Seeking the Dead

by Kate Ellis

  ‘What’s wrong with her exactly?’

  ‘Some sort of psychosis. I don’t think they’re sure.’

  ‘Where does Gloria work? Perhaps her colleagues should be told if …’

  A look of disapproval passed over Linda’s face. ‘As far as I know she’s been working for herself recently. She had all sorts of jobs …’

  ‘What was your maiden name?’

  ‘Marsh. Why?’

  ‘Did Gloria ever work for the Eborby Permanent Building Society?’

  ‘Yes, she did as a matter of fact. But she didn’t last long there … she said it was boring. Soon after she left there she got into all this New Age stuff and started working in a shop that specialised in that sort of thing. That was about the time her marriage broke up. Then she started reading tarot cards for people … set herself up in business. And she made pictures for craft fairs … that sort of thing.’ She leaned forward. ‘I’m afraid we rather lost touch. In fact I haven’t seen her for over a year until today. Different lives, I suppose.’ She sighed. ‘I’m married to a farmer and we’ve got three kids and … My husband’s never really approved of Gloria. He calls her the weirdo. You wouldn’t think two sisters could be that different, would you? Mind you, I was always the sensible one – the eldest.’ She gave Jamilla a sad smile, remembering her lost childhood.

  ‘Did you know your sister was involved in the occult … black magic?’

  Linda’s face clouded. ‘I’d guessed she was going that way from things she’d said. Maybe that’s why I didn’t make more of an effort to keep in touch. Gloria could be – how shall I put it? – a bit obsessive. And she’d always been attracted to danger. She liked pushing the boundaries.’ She looked Jamilla in the eye. ‘I always found her world uncomfortable. Even though she’s my sister I’ve never wanted to get involved with her life … not if she was into that sort of thing. Can you understand that?’

  Jamilla nodded. She understood. She’d probably have felt the same even though she came from a culture where family ties were of prime importance. ‘Does the name John or Jack Wendal mean anything to you?’

  ‘Was that the man she …?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Linda shook her head. ‘No. I’ve never heard the name before and she never mentioned him to me. Was he into all that stuff as well?’

  ‘That’s what we’re trying to find out.’

  Linda looked at her watch. ‘Look, I’m going to have to get back home.’

  ‘Did you know that one of the rooms in her flat was decorated with black magic symbols? She’d turned it into a sort of … temple.’

  Linda looked alarmed. ‘No.’ She put her head in her hands. ‘How could she have got mixed up in something like that? How could she have been so stupid?’

  Jamilla shook her head. She had asked herself the same question.

  ‘Where’s ma’am?’ Sunny asked as he poked his head round the door of Joe’s office.

  ‘She had to go out.’ Joe wasn’t sure why he was telling a blatant lie but some instinct told him that any display of weakness on Emily’s part would be seized on by some of her underlings and exploited. Even though he was inclined to disapprove of lies on principle – probably a leftover from his seminary days – he knew that little white ones could avoid potential trouble. ‘Anything to report on the House of Terrors interviews?’

  Sunny sat himself down. ‘Half of that lot look as if they could do with a good bath.’

  ‘Apart from that …’ Joe wanted to avoid one of Sunny’s lectures on the shortcomings of today’s youth.

  ‘One of them saw Janna Pyke a week ago.’

  This was news. ‘A week ago?’

  ‘Aye. That’s what she said. She was on her way to a pub and she ran into Janna Pyke. She said she looked scared and she tried to slip into a doorway but she caught up with her and asked her why she’d left her job at the House of Terrors. She said she didn’t want to talk about it and begged her not to tell anyone she’d seen her.’

  ‘And did she tell anyone?’

  ‘She said not. But I don’t know whether I believed her. When I asked her what Janna had been so scared of, she said she didn’t know. But she was lying through her teeth, I could tell. She made a statement but I think we should get her in again for questioning.’

  ‘What was her name?’

  Sunny consulted his notebook. ‘Harriet Bowles.’

  ‘Did you ask her if the name Jack Wendal meant anything to her?’

  Sunny shook his head. ‘Sorry, boss.’

  ‘Where exactly did she say she saw Janna?’

  Sunny consulted his notebook again. ‘Boargate. Coming out of a shop.’

  Joe knew Boargate well – it was wider than the average Eborby street with an abundance of antique shops – well on the tourist trail.

  ‘Any idea which shop?’ Joe asked patiently.

  ‘She said there were paintings in the window.’

  ‘An art shop. And she was sure this was a week ago?’

  ‘Aye, that’s what she said.’

  Joe thought for a few moments. ‘So she left the flat in Vicars Green over three weeks ago, around the twenty-second of June, and her tutor saw her two weeks ago. That means this is the last reported sighting of her and she must have been abducted quite soon after … if that’s what the killer does to his victims. I’m presuming they don’t know him and go with him willingly.’

  ‘Maybe they do. We’ve no evidence that they don’t, have we?’

  Joe looked up. Sunny could well be right. Perhaps the Resurrection Man knew his victims. Perhaps they’d trusted him. ‘Let’s doublecheck whether Janna – or Jane – Pyke ever worked at the Eborby Permanent Building Society, shall we?’

  Sunny hurried from the office. Maybe his hunch was right after all.

  DCI Emily Thwaite parked the car in the drive. She could hear the gravel crunching beneath the tyres as she looked up at the new house. It was a Victorian brick detached villa in one of Eborby’s more prosperous outlying suburbs. Not far from the racecourse and the place where criminals were publicly hanged in days gone by. It was about half a mile from Gloria Simpson’s flat and even nearer than that to Harold Uckley’s house. The thought made her shudder. It was too close for comfort.

  She sat in the car for a few minutes and stared at the house. She had lied to Joe Plantagenet about the headache and she felt bad about it. Joe was intelligent and he seemed dependable as well – two things that, in her experience, didn’t always go together. But his obvious competence made it more urgent that she should sort her problem out once and for all. Before Joe – or someone else – began to look in places she didn’t want him to look.

  She glanced at her watch. She had put it off long enough. She climbed out of the car and fixed an expression of benevolent motherhood on her face before marching to the front door and letting herself in with her key.

  The children, hearing the door open, rushed into the hallway, shouting and squabbling, vying for her attention. She scooped the youngest up in her arms and tried to calm the others. There were things she had to sort out.

  When her husband appeared, framed in the doorway of the kitchen, she stopped and looked him in the eye. She and Jeff had been married long enough – gone through enough together – for him to understand her meaning. He took charge of the children, shepherding them towards the living room where he switched on the TV. Although neither of them approved of using the box as a babysitter, it had its uses sometimes.

  Once the children were settled, Emily and Jeff scurried into the kitchen and sat down at the table. And as she faced him, she suddenly felt afraid.

  ‘It’s her,’ Emily whispered. ‘It’s Jane bloody Pyke.

  ’ Jeff looked wary. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Haven’t you been listening to the news? She’s the Resurrection Man’s latest victim. She was found this morning in Evanshaw churchyard. Some people she worked with reported her missing and her body turned up today. Same as the others.’ />
  Jeff put his head in his hands and said nothing.

  ‘Jane Pyke. They’ll find the connection sooner or later.’

  ‘You’re in charge of the case. Make sure they don’t.’

  She hesitated, suddenly uneasy. ‘It doesn’t work like that, Jeff. We dig into her life: find out all we can about the victim’s past. I couldn’t stop it all coming out even if I wanted to. There’s nothing I can do.’

  She stared at him for a few moments. Her husband of fifteen years. He had been remarkably good looking, beautiful even, when they’d married and he was still attractive even though his body was beginning to show the inevitable effects of having lived on this earth for forty-five years.

  Emily had sensed a change in him over the past few weeks and had put it down to the move and worry about the new teaching job he was due to begin in September. But now …

  ‘Have you seen her since we came to Eborby?’

  ‘Don’t you trust me?’

  ‘Of course I do,’ she said quickly. ‘But if you’re questioned …’

  He looked away, avoiding her steady gaze. ‘Of course I haven’t bloody seen her. Why would I want to see her after what she …?’

  ‘Where were you on Sunday night?’

  ‘You know where I was. I met Paul for a drink.’

  ‘And last night? Where were you?’

  ‘I was here. So were you.’ He walked over to the window. On his way he picked up the bread knife lying on the worktop and ran his finger along the blade, as though testing its sharpness.

  ‘You went out.’

  ‘To the supermarket. The weekly shop. Remember?’

  ‘You were a long time.’

  ‘I had to queue up for petrol. This is ridiculous.’ Emily flinched as he threw the bread knife down with a loud clatter before storming out of the room. And as she heard the front door slam she felt tears pricking at her eyes like red hot needles.

  It was eight thirty when Joe Plantagenet left the police station. He walked home through the evening streets, dodging the council street-cleaning machines which were out in force, patrolling like robots, and the army of tourists who were still roaming the streets in ragged groups, searching for somewhere reasonable to eat.

  As far as days went, it had been a frustrating one. He had been hopeful that Jamilla’s meeting with Gloria Simpson’s sister would provide them with some clue about why she had attacked John Wendal. But the sister, Linda Young, was a down-to-earth farmer’s wife who had lost touch with Gloria long ago and she was as mystified by events as the police were. She did, however, confirm that Gloria worked for the Eborby Permanent Building Society for a short time which might be significant … or not, as the case might be.

  The aroma of cooking wafted from the open doors of pubs and restaurants, reminding Joe that he was hungry and had no food in at the flat. Suddenly, on impulse, he took his mobile phone from one pocket and searched in another for the scrap of paper on which Maddy Owen had scribbled her number.

  As he stood in the middle of Pottergate, staring at his phone, the tide of ambling tourists parting around him, he experienced a sudden attack of second thoughts. He hardly knew Maddy: he had only met her once and, even though they’d got on well, inviting her out for a meal might be too much too soon. It could be misinterpreted.

  On the other hand, they had a concern in common – Carmel Hennessy. And meeting in a pub for a bite to eat would do no harm. Hardly a formal date. No commitment.

  In fact it had been a while since Joe had experienced anything approaching commitment. The moment he’d met Kaitlin he’d known that there was no possibility of him staying at the seminary. He’d suddenly had a vision of what a life of celibacy would bring – of the years of loneliness stretching ahead of him with only a housekeeper for human company – and he knew then that it wasn’t the life he wanted. He and Kaitlin had married within six months of their first meeting. Then, exactly a hundred and fifty days after the wedding, she’d died – a fall down some cliff steps during a West Country holiday – a stupid accident; a chance in a million. Joe had joined the police by then and he dealt with his grief by immersing himself in his work. Even now he still missed Kaitlin; still found himself thinking of her sometimes in the small hours or when he was alone, wondering what might have been if she’d lived. But usually he tried to forget.

  Then came Kevin’s death and his own injury when his world had shattered again. There had been women, of course – the periodic brief encounters that could hardly be dignified with the title ‘relationship’ – but nothing that came remotely close to those heady days of his marriage to Kaitlin. Sometimes, in his darkest hours, he imagined there was some sort of curse on him – the Almighty’s revenge on him for abandoning his vocation. But then Joe had never believed that God was vindictive – He left that sort of thing to the opposition.

  Joe dialled Maddy’s number, telling himself he had nothing to lose but his solitude. And besides, it would be good to have someone there who could keep a discreet eye on Carmel for him – she’d hardly want her late father’s old colleague fussing around, cramping her style.

  Maddy sounded pleased to hear from him and when she suggested that they meet at the Cross Keys for a meal he accepted. He heard no warning bells ringing and experienced no feelings of entrapment. On the contrary, he found that he was looking forward to seeing her.

  When they met at the pub’s entrance, she greeted him with a nervous smile and asked him how the case was going. But he sensed she had other things on her mind, things she wanted to share with him. They found a table and picked up the large cardboard menus.

  ‘I heard about the body in Evanshaw churchyard,’ Maddy began. ‘Is it another …?

  ‘Looks like it, I’m afraid.’

  Maddy hesitated. ‘Carmel told me that the description sounds like that Janna Pyke who used to have her flat … the one who received those threatening letters. I told her she should tell you. I said that even if she was wrong, you wouldn’t mind.’

  Joe sighed. It would do no harm to let Maddy in on the truth as it would be all over the papers the next day anyway. ‘Carmel’s right. It is Janna Pyke. She’s been identified but we don’t release the name until the next of kin have been informed.’

  ‘I suppose it puts the phone call and threatening letters in a whole new light then.’

  ‘Apart from the fact she was probably dead when the threats were made. Who’d try and frighten someone they knew was already dead?’

  ‘True.’ Maddy looked down and noticed the gold wedding ring on the third finger of Joe’s left hand. ‘You … er … must have been close to Carmel’s dad.’

  Joe nodded. ‘He was my sergeant – taught me the ropes. And we were good friends. It hit me hard when he was killed. It’s not something you get over in a hurry.’

  ‘I’m a bit worried about Carmel.’

  Joe leaned forward. ‘Why?’

  ‘She met that Tavy this lunchtime and she’s going to the Black Hen with him.’

  Joe suddenly felt uneasy … and something else: disappointed that Carmel wasn’t as sensible as he’d assumed she was. ‘When?’

  ‘Tonight, she said. After he’s done the ghost tour. She didn’t sound too keen on the idea but she said she didn’t want to let him down.’

  Joe took a drink of beer. ‘I’m sure she’ll be all right as long as they stick together,’ he said, trying to sound optimistic.

  ‘But what if this Tavy’s …?’

  ‘Let’s not think about that, eh,’ he said, turning his head away so that Maddy wouldn’t see the anxiety in his eyes.

  They ordered their meals but neither of them felt very hungry.

  Carmel sat down at a table in the corner while Tavy went up to the bar to get the drinks. She sat of the edge of the deeply upholstered bench seat watching him. She didn’t want to make herself too comfortable and get sucked into the atmosphere of the place.

  At first glance, the Black Hen looked like many other Eborby pubs. Low-be
amed ceilings, subdued lighting, a stone-flagged floor and dark-red leather seating around heavy oak tables. There was a fruit machine tucked discreetly in the corner but no juke box or piped music, which some might judge to be an advantage. But in this case the silence only served to emphasise the restless hostility in the air. As though the place held a secret which the patrons were anxious to keep to themselves.

  Tavy returned with the drinks. Carmel had seen him chatting animatedly to someone at the bar but she sensed that the conversation hadn’t been a comfortable one. She watched his face as he placed the glasses carefully on beer mats. He looked worried.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, trying not to sound too impatient and give away the fact that she longed to leave and head for more congenial surroundings.

  He sat down and took a sip from his pint of bitter before answering. ‘That bloke at the bar … his name’s Jevons and he was Janna’s boss at the House of Terrors. I asked him what she was so scared of.’ He paused. ‘And I asked him who Jack Wendal is.’

  Carmel’s sense of unease suddenly increased. ‘Was that wise?’ She kept her eyes fixed on the tall, bearded man propping up the bar. He was deep in conversation with a couple of Goths, both male; one small, one tall. Occasionally they glanced in Tavy’s direction slyly, averting their eyes when they saw she was watching.

  ‘Maybe not. But I thought the straightforward approach might get results.’

  ‘And did it?’ As she asked the question, Jevons left his post at the bar and disappeared through an unmarked door at the side of the bar.

  ‘He told me to mind my own bloody business. And he said he’d never heard of anyone called Jack Wendal. But he was lying through his teeth.’

  Carmel looked around. ‘So where do they hold the black masses then?’

  Tavy shook his head. ‘Don’t ask me. I’m not into that sort of stuff.’ He said the words smoothly, confidently. But she wasn’t sure that she believed him.

  She glanced at the adjoining table. A wiry man with a shaved head was sitting there slumped over an evening paper. His restless hand was drumming on the table and she noticed a rough tattoo on his left forearm: a circle in a square with what looked like horns on top. He looked up and when he caught her eye he began to stare; a strange, assessing stare that sent shivers down her spine. She looked away quickly.