The Shrouded Path Page 23

  Mina looked around, trying to fathom what had gone on. Amongst the huddle of people standing about, Mina recognised Harry Neale. She caught his eye and he came over to her.

  ‘It’s a terrible business.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘There’s been an accident on the Matlock road. Monica’s cousin, Patrick Kersey, is dead and his young son is in hospital in intensive care. His injuries are serious. They’re not sure if he’ll pull through.’

  ‘Jesus.’ Mina looked across at Monica who continued to sob into the towel. ‘Do they know what happened?’

  ‘It seems it was Patrick’s fault. He pulled out from a side road straight into the path of a truck. He was going so fast, they don’t think he slowed to give way at all. The driver’s in a state. He says there was nothing he could have done.’

  ‘The poor man. There was a funny mist when I was out yesterday. Patchy, so sometimes it was clear as a bell and then you were engulfed in it. Perhaps he couldn’t see the end of the road.’

  Harry looked unconvinced. ‘We all know the roads around here. And what it’s like to drive in fog. The first rule is to slow down. What the hell was he thinking of?’

  ‘That’s a bit harsh.’

  ‘Is it? Well, maybe I’m sick of hearing of accidents along that stretch of road. Last year it was a couple of guys who came out of this pub worse for wear, although Emily usually looks out for that sort of thing. They drove out of Cold Eaton down the Matlock road and an hour later they had both been thrown out of the car and were lying in a field. They hadn’t even hit anything. No one knows how they ended up there.’

  ‘They can’t have been wearing their seatbelts.’

  He shot her a look. ‘They clearly weren’t wearing them but what did they collide with to throw them clear of the car?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Mina’s voice sounded small and Harry relented.

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m taking it out on you. Don’t mind me.’ He looked at the still weeping Monica. ‘The Kerseys are relatives. It’s hit Monica hard. Anything with family always does.’

  He went to his wife and, left alone, Mina found the collective grief of the people in the pub overwhelming. Her throbbing head was a constant reminder that someone here had attacked her and the sadness pouring out of Monica was too much to witness. She needed to get out of the building and leave Cold Eaton.

  ‘It’s a bad time around here at the moment,’ she heard one man say. ‘I passed Bampton church on my way down here and it’s full of police.’

  ‘You think something’s happened there?’

  ‘They had diggers there.’

  ‘Digging?’ There was a silence as the other man digested the information. ‘What the fuck were they digging for?’

  ‘It was an exhumation, wasn’t it? There are rumours about something going on at St Bertram’s. I bet it’s to do with that.’

  In shock, Mina moved to the door, van keys in hand. Sadler was clearly widening the investigation into her mother’s death and he’d said nothing to her. At the entrance to the pub, she halted at a familiar term. Cutting. They were talking about the Cutting. She looked towards the group and caught the eye of one of the farmers, his muddy wellingtons dropping clods of dirt over the floor. ‘Did the accident happen up by the Cutting?’

  He shook his head. ‘Not by the Cutting. The other end of the road. The car shot out of Cutting Lane onto the Matlock road. It’s a bloody dangerous stretch at the best of times. We’ve had plenty of accidents over the years.’

  Mina thought back to the previous day. ‘How old was the son? The one who’s in hospital?’

  The farmer shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Two maybe or three. A toddler. Why?’

  ‘I think I might have seen them up at the bridge. They passed me as they were going down the embankment on foot. Yesterday evening.’

  The farmer turned towards the weeping woman. ‘Monica,’ he raised his voice. ‘This young lady saw Patrick and Archie at the Cutting yesterday. He must have taken the boy for a walk along the path.’

  Monica stared at Mina and stood up. Harry put his arm around his wife and pulled her towards him. For a moment, before she turned towards her husband, Mina caught a glimpse of the malevolence in her expression and the look chilled her.

  53

  It’s only in films that exhumations happen at night. In reality, they take place whenever they can get all the personnel assembled and close off the churchyard to avoid distressing other mourners. Eight o’clock in the morning was the pathologist, Bill Shield’s favoured time. He could remove the body from the earth, take it to the hospital where his staff were waiting and do the post mortem that morning. Nell Colley would be back in the ground by nightfall.

  The preparation had been meticulous. The company outsourced by the police was experienced and efficient. They had covered each of the surrounding graves with a plastic shroud, a type of bubble wrap that gave the landscape the aura of a film set. Over the grave being exhumed, a tent had been erected and a large light was shining to help the diggers. Behind him, Sadler could see a huddle of police officers in high visibility vests stopping any visitors to the site and moving on the gawkers who had begun to gather.

  Connie was standing next to him looking green.

  ‘It doesn’t look like any press have got wind of this yet.’

  ‘With any luck we’ll be finished before they realise what’s going on.’ Sadler looked down at her. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘My mum’s buried over there.’

  She nodded to the far end of the churchyard where a patch was reserved for cremations. Sadler swore slightly under his breath. ‘Why the hell didn’t you say so?’

  ‘Because I wanted to be here. I worked late last night on this and I’m not missing out on anything.’

  ‘There won’t be anything to see. Go back to the station and find out the latest on Catherine Hallows. She was still missing an hour ago but that might have changed. Who’s looking into her mother’s employer?’

  ‘Matthews. It shouldn’t take long.’

  ‘St Bertram’s is a large hospital. She could be attached to any department.’

  ‘Then why didn’t she say? Why didn’t she tell me Catherine was volunteering at her place of work?’

  Sadler sighed. ‘Can we please wait and see? You have to wear uniforms in nursing homes or if you’re a district nurse. I want to see what Lorna Hallows’s job is before we jump to any conclusions.’

  Dahl, also in a high vis vest, came out of the tent. ‘We’re about to lift the coffin out of the ground. Do you want to come in?’

  Sadler shook his head and stayed next to Connie. He could see Llewellyn’s tall form near the tent’s entrance, checking all his personnel were okay. He also saw the figure of a woman he didn’t recognise, dressed in a heavy overcoat.

  ‘Who’s she?’ he asked Connie.

  Connie looked over. ‘She’s the priest.’

  ‘Who asked her to be here?’

  Connie turned to him. ‘It’s her churchyard, she probably wanted to attend.’

  A van backed in towards the entrance of the tent. Both Sadler and Connie looked on transfixed. ‘The remains must be above ground.’

  They watched as the coffin was put into the back of the van under the watchful eye of Bill Shields.

  ‘That’s that then.’ Sadler turned away. ‘Don’t go to the post mortem, Connie. Dahl can be present. Later today, I want to show you something I found at Nell’s house, some notes and a short extract. She’d definitely told someone she was writing the book.’

  ‘Do you know who?’

  ‘That’s the problem. I only know that it was a woman in Cold Eaton.’ He looked to see Connie’s reaction but she was frowning towards the entrance to the churchyard.

  ‘What’s Mina Kemp doing here?’ she said.

  Sadler looked across and saw Mina gesticulating to one of the police officers. ‘I’ll go and see.’

  He made his way across the damp grass to
her. She stopped arguing with the police officer and turned to him to watch his approach.

  ‘Whose body are you exhuming?’

  Sadler sighed. ‘How did you find out about it?’

  ‘At The Nettle Inn at Cold Eaton. They’re gathered there to talk about an accident that took place on the Matlock road. It involves a local family but someone also mentioned that there were police at Bampton churchyard.’

  ‘I need you to go, Mina.’ He blocked her view of the tent and she made no effort to move past him.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘I can’t tell you.’

  ‘Is it connected to Mum’s death?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that, either.’

  ‘Please.’

  He looked down at her. Worry lines creased her face, fading into something darker. ‘Look, I can’t tell you anything. Why don’t you go back to work, Mina?’ He looked at her closely. A faint bruise was forming high up in her cheekbone that she hadn’t attempted to cover with make-up. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I think someone decked me last night.’

  ‘You think? What do you mean?’

  ‘I was going to my room at the pub and the next thing I remember is waking up on the floor. They’re saying I fell but I’m pretty sure someone hit me over the head.’

  Sadler felt a wave of anger. ‘I want you to go home. Not to The Nettle Inn and not to the boat. I’d feel happier if you were in your house.’ He looked around him. ‘I’m short of staff but I can get a uniformed officer to accompany you if it would make you feel safer.’

  ‘I’ll feel safer on the boat. If I shout, someone will hear. In my house I’m on my own.’

  ‘The boat then, but don’t open the door unless you recognise the voice and feel safe.’

  ‘Who are you exhuming?’

  He whispered, ‘I can’t say.’

  ‘Will you come and see me? On my boat. The Evening Star down at Bampton wharf. I’ve got something to tell you.’

  ‘About your mother?’

  She nodded. ‘I think I might know what it’s all about. The bare bones of it at least.’

  ‘I’ll come later this morning. You haven’t seen Catherine Hallows, have you?’

  ‘Catherine? Only yesterday. Oh no, she’s not missing, is she?’ Mina looked over to the retreating hearse. ‘Will you come and see me as soon as you can?’

  54

  Susan Barr came out of the hairdressers with her hateful hair teased into the curls that would no doubt drop in the coming rain. She should have put her foot down when she was fifteen and refused that perm her mum had insisted she have to cheer herself up. It had started a lifetime battle between her and her mousy hair. First the curls then the blonde dye. Nothing brassy, her father wouldn’t have stood for that, but something to lighten her spirits along with her mood. Susan had long ago forgotten what her hair originally looked like. ‘Mousy’ she would tell her grandchildren but surely it would now be grey or even white. And still these weekly visits to the hairdresser every Tuesday to style her hair into this rigid helmet.

  She bought a local newspaper and took it into the Aroma café. She enjoyed the young buzz of the place and the no nonsense attitude of the servers. Over her steaming coffee she flicked through the pages of the paper, going first to the letters of complaint, which always made her laugh. The decades she’d spent away from Bampton had been a godsend. She’d seen that there was a life outside Derbyshire, that there were other ways of looking at life and she’d encouraged this attitude in her own children. There’s no one way of doing things she’d preached to them as children and, perhaps, hopefully, they were passing this maxim on to their own children. The people who wrote in to the Bampton Chronicle had clearly never left the confines of this town. Phrases such as ‘This country is going to the dogs’ or ‘It’s not how it used to be’ abounded and the minutiae of the supposed decline of Bampton was picked over in excruciating detail.

  Having satisfied herself with the continued narrow-mindedness of the paper’s correspondents, Susan turned to the front pages. The top story was about a man killed and a child in intensive care after he drove out of a side road and into the path of a lorry. The lorry driver, to whom no blame was being attached, was in hospital with minor injuries. He hadn’t been going fast but a six-axle articulated wagon will cause a massive amount of damage even at slow speeds.

  Susan read on. The newspaper had tried to speak to the mother, which showed the insensitivity of some people. The poor woman must have been devastated. A relative, though, had revealed that the mother had spoken to her husband minutes before the accident and had described him as being in an ‘agitated state’ before driving away from the former railway line.

  The coffee soured in Susan’s mouth and she had to resist the temptation to spit the bitter liquid back in her cup. Instead, she forced it down and picked up the paper to read the article again. There was nothing else that gave any indication what the man had been agitated about. Patrick Kersey had been driving down Cutting Lane after a walk on the former railway line. At the end of the road, instead of slowing down, he’d driven into the path of a lorry. His wife had spoken to him moments before the crash and he had been agitated. Agitated? What about?

  Susan pushed her coffee cup aside and went to the counter.

  ‘Do you still have those maps of Bampton that you used to give out to the students?’

  The Greek woman shook her head. ‘I stopped doing them. Prices have gone up and I need to make cuts somewhere. I’d rather it wasn’t the food and drink.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. Don’t worry.’ Susan turned.

  ‘Hold on. I might still have one out the back. Do you want me to look?’ The woman moved away from the counter and disappeared through a door. She returned with a slightly stained map bearing a photo of Bampton’s main square.

  ‘I don’t know why the tourist office doesn’t give us free ones. I had to get these printed at my own expense. Anyway, you have it.’

  ‘I just want to look at something.’ Susan walked back to her table and spread out the map in front of her. She looked to the east of the town and oriented herself by finding her childhood home. With a finger she traced the path she had once trod confidently from her house to school. She followed the route as it neared the railway line until she came to the spot where it crossed over the track. It had a name, she’d not known it at the time. ‘Over the bridge’ if she was going to refer to it at all, but here it was on the map. Cutting Embankment and Road leading away from the bridge towards the Matlock road. Cutting Lane. It was from here that the man had fled with his child.

  From what?

  55

  Connie looked up as Matthews walked towards her desk looking dejected. Her colleague had a sheen of sweat on her face and the skin around her eyes was stretched pale white. With Sadler preoccupied with the exhumation, Matthews was leading the search for Catherine Hallows and it seemed to be taking it out of her. Connie, still feeling queasy from the exhumation, was glad to get back to the office. Glad to be excused from the PM. Pleased to be in the land of the living, or missing, rather than the dead.

  ‘Any news?’

  Matthews shook her head and flopped down opposite Connie. ‘Nothing. There have been no positive sightings of Catherine Hallows for nineteen hours. We’re reinterviewing Catherine’s friends. They were questioned by uniforms last night and said they hadn’t seen her at all yesterday after the morning’s lessons. After which, she went to the hospital. I’m going to speak to the Super about bringing in a specialist search team.’

  ‘You think she might still be at her mother’s house?’

  ‘I’m going to cover all bases. If she’s definitely not there, I want it confirmed. I don’t want anyone saying I missed anything.’

  All officers had a description of Catherine and those carrying PDAs had been sent the snap identical to the one Connie had seen yesterday evening. There had been no sightings of a girl in a polka dot dress.

  Connie
reached out her hand and briefly touched Matthews. ‘We’ve done everything right so far. Have you found out where Lorna Hallows works?’

  ‘I spoke to Mrs Hallows this morning. She was surprisingly calm. I’m not sure I’d be as composed if my daughter was missing. She’s a district nurse. She never goes to Bampton hospital in a professional capacity.’

  Matthews’s phone rang and Connie shamelessly listened to the conversation, which consisted of a series of grunts from Matthews. As the receiver went down, she banged her head on the desk.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Mayfield’s gone into labour.’

  ‘Great!’ Connie’s smile fell when she saw Matthews’s face. ‘That’s good, isn’t it?’

  ‘It means we’re one person down. I’ll definitely need to speak to Llewellyn about resources. I’m going to head up there now.’

  Matthews disappeared, holding the door for a large man who looked briefly around the office before making his way to her desk. On his sleeve she could see ‘Road Police Unit’ printed in large letters.

  ‘DC Childs?’

  ‘That’s me.’ Bloody hell, the guy was huge. He must be about six feet five. How come I’ve never spotted him before? thought Connie. ‘How are things?’

  ‘Not good, to be honest. Did you hear about the accident coming out of Cutting Lane?’

  Connie grimaced. ‘Yes. How’s the little boy?’

  ‘Critical according to the last update but the injuries aren’t life changing, if you get my drift. We’re going to have to look again at the traffic calming at that stretch.’

  ‘The car didn’t stop at the junction. The lorry driver could have been doing thirty and it still would have been a nasty accident.’

  ‘I know and that’s the reason I’m here. I’ve just interviewed the wife of Patrick Kersey who was killed. The thing is, the mother’s in a state but she was able to give us an accurate description of the last few minutes before the car crashed. Patrick had apparently taken Archie for a walk down the Topley Trail and was rushing away from the scene because he’d seen a girl walk into the tunnel at the top of Cutting Lane and she hadn’t come out.’