Bury Him Darkly Read online

  ‘Somebody,’ I told them heavily, because I could detect no undue concern, ‘wants me dead. No, I’ll rephrase that. Somebody wants Tonia dead, and I’m the surrogate Tonia, so I’ll do. Have you two bright characters thought of that?’

  They were smiling at me. Damn them — smiling. Both nodding.

  ‘Isn’t it lucky we’re here,’ said Oliver placidly.

  ‘To do what?’ I demanded.

  ‘Well… Phil, you’ve not been attending. To prove you’re not Tonia Fields.’

  ‘To whom?’ I shot at him. ‘Who is this person you’re going to convince?’

  Oliver frowned, concerned not for me but for my attitude. ‘Connaught, of course.’

  ‘But it isn’t Connaught who’s got to be persuaded.’ I ruffled my hair with both hands, absolutely exasperated with them. ‘It’s somebody who unscrews wheel nuts, somebody who killed Jennie —’

  ‘Somebody, then,’ cut in Oliver, ‘who doesn’t want you proved as not Tonia, somebody who therefore knows you’re not.’

  ‘You’re just trying to complicate things!’ I cried. ‘There’s somebody anonymous. Out there! And how does he get to know I’m the genuine Philipa Lowe, and, whatever he’s got in mind, it’s too late to do it now? Does Connaught send a street-crier with a bell through the town, shouting, “Oyez! Oyez!” and spreading the word? Do we put an advert in the evening paper? Philipa Lowe is not Tonia Fields! Ha! If he heard, he’d assume it was a trick, and not believe a word of it. And there I’ll be, all relaxed, thinking I’m in the clear — and with the bastard still on my tail. Oh… great! That’s just fine! Where can I run to?’

  I was aware that I was going over the top on this, could hear the hint of hysteria in my voice, but really I felt that I was still a potential target. There’s a cold feeling you get in the back of your neck, and it creeps down until you can feel the flesh… flinching. That’s the word. My whole body was flinching. And here they were, lowering their guards already, certain of my future safety.

  Oliver said, ‘Easy now, Phil.’ I could have hit him for that alone. ‘You simply go away. Disappear.’

  ‘And leave it to you two great lummocks! One of you a nursemaid and the other barely able to stand!’

  Then I felt my face crumpling at the enormity of what I’d said, and I was in a storm of tears, with my hands clamped over my eyes.

  Oliver would have known what to do, but he was in no condition to do it. Terry was rigid with embarrassment. They simply waited me out, until I could lift my face and let Oliver thrust a clean handkerchief into my useless fingers so that I could dab away, and whisper round it, ‘Sorry. I’m sorry.’

  I sniffed. Found my voice somewhere down there and dragged it to the surface.

  ‘I want to find out who killed Jennie,’ I said, no tone in my voice. ‘And I don’t care whether I do it as Philipa Lowe or Tonia Fields. As long as it’s done. But I am not going to go away anywhere, not for you, not for anybody, Oliver. Is that clear?’

  They looked at each other, searching each other’s opinion without having to do it aloud. I saw Terry nod slightly. He’d look after me. Oliver was worried.

  ‘I’d like to know more. I’m not sure I could give my permission, Phil, for you...’

  I opened my mouth to tell him what he could do with his permission, but was interrupted by a tap on the door. Before anybody could say another word the door opened, and Inspector Connaught put in his head.

  ‘Can anybody join in?’ he asked happily.

  Chapter 8

  I got to my feet in order to make the introduction. Connaught was clearly unsure of his approach, and was poised to pounce in any direction, according to the temperature of his reception. He was alone. His gaze flicked to my swollen eyes, and away again.

  ‘This is Inspector Connaught,’ I said. ‘My friends, Inspector Oliver Simpson and Constable Terry Alwright.’

  Connaught stepped forward, on his toes and alert, and thrust out his left hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Mr Simpson.’ Then he remembered to nod towards Terry. ‘Constable.’

  ‘And this’, said Oliver, half rising to his feet, ‘is Miss Philipa Lowe. We can identify her officially.’

  I knew that smile of Oliver’s. Connaught should have read the message; he was not making a good impression. But it seemed to pass him by. He was bubbling with news, and so proud you’d have thought he had created it himself.

  ‘It’s a pity you’ve put yourself out,’ he said, looking round to locate a chair. ‘A bit less panic and you’d have saved yourself a journey.’ Collecting the easy chair in one hand, he swung it across the room as though it weighed nothing. He sat, his legs spread and elbows on his knees, his hands spread like semaphore signals. He waggled them. ‘Don’t you think our forensic people are wonderful?’ he asked.

  ‘We probably share the same team,’ said Oliver coolly. ‘I always found them efficient, if a little slow.’

  ‘Ah!’ One hand came down in order to waggle a finger. ‘You have to push ‘em a bit, then they scuttle around.’

  I saw now, with the two inspectors close together, that Connaught was several years Oliver’s senior. It didn’t, though, justify his condescension. Their ranks were the same. Connaught couldn’t have been outstanding in his grade, or he’d have climbed higher, though he’d seemed quite clever to me.

  But he was clearly insensitive in this situation, or he’d have adopted a different approach.

  ‘I take it,’ said Oliver, dangerously mild, ‘that you’ve been doing your bit of pushing, and that you’ve got a report from them.’

  Connaught leaned back, beaming. ‘I’m not going to give them all the credit. Some of it goes to my team. They dug out facts. Ask around, and ye shall find. What we found was that Tonia had an accident when she was about fourteen. Bicycle and a car. The usual thing. But the relevant information is that she had a fracture of her right leg. Not serious — it knitted well and she didn’t limp. And she broke some of her teeth. Upper jaw. These were capped, and we’ve got the dental records.’

  ‘Good work,’ said Oliver. ‘Don’t you think so, Terry?’

  ‘Yes, Chief. Smart. We’d never have thought of that.’ He turned to me and whispered in a penetrating hiss, ‘We’d have asked Bella Fields.’

  I coughed into my hand, and after a bleak smile Connaught continued.

  ‘So they checked the female skeleton. And guess what!’

  ‘No knitted leg fracture, no capped teeth,’ suggested Oliver.

  ‘How can you know that?’

  ‘If it had definitely been Tonia, you’d have said so straightaway. To Philipa. To relieve her anxiety,’ he explained blandly, ‘you appreciating how worried she’s been about being mistaken for Tonia herself.’

  So Oliver did understand, but certainly must have realized that this news did not completely relieve my anxiety.

  Connaught stared blankly around the array of our unenthusiastic faces. ‘Well — doesn’t it do that? We know now. Positively. The corpse isn’t Tonia’s. No more doubt clouding the issue.’

  He’d been over-explaining, trying to force his way through a tight and concerted lack of enthusiasm.

  ‘Doesn’t it?’ he repeated.

  ‘Not really,’ said Oliver. ‘What d’you propose to do with this information?’

  ‘What?’ Connaught seemed not to understand. ‘File it, of course. Discuss it with the Super. Set up enquiries to find somebody else, some other young woman, who disappeared at the same time. If she was around twenty… well, it might not have been reported to us at the time. But we’ll cover the area. You can be sure of that.’

  Oliver didn’t take his eyes from Connaught’s. ‘And you’ll let the media know? That it’s not Tonia Fields,’ he amplified.

  ‘It could help. Somebody might come in… their wife or daughter disappeared… you know.’

  ‘It wouldn’t be a good idea,’ Oliver went on steadily, boring in. Connaught was clearly uneasy. Oliver’s grey eyes were becoming very cold i
ndeed. ‘It doesn’t assist Phil in any way. On the contrary. Can you include in your interview with the press and the TV people and what — not a mention that Philipa Lowe has now been able to prove her real identity?’

  ‘As long as I know, I can’t see it matters.’

  ‘No!’ said Oliver sharply. ‘As long as everybody knows.’

  Connaught still seemed doubtful and stubborn. ‘Can’t pile it on too much,’ he said, moving uncomfortably in his seat, sitting back in order to get as far as possible from those cold grey eyes. ‘The skeleton isn’t Tonia. Philipa Lowe isn’t Tonia. Christ, everybody isn’t Tonia!’

  ‘Except Tonia herself.’

  ‘All the same —’

  ‘But you don’t want to have to face that, do you?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ Each word was painfully separated from its neighbours.

  ‘Somebody’s going to ask, “Then where the devil is Tonia Fields?” And you’ll have to find out. Oh, don’t try to pretend it’s not there. You’ve got to locate Tonia.’

  ‘After ten bleedin’ years!’

  ‘Yes. Somehow. And if it all gets too big for you — more than you can handle — an international job with Interpol co-operating and a chief super taking over… well, that’s what you’ve got to put up with. Because, make no mistake, Mr Connaught, that is the centre point of all this. Where Is Tonia?’ His tone gave it the capitals.

  ‘You’re making a mountain out of this,’ Connaught accused him belligerently.

  ‘No, my friend, it’s you who’s made the mountain, by letting it get out of hand. You should’ve put your foot down on any suggestion that Phil could be Tonia, from the very first moment. Squashed it. Somebody, Connaught,’ said Oliver coldly and decisively, ‘somebody out there is trying to kill Tonia Fields. That’s what it comes down to. Don’t you see, man, that you’ve got to find her now! Somehow. And for God’s sake clear Phil out of the reckoning right now.’

  ‘It might not be possible.’

  ‘Then make it so.’

  Connaught got to his feet, the chair twisting under the tight grip of his hand. His finger pointed, and was jabbed in emphasis.

  ‘You come here, to my patch, and think you can dictate! Let me tell you, friend — you sign out of this hotel and you sod off back home, taking your Philipa Lowe with you. This is my case, my patch. Bugger off out of it.’

  Terry was rising from the bed in slow motion, like a spring lazily unwinding. ‘No,’ he said. ‘We’re going to stick around.’

  ‘Don’t argue with me, Constable! I’ll have you out —’

  ‘No,’ Terry repeated. ‘Jennie was my woman. Does that make it clear?’

  ‘I shall report the whole meeting...’ He made for the door.

  ‘Oh,’ put in Oliver. ‘One other thing. If I were you, I’d spread my enquiries around, if you’ll accept a bit of advice. You might not be hunting simply for somebody who disappeared ten years ago.’

  ‘I don’t know what the hell you mean.’

  ‘Don’t assume they were buried together and at the same time.’

  ‘Well of course...’ Connaught allowed himself a small sneer. ‘How else could they have been buried side by side?’

  ‘Different times, but buried by the same person.’

  Connaught stared at him for a protracted few seconds, then he slammed out of the door.

  Still on his feet, Terry stared at the door. His colour was high. ‘I’ll kill him,’ he muttered. ‘So help me!’

  ‘Sit down, laddie,’ said Oliver. He seemed more pleased than upset. ‘We’ve got some planning to do.’

  Terry sat, again beside me. He pouted at my smile. ‘Temper!’ I said quietly.

  ‘What do we know about him?’ Oliver asked, mainly to me. ‘This Inspector Connaught is interesting.’

  I too thought him to be interesting, but in a way I couldn’t analyse, and found disturbing. ‘What’s there to know? I don’t get your point.’

  ‘A bit unconventional, isn’t he? I mean, you’d expect him to travel around with a sergeant or constable at his shoulder, to take notes and record circumstances. That sort of thing. But Phil, he’s interviewed you and Bella, and both together — and he’s always been alone. Have you been asked to make a statement? Has he done anything in an official way?’

  ‘From you,’ I said, ‘that sounds marvellous! You’ve always worked like that… off the record. With me —’

  ‘That was different.’

  ‘It’s your own style, Oliver. Admit it.’

  ‘Hmm!’ he said, frowning. ‘All the same… he plays cat and mouse. Who knows what’s true and what isn’t? He’s a local man. He was probably born here, and knows everything.’

  ‘You’re making too much of it,’ I said quietly. I didn’t want him stressed, and wasn’t sure that already the strain under which he was operating wasn’t affecting his concentration, blunting his perspective.

  ‘All the same, we’ll keep it in mind. Now...’ He slapped his left knee. ‘There’s planning to do. Where to start. Terry?’

  ‘What? Sir?’ Terry had been immersed in his own thoughts. ‘I’d suggest food, Chief. As a priority.’

  ‘It’ll have to be a sandwich, then.’

  ‘I can do better than that,’ I told them. ‘A fish and chip restaurant. How’s that sound? A Chinese fish and chip restaurant. I bet they never close. Fish and chips and Cantonese takeaway. What d’you say?’

  They smiled and they nodded. It would do famously.

  So, the three of us together, with me in the middle feeling minuscule between two such large men, we walked through the town in a glorious and pure sunlight, the air clear and crisp, and all the world flooding the streets. Saturday afternoon. They’d have driven in from miles around.

  It’s the way to get the feel of a town, on foot in the streets. You could sense the throb and progress of a thousand years through the soles of your shoes, or cast wary eyes up the narrow alley-ways, still cobbled and with drainage channels, all bearing ancient and honourable names. Sheepfold. Luke’s Acre. Tuesday Pasture. History thrust out all around. Shops actually thrust out, willy-nilly, constricting the pavements for a few yards, narrowing the already tight roadway. And there was a car-park after all, behind the modern flare of Sainsbury’s, its surface old and pitted, and obviously the now abandoned livestock market. But no more the chattered mumbo-jumbo of the auctioneer and the stench of meat-on-the-hoof. Now the spinning of engines, the blast of horns, and the stench of pollution.

  It was a nervous, tight little town, with tension in the air and crackling with static. Struggling to accommodate new ideas and the already visible spread of its boundaries, it had not yet decided whether the future was to be better or worse. Certainly it would not be the same. Perhaps only the venerable Green would survive, isolated in a new and thrusting metropolis. At one time everybody had known everybody, a time not much more than forty years in the past, one could guess. Already, they were strangers in their own streets, we three no more strangers than the rest. Anonymous — one woman and two men, jostled and stepped round by people who knew nothing of a ten-year-old tragedy, and to whom the discovery of two skeletons was a one-day wonder.

  ‘It’s along here,’ I said. ‘I think.’

  ‘There’ll be money flooding into this town,’ observed Oliver, apparently not listening. ‘Money to be made when that motorway goes through.’

  ‘I’ll drive you up there later,’ I told him. ‘You’ll need to see the location of the two houses and the general set-up.’

  ‘Yes. We’d better have a look at it. Terry?’

  ‘I smell fish and chips,’ said Terry, his thoughts elsewhere.

  Now I recognized the side street, looking so different, and in some ways more squalid in daylight. There would be a couple of hours before the light began to disappear, perhaps more with the sun in a clear sky, but that side of the street was shaded, and the lights were on in Soo Long’s, strangely making it seem darker than its
surroundings. But to me, fish and chips were associated with newspaper wrappings, walking dark streets companionably with greasy fingers.

  It appeared that, although we were in a hinterland between lunch and evening dinner, the restaurant was nevertheless busy. I led the way through to the seating area at the rear. There was one empty table with four chairs, near the door. We took it. ‘Lord, I’m starving,’ said Terry, and he ordered cod with two servings of chips. Oliver likewise, but I stuck with plaice, one serving of chips, and mushy peas.

  Oliver, staring at a chip on his fork, said, ‘He’s put a follower on us.’

  Terry didn’t look up. ‘I thought so, too, Chief. Chap in jeans and an old tweed jacket.’

  ‘That’s him.’

  ‘What do we do — drop him?’ Terry asked.

  ‘We do not… we ignore him — as we have been doing.’ ‘Unless...’

  ‘Unless we wish to be unaccompanied. Then we drop him — or his relief — but gently, Terry, gently.’

  It was then that I realized we had company. A hand wearing a white cotton glove was placed on the table surface. I looked upwards and sideways. A woman, in her late seventies I’d have guessed, a tiny creature with a crumpled face and small, dark, glittering eyes, was standing with her other hand on the back of the spare chair.

  ‘Wasn’t you here last night, luv?’ she asked.

  I nodded. ‘I was.’

  ‘With… her?’

  ‘I was with a friend,’ I agreed, stretching our relationship a little. I was trying to be non-committal, wondering whether or not to encourage the approach. In the corner of my eye I saw Oliver’s head nod gently. ‘Bella Fields,’ I amplified.

  ‘Here...’ She swung round, and was seated in a second. ‘You can settle it for me. My friend… Gladys, that is… she said it was that — you know — that Roma creature in what’s its name… that American thing. Couldn’t be, though. I said to Glad, couldn’t be. Not here! You’d expect it in Hollywood. Not here, eatin’ chips...’ She darted a hand sideways and filched one of Terry’s chips, chomped it in half, her teeth clicking.

  I smiled. ‘But it was, you know. Roma Felucci is her screen name.’