The Sleep of the Dead

by Tom Bradby

  ‘No one ever said a thing. It was almost as if they were defending her in absentia, defending her reputation.’

  ‘I can see what you’re saying, but—’

  ‘Their explanation was, generally, that Sarah was inexplicable, as if they … as if no one could any longer be surprised by anything she did, but I don’t know if that will do.’ He sighed. ‘I wonder what the trigger was.’

  ‘That morning?’

  ‘Yes. What had brought it to a pitch that day?’

  Julia shook her head.

  ‘You don’t remember anything?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No arguments? No banging doors in the house next door, no …’

  She was still shaking her head.

  ‘We know Sarah inspired strong feelings in men, so what had happened that day that made murder an imperative for our man?’

  ‘A quarrel?’

  ‘No. Come on. This wasn’t a lovers’ meeting that went wrong because he comes with a knife. Perhaps she was breaking off the relationship, perhaps he’d learnt of another lover …’

  Professor Malcolm pulled the pathologist’s report from the envelope and placed it on top of the photographs he still had in his hand. He flicked through it. ‘She is stabbed. A kitchen knife is found near by, which was clearly the murder weapon, but there are no fingerprints on it. None at all. On a kitchen knife.’

  ‘It was wiped clean.’

  ‘Yes. Presumably before the murderer even left his house. Which suggests a degree of premeditation. So was she followed here, or did someone know of the rendezvous and intercept her? Or was it the person she was coming to meet?’

  Julia stepped towards him. ‘Can I have a look at that?’

  ‘Which?’

  ‘The pathologist’s report.’

  She read it through, then did so a second time. It was making sense now, but as she looked up, Julia caught sight of someone approaching, made sure the pictures were hidden behind her back and stood aside. It was Henrietta de la Rue. She was wearing a bright blue beret and walking their Jack Russell, Fido or Fifi – something that began with F.

  Henrietta smiled and slowed. Then she recognized Professor Malcolm. He did not smile at her or, apparently, sense the awkwardness. Henrietta appeared to stumble, then passed between them and smiled once more. As she walked away, she did not glance back.

  Julia waited until Henrietta had rounded the corner, then looked down at the report. She tried to think of herself as an outsider and not as a daughter of the village. ‘Incision under left costal margin … perforation of the left ventricle of the heart … this resulted in cardiac tamponade, due to catastrophic bleeding into the pericardial sac …’

  ‘And the translation is?’

  ‘The knife went in underneath the ribcage travelling upwards.’

  Professor Malcolm was still frowning. Julia put her hand to her chest. ‘Most of us place the heart here, but in reality it’s a little lower. If you stab someone through the ribcage, which is what most would choose to do, you run the risk of the blade being diverted by a bone. If you do it this way, you will certainly puncture the heart, which then bleeds into the space around it. This space is … encircled by a non-porous membrane. The space fills up with blood and the heart can’t beat any more.’ Julia was trying to use her hands to illustrate this. ‘Basically, if you want to be sure of killing someone, this is the way to do it. Go in under the ribcage and direct the knife upwards.’

  ‘I’m impressed with your medical knowledge.’

  ‘It’s military knowledge. I learnt it before going to Northern Ireland, but most military people, or medics, would understand the basics.’

  ‘So whoever did this knew something about killing people?’

  She shrugged. ‘It’s a coincidence, that’s all.’

  Julia crossed the path and climbed on to the edge of the bank. ‘And another thing. If he …’

  ‘Or she.’

  ‘Yes. If he or she left here to chase Alice, then why drop the knife?’

  ‘That’s a good point,’ said the Professor, slowly. ‘Perhaps he or she did not actually intend to kill the child.’ He came to join her on the bank. ‘The answer is that I don’t know.’ He turned. ‘Where did he hide the body?’ He returned to the path. ‘The whole common was searched yet there was no sign of anything. Where did he take her?’

  She shook her head, momentarily distracted.

  ‘Julia?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  He hesitated. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘This man does not have time on his side. He stabs the woman he has come here to kill …’

  Professor Malcolm’s re-enaction of the scene was obscene.

  ‘Then he remembers the little girl. She has not featured in his calculations and he has ignored her, but now that the moment of bloodlust has gone and Sarah lies helpless and bleeding to death beneath him, some kind of rational thought returns. What is Julia doing at this point?’

  ‘Alice.’

  He looked perplexed. ‘What?’

  ‘You said Julia.’

  ‘Alice. Yes, what is she doing?’

  ‘She’s running.’

  ‘Is she? Are you sure about that?’ He turned full circle. ‘When does Alice run? As soon as he pulls the knife from inside his jacket, or when he is stabbing Sarah, or when he has finished?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘To him it does. I think she must have gone by the time he has bent over Sarah to enjoy his revenge and establish that she is dead or dying. He turns. He remembers the child and sees that she has gone. He begins to move after her. He must have seen her leave in one direction or another.’

  ‘He drops the knife,’ Julia said.

  Professor Malcolm put his hand to his lip. ‘Yes. Why does he, or she, do that?’

  ‘Why do you always say she?’

  He looked up. ‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. You know that. Anyway, I don’t like the way criminals are always assumed to be men.’ His forehead creased again. ‘Maybe he didn’t intend to kill the little girl. His thought process hasn’t gone that far. He gives chase thinking only that he must find her.’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Does he enjoy her fear when he finds her?’ He looked at Julia. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Sorry for what?’

  ‘Sorry if it’s uncomfortable.’

  ‘Why should it be uncomfortable?’

  ‘Okay, so he must have buried the body on the common, but how come it was never found?’

  ‘It’s possible he found a good hiding place.’

  ‘Yes, but this was a man in a hurry. There are people about here, walking. It’s a Sunday. He hasn’t the luxury of time.’

  ‘If he was cool, he did.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘If he was able to keep very calm, time may not have been a problem.’

  ‘All right. That’s possible. Unlikely, but not impossible. It still doesn’t explain where he could have taken the body.’

  He was looking at her.

  ‘I don’t know the answer to that,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Let’s go back a step again. You’re Alice, where do you run to?’

  Julia was growing tired of this game. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Come on, try. It’s important. Is there anywhere here you would think of as a hiding place?’

  ‘Nothing immediately springs to mind.’

  ‘Which way would you run?’

  ‘How can you be sure Alice was capable of any rational thought at this point?’

  ‘If your mother was being stabbed, wouldn’t you run in the direction of home – towards the village where you know you will find people who will help you?’

  ‘We don’t know the circumstances,’ Julia said. ‘Perhaps she was on the other side of him and therefore it was natural for her to turn and run into the forest.’

  ‘I still don’t understand why h
e dropped the knife. And I wish I knew how he’d killed Alice,’ Professor Malcolm said, lowering his head in thought.

  After a few seconds, he looked up again. ‘Earlier,’ he said, ‘in that picture, Alice was wearing a large cross around her neck – looked like silver. Did she always wear that?’

  ‘I don’t know. Pretty much.’

  ‘Have you got a mobile phone?’

  Julia pulled it out of her pocket and handed it to him. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Arrange a new search.’

  ‘Why?’

  He looked up again, frowning. ‘Why not?’

  Julia could feel the blood in her face. ‘We did all that. There were hundreds of people searching.’

  ‘Yes, but …’

  ‘Christ, it’s hopeless, you’ll never find—’

  ‘They have metal detectors that can sense the shape of an object. Is the idea of it uncomfortable?’

  ‘No. Stop saying that.’

  ‘What, then?’

  ‘Well …’ She looked at him. ‘Don’t be so tactless.’

  ‘I don’t understand what the problem is.’

  ‘You don’t live here,’ she said.

  ‘Neither do you.’

  ‘It’s a ghoulish reminder.’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘The whole thing. A search, with policemen crawling over this place. It’ll take everyone right back.’

  ‘But they never left.’

  ‘I thought this was supposed to be a review.’

  ‘Yes, but we’ve established the murderer probably wasn’t Pascoe. If we wish, ultimately, to point the finger at someone else, we must have evidence. In a court of law, one must have that.’ He examined the phone for a few moments. He took a step closer. ‘I’m not going to keep apologizing. It’s no way to proceed. You’re going to have to decide whether your approach to this is professional or personal.’

  ‘Surely, even you can see it is not quite that simple,’ she said.

  As she was speaking, Julia caught sight of movement out of the corner of her eye. Cynthia Walker was approaching, her little girl still wearing the same red wellington boots and Cynthia frowned as she passed – a gesture of curiosity. Professor Malcolm was looking at the phone.

  Cynthia did not stop, continuing with Sarah’s hand in hers. The child turned round briefly and lost her footing. Julia watched them both until they disappeared from view, then she reached into her jacket pocket for her cigarettes. She took one out and lit it. Professor Malcolm declined her offer.

  She sucked the smoke deep into her lungs. This was her first cigarette since she had left Beijing and it was satisfying. ‘Who are you going to call?’ she asked.

  ‘The police.’

  He stared at the phone until she realized he didn’t know how to use it. She took it from him. ‘Give me the number.’ She dialled and gave it back to him.

  ‘DCI Weston,’ he said. ‘Tell him it’s Malcolm … Weston, it’s me … no. No, I didn’t know that. What’s the reason? All right … All right. We need something doing. The little girl was wearing a silver cross and I think we should search the common again. We need the body. It will answer a lot of questions.’ He was frowning. ‘I know I said … No, you don’t have to say the case is being reopened, I’m not suggesting that … Well, so … Well, tell the media … All right. I’m on the common … How long? … We’ll be here. By the scene. I’m sure you remember. Shout. Your voice is loud enough.’

  Professor Malcolm gave her back the phone and she ended the call. ‘You would have taken this case without me,’ she observed.

  ‘Not necessarily.’

  ‘You’re using me as a justification, but it’s not about me, it’s about you. It’s your past as much as mine. You can’t stand that you made a mistake.’

  He didn’t respond. After a few minutes, she regretted having said it. She tried a different tack. ‘You decided as soon as I arrived at your house yesterday that you were going to lead me through to involvement in this.’

  He didn’t respond.

  ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘It has nothing to do with helping me.’

  ‘Most people’s motives are complex, Julia.’

  ‘Well, explain to me your own.’

  He ignored her. She finished the cigarette and threw the butt into the river.

  Professor Malcolm wanted to get his bearings. He led her across the stream and up the bank opposite. They stood there for a few moments, before he began clambering down the other side, beneath the forest canopy, until they were at the fence bordering the de la Rue field. They could see across to the back of her home and to those of Alan Ford and the de la Rues, which were not more than a hundred yards away. She and Alice had often climbed over their fences and run across the field. He saw something in this that she could not discern.

  It was clear that they were waiting for Weston, and Julia was both impressed by the power Professor Malcolm wielded and annoyed that they were apparently going to have to hang about until the policeman appeared.

  Professor Malcolm retraced his steps to the stream then walked further down the path, before once again entering the undergrowth and climbing up slowly to the big clearing in the middle of the common. Obviously he had memories of his own. The wind stirred the leaves on the tops of the trees, but the long grass was still, and Julia remembered lying on the ground here, with Alice, for hours on this kind of afternoon. She left him to it and went to rest against the wizened tree stump. The grass was dry, the ground firm. She picked up a few small stones and ground them in her hands, using them as primitive worry-beads.

  Suddenly he was standing over her. ‘Do you think this is about vanity on my part?’

  Julia’s legs were stretched out, almost touching the end of his shoes. ‘No,’ she said. She watched a stronger gust of wind swaying the long grass.

  ‘The best interpretation is that it is about integrity,’ she said. ‘And that I respect. Mistakes hurt, but more than that, it offends your intellect to not know the answer. In that sense, it is about intellectual vanity.’

  He looked at her. ‘I want you to be all right.’

  ‘I am all right.’

  He ignored her hostility. ‘There are so many things about this that don’t make any sense,’ he said.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like what did he bury her with?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  He turned to her again. ‘Well, he didn’t come down armed with a kitchen knife and a shovel, did he?’

  Julia was finding it hard to think clearly, so she got up, said she would be back and marched away from the clearing, down the hill, rejoining the path beyond the murder scene. She walked for about ten minutes, her mind blurred by endless cross-currents of sometimes contradictory thoughts. Although her working life had been all about intense focus, she had never experienced anything like this. Of course, it was going to be impossible to separate the personal from the professional here.

  On instinct, she found herself turning on to another small track that wove through what she had once called the bluebell clearings to the old well at the bottom. This was close to the far end of the common and you could just glimpse the fields beyond, though the well itself was shielded by thick gorse. Julia had to force her way through to reach it, because it was even more overgrown since her last visit. She came up to it, took a coin from her pocket and dropped it, listening to gauge how far it fell. The wooden beams were still across the middle.

  The well had once belonged to a farmhouse that had since been demolished. It dated from the days before the common became National Trust property.

  Julia leant against the brick surround. The sun was still high and she closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth on her face.

  She could feel herself running down the path and ducking under the gorse. She could see herself tugging at Alice’s hand and helping her climb down into the well, resting on the beams, while her father hunted them. Julia could feel herself squeezing Alice’s hand and t
elling her the game was brilliant, even if she no longer believed it.

  Julia opened her eyes.

  Could Alice have run here?

  Professor Malcolm was right. It seemed likely that she would have run in the direction of home, towards people who could offer help.

  Julia wondered if Professor Malcolm knew the answers, if he was aware of where he was leading her and where they would end up. She could see how much trust she was placing in him and suddenly doubted that it was wise.

  She ducked under the gorse and moved away.

  Julia walked back slowly. She arrived at about the same time as Weston, a small man with a beard who had his hands pushed firmly into the pockets of a blue raincoat.

  ‘Lionel Weston,’ Professor Malcolm said. ‘Julia Havilland.’

  They shook hands. Professor Malcolm stood with his legs slightly apart, but towered over Weston.

  ‘I thought about it on the way here, David,’ Weston said, ‘and it’s an insane idea.’

  ‘Then you need to think harder.’

  ‘The common was thoroughly searched at the time. Looking for a small silver cross now will be like looking for a needle in a bloody haystack.’

  ‘It’s still worth doing.’

  ‘You may think so, but I’m telling you it’s a waste of my resources.’ He glanced around. ‘I mean look at this place. It’s huge. She could be anywhere. Maybe he even stole the cross. We could search from now until Christmas, have the whole place dug up and find nothing. We don’t even know that she was buried here.’

  ‘Lionel.’ Professor Malcolm had raised his hand. Julia could see that he was irritated, although she thought that the policeman, in practical terms, was correct. ‘I’m going to explain some things. The two murders are quick, horribly so. Our man kills the woman. Stabs her once, clinically. So, the little girl had a head start of just a few seconds. I would say it’s overwhelmingly likely that she was murdered within two hundred yards of her mother and buried right there. Our man was in a hurry, a big hurry. He wasn’t going to go carrying a little girl’s body around on his shoulder on a Sunday with hundreds of people walking on this common. But he had no spade on him – nothing to bury her with. So what happened to the body?’

  Weston shook his head. ‘You’re the theorist.’