Dead and Buried (6 page)

‘Did you ever use the door at the end of the garden?’

Rose shook her head.

‘Not often,’ Joshua said. ‘It did open but it was stiff and anyhow we hardly ever used that part of the garden. Dad hated gardening. He liked barbecues but that was as far as it went with gardens. I went out of it a few times, on my bike. There’s an alley there that runs down the back of the houses.’

‘Do you think someone brought the body in that way?’ Rose said.

‘It’s too soon to tell,’ Wendy Clarke said.

The detective looked as if she was going to go off but then she placed her bag on the table and took a small tin out of it. Taking the lid off she picked out a roll-up. Rose could see several other home-made cigarettes there. Wendy lit it with a lighter. She inhaled.

‘So, either of you two remember Daisy?’

‘I saw her around a bit. She worked in a newsagent’s on the High Street. She was mates with our old babysitter, Sandy Nicholls. She lived too far along to be a neighbour, you know, someone you see going in and out of their house,’ Joshua said.

Wendy Clarke nodded. She held the cigarette tightly with her thumb and forefinger. It looked fragile – as if it might crumble at any moment.

‘And you, Rose?’

‘I saw her a few times. I’ve got a vague memory of her with Sandy out on the street but I never spoke to her. I was eleven. She wasn’t someone who moved in my orbit.’

‘
Orbit
,’ Wendy repeated, nodding her head.

She blew out smoke and used the fingers of her other hand to pinch the end of the roll-up, putting it out. She replaced it in the tin as though she was saving it for later.

‘OK, here’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to let you two sit here for a short while. You absolutely mustn’t come any closer because this is a crime scene. You shouldn’t really be here, in this garden, at all. Your parents are gone, though, and you’re the only two witnesses I have left so I’m pretty desperate. I’ll be over there and I’ll take you back out in a few minutes. That OK with you? Oh, here’s my card, by the way. In case you need to get in touch with me.’

She gave one to each of them. On it was her name, email and a mobile number. Then she put the tin into her bag and walked off down the garden. She shouted out ‘Tony!’ and pulled back a section of the tent and slipped inside.

They sat down at the table, next to the patio heater. It felt strange to be there. It was not at all familiar and yet there was no doubt they had lived there; she had walked back and forth across that patio day in, day out; Joshua had fixed his bike there, turning it upside down, taking bits off and putting them back on.

‘What do you remember about that summer?’ Joshua said.

‘It was my last summer before Big School. Mum and I shopped a lot for my uniform.’

She was reminded, fleetingly, of the denim cut-offs, edged with sequins, that she had lived in that summer; she had loved them and had hardly ever worn anything else.

‘I remember you were supposed to look after me when Mum and Brendan were both at work.’

‘I did look after you!’

Those mornings or afternoons when Joshua was in charge of her brought a sudden smile to her face. Joshua was always asking if she wanted anything to eat, as if she might go hungry during the time they were together. He allowed her to play games on his computer and sometimes they would watch
Star Wars
movies. One afternoon they’d made strawberry ice cream with her mum’s ice cream maker that had never been out of its box. Those days seemed full of sunshine, waiting for her mum to come home from work and Brendan to walk through the door, see her in the living room, and say,
Hi, Petal!

‘And then I used to play with a couple of girls from my primary school. They lived in the next street and I was allowed to walk round there on my own. That was when Mum bought me my first mobile. It was silver and opened up like an old-fashioned powder compact. And I stayed overnight with them a few times.’

There was a raised voice. It came from inside the tent at the bottom of the garden and it made her feel instantly guilty. Thirty metres away from where they were sitting reminiscing there was a hole in the ground where a girl had been dumped.
Grave
was too nice a word for it. Rose stared at the tent, still and calm on the outside and yet inside were police and forensic officers searching painstakingly to find a strand of hair or a spot of blood that would have the killer’s name on it.

‘That mobile phone,’ Joshua said. ‘You never remembered to charge it.’

‘Do you remember anything about that summer?’

‘Apart from having a massive crush on Daisy Lincoln?’

‘I noticed you didn’t mention that to the detective.’

‘Too embarrassing. In any case I had crushes on lots of girls that summer. I was fourteen and just finding out that there were other things in life than fixing bikes and playing computer games.’

‘I don’t remember any of this.’

‘I wasn’t going to tell you!’

Wendy Clarke had come out of the tent, her mobile ringing. She turned her back on them as she answered it. A conversation followed and Rose tried not to listen.

‘I do remember Dad being away a few times. I mean, this isn’t the first time I’ve thought about that summer. In my head it’s all lumped in with Before, you know,
Before
they went missing. And the reason I remember him being away is that I was allowed to stay at Jon Kerrigan’s house. He was my best friend until I went and lived in Newcastle. Anyway, I spent quite a few nights at his house. Dad went on courses, I think, and Dad and Kathy went away on a short holiday. I remember that.’

‘Yes, I remember Mum and Brendan being away. They brought presents back.’

Wendy Clarke had finished her phone call and was walking up the garden towards them.

‘I have to go now,’ she said. ‘I’ll see you out. Don’t forget my number’s on the card I gave you.’

They stood up and followed Wendy Clarke back through the carpeted house, past the unfamiliar prints and wall decorations, past the hallstand that held a host of different coats. Then they were out on the street on the other side of the cordon and the police officer was walking away towards a car.

They made their way down the street. The number of people who had been hanging round had dwindled. Rose stepped aside to avoid bumping into a young woman with a pushchair. She walked on.

‘Sandy?’ Joshua said.

Rose looked round and saw that Joshua had stopped and was talking to the woman with the pushchair.

‘I thought it was you! It’s Josh Johnson. And here is Rose.’

It was Sandy, the girl who had babysat for them when her mother and Brendan went out at night. Rose looked at her with surprise. When she was younger Rose had idolised her, her trendy clothes and her spiky fringe and talon-like nails. She used to spend most of the evening staring at her and listening to stories about her love life. She was babysitting for them on the evening their parents disappeared. Now she was in her early twenties but she looked older. Her hair was pulled back into a pony tail and she had no make-up on.

‘God! Joshua and Rose. You’re here because they found Daisy’s body? How awful. How are you both? You left in such a hurry no one had time to say anything to you.’

In the pushchair was a baby, fast asleep. It looked young.

‘This is Jade. She’s three months old and quite a handful. I have to walk the pushchair round to get her off to sleep.’

‘She’s yours?’ Rose said.

Sandy nodded. ‘You’ve grown up, Rose. You’re so pretty. And Josh! A man now.’

Rose felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment. She looked down at her shoes. Sandy continued talking.

‘Poor Daisy. We were in the same groups at college. We were quite friendly for a while then her mum moved to Chingford and I never saw her again. We heard she’d left home, of course. One of the girls in my class told me that she had run away with a man old enough to be her father but I don’t know if that was true or not.’

Sandy put her hand into the pushchair, straightening the blanket that was over her baby.

‘You still live round here?’ Joshua said.

‘Yes,’ she pointed to the sleeping baby. ‘Jade wasn’t a planned thing. Her dad doesn’t know she exists so I live with my mum.’

‘Sorry to hear that . . .’

‘Don’t be. I didn’t like him. Well, I must have liked him at one time . . . Rose, you’re so quiet. When I looked after you you never stopped talking.’

Rose gave a shrug. ‘We ought to go.’

‘Bye. Oh, I suppose I should say this even though it all happened so long ago. I was really sorry about Kathy and Brendan. I liked both of them a lot.’

‘Thanks,’ Joshua said.

‘You should come and see me some time. It’s not like you don’t know where I live!’ Sandy said.

‘Bye.’

They walked on and a second later Rose heard the sound of someone running up behind them. She turned just as a man with a camera took several rapid photos of Joshua and her. It only took a fraction of a second to put her hand in front of her face but by then he’d managed to get a number of pictures.

Joshua swore at him and turned away, pulling Rose by the arm.

‘Have you any comments on the discovery of a body in the garden of your parents’ house? Was this girl’s murder the reason that they disappeared?’ a voice called out.

They walked swiftly on, heads down, away from the reporter. When they turned the corner and it was clear that he hadn’t followed them they slowed up. Rose blew air between her teeth. She looked at Joshua. He shook his head.

‘Now it’ll be in the newspapers,’ he said.

‘Maybe Mum and Brendan will see it,’ Rose said.

Joshua nodded as if that wasn’t such a bad thing.

SIX

On Sunday morning they set off for Wickby. Joshua had a copy of a newspaper in the car when he came to pick Rose up. She looked at it. On the bottom of the front page was a photograph of the two of them. The headline was eye-catching:
Abandoned Children Revisit House of Death.

‘This is awful,’ she said.

The photograph showed Rose’s profile and Joshua’s face as he turned to look at the photographer. Neither of them had any expression. Underneath, the caption read
Rose Smith and Joshua Johnson after their visit to the scene of crime.
The report repeated everything that had been said in the other accounts she had read and ended with a question:
Do Rose Smith and Joshua Johnson have the key to what happened at the house of death?

Rose tossed the newspaper on to the back seat.

‘Oh, I saw Margaret Spicer yesterday afternoon,’ Joshua said.

Margaret Spicer?

‘Did you?’

‘She was at Munroe’s Chelsea office. It’s the first time I’ve seen her since . . . So I thought I’d speak to her.’

Margaret Spicer, the wife of James Munroe. The last time Rose had seen her had been in a hotel room in Newcastle. Munroe had just told Joshua and Rose some unpalatable truths about their parents while Margaret had walked around the room, packing things so that she and Munroe could leave.

‘I taped the conversation. Well, not exactly a
conversatio
n
. She gave me these short and to the point answers. The recorder is in the glove compartment. Listen to it.’

Rose reached into the glove compartment and pulled out something that looked like a mobile phone.

‘When did you get this? What’s it for?’

‘Skeggsie had it for college. He used to record some seminars. He didn’t like taking notes. I found it in his room a few weeks ago. I meant to pack it but forgot.’

‘I don’t understand why you were at Munroe’s office again?’

‘I thought I might see him. I was going to try and get him into a conversation and record it. For evidence. You know, when he spoke to you making threats? I thought if I could record something like that . . . Anyway, he wasn’t there. Margaret Spicer was so I thought I’d speak to her. Play it.’

Rose worked out what to press. The sound came on, piped music in the background.

‘“Margaret, it’s Joshua Johnson. I just want to talk to you for a minute.”

“I’ve got nothing to say to you.”

“About Munroe. I want to ask you about . . .”

“Please leave these premises.”

“Just a couple of questions. About what happened in Newcastle.”

“I have nothing to say.”

“How come Munroe?–”

“I have nothing to say about James Munroe. He and I are separated.”

“When did that happen?”

“That’s not your business.”

“Was it because of what happened to Skeggsie?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“But why?”

“James Munroe and I have irreconcilable differences.”

“Is that because he arranged to have my best friend killed in a dark alley and he used you to do it?”