Page 23 of Worse Than Murder
We walk over uneven ground. The leafy canopy above gives the woodland a darker edge, particularly with the sun hidden by the clouds. It could almost be nighttime. The temperature is still hovering in the twenties, but it feels cooler. Icy fingers of uncertainty stroke the back of my neck, and it’s not just fear of the impending storm. I have a dark feeling that something is happening right now. I’m just not sure what.
I keep thinking of the killer in Sheffield. If he hadn’t emailed me and bragged about his crimes, he would have gotten away with them. He really is the embodiment of evil. My detective brain is kicking in and trying to figure out who he is and why he turned to murder. Was he born that way or did something happen to turn him into a killer? Try as I might, I can’t fully let go of being a detective.
‘What shall we do tonight when the storm hits?’ Carl asks, bringing me out of my reverie. Thank goodness for Carl. ‘I mean, if the power goes off, we won’t have a TV to watch or anything.’
‘Do you have any board games?’
‘A few. I’ve hidden Monopoly, though. Dad gets really competitive with that one.’
‘I used to like Operation. Me and my sister…’ I stop myself. It’s still too raw to think of me and Harriet in happier times, especially now she probably wishes I was dead.
‘Ifuckinghate you!’
‘I’ve got Dinosaur Operation,’ Carl says.
‘Really? How does that work?’
‘You operate on a T-Rex.’
‘Oh. Sounds fun. I think we should play that even if the power doesn’t go out.’
* * *
We return to the restaurant at the same time as Sally pulls into the car park. She’s been into the village to collect a few more provisions such as extra batteries for the torches and candles in the case of a power cut. Carl runs off to clean up the dogs while I attempt to make a coffee using the machine. I’ve been in so many coffee shops over the years, why didn’t I pay attention to the baristas when they made my black Americano? Are all these buttons really necessary? The door from the kitchen is pushed open and the cleaner, May, breezes in with her caddy of cleaning supplies.
May is in her early sixties but doesn’t have a single grey hair. It’s dyed a dark blonde. She’s wearing a long flowing shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and combat trousers with a duster sticking out of every pocket. A different cloth for a different job, I’ve heard her say. She’s short, not much over five feet, trim, and always has a smile on her face.
‘You’re a braver woman than I am,’ she says. ‘I daren’t go anywhere near that machine. It keeps hissing at me.’
‘I’m beginning to wonder what’s wrong with a kettle and a jar of instant.’ I place a cup on a tray under a spout and press a button. Nothing happens. I press it again. Still nothing.
‘It’s like all these flavoured teas you can get nowadays,’ May says. ‘They all taste like scent to me. And, I’m sorry, but when I have a mug of tea, I want something I can dip my Digestives in.’
‘I couldn’t agree with you more,’ I say as I give the Gaggia a dirty look. I decide to leave it until Philip comes back from wherever he’s gone to. ‘May, can I ask you a question about something?’
‘Course you can,’ she says, not stopping in her work. She goes over to the tables and begins clearing one of its place settings before vigorously polishing the smooth surface with a dry microfibre cloth.
‘Philip tells me you’ve lived here all your life; I was wondering if you remembered the Pemberton twins going missing.’
May suddenly stops what she’s doing. ‘Oh, my goodness, that was a nightmare and a half. That poor family. And just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, the father went missing in that storm.’
‘He got into difficulty driving home, didn’t he?’ I ask. I don’t want May to think I know more than I do. It’s better to let people think you know nothing.
‘Yes. He’d been to see his mother, if memory serves me correctly. He had Alison in the back. We knew a storm was coming but I don’t think any of us expected it to hit as hard as it did. He must have been taken by surprise with it. Bless him. Fingers crossed we don’t get a repeat today. I don’t like the look of those clouds.’
‘No,’ I say, turning to look out of the window. Are they nimbostratus rolling in? Does it bloody matter? I turn back to May. ‘Lynne Pemberton was lucky not to lose her other daughter, too.’
She nods. ‘She didn’t let that girl out of her sight for weeks afterwards. I mean, you wouldn’t, would you?’
I go over to the table May has just cleaned, pull out a chair and sit down. ‘What happened with the twins?’
‘Nobody knows. They’re out playing on a lovely summer’s day, all three of them. Suddenly, two of them are gone, driven away. Never to be seen again.’
‘No suspects?’
May pauses while she thinks. ‘There was something about one of the teachers at the primary school. He’d changed his name when he was a teenager– can’t remember why– police thought it was strange and latched onto him. Of course, he was innocent, but the damage had been done. He left soon afterwards. Poor man.’
‘No-one else?’
