BURIED CRIMES: a gripping detective thriller full of twists and turns

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

Rae turned off the ring road and headed for the eastern suburbs, arriving several minutes early. She sat in the car, gathering her thoughts, then picked up her bag and made her way through a bright-red wooden gate to the front door.

  The man seemed almost to twinkle at her.

  ‘I saw you coming,’ George Bramshaw said. ‘I was in the front room and spotted your car draw up. You didn’t need to wait out there. You could have come straight in.’

  The hint of mischief in his eyes matched the smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Rae looked around her. The hallway gleamed at her, slightly quaint and spotlessly clean. He waved her through into a small, neat sitting room. A pot of coffee, several mugs and a plate of biscuits were set out on a low table.

  ‘Sit down, please. I don’t get attractive young visitors very often, so this is a treat for me. You’ll need to remind me what you want to know. I’ve forgotten already.’ He smiled at her.

  She guessed that he hadn’t forgotten at all, but was teasing her for some reason. ‘There were two children who might have gone missing from your school about twenty years ago. They could well have been twins, aged about six or seven. There’s also a chance that they might have been Asian, wholly or partly. Possibly Chinese or something like that.’

  ‘Ah yes, now I remember what you said on the phone. I’ll pour us some coffee and tell you what I dredged up from my rather blurry memory. Have a biscuit if you want one.’

  Rae selected a chocolate-coated biscuit and took a bite, suddenly hungry.

  ‘Good choice. They’re one of my favourites,’ Bramshaw said, watching her take half the biscuit in one mouthful. ‘I do recall something about two children who might be the ones you’re looking for. But first, can I ask you something about your boss? The detective chief inspector you mentioned on the phone? Sophie something?’

  Rae paused in her chewing, puzzled. ‘DCI Allen. Why?’

  ‘Because thirty-five years ago I think I may have taught her in her primary school, in Bristol. She would have been about ten then and I was in my second teaching job after qualifying. If it is her, and I think it is, Sophie Carswell would have been her name then. I found out that the Sophie I remember had gone on to study law, joined the police and has ended up in Dorset. Is it her? Did she come from Bristol originally? She was the brightest child I ever came across in that school. She knew her own mind, though.’

  ‘Could be. I’ll mention it to her when I get back to Dorchester, shall I?’ Rae didn’t want to give too much away. Was he trying to winkle out personal information for some reason? ‘If it is her I’m sure she’ll be in touch. If not, I’ll let you know. Is that okay?’

  ‘Of course.’ He took a sip of coffee. ‘Now, I’ve been giving a lot of thought to what you said on the telephone, and I may be able to help you. There were two children, twins, a boy and a girl. They were half Chinese, as you wondered. I only met their mother, and she was English. The boy’s name was Kenneth and the girl’s Jasmine. They were with us for only one term, in about 1995, although I’m not absolutely sure of the year. But for the life of me I can’t remember the surname.’

  ‘Maybe it was a bit hard to remember if it was Chinese.’

  ‘But I don’t think it was. Chinese, I mean. I have a feeling that the surname they used was British. Anyway, they left suddenly at the end of term. I seem to remember the mother saying that she was moving to America.’

  ‘Which term do you think it was?’

  ‘The fact that it stuck in my mind suggests that they didn’t start in September. I don’t think they left at the end of the school year. My impression is that they were only with us during the spring term and left at Easter.’

  ‘Can you remember anything about them? What they were like as pupils?’

  He paused, evidently thinking hard. ‘Well, they were only with us for about three months, remember, so we wouldn’t have found out much about them in that short time. As far as I recall they were a really nice couple of kids. The boy played piano and the girl flute. They did a duet for us at one of our assemblies. That’s how I remembered them after you called yesterday. It had stuck in my mind. They were talented for a couple of eight-year-olds.’

  ‘And you didn’t ask why they left?’

  ‘Well, I’m pretty certain that the mother told us when they started that they’d only be with us for a few months. She then came in at the end of term and confirmed that she’d just landed a job somewhere else, so they’d be moving during the holidays. She took some of their work with them, along with a summary report for their new school.’ He put down his coffee. ‘Anyway, you haven’t told me why you want to know about them. I suppose it must be something fairly serious.’

  Rae looked at him, astonished. ‘You mean you don’t know? You haven’t guessed? Don’t you watch the news or read the newspapers?’

  ‘I’ve been away for a fortnight’s holiday, a cruise in the Caribbean. I only got back the day before yesterday. Why?’

  ‘Last weekend we dug up the bodies of two small children in a back garden in Dorchester. They’d been there for about twenty years. I assumed you’d guessed the reason for the call.’

  His face turned pale.

  ‘Oh God. That’s dreadful.’ He took a breath. ‘And you think that’s why they didn’t come back to school? That something happened to them and they didn’t get to their new home? That’s awful beyond words. This is a complete shock.’

  ‘If the mother was English, the father was probably Chinese, at least partly. You didn’t ever meet him?’

  Bramshaw shook his head. He seemed to shiver. ‘No,’ he whispered. ‘There was never any indication of a father being around for the children. None ever appeared at any event we held, as far as I can remember.’

  Rae finished her coffee. ‘We have a facial reconstruction expert working on their probable appearances. Once it’s complete I’d like you to see the images, just to confirm. We may be barking up the wrong tree entirely, and if so we need to know.’

  He nodded. His cheerful demeanour had vanished without trace. ‘Is this the kind of stuff that your boss, my Sophie Carswell possibly, has to deal with?’

  ‘Perhaps not always quite as harrowing as this case, but broadly, yes.’

  ‘How does she cope?’

  Rae shrugged. ‘Mental toughness. We have to try to shut out our emotions, and just get on with the investigation.’

  ‘It must take a toll, though.’

  ‘Possibly.’ Rae was unwilling to say more. I've only just met the man, she thought to herself.

  ‘Please tell her I was asking about her. If it is her, will you ask her if we can meet?’

  ‘Yes, I can do that.’ Rae stood up. ‘Thanks for giving me your time, and for the coffee and biscuits.’

  ‘Just a minute.’ Bramshaw disappeared into the kitchen, and came back with the rest of the biscuits, still in the tin.

  ‘For her, even if it isn’t her. And you. You both deserve them.’

  * * *

  Rae looked around her at the ancient, stone walls and listened to the chatter of voices. She was in the refectory of Salisbury Cathedral, one of her favourite places to eat, and had just finished lunch. She looked across the table at Stevie Harrison, one of her ex-colleagues. He was using a crust of bread to wipe the last remaining traces of gravy from his plate.

  ‘You always did enjoy your food, Stevie. I’m surprised you haven’t ballooned to twice your size since we last met.’

  Harrison laughed. ‘Sharon won’t let me. I’m only allowed chips once a week and I have to count the calories and exercise every day. It’s like I’m living in my own private police state.’

  ‘Is it worth it though?’ Rae smiled.

  ‘Oh yes. I feel good about myself and I do get my rewards. She’s really hot — in every way.’ He winked at her.

  ‘I should be horrified at such a comment, but I’m not. I’m happy for you.’

  ‘Nothing yet for you in the romance department? Or is that too personal a ques
tion?’

  ‘No, it isn’t, not from you. And no, nothing yet. The problem is I just don’t know what I want. Now I’m a woman, I don’t know whether I want a straight relationship with a man or a lesbian one with another woman. I think my mind is still sorting itself out and getting to grips with the new me. But time is ticking by.’

  ‘Get stuck in, Rae, that’s my advice. Life is for living, after all. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, would it, if you dabbled a bit and found something wasn’t for you? What’s to lose?’

  Rae nodded. ‘It’s partly because I’m so happy with my life. I’m kind of basking in a warm glow all the time and I don’t want to spoil it. It’s such a new experience for me, being happy in my own skin.’ She drained her tea. ‘Where is he now by the way, the Swindon Tosspot?’

  ‘I’m not totally sure. He went for promotion about the same time as you left the team. It’s unbelievable. How can someone keep getting promoted just to get rid of them? You’d think it was a made-up story. What’s the quickest way to shift someone like that out of harm’s way? Give him a quick promotion into yet another desk job. Last rumour I heard was that he was applying for a post in Dorset. He had nowhere left to hide in Wiltshire. He’d pissed everybody off, from the Chief Constable down to the tea-ladies.’

  Rae tensed, horrified at the thought that her erstwhile nemesis was working somewhere near her. ‘What? I didn’t know that. Are you sure?’

  ‘I’ve no idea where he actually ended up. They’d have been nuts to take him on, but he went somewhere. That’s all I know. We had a night out to celebrate after he’d gone.’ Stevie suddenly looked dreamy. ‘That’s where I got off with Sharon. She was in the same pub, with a couple of friends. The luckiest night of my life. That’s what she keeps telling me.’

  Rae laughed. ‘Is it true?’

  ‘Probably, yes. She’s a woman and a half, I can tell you. Not size-wise, she’s dinky. But every other way.’

  Rae looked at her watch. ‘I’d better be going, Stevie. It was great meeting up like this. Can we do it again if I’m up this way? Or maybe have an evening out? It only takes me an hour or so to drive from Wareham.’

  ‘Yeah, why not? I had visions of you looking like a bloke in a frock, you know, sitting with your legs apart, but you look brilliant. I’d never have known if I hadn’t already, if that makes sense. I could bring a couple of pals along. You never know. You might fancy one of them.’

  Rae laughed. ‘Let me think about that, okay?’ She leant across, gave him a peck on the cheek and left the restaurant. There was a lot to think about, not least that she’d have to find out whether Stevie’s news about the Tosspot was correct. Was her honeymoon period in Dorset over so soon?

  Chapter 11: Smoking in the Shadows

  Friday morning

  St Paul’s Parish Church was an old building with an air of quiet grace. Before the installation of an effective central heating system several decades earlier, it had been well-known for its chilly interior. The current minister, Tony Younger, had made it his priority to make the building more welcoming, and the main improvement had been glaringly obvious: to counteract the incessant winter cold. His efforts had made a difference, with attendances at the regular Sunday services bucking the national trend and actually increasing.

  He was in the church now, paying a quick visit before breakfast in order to have a few words with the cleaner. But the figure standing looking at some of the plaques was certainly no cleaner. He waved as he recognised who it was.

  ‘I wondered who you were at first,’ he said. ‘It’s unusual to get visitors this early in the morning. Are you here for any particular reason, Chief Inspector?’

  ‘Not really. I didn’t have time to pop in and explore after I saw you a couple of days ago. I just wanted to get a feel for the place. It’s not a problem, is it?’

  ‘Not at all,’ he answered. ‘Particularly since Dorothy, the cleaner, should be around somewhere. Visitors are always welcome, whether I’ve already met them or not. I try my best to operate an open-door policy, although that has its problems. But if a church is not accessible to people when they most need it, can it really fulfil its purpose? We keep the heating on low all the time during the winter for that reason. If some of the town’s poor and needy can escape from the chill outside by spending an hour or two in here, then that’s fine by me. And when some of my less charitable parishioners raise objections, I remind them that we are Christians and have a duty to look after those who are less fortunate than ourselves.’

  ‘That’s very worthy, Reverend,’ Sophie said. ‘If I were religious, you’d have my complete agreement. Sadly, I’m not.’

  ‘Sadly for who?’

  She sighed. ‘Sadly for my appreciation of old churches. It restricts my opportunities somewhat, although that’s largely due to my own guilt complex. Well, one of my guilt complexes. I have so many that I’ve lost count.’

  ‘You sound as if you need an opportunity to unburden yourself. Not that I’m offering you a session. You’re not one of my parishioners, and I’d be afraid of what you might tell me.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ve had therapy, and not all of it was helpful. But some sessions did help. They didn’t remove my guilt complexes, but at least I’ve learned to live with them. Could you show me around? That’s if you have the time of course?’

  He relaxed a little. ‘Yes, of course. But only on condition that you have some breakfast with me afterwards.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I have about ten minutes to spare before I need to eat, then I have a morning meeting. It’s Friday, so it’s bacon sandwich day. Does that sound okay? I have it all ready in the kitchen.’

  ‘That’s the best chat-up line I’ve heard in ages,’ said Sophie. ‘What woman could say no to an invitation like that? My husband only cooks me porridge in the mornings. Maybe a personnel change is in order.’

  Tony Younger grinned boyishly. Usually all he had to deal with were the humdrum concerns of his parishioners. Conversing with this very attractive, intelligent and self-aware woman was like a breath of fresh air, particularly at this time in the morning. He took her arm and led her into the depths of the church for a “whistle-stop tour,” as he put it.

  * * *

  When she heard the main door open, Dorothy Kitson had quietly moved out of sight behind a column. The church cleaner watched the vicar and his visitor make their way towards the altar. She slipped off her shoes and tiptoed to a side door, slipping out into the chilly morning air. Chief Inspector? Was that what he said? What was she doing here, walking around with the vicar, arms linked like that? She slid back into her shoes and quietly made her way around the outside of the church building to the secluded north end. There she hurriedly pulled a cigarette out of a packet in her coat pocket, lit it and drew in several lungs-full of the calming smoke. She hadn’t expected this. But then, she hadn’t expected any of it. It was all a nightmare. What should she do? She realised that she was crying. Great streams of tears slid down her face and landed on her work overall. She took out a tissue and blew her nose as quietly as she could. It would be a disaster if they saw her, and the vicar brought that policewoman over to chat. She shrank back into the shadows behind a buttress and waited, shivering. She lit another cigarette.

  * * *

  ‘Ma’am, I’ve just traced another resident of Finch Cottage from nearly eighteen years ago. I’ve been in touch with her and she’d be happy to see us, this morning if we want. She still lives in Dorchester, but down-sized to a smaller house after her husband died.’

  ‘Good work, Rae. Get on with it as soon as you can so that we can either log it as possibly useful or reject it completely. By the way, well done for yesterday. I know I said so in our briefing, but it might end up being the best line of inquiry we have. If you hadn’t bothered to search out that dinner lady on Wednesday afternoon, we’d be nowhere.’ Sophie looked more closely at Rae. ‘Are those new glasses you’re wearing?’

  Rae nodded. ‘What do you think? They�
�re only for close work.’

  ‘They suit your colour really well, and the style is just right for your face shape. Maybe I should get you to talk to Jade. She might need to wear glasses, and she’s not happy about it. We’re going clothes shopping tomorrow morning and I was intending to steer her past a couple of opticians’ shops, just so that she can see that there are some stylish ones out there. Maybe I don’t need to with you looking so good in them.’

  How does she do it? Rae thought as she collected her coat and headed towards the car park. In just a minute or two of conversation, she’s made me feel special, needed. God knows what this unit would be like if someone like the Swindon Tosspot was in charge.

  She drove north, pulled up outside a bungalow on a quiet side street and made her way up the path. She was greeted at the door by a stout woman in her late fifties, peering at her through pebble lenses.

  ‘Come in, dear,’ she said.

  Jessica Hart ushered Rae into her living room.

  ‘Mrs Hart, I’d just like to check a few facts with you about the time you lived in Finch Cottage. I think you were there in 1996, is that correct?’

  ‘Yes. It was spring when we moved in, May.’ She looked at Rae. ‘Those children’s bodies. Were they there when we lived in the cottage?’

  Rae nodded. ‘It looks like it. They were probably there about twenty years, but we’re still waiting for confirmation from the experts.’

  Jessica’s hand went to her mouth. Her voice was muted. ‘I can’t believe it. It’s such a lovely place but it was hiding a nightmare like that. I haven’t been able to sleep properly since I found out. But I never liked the cellar. It made me feel nervous. That’s why I phoned in. I hated going down there, but I never knew why. I’ve never felt like that about other cellars. Whenever I looked at that metal ring set into the wall, I shuddered. It was creepy.’

  Rae looked at her in surprise. ‘I don’t think we spotted that, Mrs Hart. Where was it?’

  ‘It wasn’t easy to see. It was in the far corner, quite far from the light. It would be easy to miss.’