by Sarah Ward
Connie followed his gaze.
‘Can you see?’ He made a circle with the beam just above his head so that she could see a small bulge in the brickwork. ‘It’s a ventilation shaft. It’s wide enough for a grown man to get in there as they were used for maintenance. Maybe not as big as me, but certainly an adult.’
‘But it’s shut off.’
‘There’ll be a door that opens to one side.’ He moved the beam. ‘See that iron rung? You’ll turn it and it opens. You then sidestep through to the shaft. We need to take a look.’
‘I’m not going in there.’
‘There’s no need. We can see from the top.’
Morgan switched off the torch and she followed him out of the tunnel and back up the embankment. He looked around him.
‘If it’s a ventilation shaft it’s got to come out somewhere.’
Connie puffed as she climbed the hill. In the distance she could see the housing estate that had been built on the outskirts of Bampton in the fifties and added to over the decades so it was now residential sprawl. In front of her was knee-high brackish undergrowth.
‘You can’t go poking around in there. Look at the state of it. You won’t be sure of your footing. If the ventilation shaft comes out there and it’s not covered, you could go plunging into the tunnel.’
‘I’ll tread carefully.’
Connie sighed. ‘You’re heavier than me. I’ll go and you hang onto my arm.’
Morgan searched around on the floor and found a thick branch snapped off after recent winds. ‘Use this. Poke it in the ground in front of you, and as long as it hits rock you can walk in front of you.’
Doing as he said, Connie gingerly stepped through the undergrowth, using the stick to guide her. She went deeper into the thicket, aware that Morgan was following closely behind. ‘I’m following in your footsteps, just keep going.’
‘This is ridiculous. I can see that this undergrowth hasn’t been walked on for years. It’s up to my knees.’
‘Carry on. We’re looking for the shaft’s entrance.’
As Connie pushed the branch into the ground, it buckled and twisted in her hand. ‘What the fu—’
‘Are you okay?’
‘Oh my God, Morgan.’ She stepped back so that he could take a closer look.
58
‘What happened? If it was that simple then I wouldn’t have wasted all this time. I only have three leads. The first two are Cold Eaton and the Cutting. That place is definitely significant, not least because my mother was always disparaging about the Topley Trail even though, the Cutting aside, it’s a beautiful path. She avoided the place for a reason that I’m sure is to do with the mystery. The other clue is a photo I have of a group of friends. It was a long time ago. People are dead and those left aren’t talking about the past.’
Mina was sitting on a small, straight-backed sofa covered in a thin olive cord material. It suited the boat, and her. Sadler, whose girlfriends had been a type, glamorous and unavailable, forced himself to recognise his attraction to a woman with whom he wasn’t able to anchor any previous experience. Not only was she physically different from the past women in his life but she was like no one else he had met. She emphasised the differences between her and Hilary and yet Mina had her mother’s composure and self-sufficiency.
‘Connie mentioned that you had a picture of Hilary and her friends.’
‘It’s important to you because of the presence of Ingrid and Nell. For me, it’s a dead end. I know what Valerie looks like and that Valerie is no longer alive.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Monica Neale confirmed it. I’ve seen the grave in the churchyard and Monica pointed out Valerie to me in the photo.’
‘Does Catherine look like Valerie?’
Mina screwed up her eyes trying to remember. ‘I think so. Not in the face perhaps, more in the build. Small and slight with the same slightly wavy hair. Not like my wiry curls. I think there’s a resemblance.’
‘Very often it’s not just looks that are handed down in families but gestures and mannerisms. When Catherine visited your mother in the ward it may have been something about her that triggered the memory. We might never know.’
Sadler hesitated. Mina, watching him closely, spotted it. ‘There’s something else?’
‘Another member of Catherine’s family is a nurse. Does the name Lorna Hallows mean anything?’
Mina shook her head. ‘No, but surely she has got to be a stronger suspect if you think my mother’s drip was tampered with. I met Catherine. A young girl wouldn’t do that.’
‘She might. I’m afraid I’m not as confident of the innocence of children as you are.’
‘There’s definitely a link to Cold Eaton across the generations. My mother had friends there. Emily whose family owned the pub, Ingrid in the manor house and Valerie up above the village on Hallows Hill. It’s why I went to stay in the pub. To find the girls.’
‘And when you say across the generations, you mean Catherine Hallows who still lives above the village and visited your mother in hospital?’
‘Yes, exactly. It’s horrifying to even contemplate it. I thought she cared about Mum. She even brought Mum some flowers. Red campion, the type you find alongside railways and canals.’ Mina frowned.
‘Are you sure Catherine left your mum the flowers?’
‘No, I’m not, I just think it was her. No one else visited Mum. You don’t think Catherine could have visited Ingrid and Nell too?’
‘I’m not sure. She was in school when Nell died, according to her teacher. Ingrid, I’m pretty sure, died of natural causes but she was the catalyst for everything that happened. I’m fairly certain of that. Your mother seeing Valerie in the hospital didn’t start this chain of deaths. It had already begun with the death of Ingrid and Nell’s determination to bring to light an old event.’ Mina, he thought, looked relieved. The days of searching must have been a heavy weight to bear alongside her grief. It was time to take the burden off her. ‘You mentioned that the photo was your clue. You think that something might have happened amongst the group of girls?’
‘It’s the photo itself that first gave me the idea. The girls have an air of privilege. Well, there’s nothing really surprising about that. But there’s something else too. An almost, I don’t know, sense of something not quite right.’
‘Can I see the photo?’
‘Of course.’
She handed him the image and his eyes immediately went to the girl standing in the middle of the group. As he focused on the tall girl with the long, fair hair, he could hear Mina talking over his shoulder.
‘So, on the left is Valerie. You can see she is small and thin like Catherine. You might be right about Hilary mistaking Catherine for her grandmother as a child. Next is Ingrid who I never met but she does look like her sister, Monica. Next to her in the middle is a girl I don’t know. Then there’s Emily Fenn. She’s really changed and put on loads of weight but she still lives in the village in the pub. The last girl is Nell. Her neighbour identified her in this photo.’
Mina, as if noticing that her words weren’t getting any reaction, trailed off. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Emily Fenn is still alive and hasn’t mentioned any attacks or feeling unsafe?’
‘No. Nothing. What’s the matter? You’ve seen something in the photo, haven’t you? Tell me what it is.’
Sadler continued to stare at the image. ‘You haven’t been able to find out the identity of the middle girl?’
‘Monica Neale was playing it cool and Emily won’t even look at the photo. She personifies everything that’s odd about that place. She claimed never to have heard of Valerie when it was obvious she had because she even appears in the photo. When I was showing it around the pub the other day she just walked off as if she wasn’t interested, but when I went upstairs, I saw out of the window that she had her coat on and was heading up to the big house where Harry and Monica Neale live.’
‘Your
mother was behind the camera?’
‘I assume so.’
‘Can I have the photo, Mina? It’s evidence.’
‘I was supposed to scan a copy for Connie but, after the accident, it slipped my mind. She called my mobile late last night, probably to chase it up. Perhaps I should go back to Emily and ask her who the girl is, although she’s unlikely to tell me.’
‘There’s no need to give it to Emily. I know who she is.’
She looked at him in shock. ‘You do?’
He didn’t reply but turned over the photo. ‘GIVEN. What does that mean?’
‘Nell’s neighbour thinks it’s the girls’ initials mixed up so that it makes a recognisable word. It adds to the air of mystery. You can feel it, can’t you? The odd atmosphere in the photo. It’s not just me.’
‘No, Mina. It’s not only you. It’s definitely there.’ He looked up at her, aware of her face near his. ‘Will you trust me with this?’
‘You’re going to take the photo? It’s all I have of the girls.’
‘I’ll keep it safe, I promise. Do you want to take a picture with your phone for safekeeping? I need the original. It’s important.’
He watched as she angled her phone and copied the image, more competently than Connie must have done. She checked the quality of the photo she’d taken and nodded. ‘This will be okay.’
‘I don’t want you to go to work today or, in fact, for the rest of the week. Are you able to do that financially?’
‘It’s autumn so I always make provision for it being a bit slack. What will I do instead?’
‘I want you to stay away from all your clients and I mean all of them. Instead, will you go through your mum’s things and see if you can find any more photos of the girls? Or anything from your mum’s childhood.’
‘There’s hardly anything to search. What am I looking for?’
Sadler willed himself to be calm. ‘Did your mother ever mention anything about tea dances?’
‘Tea dances? I can assure you that wasn’t her thing at all. She was built like me. I hardly ever saw her in a dress. What have tea dances got to do with this?’
‘I need you to trust me. I know it’s difficult but will you do that?’
‘And what will you do with the photo?’
Sadler looked at the GIVEN girls and took a deep breath. ‘I need to do some digging of my own.’
59
Sadler stepped off the boat, leaving Mina despondent. He touched the pocket in his jacket where he had placed the photo and dropped his eyes to hers, puzzled and questioning. He did another round of the boat, checking her window fastenings before his eyes fell on the canoe.
‘Do you use it?’
‘All the time, before Mum died. I’m not sure I feel up to it at the moment.’
‘Go for a paddle, Mina. This boat is safe. If you come back and notice anything odd, don’t go aboard. Go and sit with one of your neighbours. For the moment, you’re as safe here as anywhere and you have people nearby.’ He nodded at Anna who was swabbing down the deck, her stiff back suggesting an awareness of what was happening on the next boat. ‘Exercise conquers fear and uncertainty. Take my word for it. You’ve met my assistant, Connie, haven’t you? She’d agree with me.’
‘I don’t think she likes me.’
He smiled and said nothing, climbing onto the towpath and towards his car.
After he had driven off, Mina massaged her aching foot and flexed it for a moment. She looked down at the canoe and made a decision. Anna had stopped mopping and was leaning on the handle, looking across at Mina.
‘Is everything all right? There’s not been any trouble, has there?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘It’s probably none of my business but I saw your visitor and he had an air of authority about him.’
Mina looked at Anna’s kind face. ‘I had a fall where I was staying. Nothing to worry about. I’m wondering whether to get the canoe out.’
‘I think it’ll do you the world of good.’
Feeling fragile, Mina put on her flotation jacket before dropping into the canoe. Its open hull meant she could still move her legs and as the brackish smell from the close water wafted towards her she could feel some of the tension begin to dissipate. None of her old routes appealed. What was the point of a morning or evening routine if the day had coalesced into a confused blur? Instead she struck out towards Step Bridge and pushed on through it, enjoying the plunge into the darkness and the rush of cold air as she paddled. She kept up the pace, passing out of Bampton, away from the Evening Star, away from Cold Eaton, away from the Cutting. Walkers along the parallel path thinned out and disappeared while Mina’s throbbing head began to clear.
Feeling her arms, unused to the exercise, begin to tire, she kept her eyes on the large building in the distance, a huge factory-like edifice split in two by a clock tower. Derelict, Grade II listed apparently, it stood as a monument to a time when buildings were constructed to contain as well as impress. Mina couldn’t remember what the building’s original use was but the relic from the Victorian era sent a chill down her spine and her mood plummeted. She turned the canoe around early and, with a plan formulating, headed back to the Evening Star.
*
The railway office was empty except for the miserable-looking man she had encountered the last time. What had his sister called him? Something short. Tom? Jim? He was drinking a cup of coffee from one of their manky cups and flicking through a railway magazine. ‘The train’s not running today.’ He didn’t even bother to look up at her.
‘It’s you I wanted to talk to actually. I came here before and your sister made me a cup of tea. We talked about the Cutting.’
‘Oh aye. I remember.’ He stopped flicking through the magazine and stared at the page featuring a large photo of a steam engine. ‘What’s it you want?’
‘Have you heard about the latest accident?’
‘The one near the Cutting. I heard. Is that why you’re here?’
‘You said it was a strange place and you’re right.’
He finally looked up at her. ‘You’ve been there?’
‘I went there recently and I wanted to ask you a few more questions. Are you all right with that?’
Jim shrugged and pushed the magazine away. ‘There’s not much I’m going to be able to tell you.’
‘When I came here last time, you spoke about a man who’d been seen without any clothes. Do you remember?’
‘Aye, I remember.’
‘The thing is, I was wondering if any girls ever got into danger near the Cutting.’
Jim stood up. ‘I don’t remember anything like that. Just that me and Jean were warned about going near the place because of the naked man.’
‘When you say naked man, do you mean some kind of flasher?’
‘I’m not sure it were that and I never heard of a child actually being molested. There was talk of a man with no clothes on being spotted there. This was when I was a nipper.’
‘In the fifties?’
‘I don’t know exactly. I was a young lad in short trousers, so about then.’
‘You don’t know who it was?’
‘They never found him. My dad occasionally used to go out looking for the man with a paraffin lamp. The rumour was he’d hang about near the Cutting around dusk. So my dad would head off down there to try to catch him.’
‘But he didn’t.’
‘No. But even when we were growing up, we were warned to stay away from the Cutting and we did.’ He tipped his tea into the sink. ‘Is that all?’
Mina turned to go. ‘I suppose so. It’s such a strange tale.’ And I don’t understand, she thought, why a naked man could be significant.
60
Wednesday, 6 November 1957
Valerie waited in the stillness, fighting the claustrophobia that was sending her brain freewheeling into the darkness. In her fear, she was aware of the irrationality of worrying about how she’d explain her hair. She coul
d feel a patch where the girl had grabbed it and pulled out a clump. Who had that been? Not Hilary. She’d spotted a flicker of compassion in Hilary’s eyes before the girl had turned away and let her friends take over. No. Not Hilary. Ingrid, probably. Of all of them, it was Ingrid who hated her the most. Ingrid of the bad skin and the smell of the ammonia she put on her spots to get rid of them.
Valerie tentatively touched her head, found the tender spot and winced. The pain stopped her brain from free fall and slowed, for a moment, her racing heart. It wasn’t quite blackness. Almost but not quite. The way down was blocked to her. One of the first things she’d done was to use her feet against the door but it was shut. Impossible to open from the inside. She was pinned to the rung of the ladder until someone found her. If anyone found her. Would someone tell? Would Hilary tell? They couldn’t leave her to die.
Minutes passed. Or was it hours? On her perilous perch, Valerie panicked, beating her feet against the door. Once, she heard a train whoosh through the tunnel and then another. She would die in this dank tomb. She twisted her body so her back was to the wall and grasped the ladder with her small hands. I have to see what’s at the top.
The iron ladder was surprisingly easy to climb. Rough grooves were carved into the rungs, giving traction for her stockinged feet, her shoes discarded at the bottom of the shaft. Up she went, light as a feather, and the air grew cooler but fresher. And lighter. She climbed until she could go no further and met more metal. This time a hatched grate. Her fingers slipped between the spaces, feeling the cold air, and she pushed and pushed. It wasn’t locked. It was just too heavy for her to lift. She braced herself against the wall of the tunnel and tried again; the iron lifted a crack and fell again.
Shoots of bramble poked through the grating scratching her hands.
‘Can anyone hear me?’ Her voice was faint. She licked her cracked lips and tried again. ‘Is anyone there?’
She could hear a rustling in the undergrowth. A fox curious of the intruder probably. She saw a shadow darken the opening and she was aware of the grate being lifted effortlessly and a rush of cold air on her face. She tried to climb further but fear and fatigue meant she nearly slipped back down into the abyss. A pair of strong hands lifted her up by the arm and carried her away from the hateful shaft and out of the undergrowth.