Page 73 of Their Burning Graves
‘Did you know the girl who killed the Thorpes?’
‘Erica James? Not really, I knew of her of course, and I followed the newspaper reports at the time. I felt a bit sorry for her. She never meant to kill the Thorpes, but all the same her actions destroyed Jackie’s life, and the little girl was my priority. I often wonder what happened to Erica when she got out of prison, if she ever managed to put it behind her and move on. How do you do that though, when you have two deaths on your conscience?’
‘Could this be her?’ Morgan passed her phone back to her, this time showing a different woman on the screen, the ultra-gorgeous Natalie White. Angela stared at it for some time.
‘I’m sorry, I’m rubbish. It was so long ago. I suppose that could be her, who is she?’
‘Natalie White, lives in a big old Victorian mansion with her property developer husband, Jasper.’
‘I know the names; I’ve heard Jasper mentioned a lot. But I’d have thought Erica James would have upped sticks and got away from Rydal Falls when she was released. I’d be surprised to hear she’s still hanging around.’
Morgan stood up. ‘Thanks, Angela, you’ve been very helpful.’
‘Have I?’ She laughed. ‘I’m not sure I have, but you’re always so polite, Morgan, it’s a pleasure to chat with you.’
Morgan left Angela, and once she was inside the car, she took out her notebook.
Jackie Thorpe placed in foster care with the Pearsons, both religious people.
Sunday school teacher and vicar, the hand of God – passing judgement on others, retribution, taking revenge but how are you involved in this, Sally, what happened?
Erica James, if she’s Natalie White then she is in danger, her family are too
Morgan needed to find Jacqueline, the retained firefighter who used Sally’s salon, and talk to her. If Jacqueline was Jackie Thorpe then this might just be the final piece of the puzzle.
She drove to the fire station situated on the outskirts of Windermere. There were three houses a short distance away from it. Two of them were boarded up and hadn’t been lived in for as long as she could remember, as well as one that wasn’t quite in the same state of disrepair, but it was getting there. The front curtains were drawn, the wooden front door was faded and cracked.At least we can get in with a whammer should we need to put the door through,she thought to herself. There was no car parked on the paved drive and hadn’t been for a long time, judging by the weeds poking through the gaps in the paving. Morgan felt a sense of foreboding just looking at the house, and wondered if she should be here, doing this alone. But before she could do anything about it her feet walked up the drive, and she found herself hammering on the front door with a closed fist. She wanted to find out what the hell was going on and hovering around outside wouldn’t give her any answers. She listened carefully, there wasn’t a single sound from inside the house. Turning she glanced across at the fire station, to see if anyone was over there, but it was all in darkness; it looked almost as desolate as this house.
Walking around the side of the house she looked into the small garden, with knee-high grass and dandelions. The back of the house looked as sad as the front, but at least the curtains were open, along with a kitchen window that she registered she might just be able to climb through. Pressing her face as close to the glass as she could, she cupped a hand over her eyes. She just wanted to find a photograph of Jacqueline, to see if she recognised her as the woman who called herself Jackie Thorpe. Inside was immaculate, the kitchen cupboards were old, but it was spotlessly clean. There wasn’t a single thing out of place, no dirty pots in the sink waiting to be washed. No washing lying around, it was cleaner than Ben’s kitchen. She hadn’t been expecting that and she took a step back. There was no sign of anyone being home. Morgan looked around; she knew she shouldn’t do this without a warrant, because if she found something it would not be admissible in court. But she couldn’t bring herself to walk away now. She let out a sigh, and tugging down her sleeve, she knocked on the kitchen door and waited a couple of minutes. And there was always another scenario: what if Jackie needed help? She could be inside, injured. That would be a good enough reason to go inside. Morgan’s hand reached for the door handle, expecting it to be locked, but pushing down on it the door opened, and she was standing on the threshold of the kitchen.
‘Hello, are you there? It’s the police.’
She was greeted by the sound of the fridge freezer humming in the corner and nothing else. She knew that she should speak to Ben, get a warrant and come back, but if Jackie Thorpe was involved it would give her time to destroy any evidence.
‘Do you need help?’
Morgan stepped inside, telling herself just a cursory look around and then she would get out of there. There was a small hallway leading off the kitchen where the door to the living room was wide open. Inside was a small leather sofa and a television. There was another door that was closed next to the bottom of the staircase. Morgan paused at the bottom of the stairs to listen for any noise. Her heart was racing but she’d come this far. She twisted the door knob, pushing the door open. It was dark in this room; the curtains were closed. Taking out her phone she pressed the torchlight and shone it around the room, gasping as she did. There was a huge desktop computer with three monitors on a large table that filled one side of the room, and behind it was a wall of newspaper clippings, photos and what looked like photocopied reports. She stepped closer to read them and felt her heart beat even faster. She had been right, Jackie Thorpe was involved. There were photos of the scene of the accident her parents had been killed in, twisted bicycles lying in pools of dark liquid. Another of a car with its bonnet so badly crushed it was amazing the driver walked away with only a small cut to her head. There were pictures of a young Erica James plastered on the wall, pictures of Natalie White along with pictures of Sally Lawson, and another man Morgan didn’t recognise. She leaned closer to read the highlighted print on a report that read, ‘I never would have gotten in the car if that bitch Sally hadn’t been giving Jason a blow job in the alleyway.’
Morgan paused, oh God was this Sally Lawson? Had that single dreadful event that night all those years ago caused this catastrophe of death and destruction? A cold shiver ran the full length of Morgan’s spine as she snapped a couple of photos of the wall. Her thigh knocked the corner of the table, and the monitors came to life. Each one had small squares, each showed different angles of the Lawsons’ burned shell of a house, and Natalie White’s house. Morgan could see Natalie on the screen now, moving about in the kitchen. She felt the nerves in her stomach begin to knot themselves and a wave of sickness washed over her.Oh God, I sent Ava Rigg there, thinking it was a place of safety, when I might have sent her to her death.Snapping a couple of photos of the room with her phone, she turned and rushed back into the kitchen, she needed to get out of here. As she did she looked across at the freezer. They hadn’t found Sally Lawson’s hand yet. She couldn’t stop herself, and she crossed the floor. Tugging open the door the freezer was as sparse as the rest of the kitchen, but she could see a pale, flesh-coloured hand resting on the top shelf. Stifling a scream, she pushed the door shut and ran. Slamming the back door shut behind her, she had to get to the White’s house now.
Back in the car she phoned Ben; it went to voicemail.
‘I’m going to Hellsfield Hall, where Natalie White lives, on Hellsfield Road, Windermere. I think that the killer is, no, I know that the killer is going to go after Natalie White next. I’m going to get her to a place of safety. Ring me as soon as you get this. I’ll let you know what happens.’
Then she phoned the control room and asked them to send an officer to watch the house.
Morgan began to drive towards the Whites’ mansion, hoping that she wasn’t too late and that she could put a stop to this. If she got the slightest hint she was too late and anything was wrong, she’d call for backup, but she needed to see if she could get them out of there.
FORTY-NINE
Natalie was making breakfast pancakes for Lexie and Ava because what else was there to do? Jasper had left early for work, and she was furious with him; just once it would be nice to have him here with her, co-parenting and doing his bit. She was sick of being a single parent; she was also sick with worry about the past catching up with her after all this time. She was hand-whisking the eggs and milk so hard the mixture was flying all over the kitchen worktop, but she didn’t care. Ever since those horrible murders she’d been on edge, then the feeling that someone was watching her was just too scary. She felt as if she was constantly on high alert, on show, that someone was in her home. And what if they were, what if the person that murdered the Lawsons was going to do the same to them?
Maybe it was time to confess, tell Jasper, Morgan, Annie who she really was and what she’d done, tell them that she’d known Sally Lawson but hadn’t spoken to her since the night of the accident because of what had happened. The people she’d killed. Tears began to fall down her cheeks, not for herself but for the teenage girl who had recklessly got into that car drunk, for the poor couple who were out enjoying a summer’s night cycle ride, most of all for the kid whose parents she had taken away from them, whom she had never got the chance to even say sorry to. So many lives ruined in one night, yet here she was living a life where she could have anything she desired. She was getting her punishment sure enough though, since the only things she really wanted – a loving, attentive husband and a kid who liked her – were non-existent.
The tiny hairs on the back of her neck began to stand on end, the all-too-familiar sensation of being watched made her feel uneasy. A creak behind her made her spin around and scream. She managed to knock the glass mixing bowl off the counter and it smashed into a million shards as it hit the floor, but there was nobody there. Natalie looked at the mess and began to cry, not because she’d broken the expensive glass bowl but because it signified her entire life. That batter mix, congealed with the broken glass, just about summed her up. To top it all off it had flown everywhere, covering all the cupboards, the tiles, the ceiling and one of the drop down lights behind her. So concerned was her teenage daughter that she hadn’t even called down to see if she was okay. Running the tap, she filled the sink with hot soapy water and kept whisperingthis is what you deserve, it’s what you deserve,over and over as she began to scrub at the tiles. The smell of sizzling pancake mixture came from the industrial light bulb, and she realised if she didn’t turn the light off and clean that first, every time she turned the light on the kitchen would stink. Marching to the switch she knocked the lights off, then grabbed a tea towel from the rail, to unscrew the bulb with so she didn’t burn herself. As she unscrewed the light, she noticed the tiniest square thing attached to the fitting. That shouldn’t be there, she was sure it hadn’t been there when she’d bought it. Grabbing it with her fingers she pulled it and stared into the smallest lens she’d ever seen, a feeling of horror washing over her. Someonewaswatching her? How many of these were there around the house? Her first thought was Jasper, and she was furious he was never here, yet he was spying on her? The absolute arsehole. Picking up her mobile she phoned the number Morgan had given her, and it went to voicemail.
‘Hey, Morgan, it’s Natalie, can you come over? I’ve found a spy camera in the light fitting, and I don’t know what to do.’
She stared at the thing, then shuddered and dropped the tea towel on top of it. Moments later she lifted it off and spoke into it.
