Mourning the Little Dead Page 6

  ‘Oh, sorry. No, it’s just grass there, or there’s a log over here. It’s dry.’

  ‘I’ll come over then. Keep talking and I can find you. Is there anything I’m going to trip over?’

  ‘No, it’s just short grass. And some rabbit shit...sorry, droppings.’

  She laughed and seated herself on the fallen tree. ‘What do you do with yourself all day? Isn’t it boring for you here?’

  He sat down beside her and she could feel him shrug. ‘It’s all right,’ he said. ‘I mean, Gran’s nice and everything, but everyone’s so upset and...you know. I feel like I should be serious all the time and when I laugh at something I feel kind of guilty.’

  ‘I’m sure they don’t mean to make you feel that way. It must be hard though.’ She fell silent for a moment and then said softly, ‘I remember, in the months after Helen went missing, I felt like that. I felt that my life had been sliced in half and only the sad part was left. My mum tried to get me out of myself and took me to see a comedy film at the cinema. Helen had been missing for about four months then and whether we liked it or not, life was back to normal for most people. I had to try so hard not to laugh. We watched the film and people all around me were laughing and giggling and, you know, just enjoying themselves the way people are meant to do. And I had to really work at not doing the same. I thought, if I laugh at this, I’m betraying Helen. I’m letting her down because Helen can’t do that any more.’

  The conversation was, she thought, getting a little heavy for a fifteen-year-old, but to her surprise Patrick nodded, he was sitting close enough for her to feel it when he did. ‘I feel like that,’ he said, ‘but you know, everyone keeps telling me what a happy person Helen was. I think she’d hate it to know we felt like that.’

  Out of the mouths of babes, Naomi thought absently. She smiled. ‘Helen was a happy person,’ she confirmed softly.

  ‘Live for Helen, too,’ Joe Jackson had told her only a little after that trip to see the film. She had reluctantly confided in him when her mother had asked him to have a word. ‘And every time you laugh, think of it as laughing for Helen, too.’

  Nine

  Alec called her at home to say he would not he coming round that night. ‘I didn’t expect you would, I heard the news. You’ve made an arrest in the Sarah Clarke murder.’

  Alec sighed. ‘We’ve brought a man in for questioning, that’s all. And we didn’t release that information.’

  ‘But you must have something on him to bring him in.’

  ‘Rumour and more rumour and a distinct lack of cooperation when I went to ask him a few questions. Not a lot else. How was your day?’

  ‘Interesting. I went to see Helen’s mum. Harry picked me up. His son thinks that Napoleon is the best dog he’s ever met and I suspect Napoleon is equally infatuated.’

  Hearing his name, the dog shifted position and Naomi heard his tail begin to thump upon the floor.

  ‘Traitor,’ Alec said. ‘You tell that double-crossing dog that I’m the man in his life. Look,’ he added, ‘I’ve got to run. I’ll call you later or maybe tomorrow. Depends how things go.’

  Naomi felt oddly bereft when she had put down the phone. In fact, it had turned into a far more pleasant day that she felt it had a right to be. They had returned to Mari’s house after a couple of hours’ absence to find Harry ready to come looking for them. By that time, she and Patrick had decided that it was worthwhile them becoming friends. Naomi had little to do with teenagers as a rule, but she liked this boy and by the time he had helped her back on to the path and they were heading for home, they had discussed everything from school—he hated it—to computer games—‘Final Fantasy rocks!’—to what it was like living back in England with his father—OK, a bit boring sometimes, but better than with his mum’s husband.

  Their lightened mood affected the others and the afternoon was spent with memories that had nothing to do with Helen’s death. Old photos were pulled out and described in detail. Naomi remembered most of them. The parties, school plays and trips. Holidays and Christmases. Harry talked with unusual freedom and ease and Patrick questioned, taking advantage, Naomi guessed, of his father’s unusual mood in order to fill in the gaps in his family history.

  She liked Harry. Staid and somewhat formal though he was, she liked him and enjoyed his rather old-world manners.

  Alec, well, Alec was different. Assured and sometimes flippant, and just as important as Alec the man, was the Alec of their shared past. And they had settled into an easy, relaxed relationship which she didn’t think either of them thought was serious, but which nevertheless bound them and kept them from others.

  She crossed to the window and felt for the clock. It had a large button on top and when she pressed it an electronic voice told her that it was nine twenty-five. Too early to go to bed, but even so, she felt tired. She made herself a snack and then showered, taking her time and making it last as long as she decently could. When she checked the time again it was half past ten. She got into bed, Napoleon settling himself on the rug beside her, and within minutes she was asleep.

  *

  Alec’s time was dragging too, but for very different reasons. He had been cooped up in the interview room since four o’clock, taking time out only when the official meal break was called for his prisoner.

  Since calling Naomi, his already shredded concentration had been further eroded. He sensed that it was not just Patrick and the dog that had hit it off so well. Naomi seemed quite keen on the company of Harry Jones.

  Quite what she had said that had given him this notion, Alec couldn’t say. It was more in her tone of voice, the lightness and almost overcasual responses to his questions.

  He shook himself mentally, telling himself that it was all in his imagination and then remembering that Naomi was a very attractive woman and had never wanted for attention.

  ‘So, Mr Williams, tell me again about the night of the reconstruction. You say you had no idea of what was going on. You don’t watch the news? See the papers?’

  ‘I didn’t see that on the news.’

  ‘And on August the twelfth, Mr Williams. You still have no idea where you were that night? I’ve given you some thinking time, yet you’ve still not given me any answers.’

  ‘I’ve told you, I don’t keep a fucking diary. I was unemployed all summer, days are just days. One like the next.’

  ‘But that one wasn’t like the rest, was it? Sarah Clarke died.’

  ‘And I’m sorry for it, all right? But it’s nothing to do with me. I heard about it. I heard about it, I don’t know, the next day, but it was fucking weeks ago. Do you know what you were doing that day without looking at your fucking diary?’

  ‘It was a Thursday,’ Alec said.

  ‘So you told me. Thoughtful of you, I appreciate the help, but like I say, one day pretty much like the rest.’

  Alec sighed. He had hoped by now to have the tape of the television broadcast showing Gary Williams at the scene, but there had been a hold up that afternoon and the best the TV station could do was to promise to courier the tape over the following day.

  And an hour ago a message had been sent in to him. There was trouble on the Radleigh Estate. Nothing very specific, just groups of youths wandering the streets and residents gathering outside the block of flats where Gary Williams lived.

  Alec knew from his experience on the Radleigh that more trouble was simply a matter of time.

  *

  Naomi had fallen into a deep sleep and she dreamed about Helen. This in itself was not an unusual thing, few nights passed when Helen did not figure at least obliquely in her dreams.

  This time though, it was different. She dreamed that she was walking the path that crossed the waste ground. She was able to see, though the landscape had a distorted look as though she were seeing it through a fisheye lens.

  Ahead of her, a child was running. She was dressed in navy blue, a school bag slung across her shoulder and a scarf, blue and white stripes with an
edge of red flying out behind.

  Helen, Naomi thought. Dressed the way she had been on the day she disappeared.

  Naomi had no sense that she quickened pace, but she found herself suddenly right behind the fleeing child. She could hear Helen’s panting breaths and the splash of black shod feet in deep brown, puddled mud. In her dream, Naomi reached out for her friend. She reached and touched her on the shoulder; she could feel the slight ribbed texture of the gabardine raincoat beneath her fingers and the woollen scarf brushing against her hand.

  ‘Helen!’ Naomi called her name, urgently, willing her to stop, to turn around.

  The change happened without her being aware of it happen—but suddenly, Naomi no longer stood behind. She felt the weight of the school bag on her shoulder; the warm softness of the scarf circling her neck and the cold mud splashing against her legs, seeping through the white socks.

  ‘What...’ Naomi, no longer Naomi, gasped for breath. The bag was heavy and made it awkward to run. She felt leaden, weighed down by the bag and the bulky coat and, Naomi realized for the first time, choked by Helen’s tears.

  They, she, were between the trees now. A sudden movement startled her and Naomi Helen glanced sideways into the stark grey wood. And someone spoke, a man’s voice, though she could not hear the words.

  ‘Sorry? What? I’m going to he late...’

  And then she felt a hand around her wrist and the bag slipping from her shoulder and the tall trees turning above her as though, abruptly, they lost balance and slipped on their own roots and the world moved forward at twice the speed it had any right to do.

  She felt the breath knocked from her body. Lungs burning as she tried to draw breath and then almost blackness as something hit her head.

  For a time she could not reckon, her senses refused to make sense and the world spun and hands groped at her clothes and her body burned with pain and then she could see his hands, one of them red with blood, reaching for her throat.

  Naomi struggled to wake up. She struggled at the unknown force holding her until reason impinged enough to tell her that it was only the bed covers tangled across her chest.

  Napoleon whined, his wet nose nuzzled at her hand.

  She slid from the bed, wrapping her arms around the dog, burying her face in the soft black fur and clinging tight, sobbing desperately and unable to control the shaking that wracked her body. She had never felt so glad of the presence of any living thing in all her life as she was at that moment, and so grateful not to be alone.

  Ten

  Alec called while she was giving Napoleon his breakfast. ‘They’ve found Helen,’ he said.

  At first, Naomi said nothing. She realized that she had been expecting this ever since waking from her dream the night before.

  ‘Of course you have,’ she said.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine. Really, I’m just fine. Does her family know yet?’

  ‘No. I’ve been asked to go, take you too, if you’re willing. Travers thought it might help.’

  ‘That was nice of him,’ she said, genuinely grateful to have been officially included, though she had the feeling that Alec would have asked her to go with him in any case.

  ‘How soon can you he ready? I can be with you in fifteen minutes.’

  ‘I’ll be ready,’ she promised him. She fumbled for the cradle and replaced the phone, aware that her hands were shaking and her chest was tight. She had known for all these years that Helen must he dead, but to be confronted by the reality was another thing again. She felt herself flush hotly and then as rapidly grow cold. A trickle of sweat ran down between her breasts. She reached out for the coffee mug she had left sitting on the counter, reached out so suddenly that she misjudged the movement and sent it crashing to the floor. She was still trying to tidy up the mess when Alec arrived.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I dropped a coffee mug. A full one. Alec, can you check I’ve got all the pieces? I had to shut Napoleon in the other room while I cleaned up, he kept trying to help and I’m scared in case he cut himself.’

  Alec scrutinised the dog. ‘He looks fine to me. But you’ve missed some by your foot.’ He bent, she felt the heat of him close to her and as he straightened again she found herself clinging to him.

  Alec held her, stroking the short dark hair. He smelt clean: shower gel and shampoo and fresh laundry, and when he bent his head to kiss her she tasted coffee and mint. Normal things in a world that, this morning, felt so desperately unreal.

  ‘We should be going,’ he told her gently. ‘I’ve called ahead, told them we have news.’

  *

  Mari sat very still. Naomi could feel the stillness in the woman’s body. She wanted to reach out and clasp the older woman’s hand, but she could feel the tension in her arms and guessed that she had her hands clasped tightly in her lap. To take one or even cover them with her own would, she suspected, break through the calm and Naomi didn’t want to force Mari into a storm she might not be ready to face.

  ‘There was no evidence of clothing,’ Alec said. ‘Even after all this time we would have expected some fragments, but, at first sight, there don’t seem to be any. You’ve got to understand,’ he added hastily, ‘I’ve only the preliminary reports to go on. They rushed those through to us this morning.’

  ‘And you say she was found last night?’

  Alec nodded. ‘The diggers were working through. We had two shifts going. Apparently, they found a tiny bone set into the concrete about five o’clock last night. Until we got our experts in, we weren’t even sure that it was human, but it was decided that our people should work on through and about three o’clock this morning, they found what we believe to be...we found human remains.

  ‘She’d been wrapped in black plastic and then a piece of what seems to have been carpet, then covered with wood and rubble. The concrete...the concrete was poured over that.’ He paused. ‘We’re lucky,’ he said. ‘These houses were built on a kind of concrete raft. Beneath that, it was hardcore and general rubble and that protected the burial somewhat. If...if the concrete had been poured into the footings, there’s very little chance we’d have found anything.’

  ‘You’re certain it’s her?’ Harry asked.

  ‘As certain as we can be. Dental records have been sent for. They were already on file as I understand it.’

  Naomi felt Mari nod. ‘Joe...Detective Jackson, that is. After she’d been missing for a while, he talked to us, said we had to prepare ourselves, like. He thought we should get ourselves ready, in case...in case, so we asked our doctor and our dentist to release the records and put them on file.’

  She sighed. ‘You know, that was a hard thing to do, it was admitting that our little girl would not be coming back alive. But Joe was right, it had to be done sometime.’

  ‘We found this,’ Alec said, reaching into his pocket for an evidence bag. ‘It’s described in the original files and it’s what makes us pretty certain this is Helen.’

  ‘What is it?’ Naomi asked.

  ‘Her bracelet,’ Mari told her. ‘That little silver thing with the bells all around the rim. You both had one, remember?’

  Naomi nodded. ‘Of course I do.’ They had bought them at the same time from a little shop in town that specialized in incense sticks and temple bells and bright silk scarves sewn with tiny mirrors. They had bought matching Indian bangles, decorated with mock cabochons of coloured enamel and trimmed with tiny round bells that jingled softly. As kids they had loved these scraps of exotica. Jewellery had not been allowed at school, but they wore them religiously, too and from, slipping the bracelets safely into their bags through the day and donning them again the moment they got out through the cast iron gates.

  ‘If the killer took her clothes,’ Harry said, ‘why leave the bracelet?’

  ‘Because it was a tight fit,’ Naomi told him.

  She felt Mari nod agreement. ‘Helen had such plump little hands,’ she said. ‘Nomi was always so
tall and skinny and Helen was always the other way.’

  Silence fell and thickened in the tiny room. The tension finally seeping out of Mari’s body, enough for her finally to be able to cry. Harry knelt on the floor beside his mother and held her tightly, making those small comforting noises that people make when words won’t work. Naomi heard Alec get to his feet, judging that it was time to go and she rose, too. ‘Mari, we’re going now,’ she said. ‘Call me,’ she added, reaching out in Harry’s general direction, but she received no answer. Alec took her arm and led her back to his car.

  ‘Helen was strangled,’ Naomi said.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Helen. The way she died.’

  ‘I know what you mean. I mean, how do you know?’

  He sounded concerned, suspicious almost. ‘Naomi?’ he prompted. ‘How can you know?’

  ‘I don’t, not really,’ she admitted. She sighed, realizing just how stupid this was going to sound. ‘I had this dream last night,’ she told him. ‘It was so real, so frightening, and it wasn’t just about Helen. This time, I was Helen. I was running away and there was this man and I...’

  She trailed off, feeling Alec’s frown even though she could no longer see it. ‘Sounds crazy put like that.’

  Alec was silent for a moment. ‘I’m not surprised you dream,’ he said. ‘Look, Naomi, you know as well as I do that most likely you’re right. If someone asked me to bet on how she died that would come pretty high on my list.’ He paused. ‘But you felt there’s more to it than that?’

  He was, she felt, making a great effort to keep the scepticism from his voice.

  ‘Sounds crazy,’ she repeated. ‘Alec, I know it does.’ She tried to smile. ‘Most likely you’re right. All the stress of the case being reopened and then hearing about the little Clarke girl. I guess it was all playing on my mind last night.’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘Well, I’d be more surprised if it wasn’t getting to you.’

  He pulled the car in to the kerb outside her house.