Purged

by Peter Laws

  A twisted voice in his subconscious said, Oh, Isabel, you Scooby Doofus. He quickly grabbed at the humour of it.

  Because while he’d seen various bodies, this one was so extreme and grotesque, so Grand Guignol, that the real solution wasn’t nausea or a rush to throw up, but just to think of something else quickly. Scooby Doofus, the waterfall, the fact that he’d run out of dental floss this morning and he needed to pick up a new pack. Anything else in the back of his mind.

  It was a danger to the psyche to look at that plastic ghoul on the rocks without anything else in his mind to balance it out. The mad gallows voice in his head tried to keep him sane: She really ‘fell for the falls’, didn’t she, Matt? Give that lassie a fridge magnet. Then he really did want to throw up.

  He wrenched his gaze from her, stood back up and breathed again.

  ‘So you saw her in the flesh the other day,’ Miller said, his eyes flickering on his choice of words. ‘Is that your wedding dress girl?’

  Matt had to shout through the mask. ‘I think so. Same sort of build and hair. It’s certainly not Tabitha Clarke. She’s got hair.’

  ‘And she’s way too plump for Nicola Knox.’

  They waited for a moment in silence. Matt pushed the mask against his face again, convinced he could smell fluids. Then slapping his damp fringe back he said, ‘How many suicides do you get at this spot?’

  ‘Maybe four a year. Sometimes more, sometimes less. Just before the millennium there were twelve but then you know how people were, back then. Come out here a sec.’ He motioned for Matt to follow him and they stepped out of the mouth of the cave, grabbing onto the rock wall for balance. They came out fully into the sunlight where the waterfall churned loudly to their right. Miller was ignoring the signs that said Danger: Risk of Death. He winced from the sound of the falls and glanced across the lake, at the field swooping up the hill to the church. At the Healing Centre tucked at the bottom of the hill. The shore where the faithful were baptised. All of it now dream-like through a mist of white spray.

  They stopped on a flat section of rock which ran about four feet from the edge of the lake, which lapped hard against the stone. Then they turned back and looked up. Miller tugged his mask off and let it dangle from his neck. Matt did the same.

  ‘Thing is,’ Miller shouted, ‘they never fall from this side.’

  Matt followed Miller’s pointing finger as they both craned backwards, looking up the rock face. They had to squint as drops of the falls splashed into their eyes and mouths.

  ‘You see that ridge over on the left side of the waterfall?’ Miller’s voice seemed to croak at this angle. ‘At the top? That’s flat up there and it’s easy to get to.’

  ‘Yeah, we had a picnic up there. There’s no railing.’

  ‘Exactly. No railing. Plus that side’s a sheer drop into the lake. You jump from there and you know you’re going to hit the water. Quick death.’ He flicked his finger to the right side. Directly above them was a tree, curled like a giant witch’s finger hanging over the edge. ‘But on this side, there’s a barbed wire fence blocking that entire ridge, so you’d have to clamber over that. Then there’s the old tree up there, and the little rocky slope before you’d fling yourself off. And it’s obvious that the rock comes out a bit down here with all these spikes, which is a bad place to land. I tell you, nobody ever jumps from this side.’

  ‘Unless …’ Matt pondered it.

  ‘Unless what?’

  ‘Unless she wanted to avoid the water for some reason,’ Matt said.

  Miller nodded down to the spikes coming up from the floor. ‘Well she’d need a bloody good reason for this side to be preferable. Unless of course she didn’t jump.’

  They waited again, silent. And after a pause, Miller quite unexpectedly pushed both hands against his face, like he might scream with frustration.

  ‘You okay?’

  A sudden movement came from back inside the cave. An officer was cupping his hands and shouting, his outline flickering like static through the falling water. Neither of them could hear what he was saying.

  Miller looked up and wearily started to trudge back into the cave, passing the entropy monster that most likely was Isabel Dawson. Matt spotted one of her hands, warped under the plastic. It was flat against the rock with the palm up. He pictured her standing in a comprehensive school somewhere, teaching kids the power of momentum and velocity and gravity. He shivered and had to look away.

  He slipped a couple of times on the metal walkway before finally getting back behind the barrier where the visitors normally stood.

  ‘We’ve been up top,’ the other officer said. His badge said PC Boyd. He was fighting to keep his eyes from clocking the body, like a teenager trying not to check out his teacher’s cleavage.

  Miller jabbed a finger towards the main entrance. ‘I can’t hear myself think inside here. Let’s get out in the open.’ He marched off and they all followed him back through the stone corridor, up the damp stone steps and into the sun.

  ‘So what did you find up top?’ Miller said, as the metal door clanged shut.

  ‘It’s the strangest thing. There’s a wedding dress. An actual wedding—’

  Miller clicked his fingers. ‘Good.’

  Boyd frowned.

  ‘That narrows things down a bit. Where was it?’

  ‘Tangled up on the barbed wire fence. Looks like she clambered over it and got the thing caught. I guess that’s why she wriggled out of it. Explains why she was hardly dressed.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘There was something lying in the grass, on the other side of the fence. Me and the SOCO had to climb over to secure it. Almost ripped my danglers off doing it.’ He opened his leg to the side and pulled back a flap of his trousers, torn in a perfect corner.

  ‘For God’s sake, Boyd. Get to the point.’

  The officer, shocked at Miller’s sudden shout, closed his legs quickly. ‘It was a white strip of material.’

  ‘A what?’ Miller said.

  Matt’s eyebrows flicked up. ‘You mean like a dog collar? Like what a vicar would wear?’

  ‘Yeah. Could be. The SOCO’s got it bagged up. You said you were questioning a priest guy, didn’t you?’

  A tiny flush of satisfaction came to Miller’s face. He turned to Matt. ‘Chris wasn’t wearing the dog collar yesterday, was he? At the baptism. He had a tie on, but no collar. Maybe he lost it up top.’

  ‘I’m sure he has more than one.’

  ‘There’s more.’ Boyd leant over a little, like this was a campfire story. ‘It looked crunched up. And … there was a little bit of blood on it. Looked to me like it could have been ripped off in a struggle.’

  ‘Right,’ Miller grabbed his car keys, ‘I’m heading up there to check this out. And you, Boyd, you find out where Chris Kelly is this morning. I bet you he’s the last person who saw Isabel Dawson alive. Radio me straight away and we’ll chat with him.’

  Matt tugged at his elbow, ‘Can I have a minute?’

  Miller looked up at the ridge and blew out a breath. ‘Make it quick.’

  The two of them walked to the other side of the entrance, by a row of seats carved out of the rock. Miller swung his foot on top of one of them and rested his elbow on his knee. He looked like a hunter with his foot on a moose’s head, posing for the camera.

  ‘I told you this guy was dodgy,’ Miller said. ‘I bloody told you.’

  ‘You’re right. This is important but … think about it. Anyone could have gone up there with a dog collar on. Isn’t there another vicar in the village? The one at the little Anglican church?’

  ‘Who, Dave Walden? He never wears one of those. He says it puts people off. Besides, he’s pushing ninety. He can’t even get up his own staircase without a Stannah, never mind up this rock.’ He glanced at the ground for a second. ‘To be frank with you, Matt, the only other person I can think of round here who has a dog collar … is you.’

  His eyebrow went up. Just the
one.

  ‘I saw you on TV, remember? You had one then.’

  ‘Which just proves my point. You could buy one of those in any joke shop. Chris may well have nothing to do with this, Terry. You get me? Nothing.’

  Miller looked unconvinced. ‘Well, we can see that once the thing’s tested, can’t we? In the meantime, I still need to talk to him.’

  ‘Before you do,’ Matt paused, ‘maybe I should speak to him first.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I know him. He’s the type of guy who’s going to clam up if you go in all guns blazing. Maybe if I speak to him first and tell him a body’s been found, I could even mention it might be Isabel. I don’t know, it just might be interesting to see how he reacts when it’s just me.’

  Miller started to bite the inside of his mouth, weighing up the suggestion.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘You’re not trying to protect him, are you?’

  Matt narrowed his eyes. ‘Of course I’m not. It’s just …’

  ‘Just what?’

  ‘Well … Chris and I have our differences but … I really think he trusts me.’

  Miller waited for a long moment, then popped his lips. ‘Do it, then. See what he thinks. But no mention of the collar until we’ve tested it.’

  ‘Understood.’

  Miller went to head off.

  ‘Hang on a sec,’ Matt said. ‘There’s something else.’

  He stopped walking. ‘What now?’

  ‘Last night we had a prowler. Around the house.’

  ‘I know. I know. Taylor told me it was foxes.’

  ‘Yeah, but did he tell you about the dead one on my drive? Did he tell you about that?’

  ‘Tell me? He brought the bugger into the office. It’s sitting in a plastic crate in our backyard, just so I can have a look at it.’

  ‘It’s there? Good. Then what did you find?’

  ‘Well I haven’t properly looked at it yet, have I? Diary’s kind of chocka today.’

  ‘Listen to me,’ Matt flung up his hands. ‘I really think the prowler put the fox there. And I saw a hood. And my daughter and I heard someone running off. So this is important—’

  ‘For Christ’s sake, Matt!’ Miller shouted. ‘Can’t you see I’m fucking drowning here?’

  Matt was startled into silence.

  Miller’s chin seemed to contract for a second, and he looked utterly lost. Then he seemed to quickly lock his spine in. Probably a stress management technique. And when he spoke he barely opened his teeth. ‘I am going to drive up to the top of that ridge right now to see that collar. And I’m going to hope to high heaven that Tabitha Clarke or little Nicola isn’t lying somewhere round here with their faces ripped off as well. So if you don’t mind, Professor, we can discuss your animal issues another time.’

  Miller stomped towards his car, running his hand through his hair and smearing a palm on his trousers. Maybe it was spray from the falls, maybe it was sweat. But when Miller got in the car Matt noticed he didn’t move off straight away. He waited in the front seat for a very long moment, like he was trying to catch his breath. Then the engine kicked into life and the car headed up the high track that led to the top of the falls.

  Matt heard a soft footstep press into the ground behind him. When he turned he saw Marion, the keys of her patrol car dangling from her fingers. She looked at Matt for a few silent seconds. ‘I’ll take you home,’ she said.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  For some reason the air conditioning in Matt’s car wasn’t working so the car was surface-of-the-sun stuffy. Even having the windows down and the driver’s door open did little to bring in any extra air.

  He wanted to get out but he’d be spotted if he did. So he wiped his palm across his brow again, smeared it on his jeans and waited.

  He was watching the entrance to Meadow Lane Crematorium from the far side of the sun-drenched car park. The building was small and wooden with an Austrian vibe to it. He’d spoken in Innsbruck a few years back at a Star Trek convention – perhaps the pinnacle of his nerdiness. He’d lectured on Buddhist themes of karma in Star Trek 2: The Wrath of Khan. (The lawyer in the plane seat next to him had laughed for almost the entire journey.) But it paid well and he’d stayed in a gorgeous chocolate-box chalet with hanging baskets and the smell of ham.

  This crematorium reminded him of that. It was the sort of place you’d whizz past on skis, not somewhere you’d be incinerated in. It sat in the very centre of landscaped memorial gardens lined with neatly paved paths and flowers.

  Dense oak trees packed with legions of birds hung over the garden’s memorial stones. Somehow they looked pretty clean. Quite an achievement. He wondered which poor sod had to clean the bird crap off them in between burying the dead. What a job. He’d stick with Wrath of Khan any day.

  Against all this nature, an industrial stone chimney thrust itself up from the wooden cottage and up into the sky, ready to spurt out the last gasps of the locals as they withered in the ovens below.

  A couple of text messages had already come through from Wren. They’d both decided that she and the girls should go into Oxford for the whole day and planned to stay till late evening. Apparently, right now they were having the dead skin of their feet bitten off by tiny Japanese fish. How quaint.

  Still, it was better than hanging around the cottage today, which felt weird and vulnerable after last night.

  He smiled and winced at a picture she’d texted. Three pairs of bare female feet, lolling in water, filled with tiny mouths.

  It started to feel like forever so he drummed out a rhythm on the top of the dashboard, and waited. Then he started to count the hanging baskets, and waited. Turned on the radio and listened to the news. Kids were being burnt alive by gangs in Nigeria. He cringed and switched it off.

  Then finally …

  Movement.

  He sat bolt upright in the clammy leather seat, surprised at how much he’d slouched. A hearse came on a slo-mo creep through the iron gates and moved towards the entrance, hugging the kerb. Following it was one single funeral car, no more.

  They pulled to a stop silently. There was no other sound except the birds in the trees until the door of the second car clicked open, and out stepped the man himself, Chris Kelly. He was wearing a black suit. His white dog collar shone fluorescent in the sun. Matt made a mental note of its presence, though like he’d said to Miller, the guy could have an entire bullet belt stocked with these things. He also held a Bible across his stomach. Then he squinted into the sun and reached into his pocket for something. He pulled out a pair of Aviators and slipped them on.

  From the other side of the car a young woman stepped out. She was quite small, with a bob of blonde hair that she kept tucking behind her ear constantly. She and Chris both stood silent and morose as the undertakers spilt out of the hearse. Three men and one woman. They looked a bit like gangsters.

  The undertaker popped the boot and eventually a group of them heaved the coffin out, lurching it up on their shoulders. That move they did, the hoist, was a vivid pull back to the various funerals Matt had performed in his brief time in the church. Most of the undertakers he worked with did the job as well as could be done. But there were some who fully relaxed when there wasn’t any family to notice. They’d fling those coffins up like they were baggage handlers at Heathrow. It was just as well hardly anyone had open caskets these days or families could easily find their loved ones looking like they’d just fallen out of the top bunk.

  What was it the old undertaker from the Co-Op used to say, sometimes even in earshot of the grieving families and friends? If they aren’t already dead then the ride to the crem’ll finish them off. Yeah, it wasn’t a shock when he was fired.

  The four figures got themselves steady, settled their chins into professional mourner mode and then Chris moved in front of them and opened his Bible. He gave them ‘the nod’, that powerful little jerk of the head that said, let’s do this thing. Let’s pin down the devastating
metaphysical mystery of death with songs and fire and tuna sandwiches after.

  The woman gave a proper hinged-at-the-hips bow towards the coffin, like you’d do to the Queen or Darth Vader.

  Chris waited for a few dramatic seconds, then he turned and led the coffin quietly inside.

  Matt buzzed the windows up, pushed the car door open and sprang out, breathing in the air as though he’d just stepped out of a submarine. He jogged along a neat path, sweat on his back, and hopped over a row of white roses, clipping one with his foot. The petals fell to the floor.

  The plan was to tell Chris about the body at the bottom of Cooper’s Force but he had no intention of doing that just yet. He’d wait till the end of the service, partly out of respect for the deceased (whoever that was) but also because he just wanted to observe and see how Chris might behave as he led this funeral. Would he act like a man serving his local community in their hour of need or a twitchy psycho who had pushed a woman to her death the previous night?

  Did it feel odd thinking of Chris in these terms? They may not have been great friends, but Chris certainly wasn’t a stranger. Yes, it felt very odd indeed.

  ‘Hi,’ Matt acknowledged the undertakers with a nod as they filed back out. They jerked their bodies into a more solemn, upright mode.

  The front doors were designed to be silent as they opened and shut so Matt slipped in without making a sound. He was in a foyer section surrounded by wood-panelled walls with no windows whatsoever. The double doors led into the chapel itself where families could grieve, unseen, in private.

  The sanctuary doors were closed now so Matt could wait in the lobby out of sight. The service had already begun and he could hear the sound of Chris’s voice seeping through a tiny speaker on the wall.

  From the number of mourners that had turned up (i.e. one, the blonde lady) Matt was positive this must have been an elderly death. When he first started working at churches he was shocked to find how many old people die with no family either alive – or willing – to come and say goodbye. In those cases the care homes usually sent one of the staff along so that the place wasn’t completely empty. One of the carers, perhaps, or maybe a cleaner or the cook if the rest were busy. Most took it seriously, though he’d seen one or two slip out their phone to update their Twitter feed, as the coffin rolled away.