by Anita Waller
The women spent a half hour by the side of the river, then headed to the shops.
The book shop benefitted because they both bought two books, before strolling around to the café and having coffees.
‘Bakewell’s my go-to place,’ Doris said. ‘If I’m feeling a bit hemmed in, or wanting some time out, I come here. Eyam is lovely, but I work there so it stops it being a place I can use for escape, and I love Bradwell, but it’s my own village, so Bakewell is my refuge of choice. I like Mondays because it’s market day, but it’s also hectic, so to come on a Saturday is a real pleasure. I used to come here a lot with Harry and Claire…’
‘Bugger Harry,’ Wendy said. ‘I bet Claire loved the ducks, though, didn’t she?’
‘She did. She used to squeal as we turned into the car park, because she knew what it meant.’
‘Then those are the memories to treasure, Doris, not the retrospective horrible ones. Right, I want to pick up a couple of postcards, and maybe a Bakewell pudding for later. It’ll go down nicely with a glass of vino.’
‘Certainly will,’ Doris said, her smile restored. ‘But we’ll buy the pudding on the way back to the car, or it may be a damaged Bakewell pudding.’
Wendy spread out the blanket on the bench, and Doris placed the picnic basket between them. Coffees were poured from the flask, and sandwiches sorted onto plates. They sat mostly in silence, watching a large family playing a game of rounders on the grass a short distance away.
Doris took out one of the books she had bought and read the blurb.
‘Rebecca?’ Wendy asked.
‘It is. I love mingling a classic in occasionally with the more modern crime stuff I read, and I’ve been promising myself a copy of this for so long. I didn’t want to get it on my Kindle, I wanted a real book, so as from today Daphne du Maurier lives with me. I can vaguely remember reading it at school, but I can’t recall much detail so I’ll look forward to curling up with this tonight.’
‘Okay, we’ve a choice. We can either go and ask that family if we can join in their game of rounders, or we can have half an hour of reading.’
Doris turned to Wendy and they high-fived. ‘Reading it is then,’ Wendy said, and she delved into her own bag to get one of the books she had bought.
Quarter of an hour later, the peace was disturbed by the tones of Doris’s phone.
She looked at the name on the screen and turned to Wendy. ‘It’s Rosie.’
‘Answer it. She wouldn’t ring without good reason, would she? Maybe she simply wants you to know Shirley is home.’
Doris clicked answer. ‘Hello, Rosie. Are you okay?’
‘I… I don’t know. We’ve heard on the news that a woman’s body has been found in some woods about three miles away. The thing is… Shirley isn’t home. I don’t know what to do. Mark hasn’t reported her missing, and I’m getting into a proper panic here. They’ve not identified the body yet, and I don’t know what to do.’
‘Okay, first of all take some deep breaths. The body they’ve found is probably unconnected. But, apart from that, if Shirley’s still not home, and you’ve heard nothing from her, you need to notify the police, no matter what her husband says. You’re her sister, and you’ve every right to report a missing person. If the body isn’t Shirley’s, they will be able to rule it out quickly, and they’ll instigate a search for her anyway.’
‘Thank you,’ Rosie said, a sob catching in her throat. ‘I knew you’d show me the sensible course. I’ll ring the police now, and tell Mark when it’s done and dusted.’
‘And will you ring me later? Let me know what’s happening?’
‘I will. I can’t thank you enough, I feel so much more in control. I’ve only known you three days, and yet you’re the first person I turn to for help. You must think I’m crazy.’
Doris gave a small laugh. ‘No, I think it’s your subconscious telling you I
investigate missing persons cases for a living, and I’d be the obvious one to approach for information. Good luck, Rosie, and don’t forget to ring me.’
‘I won’t, I promise.’
Doris turned to Wendy. ‘You got that?’
‘Most of it. Shirley still hasn’t turned up?’
‘No, but a dead body has. Unidentified.’
‘That doesn’t surprise me in the slightest, Doris Lester. You’re like a magnet for them. When you said let’s go and visit dead people, I didn’t think you meant the newly dead.’
Doris gave her friend a slight punch in the shoulder. ‘Sarcasm, Lucas, sarcasm. And I’m not involved. Rosie has recently lost her mum, so probably has nobody to ask for advice. I’ve come on the scene with those bloody qualifications for my job listed on my business card, so she’s turned to me. It’s all a bit long distance.’
‘It’s not that long a distance. You want to go see Rosie?’
‘No, not at all.’ Doris was a little too quick to answer. ‘I can’t help. She needs the police, although if this body is Shirley, the police will be needing her.’
The body was finally manoeuvred up the incline away from the water, and into the back of the ambulance waiting to transport the dead woman to the morgue. From his quick check by the side of the river, pathologist Owen Bridger was mulling over in his head that this was more than likely a case of strangulation; bruises were showing around her neck and he guessed he wouldn’t find fluid in her lungs that would indicate death by drowning. Intuition and years of post-mortems told him this lady was dead before she went into the stream. It would be up to Grace to sort out the whys and wherefores.
He climbed wearily back up and along the path leading to where he had left his car. Once again he vowed not to stay up late because it seemed to him that whenever he did, somebody died in odd circumstances, and he was called out before even the sun had thought about getting up.
He slumped in the car for a moment, then saw the ambulance carrying his deceased client set off. He turned on the ignition and followed it. He knew it looked like being a long day, and he yawned widely. Bed by seven, he decided, Saturday or no Saturday.
The ambulance didn’t rush, and he followed at the sedate pace set by the paramedic. By the time he had parked his car in his designated space at the morgue, the body had been transported inside, and delivered to the autopsy suite.
He checked his list to see his work for the day and decided the young lady from the stream had to be a priority. He’d seen a couple of reporters hoping for some information at the scene, and knew it would be in the evening papers. They needed a name.
Owen gave a small wave to Grace Stamford, standing on the viewing platform. He knew she wouldn’t come into his autopsy room itself; she freely admitted to nausea and dizziness when up close and personal with his cuts and the odours emitted by the corpse, but was fairly happy to observe from a distance.
His first job was to take fingerprint copies from the deceased, and send them off for checking against identification records, as well as a DNA swab. With the basics out of the way, he did a thorough examination of the body, talking into his microphone, making sure he missed nothing. Photographs were taken of the bruises around her neck; he commented on it, and moved on to examine the rest of her.
The Y incision made down her front, and the part of the procedure that always made Grace turn away, told Owen so much more. The hyoid bone was fractured, ratifying his diagnosis of asphyxiation. She would have died quickly. To confirm his vocalised thoughts, there was no water in the lungs. The woman had been dead before she reached any sort of water.
Grace, watching the procedure now the Y incision was out of the way, held up a thumb to indicate she was getting his words and she understood. There was no doubt that this was a murder victim; she couldn’t have strangled herself without a rope hanging from a hook, and the marks around her neck would have been completely different.
The DCI leaned forward and spoke into the microphone on the viewing platform. ‘Owen, I’m heading off. I’ll wait for the rest when you finalise
your report, but I’m going to chase up those fingerprints now. We have to know who this poor woman is. We also need to find where she was killed. Thank you, Owen.’
He waved a hand in acknowledgement that he had heard her, and continued with the weighing of the liver.
Grace headed back to her office, and pulled up a map of the local area. She found the small river, the Whyburn, known locally as Town Brook, then zoomed into the map so that she could see more detail. It widened as it went higher, and there were a couple of small bridges that went across it. Nothing suggested it would be an easy place to strangle someone and shove them in the water, so she plotted out six small areas that could be of interest, then went out into the main office.
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Our lady from this morning was strangled, then either she fell into the water or she was put there. We still don’t have a name…’
‘Excuse me, boss. There’s an email, came through seconds ago, confirming the fingerprints are on record, and the person is a lady called Melanie Brookes.’
11
Rosie could feel anger emanating from Mark.
‘Why the hell did you bother notifying the police? She’s left, there’s nothing more to say.’
Ten minutes earlier she had sent Mark a text to say she had reported Shirley’s disappearance, and now, to her horror, he was standing in her kitchen, his face apoplectic with rage.
She felt an overwhelming sense of relief that Dan had taken Megan to the cinema; if Dan saw Mark in this mood it would lead to a brawl, and that she could definitely do without. If anybody was going to batter Mark Ledger senseless, she wanted it to be her.
‘Mark, it’s Saturday afternoon. Nobody has seen or heard from Shirley since Wednesday evening, and you saw her last. I shall be saying that to the police, so prepare yourself for a visit. There’s a body, Mark, haven’t you heard the news?’
For a second he looked shaken, then reverted to his belligerence. ‘A body? Where?’
‘Town Brook woods, the other side of the park. A woman’s body. You’ve clearly not heard, because even you might have started to connect your missing wife with a woman’s body having been found.’
‘Don’t be bloody sarcastic, Rosie,’ he snarled. ‘Are they coming here?’
‘In about half an hour. I suggest you stay; it won’t look too good if I have to tell them you were here, but you decided not to wait for them. They might start to think you had some involvement in Shirley’s disappearance. And I swear to you here and now, Mark, if that poor woman is Shirley, and I find out you had anything to do with it, you’ll be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your life.’
‘Shirley was alive and well as I walked out of that house on Wednesday evening. She sent me a text after midnight, telling me not to come home because I wouldn’t get in.’
‘You’ve not told me that before!’
‘It’s nothing to do with you.’
‘Show me the text.’
He handed over his new phone. ‘Fortunately they’ve recovered everything from my old one. But that’s all it says, what I’ve told you.’
Rosie read the text and handed the phone back to him. ‘The police will want to see that, because whether this woman is Shirley or not, they’re going to be looking for her. I’ve made it official by reporting her, and after nearly three days they’re going to want to know where she is. As I do…’
Mark seemed to be calming a little, and he pulled out a chair from underneath the kitchen table, and sat. ‘You mashing?’
Rosie switched on the kettle and brushed away a tear. This should be Shirley sitting at her table, not her obnoxious husband. He’d seemed so nice when they first met, supportive throughout the pregnancy especially when they learned it was twin boys, but once he had Shirley tied to the home and the boys, unable to go to work, he changed.
Rosie and Mark were cradling their cups when the knock sounded. Rosie stood and hurried down the hallway, keen to let in the police.
DC Sam Ellis and PC Fiona Harte, both seconded to Grace Stamford’s team for the duration of the case, stood on the doorstep and showed their warrant cards.
‘Down to the end of the hall and through the door, it’s the kitchen. My brother-in-law is in there.’
Mark stood as the two officers entered the room, and shook their hands.
‘Please, sit down,’ Rosie said. ‘Can I get you a drink?’
‘No, we’re good, thanks,’ Sam said. ‘We need to take details of your sister, any thoughts you might have of where she might be–’
Rosie held up a hand to interrupt. ‘You’ve found a body in the woods, a suspicious death it said. A woman.’ Rosie picked up her phone and opened her pictures file. She handed it to Sam. ‘This is my sister. This is Shirley. Have you seen the… the body?’
Sam looked at the screen. ‘When was this taken?’
‘About a week ago.’
‘Is she still blonde?’
‘She is.’ Rosie held her breath.
‘Then we can tentatively say that your sister isn’t the lady we have found in the stream. She is fairly petite and has short dark hair. So, we need to take some details. Her name is Shirley Ledger? Address?’
Mark said the address and confirmed he was her husband.
Fiona was busy taking notes, and Sam asked the questions. He sat a little straighter when Mark mentioned that the boys went to Springbrook Boarding School for Boys.
‘And how long have they been there?’
‘They went in September, so it’s coming up to the end of their first year in July. I went there, and it did me no harm.’ Mark sounded defensive to Sam’s ears, and even Fiona looked up from her notetaking.
‘Shirley didn’t like the boys being there,’ Rosie said. ‘I’ve rung round the hotels that are within five miles of the school, thinking she maybe was going to see them this morning anyway, despite Mark saying their plans had changed. She was desperate to see them. I also rang the school this morning to ask if the boys had been taken out by their mum, but they said no, both parents were due to visit next Saturday instead, following a change in circumstances.’
‘Do the boys like it there?’ Fiona asked, pausing from taking notes for a moment.
‘Of course,’ Mark said.
‘No,’ Rosie said.
Both police officers turned to look at Rosie. ‘No?’ Sam raised his eyebrows in query.
‘They don’t like it at all. They’d had a perfectly normal education at the local primary school up to reaching their eleventh birthday, then they didn’t follow their friends to the comprehensive, they were shipped off to Springbrook. Their education is currently male-orientated, they only see their mum when Dad allows it, and I thank God every day that they’re twins because at least they have each other. I’ve watched my sister become more and more depressed, more and more withdrawn over the past nine months than I would have thought possible. And now she’s missing. And he,’ Rosie pointed to Mark, ‘didn’t want me to report her as missing.’ Rosie slammed her cup down on the table with a thud and there was a moment of silence.
‘Mr Ledger, do you have anything to say?’ Fiona’s hand hovered over her notebook waiting for his answer.
‘Look.’ It was almost a bluster. ‘My sister-in-law has never liked me; she’s said that to make me look bad. The boys love it at Springbrook and of course I don’t stop my wife from visiting them. She has her own car; she can go when she wants.’
‘But that’s the thing, she can’t go when she wants. They only allow visiting at the weekends unless there are exceptional circumstances for a start, and you’ve usually got some function or conference to attend where you have to have your wife with you.’ Rosie looked at the police officers. ‘Since the boys went to the school, Shirley has been allowed to visit them twice. She has them home for Christmas and Easter of course, but ordinary visiting times at weekends seem to go by the wayside.’
‘Where do you think your wife is, Mr Ledger?’ Sam asked.
‘I have
no idea. I thought she’d be home with her tail between her legs long before now. I suppose she could be somewhere near the school, but I don’t know where.’ For the first time, Mark Ledger was starting to show some emotion. He ran his hand through his hair, and turned to face Rosie. ‘Has she got somebody else?’
‘I wish,’ was the terse response. ‘But no, not as far as I’m aware, and I think she would tell me something like that.’
‘But why would she leave me, if it’s not for somebody else?’
Rosie couldn’t believe he was asking the question. If this was how Springbrook turned out its pupils, then Adam and Seth had to be removed as soon as possible. ‘Mark, do you really want me to give you a list of reasons?’
‘Please,’ Fiona said. ‘We’re here to find Mrs Ledger, and arguing between the two of you really isn’t going to help. Mrs Steer, did you keep a list of the hotels you rang?’
‘I did.’ Rosie stood and walked to the kitchen drawer. She pulled out a small piece of folded paper and handed it to Fiona.
Fiona glanced at it and tucked it into her notepad. ‘Thank you. We’ll set somebody to work on this tomorrow, see if we can track down B and Bs, smaller hotels, places like that. You haven’t tried any pubs?’
Rosie shook her head. ‘No, it was a bit overwhelming, to be honest. She could be anywhere; it doesn’t even have to be near the school. And if it was near the school, she would have gone to see her boys this morning. That’s what I was counting on, but the school said she hadn’t been, or rung them.’
‘Okay. Mrs Steer, can you send that picture of Shirley to my phone, please? Here’s my number.’ Sam passed her his card. ‘And if there’s anything that comes to mind, or you have any sort of contact with Shirley, can you use that number and call me?’