The Unburied Past (19 page)

He turned back into the room. ‘Breakfast is served,
modom
,' he said.

She re-emerged, hair ruffled, blinking in the sudden light. ‘Oh, sweetie, how lovely!' Struggling into a sitting position, she took the lace shawl he passed her and slipped it round her shoulders.

‘Tea, toast and a lightly boiled egg,' he said.

‘Perfect.' She looked up at him, suddenly suspicious. ‘What brought this on? You're not trying to get round me, are you?'

He laughed, pouring the tea. ‘Am I that transparent?'

‘Well, are you?'

‘Guilty as charged, my love. There's a problem at work that's bothering me and I need to get my head round it. If it's all right with you, I'll take my tackle down to the lake and have a day's fishing.'

‘Oh, Tony!' she pouted. ‘It's
Sunday
– that's supposed to be a family day.'

‘I know, sweetheart, but this is really important, or I wouldn't ask. And when I get back, we'll go the George for dinner.'

‘We … ell …'

He bent forward and kissed her. ‘That's my girl!' he said.

T
he morning after his dinner with the Yates, Adam phoned Kirsty's mobile.

‘I've been to see Graham,' he told her, ‘and amazingly enough he had a video of a programme featuring the murders.'

‘How do you mean, featuring them?'

‘It was from a TV series a few years back, covering cold cases. A reporter retraced Mark and Emma's arrival in the village and various places that, according to the residents, they'd visited, in the hope of jogging memories. It also included part of an old
Crimewatch
programme that had been shown just weeks after the murders, with people dressed up to look like them, and two kids supposed to be us. It was … weird, seeing it all being acted out.'

Mark and Emma, he'd called them. Perhaps it was easier that way. ‘Did he come up with anything new?'

‘Not really, but it gave me a few pointers to pursue.' He paused. ‘I'm guessing you'd like to see the video?'

‘I certainly would.'

‘Can you lay your hands on a VCR? There's one here, if you're into DVDs.'

‘We still have one, thanks.' She paused fractionally. ‘Could you bring the tape round?'

‘OK, but it'll have to be the weekend. The boarders come back this afternoon and the next two evenings are tied up with meetings and such.' He paused. ‘Do you think your uncle and aunt would like to see it?'

‘No, we should wait till we've something definite to tell them. If we ever have.'

‘They know we've met again?'

‘Yes; Aunt Jan sounded a bit tight-lipped, but she's probably accepted she can't keep us apart for a whole year. I didn't tell her what you're proposing to do, though.'

‘Any thoughts yet on whether you'll accompany me?'

‘I'll let you know at the weekend.'

‘Adam?' Angie enquired, coming into the room as Kirsty switched off the phone.

‘Yes; he has a video of a programme looking into our parents' murders.'

‘God, where did he find that?'

Kirsty explained. ‘He's coming round on Saturday to show it to me.'

Angie perched on the arm of a chair, searching her face. ‘So, after two meetings, what do you think of him?'

Kirsty smiled. ‘The same as he thinks of me. That he's improved with keeping!'

 

Nick said, ‘A crowd of us are going sailing tomorrow. Like to come along?'

It was late Friday evening and they were in the bar of the Regency, part of a group of staff members whom Adam was gradually beginning to put names to.

‘I'd have loved to, but unfortunately I've something else planned.'

It sounded a bald excuse, and after a minute he added, ‘Actually, I've arranged to meet Kirsty. I've something to show her.'

‘You've established a truce, then?'

‘A partial one. Not treading on your toes, am I?'

Nick shook his head. ‘She's … OK, though, isn't she?'

Adam frowned. ‘How do you mean?'

‘Well, it's just that … part of the misunderstanding between us arose because she'd been receiving odd emails and presents and she thought I might be responsible.'

‘Anonymously, you mean?'

Nick nodded. ‘No doubt it was all a flash in the pan, but to be honest I've been slightly concerned, in view of the attacks in the area.'

Adam stared at him. ‘God, you don't think it's the same guy?'

‘No … no, of course not.' Nick drained his glass. ‘Top up?'

Adam nodded absently. ‘She never mentioned anything to me.'

‘Then I'm sure it's all blown over,' Nick said and, picking up Adam's glass as well as his own, returned to the bar.

Kirsty, too, had been hoping it had blown over; there'd been nothing untoward since she'd returned from holiday over two weeks ago. Nor, thank God, had any more attacks been reported, and the press had relegated the policewoman's murder, though still unresolved, to the inside pages. Nonetheless, the culprit remained at large, as did her parents' murderers, and her subconscious linking of the crimes caused a superstitious shudder.

As it happened, the respite came to an end just as Adam and Nick were discussing it. Preparing for bed, Kirsty remembered she'd not closed down her laptop, and from force of habit checked her emails before doing so. Her gasp brought Angie to look over her shoulder.

Enjoy the film last night?
one read.
You looked so delectable in that blue dress that I almost reached out to touch you! Next time, perhaps.

Kirsty groaned in despair. ‘What can I
do
, Angie? The police haven't been much help, and now they've got their work cut out with their colleague's murder.' She shivered. ‘He was
there
, at the cinema! How creepy is that? All the time we were chatting, eating our ice creams and everything, he could have been in the row just behind us!'

‘Can I tell Simon about it?' Angie asked worriedly. ‘I know you said not to, but this has gone on quite long enough, and if the police aren't helping he might be able to suggest something.'

Kirsty stabbed viciously at the delete key. ‘If I confide in anyone, I'd prefer it to be my uncle. Trouble is Auntie Jan would find out, and she'd go ballistic.'

‘So? Can I?'

‘Not just yet,' Kirsty prevaricated.

‘But why not, for God's sake?'

‘Pride, I suppose; I hate being made to look … defenceless, a sitting duck waiting for whatever he chooses to throw at me. Damn it, I'm an independent career woman with my own business, and I bitterly resent being cast in the role of victim.'

‘He seems to have built up a love/hate relationship with you,' Angie said uneasily. ‘One minute he's sending you nettles and telling you to mind your manners, the next you're so “delectable” he wants to touch you.'

Kirsty shuddered and slammed down the lid on her laptop. ‘He'll get tired of it eventually,' she said. But each time she told herself that, it seemed less convincing.

As arranged, Adam called at the house at two thirty the next afternoon. Angie had left to meet Simon and Kirsty was alone.

‘Nice pad,' he said approvingly, looking around him.

‘The ground floor's the business-side – kitchen, office, packing room. We live on the first and second floors.'

She led the way up and into the sitting room where, as she usually did herself, he went straight to the window. ‘A bird's-eye view. Very impressive.'

‘Isn't it? We were lucky to find it.' She paused, and as he continued to gaze at the view, added encouragingly, ‘I'll switch on the VCR, shall I?'

He turned. ‘One thing, before we watch it. Nick tells me you've been receiving some unwanted attention.'

She felt a flash of annoyance. ‘Nothing I can't handle.'

‘It's still continuing then? He hoped it might have blown over.'

‘It's really nothing to do with him,' she said shortly.

‘Since he came under suspicion, he might think it is. Suppose you tell me about it?' And, as she started to protest, he raised a hand. ‘
All
of it,' he said.

Perhaps, she thought, this was after all the best solution: not to confide in either her uncle or Simon, but in her big brother who, surprisingly, seemed concerned on her behalf. So she went through the harassment campaign from the beginning – the emails, the flowers, the chocolates, the nettles, the cinema.

When she came to an end he was silent, staring down at the carpet. ‘You've reported it?'

‘Yes, but to be fair if I can't give a name there's not much anyone can do, and the police have their work cut out on more important matters.'

‘You haven't the slightest idea who this could be?'

‘Not the slightest.'

‘No disgruntled boyfriends in the offing?'

‘No; there's only been one in the last two years, and he phoned after the attack in the park to advise me not to go there.'

‘Double bluff?'

Kirsty shook her head. ‘Not Lance.'

‘Emails can be quite random, but as things were actually delivered to the house, it must be someone who either knows you or knows
of
you.'

‘That had crossed my mind,' she said drily.

‘Well, I don't like it.'

‘I'm not wild about it myself.'

‘You
are
taking precautions? Not going out alone, and so on?'

‘Not after dark, certainly.'

‘You came to the pub. It would have been dark before you reached home.'

‘I only had to go from the drive to the front door,' she pointed out. ‘Look, I've no intention of becoming neurotic about this, so let's drop it, shall we? I'm being sensible; I'll be fine. Now, can we please look at this tape?'

He was still frowning as it took it out of his pocket, but his attention switched as he slid it into the machine. ‘I'll play it through without making any comment, then see what you think of it. I've watched it several times myself, and different things strike me each time.'

They sat together on the sofa as the long-ago events were played out for them on the screen. The story that unfolded was basically as they'd been told, but there were embellishments, personal recollections, anecdotes. Photographs in the press after the murders had elicited memories from people who'd seen the family around the village – Mark constantly taking photographs, Adam climbing on the dais at the fair. A barman in Hawkston remembered them having lunch in their family room; one or two people – holidaymakers like themselves – recalled seeing them several times picnicking at the lakeside. The milkman spoke of his gruesome discovery, the postmistress of giving the children sweets.

‘And that wasn't the only tragedy that summer,' she added sadly. ‘A gentleman from Hawkston drowned while fishing in Lake Belvedere, and they didn't find his body for six weeks.'

In the
Crimewatch
snippet two adults, the man slight and dark, the woman wearing a pink cotton dress, wheeled a pushchair through the village with a little boy trotting alongside and a baby girl inside. Kirsty's eyes blurred as she watched them. They looked what they had been, a happy family on holiday. How could it possibly have ended in murder?

The reporter went on to mention the missing camera and the belief that it contained incriminating evidence of some kind, but any initially promising leads had soon fizzled out and the case remained stubbornly unsolved.

A click signified the end of the recording. Adam glanced at her enquiringly, and Kirsty said, ‘If the murderers took the camera because it contained evidence against them, it stands to reason they'd have destroyed the film straight away. So I don't see there's any way they could be identified, let alone convicted.'

‘Anything else strike you?'

‘Not immediately. How about you? You said there were pointers.'

‘It was that woman mentioning the man who drowned,' Adam said slowly. ‘I'd read about it in the
Gazette
archives, but since it was reported in July I didn't pay much attention. But after hearing that comment I checked back and found that his wife last saw him on Sunday the twenty-fourth of June. Ring any bells?'

Kirsty's eyes widened. ‘The day of the murders!'

‘Exactly. Might be a coincidence, of course, but I think it could be worth investigating, especially since we know Mark and Emma often went to the lake.'

‘Wouldn't that coincidence have struck the police?'

‘God knows. If it did, it didn't seem to get them anywhere. I read the guy's obit but there was nothing out of the ordinary, just that he'd been a “valued colleague” at the firm where he worked, and had left a wife but apparently no children. Incidentally, I've put an ad in the personal column, asking for information – it'll have gone in this week's edition. We'll see if that opens any cans of worms.'

He stood up and started pacing the room. ‘Watching the video again just now, something else struck me, something I'd not registered before. That barman at the pub where we had lunch said I was clutching the Donald Duck toy and Mark told him he'd won it at the fête. You see what that means, Kirsty?
It must have been
that last day!
Perhaps we've been on the wrong track, and whatever it was Mark snapped was in
Hawkston
!'

‘That
would
widen the field!'

‘We need to find out exactly what they did there – who they spoke to, where they went and so on.' He turned to look at her. ‘So – are you coming with me up to Penthwaite?'

‘Yes,' she replied, ‘I rather think I am.'

Adam left soon after, saying he didn't want to take up any more of her weekend, and Kirsty, who had no firm plans, changed into her tennis whites and drove to the club. An energetic game or two would help dispel the restlessness that was plaguing her since seeing the video. Johnnie and Lois were playing doubles with Matt and Chrissie, and Kirsty saw with a sinking heart that Lance was sitting in a deckchair on the pavilion veranda.