just odd?’ he asked, taking it.

  ‘Odd can be useful. And weird. At least that’s what I’ve always said.’

  Mark raised a finger. ‘What’s that?’

  She squeezed his hand. ‘It’s just footsteps.’

  ‘But our team’s the only one using this corridor at the moment.’

  She grinned. ‘I don’t think anyone with sinister intent would bring along a posse of kids, do you? Can you hear them yet? Good.’

  ‘Hi, both.’ Rain still dripping from her raincoat, Paula stepped in, pushing rats’ tails of hair from her face. ‘I heard about your car on the grapevine and thought you might need some wheels to get home. Only you’ll have to share the car with my lads. Their dad’s out with the other men from the village filling and laying sandbags and they’d rather have helped him.’ She rolled her eyes at the prospect.

  ‘I never imagined … this is so very kind …’ Fran found she was close to tears.

  ‘Look, if you’re in the middle of something, so long as you don’t mind them sitting over there with their games, I can go and get them out of the car and maybe even help?’

  She was out of the room before they could demur. Within minutes, she reappeared, more or less dragging two little boys.

  Fran gripped Mark’s hand: how on earth had Natalie managed to make Hadrian go where she wanted?

  Peeling their soaking jackets, which she hung on the backs of a couple of chairs, Paula shooed the kids to the furthest corner. ‘No you can’t play with my phone! Look, you’ve got your own games and stuff, for God’s sake.’ Then she disposed of her own and literally rolled her sleeves up. She gave a mock salute. ‘At your service.’ Returning to her usual voice, she continued, ‘And I know there’s no overtime. Oh, is that the Garbutts’ famous box of goodies?’

  ‘I’m afraid so: I just couldn’t wait,’ Fran admitted.

  ‘Can I see?’

  ‘You’re more than welcome,’ Mark said. ‘Fran and I have just had a joint senior moment: we thought we’d lost an evidence bag, but it’s just turned up again.’

  ‘You’re kidding me. You’re not like that. My nan, yes – but not you two. Either of you. After that first morning, when for a few minutes you seemed on a different planet, Fran, I’ve never seen such a switched on pair. Despite all your adventures. And another one this morning – you’re lucky to be alive, according to Zeb in
Traffic.’ Her eyes widened as Mark showed her the photos on his camera.

  ‘More than lucky: Fran saw what was happening and managed to reverse. Then we scarpered.’

  ‘I should think you did …’ She seemed to make a conscious effort to change the subject. ‘How’s Edwina, by the way?’

  ‘Back home,’ Mark said. ‘Back on form. Bossier than Fran. Criticized my porridge-making this morning.’

  ‘I thought she was catering for you!’

  ‘I don’t think she’s quite as steady on her pins as she makes out. Besides, I pride myself on my porridge.’

  ‘Horrible stuff. Invention of the devil. Anyway, what was the evidence you lost?’ Paula peered inside the box. ‘Not a lot to show for thirty years on this planet, is there? Of course, her husband would have kept most – and you know what in-laws are like. Armed truces at best. And Robyn didn’t think the Garbutts had much in the way of the milk of human kindness. Mrs G especially. So if Phil was as grief-stricken as even the toughest guy would be, I can’t see him handing over much, can you? I wonder what he did with it all when he moved in with that model. Photos. Little things meaningless to anyone else. Binned it? Or kept some items just in case … You know, you couldn’t imagine Madeleine McCann’s parents ferrying binliners full of her toys to the tip, could you?’

  A brief tussle broke out between her sons. She shouted. It subsided as quickly as it had arisen. Nearly. Fran clocked a swift kick their mother missed – or tactically ignored.

  Mark used the diversion to flick a quick glance at Fran: should they look at the peripatetic evidence? She shrugged: there was little point in making Paula feel they didn’t trust her. Mark nodded, and put it quietly on a table out of the boys’ line of vision.