Chapter 53
Monday, 9 May 2016
On the twenty-fifth, it will be my birthday. My dad sings to me as I check that the plan for my new garden is the same as my old garden. It’s a strange time in one’s life to move house.
The road construction equipment bursts into life. Dust, dirt and unrest fill the air. Furtive eyes dart about familiar surroundings, fearing that those too will disappear. The air churns, and wildlife moves itself to seek new holes and nests. Disruption, with long travel delays, is reported in the press.
The noise of machinery reminds me that Frankie’s grave is on borrowed time. The graveside bench is stored ready for my new garden. Fretting, and wandering the corridors out of sight of the windows, helps to pass the time. Or curling myself into a ball on the landing carpet. Diazepam will help. Must order some more online. It’s amazing what you can get. Luckily, Louise deals with the post and passes packages directly to me.
It’s been five years since my old Ford broke down and I visited the village. My hairdresser visits me to cut and colour my hair when I can be bothered with the fuss of it. Keeping it long makes it easy to manage, and dying it silver is no longer required. I send an email to Lily asking for a new car. Thora had the foresight to recognise that a mother needs a car, so there should not be a problem with the trust. It will be nice to drive again, have the freedom to come and go and not feel so claustrophobic. The thought of freedom is more enticing than the reality of it, though. Lily will arrange for a car, one that reminds me of the seventies. The girl gets very excited at this.
Chapter 54
Monday, 30 May 2016
Dreams about the past have been plentiful recently. The day after Mother’s birthday party back in 1970 was this morning’s memory. Frankie had a split eyebrow that healed with a tiny silver scar where his eyebrow refused to grow. Mother was angry at Denny, and Mario was angry with Frankie. It’s doubtful whether Frankie paid Mario for our meal, although it didn’t appear to affect their friendship. Mario still joined us that summer to play his acoustic guitar so beautifully. If only Sarah had been stronger and had not felt so intimidated by Ben. She would have made a good partner for Mario. He liked women with some weight on them. He would have been good for her, and she would not have left us.
The buzz of the doorbell startles me. I call Perry on my new mobile phone. Lily helped me choose it. She calls it a ‘smartphone’ and has taught me how to use it.
‘Someone has rung the doorbell,’ I hiss when Perry answers.
‘They probably want the office. Have you asked who it is?’
‘No.’ The intercom was installed so I didn’t have to face people who make this mistake, and yet I fail to use it. ‘Should I?’
‘Yes.’ He doesn’t disguise his impatience. He never does anymore. ‘Or I can phone Louise and check with her.’
‘No. I can manage.’ I don’t want Louise involved. She already takes control and thinks herself indispensable.
‘And don’t disconnect.’ He raises his voice as I drop the phone from my ear and make my way downstairs. ‘Who is it?’
‘Miss Cage? It’s the police.’
Perry hisses at me to stall them, as I freeze. They will say they have found Frankie. We must not say anything. Let them do their forensics. Chances are they will mess it up and we will be okay.
‘Miss Cage, can you open the door please.’ My fate has arrived.
‘Just finding the key.’ Taking a deep breath and fixing a smile, I open the door.
‘Hello. Sorry about that. I don’t like opening the door when I’m on my own.’
‘Hello, Miss Cage. I’m Detective Sergeant Rose, and this is Detective Constable Harptree from Chewton CID.’
They hold out wallets with pictures and badges, but fear makes me blind. The name Harptree rings a bell. There was a Harptree investigating Frankie’s disappearance, but this man is in his thirties.
The woman smiles. ‘Can we come in?’ Nodding, I lead them into the sitting room and motion for them to sit.
‘Miss ... um, Cage, is it?’ She places her hands on the hem of her skirt and pulls it down to her knees.
‘It’s Mrs Cutler. Carol. Perry and I married at Easter. Would you like tea? Or coffee. What about coffee? I’ve been practising making lattes.’
‘No thank you, Carol. We’re fine. Is Mr Cutler – Perry – available?’
‘He’s on his way. I called him ...’ Don’t speak, don’t say anything.
‘Good.’ She tugs at her skirt again. ‘Has your husband always lived here?’ She waves a hand around.
‘Yes. This farm was his father’s and his father’s father’s, and was in the family even before then I believe. Why?’
‘Just confirming. And you have lived in Oaktree House ever since, um, Thora Kent died? She left you her property in 1970, is that correct?’
‘Yes.’ She’s working up to say that they have found him. My sweaty hands pulse.
‘And the council purchased Oaktree House and grounds for the ring road?’
‘Yes, the house, but not all of the grounds. Just a strip to widen the road.’
Perry walks in. ‘Hello. Perry Cutler.’ He puts his hand out, and they shake. The woman tells him who they are and asks him to sit, but he declines and stands next to my chair.
‘Last Friday, during the demolition of the Oaktree estate, two skeletons were uncovered.’
I gasp. I can’t help it. She said two. I grip my hands to stop them from shaking. She expects us to comment. Perry asks, ‘What do you mean? Two skeletons?’ He shifts his weight onto his other leg and says, ‘I don’t understand …’
‘We believe they are those of a child and an adult.’
My head spins, so I bend forward. Perry kneels, takes my hand, and asks, ‘Do you mean there’s a cemetery on the grounds, an extension from the church over the road or something?’
‘Oh. Do you have any details about a graveyard?’ She looks from me to Perry and back to Harptree, unsure of herself.
‘I don’t, but that’s very odd. Two skeletons. Whereabouts were they?’
She flicks through her notes, ‘In the orchard, about ten metres from the boundary wall that runs around the house.’
Darkness descends as I pass out, and then Perry is saying, ‘… no, she’s fine. She needs to lie down. Now, unless there’s anything else?’
‘What happened?’ I struggle to sit up.
‘Sit still.’ He pushes my shoulders to the back of the chair before sitting on the padded arm.
‘Bodies … somewhere, um … where did you say?’ I ask.
The woman looks up from writing on her notepad. ‘In the orchard, just outside the walled garden. Are you okay?’
‘Yes. But … there can’t, there couldn’t, how long? How long have they been there?’
‘We’re not sure.’
‘But I’ve lived in that house since 1970. So they must be from before that?’
DC Harptree turns a page in his notebook but doesn’t speak. DS Rose says, ‘We estimate about the late 60s or early 70s. Clothing and other indications. I can’t say more at the moment until forensics give us more information. As soon as we have that, we’ll come back and talk to you again. For the moment we’re asking what you know, as they are on your land.’
She looks at me, then Perry, ‘Can you tell us anything at all, anything you remember? People reported missing in the area at that time?’
‘Well, I don’t know anything.’ I say, but Perry interrupts.
‘We’ve just said we don’t. We can’t help you. My wife’s not well and –’
DS Rose raises a hand. ‘Mr Cutler, we need to establish any facts. We will take statements from you when we have the results of our preliminary investigations. They are on Mrs Cutler’s land, so we expect you to help in any way you can. You will remember that a young boy went missing in late 1969.’
‘Well …’ he starts to reply, but I take his hand and cut in. ‘I don’t feel too good, Perry. I need
to lie down.’
‘Okay.’ The female officer looks at each of us in turn, not convinced we’re innocent. ‘We’ll come back when we have more information. In the meantime, if you would both cast your minds back for anything you might remember. Here’s my card. Leave a message anytime if I’m not available.’
‘I’ll see you out.’ They follow Perry to the front door.
A dead child buried with Frankie. They will think I killed it too. The thought of a dead child buried in the orchard chills my bones. All those times I sat and talked to Frankie I was talking to a child as well. Who would kill a child? But of course: Schmidt. This must have something to do with him. Was that why he was always coming to the house? Maybe they will reason that he killed them both.
Chapter 55
Wednesday, 8 June 2016
The police are taking their time examining the site. I watch them from Symes field, taking care they don’t spot my binoculars. They’ll arrest us soon, and it will be a relief for this guilt to end. There will be no new Oaktree House, and the legacy of Thora’s family will die. My full confession could end Perry’s involvement. Planning is all it will take. They won’t know that I was seven months pregnant because they won’t be able to establish exactly when Frankie died. Besides, pregnancy doesn’t hamper a woman in a rage. I’m sure such a woman could find the strength to bury a body if necessity demanded it. The stress brought on my early labour, so it will make sense that I did it all. That will release Perry from his obligation to me. A suspended sentence for knowing what happened may be the worst he’ll get, with luck and a good solicitor. It depends on my word, and our word is all the police will have. My farewell letter sits in the top drawer of my desk, along with a bottle of pills. I contemplate my final walk to Sarah’s oak tree with a sense of relief. The girl inside doesn’t stir, not wishing me to cut short her wrath before she can find appeasement.
***
They have removed the oak tree at the front of Oaktree House. Its twin behind the house in Dawnview Wood, near the path leading to the council estate, remains. Sarah’s hanging tree stands strong as a lasting tribute. The road will not extend to Dawnview Lane, the point where the land slopes and begins its long decline to the estate. That is where I shall join her, although hanging is not for me. Living from day to day is a duty to perform in the meantime.
This time I’m ready when they knock on the door.
The police settle on the sofa as Perry hurries in. The same Detective Sergeant Rose sits in the same chair, pulling her skirt over her knees, but this time a different police officer joins her. Both are wearing plain clothes, emphasising the seriousness of the situation. He introduces himself as Detective Inspector Philips. He has the colour of someone just back from a hot climate, a dry sunburn, with sand ingrained in his skin. The area around his eyes is pink from wearing sunglasses.
‘Mr and Mrs Cutler …’ DI Philips checks that he has our full attention as Perry sits on the arm of my chair. ‘We’re here to talk to you again about the bodies found in your orchard.’
‘Was Oaktree House built on a cemetery? Have you checked the church records for the child?’ I ask.
‘Yes. May I call you Carol? We have confirmed that your house isn’t built on a cemetery.’ DS Rose writes something on her notepad as he continues: ‘The clothing and other items suggest a date around 1970. Around the time your husband, or rather, boyfriend, went missing.’
Perry interrupts. ‘If you mean Frankie Dewberry, he was not Carol’s husband. He was a bigamist, and the marriage wasn’t legal.’ An edge to his voice makes the DS raise her eyebrows. Philips turns to me.
‘So, Carol, how did you feel at the time when you found out Frankie was already married. That you had been, how should I put it … deceived?’
Perry cuts in: ‘What has that to do with anything? How d’you think she felt?’
‘Please answer the question, Carol.’ The policeman sets his jaw; his dark eyes stark in his pink skin.
I cannot answer, so Perry does. ‘Well, there’s no need is there? Frankie Dewberry killed himself in France, as you should know. So what has he to do with this?’
A look of uncertainty crosses Philips’s face. He looks at Rose, then back at me, and says, ‘If you would just answer the question, Carol.’
‘Well, I wasn’t happy.’ Perry shifts but doesn’t speak.
‘Before you went through the illegal marriage ceremony, you lived in one of the council houses on the estate?’ I nod. ‘Explain to me why you were living in Oaktree House when Mr Dewberry disappeared? I believe his birth mother had already died by then, but he didn’t inherit it?’
‘No. Although she was his birth mother, he had been adopted. He lived in London with his adoptive parents.’ I look at DS Rose. ‘You know that already.’
‘I need to check the facts for myself.’ The man has tinged pink in embarrassment. He hasn’t read our file. Oh God, we must have a file. My stomach turns to water.
‘So tell me, so that we are clear: what happened to the house when Thora Kent died?’
‘It was left to Francine, our daughter, in trust. Frankie lived in London. He only stayed here because Thora was ill. Oaktree House was never his home. I moved in before Thora died, to nurse her. We got married, except we weren’t married …’ I feel dizzy saying so much.
DS Rose scribbles quickly. Philips asks, ‘Then what happened?’
Perry says, ‘Frankie’s wife, Lisa, turned up with their daughter. Frankie threw her, and Carol, out of the house. Next thing, he was gone on holiday to France, so Carol moved back in. That was the last we saw of him.’
‘He had another child? How old?’ Philips stares at me.
‘She was a baby that Christmas, two months or so. Isabella.’
‘Isabella Dewberry?’
‘Yes,’ says Perry, ‘I expect you’ve heard of her, Izzy Dewberry-Newberry. She’s the granddaughter of the eminent psychiatrist Sir Frederick Dewberry, who was Frankie’s adoptive father. Lisa’s father was Sir Francis Wolverton. Lisa married Vincent Newberry, of the Newberry clothing dynasty, after Frankie was declared dead.’
‘Oh. I’ve heard of her.’ The policeman stops to consider this. The newspapers are full of the comings and goings of Izzy.
Perry continues, ‘Frankie lived in London. He only spent a small part of 1970 here, on and off from Easter to the Christmas. He was going home to his wife and daughter most weekends, unbeknown to Carol. And spending time in student digs with a friend – I think his name was Ben.
‘So he didn’t live here?’ Philips asks.
‘Hardly. The only reason he kept coming here was that he thought he had a chance of persuading Doctor Kent to change her mind and leave Oaktree Estate to him. It didn’t work. And, of course, he was using Carol for the same reason.’
Can they leave now? Much more of this and I’ll vomit. But Perry is revelling in it. He squeezes my shoulder in jubilation, as though he’s stonewalled them.
Philips rubs his chin. ‘But the last time Frankie was seen was at Oaktree House, so he was living there then.’
‘If you can call that living somewhere.’ Perry’s irritation is apparent. ‘He went to France from there that Christmas. That was the last time we saw him. Sir Frederick Dewberry spent hundreds trying to trace him. The trail went cold in France. They believed he killed himself, as he was often depressed, apparently. Some mental condition causing highs and lows.’
I flinch at the unkind description, and Rose cuts in, ‘Yes … we have checked the missing person report filed at the time.’
Philips contemplates this before he asks, ‘Frankie wore a ring on his middle finger, right hand. Can you confirm that, Carol?’
My heart races; they have found Frankie’s ring. ‘I don’t remember a ring.’
Rose hands him some papers and points. He glances and says, ‘Lisa Dewberry’s missing person’s report at the time states that he did. Gold sovereign ring on the right middle finger.’ He gives the report back to Rose. Open
ing a case, he pulls out a small plastic bag.
‘We recovered a ring from the skeleton. Is this Frankie’s, Carol?’
Plastic stretches around the ring, giving it a shimmering appearance. The compulsion to look away is strong, so I breathe in deeply. Long-suppressed memories flood back. Laughter, and a caressing hand on my breast: his ghostly touch runs down my back.
‘It could be his ring. He was wearing one on our wedding day. It was years ago.’ He loved that ring, the weight of it, the expense of it.
‘Can you remember this sovereign?’
‘Is that a sovereign? I don’t know anything about men’s jewellery. Whether that’s the same one I couldn’t say.’
My fingers clutch the heart on my necklace as he says, ‘Do you want a closer look at it?’
Recoiling at the thought that he’ll take it out of the bag, I sit back in my chair. ‘No … Thank you.’
He puts the bag back in the briefcase. The memory of a raised arm, an axe falling, and a chunking sound brings up bile.
‘Lisa Dewberry says it’s his ring.’
Perry says, ‘Well then why are you asking Carol? Lisa was his wife, so she would know.’
‘But Carol was also living as his wife.’
‘She wasn’t his wife. We have established that.’
‘What I’m saying, Mr Cutler – Perry – is that Carol knew him well enough to know what his ring looked like.’
‘Did she? She knew him for nine months. She didn’t know what his wedding ring looked like and he had one of those. He didn’t wear that while with her, or she wouldn’t have married him. Are you telling us the body is Frankie Dewberry?’
‘Well, we haven’t established that …’
‘So you’re asking Carol to identify a ring that may not have belonged to Frankie, who may not be the body you have found. Isn’t it best you ask questions when you know what to ask instead of upsetting my wife?’
Philips’s cheeks flush, and he fumbles with the catch on his briefcase. DS Rose is checking back through her notes as Philips continues.
Killing The Girl Page 20