Page 51 of The Girl in the Grave
Lunging for her, he wrapped the elastic cord from the nebuliser around her neck, pulling it tight.
‘Yours, you stupid bitch, I need to speak to someone. Now.’
The only other patient in the wing finally opened his eyes at the racket. Turning, he stared at the sight of Robert, wheezing whilst trying to strangle the nurse. He got out of bed and hobbled towards the emergency button on the wall by the nurses’ desk. Slamming his palm on it, the alarm began to ring and the thundering sound of footsteps began to head their way.
Robert smiled to himself. He needed fast action and this was the quickest way to ensure he was listened to. He didn’t want them to think it was the rambling of a morphine-infused brain.
The swarm of guards that rushed into the small wing was impressive. They took one look at the situation and began to shout at him to let her go.
Robert smiled at them and whispered in her ear.
‘I’m not going to hurt you. I just need to talk to the governor, and this is the only way to get him to come and pay me a visit.’
She sobbed; obviously she didn’t believe him. He didn’t care. His chest was on fire, burning with the effort, but still he kept a tight grip on her.
‘I need to speak to the governor now.’
‘Come on, Robert, that’s not going to happen, is it? Let her go and then we can arrange for you to speak to him.’
‘No, I want to speak to him, and a copper called Josh Walker. Get hold of him, tell him it’s life or death and I need to speak to him before someone he saved once before needs saving again.’
The burly guard who had stepped a little closer looked behind at the others. Turning back, he looked at the whimpering nurse being choked by the man who looked as if he could pass away at any given moment. He might be frail, but there was no telling what he could do because he had nothing to lose.
‘Go get the boss.’
The younger guard, who was only on his second day as a newly trained prison officer, turned and ran as fast as he could towards the governor’s office, hoping he was in.
Seventy-One
Barry had a daily paper tucked under one arm and a spade under the other. He’d done nothing but worry about where that stupid bugger Jason had disappeared to. He didn’t think for one minute he’d hidden that girl in the grave; for one thing he was far too lazy to go to the effort of putting a body in there and shovelling soil on top of it. No, as far as he was concerned, the daft sod was guilty of maybe shagging the girl or selling her a bit of weed. As he strolled up the hill to the new grave he was in the process of digging, he nodded at the huge monument as usual. He spotted a bunch of red roses in the cracked vase at the base of it. In all the years he’d worked here not once had he seen anyone at this grave. He hesitated then turned to look at it, walking closer. He stood there staring at the wilted roses. Why would someone come here and lay a bunch of red roses after all this time? A memory of seeing someone here the other day itched at the back of his mind. Bending down, he checked to see if there was a note with them, but there wasn’t. Hadn’t there been something familiar about him?
Of Your Charity,
Pray for the Repose of the Soul
of Father Abraham Caffrey
The date read 1888. Why would someone lay flowers here now, after all this time? He shook his head and continued walking towards the chapel. Taking out his phone, he dialled Jason’s number again. Swearing when it went straight to voicemail. Again.
‘Here, you stupid bugger. I know you had nowt to do with that dead girl, so get yourself back here and we’ll sort it out. I need a hand, not that you did much but that’s beside the point. If you get this message stop messing around and come back. I’ll go with you to the cop shop, lad, and we’ll put it right.’
Ending the call, he put the phone in his pocket and wiped his brow with his sleeve. It was a warm day and that hill never got any easier to climb no matter how many times a day he walked up it. Almost parallel with the open grave where it all began, he noticed another bunch of now-faded, dried-up red roses on a grave opposite. He walked towards it. They were similar to the ones left at the base of the monument to the priest. Someone called Vincent Naylor was interred here, the date on the grave stone 1945. He scratched at his head; something wasn’t right. Who was leaving flowers around the graveyard? Sitting down on the marble bench opposite the chapel, he placed the spade next to him and shut his eyes. Was it the same guy? Why would a man visit two graves on different days and lay the same red roses for men who died years ago? Was there a bloke here the day the girl was found in the grave? The thought tugged at the edge of Barry’s consciousness;there was something he’d missed. They had plenty of regulars at the cemetery, but this guy was new. The guy in the beige baseball cap. He’d seen him down by the mausoleums, he was sure of it.
Taking out his phone again, this time he dialled 101 and waited to be put through to Cumbria Constabulary. He needed to talk to that detective, Josh. He was pretty sure that the guy visiting the graves had been up to something. He wasn’t sure what, but he needed checking out. It wasn’t as if the coppers had anything better to do. They weren’t exactly on fire, and judging by the story on the front of the local paper they were no closer to finding that missing woman.
Seventy-Two
The gates to Beth’s house were wide open and Josh drove the van at speed straight through them. His heart was pounding in his throat as if he was about to regurgitate it. He didn’t think he’d ever felt panic like it in his entire life. The night he’d answered the call when she was attacked he hadn’t had time to think. Right now, he wanted more than anything to find her sitting on the patio, drinking wine and staring out at the lake. He knew that wasn’t going to happen though. Never, in all the time he’d come to know Beth, had she ever left the entrance gates wide open.
Suddenly his mouth was dry, and his palms were sweaty. He was terrified of what he might find inside. Why hadn’t he come back last night? Why had he pulled an all-nighter? He could have been here with her and protected her. Running from the van, he saw the front door ajar and knew then that he was too late. He stopped, tugged on a pair of bright blue rubber gloves and motioned for Sam to do the same. Stepping inside, he shouted, ‘Beth, it’s the police. Where are you?’
Sam pointed to the stairs, and he nodded. Running up them two at a time, he checked every room. No sign of Beth, but also no sign of a struggle; everywhere was as neat and clutter free as it always was. Apart from the guest room where his case was thrown on the middle of the bed looking distinctly out of place.
Sam’s voice echoed up the stairs. ‘She’s not here.’
Josh rushed back downstairs to see for himself, his breathing starting to slow. He heard the sirens as the backup van arrived.
‘Her car isn’t here, maybe she’s gone to the station.’
