The Lost Shrine

by Nicola Ford

  For the first time Marshall’s face softened into something approaching a smile. ‘Well, maybe that’s something I can help you with. Anything to get you off your arses.’ He reached inside his suit jacket and pulled out his mobile. ‘Neil Fuller – he was the Kinsella woman’s assistant. As far as I could make out he seemed reasonably sane for one of your lot. This is his number.’

  Clare plugged his details into her own phone.

  Marshall turned as if to go, then hesitated for a moment. ‘And remember what I said. I expect to see progress here. A nice quiet site, no press and no police. You lot give me any trouble and I can easy enough find another unit who will do what’s needed.’

  David slathered his poppadom in lime pickle and smiled. ‘This was a good idea, Sal.’

  ‘Well, neither of us has time to cook. And we’ve both got to eat. This place is only ten minutes’ drive from the station, and I figured a quick Indian before I need to get back to work was the only way we were going to get to see one another.’

  David’s disappointment was obvious. ‘Really, have you got to go back in tonight?’

  Sally gave him a look. ‘Don’t start. You know that with Morgan still off I’m stretched.’

  David knew only too well what Sally’s boss being off meant. DCI Morgan had been off sick for the last two months. And he’d barely seen her since. David felt for the bloke; he was only in his early fifties and he’d had a heart attack. Opinion seemed to be that it was the stress of the job that had triggered it. And that was what worried him. Sal might be young and considerably fitter than Morgan, but if she had to carry on doing her job and his for much longer she was going to end up in the same boat as her boss.

  ‘You can’t keep doing two jobs, Sal. How much longer is this going to go on for?’

  She scowled at him. ‘For as long as it takes.’

  ‘You’re going to make yourself ill at this rate. You’ve got to say something. Can’t you speak to someone about it?’

  Sally laid her spoon down and stared at him. ‘Really? That might be the way it works with your lot, but it’s not in my world. Do you really want me to commit career suicide?’

  ‘You know that’s not what I meant.’ He leant towards her, placing his hand on hers. ‘It’s just that I can see how tired you look.’ As soon as the words were out of his mouth he regretted them. Sally glared at him. She withdrew her hand and took a sip of her lassi. ‘Well, if you can’t ask anyone, is there any word on whether Morgan’s coming back or not?’

  She took another sip of her lassi before answering. ‘Nope. From the little they said when it happened I’d say it’s not when but if.’

  David knew when he was on a hiding to nothing. ‘Tell you what, next time you get a free evening I’ll cook for you. Three courses, all your favourites.’

  Sally pushed the last remaining sherd of poppadom around her plate. ‘I won’t be much fun. I’ll probably just want to sleep.’

  ‘Well, first you can eat and then you can sleep. Absolutely no fun required.’

  Finally, she looked up at him and smiled. ‘OK. You’ve got a deal. Mind you, I can’t promise when it’ll be.’ David reached out and touched her arm. This time Sally reciprocated and placed her hand on his. ‘Thank you.’

  By the time David was digging into his lamb bhuna, Sally seemed to have regained a little of her old energy.

  She dabbed her lips with her napkin. ‘Oh, I meant to say, I had a word with an old mate of mine from the Gloucestershire force about that Beth Kinsella business.’

  David looked up. ‘What did they say?’

  ‘By the sound of it, for once things were pretty much like they said in the papers. The Kinsella woman seems to have been having a bit of a rough time of it. Lost her job. Split up with her boyfriend. Then when she began work at Bailsgrove she started making all sorts of claims about the place having been some sort of ancient temple. By all accounts the developer paying her wages didn’t take too kindly to the interest that drummed up in the papers.’

  ‘Paul Marshall.’

  Sally nodded. ‘That’s right. He threatened not to pay her if she went to the media again. But by the sound of it he needn’t have worried. By then they’d lost interest anyway because everybody else they spoke to seems to have reckoned there was nothing there to find. So he calmed down a bit. Next thing you know a bunch of crystal danglers find her hanging from a tree in the woods above the site. There were all sorts of wooden carvings smeared with animal blood strung up from the branches. And there was this dead hare with its guts splattered all round the place. Mark said it was really spooky stuff.’

  David said, ‘Mark …?’

  ‘Sorry, Mark Stone, he’s a DCI up there. I met him when I was doing my probation. He’s a bit of a high-flyer. He’s alright, though. Not one of the corporate bullshit brigade.’

  David just nodded. There was no need to mention she wasn’t the only woman he’d spoken to recently who apparently had a high opinion of DCI Stone. It seemed his life was destined to be full of unfortunate coincidences.

  Sally said, ‘He’s a pretty solid sort of bloke. But it really seemed to have shaken him. He said that the hare was right in front of Beth. Its head had been smashed in and there was a length of baler twine round its neck. It had been garrotted and then its throat had been cut. It was total overkill. She must have completely lost it before she killed herself.’

  ‘Not much doubt that it was suicide, then?’

  She shook her head. ‘Mark reckons not, but the coroner recorded a narrative verdict at the inquest.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  He must have looked as concerned as he felt about the thought that the coroner hadn’t entirely agreed with the fabulous DCI Stone’s opinion because Sally smiled and said, ‘Don’t worry. You haven’t got another Hungerbourne on your hands. The coroner can only return a verdict of suicide if it’s proven beyond reasonable doubt.’

  ‘And he didn’t think this was?’ David took a swig of his beer.

  ‘No, but only because she hadn’t left any sort of note or message. These days people will often text someone or post something on social media.’

  David nearly spat out his beer. ‘You’re joking?’

  Sally shook her head. ‘Happens all the time. But not with Beth. And the coroner said there was no evidence that she’d been depressed or worried.’

  ‘But surely anyone would have been depressed if they’d lost their job, broken up with their partner and been threatened by their new boss.’

  Sally raised an eyebrow. ‘You’d think, wouldn’t you, but the coroner didn’t agree. He said he thought it was probably suicide, but as there was no note and no one who gave evidence noticed she’d been a bit low he couldn’t be sure beyond reasonable doubt.’

  David wiped his plate with the last piece of his naan. ‘If you ask me, that says more about the people she had around her. No wonder she wanted to end it all.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘He didn’t sound keen, but at least he agreed to come and talk to me about it.’ Clare couldn’t hide her disappointment. She’d been counting on Neil Fuller to help her pick up where Beth had left off. Things would be twice as difficult without him. But Jo had somehow managed to wangle her way out of her commitments at the university for a few days, and Clare was glad of it. Even the most insurmountable problems always seemed more manageable when Jo was around.

  Jo said, ‘Is this Fuller guy nuts?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘With every unit in the country – correction, Europe – letting people go, where’s he gonna find another offer like this?’

  ‘I know, but the whole Beth thing must have been a bit traumatic for him. He sounded pretty shaken up by it.’

  ‘Was he there when they found her?’

  Clare shook her head. ‘On-site, but according to Neil it was Crabby who actually found her.’

  Jo looked at her quizzically. ‘Crabby?’

  ‘The local Druid. It w
as May Day; he’d gone up to the copse with a group of pagans to perform some sort of Beltane ceremony. But Neil said that he was the one who’d called the ambulance – Crabby was in too much shock.’

  Jo made her way to the window and, prising open the Venetian blinds with her thumb and forefinger, peered out at the rain lashing the hillside. ‘I guess it must have been pretty grim.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought that sort of thing would have bothered you.’

  ‘Well, that’s where you’d be wrong. I’m strictly a long-dead kind of gal. I only like them when they’re bones, desiccated, mummified or frozen.’ Jo leant forward across the desk towards Clare. ‘In fact, so long as you swear not to tell David, I’ll tell you something.’

  Clare laughed. ‘Deal.’

  ‘I pass out if I see real, fresh blood.’

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘But how have you managed all these years?’

  ‘For one thing, unlike some folks, I avoid chasing around after headcases with guns.’

  Clare’s recollection of her encounter with the wrong end of a loaded shotgun was only too fresh in her memory. Her work with the Hart Unit had been a godsend since her husband Stephen’s death in a car crash, but it had certainly had its hairier moments. It had taken several months after the incident at Hungerbourne before she’d been able to sleep through the night without being woken by the image of David’s apparently lifeless body being dumped inside the tea hut.

  Jo swung round. ‘Are you OK?’ She knelt down in front of Clare. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’

  Clare waved away her concern. ‘Ignore me. I’m just being a wuss.’

  ‘Are you still getting flashbacks?’

  ‘No, not really. Not any more. It’s just that I can’t seem to shake the idea that this is Beth’s office.’

  ‘Jeez, next you’re gonna be telling me you think this place is haunted.’

  Clare remained silent.

  But Jo couldn’t suppress a snort of laughter. ‘No. Really? You think this Portakabin has Beth’s restless spirit roaming around it? And I always had you down as a cool-headed, rational kind of gal.’

  ‘For your information, I don’t actually believe in ghosts, but I still don’t feel comfortable working a stone’s throw from where Beth’s body was found.’

  ‘I get that. From the way she was found she must have been kind of troubled. But if we’re going to make this work we’ve just got to treat it like any other dig. What happened here was real sad. Worse than sad. Beth must have been desperate to take her own life. But it’s our job to pick up the pieces and make sure the job she started here gets finished.’

  ‘You mean we should think of this as some kind of tribute to her.’

  ‘I guess, if that’s the way you want to look at it. But either way there’s a site here that deserves to be given our full attention and we’re kind of running behind schedule.’

  Clare nodded, gesticulating towards the trays full of small plastic bags and mud-smeared ring binders. ‘And our best hope of getting to grips with this lot is if I can somehow persuade Neil Fuller that it’s in his best interests to come and work for us.’

  ‘Honestly, David, it will be cheaper. If Jo and I have to keep commuting up from Salisbury every day the fuel bill alone will blow the budget.’ And Clare could have added, I’m not sure I’m up to a four-hour commute to Bailsgrove and back every day. But thankfully he conceded the point quickly enough and she shoved her mobile back into her bag.

  What she hadn’t told him was that she had in fact already booked the only two single rooms that the King’s Arms in Bailsgrove possessed for what she hoped would be the duration of the dig. As her mum would say, what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. And she found herself rather looking forward to spending a few weeks in the Cotswolds with Jo for company.

  But as she climbed out of Little Blue, her trusty but aged Fiesta, and scanned up and down the tightly packed row of Victorian terraced houses, she knew that if she was unsuccessful in her mission today they might as well pack up and leave Gloucestershire now. And that would mean saying goodbye to the Hart Unit. She was in search of number 46 – home to Neil Fuller. It didn’t take her long to find it. From somewhere behind the peeling paint of the once pillar-box red front door she could hear a baby wailing.

  He must have been waiting for her, because almost the instant she knocked, the door opened. She was greeted by the man himself, one arm shoved into a battered denim jacket and the other thrust towards her in a handshake. ‘Hiya, you must be Clare. Sorry about the racket. She’s teething.’ He turned and yelled behind him, ‘See you later, Sadie. Not sure how long I’ll be,’ before swinging the door to behind him.

  He was younger than she’d expected – early thirties at most – with a shock of ginger hair and a few days’ stubble that almost passed for a beard. He had bags around his eyes, but she guessed that excessive tiredness was only to be expected with a young baby. As they made their way up the street towards her car he kept up a constant stream of chit-chat, with Clare barely able to get a word in.

  Strapping himself into his seat, he turned to face her. ‘I really appreciate you coming all this way – my car’s in dry dock at the moment. The exhaust is shot.’ He hesitated, clearly embarrassed. ‘Things have been a bit tight since the plug was pulled on the dig.’

  ‘No problem. After everything that’s happened it’s good of you to agree to come and show me the ropes – we’ll pay you for your time, of course.’

  He said, ‘No worries.’ But Clare couldn’t help noticing the look of relief on his face.

  His tone was more upbeat than she’d been expecting after their phone conversation and she began to wonder whether his reluctance to return to the dig had more to do with not having the cash to repair his car and get to site than any deep-seated trauma.

  When they got to Bailsgrove it didn’t take him long to get stuck in. He started by taking Clare through the site recording system that Beth had used, before unfurling a series of pencil-drawn plans and placing them on the desk in front of her.

  He weighed down their corners with plastic bags full of finds. And stepping back from the desk he looked around him, then broke into a broad smile. ‘You know, I was really nervous about coming back here. I thought it might stir up the chaos of it all again. But now you’ve got it all in order, I don’t know, it just seems sort of like everything is back to normal again. Beth would have been horrified by the state the police left this lot in.’

  Clare wasn’t sure whether to be relieved that it wasn’t Beth who’d left the place as she’d found it or horrified at the thought that it had been the police.

  She said, ‘It looks from what I’ve seen so far as if she was a good record keeper.’

  ‘Meticulous. You might almost say fanatical.’

  She smiled. ‘There are worse faults for an archaeologist to have. Beth’s painstaking approach is certainly going to help us pick up where she left off.’

  Neil ran his hand over the opaque surface of the drafting film, which she could see now was the main plan of the site. ‘These are the evaluation trenches. Beth was convinced she’d picked something up on the geophysical survey that looked like an enclosure ditch, but to be honest I could never see it.’ He pointed to two trenches towards the top of the plan. ‘That’s why they were positioned here.’

  ‘To see if you could locate the ditch.’

  He nodded. ‘That’s right. But we drew a complete blank in this first one. Not a feature in sight. And certainly no sign of a ditch. And we’d only just opened up the second when … well, you know.’

  Clare could see that despite what he’d said earlier this still wasn’t easy for him. ‘From what I can see it looks like you had plenty of finds, though.’

  ‘True enough. We had the usual handful of medieval pot and the odd flint flake or two. But it’s all pretty run-of-the-mill stuff for round here.’

  ‘I noticed there’s quite a
lot of animal bone, though. And I’m not a ceramics specialist, but it looked to me as if there was a fair bit of Iron Age pot in there too.’

  ‘Maybe so, but not as much as Beth would have liked.’

  ‘Oh?’ Clare looked at him.

  ‘Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything.’

  ‘Please, Neil. I’m going to have to take this site on now and given everything that’s happened I need to learn everything I can about what happened before I arrived.’

  He gazed out of the window towards the copse on the hill high above them. What was he thinking? It was difficult to tell.

  Eventually he turned towards her. ‘OK.’

  She pulled out the two tattered chairs from beneath the desk and gestured for them both to sit down. It seemed odd somehow, inviting him to sit down as a guest in an office he was more familiar with than she was.

  Neil plonked himself down with a sigh and sat for several long minutes, staring down at his hands which were clasped firmly together in his lap. ‘I suppose you’ve got a right to know, but it feels like I’m being disloyal.’

  ‘To Beth.’

  He looked up and nodded. ‘Beth and me, we went way back. She was my tutor at Sheffield. She was brilliant. I don’t just mean great to know sort of brilliant; I mean she was genuinely intellectually brilliant. She spoke so fast in lectures sometimes you could barely understand what she was saying, but you could feel the energy flying around the room. She was so alive.’ He stopped short as if suddenly aware of what he’d just said.

  He smiled. ‘I know. Ironic, isn’t it, given what happened. But she used to hold us spellbound in her Celtic studies classes – it was the one session you could guarantee people would leave the union bar for. And she was a brilliant excavator too. My first dig was with her. At Wrackley Cop.’

  Clare said, ‘I’ve heard of that. It’s a hill fort, isn’t it?’