Buried in the Past (19 page)

He unlocked the door and felt for the light switch. ‘She’s here. And it looks as if she’s been hurt. Call an ambulance.’

Nash hurried down the steps. His heart was pounding with fear for the girl’s safety. She was laying face down, her body curled as if she was asleep. Nash felt her neck and located a pulse. He sighed with relief, his worry easing even more as he felt how strong it was. She moved slightly.

‘Tina, can you hear me? It’s Mike, Mike Nash. You’ve had a fall. Don’t try to move.’

He looked up. The constable was waiting at the top of the steps. ‘Is the ambulance on its way?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Right, go upstairs and find me a blanket or a quilt, something to keep her warm.’

He heard footsteps as the man moved to obey the command. Nash looked down at Tina. She’d moved slightly and he could see the side of her face. Blood was seeping from a cut on her forehead. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and carefully wiped the blood away. The cut didn’t look too bad. Once he’d cleaned the area, Nash stroked her cheek gently. He wondered if she could feel the caress, and if she could, would it comfort her in any way. It was all he could do, except wait and hope for the best.

Tina’s return to consciousness was accompanied by pain. She could feel a dull throbbing ache in her head and a sharper, stabbing
sensation
in her left arm. Added to these were a number of areas of her body and legs that felt as if they’d been hit with something hard. She tried to remember what had happened to her, but couldn’t. She had been driving. Was that the answer? Had she crashed her car?

She opened her eyes, blinking in the bright light from what appeared to be a long tube above her. As her eyes focused she realized it was indeed a strip light. ‘Where am I?’

She hadn’t realized she’d asked the question aloud until she
heard a voice from alongside where she was lying. ‘You’re in a cubicle in the A and E department at Netherdale General Hospital.’

The voice was that of a man and although Tina thought she should know who he was, for the moment, she couldn’t identify him. She turned her head slightly to try and see who had spoken, but as she did so the pain intensified sharply. ‘What happened? Did I have a car accident?’

‘No, you weren’t in your car at the time, but you did have some sort of an accident. I was rather hoping you could tell me.’

Her eyes were still not right, because she could see two people, both speaking at once, but as she blinked again they merged into one. Mike, that was his name, but how did she know him? Was he a friend, someone she worked with? ‘How did I end up here?’

‘I found you at the bottom of the cellar steps in your mother’s house. Can you remember anything?’

‘I must have fallen and banged my head,’ Tina told him. ‘I think I went there to get something.’

‘Are you certain that was what happened? Because I don’t think it was quite that straightforward.’

‘Your name’s Mike, isn’t it?’

‘That’s right. Can’t you remember anything more? It might be important.’

‘I don’t think so. I know your name’s Mike, but I can’t think who you are. I know this is going to sound silly, but are we…?’

She saw his face change and wondered if she had upset him. ‘No,’ he told her gently, ‘I was concerned about you because of something else that happened. Are you able to remember that? I’m a police officer, if that helps.’

It was really strange; one minute she could recall little or nothing about what had happened to her, the next, she remembered
everything
. ‘I was staying at the hotel because of the break-in, and I realized I’d left an important file at Mother’s house. I went back to get it. I went inside, and when I got to the kitchen the cellar door was open. I went across to close it.’ Tina shivered. ‘Then someone pushed me; pushed me right down the stairs. Then … nothing. Nothing, until I woke up a few minutes ago.’

‘I knew it couldn’t have been an accident because the cellar door
was locked and you couldn’t have done that.’ Nash smiled. ‘Not unless you limbo-danced under the door after locking it.’

‘You think the same people came back again? The ones who tried to get in the night before?’

‘I believe so.’

‘Why did you come to the house? Did someone raise the alarm?’

‘Yes and no. I got word that the village hall had been on fire and the officer detailed to guard the cottage went to see if he could help. He’ll be in trouble for that. When he came back he found your car outside, but couldn’t raise you, so I was called out and we broke the door down. That was when I found you.’

‘I don’t understand. If you had to break the door down, how did the burglars get in?’

‘That wouldn’t be a problem if they were professionals, believe me.’

‘What were they looking for? My mother isn’t wealthy; quite the opposite. There are no great treasures in the house, so what are they after?’

‘I can’t tell you that. Not at the moment, anyway.’

Tina looked down, and saw that her left forearm was encased in a pot. ‘Is it broken?’

‘Afraid so.’

‘No wonder it hurts. My head’s throbbing, too.’

‘You’ve had a nasty bump on the head; that’s what knocked you out. And you’ve got a gash on your temple. The doctors will be in to see you, now you’re awake. They’ll want to keep you in to make sure you haven’t got concussion.’

‘Oh,’ Tina felt the plaster with her right hand. ‘I must look dreadful.’

‘Not from here, you don’t.’

‘How long will they keep me here for, do you think?’

‘Another twenty-four hours at least, I reckon.’

‘But what about my mother? She’s due home this morning, and I promised to be at the market place to meet her. The coach arrives at six.’

Nash patted her hand. ‘Don’t worry; it’s all taken care of. Sergeant Mironova is waiting there already. I’ve asked her to take
your mother to Helmsdale police station. After we’ve had a word with her, I’m going to bring her here.’

‘I’m sorry, I seem to be causing you a lot of trouble and extra work.’

‘It doesn’t matter. You’re safe and you’re going to be all right. That’s what’s important. Now, I have to go, but I’ll see you later.’

Tina watched him leave. As he turned by the cubicle curtain he looked back and smiled reassuringly. Tina stretched, comforted by his concern for her. A hundred bruises protested.

As Clara introduced Margaret Fawcett, two things struck Nash immediately about the woman. The first was that, although there could be no mistaking the family likeness, her resemblance to Tina was nowhere near as strong as that of Frankie Da Silva to the younger woman.

The second of Nash’s impressions, might, he thought, have contributed to lessening the likeness, for whereas the photo of Frankie Da Silva had shown her to be elegantly groomed and immaculately presented, the same could certainly not be said of Margaret. The kindest description of her, Nash felt, would be to say that she was dressed tidily.

Her hair was cut short and straight, more like a man’s than a woman’s. She wore no jewellery, not even studs in her ears, nor was there any other form of adornment about her person. She had no make-up on, and her clothes, although reasonably new, were of a style designed more with older women in mind, or certainly those who were making absolutely no effort to attract attention.

Her handshake was brief, little more than a slight, instant contact and release. As they took their places in the interview room, Nash deliberately placed his chair in the corner, well out of Margaret’s direct line of sight, making a clear statement that he was primarily an observer in the proceedings, which would be under the care and control of DS Mironova.

He had not discussed how Clara should conduct the interview, or what line of questioning she should pursue, but if he thought her approach might be gentler, more tactful than his would have been, he soon realized that this was not to be the case.

Clara explained to Margaret why they wished to speak to her, told her about the two break-ins at the cottage, and, once she had reassured her that Tina’s injuries were not serious, decided to tackle the woman head on. ‘Why do you live under an alias? Tina informed us that the name you’re using isn’t your own, but we would have worked that out anyway.’

For a few moments Nash thought Margaret wasn’t going to reply. After some hesitation, she began to speak, slowly at first but once she started there was no stopping her, even had the detectives wanted to. The story she told was one of almost unbelievable brutality.

‘It has become a habit. And I suppose that although the main reason no longer exists, it could still cause … difficulties if certain people got to know my real name, or my whereabouts.’

‘Can you explain?’

Margaret paused, little more than a slight hesitation. ‘There are some people, friends of someone I was once involved with, who might wish to do me harm.’ She faltered again. ‘It all began when I went to work in Harrogate. I met a man there and fell in love with him. He seemed so nice, so devoted and attentive, but after we started living together, I found out that it had all been an act, designed to trap me.’

She smiled, but it was an expression of bitterness rather than pleasure. ‘I have to admit it was a very convincing act, but then perhaps he was feeding on my desire to believe in him. We had only been together a few weeks when he announced that he was, as he put it, “going out with the lads that evening”. I assume a lot of women hear that statement on a regular basis and think no more about it, but I soon learned to dread it.

‘It was around three o’clock in the morning when he came home. He was drunk’ – Margaret’s eyes flicked momentarily towards Nash – ‘and demanded sex. I wasn’t exactly overjoyed at the prospect, but I didn’t mind that much.’ Her gaze once again went in the direction of the corner where Nash was seated, before dropping to study the table top. ‘Because he’d drunk too much, he couldn’t … well, do anything. And that infuriated him. He decided it was my fault and took his anger out on me, in the form of a verbal
assault accompanied by a vicious beating. What I believe is known as giving me a good hiding. For someone with very little experience of men, and who only heard of such things happening to women in other countries, in other ways of life, the shock was almost as brutal as the attack. I had absolutely no idea how to cope with it. I soon realized there was nothing I could have done to prevent it, or to stop it recurring. It was the nature of the beast, I’m afraid.

‘The same thing happened another three or four times, and I was still trying to work out how I might be able to get away from this dreadful situation I was in, when things got a whole lot worse.’

‘Why didn’t you leave him?’ Clara asked.

‘It wasn’t because I wanted to stay, believe me. But I didn’t know where to go, who to turn to for help, not then. As I said, I was young and inexperienced, and I didn’t know very many people in and around Harrogate at that time. Certainly not people I could go to for help. As for the rest, my parents were dead, and other options were closed to me. We worked at the same place and a lot of people there knew we were together, and assumed we were happy. Above all else, in one of his more sober moments, he threatened that if I mentioned a word about what had happened, he would kill me, and make absolutely certain I suffered before I died.’

‘And you believed that?’

Margaret shuddered. ‘Of course I did. After his first attack I began reading articles about my situation. I soon found that many women who had endured what I was being subjected to commented that when their abuser sobered up he was apologetic, tearful, begged forgiveness. I regret to say, I experienced nothing of that nature.’ Margaret’s eyes dropped to her hands, clasped tightly on her lap.

‘You said things became worse. I don’t see how they could. What happened?’ Clara asked, more gently than before.

‘The drinking sessions became more and more frequent, and some weeks he was out four or five nights in a row. The only positive side to that was that often the knock-on effect of the continuous boozing made him fall asleep before he could beat me. However, his drinking was taking all our money. As soon as he’d gone through his own wage, he started on mine. I managed to
pay the bills, but more often than not he’d blow the housekeeping money on drink and then complain because there was no food in the house. I told him once that the reason we had nothing to eat was because he’d spent the food money. That was a terrible mistake. I found out that the beating he could dish out sober was far more effective than what he could manage when he was drunk.’

Margaret paused for a long time and Clara was about to prompt her with another question, when she continued, avoiding eye contact with Nash. Her voice dropped to little more than a whisper as she described the next part of her ordeal. ‘One Friday evening after he’d gone out, I decided to take a bath. I think it was as much to do with stress relief as anything. What I dared not do was lock the door in case he returned unexpectedly. That had happened once, and he’d accused me of having someone else in the house. That was nonsense, of course, because I would certainly not invite anyone there, but it served as a good enough excuse for another beating.

‘I had just got out of the bath and gone into the bedroom. I was about to get dressed when I heard the front door open and close, and thought I’d done the right thing. I was sure he’d come back early, probably because he’d run out of money and wanted more. I actually called out his name, but there was no reply. The next minute, the bedroom door opened and I saw one of his drinking cronies standing there, a big brute of a man I’d disliked from the first time I saw him. One look at his face and I knew I was in trouble.’

Margaret stopped and took a deep breath. Nash could see that her hands were trembling and guessed she was close to tears as she described the harrowing details of her ordeal. ‘He walked across and yanked the towel from around me. He stood looking at me for a long time, as I pleaded with him to go away, to leave me alone. I don’t know … I’m not sure … I think my pleading simply made things worse. I think he wanted me to beg. He pushed me onto the bed, pinned me down and forced my legs apart. He started doing things, horrible things … then he raped me. Not once, but several times. Even now, after all these years, I can still remember the obscenities he used as he was doing it, and the horrible smell of the
cheap aftershave mixed with his body odour.’

In the silence that followed, Clara spoke, her tone a gentler one than Nash had ever heard her use. ‘Did you report it, or tell your partner what the man had done to you?’

‘How could I? In those days the attitude to rape and the way it was dealt with by … by … by people like you was far different. There were fewer female officers for one thing, and proving rape was by no means as easy. That much I did know. And as for telling him, all that would do would be to hand him yet another excuse for beating me. Eventually, of course, I had to tell him, and the result was even worse than I feared.’

‘Why did you have to tell him?’

‘Because I found out I was pregnant. He would have known the child couldn’t have been his because we hadn’t had sex for months, even before the rape. But of course he didn’t believe me, and I suppose the fact that I’d delayed telling him only made him more convinced I was lying. His reaction was to call me a slut and a whore. That I must have been doing it with other men, because his friends would never do anything like that. He went on and on, trying to force me to give him the name of the father, of a man who didn’t exist. The more I denied it, the more convinced he became that the reason I couldn’t or wouldn’t tell him was because I’d been with so many different men that choosing the right one to name as the baby’s father would have been impossible.

‘That was the prelude to the worst beating he’d ever given me. He punched and kicked me in the belly and the head until I passed out. I honestly think he was trying to force me to miscarry, but that didn’t work. I almost wish it had. I was unconscious for several hours. Eventually, I came round. By that time he’d walked out, and I never saw him again. I heard later that he went on a bender that lasted for days and got into a pub brawl that turned nasty. He ended up in prison for six months.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I sat there all night and cried and cried. The following morning I rang the only friend I’d made at work. Girl friend, I mean. It was the best move I could have made. With hindsight I wish I’d spoken to her much earlier. She came round immediately, taking no notice
of my warnings about what he might do if he found her there. That was very brave of her, but as I found out later she was no stranger to that sort of situation. She had helped several other women who had been the victims of abusive partners. As soon as she saw the state I was in and found out that I was pregnant, she called her brother, who was the vicar in a local parish. He came to the house and moved me out of there. Gathering my things didn’t take long, because I wanted nothing that I could associate with him.’

‘Where did you go?’

‘They were going to try for the women’s refuge but I was in such a state physically, she put me up at her place until the baby was due. I’d had to give up work, both because of my pregnancy and because I’d be at risk if I went back. It was a relief when I found out he was in prison. It was only after the baby was born that I was advised to adopt another name, to protect me for when he was released. I chose one at random.’ Margaret smiled faintly. ‘Fawcett was off a local butcher’s van, I seem to remember.’

‘What did you live off?’

‘My parents had died a couple of years earlier. As well as the cottage at Kirk Bolton, they left me quite a lot of money. Money he didn’t know about. It was enough to see me through.’

Clara frowned. ‘Why didn’t you move into the cottage to live? Or did he know about that?’

‘No, I kept that secret as well. I would have told him after a while, had things been different. But when I found out what he was like, I knew he’d force me to part with the money to fund his boozing. I couldn’t go to the cottage at that time. It wasn’t safe.’

Both Nash and Mironova sensed that Margaret was keeping something back. Both of them thought they could guess what that was, but neither was certain how to broach the subject. Instead, Nash spoke for the first time, and the question he asked provided a lot more answers than Margaret realized when she replied.

‘What did you do for a living, before you had to give up work?’ Nash asked.

‘I was a midwife at the local hospital where he was an electrician. After I left Harrogate, I heard via my friend that he’d eventually committed suicide. That might have seemed to be the end of it, but
several of his friends blamed me for what had happened, and were heard uttering threats about what they’d do if they found me. That’s why I maintained the false identity.’

‘Why wasn’t it safe to go to the cottage? If he didn’t know anything about it, neither would his friends.’ Clara’s question was followed by a long silence, before Margaret replied. The silence was perhaps more informative than her answer.

‘I can’t tell you that. I promised I’d never speak about it; to anyone.’

Mironova looked at Nash before asking her next question. He nodded, anticipating what it would be. ‘Was that because the cottage was already occupied? Was that where your sister Francesca was hiding out?’

Margaret gasped, then looked wildly from one to the other of the detectives, clearly appalled by the depth of their knowledge. Even then, she was unprepared for the extent of what they knew about events from that time. Clara left it to Nash to begin the process of enlightenment.

‘My guess is that when Frankie’s child was born, you delivered it. A home birth is allowed, I believe, when a registered midwife is present. Was your baby due at around the same time, and did Frankie ask you to look after her child as well as your own?’

‘I … how did you know that? Frankie told me there was
something
she had to do, something she’d promised someone and it was very important. She went off three weeks after the baby was born, leaving me strict instructions in the event that she didn’t return.’

‘When she did fail to return, you must have been really worried. Did you know why she was in hiding?’

‘She told me a little about the people she was scared of. But that wasn’t all that worried me. Early on in her pregnancy, Frankie started to feel really unwell. Far more than just morning sickness. She rang me for advice and I told her to go for a check up. The tests showed she had a heart defect and she was advised to opt for a termination.’ Margaret shook her head sadly. ‘They
underestimated
Frankie’s determination and spirit. She would never have succumbed to the sort of treatment I put up with; she would have fought back, whatever the cost. And so it was with the baby. Frankie
was head over heels in love with the father and she thanked the medical people for their advice, but refused to consider an abortion at any price.’