When the Dead Speak

by Sheila Bugler

  ‘You’re still investigating possible links with Mary Palmer?’

  Rachel put her cup down, so hard the table vibrated.

  ‘I am not going to have this conversation,’ she said. ‘You knew the victim. And, as for Nigel, it’s no secret to anyone who’s been working on this case that you and he can’t stand each other.’ Her face softened a little. ‘I know how weird this feels, Ed. It’s weird for me too. We’re used to being a team. You know if there was any way I could work with you on this, I’d jump at it. Instead, I’m stuck with Barry bloody twatface O’Connor. Who, by the way, has become unbearable since we’ve started working together. He’s so bloody ambitious I don’t feel we’re really working as a team. Not the way you and I do, anyway.’

  ‘You could always bounce ideas off me,’ Ed said. ‘In a completely unofficial manner, of course.’

  ‘I could,’ Rachel said. ‘But I won’t, so let’s change the subject. How’s your case going?’

  Ed shrugged. He’d been given a fraud case to look into but, so far, the work wasn’t exactly challenging.

  ‘It’s sad,’ he said.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘The suspect’s a single mother with a severely disabled child,’ Ed said. ‘She’s worked as an accountant with the same firm for the last fifteen years. During this time, she’s siphoned off the best part of three-quarters of a million pounds.’

  ‘Wow.’ Rachel frowned. ‘I don’t get what’s sad about it, though?’

  ‘She took all the money to care for her son,’ Ed said. ‘At least, that’s what she’s claimed, and I think she’s telling the truth.’

  ‘I can see that’s sad,’ Rachel said. ‘But it’s not your problem, is it? Your job is to build a case for the CPS.’

  ‘I know,’ Ed said. ‘I’ve got more than enough evidence to do that. But it doesn’t stop me feeling sorry for her. She’ll be prosecuted, and if she’s convicted she’s looking at up to five years inside. Her son’s never been cared for by anyone else, and there aren’t any other relatives. He’ll be taken into care.’

  ‘And that there’s your problem, Ed Mitchell,’ Rachel said. ‘You’re a big softy at heart. Oh Jesus, look who’s just walked in.’

  Barry O’Connor, Rachel’s interim partner, had come into the canteen and was making a beeline for their table. He was a tall, broad man and his footsteps echoed loudly against the tiled floor and concrete walls of the canteen.

  ‘Boss is looking for us,’ he told Rachel, ignoring Ed. ‘I’ve been trying to call. Where’s your phone?’ He was breathing heavily, as if he’d been running.

  ‘On silent,’ Rachel said. ‘But I told you I was going for a coffee. I’m not sure what the problem is.’

  ‘It’s the boss,’ Barry said. ‘She wants to see us. Pronto.’

  Rachel rolled her eyes at Ed as she stood up.

  ‘Let’s try to catch up in a few days,’ she said. ‘You can tell me more about your case.’

  Ed watched them leave, trying to ignore the unpleasant feeling of being left out of something important. Barry strode ahead of Rachel, not even bothering to hold the door open as he pushed through it in front of her. Rachel was right. Barry O’Connor really was a Grade A idiot.

  At least office politics was something he didn’t need to worry about over the next few weeks. He sighed. Speaking to Rachel had been a waste of time. He should have known she wouldn’t open up to him about the case. She didn’t understand. No one did.

  Fourteen

  On Monday, Louise called Dee and asked if she fancied a night out. They arranged to meet at seven o’clock at the Lamb. It was a clear evening and Dee decided to walk. A decision she regretted by the time she finally arrived at the pub, almost half an hour late. Breathless from walking too fast for the last half-mile, she plonked down on the seat opposite Louise and breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, when she was able to speak. ‘I didn’t realise it would take me so long.’

  ‘You walked?’ Louise said. ‘It’s freezing out. And it must be – what? – five miles from your house to here?’

  ‘Five and a half,’ Dee said. ‘Even you can’t say I don’t deserve a large glass of wine after that.’

  She leaned over, lifted the bottle of Sauvignon Blanc Louise had already ordered and poured a generous measure into the empty glass in front of her. She took a long sip and smiled. ‘Now you’re talking.’

  ‘I assume we’re eating,’ Louise said. ‘I’ve got some menus but I was waiting for you before ordering.’

  ‘Good girl.’ Dee scanned one of the menus, stopping when her eyes landed on steak and chips. Exactly what the doctor ordered for a chilly night like this.

  They ordered their food and relaxed into easy conversation about everything and nothing.

  ‘So,’ Dee said, after she’d poured them both a second glass of wine. ‘How are things?’

  ‘Fine,’ Louise said.

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure.’ Louise frowned. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

  ‘When I met you last week on the seafront,’ Dee said. ‘You weren’t going to the Cavendish for a Chamber of Commerce event, were you?’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘I saw you,’ Dee said. ‘You walked right past the Cavendish and went into the Aldrington instead.’

  ‘Ah.’ Louise flushed. ‘Okay, you caught me. I was actually meeting someone for dinner.’

  ‘Why couldn’t you simply tell me that?’

  ‘It was about a job,’ Louise said. ‘I didn’t want to jinx it.’

  ‘You were pretty dressed up for a job interview.’

  ‘It wasn’t an interview. Not really. I met this woman at a networking event recently. She owns a PR company in Brighton. We got talking and she said she might have some work for me. So I met her for dinner, but nothing’s come of it. Which is why I’m telling you now.’

  ‘Is everything okay?’ Dee asked. ‘I thought you loved your job. I didn’t know you were thinking of leaving.’

  Their food arrived then, served by one of the regular young men working behind the bar. Dee watched Louise making small talk as he laid out the food, asking about his university course and telling him she was hoping to catch up with his mother soon. Dee marvelled at the way Louise was able to switch her public personality on and off so effortlessly. It was one of the things that made her so good at her job. As editor of the local newspaper, Louise knew everyone and everything there was to know in Eastbourne.

  ‘Father died last year,’ Louise whispered to Dee as the waiter walked away. ‘Suicide. It was a big scandal at the time. He owned a business, but lost all his money on the horses. The wife’s become a friend. I check in with her every now and then, just to make sure she’s okay.’

  ‘You were about to tell me why you’re looking for a new job,’ Dee reminded her.

  ‘I shouldn’t have said anything.’

  To Dee’s horror, Louise’s eyes filled with tears.

  Dee put down the forkful of steak she was lifting towards her mouth.

  ‘Lou? What’s going on? Please. Whatever it is, you can talk to me.’

  ‘It’s nothing.’ Louise dabbed her eyes with her napkin. ‘Sorry. I’m just stressed at the moment. Everything seems to be getting to me these days.’

  Dee wanted to tell Louise, like she’d told her hundreds of times already, that she couldn’t juggle two children and a full-time job and keep a household running to the standard she did with no help whatsoever from her husband. But every time Dee tried to speak to Louise about Martin, it ended up in an argument.

  ‘What can I do?’ she said instead.

  ‘Ignore me.’ Louise smiled, but it looked forced. ‘I’m tired and grumpy and probably pre-menopausal. I wanted a night out with my cousin this evening, that’s all. And it will be good for Martin to spend time alone with the kids. They miss him when he’s away and if I’m always around when he’s at home, then they never get any quality time with h
im.’

  Dee knew Louise well enough to know that, whatever her reasons for wanting to meet tonight, giving Martin a chance to spend ‘quality time’ with his children wasn’t one of them. But she decided not to push it. Whatever was on her cousin’s mind, she would find out later.

  ‘Have you thought about seeing a doctor?’ Dee asked.

  ‘For stress?’ Louise frowned. ‘I’m not that bad. It’s just… there are some days when I wonder if I’ve made the right choices in my life. Does that ever happen to you?’

  ‘All the time. But in my case that’s probably justified.’

  Dee reached across the table and took one of Louise’s hands in hers.

  ‘Something’s worrying you. And I don’t think it’s your job, is it?’ Her stomach contracted as she thought of something. ‘Oh God. It’s Martin, isn’t it? What’s he done?’

  ‘Why do you always blame Martin when something’s wrong?’ Louise pulled her hand away. ‘It’s not Martin. It’s work, like I said. They’ve made more cuts and it’s difficult to picture myself still doing this job in a few more years. It’s becoming more and more web-based, and most of the content these days is a cut and paste job that anyone could do. If I lose this job, then who am I, Dee?’

  ‘You’re still you,’ Dee said. ‘One of the cleverest and most capable and all-round best people I’ve ever met. If this job ended tomorrow, you’d find something else. I know you would.’

  Louise ran her fingers through her blond bob, puffing up the layers at the back. ‘Why is being an adult so difficult?’

  ‘It’s not all bad,’ Dee said, thinking about her own life. Despite the ongoing issues between herself and Ed, she felt she’d reached a good place – she was old enough to know what she wanted and how to get it; young enough to still enjoy it. All in all, the first year of her fifties was turning out to be far better than the ten years that had preceded it.

  ‘Maybe.’ Louise reached for the wine bottle and refilled both their glasses. Another sign something wasn’t right. Unlike Dee, Louise had always been able to exert an iron control over the amount of alcohol she drank. Dee had rarely seen her cousin drink more than two glasses of wine on a night out. This evening, she was already on her third glass.

  ‘How are you getting on trying to find Joana?’ Louise asked.

  ‘I’m not having much luck, to be honest. I keep think I’m making progress and then I hit another brick wall. I’ve been trying to find a link between Lauren’s murder and Joana’s disappearance. But I can’t find anything.’

  ‘Isn’t that a bit of a reach?’

  ‘Maybe,’ Dee admitted. ‘But there are so many coincidences. Joana and Lauren knew each other. Lauren worked at the Aldrington, which is where Joana was going the night she disappeared. And there’s something decidedly dodgy about Derek French, who just happens to run the hotel where one girl who worked there was murdered, and another girl disappeared from.’

  ‘Derek’s not dodgy,’ Louise said.

  ‘I didn’t realise you knew him.’

  ‘I don’t. Not really. I mean, I’ve met him a few times, that’s all.’

  ‘So how can you be so sure there’s nothing dodgy about him?’ Dee asked.

  ‘How can you be so sure there is?’

  ‘Gut instinct,’ Dee said. ‘Plus I’ve met his wife, and there’s something seriously off about her too.’

  ‘Well everyone knows their marriage is a sham,’ Louise said. ‘He works all the time earning money so she can spend it. At least, that’s what I’ve heard. But really, Dee, isn’t their marriage their own private business?’

  ‘Unless he killed his son’s girlfriend,’ Dee said. ‘Then it’s everyone’s business.’

  ‘Oh my God.’ Louise looked horrified. ‘The poor man’s son has just lost his girlfriend in the most horrible way and you’re making jokes about it?’

  Dee opened her mouth to tell Louise to take a chill pill, but Louise held her hand up and continued speaking.

  ‘Besides, for your information, he’s got an alibi for the night Lauren was killed. Because of course the police have already questioned the entire family. Because they’re doing their job properly. Derek was with his brother all night. He couldn’t have killed Lauren.’

  ‘I didn’t know it meant that much to you.’

  ‘I’m just sick of all the gossip,’ Louise said. And, because she was clearly upset, Dee didn’t have the heart to point out that this was probably the first and last time in Louise’s life she would make that statement.

  ‘I wish you’d tell me what’s really going on with you,’ Dee said.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ Louise said. ‘Really, Dee. Just let it drop, would you?’

  But Dee noticed the way her cheeks flushed and knew she was right. Louise was hiding something from her. An image drifted into her head – ridiculous and impossible but, hard as she tried, she couldn’t completely ignore it: her cousin with a pair of scissors in her hand, chopping chunks of auburn hair from Lauren Shaw’s body as she lay lifeless on the altar.

  Fifteen

  The sound of her phone ringing woke her up. Dee opened her eyes, confused. She’d gone to bed later than usual, and felt as if she’d only been asleep a few minutes. It was still dark outside. Without getting up, she reached out for her phone on the small table by her bed. She saw the time on the screen when she picked it up. Three thirty in the morning. Caller ID unknown. She sat up, suddenly wide awake. Images of the people she loved lying injured filled her mind.

  ‘Hello?’

  Silence.

  ‘Who is it?’ she said. ‘Who’s calling?’

  She heard something then. Breathing.

  ‘Hello?’

  More breathing. Louder this time.

  Disgusted, she hung up and switched off her phone. Even though she knew it was nothing more than a prank call, some sad loser with no life dialling numbers at random, she still felt shaken. She lay in bed, her mind in overdrive, jumping from subject to subject. Louise, Ed, Joana, Lauren. Louise. The more Dee tried to calm her brain, the more other thoughts crowded in. Until she knew if she lay there a moment longer, letting her head fill up, she’d go mad.

  She got dressed, went into the kitchen and made a pot of coffee, which she carried onto the deck. It was freezing outside, but she’d rather stick out the cold than be cooped up inside with only her thoughts for company.

  Before going to bed last night, she’d started reading a book she’d downloaded to her Kindle. The self-published book, An Old Town Murder: the unsolved death of Mary Palmer, was written by a local historian called Philip Flint.

  As the sky gradually changed colour and the sun started creeping up beyond the horizon, Dee read the rest of the book. It was surprisingly well-written and the author had clearly done his research. By the time she’d finished, Dee had a real feeling for many of the key people involved in Mary’s tragic story. She also had a compelling need to know more about the victim and the circumstances surrounding her death.

  Mary Palmer was the daughter of a prominent Eastbourne family who’d been residents of the town since the eighteenth century. Her ancestors had played a key role in the development of the town during the nineteenth century and the family were living in comfortable prosperity in Meads, the leafy, affluent suburb on the western edge of town, when Mary was murdered. Her mother had died soon after Mary was born, and she’d been raised by her father and his sister, Annabelle Palmer.

  The most interesting thing, for Dee, was the author’s assertion that Graham Reed, the man widely assumed to be Mary’s murderer, was innocent. In Flint’s opinion, there was never any evidence that Graham had killed Mary. Unfortunately, Graham was killed before he had a chance to prove his innocence. Which, according to Philip Flint, meant that Mary’s murderer was never caught.

  The book included some quotes and interviews from news reports after Mary’s death. Lots of people ready to confirm that Graham had been ‘obsessed’ with the dead woman. One – unnamed – neighbou
r of the Reed family was quoted as saying: ‘It’s no secret to anyone who lives here that he’s a strange one. I’ve always told my children to keep their distance. Because you never know with people like that, do you?’

  The extracts didn’t make it clear what the neighbour meant by ‘people like that’, but Dee could guess. Outsiders, eccentrics, people who found it harder to fit into conventional society than those around them. It was depressing to think that as far back as the Sixties, there were journalists willing to focus on this sort of small-minded bigotry instead of doing their jobs properly and trying to find the truth.

  At the end of the book, there was a link to the author’s blog full of quirky facts about Eastbourne’s history. The blog also had an option to contact Flint through the site.

  By now, the sky had shifted through several shades of colour and settled on a dull grey. The sun had risen and was there somewhere, hidden behind the thick blanket of clouds. Dee stuck it out as long as she could, but when the rain started she was finally driven back inside.

  She got her phone from the bedroom, switched it on and sent an email to Philip Flint, introducing herself and asking him to get in touch. There was a text from Ed, asking how she’d slept. They’d spoken yesterday evening and sort of made up. Sort of, because although he’d apologised, Dee didn’t think he really believed he’d done anything wrong. He’d asked to see her tonight, but she’d told him she planned to work through the evening. Not true, but she wasn’t about to let him think she was a walkover. She agreed to meet him tomorrow evening instead, telling him he could come over when he’d finished work.

  There was a text from Ella as well, asking Dee to call her when she was awake.

  ‘I would have popped over,’ Ella said, when Dee phoned her back. ‘But it’s bucketing down and I can’t find an umbrella.’

  ‘Want me to come to yours?’

  ‘There’s no need,’ Ella said. ‘I wanted to ask a favour. Is there any chance you could babysit tomorrow evening? Tom’s going away for work – a last-minute thing. I’d planned a night out with the girls. It’s Judy’s birthday and she’s had such a tough time recently with the divorce and everything, I’d really like to be there if I can.’