Charley’s thoughts turned to the female skeleton in the cellar and the baffling mystery of her death. She looked out of her window at the darkening skies. The office felt stifling to her. Rain and thunder threatened. She needed air. She stood and put on her coat.
‘Where you off?’ Mike said as she walked through the office. ‘Want some company?’
Charley stood at the side of his desk. ‘No, I just need to clear my head,’ she said. ‘I’m off out for a drive round. I’ll have my phone with me.’
‘You’re going to the church, aren’t you?’
Charley nodded. ‘You read my mind,’ she smiled. ‘More than likely. Then I will head for home. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
Charley sat quietly in her car. She may never find out the truth, or know the harrowing experiences of the Yorkshire folk of yesteryear who had lived in Crownest, for she knew that the official records and history books back then were written by those who could write. However, being a Yorkshire lass, she wouldn’t give up. ‘if you hit a brick wall get under, over, or through it,’ is what Jack, her Dad would tell her. ‘Don’t let anything stop you moving forward. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.’
Was Charley intrigued by how the mysterious skeleton had been murdered and the way she was hidden, or was her fascination due to the skeleton’s age and Charley’s love of history? Maybe it was even because of the tales her granny had told her. She didn’t know, but she was driven by a wish to solve the mystery, and she was not going to be satisfied with resolving half of the mysteries that Crownest had uncovered. Murder is the supreme test for any detective, and this present case was just that.
Charley drove on. Most of the enquiries had been historic, but she was suddenly aware that she had forgotten the golden rule: to clear the ground beneath her feet. It didn’t matter how many times she revisited the church, as long as she got a result in the end. Whilst Lily had answered questions in a reasonable and satisfying way, there was a lot of information that she had been vague about, and it was easy to be deliberately vague after so much time, Charley realised.
A slight wind was blowing the overgrown branches of a few trees edging the moors, making them scrape slowly across the roof of the car. The dark clouds had cleared and had not remained static in the valley, as they so often did. Charley stepped out into the middle of open pasture, surrounded by primroses, snowdrops, spear thistle, bee orchid to name but a few winter flowers.
The afternoon had been forecast as pleasant on the radio but the weather had turned cold, and Charley pulled her coat around her to stop the breeze from chilling her bones. Immediately as she stepped into the graveyard, she noticed the quietness of her surroundings, with no birdsong. It was such a shame that the majority of graves were neglected and overgrown, apart from the posies placed on selected graves. She wondered if that was because the occupants of the graves no longer had living relatives, or if the relatives no longer visited their ancestors’ resting place. It seemed sad. The church door was locked.
Charley wandered from one grave to another, reading the gravestones as best she could. She did not really know what she was looking for, but she was aware that should she be seen by another, she would have been thought of as odd or perhaps having lost the plot.
Cold, she returned to the car, and telephoned Mike Blake. ‘Mike, tomorrow once we have got Hussain’s killers’ remand hearing over, let’s arrange to pick Lily Pritchard up and bring her in. I think we’re due another word with her, at the police station this time. I can’t put my finger on it, but I have this nagging feeling that she has secrets still to share, and before you say anything, I know I’m jumping from one murder to the other, but it’s something we need to do.’
Chapter 42
‘Catherine Alderman didn’t emigrate to Australia, Lily, like you would have us believe, did she? Please be truthful,’ asked Charley.
In the stark white space of the police interview room, Lily could do nothing but look about her in awe, squinting as she did so at the brightness of the lights. She appeared puzzled by how the interview chairs were screwed to the floor. Annie had placed hot drinks on the table between her and the detectives. Charley’s tone of voice, and the harsh surroundings, seemed to intimidate the old lady. The look in her bewildered eyes reminded the SIO of a rabbit caught in car headlights. Yet, hard though it was, this approach was necessary.
Softly, Charley continued. ‘Lily, are those Catherine’s remains that we found in the cellar at Crownest?’ Charley had gone out on a limb, and with her heart in her mouth, she waited for the reaction.
After a moment or two Lily dropped her gaze, looked for a moment at the gnarled hands that lay knotted together in her lap, and then she began slowly shaking her head. ‘No,’ she said, in a hushed tone when she lifted her head. Tears were in her eyes, and as she stared at Charley, one or two spilled over, and rolled down her cheeks. ‘You’ve got it all wrong,’ she slurred. ‘That’s not the story that my mother, Agnes, told me on her deathbed, and I’ve no reason to doubt her words.’
Charley took a sharp breath. ‘What did she tell you?’ She spoke quietly hoping Lily would carry on.
‘She told me that she wanted me to know everything before she died, so that if they came asking, I could tell them the truth. But I promised her, on the Bible, that I wouldn’t tell another living soul apart from them.’
Charley frowned. ‘Tell
