His father had been disliked by everyone. That was why the only other people who had bothered to turn up to his funeral were a couple of distant cousins, sitting stony-faced across the aisle, and Eric, his father’s brother. Eric had moved away from the area years ago, probably to get away from his older sibling, and now lived down south somewhere.
Rob was surprised his uncle had bothered to make the drive up to Derbyshire to attend the funeral at all. Probably wanted to make sure James was actually gone.
Rob didn’t blame him. The only reason he was here himself was to make sure the old bastard was buried deep in the ground. Even James Gibson couldn’t hurt anyone from six feet under.
The pallbearers—all provided by the funeral director because there weren’t enough family or friends willing to carry the coffin to its final resting place in the churchyard—walked to the front of the church and manhandled the coffin onto their shoulders. As they carried it back along the aisle, sombre organ music filled the air.
Rob got up, glad to stretch his legs. His arse had gone numb after sitting in the pew for the short service; God knew how churchgoers could stand that kind of torture every Sunday.
As he fell into line behind the coffin, he felt a smile play over his lips and hoped no one would notice. His father had been an avowed atheist. The recipient of a strict, religious upbringing—thanks to the fact that Rob’s grandfather had been a Pentecostal pastor—his father had railed against religion of any kind. So, the fact that his body had spent its last moments above ground level inside a church, was an irony that was not lost on Rob.
Outside the church, a light rain had begun to fall. Sonia took hold of Rob’s arm and whispered, “Are you all right?”
“Never better,” he said in a low voice. She knew there was no love lost between him and his father. She didn’t know the whole story, of course, but she should realise that today was a day of celebration, not mourning. James Gibson had shuffled off this mortal coil, and the world was a better place for it.
“Bloody hell, my phone’s ringing,” she said, holding up her handbag, from which an insistent buzz could be heard. “I’ll ignore it.”
“No, go ahead and answer it,” he told her. “It might be important.” The more irreverence he could bring to this funeral, the better. The sheen of respectability that this occasion afforded his father galled him. If they only knew who James Gibson really was, they’d be chuck him unceremoniously into an unmarked grave.
But they didn’t know what he knew; they hadn’t been brought up by the mean old fucker in the coffin. As far as they were concerned, they were simply burying a lonely old man who had lived a quiet life and was leaving behind a loving son.
As he passed beneath the doorway and out into the churchyard, Rob shivered slightly. The damp, drizzling rain was cold, and managed to soak through his suit jacket and shirt, chilling his skin.
“All right, I’ll be right there,” Sonia was saying into her phone. He’d been so lost in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed her answering it.
She put the phone back into her handbag. “That was Emma. Sam is throwing some sort of tantrum and has locked himself in his bedroom.”
He frowned, confused. “How can he? His bedroom door hasn’t got a lock on it.”
“He’s pushed his bookshelf behind the door, or something. Look, I’m going to have to go and see what’s up.” She cast a glance at the pallbearers and the coffin. “I can’t stay, I’m sorry.”
“Of course, love, it’s fine. You go, and I’ll be there later.”
“All right,” she said with a relieved sigh. “Are you coming straight home after this?” She gestured at the churchyard.
“I’d best go and check his house.”
“Again? You were there last night.”
“I know, but it’s out there in the middle of nowhere, standing empty. Anyone could break in.”
“You said yourself, there’s nothing valuable inside.”
“I said I don’t think there is, not at first glance, anyway. Who knows what the old sod has got squirrelled away in his cupboards?”
She sighed again, this time out of frustration. “The sooner we sell that place and get it off our hands, the better. I suppose I’ll have to walk home, then, since you’re going to need the car.”
“No, you take the car. I’ll walk home after this is done and take the Land Rover up to the house.”
The Land Rover he was referring to was a blue Defender that had been his father’s but which he’d inherited, along with the house. It was old and clanky, but Rob actually liked it, or, rather, the freedom that came with it.
Until now, he and Sonia had shared a car; their five-year-old Ford Focus. Because they worked opposite shifts—she as a teaching assistant during the day and he as a security guard at night—they’d never needed a second vehicle. But shortly after his father’s death, Rob had felt a desire for more freedom. He needed his own space, and his father’s house and car fulfilled that need.
Besides, now that his father was gone, he might be able to find the answer to a question that had been eating away at him from the inside since he was a child; he might be able to find out what had happened to his mother.
“All right, I’ll see you in a bit.” Sonia planted a brief kiss on his cheek and then made her way to the car park at the front of the church.
Rob watched her go, wishing he was also leaving. But there was something he had to do before the first clumps of dirt were thrown onto his father’s coffin.
In his trouser pockets were two notes. In his left pocket, a neatly folded piece of lined paper contained the words, I hope you rot in Hell for what you did. He’d written that a couple of nights ago, with the intention of throwing it into the old man’s grave before the hole was filled in.
The note in his right pocket had been written last night, while he was at his father’s house. The words he’d written on the yellowed piece of paper he’d found in his father’s bureau were, I’m sorry I couldn’t be the son you wanted me to be. I’m sorry I was a disappointment.
He only intended to throw one of those pieces of paper into the grave, and that was the rot in Hell one. He wasn’t even sure why he’d brought the other one along with him to the funeral. In fact, he wasn’t even sure why he’d written it in the first place.
Yes, he had been a disappointment to his father, he knew that, but being a disappointment to a man like James Gibson wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.
“Robert.”
He turned around to see Eric walking towards him.
“Uncle Eric. I’m surprised you came.”
“I felt it was my duty.” He gestured to the coffin, which the pallbearers were laying over the open grave. “Not to him, but to you, I suppose.”
“Me?” Rob was surprised.
Eric nodded. “Is everything all right, Robert?”
Assuming his uncle was asking if everything was all right now that his father was gone, Rob nodded. “Yes, everything’s fine. We weren’t close, you know.”
“I know. He was never close to anybody. That isn’t what I mean. What I’m trying to say is…” he paused, as if trying to formulate his next sentence carefully. “You’ve inherited his house. I assume you’ve been to it. Is everything all right? At the house?” He gave Rob a knowing look, as if his nephew should know what he was talking about.
Rob nodded slowly, but he felt a sudden tightness in his gut. Did Eric know something about what Rob had discovered at the house? No, he couldn’t; it wasn’t possible. “Everything’s fine,” he repeated, but this time his voice cracked in his throat.
Eric looked at him closely, with narrow eyes.
“They’re lowering the coffin,” Rob said, striding away to the graveside and leaving his uncle standing on the path. Despite the chilly rain, he felt sweat break out all over his body. What the hell did Eric know? Had he put two and two together regarding the girl?
The coffin was lowered gradually into the grave. When it reached the
bottom, Rob reached into his left pocket and took out the note he’d written at home, telling his father he hoped he’d rot in hell. He tossed it into the hole. It landed on the casket and lay there against the wood.
Watching the paper as it became soaked by the rain, Rob absent-mindedly reached into his right pocket and took out the other note. He held it over the gaping hole for a moment before releasing his grip on it. The piece of paper fluttered down to join the other. Rob sniffed, grabbed a handful of dirt, threw it onto the coffin, and turned away.
He was almost at the car park when he heard Eric coming up behind him.
“Robert, wait!”
He paused and waited for his uncle to catch up with him.
“I’m sorry if I seemed a bit vague,” Eric said. “It’s just that I think I knew your father better than you do. I grew up with him. I know what he was capable of. When I heard you had the keys to his house, I was worried about what you might find there.”
Rob knew exactly what his father was capable of. A childhood memory crept into his mind, but he pushed it away.
“What do you mean, exactly?” he asked, deciding to see just how much his uncle knew.
Eric shrugged. “Look, can we meet up for a drink and a proper chat?” He reached into his coat and produced a business card, which he handed to Rob. “My mobile number is on there.”
Rob looked at the card. It seemed Uncle Eric was the director of a construction company based in Plymouth. The mobile number was indeed printed on the card, but Rob doubted he’d use it. If he waited long enough, Eric would eventually return down south, and leave him alone.
Or perhaps he should find out just what Eric knew—or suspected—regarding his father’s house.
“Right, I’ll give you a ring sometime, then,” he said, noncommittally. Waving the hand that held the business card at Eric, he turned and headed for home.
As he strolled through the village of Hatherfield, where he’d lived almost all of his adult life, the residents who were out and about greeted him with a cheery wave and a smile. Some addressed him by name and asked him how he was doing. Everyone in the village knew everyone else. Sonia loved that aspect of village life; being part of a community. Rob wasn’t so sure anymore.
He’d never really thought about it until recently, but the idea of everyone in the village knowing the ins and outs of each other’s lives put his nerves on edge. What if he wanted to so things that he didn’t want anyone else to know about? What if he wanted to live his life without having to worry about curtain twitchers watching his every move?
That was why he wanted to hang on to his father’s house for as long as possible, despite Sonia’s desire to sell it. He had a bolt hole he could retreat to, away from the busybodies and gossips. Somewhere he could do whatever the hell he wanted without having to keep up appearances.
He frowned at his own thoughts. He hadn’t questioned village life in all the years he’d lived in Hatherfield, so why now?
Because last night, he’d done something that no one else must ever know about, and he liked having a secret. Something that was his and his alone. As he exchanged greetings with the locals on his way home from the church, he felt a kind of superiority to them. They were going about their dull lives while he was doing things that they wouldn’t dream of doing in their darkest nightmares.
He got to the house and decided not to go inside. Whatever crisis was happening in there, Sonia and Emma, the babysitter, could handle it. They’d probably coaxed Sam out of his room by now and were having a cup of tea together. No need for him to interrupt.
Taking the Land Rover’s keys out of his pocket, he unlocked the vehicle and climbed inside. He turned the key in the ignition and was rewarded with a low growl coming from the Defender’s engine.
He put his foot down and headed out of Hatherfield, driving north towards Buxton, but heading east long before he got anywhere near the town. After passing the village of Miller’s Dale, he turned onto the road that led to his father’s house.
The old house sat nestled in the foothills of a range of peaks that cut off the view of the horizon and made the world seem small. Rob parked the Land Rover outside and got out, noticing tyre tracks in the gravel. He was sure these weren’t the tracks he’d made when he’d come here last night. Had Eric stopped by, hoping to find him at the house, perhaps?
A sudden panic welled within him, and he fumbled the house keys out of his pocket. There was no indication that Eric—or whoever had been here—had gone inside, but the thought of someone being in the house, of seeing what was in the cellar, made him almost vomit with fear. A coppery taste flooded his throat, and he swallowed it down as he turned the key in the lock.
As soon as he was inside the house, he strode along the hall to the kitchen, and the cellar door. The door was closed, and there was no sign of it having been opened by anyone. Still, he was going to have to get a lock for it. He couldn’t risk a burglar or a squatter finding what was down there.
Opening the door, he clicked on the light and descended the wooden steps that led down to the dirt floor. The cellar, like the house above it, was expansive.
If Rob hadn’t found the folded piece of paper with a crude drawing of the cellar and various areas marked with an X, he’d never have known where to dig last night.
He walked over to the hole he’d dug and stared down into it. He’d dug down at least five or six feet before he’d found the bones.
The square hole, now empty, reminded him of his father’s grave.
He turned away from the hole and surveyed the rest of the cellar. He’d have to fill in this grave and continue his search.
He hadn’t been looking for the girl.
He’d been looking for the body of his mother.
Chapter 6
When Dani arrived at Temple Well, she felt weary from the long drive. A heavy rain had begun to fall as soon as she’d got onto the A1, and that had meant lorries spraying up water and reduced visibility.
Now, at least, the rain had stopped, and the sun was attempting to show itself from behind the clouds.
Temple Well’s main street had a Post Office, two pubs, a corner shop, and a gift shop. Dani could see a Norman church on a hill set back from the road.
A large village green sat in the centre of everything, bisecting the main road. One part of the road led up a small incline and a brown sign proclaimed that it led to Temple Well Chapel, National Heritage Site.
Dani followed the route indicated by the sign. Might as well get a look at the crime scene before she went in search of the Chapel View Guest House.
As she’d expected, Temple Well was a hive of activity, thanks to the grisly discovery this morning. News vans were parked along the road leading to the chapel, and groups of journalists milled about, some with cameras and sound equipment, while others were drinking coffee from Styrofoam cups and chatting. A burger van was taking advantage of the sudden influx of people and was serving fast food from the kerbside.
Driving past the throng of reporters, Dani came to a stone wall and a closed wrought iron gate. A uniformed police officer stationed at the gate came forward when she saw Dani’s car. She shook her head and made a whirling signal with her right hand, that Dani assumed meant, “turn around.”
Her warrant card was in her handbag, in the passenger footwell. She leaned over to get it.
The officer tapped on the window and made another whirling motion with her hand that this time obviously meant, “wind down the window.”
Fishing the bag off the floor, Dani pressed the button that lowered the window. It buzzed down slowly.
“Sorry, you can’t stay here,” the officer said. “You need to go back down the hill with the rest of the media.”
“I’m not with the media,” Dani said, pulling out her warrant card and holding it up. “DI Summers. Murder Force.”
“Oh, sorry, ma’am. I’ll just get the gate for you.” She hurried to the gate, unlatched it, and swung it open. As Dani drove
through, she waved her thanks.
A tarmac path led to a car park, which was full of police vehicles and congested with officers, both uniform and plainclothes, chatting among themselves and loading evidence bags into a van. The ruins of the chapel sat quietly beyond the activity in the car park, crumbled walls and stone arches framed against the grey clouds.
Dani parked the Discovery on a patch of grass near the car park and got out, looking for a familiar face in the crowd. She spotted Tony Sheridan’s blue Mini but there was no sign of the psychologist himself. Probably up at the ruins. Ryan’s Aston Martin wasn’t anywhere to be seen, nor was Battle’s Range Rover.
She walked towards the chapel, which was encircled by blue and white crime scene tape and a number of officers. Showing her warrant card to the nearest uniform, she was nodded through the perimeter. Stepping over the crime scene tape, she stopped for a second to take in the sight before her.
Despite being in a state of ruin, the old Templar chapel still held an aura of mystery and a sense of grandeur. The walls that had stood the test of time held carvings of knights on horseback and faces that could only be described as gargoyles. Ornate fleur-de-lis decorated the buttresses that supported the walls, and the high arched windows, although devoid of glass, were magnificent.
Stepping through an archway and into the interior of the structure, Dani nodded a greeting to half a dozen SOCOs, clad in white Tyvek, who were dismantling a tent that had been erected around a stone altar at the far end of the building.
Tony Sheridan stood with his back to Dani, staring at the altar, hands in his pockets, seemingly in quiet contemplation. She went up to him and tapped him on the shoulder. “Penny for ‘em.”
He jumped, then quickly regained his composure. “I was just wondering, why here? Why leave a body at this site? Is there a religious connection? Or is it some sort of statement regarding repentance? But if that’s the case, why not leave the body in the church?” He turned and pointed through an archway, where the distant Norman church could be seen on the hill.
Silence of the Bones: A Murder Force Crime Thriller Page 3