The Unburied Past (10 page)

She reached for his hand. ‘You've been on edge ever since the weekend,' she said. ‘Something's happened, hasn't it?'

He glanced at her and sighed. He disliked confidences, particularly in respect of his own affairs, but he needed to get this off his chest and there was no one else to whom he could unburden himself. Gina would at least be discreet, added to which their remaining time together was limited, so there was no risk of her envisaging a deepening of the bond between them.

He came to a decision. ‘You could say that; my aunt and uncle broke their long-standing vow of silence and informed me that my parents had not died in a car crash as I'd always been told, but were in fact brutally murdered.'

Gina gasped, her hand tightening on his. ‘God, Adam!' Whatever she'd been anticipating, it was not that. ‘How
terrible
! But … why didn't they tell you before?'

‘Good question, and one I can't answer. They were always talking about them when I was younger, waiting for me to ask questions, but I knew all I needed to know – or thought I did – and as far as I was concerned the past was the past. Yet never in all those years was there the slightest hint that they'd been murdered. It seems that for reasons best known to themselves, my aunt and uncle and the relatives who adopted my sister decreed we should be kept in the dark indefinitely. It was only the prospect of my going over there that forced them to come clean, and now that I
am
showing some interest, they hit the roof and try to warn me off.'

‘But what actually
happened
– to your parents, I mean? Or don't you want to talk about it?'

He slammed his free hand on the steering wheel. ‘Of
course
I do, Gina! I
need
to talk about it, to try to make sense of it.' He drew a deep breath. ‘They were battered over the head while the four of us were on holiday, my father out on the driveway, my mother indoors. By the luck of the gods my sister and I weren't harmed, probably because the killers didn't know we were there.' He turned to face her. ‘But I'm having to guess that, because d'you know the best bit?
They never caught them!
Can you believe that? The murdering bastards are still strutting about somewhere, happy as Larry and, as far as I can see, no one seems particularly bothered.'

‘But surely it must still be on police files?' she stammered. ‘As a cold case?'

‘Possibly, but I shall be making it bloody hot again, I can tell you.'

Her eyes widened. ‘You're not thinking of doing anything yourself?'

‘You bet I am! I'm going to stir it up until they'll be forced to make it top priority. What gets me is that the rest of the family has been sitting meekly back for the last twenty-odd years, waiting for a result. Well, I intend to go out and get one.'

‘But surely there won't be anything to go on after all this time?'

‘I intend to go right back to the beginning, read up the first account of the murders and follow it as far as it goes, in the local press and elsewhere; check, for instance, if they took DNA samples. It was pretty new back then, and I'm not sure how widely it was used.'

‘Suppose the killers find out you're on their trail?' Gina faltered.

‘I hope they do,' Adam replied grimly. ‘It will make them easier to flush out.'

She looked at him despairingly. ‘You will be careful, won't you? Not lay yourself open to any danger?'

‘People have been “careful”, as you put it, for the last twenty-six years, and it's got them precisely nowhere.'

She was silent, going over what he'd said and fearful of the perils he might bring on himself. ‘I suppose,' she said finally, ‘there's nothing I can say to make you change your mind?'

‘Not a thing.' Then, relenting, he squeezed her hand in his. ‘Don't worry, honey; I might be determined but I'm not foolhardy. I shan't take unnecessary risks.'

And with that, she had to be content.

Back in his apartment, Adam was gazing out at the heat haze when his phone interrupted his brooding, and he saw that the caller was Charlotte. He sighed, steeling himself for an argument. ‘Hi, Charlotte,' he said resignedly.

‘Hi yourself. I'm calling to say you're taking me to lunch tomorrow.'

‘That's very decent of me.' He paused but she didn't elucidate. ‘Will the brat be with you? Screaming infants are detrimental to my digestion.'

‘It would be so nice,' Charlotte said tightly, ‘if just
occasionally
you thought of someone other than yourself.'

He dropped into an easy chair, leant back and gazed up at the ceiling. ‘This exchange doesn't bode well for our tryst.'

‘But since you ask, Ben won't be with me, no. So – is it a date?'

‘Your wish is my command. Where am I taking you?'

‘The Lysander.'

He sighed. ‘I was hoping for a pizzeria.'

‘Sorry, we're doing this in style. I've booked a table for twelve thirty.'

‘Suppose I'd had a previous engagement?'

‘You'd have cancelled it,' she said calmly.

‘OK, you win. Twelve thirty tomorrow at the Lysander.'

‘See you,' she said, and broke the connection.

The Lysander was a small but prestigious hotel in downtown Toronto, a favourite rendezvous with the glitterati but equally popular with businessmen and women who sealed contracts over its tables.

Though suspicious of Charlotte's motives, it suited Adam to be lunching out. Time had lain heavy on his hands since the end of term, and more than once he'd regretted not having started out earlier on his European tour. It was also increasingly difficult to sidestep the invitations issued weekly by Lynne and Harry, but quite simply he did not want to see them. He presumed Charlotte was acting as their emissary.

‘Adam!'

He turned as she approached, offering her cool cheek for his kiss. He obliged, and stood back to study her: crisp linen dress, tanned legs, high-heeled sandals – and brown eyes that met his challengingly.

‘You're looking good, cousin,' he said.

‘You're not so bad yourself,
cousin
.'

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Drink in the bar before we go through?'

‘Certainly.'

He settled her at a table and went to order their drinks. ‘And a Martini soda for my cousin,' she heard him say.

When he returned with the glasses, she said curiously, ‘Tell me, why do you always refer to Claire and me as your cousins?'

He glanced at her in surprise. ‘Because that's what you are.'

‘But we're also adoptive siblings, a much closer relationship. Calling us cousins is like keeping us at arm's length.'

He gave a wry smile. ‘I've never analysed it, but I guess you're right. The fact is, Charlotte, I'm the original lone wolf. I've never been close to anyone.'

He saw that he'd shocked her. ‘That's just not true!' she protested. ‘You're a member of the family – why won't you accept that?'

‘Because the family I
really
belonged to fell apart when I was two. Parents killed, sister taken away. And admit it – part of you always resented my being foisted on you. That's why we fought as kids – and often still do!' he added with a smile.

But she didn't return it. ‘If I'm in any way responsible for making you feel that, I'll never forgive myself.'

‘Oh, hey, let's not get heavy here! We're meeting for lunch, remember, not analysis!'

‘But seriously, Adam, is that why you keep Mom and Pop at bay? It really hurts them, you know, and especially now, when you're about to take off for a whole year and you keep putting off going to see them.'

His face had darkened. ‘They know the reason for that.'

She leaned forward impulsively, her small hand on his. ‘They told us about your parents – what really happened, I mean. I can't begin to imagine how you feel, specially learning about it at this late date, but it really wasn't their fault, surely you see that?'

He withdrew his hand. ‘Frankly, no. What the Marriotts chose to do is their business – they're more than three thousand miles away. But that's no reason for Lynne and Harry not to have told me the truth when I was old enough. I'm not sure I can forgive them.'

‘“Lynne and Harry,”' she repeated sadly. ‘Mom says that even as a toddler you never called them Mommy and Daddy, and I remember you dropping the “uncle and aunt” when you were about fourteen.' She gave a fleeting smile. ‘I asked if I could use their first names too and was given very short shrift.'

‘That's the reason you're here, isn't it?' he accused. ‘To put in a good word for them, persuade me to see them?'

‘It's one reason, yes, but I also wanted time with you before you go. Whatever you might say, I think of you as my brother.'

‘Oh, Charlie,' he said softly. He tossed back his drink and put his glass firmly on the table. ‘All right, I'll see them, but only for your sake.'

‘And you won't be all prickly and difficult?'

He raised his eyebrows. ‘
Moi?
'

Despite herself, she smiled. ‘Promise?'

‘I promise. Now, can we change the subject and go and find some lunch?'

‘Gladly!' she said.

O
n the Friday morning a registered packet arrived at the house addressed to Kirsty. It contained a two-pound box of luxury chocolates and a note reading simply,
Sweets for my Sweet
.

‘This isn't remotely amusing any more,' she declared. ‘In fact, it's becoming rather sinister, and this time I
am
going to throw them in the bin.'

Angie looked up from a tray of flapjacks. ‘In case they're laced with cyanide?'

‘I know you think I'm overreacting, but I'm not taking any chances.'

‘You could pass them on to me,' Angie suggested. ‘I'd be happy to risk death by chocolate!'

But Kirsty shook her head. ‘You may be, but I'm not going to be responsible.'

‘Oh, come on! I wasn't
serious
about the cyanide!'

‘Nevertheless,' Kirsty said enigmatically, and returned to her baking.

The word ‘gateaux' in their company name was actually more wide-ranging than it implied, since it also encompassed a variety of less exotic fare such as cupcakes, brownies, meringues and so on. Their customers – coffee shops, patisseries and the odd restaurant – were roughly divided between those who ordered weekly and those requiring only a monthly delivery. However, since all their products were routinely frozen to avoid the need for preservatives, the actual cooking schedule didn't vary much. The two large freezers gradually filled with ready-packed cakes until the requisite delivery day, when orders were loaded into the van and driven round the county by one or other of Angie's three brothers, all of whom worked in their father's wholesale business. Fortunately he had no objection to lending a helping hand to his daughter and her partner. The van itself – an expensive though necessary early purchase – was kept in the small yard behind the house, whose existence had been one of its main selling points. The yard provided access to an alleyway used principally by the dustmen, which meant that the van could be loaded directly from the kitchen and driven out via the alley, confining all business activity to the back of the house.

At lunchtime, when they returned to their living quarters for a half-hour break, Kirsty took the opportunity to swallow a couple of headache pills. ‘It's been coming on all morning,' she said in response to Angie's raised eyebrow. Partly due, she admitted privately, to increasing anxiety about the unsolicited gifts coming her way.

Angie was on her wavelength. ‘Look, if you're really worried about all this, you should tell the police.'

‘What could they do, when I've no idea who's sending them?'

‘It's harassment, after all, and they should at least know about it.' She hesitated. ‘And without wanting to worry you, whoever it is obviously knows your address.'

Kirsty shivered irrepressibly.

‘Look, take the afternoon off,' Angie suggested. ‘We're ahead of schedule and I can easily cope with what's left.'

‘Would you mind?' Kirsty asked gratefully. ‘I'm sure a little fresh air would work wonders.'

‘Well, it's dry for once so go and relax in the park for an hour or two – it'll do you good. And on your way home, call in at the police station.'

Accordingly, after lunch Kirsty set off on foot for the park in the town centre, a paperback in her handbag.

Lacy Park, referred to in tourist brochures as ‘the green heart of Westbourne', was named after Sir George Lacy, a Regency businessman who had founded the town, and was much appreciated by its residents, containing as it did a bowling green, tennis courts, greenhouses of exotic plants and stretching lawns where, in summer, office workers took their lunchtime sandwiches.

Two crescents of handsome Regency buildings curved round the park on either side, housing such institutions as the town hall, banks, Westbourne's premier hotel and the main library. Very few commercial premises were permitted in this enclave, and those that were – an eminent department store, a high-class delicatessen and a coffee house that had been there from the beginning – were unable, even if they wanted, to alter the frontage of their premises – a decree made by Sir George and reiterated some hundred years later by a diligent town council.

At the southern end of the park, in the gap between the crescents, a road led uphill less steeply than its northern counterpart, and it was here, in a commanding position over the town centre, that the buildings and grounds of Westbourne College were situated.

The office workers had departed by the time Kirsty reached the park and it was given over to young mothers with their children, elderly residents on benches and business people hurrying across it from one crescent to the other. She was making for her favourite place, a secluded spot overlooking a fountain, when she rounded a corner and almost collided with a man hurrying from the opposite direction. They had both started to apologize when they broke off in startled recognition, and Kirsty found herself face-to-face with Lance Pemberton for the first time since they'd split up.