The Couple at No. 9(43)

He looks confused, his bushy eyebrows bobbing up and down. ‘Daphne Hartall’s my sister.’

‘Daphne Hartall’s your sister?’ She knew it! She knew it couldn’t be a coincidence. Hartall is too unusual a surname.

‘Why do you ask about Daphne?’ There is pain behind his eyes when he mentions her name.

Lorna shifts her weight from one foot to the other. How can she even begin to explain it all? ‘Your sister used to lodge with my mother, back in 1980. And I think they must both have known Sheila Watts. I think maybe my mum lived here in Broadstairs too at some point. Did you know her? Rose Grey?’

He shakes his head, looking confused. She doesn’t know if she’s making any sense.

‘Anyway, really, I just wanted to speak to Daphne. To find out about my mum. She has dementia now and …’

Alan clears his throat. ‘Hold on,’ he says, his bushy eyebrows drawn together. ‘You said your mum knew Daphne in 1980?’

‘Yes, they lived together. In Wiltshire.’

He clicks his tongue, his face impatient. ‘No, no. Something isn’t right about this. Daphne was Broadstairs born through and through. Never left. And …’ his eyes moisten ‘… Daphne died. At thirty-two, of cancer. Back in 1971.’





22


Saffy





As I let myself into the cottage I feel shaky after the conversation with the private detective. Who is he working for? And what sort of information does he think Gran has? I wonder if it’s something to do with Sheila. But I dismiss the thought straight away. The private detective only turned up since the bodies have been found, so it must be something to do with that. But what? Does Gran know more than she’s capable of telling us?

I go to switch the kettle on, annoyed when I see Mum has moved it to the other side of the microwave. I move it back while Snowy chews a toy at my feet.

A knock on the door makes me jump.

I freeze. Oh, God. It’s him. That private detective. He’s followed me home. Does he know I’m alone? Is he going to force his way in here and make me search the house? My imagination goes into overdrive and I have to tell myself to calm down. Snowy leaps up and trots down the hallway, barking. I go to the living-room window and peer out, trying to see who it is, my heart thumping. Maybe it’s just a reporter, I think, actually hope, for once. An unfamiliar car is parked on the driveway next to my Mini, some big blue saloon. Is it the private detective’s car? If he tries to get in I’ll call the police. But no, wait, there are two men outside. I recognize them as the police detectives from yesterday.

With relief I go to the front door and wrench it open. They must have news. Why else would they bother to visit instead of ringing? My throat goes dry.

‘Hi, Saffron,’ says the older one, DS Barnes. He holds up his badge unnecessarily. ‘May we come in?’

‘Of course,’ I say, moving aside. I show them into the living room and offer them a drink, which they both decline.

DS Barnes sits on the sofa and DC Worthing perches on the edge of the armchair. They are both imposing in the small room but I instantly feel safer having them here. For a few seconds there is silence, broken only by the birds chirruping outside.

I sit at the opposite end of the sofa to DS Barnes. He angles his body towards me. I can see the spider-web tattoo on his arm. He notices me looking and pulls at the hem of his shirt sleeve. ‘Is Mrs Cutler here?’

‘Um. No. She’s … she’s in London today.’ Now they’re here I can ask them if they have any updates on the Harrison Turner that Brenda mentioned.

A flash of concern crosses his face. ‘We have bad news, I’m afraid.’

I nod, steeling myself. ‘Okay.’

‘We’ve identified the male body in the garden.’

My mouth goes dry. ‘Right,’ I say, wondering why this would be bad news. Unless I knew him. But that’s not possible. And then I think of Gran and my stomach turns over.

DS Barnes reaches for his little black book in the inner pocket of his suit jacket and flips a few of the pages over. ‘Does the name Neil Lewisham mean anything to you?’

I shake my head. ‘Never heard of him.’ Just get to the point.

‘Well, as you can imagine, it has been a difficult job trying to identify both of the bodies, considering they died a long time ago. But we’ve gone through a list of people who were reported missing from 1975 to 1990 in the south-west of England in particular, and in the thirty to forty-five age range. A thirty-nine-year-old man called Neil Lewisham was reported missing in April 1980 by his wife. Although he was from Surrey, what alerted us to him was that his wife said in a statement taken at the time that he was going to visit someone in the Chippenham area before he disappeared. This, of course, was followed up back in 1980 but came to a dead end. Unfortunately his wife has since died so we spoke to his son, who agreed to a DNA test. The DNA matches.’

I feel like someone has knocked the breath out of me. ‘So, you’re saying he died in this house … while my gran was living here?’

‘It looks that way, yes. He was last seen at Chippenham station on the seventh of April 1980. He hasn’t been seen since and he never tried to access his bank account. So we can assume he died on, or around, the seventh.’

‘Are you definitely sure it’s this man? The DNA … I mean …’ I frown. ‘How?’ The flesh would have decomposed by now, surely.