1911021494

by MICHAEL HAMBLING

  Sophie nodded to Spence. She felt as though she was ready to collapse into a heap on the ground. But her protective shell remained in place.

  The man at the door smiled apprehensively and asked them in. He had a slight stoop and a thin face. He showed them into a neat sitting room.

  ‘I’m James Howard. My wife Florence is in the kitchen, so I’ll just get her if you don’t mind waiting. Please have a seat.’

  Sophie looked around her. Hanging in a prominent position and turning sepia with age, was a photo of a young man. He had an open, smiling face and long hair. Sophie took out her purse and extracted the photo that her mother had given her that morning. It showed a teenage Susan Carswell and the same fair-haired young man.

  ‘Mum, I feel as if I’m about to fly apart. It’s like when I gave birth to Jade, and took too much gas and air. Everything just feels weird.’

  ‘I can hardly speak myself. I’m too choked. Please, you do this. They’re your grandparents. I just . . .’ She didn’t finish.

  Just then a woman entered the room slowly, followed by James Howard. Sophie replaced the photo in her bag and stood up.

  ‘This is my wife, Florence. Now, who are you again?’ He looked anxiously at Sophie. ‘I hope it’s nothing bad.’

  ‘I’m Sophie Allen, from Dorset police. But I’m not here on official business. This is my mother, Susan Carswell. I have something so wonderful to tell you that I really don’t know how to start. So I’m going to blunder straight into it. You may need to hold on to your hats.’

  She approached the elderly lady and took her hand.

  ‘I’m your granddaughter. My mother, Susan here, became pregnant by Graham shortly before he vanished and I’m the result.’

  The elderly couple stood immobile.

  ‘Even better, I have two daughters. So you have two great-granddaughters, Hannah and Jade.’

  Sophie showed her the photo of her mother and father at the student party.

  ‘This is the only photo we have. It was taken soon after they met. Isn’t that right, Mum?’

  Susan nodded. Sophie put her arm around Florence and took hold of James’s hand.

  ‘My grandparents. We’ve found you after all these years.’

  * * *

  They were sipping tea, seated around a pine table in the conservatory. Apart from the occasional tear, the crying had largely stopped. Sophie sat silently next to Florence, gently squeezing her hand.

  ‘We’ve always wondered who Susan was. Your name appears in the last few entries of his diary. So Graham never knew about you being pregnant?’ asked Sophie’s grandfather.

  ‘No. How could he?’ Susan whispered. Her voice trembled. ‘We only became lovers a week or two before he disappeared. The last time was in his room at the halls. I can still remember the music that was playing on his stereo set. It was at the very end of the autumn term, and he was planning to catch the last train home to Gloucester. We left together and parted on the street corner. I went home and he turned towards the city centre to get a bus to the station. I never saw him again. I nearly died of a broken heart.’

  She started sobbing again. Sophie had never seen her mother so emotional. She had always been so cool and controlled, almost distant in her manner. But now more than forty years of self-restraint was dissolving away in front of her daughter’s eyes.

  ‘And how did your parents react when they found out?’

  ‘They threw me out,’ she answered. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

  ‘What?’ The elderly couple looked utterly shocked.

  ‘Just when I needed them most. I was confused and terrified and felt so alone. And so vulnerable. I was only sixteen, and they threw me out onto the streets. I’ve never forgiven them. I never will.’

  ‘Oh, my dear,’ said Florence. She went to Susan and embraced her as tightly as her tiny form would permit.

  ‘Graham didn’t know I was only sixteen. I lied to him about my age. I pretended that I was older and working in one of the local banks, but I was still at school. I loved him so much. I wanted to kill myself when he didn’t come back. So many times I felt like killing myself.’ Her words emerged in a mixture of whispers and choking sobs. ‘I went from a schoolgirl’s dream of heaven to a hellish reality in a couple of weeks. That Christmas was wonderful. We were apart, but the feeling of being so totally in love was overpowering. I really was walking on air. And then he didn’t come back. I called at his halls on the day we’d arranged and he wasn’t there. I asked some of the other students, but they didn’t know anything. They were all busy catching up with their own gossip. I thought that he’d just been delayed or was ill, so I kept going back. And, of course, he was never there. I panicked. I cried all the time. And the students in the rooms around his didn’t seem concerned. Then one of their girlfriends said that he’d probably switched to a different university. London, maybe. And I cried even more. I felt humiliated because they began to guess that I was much younger than them. So I stayed away for a while and just wrote, but never got an answer. Weeks went by, and I missed a period. I was frantic with worry. I couldn’t talk to my parents about it, so I confided in my Auntie Olive. She was a nurse and arranged for me to get a check-up. When I knew I was pregnant, the first thing I did was go back to his room, but it was still empty. I was still in my school uniform. I saw the students whispering to each other. I felt so empty. I left and never went back. I told my parents about the pregnancy soon afterwards.’

  ‘How did you survive?’ Florence asked.

  ‘My aunt took me in. She was wonderful. She looked after me during the pregnancy, and then found me a job as a cleaner at the local doctors’ surgery after Sophie was born. Once Sophie was old enough, I got a job on the reception desk. For the last twenty-five years I’ve been the practice manager.’

  ‘And have you ever married?’ said Florence.

  ‘No. I had several serious relationships. One came very close to marriage, but there always seemed to be that little something missing. I couldn’t go through with it. I have a man-friend at the moment, but I can’t say where it’s heading.’ She paused. ‘Looking back on it all now, it seems as though it happened to another person. A few short weeks that shaped my life. All those years ago, but sometimes it’s as clear as yesterday. I watched and worried when Sophie became a teenager, and now I worry about her daughters. Sometimes I can’t believe that it all happened. But then I look at Sophie and I know that it was all real, it really did happen. And he really did exist.’

  There was a silence. Finally Florence turned to her granddaughter.

  ‘And you, Sophie?’

  Sophie spoke as calmly as she could, but it wasn’t easy. ‘I owe everything to my mother. My whole life. There’s nothing in my life that isn’t down to her in one way or another. She loved and cherished me throughout my childhood. She got me through my difficult years as a teenager. She made me work at my studies. She encouraged me never to give up. I went to Oxford and studied for a law degree. And here I am, a detective chief inspector. I have a husband who I love dearly and two daughters, Hannah and Jade. And now I have found my grandparents. I am filled with so much mixed-up emotion that I can’t speak properly.’

  ‘Oh my goodness,’ Florence said. ‘Our granddaughter. For forty-three years I’ve been eaten away by bitterness. I’ve hidden it from everybody, even James. And now it’s gone — you’ve lifted it. It’s almost too much for my old body and mind to take.’ She looked at Sophie shyly. ‘Can I meet them soon? Hannah and Jade?’

  ‘Of course, Gran. I’m not one to hang about, you know.’

  Sophie’s mobile phone started ringing. She glanced at the caller display.

  ‘Sorry, everyone, I have to take this.’ She walked out to the hallway, and tried to compose herself. ‘Hello, Barry. I didn’t expect to hear from you again so soon.’

  * * *

  The call had come into the Swanage police station at nine twenty-seven precisely. The receptionist who took the call was very clear o
n this point. She had just made herself a coffee to wash down her painkillers. Her younger sister’s hen party had been rather too raucous for a Monday evening. She’d drunk too much, had mixed her drinks and was now suffering the consequences. She had glanced at the clock as she swallowed the first tablet and realised she had another eight hours to get through. The ringing of the telephone jarred. She listened to the caller with increasing disbelief.

  ‘And where exactly are you, sir?’ She waited. ‘I’m sorry. It sounded as if you said you are calling from the top of Ballard Down. Oh, you did say that. But how can you possibly see the top surface of the Agglestone?’

  She listened again. ‘Are you sure it’s a body, and not just a bit of tarpaulin or an old coat that’s caught and flapping in the wind?’

  She waited for the response. ‘Okay. I’ll pass it on and get someone to check it out. Can you stay where you are until someone reaches you?’

  She listened again. ‘Sorry, sir. I forgot that the weather can get a bit blowy up there. Give me your details, please, and your home address, and we’ll be in touch as soon as we can.’

  She replaced the phone.

  ‘Oh, God,’ she groaned to nobody in particular. ‘Why couldn’t it have been a normal, quiet day?’

  * * *

  Half an hour later, DS Barry Marsh took the call from the officers in the squad car. He drove out to Studland village with his young assistant, DC Jimmy Melsom.

  Melsom looked puzzled. ‘Sorry, sir. I didn’t catch all the details. What’s going on?’

  ‘Apparently there’s a man’s body lying on the top of the Agglestone. And it doesn’t look as though the death was natural. Someone out walking on the top of Ballard Down spotted it through his binoculars and phoned in. A squad car unit went out to investigate. We need to go and assess whether it is suspicious and whether forensics are needed.’

  ‘Sounds weird to me. Why would anyone put a body up there? Surely, if you’d killed someone, you’d dump the body in a pond, or down a pit? There are enough of those around here. Why drag it to the top of a huge rock? Are you sure someone isn’t just taking the mickey?’

  ‘Ours is not to reason why, Jimmy. Let’s just do what we’re told, eh?’

  Chapter 2: The Agglestone

  Tuesday, Week 1

  The Agglestone lies about a mile inland from the small, coastal village of Studland. It is a huge anvil-shaped lump of sandstone perched on a mound rising from the grim sparseness of Black Heath. In winter its brooding presence dominates the heath.

  Marsh left the car in a narrow lane. A crime scene tape was already stretched across the footpath leading to the rock, with a squad car parked close by. A uniformed officer came across to greet them.

  ‘Can’t we get any closer in the car?’ asked Melsom.

  Marsh gave him a withering look. ‘And churn up the surface of the track? Come on, Jimmy, you’re a detective now. The first thing I did was to order the area to be sealed off. The paths around here are all sandy. Even just a couple of vehicles will wipe out any tracks. I just hope the squad that got here first haven’t ruined the surface.’

  Melsom looked crestfallen. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Morning, sir,’ said the uniformed constable. ‘We have two men at the rock itself, and the other car is at the north end of the path. The trouble is that there are so many paths all over the heath. We haven’t been able to close them all yet. Once we get another couple of squad cars here, we can seal the whole area.’

  ‘Any medical people or forensics here yet?’ asked Marsh.

  ‘No. But they’re due any time now. We’ve marked out another path so that the main track isn’t disturbed. Just look for the blue markers.’

  The two detectives started the ten minute walk towards the huge rock. A chill breeze was blowing in from the sea.

  ‘Will we have to call in the DCI?’ asked Melsom.

  ‘Only if I think it might be murder. If it’s just a natural death, then we’ll deal with it locally. Disappointed?’ Marsh said.

  ‘Kind of. It opened my eyes a bit, being involved in a murder case. And she took the time to explain things to me. She made me feel important.’

  ‘You got carried away by her looks and brains, didn’t you?’ Marsh laughed.

  ‘All I can say is that life at the station hasn’t been the same since that case closed and she went back to HQ. Even you have to admit that. It’s all a bit boring, isn’t it?’

  ‘But that’s routine police work, Jimmy. In our patch a murder comes along once in a blue moon. You got hooked, didn’t you?’

  Melsom shrugged. ‘I quite fancy being in charge of a murder squad.’

  ‘Get real, Jimmy. She’s got a law degree and a master’s in criminal psychology. What have you got? A handful of GCSEs?’

  ‘But I could work at it. You know, get the force to sponsor me with the Open University or something. Think of McGreedie, that DI at Bournemouth. He didn’t come up by the fast track. She thinks a lot of him too. He’s really good.’

  ‘Do you realise the pressure they’re under? Do you want all that strain and anxiety? I always thought you were an easy-come, easy-go sort of person,’ said Marsh.

  ‘Yeah, but I may not always be like that. Anyway, all I was saying is that they’ve both had an effect on the way I think about things.’

  ‘Well, that’s a good thing. Let’s face it, you weren’t exactly the world’s most thoughtful detective, Jimmy. So if working for her has made you see things differently, it’s all to the good.’

  They approached the Agglestone mound from the east. Two uniformed officers were standing guard, and had marked out a narrow path across the mound’s surface to the base of the huge rock above it. A ladder stood propped against the side.

  ‘We kept our approach to that line you can see,’ said the taller constable. ‘Just to warn you, it isn’t a pretty sight up there. We didn’t go too close.’

  Marsh told Melsom to remain below, and started to climb up. The ladder didn’t take him all the way to the top. He scrambled the rest of the way along a protruding shelf of rock.

  At the summit, in the exact centre of the rock, a man’s body lay spread-eagled. The lower part of the body was still clothed in a ragged pair of jeans but the upper torso was bare. Marsh started by the feet, forcing himself to look at one section of the body at a time, trying to distance himself from the horror in front of him. The throat had been cut, leaving a gaping wound open to the elements. Streaks of dried blood had coagulated around the body’s open mouth. The eyes had been pecked out. Crows probably, thought Marsh. He looked away and took several deep breaths before bending down to look at that curiously gaping mouth. There was something odd about it. He took a pen from his pocket and gently inserted it. The tongue had been cut out. Marsh backed away and sat on the rock edge, looking out to sea.

  A minute or two later, Melsom’s head appeared above the edge of the rock. ‘Are you alright, boss?’

  ‘Don’t come up any further, Jimmy,’ said Marsh. ‘We need to get a forensic cover over the body as quickly as possible in case it starts to rain. Can you phone in to county HQ and arrange it? And you may get that wish of yours sooner than you expected. It’s a murder alright. I’m going to take some quick photos up here, then come down and wait. I want you to do the same around the base. Stay on the marked path as much as you can, but get photos of the ground. I know the forensic photographer will do a far better job than us, but we can make a start in case the rain comes on before they get here.’

  Within another hour the forensic team had arrived and a cover was fixed over the body. SOCO officers were inspecting the surface of the rock and all of the climbable routes to the summit.

  Melsom sipped a coffee provided by one of the support staff.

  ‘So will the chief be coming?’ he asked.

  ‘She’s on leave for a couple of days. She’s in Gloucester for some reason but she’ll try to get here by evening. I’ve been on the phone to her and I’ve spoken to the super
intendent at HQ. What we have to do now is visit this chap, Kirby, who spotted the body this morning. We’d better get going. You can finish that coffee in the car. Give me the keys. I’ll drive.’

  * * *

  David Kirby was a retired civil servant. He lived in a bungalow in a quiet suburb of North Swanage.

  ‘I was expecting you hours ago,’ he said.

  ‘Well, sir, our first priority was to secure the area, check the body and get forensics in,’ Marsh replied. ‘You were next on the list. We need to hear your account in detail, if you don’t mind. May we come in?’

  ‘Of course.’

  He showed them through into a neat sitting room. A stout, grey-haired woman put her head round the door and asked them if they’d like coffee. Kirby didn’t introduce them. Marsh heard the sound of clattering cups.

  ‘So, Mr Kirby. Tell us how you came to be out on Ballard Down, and how you spotted the body.’

  ‘It is a body then, is it? I had trouble convincing the woman I spoke to on the phone,’ said Kirby.

  ‘Well, I’m sure you can understand that it isn’t every day our receptionist gets a call about a body being discovered like that. Most people phone 999 in an emergency. Why did you choose to phone the station?’ Marsh asked.

  ‘I wasn’t absolutely sure about it. It certainly looked like a body, but I thought that perhaps it was a trick caused by the wind or something. I didn’t want to drag the whole of the emergency services out for no good reason.’

  Marsh nodded. ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘I take the dog out for a walk most mornings. That walk is a favourite of mine when the weather’s good enough. I left the house at about eight thirty, after breakfast, and walked up through the houses here to the path that leads up the slope. It was a bit blowy up there, but visibility was good. Once I reached the top I turned inland along the ridge path. The dog chased around looking for rabbits and I wandered slowly west. I always have my binoculars with me because we do get some overwintering birds.’

  ‘So you’re a keen birdwatcher?’ Marsh said.