Spoken Bones

by N. C. Lewis

  "Yes."

  "Have you ever visited?"

  "No."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Why would I visit a bed and breakfast? I have my own cottage."

  "That's where Maureen Brian lived. You know that, don't you?"

  "Yes, but I've never been inside. Maureen didn't invite guests into her home."

  The woman detective leaned forward as if tossing a ball.

  "A witness saw you outside the Seafields Bed and Breakfast guest house. The day after you reported Maureen Brian's body." She paused and watched Audrey with sharp eyes. "You were crouching in the sand by the side of a blue Morris Minor. What were you doing?"

  "I… er… you see…"

  "That's not an explanation, Mrs Robin. Can you explain why you were crouching by the side of a Morris Minor outside Miss Brian's home?"

  It wasn't fair. The detective didn't give her a chance to answer before she fired off the next question. On television, the detectives gave their interviewees a chance to think and ponder. Then the interviewee would give an answer which baffled the police officer. This grey-haired Cumbrian Police detective wasn't playing by the rules.

  "And a witness saw you outside Martin Findlay's flat. Last Friday, standing in the rain." The detective’s eyes never left her face. They felt like laser beams. Blazing. "You had words with Claire Sutherland. What was that about?"

  Audrey couldn't stand all the questions. They tumbled around her head, barking like a mad dog. She placed her hands over her ears to drown out the noise. But they barked and yapped and snarled. Then the ratty terrier appeared and opened its mouth and Patrick's words came out: Turn yourself in. The police will find you.

  "No. No. No," she yelled and then became suddenly still. The voices whimpered and were gone. She felt certain the police had chased them away and they wouldn't come back. The thought caused her to grin.

  "Mrs Robin, are you all right?" The question came from the woman detective. "I think we better end this interview."

  "I'm fine. It's my medication. Sometimes it makes me anxious."

  "Do you want to go on?"

  Audrey thought about her plan. She tried to read it before the police arrived but could make head nor tail of her writing. It was as though a great sheet had descended on her mind, cloaking her ability to read her own hand. Now she felt compelled to go on. To explain it all, so the detectives would understand. Make it simple for them. Easy.

  "I want to go on. I'm ready."

  The woman detective placed a hand on her chin and looked at Audrey for a long time.

  "Tell me about Martin Findlay."

  "He's a friend."

  "We've been looking for him."

  "He needed a place to stay, and like I say, he is a friend."

  "Mrs Robin, I'm investigating the murder of Maureen Brian and Claire Sutherland. We needed to speak with Martin to help with our investigations."

  "He didn't do it."

  "He didn't do what?"

  "Kill Maureen Brian or Claire Sutherland. Martin Findlay didn't do it."

  "Now, how would you know that?"

  Audrey reached into the pocket of her cargo pants and retrieved the envelope. She unfolded the sheet of paper and slid it across the table.

  "There you go. This explains everything."

  The woman detective picked up the sheet of paper and read. When she finished, she stared at Audrey in horror as the penny dropped. Then she passed it to her male colleague. He took his time, reading and rereading. When he finished, he looked up and gazed at her long and hard for several seconds.

  "I'm sorry," Audrey said. "So sorry."

  Like synchronised robots, the detectives got to their feet and left the interview room.

  Chapter 67

  Fenella and Dexter didn't speak until they were inside Fenella's office. Then they waited for Jones, who hurried in a minute later with a tray of steaming hot coffee.

  "Okay," Fenella said, her voice sounding as tired as her mind. "Okay. Not what we were expecting, eh?"

  "Don't like to admit it, Guv," Dexter said, "But this one's got right under my skin. Cannot seem to shake it off. And now this."

  "What happened?" Jones sat on the edge of the seat." Did Ben Griffin throw in the towel and confess?"

  "No, lad," Dexter said. "Mr Griffin didn't confess. It's Audrey Robin. She gave us a note."

  A firm fist knocked on the door. The duty sergeant scurried into the room.

  "Ma'am, I've a gentleman on hold who would like to speak with you. He says it's urgent. His name is Patrick Robin."

  Chapter 68

  Fenella took the call in her office on speaker, with Dexter and Jones at her side.

  "Detective Sallow, we've never met although I've seen you on the television news. My name is Mr Patrick Robin. I read in the newspaper that a Mrs Robin found a body, but put little thought into it until I saw her image on the news. That's when I realised it was my wife."

  "Mrs Audrey Robin is your wife?" Fenella asked for clarification.

  "Yes. We've been married for ten years. Unfortunately, no children, but not for want of trying. Both our parents died years ago and Audrey is all I've got. That we would never have children destabilized my wife's mind. She would wake up in the night screaming about voices in her head. She even thought I was seeing someone and planning a divorce. One time I found her arguing with my dead parents, but of course there was no one there. For a while I tried to cope alone. Then I sought help."

  "What type of help?" asked Fenella.

  "Her delusions were so frequent that she became violent and even attacked me. I've a scar on my nose where her wedding ring drew blood. When I took her to the hospital, she thought she was in the courtroom and I was asking for a divorce. That is how far gone she was. The medicine calmed her down for a short while, but she became like a zombie and said I was seeing another woman. She even thought I had married this phantom woman and started a family. In the end she was admitted to a psychiatric hospital. She told the doctors her room was really a wine cellar and I had locked her in until she agreed to a divorce. That was three years ago. I visited twice a day until the morning she disappeared."

  Fenella said, "She disappeared from the psychiatric hospital?"

  "Vanished without a trace. She had cash because she raided our building society account. Yesterday I was shocked to see her on the news and contacted Bristol Police who put me in touch with you. You can't imagine my relief." The line went dead for several seconds. "So sorry. I'm driving. I've just pulled over."

  "We need to speak with you in person," Fenella said.

  "I'm about an hour away from Port Saint Giles. Takes a while from Bristol." The line went quiet for several more seconds. "There is one other thing."

  "Go on," Fenella said. "Go on."

  "Before we married, Audrey had dreams of becoming a police officer. But her eyesight wasn't sharp enough."

  Fenella said, "Policing these days isn't just about uniforms and detectives."

  "That's what I said, but after we married, she decided to stay at home. I wish I had encouraged her to continue with a career, but I didn't. You've no idea how often I regret that. It might have saved a lot of bother."

  His voice sounded troubled, and there came the sound of a soft sob. Fenella placed her chin on her hands and waited.

  Patrick Robin said, "When Audrey became ill… well… it was difficult… She got involved with the police. Not crime, nothing like that. It's just that she would read of a murder in the newspaper and follow the people she suspected. She'd write it all down on the scrap of paper which she called her plan. Then she would make an appointment with the senior investigating detective and hand in her findings. She thought she was helping. But her notes were nothing but scribble and scrawl. Not readable at all."

  "I see," Fenella said as she unfolded the sheet of paper given to her by Audrey. Red lettering spidered across the page. Neither the letters nor the words were distinguishable. It was as if a two-year-old had scrib
bled in a language known to only their own childish mind. "That makes everything perfectly clear."

  Chapter 69

  It was an unpleasant task.

  Fenella chose to do it.

  She had to speak with Belinda Yates. To confirm Ben Griffin's alibi: that she spent the night with him on Bonfire Night and again last Sunday. A difficult conversation on the best of days, but with a schoolgirl it would be worse.

  Dexter drove as Fenella considered her plan. She'd not long completed a refresh of the Specialist Child Abuse Investigators Development Programme, but had requested a family liaison officer meet her at the address. She was thankful Elizabeth Collins didn't make a fuss and agreed to bring Belinda Yates home from school. With no other children in the house, they would have space and room to talk.

  Elizabeth Collins welcomed them at the door, her face pale and drawn.

  "Belinda has told me everything," she whispered as she hurried them through the hall. "I try to do the best for the children in my care, but I can't have eyes everywhere."

  They sat in the kitchen, around the scrubbed pine table, with Belinda looking down at her hands.

  "Now, luv, let's get on with the introductions," Fenella said, keeping her tone brisk. "I'm Detective Sallow, but you can call me Fenella. On my left is Detective Dexter. And the officer on my right is Detective Caroline Wright, a family liaison officer."

  "I haven't done nothing," Belinda said, her head cast down.

  "No one said you had, luv," Fenella replied.

  Detective Wright added, "We've a few questions we'd like to ask. If that is all right with you?"

  Belinda looked at Elizabeth. For a moment Elizabeth hesitated, then she nodded.

  "Okay," Belinda said, but she kept her eyes on her hands. "I'm not going to prison, am I?"

  "No, lass," Fenella replied flashing a friendly smile. "You're not in any trouble, okay?"

  Detective Wright gave the signal to start. Fenella began with an easy question to loosen the atmosphere and get Belinda talking.

  "Where did you meet Ben?"

  "At Logan's Bakery. He's a regular. He used to come in every day to buy bread for his bed and breakfast." She mumbled her words and continued to look at her hands. "But with the wet summer and no visitors, he didn't show up so much."

  "And you two became friends?"

  "Not until the summer holidays when I worked a regular day shift. He would visit to chat with me, though he didn't buy any bread. There was no need, he said, because they had no guests. Then he invited me out for coffee at the Grain Bowl Café, and I said yes."

  "Is that how it began?"

  "He said he didn't have any money and asked me to pay. So I did. We met every day for a week before it got serious."

  "Go on, luv, we are listening." Fenella kept her voice soft and waited.

  "We talked at first. He told me he was going to leave Port Saint Giles and run away to the country. He planned to buy a farm cottage and raise chickens and goats to sell in the farmers’ market. And he was going to take me with him." For the first time, Belinda looked up and held Fenella's gaze. "We are going to get married and raise a family. I'm pregnant with his baby."

  "Belinda!" Elizabeth jumped to her feet. She looked like she'd sucked on a lemon and swallowed the pips. "You didn't tell me that."

  "He loves me." Belinda's eyes glistened as if she were about to cry. "Don't you want me to be happy?"

  Elizabeth sat back down and placed an arm around Belinda's shoulders. "Of course I do, luv. You know that. I want the best for you, that's all. And Ben Griffin… well… he is a predator… A filthy dirty raincoat man… a flasher… a bloody pervert."

  Fenella clenched her fists. She did not need the temperature raised. She opened her mouth to calm things down, but it was too late. Belinda wriggled out of Elizabeth's grip and jumped to her feet.

  "Ben is going to marry me and there is nothing you can do about that."

  She stomped from the room. Her footsteps clattered along the polished hardwood floors and pounded up the stairs.

  Fenella let out a long sigh and said, "Go after her, will you, Detective Wright. Have a quiet chat to calm her down. Then find out if she was with Ben Griffin on Bonfire Night and last Sunday when Claire Sutherland died. Me and Mrs Collins need to talk."

  When Detective Wright left the room, Elizabeth got up to turn on the kettle.

  "Cup of tea?"

  "Aye, that would be lovely," Fenella said. Her throat was parched and her mind weary.

  "With milk and two sugars," added Dexter.

  Elizabeth busied herself at the kitchen counter. Fenella rested her head in her hands and closed her eyes.

  Now she could focus.

  Her mind drifted back to the day after Bonfire Night. The crime scene tent with the blackened body of Maureen Brian. Then forward to the interview in the ambulance with Audrey Robin. And forward again to Seafields Bed and Breakfast. Then the report on the financials by Jones. Now backwards, then forwards. She leafed through her memory, making mental notes and tallies. Like a game-show contestant, she kept score. Slowly, meticulously, Fenella sifted every piece of information, casting aside the irrelevant. Her excitement was mounting. Finally, when she heard the clank of the china teapot, she opened her eyes.

  Elizabeth sat, then poured.

  Fenella said, "Mrs Collins, I understand why you killed Maureen Brian. But why Claire Sutherland?"

  Elizabeth stared at the detective, her eyes red and swollen. But she didn't speak. Fenella waited. She was good at the wait.

  Elizabeth took a sip from her teacup and gave a sad smile. It would have appeared normal if it weren't for the tremble in her hand.

  Still Fenella waited. The tick of the kitchen clock counted down the seconds. Each tick like the boom of a Bonfire Night firework.

  "Maureen found out and was going to tell everyone," Elizabeth said, her voice cold and even. "I only borrowed the money from the Lighthouse Restoration Fund. I was going to pay it back, but sanctimonious Maureen wouldn't have that."

  "And your Sudan children's charity, pet. Did Maureen find out about that?"

  Elizabeth sobbed. "I need the money. It costs a packet to look after these kids, and the foster services don't pay enough."

  Fenella said, "What about Claire Sutherland?"

  "She was a nosy cow, started asking questions. If she kept her eyes on the television rather than the street, she would still be… I'm not greedy. I'm not a killer. I did it for the children."

  "Aye," Fenella said, the weight of the truth squeezing her heart. "Happen you did, luv."

  Chapter 70

  The following morning, Fenella sat in the kitchen in the cottage on Cleaton Bluff, a steaming hot cup of coffee on the table in front of her. She watched Nan flip the bacon in the pan and refused to think about the day ahead. This was her time, family time.

  "Fancy a bit of black pudding to go with your eggs and bacon, luv?" Nan turned from the stove and gave Fenella a hard look. "You are looking a bit pasty."

  Fenella nodded. "Aye, and why don't you add a slice of fried bread."

  "Did someone say fried bread?" Eduardo stood in the doorway with a greedy grin on his lips. "Pop two slices in the pan for me, Nan. Don't let it go anywhere near those damn blood sausages."

  He closed the door, walked into the kitchen, and gave Fenella a hug. She never talked about her work at home. Eduardo never asked. But in the warmth of his arms and soft scent of his aftershave, she knew he understood.

  "I love you," he whispered, so Nan wouldn't hear.

  "Oh you daft bugger," Fenella said pushing him away.

  "What's all this about love?" Nan asked, turning away from the stove. "I'm not deaf yet. You ought to watch him, Fenella, the crafty bugger wants something."

  Eduardo let out a laugh. "I'll get the ketchup."

  They sat around the scrubbed pine table and ate and chatted and drank Grain Bowl Café fresh-ground coffee. Not once did Fenella think about the day to come. She'd mast
ered the switch.

  She helped Nan with the washing-up and took her time, drying each plate until it squeaked. The future would come too soon and she was happy to wait. So she enjoyed her time with Nan and Eduardo as she had done with her children who'd long ago flown the nest. It gave her peace from the job she was born to do, a little respite before she pushed on.

  "Right, then," she said as she put the last dish away. "Let's get this over with."

  She went to Eduardo's study where it would be quiet and still. It was so dark that she opened the shutters. Dull November clouds pressed down to the ground in thick swirls of white fog. She could see only as far as the stone fence; even the sound of the sea was muted.

  Now she was ready.

  She pulled out her mobile phone and called Dexter.

  "Morning, Guv," he said, his voice brisk and bright. "We've found the photos. Three in a metal box. Buried in the vegetable patch in Elizabeth Collins’s back garden. I hope she has a bloody good lawyer."

  Fenella closed her eyes and sighed. They'd spent so long looking for the missing photographs, but there was no elation now. No celebration. It didn't seem appropriate.

  Fenella said, "Can you do me a favour?"

  "Anything, Guv."

  "Go visit Jack Croll. It's been too long."

  "Aye," Dexter replied. "I'll do just that."

  "And one other thing."

  "Guv?"

  "About Detective Constable Earp." Just speaking his name out loud brought tears to Fenella's eyes. For a long moment she couldn’t speak. "I'm making a pot roast for Sue and Nick, want to come?"

  "I wouldn't miss it for the world, Guv."

  Chapter 71

  It was a slow crawl through the countryside. Fenella put the wipers on their fast setting and headlights on high beam. Neither did much good against the thick fog. The narrow lanes with sharp turns made it a tough drive. Take your eye off the road and you'd be wrong side up in a ditch.