The Couple at No. 9(72)

We turned back to Neil, standing over him as the life seeped out of his body.

He was somebody’s son. Somebody’s brother, perhaps. Maybe a husband. Father. And I had killed him.

I’d had the chance to try to save him yet I did nothing. I stood, with Daphne, our arms around each other, too shocked even to cry, and we waited until we were sure that he was dead.

‘What do we do now?’ I said.

‘I think we need to bury him,’ she replied.

‘Bury him?’ I gasped. ‘Bury him where? In the woods?’

‘No. Not the woods. That’s too dangerous. Someone might see us. We need to do it here. In the garden.’

I clamped my hand over my mouth. ‘I can’t,’ I said, through my fingers. ‘Not here, not where Lolly plays. Not where we hid Easter eggs …’ I started crying then, hot tears cascading down my cheeks.

‘Rose,’ she said gently. ‘You’re not a bad person. You were protecting me.’ She put her hand up to my face and gently wiped a tear away. ‘And I’ll owe you for that for the rest of our lives. I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me. But now you need to be strong. For Lolly.’

I nodded. She was right. What choice did I have?

That’s what I told myself anyway.

It was only later – much later, after we spent hours digging and burying a full-grown man along with my bloodstained cardigan – that I allowed myself to think about what Neil had said as he was dying.

You’re both murderers now.





39


Saffy





‘What do you mean, Gran?’ I ask. ‘Who is Jean?’

‘Jean Burdon,’ says Gran, a tinge of impatience in her voice. ‘Neil Lewisham thought Daphne was Jean Burdon.’

I notice the detectives exchanging shocked glances and I hear a gasp from Mum.

‘Who is Jean Burdon?’ I ask, confused. Why does that name ring a bell? And then I remember that article in Sheila’s file: it had been about a Burdon. Was the first name Jean? I’d only scanned it. I hadn’t recognized the name and assumed it had ended up in the wrong file. I could kick myself. I should have read it properly. If I’d seen it had said Jean I would have remembered Gran’s ramblings.

Jean hit her over the head.

‘Have you heard of Mary Bell?’ asks DS Barnes.

I nod. ‘She was a convicted child killer?’

‘Yes, and Jean Burdon’s case was similar but about ten years before. When she left prison as a young woman she was given a new identity and was never heard of again.’ He addresses Gran: ‘Is that who you mean, Rose? Jean Burdon who killed her friend back in the early 1950s? In east London?’

I feel shaken. I notice Mum is looking at Gran in horror.

Gran nods, folding her hands in her lap.

‘And was she?’ DC Webb asks, sitting forward in her seat. ‘Was Daphne really Jean Burdon?’

‘I …’ Gran wrings her hands.

‘Rose,’ says DC Webb, resting her elbows on the table. ‘Did Daphne kill Neil Lewisham?’

Gran purses her lips together. A shadow passes across her face and I wonder what she’s thinking. ‘Who is Neil Lewisham?’ She turns to me. ‘Who are these people?’ She waves her arm in the direction of the police and Mum too. My heart sinks.

‘I think Gran’s had enough,’ I say, reaching for her hand.

‘Rose, can you remember if Daphne killed Neil Lewisham?’ persists DS Barnes. He sounds desperate to keep the interview going but Gran is shaking her head, staring at him blankly but refusing to say anything else.

The detectives exchange resigned glances.

‘We’ll have to pick this up another day,’ says DS Barnes, to me and Mum.

It’s not until we’re leaving the room that I hear DC Webb mutter to her colleague, ‘I think we need to look into the other body being that of Daphne Hartall.’

‘Have you heard of Jean Burdon?’ I ask Mum on the drive home. The tension between us is still almost palpable after our earlier argument.

‘Yes, of course,’ she says crisply. ‘You’d be too young, perhaps. The Jean Burdon case was overshadowed by Mary Bell.’

‘Who did Jean Burdon kill?’

‘Another little girl. Jean was only ten when it happened. And so was the girl she killed. Obviously it was before my time but I remember reading about it.’

I feel sick. ‘God, that’s awful. Imagine finding out that about your lodger.’

Mum nods grimly.

‘Do you think Daphne killed Neil Lewisham because he found out she was Jean Burdon?’ I ask.

Mum looks pained. ‘It’s possible. Especially if he was a journalist. It makes sense.’

‘But then,’ I say, my mouth dry, ‘if Daphne is the other body, who killed her?’

When I arrive back at the cottage Tom is out with Snowy. I go straight to my study and look again at the article Dad sent me from Sheila’s file. It’s a short vox-pop-style piece written by Neil asking whatever became of Jean Burdon and interviews with some of the public about possible sightings.

Then I type Jean Burdon’s name into Google and a number of entries pop up, mostly newspaper reports accompanied by a grainy black-and-white photo of a young chubby-faced girl with a bob. I click on a link.