The Burying Place

by Vicky Jones

  “Mr. Anderson, can you tell us, please, why you lied about your whereabouts on the night Diana Walker was reported to have gone missing?” She clasped her hands together and rested them on the desk between them.

  “No comment.”

  Michelle folded her arms. “We’ll be here all night at this rate,” she huffed under her breath.

  Rachel continued unperturbed. “You said in your statement that on the night in question, you finished work at 6 p.m., like you do every evening, then went straight home to your fiancée. Are you still sticking with that?”

  “No comment.”

  “See, your fiancée called us. Said you didn’t come home until much later. Then you put your clothes in the washing machine before you’d even said ‘hello’. Said it was very strange as you never wash your own clothes.” Rachel made direct eye contact with the duty solicitor, who at that moment had looked up. “Your fiancée remembers it very clearly, as she didn’t know you even knew how to switch on the washing machine.”

  “We have been granted authority under Section 18 of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act 1984 to search your premises again, and the garage, Mr. Anderson, and I should warn you that officers are on their way there now to do exactly that,” Michelle chipped in.

  Anderson looked up. He swallowed hard and licked his dry lips.

  “It’s best for you if you tell us everything, Mr. Anderson,” Rachel said.

  With a huge exhale, Anderson slumped forward and buried his head in his hands. “OK. OK. I haven’t been telling the truth.”

  Shaw clasped his elbow. “Toby, may I remind you of my earlier advice to make no comment at this stage.” He turned to Rachel. “My client has…”

  “It’s OK. I want to tell them. I need to get it off my chest,” Anderson said, removing his arm from his solicitor’s clutches. “You want the truth? Here it is.”

  Amanda closed the door to her room at the Anchor Pub and walked down the stairs. After handing in her room key to the bar, she took a deep breath and pulled up the zip to her coat. Walking along the same stretch of coastal path as she had done last night, she waited at the lighthouse door for the group to arrive. The Nurse was the first on the scene. Not wanting to seem too eager, Amanda waited for The Teacher to arrive, then finally The Gardener. He hadn’t said much last night, so she was especially curious to hear his story. There was something she couldn’t put her finger on about him, but all would be revealed tonight, she thought.

  Rachel returned to the police interview room with a fresh black coffee for Toby Anderson. He looked up and nodded his thanks before taking a thirsty sip. She inserted a brand new set of tapes into the machine and went through the introductions again, finishing with the caution.

  “Mr. Anderson, if you’d like to continue your explanation as to why you lied about your whereabouts on the night of Diana Walker’s disappearance,” Michelle said.

  Anderson licked his lips and cleared his throat. “The day when that woman, Diana Walker, came into the garage, I was having a really bad day. It was all kicking off, you know? Boss was giving me grief about being late again, my missus moaning about me not spending enough time with her. What am I supposed to do, eh? I’m late for work because she doesn’t want to be alone, but I’ve gotta work to keep the roof over our heads and keep myself out of prison. It’s a condition of my parole, you see? So I’m in a right foul mood, then she shows up in her fancy motor, flashing the cash and giving me attitude. I’m working on another job and she marches straight up to me and demands I take a look at her car. Said there’d been some damage done to it.” Anderson wiped his face and cleared his throat again. “So, I take a look and sure enough there’s a dirty great scratch all down one side. Like it’s been keyed or something. I told her I hadn’t done it, but she went on and on, saying she was gonna tell old Dixon. Get me sacked, like. I mean, how’s that fair? I ain’t done nothing. I’m not perfect, not at all, but I’ve been trying to keep my nose clean since coming out, trying not to fuck up, what with Becca, and the kiddie on the way, and here’s this rich bitch trying to ruin everything for me.”

  “What happened next, Toby?” Rachel asked.

  “I’m glad you came back,” The Nurse said as Amanda walked into the dark and dank basement of the lighthouse and into the same room they all sat in the previous night. The Teacher and Gardener followed closely behind.

  “Yeah,” Amanda replied.

  The Nurse made everyone a mug of tea and ushered Amanda to a seat at the table. “Well, it’s strange, us meeting up twice in two nights, but I think my husband bought my excuses. Teacher?”

  The Teacher, more casually dressed this time in a dark blue hoodie and grey jeans, nodded. “Yeah. Said I was going the pub. Champions League’s on, so I’m covered ‘til at least 11 p.m. I’ll Google the score later.” He smiled and sipped his tea.

  Amanda stared directly at The Gardener, who had remained quiet. “We didn’t get time for you to tell me your story,” she said.

  “Or yours,” he countered, not lowering his sharp brown eyes.

  “You first. I’m nervous,” Amanda shot back. She clasped her hands together underneath the table.

  The Nurse let out a little laugh. “Come now, Daughter. Why don’t you tell us a little bit about yourself first? How did you meet The Therapist?”

  Amanda shot a glance at her. “I went to therapy because my mum thought I was going off the rails a bit after we moved here, and she said if I didn’t go, she would stop my allowance. I hated it at first. Hated opening up to some stranger but I started to like it.”

  “I think we can all relate to that,” The Teacher said.

  “He’s definitely made what we’ve done easier to live with. Even though what he’s been through was worse.” The Nurse reached over for the biscuits and began offering them out.

  “That’s one thing he never told me,” Amanda said. “Why he was helping us all. Did he tell you?”

  The Teacher nodded. “I asked him that. He said it was because he wanted ‘justice for bad people’. His daughter, Sophie, was murdered a few years ago now. It was in all the papers at the time. She was only seventeen years old, for fuck’s sake. Poor cow. She was set up by her friend, who was jealous Sophie was going out with her ex, and when this girl saw Sophie had tagged this place she was going one night on Instagram, she followed her there. Then at the end of the night, Sophie decided to walk home alone. Worst mistake she could have made. The girl followed her, then jumped her. Hit her over the head with a brick and dragged her into the bushes. She beat the shit out of poor Sophie.”

  “Shit,” Amanda said.

  “That’s not the worst bit,” The Teacher continued. “Before she left her there in those bushes, the bitch set Sophie on fire. The autopsy showed Sophie had ash in her lungs. She was still breathing while her fucking body was on fire. How fucked up is that? Anyway, because the killer was sixteen, shortly turning seventeen, her sentence was pathetic. Only five years in a pissing young offenders institute. Sophie was The Therapist’s only child and he worshipped her. Imagine, your only kid being set on fire while they were alive.”

  The Nurse and The Gardener looked down at the table as The Teacher told the story, their eyes dim.

  “So, The Therapist vowed that nobody else would ever go through that sense of injustice or pain ever again. Not if he could help it. He’s made it his mission to eradicate scum from this town. And the country, even the world, if he could. He knows he can’t do anything for his own daughter now, or get to her perpetrator. She was given a new identity, like they all are.” He snorted in derision. “Even though he has money, and connections, he can’t find Sophie’s killer. Or who she is now. Maybe what he does for us all is his own healing process. Whatever the reason, he’s taken care of my situation, and for that I’m loyal to the death to him.”

  “And me,” The Nurse said, nodding.

  “Me too,” The Gardener piped up, breaking his silence. “I’m not proud of what I’ve done, but it neede
d doing. I couldn’t stand back another day and watch what she was doing.” He picked at the edge of the table until a large splinter of wood ripped off. At length he pulled it clear from the edge and fiddled with it. “She was no good. Always pushing people around ‘cos she had a bit of money. I used to mow her lawn, you see? And prune the hedges, all that. But because she was rich she thought she could get away with hurting people. She had to go. Before she could do any more harm.” He tried to lift his eyes to look at the others, but his shame stopped him.

  “What was her name again?” The Nurse asked as she reached for a biscuit.

  Taking a deep breath, Amanda leaned forward. “And where is she now?”

  “I fucking hate myself for what I’ve done…” Anderson snivelled as he picked apart the polystyrene cup his coffee had come in over an hour ago. The duty solicitor looked on as Anderson lay his head down on the interview table and wrapped his arms around it.

  Michelle shoved the box of tissues over to him. “Take your time.”

  Anderson lifted his head up and took a messy slurp from a beaker of water and wiped his nose on a tissue. “I left work at six, but Becca’s right. I didn’t go straight home.”

  “Where did you go, Toby?” Rachel asked.

  “I don’t deserve Becca after what I’ve done…she’s gonna fucking leave me now.”

  “Toby?”

  “I’ve been seeing somebody else. Of all people, I’ve been banging the boss’s daughter.” He looked up at Rachel and Michelle, then sideways at Shaw. “You can see now why I didn’t wanna fucking advertise this. So after that woman, Diana, left, I was fuming. Becca has been having wild mood swings since she can’t take her medication since being pregnant and, being honest, I couldn’t deal with her. So that night, I texted Stacey. We’ve been seeing each other for about six…seven weeks now. Known each other since I came out of prison, we have. She pops into the garage to see her dad now and then and, well, that’s how we met. That night she asked me to come over after work, so I did. We shagged. A lot. It helped.”

  Rachel and Michelle looked sideways at each other.

  Anderson continued. “Look, what do you want me to say, huh? I don’t feel good about it. After I came home, I realised I stank of perfume and probably other stuff as you can imagine, so I put my clothes in the wash. I just said I’d got grease and shit on them. I think Becca is used to not asking me questions, not with my background. But the look on her face…that look on her fucking face…I’ve never felt guilt like it…and then she goes and sticks up for me with you lot. Believe it or not, I do have a conscience underneath.”

  Rachel’s eyes narrowed. “So you’re saying that you didn’t go anywhere near Diana Walker or her property that night?”

  “No. As God is my witness. Don’t get me wrong, at the time I wanted to slap the woman silly, but after I got to Stacey’s it was all forgotten about, trust me. I was more worried about hurting Becca and the boss not finding out. So, my head has been everywhere and the last thing I wanted was you guys sniffing around.”

  “We’ll have to speak with Stacey, check your alibi,” Michelle said. “What’s her address?”

  “I’m screwed, aren’t I? I’ll lose my job, my girl, and end up inside again.” Anderson banged his head into his forearm on the desk.

  “Better than being a murderer, though, isn’t it?” Rachel said. “By the way, what brand of washing machine do you own, Toby?”

  “I have no idea where she is now. Why does that even matter?” The Gardener replied. He stood up and began pacing the stone floor of the lighthouse basement. “The Therapist took care of all of that. We didn’t ask any more questions.”

  “But you must know?” Amanda pushed, her calm façade beginning to crack. The Nurse watched her, as did The Teacher.

  “I think it’s about time you told your story, Daughter,” The Nurse said in an even tone. “You think we haven’t worked out why you’re here?”

  Amanda’s mouth went dry.

  “We knew who you were as soon as you walked in. We saw you on the telly. The Teacher said, didn’t he? We don’t use names here. Usually. But there’s something about you that seems a bit strange. You say you met The Therapist when you were going off the rails and your mother said she’d stop your allowance if you didn’t go?”

  “Yes,” Amanda whispered.

  “Is that why you wanted her to go missing?”

  Amanda felt as if the air had been sucked completely out of the room. All eyes fixed on her. Before she could answer, a door in the corner of the room opened wide.

  “What the fuck are you doing here, Amanda?” growled the tall, well-built figure standing in the doorway. He was wearing a dark hoodie and black combat pants. He looked to be in his mid-fifties, with thick black hair and a square jaw. His forehead was creased with deep lines as his face frowned at Amanda. The aura of a young frightened girl that had sat meekly at the table for the last two nights seemed to evaporate. Left behind was a cold stillness visible in the person everyone was now staring at, a sense of pure malevolence now pouring out of Amanda Walker.

  “Nice to see you again,” she purred. “I didn’t realise you were the keyholder here. Nice cover.”

  “What’s going on here?” The Gardener demanded.

  The Therapist saw nobody else in the room other than Amanda. His stillness seemed incongruous to the rage and confusion displayed on his face.

  “Daughter’s one of our group, now,” The Nurse said, looking at The Teacher and The Gardener. She frowned. “Isn’t she?”

  “No, she fucking isn’t,” The Therapist hissed.

  Chapter 13

  Three hours after taking Anderson into the interview room, he was taken back before the custody sergeant to be released, pending further enquiries. Exhausted, Rachel headed back to her office, bumping into Superintendent Hargreaves on the way.

  “Well? Did you speak to Little Miss Perfect?” Hargreaves asked.

  “Poppy? No, not yet. We had a call from Becca Anderson on the way over there. We have to check out Toby Anderson’s alibi, but I think we’re barking up the wrong tree with that one. I doubt he’d admit to an affair, which could ruin him if it wasn’t true.” Rachel shook her head.

  “You got anything else to go on?”

  “No, just the washing machine noise on the train. But I’m going to speak to tech to see if there’s any other explanation for that.”

  “So, Diana Walker is just wanting the world to leave her the fuck alone then?” Hargreaves said. “I want a confirmation from Amanda Walker that it is her mother’s voice on that audio. Then I can get the press and that pain-in-the-arse MP to stop talking about this town as if it’s the bloody Bermuda Triangle. Has Diana Walker’s payment to her brother gone out this month, by the way?”

  Rachel shook her head and rubbed her tired eyes. “Not sure. I’ll have to get my FI to check with the bank. That doesn’t really prove anything, though; she does it by direct debit. Alive or dead, it’d still go out.”

  “True,” Hargreaves conceded. “Right, well, tomorrow morning I want you to confirm with Amanda it’s her mother’s voice, then close this bloody case, Rachel.”

  “Ma’am.”

  Under the dim amber glow of the bulb in the lighthouse basement, The Therapist had been pacing the floor for a good few minutes before anyone could think of what to say.

  “Look, is anyone going to tell us what the hell is going on?” The Gardener whined.

  “Amanda is my client,” The Therapist replied.

  “We know that. But…” The Nurse said.

  “She disclosed something to me in a session a while back.” The Therapist screwed up his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fuck. I’ve made a terrible error in judgement here.”

  “Shall I tell the story, doctor?” Amanda drawled, taking out her phone and pressing a couple of buttons. “You look a little…stressed.”

  The Therapist glared at her.

  Amanda continued. “What he is trying
to tell you all is, I once said in my therapy session that after a night of getting drunk and high on coke, I was driving back home through some country lanes at night. There was no lighting, and it was getting dark. All of a sudden, smack. I saw something fly through the air and into the bushes. I thought I’d hit an animal. I stopped the car and staggered out. I was so annoyed when I saw the damage to my car and thought, fucking hell, I’ve killed a deer or something. So, I looked through the bushes. Got scratched up, I can tell you. And then I saw what I’d hit.” Amanda paused for effect. “A bloke. He was about twenty-three…twenty-four maybe? He was barely alive, but he looked right at me. He couldn’t move, his back must have been broken or something, and he was bleeding from his nose, ears and mouth. So I knew it wasn’t good.” Pausing again, Amanda took a huge slurp of her tepid tea.

  “My God. What happened to him?” The Nurse gasped.

  Amanda looked her straight in the eye. “I watched him die. And I loved every. Single. Second of it.”

  There were gasps around the table, followed by a stunned silence. The Therapist looked down at his heavy black boots and squinted his eyes shut.

  “You left him to die? How could you?” The Nurse said, tears now clogging up her eyes.

  “Morbid curiosity, I guess,” Amanda replied. She picked a biscuit crumb out of a back tooth. “It was fascinating to watch him take his last breath, me being the last thing he saw. I thought of what he must have been like when he was six, ten, eighteen years old. His friends who were missing him, and me knowing exactly where he was and knowing I could end it or prolong it. It was almost spiritual. Like I was God or something? Not that I believe in that shit, but it was…almost over too quick. I wanted to replay it. I wished I could have woken him up, let him run, then knocked him over again. My mind went all over the place with the possibilities.”