Lost Souls

by Jenny O'Brien

  Gaby was broad-minded enough to know that unforeseen events happened between colleagues and that she was only privy to a small portion of what went on between the members of her team. By the same token that was the reason she hadn’t told anyone about the change in her relationship with Rusty. She’d have to tell Amy sooner rather than later but they hadn’t managed to catch up for a proper chat in what seemed like ages, and conversations about their personal lives were best left to when they were off the premises.

  Reining in her thoughts, she shifted her attention over to Jax who, with his boyish good looks and lopsided grin was as easy to read as a comic. ‘Tell me about your morning, Jax. Any luck with the neighbours?’

  ‘Not a huge amount, I’m afraid. The neighbours in the houses bordering the Frys didn’t see anything. In a way I’m quite surprised. An estate like that with so many residents – you’d think they’d be in and out of each other’s doors borrowing sugar, but not a bit of it. They gave me the impression that everyone keeps to themselves, the few bad ones ruining it for everyone.’

  ‘Isn’t that the usual way?’

  ‘Probably. The drug problem on the estate is common knowledge and something that may hamper the investigation if people are reluctant to talk. Obviously there’s s-s-still some out at work so I was going to drop in again this evening.’

  ‘Good plan. Don’t forget to add it to your timesheet and that goes for the rest of you,’ she said, with a tilt of her head. ‘I’m sure DCI Sherlock will be quite happy to pay overtime rates for something as important as this. So that’s Jax and Marie sorted. Malachy, I want you to go through our list of undesirables. Loath as I am to admit it, we can’t ignore the possibility that someone might have picked her up on the off-chance and, as Marie has quite rightly reminded us, we have our fair share of weirdos on our patch. That’s it for now unless anyone has anything to add?’

  Owen placed his sandwich back down on his folded paper serviette and swallowed hard. ‘I know it’s not the time but if I could fill you in on the issue that arose this morning, ma’am?’

  ‘I’m all ears, Detective,’ Gaby said, her smile lessening the impact of her tone.

  ‘There’s a problem over at the Welsh Hills Memorial Gardens.’

  ‘What, that funeral place behind the Welsh Zoo?’ Marie interrupted.

  ‘You know it?’

  ‘Not well or anything. It’s where my grandfather was cremated a while back.’

  Owen stared at her. ‘It seems as if there’s a bit of a mystery, which will need further investigation. It’s a little difficult to get your head around but basically one of the groundsmen found something unexplainable when he was cleaning out the cremator.’

  ‘Hold on a minute. The cremator. I take it that’s where they burn …?’ Gaby asked.

  ‘Exactly. Another word for furnace,’ he said, again glancing in Marie’s direction. ‘A bony residual is left following cremation, which has to be crushed down into a powder but not before all the metal parts have been removed and disposed of separately.’

  ‘Gruesome but fascinating. Everyone okay with this?’ This time they both glanced towards Marie, who was now examining her black, low-heeled slip-ons as if they were the most significant thing in the room. Since the recent failure of her marriage Marie had been holding on to her emotions by a thread of steely resolve. Neither of them wanted to be the one to cause her to snap. Owen only continued after a slight nod from Gaby.

  ‘Well, anyway, to cut a very long story short, yesterday evening, when the handyman was cleaning out the cremator, he found three metal hip replacements and, as he said himself, unless someone has been going around North Wales on three legs, we have a problem on our hands.’

  ‘Okay, but surely not an urgent one? It’s not as if the corpse is going anywhere.’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that.’

  Gaby watched as Owen stood and made his way across to the window, his hands dug deep in his pockets in what she’d come to term his thinking pose. Over the last few months, the stocky Welsh detective had become more of a friend than a colleague but that friendship didn’t in any way influence the contribution he made to the Major Incident Team. Owen was a complex individual with rigid principles and the darkest sense of humour but no one could match his insight into the criminal mind. There was something bothering him. Something that he had to work out first. Despite the urgency, he’d only speak when he was ready.

  He turned finally, his hands still entrenched in his pockets, his habitual twinkling eyes for once serious.

  ‘There’s been a smattering of elderly people who have gone missing. Not many but always disappearing without a trace. Remember the one last year that we ended up putting down to a suicide, for want of a better explanation?’

  ‘Miss Jane,’ Jax interrupted.

  ‘Yes, that’s her. It was before your time, ma’am.’ Owen sent Gaby a brief look. ‘I remember because of the unusual surname, kept thinking I was forgetting to add something at the end like Smith or Jones.’

  ‘Same here,’ Jax said. ‘Apparently it’s common enough in Cornwall. Anyway that’s by the by. We all assumed that her body would turn up eventually – it hasn’t yet. The case felt as if she’d upped and disappeared into thin air. The thing that worried us the most, at the time, was the full washing machine in addition to the packed fridge. Who goes to all that trouble if they’re going to top themselves and, if it was an accident it’s likely that the body would have been found by now.’

  ‘As we’ve already said, there were no clues. We’ve been waiting for a body – it’s very difficult to forge a crime out of her disappearance without either a body or a motive.’ Owen met Gaby’s gaze. ‘But it’s not only that. How did the additional prosthetics get into the coffin? I had a chat with the funeral director over at Prince and Sons and she was as flummoxed as me. She even knew the man cremated, a Duncan Broome, which was slightly worrying until she informed me about the PAYG funeral he’d bought into.’

  ‘The PAY what?’ Malachy interrupted.

  ‘Pay As You Go, Mal. It’s a way of spreading the cost of funeral expenses to minimise the financial burden on your next of kin. Nothing for you to worry about quite yet,’ Owen added, managing to squeeze out a laugh.

  ‘Oh, right!’

  ‘Owen, you do realise that we don’t have the time to investigate this until we’ve found the girl, but we’ll get to it as soon as we can.’ Gaby tapped the pile of photos of Ellie that were ready for distribution. ‘It’s not as if it could be Ellie and she’s my main concern for now. If there’s a free window this afternoon, we might be able to arrange a visit to the Memorial Gardens but I’m not promising anything.’

  Chapter 12

  Barbara

  Monday 3 August, 12.45 p.m. Wisteria Cottage

  Barbara Matthews was running late due to an unfortunate set of circumstances that included a build-up of traffic along the A55 and a longer than usual queue at the butcher’s. It had been a busy day for the soon-to-be eighty-one-year-old but hell would have to freeze over before she missed her weekly appointment for a wash and set at her usual hairdresser in Craig-y-Don.

  Unloading the boot of her Toyota hatchback took seconds and, with one hand full of shopping, she made her way up to the front door. She paused to pass a couple of words with her next-door neighbour, a woman she couldn’t stand, before sliding her key into the lock.

  The feel of the cool air rushing out to greet her had her heave a sigh of relief. While she’d enjoyed her morning, returning to the sanctuary of her own home was the best feeling of all. She pursed her lips, remembering the recent conversation she’d had with her GP about starting to wind it down a little. It was all very well for him to say, with his smart suit and even smarter wife. Golf was her life, closely followed by her weekly bridge party. So what if she consumed more than her recommended units a week or had a fondness for cream buns from that nice little bakery beside St John’s Methodist Church along Mostyn Street. She didn’t owe
anybody anything and was prepared to meet her maker as and when he invited her.

  The downstairs of the bright and airy dormer bungalow was open plan and painted in rich creams to maximise the light streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows with views out over Conwy Castle. When she’d originally chosen to renovate the property, following the death of her father, she’d decided there and then that it was the ideal opportunity to turn their former family home into the house of her dreams. With no siblings or children to look out for, she could spend her money how she liked and if it did mean that there was less to leave to the RSPCA then so be it. The kitchen, only ten years old, retained the feel of an old country farmhouse with its hand-worked oak units and wrought-iron handles, while the tall American fridge was a little piece of extravagance she was yet to regret.

  With the kettle on, she unloaded her shopping and, with two lamb chops on a covered plate in the fridge for her supper later, set about making herself a quick coffee.

  The doorbell rang to interrupt her peace.

  One hand massaging the ache in her lower back, she walked to the door making sure to secure the dainty gold-plated security chain. Deganwy Quay was one of the quieter parts of North Wales but one couldn’t be too careful these days. She only had to open the paper to appreciate that things weren’t what they used to be, far from it.

  There were few people that Barbara Matthews could say she genuinely liked. The new vicar was one, even if she was convinced his wife cheated at golf. But, as her mother used to say, there was a woman who was no better than she ought to be. Barbara had never been quite sure what her mother had meant until she’d met Reverend Honeybun’s wife, with her blood-red nails and carefully teased blonde curls. But the person on the doorstep wasn’t anything like Della Honeybun. The person on the doorstep was her kind of person, right down to their discreet choice of grey pinstripe suit, polished shoes and black leather briefcase. Turning her back, she was already planning on stretching out their visit with a glass or two of wine. It would be the perfect way to shorten the time between her solitary meal and her bridge party.

  Barbara Matthews wasn’t what you could call a nice woman. She had an ingrained dislike of anything that didn’t match her own personal ideals. She was also a very stupid woman. Once you understood that she valued breeding and social standing almost higher than oxygen it was easy to fool her into believing that you were exactly what you appeared. Turning her back on her impromptu visitor was the last mistake she’d ever make.

  Chapter 13

  Gaby

  Monday 3 August, 2.40 p.m. St Asaph

  ‘Detective Darin, I’d like a quick word.’

  Gaby stopped at one end of the counter while she waited for Clancy to finish tying a green luggage label on the bunch of keys that had been dropped off by a middle-aged man, who was examining his every move from under the security of a fine pair of bushy brows. The truth was most of their front-of-desk work was mundane and their back room was littered with boxes full of sundry items that, like missing socks, were destined to never be matched up with their erstwhile owners.

  ‘Thank you again, sir. Good day to you,’ Clancy said, his tight muscles bunching under his uniform in frustration as he propelled the man outside with the force of his intransient stance and professional glare.

  ‘Having problems with the public again, Clancy?’

  ‘Not half! They do keep expecting to be in the middle of an NCIS episode when the reality is that missing keys is as exciting as it gets. That’s the third bunch dropped off today already.’

  Gaby waited a moment for Clancy to get to the point, ensuring that her expression showed no trace of the impatience building up under her calm demeanour. She always had a ready smile and a few words to say to the middle-aged policeman who’d been the first one she’d met when she’d trekked across Wales for her interview with DCI Sherlock. He’d taken her under his wing with a protective fatherly manner and had been looking out for her ever since.

  ‘I’ve just had a call from a member of the public who’s reported one of their old cronies as missing.’

  ‘God, not another one. What’s going on with the world?’

  ‘The thing is,’ he said, leaning across the desk, ‘she’s only just gone missing. In fact, I’d nearly go so far as to say she’s most likely late and not missing at all.’

  Gaby tried not to fidget but she was desperate to get back to the office and catch up with the team about Ellie. Missing persons were all very well but there was a hell of a difference between a missing ten-year-old and this.

  ‘There’s four of them that meet up every Monday to play bridge,’ Clancy continued finally, glancing down at the report in front of him. ‘They take it in turns to visit each other’s houses. When they met up earlier, outside Barbara Matthews’ house, they found her car in the driveway but no answer when they rang the bell. They also tried her mobile in case there’d been an accident or she’d been delayed for some reason – they heard it ringing out in the hall.’

  ‘Well, all I can say is they must have remarkable hearing for their age.’

  ‘I believe one of them was peering through the letter box at the time. Looking for a dead body, no doubt.’

  ‘No doubt.’ She managed to restrain a smile at the image popping into her head, tweed skirt and all. ‘So, there is a possibility that she’s collapsed then? Perhaps we should send around an ambulance?’

  ‘And a squad car, in case they have to break in? They’re quite posh houses along that stretch. Probably security systems up to their bright shiny gutters and soffits.’

  ‘Go on then,’ Gaby conceded, picking up the pile of post he’d pushed across the counter, her mind already back on Ellie’s disappearance. ‘Let me know as soon as you have anything concrete. I’m planning on heading over to the Welsh Hills Memorial Gardens with Owen, after I’ve checked in with the team,’ she added, almost as an afterthought.

  Gaby didn’t have the time to worry about some old woman with both a missing child and the problem over at the crematorium to deal with. While puzzling, there was very little they could do until they knew that a crime had been committed.

  Despite having lived in the area since the start of the year, Gaby had never visited the Welsh Mountain Zoo and she’d certainly never visited the Welsh Hills Memorial Gardens. Perched on a hillside overlooking Colwyn Bay, the crematorium was squeezed in behind the zoo and as such shared the same panoramic view of both land and sea. The sweeping vista made her swiftly add a trip to the zoo, one of the top tourist attractions in North Wales, to the list of family-friendly places she could visit with Rusty and his son during the summer holidays – that is if they were still on speaking terms. She never knew from one minute to the next with the taciturn pathologist.

  With the sun beating down on their heads, she thought at least she’d be able to wear something a little more suitable than her trouser suit and plain white work shirt as she pulled a grimace at the feel of the fabric sticking to her skin. The weather had been variable over the last few weeks but it finally seemed as if summer had arrived with a vengeance. With her heavy workload she loved nothing better than spending her free time lazing in her back garden under the shade of the large pear tree, a book in her hand and a glass of iced tea by her side. But with a missing child to find that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.

  ‘Let’s get a move on. What I wouldn’t give for a nice cold drink at the moment, but it will have to wait.’

  ‘Preferably beer,’ Owen said, slamming his car door shut and locking it. ‘The front office, do you reckon?’ he asked, pointing to the flat-roofed building up ahead with the word Reception picked out in gold lettering.

  ‘I think. I’d like to have a quick recce to see the set-up first. Penrose can wait half an hour or so. You were born and bred around here. What can you tell me about the place?’

  ‘Not a lot, I’m afraid. Up to now my family have opted for burial.’

  ‘If I’d thought we wouldn’t upset
Marie further, I’d have taken her aside to pick her brains,’ she said, walking beside him across the block-paved pathway and towards the highly polished front door. ‘How do you think she’s coping?’

  ‘In what way exactly? The break-up of her marriage or moving in with Devine?’

  There was a sharpness to his words that Gaby didn’t like and couldn’t account for. He should know her better than to think that she hadn’t asked out of anything but concern. Never one to let things go, she put a hand on his arm, pulling him to a stop.

  ‘Come on, Owen. Don’t be like that. I shouldn’t have to tell you that I only have her interests at heart. She’s a good copper and doesn’t deserve the half of what she’s been dished out.’

  ‘That’s not the part that concerns me.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ she replied, her voice dropping.

  ‘It’s Mal.’

  ‘Why Mal? He proved himself a huge asset to the team during the last case even if he puts us all to shame with his dress sense and clothing allowance.’

  ‘He could dress like the Queen of Sheba for all I care. You haven’t been here long, Gaby, certainly not long enough to see the way Marie has changed. She’s far better without that git of a husband but that’s something she has to learn for herself. Shacking up with a player like Devine isn’t going to help and it could very possibly make it worse but that’s not what concerns me.’

  ‘I’m listening,’ Gaby said, reaching for the brass door handle, her head tilted in his direction.

  ‘What’s in it for him? Because I can’t think of one thing apart from the obvious and if that’s the case, Marie is completely out of her depth. Yes, she’s a good-looking woman but there’s the age difference for one and, from what I hear, she’s pretty much dependent on him for everything from the roof over her head to the sheets on her bed.’ He placed his hand on the side of the door and, pulling it open, gestured for her to precede him. ‘I wonder what his price will be and whether she can afford to refuse to pay it?’