Blind to the Bones Read online

  ‘We made jokes about how high those nineteenth-century sheep must have been able to jump.’

  ‘Well, you made jokes,’ said Sarah.

  ‘As far as we were concerned, a wall that height was just blocking the view up the valley from the house. So we took it down.’

  ‘We had a much better view,’ said Sarah. ‘For a while.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Winter came. And it snowed.’

  ‘We realized why they had built a wall ten feet high,’ said Howard. ‘It was because that was the height of the snow drifts. The snow came down the valley on the north winds, and we were the first place to get snowed in that winter. And since we’d taken the wall down, it drifted against the side of the house instead of being stopped by the wall.’

  ‘The first morning, we had to dig our way out of the door.’

  ‘That was a particularly bad winter,’ said Howard. ‘But that’s one of the things about Withens – you get the feeling that something like that could happen at any time. It’s as if nature is waiting to give you a sharp little nudge whenever you seem likely to forget about her.’

  ‘And that’s what makes Withens seem real?’ asked Fry.

  ‘It’s one of the things,’ said Howard. ‘It seemed to us that a child should grow up knowing about nature and the seasons. And I think we were right. Emma is the sort of girl who belongs in the countryside. She has a special relationship with nature.’

  ‘You said one of the things. What else?’

  ‘There are the people, of course. They’re wonderful.’

  Fry stared at him. ‘Sorry. Are we still talking about Withens?’

  ‘Don’t you think they’re wonderful?’

  ‘Detective Constable Cooper knows the people here better than I do.’

  ‘They’re interesting,’ said Cooper. ‘No doubt about it. And some of them I can’t imagine living anywhere else.’

  Both the Renshaws looked at him as if he had said something very profound.

  ‘I’ve been trying to persuade Sergeant Fry to come to our Emma Day,’ Howard told him. ‘You’re going to come, aren’t you, Sergeant?’

  Fry wanted to bolt for it, but she couldn’t. Sarah seized on her hesitation eagerly.

  ‘Yes, you must both come. We need all the support you can give us, so we know you’ll come.’

  ‘That would be wonderful,’ said her husband. ‘We’re so grateful. So grateful for everything you’re doing for us.’

  Fry began to shake her head, but Sarah Renshaw had fastened her intense gaze on her.

  ‘Bring Constable Cooper with you,’ she said. ‘He’ll appreciate Emma’s work.’

  ‘There’ll be a little display in the garden, if the weather’s fine,’ said Howard. ‘Down in Emma’s Corner.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Well, we decided to plant a tree on Emma’s eighteenth birthday, and we wanted something significant. She always loved the buddleia, because of its scent and the way its flowers attract the butterflies in summer. They call it the Butterfly Bush, don’t they?’

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ said Fry, her gardening experience having been limited to dandelions growing in a window box.

  ‘We planted another one on the anniversary of the day she disappeared, as well as on her birthday. And the same again the following year. Now there’s a little grove of bushes at the bottom of the garden that holds another bit of Emma.’

  ‘Marking the days is important. The day she was due felt a bit like Easter.’

  ‘Easter? Not – resurrection?’

  ‘In a way. If we think about Emma hard enough on that day, it seems as though she will actually walk in through the door and say she’s sorry for taking so long to come home. It hasn’t happened yet, of course. But perhaps that’s because we haven’t wished hard enough. What do you think?’

  ‘I really don’t know.’

  Then the Renshaws looked at each other, and flushed a bit pink. Both of them now had the beginnings of tears in their eyes.

  ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ said Sarah to her husband.

  ‘It would be the ideal time to make contact,’ he said.

  Fry thought they were still talking about support. It was a strange way of putting it, but lots of things were strange about the Renshaws.

  ‘Yes, that would help you a lot, wouldn’t it?’ said Sarah.

  ‘Sorry, what would?’

  ‘Making contact.’

  ‘I don’t really follow you. Contact with who?’

  ‘With the Other Side, of course.’

  ‘We thought that while you’re here,’ said Howard, ‘it would be the ideal opportunity to have a séance.’

  ‘We’ve been consulting a psychic, and using a pendulum to try to locate Emma,’ said Sarah. ‘It seemed very appropriate, because they’re things that Emma is interested in herself, anything mystical or supernatural. If we held a séance, you could ask all the things you want to.’

  An uncomfortable silence followed. Fry wished that Cooper would say something. Why had she bothered going to the trouble of arranging for him to come with her, if he was just going to sit there and take it all in, saying nothing?

  But then he did decide to speak. And Fry blessed him for changing the subject.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Renshaw, I wonder if you have any more photos of Emma? From around the time she went to university, I mean.’

  ‘Once she’d gone to university, we didn’t manage to take as many,’ said Sarah. ‘But there are a few.’

  Howard fetched an album. ‘If we let you have this,’ he said, ‘we need it back for Monday.’

  ‘That’s all right.’

  Cooper opened the album and turned over the pages rapidly. Towards the back, he seemed to find something that interested him. Fry leaned over his shoulder.

  ‘What on earth is that?’ she said. ‘Was your daughter going to a fancy-dress party or something?’

  Fry began to laugh, but she met Cooper’s eye, and the laughter died in her throat.

  ‘Oh, that,’ said Sarah. ‘It was something Neil Granger got Emma into. I really don’t know what she saw in it.’

  ‘In what?’

  ‘It’s a group they have here in Withens. I don’t really understand it, but it seems to be a local tradition.’

  Emma was dressed all in black, which wasn’t unusual for a girl of her age. In fact, Fry had a fondness for black, too. But the outfit Emma was wearing consisted of a black tail coat, black leggings, a black top hat, and Doc Martens boots. She looked tall and very slim – just not the right shape for the outfit. She was also wearing reflective sunglasses, and carrying a recorder.

  ‘This was something to do with Neil Granger?’

  ‘He’s one of the group. Or he was,’ said Sarah. ‘As you can see, Emma’s a musician. She’s a very talented girl in a lot of ways.’

  ‘I’m sure.’ Cooper held the page open, and Fry turned it slightly towards herself, trying to puzzle out the meaning of the photo.

  ‘But what I’m wondering, Mrs Renshaw,’ she said, ‘is why Emma has her face blacked up.’

  Derek Alton laughed to himself, and sat down in one of the front pews of his church. There was a strange smell in the aisle this morning. It was a musty odour, as if the windows and doors hadn’t been opened for months. He wondered if there was damp rising through the stone flags and rotting the oak of the pews, or soaking into the fabric of the kneelers.

  Perhaps he would come back into the church tomorrow and find green shoots bursting through the floor, as they had broken through the paths in the churchyard. He knew he would be powerless to fight back the invasion, and would have to watch helplessly as nature pulled apart his aisle, ripped up the pews, clambered into the pulpit and clawed at the altar rail.

  Three of the Oxleys had come to see Derek Alton at his bungalow the previous evening. There had been Lucas, smiling and in his suit. There had been the old man, Eric, nodding and winking knowingly. And young Scott, too.
Scott Oxley had sat behind the two older men. Yet his stare was the one that Derek Alton had felt the most.

  ‘Vicar, you know that we lost Neil …’

  ‘Yes, I’m so sorry.’

  ‘We wanted to ask you a bit of a favour.’

  ‘Oh, of course. You want me to conduct the funeral? That’s no problem.’

  The two older men looked at each other, but said nothing.

  ‘When do you want to have it? Do you have a date in mind?’

  ‘No, no,’ said Lucas. ‘Neil’s going to be cremated. The service will be at the crematorium in Edendale.’

  ‘I see. But you’ll need someone to lead the service.’

  To his surprise, the three men began to shift uneasily in their chairs.

  ‘We’ve got someone from the Humanist Society,’ said Eric. ‘We reckon it’s what he would have wanted.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘You’re welcome to come along, of course.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘It was something different we wanted to ask you.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘Vicar, we want you to take his place.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We want you to join the Rats for May Day. Well, you know all the stuff we do. There’s no time for anyone else to learn it in time, you see.’

  ‘Well, I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘You’ll do it, though, won’t you?’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure it would be appropriate, Eric.’

  Despite his words, Alton found a surge of excitement building up inside him. It was a warm churning, which started in his abdomen, almost like a sexual excitement. He tried to be calm, and hoped the Oxleys wouldn’t see his reaction. But then he glanced at Scott, and saw the smirk on the young man’s face.

  ‘I’m a Church of England clergyman,’ said Alton.

  ‘And we’re your parishioners,’ said Eric. ‘You’re not going to reject us, are you? This is important to the community. You’re always talking about the importance of community.’

  ‘Yes.’

  With a smile, Lucas produced a thick blackthorn stick that he had been holding inside his coat, and held it out towards the vicar.

  The old man had spoken then. ‘The darkness and the light,’ he said. ‘Will you be the darkness or the light?’

  ‘You’re not going to do it, are you?’ said Ben Cooper. ‘I mean, you won’t go with them to see a psychic, Diane?’

  ‘You’re kidding. I’d rather read all Emma Renshaw’s sickly poems ten times over. Besides, I don’t think it was me the Renshaws really wanted. They think you’re the sensitive one.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘What do you think, Ben? Fancy playing the part of Gypsy Rose? Knock once for yes and twice for no? I can just picture it. You’d have the Renshaws in the palm of your hand. They’ll believe anything, those two.’

  ‘Like the psychic.’

  ‘Yes, like the bloody psychic. You know, I think they’ve finally gone completely nuts.’

  ‘Completely?’

  ‘Well, they’re still functioning on some basic level. But they’ve lost touch with reality. They’re delusional. They could end up being a danger to themselves.’

  ‘According to the Traffic crew who picked them up, that’s exactly what they were doing at the underpass. Being a danger to themselves.’

  ‘Well, yeah. And all these little rituals they go through – it seems to me that they’re all designed to bolster the Renshaws’ conviction that their daughter will come home some day. Mrs Renshaw said it herself – “you have to believe”, she said. I think they’re terrified that they’ll start having doubts. And once they start to have doubts, that’s when they’ll fall apart. The Renshaws will just crumble if their delusions are ever shattered.’

  ‘How fragile are those delusions?’

  ‘At the moment, they seem to be feeding off each others’ belief. But, of course, if Emma Renshaw’s body is ever found …’

  ‘It would bring them back to reality, surely?’

  ‘But it would also take away their last hope. The only thing that’s keeping them going.’

  ‘I’m sure they’ve been offered counselling.’

  ‘Several times. They went through some sessions, but there was always a problem. The counsellor would talk to them about closure, about letting go. And the Renshaws can’t understand that. How can they let go, they say, when Emma will be coming home soon?’

  ‘I think Emma’s body will be found one day, don’t you? The circumstances don’t look like a voluntary disappearance.’

  ‘Maybe. But some victims are never found.’

  Cooper shuddered. ‘How long can the Renshaws keep it up?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Fry. ‘And I don’t want to be around to find out.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What about the Oxleys? More down to earth, I hope?’

  ‘I sort of meant what I said at the Renshaws. My impression is that the Oxleys are synonymous with Withens. They could never live anywhere else. I mean, I can’t imagine the Oxleys doing the opposite of what the Renshaws did, and moving from Withens to Marple.’

  Fry thought about it. ‘I’m still not clear on the reasons the Renshaws had for moving.’

  ‘Because it was more real, man.’

  ‘That’s just it – it sounds too, sort of, New Age for them. Too dreadlocks and dope, if you know what I mean. The Renshaws aren’t old hippies, are they?’

  ‘I don’t think so. But it’s kind of difficult to tell with most of them, after all this time. Unless they’ve got ponytails and kaftans and they’re running shops selling crystals and runes, they look pretty much like anyone else in their fifties. They grow out of it – outwardly anyway.’

  ‘Yeah. Outwardly.’

  Cooper looked at her. ‘I know the Renshaws have turned a bit wacky with all this stuff about Emma, but I don’t think they’re actually sharing a spliff every time we’re not looking.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What are you thinking, Diane?’

  ‘I’m thinking it can be very dangerous when people believe every word that you tell them. Dangerous – or very convenient.’

  They drove into the car park in Withens. Fry switched off the engine, and they sat for a few minutes looking at the square stone houses, the tower of the church beyond the yew trees, and the background of black hills.

  To Cooper, the hills seemed to have moved in a little closer every time he came here, making Withens a bit more claustrophobic, a bit more impermanent. What had Tracy Udall said? It didn’t look like a place that would last. But surely it had lasted. The railway navvies’ shanty town had been here in the middle of the nineteenth century, and the farms must already have existed long before that. So why did it feel so temporary?

  Cooper wondered where exactly the shanty town had been. Where had fifteen hundred navvies lived in such appalling conditions? Was it here, where the village now stood? Or further down the road, past the church, among the banks of bracken and peat bogs?

  ‘You’re meeting PC Udall here?’ said Fry.

  ‘At the church.’

  ‘What’s she like?’

  ‘She’s very sound. Dedicated. Good at her job.’

  ‘Great. I think you ought to try harder on the Oxleys. I don’t think you’re wasting your time.’

  ‘You think if we dig hard enough, we’ll find some connection with Emma Renshaw?’

  ‘Ben, if you can find what this blacked-up faces thing is all about, it would help.’

  ‘Neil Granger might just have been using it as a form of disguise, or camouflage at night. It’s only theatrical make-up. Anyone could get hold of it, but if he had it lying around anyway for rehearsals for this dance group –’

  ‘Yeah, a dance group. What did the Renshaws say it was called?’

  ‘The Border Rats.’

  ‘Peculiar sort of a name.’

  ‘Granger was at a rehearsal the night before he was killed,’ said Cooper
. ‘Down at the village pub there – the Quiet Shepherd.’

  ‘Have you been there yet?’

  ‘No.’

  The Yorkshire Traction bus came into the car park again and did its circuit. Today, there were three old ladies sitting on the bus. They gazed down at Cooper and Fry without curiosity. None of them made any move to get off, and the driver accelerated away again.

  ‘So,’ said Fry. ‘What was your impression of the Renshaws?’

  Cooper hesitated. ‘Howard,’ he said. ‘What does he do? For a living, I mean?’

  ‘He’s retired now. But he was Sales Director for a steel refractory in Sheffield. A very successful one, by all accounts.’

  ‘Yes, I can imagine.’

  ‘What do you mean, Ben?

  ‘It just seemed to me,’ said Cooper, ‘that Howard Renshaw was trying to sell us something. And doing it very well.’

  Fry sighed, but with a sense of relief. ‘That’s what I think, too,’ she said. ‘I was worried that I was being paranoid.’

  Ben Cooper felt pleased that Diane Fry had valued his opinion enough to go to the trouble of getting him along to the Renshaws. As they sat in the car in Withens waiting for a shower to stop, he felt as though he had temporarily come closer to Fry than he had managed to be for a long time. It was a chance, perhaps, to talk to her properly – if the right moment came.

  ‘By the way, I have to go on a trip tomorrow,’ said Fry.

  ‘Yes? Anywhere nice?’

  ‘The West Midlands. We have to interview Emma Renshaw’s other housemate, Debbie Stark. And a girl called Khadi who she went to Italy with. No one seems to have bothered with her before. Then we have to call at Smethwick OCU to see the officer who dealt with the case two years ago. We might take a look at the house in Bearwood, too.’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Cooper.

  ‘You don’t sound too impressed. They’re sound leads that need following up.’

  ‘I was just wondering – will you be all right?’

  ‘All right? I’ll have Gavin Murfin with me, if that’s what you’re worried about. The only danger I’ll be in will be from coming home smelling of curry.’