Page 10 of The Girl in the Grave
‘Good shout; can you and Sykes start ringing around the local foster homes, young people’s hostels, and speak to the staff, ask them if they have anyone who has disappeared without any warning that they haven’t reported yet. I’m hoping we might be able to get some prints from her tomorrow and run them through the system. You never know, we might get lucky.’
He said a silent prayer that they would and left them to it while he went into the office to go through the statements from the two gravediggers, to see if anything stood out. The two undertakers who’d been present at the discovery had been busy with funerals all day, so were scheduled for interviews first thing tomorrow morning. The environmental health officer had nothing of value to add to the investigation. She had been drafted in at the last minute and was already in hot water with her boss: a simple pocket notebook entry taken from her at the scene had been sufficient. He saw no justification in adding to her misery at the moment by bringing her into the station. Unless they came up with a reason to question her further, she was off the hook. He sat down on the knackered swivel chair that he wouldn’t let them replace because he liked it and had spent years moulding it to fit his shape. They could keep their newfangled, flimsy ergo chairs. Like him, this chair had been built to last.
Fifteen
Beth had managed to eat most of the chips and prawn crackers before she’d arrived at the gates to her house. As she turned onto the road which led to her house she hit the brakes as a huge stag with antlers almost as big as her jumped over the drystone wall and in front of her car. Screeching to a halt into the middle of the road, she missed it by millimetres. Another jump and it was across the wall on the opposite side of the road and out of sight. Her heart racing, she looked at the grease-covered steering wheel and berated herself: she could have lost control of the wheel and careered into a drystone wall, killing herself because she’d been too greedy to wait until she’d got home. She knew the perils of driving through the countryside, yet still she’d taken the risk. She’d been lucky, not as lucky as the stag though. Pressing the button on the keyring remote she glanced around, noticing a discarded bunch of flowers on the grass verge near her gates and wondered if someone had been killed along this stretch of the road. No one had since she’d moved here, but perhaps it was an anniversary from years ago. She waited for the gates to open, then drove through, waiting again on the other side whilst they shut. Not that it was very likely anyone would follow her through: there had been no cars on the road behind her. She drove along to her usual spot outside the front door, got out of the car, grabbed her tea and slammed the door shut. The security light turned on at her movement, illuminating the house and immediate gardens. She turned to look at the lake behind her. Whenever she needed to think or clear her head, staring at the expanse of water surrounded by lush green countryside always did the trick.
Turning back towards the front door, she froze, her head tilted to one side: what were those reddish-brown streaks all over her usually pristine white door? Moving closer, she was trying to think how on earth they’d got there when she stepped on something and she heard the crack of bones beneath her foot. Jumping back she looked down and screamed in horror at the crushed dead bird on her doorstep. How the hell had that got there? The poor thing must have flown into the door and broken its neck. She shuddered as she tried to convince herself it was a common thing for birds to do. She’d had a few fly into the huge glass windows along the front of the house, but they’d only ever stunned themselves before flying off. This one must have been old, or ill.
With trembling hands she opened the front door. ‘Light’s on,’ she commanded, and the hallway was flooded with light. Suddenly no longer hungry, she walked down to the kitchen, abandoning the bag of food on the worktop and grabbing a pair of rubber gloves, bleach spray and some cleaning rags from under the sink. She couldn’t leave the poor bird there like that, its guts smeared all over her door until the morning. It wasn’t right.
Back outside, she bent down and picked the little creature up by its wing and carried it over to her bin. She would have buried it, but it was going to be dark soon and she wasn’t risking standing outside at the far side of her garden at night digging a grave for a bird. After the last two days she’d had enough of graves. Placing it gently inside the bin, she let the lid slam shut;sorry, bird. Then she went to the door and began spraying copious amounts of bleach onto the dark trails. After some serious scrubbing the door began to look clean once more. Satisfied there were no entrails left, she scooped up the rags and deposited them inside the bin on top of the dead bird. Peeling off the rubber gloves, she dropped those on top and went back inside the house, shutting and locking the door behind her.
The food no longer interested her, but the wine did. Pouring herself a large glass, she took it with her to the bathroom. Turning on the shower, she stripped off her clothes and stepped under the hot stream of water, though Beth knew the best way to cleanse herself of the last two days wasn’t going to be a hot shower; it was more likely a dip in the icy cold waters of Lake Windermere would do the trick. If she wasn’t so scared of being out of the comfort of her own little fortress in the dark then she’d have run outside and dived right in. Her fingers curled into tight fists; she hated the person she’d become so much that it made her want to punch the wall. She wanted to punchhim, hithimuntil he was dead and couldn’t hurt her or anyone else ever again. That upset her more than anything because she’d never been a violent person before, now rage bubbled up inside her without warning.
The incident had come out of the blue. Her life as a busy accident and emergency doctor before the event in 2012 had been so good: hectic, tiring, busy, but most of all fun. Back then life had been normal and pretty much carefree, but it all changed that night. Work had been busy, just like any other shift, but Beth remembered every stitch she had sewn to repair the ripped skin on the teenage boy’s leg; it had been a deep gash. He’d come into the accident and emergency department on a trolley, pushed by two paramedics. A woman she’d assumed was his mother following behind, berating him for his stupidity. Her high-pitched voice echoing around the A & E department.
‘Do you know how lucky you are, Ben? You could have died; you’ve never been on a moped in your life. What possessed you to decide that you were some kind of stuntman? Did no part of your common sense kick in and tell you that you might have an accident?’
Ben was shaking his head as Beth peered out from behind the curtain of the elderly male she was treating for shingles. The poor lad had looked as if he was in enough pain without the added embarrassment of his mum shouting at him for all the hospital to hear. The paramedics had taken him through to resus; she heard one of them ask him if he wanted his mum to come in and he’d whispered no. She’d offered to treat him, sewing up his leg and commiserating with him about embarrassing parents.
‘You know, she’s only shouting because you scared her.’
He’d grunted at her.
‘Can I suggest you stay off mopeds until you have had a bit more practice?’
He’d laughed and so had she. Once he’d been patched up it had been time to clock off. She’d been looking forward to that night: a surprise party for Ellen, one of her close friends, and she’d decided she was going to get steaming drunk. It had been a long week and she needed to let her hair down.
She blinked back tears, unable to even blame it on the shampoo because she hadn’t washed her hair yet. She was crying for the messed-up shell of the person she’d become. Drying herself, she smothered her face in moisturiser, and her body in expensive body lotion to cover the smell of bins and death that lingered on her skin. She’d finished the glass of wine without even realising.
Wrapping her hair in a makeshift turban, she picked up the empty glass and headed back downstairs to refill it. Spying the carton of takeaway on the kitchen counter, she decided she was ready to eat. Wine didn’t agree with her on an almost-empty stomach. The food could soak up some of the alcohol, so her head wasn’t too fuzzy tomorrow morning. She wondered how Josh was and if he was still at work. Looking at the clock on the microwave, it was almost ten and she realised there was a very good chance he would be. He was a good man and an even better detective. There was no way he would be able to go home while his team were hard at work looking for an ID on their victim. She was tempted to phone him, but the ping of the microwave broke her train of thought.
Tipping the contents of her tea onto a plate, she took a fork from the drawer and refilled her wine glass. Why on earth would she ring him? She wasn’t that bloody needy. The voice in her head whispered back,are you sure about that?
Sixteen
Estelle Carter drank champagne as if it was going out of fashion. She was on the third bottle and knew she could manage at least another four glasses before passing out. Daddy had taught her well; he’d always thrown lavish parties with never-ending supplies of alcohol. He’d always encouraged her to drink, told her he didn’t think it would hurt her to get used to it. She had never complained. The only thing now was it took an astounding volume of the stuff to actually get her drunk. She looked around at her friends; they were definitely drunk and being very loud. If it wasn’t for the fact that her dad owned the hotel and the adjoining nightclub they were now sitting in, the bouncers would have thrown them out hours ago. They didn’t dare: she would have them sacked before they’d made it home. When her dad had suggested she learn how to run the hotel she had told him absolutely not, and that had been the only time they’d ever had a serious argument; so serious that he’d threatened to cut her out of his will and stop supplying her with endless cash to spend on anything she wanted. In the words of her friend Annie, Estelle had to suck it up and do as she was told.
Estelle loved Annie; she was so down to earth and very funny. She didn’t care that Estelle had more money than she knew what to do with, even though she had very little herself. Annie worked as a general assistant in the hotel and lived in one of the poky staff bedrooms down in the basement. The first time they met, Estelle was mid-rant with the housekeeping staff about a complaint that there was dust under the beds, and Annie had interrupted Estelle’s tirade with a clever quip about needing to feed the staff spinach every morning if she wanted them to have the strength to move four-poster beds. Estelle, not used to being talked back to, had relished the confrontation. They’d been inseparable ever since, much to her daddy’s dislike.
Estelle looked over at Annie now to see her face had turned a strange shade of grey. ‘Are you okay?’
Annie shook her head; trying to stand up, she managed to lurch forward and knock the ice bucket, champagne and glasses flying. The bouncers came rushing over to help Estelle hold her up.
‘We need to get her to her room,’ she shouted across at the man who’d left his drink on the bar and rushed over to assist.
He smiled, nodding his head.
‘Of course, is it far?’
‘No, just downstairs. Can you help me? She’s too drunk to walk herself.’
‘Lead the way.’
Between them they managed to get Annie out of the busy nightclub. As they stepped outside into the fresh air, Annie began to heave. Estelle looked horrified.
‘Shit, don’t you dare be sick on us. We’ll get you down to your room and you can puke in the toilet. OK?’
