Death in Elysium Read online

‘Shouldn’t you be at school?’ I asked, stepping aside to let her in.

  ‘Suspended,’ she said, wiping her spike-heeled boots carefully. I wasn’t sure if the ladders in her tights were intentional. She didn’t have any piercings and her hair was a reassuringly natural-looking blonde, so I deduced she was neither punk nor Goth. ‘Only a couple of weeks,’ she continued, pulling down her crop-top in case a clergyman’s wife might be embarrassed by the sight of a navel. ‘But they were teaching me fuck all and—’

  ‘Uh, uh. Mazza should have told you about my no-swearing rule.’

  She looked me full in the eye. ‘I thought that just meant blokes. ’Cos I heard that old bugger Vesey saying you swore like a trooper. Which means like Burble, doesn’t it?’ Before I could even attempt to explain the difference between Vesey’s perception of swearing and mine, she added, ultra-casually, ‘He seems to have fucked off somewhere again. Not answering his phone, little sod. Sorry.’

  ‘Burble? He makes a bit of a habit of it, doesn’t he? Perhaps he’s off foraging.’ Deep down I knew I mustn’t ask point blank if he was her boyfriend, but I could tinge my next comment with a hint of sympathetic enquiry. ‘It must drive his mates mad.’

  She agreed that it did. In as many words. Or perhaps a few more, by way of embellishment. ‘Not that you want to know about his mates. Some of them,’ she added hurriedly.

  ‘What’s the problem with them?’ I asked crassly.

  ‘Oh, you know … But this website, miss?’

  I could have told her that I couldn’t help her with her computer skills just yet, because Theo needed his lunch. But I saw no reason why the two men couldn’t bond over a raid on the fridge, and every reason to get busy while she still had the urge to learn.

  Half an hour later, I turned to her. ‘Do they know at your school how good you are – and might become?’

  ‘Don’t know shit, that school. And they can’t teach shit, neither. They just stand there yelling at us to keep quiet. Mind you,’ she added, as if determined to be fair, ‘that’s all I could do with some of them monsters. Not just the blokes. The girls too. Talk about fucking tarts! I’ll swear one of them was sucking this kid off in the back of the class last time I was there. And filming it on her phone.’ She caught my eye. ‘Sorry. That’s swearing too, isn’t it?’ She squared her shoulders. ‘Now, thing is, Jodie, I can’t spell. They did these dyslexia tests – don’t worry about that, because if it is, it means extra money or something for the school, like people having free dinners. But it’s not dyslexia. It’s just I wasn’t there very much when I should have been learning. So I need you to put the words in right.’

  ‘Uh, uh. You do it and use the spell check. What do you want to type?’

  ‘Apart from what a crap place it is?’

  ‘It’s very pretty,’ I began. Actually, it was. Despite myself, I had to admit that.

  ‘Who wants to live in a picture postcard?’

  The answer rang strong and true in my head: I don’t! But I didn’t let it out. ‘Perhaps we should be thinking in terms of what might bring visitors here. Once we’ve got money coming in, then the community should flourish and be able to afford facilities—’

  She stared outside, pointing. ‘Look, there’s another one!’

  ‘Another one what?’

  ‘Another flying pig, of course. The only folk wanting to come here are illegal immigrants or people from Eastern Europe wanting the jobs and undercutting our wages. Not that there are any jobs, of course.’ She punctuated her BNP rant with as many expletives as Burble. So much for my dearly held belief that the young were liberals at heart. I’d have to try to persuade her to share my Guardian-reader’s creed at a later date. ‘And if there was any money, you can bet your life they wouldn’t spend it reopening the youth club. And they couldn’t anyway, not without a youth leader.’

  A youth leader! That was another thing on poor Theo’s bucket list, another I could pay for and not really notice. But he insisted it must be a benefice effort: until his flock perceived a need, they’d resent anyone swanning in with a handful of cash, no matter how good the donor thought the cause. I was coming to see that he might be right. Perhaps if the kids did a good job on the website, I might be able to point not just our PCC but all the other PCCs in that direction.

  Might.

  Eventually, largely because I was about to fall into despair as deep as hers, we agreed on some safe headings: the school, the church, the people, and so on. I floated the idea of campaigning to save the village shop – or more accurately, move it into the church.

  ‘So we need pics of the shop, and of Violet. Oh, and the church and where the shop might go. Got a camera, Miss?’

  ‘Burble’s borrowed mine. But Mazza’s phone’s pretty good. So why not join forces with him? The light’s not bad now; why not spend a couple of hours snapping?’

  ‘I thought he was running with you? You missed yesterday, he said. Had to go out on his own.’ She made it sound as if I’d made him walk barefoot in penance to Canterbury Cathedral.

  Or perhaps that should be me, for letting him down. ‘We could all three run?’ As if. ‘Have you got a phone like his?’ I tried, ever hopeful. ‘No? You could tell him you’re borrowing his while we’re out running; there’s not a lot of coverage on the route we take.’

  ‘Tell?’ Her eyebrows shot up. ‘Suppose I could try,’ she conceded.

  I set a pace that left Mazza with too little breath to moan about lending his kid sister his most prized possession. We’d had a minor disagreement about the previous day’s arrangements, or rather lack of them, but when he got to the sulky gravel-kicking stage, accompanied by, ‘I just thought …’, Dave and I lost patience and set off without, it has to be said, the proper warm-ups. I wouldn’t even let us pause for breath, not until I’d got to the top of the hill from which we could look down on the valley once filled with trees and now clearly a building site.

  A big building site. Occasionally the rumble of the heavy plant carried all the way up here, though some birds were blithely ignoring it. One day I’d learn to identify them.

  Dave goggled. ‘If anyone ever asked me what an eyesore was, I’d point them at that. What on earth’s going on there, Mazza?’

  ‘Shit knows.’

  Dave didn’t seem to move, but there was suddenly no doubt that he was six foot five tall. ‘When I want swearing, I want it at the right time and in the right place – and I want it more original than that. When you’re old enough, kid, I’ll give you some lessons. Meanwhile, I asked a civil question. What’s going on down there, Mazza?’

  ‘Replacement for Dungeness Nuclear Power Station?’ he snarled sarcastically.

  Dave clapped him on the shoulder. ‘That’s better. So you don’t know either. Hmmm. I wonder how they got planning permission for that. Assuming they did. Any idea whose land it’s on?’

  Mazza swallowed, his Adam’s apple suddenly active. ‘Sorry, I don’t. But there’s a track down.’ He pointed at a faint sheep-trail.

  Dave shook his head. ‘With grass as thick and slippery as that you’d need proper walking boots, not light shoes like these. Another day.’ He picked up as quickly as I did what Mazza wasn’t saying. ‘Trouble is, I’ve not got my boots with me. And Theo’s wouldn’t fit, always assuming he’s got any, that is. Fancy a trip to Ashford Outlet, lad? There’s a shop there often does two pairs for the price of one and I’ve only got two feet.’

  Mazza looked at me sideways under his lashes. Now what? Was he checking if it was all right by me for him to go and have a boys’ day out? Or was he … surely he couldn’t suspect Dave’s intentions? But why not? A good-looking biker with something of the Freddie Mercury about him and no female in tow?

  And what did I know, who’d only caught up with him at family gatherings?

  ‘Sounds good to me,’ I said. ‘Look, I’m due in Ashford with Theo at five. We could drop you off at the Outlet and pick you up on our way back.’

  I set a smacking
pace homeward, so once again neither had any breath to argue.

  We reached Ashford a little later than I’d arranged with the dealership, not because of our run, but because of some parochial business that took Theo longer than he’d intended. In front of the others he couldn’t tell me the problem; I suspected, since he drove like Jehu, that it might involve Mrs Mountford or one of her allies. I just hoped that side-taking wouldn’t lead to outright schism.

  But the outing itself was successful: a new bike for Theo, the car for me, and boots for Dave and Mazza. I even popped a coffee-machine on my credit card. So there was a lot that was good to look forward to. That evening I celebrated by buying a leaf-blower cheap on eBay. Really, really cheap. So cheap it brought a smile to Theo’s face and would possibly do the same to George’s. I hoped so. He was one villager I was really coming to like. And I suspected – very much hoped – he and his wife were coming to like me.

  Even I had to admit that running in Thursday’s driving rain wouldn’t be pleasurable, and Dave vetoed the expedition down the steep valley he and Mazza had promised themselves until they’d walked their new boots in. In any case, the large-scale maps of the area Dave had ordered online still hadn’t arrived. Clearly – and to Mazza’s obvious frustration – Dave was taking this very seriously indeed.

  There was no sign of Burble, of course – if gardening in fine weather wasn’t his idea of heaven, working in the wet was probably his idea of purgatory. I sorted out the insurance for my new Audi, tackled the housework and set myself the challenge of working through some of Merry’s cookery books.

  Friday and Saturday brought a load of photos, the combined efforts of Sian and Mazza on Mazza’s phone, and the arrival of my car. The bell ringers put in an extra couple of hours’ work on Saturday afternoon, their efforts recorded by my contact and put on the brand new village website. Sian and Mazza worked in comparative harmony as they cropped their photos and adjusted colour and structure, rightly proud of the result. The site was almost up and running.

  All we were waiting for now was Burble – plus my camera and a lot more photos.

  EIGHT

  By Monday evening there was still no sign of Burble, although the weather had improved enough for him to do more work in the garden had he been that way inclined. Without exactly telling us that he was postponing his departure, Dave let it be understood that he’d mind our house again while we took our precious day off.

  No one, least of all me, said anything about Burble’s protracted walkabout, but I was certain the men were as worried as I. Mazza and Sian had condemned him roundly for pushing off (or words to that effect) just when he was needed, and for refusing to answer his hamster-wheel phone, but hadn’t evinced any concern, either for his safety or for the fate of my camera. Burble was clearly doing what Burble did.

  But Burble didn’t usually have a nice cashable asset with him. He’d probably not get the full value if he sold it, but a kid with nothing wouldn’t mind if he got a cool thousand, would he? Even five hundred.

  Halfway through Tuesday afternoon, just as we emerged from an overcrowded British Museum exhibition, Theo said, ‘You’d rather be back home, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?’

  Yes, yes, yes – even if it wasn’t home. ‘To prepare for tomorrow evening’s meeting about the shop in the church?’

  ‘Uh, uh. To see if Burble’s back. You’ve been checking your phone every half hour; I take it you’re hoping against hope for a message.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Sometimes one has to face unpalatable truths – I did when I was a teacher, and I still do. Humans are weak and fallible. Sometimes they reward our trust a thousandfold; sometimes they let us – and themselves – down badly. I’m sorry, I truly am. All I can suggest is that you put it down to experience.’ He kissed me. ‘Have you got enough Monopoly money for us to go and buy a replacement camera?’ He gestured: as we stood on the BM steps, we were surrounded by expensive cameras round the necks and in the hands of people from all over the world. Some had seemed to see the whole exhibition through a lens, with accompanying raised elbows or extended arms almost designed to stop others seeing anything.

  I smiled at a tourist who was glaring at me for standing in her way. She backed off as sharply as if I’d flourished a machete. ‘I could put it on my credit card,’ I said mock-seriously. ‘The one that makes a donation to Oxfam every time I use it. No, let’s give Burble a few more days … How long is it before he becomes a missing person?’ I tucked my hand into his and set us in motion.

  ‘You’d have to ask Dave. But I suspect that if he’s eighteen, he can go where on earth he wants. And with his mother, who could blame him? Provided he’d got hold of some cash legally, of course,’ he added gloomily.

  I tried to think positive. ‘You’re assuming he has flogged the camera. He might just have lost it or broken it and be too ashamed to confess. Though I did tell him I could claim on insurance if he did. Big mistake, eh – I practically told him he could nick it.’ Clearly this wasn’t the place to stand stock still with your hands covering your face. ‘Let’s go and have a coffee and forget about all this. And assume he’ll be back tomorrow, anxious to show off his handiwork. After all,’ I added, recalling Theo’s new-found love of chamber music, ‘there’s that Cadogan Hall recital this evening by my old friends; we wouldn’t want to miss that.’

  Missing an exquisite performance of the first Brahms sextet and the Schubert octet wouldn’t have saved Sharon Hammond’s life, either.

  Mazza and Martina-Sian were sitting at our kitchen table when we got back home. Although Mazza’s running had brought a healthy outdoors glow to his skin, today he looked pale. Sian, who was usually exemplary in her make-up, hadn’t so much as a slick of mascara and looked as waiflike as her brother. It was all I could do not to gather them to me in a group embrace, but I was sure it would unleash emotions both would rather keep in check.

  Dave was watching coffee from our new machine bubble into first one mug, then another. The toaster was working overtime. Passing them butter and jam, he nodded Theo and me back into the hall, and thence into Theo’s study.

  ‘They decided they’d had enough of Burble dossing around in bed when he should have been helping with the website. So Mazza broke in. Poor kid. Found the body – no, not Burble! No sign of him. His mother. According to a mate of mine up in Maidstone, there’s a load of bad heroin come into the country all of a sudden. Looks as if she might have taken some.’

  ‘When did they …?’

  ‘Late last night. They spent a lot of it talking to … the police.’ He smiled sourly. ‘Strange to call them that. Eighteen months ago it might have been me who was the SIO. Senior Investigating Officer,’ he added, in case either of us was un-familiar with the term. ‘If I were, I’d probably be telling the coroner it’s not really a suspicious death. I wouldn’t be setting in motion a huge investigation. Anyway, they both decided that here was where they wanted to be, so they kipped down in the living room and—’

  ‘What time did they arrive?’ Theo asked.

  ‘About three. Apparently their mother works nights and they didn’t want to be on their own. And before you ask, their mother needs the job and they didn’t want her to take time off. So they nominated me as the adult they wanted with them.’

  Theo made little rewinding gestures. ‘So they rang here as soon as they found … Mrs Hammond?’

  ‘Yes. I called the police for them. And went to the police station and stayed with them through everything. Don’t look so guilty, Theo – I’ve probably forgotten more about the procedure than you even know. But it’s over to you now – I need to shower and shave.’

  He was halfway out of the door when Theo asked what I found I couldn’t: ‘There’s no suggestion, is there, Dave, that Burble could have had any part in this?’

  ‘Not on the basis of what I saw and heard. But one thing’s certain – whatever he’s up to, wherever he’s gone, we need to find him. I suspect there’s no love lost between him and his mother
– was no love lost – but I’d rather he heard the news from one of us, not from one of my overworked mates. Former mates.’ Still in the doorway he added, ‘Theo, it’s none of my business, but I reckon those kids would be better off occupied. It’s a sin Sian’s not in school, Mazza too, because counsellors apart, there’d be plenty to keep their minds off last night.’

  ‘I’ll get on to her head teacher,’ Theo said.

  ‘If that’s what she wants,’ I said, raising a cautionary hand. ‘And her mother, of course. But what about Mazza? I don’t think he’s seen the inside of a school for months. I can’t imagine anyone … you know, league tables and attendance figures and A-starred GCSEs …’

  ‘What about Mazza indeed? You could be about to run a lot of miles, Jode – and if you don’t mind my hanging around a bit longer I can get him using those walking boots, too.’

  ‘Mind you hanging round?’ Theo said. ‘My dear Dave, you’re a godsend.’

  Dave shrugged off the compliment. ‘Burble’s mates, Jode. Did you ever meet any? I gather from Sian they weren’t the sort you’d invite to tea on the rectory lawn. Not the average rector’s wife anyway.’ He looked at me quizzically. ‘I was just wondering if he might know a few drug-dealers, you see.’

  ‘He must know at least one. The one he bought his cannabis from. A mate, he said. As far as I know he only tried to smoke it here once,’ I assured Theo, who’d literally gone white. ‘I told him off when he tried to dispose of it in the green bin in case the media got hold of the story.’

  ‘You knew! And condoned it?’

  I’d never thought to tell him about my pot-smoking activities when I was younger, because everyone in my group had done it. They’d all have grown out of it, just as I had. Though I might confess later, now certainly didn’t seem the time.

  ‘Keep your hair on, mate. It’s what kids do, for heaven’s sake,’ Dave said, putting a very policemanly hand on Theo’s arm. ‘Come on, you’ve got a druggy mother, you’re likely to be a druggy kid. But nothing Class A, Jode? Come on, it could be important.’