Green and Pleasant Land Read online

  Paula held up a finger: ‘We’re talking twenty years ago; were players as overpaid then as they are now?’

  ‘In proportion to the rest of us, yes,’ Stu declared.

  ‘But he wasn’t a top player any more, and I gather West Brom weren’t in the top league then,’ Mark said.

  ‘Even so, he was way out-earning me,’ Stu said conclusively. ‘Anyway, her parents said they’d never seen her that day. Insisted.’

  ‘Why should the team assume that in the first place?’ Robyn asked.

  Stu frowned. ‘Because she was on the road from their village, Buttonoak, see, and was heading south towards Bewdley. QED.’

  ‘But they denied it. Robyn, this could be an ideal opportunity for your interviewing skills. We need to talk to Jeanette Garbutt, don’t we?’ Exactly why had the apparently frank and reliable Ted accepted the premise that it was obvious where Natalie was travelling from and where she was going? ‘Tell you what – and this is the longest of shots – see if the hospital has any record at all of Julius being booked in for treatment round the time of his death. Twenty years ago though …’ She shook her head doubtfully.

  Paula broke her apparent vow of silence. ‘Hang on: Stu said she was heading towards Bewdley. You don’t have to be going to Birmingham if you’re heading into Bewdley, do you? You could be heading for Stourport. And if you were heading towards Stourport, you could have been heading to the M5, and all the places that leads to.’

  ‘But if you’re going towards Kiddie then Brum’s your likely destination,’ Stu argued.

  ‘And you know she was heading towards Kiddie? – that’s Kidderminster,’ Paula said in a possibly helpful aside.

  ‘I’d got that, thanks,’ Fran said. ‘I do have trouble with some place names round the Midlands. Wednesbury, for instance. First I thought you had to pronounce every syllable and then last time we came down the M5 I swear the Satnav woman called it Wednesday.’

  ‘She did,’ Mark corroborated. ‘Every single time. Wednesday. In fact it’s pronounced Wensbry – right?’

  ‘Right,’ Paula agreed, with an incipient twinkle in startlingly blue eyes. ‘And you’re OK on Worcester and Alcester?’

  ‘I do my best,’ Mark assured her solemnly.

  Fran added, ‘Not to mention Bicester … So was she heading to Kiddie or Stourport? Was there any evidence either way, Stu?’

  ‘How could there be?’ he asked, prepared to be truculent.

  ‘Quite,’ she agreed. ‘But the investigators back then must have had some reason for their assumption, though I couldn’t see anything in the paperwork the ACC left us.’

  ‘Tell you what, I’ll have a word with some of my old mates, not necessarily those based here. And maybe some that didn’t work on the case – they often pick up rumours, like.’

  ‘Excellent. First up, before you even start on the evidence, could you have a very quick look at the list of the team working on the case originally. Give me any low-down? Then I’ll arrange to talk to them. Robyn will fix a time for us to talk to Natalie’s parents. Stu will hunt for the missing evidence. Paula – can you dredge the Internet for anything happening at the time that could possibly have had any bearing on the case?’

  ‘Would you mind if I scanned or keyed some of these documents into the computer first? Then we’ll all have access to them.’

  ‘Thanks. That’s a much better idea.’ It was. Where the hell was her brain? ‘And Mark?’

  ‘I’m going to go for every scrap of information on Natalie’s husband, first hand for preference. I want to talk to him, his mates and – why has no one mentioned his parents?’

  ‘Parents?’

  Stu frowned. ‘Were they still alive? I certainly don’t recall they were ever interviewed. You’d have thought they’d come and have a look at the spot where their grandson died, wouldn’t you? Mind you, I don’t recall Phil Foreman himself coming either.’

  ‘What?’ It seemed all four reacted the same way.

  Paula was the first to speak. ‘Talk about weird. It’d be a wonderful media opportunity to appeal for information. So no mini-shrine by the roadside like they tend to have now after accidents?’

  ‘Not that I recall. I mean, six weeks’ really bad snow … Perhaps folk thought the moment was past.’

  ‘What did the family liaison officer have to say about it?’

  Stu clicked his fingers. ‘There was something funny about that too. One of them refused to have one, either the Garbutts or Foreman. Maybe both. Weird.’

  ‘Anything else at this stage?’

  Stu again, only this time he slapped his forehead. ‘There was a nanny. Au pair. Whatever. But she left about a month before. She got a job with someone posh. Real posh, old money. We talked to her but got nothing useful.’

  ‘OK. Was Natalie’s life insured, by the way?’

  ‘Nope. Her husband’s was, for megabucks. But not hers.’

  So why was so little of this on record? Despite his anxiety, Mark had a team to encourage and he beamed. ‘Well done. But before we do any of these indoor tasks, I’d like us all to visit the scene. It may bring back useful memories to you, Stu, and the rest of us won’t be working blind. I’d particularly like to look at the exact spot she parked up and see what her options would be. Fran and I meant to go out there yesterday but we got here so late and it was raining so hard there didn’t seem much point.’

  As one, the team’s heads turned to the window. A squall battered it with serious intent.

  Fran caught Paula’s eye. ‘Could you bring up a local weather forecast for us?’

  Her head went down for a few seconds. She looked up with a disbelieving smile. ‘Believe it or not, the rain will ease. Round about one. And – wow! Even the chance of a bright interval later. With showers, of course. But later this afternoon and tomorrow – hell’s bells, we’ll need canoes, by the look of it.’

  ‘In that case, if it’s OK by the rest of you, I suggest we grab a sandwich and meet in the entrance hall at one,’ Fran said. ‘Then we could head back here and pool our reactions. Is that OK with you all? Mark?’ To her relief they all nodded enthusiastically. ‘Great. I’ll hijack an official car but one of you will probably have to drive it. Insurance, of course.’

  ‘I’ve got advanced driving skills,’ Paula said. Her cheeks flamed, as if she was admitting something shameful. She looked swiftly down again. She must take that damned phone to bed.

  ‘Excellent. Robyn?’ she added, responding to a hand half-raised, as if the young woman was still in school.

  ‘Do we know why they’ve chosen to review this case now, gaffer? With cash being so short and cuts and everything?’

  ‘Wish we knew,’ Mark said frankly.

  ‘It’ll be to do with clear-up rates,’ Stu said. ‘This new commissioner’s dead keen on improving our image.’

  Paula transferred her attention from her phone to her tablet. She looked up. ‘I can tell you what her widower is up to now unless you think it would prejudice our enquiry?’ Responding to the muted cheers of derision, she waved the tablet. ‘Apparently he’s running a bar in Cyprus. Which doesn’t get us very far.’

  Fran narrowed her eyes. ‘Cyprus or Northern Cyprus?’

  ‘Kyrenia, it says here.’

  ‘That’s in the North. Where that Polly Peck millionaire went AWOL.’

  ‘And where there is,’ Mark observed, ‘no extradition treaty. Assuming we wanted to extradite him, of course.’

  ‘Which might, assuming we find anything against him, be very suspicious.’ Quiet little Robyn punched the air. ‘Let’s get the bastard!’

  Fran would have loved it to be their exit line – she was sure Mark would too. But she had to add, ‘Let’s get him indeed. If – and it’s a huge if – he did have anything to do with Natalie’s disappearance. We mustn’t jump to conclusions. We’re simply investigating a misper, right? Come on, what are we waiting for? If he’s innocent it needs to be known. If he’s a bastard indeed, let’s go get h
im!’

  ‘I just wish I could stop putting my foot in it! How many people have I offended so far? I nearly blew the whole team this morning!’ Fran collapsed on her new desk, head in hands. ‘God, I need a caffeine fix! Even that evil-smelling canteen brew.’

  Staring at the rain, Mark said nothing. Though she was exaggerating, he had to admit that she’d put in a performance well below her usual. In the past she’d always fired on all cylinders no matter how little sleep she’d had. Last night had been very bad, of course: it had taken her nearly an hour to get the fire established, though he’d be the first to concede that it had been worth a lot to come down to a warm room. And then there’d been that random banging. It had driven him mad, but at least he’d been able to remove his hearing aids and a combination of a long day and more red wine than usual had sent him off straight away. Which probably, of course, made it even worse for Fran. How much sleep had she had? Two hours at most.

  He stretched out a hand. ‘Come on, let’s brave the canteen. We may even need a sugar rush: those Danish pastries looked good. Even if they are pure evil,’ he added over his shoulder, as he opened the door.

  Her mobile chose that moment to ring. ‘Oh, sod it. Bring one for me,’ she mouthed.

  He returned with two paper cups, which he set down on his desk alongside a paper bag. He opened it to reveal two large, flat, sickly looking confections.

  ‘That was Alex, the letting agent. Partial result,’ Fran declared, coming over to him and tucking her hand into his. ‘He’s delivering more heaters, which he will leave switched on, and he’ll chase the gas delivery company. The only thing that worries him is the flapping noise, but he’ll see what he can do when he delivers the heaters.’

  ‘I’d have called that a complete result, especially for someone running on empty.’ He passed her a pastry. ‘Heavens, the sugar in these is more than we eat in an average week; we’ll be doing handsprings any moment now!’

  ‘I shall cartwheel down to Iris to find out how to book a car.’

  ‘Done. I sorted it on my way to the canteen.’ He waved a couple of sheets of photocopied paper. ‘And got Iris to lay her hands on some waterproof bright-wear for us. All we’ll need is our boots. I’ll rescue them from the boot at lunchtime when I do the Sainsbury’s run; if anyone doesn’t like my leaving the premises they must lump it. No, there’s no need for you to come with me; you used to be able to doze lying on the floor – time for you to try that again. I need your brain, Fran, I really do.’

  ‘I know. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Now, forget your coffee and pastry. The last thing you need is a sugar rush before a bit of a zizz. Actually, I’ll go and do my bit of shopping now. I can check out Phil Foreman later.’ He looked up, catching her eye. ‘This is even stranger for me than for you, you know. In the past I just had to click my fingers and a minion would do everything for me.’

  ‘A minion like me,’ she agreed, sticking her tongue out at him. ‘Well, if you can’t click your fingers, you can at least click a mouse.’

  FIVE

  Paula drove them along unfamiliar roads. There was a fifty speed limit much of the way, backed up by warnings of cameras. So they got the chance to look at the scenery they’d only glimpsed through the rain the previous day. The fields, many of which were under water, looked a manageable size. As for houses, they were built in warm red brick, interspersed with thatched timber-framed ones convincingly out of the vertical, genuinely, not just picture-book, old. She’d never considered leaving Kent, but this area might be one to tempt her.

  They learned during the half hour drive that Stu had a son and a daughter. Paula had two young sons, both at school; her husband was unemployed. Robyn was in a civil partnership but neither she nor her wife was interested in kids yet.

  ‘Where do you want me to stop, gaffer?’ Paula demanded. ‘Natalie’s Range Rover was actually parked illegally, wasn’t it?’ Her voice indicated strong disapproval.

  ‘We’ll park illegally too,’ Fran declared, though the question might have been directed at Mark. ‘We’ve got those nice big plastic warning signs: Police. Slow. We’ve all got hi-vis jackets. Go into the village and find somewhere to turn, would you? We need to see things through Natalie’s eyes. And those of the woman who called in the incident. Marion Roberts. What a nice village – some really pretty properties,’ she added as Paula completed her manoeuvre. ‘Why on earth didn’t Natalie simply turn round and walk back to the village if there was a problem? Get someone to phone her mum? Or phone from here? Though mobile coverage wouldn’t have been so good in those days, would it? How did you get on with Natalie’s parents, by the way, Robyn? The Garbutts?’

  Paula parked and cut the engine, but was obviously waiting for Robyn’s reply.

  ‘She sounded taken aback. Really disconcerted. As if I’d caught her while she was concentrating on something else. Anyway, she agreed to talk to us later in the week. Thursday afternoon. Something about a dental appointment tomorrow.’

  ‘She didn’t sound as if she was leaping up and down in joy at the prospect of the case being reopened?’ Mark asked.

  ‘Not really. But perhaps – after twenty years – you’ve just got resigned.’

  ‘Not a terribly typical reaction, I’d have thought,’ Fran said. ‘All the literature says that people with unresolved grief long for closure.’

  Paula nodded. ‘I can’t imagine – don’t want to imagine …’

  Fran touched her arm sympathetically, worried by the emotion she heard. This might be a very hard case for a woman with too much empathy.

  Mark said nothing: he couldn’t imagine ever being reconciled to the loss of his daughter, but didn’t argue. Perhaps his wound was too fresh. Keen not to finger it any more, he opened the car door. The others followed his lead.

  Time to pull on boots. Mark and Robyn put out warning signs at the rear. Fran added a couple on the Bewdley side. How long was it since either of them had done that? Paula, unasked, took endless photos. And why not? The scenery was breathtaking, as beautiful as anything they had in Kent, the sunlight through the damp air adding a romantic soft filter effect. Fran could have stood and gazed all day.

  ‘I can’t see any reason at all why Natalie should stop just here,’ Mark said, returning to the car.

  Paula stopped snapping and joined the little knot beside him. ‘How old was the older boy? Four? Five? It’s obvious.’ She jigged up and down. ‘I need a wee. Mummy, I need a wee. I need a wee NOW.’ It sounded as if she’d heard it many times before.

  Fran almost objected that the photo of Hadrian showed him as scarcely out of babyhood, but didn’t want to interrupt the young woman’s chain of thought.

  Robyn shook her head. ‘And she’d stop, just like that? Opposite a double white?’

  Ostentatiously Mark looked along the road, first one way and then the other. ‘How long have we been here? And how many cars have we seen?’

  ‘Quite. I admit it. You have a child wanting a wee, you stop, white lines notwithstanding. Hazard lights. Get the child out; wait for it to wee; strap it back in again. Two minutes. Bingo. Back on the road.’

  ‘Unless,’ said Stu slowly, ‘the little bugger takes it into his head to run off. Especially if his mum’s busy with his kid brother.’

  They digested the implications. It was so quiet they could hear a few stray rain drops bounce off the car.

  ‘So poor Natalie might have had a dreadful choice. To stay with the dying baby or go after her son. My God.’ Mark swallowed bile. ‘A child could have hidden in a million places.’ He gestured at the fallen trees, dense undergrowth, bushes. ‘So Natalie plays this gruesome game of hide and seek and Julius dies without her.’

  Stu sounded near to tears. ‘But we searched and searched. Honestly, gaffer, our clothes were in shreds from wading through brambles. Nettles, too. And look at those fern things. Bracken,’ he corrected himself.

  ‘I know. I know you all did your best.’ Mark clapped him, man to man, on the sho
ulder.

  Fran was peering at her map. ‘Is there the slightest chance that the kid ran down the road – easier, after all, if you’ve got short legs – and found a path? Where are the nearest ones? Let’s leave the car here and walk for a bit – back towards Buttonoak first. Look, there’s one.’ She pointed to her right. Encouragingly, the flurry of rain had stopped and the sun broke through again.

  ‘I was on the team that searched that bit,’ Stu said. ‘Nil returns. There’s another on the other side of the road – see that bit of a parking area.’ There was a gate, perhaps to deter off-road drivers, but a broad clear path heading west. ‘The path turns south after a bit. It leads to a stream and the bed of a disused railway. They were going to drag the stream, but it froze. And when it came into spate after the thaw, everything would have been swept away. Towards Bewdley there’s a bigger parking area—’

  ‘That’ll be Hawkbatch Valley?’ Fran said.

  ‘Right. You’ve not been there yet? Not had a chance to look round?’

  Picking up Stu’s enthusiasm, Fran caught Mark’s eye. They ought to be back inside, oughtn’t they, toiling under artificial lights? But the fresh air called so loudly … ‘Not yet. But I think it would be really useful, and if the rest of you don’t mind …’

  Did they mind? With the sun warm enough to remind them that it existed, they all thought it would be very useful. And for morale’s sake, it certainly was.

  The paths were solid underfoot, beaten down by generations of walkers. But in places they were slippery with mud and treacherous with puddles deeper than you’d expect. Onwards and upwards, but none of the gradients was so steep they couldn’t talk. For some reason Fran had expected a pine forest, dark and dry. There were plenty of trees, but most were deciduous, bare and elegant against the pale blue afternoon sky. There was far more undergrowth, the rampant brambles and bracken Stuart had mentioned, than she’d somehow expected so far up a hill.