Dead and Buried
Authors: Anne Cassidy
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Mysteries & Detective Stories, #General
To Alice Morey and Josie Morey
My favourite teenagers
contents
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
.
