Old Bones

by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles

  ‘I suppose it was,’ she said.

  ‘Did your father tell you why you were going? You must have wondered.’

  ‘He was sick of it all. Sick of that house. Sick of the place. You couldn’t breathe, people all round you, everyone wanting to know your business. Out here you can be alone. People leave you alone. Sometimes you don’t see another soul from one week’s end to the next. It’s quiet.’

  ‘And you like the quiet?’ Slider asked. By the hearth, the dogs sighed and changed position. Behind him, on the windowsill, he heard one of the cats purr in response to the movement.

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Who wouldn’t?’

  ‘That last summer,’ he went on in the same inconsequential voice, ‘what was on Amanda’s mind? You talked together, for hours, almost every day. What was going on in her life?’

  ‘Just the usual things. Nothing in particular,’ Melissa Vickery said. ‘Why? I don’t remember. It’s too long ago.’

  ‘Was there someone new in her life?’ Slider asked. ‘A boyfriend?’

  ‘She wasn’t interested in boys,’ she said scornfully.

  ‘A man, then. Was something happening to her that she’d want to keep secret from her parents, from grown-ups in general?’

  ‘When you’re fourteen, you want to keep everything secret from your parents,’ she said, with unusual perspicacity.

  ‘Had her relationship with her father changed? Worsened, perhaps. You said they rowed a lot. Did he hit her? Was she afraid of him?’

  ‘She wasn’t afraid of him! She wasn’t afraid of anyone. He didn’t hit her. She thought he was a stupid little man. What’s the point of all these questions, anyway? I don’t know what happened to Amanda. I didn’t see her that day. I can’t help you. What does it matter, anyway? She’s been dead twenty-five years, and nobody misses her.’

  ‘She was your friend. I expect you miss her,’ Slider said.

  ‘Not after all this time.’ She stood up. ‘I want you to go now. I’m sick of you. I told you I couldn’t help you, but you would come in. Now go away, and don’t come back.’

  They had stood too, but Slider did not yet move from the spot. He regarded her steadily, until she stopped fidgeting, stopped puffing at her cigarette, and looked back, frowning but attentive.

  ‘I think there is more that you know, but you don’t want to tell me. You think it doesn’t matter after all these years, but Amanda’s life was cut short, she was cheated of what was lawfully hers, and that matters to me. So I will keep asking questions until I find out what happened. And I will come back here if I need to. Do you understand?’

  She sneered. ‘Do you think I’m an idiot? Of course I understand. And you’d better understand that I defend my property against intruders if I need to.’

  Slider nodded. ‘Very well,’ he said. He jerked his head to Atherton, to send him first, and followed him; and she followed them as far as the passage, where she stopped to watch them go out of the front door. As he turned to close it behind him, he said to her calmly, ‘You know Amanda kept a diary?’

  She looked blank, then there was a slow seeping of alarm into her face. ‘You found her diary?’ she said.

  ‘You knew she was keeping one then, that last summer?’

  ‘Yes. No. I suppose so.’ She rallied. ‘Most girls keep a diary, don’t they?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘You haven’t got it, have you? Otherwise you wouldn’t be asking me.’

  ‘No, we haven’t got it. I just wanted your confirmation that it existed. And what was in it.’

  ‘I don’t know what was in it. She never showed it to anyone. Probably a lot of childish nonsense anyway. If it existed at all. If you haven’t got it, how do you even know there was one?’

  ‘I spoke to her mother.’

  For a long moment, it looked as though Melissa Vickery was going to say something, and then she shrugged. ‘For what that’s worth. Close the door behind you. And don’t forget to shut the gate.’

  They went. Slider felt better with the door closed behind them, and didn’t really think she would come busting out and blast away at them with both barrels, but he’d feel even better when he was on the safe side of that gate. The morning mistiness had cleared away and the yard was peaceful in the sunshine. The chickens were taking dust baths, and the ducks had discovered the puddles, and the chained dog watched them with interest and perhaps wistfulness as they made their escape.

  ‘Mad as a sack full of cats,’ Atherton said. ‘I didn’t think we’d get out of there alive.’

  ‘You do get upset about trifles,’ said Slider.

  ‘A gun is not a trifle.’

  ‘It can be an assault trifle,’ Slider offered.

  ‘Ha! You joke now, but don’t tell me you weren’t nervous.’ Slider didn’t answer. He was thinking. ‘I’m not sure we learned anything essential from risking our lives like that in the line of duty,’ Atherton said.

  ‘I think we’ll realize we learned a lot when we’ve had time to digest it,’ Slider said.

  ‘Speaking of digesting, do you realize we didn’t get any lunch today?’

  ‘It’s too late for lunch now,’ Slider said, glancing at his watch.

  ‘But we could stop in Cirencester for a pint and a sandwich. Can’t run the engine without petrol, you know.’

  ‘Engine?’ Slider said vaguely.

  ‘The brain,’ said Atherton. ‘See, you’d have understood that straight away if you weren’t hungry.’

  Slider turned the car out onto the road and headed back towards Cirencester. ‘Did she strike you as stupid as a nail?’ he mused.

  ‘Dumb as a nail, she said,’ Atherton corrected. ‘And no, she didn’t. Mad as a parrot, but not stupid.’

  It was past going-home time when they got back to the factory, but Swilley and Gascoyne were still there. ‘What happened? Did you see her? What’s she like?’ Swilley asked.

  Slider let Atherton tell, and he made the most of it, while Slider went back through his memories of what had been said, and almost as important, what had not.

  ‘So you think she knows something?’ Swilley asked, when Atherton came to a pause.

  ‘I’m certain that she does,’ Slider said, ‘but I can’t work out what.’

  ‘What makes you suspect, sir?’ Gascoyne asked respectfully.

  Slider winkled it out. ‘She couldn’t say – or wouldn’t say – how she found out that Amanda was missing,’ he said. ‘She kept saying it was a long time ago and she didn’t remember any details, and that’s fair enough, but how did she hear Amanda was missing? According to her there was no contact between the families, so Amanda’s parents wouldn’t have telephoned her father. In fact, she said that they didn’t even know Amanda visited her, and we have Mrs Knight’s word that she’d never heard of a Melissa.’

  ‘So her father heard it from someone else,’ Swilley hazarded. ‘Friend, neighbour – or read it in the paper.’

  ‘Maybe our Mr Vickery mentioned it,’ said Gascoyne, ‘seeing it was just the next street.’

  ‘All quite possible,’ said Slider, ‘except that she didn’t say her father told her. And when I suggested another schoolfriend might have rung her with the news, she just shook her head. She rejected all the possibilities. I know it was a long time ago, but I think she would have remembered who it was broke the news to her that her friend, the friend she’d been seeing nearly every day, had disappeared – unless she knew something about that disappearance.’

  They thought about it. ‘So – you think she was with Amanda when it happened? She saw it?’ said Swilley. ‘And was too frightened to say anything? Say the two of them had gone out somewhere, and Ronnie Knight found them and was angry for some reason – they’d gone somewhere he disapproved of, or something – and he got into a row with Amanda, killed her, probably by accident? No, but she wouldn’t just keep it quiet, would she? That’s mad.’

  Gascoyne shook his head. ‘Even if she was afraid back then, she wouldn’t still be, not all this time
later. There’d be no reason not to shop Amanda’s dad now. He’s dead, anyway – he couldn’t hurt her.’

  ‘Why else would she not say anything?’ Swilley wondered. ‘If not fear? Loyalty?’

  ‘Loyalty to who? Amanda’s dad against Amanda?’ said Gascoyne. ‘How would she even have known him?’

  ‘Not Amanda’s dad,’ said Atherton. ‘Her own. Say they were playing downstairs and got a bit boisterous. Her father comes rampaging down to complain about the noise – they were disturbing his genius, how could he concentrate with that unholy racket going on etcetera. And Amanda, who’s used to rowing with her dad, answers him back, and he loses his temper and lamps her.’

  They thought about that. ‘Except that there were no fractures,’ said Slider.

  ‘Well, he caused her some kind of fatal damage in the heat of the moment,’ Atherton said, ‘without breaking bones. Strangled her, maybe. Now little Melissa, who’s lost her mother and loves her daddy, has to make a choice – to the dead friend or the live father. I think in those circumstances, most kids would side with the father. Especially when he’s right there, pleading with her.’

  ‘You may have something there, Jim,’ said Swilley.

  ‘And you have to take into account the sudden dash away,’ Atherton went on, warming to his theory. ‘The holiday followed by complete removal from the scene, to Tetbury, never to return. That’s very suggestive.’

  ‘But still,’ Gascoyne said, ‘why wouldn’t she tell the truth now? Her father’s dead. It doesn’t matter any more.’

  ‘Because she’s loyal to his memory. Doesn’t want it tarnished,’ said Atherton. ‘Kept the secret all these years. Gave up her life to it, almost. Promised Daddy not to tell, and she’s not going to break her promise now. She said to us, “I loved him,” and she sounded genuine when she said it.’

  ‘I suppose that’s possible,’ said Gascoyne, ‘but—’

  ‘But how did David Vickery manage to bury Amanda’s body in her own garden?’ said Slider. ‘And even more to the point, why would he?’

  ‘To throw suspicion on Ronnie Knight,’ Atherton offered.

  ‘Nasty,’ said Swilley.

  ‘But still,’ Slider insisted, ‘how? I know people are generally unobservant, but a man with a body to dispose of couldn’t rely on that. Wouldn’t rely on that. With the whole world to choose from, I can’t believe an even slightly rational man would pick that particular place to bury his victim. No, it’s got to be Ronnie Knight. He’s the only one who could do it, who had even a chance, let alone a reason to bury her there. But then, what does Melissa know about it? And why won’t she tell us?’

  ‘Well, that dame is completely out to lunch,’ Atherton said, ‘so I don’t think we ought to get hung up on her lack of frankness.’

  ‘That’s all very well,’ said Swilley, ‘but it puts us back where we were, not knowing how it was done or why. And we’re running out of people to ask. Finding Melissa Vickery was our last hope, practically. Now we’ve found her, and we’re no better off.’

  ‘Go home,’ said Slider. ‘Nothing more to do here. Perhaps things will seem clearer in the morning.’

  When Connolly opened the street door of her building, Julienne was there, hunched on the stairs, all spindly limbs, knees together and ankles splayed, arms wrapped round herself. There was a small rucksack and a carrier bag on the stairs beside her.

  Connolly’s heart sank. ‘How did you get in?’ she demanded.

  ‘I made out I was buzzing someone till a bloke come along and he let me in,’ said Julienne, unrepentant.

  ‘Well, he shouldn’t have. What are you doing here?’

  Julienne gave her a doubtful, hopeful, pleading look, scrambling to her feet. ‘I come to see you.’

  ‘I know that, but why?’ She noted the two bags and an unwelcome thought filtered in. ‘Motherogod, don’t tell me you’ve run away!’

  ‘I can’t stand it there,’ Julienne whined. ‘I hate it. They’re all rotten to me. I wanna come and live with you.’

  ‘I told you before—’

  ‘I know, but think about it,’ the child said beguilingly. ‘I know you like me. We’re mates. It could be great.’

  ‘We are not mates. I’m old enough to be your mother.’

  ‘All right then, be me mother,’ Julienne said boldly. ‘Whatevs. I don’t care. Just s’long as I can stay here. Go on, it’ll be fun.’

  Connolly sighed. ‘You’d better come upstairs while I ring the home. I don’t suppose you told them where you were going.’

  ‘Don’t be daft!’

  ‘You’ll get me into trouble, so you will.’ She had been leading the way upstairs, but turned abruptly to face the child, almost knocking her backwards. ‘Do not take this as an invitation to stay. Do not assume, because I ask you in, that I want you there.’

  ‘Jeez, all right! Keep your pants on!’ Julienne, flapping a placating hand.

  ‘Why the hell you’d do such an eejity thing I don’t know,’ Connolly muttered. They reached her flat door and she turned again. ‘I don’t live alone, you know. I share the flat. So while you’re in there, don’t touch anything. And if there’s anyone else there, don’t say anything.’

  She let them in. Julienne stepped through with an air of wonder and willingness to be pleased. ‘Cor,’ she breathed. ‘It’s brill! Fantastic gaff!’ She was only standing in the minute entrance hall, but from there she could see into the kitchen and down the passage into the sitting room. ‘It must be great sharing with mates,’ she went on. ‘I bet you, like, have great parties and everything. No mum and dad, you can stay up all night if you want, and play music—’

  ‘And eat ice cream straight outta the tub, I get it,’ Connolly interrupted. ‘A minute ago you wanted me to be your mother.’

  ‘Only ’cos I knew you’d be cool.’

  ‘I am not cool. I am far from cool. At the moment, I am red hot lava of extreme annoyance with you.’

  Julienne only grinned. ‘Yeah, I can see that. You like me, you know you do. You think I’m radical, like you.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake! Go in the kitchen, get yourself a glass of milk.’

  ‘Milk? Got any lager?’ Julienne said cheekily, but meeting Connolly’s glare, did as she was told while Connolly looked for the number of the home. With glass in hand, she watched Connolly with an air of elation seeping away. ‘You really sending me back?’ she asked in a small voice.

  Connolly looked at her, and felt a pang. ‘I have to. You can’t do stuff like this, Jule. I told you. There’s laws and regulations and – Hello? I want to speak to the superintendent, please. Thank you. You’ve got to go back, put a shape on yourself, go to school, grow up.’

  ‘I can do them things living with you,’ Julienne objected.

  ‘Even if I wanted you, they’d never let me look after you. Hello? Yes, this is Detective Constable Connolly. About Julienne Adams.’

  Julienne’s crest fell. She knew the game was up. She wandered disconsolately out of the kitchen, and down the passage to the sitting room. She was standing there looking about her like a 1957 visitor to the Ideal Home Exhibition, when Connolly joined her.

  ‘I’m taking you back. And I hope you realize you are disrupting my plans for the evening in a way that is not acceptable.’

  Julienne ignored that. She said, ‘You got a great gaff. I like your couch. I like your carpet. I like them vase things over there. I like the colour you done the walls.’

  ‘Are you listening to me?’

  ‘I like that picture,’ Julienne went on. ‘It’s a portrait, int it? Is it someone real? She looks nice.’

  Connolly sighed. ‘That’s my partner.’

  Julienne turned, eyes wide. ‘You mean you’re a lezzer?’ she breathed in awe.

  ‘That’s not a nice word,’ Connolly said. ‘We don’t use pejorative terms like that.’

  ‘What’s peejora-whatsit mean?’

  ‘Disapproving.’

  ‘Oh!’ Julienne was e
nlightened. ‘But I never meant disapproving,’ she said excitedly. ‘I think it’s great! Super cool! Cor, I wish I was one!’

  ‘You do not. And never mind me. I only told you so you’d know why they’d never let me foster you, even if I actually wanted to, which I don’t. Mind me now, I don’t.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ Julienne said. ‘Course they would. You get priority these days if you’re a – if you’re gay. They can’t turn you down. There’s this girl at the home, she says your best bet of getting out is to say you’re gay and you want to go to a gay couple.’

  Connolly sighed again. ‘If she’s so clever, how come she’s still there? She doesn’t know what she’s talking about. And it’s time I took you home.’

  ‘It’s not home,’ said Julienne flatly. She looked at Connolly without any wiles now. ‘Please. It’d be great. And I wouldn’t be any trouble.’

  ‘You’re trouble now.’

  ‘Only so’s you’ll notice me. I can be good if I want. I’d be good if you took me.’

  ‘Well, I’m not going to. No matter what stunts you pull. So get it into your head.’ She managed to glare at the child, though it was an effort. ‘Now I’m taking you back. And if you do anything like this again, I won’t come and visit you. Understand?’

  ‘You’ll come and visit me?’ Julienne brightened.

  ‘Only if you buckle down, obey the rules – go to school! Don’t get into trouble. And don’t run away.’

  ‘Will you come and see me on Saturday?’

  ‘Mary and Joseph, did you listen to a word I said?’

  ‘Keep your hair on. Course I did. What’s her name, your partner?’

  ‘None o’ your business,’ Connolly said, bustling her charge towards the door.

  ‘Is she nice? She looks sort of posh in that picture. Maybe pictures just make you look posh. That sort, the painted sort.’ Julienne prattled her way down the stairs. ‘How come you had her picture done, anyway? Was it like a birthday present or something? If the two of you adopt me, I’ll have two mums, won’t I? Would I call you both mum? How’d you know which one I meant?’