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

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  Rae made an entry in her notebook. ‘Mrs Hart, from what you’ve said, you didn’t own the cottage. Do you know who the owners were?’

  ‘No. Our contact was the agency in town — Murchison’s. They had an office just off the High Street. I don’t think they’re there anymore.’

  ‘So, whose name should I look for in the records, Mrs Hart? I noticed it was you on the report I found.’

  ‘It was my name on the rental contract. Bob was just no good with anything official, so I always looked after that side of things. I worked in the office at one of the big stores so I coped better than him with paperwork.’

  ‘And how long did you live at Finch Cottage?’

  ‘We moved there in 1996. Bob lost his job and we couldn’t afford the mortgage repayments on the house we owned. I got a job in a shop in town. We stayed there until the autumn a couple of years later. By then I’d been promoted to supervisor and Bob found a job with a local joinery business. We wanted to save for our own place again, so we moved to somewhere smaller and cheaper. Finch Cottage was lovely for the boys but the rent was too high.’

  Rae waited. Eventually she said, ‘is Bob still here, Mrs Hart?’

  Jessica said quietly, ‘he was killed in a work accident. I got a good settlement through the courts because the firm were negligent. That’s why I’ve got this little place now. But it’s no compensation for the loneliness or the sadness, is it? I still work, just for the company really, but only part-time now.’

  Chapter 12: Café Chat

  Saturday morning

  ‘Mum. All these clothes. They’re so, well . . . middle-aged.’

  Jade was looking critically at the rails displaying some of the latest spring styles for women.

  ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, Jade, I am middle-aged, or fast approaching it.’ Sophie continued to half-heartedly slide the hangers apart.

  Her daughter snorted. ‘You’ll never be middle-aged, Mum, not even when you’re sixty. We know you too well. This stuff,’ she gestured expansively, ‘is just not you. Not yet anyway. What we need is a boutique. Somewhere with clothes that are a bit edgy. Not this stuff. You wear this kind of gear to an old folks’ home or a funeral.’ She took the few items that Sophie was holding and put them back on the rail. She wagged her finger at her mother. ‘These clothes are not for you. Really and truly they aren’t.’

  Secretly relieved, Sophie admitted defeat. ‘Okay. Let’s do it your way, but remember it’s work-wear I’m looking for. Take me to the shop of your choice, Little Miss Fashion Expert. Show me what you think I should be wearing when I head off to work each morning. A short, flimsy, skater skirt perhaps? Gold lamé hot-pants? I give in.’

  ‘Stop it, Mum. People are listening. This is getting embarrassing.’

  The two women left the department store and walked along the street. This isn’t going as I planned, Sophie thought. She looked at her watch and gasped. ‘I wanted to be finished by now,’ she complained.

  ‘You can’t rush these things, Mum. You should know that by now. Someone in your position needs to choose the right clothes very carefully. You’re a role model, you know . . .’ Jade suddenly realised that her mother was no longer listening and had stopped moving. They’d just passed a café and Sophie was peering in through the window. She grabbed Jade’s arm and pushed at the door.

  ‘Coffee time,’ she announced loudly as she pulled the teenager inside. They made for the nearest empty table and sat down. A waitress came over to their table and took out her order pad.

  ‘Hello, Lily,’ Sophie said. ‘I thought it was you when I looked through the window. What are you doing working here in Dorchester?’

  Lily Dalton peered at Sophie and then her elfin features broke into a broad smile. ‘Chief Inspector! It’s nice to see you. I applied for that job you told me about, at the café in Wareham, but it was taken. But the owner also has this place, and she offered me a job here. It wasn’t very convenient but after what you said, I thought I needed a clean break. I took the plunge and moved here.’

  ‘Well, you’re looking a lot more relaxed than you were last autumn. Has the move worked out well for you?’

  ‘So far. Early days still, I suppose, but I like it here. I’m sharing a small flat just outside the town centre. And I’ve made some friends.’ Lily paused. ‘Are you on that case with the two buried children? I suppose I shouldn’t be asking you about it, but it makes me shudder. Most of the customers are talking about it. I tell them I know the person who’ll be running the investigation, but I don’t think many of them believe me. I don’t suppose you can tell me anything?’

  Sophie gave her a wry smile. ‘Uh-uh. Can we order some coffee, please? And a couple of cream cakes?’

  Lily wrote down the order. One of the customers passed them on her way out. ‘Bye Dorothy,’ said Lily. ‘One of our regulars,’ she explained.

  Once the waitress had left them, Jade leaned over and whispered to her mother. ‘That was a bit curious, Mum. That woman who just left was happily reading a magazine until she heard the words, "Chief Inspector." She stared across here, saw me watching, then gulped down her drink and hurried out. She deliberately kept her back to you all the time. Peculiar or what?’

  Sophie laughed. ‘Maybe she’s been dodging her tax payments, Jade, or she’s been smuggling illegal immigrants into the country. Or maybe she saw the time and realised she was late for something. There could be any number of reasons for why she wanted to hurry out. Don’t get paranoid.’

  ‘Well you didn’t see the look on her face.’

  ‘And I also know that if I’d acted on even half of the times you thought someone was behaving in a suspicious manner, much of the population of this country would be behind bars. Or, more probably, I’d be out of a job.’

  When Lily arrived with their coffees Jade asked about the woman who’d just left, ignoring her mother’s glare.

  ‘Dorothy? She comes in here a couple of times a week, but I don’t know much about her. She told me she does the cleaning for St Paul’s church and does cleaning and ironing work for some people who live in that area. I don’t even know her surname. Why?’

  ‘I think she dropped a handkerchief. Look, under the chair.’

  ‘I’ll keep it for her. She’ll be in next week sometime.’

  The waitress moved away, out of earshot. ‘Jade,’ hissed her mother, ‘that was unforgivable. For goodness sake, what does it take to get through to you?’

  ‘I’m just being a good citizen, helping the police. Honestly, Mum, she really was acting weird. At least you know something about her now. St Paul’s. Isn’t that where the kiddies’ bodies were found? And she’s a cleaner in the area? I bet she’s hiding something.’

  Sophie held her head in her hands. ‘God, this is a nightmare.’

  ‘Actually, Mum, I do need your help. It’s something quite serious, at school. I’ve dug a bit of a hole for myself, and I don’t know how to get out of it.’

  Sophie shook her head slowly. She sighed. ‘What is it this time?’

  ‘Well, you know that I’m a prefect and we encourage younger pupils to come to us with their problems if they’re not sure about going to a teacher? I look after a couple of year seven classes. They’re the youngest groups in the school. I’ve been doing some work at lunchtimes with them about FGM, you know, the way many girls get cut in some African countries. It’s because of Hannah coming to Dorchester with the charity group to give that talk on Sunday. She asked me to help publicise it. I’ve been using a few of the posters that she sent. You remember that Dad took some in to his school? Anyway, one of the girls came to find me yesterday afternoon after school was over. She’s a little black girl and she’s worried about her best friend, Safiyo. Safiyo has discovered that her family are taking her back to Africa next week for a short visit. She’s convinced that the visit is to get her cut. Apparently Safiyo is terrified and doesn’t know what to do.’ Jade paused. ‘The problem is that to get the story out of Asli, I ha
d to promise I wouldn’t tell any of the teachers. But if I don’t do something, the poor little thing could be taken out of the country and mutilated. I hardly slept last night, worrying about it. What can I do?’

  ‘It’s a child protection issue, Jade. In a case like that, any responsible adult who becomes aware of the problem is legally obliged to report it. Verbal promises made to a child no longer have any weight. You’re technically not a responsible adult, so the law doesn’t apply to you. But you’ve told me now, so I have to act, and I have to do so right away, without delay. I’ll need the details from you, including all the names, so get your brain in gear.’ She looked at the clock on the wall and took out her mobile phone from her bag. ‘So much for our retail therapy.’ Sophie shook her head.

  ‘Sorry, Mum.’ Jade looked worried. ‘So what will happen? Will she have to go into care? That would be awful.’

  ‘It’s unlikely. The child safety officers will probably get a court order issued forbidding her parents from taking her out of the country. They’ll probably visit with the police to make sure the order is enforced, and in case family members try to resist.’

  ‘So she’s likely to stay with her family? Isn’t that dangerous?’

  ‘Not usually. The council people will assess the risk, but with FGM a court order is usually enough. It’s better for the girl to remain at home with her parents. The problem is cultural, and the parents often mistakenly feel they are doing the right thing.’

  ‘Would it help if I came along? I feel responsible somehow.’

  Sophie thought about this. ‘I don’t think that’s realistic, is it, Jade? It’s thoughtful of you, but let’s leave it for the right people to deal with it.’

  ‘I know she’s going to be really upset.’ She looked mournfully at her mother. ‘Can’t you be the police presence? Then I could be around and there’d be a familiar face.’

  ‘No, I couldn’t. It has to be one of the designated team. I can’t break the rules, Jade, not even for you.’ She consulted her watch, and then tapped in the number on her phone. ‘This could take some time, so we might have to skip the rest of the morning. No boutique, I’m afraid.’

  Jade sighed. ‘Let’s face it, Mum. That wasn’t going to work anyway, was it?’

  It only took half an hour to make the arrangements. Sophie knew who to contact and Jade was at hand to supply the details.

  ‘Maybe I’d better pop round and see little Asli later,’ Jade said. ‘She’ll hear about it soon enough, but it might be better coming from me. I hope she won’t be too angry with me.’

  ‘Jade, why do you think she told you about it? Clearly she wanted you to do something. What was the point in telling you otherwise? Particularly if she’s seen that you’re linked to the anti-FGM campaign at school. By all means go and see her, but don’t be apologetic. She did the right thing in telling you, and you did the right thing in telling me. Though I don’t see why you couldn’t have gone to one of your teachers yesterday afternoon, instead of waiting until now.’

  ‘I told you, she made me promise not to tell them. Anyway, we were in the bus queue and I’d have missed my bus. And you know what teachers are like on a Friday afternoon, Mum. They’re all out of school like a shot. The place was probably empty.’

  ‘That is a gross exaggeration, young lady. You know very well that your father never gets home before you, even on a Friday. And that’s with you meeting young Jamie for a coffee in town most afternoons before you come home.’

  ‘How did you know about that?’

  It was Sophie’s turn to smirk. ‘My spies are everywhere. Now let’s get a move on. I think the clothes in that first shop are calling to me to come back for a second look. I don’t want this morning to be a total wash-out.’

  Chapter 13: Walkies, Cuddles and Muesli

  Saturday, week 2

  The South Dorset Walkers’ Club met every second Saturday, weather permitting, for a ramble around one of the county’s many beauty spots or nature reserves. The members were primarily middle-aged and reasonably fit but preferred easy, chatty walks rather than the more strenuous treks of the other local rambling groups. That was how the secretary justified the club’s existence in a county that already had nearly two dozen rambling groups.

  ‘I suppose we’re a group of gossipers who also like walking, rather than the other way round,’ she would explain with a wry smile.

  On this particular Saturday morning, just before noon, the motley collection of ramblers were on the penultimate leg of their walk. Having struggled around the windswept cliffs of St Aldhelm’s Head, they were heading inland past Winspit towards a welcome refreshment rest at The Square and Compass in the picturesque village of Worth Matravers. John Wethergill slowed as he heard footsteps drawing alongside him. He half turned to see the attractive figure of the group’s newest member coming level with him. He ran his hand through his hair, hoping that it wasn’t too untidy. Maybe he should have worn a hat after all. ‘Hello,’ he said, trying to think of something witty and original to say, but failing.

  ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘I’d better introduce myself. I’m Pauline Stopley.’ She struggled slightly with a glove but finally managed to slip it off, holding out a slender hand.

  John pulled off his glove and grasped her hand firmly. ‘John Wethergill. Bit tired, a bit bored and looking forward to a pint.’

  She laughed and wrestled with her glove, this time to get it back on. ‘Maybe these are a bit small, after all. I wondered about buying the medium size, but vanity got the better of me.’

  ‘It’s a terrible thing, vanity, isn’t it? But I think it has an important role to play in our self-esteem.’

  ‘That sounds very impressive. Can I steal it from you?’ She smiled at him, her dark eyes glinting mischievously in the midday sunshine.

  ‘I think you must be our new member. Harriet said that someone new was coming today. Did she mean you?’

  ‘I expect so. I just fancied the opportunity to see some of the countryside. I’ve only been back in Dorset a few months. Are you local?’

  ‘Yes. I own a DIY shop in Dorchester. I’ve lived in the county most of my life, and so did my ancestors. Dorset born and Dorset bred, I suppose you could say.’

  ‘I don’t see anything wrong with that.’ She looked around. ‘Do we have much further to go? I could do with a pick-me-up. A gin and tonic would be nice.’

  ‘About a mile, I think. I must warn you that you might get some disapproving looks over your choice of drink. This pub is known for miles around for the quality of its beers and ciders. They even brew their own.’

  She looked coolly at him. ‘I couldn’t give a toss what people think. It’ll be a gin and tonic for me no matter what.’

  He held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘That’s fine. I just thought you ought to know.’

  Her face softened. ‘Sorry. I over-reacted there, I think.’

  * * *

  Once they reached the village, half of the group made directly for the car park, back to family and other commitments. Of those who did visit the pub, most had just a small drink and a hurried pie or pasty before heading off. Pauline and John soon found themselves alone at the table. They’d taken their outdoor jackets off, and Wethergill was casting surreptitious, admiring glances at the woman opposite. She had a good figure and her clothes were rather more stylish than those the ramblers usually wore. She’d obviously brushed her hair when she visited the loo, and its dark length fell to below her shoulders.

  ‘How do you spend your time?’ asked Wethergill.

  ‘I’m a regional manager for the Arts Council, so I’m closely involved in fund-raising and the allocation of grants. I’ve recently got a promotion into the Wessex region, so that’s why I’ve moved here, to Dorchester in fact. I’ve just bought a flat in town. Where is your shop?’

  ‘Just off the High Street. I live above it. We’re not rich but I make enough to pay the bills and live quite comfortably.’

  ‘We? Are you marri
ed?’

  ‘No, but I’m in a sort of relationship. I was married a long time ago, but that ended badly, so I’ve steered clear ever since.’

  ‘Doesn’t your partner like walking?’

  ‘Not really. She’s back in the Philippines at the moment, visiting her sister. She isn’t due to return until next month.’

  His words seemed to hang in the air for a few seconds. Did they beckon?

  Pauline asked, quietly, ‘what are your plans for eating this evening?’

  ‘I was planning to order a Thai takeaway.’ Another brief silence.

  ‘Can I join you? I’m at a bit of a loose end.’

  ‘Of course. You’d be most welcome.’ He wrote an address and phone number on a beer mat and pushed it towards her. She slid it into her pocket without looking at it.

  ‘Thanks,’ she murmured. ‘I’d better be off. See you later. About eight?’

  He nodded. He watched her shapely figure move to the door. He sat on for another ten minutes, finishing a second beer before getting up and making his way to the car park.

  * * *

  Wethergill looked around the flat. That should do nicely. It was only two days since his cleaner had made her regular Thursday morning visit, but he’d dusted and vacuumed throughout. He’d also washed the kitchen floor and cleaned the fridge. He’d cleaned the toilet with bleach and scrubbed the washbasin and the bath. He’d put a clean under-sheet on the bed and a fresh cover, in a pretty shade of lilac, on the duvet. He checked the bedside table drawer for condoms and paper tissues. He showered and washed his hair, and dressed carefully. An open-neck shirt in mottled grey, black trousers and freshly polished shoes. Everything was ready and there were still twenty minutes to spare.

  Then he spotted the photo of Maralit on the shelf above the fireplace. Should he hide it? Or would Pauline expect some kind of photo of his partner? After all, he had been honest about it. The trouble was, it was an old photo, taken when she was still slim and attractive. If she saw the photo Pauline would assume that Maralit still looked like that, and might be put off. He could have swapped it for a more recent one, but he’d never bothered to get any framed since her skin had started ageing, her weight had increased and her personality had turned more waspish. He took the photo down and shut it away in a drawer.