The Unburied Past

by Anthea Fraser

  ‘Friday it is, then,’ she said.

  They set off at nine. It was a dark, dreary morning and the traffic was unexpectedly heavy.

  ‘I’d hoped with it’s not being half term the roads might be quieter,’ Adam said. ‘Not that we can do much about it.’

  The miles slid past with frustrating slowness and it was increasingly difficult to control their impatience. In need of hot food and a brief respite, they made an unscheduled stop for lunch and felt the better for it, especially since as they drove north again the weather began to improve. The mist cleared and a thin, wintry sun shone from a colourless sky. A good omen, perhaps.

  ‘Suppose Fleming isn’t on duty?’ Kirsty asked at one point.

  ‘Suppose no such thing,’ Adam returned shortly.

  ‘You’re still not going to ring and check?’

  ‘No; I want to take him by surprise, see his reaction.’

  It was a quarter to four when they drove into the car park at the George Hotel and, tired and stiff, went in to register and leave their overnight bags.

  ‘A quick freshen-up, then full speed ahead for the police station,’ Adam instructed, leaving her at the door to her room.

  ‘Aye, aye, sir!’

  As she brushed her hair, Kirsty glanced at her reflection in the mirror. What would have happened before she looked at it again? An impatient tap cut short her musings and she hurried to rejoin her brother.

  ‘Sorry, sir, DI Fleming’s not in his office.’

  ‘Do you know where he is?’ Adam asked shortly.

  ‘’Fraid not, sir.’

  ‘Well, please could you find him? We need to see him urgently.’

  ‘Perhaps DS Black could help? He—’

  ‘Sorry, no; it must be the DI. He knows the background to this.’

  ‘I’ll see if I can trace him, sir. If you’d care to take a seat?’

  Unwillingly, Adam and Kirsty seated themselves on the hard chairs in the foyer. It was some minutes before they were called back to the desk.

  ‘I’m afraid DI Fleming’s out of the building, sir.’

  Adam swore softly. ‘But he is coming back?’

  ‘He’s expected, yes, sir, but not before five o’clock at the earliest.’

  ‘We’ll wait.’

  ‘Very good, sir. I’ll order some tea for you.’

  ‘This wouldn’t have happened if you’d made an appointment,’ Kirsty complained.

  ‘It’s not long to wait – only an hour or so.’

  ‘Five at the earliest, he said. It could be six or even seven.’

  ‘Then we’ll send out for soup and sandwiches,’ Adam replied, poker-faced, and with a shrug she resignedly picked up a magazine and started to flick through the pages.

  DI Fleming came striding through the door at five minutes to six, stopping short on seeing them sitting there. Adam and Kirsty rose as one, and after a momentary hesitation he came towards them.

  ‘Miss Marriott, Mr Carstairs! This is a surprise! I thought you’d gone home long since!’

  ‘Oh, we had, Mr Fleming, but we have some important new evidence for you.’

  ‘Evidence?’

  ‘Concerning the death of Tony Vine and in all likelihood our parents’ as well.’

  Fleming shook his head in bewilderment. ‘We discussed all this, and I thought I explained—’

  ‘Please, Inspector. We’ve something of vital importance to show you.’

  He glanced impatiently at his watch. ‘Very well, you’d better come in here.’ He opened the nearest door and ushered them into a small room containing four chairs and a table.

  ‘Now, what have you got?’

  Adam laid the last ten prints of the film on the table. ‘If you remember, we mentioned a man who’d gone missing the day of our parents’ murder, and you said you’d look into it. Perhaps you’d like to run through these. They were taken by our father shortly before his death.’

  Fleming threw him a startled glance, then picked up the prints and they watched his face change as he went through them.

  ‘Where did you get these?’ he asked in a strangled voice.

  ‘My father had removed the film, so although the killers took the camera, they never got their hands on it. Either he or my mother hid it in one of my sister’s toys. We found it quite by chance last week and a friend of his was able to develop it.’

  The detective was still staring unbelievingly at the prints, going from one to another and back again.

  ‘We’re pretty sure Tony Vine, the missing man, is the one being killed, and we recognized Dean Ferris as one of the others.’ He paused. ‘Do you know the third man?’

  ‘His brother Barry,’ Fleming said dully, almost to himself. Then, ‘But … this is unbelievable! Can you vouch for the authenticity of the film?’

  ‘I’d say it’s beyond question, but if you need verification you could contact Graham Yates, who developed it for us. And you did say you still had samples taken from the cottage; all you’d have to do is compare them with the Ferrises’ DNA.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Carstairs, I don’t think I need you to tell me my job,’ Fleming said stiffly, adding in a more conciliatory tone, ‘but I do understand you need to clear this up, and I assure you we’ll set wheels in motion straight away.’

  ‘We have to leave on Sunday, but here’s my card. You will keep us informed?’

  Fleming nodded briskly. ‘You’ll be updated with progress under the Victims’ Charter, when, for instance, someone is arrested or charged or appears in court.’ He sat back in his chair, shaking his head. ‘I have to say you seem to have stumbled on something quite extraordinary, but I must stress that it is now in the hands of the police. You may be sure it will be thoroughly followed up.’

  He stood, holding out his hand to each in turn. ‘Thank you very much for bringing this to our attention.’

  NINETEEN

  Flashback: June, 1986

  It wasn’t their best game of golf, as the Ferris brothers were only too aware; nor did the weather conditions help. There was a persistent drizzle that every now and then intensified into a heavy shower, making it more a feat of endurance than an enjoyable pastime. In addition, their anxiety about the proposed meeting with Tony made it an effort to respond to the usual joking comments of their competitors.

  To add to their frustration, the bar lunch was considerably lengthened by their being joined by another group of friends from whom it was difficult to break away, and it was consequently well after three thirty before they could escape. Barry made straight for the pay phone in a corridor behind the bar.

  ‘Hello?’ It was Marilyn’s voice.

  Instinctively, he deepened his voice slightly. ‘Could I speak to Tony Vine, please?’

  ‘I’m sorry, he isn’t in.’

  Barry hesitated. Dean nudged him, and he continued, ‘What time are you expecting him back?’

  ‘I don’t know exactly; he’s gone fishing. But he won’t be very late, because we’re going out for dinner.’ A pause. ‘May I give him a message?’

  ‘I – no, it’s not important.’

  ‘May I ask who’s calling?’

  So she hadn’t recognized his voice. Barry said quickly, ‘He won’t remember my name. We met at a conference, and as I’m in the area I thought we might have a drink together …’

  ‘Well, I’m sorry, but if you’d like to call back tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll do that. Sorry to have troubled you.’ And he quickly put the phone down.

  ‘Why all the cloak and dagger?’ Dean enquired.

  Barry shrugged. ‘Didn’t want to go into why I was phoning on a Sunday. She said he’s out fishing.’

  ‘He’ll be at Lake Belvedere,’ Dean said. ‘That’s where he always goes.’ An idea struck him. ‘We could corner him there.’

  ‘God, Dean, do you know how big that lake is? How the hell would we find him?’

  ‘It’s worth a try. Otherwise it’ll have to be at work tomorrow, which coul
d be awkward.’ He checked his watch. ‘We’d better get a move on, though, if we’re going out there; it’s nearly an hour’s drive, and he could have packed up and left by the time we get there.’

  Barry came to a decision. ‘Right, let’s give it a go.’

  They barely spoke on the drive, each busy with his own thoughts. At least the weather had improved, and a weak sun was glinting on the wet roads. By the time they drew into the parking place it was almost four thirty. Only one other car stood in the normally busy space, and to their relief they recognized it as Tony’s. At least he was still here.

  In fact, as they rounded the corner of the hill bordering the lake, they saw him almost at once a few hundred yards away, a solitary figure motionless on the bank, rod in hand. Quickening their footsteps, they hurried through the wet grass, and only when they were within feet of him did he become aware of them.

  ‘Good God!’ he exclaimed. ‘What the hell brings you here?’

  ‘We wanted a word, Tony,’ Barry said placatingly. ‘We got off on the wrong foot on Friday, and we need to get things sorted before tomorrow morning.’

  Tony turned his attention back to his line. ‘As far as I’m concerned, they are sorted.’

  ‘Look,’ Dean began, ‘you’ve every right to be annoyed with us putting a spoke in your wheel. It’s just that we were so worried about finances—’

  ‘Point is,’ Tony said expressionlessly, ‘you never listened to me. I’m supposed to be Development Manager – how the hell can I do my job when every time I suggest a new angle or any kind of innovation, you slap me down? It’s been going on for years and frankly I’ve had enough of it. Now that I have my own prototype, it’s time to branch out by myself.’

  ‘But you’d have to start from scratch,’ Barry argued. ‘We’ve got the set-up all ready for you – all you’d have to do is install the machine and off we’d go. And if it’s as successful as you claim, perhaps you could adapt it for use in other departments.’

  Tony gave a grim smile. ‘If you’d spoken like that a year ago,’ he said, ‘things would be very different now.’

  ‘What are your terms for staying?’ Barry demanded urgently. ‘A partnership? You’ve got it. Salary increase? Definitely, once we’re out of the wood. Name your price. Sole responsibility for—’

  ‘Sorry, you’re wasting your breath. My mind’s made up.’

  Barry bit back his irritation. ‘At least let’s talk it over. So far, we know nothing about this machine except that it dramatically cuts production time. We only have your word for it; give us a demonstration, and we can discuss the best means of—’

  ‘Of what? Taking over control of it, and shunting me sideways?’

  ‘Of course not!’ Barry ran a frustrated hand through his hair. ‘God, what do you think we are – a couple of crooks?’

  Lifting his line out of the water, Tony propped the rod against an adjacent rock before turning to face them. ‘Look, boys, I’m sorry it’s come to this. I don’t want to leave with any bad feelings, so let’s end our association on a friendly note. I’ll work out my month’s notice and then I hope we can part with a handshake.’

  Barry had begun pacing back and forth. ‘You don’t seem to realize that you’re arbitrarily consigning us to the scrap heap!’ He paused, trying to control his breathing. ‘We’re on our uppers, as you well know, and you have it in your power to save us. If we have to beg, OK, we’re begging. Postpone going for a year. Keep control of your patent, if that’s what you want, but put it to use at Ferrises. Then, once it’s established and we’ve built one of our own under licence, you can go down south or wherever and start up yourself. That’s not asking too much, surely?’

  Tony turned towards his rod. ‘You’ll have to excuse me, it’s time I was breaking down my tackle. We’re eating at the George this evening, and I’m in need of a long, hot shower.’

  Barry caught hold of his arm and spun him round, his face infused with rage.

  ‘Haven’t you heard a word I just said?’

  Tony stiffened. ‘Didn’t you hear what I said?’

  ‘Be reasonable, man! This year or next – it’s surely immaterial to you, but the difference between life and death for us!’

  ‘I’m sorry, but as I said this has all come too late. Now, please let go of my arm. I have to pack up.’

  Barry’s hands dropped to his sides. His breath was coming in ragged gasps and for a timeless moment the two men stood face-to-face. Then, with a smothered exclamation, Barry balled his fist and lashed out, catching Tony on the chin and sending him crashing to the ground.

  ‘Barry!’ Dean stared at him, appalled, but Barry, all control gone, had bent to pick up a rock and, before his brother realized his intent, brought it down forcibly on Tony’s head. Then, impelled by his own momentum, he began to rain blow after blow on the man beneath him, whose struggles abruptly ceased. Frozen with horror, Dean watched unbelievingly for another heartbeat before leaping forward, seizing his brother’s arm and holding it, suspended, inches above the injured man.

  ‘My God, Barry, what are you doing?’ he gasped. ‘You could have killed him!’

  Barry wiped a hand across his mouth, his shoulders heaving. Releasing his arm, Dean dropped to his knees, feeling increasingly frantically for a pulse. And found none. White-faced, he stared up at his brother and slowly shook his head. ‘You have killed him!’ he whispered.

  The next few minutes were a blur as they acted instinctively and in silence. Somehow they succeeded in half-carrying, half-dragging Tony’s body to his boat, still bobbing alongside, and tipped him inside. It wasn’t until they’d scrambled in after him and started rowing that Barry glanced up, and froze.

  ‘What is it?’ Dean demanded hoarsely. Trembling from shock, he was concentrating on rowing and preventing himself from vomiting.

  ‘There’s someone up there – on that ledge!’ Barry swallowed convulsively. ‘God Almighty, could he have seen what happened?’

  Dean followed his pointing finger. ‘You’re imagining things,’ he said through chattering teeth. ‘There’s no one there.’

  ‘But there was! It was a flash of light that caught my eye – could have been reflection from a pair of binoculars, or a camera.’ Barry’s voice rose. ‘God, Dean, what should we do? Go after him?’

  ‘Get real – if there was anyone, we’ve no idea who he was. Come to that, he wouldn’t know who we are, either. Just keep your head and let’s concentrate on ditching Tony, then we can get the hell out.’

  In the middle of the lake they paused to look around them. There was no sign of a living soul, only the surrounding hills to bear witness to their act. Without a word they heaved Tony and the rock that had killed him over the side, watched numbly as the waters closed over him, and started back again.

  ‘I know who he was!’ Barry said suddenly.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The bloke on the ledge; his sweatshirt stood out like a sore thumb against the stone. It looked familiar, but I couldn’t place it.’

  ‘So who was he?’

  ‘The father whose kid tried to pinch the ball at the fête. Someone said they’re the family who are renting the Barlow cottage – where Viv and I stayed a few years back, remember? When she was on her rural history kick?’

  ‘Well, he still won’t know who we are, even if he saw anything. He might just have arrived.’

  ‘But we have to make sure,’ Barry insisted agitatedly. ‘He saw me close up at the fête – if it was binoculars, he’d have no difficulty recognizing me.’

  ‘Bloody hell! What can we do?’

  ‘Call round there with some excuse – a lost dog or something – and see if he reacts.’ They scrambled ashore, where Tony’s rod was propped against the rock, its iridescent fly gleaming in silent accusation.

  ‘Put the rod and line in the boat,’ Dean directed, shaking, ‘and we’ll shove it off.’ Odd, he thought fleetingly, how he seemed to have taken charge, but Barry was unravelling fast. ‘Leave the o
ars in the rests,’ he added. ‘With luck, it’ll look as though he fell overboard.’

  ‘He did,’ Barry said grimly, but he followed his brother’s instructions without question. Then, after a swift look round to make sure no one was about, they hurried back to their car.

  As she’d intended, Emma had put the children to bed earlier than usual, and within minutes both were sound asleep. There was no meal to prepare – after a substantial lunch in Hawkston, she and Mark had decided on a snack supper – so she settled down to write the postcards she’d bought, first to her parents, then to Mark’s, filling the available space on each with her small, neat writing as she detailed their doings of the past week. Then, as she picked up the card destined for Lynne and Harry, it occurred to her that while Kirsty was asleep it would be a good time to extract her beloved Bear and do the necessary repair.

  Having managed to retrieve the toy without disturbing her daughter, she returned downstairs with it and her sewing kit, and quickly and neatly secured the ear. She was snipping the thread when she heard the screeching of tyres outside, and the next minute the door burst open and Mark half-fell into the room. She came to her feet, staring at him in alarm.

  ‘Mark! For God’s sake, what’s wrong?’

  White-faced and dishevelled, he drew a shuddering breath. ‘I’ve just seen someone being murdered!’ he said.

  Jerkily, repetitively, he recounted what he’d seen from his vantage point on the ledge.

  ‘I was using the zoom lens,’ he ended. ‘It was like having a ringside seat.’ He shivered convulsively.

  Emma’s wide, frightened eyes dropped to the camera still round his neck. ‘And you actually recorded it all?’

  He nodded and, divesting himself of the camera, opened it with fumbling fingers, extracted the film and replaced the camera in the bag.

  ‘Then take it to the police! Straight away!’

  ‘God!’ he exclaimed. ‘Why the hell isn’t there a bloody phone? I’ll have to go down to the village.’

  ‘Don’t waste time phoning!’ Emma urged. ‘Take it straight to the police station in Hawkston – it’s evidence!’

  He hesitated. ‘It’s late now; there won’t be anyone there.’