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Chapter 1: Mother, Father, Daughter

Monday and Tuesday, Week 1

Susan Carswell had just finished eating and was stacking the dishwasher when her doorbell rang. She looked out of the kitchen window of her flat but could see nothing. Her street in the upmarket Bristol suburb of Clifton was its usual quiet self. It was a Monday evening in January, and most people were at home indoors, insulated from the chill January air. She walked through to the small hallway, smoothing down her pale grey shift dress, and looked through the peephole. A smartly dressed young man was standing, waiting. He looked as if he was an official of some sort. She engaged the security chain, as her daughter had instructed her, and opened the door an inch or two.

‘Yes?’

‘Ms Susan Carswell?’

‘That’s right.’

‘I’m Detective Constable Peter Spence from Gloucestershire police. Here’s my warrant card.’ He held his wallet open close to the gap so that Susan could clearly see the identification. ‘I’m from the cold-case unit, investigating the death of a young man some years ago. I think that you may be able to help us. May I come in?’

‘Of course. I’d be glad to help. My daughter’s a detective chief inspector.’

She closed the door, released the chain and reopened it. She beckoned the man to follow her through to the lounge.

‘Would you like some tea or coffee? I’ve just made a pot of coffee and was about to pour myself a cup. It’s a new blend and tastes lovely.’

‘That would be fine, Ms Carswell. It would go down a treat on a chilly evening like this. It is Ms Carswell, isn’t it? Not Mrs?’

‘Yes. I’m not married. I never have been, despite having fifty-nine years on my clock. Excuse me while I fetch the coffee. Please sit down.’

Her voice was cheerful, matter-of-fact. It masked the tension that was beginning to gather in the pit of her stomach. She went through to the kitchen, poured two coffees, spread some biscuits out on a plate and carried it all back to the sitting room on a tray.

‘It’s ready to drink. It’s had its five minutes in the cafetière. Now, please tell me how I can help you.’

‘It’s a complicated story. Recently, a major crime gang from the West Midlands was infiltrated and broken up and a number of arrests were made. The Thompson brothers? You may have read about it in the papers.’

‘Yes, I do remember. And Sophie — she’s my daughter — has talked about it. She worked in the West Midlands crime squad some years ago.’

Did he look at her more carefully? Susan wondered if he’d guessed who her daughter was.

‘Well, this gang has been operating for decades. One of the brothers is dying of cancer and has been talking to the local police. The gang started operating almost fifty years ago, so you can imagine how much work there is, clearing it all up.’ He took a sip from his cup. ‘Apparently one of their first serious crimes was a late-night break-in at a jeweller’s shop in Gloucester. It’s been preying on the mind of Billy Thompson ever since. A young man happened to walk by and witness the break-in. Someone in the gang panicked and shot him. They shoved the body into their van as they made their getaway, and dropped it down the vent of a disused mine shaft. It lay there until two weeks ago. When Billy finally talked about it, the West Midlands force contacted us and we retrieved the remains.’

Susan’s cup was raised midway to her lips. She put it slowly down again.

‘How long ago did this take place?’ she whispered.

‘In 1968. Forty-three years ago.’

‘Was it Graham?’ she asked.

‘Yes, you have the right name. We’ve traced one of his friends who was at university with him here in Bristol. He remembered your name.’

Susan got to her feet and walked unsteadily through to her bedroom. She came back a minute or so later with a small, old and rather blurred snapshot of a young couple at a party. She handed the photo over.

‘Yes, that’s the young man. We’ve got a successful DNA match with his parents and they’ve given us a photo. His name was Graham Howard. Is that right?’

Susan managed a slight nod. ‘So his parents are still alive? Both of them?’

‘They’re in their late eighties. The father is still alert and very active for his age. I think he’s eighty-six. His wife is two years older. She’s not so fit, but is still mentally very bright.’

‘Did they have any other children? I don’t remember Graham talking of any siblings.’

‘No. He was an only child.’

All those years of not knowing what had happened to their only child. What must their lives have been like? So she wasn’t the only one who’d been through hell, thought Susan.

‘Would I be able to meet them sometime?’ she asked.

‘I’m sure they’d like that. They don’t know about you yet. As I said, I only found out this afternoon from one of his old student friends. The parents told me they’d be happy to have visits from anyone who was a close friend at university. I think they are relieved that the uncertainty is finally over, after more than forty years of not knowing what happened to him. They are understandably upset but are showing a lot of courage.’ He took another look at the photo. ‘Are you the young woman?’

‘Yes. I was only sixteen at the time, but he didn’t know that. He thought I was eighteen and that I’d left school. I have a daughter by him. He never knew I was pregnant. He just vanished and it broke my heart.’ She paused and drew a breath. ‘So his parents don’t know that they have a granddaughter. And two great-granddaughters.’

Middle-aged and smartly dressed, her dark hair showing flecks of grey, Susan looked composed but the news this man had just delivered had struck her like a bomb exploding. Underneath her well-groomed, ordinary appearance a maelstrom of emotions swirled.

They talked for a while longer. After the police officer left, Susan sat weeping. She had been strong for so many years. Now she felt fragile, vulnerable and alone. Finally she phoned her daughter.

* * *

DC Spence arrived at the cold-case unit premises at Gloucester police headquarters at eight thirty the following morning. As he passed the reception desk, someone stood up from the row of seats along the wall and followed him to the door leading through to the offices. He turned and saw a fair-haired woman in her forties.

‘I’m Sophie Allen,’ she said.

‘I didn’t expect you so soon, ma’am.’ He looked past her at Susan Carswell. She looked tired. ‘I was really impressed by your mother, ma’am. She must have been almost overwhelmed by my news, but she held herself together. She doesn’t look as though she’s slept much since I saw her.’

‘No. Nor have I. And there’s no need for the ma’am. I’m not here in an official capacity. Do you think it might be possible for us to see my grandparents? I’ve been waiting forty-two years.’

* * *

Not long afterwards, Spence was in a quiet area of Gloucester, ringing the doorbell of a detached house. Sophie and her mother stood back while he spoke to the elderly man who answered the door.

‘Good morning, Mr Howard. I won’t stay, if you don’t mind. I’ve brought Detective Chief Inspector Sophie Allen, and Ms Susan Carswell to see you. They have personal information about Graham that is not really within my remit. All I will say is that I am satisfied that everything they will tell you is true. It will all be confirmed by DNA tests, but that will only be in a few days’ time.’

He turned to Sophie. ‘I’m going back to the office. Please contact me if you need anything. It’s been a pleasure to meet you, ma’am, even in such difficult circumstances.’

Sophie nodded to Spence. She felt as though she was ready to collapse into a heap on the ground. But her protective shell remained in place.

The man at the door smiled apprehensively and asked them in. He had a slight stoop and a thin face. He showed them into a neat sitting room.

‘I’m James Howard. My wife Florence is in the kitchen, so I’ll just get her if you don’t mind waiting. Please have a seat.’

Sophie looked around her. Hanging in a prominent position and turning sepia with age, was a photo of a young man. He had an open, smiling face and long hair. Sophie took out her purse and extracted the photo that her mother had given her that morning. It showed a teenage Susan Carswell and the same fair-haired young man.

‘Mum, I feel as if I’m about to fly apart. It’s like when I gave birth to Jade, and took too much gas and air. Everything just feels weird.’

‘I can hardly speak myself. I’m too choked. Please, you do this. They’re your grandparents. I just . . .’ She didn’t finish.

Just then a woman entered the room slowly, followed by James Howard. Sophie replaced the photo in her bag and stood up.

‘This is my wife, Florence. Now, who are you again?’ He looked anxiously at Sophie. ‘I hope it’s nothing bad.’

‘I’m Sophie Allen, from Dorset police. But I’m not here on official business. This is my mother, Susan Carswell. I have something so wonderful to tell you that I really don’t know how to start. So I’m going to blunder straight into it. You may need to hold on to your hats.’

She approached the elderly lady and took her hand.

‘I’m your granddaughter. My mother, Susan here, became pregnant by Graham shortly before he vanished and I’m the result.’

The elderly couple stood immobile.

‘Even better, I have two daughters. So you have two great-granddaughters, Hannah and Jade.’

Sophie showed her the photo of her mother and father at the student party.

‘This is the only photo we have. It was taken soon after they met. Isn’t that right, Mum?’

Susan nodded. Sophie put her arm around Florence and took hold of James’s hand.

‘My grandparents. We’ve found you after all these years.’

* * *

They were sipping tea, seated around a pine table in the conservatory. Apart from the occasional tear, the crying had largely stopped. Sophie sat silently next to Florence, gently squeezing her hand.

‘We’ve always wondered who Susan was. Your name appears in the last few entries of his diary. So Graham never knew about you being pregnant?’ asked Sophie’s grandfather.

‘No. How could he?’ Susan whispered. Her voice trembled. ‘We only became lovers a week or two before he disappeared. The last time was in his room at the halls. I can still remember the music that was playing on his stereo set. It was at the very end of the autumn term, and he was planning to catch the last train home to Gloucester. We left together and parted on the street corner. I went home and he turned towards the city centre to get a bus to the station. I never saw him again. I nearly died of a broken heart.’

She started sobbing again. Sophie had never seen her mother so emotional. She had always been so cool and controlled, almost distant in her manner. But now more than forty years of self-restraint was dissolving away in front of her daughter’s eyes.

‘And how did your parents react when they found out?’

‘They threw me out,’ she answered. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

‘What?’ The elderly couple looked utterly shocked.

‘Just when I needed them most. I was confused and terrified and felt so alone. And so vulnerable. I was only sixteen, and they threw me out onto the streets. I’ve never forgiven them. I never will.’

‘Oh, my dear,’ said Florence. She went to Susan and embraced her as tightly as her tiny form would permit.

‘Graham didn’t know I was only sixteen. I lied to him about my age. I pretended that I was older and working in one of the local banks, but I was still at school. I loved him so much. I wanted to kill myself when he didn’t come back. So many times I felt like killing myself.’ Her words emerged in a mixture of whispers and choking sobs. ‘I went from a schoolgirl’s dream of heaven to a hellish reality in a couple of weeks. That Christmas was wonderful. We were apart, but the feeling of being so totally in love was overpowering. I really was walking on air. And then he didn’t come back. I called at his halls on the day we’d arranged and he wasn’t there. I asked some of the other students, but they didn’t know anything. They were all busy catching up with their own gossip. I thought that he’d just been delayed or was ill, so I kept going back. And, of course, he was never there. I panicked. I cried all the time. And the students in the rooms around his didn’t seem concerned. Then one of their girlfriends said that he’d probably switched to a different university. London, maybe. And I cried even more. I felt humiliated because they began to guess that I was much younger than them. So I stayed away for a while and just wrote, but never got an answer. Weeks went by, and I missed a period. I was frantic with worry. I couldn’t talk to my parents about it, so I confided in my Auntie Olive. She was a nurse and arranged for me to get a check-up. When I knew I was pregnant, the first thing I did was go back to his room, but it was still empty. I was still in my school uniform. I saw the students whispering to each other. I felt so empty. I left and never went back. I told my parents about the pregnancy soon afterwards.’

‘How did you survive?’ Florence asked.

‘My aunt took me in. She was wonderful. She looked after me during the pregnancy, and then found me a job as a cleaner at the local doctors’ surgery after Sophie was born. Once Sophie was old enough, I got a job on the reception desk. For the last twenty-five years I’ve been the practice manager.’