‘Who was the last person to see Celia Aspen alive?’ Isabel said.
Zoe checked her notes. ‘A Timothy Littlewood. Presumably a relation of Joyce Littlewood?’
‘Her son,’ Isabel and Dan said simultaneously.
‘He lives with her,’ Dan explained. ‘He has ASD and, interestingly, both Timothy and Joyce Littlewood had a few run-ins with Celia Aspen over the years.’
‘I knew Tim,’ Isabel said. ‘He was a few years younger than me, but I do recall some of the kids on the street giving him a tough time. Back then – and we’re talking the Seventies, so don’t expect political correctness – people used to say that Tim was slow or odd. Not quite the full shilling. Horrible, I know, but that’s how people were in those days. Cruel and insensitive. As far as I know, Tim hadn’t been flagged as being autistic back then, although I’m not sure whether that kind of proper diagnosis would have been available. Even if it was, I don’t suppose I would have been told about it.’
Dan wrote Joyce and Timothy Littlewood’s names on the board before turning back to face Zoe. ‘Is there anything else in the missing person’s file that we should talk about? Anything that could connect Celia Aspen’s disappearance with the body found yesterday?’
Zoe shook her head. ‘Sorry, ’fraid not. The usual enquiries were made when she went missing, and a body did turn up a few months later on Beeley Moor. They ran a check, but the remains weren’t Celia Aspen’s.’
‘What about the people who moved into the house after she’d disappeared?’ Isabel said.
‘The house stood empty for several years,’ Zoe told her. ‘It was eventually sold in 1993 to Joseph and Rhoda Repton. He died a couple of years ago and Rhoda Repton is now living in a care home. Two months ago, the house was sold at auction to the current owners, Paul and Amy Whitworth.’
‘Anything we should know about the Reptons?’ Dan said. ‘Any incidents? Reports of domestic violence?’
‘Nothing so far.’ Zoe looked guilty, as though it was her fault there was nothing to report.
‘In that case, it’s looking increasingly likely that the body was buried sometime during Celia Aspen’s ownership of the house,’ said Dan. ‘We can’t be certain though. It could have been later. We can’t rule anything out – so we need to keep looking and exploring every possibility.’
‘Not wishing to state the obvious,’ Isabel said, ‘but to stand any chance of finding our killer, we first need to establish who the victim is. In order to investigate the crime, we have to investigate the victim. If we can identify who the bones belong to, we can begin to work out why they were killed and who our suspects are.’
‘Isn’t Celia Aspen the most obvious suspect?’ said Lucas. ‘Seems likely she killed this bloke, buried him in her garden and disappeared to avoid detection.’
‘If that is the case, I doubt we’ll ever find out why she did it or get a conviction,’ Zoe said. ‘Celia Aspen was sixty-eight when she was reported missing. I’d rate the likelihood of her still being alive as somewhere between improbable and impossible.’
‘Joyce Littlewood said much the same thing,’ Dan said. ‘She reckoned Celia would be over a hundred if she is still alive.’
Isabel held up her hands. ‘Hang on a minute, guys. There are quite a few assumptions being made here. I agree that Celia Aspen’s disappearance may be linked to the murder – but let’s not automatically assume that she’s the perpetrator. What’s to say she isn’t a second victim?’
Dan looked sceptical. ‘The CSIs have carried out an initial search of the whole garden,’ he said. ‘There are no obvious signs of a second body.’
‘Her body could have been disposed of elsewhere,’ Isabel remarked. ‘Anyway, even if she did kill this bloke, why would she go to the trouble of burying him in her garden and then do a runner? If she was guilty, staying put would have been far more sensible. Why draw attention to herself by disappearing.’
Isabel was met with a wall of silence.
‘All I’m saying is that we need to keep an open mind about who the possible perpetrator might be. Murder is rarely straightforward and we owe it to the victim to follow every lead, no matter how tenuous it might seem.’
Dan frowned. ‘The problem isn’t following up the leads, boss. It’s finding them in the first place.’
‘So, what’s the plan, Dan?’ Isabel smiled. ‘What lines of enquiry do you suggest?’
Dan exhaled anxiously. ‘We need to track down Celia Aspen’s niece, and I think we need to go back and talk to Joyce Littlewood again.’
‘OK.’ Isabel pointed at DC Killingworth. ‘Lucas, see if you can track down what happened to Julie Desmond. Zoe, carry on with the background check on the Reptons.’
Dan nodded at the uniformed officers. ‘We also need to ask around in the neighbourhood,’ he said. ‘There must be people other than the Littlewoods who remember Celia.’
‘Do your best, everyone,’ said Isabel. ‘This crime may have been committed a long time ago, but we need to show that we’re taking it seriously. Bainbridge residents won’t be happy about having a possible unsolved murder in the town.’
‘According to the Super, the comms team have already been fielding enquiries from the media,’ Dan said.
‘I’ll contact the media officer and agree a statement for the press,’ Isabel said. ‘We’ll make an appeal for anyone with any information to come forward.’
She looked through the window. Outside, the sky was pigeon grey and fat raindrops were trickling down the window. ‘Get your raincoat, Dan. You’re with me. You and I are going to see Joyce Littlewood.’
Chapter 13
By the time they got to Joyce Littlewood’s place the grey clouds had begun to clear and the rain had reverted to a light drizzle. They walked round to the rear of the house and Isabel stood back as Dan rapped his knuckles on the door’s frosted pane.
‘Careful,’ she said, indicating the desiccated putty that was barely holding in the glass. ‘That whole panel will fall out if you knock too loudly.’
‘She’s hard of hearing,’ Dan explained. ‘Apparently she doesn’t wear her hearing aids. Says they whistle.’
‘Nathan’s eldest sister said the same thing. She abandoned hers before she’d given herself time to get used to them. I’ve got this theory that there are thousands of unused hearing aids sitting in drawers all over the country. It must be costing the NHS a fortune.’
When Joyce Littlewood answered the door, she peered out at Dan and smiled. ‘Oh, it’s you again. Got more questions for me have you, duck?’
‘Yes, if you don’t mind. And I’ve brought my boss with me today.’
Mrs Littlewood opened the door, took one look at Isabel and beamed.
‘You can put that away,’ she said, pointing to the warrant card Isabel was holding up. ‘No need to show your ID. I’d know you anywhere. It’s young Isabel Corrington, isn’t it? You’ve hardly changed at all.’
Isabel smiled. ‘If only that were true. As for young Isabel Corrington … well, I’m old Isabel Blood these days. DI Blood.’
‘I heard you’d joined the police force. Even saw you on telly a few years back doing some sort of press conference. I knew you’d end up doing well for yourself. You always were a clever girl.’
They followed Joyce Littlewood through the kitchen and into the living room, where she invited them to sit on the settee. Its patterned nylon covers clashed with the swirling-rose design on the Axminster carpet.
‘Must seem funny for you, Isabel. Working a case at your old house.’
‘You could say that,’ Isabel replied. ‘I know that you and DS Fairfax had a chat yesterday, but I wondered if we could trouble you for some more information.’
‘Course you can. As I’m sure you remember, there’s not much I don’t know about the residents of Ecclesdale Drive. Some people call me nosy, but I like to think of myself as neighbourly. Folks don’t look out for each other anymore, not like they did in the Sixties and Seventies. Things were better back then.’
‘People tend to spend most of their time at work these days,’ Isabel said.
‘You’re right about that. They don’t even stop for a chat. Plenty of time to look at their phones, mind you, but not to pass the time of day with a nosy old bugger like me.’
‘We wondered if you’d remembered anything more about Celia Aspen, specifically the weeks prior to her disappearance?’ Dan said. ‘Or about the man you saw her with in the garden?’
Joyce ignored Dan’s questions and fired off one of her own.
‘How are your parents, Isabel? Still alive and well, I hope.’
Isabel fidgeted uncomfortably. The last thing she wanted to do was discuss the wellbeing of her family with Joyce Littlewood.
‘Mum’s lived in Spain for the last five years.’
‘Very nice. Can’t beat a bit of sun and Sangria, can you?’
Isabel smiled inwardly at the thought of her mother drinking Sangria.
‘What about your dad?’ Joyce always had been persistent. It was a characteristic that clearly hadn’t diminished with age. ‘It was a real shame when he and your mum split up.’
Isabel pulled a ‘help-me-out-here’ face at Dan, who was quick to pick up on her distress signal.
‘Do you know anything about whether Celia Aspen was planning a trip to Canada?’ he said. ‘Prior to reporting her aunt missing, the niece had assumed she was out there visiting a friend.’
Grudgingly, Joyce turned towards him. ‘I don’t know anything about that,’ she replied. ‘That’s something you’d have to talk to Julie about. As I told you yesterday, Celia and I weren’t on friendly terms. If she did have travel plans, she kept them to herself. It’s not the sort of thing she would have shared with me. Mind you, she wasn’t in the best of health, I can tell you that. It’s hard to imagine she’d want to fly all the way to Canada.’
‘What kind of health problems did she have?’ said Isabel.
‘I don’t know any details. As I’ve already told your colleague, Celia was a private person, certainly not the sort to talk about her ailments. Everyone has a right to their privacy, I suppose. I only know she wasn’t well because Julie once let it slip that Celia was on the waiting list for an operation.’
Dan scribbled something in his notebook.
‘The man I saw in the garden was Canadian, of course,’ Joyce added. ‘Well … not Canadian born, but he said he lived there. Who knows, perhaps Celia intended visiting him.’
‘I realise it’s a long shot,’ Dan said, ‘but do you remember if the man in the garden was smoking a cigarette when you saw him?’
‘Not a cigarette, but he did have a pipe. He was smoking it while he was out in the garden. I remember the sweet smell of the tobacco. It was typical of Celia to make him light up outside. She’d have the occasional ciggy herself, but she only ever smoked in the garden. She hated the smell of cigarettes in the house, you see. I’d see her standing on the back yard in all weathers, puffing away. There’s no way she would have allowed anyone to light a pipe indoors.’
‘I understand that Timothy was the last person to see Celia Aspen before she disappeared,’ Isabel said.
‘Yes, he went round there to do some work for her. To tell the truth, I wasn’t too happy with the arrangement. Julie had asked him for a favour. She had Timothy wrapped around her little finger.’
‘What kind of job was he doing? Can you remember? Was it gardening? Something in the house?’
‘He wouldn’t have gone inside. Not with the way things were. It was a minor outside repair as I recall. Something to do with a trellis. Timothy saw Celia through the window, but he didn’t speak to her. You’re welcome to come back and talk to him about it, but it all happened a long time ago. I’m not sure how much he’ll remember.’
‘You said you weren’t happy about Timothy going round next door,’ Dan said. ‘Were you tempted to tell him not to bother?’
‘Yes, to be frank, I was – but Timothy was a grown man by then and capable of making his own decisions. I think the job was something that Julie would normally have done, but she was abroad and she asked him to go round and do it instead.’
‘Do you know where Julie is now?’ Isabel said.
‘Not a clue. I haven’t seen her for donkey’s years. From what I heard she went back out to Australia after her aunty disappeared. I think she’d met some bloke out there.’
‘What about Joe and Rhoda Repton,’ said Dan. ‘Did you get on well with them? What kind of neighbours were they?’
Joyce’s face softened. ‘The best kind,’ she said. ‘We were a similar age and we got on like a house on fire. They were so kind to Timothy and lovely with my grandkids.’
‘How many grandchildren do you have, Joyce?’ Isabel asked.
‘Four. My daughter has two boys and my eldest son has a boy and a girl. They’re grown up now.’
She reached for one of the framed photographs on the mantelpiece and passed it to Isabel.
‘Did the Reptons ever have any problems?’ Dan asked. ‘Did they argue with each other or with anyone else? Were they ever bothered by any troublesome family members?’
‘No.’ Joyce shook her head emphatically. ‘There was never any hassle with the Reptons. They had one son and he was a nice lad. He worked in London for a while but came back to Derbyshire about ten years ago. Lovely family.’
‘OK, well I think that’s all for now, Joyce.’ Isabel stood up and returned the photograph to its position above the fireplace. ‘We may need to come back and speak to Timothy. What time does he get in from work?’
‘Depends what shift he’s on. He’s doing earlies for a couple of weeks, so he’ll be home at about two o’clock today and all next week.’
Isabel gave the old woman’s arm a gentle squeeze. ‘It’s been good talking to you again. Glad to see you looking so well.’
‘You too, Isabel. You’re a real blast from the past. Give my best to your mum next time you speak to her.’
Isabel nodded. ‘I’ll be sure to let her know I’ve seen you.’
Chapter 14
‘Well, that was a waste of time,’ Dan said, as they walked back to the car. ‘We’re no further forward.’
‘We do have one extra piece of information. We know that Celia’s visitor smoked a pipe.’
‘Do you think he was the owner of the lighter?’
‘It’s possible. Zippos are made in the USA. Do you think someone living in Canada is more likely to own one than someone in the UK?’
‘Not necessarily,’ Dan said. ‘I owned a Zippo once, and I don’t even smoke. Anyway, we found a lighter with the body, but there was no sign of a pipe.’
‘Good point,’ Isabel said. ‘But aren’t pipes usually made of wood? Surely it would have rotted away by now?’
‘I’m not sure about that. I’d imagine the stem would be made of some kind of plastic or resin. We’d have to check with Raveen.’
Isabel dug around in her coat pocket for her car keys. ‘Joyce also said that Celia wasn’t in the best of health. That makes her even less likely to be our killer. Do you honestly think she would have been capable of digging a grave and moving a body if she was ill?’
Dan shrugged. ‘Perhaps she had help.’
‘You could be right. It’s something to bear in mind.’
She unlocked the car and they got inside, but instead of starting the engine and driving away, she sat for a moment and stared up at the first floor of number 23, to the window that had once been her bedroom.
She wished she could have remembered the house as a warm, cosy place to live – but when her family had moved in, there had been no central heating or double glazing. The only source of warmth had been a coal fire in the living room, which her mother had insisted on calling ‘the lounge’. At night there had been winceyette nighties and brushed cotton sheets, hot water bottles, and woollen blankets topped with a pink feather eiderdown. Isabel would wake on winter mornings to find Jack Frost patterns frozen onto the inside of her bedroom window.
She supposed she had been impervious to the cold in those days because, despite a lack of heating, the house had seemed a safe, loving place in which to grow up. It had been far from perfect, but there had been days, sometimes weeks of happiness. And then her father left and everything had changed.
‘Looks like the forensics team have nearly finished,’ Dan said, his voice jolting her back to the present. ‘The owner will be pleased. He was chomping at the bit to get on with his extension.’
‘Champing,’ Isabel said.
‘Sorry?’
‘The original expression was champing at the bit. A lot of people say chomping these days but, strictly speaking, it isn’t correct.’
Dan frowned. ‘Right, well, thanks for correcting my grammar, boss. Sorry if my misuse of the English language has offended you.’
Isabel smiled. ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to be picky.’
The way Dan lifted an eyebrow suggested that he didn’t believe her.
‘Should we go and see if they’re in?’ she said. ‘The Whitworths, I mean?’
‘It’s up to you … although I’m not sure what else they can tell us. It’s not as if they’re suspects. They’ve only owned the house for a few weeks.’
‘You’re right.’ She pushed the key into the ignition, but still didn’t start the engine. ‘Maybe I’m looking for an excuse to have a poke around my old stomping ground.’
‘Are you sure you don’t mean stamping ground?’
She laughed. ‘Touché.’
Dan looked out through the windscreen towards the house. ‘Must be weird for you, being back here.’
Isabel cocked her head. ‘I wouldn’t call it weird,’ she said. ‘It’s more unsettling than anything. This is my childhood home … for me it has a kind of primordial pull. I’ve changed, and the house has changed, but when I look at it now, I see things as they were and it makes me feel sad.’
‘Memories, eh?’
She gave a shallow sigh. ‘Yep. Some happy times. Unhappy ones too. I had my whole life ahead of me when I lived here. Being back makes me grieve for all the people and things I left behind. Once something’s truly lost, I’m not sure you can ever get it back.’
‘Well, in my opinion, there are some things you’re better off without. Onwards and upwards, that’s what I always say.’
Isabel forced a smile, trying to quell the inner turmoil that was threatening her equanimity. ‘You’re probably right.’
‘If you don’t mind my saying, boss, you seem out of sorts. Are you OK? Is there something you’re not telling me?’
She hesitated, wondering how best to respond. ‘This case has opened up a can of worms for me, Dan – on a personal level.’ She blinked to disguise the sadness in her eyes. ‘I know I’ve been subdued. I can be a right maudlin cow at times, can’t I?’
Dan grinned. ‘No comment.’
She laughed, warming to his sense of humour.
‘There are some things I’ve not told you,’ she admitted, ‘but they’re not connected to the case, so they’re not really relevant now.’
‘Fair-dos,’ Dan said. ‘It’s up to you, but if you do want to talk, I’m a good listener.’
Isabel drummed her fingers on the steering wheel, trying to decide whether or not to confide in him. She barely knew Dan, but a lack of familiarity often made it easier to open up about things.
‘My parents split up in 1977,’ she said, making up her mind to share. ‘My dad walked out one day and didn’t come back. We’ve never seen or heard from him since.’
Dan grunted sympathetically. Isabel waited, watching his eyebrows shoot up as he realised the implications of what she’d told him.
‘Bloody hell!’ he said. ‘So you must have wondered …?’
‘Whether it was my dad buried in that garden?’ She inclined her head towards number 23 as she finished his sentence. ‘Let’s just say that my imagination bombarded me with all sorts of possibilities.’
‘I had a gut feeling something wasn’t right,’ Dan said. ‘I’m still getting to know you, but you seem like a pretty tough cookie, and I could tell something had shaken you. I just didn’t know what.’
‘The whole scenario was a complete fucking nightmare,’ Isabel said. ‘Everything was spiralling out of control. The thought that it might be him terrified me, and yet … in a way, it would have been the answer to my prayers.’
She paused, mortified by her own words. ‘You must think I’m awful saying that, but all my life I’ve carried this vexing, unanswered question around with me … It’s been an agonising puzzle, and there have been times when it’s sabotaged my happiness. Obviously if the body had been my dad’s, it wouldn’t have been the outcome I wanted, but I would have welcomed an answer – any answer – no matter how unsavoury.’
‘Doesn’t your mum know what happened to him?’
Isabel shook her head. ‘She’s never told me anything. I asked often enough, at least in the beginning, but she’s always been tight-lipped on the subject.’
Dan listened silently.
‘As a kid, I found it incredibly frustrating,’ Isabel continued. ‘It was probably the reason I ended up joining the force. I wanted a career that was a complete contrast to my own life … a job that gave me the authority to investigate, find explanations and solutions. Naïvely, I hoped being with the police might help me locate my dad. Early on in my career, I even made a few covert searches of the police database – that’s how desperate I was to find him.’
‘Wow, you wouldn’t get away with that nowadays.’ Dan seemed shocked and mildly disapproving.
‘I wouldn’t have gotten away with it then if they’d found out.’
‘Why didn’t you say anything about your dad when you stood down from the case?’ Dan asked. ‘Seems to me you’re not as squeaky clean as people say, DI Blood.’
His audacity made her laugh, which dissolved any tension between them. ‘I would have said something eventually, if it had been necessary. But surely you can understand my reluctance? This was a big deal for me. I was on the verge of accusing my mother of …’ She glanced at him, wondering if she’d already said too much.
‘Accusing her of what?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ She pinched the bridge of her nose. ‘The things that were running through my head don’t bear thinking about. As it turns out, there was no need for me to worry, was there? The body was buried years after Dad left home.’
‘True.’ Dan nodded. ‘I’m guessing that news must have come as a huge relief, but it does kind of leave things in the air. You still don’t know what happened to your dad, do you?’
He was right. Despite the emotional rollercoaster she’d been riding for the last twenty-four hours, Isabel remained firmly in the dark, and it rankled.
Determined to pursue and unscramble the riddle of what had happened to her father, she doubled her resolve to ring her mother again later that evening.
***
When they got back to the station, Dan was called out almost immediately to investigate reports of an armed robbery at a petrol station on the outskirts of Bainbridge. Isabel retreated behind her glass-partitioned office to update the case log and catch up on emails and paperwork.
At three o’clock, Zoe stuck her head round the door to ask if she wanted a cup of tea.
‘Thanks, I’d love one. Nice and strong, eh? Make sure you squeeze the teabag.’
Zoe was munching on a bar of chocolate when she placed the steaming mug on Isabel’s desk. ‘There you go,’ she said. ‘How did the interview with Joyce Littlewood go?’
‘OK.’ She sipped the scalding tea tentatively. ‘She told us that Celia Aspen’s visitor smoked a pipe, so it’s possible he was the owner of the lighter. We’re still grasping at straws though. What about you? You were going to double check on the Reptons. Find anything?’
‘Nothing at all,’ Zoe said. ‘No criminal records … absolutely nothing on the PNC or any of the other databases. They weren’t on our radar at all, although I did find an online obituary for Joe Repton. He sounds like a model citizen. He was a member of the local allotment society, he enjoyed watching cricket, and Rhoda was described as his devoted wife – hardly the kind of couple that would kill someone and bury the body in the back garden.’