The Grave Tattoo (21 page)

If she stuck out like a sore thumb somewhere like the burger bar, she realised that sleeping rough was going to be an even tougher option than she’d thought. This was the kind of small city where the cops would know their regulars, and they’d know her for an outsider right away. If the cops in London had spread the word that she was on the run, it wouldn’t take even a dumb provincial cop long to suss her out.

Tenille stared down at the table. She’d been kidding herself that this was some kind of an adventure. But it wasn’t. It was lonely and scary and, no matter how hard she tried to forget it, Geno was dead. He was dead because of her.

All her life, her dad had been on the outside. She’d told herself she didn’t care, that she was fine without him. But now he was on the inside, and she couldn’t separate the confusion of feelings that created. Sure, she was proud that he’d shown her respect by dealing with the threat against her. But the other side of that pride was a horror at what he’d done and how he’d done it, leaving Geno for her to find like that. And now she was on the run because of something she hadn’t asked for.

Tenille felt a lump in her throat, like there was a piece of burger bun stuck there, refusing to go down. Everything was all fucked up. She was tired and miserable and she was probably in more danger out on the road than she had ever been from Geno. It wasn’t fair. She shouldn’t have to be taking care of herself like this. Other people didn’t have this shit to deal with.

She rubbed her eyes, determined not to burst into tears under the harsh lights of a burger bar. She had to get a grip. Find something to calm herself down. She closed her eyes and summoned up the words.

My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk…

That was the way to go, she thought with relief. Let the words wash over her. Let them be the focus of her mind. Keats and Shelley, Coleridge and Byron. They would help her make it through the night. She wasn’t alone. She could get through this.

An hour’s drive away, Jane sat in front of her laptop, her head in her hands. Her mother had called her down for dinner, but she had made the excuse of an upset stomach. Judy hadn’t questioned Jane’s claim of a dodgy chicken sandwich in Carlisle; it played too neatly into her innate mistrust of any food that hadn’t been prepared by a card-carrying member of the WI.

There had been no sandwich, but Jane felt sick nonetheless. Her stomach had lurched at the newsreader’s words and, as they had sunk in, nausea had crept over her. Geno Marley was dead. Murdered. Shotgunned to death, according to one of the websites she’d accessed. Blasted into oblivion only hours after she’d alerted John Hampton to the threat the man posed to his daughter. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

This wasn’t what she’d wanted or expected. She’d thought Hampton or his muscle would have warned Geno off. Maybe roughed him up a bit to make their point. She hadn’t bargained for so extreme a response. She had blundered into a world whose rules she didn’t comprehend. She’d tried to prevent a crime, not cause one. And now she had blood on her hands, a man’s life on her conscience. Nothing in her past had prepared her for that weight.

Her first reaction had been to call the police. But as soon as she considered that, she knew it wasn’t an option. There was Tenille to consider. Why the police were after her was a mystery to Jane. Where was she? What had she done to make them so eager to find her? Bloody Matthew had been right. They didn’t issue appeals like that for the innocent. Somehow, Tenille was caught up in this. Jane couldn’t understand how, but she knew in her bones that going to the police would not help her friend.

Besides, she had no proof that John Hampton had killed Geno. If the cops started questioning him, he’d know who had put his name in the frame. Her big fear, now that Tenille’s name was in the public domain, was that the Hammer would consider Jane a potential weak link in the chain. He didn’t know anything about her; he might not trust her to stay away from the police. Given what she now knew him to be capable of, Jane didn’t think he’d hesitate to extract what he considered to be appropriate vengeance on her. And she didn’t want to die.

Jane shivered in spite of the comfortable warmth of her bedroom. She had saved Tenille. She just hadn’t bargained on the price of salvation.

21

For once, waking in her own bed failed to lift Jane’s bleak mood. She’d slept badly, waking every hour in a thrash of tangled bedclothes and bad dreams. Images of Tenille, of blood and fire and smoke chased chaotic montages of her family and friends through the endless concrete galleries of the Marshpool. Guilt churned her stomach. Her eyes ached and her head felt thick and useless. But in spite of her expectations, the smell of frying bacon wafting up the stairs provoked a sharp stab of appetite. She hated herself all the more for her hunger.

Jane dragged herself out of bed and into the bathroom. What was it about her parents’ generation? Nobody over fifty had a decent shower. What she wanted was a cleansing cascade of scalding water, not this feeble sprinkling. She understood that her desire was as much for the symbolic as the actual, but the knowledge didn’t make the experience any more satisfying.

Before she went downstairs, she decided to check her email one more time for a message from Tenille. There was nothing from her, but Dan had sent her a late-night email.

Hi, Toots

How are you doing? I wish I had some better news for you, but I’m afraid it’s a no-no. I spent most of today at the Family Records Centre, but I wasn’t able to make any progress on Dorcas Mason. I found the birth certificate that you already have, but after that, nothing. It’s as if she walked out of the Wordsworth house into oblivion. The only thing I can think of is that she was marrying someone from overseas. That would explain her disappearance from the records. Maybe she met a sailor and went off to live in France or Spain? I’m more than willing to go back on Monday and search some more, but, to be perfectly honest, the records here are not that difficult to work through and I’m really not sure where/how else I could usefully search.

Talk to you soon,
Love and hugs,
Danny Boy

‘Bugger,’ Jane said loudly. She’d been pinning her hopes on Dan, but he’d had no more luck than she had. Logically, she knew there was nowhere obvious left to look. But a core of obstinacy in her refused to let her give up. ‘I’ll think of something,’ she muttered.

When she walked into the kitchen, she found her mother was frying sausages; a covered dish of bacon was sitting on the Aga. Judy looked over her shoulder to give her daughter the practised scrutiny of a parent. ‘You look terrible,’ she said.

‘Dan drew a blank with Family Records.’

Judy swung round, her eyes concerned. ‘Oh, Jane, pet, I’m so sorry. I know you’d set your heart on this.’

Allan walked in as she was speaking. ‘Morning,’ he said, kicking off his boots at the kitchen door.

‘Jane’s had bad news,’ Judy said as she expertly divided the breakfast between three warm plates.

‘About that lass on the TV?’ Allan’s face darkened in a frown.

‘No, about her project,’ Judy said, her voice almost drowned in the rush of water from the tap as Allan scrubbed his hands. ‘Dan can’t find any trace of that Dorcas woman.’

He glanced over at Jane. ‘Why not put the word out locally what you’re looking for, maybe someone will come up with something.’ It was a long speech for her father.

‘That’s a really good idea,’ Jane said. ‘I can get Bossy Barbara on to it, see what she can dig up through her local history contacts. I bet she’s on some obsessive Cumbrian genealogy weblist. Meanwhile, I thought I’d go out walking this morning. See if a stride up the fell can cheer me up.’

‘Oh, that reminds me. Matthew said Diane was going to be in this morning, if you fancied a coffee,’ Judy said.

‘Is Matthew going to be there?’

‘No, he’s taken some of the older kids across to Hadrian’s Wall for the day. He’s good about that, organising trips.’

With a gaggle of parents to do the hard work
, Jane thought cynically. ‘I’ll pop in on her, then. Leave the walk for this afternoon.’

‘Aye, I think you’d be wise,’ Allan said. ‘Those clouds should lift by the end of the morning. Should be a bonny afternoon.’

Jane gave her father a grateful look. ‘You’re full of good ideas this morning. A bonny afternoon on Langmere Fell’s just what I need.’

Jake woke to a dull and inescapable pressure inside his head. He was sweating stickily and his mouth tasted rank as a ditch. Groggily, he squinted at the red digits of the clock radio by the bed and groaned. Too late to even think about staking out Fellhead. He let his head fall back on the pillow and wondered what on earth had seemed so attractive about drinking the night away with a visiting rugby team. He didn’t even like rugby. He coughed and instantly regretted it. He wanted to lie immobile in the dark for the rest of his life. Which, if he was lucky, would not be too long.

His body had other ideas. Within minutes of each other, rebelling stomach and bowels had him lurching for the bathroom. After his second trip, he started to feel that it might just be possible to continue living. He dragged himself into the shower and leaned against the wall while the water poured down.

Half an hour later, he’d made it as far as getting dressed and booting up his computer. The brightness of the screen seemed inhumane, but he persevered and managed to get online. He groaned again when he saw an email from Caroline. He really didn’t want to be harangued this morning, not even virtually. But he opened it anyway, because he couldn’t not.

Good morning, Jake. I tried calling you on your mobile, but it was switched off. I presume you’re hot on Jane’s trail or talking to a forensic anthropologist. Anyway. Here are the search results from Family Records. As you will see, our chap has done a very thorough job. That’s the joy of professional researchers–they have the imagination to try alternate spellings for an era where literacy was still pretty hit and miss. As you’ll see, by the time she got married, Ms Mason had become officially Mayson. You can get started right away on tracking down the whereabouts of the current generation. Let me know how you get on.

Talk to you soon.

Caroline xxx

Attached to the email was a document that outlined the family tree of Dorcas Ma(y)son. She had married a man from Yorkshire and had three children before her husband died prematurely. She had obviously then returned to her native Cockermouth, since that was where her death in 1887 and the marriages of her children had been registered. Flicking through to the end, Jake saw she had several direct descendants. His heart sank. This was going to be no fun whatsoever. But it would be worth it in the long run, he told himself. Well worth it.

He decided to check Jane’s email while he was online. If she had made any headway, he wanted to know about it before he wasted time on leads she’d already blown out. When he opened Dan’s email, he was expecting to find the same ream of results that Caroline had sent him. He was pleasantly surprised to read that Dan had failed. ‘Dan to a T,’ he muttered. ‘Too lazy or stupid to check any other spelling.’

Finally, he dialled Caroline’s mobile.

‘Jake, good to hear from you,’ she said cheerily.

‘I got your email,’ he said. ‘Impressive research.’

‘I thought so. It really gives you something to get your teeth into.’

‘That’s true. But I still think it would be better to hitch a ride on Jane’s coat-tails if I can.’
Anything to buy myself some time. I don’t have to tell Caroline I know Jane’s going nowhere fast.
Silence on the other end of the phone. ‘People will see her motives as being purer somehow. She might get further that way.’

Caroline chuckled. ‘I think you spent too long in the public sector, Jake. Money is what makes the world go round. Wave enough money under their noses and they’ll be happy to sell their granny, never mind a few bits of mouldy old paper. This is a windfall you’re offering them, and they’re going to be bloody delighted at the prospect of an unexpected wedge landing in their bank accounts. No, you go for it. We’re ahead of the game at this point, let’s make the most of our advantage. The dice are rolling in our favour. I’m starting to get a good feeling about this, darling. I expect great things of you. Oh, and if you get the chance to make overtures to Jane, you should go for it. But if that doesn’t work out, at least you’ve still got her email.’

‘Yeah, yeah,’ Jake said. ‘I’m on top of things.’ Spying on his ex-girlfriend and keeping the results from his current one made him feel curiously powerful. They might think they could discount him, but he would show them who was really the player in this game. ‘I’ll talk to you later.’

‘Mmm. Think of me swimming in the bay. It’s a glorious day here, you need to get yourself back as soon as possible before the weather breaks.’

The line went dead. Jake stared at the phone. Offhand, dismissive, indulgent–that had been her tone. It was time for him to assert himself against these women.

Motherhood suited Diane, Jane thought, watching her sister-in-law settle Gabriel in his baby bouncer for a nap. When she’d been working in the bank, she’d been a high-octane kind of woman, filled with energy that had to find an outlet either in ambition at work or in projects around the home. She’d refitted their kitchen almost single-handed, only calling on help from Allan when a job really needed two pairs of hands. She’d had the good sense not to involve the famously clumsy Matthew in any practical sphere.

She had ventured into parenthood with the same determination for success, but somehow the process had mellowed her. She had lost her sense of frenetic urgency, taking things at a calm, measured pace and apparently finding the time at last to smell the flowers. As Gabriel’s eyelids flickered then shuttered his eyes, she sat back on her heels and smiled. ‘Now we can talk like adults,’ she said.

‘He’s really good,’ Jane said. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen a calmer baby.’

‘You should hear him when he wants attention at three in the morning. Or when he’s hungry,’ Diane said. ‘Nothing calm about that.’ She got to her feet and settled on the opposite end of the sofa to Jane. ‘But in general, yes, he’s great. I just wish he’d start sleeping through the night. I can’t tell you what I’d give for eight hours’ uninterrupted sleep.’

‘So I take it you’re not planning on another one any time soon?’ Jane teased.

Diane looked at her seriously. ‘I’m not planning on another one at all.’

‘Really? It was that grim?’

Diane gave her a level stare. Never one for beating about the bush, she said, ‘People think that being an only child’s some kind of handicap. Well, I was an only child and I don’t feel like I’ve missed out. To be honest, Jane, I’ve spent too long watching you and Matt tearing lumps out of each other to want to be a spectator to that sort of warfare on a daily basis.’

Jane was long past being offended by Diane’s candour, accepting it was as much part of her personality as her generosity and loyalty. ‘We’re not that bad,’ she said.

‘For the spectator, you are.’

‘I’m sorry. I just wish he wasn’t so resentful all the time with me. After all, he’s got the perfect life–he’s got you and Gabriel, he’s in Fellhead, living in a beautiful house at a peppercorn rent because it goes with his job, which is one he loves. I’m the one stuck in a scummy council flat working two jobs to keep body and soul together so I can have half a chance at the career I want.’