Burying the Past (30 page)

‘We could do with your witness, Cynd. It'd really help you if you told us his name. Even the name you call him.'

Cynd shut her mouth ostentatiously. ‘Help me or not, you're not getting shit from me. Not if it lands him and his missus in it. Dying of something nasty's bad enough without knowing your old man's seeing a tart. Sod it.' She looked from her to Jill, from Jill to Mrs Chandraseka. ‘Even if I go to jail. And bugger the lot of you.'

Fran said quietly, ‘Mrs Chandraseka, would you like a few minutes in private with your client, to see if she wants to reconsider anything she's said? For the benefit of the tape, the time is eleven fourteen, and DCI Tanner and DCS Harman are leaving the room.'

Don was hovering in the corridor, giving an impression of a man who was heading somewhere with a piece of paper of clichéd importance and had – quite by coincidence, of course – run into them. ‘Any luck?'

‘If you mean has she confessed,' Jill snarled, ‘she has already. Right on day one. Remember?'

Fran didn't have time for their childishness. ‘Don, have you got mugshots of Yovkov handy? And his usual mates? And get someone to check Cynd's claim that there are parts of her street or the street her flat backs on to that aren't very well covered by CCTV.'

‘I can tell you that myself, guv'nor: in fact, I've already nagged the council about it.'

‘Excellent. So it is feasible that a white van – I know you were looking for one – could have lurked without detection? And that he could have staggered that far before he collapsed?'

Don smiled, brightly and cheerfully. ‘Indeed it is, guv'nor. Because I've just picked up some of the little scrote's friends, the ones that left him to bleed to death. At least, that'll be my line.' His chest puffed almost visibly.

‘And it's conceivable that one of Cynd's punters could have used the equally ill-covered route?'

‘I'll get someone to double-check the approach roads,' Jill said, with something of a flounce, and set off down the corridor.

‘Excellent. Though I'd rather not have to haul in a carer with a dying wife who needs a bit of respite from time to time – even if it's not the sort for which social services would cough up. Then I think we should fix a swift meeting with the crown prosecutor, don't you?'

‘Your take being, guv'nor?' Don asked.

‘It'd be a waste of time to go ahead with a prosecution. Look at it another way, Don: she saved us a lot of trouble getting rid of young Andon Yovkov. If it wouldn't give you apoplexy, I'd be tempted to recommend she got some sort of crime-stoppers' award.'

‘How about we compromise and fast-track her on to a drugs rehabilitation programme? You know if she got cash she'd only blow the lot and maybe kill herself in the process.'

Fran recalled the CCTV of her putting back stuff she'd shoplifted. ‘I'm not sure she would.'

‘You know what that vicar would say:
lead her not into temptation.
'

She threw her head back and laughed. ‘You always could trump me, Don. I'll talk about it to Janie when she's fit. Meanwhile, I'll leave both the reward and the programme in your hands – you know you owe her a favour. Or two. OK, let's show her the mugshots and see if she confirms that Yovkov's the man who raped her, and whom, in self-defence, she killed. I just want absolutely everything tied up right and tight. And we'd better feed and water her too, or Mrs Chandraseka will complain.'

‘I'd say,' Don said, surprising her, ‘that she's put on a couple of pounds already on our grub. Let's hope the reverend will keep feeding her up.'

‘You know what, I'd guess that when Janie's sister returns to Scotland, it'll be Cynd that takes over the caring. There's more to her than meets the eye, you know.'

‘That's the trouble,' Don agreed with a sigh. ‘There always is.'

By the time she, Don and Jill had conferred with the CPS and established that Cynd would not be charged, Fran was so high on adrenaline and lack of food that she almost forgot that she should have been worrying about Kim and Lina, still closeted in her office. On the grounds that she needed the loo and had a sick fiancé to think about, she decided to postpone her return for a few more minutes.

To her alarm, there was no reply from Mark's phone. However much she told herself it might simply be a matter of bad coverage, she wasn't convinced. She speed-dialled Dave.

‘I was just going to call you. I can't locate him, Fran. I'm up here by the Winnebago, which was unlocked, but there's no sign of him.'

‘Did you speak earlier?'

‘Nope.'

‘Have you looked inside the Winnebago? Any note or anything?' She couldn't stop her voice rising in panic.

‘Nothing. I can't get any response from the house.'

‘You've tried the flat at the back? Caffy's own place?'

‘So there's another way in? I'm on my way. I'll call you back.'

She leant against the sink, fighting the nausea, the desire to scream, most of all the urgent need to do something – anything.

How long would it take Dave to get to the house? Into the flat? How long, for God's sake, for him to call her? And what if Mark wasn't there?

She'd made it to the loo before she threw up and was washing her face and mouth before the phone rang again.

‘Can't get in. I've rung and banged the door but—'

‘I'll call Caffy.' She cut his call unceremoniously and speed-dialled.

‘I'm actually not far from there,' Caffy said. ‘Don't panic, as they say. Just go and sit down. Do you hear? I mean it.'

And why not? At least in her office she was in a position to summon all the help going, from tracker dogs to helicopters. She staggered rather than walked back, trying to trot but hardly managing. She fell through the door.

‘Guv? Are you all right?'

It took her a moment to register that Kim was in her chair, with someone else the other side. The Townend girl. Of course. And it was Lina who grabbed her as she swayed.

‘I'm fine,' she managed. ‘But there's a problem at home.'

On her feet already, Kim said, ‘I'll drive you out there. We'll talk about all this later..'

‘I've just got to wait for news. I'll be all right.' Dimly, she realized that Lina was holding her hand, making her sit but not letting go.

‘Yes, you will,' Lina said, with strange assurance. ‘Just wait for the call. Concentrate on breathing out. That's all.'

‘I could do with a coffee.'

‘Sure you could. Just close your eyes.'

From somewhere Sally materialized, with green tea and a slab of cake. ‘Get these down you and tell me what I can do.'

‘Nothing, Problem at home. Oh!' She snatched her ringing phone. Dave! In her anxiety she dropped it. Lina retrieved it and held it to her ear for her.

‘He's OK. Hear that, Fran? He's OK. When Caffy got here we found him safe and sound. He'd only fallen asleep in the bath, for Christ's sake. He says it's his tablets. I've got him out and dried him off, and I'm about to ladle as much coffee into him as I can.'

‘Nine-nine-nine, Dave. Just call an ambulance, for God's sake.' There was the sound of the phone falling. ‘Hallo?' she screamed.

‘Fran. Fran. It's me. I haven't tried to top myself. I just fell asleep. Promise. Seems the tablets don't suit me – Dave can make me a doctor's appointment when I've had this coffee and some of Caffy's muesli. I'll call you. Love you, Fran.'

‘And I love you.' Even as she held back tears she wanted to hold the moment to her: Mark saying the L word, in front of his own son, no less. And she'd responded in kind in front of strangers. Maybe she wouldn't tell him about their audience.

Now she might have fallen asleep herself if she'd had a bath or even an empty stretch of floor handy, so huge was the wave of weariness that flooded over her.

Kim looked embarrassed that two senior officers – correction, one senior officer, one ex-ACC – could make such fools of themselves in public, but said, ‘I could still drive you out there, ma'am.'

‘I'll be OK. Honestly, I will. But thank you. It's OK now. And we've sorted the Cynd business.'

‘Excellent,' Sally said, adding firmly, ‘eat your cake. The tea'll be too hot. Now, I'm sure nothing's so urgent that these two young ladies can't give you a few minutes to sort yourself out.'

Obediently, Kim and Lina headed for the door.

‘No, I'm fine. Maybe they need tea and cake too.'

‘Tea they can have, but as for cake, they'll have to get their own. That was my lunch,' Sally said.

‘They'd better get some for you too,' Fran managed.

‘I'm on to it,' Kim said.

‘And good thick wholemeal sarnies,' Lina added. ‘Better for the blood sugar. My partner's got some pre-diabetic condition,' she added as Kim exited. ‘So I know all sorts of silly things like that. Sally's right. You should sit quietly for a bit: when Kim gets back we'll have a lot to tell you, and you'll need a clear head. And no, I can't tell you anything without her here – it wouldn't be right.'

Fairly sure that Kim wouldn't have been equally scrupulous, Fran did as she was told.

She might almost have been dozing, the phone made her jump so much. ‘Just an update,' Dave's voice said. ‘He really is fine, Fran. I'll try to make him check in with that doctor later, but he's good. I promise. We'll go for a bit of a stroll and then have some lunch. OK? He wants to speak to you again.'

Mark's voice came through thickly. ‘Still chomping muesli, sweetheart. How are you? Dave said you sounded weird.'

‘You'd sound weird if you thought
I'd
slit my wrists in the bath, wouldn't you? Get on with your breakfast. Mark, I love you so much I'd have slit mine too if you had.' Unable to say more, she ended the call. Absently, she took the tissue that appeared from nowhere. No, she didn't have an angel like Janie's, but she did have Lina beside her.

‘I'll keep Kim outside for a bit longer,' she murmured, leaving the room and closing the door quietly behind her.

And then the phone rang again. Caffy. ‘Sorry, Fran – it was my fault. I should have warned him to jack the bathroom door open so he could hear the bell. Mind you, I didn't reckon on him playing Mozart so loudly he might not have heard the last trump. Fancy sleeping through Mozart . . . Anyway, Dave's taking him for a stroll, and I've told them a nice place for a picnic.'

‘You're sure he's OK?'

‘Fran, I promise you he didn't try to top himself. And unless he was a contortionist, he wouldn't have been able to drown: he's too tall to fit in it properly, for goodness' sake. And he only had a few inches of water. Such a puritan. Me, I like bubbles up to my chin. Look, I've got a load of emulsion to take over to the rectory. I mustn't keep Paula waiting any longer.'

‘No indeed,' Fran managed. Laughing at this stage wasn't an option either: she knew she could become hysterical with no effort at all. So she sipped tea, ran a brush through her hair and touched up her make-up. There. Now she could invite the others to return. ‘Time to look at all this paperwork,' she said as she opened the door.

‘Not to mention the information my team's gathered together,' Kim said with a bit of a smirk.

‘They've worked like greased lightning,' Fran said. ‘Well done them.'

The first and most valuable piece of information came from the West Midlands Police: some thirty years back a serial rapist had attacked a young woman in a churchyard in Harborne, one of Birmingham's leafier suburbs. Margaret Minton had been found unconscious on a gravestone – the gravestone in the photograph. Perhaps the line
In God we Trust
was meant literally. Or was it profoundly ironic? Minton must have been exceptionally brave, giving clear and unequivocal information both during the investigation and being a superb witness at the trial. But then West Midlands Police came up with the rapist's chilling final words as he'd been sent down for twelve years. ‘I've not finished with you yet. You need to watch your back. Because I shall get you for this one day.'

But he hadn't, because she'd died of cancer. Or had she? The handwriting expert in the forensics team swore the death certificate had been changed: it had originally been for Mary Ann Minton. And more phone calls to Birmingham had managed to glean the news that Mary Ann Minton had died in a hospice on the date on the death certificate.

‘So in an effort to elude this guy, Margaret chose to “die”, reinventing herself as her sister. But only for a short time,' Kim said. ‘She kept moving location and changing her name. And she won prizes for gardening and goodness knows what else. We're still in the process of checking each step, but it seems she changed career. A couple of times too. Her sister was an administrator in an insurance office. Clearly, Marion/Margaret didn't feel up to that, but she started temping, and finally became a top-class secretary. That house in Carcassonne was almost certainly hers – probably she bought it with the proceeds of what looks suspiciously like insider dealing: she was employed as a PA by some drunk of a banker who lost millions; she didn't. She made a mint. She spent a lot on the rectory, and Lina says that cabinet would have set her back thousands—'

‘A lot of thousands!'

‘But she still had the funds to rebuild the school.'

‘Then something about the school led Grange to her,' Fran said. She clicked her fingers. ‘Hang on – wasn't she such a success as a head that some education minister went to see it? The government couldn't have used it as propaganda, could they? Got the footage on the national news?'

‘If Grange'd seen it,' Kim agreed, ‘then that would explain his trip to Verities and his insistence on getting a timed ticket as an alibi – which he never used, because of her killing him when he came to keep his promise. She walloped him on the head.'