“Even if it was a navy blue as compared to this baby blue, it certainly should spark a remembrance if you knew anyone who wore something in this blue print. The zipper probably comes from a woolen jumper. Do anything for you?” I eyed him, trying to read his facial expression. He remained mystified.
“Sorry. Can’t say I’ve ever seen it…or remember it. Perhaps an animal carried it to the bone recovery site. They do forage, you know. Walk away with large bones, take them to their dens.” He glanced out of the window as a car drove past his house. “You found these near Reed’s body, I heard. Which was how you discovered him.”
“An unexpected find, yes. We were in the village investigating Reed’s disappearance when the bones were discovered.” I hesitated slightly before repeating the question. “And you’ve no suggestion as to the bones’ identity.”
“Wish I could.”
“I understand a young woman also went missing from this village.” Pausing, I glanced at Mark. He sat well back in his chair, staring at Clayton.
“I don’t know about another missing person, other than Reed.”
“I’m referring to Vera Howarth.” I spoke the name slowly, wanting it and its implication to sink in.
This face remained unmovable. “I don’t know if I’d classify her as missing, exactly.”
Mark bent forward, his face darkening. “How would you classify it, then? She disappeared, as I understand it. Never seen again, leaving her friends worried sick that something unspeakable had happened to her.”
“Something did happen, but not what you’re thinking.”
“Then what? Tell us.”
Clayton uncrossed his legs and clasped his hands. In a slow, deliberate voice, he said, “She ran out on me. She sent me a good-bye note and then ran off like a ghost in the night.”
NINE
Books from the Library: Derbyshire’s Tales of Ghostly Goings-on and Haunted Homes
The night had been as dark as the inside of a cave when moonlight finally broke from the bank of clouds. Sam and Will had been playing cards that night in Bradwell, staying too late with friends, and now walked home in the dark. The moonlight helped them see their way but also showed something to Sam that made him clutch his brother’s arm in fear.
Will asked what the problem was and Sam pointed to an approaching large dog, big as a calf and black as the night itself. Despite the moonlit landscape and Sam’s persistent indication, Will could see nothing.
Thinking Will had either gone blind or was playing a trick on him, Sam nodded to the great beast, which by now walked up to them. Sam froze, his gazed fixed on the dog. It breathed heavily, its eyes seeming to glow in the darkness, and stopped in front of Sam—so close he could feel its hot breath on his face. An instant later, the dog vanished, leaving the wood quiet and Sam visibly shaken.
When he told Will what he had seen, Will laughed, insisting nothing had been there. “Yer’t daft if yer thinkin’ there wuz summut there.” All the way home they argued, Will convinced that Sam had gone mad.
When Will dressed to go to work the next morning, Sam begged Will not to leave the house. “Yer that upset, still, ’bout that there dog,” Will said, mocking his brother’s continuing fear. “Stay to home, then, like the auld woman yer be,” he said, and left for the mine.
Sam remained inside their cottage, his anxiety mounting hourly, convinced the huge dog’s appearance forecast some terrible coming event. Later that day a group of miners slowly came up to the cottage door, their hats in their hands, their voices low. Will, along with several other men, had been killed that morning when a portion of the cave roof fell on them.
TEN
“Vera Howarth disappeared—if you want to classify it as that—from the village in April, twenty-two years ago.” Clayton pulled in his bottom lip, as though debating with himself whether he should or should not expose the village’s problems to us.
I glanced at Mark. He periodically looked up from his notebook, glanced around the room, then returned to his writing. I had no idea what he found so interesting or important and was trying to catch his attention when Clayton continued. Mark abandoned his notation and listened intently. “Even though I fell under suspicion and was questioned innumerable times, her departure was nothing to warrant a grand scale police search or news alerts in the media. She mailed me a note, saying she was going to London. I was devastated, of course, but by the time I received her message, it had been two days since I’d seen her and she was gone.”
“Did you go to her home to see if she’d actually left? Talk to her parents?”
“Her parents were dead. They’d died in Australia when she was four years old. Her grandmother reared her. She’s the only person I ever saw with Vera at home.”
I asked again about relatives or friends who might lead us to Vera, or at least supply more information about her. Clayton shrugged, stating once more that the grandmother was the only person he knew. I asked Clayton to write down names of villagers who had moved since Vera went missing, giving addresses or phone numbers if he knew them. I also asked him to jot down a time table of the last day he spent with Vera, listing activity, approximate time it took place, and where they were.
If Clayton suspected the real reason for this, he didn’t mention it. As a copper, he probably had an inkling, but he may have thought it best not to voice his suspicion in case it hadn’t occurred to me.
“How did you meet Vera? Do odd jobs for the grandmother or something like that?”
“Not at first. I saw Vera one day in the village. She had a lot of groceries and I helped her carry them home. I’d do that periodically. Then I just fell into doing a few things for them, like weeding the garden. That’s how Vera and I came to know each other. We were mates since she moved in with her gran. I don’t know how old I was when I learned that she was living permanently with the older lady and not visiting her.”
Trying to keep my voice nonchalant, I said, “Where did Vera and her grandmother live?”
“Pardon?”
“Just inquisitive. After all, Mark and I have been around the village, talking to people. I’d like to mentally put them in one of the houses. It gives me a sort of link to them. Doesn’t it, Mark?” I glanced at him, hoping I looked convincing. “You know I work better if I can see where they lived.”
Mark looked at me as if I had finally, irrevocably gone round the twist and he’d be bringing me fruit baskets on visitors’ days. I smiled, let him imagine the worst, and looked expectantly at Clayton.
He, too, had not expected my request. He blinked, cleared his throat, and said, “Why, uh, on the north side of Old Mine Road, where it joins the village circle road. You know where Angela lives…” he said, nearly directing me to confirm that I did. “Well, Vera’s house is at right angles to Angela’s, farther down Old Mine Road, though. Nearer to the wood and the, uh…the recovery site.”
“Is the grandmother still there?”
He shook his head.
“Anyone live there now?”
“Uh, no. After Vera left, we all assumed she’d be returning, no matter what her note said. You know…go to London, try out your dream for a bit, then realize you’re not good enough or it’s not really what you want, so you come back.”
I realized I was nodding, remembering my own brief fling with professional singing. I’d been seventeen, not even seriously considering a career in the police yet. But I played guitar and sang. My friends encouraged me to become a singer. Since I was the best in our group, the suggestion didn’t seem outlandish. I’d sung in folk clubs and had been well received; why not on a grander, more permanent scale as a career? I discovered ‘why not’ shortly into my Grand Launch; I hated the back stage life—who was sleeping with whom, the jealousies, the backstabbing. But obviously everyone is different. Vera may have overlooked that. Or thrived on it.
“I understand her grandmother left the house to her,” Clayton said. “I didn’t know what to do with it after it was evident she wasn�
�t returning. She had no will that the police could find, and of course we couldn’t find the grandmother in London, so the house sat until the grandmother or Vera showed up again or put the house on the market.” He twisted his wedding ring on his finger, perhaps envisioning what his life would be like now if he and Vera had married. “It’s a shame to see the house deteriorate, but I’ve no authority to fix it up or sell it. And I don’t know anyone who has.”
“Well,” I said, as offhand as I could, “thanks. I’ll drive by it, if that’s all right.”
“Sure. Fine. It’s seen better days, but you’ll get an idea.” He sighed heavily and grimaced. “I feel so bad about it. The grandmother put so much work into the house and garden. It’s a shame.”
“Any idea the grandmother’s age?”
“Her age?” He blinked, obviously confused in the change of topic.
“Yes. Approximately how old was she when she left? I know you were a teenager, and everyone over twenty-five seems ancient, but any idea now, looking back? If Vera was eighteen when her gran went to London…”
“Oh, Yeah. Well…” He scrunched up his eyes and thought for a few seconds before saying, “Probably in her sixties. She couldn’t have been so very old or she wouldn’t have moved, would she?”
“Anyone help her? Besides the removal van people.”
“There weren’t any.”
“Sorry?” The answer surprised me.
“She didn’t hire any removal firm. She left the furniture for Vera and I think she just took a carful of clothes and knickknacks with her.”
“Who drove her? A friend from London, someone in the village?”
“Vera.”
My image of getting a name, address or phone number of the driver crumbled. There went that lead. “Well,” I said, grabbing on to what we still had, “at least I can see her house. That’ll be a big help to me, Clayton. I do so like to put people into their surroundings. You have no idea how better I work if I know that.”
I took the paper from Clayton, thanked him, and said that we might get a break in the case this afternoon.
He merely nodded, his eyes speaking of the torment consuming him.
“Did you write to or ring up her grandmother to ask where Vera was?”
Clayton rubbed his forehead and avoided looking at us. When Mark repeated the question, Clayton raised his head. His eyes had a haunted look, the whites suddenly more intense and the dark irises bright with light. “Vera wrote that she was going to London. To follow her dream, was how she phrased it. Her granny had moved to London the previous year, before Vera left. I had no idea Vera had such plans—to move and leave me without letting me know. We had our own plans, you see. We were engaged. She was eighteen and I was nineteen. I thought we had our future together sorted out. When I got her note, well, I still didn’t really believe it. Didn’t believe it was a permanent move. Not if we were engaged. I don’t think she knew anyone in London, at least I had never heard her talk of any friends or family. That’s partly why that damned note was such a shock. Going off to live on your own in London. Absurd! So I assumed she went to live with her gran while she sorted out her life.”
“You couldn’t contact the grandmother even if she had moved to London the previous year?”
He shook his head and the color drained from his face. “I didn’t know her name—she was merely Vera’s maternal grandmother. And I think Vera changed hers because, despite inquiries through the Metropolitan Police, they could never find a Vera Howarth residing in the area.” He looked at me, perhaps needing a woman’s understanding. “London houses around nine million people. Where would you begin to look?”
* * * *
Mark threw Clayton’s question back to me as we sat in the pub. Since it was just going on toward noon, we had decided to have lunch, time the walk, and ask the publican what he remembered about Clayton’s time there. “Even if he found out the grandmother’s name,” Mark noted the time on his watch, “somehow traced the parents’ deaths through death certificates issued in Australia, he still has a trillion-to-one chance that he’d find Vera in London. It’s a bloody big place.”
I nodded, thinking both statements were correct. The waitress came with our lunch order but before I could take a first bite of my salad, my mobile rang. I glanced at the caller ID display and flipped open the phone. Turning slightly from Mark, I lowered my voice and said, “Hi, Adam.”
Mark snorted and busied himself with texting a message on his mobile.
“Hi, sweets.” Adam’s voice lay warm inside my ear. “Are you able to talk for a minute?”
I glanced at Mark. His phone still occupied his attention. I brought the phone closer to my mouth. “Sure, Adam. We’re just having lunch.”
“We?”
“Mark and me. We’re at the pub in Cauldham. Know it?”
“Neither the pub nor the village. You’re on a case, then.”
“Is there any doubt?” I refrained from saying I wouldn’t be out socially with Mark since I was engaged to Adam. “Any particular reason you called?”
“We need to talk about the wedding, Bren.”
“Now? This very minute?” Besides being an inappropriate time and place, the wedding was the first of December, six months away. I know most weddings are planed a year or so in advance, but Adam’s and my wedding was going to be small. Simple. Handwritten invitations to a miniscule number of people. No church reservation, orchestra, or caterer required. Just standing outdoors in a breath-taking, soul-inspiring natural setting for the ceremony, then to a friend’s house for a reception or meal or tea—whatever fit in with the time of the wedding. I wanted morning, as the sun rose; Adam wanted early evening with the glow of dozens of candles the main source of light. He also preferred it indoors with a band, afterwards, that we could dance to. Needless to say, there were a few differences we had to negotiate.
“No, not right now, but soon. If you’re on a case, you won’t be free tonight,” he said, his voice trailing off in disappointment. “But do you think it’d be next week sometime?”
“I honestly don’t know, Adam. I have no idea how long the case will last. I could phone you when I get a better sense of time. Would that do?”
“Sure, Bren. Fine. It’s just that…” Again he sounded unhappy, or that he didn’t want to impart bad news.
“Just that…what?”
“My parents would like to help.”
“Your parents? Are you serious?”
“Mum knows a bit…” He coughed, I suspected to hide his embarrassment, and exhaled loudly before continuing. “I told her something of your situation and she wants to help. Dad does, too.”
“Generous, I’m sure, but what’s my situation?”
“You know.”
“No, I don’t, or I wouldn’t ask you. What did you tell them?”
“About your parents, your relationship with them.”
The first trickle of irritation seeped into my bliss. Fighting to keep my voice level, I said, “Why did you mention that? It’s really of no one’s concern but me and my parents.” I took a deep breath, feeling the heat flood my cheeks. “Honestly, Adam, I can’t believe you mentioned this to your folks. That was completely unnecessary and out of bounds. I had more trust in you.” When I had finished, Mark glanced at me—probably to see why my voice was rising—and then snapped his phone closed.
“Sorry if I overstepped your boundary, Bren, but I was just trying to help.”
“I appreciate you wanting to help, but I don’t know what this is in aid of.”
“Oh. Didn’t I say?”
“No.”
“Oh. Well, I mentioned how you and your family were, uh, kind of at odds right now.”
“Delicate way of saying they brushed me aside…probably forever. Go on, what else?”
“And that you really doubt if you would get any help from them for our wedding, either help with planning or finances or just plain moral support.”
“Smashing. Anything
else? I may as well know the other secrets you’ve revealed so I can be prepared when I meet them.”
“Brenna, it’s not like that. I know the bind you’re in, with your parents more or less ignoring you. I just mentioned it to Mum that we wanted a simple wedding and somehow the history of you and your family came out.”
“So, what do your parents want to help with? Must be urgent or big, or you wouldn’t be calling me now.”
“Well, they’d like to talk with us. They, uh, would like to help us through this.”
I exhaled slowly, my mind already envisioning what lay ahead.
“They’d like to pay for part of the wedding. They’d also like to physically help. They’ve got some suggestions as to reception caterer, wedding ceremony location, honeymoon. That sort of thing.”
I don’t know when I finally got my voice back. Adam’s news shocked and irritated me beyond any reply I could readily give. I know he meant well—assumed his parents meant well—but to reveal my miserable relationship with my parents, the problems I’ve had struggling for their acceptance, was near to betraying a secret I had no wish for anyone to know but my closest friends. Perhaps I would have mentioned part of my family life to Adam’s mum and dad, but it wasn’t a revelation I wanted even before I’d met them.
My reply took too long. Adam said, “Well, Bren?”
“What?”
“Can I let Mum know we’d like to talk with her?”
“Not just yet.”
“Why not? You want to see how the case is going?”
“It’s not that.”
“What, then? You mad at me?”
I paused, wondering how to phrase this so he wouldn’t be mad at me. Mark had nearly finished his sandwich and I had yet to start my salad. I said, “I’ve got to go, Adam. We’ll talk about this later. Maybe tomorrow.”
“You’re angry.”
“Adam.”
A Well Dressed Corpse Page 6