‘Mrs Littlewood, can I ask you to backtrack a little? What can you tell me about Celia Aspen?’
She pulled a couple of bones from her kipper and placed them on the side of her plate. ‘I can’t tell you very much at all. I know that may sound odd when you consider I lived next door to her for over seven years, but she was a very self-contained sort of person. She hardly ever talked about herself and she certainly didn’t encourage anyone to ask questions. She had this way of letting you know if she thought you’d overstepped the boundaries. She’d narrow her eyes and glare. It was her way of telling you to back off.’
‘Do you know how old she was?’
‘Not very old. Late sixties I would say.’
Dan smiled.
‘I can see you grinning, young man.’ She laughed. ‘Late sixties may seem ancient to you, but you’ll change your mind when you reach that age yourself.’
‘Was Celia married?’ Dan asked. ‘What was her background?’
‘She never married, although I got the impression there had been a romance once … during the war. She was retired, but for years she’d been the Head of Fashion at Bradshaw and Trent.’
Dan arched an eyebrow involuntarily and Joyce laughed before continuing.
‘It was a small department store in Derby,’ she said. ‘It closed down years ago, not long after Celia moved to Bainbridge. She was made redundant and I believe she may have used her severance pay to buy the house next door, but I don’t know that for certain. To be perfectly honest, there’s not a lot else I can tell you about Celia. She kept herself to herself. She was an odd one really. She was usually polite and could be quite friendly when she wanted to be, but if she did talk to you, it tended to be about neutral subjects … the weather or her garden.’
‘Did she have many visitors?’
‘No,’ Joyce said, the skin on her neck quivering as she shook her head. ‘Her niece used to call round about once a fortnight. As far as I know, Julie was her only relative.’
‘No friends?’ Dan turned to a new page in his notebook and looked at Joyce expectantly. ‘A boyfriend maybe?’
Joyce dismissed that idea with a brief flick of her hand. ‘I don’t think Celia had many friends, male or otherwise. If she did, she wouldn’t have invited them round. She wasn’t one for having people in her house. Timothy went inside occasionally if there was a job needed doing, but she kept me at the door if I went to see her. Not that I went round there very often.’
She drained her tea cup.
‘As far as I can recall, she only ever had one male visitor. I remember it because it was such an unusual occurrence.’
‘Do you know who it was?’ Dan asked.
‘No, haven’t a clue. I was out in the back one day, hanging out washing, and I saw them over the fence. Celia was showing him her garden.’
‘When was this?’
Joyce tapped the side of her head as if to dislodge a long-forgotten memory. ‘It must have been the spring of 1986, about a month before Celia disappeared.’
‘And you have no idea who her visitor was?’
She shook her head again. ‘We weren’t introduced. I did wave and say hello, but I don’t think Celia was in the mood for idle chatter. When she saw me she tried to usher the man inside. I could tell she didn’t want me talking to him.’
‘So you didn’t speak to this bloke at all?’
‘Hold your horses, I didn’t say that.’ Joyce grinned. ‘I don’t appreciate being snubbed, so I ambled over to the fence and spoke to him directly – more to wind Celia up than anything else.’
If Celia Aspen was as reserved as Joyce Littlewood says, having a nosy neighbour must have been a right pain in the jacksy, Dan thought. To him, however, Joyce was a gift. She had a huge store of knowledge tucked away in her head, although it was clear he’d have his work cut out, teasing it out of her.
‘What did you say to him, Mrs Littlewood?’
Joyce paused, as though replaying the scene in her head. ‘When I heard him chatting to Celia, I thought I detected an American accent, so I asked him if he was from the United States.’
‘And was he?’
‘No. He said he’d lived in Canada since the late Forties, but he was originally from Nottingham. He’d come over to stay with his sister’s family and he’d decided to look Celia up and pay her a visit. Apparently they knew each other when they were young.’
Dan was holding his pencil like a baton, using it to conduct the steady to-and-fro rhythm of the conversation.
‘He said that?’
‘Yes.’ Joyce leaned back. ‘That’s what he told me.’
‘Do you think he might have been Celia’s old flame?’
She thought about it for a moment. ‘Possibly, but there was no way for me to find out because she whisked him back inside PDQ. It was obvious she didn’t want me poking my nose in. Our relationship had already cooled by then, but things got even frostier after that.’
Dan’s gut was telling him that the information Joyce Littlewood was divulging was connected in some way to the bones discovered next door. He just wasn’t sure how.
‘You say that Celia went missing in 1986?’
‘That’s right. The last time I saw her was in early May, although Timothy saw her a couple of times after that.’
Dan put down his pencil, slowing the pace of their exchange.
‘Did Celia tell you she was going away?’
‘No, but she and I weren’t exactly on friendly terms, so why would she?’
He tried to conjure up a set of circumstances in which Celia Aspen had killed someone, disposed of the victim in her own back garden, and then done a runner – but the whole scenario seemed implausible. Something had happened next door, but what? And why? And how did Celia Aspen’s disappearance fit in to the picture?
‘Anyway, it looks very much as though Celia didn’t go anywhere.’ Joyce stared at him expectantly. ‘I’m guessing that’s who you’ve found in the back garden?’
‘We don’t know who it is yet,’ Dan said, deciding not to disclose the sex of the unidentified skeleton at this early stage in the investigation. ‘Is there any particular reason you think it could be Celia Aspen?’
‘Well, it’s got to be more than a coincidence, hasn’t it? Celia went missing and now you’ve found a body. It would certainly explain what happened to her. I always found it hard to believe she’d clear off without a backward glance, leaving her house and her precious garden behind. Unless, of course …’ Joyce sat up, her eyes gleaming.
‘Unless what?’
‘She ran away because she’d killed someone. Flipping heck! Do you think that’s what happened?’
‘We don’t know, Mrs Littlewood, but we’re going to do our best to find out.’
‘I’ll tell you something for nothing …’ She tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair. ‘If she is still around, Celia Aspen will be about a hundred by now.’
‘In that case, I think it’s unlikely she’s still alive.’ Dan stood up. ‘Thank you for your time, Mrs Littlewood. You’ve been very helpful. I might need to talk to you again at some point, but I’ll let you get on with your evening for now.’ He handed her a card. ‘If you think of anything else that might be relevant to our enquiries, please give me a call on that number.’
His phone began to ring as he left the house. It was Zoe.
‘Let me guess,’ Dan said. ‘You’re ringing to tell me about Celia Aspen who moved to 23 Ecclesdale Drive in 1979 and was reported missing in 1986. Am I right?’
‘You already know? How did you find out?’
He grinned. ‘I’m a detective, Zoe. It’s my job.’
Chapter 7
Isabel turned into her driveway at the same time as a pizza delivery bike was pulling away.
She found Nathan in the kitchen, pouring a glass of red wine.
‘Blimey,’ he said. ‘That was quick.’
She shuddered. ‘It’s a long story. Pour me a glass of wine and I’ll tell you about it.’
A pair of French doors led from the kitchen into a garden room at the back of the house. Ellie was in there, stretched out on the sofa in front of the log burner. She was watching television and stuffing her face with a slice of Margherita, seemingly oblivious to the backlash over her school report.
Compared to the maelstrom of worry set in motion by the discovery at Ecclesdale Drive, Isabel’s concerns over the school report seemed trivial now – but that didn’t mean Ellie should get off scot‑free. Her behaviour was probably nothing more than a teenage blip, but it had to be addressed. Steeling herself for confrontation, Isabel straightened her shoulders and wandered into the garden room.
‘When your brother and sister were your age, a pizza delivery was considered a treat. From what we’ve heard from your teacher, that’s the last thing you deserve.’
Ellie lifted one shoulder. ‘Dad got pizza to cheer me up.’
‘Did he now?’ Isabel turned to Nathan, who had come up behind her with a large glass of wine in his hand. ‘After listening to your teacher this afternoon, I think your dad and I are the ones that need cheering up.’
Frowning, Ellie reached for the TV remote and turned up the volume. ‘Miss Powell’s a cow,’ she said. ‘She’s hard on everyone.’
Isabel took the remote control from her daughter and switched off the television.
‘Listen up, young lady. You need to pull your socks up. You’re clever and capable, but from what I’ve heard today, you’re wasting your talent. Turning up late for school and being argumentative with your teachers is not acceptable. Do you understand? We need to have a serious talk about this, but not tonight. For now I suggest you take your pizza upstairs and eat it while you do your homework. As of tomorrow, one of us will be dropping you off at school and I’ll be checking with the teachers to make sure you hand your assignments in on time.’
Ellie scowled and, snatching up the pizza box, stormed out of the room. Isabel sank onto the sofa she had vacated.
‘I take it this new school run will fall to me?’ Nathan said, as they listened to the sound of footsteps thudding up the stairs and across the landing, followed by the slam of a door. ‘You’re too hard on her, you know. You measure her behaviour by what you did when you were her age. Life’s different now. As older parents, we have to accept that.’
Isabel tried not to think of herself as an older parent. Discovering that she was pregnant again at the age of forty-one had hit her like a lightning strike. She’d assumed her child-rearing days were behind her: the prospect of going through it all again had been crushing. Nathan had been a lot more philosophical. He’d likened the arrival of another baby in their lives to a googly; a curve ball. Fate threw one at you sometimes, he said.
Isabel accepted the wine Nathan held out to her. ‘Ellie’s sudden aversion to school has nothing to do with our age,’ she said. ‘She’s getting lazy, that’s what it is. The little madam doesn’t know she’s born. She lives in a nice house in a good neighbourhood and wants for nothing. She has absolutely no reason to misbehave.’
Isabel thought back to her own life when she was fourteen. It was the year her parents had split up and everything fell apart. She felt a spasm of grief as she remembered her dad standing at the front of the house on Ecclesdale Drive, waving reassuringly as Isabel set off on a three-day school trip. When she returned home, it was to the news that he had left without saying goodbye.
His departure had thrust Isabel’s mother into a depression that, for a while at least, rendered her barely able to function as a parent. Left to her own devices, Isabel had clung to the belief that her dad would get in touch once he’d found somewhere new to live. But as the days rolled into months and she heard nothing, the pain of his absence had tightened its grip. His abandonment had left her feeling hollow and bereft. It was as though something vital had been ripped from inside her, leaving an ache that was chronic and incurable. Whenever Isabel thought of that time, a dark curtain of pain wrapped itself around her.
Unable to keep up with the mortgage payments, her mother had been forced to sell the house on Ecclesdale Drive. She and Isabel had moved to a cramped mill cottage in an unfashionable part of town. It was damp and dark, with an overgrown garden that backed onto the railway line.
Isabel swallowed a slug of wine. ‘When I was her age I had all sorts of crap to deal with.’
‘I know you did.’ Nathan sat next to her. ‘But Ellie isn’t like you. She’s growing up in a different century to us. Kids today have different kinds of pressure. All I’m saying is … ease off a little.’
‘Actually, you need to ease off on me.’ She glanced at him sternly. ‘I’ve had one of the worst afternoons I can remember in a long time.’
Nathan put his arm around her and she leaned into him, comforted by his warmth and strength. Even when she didn’t deserve him, Nathan was always there for her, offering a constant supply of love and support.
‘That body they found … it was at my old house – the one I lived in with Mum and Dad.’ She bit her bottom lip to stop it trembling.
He rubbed her shoulder. ‘It’s obviously upset you.’
‘Of course it’s upset me.’ Isabel shivered. ‘I feel as though my earliest memories have been contaminated.’
She closed her eyes to hold back the tears that were threatening to spill over, unwilling to give in to her emotions. ‘The body was buried in the back garden and apparently it’s been there for yonks. Anywhere between twenty and forty years.’
‘Crap!’ Nathan sat up as he pieced together the implications of what she’d told him. ‘When did you leave?’
‘January 1978. Three months after Dad walked out. There’s a potential overlap, so I’ve had to stand down from the case for now.’
‘Bloody hell.’ He settled back. ‘You don’t think this has anything to do with your family?’
Isabel kicked off her shoes and pulled her legs onto the sofa. ‘I don’t know what to think. My mind’s all over the place, but I do have a bad feeling. Really bad.’
‘Jeez.’ Nathan reached out and pulled her back into his arms.
‘My worst fear is that it could be him.’ She swiped away an escaping tear. ‘After all, I have no idea what happened, do I?’
Nathan balked. ‘Surely not … there’s no reason for you to think that.’
She pulled back and looked up at him, doing her best to rein in her emotions. ‘I know you mean well, Nathan, but let’s be realistic. Dad walked out in 1977 and I haven’t seen or heard from him since. I think there’s every reason to worry.’
Chapter 8
‘But you don’t have any proof that it’s him?’ Nathan was studying her face. He sat rigidly, the muscles on his neck strained and stiff.
‘The SOCOs found a partial dental plate with the body.’ Isabel tipped her head back to hold in her tears. ‘Dad had a dental plate.’
‘Can they check whether it’s his?’ Nathan asked. ‘What did your boss say?’
‘I haven’t told her. Not about Dad.’
‘Christ, Isabel.’ He rubbed a hand across his chin. ‘Why the hell not?’
‘Because I don’t want to. It’s none of her damned business.’
‘Of course it’s her business.’ He stood up, thrust his hands into his pockets and began to pace. ‘What were you thinking? You need to tell her. It’s not like you to go against procedure.’
‘I’ve informed her about my connection to the house,’ Isabel said, her voice terse and defensive. ‘I offered to stand down immediately … that’s procedure, but I’m not telling Val bleeding Tibbet about my father. Not unless I have to.’
‘But you’re holding back important information. Won’t you get in trouble?’
‘Give me a break, Nathan. I’m hardly going rogue. I’m keeping quiet, that’s all. If there are questions for me once the investigation is underway, I’ll answer them, but I’m not volunteering anything until I have to.’
With his shoulders bent, Nathan continued to pace.
‘For God’s sake, sit down,’ Isabel said. ‘You’re making me nervous.’
Reluctantly, he lowered himself onto the sofa and stretched his legs.
‘I’m relying on the SOCOs to pinpoint when the body was buried,’ she explained, more to reassure herself than to pacify Nathan. ‘It shouldn’t take them long. Hopefully, the timeframe will rule out any connection to my family. This whole thing could be nothing to do with me.’
‘Isn’t that wishful thinking? If there’s any chance the remains could be your father’s, you should speak up. It’s the right thing to do, Isabel. You know it is.’
There was a part of her that agreed with him, but she wasn’t going to admit it. Instead, she swallowed another glug of wine and opted for bravado. ‘I’ve spent most of my career doing the right thing and what good has it done me? Come on, Nathan. Even you’ve got to admit this is an extraordinary situation. I don’t make a habit of breaking the rules … but in this instance I’m willing to bend them if I have to.’
He frowned disapprovingly. ‘So why bother to stand down at all? Why not go the whole hog and ditch the rule book completely? You could have carried on with the investigation.’
‘Don’t think I wasn’t tempted,’ Isabel said, ‘but there are some things you can’t get around. Dan’s a smart guy. He’ll run checks on who’s lived at the house. If I had kept quiet, he’d have worked it out for himself soon enough.’
She ran a hand across her eyebrows to try and erase a headache. ‘Look, I had no choice but to be honest about my connection to the property and stand down, but that doesn’t mean I have to tell anyone about Dad.’
‘I don’t get it.’ Nathan screwed up his face and scratched his chin. ‘You’ve carried this around for years … always in the dark about what happened. Don’t you want to find out if it’s him? Wouldn’t it at least bring you some closure?’
‘Of course I want to know, but if it is Dad’s body, who do you think their prime suspect is going to be?’
For a moment Nathan looked puzzled, and then, as realisation dawned, he grimaced. ‘Your mother.’
‘Exactly,’ she replied, determined not to let this become one of those situations where her job took priority. ‘Mum and I don’t always get along, but if I’m forced to choose between honesty and loyalty, family wins every time. I don’t want my parents being investigated unnecessarily. I’d much rather wait and hope the forensics will rule them out.’
Nathan reached for her hand and laced his fingers through hers. ‘I understand where you’re coming from,’ he said, ‘but if you keep quiet and the body is your dad’s, you could be putting your job at risk.’
‘I’m aware of that,’ she replied, retrieving her hand and using it to reach for her glass of wine. ‘It’s a risk I’m willing to take.’
‘OK.’ He nodded, grudgingly accepting her decision. ‘I guess you’ll just have to sit back and wait and see what happens.’
‘Actually …’ She smiled weakly. ‘I thought I might talk to Mum. See what she says.’
‘Make your own enquiries, you mean?’
Isabel snorted. ‘I’m not planning an off-piste investigation, if that’s what you’re insinuating. I just thought I’d call her, tell her a body’s been discovered and gauge her reaction.’
Nathan poured what was left of the bottle of wine into his own glass. ‘I must admit, your mum is always tight as a clam about your dad. She gets very cagey when you talk about him. I always assumed it was because she was still angry with him for leaving, even after all these years – but maybe there’s another reason. A more sinister one.’
Isabel kept her mouth firmly shut and held up a hand to stop him talking. She’d come to the same conclusion herself, but she couldn’t bear to listen to someone else giving voice to the same doubts.
Upstairs, Ellie had switched on some music. A hard bass beat reverberated through the ceiling and throbbed in Isabel’s temples.
‘Why not ask her straight?’ Nathan nudged her. ‘Tell her about the body and then ask her to explain what happened when your dad left home.’
‘There’s no way I can be that blunt.’ She reached into her pocket to retrieve her phone. ‘It would be tantamount to accusing her of murder.’
Nathan acknowledged her point with a tilt of the head. ‘I suppose you know better than anyone how to ask the right questions,’ he said. ‘But your willingness to ask them … well, that depends.’
‘On what?’
‘On whether you’re ready to hear the truth.’
Chapter 9
‘Issy! What a surprise. It’s not like you to ring midweek. Is everything all right?’
Isabel felt a pang of guilt. Barbara Corrington sounded twitchy and tense, clearly alarmed to hear from her at a time other than the usual Sunday afternoon duty call. Since her mother’s move to Spain five years ago, Isabel saw her only sporadically. She could and should ring her more often.
‘I’ve had a shock today, Mum.’
‘What’s wrong? You’re not ill, are you? Are the children OK?’
She noticed that her mother’s concern didn’t extend to Nathan.
‘I visited a crime scene in Bainbridge. Someone found a man’s body buried in their back garden.’
‘That’s dreadful,’ Barbara replied. ‘But why are you telling me about it?’
A few years ago, Barbara would never have used the word dreadful. Since becoming a Spanish ex pat, she’d embraced a whole new vocabulary.
‘Because …’ Isabel hesitated. ‘The body was found at our old house on Ecclesdale Drive.’
‘What? How ghastly. It used to be such a nice area.’
Aside from the use of the word ghastly, her mother’s cool, unflustered reaction seemed genuine. Isabel experienced a flicker of hope. Surely if Barbara was hiding something, the news that a body had been uncovered in their old garden would have thrown her into panic. She didn’t seem even slightly ruffled.
‘Being back there … it got me thinking about when we lived on the street.’
‘That was a long time ago, Isabel. At least forty years.’ Barbara’s tone was abrasive, verging on dismissive.
‘We moved out in 1978,’ Isabel reminded her. ‘But the body wasn’t buried recently, Mum. It’s been there for several decades.’
The ramifications of this extra piece of information made no impact on Barbara. ‘Well, at least you know the area,’ she said, without missing a beat. ‘That should help when you do your … investigating.’
Isabel resented the way her mother had managed to add the hint of a sneer to the word investigating, as though it was something illicit or shameful. Then again, such flippancy came as no surprise. Barbara had never come to terms with her daughter being part of the force. She’d regularly tried to persuade Isabel to pursue a more genteel career, something safe and sedate. As far as Barbara was concerned, being a detective was unladylike, undignified and dangerous.
‘I’m not involved with the case at the moment,’ Isabel said. ‘We need to rule out any possible connection or crossover with my time at the house. With our time at the house.’
‘What on earth do you mean?’
‘I’ve agreed with the detective superintendent that I won’t work on the case until it’s been confirmed that the body wasn’t buried while we lived there – you, me and Dad.’
Her mother had gone quiet. Was it a silence induced by fear? Or outrage that the Corrington family was being associated with a crime? Or was it because the forbidden word had been uttered: Dad. The person they didn’t speak of.
There was something automatic about her mother’s reticence whenever her father’s name was mentioned. Isabel had always assumed it was an instinctive resistance to the peeling back of old wounds, but now she feared there was more to it. A reluctance to reveal a dark secret, maybe? Or even a guilty conscience.
‘Mum? Are you still there? Did you hear what I said?’
‘Of course I heard.’ Barbara’s tone was snappy and defensive. ‘That bloody boss of yours has got a nerve. I hope you put her straight.’
‘Not exactly. It’s not easy to refute something unless you’re absolutely certain yourself.’