When Nelson gets into work the next morning – later than usual because he has had to wait for the dog walker to collect Bruno – he knows that the team have something to tell him. Tony Zhang looks exactly like Bruno when he’s discovered something to deposit at Nelson’s feet.
‘There’s been another one,’ says Tony, as Nelson makes his way through the open-plan area.
‘Another what?’ says Nelson. He wants to get into his office and have his first coffee of the day. He still can’t get used to not seeing Cloughie at his desk, demolishing a McDonald’s breakfast. But Clough is a DI now and has his own team in Cambridgeshire. Rumour has it that he’s even given up junk food. The team also still feels the loss of Tim, who died five years ago. For Nelson, thoughts of Tim resurrect so many different emotions that he tries to keep them suppressed.
‘Another suicide that looks slightly suspicious,’ says Judy, giving Tony a quelling look. ‘I’ll tell you at the briefing.’
‘You do that,’ says Nelson. Leah brings him a coffee and he drinks it while deleting most of his emails. Then he summons the team in.
‘Avril Flowers,’ says Judy, ‘aged sixty. Found dead yesterday in her bungalow near Hunstanton, probably from an overdose. She was in her bedroom, which was locked.’ She looks at Tony, daring him to give away the punchline. ‘From the outside.’
‘From the outside?’ says Nelson. ‘She was locked in?’
‘That’s what it looks like,’ says Judy. ‘Her body was found by her cleaner at midday yesterday. The pathologist thought she’d probably been dead for twenty-four hours. Case was passed to the Serious Crimes Unit this morning.’
‘We should interview the cleaning lady,’ says Nelson.
‘Who says the cleaner is a woman?’ says Judy.
‘But is she?’
‘Yes.’
Nelson breathes deeply. ‘Did this Avril Flowers have any family?’
‘A daughter,’ says Judy. ‘She lives in Scotland but she’s coming down today.’
‘We should talk to her too,’ says Nelson. ‘I’ll send SOCO in now. The scene will have been contaminated by the emergency services but they might find something. With any luck they’ll have finished by the time the daughter gets there. Did you find anything about cold cases from Intel?’
‘I spoke to Liz Forbes, the information analyst, ’ says Judy, ‘and she’s been going through suicides recorded in the last six months. I think there are three that we might look into.’ She opens her laptop and props it on Nelson’s desk. Her screensaver, Nelson notes, is her crazy-looking bull terrier.
Karen Head, aged 48. King’s Lynn. Cause of death: overdose.
Rosanna Leigh, aged 55. Snettisham. Cause of death: hanging.
Celia Dunne, aged 59. Terrington St Clement. Cause of death: suspected overdose.
‘I’ve chosen these three,’ says Judy, ‘because the deceased were all of a similar age and from the King’s Lynn area. Information is quite sketchy, but it appears that all three had jobs and families. Therefore, suicide might be seen as unexpected.’
‘Hanging’s very different from taking an overdose though,’ says Tanya, peering to look at the screen.
‘That’s true,’ says Judy, with just a touch of impatience. ‘But the other factors are there. Age, location, date of death. It’s about triangulation.’
‘Good work, Judy,’ says Nelson. ‘Tony, you can look into these. Talk to the families but be sensitive. These are recent tragedies. They’ll still be grieving. Judy and Tanya, you take the Avril Flowers case. Find out about the locked room. There may be an innocent explanation, but I can’t think of one right now.’
The team file out. Judy closes her laptop and seems to have something to say.
‘Yes?’ says Nelson, not very helpfully.
‘I was just wondering,’ says Judy. ‘Is Leah OK?’
‘I think so. Why?’
‘She seems a bit quiet, that’s all.’
‘She’s not one for chatting,’ says Nelson. But, as he says this, he remembers Leah talking to him about Samantha Wilson. You never know when people are desperate, do you? He resolves to pay more attention to his PA.
Ruth is in the café attached to Norwich Cathedral. It feels like skiving on a work day but, she tells herself, she has just visited the site where the body was found on Monday and she is talking to Janet Meadows about local history, something that might be seen as valid outreach work. True, she and Janet have also discussed children, pets and coronavirus but now Janet is asking about the Tombland skeleton.
‘I haven’t got the results back from the lab,’ says Ruth, ‘but I think it’s a woman. Probably medieval. The graveyard of St George’s would have covered that area.’
‘I had a student of yours in yesterday asking about it,’ says Janet.
‘Really?’ says Ruth. ‘Which student?’
‘I can’t remember his name,’ says Janet, ‘but he had one of those Victorian beards. A Lytton Strachey beard.’
Ruth remembers the student asking her about the plague. Victorian is a very good description. She pictures an intense face, dark eyes above facial hair like a mask.
‘I wonder why he didn’t ask me,’ she says.
‘He said his personal tutor was David Brown,’ says Janet, as if this explains everything.
‘David said that you and he had been having some discussions,’ says Ruth.
Janet laughs. ‘That’s one word for it. He doesn’t agree with my ideas for the exhibition.’
Ruth now knows that Janet is planning an exhibition entitled Norwich: the plague years. Janet launches into a description now, leaving Ruth to concentrate on her lunch. They are in the modern refectory attached to the ancient cathedral. Ruth remembers the first time she met Janet, in this same café, when she had been on the trail of a long-dead archbishop. Janet had shown her the cleric’s statue, hidden in one of the mysterious alcoves of the church, and they had become friends. Ruth feels instinctively on Janet’s side against David.
Janet talks about the plague while Ruth eats falafels and salad. In defiance of Lean Zone, she has also bought a chocolate brownie.
‘There was an outbreak of the plague in Norwich in the thirteen hundreds. It’s thought that Julian of Norwich contracted it and that her near-death experience is what inspired the Revelations of Divine Love. An eighteenth-century historian called Francis Blomefield said that fifty-seven thousand people died in Norwich in 1349. That figure seems far too high. There were only about twenty-five thousand people living here then but some sources say that, by the end of 1349, only six thousand people remained. Some will have escaped to the country, of course. There was another outbreak in 1578 when Elizabeth the First visited with her entourage. This time there were officially 4,800 victims but the real figure could have been twice that.’
‘A royal visit to remember,’ says Ruth. She thinks: so much for singing ‘God Save the Queen.’
‘Your friend David Brown thinks we’re making too much of the plague,’ says Janet.
‘Well, he can’t deny it happened,’ says Ruth. She wonders if she can remind Janet that David is not her friend but her employee.
‘Can’t he?’ says Janet darkly. She takes a bite of her sandwich.
Ruth doesn’t know why she should defend David but, in fairness, feels she has to say, ‘I think David was just worried by the mention of plague pits because none have been found in Tombland.’
‘Where are all the bodies then?’ asks Janet.
‘It’s possible that they were all just buried in local churchyards,’ says Ruth. ‘You can see how high they are around here, St John Maddermarket, for example. They may have been raised to accommodate the extra dead. David makes a good point about Tombland being too busy, too full of people. The Maid’s Head was already a hotel in 1349. It seems unlikely that anyone would bury plague victims here. And, you know, even the so-called plague pits they discovered on the Crossrail dig in London were actually rather orderly. Nothing like the mass graves in Bosnia.’ She stops. She doesn’t often talk about the time when, as a graduate student, she had helped to unearth the remains of men, women and children, hundreds of them, thrown together into a ghastly human soup, but she knows she mentioned it quite recently. Oh yes, it was when she was talking to her students on Monday, excavating the skeleton beneath the roadworks. She remembers carrying the bones back to Ted’s van in the gathering twilight, Janet appearing out of the gloom.
‘Tell me about the Grey Lady,’ she says. ‘She seems to have come up a lot in conversation recently.’
Janet laughs. ‘She’s not very popular with David either. I think he thinks I’m obsessed with her. But it’s such a strange and awful story.’ She pauses. Ruth finishes her last falafel and thinks about her next course.
‘She haunts Augustine Steward’s House,’ says Janet. ‘You know, that crooked, timbered building opposite the cathedral? Next to Tombland Alley? I’ll show you on our way out. Well, in the sixteenth-century plague, the one supposedly caused by Elizabeth’s entourage, the house was boarded up. That’s what they did in those days. Sealed the house with the occupants still inside. They’d draw a cross on the door and sometimes the words “Lord have mercy” and they’d leave the household to die. I suppose it was a way of containing the outbreak. When they opened the house again, they found the bodies of a man, a woman and a young girl.’
‘How sad,’ says Ruth. It seems rather callous to eat her brownie now.
‘Very sad,’ says Janet. ‘But that’s not the worst thing. The man and the woman had teeth marks on their bodies. Human teeth marks. It was thought that they’d died first and the girl had kept herself alive by eating their flesh. Maybe she died by choking on it rather than of the plague.’
‘Oh my God.’ Ruth pushes her plate even further away.
‘The daughter is the Grey Lady,’ says Janet. ‘She’s often seen in the alley, walking through walls, opening doors that aren’t there. Sometimes you just see the light of her candle reflected in the window panes. She’s a sad spirit. Maybe she’s exiled from heaven because she consumed her parents’ flesh.’
‘That seems very unfair,’ says Ruth.
‘There’s nothing fair about this life or the next,’ says Janet. She’s another lapsed Catholic, Ruth remembers. Like Nelson. And Cathbad too, come to think of it.
‘There have been lots of sightings of the Grey Lady,’ Janet continues. ‘Even by a former vicar of St George’s.’
‘Have you ever seen her?’ asks Ruth.
‘I’ve often sensed something,’ says Janet. ‘A shadow, a presence, sometimes just a feeling of intense sadness. The tourist information centre is in Steward’s House, you know. People don’t like to work there after dark.’
Ruth is not surprised. She doesn’t like to hear this story in the daylight, in a brightly lit café, with a school party jostling in through the doors, carrying activity books and Disney lunch boxes.
‘Cathbad’s seen her,’ says Janet, with a slight smile.
That doesn’t surprise Ruth either.
Avril Flowers lived in a neat bungalow on the edge of Hunstanton. Tanya immediately awards it a score out of ten. She and Petra are house hunting.
‘Seven,’ she says as Judy parks by the gate. It’s usually the junior officer who drives but Tanya’s car is in for a service. Judy never minds driving though. Tanya is always surprised by how much of a petrol head she is.
‘So high?’ says Judy.
‘Two points for the garden,’ says Tanya, ‘and I like the veranda.’
The house has a wrap-around porch that reminds Tanya of American films. There are plants in pots and one of those swing seats. The garden is well kept with a large pond and a willow tree. It looks like a place where someone once enjoyed spending time. The scene-of-crime team have finished, and the only sign of their presence is some plastic sheeting leading to the front door.
Avril’s daughter Bethany is meeting them at the house. There’s a smart hatchback on the drive which looks to Tanya as if it’s owned by someone called Bethany.
The door is opened by a blonde woman who is probably in her mid-thirties. She introduces herself as Bethany McGarrigle. She shows them into a sitting room that has a distant view, thanks to the elevated site, of the sea.
‘What a lovely house,’ says Tanya. She wonders if she can ask how much it costs.
‘Mum loved it,’ says Bethany, her eyes filling with tears. ‘I wanted her to come back to Scotland to be near me, but she said she had her life here. She worked at the library and volunteered at the school, listening to children read. And she was really involved with the local church.’
‘How did your mum seem when you spoke to her last?’ asks Judy. Tanya notes that she’s swapped ‘mother’ for ‘mum’, the sort of detail Tanya always forgets.
‘She seemed fine,’ says Bethany. ‘I spoke to her on Sunday. That was our ritual. We’d chat when Mum got back from church.’
‘And her health was good? No worries?’
‘Her health was better than mine,’ says Bethany. ‘Sixty’s young these days and Mum took care of herself.’
‘I’m sorry,’ says Judy. ‘I know this must be a terrible shock for you, but can you bear to tell me what happened when you got the call about your mum?’
Bethany takes a few deep breaths but, when she speaks, her voice is quite controlled. ‘Tina, the cleaning lady, called me at midday yesterday. She’d arrived to clean at her usual time. At first she thought Mum wasn’t in but that wasn’t unusual. Like I say, she was a busy lady. Tina had her own key and she started work as normal. But, when she went to Mum’s bedroom, it was locked.’
‘From the outside?’ says Tanya.
‘Yes. The key was still in the lock. Tina opened the door and she . . . she found Mum, lying on the bed. Dead. There was a bottle of pills beside her. Tina called an ambulance, but she said she knew that Mum was already dead.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ says Judy.
‘It was just such a shock,’ says Bethany, taking more deep breaths. ‘I never thought . . . Mum was the last person to . . .’
‘You mentioned a bottle of pills,’ says Judy. ‘Was your mother on any medication?’
‘Not that I know of,’ says Bethany. ‘She didn’t believe in that sort of thing. She was always so well.’ She covers her face with her hands. Judy asks if she can get Bethany a glass of water. Bethany shakes her head.
‘Can we have a quick look round the house?’ says Tanya. ‘While you . . . compose yourself.’
‘The police have sealed off the bedroom,’ says Bethany, dabbing her eyes hard.
‘We’ll just get a sense of the place,’ says Tanya. Judy gives her a look but Bethany says that’s fine.
It’s a small house, just kitchen, sitting room, two bedrooms and a bathroom. The bigger bedroom, where Avril was found, has police tape across the door but they can see a double bed and mirrored wardrobes. This window, too, has a view of the sea, framed by blue velvet curtains. The small bedroom obviously doubles as an office and contains a computer and printer as well as a sewing machine which looks well-used and an exercise bike which doesn’t, as though the wrapping had just been removed. The bathroom has navy blue tiles and a walk-in shower. Everything looks very neat and clean. Clearly Tina the cleaner does a good job. Tanya is tempted to stand on the high-tech scales to check that she is still at the perfect BMI. She says as much to Judy but is greeted by a blank look. The kitchen is galley style, with white units and the same navy tiles. There are pots of herbs on the window sill and magnets on the fridge. A calendar shows the Beauties of Norfolk with many appointments scribbled in for February. Again, it feels like a place where someone has been busy and happy.
Bethany doesn’t have much more to tell them. She has no idea how the bedroom came to be locked from the outside. She doesn’t know if anyone else, apart from Tina, had a key to the house but she thinks it’s unlikely. They take Tina’s address and the names of Avril’s closest friends, her next-door neighbour, Jean, and Maggie from the church.
‘There was also a man called Hugh that she used to see at the library,’ says Bethany. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t have an address for him.’
‘We’ll ask at the library,’ says Judy. ‘Thank you. We’ll leave you in peace now, but we’ll stay in touch, keep you updated on any developments. And, if you need anything, don’t hesitate to call me. You’ve got my card.’
‘Thank you,’ says Bethany. ‘You’ve been very kind.’
They decide to call on Jean first. The house next door is bigger than Avril’s but, Tanya notes, it doesn’t have the veranda.
‘I can’t believe it,’ says Jean. ‘Avril, of all people.’
‘Were you close?’ asks Judy.
‘As close as neighbours can be,’ says Jean, gesturing towards the garden wall as demonstrating the physical distance between the houses. In fact, by Tanya’s standards, the houses are quite far apart, set within large gardens. It’s not like the suburban street where Tanya grew up, where she could lean out of the window of her semi-detached house and pass notes to her friend Rachel – in retrospect, her first crush.
‘How long did you know Avril?’ asks Judy.
‘Ever since she moved here,’ says Jean. ‘It must be five years ago now. I’ve been here almost thirty years. I knew the previous couple well too. This is a friendly area.’ Jean is probably older than Avril, thinks Tanya, but what her mother would call ‘well preserved’, with tanned skin and short white hair.
‘How did Avril seem when you last saw her?’ asks Tanya.
‘Fine,’ says Jean. ‘We talked about the weather. You know, like you do.’
It doesn’t sound to Tanya as if the two women had a very close friendship. She asks if Jean saw anything unusual yesterday morning.
‘Unusual?’ says Jean, bridling slightly. ‘What do you mean, unusual?’
‘Just anything out of the ordinary,’ says Judy, with a quick glance at Tanya. ‘Any callers. Anything unexpected.’
‘I just saw the cleaning lady going in at about eleven,’ says Jean. ‘But I don’t spend all day looking out of my window. The first thing I knew was when the ambulance arrived. I went next door then to see if I could help but Tina said that Avril had . . . well, passed.’
‘Passed’ is Tanya’s least favourite euphemism for death. It seems far too casual somehow.
‘Do you know Tina Prentice, the cleaner?’ asks Tanya.
‘Everyone knows Tina,’ said Jean. ‘She was devoted to Avril.’