A Stranger's Grave Read online

  So who had? Who had that kind of rage in him?

  Elton Burlock had the form for it, but James would’ve seen guilt in his eyes, too, and there was nothing there, just that flat stare right back at him.

  It wasn’t Burlock. It was something else, something they were missing.

  The girl was a waste of time, though. Fredrickson would’ve been a dick about it, questioned her hard, pestered her, but Terry and Francis overruled him. James liked Terry. He was sound enough. Sound enough to give them a night off during the three weeks of watching and waiting.

  Sound enough to send them out tonight, because now, at last, someone was coming.

  They heard laughter, a way off, but obviously in the cemetery.

  They watched Franklin pick up his lantern and the shovel. Heard him swear and watched him move toward the laughter.

  ‘Look lively,’ said Davis.

  ‘Look lively?’ said PC James, a little louder now the gravedigger was out of earshot.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s not fucking Starsky and Hutch. We’re freezing our balls off all night in the fucking cemetery.’

  ‘Alright, but someone’s coming. Could be a lead.’

  A lead. Davis was dumb as a bag of hammers.

  Good enough lad, though, if you had to spend the night in a cemetery with someone.

  Good mate, too, thought James. Kind of had something going between them. They’d paired up enough times to develop a sort of copper’s link between the two of them. Like breaking up a fight in a pub. You go left, I’ll go right. An unspoken simple kind of intuition, but a good one.

  James got Davis, and Davis got James. Davis knew James was the boss of him, as far as it went, and he didn’t fight it. One day James might make sergeant. James didn’t think Davis ever would, but dumb or not, he’d pick him over anyone else in the station, every time.

  That was why when the second scream came the two men gave each other a look and didn’t say, ‘shit’, or ‘fuck’. It wasn’t a kind of fucking about scream. It was the kind of scream the two men had heard only once before, when a neighbourly argument had turned sour and they’d found one of the neighbours with a set of shears in his guts. It was the kind of scream that said you’d better get here right now, or someone’s going to be dead.

  They both set to running as fast as two fat coppers can in a dark cemetery if they don’t want a broken neck or a coronary, because of intuition, but also because both policemen knew that whatever happened next, neither one wanted to get to the screamer alone.

  *

  34.

  The old woman stepped from the grass onto the path before Tania and Dave. There was barely any light in the cemetery, but for the glow of a sliver of moon. Her skin was pale and bloated, her dress a solid wall of black, her stench solid, too.

  ‘Bring her. Make her come,’ she said.

  The old bitch didn’t have to say anything else. After her initial shock Tania was calmer. It wasn’t death that stalked them, just some dirty old pervert cunt of a granny.

  Tania knew exactly what she was getting at. She’d read enough of lad’s porn to know what she was about. Some filthy sick cow, into dogging or some shit, like, no one would fuck her, so she fingered herself while she watched youngsters.

  She thought she knew. She even managed a nervous laugh. She didn’t like the sound of it, but she tried again. All she managed was a croak.

  The old woman stank and the stench was so cloying and heavy that she could barely breathe. But just an old pervert and she’d soon fuck off.

  But it wasn’t like that. Not at all.

  ‘Fuck off, old bitch,’ Dave said.

  The old woman smiled, and Tania was suddenly cold. Freezing cold. Her first thought popped back with teeth...the old bitch was death...

  She was sure her death was coming and she was terrified and she felt warmth running down her leg. She thought she’d wet herself, but it felt thicker, and she realised she’d suddenly got her period two days early.

  Whether it was her terror or the smell of her woman’s blood, she didn’t know, but the old bitch fucking grinned.

  ‘Bring her,’ said the old woman, her breath fetid, something rotten about her. Her dress, old, outdated, full of holes. She walked closer to them, her feet making no sound.

  ‘Make her come.’

  Then Tania didn’t think the old woman was talking about her anymore. She thought she was talking about something else entirely and she was glad whoever it was the old woman searched for wasn’t her.

  Relief flitted.

  Don’t be an idiot, Tania, she told herself. Don’t be...beguiled. Run, bitch, run...

  She didn’t understand who, or why the old woman couldn’t go and fetch herself. She didn’t want to understand. She just wanted to get the fuck away, but she couldn’t run. Her feet wouldn’t move.

  ‘Fuck off, I said.’

  The old bitch was still smiling. Tania tried to make her mouth move, tried to say something, anything, just to break loose of the terror that held her.

  ‘Bring her,’ said the old woman.

  ‘Fuck off saying that!’

  Dave turned. He, at least, was able to move. But then his face was slack, staring at something behind Tania.

  Now she felt cold fingers of dread running up her back. Something in Dave’s face scared her worse than the old woman. Urine ran down her leg and joined her blood, her jeans soaked at the crotch, tight on her boyish arse that Dave kind of liked and that made John think of Dave, even if only for a second, but that didn’t matter because no one would ever know, just as no one would ever know what Tania saw, because she’d never be able to tell anyone.

  ‘Oh,’ said Dave, and finally Tania was able to turn.

  Run, now, she thought, but that was the last chance she had, and it was so short she didn’t have time to take it...because then she saw the other one. The woman in white.

  Instantly she felt inadequate, like a tomboy, a fucking lesbian or something, because the woman behind her was stunning in a way she’d never imagined existed outside of the shitty magazines all the boys bought.

  She had massive tits, a blowjob mouth. She had her dress, pure white, hitched. She was fucking fingering herself. Tania’s mouth dropped open, too, and for a second there she could think of nothing but getting down on her knees and plunging, fucking gorging, on the woman’s cunt, but then Dave’s blood splashed all over her back and she closed her eyes and screamed and screamed because she knew exactly what it was because it was warm and wet and while she was thinking of licking out a fucking woman Dave’s blood was in her hair, her fucking hair.

  She screamed and screamed and the policemen ran straight into her in the dark. Davis broke her nose with his shoulder, but it didn’t matter, because she’d never file a complaint.

  She didn’t hear the third set of footfalls approach as Elton came and caught her in his arms when she fell.

  She didn’t even realise that the woman in black and the woman in white were gone. For her, they never would be.

  *

  35.

  ‘Call it in,’ said Davis. ‘Call it in.’

  Elton could tell the policeman, Davis, was seconds away from puking. He could tell even in the dark. He hadn’t seen what had happened, but he had the girl in his arms and she was staring into the weak moonlight, staring straight through it, and the blood on her face was black. Her nose was obviously broken, and blood and snot streamed down into her mouth and over her chin. But there was too much blood. Elton could feel the wet sticky hot blood matting the back of her short hair.

  The girl moaned in his arms and he held her tighter.

  ‘Light!’

  ‘Call it in,’ said Davis again.

  ‘Light! Fucking hell, Davis, get your light on this...’

  The copper, the one not called Davis, fumbled for his own light, which he couldn’t seem to find.

  ‘Steady, boys,’ said Elton. He didn’t need light to tell one was down and wasn�
��t getting up. He didn’t need light to tell the girl he held in his arms was in the throes of some massive shock. Other than a broken nose and the boy’s blood, she didn’t seem hurt. Not like the boy.

  He could tell well enough that the corpse was a boy’s, and the blood was still wet and warm. It was obvious the girl hadn’t stumbled on a corpse. The two of them came here, she saw him being murdered.

  She knew who it was.

  Whoever it was, they were still in the cemetery.

  Suddenly he was concerned. He didn’t care about himself, not anymore, but there was the girl, and yes, the two fat policemen.

  ‘Constable?’

  Nothing.

  ‘Constable?’

  ‘What? Fucking what?’ said James.

  ‘Worry about the boy later, eh? And your mate’s out of it. Call it in yourself.’

  ‘Mind the girl, I’ll mind this, alright?’

  Elton knew the PC thought he was a dick, interfering, but that didn’t matter.

  ‘Fuck that,’ he said, and the PC stopped and looked up, shocked. People didn’t often talk to coppers like that. You talk to a copper like that, there’s only two ways it could go, and Elton didn’t want it going the wrong way.

  ‘The guy who did this? He’s still here,’ he said, and that was it. The PC called it in. Elton didn’t get the codes, but the PC’s voice said it all.

  He forgot about the policemen. They could look after themselves.

  ‘How long?’ he asked, scanning the darkness. Davis finally had his light on, but the circle it cast just made the shadows heavier.

  ‘How long?’ he said again. He wanted to shake the coppers, because it wasn’t just them, there was the girl, too. The boy didn’t matter.

  He heard something on the path.

  ‘What’s that? Who’s that?’ Davis. Shaky.

  Sounded like footsteps to Elton, but something else, too. Squeaky. A wheel. A trolley.

  A buggy?

  ‘Harrison?’ he called out. Of course it wasn’t Harrison. The old guy wouldn’t be out in the cemetery in the middle of the night, pushing his non-existent daughter around. Of course he wouldn’t.

  ‘Who?’ asked one of the coppers. The one not called Davis.

  ‘James? What is it?’ Davis. His voice cracking.

  Of course it wasn’t Harrison. Of course it wasn’t, because it was after dark and the gates were locked. What would the crazy old bastard be doing in the cemetery at what, ten-thirty? Wheeling his empty buggy...

  Not unless he hadn’t left.

  Crazy old man...

  And yes, there was something on the air...

  ‘PC? Shine it over there would you?

  He shone it.

  Elton saw Harrison as clear as day, the moisture in the old man’s eyes glinting in the white light, pushing his empty buggy, waving at him, like he was waving him away, like, go, go, go...

  ‘Nothing there,’ said PC James. His voice was shaking, too, as were Elton’s hands, because for a second PC James saw the old man. Elton was sure of it.

  But behind Harrison was a woman dressed all in black and she looked like murder.

  He was sure of that, too. But then he blinked and there was nothing there, nothing there at all.

  He looked back and saw that PC James was paler in the cold light than he should have been.

  He saw them, too, he thought, for sure. But then sirens coming up the hill, and the thought was gone.

  Skidding. People, coppers, calling out. A chopper in the distance still, but coming on fast, probably from a big city like Norwich.

  Elton was holding a shaking girl, but now he couldn’t tell who was shaking worse. The four of them shook and it didn’t have anything to do with the cold crisp night. The corpse on the ground behind them sometimes lit as the two coppers swung their lights this way and that.

  Elton wasn’t sure if they were taking the easy or the hard option. He figured the hard. It would’ve been easier to leave Elton with the corpse and move, search for the killer. Action was easier than inaction. But they were good enough. They didn’t leave and it wouldn’t have made sense to leave. The two of them could have searched all night. Even if they had searched all night, with just the two of them to cover the whole of the cemetery, they’d never find the killer.

  Good enough guys.

  Good enough to tell?

  PC James seemed like the man.

  ‘PC James?’

  ‘What now?’

  Voices getting nearer, more coppers, more questions. The whole circus, all over again.

  What the hell was he going to say to them? You know an old guy, walks around with a buggy? Well, the buggy’s empty. That old guy? He’s one crazy old guy.

  You know a woman looks like she’s a long time dead but walks around the cemetery late at night?

  Elton didn’t doubt for a second that PC James had seen them both. Whether Harrison and the woman had been there or not...didn’t matter.

  What did matter was that the two coppers were coppers. They wouldn’t admit it, even if they had seen the...ghosts?

  Ghosts? Was that what he was thinking?

  God help him if he was as mad as Harrison, because he was. God, he was. What other explanation was there?

  ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘Forget it.’

  More lights came through the trees and the circus came to town but that thing tickling away at Elton hung on the air. The stench of death, yes, but the sweet wet smell of pipe smoke, too.

  *

  36.

  PCs James and Davis stood beside Elton in the front room of the small cottage, almost shoulder to shoulder. DIs Terry and Francis stood on the other side. Their discomfort was evident in the way they shuffled a little, jostled for room. The living quarters were far too small for five big men to stand around in. But there was more warmth toward Elton, maybe. He felt more comfortable, but then maybe it was just being in the cottage, rather than any actual warming to him on the policemen’s part.

  No interview room this time. Coffee all round. This time they were in Elton’s house. He had a percolator now, and he set it to brew. The DIs took the pew. He offered the PCs the couch, but they didn’t take it, just stood.

  There were no other chairs in the room. Elton worried about the set up, for a second, them standing over him, him sunk down in the old couch. Then he set it to one side. They weren’t thinking that, so neither should he. The PCs were just being polite – letting him take the only remaining seat.

  Elton came back from putting the coffee on and stood in the doorway while it brewed.

  ‘So you saw the gravekeeper,’ DI Terry flipped his note book open, ‘Running. Before.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Elton, feeling a hell of a lot more comfortable than the last time they’d spoken. Like he was on firmer ground. He wasn’t under any illusions, though...he could fall down easy enough.

  The ambulance left earlier with the girl. Tania Reed, her name was. John Upbright’s former girlfriend was how the DI put it.

  Didn’t sound like much of a girlfriend, thought Elton. Didn’t seem like she’d come out with just her and another lad for a piss in the dark.

  Under all those thoughts, under the words, Elton imagined he could hear another sound, an old Grandfather clock, ticking out time, but it was just his imagination, his mind, ticking over, clocking in to thinking.

  ‘Running?’

  ‘I didn’t get a look at his face, DI, but I figure he was scared already. It was around the time the first scream came. A man that age, running that fast? He was terrified.’

  ‘Terrified.’

  ‘That’s what I figure,’ Elton said. The percolator settled down. ‘Excuse me,’ he said. He went to get coffee and remembered he only had one mug.

  Fuck it.

  ‘Only got one mug,’ he said, coming back, shrugged and sat sipping his coffee from his motorcycle mug.

  He kind of felt like an arse for it, but then he didn’t think the coppers wanted to share ea
ch other’s dribbles any more than he wanted to share theirs. Seemed a little rude, maybe, but the only thing that was practical.

  Elton thought that maybe he might have to get some more mugs after all. It seemed like his life wasn’t going to be as quiet as he’d thought.

  If you’ve got a job in a cemetery, you expect a few dead bodies. Not this many though.

  He wasn’t expecting quite so many coppers, either.

  ‘Terrified,’ said Francis, picking up the ball. ‘Not guilty?’

  ‘No,’ said Elton. ‘The timing was wrong. The second scream came and he was already running.’

  ‘Could’ve killed the boy, the girl found him...screamed a second time...’

  Terry, thinking aloud.

  ‘Doesn’t work either,’ said Elton again. ‘Because the girl was covered in blood. It splattered all over her. She was right there. It wasn’t Franklin. For sure.’

  The coppers might hate him for being a smart arse, and he didn’t like telling them their jobs, but what could he do? He didn’t want to spend the whole night sitting up with them while they tried to figure it out.

  He just wanted his bed, his sleep, and not to dream. Not to dream about a cleaver in his hand and a skinny guy named Declan spurting blood over him, over his kitchen floor, with a pattern that looked random but wasn’t.

  ‘I don’t know if Franklin saw anything. Might want to get a man over there, though...’

  ‘DS Fredrickson’s on it.’

  ‘Really?’ said Elton. He wouldn’t have trusted DS Fredrickson to shit without missing.

  ‘Something to say?’ asked DI Francis. Looked at him hard again, but he was still wet behind the ears and Elton had eaten harder men for breakfast.

  Still, he was a copper and though it was still Elton’s home, he couldn’t deny that he was an ex-convict surrounded by four policemen.

  ‘No. Nothing,’ he said. Took a sip of his coffee. Not out of spite. Just because he was tired. He checked the clock over the wall.

  One in the morning. He’d be tired all day, but at least it would be the weekend and the cemetery was pretty spruce.