For a moment, Celine is light-headed. Is she imagining it, or has Harry’s tone abruptly shifted into over-familiarity? Without answering, she raises her arm in a genial wave and returns to the house.
‘Una, I’ve just been talking to—’ she begins as she enters the living room, but Una flaps her hand to signify she’s on the phone, and points towards the camper van keys on the side.
‘Finally, I got through to Dave,’ she says once she’s hung up. ‘He’s in Arundel right now, making some enquiries, and he said if we go straight down he’ll meet us in The Eagle for half an hour. Says he’s got a “significant” update for us.’
Pausing only to grab her rucksack and lock the back doors, Celine is behind the wheel within seconds.
When they arrive at The Eagle in Tarrant Street, Dave Aston is already waiting at the back of the pub and he’s ordered three cheese ploughmans, which are being delivered to the table as they take their seats. It’s a low table between two leather sofas, and as they’re ahead of the lunchtime rush there’s not much danger of being overheard while they discuss the case.
‘Pint?’ Celine offers.
‘I’m on duty,’ Dave says, ‘but don’t let that stop you two having a proper drink.’
‘Apple juice for me,’ Una says, and Celine heads for the bar. While she waits for her change, she watches at this small distance as Una drops her notebook on the table, before sitting back and hooking her arm over the back of the sofa, crossing one leg over the other.
Celine can’t help admiring the way Una is with other people. She’s businesslike and brisk, without being pushy. How does she do that? People like her instantly, because she’s warm, with a laugh that you can’t help but smile at, yet it’s clear she won’t tolerate any crap at all. Her manner borders on brusque, Celine thinks now – not in a thrusting alpha way, but in an unapologetic, never-questioned-it kind of way. I need to be more Una, Celine decides as she carries the drinks over and sits on the sofa facing Aston.
‘Cheers,’ she says, eyeing his A4 folder. ‘So, what d’you know?’
‘Actually, I’ve got something pretty mind-blowing,’ he says, reaching for a stick of carrot. ‘Well, I’ve got a few things, actually.’
‘Go on,’ Una says, with an encouraging nod.
‘First off, Robin Siegle’s ex-husband Archie walked into his local police station last night and handed himself in for questioning. I’ve been down there all night, taking a statement and checking out his version of events. Turns out he’s been in Paris for the past few days, on some kind of chefs’ conference. He says the first he knew about Robyn’s death was when he picked up a newspaper as he was leaving the Eurostar in St Pancras yesterday afternoon. Apparently he’d been getting a bit worried because Robyn hadn’t returned his calls – they were planning a reconciliation and he thought she’d had a change of heart.’
‘How did he seem?’
‘He was in a real state. Kept asking if we’d let her father know yet. Seems they were once close. We showed him the CCTV footage of him and Robyn at Arundel station on the night she died, and he tells us they’d spent the afternoon together at a local hotel, and that the video is actually showing us him leaving and her staying.’
‘Have you checked?’ Una asks.
‘Yup. The hotel checks out – the receptionist recognised their photos and confirmed they were there for the afternoon. And we’ve been over the CCTV again, and yes, the couple arrive together and go off screen as the train pulls in. There’s no sign of either of them thereafter, but the platform cameras are situated in such a way that, if Robyn did remain in Arundel, she would have exited the station without being seen. Additionally, we’ve managed to catch footage of Archie Chowdhury coming off that same train as it arrives at London Victoria. Alone.’
‘So, what are you thinking?’ Celine asks.
‘Well, Archie was adamant that Robyn was heading back to Two Cross Farm that night, to say her goodbyes before joining him in London on his return from Paris. So, either Robyn met her killer on her way back to Two Cross Farm – or Seed is lying about the last time they saw her.’
‘What about the DNA samples you took from Robyn?’
‘The semen is a match for Archie, and of course he’s not disputing that. There were minute skin-scrapings beneath three of her fingernails – arguably those scrapings belong to our killer, and I feel fairly certain the DNA in them is not going to be a match for Archie. Once those tests are back in, he’s in the clear.’
Una makes a note in her own pad and taps the page thoughtfully.
‘Now, tell me about your visit to Two Cross Farm,’ Dave says. ‘How was Seed?’
‘The visit was good,’ Celine replies. ‘But I’m not sure if we got anything very useful.’
‘You were there, Celine?’ Dave asks, surprised. ‘Una, that wasn’t the deal.’
‘No, but I took an executive decision, Dave.’
‘But you know—’
‘A decision which paid off. Seed likes Celine, and I’m certain we wouldn’t have got on quite so well if I’d been there alone. She knows I’m an ex-copper – there’s no way she would have opened up so much if it had just been me.’
Dave sighs heavily. ‘What’s she like, when she’s away from the microphone?’
‘Seed? She was charming, and she gave a very good impression of being co-operative and open – but I think we both came away feeling that she’d played us. It was a bit like that press conference she gave – the visit was polished, rehearsed.’
‘They’re definitely hiding something,’ Celine adds, her mind drifting back to Seed’s comment, about burning the place down rather than letting the police in. On their way here in the car, Una had suggested they omit that detail, for fear that Dave would halt their involvement. ‘Although, I think she was starting to trust us towards the end of our visit.’
‘What did you find out?’ he asks.
‘The place feels very relaxed, but it’s actually run like clockwork. They live by the bell. They all take their breaks together, so no slacking off in between for a sneaky cuppa or a fag. They eat together, work together, relax together in the evenings. There’s a high proportion of women who have left some kind of abuse behind, but they don’t consider themselves to be a refuge. Every woman has to contribute to the running of the place in some way, and it sounds as though they live frugally, selling goods at the local market and operating fairly hand-to-mouth.’
‘The other stallholders might be useful to talk to,’ Dave says. ‘I’ll follow it up, see if we can track them down.’
Una taps her pen against her notebook. ‘To be honest, Dave, we barely scratched the surface, but if we can get Seed to invite us back we might be able to establish some more specific facts about Robyn’s time there. One thing’s for certain – at least a handful of those women will have got to know Robyn over the past few months, and someone will be able to confirm if she and Seed were in a relationship – or if there were disagreements between her and any of the other women. If Archie Chowdhury isn’t our man, perhaps Robyn’s killer really is someone at Two Cross Farm.’
‘Or Jem Falmer,’ Celine says.
‘We haven’t ruled him out, Celine,’ Dave replies. ‘His relatives all claim they haven’t seen him over the past fifteen years, but there’s no denying it feels somewhat significant that his childhood home is only a few miles from the scene of this recent crime. In the end, people on the run get lonely – and they’ll often return to the places they know.’
‘But what would Falmer’s motive be?’ Una asks. ‘I get why he’d kill his own partner – men do it all the time, out of jealousy, anger, paranoia – but why Robyn?’
‘Maybe he still holds a grudge against the community for sheltering Vanessa from him. Maybe he hates women. Maybe he’s just a psycho,’ Celine adds, the old feelings of powerless rage rearing up in her, as strong today as they were fifteen years ago.
‘As I say, Celine,’ Dave says patiently, ‘we haven’t r
uled him out.’
‘But as Una said,’ she quickly replies, anxious to show Aston how balanced she is, ‘it could be someone from inside the commune – or someone outside. Have you interviewed our gardener yet – Harry?’
Una frowns, a question.
‘I was chatting to him in the garden when you were on the phone earlier, Una. He’s quite strange, I think. And he’s been working for Mum for a few years. He might be worth a look, Dave.’
He nods. ‘I do need to follow that up. I’ll get one of my guys to pop by and see him.’
‘We did find one important thing you’ll be interested in, Dave,’ Una says. ‘Before we left, we managed to get a look at the residents’ ledger, which keeps a record of all the women arriving and leaving. It was immaculately kept, all the way back to 1976 – every entry handwritten.’
‘Go on.’
‘We found Robyn’s entry, and there was no departure date logged. Robyn is not recorded as having left the community eleven days ago when Seed said she had.’
Dave makes a note. ‘OK, that’s good. Now all we have to do is wait and see if you get that return invitation, Una. That journal could well provide confirmation for this other bit of info I’ve just uncovered.’
There’s a moment’s pause while a group of suited men loiters beside them, waiting to get to the bar. As soon as they move on, Una leans in and asks, ‘Is this the “mind-blowing” bit of news you mentioned, Dave?’
Dave smiles, looking pleased with himself.
Celine sits forward, placing her glass down on the table. ‘Well?’
‘As you know,’ he says, ‘I’m fairly new around here, so as far as the history of this region is concerned I have to rely on my junior officers, who only go back so far. This info relates to an old case, one which pre-dates anyone I know who’s still working for Sussex Police.’ He pauses, flips open a different file and closes it again, as though trying to work out how to tell this story. ‘To cut a long story short—’
‘I wish you would,’ Una says. She snatches up her plate and sits back again with an encouraging nod.
‘Turns out,’ he continues, ‘that one of my elderly neighbours is a retired copper, and, when he heard about the circumstances of Robyn Siegle’s death on last night’s six o’clock news, he came straight over and knocked on my door. I’d barely spoken a dozen words to the man, but before I knew it we were sat around my kitchen table, a bottle of Jack Daniel’s between us, as he told me the story of the “lake suicide”.’
‘The what?’ Celine asks.
‘In December 1995, an unidentified woman was found dead in a boat on Swanbourne Lake near Arundel.’ He places a local news article on the table between them. WOMAN FOUND DEAD AT ARUNDEL BEAUTY SPOT, reads the headline.
‘That’s just down the road from here,’ Celine says. ‘But what made him think there was a connection between the two?’
‘It was the phrase “carefully laid out” that caught his eye. They’d printed something similar in the 1995 case and it just echoed with him.’
Una reads over the cutting with a frown. ‘This was twenty-five years ago. Did your neighbour work on the case?’
‘No, it had happened a year or two before he transferred here, but he remembered his colleagues talking about it. From what I can gather, the body was discovered by a local man – a junior lake attendant there at the time, and he was initially treated as a suspect for the woman’s murder. But, after the coroner’s report ruled out foul play, the lad was released.’
‘OK, but how does this relate to Vanessa – or Robyn?’ Celine asks. Her impatience is getting the better of her, and she makes an effort to pick at her food, to listen.
‘A few weeks later, we get this headline in the national newspapers.’ He places a second cutting in front of them: MISSING SUSAN FOUND DEAD AFTER 20 YEARS. ‘They identified the woman on the boat using dental X-ray records taken two decades earlier. The unnamed woman was Susan Green, who, it turns out,’ Dave says, bringing the two cuttings together, ‘was one of a group of five women who disappeared together back in 1976.’
‘You’re kidding?’ Celine says, turning to look at Una. ‘1976? The very same year Two Cross Farm opened its doors? You think Susan Green was one of the founders?’
‘Exactly,’ Dave says, leaning in to tap his middle finger on the later news article. ‘This piece provides a recap of the then twenty-year-old case of those missing women, explaining how they had all left letters for their families and loved ones, saying they were safe and didn’t want to be found. For the most part, the story died down and the police didn’t get involved, despite the fact Susan had been just sixteen when she left.’
Una shakes her head. ‘Jeez. Old-school policing. So, did the police interview the Two Cross Women after they’d worked out who Susan was?’
‘No,’ Dave replies. ‘Even after Susan’s body was found, they had no idea where she’d been all those years. And at that time they’d have had no reason to think the community was connected in any way to those missing women. Don’t forget twenty years had passed by – that old missing persons story would’ve been all but forgotten by 1995, at least as far as the police and media were concerned. I may well be the first to make the link between Susan and Two Cross Farm – and your residents’ journal could be the key to confirming it.’
‘Did nobody care enough to try to find out where Susan had been all those years?’ asks Celine, still trying to get her head around the idea that they were now looking at a third dead woman.
‘There was curiosity, from what my neighbour Arthur says, but with police resources at a stretch it probably didn’t get high priority. We’re trying to locate the original case notes at the moment, so we can see if there’s anything else of interest.’
Una knocks back her apple juice. ‘I think I will have that pint after all,’ she says, grabbing her purse.
‘You might want to wait a minute, Una. I haven’t delivered my punchline yet.’
‘There’s more?’
‘Right before he left, old Arthur mentioned something in passing that made my hair stand on end.’ He leans in closer, lowers his voice. ‘Those tattoos – the ones Robyn and Vanessa both had? That detail has never been made public – in Vanessa’s case because it wasn’t considered relevant at the time, and in Robyn’s case because we’ve been careful to keep it out of the public domain.’
Celine nods, feeling a cold sweat forming on the palms of her hands.
‘Back in 1995 it was still fairly unusual for women to have tattoos – especially women in their thirties or forties. So, this detail about Susan stood out in Arthur’s memory, and he volunteered the information with no prompting from me whatsoever.’
‘For God’s sake, Dave!’ Una explodes. ‘Just say it!’
‘Susan had the same tattoos. Two symmetrical black crosses, one by each hip bone. Susan Green in 1995; Vanessa Murphy in 2005; Robyn Siegle in 2020 – each of them dead near the water, all of them tattooed in the same way. And now,’ he says, ‘quite possibly—’
‘All of them connected to Two Cross Farm,’ Celine finishes.
DI Dave Aston nods, pointing a carrot stick in her direction. ‘Exactly.’
21. BRAMBLE
Present day, Two Cross Farm
Overnight, Seed has grown more agitated, and this morning I find her long before the bell, standing alone at the French doors to the garden, looking out over the mist-shrouded compost mounds where the bluebells grow. Something in her broken countenance tells me she is thinking back on those final days with Robyn. As I lead her from the window and settle her at the kitchen table, I too find my mind picking away at that troubled time, as though the answers to our current situation might be found there. Hard to believe Robyn left us less than a fortnight ago; so much has passed in that time. Our world has altered.
There was one afternoon, shortly before Robyn left us, when I’d noticed her and Seed absent from the evening walk – the hour-long riverside circuit the women took at l
east once a week to stretch their legs and ‘get outside’. Seed had always been diligent in attending on most evenings, as a means of making herself available to our sisters in a more casual setting. Her absence on this bright spring evening seemed to be yet another example of her putting Robyn before everyone else, and I was inwardly fuming at her foolishness. Irritably, I returned to the house to check off the rota on the kitchen wall, as Regine passed through, leaning heavily on her walking cane, saying she was heading in to sit with Fern for a while.
‘She’s been asking for the baby again,’ Regine said, pausing this side of the adjoining swing door. She half-turned to look at me, and, as an image of the feisty young Regine returned to me, I felt a profound sadness that we were, one by one, falling victim to age. We Founding Sisters can’t go on like this forever, I thought, slowly decaying, weighted down by our secrets.
Regine pushed the door open with her shoulder, revealing three of our Elders, sitting sedately in their armchairs, each with a reading companion and a cup of tea at their side.
‘I’m looking for Seed,’ I called after her, and she halted stiffly, holding the door ajar. ‘She wasn’t with the walking group when they set off,’ I added.
With a slow, knowing nod, Regine replied. ‘I saw her by the wood store with that young American.’ For a moment it seemed as though her mind drifted to another place, and she looked bereft. ‘Seed’s not like us, Brenda. She’s never known how it feels to live outside of this place. Let her be, yeah? Let her have this one small thing?’
As her crumpled body disappeared beyond the swinging door, I felt my anger rise – at Regine’s flippant dismissal of Seed’s deviation from the Code; at her barbed use of my old name. The name that tied me to my family, forty years dead to me. To my father and his filthy pawing ways – to my lonely life before I took sanctuary here. Smoothing down the creases of my apron, I walked along the dim corridor, the main artery through which all activity flowed, and headed for the living room at the back. This was the quiet hour, when many of our number were off the grounds, and any remaining sisters had tasks to complete before supper at six. At the hearthside, I found the basket full, and so I removed the logs, one by one, stacking them in a pile beside the grate before exiting through the French doors and striding up the path, the wood store in my sights.
33 Women: A gripping new thriller about the power of women, and the lengths they will go to when pushed... Page 15