Dead Again

by Jennie Melville

  ‘There’s Dr Greenham. I told him to come to the hospital, not here,’ said Dolly. ‘ You stay here, I’ll greet him and bring him over.’ Or keep him back, if she could.

  He didn’t need bringing over, however, and he was with them in a rush, leaving Dolly behind.

  ‘What is all this? Where is she?’

  ‘If you’d let me take you to the hospital, you could wait there,’ said Dolly quickly as she caught up with him.

  ‘No, bloody way.’ And he strode across the grass to the covered bundle. Before she could stop him he was drawing the cloth back from the girl’s face.

  He stood in silence, then covered his face with his hands.

  Charmian walked up to him and put her hand on his arm. He spun round at once.

  ‘That is not my daughter. She is nothing like my daughter. I don’t know what poor girl you have there but it is not Fiona. She is not my child.’ Then his grief and shock turned to anger. ‘And I think you owe me an explanation as to why you thought she was.’

  ‘You’re sure that this is not your daughter?’ Violent death could change the appearance.

  ‘Of course, I am sure. Do you think I don’t know my own child?’ He rounded on her fiercely. ‘I could hit you for that … But no, no, it is not Fiona. This girl is, more heavily built, coarser.’

  But still dead, Charmian thought. He could have used a prettier word than coarse. ‘Come and sit in the car.’

  ‘I bloody won’t. If I get in any car, it will be my own car and I will drive home. And I may see my solicitor. I may sue for damages.’

  ‘In the girl’s pocket was an envelope addressed to Miss Fiona Greenham.’

  ‘She was writing to my daughter then.’ He was still angry. ‘Hadn’t posted the letter.’

  ‘It was franked,’ pointed out Charmian. ‘We’d better see your daughter, hadn’t we? She may know who this girl is.’

  ‘I won’t let her see this,’ said Frank Greenham vehemently.

  ‘No, we won’t ask that of her, we’ll find a way round it.’ Charmian spoke gently but she was lying and she knew it. Fiona might have to see the dead girl. ‘Where is Fiona?’

  But of course, he did not know.

  Where was she?

  Frank Greenham had met on his doorstep the policeman who had come to deliver the message, the warning even, about the dead girl. At that time, Frank had only just discovered that Fiona had been out all day and was not yet home. No sign of her having been back to the house either.

  His wife, Deirdre, without tears because the girl’s thoughtlessness made her angry, had admitted that she had reason to believe that Fiona had not spent the night at home. Deirdre was Greenham’s second wife (third, fourth or fifth love, they stacked up) and she was not a natural mother. She liked the girl for being pretty and clever (her father’s daughter), but she showed signs of promiscuity (her father’s daughter again), and Deirdre jibbed at having to take responsibility for this too. But the damn thing was she was fond of the girl; underneath the make-up was a friendly child. To think of her as dead was hard to take in. Murdered, too, possibly. She had wanted to go with Frank to the hospital where he had expected to find the body, but he wouldn’t let her come with him.

  ‘Too much for you, couldn’t let you do it,’ he had said. But that was not the reason she discovered: he had found out where the body still lay, on a patch of rough ground in the heart of Windsor, and intended to go there and force his way through to get sight of the body and the place.

  Deirdre would have been in the way.

  Never underrate the investigative powers of an experienced academic, she told herself as she watched him drive away. They are trained to ask questions which draw out the right answers. And they network, so they always know whom to ask. She thought Frank had probably got hold of the top journalist on the Windsor Whistler. Eddy would be wherever the body was. Frank was still away, when the door opened and banged in a

  manner used only by Fiona. Deirdre stood still in the kitchen, a

  shiver running up her back and down her arms.

  Do ghosts bang doors?

  Fiona opened the kitchen door and called out ‘Deirdre? Here’s

  the wanderer back,’ as her stepmother fell to the ground.

  Fiona rushed over. ‘ Dee, why have you fainted? You’re not

  pregnant, are you? Are you in the club? That’d make two of us.’

  Dr Frank Greenham returned home later than he would have wished, having been held back to make a statement – one of non recognition, eh? he had enquired savagely – and now, in company of Charmian Daniels, he found his wife and his daughter sitting in the kitchen, giggling over a pot of tea.

  He loved his daughter and his wife more than he realized, but he hated it when they giggled together, it shut him out. Women’s club. Also, it was worse, when he had someone with him. Worst of all when it was Charmian Daniels. Not that he disliked Charmian, she was an attractive woman, but she was a woman in a position of command, and that he did find difficult.

  Deirdre and Fiona sitting comfortably at the table looked at his cross face and at Charmian whom they did not know. Fiona shook the pot. ‘ Empty.’

  ‘Go and make some more then.’ He pointed to the door to the pantry.

  When it had closed behind her, his wife said, ‘She might have difficulty in making tea out there, most of the tea-making equipment is in here. She knew you wanted her out of the way, you should have said so honestly.’

  More perceptive than her husband, she had been worried about the girl for some time now. She had her own worries too, but that was a different matter.

  Frank cut across what she was saying, ‘Miss Daniels wants to ask if Fiona knows why an envelope addressed to her at this house was found in the jeans of the dead girl.’

  ‘An envelope with Fiona’s name on it. Had it been delivered?’

  Quick of her, thought Charmian. But she was a lawyer, wasn’t she? She’d gone pale, though.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Makes a difference.’

  ‘I must ask her about it.’ Charmian turned back to Frank Greenham. ‘ With you both here, of course.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Deirdre quickly, ‘both of us.’

  ‘And I will have to ask her to see if she can identify the dead girl … with you both there, naturally.’

  ‘Wouldn’t it do if you described the dead girl?’ Frank Greenham asked. He had seen the girl’s face and had no desire that Fiona should see the same.

  ‘If she remembers to whom she gave the envelope or who might have had it, picked it up, something like that, and gives a good description of that person, it might do,’ said Charmian, promising nothing. She knew that Fiona would have to be shown the body.

  Fiona came in with a tray. On it was a bottle and four glasses. ‘Couldn’t find any tea stuff, anyway, I knew you’d prefer this.’

  As a comment on the Greenham family life, it was interesting and instructive. The wine was a good claret too. All the same, Charmian refused it.

  ‘Not for me, I have to drive off. You three are at home.

  Fiona had opened the wine, she was at home with the bottle.

  Frank Greenham and his wife took some wine, Fiona did not. She shook her head. ‘Don’t fancy it.’

  ‘I bet,’ said Deirdre.

  ‘Some time soon,’ said Frank, ‘I’m going to be asking where you’ve been all this time. That is, if the Chief Superintendent doesn’t ask first.’

  Fiona turned her big, dark eyes on Charmian. ‘I know you, Miss Daniels, You came to the school and gave us a talk on women in crime.’

  ‘I hope it didn’t inspire you towards a life of crime?’

  ‘Wasn’t meant to, was it? No, didn’t make me want to be a police officer or a prison warder either. Thought I might write about it … You know, crime books.’

  Sharp girl, they were well matched.

  ‘That is an easier option,’ said Charmian smoothly. She produced the envelope in a transparent plastic fold
er. ‘This envelope is addressed to you.’ It was a statement, not a question.

  Fiona looked and nodded. She did not speak.

  ‘Who is it from?’

  ‘Mary James, a school friend, her parents broke up and her mother took her off to London.’

  This was supported by the postmark. No reason to disbelieve her, of course.

  ‘You took the letter out? Do you still have it?’

  ‘It wasn’t really a letter, not in the way you mean, it had a ticket for a concert I wanted to go to in it, and I went. Met Mary there.’

  ‘When was this?’ Judging by the postmark it could not have been long ago.

  Fiona’s eyes flicked to her father. ‘Last night, that’s where I was.’

  ‘You slept there?’ growled her father, not waiting for Charmian to speak.

  ‘Well, sort of, it turned into a sort of party.’

  ‘Sort of, sort of,’ he was still growling. ‘You’re not old enough to be partying all night.’

  Fiona blinked but said nothing.

  Her stepmother raised a half cynical, half sympathetic eyebrow at her. If partying were all, it said.

  Charmian broke into the family squabble.

  ‘The envelope – did you throw it away?’

  Fiona drew her lips together and frowned. ‘ No. Not sure what I did with it. Why?’

  Not answering the question, Charmian thought. ‘ Try to remember.’

  ‘Why does it matter? Is it important?’ Was she vague or just pretending? ‘ I mean, you don’t bother with envelopes, do you?’

  ‘Just try.’

  Frank Greenham stood up and banged the table. ‘Come on, girl, give your mind to it. Try to remember what became of the envelope. Who could have found it? Where could it have got to?’

  ‘But you know where it’s got to,’ said Fiona. She pointed at Charmian. ‘She’s got it.’

  That’s it, thought Charmian. This cheeky little miss is strong enough to see the dead girl.

  ‘Fine. Let’s get off. I am going to see if you can make an identification.’ She turned to the parents. ‘Of course, you will want to come. Yes? Right. How old is Fiona?’

  She could be any age. Not as much make-up as the dead girl had worn, but a fair amount.

  ‘Nearly fifteen,’ Frank answered, his eyes on his daughter’s face.

  ‘Right.’ Fiona’s age would require the presence of a youth officer; she would set about organizing someone, she didn’t know who was on call … Shirley Bendon was the likely one. Nice woman, practical and sensible, strong too, and goodness knows she needed to be all of that for the job she did. What was more, she was a quiet lady who did not interrupt when Charmian got on with her questioning. Charmian did not enjoy questioning children, although Fiona was one of the least childlike children she had met.

  ‘Come on, then.’

  ‘Where are we going?’ demanded Fiona.

  Charmian did not answer. She would find out.

  As they walked to the car, Frank Greenham gripped Charmian’s wrist very hard.

  ‘You’re hurting.’

  He relaxed his grip. In a low voice, he said, ‘I reckon this has something to do with Joan Dingham, and I am holding you responsible.’

  Charmian did not answer, but she rubbed her wrist and looked away.

  They went in two cars: Charmian took the girl and her stepmother, and Frank Greenham followed on his own, a dour figure somehow managing to make his presence felt even a car space behind.

  Charmian understood his mood; she had kept the girl and his wife with her so that he could not influence what Fiona might say. She had chosen to have Deirdre Greenham with her so that no questions could be asked later about what she said to Fiona. Handling children was always tricky, there was no need to make the task harder.

  Fiona and her stepmother sat in the back, silent. Charmian caught Fiona’s gaze as she closed the doors and started the car. Some child, she thought, but with amusement. There was something endearing about this girl who had obviously been out on the town and didn’t want to talk about it.

  Charmian had checked for messages on her mobile phone and discovered that the body of the girl, the false Fiona Greenham, was now in the University Hospital. She knew the place. The university had been built recently and was situated in a new university park, out beyond Slough. The hospital, however, was old, a former workhouse, which dated it precisely as late Victorian rebuilding, which had been converted into a hospital several decades ago without being able to throw off the smell of its past. But University Hospital was an efficient, friendly establishment which the police found useful. Charmian was known there.

  Dolly Barstow was waiting in the front hall, coat drawn close about her against a chill wind blowing through it, and taking irritable steps here and there at intervals.

  She was pleased to see Charmian. ‘They said you were coming. I came in with the body to do the official stuff. Someone had to and no one else seemed to be free.’ She glanced across at Fiona and Deirdre who had just been joined by Frank Greenham. ‘Who have you got there? Don’t tell me, I can guess.’

  ‘The girl is Fiona Greenham,’ said Charmian.

  Dolly raised an eyebrow. ‘Looks like her dad. Is that the mother?’

  ‘Step. The girl says she doesn’t know where she lost the envelope, which I don’t believe, by the way, and I have brought her in to see if she can identify the body.’

  ‘Right. Tough medicine.’

  ‘If I shake her up a bit, she might start remembering and talking.’

  Dolly studied Fiona. ‘I wouldn’t have done at her age, I’d probably have clammed up more.’

  ‘Let’s hope she’s not like you then.’

  ‘We going in in force?’

  ‘I don’t know. I must take a parent with me, and I am waiting for the child protection worker.’

  ‘I always think it’s the social worker who needs protection, not the kid,’ said Dolly. ‘But if it’s Shirley Bendon, then she’s here anyway on some mercy mission and is just getting some coffee. She’ll be radiant to see you, she’s dead beat and hoping to get off home for some sleep.’

  ‘You don’t get regular sleep in this job.’

  ‘I expect she’s noticed.’

  They could both see Shirley approaching with two beakers of coffee. She handed one to Dolly and looked doubtfully at Charmian.

  ‘I only got two.’

  ‘That’s all right, Shirley, I don’t want any. Nice to see you.’

  Shirley took a quick drink.

  ‘It’s work, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Don’t tell me, let me guess. It’s connected with that kid over there.’ She nodded at Fiona.

  ‘You know her?’

  ‘Not by name, but I know the face. She runs around with a crowd her dad would not like.’

  ‘You know him?’ Charmian was surprised.

  ‘Lectures to me for the diploma I’m doing.’

  ‘One big happy family, aren’t we?’ said Dolly.

  ‘The girl is Fiona Greenham. She is coming to look at the dead girl, in the hope that she can identify her. Or help.’

  She looked across at the trio who stood waiting. ‘Well, off we go.’

  They made quite a party going in to the mortuary: Fiona with her father, Charmian and Shirley and a young WPC who appeared from nowhere, not to mention Dr Chris Thomas, who was in charge of the mortuary, and his assistant.

  Deirdre Greenham stayed outside with Dolly Barstow.

  A drawer was pulled out from the wall, a white sheet over the form on it.

  Charmian noticed with satisfaction that Fiona was pale as she was led up to look, and then was ashamed of herself for being pleased. She was only a girl, after all. But a resolute one. She nodded assent as the sheet was dragged back, stared quietly at the face, then nodded again.

  ‘I do know her. I don’t know her real name but I have met her.’

  ‘No name?’

  ‘There were loads of us at that party, jamme
d together, I was with a gang. That sort of party.’

  ‘You gave her an envelope, though.’

  Fiona took a deep breath. ‘She was going to get me some stuff … Tablets.’

  ‘Tablets? Like what?’

  ‘Like E, I guess. Or sort of. Maybe. There was some money in there.’

  She stopped again. Charmian could hear Dr Greenham muttering some angry words. That growl again. Well, he had cause, no doubt.

  ‘So she knew your name, but you didn’t know hers?’ It made sense: the dead girl was an Ecstasy supplier.

  ‘I did ask and she laughed. She said she was called Bibi and her mother was called Baby.’

  Baby and Bibi, well, well, Charmian thought. Oh, God. There are complications here.

  Another complication, although where it came into the web she was not sure, was Joan Dingham. You could say that Joan connected with Baby whom she certainly knows and now also with Dr Greenham.

  Coincidence.

  I am not a great believer in coincidences, thought Charmian. They happen, of course, but I don’t like them so close to murder.

  Across the road, she could see Chief Inspector Webley and Inspector Round getting out of their respective cars. She decided to give them a friendly greeting, then leave them to it. She had set her own circuit in motion. Those sticky fingers, she had heard they spoke of had their uses.

  On the drive home, Deirdre sat in the front next to her husband, and Fiona sat in the back.

  ‘We’ll need a solicitor, a good one.’

  Fiona muttered something.

  ‘Listen, I am an academic administrator,’ said her father sharply. ‘I know what the word drugs does to the police. You need legal help and that will cost.’

  ‘There will be another cost too,’ said Fiona, ‘I’m pregnant and I don’t want an abortion on the NHS. I want a private room in a good clinic. It’ll cost.’

  Chapter Three

  ‘So who is going to tell Baby that her daughter is dead?’ asked Dolly Barstow. She and Charmian were drinking coffee in Charmian’s kitchen. Humphrey had just arrived back home after reporting that Birdie and Winifred (not to mention the so-called hermit) were anxious to know what news there was of the body that had been found not so far from the bottom of their garden. This had happened to them before.