She Lies Hidden: a spell-binding psychological suspense thriller

by C. M. Stephenson

Someone shouts upstairs, it’s Rosie – the vicar is leaving. Judith reaches for Thomasine’s hand again, there’s a sadness in her eyes. ‘No one believed me last time, but I thought I’d give it one last shot.’

  That was the end of their conversation, Thomasine almost files it away as nonsense, she’s heard tales like that before, all had come to nothing. Yet a tiny strand of hope works its way through her psyche, by night time she’s decided that she’ll go looking for it.

  24

  He’s on his knees pulling shirts and jeans out of the washing machine when the front door slams shut. The dog wallops towards him, tail wagging, it pushes itself between him and the washer. ‘Hello, boy, have you missed me.’ He gives the dog’s ears a hard rub. ‘I’ve missed you, too.’

  ‘What the—’ Her heavy soled walking boots hit the base of his coccyx with such voracity he falls forward, a searing white pain roars up his spine, he knocks his head on the machine door. Tears spring to his eyes, a dark red flush floods his face. He scrambles to his feet, rounds on her.

  ‘That hurt!’ He towers over her, rubs his back with his hand.

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’ The words spit out of her mouth, she swings back her leg for another attack.

  The dog’s ears go back, it lets out a low growl, he grabs it by the collar, pulls it into him, in front of him. ‘Stop! Stop—you’re terrifying the dog!’

  ‘I’ve had enough. What were you thinking, abandoning me at the gallery without a word.’ She screeches in his face, ‘Screw you!’ Turns on her heels, races up the stairs, the slammed door a thunderclap that shatters his ears.

  He rushes out into the hallway. Lottie’s standing outside their bedroom, a suitcase in her hand. He takes the bottom step, the case hurtles towards him, he leaps back, it lands at his feet, inches away from the dog’s head. Horace scrambles away, whimpering. Still in shock he steps over the case and sprints up the stairs. She moves across the landing, goes into the bathroom, slides the bolt across the door.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ he whispers through the glass over and over. ‘I’m home now, don’t be angry with me, Lottie.’ He taps on the door, ‘Lottie, don’t be angry with me.’

  His pleas are met with the sound of running water.

  ‘I went walking along the coast. Come out, I’ll make us dinner, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?’

  He can see the outline of her body through the mottled glass. He shrugs his shoulders, climbs the stairs up to the studio. She’ll calm down, he thinks to himself. She always does.

  An image flashes across his eyes. Her and Carlo, naked, in the hotel room, on the bed. He sinks onto the wooden steps. Blinks the image away – she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t dare.

  That first sight of her. It took his breath away. The summer holidays, the inner city, the park, the open water pool and tennis courts. The pool had been his favourite watching place. There had been so many water nymphs to watch. None, since Karen, had truly taken his fancy.

  The sun glinting on the surface of the water, the yellow bikini clinging to her wet body, like an arrow she shot into the water, he could hear nothing but his own pulse beating in his neck. She burst up through the water, arms raised, the bikini top slipped to her waist. She laughed, yanked it back up, then dove beneath the water again. Her hand gripped around her friend’s ponytail, pulling her under.

  She’d been oblivious to his watchful eyes.

  Until he’d made himself known, weeks later. A slow courtship, helped by small gifts – makeup, perfume, clothes. And, when the time came, a little something for the journey.

  A new start, a new name.

  Two hundred and fifty miles away, where no one came looking.

  25

  It had been weeks since the exhibition, yet the memory bled into Jimmy’s psyche – soured everything. He’d know that face anywhere.

  The artist had turned his head, just a fraction, as he’d pulled on his coat, enough for him to see that profile. If Paula his ex-wife had been there, she would have fawned over him. Just like she had back in the day.

  Shame he didn’t fancy her – life would have been a lot easier. A grim smile crosses his lips. But then I wouldn’t have Fizz, Felicia, so it wouldn’t.

  It was him. Still fit as a butcher’s dog by the look of him, the strong nose, the full lips. He was the last person Jimmy expected to see. It seems a peculiar coincidence that they’d encountered each other. Especially after all that stuff in the newspaper. He knew then he’d have to pay him a visit, make sure he didn’t go blabbing about their shared past.

  He flicks down the driver’s shade, squints into the distance, the long straight road disappears into the horizon, miles and miles of barren fields on either side. A woman’s voice tells him he’s about to arrive at his destination.

  Further ahead, a couple of detached properties come into view, an ornate concrete water tower turned into a gleaming glass palace and beyond that, set back from the road with a small garden in front of it, a barn conversion, a motorbike parked in front of it. That must be it. He doesn’t stop.

  A quarter of a mile further along, there is a lay-by on the opposite side of the road; he does a 360 degree turn, manoeuvres the car into it. The sun hovers above the hills, giving the landscape a burnt red glow. Jimmy takes a torch out of the boot before jogging his way back down the road towards the barn.

  His hand grips the large wrought iron door knocker. He tilts his head to the side, perhaps he needs to check the lay of the land first. He turns right, follows the path around the rear of the building. The path is cluttered with wheelbarrows, bags of soil and gardening tools, it opens up into a large garden, dotted with chestnut trees, with a river beyond. Jimmy feels a twinge of envy; he has no real outside space. An abstract art installation stands in the middle of the garden, a cluster of metal tubes of varying heights; floral patterns cut through the rusting metal. The setting sun soaks them in a rich ochre light.

  A glaring white light burns through the French doors, hidden by the woodshed, he stands in the half-dark, peers through the glass. The kitchen looks in disarray. Pans and plates, caked with half-eaten food, are piled high by the sink. Two swollen black plastic bags lean against an overflowing rubbish bin.

  They’re sat at the table, alone, between them a bottle of red wine and two glasses. Jimmy gets a better look at him, has time to take it all in. He looks older than she is, still has a full head of curly hair. And has that wide-shoulder narrow waist thing going on that the girls used to love. Always the first one to get his shirt off in the club. A six-pack before six-packs were invented.

  He watches as the man rubs his forehead with the palms of his hands, sinks back into a high-backed wooden chair. A look of despair spreads across his face.

  The wife jumps up, Carlo introduced them that night at the gallery – she’d been drunk, said that her husband had abandoned her. Now, she paces around the room, her fingers jabbing at his chest. Her voice muffled by the double-glazed window. Her short skirt reveals slender legs, her hair bobs about in a ponytail at the back of her head. Without makeup, she looks younger – from the back, she could be late teens. Yet when she turns… but even so, she must be at least twenty years younger than him.

  Silently, Jimmy steps out of the shadows, drops to his knees, works his way towards the door, takes cover behind a large wicker table and chairs. He peers through a narrow line of vision.

  Her voice rings through the glass.

  ‘What do you mean you’ve got to go away for a few weeks, you’ve just come back, for God’s sake.’

  His former friend jumps up from the table, grabs hold of her arm, pulls out a chair, roughly thrusts her down into it. As he squats down on his knees, her face hardens. His voice is too low for Jimmy to hear. Her lips twist into a sulk.

  ‘What about—’

  ‘You’ll… look…wrong…’ The words leak through the glass like raindrops.

  Her shoulders slump, he pulls her out of the chair and into his arms, tilts her chi
n up to his face, kisses her full on the lips. She pulls back, thumps his chest with her fist, he runs his fingers down her spine, kisses the nape of her neck, lifts her top. She averts her face, looks out into the darkening sky, towards Jimmy, her eyes have a vacant look, her lips set in a hard line. He eases her body onto the table, a glass of wine topples over, the dark red liquid seeps into the wood, he lowers his body on top of her, his hands move up her thighs.

  Jimmy blinks, he feels like a voyeur, a pervert, some sort of freak. A shudder rides up his spine, his face flushes with embarrassment. He jerks his head away, picks up the torch, silently moves away from his hiding place, around to the front of the house.

  Across the fields, the sun slips behind the horizon, a row of leafless oaks stand guard like angels of wrath.

  26

  ‘DCI Phillips? This is a surprise.’ Thomasine takes a step back into the hallway.

  ‘Hi… I thought I’d wait—until after the funeral. I tried you at home.’ She sounds breathless, as though she’s been running. ‘… you’ll have to excuse… asthma…cold weather sets it off. It’s—’ She stamps her feet, the base of her boots clogged with snow.

  ‘Bloody freezing up here. I know. You’d best come in.’

  ‘Thanks. And… call me Mel… can I call you Thom? Everyone said—’

  ‘No problem, fine.’ Unbothered by her own appearance, hair unwashed for days, a tatty black sweatshirt splattered in paint, Thomasine turns her back on her, shows her through to the kitchen.

  ‘Thanks.’ Mel pulls off her jacket, warms her hands on the fire then perches on the end of the settee. She studies the room as Thomasine makes them both a hot drink. Her breathing eases.

  ‘It’s a—’

  ‘An old place.’ There is no trace of a smile on Thomasine’s face. She shrugs her shoulders, ‘Mam would never invest in the place.’

  Mel nods her head in understanding. ‘Thanks, nice and hot,’ she takes the cup out of Thomasine’s hands, ‘just what I need. I tried your home first then it dawned on me you’d probably be here. I thought I’d take a risk, see if you were in. I had a walk through the fields first. I hope you don’t mind.’

  She’s been snooping. A frown creases Thomasine’s forehead. She sits down solidly in her seat, wonders at what point in life her smile became a stiff upper lip. She can feel the hardening in her cheeks, the clenching of her jaw. It’s this place, she tells herself. She lifts the cup to her mouth; an aroma of tea and ammonia wafts up her nostrils. Her fingernails are lined with the grime of two days’ work. Peeling off wallpaper; scrubbing off the mould and damp that lay beneath it for near on forty years. Then treating it with bleach.

  ‘Oh, I nearly forgot, I brought something.’ Mel leans down, rummages in her handbag, pulls out a white paper bag. ‘I hope you like doughnuts.’

  Thomasine shakes her head. ‘Not for me, thanks.’

  Without apparent disappointment, Mel slips them back in the bag. Her eyes soften. ‘I hope the funeral went okay.’

  Thomasine doesn’t respond, it’s dangerous ground that she’s not ready to dig over.

  ‘Anyway, I thought it was time you had an update, that’s the least we can do.’ Her hands reach out for a cushion, then another. She nestles back into the settee, appears relaxed, comfortable. Her long legs clad in skinny black jeans and wellingtons, a russet brown cable knit jumper clings at the hips.

  A microscopic flash of irritation flickers across Thomasine’s face. This making yourself at home business feels like an intrusion. She throws another log on the fire, the room is already roasting hot, a bellow of flames flies up the chimney.

  ‘I thought I’d give you a rundown on the Coroner’s report first. Would that be okay? I don’t want to patronise you but—’

  ‘Just tell me as it is,’ her lips form a hard line. 'Don’t dress anything up for me.’

  Mel rests her mug of coffee on her thigh, takes a moment to gather her thoughts. ‘I’ll do the edited version if that’s alright.’ She carries on without waiting for an answer. ‘The radiocarbon dating tests indicate the remains were in the ground between thirty and forty years. A hair sample was taken – it was dark brown, no sign of grey. The Coroner says the remains appear to be from a female, aged between five and twenty-five, although given the length of the thigh and shin bones they are likely to be over twelve years of age. One femur is intact. Approximate height was five-foot-eight inches.’

  Unexpectedly, Thomasine is consumed by a sense of relief, of detachment – this is the landscape she understands, language she’s heard every day of her career. ‘So, she was likely to have been in the ground since the time of her disappearance?’

  Mel nods her head. ‘Most likely, although of course, we can’t prove that at this moment. Sadly, about twenty-five percent of your sister’s remains are either lost or deteriorated.’ Her voice drops a tone, ‘There were some animal bones caught up in the remains.’ They both know what that means. Scavengers fighting—Thomasine blanks the images out as quickly as they come.

  ‘The rear of the skull shows damage. We can’t ascertain at this moment in time whether she was killed there or somewhere else.’ Mel hesitates for a moment, rubs at an invisible spot on her denim jeans. ‘We’ve found remnants of what we believe are her underwear and her shoes. So far, we’ve not been able to find any other clothing. There is no way of knowing—’ Her face darkens, ‘anyway, the Coroner said that injuries to the rear of the skull indicate that that part of the skull may have been a weak spot, the bone less dense. She could have just hit her head on something, it could have been an accident.’

  The fire crackles, pops, spits out an ember. Thomasine gets to her feet and stubs it out with the heel of her boot. ‘Sorry, go on.’

  ‘There was no need for facial reconstruction as the upper jaw was intact and had already been matched against Karen’s dental records. As you probably know, she had four premolar teeth removed eight weeks prior to her disappearance. Metal fillings in the lower left molar and lower right pre-molar are a full match.’ Her head drops, she picks up her mug. ‘Unfortunately, the tree root system did a lot of damage to her skeleton. The excavators did further damage.’

  Mel is silent for a moment, Thomasine watches her facial expressions, she can tell Mel is gathering her thoughts.

  ‘What I’m going to tell you next is confidential.’ She holds up her hand, ‘sorry if that sounds condescending, that’s not my intent. I’m going to ask you to keep this to yourself.’ Thomasine knows what is coming. ‘I know how close—’

  ‘You don’t have to finish that sentence,’ Thomasine’s eyes lock in on hers.

  ‘Fine, I’ll leave it at that. A single gold circular hoop sleeper earring was found amongst the debris, there was no DNA on it, nothing in the records indicates that Karen had a pair of earrings like that.’

  She waits for confirmation.

  ‘Karen had her ears pierced for her birthday. We’ll need to check her jewellery box. If Mam were—’ A squall of wind sucks at the window, ‘I’ll find out somehow.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Thom. I’m trying to find my way here. It’s the first time I’ve dealt with a situation like this.’ She puts the mug of coffee down on the floor. ‘I checked Veronica Lightfoot’s case file. It appears she was wearing a pair like that the weekend she disappeared.’

  Thomasine sits up straight. Mel waits for her to ask her to leave.

  ‘So, what’s next then?’

  ‘Next?’ Mel feels thrown off course, she expected an argument, a heated response at least. Did she already know? Thomasine’s face is impassive.

  ‘I know Rosie is your friend but that shouldn’t get in the way of the investigation, should it?’

  A knot of irritation fills Thomasine’s chest. ‘I know she was wearing earrings when she disappeared. I’ve read Veronica Lightfoot’s missing person report hundreds of times. I could probably recite it word for word. I’m not one for jumping to conclusions. What I’ve heard about Veronica, from her sister
and mother, is that murdering my sister is the last thing she would do.’

  ‘Okay…’ Mel sits back in her chair, lets out a breath, ‘let’s start again then. Let’s focus on Karen. I’d like to ask you about the night Karen disappeared.

  ‘That may be a problem.’

  ‘Why would that be?’

  The air seems to go out of her lungs, Thomasine shakes her head. ‘I was eight-years-old. I’ve had nightmares for years, I’ve no idea of what the truth is and what’s not.’ Stone-faced, she folds her arms across her chest. ‘And the second?’

  ‘I know you’ll have been expecting this. I’d like to have a look around the house, and the outbuildings. I’ve seen the initial investigation files, there are huge gaps that need filling.’

  ‘Okay, when do we start?’

  ‘This week sometime, we’ll ring first.

  Thomasine has the overwhelming urge to tell her to piss off, instead she says ‘Okay,’ unfolds her arms, rests them by her side.

  Mel picks up her coat, shrugs it on. ‘I’d better be off. We’ll see you within the next couple of days.’

  ‘You bet you will.’ Thomasine is already in the hallway, mind racing, her hand on the lock of the front door.

  Mel walks out into the yard, pivots on her heels. ‘The dogs? I assumed you had dogs?’ Her eyes stop on the large kennel outside the barn.

  The question catches Thomasine off guard, her face fell. ‘We did… she did, Mam that is. Poison… that’s what I think anyway, the vet’s doing tests. Probably the press, I wouldn’t put anything past them.’

  ‘Oh, God, I’m sorry. Have you any idea who—’

  ‘No, but when I find out I wouldn’t like to be them.’ Thomasine tries to stop the tears from reaching her eyes. Too late, she wipes them away with the sleeve of her jumper.

  ‘When did—’

  ‘The funeral, the morning of the funeral.’

  Mel shakes her head, lets out a sigh.