The Restless Dead

by Simon Beckett

  I could better understand now why Rachel had felt obliged to stay out here with an extended family she barely knew. Guilt was a powerful motive, particularly when grief was added to the mix.

  ‘Did Andrew suspect anything?’ I asked. ‘About the affair, I mean?’

  ‘It’s not something he talks about, least of all to me. He admitted once that he thought Emma was seeing someone else, because she’d been making a lot of trips to London. But it was only afterwards, when the police told him she’d been seen half dressed in Villiers’ bedroom and all the rest of it, that he realized who it was. God, that was awful. Andrew went storming out to Villiers’ house to confront him. There was no one there, thankfully, but it was still a stupid thing to do.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Oh, it was well before Villiers went missing. And yes, the police do know about it.’ There was a wry note to Rachel’s voice that said she knew what I was thinking. ‘Andrew and Jamie had a big row over it. Jamie accused him of being selfish, and that he needed to think about Fay. He was right, and God knows what would’ve happened if Villiers had been home. But it was weeks before they’d even speak to each other again.’

  ‘This is none of my business,’ I said carefully. ‘But if Emma was talking about leaving anyway, she couldn’t have just left, could she?’

  Rachel shook her head.

  ‘That was my first thought. But somebody would have heard from her by now. Like I said, Emma needed people, and it wasn’t her style to leave quietly. She was a serial door-slammer; she wouldn’t just pack up and leave, not without scenes and tantrums. And no way would she have left all her things behind. All she had with her was her bag and camera. She left her clothes and passport, even her car. It’s the Mini convertible covered up outside. The police found it abandoned at an old oyster factory not far from here. None of us have liked to drive it since.’

  I was glad it had grown dark enough to mask my surprise. There was no reason why Lundy should have mentioned it, but that had to be the same quayside where the estuary recovery operation had been launched from.

  Rachel absently toyed with her almost-empty glass. ‘Nobody’ll say so officially, but they think she must have gone there to meet Villiers. After that, no one knows. And now we probably never will, because that … that fucking coward killed himself rather than tell us.’

  No, I thought, no, he didn’t. He’d killed someone else to make it look that way.

  The intimacy I’d felt between us earlier was slipping away. The last of it vanished as a car door slammed outside.

  ‘That’ll be Andrew,’ Rachel said. She straightened, looking around as though remembering where she was. ‘It’s getting dark in here.’

  She got up and switched on the lights. The twilight outside turned black, creek and marsh vanishing as the window’s glass expanse became a mirror that reflected the room back at us. There was the sound of the front door opening, and then Trask’s heavy tread came up the stairs.

  He looked worn out. The skin of his face was bloodless, the lines in it etched more deeply than ever. With his clothes still crumpled and mud-stained, he seemed ten years older than he had that morning. He paused when he saw me, as though struggling to register why I might be there.

  ‘How is she?’ Rachel asked as he crossed to the sink.

  ‘Sleeping. The doctors say she should be OK to come home tomorrow.’ Running the tap, he filled a mug. His Adam’s apple worked as he drained it thirstily, then set it down with a sigh. ‘Where’s Jamie?’

  ‘Out with Liam and some of the others. He didn’t say where they were going.’

  A look of annoyance crossed Trask’s face, but he didn’t seem to have the energy to sustain it. I saw him take in the wine glasses and sandwiches still left on the plate. So did Rachel. I expected her to ask if he wanted a glass, but she didn’t.

  ‘Do you want me to make you something to eat?’ she asked quickly.

  ‘I’ll get something later. So is this a social visit, Dr Hunter?’

  ‘No, I called to collect my things,’ I said, getting to my feet. The last thing Trask looked as though he needed was guests. ‘I’m glad Fay’s all right.’

  ‘So am I.’

  ‘David’s going to be here for a few more days,’ Rachel told him. ‘I said it’d be OK for him to stay at the boathouse.’

  Something like interest kindled in the bloodshot eyes. ‘Are you working with the police?’

  ‘Just routine lab work.’

  I hoped that was vague enough to put him off. He nodded, his interest already waning. ‘Stay as long as you like.’

  There was an awkward moment. ‘Well, I’d better be going.’

  ‘I’ll see you out,’ Rachel said as I headed for the stairs. We’d started down them when Trask called.

  ‘Dr Hunter.’ He came to the top of the stairs as we paused. ‘If you’re around tomorrow evening you can join us for dinner. We eat around seven thirty.’

  I could see Rachel was as surprised as I was. I hesitated, quickly weighing up whether or not to accept. But after everything else that had happened I couldn’t see any reason not to. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

  My boots had stiffened from their second soaking but they were still serviceable. Rachel gave me my freshly laundered clothes and still-damp jacket as I shucked on Trask’s old one again, insisting I take the replacement groceries I’d bought that morning as well. But she seemed subdued, and as the door closed behind me I hoped she wasn’t regretting opening up as much as she had.

  Night was settling on the Backwaters as I set off through the copse of silver birch. The white trunks looked ghostly in the near-dark, and their branches stirred in the wind that carried the faint lapping of the creek. I was halfway back to my car when I realized I didn’t have my key. I turned to head back to the house, but stopped when the front door opened and Rachel emerged.

  ‘Looking for this?’ she asked, coming down the steps and holding out my car key.

  ‘It might help. Thanks.’

  ‘I’ve still got the one for the boathouse, as well. You gave it back to me this morning.’

  I’d forgotten all about that. Glad I hadn’t driven there before I’d found out, I waited as Rachel began going through the assortment of keys on the heavy ring.

  ‘Sorry, it’s on here somewhere. I’ve been using Emma’s spare set, and I still don’t know what half of them are,’ she said, struggling to see in the poor light. ‘OK, here it is.’

  Her fingers brushed against mine as she gave me the boathouse key. The contact was fleeting, but I felt a tingle like a tiny electric shock. Rachel stood on the path, looking uneasy.

  ‘Look, what I was telling you earlier …’

  ‘Don’t worry, I won’t say anything,’ I reassured her, disappointed she felt she had to ask.

  ‘Oh, no, I didn’t mean that,’ she said quickly, reaching out to touch my arm. ‘I just … well, I wanted to say thanks. I don’t usually moan on like that, but there’s no one out here I can talk to.’

  ‘You weren’t moaning. And I was glad to listen.’

  She was standing close enough for me to feel her body heat in the evening’s chill. The moment stretched on.

  ‘OK, then,’ she said, giving a quick smile as she stepped away. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  OK, then. I watched her go back to the house, waiting until I heard the door close before carrying on to my car. It was still damp inside, with a musty smell I knew would take for ever to fade, but I barely noticed. I realized I was still smiling. The engine started first time, and if anything the car handled more smoothly than it had before. Jamie had done a good job, and I made a note to thank – and pay – him when I came for dinner tomorrow evening.

  But it was Rachel I was thinking about as I drove back to the boathouse. She touched your arm a couple of times; let’s not read too much into it. I should be focusing on what I had to do tomorrow at the mortuary. I’d a busy day ahead of me.

  As it turned out
it was busier than I expected. Next morning the police found a grave at Leo Villiers’ house.

  17

  I GOT THE call from Lundy just before lunchtime. I’d spent the morning rinsing the disarticulated skeleton from the Barrows, which had been simmering in detergent solution overnight. Even though the bones had been inside a fume cupboard the air still smelled disconcertingly of beef stew. The next step would be to reassemble them, a time-consuming process that involved laying out all two hundred and six individual bones in the correct anatomical position, until the full skeleton was re-formed. That would take even longer here, with the cranium shattered by the shotgun blast. So, since Clarke was impatient for information, I’d been examining the surfaces of certain key bones as I’d removed them from the pans. I hoped to be able to give her at least a preliminary summary by the end of the day.

  Lan tapped on the examination room door as I was rinsing off the pelvis. ‘Detective Inspector Lundy’s on the phone, Dr Hunter.’

  I’d left my own phone in the locker with the rest of my things, not wanting to take it into the examination room while I was working. Putting the pelvis on to a stainless-steel tray, I stripped off my gloves and went to take the call.

  ‘How soon can you be at Leo Villiers’ house?’ Lundy said, without preamble.

  ‘How soon do you need me?’

  ‘Now would be good.’

  Clarke hadn’t wasted any time in obtaining a warrant. Once it was known that the body found in Villiers’ clothes wasn’t him, there was ample justification for a full search of his property. First thing that morning, the police had arrived at the big house on the mouth of the estuary, and a cadaver dog had found what looked very much like a grave hidden away in a secluded part of the grounds.

  ‘Something’s obviously been buried there,’ Lundy said. ‘The dog gave a positive response, and you can clearly see the outline of the hole. There’s been a half-arsed attempt to replace the turf, but the soil hasn’t had a chance to settle, and there’s a clear mound. We’ve started excavating, but we’d like you out here when we find anything.’

  By the sound of it the grave was relatively recent. It could take years for a buried body to rot away enough for the displaced soil above it to settle and sink level with the surrounding ground, but a lot less time for grass and vegetation to grow back. There was often still a visible difference, not least because plants fed on the nutrients released by the body into the earth. But if the replaced sod showed no sign of growth, then that suggested the grave had been dug sometime over the winter, after the last growing season had ended.

  I glanced towards the examination room where the cleaned bones of the skeleton were waiting. I’d only taken around half of them out of the solution, but it wouldn’t hurt the rest to stay where they were for a while longer.

  ‘Give me an hour,’ I told him.

  A young PC stood in front of the gateway to the private road at Willets Point, making me wait until he’d called in to check before letting me through. The road ran along the promontory, passing through woods before the trees gave way to landscaped lawns. Someone had been maintaining them, because the grass looked newly mown, probably the first cut of the spring. Specimen trees dotted the lawn; redwoods, cedars and others I didn’t recognize, while a beautiful magnolia tree was close to flowering, cream-tipped buds bursting from its branches like candles.

  The road curved around a thicket of rhododendrons, and hidden away behind them was Leo Villiers’ house. If ‘house’ was the right word: it wasn’t quite a mansion, but the Victorian building was still imposing enough. The drive approached the house from the rear, and beyond it I had a clear view of the estuary and open sea. It was a lovely spot, marred now by the jumble of police vehicles parked outside.

  I saw Lundy waiting as I pulled up. The DI strolled over, looking at his watch as I climbed out.

  ‘Dr Hunter. You made good time.’

  ‘There weren’t any causeways on this side.’

  He chuckled. ‘There is that. Protective gear’s over here. We can talk while you’re getting ready.’

  We went over to a trailer containing disposable coveralls and the other paraphernalia that were integral to any police crime scene.

  ‘Is Clarke here?’ I asked, selecting what I needed.

  ‘She was, but she was called away. Sorry to interrupt what you’re doing at the mortuary, but we’d rather have you here for the excavation.’

  I sat down on the open rear of the police truck to pull on a pair of white coveralls. ‘Any sign of what’s in there?’

  ‘Not so far, but they’ve not gone very deep.’

  ‘What about the house?’

  ‘Funnily enough, it looks as though somebody’s been doing some tidying up.’ His tone was jocular, but his eyes weren’t amused. ‘The place had been cleaned when Villiers went missing; we saw that much before the lawyers booted us out. But this is more recent. It’s not just been wiped down; the whole house stinks of bleach. Someone’s really gone to town.’

  I paused to look at him, a plastic overshoe half on my foot. ‘If it had already been cleaned after Villiers disappeared, why do it again now?’

  ‘Why indeed?’ Lundy gave a wry smile. ‘No law against it, but the place is supposed to have been shut up since he went missing. His normal cleaner was laid off, but somebody’s obviously been in. Recently, too. If I were a cynical type I’d say someone anticipated we’d be out to search the house once we found the body in the estuary, and decided not to leave anything to chance.’

  ‘Sir Stephen?’ I asked, lowering my voice as I zipped up my coveralls.

  ‘I think that’s more likely than Leo popping back to do his own spring cleaning.’ Lundy looked back at the house. ‘I doubt Sir Stephen got the mops out personally, but it’s a safe bet it was done on his instructions.’

  I tore the plastic wrapper off a new mask and pulled on a pair of gloves. ‘Do you think he knew the body wasn’t his son’s?’

  ‘I think he knows more than he’s saying. As to what that is, your guess is as good as mine.’ Lundy beckoned with his head. ‘Come on, the grave’s round the front.’

  The cry of gulls accompanied us as we followed a stone-flagged path around the house. It faced out over the mouth of the estuary, with only a sloping lawn and wooden jetty separating it from the open water. A little dinghy with an outboard motor was moored at one end of the dock, where the water was still deep enough for it to float. The low tide had exposed rock pools and a little crescent of sandy beach, but in bad weather the waves must break right over the jetty. The wind blew straight off the sea, strong enough even today to tug at my baggy coveralls. The only thing visible between here and the distant horizon was the sea fort. It was perhaps a quarter of a mile out, its three ungainly towers standing in the waves like rotting derricks.

  I was surprised Villiers hadn’t had it torn down for spoiling his view.

  Large bay windows stood either side of a porticoed front entrance. Instead of individual panes sitting inside timber or stone frames, the glass itself was rounded, an impressive piece of craftsmanship that gave the windows the slightly magnifying curvature of a goldfish bowl. Through them I could see the ghostly white figures of the police forensic team moving silently inside.

  ‘Used to be the family’s summer residence,’ Lundy told me as we walked across the lawn towards a clump of rhododendron bushes. ‘It was shuttered up for years until Leo decided he was going to move in. Course, the first thing he decided to do was rip half of it out and “modernize” it. You should see inside. Like something from a magazine.’

  ‘Is that what Trask and Emma Derby worked on?’

  He nodded. ‘It’d have saved everybody a lot of grief if they’d turned the job down. Right, here we go.’

  He stopped a few yards from where a group of CSIs in soil-caked coveralls knelt around a rectangular hole next to the bushes, scraping at the earth with trowels. Under a grid of orange string, the hole was perhaps four feet long and three
wide, and about eighteen inches deep. It looked small for an adult’s grave, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t. I’d encountered more than one murder where the killer had bent their victim double to bury them, indiscriminately snapping bones and tearing joints in the process.

  ‘Any luck?’ Lundy asked.

  One of the CSIs broke off to answer. ‘Not yet, but I don’t think we’ve far to go. We’re close enough to smell something.’

  The speaker was anonymous under the hooded coveralls and mask, but I recognized the voice from the creek. It was the big CSI who’d said the facial injuries to the body on the barbed wire had been caused by a boat propeller.

  ‘You remember Dr Hunter from the other day,’ Lundy told them. ‘He’s going to lend a hand.’

  ‘Hallelujah,’ the big CSI muttered, but he still shuffled to one side to make room for me.

  I’d been doing this for too long to waste energy butting heads. I knelt down beside them. ‘The soil looks pretty soft. How long ago would you say it was dug?’

  The big CSI sniffed under his mask. ‘A few months, tops. Probably less. The turf had been put back on top but it hadn’t had time to root properly. And there wasn’t—’

  ‘Got something.’

  The atmosphere changed as another CSI spoke. Everyone watched as she scraped delicately at the soil with the point of her trowel. She peered at something protruding above the dark earth.

  ‘It’s some sort of fabric. Could be a coat.’

  I glanced at Lundy. He raised his eyebrows but said nothing as more of the object emerged. A section of dark cloth was revealed, and with it came a noticeable smell of decomposition.

  ‘Something’s wrapped in it,’ the same female CSI said. ‘Hang on … Oh.’

  ‘What is it?’ Lundy asked, trying to peer past her into the grave.

  ‘Fur. It’s an animal,’ she said, sounding disappointed. ‘Looks like a dog.’