by Nicola Ford
This place had a dark history. There weren’t just the babies. There was Beth Kinsella too. They may have been separated by two thousand years, but none of them had deserved to die.
Clare shivered.
David said, ‘You OK?’
‘Just thinking about Beth.’ He ushered her away from the back of the Land Rover and into the sunshine. ‘Do you believe what happens somewhere can leave an imprint on a place, David?’
‘Everything that happens somewhere shapes a place. Just as much as it shapes the people that lived and worked there.’
‘And worshipped there,’ Clare said.
He nodded. ‘That’s what it’s all about for me. The way people shape things and places, and the places and things that shape people. Places make people and people make places.’
Had David deliberately misconstrued what she was saying? She looked around her at the picture-postcard-perfect Cotswold hillside. Was her imagination running away with her or had what happened here two millennia ago really left its mark in ways she didn’t fully understand?
David put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Come on. What you need is a cuppa.’
One of David’s avowed beliefs was that there wasn’t much a good strong cup of tea or a pint couldn’t put right. Though there were times when she suspected he used it as a diversionary tactic. ‘You go ahead. I’ll be down in a minute. I want to have another look at the camera rig on the drone.’
She turned to make her way round the side of the Land Rover towards the area where Flyboy had landed the drone. But now that the thrumming overhead had ceased she could hear someone talking – arguing – on the far side of the vehicle.
It sounded like Neil. ‘For fuck’s sake, Sadie, I’m doing everything I can. I can’t magic money out of thin fucking air.’ He must be on his mobile. ‘I know it’s a shit job. I’m the one who has to flog my guts out at it. But it’s all I know how to do. So you’re just going to have to fucking put up with it.’
He was obviously having a rough time of it at home. Clare was finding it enough of a struggle getting by on her salary. She couldn’t begin to imagine how tough it must be to make ends meet on the pittance they were paying Neil. The hand-to-mouth existence of a jobbing archaeologist was precarious enough without having a wife and young baby to support too. She might ask David if there was any way they could offer him a bit of work on the post-excavation side afterwards. At least then he’d know he had some job security.
The camera rig could wait for now. Neil would be mortified if he knew she’d overheard him rowing. Best leave him to it and go and get that tea David had promised her.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
‘I’m so glad you asked me over, Clare. Those aerial shots you sent over were wonderful. But there’s nothing quite like seeing the site in the flesh.’
Clare said, ‘I’m the one who should be thanking you. I’m really grateful you made the time to come over. I really do appreciate it, Margaret. Having you cast an expert eye over the finds has been invaluable.’
Margaret placed the sherd of pottery she’d been holding carefully back into the plastic finds bag from whence it had come. ‘Nonsense. From what I can see Val here is doing a splendid job.’
The elfin Scotswoman sitting between them in the Portakabin beamed with pride. Val had been terrified when Clare had told her she’d asked Margaret over to take a look at what they’d found. Professor Margaret Bockford’s reputation had evidently preceded her.
Margaret was warming to her theme. ‘It’s always such a help to have a finds supervisor who’s both organised and knowledgeable – sadly not always the case in my experience. Now, Clare. When do I get to have a look at the site itself? Let’s take a peek at this temple of yours.’
The two women leant into the gusting wind as they made their way uphill towards the trench containing the remains of the shrine, passing the descending diggers who were trudging past them in search of a hard-earned cup of tea.
Standing by the side of the cutting, surveying its contents, Margaret turned to Clare. ‘Well there’s no doubt about it – you’ve got yourself an absolutely classic Iron Age shrine site. And from what Val showed me of the finds I’d say that they tie up splendidly with the radio carbon dates you have from the infant burials. I can’t tell you how excited I am about this, Clare. This really is a once-in-a-lifetime discovery.’
Clare nodded. ‘I know.’
‘Then why the glum face? You look like you’ve lost a shilling and found a sixpence.’
Clare waved her concern away. ‘Oh, ignore me, Margaret. I’m just tired.’
Margaret peered over the top of her spectacles. ‘I most certainly will not ignore you. I’m not a fool, Clare. As flattering as it is to be asked, I’m well aware that you had no good reason for inviting me out to see the site. You’re perfectly capable of running this site on your own. And from what I’ve seen you’ve got yourself a really strong team here.’
‘That’s down to Beth. They were her team.’
‘Don’t change the subject! I want to know what it is that’s troubling you.’ Without warning, Margaret deposited herself onto the grass. Sitting cross-legged, she patted the ground beside her. ‘Come on; tell me what this is all about. I’m not going anywhere until I’ve had an answer.’
Reluctantly, Clare sat down beside her. ‘I don’t know where to start, Margaret. Everything is such a mess.’
‘Well, it can’t be the excavations you’re talking about. This is about as far from a mess as it’s possible for one to imagine.’
‘It’s the nighthawking. I told the police about our meeting with the antiquities dealer.’
Margaret smiled. ‘Is that all? If that’s what’s troubling you, it needn’t. I’ve already received a visit from Detective Sergeant Hughes about that.’
‘Really! Why didn’t you mention it?’
Margaret said, ‘What is there to mention? I told him exactly what happened. He was a little confused at first but he went away satisfied eventually.’
‘Confused?’
‘About why anyone would go to the trouble of procuring antiquities from abroad, in order to stage photographs of them being removed from an archaeological excavation and then sell them online. But once I’d told him that they were probably attempting to give them a false provenance to enhance their market value he seemed content that it was a credible explanation.’
Clare felt a wave of relief sweep through her entire body. ‘Oh, thank God!’
‘What is it, my dear? I really don’t understand why you’ve worked yourself up into such a state about this.’
For what felt like an eternity Clare sat in silence, playing with a blade of grass, until Margaret eventually said, ‘Well?’
Clare looked up into the older woman’s soft brown eyes. ‘There’s something you should know, Margaret. Things aren’t quite as straightforward as they seem with the nighthawking.’
Margaret let out a sound halfway between a gasp and a chuckle. ‘I have to confess, Clare, “straightforward” isn’t the first word that springs to mind about the little scam we unearthed.’ Seeing Clare’s expression, Margaret reached out a hand and placed it lightly on Clare’s. ‘I’m not trying to make light of your concerns, Clare. Just tell me what’s happened.’
Clare nodded. ‘There’s a local Druid called Crabby who hangs around the site. He got to know Beth when she was digging here, and he’s been pretty much a fixture while we’ve been here too.’ Clare hesitated, unsure of Margaret’s reaction. She had no idea what her views were on members of the modern pagan community. But to Clare’s considerable relief, if the calmness of her response was anything to go by, they clearly didn’t entirely coincide with David’s. ‘Anyway, Jo and I have got to know him a bit. And when we were chatting to him in the pub one night he admitted that he and one of the other locals were responsible for planting the finds on-site that ended up being sold online.’
‘I don’t understand, Clare. Why on earth would they do that?’
‘Because they wanted to stop the houses being built and they thought that if Beth found something spectacular they’d have to halt the development.’
‘But surely Beth must have realised.’
‘She did, and she told them to pack it in. According to Crabby she told him she didn’t need their “help” because she already had proof of the site’s significance.’
‘I take it Beth didn’t share with this Crabby exactly what the nature of that evidence might be.’
Clare shook her head. ‘No. And I can’t understand what it was. I don’t remember seeing anything in her site notes that suggested she’d found any hard evidence to prove the shrine was here.’
‘Though whether by evidence, gut instinct or pure fluke she was undoubtedly right.’ Margaret nodded in the direction of the trench. ‘Have you considered that Beth might have told Crabby that she’d found something just to persuade him to stop burying artefacts all over the site?’
She shook her head. ‘To be honest, no. But that’s not what’s worrying me. I know Crabby shouldn’t have buried those artefacts here—’
Margaret cut in, ‘And presumably illicitly procured them in the first place.’
Clare didn’t respond; she had no intention of complicating matters further by recounting Sheila Foggarty’s involvement in all of this. ‘Believe me, Margaret. If I thought for one moment Crabby would ever pull a stunt like that again I’d be the first person to stop him. But he’s a good man. He cares about this place. He was just …’ She struggled to find the right word. ‘Misguided. The thing is, the moment I told the police, I realised I’d landed Crabby in it.’
‘You’re not thinking straight, Clare. Other than causing some minor criminal damage – which the police really aren’t going to be interested in – what exactly has this new friend of yours done that’s illegal? This site’s not legally protected. Buying from antiquities dealers online might be considered unethical but unfortunately it’s not illegal. And, more to the point, when the police came to see me about our little encounter with White Van Man, I didn’t even know Crabby existed.
‘So unless you or Jo are planning on telling them about his activities, as far as they’re concerned White Van Man and his confederates are entirely responsible for the untoward activity on this site. And should the police ever run them to ground, they have photographs to prove it. And I for one have no intention of disabusing them of the notion.’
‘I see you’ve finally begun to understand the gravity of the situation, Mr Kelly.’
Following the morning’s interview, Damian Kelly had demanded to see a solicitor. It had taken a while to get hold of the duty solicitor. But West had finally tracked her down, and now sitting across the table from Sally alongside Damian Kelly was the all-too-familiar figure of Gemma Bates. Gemma Bates’ appearance inspired little confidence in her clients. Make-up-less and overweight, her thin, obviously dyed brown hair fell lankly about her shoulders. The uninitiated would be forgiven for mistaking her for a world-weary secondary school teacher. But as Sally sat watching her lick the last of the sugar from the doughnut she’d been eating as she strolled into the station, if they did they’d be making a serious mistake.
Gemma Bates was smart, experienced and knew every trick in the book. ‘How long has my client been in custody, DI Treen?’
Sally looked at her watch. ‘Seven hours, Ms Bates. Though it would have been considerably less had you been able to grace us with your presence this morning.’
Gemma Bates ignored the comment and tapped her watch. ‘The clock is ticking, DI Treen.’
Sally opened her case notes. ‘Well, let’s just see how we go, shall we? When we last spoke, Mr Kelly, I showed you this photo.’ She pulled the CCTV still from her notes and, turning it through one hundred and eighty degrees, pushed it towards Kelly. ‘For the tape, this is a CCTV image captured at eleven forty-six showing Damian Kelly approaching the victim—’
Gemma Bates interrupted. ‘An image that you claim is of my client, DCI Treen.’
Sally gave her a withering look. ‘Take a closer look, Ms Bates. Unless Mr Kelly has an identical twin, I don’t think there’s much doubt, do you?’ She looked at Damian Kelly. ‘Do you have an identical twin, Mr Kelly?’
Kelly looked nervous. He was paler than before and in the few hours since their last interview appeared to have aged several years. He mumbled, ‘No. No, I don’t.’
Sally said, ‘Well, I think that’s cleared that one up, don’t you?’ She stared down Gemma Bates. ‘Would you like to explain what you were doing in Snuff Street with Jack Tyler at eleven forty-six, just a few hours before Jack’s murder?’ The word ‘murder’ seemed to echo round the tiny room.
Kelly got as far as saying, ‘I was …’ before Gemma Bates stuck her hand up.
‘I would advise you not to say anything, Mr Kelly.’
Kelly sat silently for a couple of seconds, head down, picking at his fingernails. Sally just waited.
Then he said, ‘No.’ The word rang out like a gunshot. ‘Why shouldn’t I say my piece? I’ve done nothing wrong here.’
Sally wanted to punch the air. Step one – get them to talk. ‘So, what were you doing in Snuff Street with Jack Tyler?’
When Kelly looked at her she could see dark rings round his eyes. ‘What does it look like? I was helping out a mate.’
Sally said, ‘Helping out a mate who was found dead shortly afterwards. And whom you claimed earlier not to have seen after you left The Lamb Inn that night.’
‘Look, I have no idea how Jack ended up dead. But I knew this was going to happen.’
Sally said, ‘Are you saying you knew Jack Tyler was going to be killed?’
Kelly yelled, ‘No, you silly bitch. I mean I knew if I said I’d found Jack down a dark alley close to midnight it wasn’t going to look good for me.’
Sally said, ‘I’d advise you to moderate your language, Mr Kelly, unless you’d like things to look a whole lot worse for you.’
Gemma Bates pounced. ‘Are you threatening my client, DI Treen?’
‘No, I’m simply advising him that the law takes a dim view of suspects abusing police officers.’
At the use of the word ‘suspects’, Damian Kelly slumped forward on the desk, his head in his hands. ‘I don’t feckin’ believe this.’ He sat upright again. ‘Look, I didn’t kill Jack Tyler. When I found him in that alley he was in a right state. There was no way I was going to leave him there all night like that.’
‘So you’re trying to tell me you were just doing Jack Tyler a favour.’
He said, ‘Finally, now you’re beginning to get the picture.’
Sally glanced down at her notes. ‘If that’s the case maybe you could clear something up for me, Mr Kelly. Why were you heading down Snuff Street at close on midnight in the first place, heading in the opposite direction to where you live?’
He leant forward, more confident now. ‘I think that’s my business, don’t you?’
‘This is a murder inquiry, Mr Kelly. Everything is my business. Why were you heading down Snuff Street at a quarter to midnight?’
‘I was going to see someone.’
‘I think you found the person you were going to see, Mr Kelly. I think you were looking for Jack Tyler. And unfortunately for Jack you found him.’
He shook his head. ‘No. No. No. It wasn’t like that.’ He turned to the solicitor. ‘Does anyone else get to find out what I say here?’
Gemma Bates said, ‘Not necessarily. Not unless it comes out in court.’
Kelly turned to Sally. ‘I was paying a visit to someone.’ He turned to the solicitor again. ‘Are you sure my wife won’t find out about this?’
Gemma Bates shook her head, ‘Only if you’re charged and it comes to court.’
He nodded. ‘I was going to see a woman.’
Sally asked, ‘Which woman?’
Kelly stayed silent.
‘For your own sake, Mr Kelly, I advise you to give us her name.’
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Gemma Bates nodded her agreement.
Kelly said, ‘Jeanette. Jeanette Freeman.’
Sally asked, ‘And will this Jeanette Freeman be able to corroborate your story, Mr Kelly?’
‘Yes. Yes, she will. I’ve been going with her on and off for years.’
Sally asked, ‘And she’ll be able to tell us that you spent that night with her, will she?’
Kelly ran his tongue around his lips. ‘Well, no.’
Sally stared him straight in the eye. ‘Oh, and why is that, Mr Kelly?’
‘Because Jack threw up all over me, didn’t he? I couldn’t turn up like that, now could I?’
‘But presumably Jeanette would be able to confirm that you’d had an arrangement for you to see her that Thursday night.’
Kelly said, ‘It wasn’t that sort of arrangement. I didn’t have to call.’
Sally said, ‘That’s very unfortunate for you, Mr Kelly. So, what you’re actually telling me is that you have no one who can corroborate your story.’
No response.
Sally leant forward. ‘Let me put an alternative suggestion to you, Mr Kelly. The reason you were in Snuff Street on that Thursday night at close on midnight was because you’d gone looking for Jack Tyler. And the CCTV footage shows beyond any doubt that you were successful. I suggest you dragged Jack back to his flat and once you got there you argued with him. And at some time in the early hours of Friday morning you struck Jack Tyler and killed him.’
Damian Kelly’s eyes roamed around the room. After what seemed like several long minutes he returned his gaze to Sally.
He lowered his voice, ‘Look, I was on my way to see Jeanette and I found Jack. He was arseholed. I couldn’t leave him there like that so I thought I’d just get him home and then I’d go on to Jeanette’s place afterwards. But when I got him back to his place the bastard threw up on me. So I made sure he was OK and decided to call it a night. Satisfied?’
Before Sally had a chance to respond, there was a knock on the interview room door.
DS West stuck his head round the door. ‘Can I have a minute, ma’am?’ He must have seen the look on her face as she got up because he mouthed the words, ‘You’ll want to see this.’