Spoken Bones

by N. C. Lewis

  Footsteps.

  He closed the door and darted back to his chair, picked up the cup, and was about to take a sip when Elizabeth hustled into the kitchen. At her side stood a boy, six or seven. If she was flustered, it didn’t show in her voice, only perhaps her movements which were quickened.

  "They sent Timmy home from school. He's got a temperature." Elizabeth stooped down to place the back of her hand on his forehead.

  Timmy said, "Feel poorly, Ma."

  "I'm right here." She gave him a hug. "We'll get you up to bed with a hot drink and two paracetamols."

  For several minutes Elizabeth fussed around the kitchen preparing a hot drink for the boy. She moved with swift efficiency, then disappeared with the youngster in tow. She was gone for so long, Earp considered leaving and coming back Monday, around lunchtime. But she hurried back into the room, all apologies as he took another chunk of cake. He said he fully understood and pulled out his notebook.

  Earp said, "Are you a regular walker on the beach?"

  "Most days. I go on my own, meet up with Noel O'Sullivan or Audrey Robin, and we wander to the pier and back to where they built the bonfire."

  Earp recognised the names and made a note. "When did you last see Maureen?"

  "The day before Bonfire Night. I'd hoped to see her on the beach, but this year there were just too many people. The event seems to get bigger every year. Anyway, I didn’t meet up with her, but kept an eye out."

  "Did you notice anyone unusual on the beach?"

  "Unusual?"

  "A drunk or an argument amongst a group of people, or maybe a stranger?"

  "Well, I didn’t know all the faces; we are a growing town."

  "Anyone acting strange?"

  "No."

  Earp leaned back, tapped his pen on the notebook. The Battenburg had blunted his hunger and the warmth raised the damp from his trousers. Still, he was in no rush to get back to the rain and the door-knocking and the scowling faces. He put his pen down and changed the subject in the hopes of another five minutes in the pleasant kitchen.

  "And what did you do Bonfire Night?"

  "The usual."

  "Which is?"

  "Well, now let me see. Where would you like me to begin?"

  "Anywhere you choose."

  "Before the fireworks, I gathered the kids around the bonfire. Easier to keep an eye on them on the beach, and they can run wild. We watched the fireworks display in the same place." She picked up her cup, took a long sip as if thinking. "Audrey showed up after the fireworks display and we chatted about this and that. Then we went searching for Maureen while Belinda watched the kids."

  Earp picked up his pen.

  "What time would that have been?"

  "Maybe thirty minutes after the fireworks ended." She closed her eyes for a moment. "Audrey worries about little things. That night she seemed concerned."

  "Over what?"

  "I've no idea. I suggested we track down Maureen so the three of us could have a natter about it. I suppose we'd have talked if we’d found Maureen; she had a knack for listening and giving good advice, but we didn’t find her."

  She stopped speaking.

  Earp glanced out the window. The rain continued to pour. Another ten minutes here, then I'll have a quick nap in the car.

  Earp said, "Anything else?"

  "Not really."

  "And what time did you get home?"

  She shrugged. "Probably a little after eleven. The kids were in bed and the house quiet by midnight."

  He wondered what else to ask, glanced at the pelting rain, and came up with a new line of questions.

  "Where did you search for Maureen?"

  Elizabeth rested her head in her hands. "We walked along the beach in the opposite direction from the pier. It was dark and quiet until we came across Noel O'Sullivan. He's a pastor. Around him were a group of people, teenagers mostly, and they sang. It was so"—she struggled to find the right word—"stirring."

  Earp kept quiet, but nodded as if he understood.

  Elizabeth's face bubbled with girlish excitement. "Audrey and I joined for a while." Her eyes closed. She swayed from side to side as if back on the beach in the dark with Noel O'Sullivan strumming his guitar to the pulsing beat of the surf and harmonious hum of the crowd. "We wandered off before the preaching began and…" She stopped suddenly, sat upright and stared at Earp, eyes wary.

  "Go on, Mrs Collins. You were about to say something."

  "Later we met Martin Findlay." She spoke slowly as if measuring out each word. "He is such a good man, a little simple, but kind-hearted..." Again, she stopped.

  Earp wasn't sure why her voice trailed off. He thought about it for a moment. The rain continued to fall.

  "Mrs Collins," he began with an air of authority, "we are having a chat to put us in the picture about Maureen, and that includes all her friends. Tell me about Martin Findlay."

  She slowly nodded. "Martin on his own in the dark sat by a saltwater pool, all hunched up. When I asked him what was the matter, he didn’t reply, just kept throwing rocks into the pool. Over and over."

  Earp leaned back. He felt weary to the bone and wanted the weekend to begin. So, Martin threw rocks into pools on the beach; who didn’t? He often did that himself. The ripple would spread out slowly and he'd watch until it vanished. He'd even shown Nick how to throw flat pebbles so they bounced like fleas across the surface. Another minute or two and I'll be on my way.

  Earp said, "Martin was having a bit of fun, was he?"

  Elizabeth didn’t reply. The only sound came from the electric hum of the fridge and pitter of rain on the windows. At last, she looked at Earp with sad eyes.

  "Martin was so very angry. He threw the rocks with such savage force that it quite frightened Audrey and I."

  Chapter 30

  Audrey took off her glasses, wiped them with a tissue, and continued to stare. Detective Sergeant Robert Dexter sat at her kitchen table sipping a cup of her tea and eating a slice of her Victoria sponge cake. She hadn't heard his car come creeping along the lane. Nor the squeak of the iron gate. Or his footsteps on the path. Only the sharp clank of the door knocker which announced his sudden arrival.

  "I was lost in Little Dorrit, Dickens," Audrey explained. She still felt as if she were in a fictional dream, imagined herself in the satins and lace and silks of Miss Havisham's bridal dress. The image faded and yellowed as she came back to the present. "Such a good read, like being with an old friend. I barely heard the door. Were you knocking long?"

  "We get used to waiting." The detective gave a wide pleasant smile. "Part of the policeman's lot. Waiting."

  "I'm so sorry, and with all this rain."

  "Little secret, Mrs Robin." He flashed his friendly smile. "I saw your car and knew you were at home. We're full of tricks, us detectives."

  Audrey wondered what else he held up his sleeve. She thought he'd keep his best concealed and, like a street magician, bring them out with sleight of hand one by one to bamboozle her. One thing she knew: there'd be more tricks. Her librarian mind liked things orderly, catalogued and shelved in the right place. How could you do that if you didn’t know exactly what the police had up their sleeve?

  He continued to chew. He took a long slurp from the cup, glanced about the kitchen, and returned to the crumbs on his plate, shaking them into his hand.

  It pleased Audrey that the police were always ready for another slice of her Victoria sponge, washed down by a refill of tea or coffee. It was one of her secret ways of keeping an eye on the investigation, made her feel useful. She picked up the plate and went to the kitchen counter and sliced a thick wedge, returning to the table with it in both hands as if carrying precious stones. Then she heard a soft scurrying sound. Whispers. Patrick's voice, and she wasn’t taken in by the detective's charm or the pleasant words or the way he smiled at her. Patrick smiled like that.

  His first slap surprised her.

  They were together on the sofa with soft jazz drifti
ng from the radio. A Saturday evening. They'd made love, then argued over Patrick's late nights at the office. He flicked the back of his hand hard against the flat of her nose as if swatting a bluebottle fly. A sudden wicked smack. She placed a hand to her nose. There was a small dark drop of blood where his wedding ring cut her nostril. He struck her again. It stung less than his vile words—"Mummy was right. You tricked me into marriage. Cheated me of a child, but now the scales have fallen from my eyes. You are nothing more than a working-class shark."

  He wanted a divorce.

  The following day, she'd visited Patrick's mother whose broad smile betrayed sentiments other than sympathy. When Audrey went to the police, the officer smiled too.

  The physical blows and verbal abuse continued until, locked in the dark of the wine cellar of their three-storey townhouse, Audrey agreed to Patrick's mother's terms for the divorce.

  A small cash settlement.

  Nothing else.

  Audrey didn’t have the emotional strength to fight. Suddenly she remembered the day of the divorce. Goose bumps prickled her skin. A blue sky with fluffy white clouds like soft faces, and the air filled with the blossoms of May. Patrick smiled at her after the court hearing; so did his wife-to-be, the ex-mother-in-law, and even the magistrate. And for a terrifying instant, Audrey saw the ratty terrier from the car park on the beach sitting at her kitchen table next to the detective, and it was smiling too. She stifled a gasp, turned it into a cough, but the detective didn’t appear to notice. He was still talking.

  "Very tasty bit of sponge cake. Not like the processed stuff in the supermarkets. Mouth-watering, Mrs Robin. Delicious."

  Audrey waved her hand to show she didn’t take the compliment seriously but decided to bake another cake in case he came back. But her thoughts lingered on Patrick and his new wife living in her townhouse in Bristol with their happy kids. At least she had gotten away with the cash. More than even Patrick realised. The fool hadn't changed his account passwords. It was payment for her time in that dark cellar with its stink of antiseptic and white walls.

  She stood, walked to the sideboard and picked out a small bottle from amongst the trinkets, framed photograph, pebbles, seashells and other little mementos of her trips to the beach. She twisted the top and sniffed.

  "Smelling salts. Hyssop. My mind's been so bunged up since… well, it clears my head a little."

  "What a terrible experience." He slowly shook his head. Audrey thought he was building up to ask a question. "I can see you are still in shock."

  "A little."

  "Did the paramedics take you to your doctor?"

  Audrey sensed genuine concern in his voice, but something else hovered behind his question. "They brought me straight home."

  "Nothing prescribed to help you sleep, then?"

  "No."

  He tutted as if the National Health Service's failure to provide tranquillizers was a shameful disgrace. "I wonder if you have any booze in the house, rum, whisky? A shot or two will ease your nerves."

  "Oh, I don't know."

  "I'll join you if it helps."

  Audrey thought police officers weren't allowed to drink on duty, but went to the kitchen cupboard and came back with two shot glasses and a bottle of supermarket brandy. The detective watched as she poured.

  "Don't spare the horses, Mrs Robin."

  Audrey filled his glass to the brim and shook out a shot into her own.

  "You have news of Maureen?"

  He shook his head. "Just a passing visit. The investigation is ongoing, but we have arrested no one in connection with her death. I'm sorry I don't have better news." He took a sip from his glass. "It's like following a trail of breadcrumbs. You do not know where they will lead."

  The detective seemed to be in no hurry to pepper her with dangerous questions. A tinge of relief bubbled in Audrey's stomach. "I suppose most of the time the breadcrumbs lead you in circles."

  He laughed. "We'd like to expand the circle, make it into a net so we can reel in the person who did this to your friend. That's why I'm here."

  "But Detective Sallow has already asked a lot of questions. You were there in the ambulance, weren't you? I told her everything. Then she came here and was very thorough and wrote it all down." Audrey knew she spoke too quickly, so she added, "Live more and worry less, that's what Maureen always said."

  "Think I'll steal that one, if you don't mind." The detective drained his glass.

  "Another?"

  "Oh, go on, then."

  Audrey topped up his glass. Her own drink remained untouched.

  He swirled the drink and took a chug. "Listen, I'm not here to fire off a bunch of questions, but to ask a favour."

  Audrey squinted at the detective as if peering at an unfamiliar shape through fog. The police wanted her to do them a favour? Astonished, she leaned forward, poised.

  "I'll do anything I can to help with your investigation. Another drink?"

  "If you don't mind."

  After she poured, the detective took a quick sip and said, "The Guvnor asked me to stop by with a request." His head turned towards the sideboard. "I wonder if we might borrow that photo of Maureen?"

  "My picture?" She stared at him in confusion. "I'm sorry, I don't know."

  The image captured so many memories that Audrey was reluctant to share. She wanted him to understand. To feel what she felt when she looked at the photograph in the mornings over her breakfast or late in the evening over a mug of milky tea—a kind of confidence that anything was possible.

  Audrey said, "When I remember back to that day that photo was taken, I see golden-yellow sands under a sky dotted with thumb-sized clouds. The air smelled salty, sweet, mingled with seaweed, and crisp and damp at the same time, like you get after a bitter storm." She looked the detective directly in the eyes. "We were lounging about with a gang of kids, Maureen, Elizabeth, and I. Elizabeth's foster kids. Playing stick cricket, hide-and-seek, and kicking around a ball. I still recall their names, although some have moved on to new homes." Audrey picked up the photograph. "It had been a rough few years for me, and this picture, more than anything, captures what the three of us had together. Maureen called it our armature. I called it friendship."

  The words which had come so fast and furious from deep down in her gut suddenly dried up. Audrey felt a wave of embarrassment and glanced down at her hands which cradled the frame like a newborn baby.

  "We won't keep it for long," he muttered. "We'll make a copy and return it as quick as we can."

  The quiet reasonableness of his request made Audrey shudder. She couldn’t win. No point putting up a fight. They'll get what they want in the end, just like Patrick. If she resisted further, the detective might probe, ask uncomfortable questions, uncover the plan.

  "Promise you won't lose it."

  "I'll bring it back personally."

  "Oh, very well, Detective Dexter, but I'll hold you responsible for its safe return."

  He was on his feet with the framed photograph in his hand. He stared at it for some moments. A sudden burst of thunder clapped overhead. The room darkened. After several moments, Audrey flipped on the overhead fluorescent lights. They flickered and brightened and illuminated the kitchen with stark white light. The detective didn’t move, his eyes cast down on the photograph. Something about his stillness as he examined the image reminded Audrey of a tiger before it pounced. Now she felt like a goat tethered to a stake by hunters, tempting the savage beast to come close. She shook the image out of her head, replaced it with the picture of her in the satins and lace and silks of Miss Havisham's bridal dress.

  "Detective Dexter, I'll see you to the door."

  He didn’t move.

  "The door, Detective Dexter, I'm sure you have other people to see."

  He put the photo into his jacket pocket and looked up with eyes blazing.

  "Perhaps you would like another drink, Detective Dexter?"

  "No thank you." The intensity of his gaze frightened Audrey.
<
br />   "Are you sure, it is no trouble."

  "Who else was on the beach when you discovered Miss Brian's body?"

  "It was just a normal morning stroll. I've made it a hundred times before. I saw nothing unusual. Nothing at all." She moved towards the kitchen door.

  The detective said, "Humour me, Mrs Robin."

  "But I've already given the details to Detective Sallow."

  "Tell me. Describe what happened. Close your eyes if you have to, but tell me who you saw."

  "I didn’t see anything."

  "Please. Close your eyes and focus."

  Audrey sighed, folded her arms, and closed her eyes. "When I started out, it was dark. It always is at this time of the year. I walked the beach with a black bin bag in my hand scanning for rubbish left over from the Bonfire Night activities. No tourists at this time of year and it was way too early for school kids or the office workers who like to stroll along the boardwalk."

  "So, no school children?"

  "No."

  "Or clerical workers?"

  "I've just said so."

  She wanted to open her eyes and see him to the door, but felt it best to play his little game. It was like the game she played with Patrick after he locked her in the wine cellar.

  "Now, Mrs Robin, you have told me what you didn’t see. Please concentrate and tell me what you did see."

  "Is this really necessary?"

  "Concentrate."

  She didn't want to play anymore, but said, "When it began to get light, there were only a handful of people about."

  "How many?"

  "I don't know."

  "Think."

  Audrey's hand drifted to her chin. "A mother played with a toddler at the water's edge, and a tall figure in a mud-brown trench coat"—her eyes snapped open but the words tumbled out before she could stop them"—hurried away from the bonfire."

  His pen and notebook were already in his hand.

  "Who?" The single word came out like a boxer's left jab. He followed it with a right hook. "Mrs Robin, did you recognise the person?"

  "No," Audrey said, even though she did.