Grace Smith Investigates

by Liz Evans

  It ought to have been true, given the amount of drugs she’d ground into the whisky. Why wasn’t I dead?

  Heidi had worn a plastic ‘bum-bag’ around her waist under the coat. It was intact but only partially zipped, body fluids had found their way inside. Using my lock picks I prodded for anything useful. The solid mass had probably been a notebook and the rusted zip belonged to small purse: coins and a house key lay just underneath where the material had rotted around them. A lip gloss and blusher were still recognisable thanks to their rigid plastic casing. A couple of pens. A laminated library card with the name CH Walkinshaw still readable. Oblong decaying fabric which I guessed might have been a case for the spectacles. Nothing that was going to help me get out of here.

  A carrier bag with the logo of a local supermarket was squashed behind the body. The bricks wavered and lurched and my innards boiled as I leant cautiously forward and examined it. It had been knotted tightly at the top which had kept it air-tight and protected the contents. I drew out a man’s long sleeved T-shirt stained with rust coloured patches. For some reason (probably connected to the fact it was his mum who would have been putting it in the washing machine), Jonathon had left it behind for Bianca to bury. The DNA evidence to connect Clemency and Jonathon to Heidi still existed. For the moment.

  An orange coloured material, underneath her head, proved be Heidi’s paper satchel. The thick woven, nylon fabric appeared to be near indestructible. The bag and strap were intact; although the metal rings holding the strap had rusted. I pulled the satchel out of my way, and the torch light caught the sawn off end of a pipe in what I estimated was an outer wall. Trying not to think about what I was laying in, I put my face right down on the floor to play the beam through it.

  It was sealed solid. When I probed with a finger, it felt like concrete. Bianca must have re-routed it when she built the wall. Damn. My narrow point of light sparked off something else metallic amongst Heidi’s bones. Carefully I reached with two fingers between the rib cage and picked up a tiny object. It was covered in a greasy residue. I scraped some off with my thumb. The gold post was still as bright as the day it had been inserted. I’d been right, she’d swallowed her tongue studs.

  ‘I know why she turned down Schoolhouse Lane, instead of riding back down the main road,’ I told Cappuccino. ‘She didn’t want to run into her mum. She’d bottled flashing the tongue studs. Maybe she was hoping to get them out before Ellie saw them.’ And that was something I could never, ever, tell Ellie Walkinshaw.

  Cappuccino was sitting on his haunches grooming his whiskers, with short frenzied movements of his front paws. It was, I figured, the rabbit equivalent of displacement activity. Stepping back to him, I gathered him up in my arms and hugged him close. ‘Don’t get any funny ideas here big ears; this is strictly platonic.’

  Feeling his warm body and stroking his silky ears was comforting. I sat back with him on my lap and tried to think logically. ‘Even unconscious bodies breathe. And so do rabbits. And my little lop-eared one, I don’t know about you, but I’m not getting any symptoms of oxygen deprivation yet. Which suggests that we haven’t been in here for too long. Unfortunately I’m not wearing a watch, but allowing for the time it takes to demolish a body-sized part of a wall and rebuild it, I’m guessing it shouldn’t be too long before Bianca’s tenants get home. And then I can yell my little head off and you can join in with a bit of leg thumping if you feel like it, and before you know it, they’ll be digging us out.’

  But would they? Supposing they had the TV volume up high? Or went straight upstairs to their bedrooms. My voice wouldn’t carry far; and they were forbidden from entering the cellar. Eventually, of course, Clemency would re-open my tomb to reclaim and destroy the DNA evidence once Bianca was safely dead. But that could be weeks, or even months, in the future.

  I dug my fingers into the thick fur and raked it flat. Cappuccino hunkered into my stomach, apparently enjoying the attention. ‘I’ve been thinking about why I’m not dead yet, Cappy. Some poisonous substances — and I’ve no idea which ones — have a remission period. You feel like shit, then you seem to get better, and then you get the final phase, that is irreversibly fatal. They always give it to the cute kid in hospital dramas. Just as everyone’s breathing sighs of relief because he’s recovering, they get the toxicology report and it’s curtains for cutie. If I’m pumped full of one of those, then it won’t much matter if I get out of here or not, it will just change the location of the bucket I eventually kick. Of course a lot of street drugs also give you hallucinations. I could be sitting here talking to a non-existent rabbit, because, when I think about it, it’s pretty odd them bricking you up in here.’ I dropped my chin and rubbed his furry ears against the underneath. I could feel the rapid beat of his heart against mine. ‘Tell you what, let’s plan what we’ll do when we get out of here. Personally I’m intending to get up close and very personal with O’Hara. I don’t know why I’ve been holding off for so long. How many women lie on death beds going I wish I’d spent less time with that fit hottie. What about you? Got your eye on a sexy little doe with a cottontail to die for? Because, take it from me, you and I just wouldn’t have worked.’

  I giggled for no good reason. Sweat was trickling down my spine and I could hear myself gasping in short breaths. Part of my mind knew I wasn’t behaving logically. I should be concentrating on getting out of here, not chatting to a big, fat rabbit that probably wasn’t there. I didn’t know if it was the first stages of carbon dioxide poisoning, an effect of the drugs, or just plain old terror at the idea of being buried alive that was sending me loopy.

  Forcing my mind back to the present, I tried to concentrate on what I’d done so far. Had I missed anything that would help me to escape? The impact of something I’d said, hit me. ‘Excuse me Cappy, genius calls.’ It was easy to spot the section Bianca had removed. The mortar between the bricks was darker than that which had dried out fourteen years ago. ‘Paydirt Cappy.’ I tried to stick my door key in and scrape. It kept hitting the bricks either side. I realised my hands were shaking. Taking a deep breath, I forced myself to control them. Sitting on his hind legs, Cappuccino watched with pricked ears and the occasional teeth chatter of encouragement. The key wasn’t long enough. I tried the lock picks and tension wrench; their thinness meant I was only excavating a tiny amount with each gouging movement. The mortar seemed to be getting stiffer and setting as I worked. I needed something longer and wider but flexible. And I didn’t have a lot of choice.

  ‘Sorry about this, Heidi, but you want to go home to your mum and dad, don’t you? And this is the best way.’ Taking a deep breath I heaved and twisted one of her rib bones until it snapped from the breast bone.

  Darting back to the partially freed brick, I inserted the broken tip and worked at the mortar. The bone was curved and brittle and pieces crumbled off. I had to keep changing the angle, digging in deeper, working for that first puff of air that would tell me I’d broken through. The shrill blast of noise by my left ear was so sudden after the deep silence of the brick tomb, that I jerked back, my heart crashing with fright. My first thought was I’d just tripped a warning that I was trying to escape. Then memory caught up with paranoia. It was the rabbit alarm.

  In confirmation, Cappuccino was bucking and thumping in annoyance, trying to dislodge the racket that had suddenly attached itself to his neck. I could hear something else too; a voice. Kneeling up I put my ear to the partially excavated area.

  ‘It’s all right Cappy, Auntie Bianca’s coming.’ Something metallic struck the outer wall.

  Of course she was coming back for him. If I’d been thinking half-way logically I’d have realised he must have hopped in here when her back was turned. She’d bricked him in by mistake.

  I scooped him up fast and ran down to the far end. Keeping him pinned under one arm, I stood on the sack and pulled hard until the metal rings holding the strap gave way. Dropping down, I tied one end of the strap round his collar and tethered the other to
the pipe stump. Mercifully the alarm finally shut down.

  Belting back down the narrow corridor, I scooped up one of the plastic sacks. I flung myself down on my back, replaced the cross, and clicked my torch off just as the brick was drawn out and a rectangle of light illuminated a section of the back wall.

  ‘Cappy? Come to Auntie Bianca.’

  Cappuccino scrabbled, twisted and squealed, trying to do just that. Bones clicked against each other and the walls as he dislodged them.

  ‘It’s all right Cappy, I’m coming.’

  The section she was taking was opposite my hip. Thankfully it wasn’t near the brick I’d already half-excavated, but it meant as soon as I moved, she’d see me. I was only going to get one shot at this. My legs had both acquired a tic. I was sure she was going to see the muscles twitching. What if she knocked a brick inwards and it hit me? Would I be able to stop myself jumping? Through a slit in my closed eyelids, I watched the hole getting bigger. I took tiny breaths, trying to keep my chest from moving.

  Bianca’s head and shoulders appeared in the gap. She put her palms flat between my legs to ease herself through. Her head was turned in the direction of Cappuccino’s cries. I sat up quickly. The cross slid off. Bianca’s head started to swing round. She made a sound that started as a scream. I cut it off with the plastic bag, ripping it down over her head and holding it closed around her neck.

  She reacted by trying to retreat back into the cellar. I hung on. She was strong enough to drag me through with her. One fist came round and sought for something to hold. She got my hair, but since she still on all fours, she was off-balance. I threw my weight towards the unsupported side. She went down on her shoulder and rolled on her back, releasing my hair. I stayed behind the head where it was harder for her to reach anything. Her attempts to breathe had sucked the plastic into her face. I could see the outlines of her eyebrows, bulging eyes, nose, mouth still open with the plastic sucked into the round hole. Her fingers came up to claw at it. Retaining a grip around the bag with one hand, I leant over, picked up the chisel, and brought it down hard on each set of knuckles. She jerked them away from the pain and then tried to return to the smothering plastic. I belted her again. Her struggles were already getting weaker. Instead of trying to tear at the bag now, her arms were flailing, beating the cellar floor. Her heels drummed frantically. And then even that movement stopped. I kept a grip, watching her chest, certain she was playing possum and would roll over and thump me the minute I let go.

  The cellar was low-ceilinged and musty. The floor was littered with a collection of junk, including several pieces of machinery that were probably used when this place had been a farm. The light was coming from two single bulbs, but I could see a glimmer of dying daylight in the ground-level ventilation grilles at either end. I’d been right about my not being down here for very long. Bianca must have had me laid out and interred within the hour. And to think I’d felt sorry for her — the cow!

  Cautiously I loosened my grip on Ms Bovine. She didn’t move. I stood up and backed away, intending to belt for the stairs. Cappuccino gave another high pitched squeal. I hesitated. The police would let him go. But he might strangle himself in the meantime. Oh hell. I grabbed up a pair of garden shears and dashed down the dark tunnel. Cappuccino thanked me for my efforts by kicking me hard in the shins with his back legs before squeezing past me and fleeing out of the opening.

  When I limped to the top of the stairs, I discovered the door was locked. That made sense. Bianca would hardly want the tenants wandering down while she was opening up her own private graveyard. But it meant I had to return to her body and search her. I found the key in her dungaree pocket. I was trying not to look at her head. There was something obscene about the plastic swathed globe. I figured it couldn’t hurt to remove it now, Thankfully, her eyes were shut. She looked like a grossly over-sized baby. I felt an inexplicable spasm in my throat, like the beginning of tears. I hadn’t meant to kill her; I’d just been too damn terrified to let go of the bag until I was certain she wouldn’t overpower me and shut me up alive again.

  I stood up, ready to leave. Then dropped back to my knees. Pinching her nostrils, I tilted her head back, blew two breaths into her mouth and started pumping her chest. It was probably already too late.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Sitting on the loo. It’s real handy for throwing up in the washbasin.’

  ‘Which house? Are you at Clemency Black’s house?’

  Annie was shouting. I wished she wouldn’t; the driller in my head seemed to have brought in his friends.

  ‘Courtney. She has to be called Courtney. She’s poisoned me and I’m going to get better and then die cutely …’

  ‘TELL ME WHERE YOU ARE!’

  ‘Pinchman’s Cottage. At River End. She bricked me up in the cellar, Annie. And she poisoned me with pills and whisky. There was a big fat rabbit in the cellar with me. I think he may be in my head. But Heidi isn’t. Heidi’s real.’

  ‘Okay, listen Grace, I’m on my way. And so are the police and an ambulance. Try to stay conscious until they get there. Is there anyone else in the house?’

  ‘Just Cappuccino. And Bianca. But she’s tied up. I smothered her and then I had to do CPR on her and maybe she’s stopped breathing again by now, but I couldn’t stay any longer.’

  The sensation that my innards had turned to liquid and were about to shoot out of both ends had been so sudden and overwhelming that I’d barely had time to snatch the phone receiver from its base unit in the hall and hurl myself upstairs looking for the bathroom.

  I’d tried O’Hara’s mobile first and when that diverted to voicemail, I’d dialled the office. Thankfully, Annie had picked up. I knew I was babbling but I couldn’t seem to stop myself; I didn’t know if it was reaction to whatever I’d taken or just acute shock kicking in, but I did know that if anyone could sort the crucial from the babble and get help, it was Annie. I sat there, trying to detect the sounds of police and ambulance sirens over the plumbing cacophony emanating from my guts. The guts were winning by several decibels. My mouth tasted of vomit and stale booze and my heart was racing so crazily I could see the contractions under my rib cage. The phone line had gone dead. I punched in the number of Annie’s mobile.

  ‘It’s me.’

  ‘Keep talking to me. I’m nearly there.’

  ‘She poisoned Jonathon too. He’s in the first floor bedroom at their house. It’s supposed to look like suicide. Well, it is suicide I guess. But she made him do it.’

  ‘Who did?’

  It took me several seconds to realise Annie didn’t know Clemency had done this to me. Her treachery had loomed so large in my mind that it felt as if there ought to be pulsating coloured lights strung around Seatoun, right up there with the Bingo Nitely and Amusements, announcing Clemency Courtney is a murderer. ‘Clemency. Just get an ambulance to the house. He may still be alive.’

  They hadn’t used sirens. The first I knew of the emergency services, arrival was a thunderous knocking on the front door. ‘Don’t let it be Rosco,’ I prayed to the washbasin.

  The front door was forced open and several voices shouted out ‘Police’. One bawled, ‘Don’t nobody move punks.’

  Feet thundered up the stair treads. ‘Don’t come in!’

  ‘What’s going down in there?’

  ‘It’s a lavatory Terry, what do you think is going down?’

  ‘Are you being held hostage? Is he armed?’

  ‘Who? The toilet bowl troll?’

  ‘Stay back, I’m gonna kick the door in.’

  ‘If you do I’ll kick your flaming head in. Go arrest Bianca, she’s in the cellar.’ I could hear other voices murmuring out there and then, thankfully, Annie’s. ‘Let Annie in — by herself.’

  Once I’d got her jacket on over the bra and Annie had discreetly palmed my lock-picks, I felt brave enough to part company with my new best friends, the toilet bowl and washbasin. I let her lead me downst
airs and out to the waiting ambulance.

  ‘Another one took your pal, Bianca.’

  ‘Is she breathing?’

  ‘And moaning and groaning.’

  ‘Good. I don’t want to have killed someone, Annie.’ I shivered. Dusk was coming down fast. The ambulance headlights illuminated a swath of the approach to the garage. There was a police car swung across the entrance to the drive and beyond it a circle of pale faces watching the drama. They steered me into the back of the ambulance and went through a quick check of my vital signs.

  ‘She says she’s been poisoned,’ Annie explained.

  ‘Do you know what it was?’ the paramedic asked.

  I shook my head. ‘Whisky and pills. Street drugs.’ I shuddered again and this time I couldn’t stop the trembling. My teeth were knocking together and the vibration was doing odd things to my guts. Another car swept up to the cottage. Plainclothes officers this time. A response to the crackle of messages going through the police radios. They’d found the grave downstairs.

  ‘Right love, you’re looking pretty stable. Let’s get you to hospital.’

  Annie stepped out. ‘I’ll follow you down in the car.’

  The world was starting to swirl and undulate again. I quickly lay back and closed my eyes. I felt the paramedic climb into the front next to the driver and we pulled away.

  Lying down with my eyes closed seemed to be making the nausea worse. Cautiously I opened them and stared at the ceiling. That didn’t seem too bad. I let them rove over the equipment lockers along the walls and then down to my feet. My trainers had grown a pair of big fluffy ears.

  The ears were growing. They kept rising until Cappuccino’s head peeped between the ‘V’ formed by the trainers.

  ‘Hey, how did the rabbit get in here?’