When the Dead Speak

by Sheila Bugler

  ‘It should be fine,’ Dee said. ‘Ed’s coming over. Any chance Jake could come here? It might be a bit easier.’

  ‘I don’t want to mess up your plans,’ Ella said. ‘I can always say no to the girls. I know Judy will understand.’

  The girls. A group of women Dee had never met. Ella knew them from Jake’s playgroup and seemed to be spending more and more time with them. Dee was glad she’d started making new friends, but a small part of her missed the way things had been. When it had been just Dee and Ella and Jake. Before Tom and Ed and the girls. Before she’d found out Ella had been lying to her all the time she’d known her.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Dee said. ‘Tell you what. Let him spend the night. He loves his sleepovers here, doesn’t he? And that way, you can stay out as late as you want and drink as much as you want without having to worry.’

  ‘That would be great,’ Ella said. ‘Thanks, Dee. You’re the best.’

  After hanging up, Dee tried not to dwell on how her relationship with Ella and Jake was changing. The previous year, when Ella was living under an assumed identity, she and Jake had disappeared suddenly and Dee thought she might never see them again. When she did finally find them, she resolved to do everything she could to keep them in her life this time.

  That was almost seven months ago. A lot had changed since then. Ella had spent a brief period in prison, waiting to hear if she would be charged for killing a man in self-defence many years earlier. During that time, Tom – Jake’s dad – had moved in to look after his son. When the CPS decided it was in no one’s interest to prosecute Ella, she was allowed to come home. Since then, Dee and her neighbours had settled into a way of being together that suited all of them.

  But Dee’s relationship with Ella had changed. They weren’t as close as they’d used to be. Dee had tried, but it wasn’t easy to be close to someone who’d lied like that. She understood why Ella hadn’t been honest about who she was, but the deceit lay between them and Dee, at least, was unable to get past it.

  Now, the same thing was happening with Ed. He hadn’t been straight with her, and she was struggling to forgive him. During the row, he’d accused her of making everything difficult. He was probably right, but Dee didn’t know how to change who she was. Worse, she didn’t see why she should have to. Was it really so bad to expect people to be upfront and honest? She didn’t think so. And if other people felt differently that was their problem, not hers.

  Sixteen

  Dee spent Wednesday morning working. Following a long conversation with the editor at the Guardian, she’d now been commissioned to write a series of stories about the growing number of foreign nationals coming across the Channel – legally and otherwise – to live and work in the UK.

  She was tired, and found it harder than normal to concentrate. She’d had two more prank phone calls. One yesterday afternoon, and another just before she went to bed. Each time, it was the same. No caller ID and, when she answered, nothing except the sound of someone breathing into the phone. She’d gone online earlier and ordered a whistle, due to arrive tomorrow. If he called again, she’d do her best to deafen the creep.

  By the time the afternoon came around, she needed a change of scene. She decided to pay Kyle another visit. Despite what his mother had said, Dee wanted to ask if he could shed any light on how well Joana and Lauren knew each other.

  She sent him a text asking if he was free to meet up. An hour later, when he hadn’t replied to her text, she decided to drive across to his house instead. But when she arrived, Karen told her Kyle wasn’t at home.

  ‘He goes to the beach in the afternoons,’ she said. ‘It’s the only time he gets out of the house these days. If Derek and I had our way, he’d be back at work, but he insists he’s not ready for that. Maybe I can tell him you called around and ask him to give you a ring when he’s back?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Dee said. ‘If you tell me which part of the beach he’s on, I’ll go there now.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t have a clue,’ Karen said. ‘Sorry.’

  Dee thanked her and turned to go, but Karen called her back.

  ‘I wanted to apologise,’ Karen said.

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For how I behaved the last time you were here,’ Karen said. ‘I wasn’t very polite to you. I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Dee said. ‘You’re worried about your son, I understand that.’

  ‘We’ve been under so much pressure,’ Karen said. ‘You don’t have children, of course, so you couldn’t possibly understand what it’s been like for us.’

  ‘It must be difficult,’ Dee said, wondering why women with children always assumed women who didn’t have them were incapable of understanding what it was like to love a child.

  ‘It’s so hard, knowing who really killed her and not being able to do anything about it.’

  ‘How can you be so sure it was Nigel?’ Dee asked. ‘It’s a big accusation to make without any proof.’

  ‘A woman’s intuition,’ Karen said. ‘You haven’t met him yet, I can tell. I would have thought speaking to Lauren’s parents would be a key part of your investigation.’

  Dee didn’t bother pointing out that she wasn’t carrying out an investigation and, even if she was, harassing Lauren’s grieving parents wouldn’t be high on her list of things to do.

  ‘How did you and Lauren get on?’ she asked.

  ‘Well enough,’ Karen said. ‘Considering.’

  ‘Considering what?’

  ‘That my son was besotted with her, and I knew she didn’t feel the same way about him. Oh, don’t get me wrong. She loved Kyle. In her own way. But the thing about Lauren, the thing no one will tell you because everyone hates to speak ill of the dead, is that the person Lauren loved most of all was Lauren.’

  ‘You’re right,’ Dee said. ‘No one else has said that about her. How about your husband? What did he think of her?’

  ‘I’m surprised you haven’t asked him yourself,’ Karen said. ‘All that time you’re spending at the hotel. What can I tell you? Regardless of Lauren’s faults, we’re both devastated. She was the closest thing we’ll ever get to a daughter of our own. And she was kind, when she wanted to be. Quite often, you know, she’d come to church with me and help with the flowers.’

  ‘The flowers?’

  ‘I look after the floral arrangements at St Mary the Virgin,’ Karen said.

  ‘Could that be why the killer chose that church, do you think?’ Dee said.

  ‘Because he knew she used to go there sometimes?’ Karen frowned. ‘The police have already asked about that. And I’ll tell you the same thing I told them. Nigel’s an atheist. He hated that Lauren was helping me. He used to tease her about it, apparently.’

  ‘So you’re saying he killed her and left her body in the church because he hated her helping out there?’

  ‘It makes sense,’ Karen said. ‘I had a key, you see. So I could go in whenever it suited me to do the flowers. The last time I was there, Lauren came with me. When we were finished, I gathered up the old flowers and took them out to my car. I dispose of them with my own garden waste each week. I gave my key to Lauren and asked her to lock up. Later, I forgot to ask her for it back.’

  ‘And you think her father used the same key to get her body inside the church.’

  ‘That’s exactly what I think.’

  ‘But why go to all that trouble?’ Dee wondered. ‘If he killed her, why take her to the church afterwards and lay her body out like that?’

  ‘Well, you’d have to ask him that,’ Karen said. ‘Obviously. Derek and I have already told all this to the police. Now, we simply have to trust them to do their jobs properly.’

  ‘How do you think Derek’s bearing up?’ Dee said. ‘It can’t be easy for you, if he’s at work all the time and you’re left to deal with Kyle.’

  ‘It’s different for men. They can compartmentalise. Mothers can’t do that. Besides, his work is what gives us all of this.’ K
aren gestured to the house behind her. ‘He offered to stay at home but I told him there was no point. He’s no use to me when he’s here. I’d rather he keeps the business going while I take care of everything else. Now if you don’t mind, I need to go. It’s choir practice this evening. I don’t want to be late.’

  Dee said goodbye and left quickly. She didn’t like Karen French. For a practising Christian, she’d shown a remarkable lack of empathy for the dead girl and her grieving family.

  Instead of getting back into her car, she walked to the beach near the house. It didn’t take long to find Kyle. He was sitting alone near the Martello tower, throwing stones into the dark grey sea.

  ‘Hey Kyle.’ Dee scrambled over the shingle and sat down beside him. ‘How’re you doing?’

  He picked up another stone and flung it into the water.

  ‘The police have kept away the last few days,’ he said. ‘Which is good, but no one will tell me what’s happening. I called over to see Lauren’s parents the other day and her dad went mental. Screamed at me like I was some sort of animal. It was awful.’

  ‘He’s grieving,’ Dee said. ‘People don’t always behave well under those circumstances.’

  ‘My mum says he’s a nutcase and I should keep well away.’ Kyle glanced at Dee, as if gauging her reaction. ‘Maybe she’s right. But I can’t help feeling sorry for him. After he stopped screaming at me, he burst into tears and he couldn’t stop crying. It was horrible to see him like that.

  ‘Mum says he killed Lauren because of the row they had. But I argue with my dad all the time – it doesn’t mean he’s going to kill me.’

  This was news to Dee. Neither Karen nor Derek had given any indication that Kyle and his father didn’t get on.

  ‘What do you argue with him about?’

  ‘Everything.’ Kyle shrugged. ‘He thinks I’m not ambitious enough, I don’t have enough drive. He wants me to be more like him. He doesn’t understand being like him is the very last thing I’d ever want.’

  Dee thought of her own interactions with Derek French and didn’t blame Kyle for not wanting to turn out like that. She felt a new respect, and pity, for the boy.

  ‘How did Lauren and your father get on?’ she asked.

  ‘How do you think?’ Kyle said. ‘You’ve seen pictures of Lauren, right?’

  Stones were digging uncomfortably into Dee’s bum. She shifted, trying to get more comfortable, as she thought about how to ask her next question.

  ‘You mean he found her attractive?’

  ‘He finds any woman with a pulse attractive. Sorry. Maybe that’s not fair. We had a row earlier and I’m still angry with him. Don’t get me wrong, he’d never have… you know… with Lauren. He wouldn’t do that. Besides, there’s no way she would have even if he’d wanted to.’

  Dee didn’t have Kyle’s faith in his father. She made a note to go back to the Aldrington and see what Derek had to say about his feelings for Lauren.

  ‘The last time I spoke to you,’ she said, ‘you told me Lauren had started to write something about Mary Palmer’s murder. Did she ever show you what she’d written?’

  Kyle shook his head. ‘She was super-secretive about it. And like I told you, she changed her mind anyway. But it’s the reason she was killed, right? It has to be. Lauren found out something about Mary’s murder. That’s why I think Mum could be right about Nigel.’

  ‘But Mary’s murder was sixty years ago,’ Dee said.

  Kyle shrugged. ‘There’s this group on Facebook, Lauren joined it a while back. A true crime group. Lots of people there have all sorts of theories about who killed Mary. If the killer’s still alive, and he found out what Lauren was up to, isn’t that reason enough to kill her?’

  ‘Except we know Nigel couldn’t have killed Mary. He wasn’t even born when she was killed. If Mary’s killer is still alive, he’d be in his eighties. I’m not sure someone that old would be strong enough to subdue a strong young woman like Lauren.’

  ‘He could have had help,’ Kyle said.

  ‘That’s possible,’ Dee said. ‘On this Facebook group, who do people think the real killer is?’

  ‘Everyone has a different theory,’ Kyle said. ‘You should take a look. You have to join the group first, but they don’t seem too fussy about who they let in.’

  ‘I’ll do that,’ Dee said. ‘Thanks. Are you a member then?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Lauren showed it to me a few times. But now she’s gone, I’m too scared to try to join. I don’t want to see what people are saying about her. Or me.’

  ‘I can understand that,’ Dee said. Then, changing the subject, ‘Kyle, can I ask you about something else?’ She took the photo of Joana from her bag and showed it to him. ‘Do you recognise this girl?’

  He looked at the photo for a long time before he spoke.

  ‘Joana. She used to drink at the Anchor pub on Seaside.’

  ‘Used to?’ Dee asked.

  ‘Haven’t seen her for a while,’ Kyle said. ‘Why are you asking about her?’

  Patches of red had appeared on his cheeks, and when he handed the photo back to Dee, his hand was shaking.

  ‘Joana’s disappeared,’ Dee said. ‘Her friends and family don’t know where she is. But I thought you would have already known about this. I’ve asked the staff at the hotel to circulate her photo.’

  He shook his head, like he didn’t know what she was talking about.

  ‘One of Joana’s friends,’ Dee continued, ‘thinks that Joana’s disappearance and Lauren’s murder are connected.’

  ‘Oh.’ Kyle looked relieved. ‘I see. I don’t think there’s any chance of that.’

  ‘Why not?’ Dee asked.

  ‘Because they barely knew each other,’ Kyle said. ‘I mean, they’d chatted to each other in the pub a few times, yeah. But apart from that, I don’t think they had anything to do with each other.’

  ‘You sure about that?’ Dee asked.

  ‘Absolutely positive,’ Kyle said.

  ‘Your mother didn’t want me asking you about Joana,’ Dee said. ‘Do you have any idea why she wouldn’t want me to talk to you about her?’

  ‘She probably didn’t want you upsetting me,’ Kyle said, after a moment. ‘I mean, it’s not very nice, is it? Saying her disappearance has something to do with what happened to Lauren.’

  ‘I guess not.’ Dee stood up. ‘Well thanks for looking, anyway.’

  She offered to drive him home but he said he’d rather stay on the beach. He used to come down here in the evenings with Lauren to watch the sunset, and that’s what he planned to do this evening. Sit here until the sun had set beneath the horizon, alone with nothing but the memories of his dead girlfriend to keep him company.

  * * *

  Louise sat in her car on Motcombe Road, watching the entrance to Ed’s house. She knew he was inside. She’d seen him go in there fifteen minutes earlier. Since then, she’d been sitting here in her car, wondering how she was going to tell him what she’d discovered earlier today. Detective Inspector Ed Mitchell, with his cleaner-than-clean reputation, had a secret. Louise couldn’t understand how he’d kept it to himself until now. Especially in Eastbourne, where no one’s business was a private matter for long.

  No matter how fond she was of her cousin’s boyfriend, Louise knew she had no choice: this was a story she had to print. So far, none of the journalists from the national papers who’d swooped down on the town since Lauren’s murder had picked this up. It was Louise’s responsibility to make sure the first any of them would hear of it was when it was the front-page story in this week’s Recorder.

  Her phone buzzed with an incoming text. She swiped the screen, smiling when she read the message, and tapped a quick reply. When she was done, she put the phone back in her bag and got out of her car. She’d already sat here for long enough. It was time to get this over and done with.

  She walked up the short path to his front door, rang the bell and waited. Thirty seconds l
ater, Ed opened the door.

  ‘Louise!’ He smiled and pulled the door open wider, telling her to come inside out of the cold. ‘This is a surprise. What can I do for you?’

  ‘I need to speak to you about something,’ Louise said, swallowing down the lump at the back of her throat. His genuine pleasure at seeing her had triggered an unexpected pang of guilt that made her question if she was doing the right thing.

  ‘Is Dee okay? Only I’ve just tried to call her and it went straight to voicemail. The signal can be a bit patchy where she lives. I’ve told her she should get a landline but you know what she’s like. Never one to do what anyone else tells her—’

  ‘Dee’s fine,’ Louise interrupted. ‘Well, I assume she’s fine. I haven’t actually seen her or spoken to her today. She’s not the reason I’m here.’ She paused, took a deep breath and continued before she had a chance to change her mind.

  ‘I want to speak to you about Lauren Shaw. I know why you’re not working on the case. We’re running the story this week. I’m here to ask if you’d like to give your side of the story.’

  From the diary of Emma Reed

  6 May 1960

  Mary’s funeral took place today. The long delay between her death and funeral must have been difficult for George. She was buried at St John’s, where her father worships. People came from all over the country, so I’ve heard, to pay their respects to the dead girl and her family. Last night, James said we should go too. People will talk, he said, if we stay at home and don’t do what is proper. I told him people are already talking, and he could go if he wanted to, but he’d be going alone.

  In the end, he decided not to go. I knew he wouldn’t. He can’t face people ignoring him, whispering behind his back. He’d rather hide himself away. I couldn’t bear to be in the house with him, watching his miserable face and knowing that his misery is for himself rather than our son. So I left him alone and walked across town to Mary’s funeral. Like everyone else, I was drawn to that church as inevitably and irresistibly as a moth is drawn to a light burning in the dark.