Bury Him Darkly

by Roger Ormerod

  ‘You don’t have to explain to me!’ I stared at him. He stared at the bowl of his pipe. ‘It suited her, you said. You mean — you knew it was false?’

  ‘I believed it to be,’ he admitted cautiously. Then he turned and surveyed me with consideration. ‘There is a resemblance, you know. But Tonia was only seventeen when I last saw her.’

  ‘Believed!’ I was furious. He had seemed convinced. ‘But you allowed it to —’

  ‘To go on… yes. It suited me, too. I wanted to see how far she would take it.’

  ‘You mean, how far before you had another death on your hands? All right. Sorry. But you distinctly told me...’

  ‘Perhaps I was leading you on, as well.’ He was placid about it, even smiled. ‘It’s the truth I’m after.’

  ‘What a dirty rotten trick!’

  ‘I couldn’t take it seriously. It wasn’t serious, just a slippy bit of confusion thrown in my path.’

  ‘Jennie was killed, damn you. Is that serious to you? Or are you going to trip over it? If you hadn’t been so amused by it all —’

  ‘That’s rather unfair,’ he protested.

  With stronger words poised on my tongue, I stopped, and bit my lip to keep it still. He was correct. It was unfair. He’d had no chance to intervene.

  ‘My apologies,’ I murmured. ‘It was all my fault in the first place.’ I didn’t really feel I owed him an apology, I was simply clearing the air. ‘Jennie came to help me — I feel responsible.’

  ‘You found it necessary to prove who you are,’ he said, a little pompously. ‘It’s a natural reaction, but you ought to be careful with it. Push it far enough, and discover that you still can’t establish it, and before you know where you are you’ll be wondering, yourself. It’s a kind of self-induced schizophrenia.’

  ‘Well, thank you, Mr Freud,’ I said bitterly. ‘Are you laughing at me?’ I demanded, not fully in control of my voice.

  He grimaced, holding up his palm. ‘Trying to help, really. Trying to get you to see it’s not a serious problem. Bella Fields has been trying something on, but she couldn’t have expected to keep it going much longer. No. What we’ve got now is the vicious killing of Jennie Lyons. I can’t see the connection. Perhaps there isn’t one.’

  ‘You think not?’ I ventured gently, when what I really wanted was to scream. ‘You don’t think it’s somebody who prefers me to be Tonia Fields?’

  He grinned at me. I had to assume he was sincerely trying to be helpful, to reassure me. ‘No, I don’t. Different style — different person. Somebody who’s… well, desperate, shall we say.

  ‘Nothing,’ I whispered, ‘for me to worry about?’

  ‘Nothing. Leave me to do the worrying.’

  Was he insane? Or was he treating me as a delicate and inexperienced female who would sigh with relief at his specious encouragement, coming as it did from a mature male police officer? If so, he had failed miserably. Any desperation hanging around was mine, while I fought grimly to cling to the basic fact that I was Philipa Lowe, who wasn’t going to be frightened by bogies and whispers in the dark, not even by somebody who was desperate! Yet creeping into my bones was the chill awareness that perhaps Bella had done too good a job, and that for somebody I was really Tonia Fields, who’d been a frightened little mouse, and who seemed now to be wriggling on that damp bench with her briefs sticking to her behind.

  ‘What are you intending to do about it?’ I asked coldly.

  ‘Do?’ He seemed surprised. ‘Why… wait, of course. Until the forensic people give me something to work on. Here!’ He flicked a smile in my direction. ‘I didn’t tell you… we already have a good guess as to the age of the female skeleton. When she died, that is.’

  ‘Tell me.’ I tried to sound uninterested.

  ‘Late teens to middle twenties.’

  ‘It fits,’ I said quietly. ‘Tonia!’

  ‘Doesn’t it!’

  It seemed that my nerves were being teased from all directions. The fact that he’d deliberately approached me, not to interrogate but to inform, and that in the most formal and prepared way, indicated that he was applying a test. Did he intend that I should make a run for it? Or hang on like a worm on a fish-hook?

  ‘Am I allowed to leave the district?’ I asked meekly.

  ‘You’re under no restraint.’

  ‘You don’t want me for statements and the like?’

  ‘I’ll know where to find you. In fact, I’d prefer you to be somewhere else.’

  I nodded. ‘So that in the event of another violent death, with me in the lead part, it won’t be on your patch? You’re as transparent as a sheet of ice.’ And as warm, but I managed not to say that.

  ‘I’d still be interested.’

  ‘Thank you. Then I’ll tell you that I’m going to my home town, Penley. Amongst friends.’

  ‘And a very good idea, too.’

  I didn’t reply, having suddenly become fascinated by the drama I could see about to unfold on the far side of the street. From the left Bella was approaching, doing a return run. From the right Jay was approaching, he in his full persona as a co-star of Colossus, and basking in the instant recognition. Traffic slowed, groups paused, hesitated, then stopped. They sailed magnificently towards each other, like fighting ships under full sail on the Spanish Main, the encounter inevitable. People stood aside in respect. The imminent clash was recognized by the sun, which made a vast effort, flung aside the residue of the mist, and burst through. Colours were at once more brilliant, and none shone with more piercing clarity than Bella and Jay, who had now seen each other, who flung their arms wide and rushed into each other’s embrace as though separation had robbed them of a vital element, which now acted as a catalyst to their emotions. How many times they’d done it for the cameras! They kissed hungrily, passion at last released, the mirror glasses dangling in Bella’s fingers behind his head, and dancing to the rhythm of her ecstasy. The traffic stopped, the pedestrians stopped. Many hearts hesitated, then beat faster.

  ‘Very touching,’ said Connaught. He blew something unpleasant from his pipe stem.

  I stood. My briefs stuck to my bottom. Indecorously, I detached them. ‘I’ll no doubt see you again, Inspector,’ I said.

  ‘They’ll start a riot,’ he muttered uneasily.

  I walked away in the opposite direction. It was possible that Bella and Jay, their attention most certainly not being on each other, might spot me and include me in the touching scene. The idea made my toe-nails curl. I sneaked off round the back and hurried away, dreading the calling of my name. But I’d be able to ignore it if they called me Tonia.

  Head down, I trotted up the steps and into the Crown, my intention being to sign out immediately, throw my stuff together before Bella returned — inevitably in a flaming temper — and get moving fast away from Horseley Green.

  But intentions are not necessarily fulfilled. Oliver Simpson was standing at the desk, luggage all round him, and with his old tweed hat cocked at an angle that ridiculously caught at my throat. They’d managed to reduce the bandaging, and had the arm now in a sling, his jacket and coat hanging free on that side. How do you approach a person so severely handicapped when your body cries out to be thrown into his arms — arm? He solved it.

  ‘Phil!’ And his good arm was pulling me tightly to his chest, where it didn’t hurt, and his tired kind eyes were looking down into mine. We didn’t need to say anything more. Nothing demonstrative; he kissed me on the forehead. ‘I’m so very sorry,’ he whispered, when it was I who should have been apologizing and comforting.

  I had to look away from his face. The journey, however it had been accomplished, had strained him. It was there in the wounded line of his mouth.

  ‘I’ll book you in,’ I said, my own plans way up in the sky now.

  ‘It’s done. A double room.’

  ‘Good. I’ll move my stuff in there, then.’

  ‘I’ve made arrangements, Phil.’ Grimacing, half in amusement, he gestured. ‘Cons
table Terry Alwright.’

  I hadn’t noticed him there, he’d been so self-effacing, a large and doughy-faced young man in his mid-twenties with wide shoulders and a firm stance. There was pink in his cheeks, his mild blue eyes dancing, his blond hair slipping over his eyes.

  ‘Hello, Terry.’ With friendliness, I hoped.

  He nodded, smiling.

  ‘I’m on sick leave,’ said Oliver, ‘so this is unofficial. Jennie was on my team, but it’s still unofficial.’ A little terse anger touched his voice. ‘Terry’s on loan, also unofficially. Therefore, it’s Terry and not Constable. So… This is Philipa, Terry. This is Terry, Philipa.’

  ‘Philipa,’ he murmured, even more embarrassed now.

  ‘I need help, you see, Phil,’ Oliver explained, but not looking me in the eyes. ‘Dressing, undressing, washing, shaving. I’m like a great big awkward baby. Isn’t that right, Terry?’

  ‘Right… sir.’

  ‘Terry’s the strongest they could find for me. He’s been instructed to take me to the hospital here, once a day, for dressings. I think we’ll manage.’

  But we could’ve managed, Oliver, I wanted to shout at him. I said, ‘Right. Got your key, have you?’ He dangled it. ‘Terry, if you’ll grab hold of the boss-man — there’s no lift, I’m afraid — I’ll bring up what bags I can. Then we’ll settle you in, Oliver, and Terry can… can...’

  I’d wanted to say evaporate for a while, because Jennie was still there between us, and we had to be alone. But I couldn’t order Terry around. He delicately lifted an eyebrow because I was doing exactly that.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said quietly, which I suppose I deserved.

  We managed it to their room, which was on the same floor as Bella’s and mine — probably this was the only floor catering for guests — but at the far end of the corridor. Terry handled his inspector like candyfloss, equally crushable and just as light. The muscles of the man! Oliver was no light weight, even taking most of it himself. He lowered him gently to sit on one of the beds. Oliver groaned. I stared silently and miserably at his harrowed face.

  ‘I’ll get the rest of the cases, sir,’ said Terry.

  ‘For heaven’s sake!’ There was no snap in Oliver’s voice, just weariness. ‘We can’t operate together if you’re going to be so damned formal. On this operation it’s Terry and Oliver. It’s informal, lad, this trip. All right?’

  ‘Yes… Oliver.’ He had a pleasant smile.

  I was left alone with my poor distressed and pain-racked Oliver.

  ‘Why did you come?’ I asked softly, tentatively.

  ‘To see you, Phil.’

  ‘I would’ve come to you. I was going to do that. Oh Oliver, Jennie! I couldn’t… poor Jennie!’

  And I could hardly collapse on the bed in tears, on his operative side, because Terry would be back any second. And because Oliver was watching me sternly. No time for tears.

  ‘We’ll get him, Phil.’

  ‘Or her.’

  ‘Or her, if necessary.’

  ‘We could’ve done that together, Oliver, you and I. You know we could. I could’ve managed.’

  ‘I need Terry. His strength.’

  But not his comfort. ‘We could’ve...’

  ‘No, Phil. Listen. I admit it. I’m not strong, something I never expected to say. Besides, I couldn’t have left him behind. He threatened to resign if I insisted, and come anyway.’

  ‘I don’t understand. You could have had your choice. Dozens of big coppers.’

  ‘Phil — Jennie was his woman friend. They were living together. You can see —’

  ‘Oh heavens, yes. Of course.’ Poor Terry, too! I tried to grin at him, just to lighten the mood, but my lips felt stiff. We’d always managed to grin at each other. ‘By God, Oliver, we’ll make such a team.’

  Terry’s hip hodged the door open. He was festooned with cases.

  ‘One more trip, Chief,’ he said. He’d had time to work out a compromise. Then he was gone again. I wondered what he would think up for me. Chiefess?

  As the door closed behind him, we grinned at each other. Finally.

  ‘Does it hurt much?’ I asked.

  ‘I’ve got tablets.’

  ‘That’s no answer and you know it.’

  He nodded. ‘It hurts. But I’m mobile. I can still use one fist if necessary, and Terry’s got two.’

  ‘And me, Oliver?’

  ‘I know you. Grab anything that’s available.’

  ‘So we’re really working on this together? What about Connaught?’

  ‘He’ll have been told I’m here. He won’t like it, but he’ll have no grumble so long as we keep him in touch.’

  ‘And fully informed?’

  He rubbed the stubble on his chin. He had obviously departed from the hospital in a hurry. ‘That depends — doesn’t it?’

  ‘It depends,’ I agreed, longing to lather his face and shave him clean. Somehow, I knew he was a lather and blade man. ‘So where do we start?’

  ‘We start right here, and when Terry’s back.’

  Which he was, that moment, so that I was spared a comment.

  ‘That’s the lot,’ he said. ‘Coming up to lunchtime, Chief.’

  ‘Lunch? You’ll have to learn, laddie, that in the CID eating

  comes when you can find time. And sleeping. Everything.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Terry, dropping himself on the bed beside me, ‘I thought this was informal. Not official,’ he amplified. ‘Chief.’

  There was a wicked little gleam in his eyes. This young man was a droll one, addicted to dry humour. He’d need watching.

  ‘All right,’ said Oliver. ‘So unofficially we sit here until we’ve decided on a line of approach, and then we eat. Let’s have it, Phil, from the beginning.’

  ‘You already know —’

  ‘For Terry’s benefit, and for me to hear again.’

  So, slowly and carefully, trying not to miss any detail, and stopped from time to time for clarification by both of them and with Terry all the while growing in confidence, I told them the lot. Apart from the bit where Jennie entered into it, where I faltered and Terry grunted as though I’d punched him and Oliver looked down at his hand, I managed to work through to the end without, I felt, missing anything.

  ‘And now,’ I finished with relief, only at that point realizing how this affected my personal situation, ‘you’re here, on the spot, to identify me. Positively. Finally.’

  ‘Umm!’ said Oliver.

  ‘What the devil d’you mean by umming me?’ I demanded.

  ‘Logic indicates that it might no longer be necessary,’ he said formally.

  ‘But Chief —’

  I cut in quickly. ‘Logic tells me I’m scared, Oliver.’

  ‘You!’ Oliver laughed wickedly.

  Terry darted his head back and forth. ‘I can see what the chief’s getting at, Phillie...’ He stopped when we both stared at him. He shrugged. ‘The difference now is that I’ll be around.’

  So I was to be the informal Phillie! Fair enough, particularly as he seemed to be on my side.

  ‘All right,’ said Oliver. ‘So Terry can read my mind. OK then, laddie, let’s hear what logic dictates.’

  Was Oliver being cruel? Surely not. But there was a wicked gleam in his eyes.

  Startled to have it thrown at him so abruptly, Terry glanced at me, then at Oliver. ‘I don’t think...’

  ‘Nonsense. You’ll have to learn, Terry, that when a senior officer asks for an opinion it’s when he’s stuck. Then he can claim any bright ideas as his own. Let’s have it, while you’ve got a witness to swear the ideas are yours.’

  ‘I haven’t got any ideas.’

  ‘Thoughts, then. Don’t think you’re going to get away with offering your muscles and nothing else. Thoughts, Terry.’

  ‘I don’t know about thoughts,’ he replied doubtfully. ‘I can’t even understand what that Bella Fields has been playing at. I mean...’ He looked anxiously from one face to t
he other, and we nodded. ‘Even assuming she knew something nasty might be dug out of the ground… one or two skulls, depending on how much she knows… what’s she gained by involving Phillie? Time, that’s all. Sooner or later Forensic will tie things down, and they’ll put names to them. Sure to.’

  ‘But she wouldn’t know that,’ I explained. ‘She was terrified of being taken into custody, and not being able to get back to her TV studio in three weeks’ time.’

  ‘And the second skull meant something special to her?’ Oliver thought about that with his lips pursed. ‘Tonia?’

  ‘Something like that.’ But I wasn’t happy with it.

  ‘Anyway...’ His eyes were on mine, detecting my concern, but not quite understanding the full extent of it. ‘Anyway, that’s all over now. We’re here. We can prove you’re the one and only Philipa Lowe.’

  The tone of levity irritated me. ‘And how does that leave me?’

  ‘You, Phil?’ Oliver cocked his head.

  I breathed in heavily. ‘Say it gets to the point where I’ve proved my identity —’

  ‘Which will be very soon,’ Oliver promised soothingly.

  ‘When I’m able to stick it under Bella’s nose?’ I demanded. ‘You think it’ll all be over when she turns to me and says, “Sorry, Phil, but I had to do something, just in case”? And I’d call her a cold and cynical bitch… and a few other things —’

  ‘You’d do that, I’m sure,’ Oliver agreed.

  ‘But I’d be alive, Oliver! Don’t you see? It’s not Bella who’s got to be persuaded — she knows. Jennie’s death, the attempt to crash my car — neither of those fits with Bella. And Bella wouldn’t want me dead, anyway. She wouldn’t need me to be dead.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ he said. ‘I get your point.’