BURIED CRIMES: a gripping detective thriller full of twists and turns (7 page)

Chapter 9: Six Avenues

Late Wednesday afternoon

Sophie Allen and Barry Marsh stood in Dorchester Hospital’s Pathology laboratory looking down on two white examination benches. On the sterile surface of each bench a set of small skeletal remains were arranged. During the two years they had been working together, they had become used to visiting Benny Goodall on his home territory. They had seen numerous bodies in various states of decay spread out before them, but this was different. Two children. Each skeleton was complete, each a perfect example of a young human’s bone structure.

‘Well, Benny, is there anything more you can tell us, now you’ve had the scans done?’

He shook his head. ‘I’m still not certain. There are no definite marks, no healed fractures or lesions. No obviously suspicious scar marks that would indicate physical violence, but there are a few shadowy areas that I can’t quite make out. The girl’s cheekbones. The front of a couple of ribs on the boy. The problem is we don’t know how much these might be due to natural degeneration, with them being in the ground so long. It can’t be used as direct evidence that would stand up in court, it’s all too unreliable.’

‘What about their ages?’ asked Marsh.

‘We think they were both about seven when they died. A couple of forensic bone specialists have been in to see them, and they thought so too. Interestingly, they both also thought they might have been twins. Apparently there are clues in the shape of the skull and some joints. This is only conjecture, of course. The DNA profiles will provide definite proof and you won’t know the results of that until, when?’

‘Next week,’ Sophie replied, her eyes on the two skeletons. ‘So there’s nothing much for us to go on at the moment?’

Goodall shook his head. ‘No. If they were murdered, it wasn’t down to any hard blows. And I don’t think they were badly mistreated, not over a prolonged period of time anyway. The bone density is good, so they were both well fed and probably had good general levels of fitness. If they were killed deliberately, it was due to soft tissue damage. But let’s face it, most child murder is by smothering, strangulation or the like. We can’t rule those out, nor can we rule out poisoning. What I mean is, the pathological evidence gives no direct clues as to the cause of death. Sorry.’

Sophie didn’t reply. She was thinking about all those things that make a child’s life so special, so unique in the memory. Was there anyone alive who still mourned for these two poor souls, who still remembered them as infants and toddlers? She looked at Barry.

‘I can guess what you’re thinking, ma’am,’ he said. ‘I feel it too.’

She sighed. ‘Okay. You’ve done what you can, Benny. We should get going. We’ll need to think of other avenues that might lead us to their story.’ She reached out and, with a gloved finger, briefly touched the forehead of each skull in turn, as if making them a silent promise.

* * *

Back in the incident room, Rae Gregson had been working on a chart that listed the occupants of Finch Cottage, stretching back to the middle years of the twentieth century. Linked to it were similar charts that showed who had lived in the two neighbouring properties. This had been easy for the house to the west of the cottage: the couple still living there had owned the attractive, detached house since 1980, and had been very helpful in identifying many of the residents of Finch Cottage itself. They had never had a good view of the garden, though. Tall shrubs and trees close to the fence had always obscured their view. The list of residents for the cottage on the east side had several gaps. The chart for Finch cottage itself was nearly complete, but it had one yawning gap: a four month period at the start of 1995. The only thing the neighbours had been able to remember was that the occupiers during those few months were reclusive. They’d only met the mother twice and had seen children on just a couple of occasions. They’d assumed that the father worked away from home.

Rae’s task had not been made any easier by the fact that the estate agency that had handled the cottage rental had long since gone out of business. It had proved impossible to find any paperwork for that period. The people renting the property during those months had never registered on the voters’ roll. Council tax had, of course, been paid by the landlord. The knowledgeable neighbour had told Rae that she thought all administrative work for the property lettings had been carried out by the agency. The owners, whoever they’d been, would have known next to nothing about the occupants.

Rae got up from her chair and walked to the window. She stared out through the trees, across the Weymouth Road to the large public car park opposite. There’s got to be a way around this, she thought. But what? She watched as a family crossed the road into the car park. The parents were loaded down with shopping bags, desperately trying to keep hold of their two children. Seeing the youngsters triggered a thought: maybe she should temporarily give up trying to trace the house’s occupants, and start work on the local schools. She would start with the local primary school. Rae reached for the phone.

* * *

‘You’re asking a lot, aren’t you?’ The head teacher looked at Rae over the reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. ‘That’s a long time ago. There’s nobody left on the staff from those days, not even the school secretary.’

‘There’s a chance they might have been twins. That’s why we wondered if someone might remember. It might have stuck in someone’s mind. You wouldn’t still have any records dating back that far, would you?’

‘No. It probably predates the time when we computerised our data, so the records would have been on paper. Anyway, we’re not allowed to keep data that long, computerised or not. It would break the Data Protection Act, wouldn’t it? We get rid of it all every couple of years, which is what the law requires. I’m sorry I can’t be more helpful.’

As Rae left the office she was waylaid by the secretary. ‘You might want to speak to Tina Wroughton. She’s the senior dinner lady, and has been here for more than twenty years. She knows a lot of the children really well. It’s worth a try before you go. You’ll find her clearing up in the kitchens.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘You’ve probably got about ten minutes before she leaves.’

Rae hurried across the small playground to the kitchen. She could hear the clatter of cutlery being sorted and put away.

‘Hello?’ she called. ‘Tina Wroughton? Hello?’

A fair-haired lady in her late fifties came to the door, wiping her hands on her apron. Rae explained why she was there.

Tina frowned. ‘Goodness, that was a long time ago and my memory isn’t what it was. But Pat, the secretary, was right. I suppose I have been here a long time. Probably too long. And I do get to know a lot of the kiddies. You can’t help it, serving up their lunches day after day. Clearing up the mess they leave.’ She laughed. ‘But twenty years ago? I’m not sure. Do you fancy a cup of tea? The kettle’s just boiled, and it might help to get my brain working.’

They sat in the kitchen sipping from mugs, while Rae watched the frowns criss-crossing Tina’s face. At last she looked at Rae.

‘You know, I think there was. A boy and a girl. Twins. I couldn’t say how long ago, but it was ages. They were here, then they were gone. Very sudden, I think. That’s all I remember. George Bramshaw would have been headmaster at the time. He retired about five years ago. He might remember.’

‘Do you know if he lives locally?’

‘No. He moved back to Salisbury when he retired. It was where he came from originally. I suppose he’ll still be there.’

Rae thanked Tina for the tea and information and left. Salisbury. It would be, wouldn’t it? She knew she’d end up back there one day, but it could have waited a bit longer, surely.

* * *

‘So, as far as I can see we have six avenues open to us, though we’re still waiting for the results of three of them. That’s the children’s DNA, the skull and possible facial reconstruction, and the forensic examination of the grave area. That last one should be in soon I would think, though I don’t know what it will be able to tell us. Meanwhile, we have Rae’s chart of previous occupants, these poems and this retired head teacher, if he’s still around.’ Sophie was perched on the corner of a table, summarising the day’s developments.

‘He is, ma’am. I managed to track him down just now and phoned him. He’s available tomorrow morning. In Salisbury, where he lives.’

‘Can you take that, Rae? Phone the locals to let them know that you’re in town. Maybe do that just now? Didn’t you used to work in Wiltshire?’

‘Yes.’

Sophie saw her expression. ‘Rae, if you’re not happy about it, I can get someone else to do it.’

‘No, ma’am. Leave it with me. I’ll be fine, honestly.’

Sophie nodded. ‘Barry, can you chase up the forensic people? They should have sifted through all that soil by now. It’s Wednesday, for God’s sake. They’ve had the stuff since Saturday.’

‘It’s what you said, ma’am. It’s not a current case, so it’s probably been pushed further back in the queue. And I don’t think Dave Nash would have made that decision. Someone higher up decides the priorities.’

‘Well, if something doesn’t come in by the end of the week, I’ll start complaining. That leaves these poems.’ She pointed to the plastic wallet. ‘I’ve been thinking about them since we left the vicar’s house. I’ve been trying to recall the lessons I had at school on analysing poetry. In terms of their technique, I’d guess they’re competent at an amateur level, but aren’t the work of a serious poet.’

‘Why’s that?’ asked Marsh.

‘They lack subtlety. They’re too . . . in your face. The most important thing for the writer was letting out his or her emotions, maybe after years of suppression. They had more of a therapeutic than a literary value. That’s my guess.’

‘But some of the words sound quite technical, ma’am.’

‘Arsenous in the second poem. Containing arsenic. Clever, I thought. Particularly as a counterpoint to sulphurous, which comes immediately before it. They’re certainly not written by an ignoramus, that’s obvious. The author is most definitely knowledgeable about poetry. And the imagery and feel is very twentieth century. Were they written by the person we’re looking for? I’d say yes, probably. The mention of rugs and parcels, death and babies. It’s just too close. So how do we go about using them?’ She paused, thinking. ‘Barry, can you identify any local poetry or writing groups? We’ll probably be looking for someone who was living on this side of Dorchester since they chose the local parish newsletter, but we can’t be absolutely sure. Someone middle-aged or older I’d guess, but not necessarily so.’

Just then Theresa Jackson came into the room. She stood, rather nervously, just inside the door. Sophie beckoned to her. ‘What is it?’

‘Something for you only, ma’am,’ she said. She followed Sophie into her office, where she told her about Jill Freeman’s strange behaviour.

‘You were right to tell me, Theresa, and well spotted. It probably has no bearing on the case, though. In fact I can’t see how it can be connected. But you do need to bear it in mind, as the family liaison officer. If she’s seeing someone and it comes out into the open just now, with that young girl in such a state, you may have your work cut out. Do a check on the car registration so that we have it on record but don’t follow it up any further, okay? Please let me know if the situation changes.’

As the young constable left the office, Sophie’s phone rang.

It was Louisa Mugomba. Sophie listened carefully, asked a few questions, then replaced the handset. She stared at it for a while, then walked to the main incident room.

‘I’ve just had Louisa Mugomba on the phone,’ she told Barry and Rae. ‘And she’s come up with a real puzzler. She fed all the dimensions from both skulls into her software, and they indicate the strong possibility that the two children were at least partly Asiatic. Apparently there are clues in the shape of the cheekbones. She warned me that some experts dispute that racial background can be accurately identified from the skull shape, but we now have to consider the fact that the children were not of European origin.’

‘But does that alter anything, ma’am?’ Rae asked.

‘Of course not. But if it’s also suggested by their DNA profiles, it may help us to identify them more easily. And that’s still our first priority. Once we know who they were, we can begin to puzzle out what happened to them.’

Chapter 10: Salisbury

Thursday morning

Rae changed down a gear, rounded the tight bend and started the descent towards the village of Coombe Bissett, nestling cosily in the Ebble valley. She always thought Salisbury started here, with the cathedral spire visible even from this far away. It felt weird coming back. She’d spent almost a year in Salisbury, as a very unhappy, apparently male detective battling against the demons of gender dysphoria. She would have preferred to forget this part of her life, but here she was. Salisbury is one of the most beautiful cities in the country. The people are friendly and cheerful, showing that amiable, gentle approach to life that is so typical of the West Country. Rae’s feelings about the place were entirely due to her own history, and to the small-minded personality of one of her bosses. The man hadn’t even been local. ‘That tosspot from Swindon,’ as some of the local beat officers had described him. Where was he now? She’d heard that he’d moved on, and was a Chief Superintendent somewhere. God help the poor souls who worked under him.

The traffic slowed to a crawl for the last mile or so, but the delay was almost worth it. The stunning bulk of the cathedral dominated the city centre and its glorious spire glinted in the morning sunshine. For me it even beats the nearby Stonehenge, thought Rae. This is the more perfect example of humanity’s creative genius.

Rae turned off the ring road and headed for the eastern suburbs, arriving several minutes early. She sat in the car, gathering her thoughts, then picked up her bag and made her way through a bright-red wooden gate to the front door.

The man seemed almost to twinkle at her.

‘I saw you coming,’ George Bramshaw said. ‘I was in the front room and spotted your car draw up. You didn’t need to wait out there. You could have come straight in.’

The hint of mischief in his eyes matched the smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Rae looked around her. The hallway gleamed at her, slightly quaint and spotlessly clean. He waved her through into a small, neat sitting room. A pot of coffee, several mugs and a plate of biscuits were set out on a low table.

‘Sit down, please. I don’t get attractive young visitors very often, so this is a treat for me. You’ll need to remind me what you want to know. I’ve forgotten already.’ He smiled at her.

She guessed that he hadn’t forgotten at all, but was teasing her for some reason. ‘There were two children who might have gone missing from your school about twenty years ago. They could well have been twins, aged about six or seven. There’s also a chance that they might have been Asian, wholly or partly. Possibly Chinese or something like that.’

‘Ah yes, now I remember what you said on the phone. I’ll pour us some coffee and tell you what I dredged up from my rather blurry memory. Have a biscuit if you want one.’

Rae selected a chocolate-coated biscuit and took a bite, suddenly hungry.

‘Good choice. They’re one of my favourites,’ Bramshaw said, watching her take half the biscuit in one mouthful. ‘I do recall something about two children who might be the ones you’re looking for. But first, can I ask you something about your boss? The detective chief inspector you mentioned on the phone? Sophie something?’

Rae paused in her chewing, puzzled. ‘DCI Allen. Why?’

‘Because thirty-five years ago I think I may have taught her in her primary school, in Bristol. She would have been about ten then and I was in my second teaching job after qualifying. If it is her, and I think it is, Sophie Carswell would have been her name then. I found out that the Sophie I remember had gone on to study law, joined the police and has ended up in Dorset. Is it her? Did she come from Bristol originally? She was the brightest child I ever came across in that school. She knew her own mind, though.’

‘Could be. I’ll mention it to her when I get back to Dorchester, shall I?’ Rae didn’t want to give too much away. Was he trying to winkle out personal information for some reason? ‘If it is her I’m sure she’ll be in touch. If not, I’ll let you know. Is that okay?’

‘Of course.’ He took a sip of coffee. ‘Now, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to what you said on the telephone, and I may be able to help you. There were two children, twins, a boy and a girl. They were half Chinese, as you wondered. I only met their mother, and she was English. The boy’s name was Kenneth and the girl’s Jasmine. They were with us for only one term, in about 1995, although I’m not absolutely sure of the year. But for the life of me I can’t remember the surname.’

‘Maybe it was a bit hard to remember if it was Chinese.’

‘But I don’t think it was. Chinese, I mean. I have a feeling that the surname they used was British. Anyway, they left suddenly at the end of term. I seem to remember the mother saying that she was moving to America.’

‘Which term do you think it was?’

‘The fact that it stuck in my mind suggests that they didn’t start in September. I don’t think they left at the end of the school year. My impression is that they were only with us during the spring term and left at Easter.’

‘Can you remember anything about them? What they were like as pupils?’

He paused, evidently thinking hard. ‘Well, they were only with us for about three months, remember, so we wouldn’t have found out much about them in that short time. As far as I recall they were a really nice couple of kids. The boy played piano and the girl flute. They did a duet for us at one of our assemblies. That’s how I remembered them after you called yesterday. It had stuck in my mind. They were talented for a couple of eight-year-olds.’

‘And you didn’t ask why they left?’

‘Well, I’m pretty certain that the mother told us when they started that they’d only be with us for a few months. She then came in at the end of term and confirmed that she’d just landed a job somewhere else, so they’d be moving during the holidays. She took some of their work with them, along with a summary report for their new school.’ He put down his coffee. ‘Anyway, you haven’t told me why you want to know about them. I suppose it must be something fairly serious.’

Rae looked at him, astonished. ‘You mean you don’t know? You haven’t guessed? Don’t you watch the news or read the newspapers?’

‘I’ve been away for a fortnight’s holiday, a cruise in the Caribbean. I only got back the day before yesterday. Why?’

‘Last weekend we dug up the bodies of two small children in a back garden in Dorchester. They’d been there for about twenty years. I assumed you’d guessed the reason for the call.’

His face turned pale.

‘Oh God. That’s dreadful.’ He took a breath. ‘And you think that’s why they didn’t come back to school? That something happened to them and they didn’t get to their new home? That’s awful beyond words. This is a complete shock.’

‘If the mother was English, the father was probably Chinese, at least partly. You didn’t ever meet him?’

Bramshaw shook his head. He seemed to shiver. ‘No,’ he whispered. ‘There was never any indication of a father being around for the children. None ever appeared at any event we held, as far as I can remember.’

Rae finished her coffee. ‘We have a facial reconstruction expert working on their probable appearances. Once it’s complete I’d like you to see the images, just to confirm. We may be barking up the wrong tree entirely, and if so we need to know.’

He nodded. His cheerful demeanour had vanished without trace. ‘Is this the kind of stuff that your boss, my Sophie Carswell possibly, has to deal with?’

‘Perhaps not always quite as harrowing as this case, but broadly, yes.’

‘How does she cope?’

Rae shrugged. ‘Mental toughness. We have to try to shut out our emotions, and just get on with the investigation.’

‘It must take a toll, though.’

‘Possibly.’ Rae was unwilling to say more. I've only just met the man, she thought to herself.

‘Please tell her I was asking about her. If it is her, will you ask her if we can meet?’

‘Yes, I can do that.’ Rae stood up. ‘Thanks for giving me your time, and for the coffee and biscuits.’

‘Just a minute.’ Bramshaw disappeared into the kitchen, and came back with the rest of the biscuits, still in the tin.

‘For her, even if it isn’t her. And you. You both deserve them.’

* * *

Rae looked around her at the ancient, stone walls and listened to the chatter of voices. She was in the refectory of Salisbury Cathedral, one of her favourite places to eat, and had just finished lunch. She looked across the table at Stevie Harrison, one of her ex-colleagues. He was using a crust of bread to wipe the last remaining traces of gravy from his plate.

‘You always did enjoy your food, Stevie. I’m surprised you haven’t ballooned to twice your size since we last met.’

Harrison laughed. ‘Sharon won’t let me. I’m only allowed chips once a week and I have to count the calories and exercise every day. It’s like I’m living in my own private police state.’

‘Is it worth it though?’ Rae smiled.

‘Oh yes. I feel good about myself and I do get my rewards. She’s really hot — in every way.’ He winked at her.

‘I should be horrified at such a comment, but I’m not. I’m happy for you.’

‘Nothing yet for you in the romance department? Or is that too personal a question?’

‘No, it isn’t, not from you. And no, nothing yet. The problem is I just don’t know what I want. Now I’m a woman, I don’t know whether I want a straight relationship with a man or a lesbian one with another woman. I think my mind is still sorting itself out and getting to grips with the new me. But time is ticking by.’

‘Get stuck in, Rae, that’s my advice. Life is for living, after all. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, would it, if you dabbled a bit and found something wasn’t for you? What’s to lose?’

Rae nodded. ‘It’s partly because I’m so happy with my life. I’m kind of basking in a warm glow all the time and I don’t want to spoil it. It’s such a new experience for me, being happy in my own skin.’ She drained her tea. ‘Where is he now by the way, the Swindon Tosspot?’

‘I’m not totally sure. He went for promotion about the same time as you left the team. It’s unbelievable. How can someone keep getting promoted just to get rid of them? You’d think it was a made-up story. What’s the quickest way to shift someone like that out of harm’s way? Give him a quick promotion into yet another desk job. Last rumour I heard was that he was applying for a post in Dorset. He had nowhere left to hide in Wiltshire. He’d pissed everybody off, from the Chief Constable down to the tea-ladies.’

Rae tensed, horrified at the thought that her erstwhile nemesis was working somewhere near her. ‘What? I didn’t know that. Are you sure?’

‘I’ve no idea where he actually ended up. They’d have been nuts to take him on, but he went somewhere. That’s all I know. We had a night out to celebrate after he’d gone.’ Stevie suddenly looked dreamy. ‘That’s where I got off with Sharon. She was in the same pub, with a couple of friends. The luckiest night of my life. That’s what she keeps telling me.’

Rae laughed. ‘Is it true?’

‘Probably, yes. She’s a woman and a half, I can tell you. Not size-wise, she’s dinky. But every other way.’

Rae looked at her watch. ‘I’d better be going, Stevie. It was great meeting up like this. Can we do it again if I’m up this way? Or maybe have an evening out? It only takes me an hour or so to drive from Wareham.’

‘Yeah, why not? I had visions of you looking like a bloke in a frock, you know, sitting with your legs apart, but you look brilliant. I’d never have known if I hadn’t already, if that makes sense. I could bring a couple of pals along. You never know. You might fancy one of them.’

Rae laughed. ‘Let me think about that, okay?’ She leant across, gave him a peck on the cheek and left the restaurant. There was a lot to think about, not least that she’d have to find out whether Stevie’s news about the Tosspot was correct. Was her honeymoon period in Dorset over so soon?