Bone Dancer

by Anna-Marie Morgan

  “I could see them both today, if you're available. Or, at least, Craig Maynard.”

  “I’ll ring the school and set it up. I’ll call you back.”

  Yvonne was about to thank him, but the dead tone stopped her in her tracks. Tozer had gone.

  She parked in the car park at Church Stretton School, on Shrewsbury Road, waiting for Will to join her. She leaned on her car, scanning her surroundings

  The school sign bore the mission statement, ‘Achievement for all’. She pondered this as a Honda Civic pulled into the car park and straight into a park space. One smooth movement.

  Will Tozer jumped out and waved.

  She loved his enthusiasm, chatting to him with ease as they made their way into the school.

  Maynard had agreed to speak with them on his rest break, a secretary told them through a hatch, file under one arm and a sheaf of papers under the opposite. She sighed, placing them on her desk, before escorting the detectives to an empty classroom where she asked them to wait. Will agreed to a coffee. Yvonne requested water.

  Craig Maynard walked in without knocking. His brown hair, tousled. He carried an arm full of exercise books which he set down on the top of a desk, taking off his tweed jacket to deposit it on the back of the chair.

  As he started towards them, his hip caught the pile of books. They cascaded in chaos to the floor.

  Yvonne ran to help him pick them up, feeling guilty for taking up his rest time. “Thank you for agreeing to speak with us.”

  “You mean I had a choice?”

  She noticed patches of damp under each of his arms. “We wanted to talk with you about a former friend of yours.”

  He frowned at her. “Former friend?”

  “Nicole Benoit.”

  He drew in a sharp breath. “Nicole? You found her? Is she okay?”

  “We found her.” Yvonne nodded. “But, she’s not okay.”

  He shook his head, his mouth open. “I don’t understand.”

  Tozer pulled a face. “Didn’t you see the news yesterday? Or this morning?”

  “I was out last night. I didn’t see the news.”

  “No newspapers?”

  “Not until the weekend.”

  Yvonne accepted her water from the secretary, turning back to Craig. “Mr Maynard, Nicole is dead.”

  He stopped what he was doing. “Dead? How?”

  “Murdered.” Yvonne refrained from giving further detail.

  “But who? Wait, wait a minute. You think it involved me? Is that why you’re here?”

  Yvonne shook her head. “We're finding out more about her. How she spent her time. The best people to tell us are her friends. I understand you were one?”

  “We were close.” He looked at his shoes. “I’m still trying to get my head around the fact she’s dead.”

  “We can give you a few minutes if you like?”

  He shook his head. “No. No, it’s all right. Dead?”

  “Yes. We think she most likely died on or soon after the day she vanished.”

  His face was grey.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like a few minutes?”

  He shook his head.

  “Thank you. She was on a student exchange, right?”

  “She planned to teach geography after she qualified.” He shook his head. “She was so full of life.”

  “How did you meet?”

  “She wanted to improve her English, though it was already decent. I had placed ads in the local newspapers and shops windows. I offered extra-curricular English lessons, aimed at school pupils who needed extra help for upcoming exams.”

  “And Nicole answered your ad?”

  "Yes. She phoned me up and asked if I would consider giving her English tuition and I agreed. Snapped her hand off, actually. I needed the money."

  “And you became friends?”

  “We were close.”

  “Did you have a relationship?”

  “Yes, but not with Nicole. I was seeing someone else, Rose Wilson. This was before we got married. She worked in the library in Church Stretton.”

  “I see. Did Nicole ever want more than friendship?”

  He shook his head. “No. Never.”

  His eyes flickered as though he wasn't sure, or he was being dishonest about their relationship.

  “Was Nicole seeing anyone else?”

  “Not that I know of. She had friends but no-one that close. I mean, there was Stephen Whately. She spent time with him and Terry from The Kings Arms.”

  “What about female friends? Did she have a best friend?”

  He hesitated, shifting in his seat. “Rosie. She was friends with Rosie.”

  Yvonne glanced at her notes. “Was that Rose Wilson, your wife?”

  He cleared his throat. "Yes."

  The bell clamoured above them and Yvonne jumped. Her heart hammered in her chest.

  “I have to go.” He stood up. “Next lesson starts in five.”

  Yvonne nodded. She and Tozer rose from their seats. “Thank you for your time. We’ll let you know if we need to speak to you again. Please call us of you think of anything relevant.”

  She gave the doorbell two pokes. His flat was on the second floor. She detected music coming from an open window. He hadn’t heard her. She poked the bell again and this time the sound of feet followed, hitting the stairs. She smiled.

  “Sorry. Sorry.” He appeared on the doorstep, pushing his wayward hair back with his hand and squeezing himself against the wall to allow her to pass. His feet were bare. “I lost track of the time.”

  She grimaced and looked at her watch.

  “Don’t worry.” He checked his. “I’ll add an extra fifteen minutes onto the end of the session. If that’s okay with you?”

  She nodded. “I would like that. Merci.”

  He was easy to be with. They sat on the floor, surrounded by books and notes. He referred to them at intervals, illustrating his points. She studied his profile. Like an artist, creating a charcoal study for a masterpiece, she would begin at his hairline and end at the strong jawline.

  More than once, he caught her looking. His eyes would linger on her, only to return to the passage they were working on.

  She wondered what he was thinking.

  In the Kings Arms on High Street, lunch was winding down. Staff scurried back and forth, clearing away dishes and seeing to thirsty punters at the bar.

  Yvonne and DS Tozer split up. She headed to a table in the corner of the main room and Tozer proceeded towards the bar to check in with the proprietor.

  Wood-clad walls, stone floors and beamed ceilings gave the long room an intimate atmosphere. Terry Mason had agreed to speak to the officers on his break.

  A blonde-haired, broad-shouldered young man in his mid-twenties, carried a pile of plates and cutlery. She wondered if that was Terry. He shot her a quick glance, his face flushed, shirt coming out of his trousers.

  She smiled and nodded, to let him know it was okay. He could finish what he was doing.

  Tozer was busy eyeing a pint of ale on the bar and licking his lips. Yvonne couldn’t make out the conversation he was having with the owner, but Tozer held his hands up, shaking his head. She guessed he'd refused the pint.

  The DI kicked off her shoes beneath the table and placed her feet on the cold stone tiles. It felt good. She closed her eyes.

  “Sorry about that.”

  She opened them.

  The blonde seated himself opposite her. “Terry. Terry Mason. You’re from the police?” His voice was deeper than she’d expected.

  "Yes. I’m DI Giles." She pointed to the bar. "That is DS Tozer. We’re here to talk to you about Nicole Benoit."

  Terry looked at the table. The corners of his mouth turned down. “I heard.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe it.”

  “I’m sorry.” Yvonne gave him a moment before continuing. “We’re trying to understand who she was and what she was doing in the weeks leading up to her death. You may have informa
tion which could help us.”

  He looked at her, his eyes wandering her face. “Anything I can do to help.”

  Will Tozer joined them at the table, carrying three orange juices.

  Yvonne smiled at the DS and continued. “How did you and Nicole meet?”

  Mason glazed over in a thousand-yard stare. “She liked live music.” He shuddered, as though his breath were a sob, and sighed. “Loved. She loved live music, especially blues. We met at a local gig. I like blues, too.”

  “Were you close?” Tozer pushed a juice towards Terry.

  Terry turned his attention to the DS. “I didn’t kill her.” He ignored the juice.

  “I didn’t say you did.” Tozer’s eyes narrowed.

  Yvonne kept her voice soft. “You cared about her, didn’t you?”

  Terry turned back to her. “I think I loved her.”

  “You think?” Tozer raised his eyebrows.

  Terry cleared his throat. “I loved her. But, when I look back, I’d only known her a few weeks. That’s not long enough, is it? Not long enough to know someone.”

  “What did you love about her?” Yvonne took a sip of her juice.

  “She was beautiful. I loved the way she moved. The way she smiled. The way she tossed her hair. Everything. It obsessed me. From the night I met her, I couldn’t get her out of my head. I had a few sleepless nights, I can tell you.”

  “Did she return your feelings?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t get around to asking her.”

  “But you were close?”

  “Yes.”

  “When did you notice her disappearance?”

  “Early on. I had a call from Craig, to say she’d gone missing and to ask if I’d seen her.”

  “Was that Craig Maynard?”

  “Er, yes.”

  “And had you?”

  “What? Seen her? No.” He pursed his lips and avoided eye contact.

  “You hadn’t seen her that day?”

  “No, and I didn’t seen her the day before.”

  “Can you remember which day you received the phone call?”

  “No. I remember that it was when the police made enquires, so it must have been the day after someone first reported her missing.”

  Yvonne placed one of her cards on the table and pushed it towards Terry. “If you remember anything else, Terry, I want you to call me on that number. Will you do that?”

  “Sure.” Terry nodded and shot a glance back towards the bar.

  “It’s okay, we won’t keep you any longer.” She rose from her seat. “Thank you for your help.”

  “He does my head in.”

  “Who?”

  “Craig.”

  “What has he done, now?” Nicole giggled, accepting the offered glass of wine.

  Rose plumped on the white-leather couch with an exaggerated sigh. “Work, work, work. That’s all I ever hear. I mean, his job is important.” She ran a hand through her platinum curls. “He’s too young to stay in and so am I.”

  “Go out with me.” She settled next to her friend.

  “Oh, I love going out with others, I do. It’s just… well-”

  “It’s okay. I understand.” Nicole touched her friend’s arm. “Remember the things you like about him.” She gazed around the open-plan lounge and kitchen. “He does the housework. This place is stunning. Look at the sparkle on that.” She pointed to the granite countertop.

  “Yeah. He does that.”

  “And he surprises you with... how do you say... gifts?”

  “Yeah.” Rose grimaced.

  “Cooks dinner-”

  “All right. All right.” Rose laughed, pushing her friend. “You made your point. I’m an ungrateful cow.”

  Nicole shrugged. “Talk to him. Tell him how you feel. If he doesn’t know, he won't change.”

  Rose curled her nose. “Can’t you come every time I have a crisis?”

  “I’m not available twenty-four-seven.” Nicole grinned and received a friendly slap for her cheek.

  The bar got busier by the moment.

  The lead singer adjusted his ponytail before tapping the microphone. “One, two, testing… One, two.” A scowl creased his forehead as he struggled to hear. He signalled to his sound engineer to up the volume. The rest of his band appeared oblivious, fiddling with their instruments and playing a few notes here and there. Turning knobs on their amplifiers. Some minutes later, the whole band struck up.

  Nicole took a sip from her half-pint of lager, her eyes wandering the room. Her friend, Rose, had told her Madison Blues was a popular band and they would have to turn away some people. She had made sure she arrived early. She tapped her foot to the beat. Even the sound check had people tapping their feet and swaying.

  A few feet away from her, a well-built, blonde young man was also tapping his foot and swaying to the song. He took off his jacket and set it down on the table behind. The hair at his temples was damp. He caught her looking. Nicole coloured, turning her attention back to the band.

  Within moments he was at her shoulder. “Hi. Have you seen this band before? They’re superb.”

  Nicole shook her head. “No. Never. But my friends told me they rock.”

  “I’m Terry.” He held out his hand.

  Nicole accepted the handshake and smiled, her lids lowered. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “Nicole.”

  He leaned his head to one side. “French?”

  “Oui. Er, Yes. I'm here to study English.”

  “Love your accent.” A smile filled his face. Dark eyes, glistening.

  Nicole liked him. “Thank you. I like yours, too.”

  “Do you mind if I join you?”

  “No. Be my guest.”

  “Your English is great.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He put his mouth closer to her ear. “Your English. It’s great.”

  “Ah, thank you. Perhaps you should tell my tutor.”

  He laughed. “Perhaps, I will.”

  He was easy to be with. In between songs they snatched a few bits of conversation and he insisted on buying her a second lager. However, when he placed a hand in the middle of her back, she stiffened and he removed it again.

  5

  Freinds Reunited

  Tasha’s eyes sparkled as she eyed her plate of food. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” She looked up at Yvonne, as the waitress in ‘La Traviatta’ Italian restaurant, on Park Street, poured their water.

  “I thought we were due a catch up.” Yvonne grinned. “Do I need an ulterior motive?”

  Tasha laughed. “No, but I sense something…”

  Yvonne smiled. “I have missed you. But, you are right. As usual. I’m working another murder case and would appreciate your input.”

  “Official or unofficial help?”

  “Unofficial, but I could speak with the DCI. It depends where the case is heading.”

  Yvonne outlined what had occurred as regards Nicole Benoit’s disappearance and her remains being found.

  “I remember.” Tasha pursed her lips. “I remember when that girl went missing. It made the national headlines.”

  Yvonne nodded. “And, no word from that time until a few weeks ago when we found her skeleton, re-articulated and leaning against the gate of a field.”

  “And you’re saying that the person who put her there, left clues to how she died.”

  “It’s the most bizarre thing I have ever witnessed, in all my years in the force.”

  Tasha nodded. “It’s a first for me.” She sat back in her chair. “You said someone cleaned the bones?”

  “Yes. There was staining but, in terms of flesh etc, they were clean.”

  “It would have taken a long time to clean and then thread every piece of bone together. Days, or even weeks.”

  “Who does that?” Yvonne sighed.

  “You think whoever did it was her killer?”

  “I think he has to be the killer or someone close to the killer. I me
an, they had buried her on the Long Mynd. It looked very much like they intended it to be forever. Her body was in an unmarked grave, in a desolate spot, until a few weeks ago. Whoever unearthed her had to have known about her murder. It’s not somewhere you would happen upon a grave.”

  Tasha nodded, as she finished chewing. “Would I be able to look?”

  “Sure. It would give you a better idea of what I am talking about.”

  "Great. Just let me know when you’re planning an outing and I’ll try to fit in."

  Yvonne jumped as someone tapped her on the shoulder.

  “Wyn.” She turned to stare at him, wide-eyed.

  He smiled, and scratched the top of his chest, where his collarless, white linen shirt was open at the neck. “I wanted to give this restaurant a try. Didn’t fancy the evening meal at the bed-and-breakfast. Fancy seeing you here.”

  Yvonne stood. “Tasha, this is Wyn Sealander. He’s been working with us this past few weeks. He helped us identify Nicole’s remains by reconstructing her face. Wyn, this is my friend, Dr. Natasha Phillips. She’s a criminal psychologist.”

  “Pleased to meet you.” He held out his hand and Tasha shook it, nodding at him.

  “Are you meeting anyone here?” Yvonne asked as she returned to her chair. “You’re welcome to join us.”

  Wyn glanced at Tasha and held a hand up. “Thanks, but I can see you’re busy. Besides, I’m tired. I will disappear into a corner and sleep while I eat.”

  Tasha cleared her throat.

  “Oh. Okay. Well, enjoy your meal.” Yvonne raised her eyebrows at Tasha after he had gone.

  Tasha shrugged. “I've no idea.”

  “Did you put him off?” Yvonne laughed.

  Tasha shook her head. “No.”

  Cars dotted the lay-bys adjoining the stream. Although early in the season, tourism was already hotting up for Carding Mill Valley and the Long Mynd. The area was popular for families with small children. The latter appeared to be spending most of their time paddling the stream in their wellies.

  Yvonne parked in the first available spot, next to the National Trust cafe, where she and Tasha planned to have lunch. She stretched towards the sky. A sunny, first Saturday in May. The temperature, a welcome eighteen degrees. Work and pleasure.