The Grave Tattoo (29 page)

‘Gresham’s Farm? Judy Gresham’s lass?’

‘That’s right. And this is my colleague Dan Seabourne. I wondered if we might have a word with you?’

‘With me? What about? I’m warning you now, I’ve only got my pension, so there’s no point coming here looking for donations for this, that and the other.’

Jane shook her head. ‘It’s nothing like that.’

Tillie exhaled heavily through her nose. Her eyes screwed up behind her large-framed glasses as she considered. ‘You better come in, I suppose. Save letting all the heat out.’

They followed her into a small over-heated living room which smelled of talcum powder and stale biscuits. The large TV that dominated the room was showing an Australian soap opera. ‘You’ll have to wait a minute,’ Tillie said. ‘I don’t want to miss the end. Brad’s got Ellie pregnant and now he’s going to tell her husband the baby isn’t his.’

‘That’s going to be a heck of a shock for Jason,’ Dan said, perching on the sofa and staring intently at the screen. ‘They’ve been friends for years, him and Brad.’

Tillie’s tight mouth relaxed into a smile. ‘You’re a fan?’

‘Love it,’ Dan said.

She nodded. ‘It’s a grand show. Never a dull moment. Reminds me of when I was young.’

Finally, the credits rolled and the anodyne music flowed. Tillie turned the sound down and turned to face them. ‘Besides, it’s the only company I get most days, I don’t like to miss it,’ she said. ‘So what brings you to my door, Jane Gresham?’

Jane had been fully prepared to journey all round the houses before she got to the point of her visit. But she was pretty sure there was no point in attempting small talk with Tillie Swain unless it centred round soap operas, a subject on which her knowledge was manifestly insufficient. And if she set Dan loose on that track, she feared she’d lose the will to live. All she could hope for was to inject a bit of drama into her own quest. ‘I’m on a kind of treasure hunt.’

Tillie snorted. ‘You’ll find no treasure here, lass.’

Dan grinned. ‘Now, Mrs Swain. You’re a connoisseur of the soaps, you should know that treasure turns up in the unlikeliest of places. Just have a listen to what Jane has to say before you dismiss it out of hand.’

‘I’m a Wordsworth scholar,’ Jane said. ‘I have reason to believe that a secret manuscript was entrusted to the care of one of the family servants. A very important manuscript. An undiscovered poem by William Wordsworth. And we’re trying to track it down.’

Now she had Tillie’s attention. ‘Would it be worth something, then?’

‘It would be worth a lot of money, yes. And it would be big news. On the TV and in the papers. Whoever found it and whoever owned it would be famous overnight.’

‘That’s all well and good, but why are you talking to me about some secret manuscript?’

‘The servant who was given the manuscript to take care of was your great-great-grandmother, Dorcas Mason. I wondered if you knew anything about it.’

A series of emotions played across Tillie’s wrinkled face. Greed, desire, frustration. ‘I wish I did,’ she said bitterly. ‘I’d know how to spend any money that came my way.’ She sighed, long and deep. ‘You’re wasting your time here. I never heard tell of such a thing. Not even a whisper.’

Jane recognised the truth. Wearily she stood up. ‘I’m sorry to have bothered you,’ she said as Dan also got to his feet.

‘Life’s a bugger, isn’t it?’ said Tillie. ‘This morning, I never knew I could have been rich. And now I feel like something’s been snatched out of my hand.’

‘Believe me, Mrs Swain, you can’t be as sorry as I am.’

Tillie made a small, contemptuous noise. ‘Don’t count on it. You don’t know the meaning of disappointment at your age.’

But I do
, Jane thought as they walked back to the car.
I so do.

29

Jake was feeling rather more pleased with himself than he had been since he’d left Crete. His meeting with Jane had been sticky, but he’d been expecting worse. It was a pain that she’d found out about him spying on her, but he thought he’d finessed that well. He picked up his phone and called Caroline, happy he had something more interesting to report than the death of a pensioner.

‘Hello, darling,’ she said. ‘How are things progressing?’

‘I finally managed to make contact with Jane today’

‘How did it go?’

‘I think I’m on the right track. I’m meeting her for lunch tomorrow.’

‘Did she tell you about her progress?’

‘She hasn’t even told me she’s on a mission yet. She’s playing her cards close to her chest. But I think I can worm my way under her guard.’

‘And there’s always her email,’ Caroline said. ‘You must keep an eye on that. And what about the old dears? Did you hit any more of them today?’

‘I’m going to go and see the next one this evening. Let’s hope this one lasts long enough for me to dig up any family secrets.’

‘Quite. We don’t want any more of them dropping dead before you’ve got everything out of them. Maybe you should try to persuade Jane to take you with her on her interviews now you’re getting back on her good side. With her local connections and your role as money man you might get further together than apart.’

‘I’ll do my best.’ Jake tried not to sound as lukewarm as he felt. Now that he was trying to acquire a manuscript for real rather than theorising about it, he’d come to believe that Jane’s softly-softly approach wouldn’t get the results she was hoping for. People needed more reason to give up their family secrets than wanting to please an academic, whether she came from the next village or not. His was a far better guarantee of results, and he didn’t really want Jane around to witness it.

‘Any more news on whether the mystery body really is Fletcher Christian?’

‘I’ve not heard anything. And if there was anything to hear, I would have. News flies round here like greased lightning.’

‘If that’s the case, perhaps you ought to go and see the forensic anthropologist after all. She might have been approached by someone with an interest in what we’re looking for, someone smart enough to realise the identity of this body might make what they have even more valuable. Let me know as soon as you have any news.’ The line went dead.

Jake felt curiously flat after the call. Now, when he spoke to Caroline, there was none of the rush he’d felt at the beginning. It was as if their relationship had slipped imperceptibly into the space occupied by work rather than pleasure. The uncomfortable thing was that he now found himself wondering just how much he liked her anyway, absent the sex.

Shrugging off the thought, he turned to his laptop and got online as Jane. He’d have to be careful–he didn’t want her trying to log on and finding she was blocked because she was already supposedly online. But from what he knew of her family, six o’clock was dinnertime and right now she ought to be sitting at the kitchen table eating. He went straight to the box and found an email to Anthony Catto. As he read, he realised he’d got away with sneak-peeking her email from Catto. It soon also became clear that Jane and Dan had managed to overcome the hurdle of the misspelled surname and had found their way to a working list of Dorcas’s descendants. It was time to get close to Jane.

He closed down the computer and decided to go down to the bar for a drink before he headed out to Grasmere to talk to Tillie Swain. He perched on a stool in the half-empty bar and ordered a pint of Theakston’s. The barman was in chatty mood, asking how he was enjoying his stay. Jake chatted about nothing for a bit, then said casually, ‘Any more news about the body in the bog?’

The barman shook his head. ‘Not that I’ve heard. But it just so happens that the person you need to be asking that question is in here right now.’ He gestured with his head towards a corner table where a woman sat poring over a folder, her face masked by a swathe of dark brown hair. ‘That’s Dr Wilde. She’s the one examining the body. Like her off
Silent Witness.
They’re making a TV programme about it, you know.’

‘Maybe I could go over and have a chat with her.’

The barman winked. ‘I’d make it quick. She’s probably waiting for the local constabulary.’

‘Surely they’re not interested in a body that old?’

‘The only body DI Rigston’s interested in is hers. Word is they’re stepping out.’

‘Oh, right.’ Jake got to his feet. ‘I’ll just have a chat while she’s waiting.’ He crossed to River’s table and cleared his throat. She looked up.
Nice grey eyes
, he thought. ‘Dr Wilde? My name’s Jake Hartnell. Sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if you could spare a moment to talk about the body in the bog.’

‘Are you a journalist, Mr Hartnell?’

Jake shook his head. ‘No. I’m a specialist in old documents. And I have a passing interest in this case.’

‘Sounds intriguing. Why don’t you sit down?’ As Jake settled on a stool opposite her, she said, ‘Why is a specialist in old documents interested in my bog body? There were no documents on my lad.’

‘It’s a bit complicated,’ Jake said. ‘I imagine you’ve already been asked whether this body could be Fletcher Christian?’

River laughed. ‘Several times. It’s getting to be a bit monotonous. The answer is, I don’t know at this point. There are several interesting correspondences, but until I can do a proper DNA comparison with Christian’s direct descendants, it’s impossible to be certain one way or the other. But I still don’t see what that has to do with a document man.’

‘Well, I’ve heard a whisper that there might be a very interesting manuscript extant whose authenticity could be established if we knew for sure whether Fletcher Christian returned to the Lake District,’ Jake said.

‘Very mysterious.’

‘One has to be discreet in my line of work.’

River smiled. ‘Mine too. So somebody’s touting Mr Christian’s memoirs, are they?’

Jake laughed. ‘You’re fishing.’

‘Of course I am. It’s my job, interpreting the clues. Developing theories then seeing whether they pan out. So, is that what you’re chasing?’

Jake shook his head. ‘I wish I could tell you. But it’s all still very tentative.’

‘Well, if it is Mr Christian on my table, you won’t be the only one jumping for joy.’

‘A ticket to the talk shows, eh?’

River shook her head. ‘Not my thing. More like a ticket to tenure.’ Suddenly her face lit up as she looked over Jake’s shoulder. ‘Hi,’ she said, looking past him. Jake turned to find a tall man looming over him. He looked like the wrong person to consider messing with, and he was looking at Jake with a less than friendly expression. ‘Ewan, this is Mr Hartnell. He’s interested in the bog body.’

Rigston smiled. ‘Who isn’t? What’s your interest, Mr Hartnell?’

Jake got to his feet. There was something about this man that commanded answers. He hadn’t expected such presence in the local law in such a one-horse town. ‘Curious as to whether it’s Fletcher Christian,’ he said.

‘Aren’t we all?’ Rigston turned his attention to River. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, last-minute problem.’ Back to Jake. ‘You’ll have to excuse us, we’ve got a dinner reservation.’

River gathered her papers. ‘Nice to meet you, Mr Hartnell. Let’s all keep our fingers crossed.’ She patted his arm as she passed him. Jake watched them go, intrigued. He would never have put them together as a couple. She looked far too unconventional, sounded far too sparky to be hanging around with a copper. He wondered idly what she’d be like in bed. Then, giving himself a mental shake, he finished his pint. He had more important things to occupy him than idle speculation about someone else’s sex life. He had a meeting planned with Tillie Swain that might just change the course of both their lives.

Darkness swept in on the wings of the low cloud that had already settled over the fells. Allan Gresham came into the kitchen just before six, rubbing his hands against the damp chill. ‘How do you fancy pizza and a film?’ he said to Judy, Dan and Jane, who were huddled round the Aga drinking tea.

‘That sounds lovely,’ Judy said. ‘I’ve only done a chicken curry, it’ll be even better tomorrow.’

‘Sorry, Allan, but I’m just about to set off for London,’ Dan said. ‘I’ve got to teach Jane’s seminars tomorrow.’

‘Which is much appreciated. What’s on, Dad?’ Jane asked.

‘No idea.’ He rummaged through the letter rack and picked out the flier from Zeffirelli’s in Ambleside, which combined a pizzeria with two cinema screens. ‘There you go,’ he said.

Jane glanced at it. She’d already seen one film and had no desire to see the other. ‘You go without me,’ she said. ‘I’ve got plenty of work to be getting on with.’

Judy tried to talk her into joining them, but Jane was adamant. She’d already realised their evening out could be a ticket to a couple of hours of freedom for Tenille since Dan was all set to leave for his whirlwind trip to London. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow night,’ he promised.

After everyone had gone, she decided to give it twenty minutes before she headed for the slaughter shed. In the meantime, she could try to find a way to contact John Hampton. She’d been racking her brains, but she hadn’t been able to come up with a better idea than Tenille’s suggestion.

She got Noreen Gallagher’s phone number from directory enquiries. She answered after a couple of rings. ‘Mrs Gallagher?’ Jane said, recognising the heavy breathing as nothing more sinister than the Irishwoman’s normal respiration.

‘Who is this?’ her neighbour demanded.

‘It’s Jane Gresham from next door,’ she said.

‘It’s all right, you know. I wouldn’t let them break the door down. I told them you were a decent woman. I don’t know what the world’s coming to when the police want to do the burglars’ job for them.’ She paused for a liquid cough.

‘I appreciate that. It’s good to be able to count on your neighbours.’

‘There’s precious few round here I’d rely on, and that’s the truth. So you can rest easy, the flat’s safe and I think your pal got away safely.’

‘My pal?’

‘That black girl that’s always round at yours. I distracted the policeman so she could give them the slip. Well, it stands to reason, doesn’t it? A slip of a thing like that, she’s not going to be going round murdering folk, now, is she?’

Jane was confused, but she reckoned that seeking an explanation would only confuse her further. ‘I’m sure you did the right thing, Mrs Gallagher. Look, I need to ask you a big favour. And if you want to say no, that’s fine.’

‘Ask away. Talk’s free. If I can help you out, I will.’

‘I need to get a message to someone on the estate…John Hampton.’

There was silence save for Noreen’s wheezing. ‘The Hammer?’ she said finally.

‘It’s OK. I’ve met him. He knows who I am.’

‘That wouldn’t make me sleep easier at night, I tell you that for sure. Men like that, you’re better off when they don’t know who you are.’

‘It’s all right, Mrs Gallagher. I know what I’m doing.’

She snorted noisily. ‘I don’t think you have any idea what you’re doing. That man’s trouble, make no mistake about it.’

‘I promise it won’t bring trouble to your door. I just need you to deliver a note asking him to call me.’

‘And all I have to do is stick a note through his door? I don’t have to sign it with my name or anything?’