Dead and Buried Read online

  To Alice Morey and Josie Morey

  My favourite teenagers

  contents

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  SIXTEEN

  SEVENTEEN

  EIGHTEEN

  NINETEEN

  TWENTY

  TWENTY-ONE

  TWENTY-TWO

  TWENTY-THREE

  TWENTY-FOUR

  TWENTY-FIVE

  TWENTY-SIX

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  TWENTY-NINE

  THIRTY

  By Anne Cassidy

  ONE

  Now, when Rose thought of her mother, the word killer came into her head. It conjured up pictures that she did not want to see, sounds that she did not want to hear. It was better not to think of her at all. She’d spent many hours remembering Kathy Smith, mother and police officer. She’d thought of her with Brendan, her partner, and his son, Joshua. She’d pictured the place they’d lived in, Brewster Road; the four of them sitting in the garden eating chicken wings and sausages from a barbecue that Brendan had spent hours trying to light.

  Now she felt only grief for the loss of those days.

  College work had become a priority. After a few months of lagging behind in her assignments she was now gaining high grades again and basking in the positive comments from her tutors. She was busy, busy. Her grandmother, Anna, had been pleased to hear that she was looking at the prospectus for Cambridge University. In eighteen months’ time she would start her degree and begin to think of an adult and independent future. She would move away from Anna’s house, away from London, away from everything that had happened recently.

  Away from Joshua Johnson.

  This thought gave her an ache across her chest. She once thought of him as her stepbrother but he wasn’t that. Then she began to think of him quite differently, more as a boyfriend, more as someone to love. Now she hadn’t seen him for almost two weeks. Their last meeting had ended in a terrible row and although they’d made up afterwards she had felt stifled by him. As soon as she’d got back to Anna’s she’d sent him an email to explain that she was feeling overwhelmed by the things that had happened over the previous months and she wanted to pull back from it all and have a break from him.

  As soon as she pressed the Send button she regretted it.

  His email reply was brief.

  Rosie, do whatever is best for you. Love, Josh XXX

  She kept it in her inbox and read it every day. She wanted to contact him, explain why she’d said what she’d said, but with every day that passed the gap between them seemed to lengthen. She got annoyed from time to time at him. Why had he given up so easily? Was he so busy that she had just dropped out of his thoughts? Why hadn’t he rung her or waited outside college for her? Why hadn’t he come to Anna’s house and insisted that he come in and that they talk it over? Instead of distancing herself from him as she had planned she now thought about him twice as much.

  There was a knock on her study door. Then it opened.

  ‘Rose, I found these in the Blue Room. It’s your mother’s old paperwork. Most of what’s here is rubbish, I suspect, but you might want to keep some of it,’ Anna said.

  ‘Oh thanks, you can put them in the corner and I’ll look through.’

  Rose watched Anna as she placed some box files on the carpet. Anna was wearing jeans and a loose blouse and her hair was tied back in a headscarf. Rose had never seen her so casual. The jeans had a crease ironed into them, though, and the blouse was linen, crisp and fresh. Even Anna’s dressing down was carefully coordinated.

  ‘Oh, I found something else that I thought you might like. It’s not part of the stuff I took from your mother’s old house. It dates from long before then when she was about your age.’

  Anna went out of the room and Rose heard her footsteps along the corridor. Moments later she was back holding a flowery top on a hanger.

  ‘Katherine had this when she still lived here. It was quite expensive as I recall.’

  Rose took the hanger. It was a silk top with a round neck and short sleeves. It was off-white with posies of flowers dotted over it. It felt fragile and looked sweet – not the sort of thing that Rose would ever wear.

  ‘Keep it,’ Anna said. ‘It will only go to the charity shop if you don’t. It’s too pretty to give away.’

  ‘Shall I come and help?’ Rose said, hanging the blouse on the picture rail.

  ‘In a while. I’ve a few things to organise before we start putting things in bags. I’ll call you.’

  When Anna went out of the room Rose’s eyes flicked back to the blouse. She unbuttoned the shirt she was wearing and slipped it off. Then she put the blouse over her head and let it slither into place. She stepped into her bedroom and looked in the mirror.

  She smiled.

  The blouse fitted her perfectly. It meant that she was more or less the same size as her mother had been when she was her age. It sat on her hips and there was a small slit in each side. The button at the back of her neck was covered in fabric and fastened by a loop. The fabric had a sheen to it and the silk felt light on her skin. The posies were shades of pink and yellow, colours that she hadn’t worn for a long time. She liked it.

  The doorbell sounded.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ she called.

  She went downstairs, stroking the silk top, and opened the front door. A policeman was standing there. Rose looked out into the street to see if there was a police car.

  ‘Yes?’ she said, more abruptly than she meant to.

  ‘Rose Smith? It’s Henry Thompson. One of the police officers who dealt with the murders in Camden last autumn?’

  ‘I know who you are, Henry.’

  She was used to seeing him on a bike with a safety helmet. There was no bike and no car, though, so he must have come on foot.

  ‘How are you?’ he said.

  ‘I’m fine.’

  Rose stared at him remembering the grim things that had happened the previous October.

  ‘Well, I’m fine too, Rose, since you ask.’

  ‘Sorry. How are things with you?’ she said. ‘Are you well? Why are you here?’

  ‘Direct as ever.’

  ‘Is it about the murders in Camden?’

  ‘No, not that.’

  She was suddenly anxious. Was it about her mother?

  ‘It’s an enquiry that’s taking place in East London that we think you may be able to help us with.’

  He looked burdened, as if he had more to say than he could manage.

  ‘Can I come in?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said, holding the door open. ‘Come through to the kitchen.’

  He walked slowly behind her. When she looked round he was gazing at the huge hallway. He was impressed – she could tell. Most people would be, walking into Anna’s wealthy home. In the kitchen he took his hat off and placed it on the table by a large bowl of lemons.

  ‘You’re still at college?’ he said, sitting down.

  She was leaning against the work surface. She nodded in answer to his question. Was he going to tell her something about her mother? She felt herself stiffen with tension. Henry Thompson was a decent police officer, someone she could trust. If he told her something bad she would have to believe it.

  ‘You look different. You’re wearing something that’s, well . . . don’t get me wrong . . . feminine.’

  Rose looked down at the blouse. Henry had only ever seen her wearing black and white,
her usual colours of choice.

  ‘It’s something of my mother’s,’ she said. ‘I was just trying it on. It’s a memento, not something I would wear out.’

  ‘You should,’ Henry said, smiling at her. ‘You look really smart.’

  Rose frowned. Henry wriggled around in his seat. He moved his hat to the corner of the table. He looked nervous.

  ‘What’s up, Henry? Why did you want to see me?’ she said.

  ‘I didn’t know anything about your history when we met last year. I’m surprised, amazed actually, that you didn’t tell me that your mother and her partner disappeared over five years ago.’

  Rose shrugged. There were other things going on at the time.

  ‘I thought we were friends?’

  ‘We are friends, sort of . . .’ she said.

  ‘It does explain a few things,’ he said, looking thoughtful.

  She was irked. She didn’t like the idea of Henry analysing her.

  ‘What does it explain? Why I’m so difficult? So hard to get on with? Why I only wear black and white? Which bit of me does it explain?’

  ‘Point taken,’ Henry said, as his fingers tapped the table rapidly.

  She sighed. She wished she wasn’t always so touchy with Henry when all he had ever done was try to help her. She stared at the bowl of lemons. The colour of the fruit was sharp and cold, like sorbet.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said.

  He waved it away with his hand.

  ‘You and your stepbrother, Joshua Johnson. I think that was the lad you introduced me to? For this to happen to both of you is extraordinary.’

  ‘It happened. We had to deal with it. I won’t say it hasn’t been hard but . . .’ Rose felt her voice clogging up. ‘But we’ve come to terms with it. We are getting on with our lives.’

  It was a lie but Rose didn’t want to talk about it any more.

  ‘I hope what I’m going to tell you now isn’t going to make things worse.’

  ‘What?’ she said, tensing herself.

  He took a deep breath.

  ‘You lived in a house in East London. Forty-nine Brewster Road.’

  She nodded.

  ‘You lived there firstly with your mother for two years and then her partner and his son moved in for three years. So in all, you lived in the house from August 2002 to November 2007? Just over five years?’

  ‘Yes. What’s happened?’

  ‘Since you left the house was sold on. It’s had three different owners and was recently bought by a Mr Kamath and his family. Mr Kamath had some building plans and . . . well, the blunt truth is that a body has been found buried under the back garden. Preliminary investigations suggest that it has been buried there for approximately five years.’

  ‘A body?’

  ‘Yes. The body of a young girl of eighteen.’

  Rose pulled a chair out from under the table and sat on it. Her shoulders sagged. A body? Under the garden?

  ‘Whereabouts?’

  She spoke without thinking. As if it mattered where.

  ‘Near the rear of the garden, I believe. I’ve not been to the crime scene myself . . .’

  Rose pictured the back garden at Brewster Road. The end of it was overgrown, she remembered, big shrubs, some trees, long grass. She never went down there.

  ‘I don’t get this,’ Rose said. ‘It happened while we were living there? Someone came into our garden and dug a hole and buried a girl? It’s mad. Why are you asking me about it? How would I know? Or my family, come to that?’

  ‘This is standard procedure, Rose. If human remains are found in a garden then we have to speak to the people who lived in that house at that time. I’m here to let you know that the detectives who are following up the case might want to speak to you to see if you remember anything about the month of August 2007?’

  ‘Why that month? I thought you said that the dates were approximate?’

  ‘Dating human remains is approximate but in this case the body may be that of a girl who left home on 20 August 2007 and was never seen again.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Anyway, I’m just here as a courtesy really. I think you’ve got my phone number? And I’ve got yours from last autumn. It hasn’t changed?’

  Rose shook her head. Her number was the same.

  ‘So if there’s anything you remember . . .’

  Rose could hear footsteps coming down the stairs. Henry stood up and moments later Anna was at the kitchen door.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ Anna said, looking at Henry’s uniform, a flicker of concern crossing her face.

  ‘Mrs Christie. Police Constable Henry Thompson. We met last autumn . . .’

  ‘Actually Henry was just leaving,’ Rose said, standing up. ‘Thanks for coming. It’s good of you to let me know.’

  ‘Is there a problem?’ Anna said.

  ‘Well . . .’ Henry started.

  ‘I’ll explain to Anna after you go,’ she said.

  She chivvied him along the hallway. He started to ask about her college courses and she gave mumbled answers. When they got to the front door she stepped outside with him, closing the door behind her. She walked with him on to the street.

  ‘I’ll let you know if the officers from East London want to speak to you. Oh, one other thing . . .’

  Rose waited.

  ‘There might be some press interest in this case.’

  ‘The press?’

  ‘You know how the papers are. A body buried in a garden. It’s big news.’

  ‘What about Joshua? Are you going to see him?’

  ‘Going there now. Camden, right? No doubt you’ll be getting together. That might be a good thing. If the two of you talk it through, it might bring back some relevant memories.’

  He walked off and she stood on the pavement, disconcerted. Part of her had wanted to say, ‘I’ll come with you!’ But she hadn’t and as she walked back up the garden path she imagined Henry standing next to Lettuce and Stuff, a cafe on Camden High Street, and knocking on Joshua’s door. She saw Joshua come dashing down the stairs and frowning when he saw a policeman there. He would be guarded and surly because he had had his fill of policemen. Still, though, he would invite him upstairs and they would stand or sit in the small narrow kitchen and Henry would tell him about the body under the garden in Brewster Road.

  How would he react? She couldn’t imagine that part of the scene.

  Indoors her grandmother was hovering uneasily.

  ‘What was that about, Rose?’ she said.

  ‘It’s just that house I lived in with Mum and Brendan and Joshua? There’s been a report of a crime there. Years ago. Henry wanted to let me know. In case it upset me.’

  ‘That’s nice of him to think about you. It’s got nothing to do with Katherine?’

  ‘Oh no. Nothing at all.’

  ‘He’s a pleasant young man. Very well spoken. I liked him when I met him last autumn. If only more police constables were like that.’

  Anna went into the kitchen and Rose drifted upstairs. Back in her room she slipped off her mother’s silk blouse and placed it on the hanger. She put her shirt on and thought about Brewster Road. The thought of a girl’s body under the soil, under the rocks and grass, made her shiver.

  But this murder had nothing to do with her or Joshua. Neither did it have anything to do with her mother or Joshua’s father, Brendan.

  No, the murders they were involved in were quite different.

  TWO

  Rose spent time in the afternoon helping Anna sort out her mother’s old bedroom. Anna called it the Blue Room and it hadn’t been used since her mother quarrelled with Anna and left her house over twenty years before. As well as her mother’s childhood and teenage things there were her belongings from the house at Brewster Road. Anna had kept these in case Rose wanted them. Rose added them to the things that were already in her room. While she was doing it she thought about Joshua and wondered how he had reacted to Henry’s news. After a while she opened her laptop and glanced at h
er email hoping that Joshua had tried to contact her but it simply said: No New Messages.

  She picked up her packet of chewing gum and took a stick out. She chewed as she looked up Google and typed in the words Brewster Road and Body. Several articles came up. Some of the headlines startled her.

  Body of Missing Teenager Found in Back Garden of Police House; Mystery House Gives Up New Victim; Vanishing Police Officers New Twist; Girl’s Body Found in Garden of Missing Police Officers.

  She sat stiffly, her eyes flicking back and forth across the print. She found herself holding her breath. The press were linking the two things: the body in the garden and their parents’ disappearance. Should she be surprised? A dead teenager buried in August and months later, the two adults who lived in that very same house vanished.

  This was why Henry had been so concerned. Why he had taken the time to come and see her. It wasn’t only the press who had linked these two things but the police as well. The only reason it hadn’t occurred to her was because she knew what happened to their parents five years ago and it had nothing to do with a body under the garden. From the police’s point of view their parents’ disappearance was unsolved but they were presumed dead. To them it was a ‘cold case’. Rose almost smiled. Her mother and Brendan had been serving police officers themselves, working on a unit that dealt with cold cases. Now they were a cold case that would be opened up again, linked to some dead teenager buried under the garden of the Brewster Road house.

  Rose clicked and opened up one of the articles.

  The body of a girl has been found buried in the back garden of a terraced house in Brewster Road, Bethnal Green. Police sources suggest that the body was placed there sometime in the summer of 2007. The house was recently sold. Neighbours say they are shocked and saddened by the news. Police sources confirm that the house was once lived in by two serving police officers, Katherine Smith and Brendan Johnson. These officers disappeared in 2007. Police have not yet released the identity of the dead girl and are making no comment on the link between these two cases.

  She closed her laptop down. She could hear Anna walking up and down the landing, busying herself in the Blue Room. How long before she noticed some of this press coverage?