by Anita Waller
Keeley flinched as she remembered that awful morning; Alice appeared and she let her in. It was unfortunate that Judy had seen her, but they used the shouting to add to the story, in case anyone else had been awake and seen Alice in the back gardens.
Taking Henry to school had been an effort; Keeley had felt sick with nerves. By the time she had got home, Alice had lowered the loft ladder and they were ready to go.
She knew she would never forget waiting in the attics for the sound of the shower, and even now, after all this time, the memory of creeping down those stairs with a hammer in her hand and a knife down her jeans was overwhelming.
It had been hard to lift the ladder back up quietly; they had agreed this would be difficult, but they knew that if Judy came out of the bathroom and saw the loft ladder in the downwards position, it would get very nasty, very quickly.
Keeley tried to brush away her memories of waiting behind the bedroom door, wearing blue rubbery gloves on her hands, watching Judy walk in with a towel wrapped around her; the hammer hitting Judy’s head. It had made a loud thud, and Judy collapsed onto the bed, face down.
‘Alice,’ she whispered, gripping the urn, ‘it was so hard stabbing her with that knife. Even when you appeared to help me turn her over, it didn’t make it any easier. I remember you saying one stab to the heart and it will be over, but it isn’t, Alice, is it? It’s so unreal living with that memory, all that blood. I killed her, Alice, I killed her.’
And all the acting, the pretence that she knew nothing of the will. All orchestrated by Alice. Try not to speak, Alice had advised, then you can’t slip up. They’ll understand you’re upset, you loved Tom.
Keeley placed the urn on the grave and stood. There was no one around, and she took off the lid. She scattered some of the contents around the grave, then replaced the lid.
‘I’m taking the rest of you home with me, Alice,’ she said, keeping her voice low. ‘When I move into Tom’s house, I’m going to put the rest of your ashes into the back garden, so that you’ll always be with me. I’ll always have you to talk to, won’t I.’
She took a carrier bag out of her handbag and eased the urn into it. She didn’t want Pam to know she had brought the ashes; it was her secret.
‘I’ll be grateful for the rest of my life, Alice, for what you did. You gave everything; your good name, your Christian beliefs, your life.’ She continued to whisper to the woman who had helped set her free from Judy, clutching the urn to her heart.
Keeley looked up and saw Pam walking towards her, holding Henry’s hand. He had, for the first time, stayed over at his nanna’s house, and they were clearly becoming the best of friends. Henry ran towards his mother.
‘Nanna says we can go for an ice cream when we’ve finished at Daddy’s grave. Can we, Mummy? Please?’
Keeley smiled at her son and looked up at Pam. ‘Oh, I think we can manage that, don’t you, Nanna?’
Keeley picked up the carrier bag, and they walked across the road to the café, Nanna and Mummy holding on to Henry’s hands. His Clark’s shoes gleamed brightly following the polish Nanna had applied before they had left her house that morning.
Martha smiled and everyone’s heart melted. She had proved to be a good baby, and was recognising faces and voices now.
‘Who’s a good girl then,’ Kat whispered, and Mouse said, ‘Me.’
‘You sure?’ was Kat’s response.
‘Certain. Are you?’
‘Am I what?’
Doris interrupted. ‘A good girl?’
‘I am.’
‘You got something to tell us?’ Doris again.
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Carl Heaton?’
Kat’s face instantly glowed with a pinkish hue. ‘Er…’ She looked at both of them and realised they were choking on their laughter.
‘How long have you known?’
‘Ever since your mum and dad met him when he picked you and Martha up to take you to Monsaldale.’ Doris was enjoying this.
‘What? Mum told you?’
Doris nodded, and Mouse couldn’t stop the huge grin. ‘That afternoon,’ Doris confirmed.
‘And you’ve let me creep around and make up excuse after excuse for all this time?’
‘Yep.’
Kat sank down on a kitchen chair, placed her arms on the table and dropped her head. She pretended to cry, and the other two women instantly stopped their laughter.
‘Aw, Kat, come on, we didn’t mean to upset you. Honestly, we think it’s great,’ Mouse said.
‘It’ll cost you,’ was the muffled reply from Kat.
‘Cost us what?’ Mouse sounded perplexed.
Kat lifted her head. ‘A twenty-four box of Ferrero Rocher, you… you…’
‘Is she mad?’ asked Doris.
‘She’s mad,’ said Mouse.
THE END
Follow Kat and Mouse’s next venture in part three of the trilogy,
Murder Unearthed.
Acknowledgements
There are many people to thank for seeing me through part two of the Kat and Mouse trilogy, starting with my Advance Reading Copy group who have valiantly downloaded book one, Murder Undeniable, read it, and reviewed it. Hopefully they will manage to download this one as well! It is no easy feat, and yet every one persevered until they had the ARC. You’re all stars. There are too many names to list, but you know who you are.
Three people kindly volunteered to allow me to use their names in this book; Danny McLoughlin who wanted to be dismembered into tiny pieces (sorry, Danny, I only managed to blow off your head), Keeley Roy, my next-door-neighbour who stalks me to ask me questions about what happens next in my books because she can’t wait to find out, and Pam Bird, someone who never fails to buy my books and who I have known for over fifty years. A massive thank you to all three of you for your support.
And then we come to little Henry. I ran a competition in my ARC group for a child’s name for Keeley’s son. Gillian Lillford suggested Henry because she has a grandson with that name. I wrote down every name suggested on a great long list, passed them over the fence to Keeley to choose one, and she said she loved Henry.
So thank you, Henry, you’ve played a cracking part in this book!
And special thanks go to the Village Green café in Eyam. This is a real place, serves fantastic scones, and they didn’t mind me using their name!
As always, my thanks go to Fred Freeman and Betsy Reavley of Bloodhound Books and all their staff members, Alexina Golding, Sumaira Wilson, Heather Fitt and Emma Welton. They’re not just publishers, they’re amazing people.
Morgen Bailey, my editor par excellence, as always you inspire me to remove excess words, pay a bit more attention to loose plot holes, and this year we shared the NaNoWriMo journey. Fifty thousand words in thirty days… I did it, did you?
Book three in this trilogy is already started, and will be called Murder Unearthed. See you at the end of that one!
Anita Waller
Sheffield, November 2018
Copyright © 2019 Anita Waller
The right of Anita Waller to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
First published in 2019 by Bloodhound Books
Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
www.bloodhoundbooks.com
For Janet and Peter Stubbs,
long-time friends who have
supported my work from day one.
It’s frightening how easy it is to
commit murder in America. Just a
drink too much. I can see myself
doing it. In England, one feels all the
social restraints holding one back. But
here, anything can happen.
W H Auden
1
Rain lashed down, turning the ground of Eyam churchyard into a quagmire. His wellingtons sank in the mud beyond ankle depth, and lifting the spade was an effort with the weight of the heavy mud on it.
He could see little; a moonless night, although hampering his own vision, was also hampering the vision of the rest of the residents around the area, and that, coupled with it being the iciest night of the winter so far, was keeping everyone indoors. His fingers were numb with cold, but when he went out at the beginning of the evening he had no idea he would end up digging the earth out of a grave to put in a new body to join the current incumbent. He hadn’t brought any gloves. And he’d never killed anyone before, so didn’t know the routine of murder. If he’d known it meant doing this sort of thing, he’d maybe have reconsidered his actions. All she’d had to do was say yes.
He dug until every limb ached and his eyes were stinging with rainwater. He judged he had gone down about three feet and he cautiously peered into the hole. What if he could see parts of a skeleton sticking out of the soil?
Silly sod, he thought. It’s too fucking dark to see owt. But he decided enough was enough, no more excavating in case he found bones. That would proper freak him out.
Her body was lying to the side of where he had been digging, and he tugged on her feet to drag her towards the hole. Her boot came off as he pulled and he dropped her in fright. He wasn’t cut out for this. He picked up her legs once again and slid her across the piled-up mud, balancing her somewhat precariously before giving her the final push that sent her toppling into the grave already sodden with water in the bottom. He shovelled the earth back in.
He could hear his dad’s words echoing around his brain. Always carry a shovel and your wellies in your car boot between October and April, lad. You never know when you’ll need it living out here in t’Peaks. It had been the only advice his dad had given him when he’d rushed home with his driving test pass certificate; perhaps his dad should have told him that if a lass says no, you don’t kill her because of it. He was exhausted.
He flattened the mound as much as he could, then walked up and down on it to compact it further before stepping back and staring at it. ‘Silly cow,’ he growled. ‘You made me do this.’ He spotted the boot that had fallen off. Picking it up he shoved it inside his jacket. He would throw it in somebody’s dustbin when he reached home.
The area looked a mess, mud evident everywhere on the surrounding grassed parts, and he wearily trudged back down to the car, his shovel over his shoulder. He opened the car boot, threw in the heavy spade and decided against changing back into his shoes. He’d have to make sure he cleaned out the footwell before his dad saw it. He’d go mad at the muck in all the nooks and crannies.
He hoped Eyam was far enough away from where he lived in Calver to put the cops off thinking he’d had owt to do with it; he’d have to lie low for a bit, no more drinking, no more going out at night, until the mud had cleared and no one would guess there was a new body in the graveyard.
He didn’t look back as he drove away. He’d not got to know her: a first date. She hadn’t talked much, a quiet lass, said she lived with her mum in Castleton.
He peered into the gloomy night as he drove, wishing he’d done something about the headlight that no longer worked. Good job it was gone midnight and there wasn’t much on the road. He undid his seatbelt so that he could lean forward. He could see naff all. He negotiated his way carefully; his windscreen wipers were nearly useless and that, combined with the missing headlight, was proving to be a pain. He put his foot down and headed towards Stoney Middleton.
He didn’t see the man with the huge Alsatian until the last minute and he swerved to avoid them. He aquaplaned on the surface water pouring down from the hills and smashed into a stone wall. His car stopped without the use of brakes, and his head went through the windscreen. He came to rest atop the wall, with smoke puthering from the engine.
The man with the dog dialled 999, explained where he was, and ran across the road. He dragged what he could see was a youngish chap from the wall and tried to get him away from the car. He didn’t like the look of the smoke.
By the time the ambulance arrived they found him sitting on the kerbside, his dog by his side, and a dead young man held in his arms.
‘Aye,’ he murmured, ‘he’s gone.’
2
Doris Lester looked around the cottage and smiled. Finally she had found the place she had been looking to buy ever since selling her home in Sheffield and moving in with her granddaughter, Mouse.
The death of Alice Small had seen this beautiful little cottage come onto the market and it seemed so simple; Alice’s will stated that it must be sold, the contents auctioned, and the profits split between cancer research and her church, St. Barnabas in Bradwell. Doris had been a cash buyer, and had said take it off the market and I’ll pay your asking price today. The executors of the will had agreed immediately.
And here she was, standing in her new lounge, the keys clutched in her hand.
‘Nan,’ Mouse called from the front door, ‘if I find the box with all the kettle stuff, will you put it on?’
‘I most certainly will.’ She took one more look around the lounge and headed towards the hallway. The items she had put into storage when she left Sheffield wouldn’t be arriving until the following day, but the bits and pieces she had been collecting were split between their three cars, and Kat and Mouse had said they would unload everything. She was to take it easy.
They had made her “take it easy” for several weeks after a fall that had caused some damage to her shoulder, and she couldn’t wait for the time when “take it easy” was no longer the order of the day.
She wandered upstairs. The front bedroom overlooked the village, and despite the rain, the view was spectacular. She understood why Alice had loved it so much. Doris stood at the window for a moment watching as Kat and Mouse collapsed into gales of laughter. She decided it might be better not to ask what had tickled them so much. The rain didn’t seem quite so torrential, and she felt grateful. Her cardboard boxes might get inside without being soaked through.
Going into the back bedroom gave her the most pleasure. This room was for Martha. She didn’t intend losing any of the pleasure she gained from looking after Kat’s six-month old baby. Martha would be able to stay over occasionally, and have her own room at Nanny Doris’s house for as long as she needed one.
Alice had used the room for her craftwork; Doris had seen it when she came to view the house, but everything in the cottage had been removed; the rare antiques, collectibles and beautiful items that Alice herself had made, sold under the terms of the will. Mouse had attended the auction and wiped out any opposition when buying the Robert Thompson breadboard; she never admitted how much she had paid for it, simply saying “the right amount”.
It had pride of place in Mouse’s kitchen at the flat.
Doris decided the back bedroom needed to be white, with pretty floral accessories in keeping with the cottage feel of the place, but still sweet enough to be for a tiny baby. She rather thought her own bedroom would end up like that one day, but for the time being it would remain as Alice had decorated it, peach and cream.
‘Kettle’s in the kitchen, Nan,’ Mouse called up the stairs, then headed out the door to bring in some more boxes. There was a small second reception room, and everything was being stacked in there.
Nothing could take the smile from Doris’s face. This felt so right, this move. She hadn’t known Bradwell and the surrounding area before going to look at the cottage; it had really only been a name on the map. She had enjoyed exploring the different parts of it, and it was indeed lovely. She had delved a little into the history via the Internet, and she knew she was going to be happy here.
She filled the kettle and boiled it, then poured the water away and refilled it. That would have to do for getting rid of any manufacturing dust inside the new appliance, her girls would be thirsty. She made the tea and carried the drinks through to the lounge. Kat had brought her a folding garden chair from her home, giving a nod to Doris’s age, but Kat and Mouse were sitting on the floor, their backs against the wall for support.
‘Right, Nan, it’s all in,’ Kat said. ‘You’re to leave everything as it is. We want you to take it easy.’
‘I can’t take it easy forever, you know,’ Doris said mildly. ‘At some point I shall stop taking it easy and start to give you two a run for your money again.’
There was a knock at the door and everyone looked startled. Mouse scrambled up, placed her cup on the windowsill and leaned around to see the front door. ‘It’s Tessa,’ she said, and went to let her in.
DI Tessa Marsden’s normally bouncy brown hair was flattened by the rain. She ran her fingers through it and then shook it. Drops flew everywhere.
‘Thanks, Tessa,’ Kat said. ‘It’s like having a dog.’
‘I’m dripping.’
‘We can see.’
‘Why?’ Doris asked, suddenly realising this wasn’t wetness from coming from a car, this was proper wetness from being out in the rain for some considerable time.
‘I’ve been to a scene.’
‘A crime scene?’
Tessa hesitated. ‘I don’t know. It’s why I went. There was an RTA on the Stoney Middleton road as you head out to Calver, in the early hours of this morning. Young lad crashed his car into a stone wall, no seatbelt on. Must have died instantly. There was a witness who tried to help, but the lad went straight through the windscreen, and he was travelling pretty fast. The witness said he was dead when he pulled him from the wall. He thought the car might go up in flames, there was a lot of smoke, and he wanted to get him out of the way of that. But he said it was obvious he was dead. When first responders got there, the witness was sat on the kerb holding him. It seemed straightforward. Accidental death, bad weather, speed too high, young driver, and the witness said only one headlight was working.’