2008 – October – Guernsey
‘Hold it there!’ the foreman shouted to the digger driver, flagging him to stop. The giant arms stopped, poised over the hole in the ground, leaving the serrated metal jaws of the bucket swinging above Bill’s head as he jumped down for a closer look. He’d been right, there was something sticking out of the soil. The driver joined him.
‘What’s up, Bill?’
‘I’m not sure, but I think…Oh, God! It’s an arm!’ Bill had brushed some of the soil away from what had appeared to be a white stick. The skeletal remains of an arm and hand poked up from the surrounding earth.
‘Better call the police, Ted, while I go and have a word with the boss.’
Ted nodded, peering uneasily over Bill’s shoulder before pulling out his mobile phone. Bill strode off into the house, his pale face displayed his feelings of shock.
*
Malcolm Roget looked up from the plans spread over his desk as the foreman knocked on the library door.
‘Sorry to disturb you, Mr Roget, but we’ve got a bit of a problem in the…pool.’ Bill shuffled his feet before blurting out, ‘Looks like there’s a body down there and…’
Malcolm felt his heart pounding. His mother had told him…Could it be…?
‘Right, thank you Bill. I’m coming. Have you called the police?’
They walked out of the back door as Bill confirmed the police had been informed. To their right lay a gate leading to what had been an area littered with defunct glasshouses, now cleared away in preparation for the new swimming pool and changing rooms. The bright orange arms of the unnaturally quiet digger hung over the hole meant for the pool: now apparently a grave. And what a grave! Malcolm thought, shrugging off Bill’s proffered arm.
‘I can manage, thank you. I’m not that old,’ he grunted, not willing to give into his advancing years. But the jump down jarred his knees and he winced slightly, covering it up with a cough. Bill pointed to what looked like a bleached piece of wood.
‘Over there. Lucky I spotted it before Ted reached it.’ Bill nodded towards the digger where Ted sat crouched in the cabin, pulling on a cigarette. ‘Nothing’s been moved but I did brush away some soil so I could be sure…’
Malcolm nodded. ‘You did the right thing. Make sure no-one comes near the area and let me know as soon as the police arrive. I’ll be in the library.’
Fifteen minutes later Bill popped his head round the library door to say that the police were outside and Malcolm followed him to the excavation. Already the dug-out area looked like a crime scene: white-suited forensic officers loaded with bags were converging on the small white object highlighted against the brown soil. As Malcolm arrived, a man giving instructions broke off to meet him.
‘Mr Roget? Inspector Ferguson. I understand that you’re the owner of La Folie?’
‘Yes, have been for some months now. As you can see, the men are digging out for the swimming pool and my foreman spotted the…arm and stopped the work.’ Malcolm pulled the policeman to one side, saying, ‘I may have some information that will be of use, Inspector. If we could talk in private?’
Ferguson, looking surprised, nodded his agreement, and told his men to tape off the area and erect the tent over the body.
Walking towards the house, Malcolm considered the best way of explaining what he knew – or rather, what he thought he knew.
He turned to face the inspector.
‘My mother used to live here before the war. She worked for, and was engaged to, the owner, Roland Blake.’ He pushed his hands in his pockets, feeling the inspector’s eyes on him. As he continued, he remembered the pain on his mother Betty’s face as she told him, tearfully, of the events of the night that had changed their lives forever. His own anger towards Archie had stayed with him ever since, bursting into the flame now coursing through him with the discovery of a body. His fists clenched as he finished, ‘Apparently Archie buried the body in the adjoining field, not far from the house.’ He pointed to where the digger’s arm could be seen against the sky. ‘Could have been there.’
‘Mm. Right, thanks for that. Might be useful once we’ve got the body out and the forensics come back. Must have been about seventy years ago, then?’
Malcolm nodded. ‘Yes, back in ’39. I was born the following year.’ He gazed at the inspector. ‘Roland was my father, you see. He and my mother were due to be married but…’
Inspector Ferguson let out a long breath.
‘I see. In that case I’m sorry that you’ve had to find him like this. But if it is your father’s body over there, then we can prove it from the DNA. Could be a great help, Mr Roget.’
For a moment both men stood lost in thought as they watched the forensic team erect the tent before disappearing inside.
‘Excuse me for asking, sir, but did you buy this property because it was connected to your family?’
Malcolm smiled.
‘It was part of the reason. It felt right that I should own it as, after all, if my father had lived and married my mother, I would have inherited it anyway.’ Adding softly, ‘And my mother would have had a much easier life and perhaps lived longer.’ Pulling himself upright, he went on, ‘But the main reason I bought La Folie is because it’s an ideal place for a natural health centre, or retreat.’ He waved his arms around the walled garden and to the side where the pool had been dug out. ‘Plenty of land around it and a path straight onto the cliffs. Idyllic, don’t you think, Inspector?’
‘Yes, sir, it is. A lovely spot. But getting back to your…father and what happened. You said that your mother’s dead but what about the nephew, Archie? Could he still be alive?’
Malcolm shook his head.
‘I’ve no idea. My mother managed to give him the slip when he was called up to fight shortly after their arrival in England. She took me with her to Canada. I was only a baby so remember nothing about it. She never returned to Guernsey or the UK and died in 1972. For obvious reasons neither of us wanted to meet up with him again and my mother changed her surname so he couldn’t trace us.’
‘Right. And did this Archie have any other family?’
‘No, his mother died when he was a lad and no-one knew who his father was. He had his mother’s surname, Blake.’
The inspector scribbled in his notebook before excusing himself to go and check on progress in the tent.
Malcolm stood, hands in pockets, watching the comings and goings. Buckets of soil were brought out of the tent and sifted before being emptied on the ground. He felt a shiver down his spine and the hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. ‘Are you here, Ma? Is that my father buried over there?’ he whispered. ‘If it is, I’ll make sure he’s buried properly, don’t you worry. And if that bastard Archie’s still alive, I’ll make sure he gets what’s owing to him. Never fear.’
Several hours later Inspector Ferguson found Malcolm in the library.
‘We’ve uncovered the body, Mr Roget. It’s a complete skeleton of a man and the skull’s badly crushed. So it could be your father.’
Malcolm wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or not. At least he could honour his promise to his mother.
‘Is there anything left on the…the body? Clothes, a watch?’
The inspector shook his head.
‘No clothes, they must have gone long ago. And no watch. But there’s a signet ring bearing the initials ‘RB’. Which fits with it being Mr Blake. There’s nothing else, which suggests his pockets were emptied before burial.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Did your mother mention a ring?’
Malcolm cast his mind back. It was so long ago…
‘She said something about a family tradition, the men being given a gold signet ring on their twenty-first birthday. That was when I was twenty-one and she gave me this.’
He stretched out his left hand, displaying a gold ring on his little finger.
‘Right. Well the evidence is stacking up, then. The pathologist will take a sample of DNA from the teeth and I’d be obliged if you’d allow us to take a sample from you, sir. That can be done now so as to save time.’
‘By all means. I want this resolved as quickly as possible, Inspector.’
One of the forensic team was called for and the sample taken. Malcolm then asked a pressing question.
‘Will the area be closed off for long, Inspector? Only we’re due to open in three months and there’s much to do…’
‘I understand, sir. Once we’re convinced the body’s that of your father and nothing else turns up, we’ll be out of your hair. I’ll get the lab to fast-track the DNA result so we can finish the report for the coroner.’ He gave Malcolm a quizzical look. ‘You do realise there’s bound to be some publicity about this, don’t you? The local media are already on the case and we can’t suppress it.’
Malcolm sighed. ‘Yes, I thought that would happen. I know they say that all publicity is good publicity, but I’m not sure how a body turning up a few months before we open will be good for business.’
The inspector smiled.
‘You’d be surprised, sir. A bit of scandal can build up interest and, if it proves to be your father buried there, people would be sympathetic and wish you well.’
‘Hmm, not sure I want our family skeletons to be so literally on public show, but I take your point. You’ll keep me posted, Inspector?’
‘Yes, sir. As it happens, this is my last case before I retire, so I want to see it concluded as quickly and satisfactorily as you do.’
They shook hands and Malcolm was left staring at the plans strewn over his desk. He could only hope the inspector was right and the unwanted publicity would do more good than harm. His past experience as the owner of a hotel chain tended to confirm that idea. But he would still be glad when all the muck-raking was over and he could press on with the opening. And then, finally, sit back and let someone else do all the work.