No Mercy (14 page)

‘…  and if she thinks she’s going to get away with it, she’s got another think coming. I mean, it’s not bloody fair, is it? It’s not right. And you can’t just throw someone out on the street like that. It’s not as though…’

The early evening sun was slanting through the windows, casting a lemony glow over the moss-green carpet. Louise continued her tirade. Adam raised a hand to his mouth and chewed on a nail. He’d finally got a chance to see the file when his mother had received a phone call and disappeared into the apartment. A part of him wished he hadn’t read it now.

The report was from that slimeball Yeats and was all about a girl called Maddie Layne. The face in the photographs had seemed vaguely familiar to him. One of his mother’s tarts? That was what she’d said, but he hadn’t believed her. Something had told him otherwise. He had skimmed through the written contents – age, address, where she worked, who she saw – none of which was particularly interesting.

It had taken a minute or two for the penny to drop, for him to suddenly realise. The shock had been like a low, painful thump to his guts. Maddie
Layne
. There had to be a connection. An unwelcome image of Greta had risen into his mind. Jesus! Yes, of course, this girl must be her sister – the same slim build, the same eyes, the same hair – but why the hell was his mother having her followed?

Adam’s fingers tightened around the bottle. Louise yattered on, her voice like an irritating buzz in his ear. He would have liked to smash the bottle in her face, to shut her up for good. He needed to think. He needed to figure out what he was going to do next. One thing was for certain: he should never have got involved with Bo Vale. That had been a big mistake. He had thought it was all over, done with, but now he wasn’t so sure. Getting away with murder wasn’t always as easy as it seemed.

The days passed by in a blur of work, school runs, cooking, cleaning and washing. Before Maddie knew it, it was Wednesday morning again and she was on her way to the cemetery. This time, in addition to her final visit to Lucy Rivers, she also had two other graves to tend. Zac had been dropped off at his grandparents’ – Alisha would pick up Kyle and take the boys to summer school – and she had two clear hours before her shift started at Marigolds.

Now that she had made the decision to sever her ties with Jay Cato, she felt a mixture of relief and guilt. She would be glad to be free of her involvement with a murderer, but felt bad about abandoning Lucy. A part of her felt, irrationally, as if she was turning her back on Greta too. Not that the plot would be neglected: Cato would simply employ someone else to tend it. And if he didn’t… well, there was nothing to stop her visiting the grave from time to time.

The rucksack, heavier than usual, bounced against her back. As well as her tools, her cloths and water, it also contained bags of potatoes, carrots and beans. She had a detour to make before passing through those cemetery gates. Turning left along Lester Road, she kept on walking until she reached a small terraced house that, on the outside, was almost identical to her own. The inside, however, couldn’t have been more different.

Agnes Reach must have been watching out for her because she had the door open before Maddie had even reached for the bell. ‘Hello, dear. Come in, come in. It’s lovely to see you again.’

‘And you. How have you been?’

‘Oh, very well, thank you. Isn’t it a marvellous day? They say the weather might break at the weekend, so we’d better make the most of it.’

Agnes was eighty-two years old, a tiny, bird-like woman who, despite her physical fragility, still had an active mind and a keen interest in everything that went on in the world. She had lived in the house for over sixty years and the interior, with its patterned carpets and tasselled lamps, still had a fifties feel to it. The only nod to modernity was a small flat-screened TV nestled in the corner of the living room.

Maddie followed her through to the kitchen, where a teapot with a pink knitted cover was already sitting on the table along with two china cups and saucers. She heaved the rucksack off her shoulder, put it down on the floor and opened it.

‘I’ve brought some veg. I hope you can use it. We’ve had a bumper crop this year, much more than we can eat ourselves.’

‘Are you sure?’ Agnes asked, as she peered inside the brown paper bags.

‘It’ll only go to waste otherwise.’

‘Well, if you’re sure. Thank you, dear. That’s very kind.’

Agnes had been Maddie’s first client and over time the two of them had become friends. Her husband, Alfie Reach, had been dead for seven years. With her dodgy hip and her painful arthritis, Agnes couldn’t walk far and had needed someone to tend the grave and put flowers on once a month.

Maddie didn’t like taking her money – she knew that Agnes lived on a meagre pension – but her offer of doing it for free had been flatly refused. Agnes was a proud woman and wouldn’t take charity. By bringing regular supplies of ‘unwanted’ vegetables, Maddie was able to still her own conscience and everyone was happy.

‘You’ll stay for a cuppa?’ Agnes asked. ‘It’s all brewed and ready.’

Although she had work to do, Maddie knew that Agnes didn’t get many visitors and looked forward to having someone to talk to. ‘Thanks. I’d love one.’

She pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. As Agnes poured the tea, her gnarled hands shook a little. Maddie bent down over the rucksack, pretending not to notice. ‘Oh, I almost forgot. I brought you roses too,’ she said, pulling out one of the stiff cardboard containers that protected the flowers. Inside were half-a-dozen blooms with long arching stems, the outer petals blush-pink, the inner ones a deeper shade. ‘They’re called Gentle Hermione. I’ve got some for Alfie as well.’

‘Well, aren’t they beautiful,’ Agnes said. ‘They’ll cheer up the place no end.’ She put down the teapot and picked up one of the roses, bringing it close to her face so that she could breathe in the fragrance. ‘And what a smell! They’re like the ones my mother used to grow.’

Maddie stood up. ‘Here, I’ll put them in the sink and you can find a vase for them later.’

‘You’re a darling. Thanks. So how’s it going at the cemetery? Got any new customers yet?’

‘Sadly not.’ Maddie put the plug in and ran some cold water. She didn’t mention that as of today she was about to be one customer down.

‘I’m sure things will improve come winter. People don’t want to be out in all weathers.’

‘I hope so,’ said Maddie, joining Agnes at the table again. Losing that monthly cheque from Cato was going to put a hole in her finances. ‘Perhaps I’ll place another ad in the paper, see if I can drum up some trade. Or try and get more shifts at Marigolds.’ She took a sip of tea and placed the cup back on the saucer. ‘Actually, there was something I meant to ask you. Did you ever come across a girl called Lucy Rivers? I’m going way back here, about thirty years or so.’

‘Lucy Rivers,’ Agnes repeated. She gave a light sigh. ‘Now, I haven’t heard that name in a long time.’

Maddie leaned forward, her eyes flashing with interest. Before she’d retired, Agnes had worked at the post office, where she’d come into contact with most of the local population at one time or another. ‘You knew her?’

‘She was a nice girl, a lovely girl. Such a shame about what happened.’

Maddie waited, hoping she’d go on, but Agnes simply sighed again, inclined her head and gazed off into the middle distance. For a while there was no sound in the kitchen other than the loud ticking of the clock on the wall. Eventually, having learned that these silences could go on indefinitely unless interrupted, Maddie gave her a prompt. ‘So… er… what did happen to her?’

Agnes gave a tiny jump as if she’d been startled. ‘Sorry, dear?’

‘Lucy Rivers.’

Agnes frowned as if the name meant nothing to her, but then her brow suddenly cleared. ‘Oh yes, poor Lucy. I remember now. She drowned, you know. It was a such a tragedy.’

Maddie started, reminded of Greta’s terrible death. ‘Drowned?’

‘Yes, dear. In the cemetery of all places. There used to be a pond there, round the back of the old chapel. It’s gone now, of course: they drained it after… And it wasn’t very deep, a few feet at the most. They said it was an accident, but…’

Maddie felt a chill run through her. ‘You don’t think it was?’

‘Well, there was a man involved.’ Agnes gave a wry smile. ‘Isn’t there always? She’d got attached to some undesirable sort and —’

‘You think he murdered her?’

Agnes’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Murdered her? Heavens, no! Whatever makes you think that?’

Maddie shook her head, confused. ‘But I thought you said…’

‘Oh, I didn’t mean that he killed her. Although perhaps in a roundabout way he did. He was married, led her on, the usual story. Nothing but empty promises. Never had any intention of leaving his wife. A bounder through and through.’ She paused. ‘Although I don’t suppose you call them “bounders” these days. It’s an old-fashioned sort of word. Anyway, after he’d got what he wanted, that was that. And the poor girl was heartbroken. Everyone with eyes could see she was distraught, but no one imagined that she’d… Well, I can’t be sure. Maybe it was an accident. But it was a warm day, a summer’s day, and the ground was dry. Even if she had fallen in, she could have easily got out again.’

Maddie sat very still, taking it all in. Her mind, though, was whirring away. Had Jay Cato been the man who’d betrayed Lucy Rivers all those years ago? Perhaps it was playing on his conscience. Perhaps, as Solomon had suggested, he had time on his hands and was dwelling on the past.

‘It was Eli Glass who discovered her,’ Agnes continued. ‘Must have been a terrible shock, finding her dead in the water like that. And there were some who pointed the finger, said that Eli was crazy, that he probably killed her. Luckily for him, he’d been digging graves all morning and hadn’t been alone. Didn’t stop the gossip, though. People can be cruel, very cruel.’

‘They can,’ Maddie agreed. But it was hardly surprising that Eli had been a suspect. He was different, and people didn’t like difference. It made them uneasy. And there was something disturbing about all his talk of ghosts and voices. She shifted a little in her seat, uncomfortably aware that she wasn’t entirely innocent of passing judgement on him either.

‘What makes you ask? About Lucy Rivers, I mean. It was all such a long time ago.’

‘I’ve been tending the grave,’ Maddie said. ‘She was so young and… I suppose I’m just curious about her.’ She hesitated, took a breath and then asked the question that had been on her lips for the past few minutes. ‘I don’t suppose you remember the name of the man, do you, the one that Lucy was seeing?’

Agnes thought about it for a bit, the wrinkles growing deeper on her temples, but then shook her head. ‘No, sorry, I can’t say I do. I’m not good on names these days. Faces, yes, I can still recall those, but names escape me.’

‘It wasn’t Cato, was it? Jay Cato?’

‘No, no, it definitely wasn’t that. That’s a rather unusual name, isn’t it? I’m sure I would have… No, I’m sure I’ve never heard that before.’

Maddie sat back, swallowing her disappointment. Another theory shot to bits. She was still no closer to unearthing Cato’s connection to Lucy Rivers. Just for a moment she’d been convinced that he must have been her lover, her seducer, the man who’d driven her to suicide, but unless Agnes was mistaken, he couldn’t have been.

‘Sorry, dear. I’m not being much help, am I?’

Maddie smiled and rose to her feet. ‘Not to worry. It doesn’t matter, really it doesn’t. Thanks for the tea. I’m sorry to rush off, but I’ve got to be at work by ten and I have to call by the cemetery first.’

Agnes accompanied her to the front door, said goodbye and then just as Maddie was strolling down the path, called out, ‘Do you know, I could be wrong, but I think it might have begun with a “V”. Varley, Venables, something like that.’

Another name instantly jumped into Maddie’s head. ‘Vasser?’ she suggested.

Agnes lifted and dropped her thin shoulders. ‘Maybe. It could have been.’

‘Okay, thanks. I’ll see you soon.’ Maddie gave a wave and set off down the street. She repeated the name to herself as she walked:
Vasser, Brendan Vasser
. Now she was even more confused. He was the man who Cato had murdered, the man who’d been married to Lena Gissing. So what did that mean? What was the connection between them all? She went over what she knew in her head, but still couldn’t make any sense of it.

Maddie continued to ponder on the mystery. With Vasser entering the equation, things had taken an unexpected turn. But why was she even thinking about it? In a few hours, after the grave had been cleaned and the gold ring returned, her part in it all would be finished. She shifted the rucksack on to her other shoulder and quickened her pace.

Maddie gave a fast sideways look towards the low-slung building as she passed through the cemetery gates. The office didn’t open until nine, but Delia Shields was already at her desk. Had she seen her? She must have. Maddie hurried up the main thoroughfare, hoping that the woman wouldn’t come out to harass her again.

At the willow trees, she stopped and glanced over her shoulder. The office door was still firmly closed. Maddie let out a breath, not even realising that she’d been holding it. Whatever Delia’s problem – and it was clearly connected to Cato – she didn’t want to get involved in another altercation. Up until last week, she’d viewed the cemetery as a peaceful place, somewhere she could come and think, but the row had changed all that.

A few people passed by her, commuters taking a short cut to the station. They walked quickly with the same intent expression on their faces. Office workers, she thought, with their smart suits and shiny shoes and briefcases. Well, she didn’t envy them. She’d rather flog garden furniture than be trapped within four walls on a day like this. And it wasn’t much fun being stuck on a hot packed train either.

Aware of the time ticking away, she carried quickly on up the thoroughfare. She would do Alfie Reach first, then Annie Patterson before going on to Lucy Rivers. The cemetery work truck was parked up to the side, the rear full of soil, and she scanned the surrounding area but couldn’t see any sign of Rick. Since their drink on Friday, he’d been sending her texts, funny messages, and she’d been wondering if she’d bump into him today. Not that she particularly wanted to see him or anything. Still, it might be nice to say hello.

At the water butt, Maddie turned right and walked up the shallow slope to Alfie’s grave. As she cleaned and polished the black marble headstone, she pondered on the fact that he and Agnes had been married for over fifty years. How had they done that? The longest relationship she’d managed to sustain was for two years, and that had ended in heartache. Well, heartache for her at least. Tom Bailey had moved on faster than a greyhound chasing a rabbit.

‘You did good, Alfie,’ she said, sitting back on her heels. ‘What’s the secret, huh?’

In another ten years, she thought, Zac would be eighteen. He might leave home, go to college or find a job somewhere else. It was hard to imagine life without him being around every day. She had always intended to return to archaeology, but wondered now if that would ever happen. Perhaps the nearest she would get to exploring the past was tending graves in Kellston Cemetery.

Maddie gave an impatient shake of her head. She was always telling Zac that if he put his mind to it, he could do whatever he wanted. The trick was to stay positive, to make the most of what you’d got. Fate had thrown up some surprises, but she was still standing. That, she decided, was an achievement in itself.

After sorting Alfie, she moved on to Annie Patterson. Working quickly, she had everything finished in fifteen minutes. It was easy in the summer, when her only enemies were dust and weeds. There was much more to do in autumn, when the leaves floated down from the trees, blew across the ground and gathered in great sodden piles on the graves.

She stood back to view the effect and then moved forward again, bending down to rearrange the flowers slightly. Once she was sure that it all looked perfect, she took a photo on her phone and sent it straight through to Annie’s son, Michael. Now, with the first two jobs completed, there was only one left to do. She picked up her rucksack and started walking towards the old part of the cemetery.

As she approached the grave of Lucy Rivers, Maddie felt a spurt of anxiety. Usually, she looked forward to spending time here, but today she was jumpy and ill at ease. Half of that was down to what had happened last time she’d come – the stranger lurking in the bushes – and the other half to what she had learned about Cato.

Cautiously, she advanced towards the grave and touched the top of the headstone with the tips of her fingers. ‘Hi, Lucy.’ The white marble was smooth and cool. ‘Last day today, but don’t worry – I’ll keep an eye on you. I’ll still drop by from time to time.’ Even as she spoke, she had the feeling that she wasn’t alone. She looked around, peering into the undergrowth, her ears straining to hear any sound. But everything was still and quiet. No, it was just her imagination. There was nothing to be worried about. She laid the rucksack down on the grass and took out the things she needed.

Maddie poured water on to a cloth, kneeled down and started cleaning. But she’d only been working for a couple of minutes when she got that uncomfortable prickling sensation on the back of her neck. She jumped to her feet again, her heart starting to thump. With the cloth still in her hand, she moved away from the grave, hesitated and then walked a little way along the narrow path that led down to the Belvedere mausoleum.

‘Who’s there?’ she said sharply, trying to sound braver than she felt.

Silence.

‘Hello?’ Maddie took a tentative step forward. With nothing more than a cloth in her hand, she felt singularly unprepared to face an attacker. Perhaps she should go back and fetch the trowel. It wasn’t exactly her weapon of choice, but it was better than nothing. ‘Hello?’

And then, out of nowhere, there was a sudden flapping of wings and a black crow rose from the ground into the trees. She started back, a cry catching in the back of her throat before she heaved out her breath in a sigh of relief. A bird! It was only a damn bird! And then, as if to mock her, the crow settled in the branches above and let out a series of loud shrieking caws.

Maddie waited until her heart rate slowed before continuing along the path. There was nothing to be afraid of. She would go as far as the mausoleum, have a quick look round and then return to the grave. That way, she would know for sure that nobody was there. Pushing her way past the buddleia, she moved quietly, her feet making barely a sound on the hard, dry earth.

The light grew dimmer as she advanced, the canopy of trees closing over her head so only a few rays of sunshine cut through the leaves, dappling the earth with a pale yellow glow. She stopped in front of the small brick building, more like a tiny windowless house, she thought, than a burial place. Remembering the cigarette ends she had found, she scanned the ground, but found no new evidence of the mystery smoker.

She turned her attention back to the tomb, reading through the inscriptions. The last person to be buried was Margaret Jane, wife of Henry James Belvedere and mother of Harold. That was in 1937. Harold James Belvedere had been interred at the age of twenty-two, a victim of the Great War. She moved away the ivy so that she could read the rest of the inscription.
Wounded at the Somme. Died 24 December 1916.
The fact that he had died on Christmas Eve added an extra poignancy to his death. There had been, or so it seemed, no other children. With Harold’s tragic demise, the line had come to an end.

Maddie’s gaze switched to the arched metal door, dusty and covered in cobwebs. She thought of the coffins inside, of the generations lying together in the darkness. But then, as she made a closer study of the ornate metalwork, of the panels and scrolls and winding flowers, she noticed something odd: the webs had all been torn apart along the hinge as if the door had been opened recently. She frowned, taking a closer look. Yes, they’d definitely been disturbed. From the top of the door to the bottom, there wasn’t a single one intact. And the handle was clean too, not a speck of dust on it. That could be down to Rick – last week, he’d checked to make sure the mausoleum was locked – but that didn’t account for the broken webs. Someone had been inside.

She reached out her hand, folding her fingers around the heavy metal ring. But then she hesitated, in two minds as to whether to turn it or not. She could imagine the low creak, the sound as the door swung slowly open. What if there was someone inside, someone
living
, someone who would leap out at her and —

She didn’t get a chance to finish the thought. From behind, from the direction of Lucy Rivers’s grave, came the heavy tread of footsteps along the path. For a second she froze, but then jumped back, unsure of what she was more bothered by – being caught trying to enter a family’s resting place or coming face to face with some weirdo who got his kicks from hiding in bushes and spying on women. Should she run or stay put? Paralysed by indecision, she remained rooted to the spot.

The next few seconds felt like a lifetime. She heard the crack of twigs, the rustle as he brushed by the buddleia. Any moment now. He was almost on her, so close she could hear his breathing. Or maybe it was her own breathing. Her lungs had started to pump heavily, and her pulse was racing. Her body stiffened as a figure came into view, but then instantly relaxed again. The face was familiar; the face was friendly. Thank God! It was only Rick.

‘Jesus! What are you doing here?’ She put her hand on her heart. ‘You half scared me to death!’

‘I work here,’ he said, laughing. ‘What’s your excuse?’

‘Hey, I work here too. Kind of.’

‘I saw your rucksack, figured you must be about somewhere. Are you okay? Our peeping Tom hasn’t come back, has he?’

‘No, I just… er… wanted to stretch my legs.’

Rick’s brows shifted up a fraction. He gazed at her for a while and then said, ‘Ah, sorry. I get it.’

Maddie stared back at him. ‘Get what?’

‘That’s another way of saying that you needed a pee, right?’

She put her hands on her hips and then, realising that she was still holding the cloth, quickly moved them back down to her sides. ‘Do I look like the kind of girl who goes around peeing in graveyards?’

Rick grinned. ‘When you’ve gotta go, you’ve gotta go. Can’t argue with nature.’

Maddie pulled a face. ‘Anyway, while I
wasn’t
having a pee, I noticed something odd. Come and have a look at this.’ She stepped towards the mausoleum and pointed at the hinge.

Rick peered over her shoulder. ‘What am I looking at exactly?’

‘Don’t you see?’ She ran a finger down the side. ‘All the webs have been broken. The door must have been opened recently.’

He bent his head, looking sceptical. ‘You reckon?’

‘For sure. And the last time anyone was buried here… well, not buried exactly, but you know what I mean… was in 1937. Don’t you think that’s strange?’

Rick moved to the side of her and rattled the handle. ‘Door’s still locked. Could have been Eli,’ he said. ‘He checks these places out from time to time, makes sure there’s no leaks or anything.’

‘Oh,’ said Maddie, feeling faintly disappointed. Her incredible skills of detection were apparently not so amazing after all. ‘I didn’t realise that.’

‘I can’t see anyone dossing down in here.’ He pressed his hand against the heavy iron door and pushed. ‘No, there’s no way. This thing’s rock solid – must be a couple of inches thick. You couldn’t get in without a key.’

‘I guess not.’

He turned and grinned at her. ‘And I don’t think you need to worry about the folks inside. They only come out when there’s a full moon.’

‘Ha, ha.’

‘You think I’m joking? Hey, never mock the powers of darkness, babe.’

Maddie, who was overly aware of the closeness of his body, gazed up into his eyes. ‘The powers of darkness, huh? If you’re trying to spook me, Rick Mallory, you’re doing a God-awful job of it.’

‘Damn,’ he said, looking rueful. ‘And here was me hoping that you’d fall into my arms and beg me to protect you.’

‘Maybe I will,’ she said, moving away from him and back on to the path. ‘When there’s a full moon. But in the meantime you can escort me back to the grave if that’ll help with your machismo levels.’

‘Better than nothing, I suppose. I’ll go first – face the danger head on.’

‘I’m feeling safer already.’

As they strolled back up the narrow path in single file, Rick glanced over his shoulder. ‘You still good for Saturday?’

‘I’ll let you know if I change my mind.’

‘You won’t be able to.’

‘I won’t? Why’s that?’

‘’Cause I’m going to turn off my phone and go sit in the restaurant until you show up.’

‘I like that in a man,’ she said, ‘blind optimism.’

‘And you know what I like in a woman?’

‘Surprise me.’

‘Punctuality,’ he said. ‘I’ve always seen that as a great virtue.’

‘Really? I wouldn’t have thought it was top of the list.’

‘And what would you have thought?’

‘Oh, I don’t know – an understanding of the subtleties of the offside rule, a sense of humour, nakedness?’

He glanced back at her again, grinning. ‘Well, yeah, those too, of course, although not necessarily in that order.’

They reached the grave of Lucy Rivers and stopped. Maddie looked up at him and smiled. ‘Thanks again for coming to my rescue. I don’t know what I’d have done without you.’

‘Had a pee in private, perhaps?’

‘I was
not
having a pee.’

‘Whatever you say. Anyway, I’d better get back to work before Delia fires me for fraternising with the local grave tender.’ He gave her a wave and started walking off. ‘I’ll see you on Saturday. Don’t be late.’