The Unquiet Grave (25 page)

‘No and no,’ retorted Mullen tersely. ‘A child could have seen the guilt Amelia carried. Not just the guilt of the survivor, but real guilt, if-only-I’d-done-something-different guilt.’

‘And you know this how?’ asked Brook.

‘Because she never left that house, even after her father and mother died,’ insisted Mullen. ‘Francesca left when she was a teenager but Amelia didn’t. She stayed on to serve her sentence. Don’t you see what a sacrifice she made? She gave her life to live there all alone, to atone, even after her parents passed over, never marrying and never escaping the fire, not until she went into St Agatha’s.’ Mullen looked away. ‘My parents died when I was young but I still live in their house so I know what that feels like. Do you? Amelia’s brother died just yards from where she slept every night of her life. And yet she stayed there, as though waiting for something, as though watching over him. That’s not normal, Inspector.’

‘It might be if she’d killed him.’

Mullen shook his head. ‘Amelia didn’t kill Billy.’

‘Then why should she feel so guilty? Why should you, for that matter?’

Mullen’s head bowed. ‘Because we weren’t there when he needed us. Because my best friend died alone and, if I’d stayed with him, he might still be alive today.’

Brook was silent, remembering the file. ‘What separated you?’

‘It was all in my statement.’

‘I want to hear it from you,’ said Brook.

Mullen put his head in his hands but Brook waited and watched, refusing to relent. ‘Very well. We had our first ever row – it was also our last,’ added Mullen, with a bitter laugh, as though the thought had just occurred.

‘About what?’

Mullen smiled, shamefaced. ‘Nothing of importance.’

‘About what?’ Brook repeated.

Mullen couldn’t look at Brook, instead staring saucer-eyed at the burning log. ‘Something so stupid even now it makes me weep in frustration.’ Finally he looked Brook in the eye. ‘We were playing party games; bobbing apples, if you even know what that is. You have to pick up an apple from a barrel of water using only your teeth.’

‘And?’

‘And Billy could be so petty, such a baby.’ Mullen’s eyes suddenly blazed with fervour. ‘But he was also funny and fearless and loyal.’

‘What did he do?’

‘He cheated,’ mumbled Mullen, unable to give much volume to something so inconsequential. ‘He put his hands on the barrel for leverage. Amelia was in charge of the game and she backed him. I think she was bored, she kept looking out to the road, I mean a fifteen-year-old girl having to look after us kids. Not surprising she wanted to get it over as soon as she could.’ He took a sip of his port. ‘So we argued and I stormed off.’

‘But you say Billy’s forgiven you?’ said Brook.

‘I think so. He knows I could never hurt him, no matter what he said or did to me. He was my best friend. I loved him too much.’

Brook chose his next words carefully. ‘So when Billy. . . communicated, what exactly did he say to you?’

Mullen was tight-lipped. ‘That’s not how it works.’

‘So they can’t speak.’

‘They can but not coherently. The dead,’ Mullen stopped and looked searchingly at Brook, ‘the murdered especially, are trapped and they don’t know why. They’re looking for someone, Inspector.’

‘Who?’

‘Someone who can see and hear them and can explain what happened to them.’

‘You?’

‘Sometimes.’

Brook waved a hand in the air, his scornful tone barely under control. ‘So Billy didn’t actually
say
he forgave you.’

‘It’s more like transmitting a feeling,’ explained Mullen patiently.

‘Which you pick up on.’

Mullen was unwilling to elaborate further. ‘You don’t understand. You’re not a believer.’

‘In what? Ghosts?’

‘In the next incarnation,’ answered Mullen drily.

‘It’s not my fault I’ve had a good education,’ rejoined Brook, feeling immediate guilt for mocking this sad, deluded old man. He pressed on regardless. ‘So you don’t know who killed Billy?’

Mullen looked away. ‘No.’

Something in Mullen’s voice gave Brook pause. ‘But you have an idea who did.’

‘I’ve told you. I don’t know.’

Brook smiled. He was an experienced DI. He knew about word games. ‘That’s not the same thing.’

Mullen stared off into a corner of the room. A second later he nodded at Brook. ‘It’s just an opinion. I have no proof.’

‘Because there isn’t any,’ said Brook. ‘That’s why Billy’s death is unsolved. It seems to be the perfect murder.’

‘So it would appear.’

‘Which makes your unproven theory just that. Something we talk about, a topic of conversation, no more. So tell me.’

Mullen took a sip from his glass and gazed into the flames. ‘You understand this is just speculation.’

‘I understand you were there and that you’ve had years to think about it and I’d like to know your opinion.’ Brook waited while Mullen gathered his thoughts. Only the crack of the burning logs broke the silence.

Mullen looked guiltily into his drink. ‘I’ve never told anyone this. . .’ Brook acknowledged with a faint dip of the head. ‘I think Francesca killed him.’

‘His twin sister,’ said Brook. ‘Do you have a motive?’

‘I think she was jealous of Billy.’

‘Why?’

‘They were twins, but everyone forgot that – even Mr and Mrs Stanforth at times. Billy was their only son, he was the favourite over Amelia and Fran. But it was harder to bear for Fran. They were born on the same day so the party that night was for Francesca as well but we all called it Billy’s party. Are you going to Billy’s party on Sunday? Have you got Billy a present? All the guests were his friends. All the attention was his.’

‘Didn’t Francesca have friends to invite?’

‘Not really. She was strange, remote. She contained herself like you can’t imagine a child could at that age. Billy told me how he used to tease her but she never reacted, never. He’d pinch her when she wasn’t looking and Billy said she’d just grab his wrist and stare at him, completely expressionless.

‘Actually Billy was in awe of her because of what she had to endure. When he was mean to her, she never ran to their parents to complain, she’d just stare. It used to make him very uncomfortable. He soon stopped plaguing her.’ Mullen smiled. ‘Well, if you don’t get a reaction, there’s not much point, is there? Fran seemed to know that, even so young.’ He looked up at Brook with his pale sad eyes.

‘At school, I know the older girls used to gang up on her and say things, spiteful things. You know what young girls can be like.’ Mullen’s expression deformed minutely from a hint of past humiliation. ‘But here’s the strange thing. Billy told me that no matter what happened to her at school, or anywhere, he never once saw Fran cry.’

‘Fascinating,’ said Brook. ‘But so far I’m not hearing a good reason why she’d feel the need to kill him.’

Mullen took a sip of his port. ‘I just think she’d reached a tipping point that night when she saw the two piles of presents.’ He laughed. ‘Not that you could call her presents a pile. Her parents had bought her a gift. It wasn’t as expensive as Billy’s.’

‘What was it?’

‘A cheap plastic watch. It had a cartoon character on the face. Donald Duck, I think. ’

‘And Billy?’

‘Billy got a football and some boots. He was very pleased. And that was just from his parents. His friends bought him more stuff.’

‘What did you get him?’

‘Does it matter?’

‘I’d like to know,’ said Brook.

Mullen put down his glass to open a rather fine antique glass cupboard in the corner. He took out a cheap plastic box with a small metallic catch and handed it to Brook. ‘It cost me all my pocket money that month, which wasn’t much.’

Brook flicked off the catch and opened it out. It was a miniature chessboard, barely bigger than Brook’s hand. Each square, black and white, had a small hole. The plastic pieces were tiny and sat in perfect formation, facing each other. Brook pulled out the black king. There was a 3mm plastic spike protruding, enabling it to sit in position or move to another square. ‘Travel chess,’ smiled Brook, remembering his own minuscule set, using magnetised pieces, with which he’d played on holiday as a child. ‘And you got it back?’

‘After the fire. . . I asked for it – a keepsake. Well, Mr and Mrs Stanforth were happy to see the back of it.’ He looked wistfully into the fire. ‘To this day, it’s never been played on.’

‘And you think Francesca saw all this love for her brother and just snapped.’

Mullen shrugged. ‘That’s my theory, for what it’s worth.’

‘It’s different,’ conceded Brook. ‘The officers in charge of the investigation were convinced Billy was killed by Amelia’s boyfriend, Brendan.’

‘I know they were. DC Laird and his superior spent a long time trying to prove it.’

‘But you don’t agree.’

Mullen shrugged. ‘It’s possible. Anything is.’

‘Did you see Brendan at the house that day?’ asked Brook.

‘No, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t there. And Amelia kept looking at the clock and out of the window as though she had an appointment to keep.’

‘And did she?’

‘Who knows? But I’m sure Brendan wouldn’t have come near the house in case Mr Stanforth saw him. Amelia’s father didn’t approve and forbade her to see him.’

‘But Amelia could still have slipped out to meet him.’

Mullen shrugged. ‘Of course. It still doesn’t make either of them guilty of murder.’

‘What was Brendan like?’

‘Amelia’s father was right,’ said Mullen. ‘Brendan was bad news. Billy told me Brendan stood up Amelia regularly. Either that or he’d turn up late just to see how much she’d tolerate. It didn’t stop her going back for more.’

‘So he was using her.’

‘Oh, I still think he loved Amelia, in his way, but he treated her like dirt because he could. But then Brendan’s father, Malcolm, was a brute and treated Brendan’s mother the same way, by all accounts, so you can’t really blame him for picking it up.’

‘Did you know Malcolm McCleary?’

‘Only by sight. And I’d moved into the city by the time Brendan blew his head off, though I followed the trial in the paper. Everyone knew Malcolm was an unpleasant and cruel man, a drinker too. He used to beat Brendan – or at least that’s what Brendan’s defence lawyer said.’ He shrugged. ‘Who knows? I do know Brendan would show up with fresh bruises and burns from time to time, even as a teenager.’

‘What happened to the mother?’

‘She left when Brendan was a small boy. And this was a time when people didn’t split up as easily as they do now. That was his background, growing up listening to his father spitting bile over womankind because his absent wife couldn’t take the abuse. I guess that’s why Brendan used Amelia the way he did, other girls too, I reckon.’

‘Were he and Amelia having sex?’

Mullen’s face soured. ‘Don’t be disgusting. You couldn’t possibly expect me to know that, let alone talk about it.’

‘It’s not easy to keep secrets in small communities,’ said Brook. ‘There must’ve been talk.’

‘We were kids,’ protested Mullen. ‘There was always talk. You’d think we were international playboys the things we said to each other, but we only had to see a girl’s knickers in PT and we’d be drooling over it for weeks. That’s the level at which we operated, Inspector, so don’t ask me about Amelia having sex, never mind a meaningful relationship. Our generation knew nothing about the opposite sex. The swinging sixties missed out Derbyshire.’

‘What about Billy? How did Brendan get on with him?’

‘Pretty well, considering the age difference. He was Amelia’s brother so Brendan would usually make an effort. He’d give Billy cigarettes and sweets when he had them. And of course Billy was in awe. I mean Brendan was nearly a man and to take an interest—’

‘Only because he was his girlfriend’s brother.’

‘Not just that. I think Brendan saw a lot of himself in Billy. He was wrong but that’s what he thought.’

‘So you think Brendan liked Billy.’

‘Everyone did.’ Mullen hesitated, conceding the obvious with a tilt of his head. ‘OK. Someone didn’t.’

‘And did Brendan give Billy cigarettes on his birthday?’

‘Like I said, I didn’t see him and Billy didn’t brag about having any, so I’m guessing not.’

‘What about Francesca?’

‘What about her?’

‘You say she was remote. Was she like that after Billy’s death?’

‘Worse. After Billy died it was impossible to talk to her. She completely retreated into herself until she was old enough to numb the pain with alcohol and drugs.’

‘The pain of having murdered her twin brother, you think,’ suggested Brook. ‘So maybe her death wasn’t accidental. Maybe she killed herself on Billy’s birthday.’

‘Who knows?’ said Mullen. ‘But she left home as soon as she was able and self-medicated until her death. She never recovered from the fire.’

‘I’m getting that impression about a lot of people,’ said Brook.

Mullen smiled. ‘You’re not wrong. But you’re a policeman. You must see the damage the death of a child inflicts on the people left behind.’

‘They say the first fifty years are the worst,’ replied Brook.

Mullen was stung and took a larger mouthful of port, swallowing it without savouring.

‘Sorry, that was unkind.’ Brook wasn’t without compassion for this haunted shell of a man, but his best friend had died nearly half a century ago and there had to be an end to grieving. ‘Looking through the file, according to Francesca Stanforth’s initial statement, she said she saw Amelia in tears, just before the fire. And when I talked to Amelia—’

‘You’ve seen Amelia? How is she?’

‘She seemed OK.’

‘What did she say?’

‘Very little that wasn’t in the files.’ Brook paused to form his next line of inquiry. ‘There was one thing she mentioned that interested me.’

‘Oh?’

‘She implied that Brendan was breaking up with her for another girl, younger than her. Might you know who that was?’

‘Is it relevant?’ asked Mullen.

‘Is it relevant?’ repeated Brook, a small alarm chiming in his brain. ‘I don’t know. I’m asking you.’

Mullen paused as though trying to remember. ‘I can’t recall. Brendan was a rogue. He had a lot of girls interested in him. Why is it so important?’