The Shrouded Path Read online

  ‘At school, you mean?’

  ‘Exactly. I mean, it’s a time of innocence, isn’t it? Things are never the same again.’

  44

  Camilla entered the dining room carrying a huge Le Creuset casserole dish, placed it in the middle of the table and took off the lid with a ‘ta da’. Ben clapped as steam engulfed them and lifted up his plate while Samuel issued a long, overdramatic groan.

  ‘I can’t eat anything. I’m not hungry.’

  Ben looked at his mother with sly eyes. ‘He had three toffee apples at the fireworks.’

  Their father reached over and picked up the serving spoon. ‘You need to eat something properly, Sam, or you’ll be sick. Give me your dish.’ John put a spoonful of beef casserole onto Sam’s plate. ‘Are you sure Nana didn’t fancy coming over?’

  Camilla looked at Sadler. ‘I did try to persuade her but she said she wanted to get home. A Saturday night in November, it’s not really surprising. It was chilly out and she was determined to come but I got the impression that it took it out of her. How did she seem to you, Francis?’

  Sadler took the spoon from John and dug into the stew. ‘She seemed fine, although I’ve not really had a chance to talk to her properly since she was in hospital. She had a couple of visitors when I went to see her at home.’

  ‘That’s not a surprise. I’ve never met anyone with so many friends.’ John looked at the siblings. ‘Neither of you have taken after her.’

  ‘They were a lifesaver with Dad. He was always at the architecture practice or on site. Mum relied on friends to babysit, have a social life of her own.’ She rounded on her husband. ‘I have friends.’

  He smirked. ‘Not like your mother. That house is like a bus terminus sometimes, people going in and out.’

  ‘Did you report the broken window?’ asked Sadler.

  ‘I rang 111 like you suggested. They took the details and gave me an incident number. It all felt a bit pointless given that nothing was taken.’ Camilla looked at the children and mouthed ‘later’ to Sadler.

  After dinner had finished, marred only by a spat between the two children over who had left the most on their plate, John took them into the living room and switched on the TV. Sadler began to stack the plates and carried them through to the kitchen. ‘What was it you wanted to tell me about Mum?’

  Camilla opened the dishwasher. ‘When I stayed the night at Mum’s, there was a leaflet under her bedclothes.’

  ‘A leaflet?’

  ‘Well, not a leaflet. I don’t know what you call it. A flyer maybe. It was advertising a tea dance.’

  ‘Mum’s started going to tea dances? That’s nothing strange. She’ll try anything once. One of her friends has probably asked her along.’

  ‘Not for now.’ Camilla wiped her hands on a cloth and faced him. ‘I wouldn’t mind that, although it’s not really Mum’s thing, is it? There was a date on the flyer, June, but no year. Nineteen fifties or sixties, I’d say.’

  ‘Do you think she’d been having a clearout?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’d never seen it before, not that it means anything, but what was it doing in her bed?’

  ‘Good question. If you don’t think it was there accidentally, and it doesn’t sound like it, she must have been hiding it there.’

  Camilla relaxed slightly and gave him a hug, putting her face against his chest. ‘Do you know what I like about you, Francis? You always take me seriously. It was the same when you were a little boy. You listened to what I had to say even though you were five years younger than me.’

  Sadler put his arms around his sister. ‘It sounds strange. Mother’s never been particularly secretive, has she?’

  ‘Not really. Even stranger is the fact that after I brought her home from hospital, she went upstairs to get herself settled and when I went into the bedroom after she’d come back down, the leaflet had gone.’

  ‘She’d gone into the room to retrieve it.’

  ‘Exactly. The thing is, I also found a jumper in the laundry basket that I think had blood on it.’

  ‘Blood? Maybe she’d fallen before and not told us.’

  ‘You think that might be it?’

  ‘I don’t know. It’s a possibility, I suppose. Was she injured when she went into hospital?’

  ‘She never said anything and I’m sure the hospital would have told me. It must have been from, I don’t know, earlier that day or perhaps the day before.’

  ‘Why don’t you ask her?’

  ‘Just like that?’ Camilla pulled away. ‘Do you think she’ll give me an honest answer?’

  ‘Why not? There could be an innocent explanation for both the leaflet and the stain. She might have cut herself in the kitchen, for example. That would account for the blood.’

  ‘Will you ask her?’

  ‘Me?’ Sadler stared at Camilla. ‘She’s more likely to open up to you, isn’t she? Why on earth do you think she’d talk to me?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Forget I asked.’

  *

  Sadler walked back from Camilla’s house in the cold Bampton night with the sulphuric smell still hanging in the air from the celebrations. A group of teenagers were throwing bangers at each other near the canal but scarpered at his approach. As he neared his cottage, he saw a van parked next to Clive’s sports car, the lettering on the side familiar. He went over to it and rapped on the window. ‘Mina?’

  She wound down the window. ‘You were right. You were easy to find.’

  ‘Go on. Tell me how you did it.’

  ‘I had your first name and the fact that you’re a detective. Your colleague that I met this week, DC Childs, said her boss was called Sadler. I typed Francis Sadler into 192.com and this address came up.’

  ‘How did you know it was the right one?’

  ‘I didn’t. I’ve just been sitting here waiting for someone to come home. I nearly gave up, especially when those kids started acting up. I had visions of one of them losing an eye or ending up in the canal. I nearly drove away. I don’t think I could face any more trouble.’

  ‘You’re not in trouble, Mina. Unless there’s something you want to tell me.’

  She looked up at him, her usual competence fighting with a glimmer of fear he could see in her face.

  ‘Do you want to come in?’

  She got out of the van and followed him into his house. Sadler, for the first time he could remember, was conscious of the shabbiness of his furnishings. Old pieces, some of them given to him by his mother when she’d downsized. At least it was tidy. Just.

  ‘This is nice.’ He’d expected her to look at his bookcases, but instead she made her way to his windowsill and picked up an orchid, given to him by Camilla for his birthday, which was now looking sorry for itself. She picked up the pot and presented it to him. ‘Chuck it. It’s beyond saving.’

  Sadler laughed and took it off her. ‘Take a seat.’

  She sat down and picked at the arms of the sofa. ‘It took me ages to pluck up courage to come and see you, and now I’m here, I don’t know where to start.’

  He put the plant next to the front door and came back, sitting opposite her. ‘You’ve spoken to my colleague, Connie. Is that why you’re here, for more details on your mother’s death?’

  Mina nodded. ‘I guess so. I don’t understand what’s going on.’

  ‘Neither do we, right at this moment. We do, however, suspect your mother’s drip may have been tampered with.’

  ‘You’re not even sure of that?’

  ‘The bag shows signs of damage. That’s all I can tell you because it’s all we know. It may yet be an accident and may have no bearing on your mother’s death.’ He checked her reaction. She was attentive, but behind that he thought he detected a hint of relief. ‘I hear you’re having a short stint away from your house.’

  ‘Well—’

  ‘You’re not a suspect but we do need to be able to get hold of you.’

  ‘To be honest I’m staying in Cold Eaton. Your
detective found me there. Connie.’

  ‘Cold Eaton. That’s an unusual place to be.’

  ‘I’m staying at the pub, The Nettle Inn. I needed some space.’ She paused, unwilling to continue.

  ‘Is everything else okay? I remember you saying something about trying to find someone. Connie says you have a photograph of your mother as a teenager.’

  ‘I think I’ve found out the names of a couple of the girls. Connie was right. One of them is Ingrid Neale and I found out today another was Nell Colley.’

  ‘Nell Colley. Are you sure?’

  ‘According to her neighbour, it was definitely a young Nell in the photo.’

  ‘And you said when I met you at North Lees Hall that you were looking for someone else.’

  ‘Oh that. It was nothing really. Valerie has died.’

  ‘Died?’ Sadler couldn’t keep the concern out of his voice. ‘When did she die?’

  ‘In 1963.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘You don’t need to worry about Valerie. Valerie is long dead.’ She looked out of the window. ‘Perhaps I should be going.’

  ‘I can make some coffee, if you like. You’ve only just arrived.’

  Mina, however, having satisfied herself that Sadler had no more information he could give her, looked anxious to leave. He walked her to the van and watched her depart. Valerie is long dead. Sadler repeated the words to himself. Why does that phrase sound so ominous?

  45

  Mina arrived in time to watch the ceremonial lighting of the fire. A listless Sunday, where images of the past had jostled for attention, had convinced her that tomorrow she should pick up her work and get back into a routine. The police investigation would proceed at its own course and Valerie, it seemed, was lost to the mists of time. A flaming torch, the type only usually seen on Game of Thrones, was produced and dipped into the gigantic pile of wood that had been built that day. The Guy disintegrated quickly. There was a loud, visceral cheer when he toppled off his perch into the heart of the flames. Unlike Emily’s effigy he wasn’t dressed in a suit but corduroy trousers and an old Barbour jacket. Why had Emily dressed hers in a suit? An odd choice for a teenager. The bonfire blazed so strongly that Mina could feel the heat down one side of her face. She looked around at the village collected together, about a hundred figures gazing into the flames, their faces in shadow.

  There was a table in the corner of the field where the smell of frying onions mingled with smoke from the fire. Mina bought herself a hot dog and, although her stomach was a knot of tension, she forced herself to swallow it, aware she’d need the calories to go to work tomorrow. She watched a group of children running around with sparklers, trying to write their names in the air. She could only remember one bonfire party that Grumps had taken her to, where she’d gorged on toffee apples and gingerbread. Her mother had refused to come but Mina had never asked for an explanation as to why she didn’t like Guy Fawkes Night. Another mystery to add to the others. Yet the sounds and smells produced the pull of nostalgia. She longed for her mother as she stood amongst these families making their own memories.

  She looked around for someone to talk to. People were either paired off or knew each other. She put her empty glass of punch down on a trestle table and slipped away unnoticed. The track back to the pub took her past the large manor house. There was no lighting so she switched on the torch on her phone to guide herself over the stony ground. The house was in darkness except for an upstairs window where a lamp burnt. A figure passed in front of the window reminding Mina of Sadler and the conversation they’d had about a mad woman in the attic the first time they’d met. The welcome sight of The Nettle Inn bathed in light lifted her spirits and, as Mina pushed the door open, she saw that all the tables were full so she headed to the bar where Emily was pouring a glass of beer.

  ‘Oh, it’s you. Been up to the bonfire?’ A group of men were sitting on stools to one side and they turned to look at her.

  ‘It’s quite a sight. I thought you’d be there.’

  ‘I was there for the start, then I nipped back. It’s a busy evening for us here too. What can I get you?’

  ‘Just a Diet Coke.’

  Emily handed her a bottle and an empty glass and took her money. Mina pulled up a stool the other side of the bar to the men, one of whom was looking at her with unashamed curiosity. ‘You from the village?’ he shouted to her across the bar.

  She shook her head. ‘Bampton.’ He was a short man in his fifties with what remained of his fair hair cropped short. ‘Not far.’

  ‘Far enough,’ he muttered.

  ‘My mum used to come here a fair bit, though. You might have known her, Hilary Kemp.’

  The man looked confused and shook his head.

  ‘Can I show you a picture of her?’ She slid the photo of her mother over the bar towards him.

  The man shook his head again. ‘Never seen her before, love.’

  Mina passed over the other photo. ‘These were her friends.’

  The man stared at it for a moment and pointed at the girl on the left. ‘What was her name?’ He angled the photo into the light. ‘She was a teenager when I was a young lad. I can’t remember her name. Began with a G.’

  ‘I thought it might have been Valerie Hallows?’

  ‘Hallows. That’s it. I remember now. Her family are from Hallows Hill. Weren’t you friendly with her?’ Mina looked up in surprise and saw he was directing his question to Emily Fenn.

  Emily flushed and moved to serve a customer.

  ‘I went up there looking for someone called Catherine. She visited my mother in hospital.’

  The man laughed. ‘You won’t have got much of a welcome. It’s a close knit world up there. Can I see the photo again?’

  He studied the image. ‘It’s taken in the churchyard. You can see the old yew tree behind it.’

  ‘You mean the stonework’s the church.’

  ‘That’s right. Em?’ He turned but Emily had left the bar and headed off into the kitchen.

  ‘The churchyard? That’s a funny place to take a picture of girls in tennis whites.’

  ‘There used to be a court in the field next to the graves. It’s all overgrown now but I played on it myself.’

  ‘So why not take a photo there rather than go into the churchyard?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask Emily?’

  ‘You think she might know some of the girls?’

  ‘Know the girls?’ The man grinned and pointed with a grubby finger to the fourth girl. ‘She’ll know who that one is.’

  The girl had wavy fair hair that looked thin and lank. She was slim but with large hips and short legs. The type that might run to fat later in life. Mina squinted at her features and made the connection. Emily was taking over two plates of food to one of the far tables. Despite the impression of strength she gave, her shoulders were hunched from years of running a busy pub. Behind the dumpy frame and stooped posture, however, Mina could see she had the same shape as the girl in the photo.

  ‘Do you know—’ She wanted to ask the man about the other three girls but he’d disappeared off towards the toilets. His group of friends were finishing their drinks and talking about picking their kids up from the bonfire. Mina waited for a few minutes but the man never reappeared and his friends dispersed.

  Emily came back to the bar and shouted something at her assistant. The blonde girl nodded and Emily disappeared out of the front door.

  Mina turned over the photo and looked once more at the figures. Four of the five girls identified. Valerie, Ingrid Neale from the big house, Emily who’d claimed she’d never heard of Mina’s mother, and Nell Colley who had been writing a memoir. It wasn’t much and Mina wondered where this journey was taking her. Was it helping, digging into the past, or was it making her grief worse? Mina looked around her.

  ‘Is Emily coming back?’

  The blonde girl shook her head. ‘Not for a couple of hours. She’s going to help with the clearing up of the bonfire.’<
br />
  ‘She said she had too much to do here.’

  The girl shrugged. ‘We can manage.’

  Mina finished her drink and went up to her room. On the landing, she saw, illuminated by a car’s headlights, the figure of Emily hurrying away from the pub towards the manor house. With her head down, she had the air of a woman with a purpose in mind. Emily, supposedly occupied with the busy pub, had disappeared after overhearing the discussion of the photo. Mina looked around her, wondering if she should stay. Emily was hiding something. Mina thought of the deserted canal boat and of her childhood home and felt faint with longing. She couldn’t return to either home yet. She sat on the bed and put her head in her hands.

  46

  Sadler, sitting opposite Llewellyn, was shocked to discover that his boss, for once, appeared to be at a loss for words. As Sadler handed him the papers, Llewellyn took off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves, clearing his throat.

  ‘I’ve not had to do this for years. I was still in uniform when I was last involved in an exhumation. I remember it played on my mind for years afterwards. The white tent, the lights, the machine going in. There’s nothing natural about digging up the dead.’

  Sadler shifted in his chair. ‘I think you might be the only serving policeman who’s been involved in an official exhumation. I’ve looked back through the records and the last was in 1983, which is probably the one you attended. We’ve asked a specialist firm to get involved in the removal of the body. Our own personnel won’t be doing the digging. You don’t have to be there.’

  ‘Oh I’ll be there all right. My staff will be there coordinating and observing. They’re not doing this by themselves. Is there no other way?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I’ve spent the weekend thinking about it and today sorting out the mechanics. I just need your go ahead. We have a link between Hilary Kemp whose death is being treated as suspicious and now both Ingrid Neale and Nell Colley whose deaths were being, if not investigated, then scrutinised by Connie and Dahl.’

  ‘I see they’ve confirmed the evidence of diamorphine hydrochloride in the saline drip bag.’