When the Dead Speak

by Sheila Bugler

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, putting the mug and plate into the dishwasher.

  ‘Leave those.’ Dee took the bottle of wine out of the bag. ‘Sit down and have a drink with me.’

  He crossed the kitchen and put his hands on her shoulders. ‘I’m glad you’re here, Dee. But I have to warn you, I’m in a really shitty mood right now… not sure I’m not fit company for anyone.’

  ‘This case?’ Dee guessed. ‘I’ve been following it on the news. Sounds awful.’

  ‘It is awful. In fact, do you mind if we speak about something else?’

  ‘Of course.’ Dee nodded at the bottle of wine. ‘Open that, would you?’

  Ed did as he was told, opening the wine and pouring two glasses.

  ‘I’m completely wiped,’ he said, handing one of the glasses to Dee. ‘I’ve spent most of last night and all of today thinking about nothing else. I’d really like to stop for a bit. Tell me about your day. What have you been up to?’

  It wasn’t like him to shut her out. His openness was one of the things that had drawn her to him. Then again, she’d never seen him looking lost like this. Clearly, there were things about this case that the police hadn’t made public yet. Besides, Dee had come here to make him feel better, not worse. So she changed the subject, telling him about her visit to the hotel and her encounter with Derek French.

  ‘Do you know him?’ she asked when she’d finished. ‘I’m trying to work out whether I liked him or not, but I can’t make my mind up.’

  ‘That’s not like you,’ Ed said. ‘Although I can’t say I’m surprised. He’s a slippery bloke. Married for years, but he’s got a reputation for being a bit of a womaniser.’

  ‘Does his wife know?’ Dee asked, thinking of her ex-husband, Billy. He’d had one affair and that was the final straw in a marriage that was already in trouble. She wouldn’t be able to stand living with a man who repeatedly cheated on her.

  ‘I suspect she turns a blind eye,’ Ed said. ‘She’s very conservative. I doubt she’d ever agree to a divorce. She told me once that marriage is a sacred union that should never be broken.’

  ‘But she doesn’t have a problem with her husband breaking it by sleeping with other women?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Ed threw his hands up. ‘She’s an odd woman.’

  ‘How do you know them?’

  ‘Rugby club,’ Ed said. ‘I coached their son for a few years.’

  ‘Kyle?’

  Ed nodded. ‘It was a while ago now. Before he decided girls and surfing were more fun than playing rugby.’

  ‘And who can blame him for that?’ Dee said. ‘What’s he like?’

  ‘A decent kid.’

  ‘Is that what’s getting to you?’ Dee asked.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He sounded defensive and she knew she should stop. But she wanted to know what was bothering him.

  ‘If you know Kyle, I imagine it must be difficult having to interview him?’

  Ed drained his glass and refilled it. When he offered to do the same for Dee, she shook her head. She’d barely touched the wine in her glass.

  ‘You’re right. None of this has been easy,’ he said. ‘And I know I sound like a grumpy git this evening. It’s been a tough couple of days, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, that’s why I’m here.’ Dee leaned forward and kissed his cheek. ‘Why don’t you go into the sitting room and put some music on? Drink your wine and relax. I’ll get the food ready and we can eat on the sofa in front of the TV when it’s done. After that, you can crawl into bed and get a decent night’s sleep.’

  Ed started to protest but Dee put a finger on his lips, silencing him. ‘For once in your stupid life, Ed Mitchell, would you please let someone do something for you instead of the other way around? You’ve done so much for me over the last few months. You’ve been there for me when I’ve needed you, you’ve taken care of me and cooked me beautiful dinners and taken me out for some lovely meals. Won’t you please, for the love of fucking God, let me do this one thing for you?’

  The corners of his lips twitched.

  ‘For the love of fucking God? Is that something you learned in that Catholic school you went to?’

  ‘Don’t get sassy,’ Dee said. ‘Or I may change my mind and you’ll be making your own dinner.’

  Thirty minutes later, the pots had been washed and the dishwasher emptied, and the food was almost ready. Pouring herself a glass of wine, Dee pushed open the sitting room door. Spanish classical guitar music played through Ed’s Sonos sound system. Beautiful, haunting music he had introduced Dee to several months earlier. Although the beauty of the music was currently lost on the person who’d put it on, and almost impossible to hear over the steady drone of his snores.

  He was sitting on the sofa, his head thrown back, mouth wide open, eyes wide shut. The glass of wine, barely touched, was on the ground by his feet. Dee crept into the room, kissed the top of his head and took the glass into the kitchen. Before leaving, she switched the oven off, went upstairs, took the duvet off his bed and draped it over him. He didn’t stir once.

  She thought about staying, but decided what Ed needed more than anything was a night of uninterrupted sleep. After emptying both wine glasses down the sink and rinsing them out, she let herself out of the house.

  On the drive home she tried to ignore the gnawing anxiety in her gut, telling herself there was nothing to worry about. Ed hadn’t been himself this evening, but what had she expected? Investigating a murder, especially when one of the suspects was someone he knew, must be awful. No wonder he’d been so reluctant to talk about it. But no matter how hard she tried to convince herself there was nothing to worry about, she didn’t quite succeed. Something wasn’t right, and if Ed refused to tell her what that was, then how could she help him?

  * * *

  Four hours later, Ed woke with a sharp pain in his neck, a dry throat and the vague sense he’d done something he shouldn’t have. Gradually, his eyes adjusted to the dark and he realised he’d fallen asleep on the sofa. Normally when he woke up like this he was cold. Tonight, he was almost too warm. Looking down, he realised he was lying underneath his duvet. He tried to work out how that could have happened – and then he remembered.

  Dee! With a rush of shame, he threw back the duvet and went into the kitchen. No Dee in here, although it was clear she’d cooked, tidied and cleaned before she left. He was mortified. Falling asleep while Dee cooked his dinner and cleaned his kitchen was the worst sort of behaviour. She deserved better than this and he wouldn’t blame her if she was angry as hell with him. He picked up his phone to call her, but when he saw the time – fourteen minutes past midnight – he thought better of it. Waking her up wasn’t going to make this situation any better.

  He had a new text message from Dee. The guilt intensified as he read it:

  You looked too cute to wake up. Sleep tight and call me in the morning. Xxx

  ‘Cute,’ he muttered, turning on the tap and filling a glass. ‘Cute.’ It wasn’t a word usually used to describe him, but Ed reckoned he could get used to it. Especially when it was Dee doing the describing. She was pretty cute herself, come to think of it. Although ‘cute’ was woefully inadequate for describing a woman with more heart and guts and personality than anyone he’d ever known.

  He started to reply, then changed his mind. Anything he told her now would add to the deceit. If he’d known she was coming over this evening, maybe he’d have been better prepared. Instead, he’d been evasive and defensive and right now she was probably wondering what the hell was going on. Except he didn’t know what else to do. There was already so much he hadn’t told her. And by being a total idiot this evening, now there was a whole lot more she didn’t know. He shook his head, disgusted with himself. He hadn’t even told her he wasn’t part of the murder investigation.

  A quarter past midnight and he was wide awake. He should go to bed, but there wasn’t a cat’s chance in hell he’d be able to sleep. So what now? Before he
could make a plan, his phone pinged with an incoming text. Not from Dee, but the other woman in his life, Rachel Lewis.

  You still awake by any chance?

  He started to type back, then changed his mind and called her.

  ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘How’s it going?’

  ‘Shitty,’ she said. ‘It’s a bloody horrible case, Ed. Her poor parents… you know she was an only child?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Ed said. ‘I know.’

  He thought of the many times he’d willed something bad to happen to Nigel Shaw. Now it had, there was no pleasure in it. Whatever vague ‘bad’ thing he’d wished on the man, it hadn’t ever been something like this.

  ‘Sorry to get in touch so late,’ Rachel said. ‘I wanted to call earlier but it’s been so busy.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ Ed said. ‘Can I help with anything?’

  ‘Not really,’ Rachel said. ‘I just wanted to let you know there’s going to be something in the papers tomorrow about Lauren’s relationship with Mary.’

  ‘This soon?’ Ed asked. He’d been expecting it, of course. From the moment he’d recognised the body, he’d known it would come out. He hadn’t expected it to happen this soon, that was all.

  ‘A journalist at the Mail got hold of it,’ Rachel said. ‘Sharon’s decided to go public with the information. It’s not ideal. People are going to make all sorts of assumptions and that’s going to complicate the investigation. But we don’t have a choice. I’m sorry, Ed.’

  ‘How much do they know?’ he asked.

  ‘They know that the two women were related,’ Rachel said. ‘And they know how Mary was killed. I’m sure they’ll focus on the similarities between the two murders. I don’t think anyone’s made the connection with you. Not yet.’

  Ed breathed out a sigh of relief. ‘That’s something, I suppose.’

  ‘It’s only a matter of time before someone works it out. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Thanks for letting me know, Rachel. I appreciate it.’

  After hanging up, Ed went into his kitchen. Without turning the light on he went across to the window. From here, he had a clear view of the spire of St Mary the Virgin. At night, lit up like this, it was beautiful. He looked out at the church, thinking of the two women whose bodies had been found there.

  A large chunk of Ed’s teenage years had been spent researching Mary’s murder, doing everything he could to prove Graham Reed didn’t kill her. But he’d never found a single thing to back up that belief and, over time, he’d given up. Like everyone else in his family, Ed pushed all the circumstances surrounding Mary’s murder to the back of his mind, and did everything he could to forget all about it.

  Apart from one drunken night five years earlier when he’d told Rachel, he never mentioned it and rarely thought about it. Until Lauren Shaw had burst into his life a few months earlier and the memories had come rushing back. Now Lauren was dead. And no matter how hard he tried, Ed couldn’t help thinking that if he’d acted differently, she’d still be alive.

  Five

  Saturday morning, Dee was up early to cook breakfast for her neighbours, Ella and Tom and their son, Jake. She’d hoped Ed might join them, but he’d sent her a text earlier telling her he was going to Norfolk first thing this morning to visit his sister. She’d tried calling him back, but she’d got his voicemail and hadn’t bothered leaving a message. Now, she was more worried than ever. The text confirmed there was something going on with him. Why else would he run off to Norfolk in the middle of a serious investigation? Unless Ed’s sister was, somehow, part of the investigation. But that didn’t make any sense.

  Deciding not to spend the morning tormenting herself over Ed, Dee put some music on and set about preparing a full English. She’d just finished setting the table and was making a second pot of coffee when she heard footsteps on the shingle beach outside her house. She slid open the back doors that led onto the decking, smiling so wide her face ached. These three people, along with Louise’s family and Ed, were the most important people in her life.

  ‘Jake!’

  When she called his name, he let go of his mum’s hand and ran forward.

  ‘We got kossants and muffins,’ throwing himself at Dee.

  ‘Kossants.’ Dee laughed. ‘My favourite.’

  She lifted him off the ground and carried him into the house, letting his incessant chatter soothe her. It was no secret to anyone – including Ed – that no one could ever compete with Jake for Dee’s affections. The three-year-old boy was, quite simply, the centre of her universe. She loved him as much as if he was her own child (or grandchild, Ed liked to correct her, a little too frequently for Dee’s liking).

  Jake and his parents lived in an extended mobile home a few yards along the beach from Dee’s house. The mobile home belonged to Dee – Tom and Ella rented it from her. It was too small for the three of them, but they were saving money for a mortgage. Dee wanted to give them the plot of land that the mobile home stood on. That way, they could knock the place down and build their own, permanent home on the site. It was in her interests to do this – she loved having them as neighbours and couldn’t bear to think about them leaving one day. The problem was, Tom and Ella were both too proud to accept Dee’s repeated offers to give them the land. Which meant a significant proportion of Dee’s time was spent trying to think of other ways to persuade them to stay. She’d almost lost Ella and Jake once before. She’d do anything to make sure that never happened again.

  ‘Where’s Ed?’ Jake demanded, as the four of them sat around the table.

  ‘He’s gone to visit his sister,’ Dee said. ‘But he asked me to say hello to you.’

  Jake seemed pleased with her answer, and tucked into his plate of scrambled eggs.

  ‘I thought he’d be working on the investigation into that poor girl in the church,’ Tom said.

  ‘I think it’s proving quite stressful,’ Dee said. ‘He just needs a break for a few hours.’

  In truth, she had no idea whether Ed would be away for just today or longer than that, but there was no point telling this to Tom and Ella.

  She was saved from having to explain anything else, because Jake wanted to know who the woman in the church was and they had to change the subject.

  ‘Breakfast is great,’ Tom said, after a moment. ‘Just what I need after the week I’ve had.’

  ‘How’s work going?’ Dee asked.

  ‘Busy,’ Tom said. ‘Which is good, on the one hand. But I hate all the travel, you know? I miss Ella and Jake so much when I’m away.’

  ‘We miss you too,’ Ella said.

  Tom threw his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close.

  ‘It’s a shame most of the work I do is based in Ireland,’ he said to Dee. ‘I sometimes think we should up sticks and move back altogether. My folks would love having us a bit closer.’

  ‘It’s not going to happen,’ Ella said. ‘Don’t look so worried, Dee. If we moved to Ireland, there’s no way we could afford to live in Dublin, which is where most of Tom’s work is based.’ She looked at Tom. ‘So we still wouldn’t see you during the weeks. Besides, where would we ever find a house right on the beach like we have here? The most we could hope for in Ireland is some horrible new-build on a soulless estate in the middle of nowhere. We’d both hate that.’

  Dee should have felt more relieved, but she couldn’t shake off the feeling it was only a matter of time before Tom got his way. And who could blame him? He’d given up his old life to move to Eastbourne when he discovered Ella was living here with his son, who he’d never known about. Sooner or later, he was going to want to go back to the country he still called ‘home’.

  The last thing Dee should do was stand in the way of Jake spending more time with his grandparents. Except, every time she thought of them leaving, she couldn’t imagine how she would cope if it were ever to become a reality.

  After breakfast, Tom and Ella insisted on tidying up, giving Dee a chance to catch up wit
h Jake. They put their coats on and went onto the beach, where they spent the next twenty minutes playing ‘chase the waves’. It was a game Dee had played with her own mother, and she loved that she was able to play it now with Jake. It involved standing on the edge of the water and seeing how long you could stay without getting wet, before running back as the waves washed in over the shingle.

  Midway through playing, Louise called.

  ‘One moment,’ Dee told Jake. ‘I need to take this.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Ed?’ Louise said.

  ‘Good morning to you too,’ Dee said. ‘What do you mean, have I spoken to Ed?’

  ‘Has he told you how Lauren was killed?’ Louise asked.

  ‘Of course not,’ Dee said. ‘What do you take him for?’

  ‘He’s not part of the investigation,’ Louise said. ‘Did you know that?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘He hasn’t told you?’

  ‘Oh that,’ Dee said, when she was able to speak. ‘Yes, he did mention something about it.’ God damn the man, she thought. What the hell was going on with him?

  ‘I don’t think there’s anything dodgy about it,’ Louise said. ‘I mean, I don’t know, but I didn’t get that impression.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Dee said.

  ‘I spoke to their press officer yesterday,’ Louise said. ‘Naturally, we’re covering the murder in this week’s paper. I always cross-check my facts with the police. People get very upset if you get even the slightest detail wrong. Anyway, they’ve got this new woman handling the press office. Thank God, because the last one was bloody useless. According to Melanie, that’s the press officer, Rachel Lewis is leading the investigation, not Ed.’

  ‘So what?’ Dee said.

  ‘He didn’t tell you why?’

  ‘Louise, I’ve barely spoken to him since the murder. He’s been busy.’

  ‘Strange,’ Louise said. ‘Well, I’m sure he’ll tell you when you see him. In the meantime, check the Recorder’s home page and call me when you’re done.’