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

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  He looked around again. Much better. Right, now for the music. He selected a CD of music by Gershwin. That would do nicely. He sat down and waited for the doorbell to ring.

  Pauline was ten minutes late. Probably it was deliberate, thought John. He took her coat, ushered her through to the lounge and offered her a drink. She’d made up her eyes to look sultry, and her dark hair shone in the glow from the dimmed wall lamps. She was wearing a short black dress, shaped to fit her figure. It had an extraordinary embellishment: a gold zip, running from neckline to hem down the front of the dress. John’s mouthed dropped open. Pauline tapped his lips with a finger.

  ‘Sorry. You look so lovely,’ he said. ‘I’ll get some ice for your drink. Maybe you could have a look at the takeaway menu. It’s on the coffee table.’

  He stood in the kitchen, trying to calm his racing thoughts. It wasn’t just the dress; he’d spotted small, tell-tale bumps on her thighs. She was wearing stockings and suspenders. It was obvious he wouldn’t meet with any resistance to his plans for later in the evening. Maybe he’d hit the jackpot at last. About bloody time.

  * * *

  The food was nearly all eaten. Pauline ran her tongue around her lips. ‘That was delicious,’ she said. She stretched out a long leg, ending in a shiny, black, high-heeled shoe. She took another sip of gin.

  ‘Do you like black clothes for evenings?’ John asked. ‘They look incredibly attractive on you. Your dress is set off beautifully by the gold of the zip.’

  She wriggled closer to him on the sofa. ‘Would you like to give it a pull to see what happens?’

  He leant forward and took the zip’s pull tab, tugging gently at it. The front of the dress parted, revealing silky lingerie in black and gold. Her breasts gently rose and fell beneath the shiny fabric. She looked into his eyes. ‘Go on,’ she said. ‘Touch if you want to.’

  He pulled the zip further, then ran his palm across her breast. ‘Take the zip down further,’ she instructed. As he did so, she stood and shook herself free of the dress. She settled back onto the sofa, now so close that he could feel the warmth of her body radiating through the thin silk of her chemise.

  She reached down to the waistband of his trousers. ‘One good turn with a zip deserves another, don’t you think?’

  He gasped as her head followed her hand.

  ‘You’re wearing silk too. Naughty man.’

  He could only manage a groan.

  * * *

  At eight the next morning she came padding through to the bedroom, carrying two mugs of steaming tea. She was still wearing her silk lingerie and stockings, and looked glorious. John stretched out his arms, and she slid into them with a laugh.

  ‘I hoped you’d stay asleep,’ she said. ‘I was planning to wake you up by rubbing myself all over you. Then I was going to pass you your cup of tea and see how quickly you would be able to drink it.’

  He shook his head, smiling. ‘You know, you’re amazing. I’d have never guessed on the walk yesterday that we’d be like this the next morning. I just can’t quite believe it.’

  She pushed her hair out of her eyes. ‘Drink your tea, go to the loo, and I’ll show you something that will really make your eyes water. It involves your wrists, my stockings and that bed-head. If it works right, we’ll both come like express trains.’

  * * *

  ‘So tell me about your relationship, John. Should I be feeling guilty?’

  They’d just finished a breakfast of muesli and toast and marmalade. Pauline had changed into a pair of trousers and a loose top. She’d brought in an overnight bag the previous night that Wethergill hadn’t noticed. He took a sip of tea before he told her.

  ‘Please don’t feel guilty at all. I don’t. I’m not sure where Maralit and I were going anyway. We needed a break from each other, which is one of the reasons why she decided to visit family back in Manila. It was all a bit sudden, though. She only arranged the trip at the beginning of the week. Apparently one of her sisters is seriously ill with cancer, so Maralit felt she needed to see her before it was too late. She doesn’t live here, by the way. She has her own place on the other side of town.’

  ‘So you don’t have any children with her?’

  ‘No, nothing as serious as that. She’s not the maternal type anyway. She’s a career woman. She works for one of the big pharmaceutical companies and earns about five times what I do. She says that children would have got in the way of her career. I suppose that’s probably true for most women in the commercial world.’

  ‘How long have you been seeing each other?’

  He shrugged. ‘About ten years? We were friends for a while before that. I’ve been worrying about where we were heading for some time now. Her personality seems to have grown harder in recent years. She’s not the gentle person she was when we first met. She disagrees and says it’s me who’s changed. Human nature, I suppose. We always think other people are at fault, never us.’

  Pauline nodded. That’s my experience too. It was certainly at work in some of my early relationships.’

  ‘Did you have children?’

  She shook her head and laughed, grimly. ‘The thought of giving birth always brought me out in a rash.’

  ‘And you haven’t got a wish to have any? You know?’

  She looked at him. ‘What do you mean, what do I know?’

  He looked embarrassed. ‘Well, time’s ticking on. That’s what I meant.’

  ‘Why don’t you say it then? Might I have a yearning for children in the few years of fertility I have left? That’s what you meant, isn’t it?’

  ‘I was trying to be delicate and I made a mess of it. Sorry.’

  ‘I suppose it’s something all women in my position think about, having a child before it’s too late. But for me, the age gap would be too big. Some women my age are already grandmothers, for God’s sake. And I always end up thinking, what have I got to offer a child? I’m too bloody impatient. I know I am.’ She checked her watch, then finished her tea. ‘I’ll help you clear up and then I’d better be off. I’m meeting someone for the afternoon and need time to get ready.’

  ‘Should I be jealous?’

  ‘Of course. Just to keep you on your toes. Maybe we can meet later in the week? Would you like to?’ She carried their dishes to the sink.

  ‘Yes. You know I would.’

  ‘Call me. You have my number.’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  She looked at him coolly for a few seconds. Then she shook her head. ‘Yes you do. You just haven’t looked in the right place yet.’

  She went to the hall, slipped her coat on, picked up her bag, gave John a soft, tongued kiss and left. He looked in the bedroom but could see nothing. She’d taken a shower before breakfast, so he checked in the bathroom. There it was, written on the mirror in lipstick: a telephone number followed by an xxx. He walked to the lounge window and peered out at the pavement below. But she’d already gone.

  Chapter 14: Against the Cut

  Saturday afternoon, week 2

  Despite her words to Jade, Sophie was invited, as a senior police officer, to be present during the child protection officer’s visit. She thought about it and was about to turn the offer down but, before she could, Jade had a call from Asli. The two young girls wanted her to go to Asli’s house.

  ‘They want to talk things over with me,’ said Jade.

  ‘Well, that’s probably a good sign, but she needs to be back home for the child protection team visit at two thirty. They’ll want to speak to Safiyo to make sure she understands the meaning of the court order. I think you need to somehow convince her to go home. I think you’ll need to explain what you’ve done in terms of seeking further advice, but in a way that doesn’t scare her.’

  ‘Can I tell her that I talked to you about it?’

  ‘As long as you don’t tell them who I am. That might scare the living daylights out of Safiyo, and we don’t want that to happen. Just tell them that you told your mum. Okay? Maybe I’ll g
o along as an observer after all.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum,’ Jade said. She still looked worried. ‘I wish this had never happened. Why did Asli choose me to talk to?’

  Sophie looked at her daughter. ‘Probably because she thought you were the right person, Jade. It isn’t just because you’re running the campaign at school. I’d guess it’s also because they like and trust you. It’s something you need to get used to if you plan to be a doctor. This is what working life is really like for someone with those kinds of responsibilities. What do you think my job is like? I’m always having to make important decisions based upon what people say and do. All the time I’m thinking, have I made the right decision? Why did that person say that? What might the consequences of this course of action be? I could chuck it all in and work behind the counter in a dress shop, and then I wouldn’t face these kinds of problems. But then I’d go round the bend with boredom. You are exactly the right kind of person for what you’ve chosen to do with your life, and it’s those qualities that your young friends saw in you. As a prefect, you’re in a position of responsibility, but they must also trust you. Otherwise they’d have chosen someone else to talk to. I’m proud of you, Jade. You’ve done exactly the right thing, so stop worrying about it.’ She gave her daughter a hug. ‘Now get round to Asli’s house and take the two of them home to Safiyo’s. There’s no time to waste. I’ll give you a lift. And you’ll have a lot to tell Hannah when she gets home this evening. She’ll be proud of you too.’ She glanced in the mirror. The same soft brown cord trousers and tan ankle boots she’d been wearing in the morning. No time to change now. She unhooked her tan leather jacket from the coat-stand and followed her daughter out to the car.

  * * *

  The visit to Safiyo’s home wasn’t easy, but it went as well as could be expected. Sophie suggested driving to the house in a plain car rather than in a police squad car, so she ended up driving the slightly overawed uniformed constable across to Wareham from police headquarters near Wool. They met the child protection officer outside the house, and the three women approached the front door together, with Sophie hanging back slightly. ‘If I can get away with saying nothing, then that’s what I’d prefer to do,’ she said.

  Safiyo’s mother opened the door, and stood with her mouth open when she saw them on her doorstep.

  ‘Mrs Dalmar? We’re here to talk to you about your daughter, Safiyo. I’m Cheryl Walker, the duty child protection officer from the council, and these two ladies are police officers, as you can see. May we come in, please?’

  As soon as Cheryl explained the reason for their visit, Safiyo’s mother burst into tears. Her husband came into the hallway to see what was going on. He looked annoyed.

  ‘Maybe we could find a more comfortable place to talk?’ suggested Fatima Sharma, the uniformed officer. ‘It’s rather crowded with us all in the hallway, and we will need to speak to Safiyo. Where is she, by the way?’

  ‘She is in her room, with some friends,’ the mother replied nervously. ‘I will get her.’ She looked at her husband. ‘Take them through, please, Habibi?’

  He ushered the women through to a front room. He followed them in and stood stiffly, as if to attention. There was a lengthy silence.

  ‘Who are you again?’ he said finally.

  Cheryl repeated her introduction.

  ‘I can see you are a police officer,’ he replied, pointing at Fatima. He looked at Sophie. ‘But you? Why are you not in a uniform like your colleague?’

  ‘I’m just a police observer, Mr Dalmar. I’m from county headquarters.’ Sophie indicated Fatima and Cheryl. ‘These are the important people here.’

  His wife entered the room, wringing her hands.

  Cheryl coughed. ‘We have reason to believe that you have been planning to take Safiyo out of the country in order for her to be circumcised. We must make clear to you that such an action would be illegal and would be treated as serious child abuse under UK law. We have with us a court order forbidding you from taking Safiyo out of the UK by any means until we are satisfied that she is not in any danger. Do you understand?’ She looked at both parents in turn.

  ‘It is not to do with me,’ said the father. ‘It is a woman’s thing.’ He shrugged and vaguely waved towards his wife.

  ‘You would both be prosecuted if the cutting went ahead. Under the law, you share equal responsibility for the welfare of your children. If Safiyo is harmed in any way you will both share the blame. Do you understand? I must ask you both to make a commitment to keep her here and free from harm.’

  ‘But it is a tradition,’ said the mother. ‘I had it done when I was her age.’

  ‘It is a tradition that must stop, Mrs Dalmar. Everyone says so, all across the world. It does no good, only harm. Girls die because of it. Women can spend the rest of their lives in pain because of it.’ She took the official order from Fatima and handed it across to the girl’s father. ‘These two police officers have witnessed that you have received the order. Safiyo must remain in this country until we review her case at a child protection hearing. You will both be invited to attend.’

  Fatima Sharma added, ‘Nothing has happened to Safiyo yet, so no law has been broken. There is nothing for either of you to worry about as long as you abide by the court order.’

  ‘Will anything else happen?’ asked the father.

  ‘We’ll inform the senior staff at her school, but not everyone will know. They will monitor her attendance and her wellbeing, as is their duty. Nothing will happen as long as you keep her here, and safe’.

  Just then the door opened. Jade and two young girls came into the room. Jade was holding the hand of one of them, who held back, her hand at her mouth.

  ‘Do you know why we are here, Safiyo?’ Cheryl asked. The girl gave a small nod.

  ‘We are worried about your safety, so we have given your parents an order so they can’t take you out of the country. Do you understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ she murmured. ‘Jade has explained to me.’

  ‘Who are you? Why are you involved?’ asked the mother sharply.

  Jade said, ‘I’m a prefect at the girls’ school. They told me about their concern late yesterday. It was me that told the authorities.’

  The father nodded. ‘I am glad. It is better this way. It is wrong to live in a country like this and keep to old ways that do nothing but harm. I did not speak before, because it seemed to me to be a women’s thing and I shouldn’t be involved. But if my new country feels it is so wrong, then we must show respect to that. We will follow the order.’

  ‘Are you happy with your father’s promise, Safiyo?’ Cheryl asked.

  ‘Yes. If he has made a promise, he will keep it. He is the head of my family.’ Safiyo smiled at her father. She let go of Jade’s hand, ran across and flung her arms around him. Her affection for him was evident. ‘I was so scared,’ she said to him. He squeezed her tight.

  Sophie looked across at Jade and smiled. A happy ending after all, she thought. Her phone rang. She took it from her bag and left the room, mouthing her apologies.

  ‘Hi, Barry. Has something happened? . . . Okay. I’ll be right in. Expect me in about half an hour.’

  She poked her head back into the lounge, and mouthed to her two colleagues, ‘got to go to Dorchester in a hurry.’

  ‘I’ll give Fatima a lift back,’ Cheryl said. ‘It won’t be a problem.’

  Sophie nodded to the Dalmars and left.

  ‘Who was she?’ asked Safiyo’s mother.

  ‘The Chief Inspector,’ Fatima answered.

  ‘She’s not smartly dressed like you two.’

  ‘I think she was off duty,’ Fatima said.

  Jade managed to keep quiet.

  ‘Tight trousers and a leather jacket. Not right for a woman,’ said Mrs Dalmar.

  Now Jade’s patience ran out. ‘If she hadn’t got involved, things might not have been organised so fast. You might have taken Safiyo away and got her cut. You’d have been prosecuted and probably
put in prison when you got back. Safiyo and your other children would have been taken away from you. You should be grateful that she took an interest . . . Anyway, she’s my mum and I’m proud of her. She’d never dream of hurting me, not like you, planning to have your daughter mutilated!’ She turned on her heel and walked out of the house.

  Chapter 15: Drama Queens

  Sunday afternoon, week 2

  Dorothy Kitson sat three rows back, in the middle, exactly six chairs from the left. She deliberately chose this position to avoid drawing any attention to herself. Who would notice her anyway? And, even if they did, why would anyone bother to chat to her? She knew what she looked like: a thin, stooped, middle-aged woman, prematurely grey. She was extremely shy, and avoided speaking to anyone she didn’t know. She rarely looked people in the eye. Dorothy folded her coat, placed it on the seat beside her and put her bag on top. Maybe her sister would attend this afternoon’s talk, although she didn’t hold out much hope. Her elder sister was a law unto herself. She always had been.

  Dorothy took out the programme and scanned through the sparse details. The afternoon’s activities were all to do with the campaign to reduce female genital mutilation, whatever that was. The way they described it, it did sound horrible, and probably ought to be stopped. It seemed to mainly involve people from far-away countries with exotic names. She wasn’t particularly interested in any of these talks at the local Arts Centre, but didn’t like to admit it. Nobody asked her anyway. Because she came along to many of the Sunday afternoon events, people assumed that she must be genuinely bothered by goings on in the wider world. In reality, she only came because she had free tickets for the less popular events. She was a part-time cleaner at the centre, and this allowed her twenty free admissions per year. Her few friends were bemused by the events she chose to attend. They were even more bemused by the performances she didn’t go to, some by well-known performing arts groups. If anyone bothered to think about it, they would have noticed that she never attended the evening events. Why would she choose to come out of an evening, with so much available at home on the telly? But Sunday afternoon was a different matter. It was a good opportunity to get out of her small flat.