Grave Concerns (4 page)

‘To the police, you mean?’

He nodded. ‘If it’s a one-off, then that’s the
end of it. But I think it’d get to me if there were more.’

‘Shit,’ Karen burst out. ‘This is all we need. Isn’t life complicated enough without this?’

Her anger seemed at least partly directed at Drew, and he chose not to react. He folded the letter and put it in a drawer of their dining table, where they kept oddments of string and useful bits and pieces. ‘Let’s just try to forget about it,’ he said.

Maggs and Jeffrey often found themselves working side by side – he putting the finishing touches to his hedges, and she marking out grave positions on a careful grid reference. Without formal headstones, the individual graves needed to be recorded in precise detail. ‘It might not seem particularly difficult now,’ Drew had said, ‘but once we have fifty or a hundred people buried here, you’ll see what I mean.’

‘D’you reckon this’ll ever work out?’ Jeffrey asked, as he took a rest from his hedge-trimming.

Maggs paused in her mapping and looked at him. ‘What – you mean this natural burial thing?’

He nodded. ‘Out of the way spot, this. Not
many people would ever dream of being buried at North Staverton.’

‘That’s the attraction, though,’ she pointed out. ‘Something different from the usual routine. They think if they can be buried here, it’ll make them special. Everybody wants to be that bit different, so long as it doesn’t cost too much or make them look daft.’

Jeffrey shrugged. ‘So what’s the story with this woman, then? The one with the necklace. Going on three weeks ago already – can’t keep her in the cold store forever. Any sign of them finding who dumped her here?’

Maggs considered before replying. ‘OK, this is just guessing, right? I can think of at least two completely different explanations. First one – the woman gets herself killed, maybe by accident – some yobbos fooling about, or trying to mug her. They might not have been thinking straight, when it came to disposing of the body. Just panicked and hit on the first place that seemed quiet and undisturbed. They might not even have known about Drew and his new cemetery. A coincidence.’ She paused, thinking it through. ‘Actually that doesn’t feel right. You saw the way she was lying. It didn’t look like something done in a panic. It felt more to me as if the people who buried her wanted her to have something proper. Something appropriate. This place was in the
papers back last summer. Say they saw it and decided to put her here. It wouldn’t have been difficult. Drew and Karen hadn’t moved in then, and the field was open to anybody.’

Jeffrey fixed his faded blue eyes on her, unblinking. ‘So – these people murdered her, and then gave her a decent burial? Bit twisted that, wouldn’t ’ee say?’

Maggs wouldn’t meet his gaze. ‘Well – as I said, I’m only guessing. It might not have been like that at all. Maybe it
was
just a coincidence.’

He shook his head and turned back to his hedge-trimming. ‘Don’t believe in coincidence, me,’ he muttered. ‘There’s more to it than we’ve thought on, you’ll see. And it ain’t no good for the business, neither. Gives a bad taste to the place.’

Maggs was scuffing the turf with her heel, trying to mark a junction on the ground to coincide with the plan in her hand. ‘Midway between the first beech to the west and the big hawthorn to the east,’ she muttered. ‘What I need is some sticks. Or big stones.’ She dug her heel in deeper, attacking a tussock of coarse grass, trying to make an impression that she could find again. ‘Hello! What’s this?’ she said, as her shoe scraped against something.

‘Careful,’ warned Jeffrey. ‘You might find another body.’

‘You’re not joking,’ she squealed, as an unmistakable bone emerged from beneath her foot. ‘Look at this.’

Warily, he approached, and bent over her find. ‘Too small to be human,’ he said with relief. ‘Been here a while, I’d say. Nothing to get excited about.’

He pulled the white shape free and held up a skull. ‘Sheep,’ he said. The long nose and low cranium seemed to confirm his assertion. Loose teeth rattled slightly as he shook the earth off, and the eye sockets glared blindly at him and Maggs. ‘Not too common to find them in the middle of a field, though,’ he said. ‘Usually get dumped in a ditch. Probably brought here by a dog or a fox.’

‘I don’t like this,’ Maggs complained. ‘What else are we going to find? I’d be scared to dig any more graves, if I were you.’

Jeffrey shrugged carelessly. ‘It’s not going to hurt us, is it? The dead can’t hurt. It might be this field was the village boneyard, years ago, where they put their dead animals. To my knowledge it’s never been much good for crops. Drew’s auntie let it out to grass when she could, but it always had more thistles and nettles than anything else.’

Maggs gave up her measuring and marking. ‘I’ve had enough for today,’ she decided. ‘I’m not in the mood for any of this. That woman’s
just going to be the first of a whole run of weird things. I can feel it.’

‘Don’t start all that voodoo shit,’ he told her, suddenly hostile.

‘What d’you mean?’ She stared at him in confusion.

‘Black magic and stuff. Isn’t that what you just said? You people can’t leave it alone, can you?’

Maggs was genuinely bemused. ‘What people? Me and Drew?’ She frowned at him. ‘Can’t leave what alone?’

‘Don’t act stupid,’ he continued, looking a little uncomfortable. ‘I don’t know where you come from, but sooner or later, blood will work itself out.’

The penny finally dropped. ‘Oh God. You mean because I’m black? Black person, black magic? Voodoo. Jeffrey – Christ, you
know
that’s crap. You should have more sense. You’ve seen my mum, you know how she brought me up. Isn’t she the most sensible person you could ever meet?’

‘Not your real mum though, is she?’ he muttered.

‘No,’ said Maggs, on a steadying breath. ‘They adopted me when I was little. It’s never been a secret. I still don’t understand what makes you think I’m a voodoo freak. My biological mother lived in Plymouth, not Haiti.’

He nodded. ‘Sorry I said anything. But it makes
me sick, this stuff in the papers about satanic rituals and pagan carryings-on. It seemed to me you were talking about that sort of rubbish.’

‘All I said was it felt like the start of a run of weird things. I wasn’t making any kind of supernatural predictions. I don’t know what I meant, really. I haven’t seen anything in the papers about satanic rituals. Anyway, it’s usually just a lot of stupid kids lighting black candles and having wanking competitions.’

Jeffrey recoiled as if she’d waved a live cobra under his nose. ‘Language!’ he gasped. ‘Watch your mouth, Miss.’

She sneered unpleasantly at him, still smarting at his unsuspected assumptions about her, based solely on the colour of her skin. Growing up in a white family, in a small town where almost everybody was white, she had seldom been made aware of anything unduly unusual about her appearance. Politically correct efforts to remind her of her ethnic identity had never even scratched the surface; so much else about her was remarkable that friends and teachers at school had put skin colour right at the end of the list.

‘I don’t think I’m the one with the dirty mouth,’ she said, before turning to trot down the field to the road.

‘There’s a strange woman standing by the field gate,’ Maggs told Drew next morning. He was in the office, playing with Stephanie while trying to do some calculations. Maggs had just arrived noisily on her bike.

‘Probably just another sightseer,’ he said irritably. ‘It’s like Piccadilly Circus here these days. She’ll just want to look at the spot that’s mentioned in the papers. Don’t people have lives of their own any more?’

‘You ought to be pleased. It’s good for business. They’ll remember us if one of their family dies.’

‘I doubt it. They’re just idle gawpers, as my mother used to say.’

‘Well this one looks as if she’s here for a reason. See for yourself.’ Maggs’s normally good temper had yet to reassert itself after the exchange with Jeffrey the previous day. Not just that, but too little to do, combined with some critical remarks from her mother about her weight and a spell of cold damp weather, all contributed to her gloom. Slowly, Drew got to his feet, passing Stephanie to Maggs, who took her automatically, as if scarcely aware of what she was doing, and then gave a put-upon little frown.

‘Where?’ he said, going to the open door. Before she could answer, he saw for himself. And immediately he knew exactly who she was.

‘Genevieve Slater,’ he said, walking towards
his visitor as if magnetised. ‘My God.’

She had parked her car rather oddly on the other side of the narrow country lane, and stood next to it. They looked at each other, with the eight feet of tarmac between them.

‘You remember me, then?’ she said. ‘I thought I might have changed beyond recognition.’ She turned sideways, gazing up the slope towards the unofficial grave, now reverting to its former inconspicuous state. Drew saw that she was at least seven months pregnant, and that she was displaying her profile deliberately, to ensure that he didn’t miss the fact.

‘I remember you,’ he said. ‘It’s not so very long ago, after all.’

‘Almost exactly two years. May. It seems longer.’

He remained where he was, examining her closely. She looked older than he remembered – her skin more weathered, and crinkled around the eyes. But the black hair bore no trace of grey, and was as long and thick as before. The voice was the same creamy contralto that had appealed to him so strongly. And as she finally crossed over and stood beside him, he noted wryly that she was still a good two inches taller than him.

She eyed the cottage with a critical pursing of her lips. ‘Didn’t stay long in Bradbourne, did you?’ she remarked, with a tang of accusation.

 ‘As it happens, no, we didn’t,’ he agreed. ‘But we fully intended to when—’

‘Well, never mind that now. We stayed where we were in the end. Willard’s contract at the university was renewed after all, and everything settled down again. Not that I should forgive you for what you did,’ she added pettishly. ‘In fact, I’ve come to call in the favour you owe me.’

‘Step into the office,’ he invited, suddenly aware of how they might look, standing so close together at the side of the road. ‘And tell me about it.’

The office was crowded, with Stephanie, Maggs and the newcomer. ‘Would you take her for a little walk?’ Drew asked Maggs, nodding at his daughter. ‘It’s quite sunny out there now.’

His assistant frowned rebelliously and narrowed her eyes. More than once she’d reminded him that childcare was not part of her job, and she had no intention of letting it become so. A glance at the obvious unborn infant newly arrived in the room carried more than a dash of disgust. Drew could hear a snide remark coming and moved to intercept it.

‘Sorry,’ he said firmly. ‘We won’t be long.’

‘Don’t go on account of me,’ said the newcomer, summing up the situation. ‘I don’t want to be a nuisance.’

He looked at her, where she leant against his
desk, all her weight thrown back on her hands, the bulge thrusting through the gaping coat. He felt rich with it: a wealth of female power on all sides.

‘
I
have to go,’ said Maggs. ‘But I don’t see why Stephanie can’t stay.’

Wordlessly, the woman thrust herself forward, taking a second to find her balance, and then held out her arms. Stephanie responded, twisting away from Maggs, almost leaping the gap between the two women. ‘Now everybody’s happy,’ said Drew comfortably. ‘Thanks, Maggs. I’ll see you in a bit.’

He gave his visitor a chair and produced a box of toys for his daughter.

Genevieve peered through the window at the back of the office, to the burial field. ‘I read about you in the local paper. You do alternative burials here, right?’ she said.

‘That’s right.’ He waited, examining in more detail her clear skin, long fingers, grey eyes, reminding himself of what had passed between them two years previously, when she and her husband had wanted the same house as Drew and Karen had decided to buy, and the protracted tussle had thrown them all together in a disorganised jumble of conflict and bad behaviour. Through a careless piece of diary-keeping on the part of the estate agent, the two
couples had met on the doorstep of the house, and the truth had quickly become clear.

Drew and Genevieve had tried to be civilised about it, but Willard and Karen had been like pit bull terriers, neither the least bit inclined to give up their prize. Their spouses had been embarrassed, but over-ruled. Twice they met over coffee, alone, to try to resolve the argument. And although he’d never touched her, Drew had found her to be one of the easiest people to talk to that he’d ever known. Only later did he realise quite how freely he’d talked.

It wasn’t even an especially nice house
, he thought now, with a rueful smile.
However did we get into such a state over it?

But the state had persisted, made far worse by the vacillating old lady who owned the property. She liked both couples, promising each in turn that they could have it, and making the man at the estate agent tear his hair out with frustration. The impasse dragged on, until one dramatic afternoon, Drew had decided on some concerted action. Karen wanted the house with a passion she rarely showed, so Drew took a deep breath and told the biggest lie of his life. ‘My wife is in the early weeks of pregnancy,’ he told the old lady. ‘And I’m afraid she’ll lose the baby if this stress continues. She’s already had two miscarriages, you see.’ The next day, the estate agent phoned
to say the house was quite definitely theirs.

All might have been well, except that Genevieve heard about what he’d done, and knew he’d lied. Knew because by then she knew quite a lot about the Slocombes, from Drew’s own lips.

Now, in his office, it was like being reminded of a bad dream. Genevieve had stormed at him, making extravagant accusations, threatening to betray him to the old lady, while he struggled to stay calm and point out to her that all his loyalties must lie with his wife. ‘After all,’ he’d said, ‘it isn’t as if there’s anything between you and me.’

‘Isn’t there?’ she’d challenged him, her hair disarrayed, her chest heaving.

‘Nothing,’ he’d insisted, reluctantly.

She’d deflated then, wounded and humiliated. ‘I thought you liked me,’ she mumbled childishly.

‘We wanted the same house – that’s all,’ he’d said perfidiously. ‘I’m sorry one of us had to lose.’

‘You cheated,’ she told him. ‘You don’t deserve to be happy in it. But I forgive you, Drew Slocombe. You’re too special to hold a grudge against.’