The Grave Tattoo

  ‘Any more news on whether the mystery body really is Fletcher Christian?’

  ‘I’ve not heard anything. And if there was anything to hear, I would have. News flies round here like greased lightning.’

  ‘If that’s the case, perhaps you ought to go and see the forensic anthropologist after all. She might have been approached by someone with an interest in what we’re looking for, someone smart enough to realise the identity of this body might make what they have even more valuable. Let me know as soon as you have any news.’ The line went dead.

  Jake felt curiously flat after the call. Now, when he spoke to Caroline, there was none of the rush he’d felt at the beginning. It was as if their relationship had slipped imperceptibly into the space occupied by work rather than pleasure. The uncomfortable thing was that he now found himself wondering just how much he liked her anyway, absent the sex.

  Shrugging off the thought, he turned to his laptop and got online as Jane. He’d have to be careful–he didn’t want her trying to log on and finding she was blocked because she was already supposedly online. But from what he knew of her family, six o’clock was dinnertime and right now she ought to be sitting at the kitchen table eating. He went straight to the box and found an email to Anthony Catto. As he read, he realised he’d got away with sneak-peeking her email from Catto. It soon also became clear that Jane and Dan had managed to overcome the hurdle of the misspelled surname and had found their way to a working list of Dorcas’s descendants. It was time to get close to Jane.

  He closed down the computer and decided to go down to the bar for a drink before he headed out to Grasmere to talk to Tillie Swain. He perched on a stool in the half-empty bar and ordered a pint of Theakston’s. The barman was in chatty mood, asking how he was enjoying his stay. Jake chatted about nothing for a bit, then said casually, ‘Any more news about the body in the bog?’

  The barman shook his head. ‘Not that I’ve heard. But it just so happens that the person you need to be asking that question is in here right now.’ He gestured with his head towards a corner table where a woman sat poring over a folder, her face masked by a swathe of dark brown hair. ‘That’s Dr Wilde. She’s the one examining the body. Like her off Silent Witness. They’re making a TV programme about it, you know.’

  ‘Maybe I could go over and have a chat with her.’

  The barman winked. ‘I’d make it quick. She’s probably waiting for the local constabulary.’

  ‘Surely they’re not interested in a body that old?’

  ‘The only body DI Rigston’s interested in is hers. Word is they’re stepping out.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ Jake got to his feet. ‘I’ll just have a chat while she’s waiting.’ He crossed to River’s table and cleared his throat. She looked up. Nice grey eyes, he thought. ‘Dr Wilde? My name’s Jake Hartnell. Sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if you could spare a moment to talk about the body in the bog.’

  ‘Are you a journalist, Mr Hartnell?’

  Jake shook his head. ‘No. I’m a specialist in old documents. And I have a passing interest in this case.’

  ‘Sounds intriguing. Why don’t you sit down?’ As Jake settled on a stool opposite her, she said, ‘Why is a specialist in old documents interested in my bog body? There were no documents on my lad.’

  ‘It’s a bit complicated,’ Jake said. ‘I imagine you’ve already been asked whether this body could be Fletcher Christian?’

  River laughed. ‘Several times. It’s getting to be a bit monotonous. The answer is, I don’t know at this point. There are several interesting correspondences, but until I can do a proper DNA comparison with Christian’s direct descendants, it’s impossible to be certain one way or the other. But I still don’t see what that has to do with a document man.’

  ‘Well, I’ve heard a whisper that there might be a very interesting manuscript extant whose authenticity could be established if we knew for sure whether Fletcher Christian returned to the Lake District,’ Jake said.

  ‘Very mysterious.’

  ‘One has to be discreet in my line of work.’

  River smiled. ‘Mine too. So somebody’s touting Mr Christian’s memoirs, are they?’

  Jake laughed. ‘You’re fishing.’

  ‘Of course I am. It’s my job, interpreting the clues. Developing theories then seeing whether they pan out. So, is that what you’re chasing?’

  Jake shook his head. ‘I wish I could tell you. But it’s all still very tentative.’

  ‘Well, if it is Mr Christian on my table, you won’t be the only one jumping for joy.’

  ‘A ticket to the talk shows, eh?’

  River shook her head. ‘Not my thing. More like a ticket to tenure.’ Suddenly her face lit up as she looked over Jake’s shoulder. ‘Hi,’ she said, looking past him. Jake turned to find a tall man looming over him. He looked like the wrong person to consider messing with, and he was looking at Jake with a less than friendly expression. ‘Ewan, this is Mr Hartnell. He’s interested in the bog body.’

  Rigston smiled. ‘Who isn’t? What’s your interest, Mr Hartnell?’

  Jake got to his feet. There was something about this man that commanded answers. He hadn’t expected such presence in the local law in such a one-horse town. ‘Curious as to whether it’s Fletcher Christian,’ he said.

  ‘Aren’t we all?’ Rigston turned his attention to River. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, last-minute problem.’ Back to Jake. ‘You’ll have to excuse us, we’ve got a dinner reservation.’

  River gathered her papers. ‘Nice to meet you, Mr Hartnell. Let’s all keep our fingers crossed.’ She patted his arm as she passed him. Jake watched them go, intrigued. He would never have put them together as a couple. She looked far too unconventional, sounded far too sparky to be hanging around with a copper. He wondered idly what she’d be like in bed. Then, giving himself a mental shake, he finished his pint. He had more important things to occupy him than idle speculation about someone else’s sex life. He had a meeting planned with Tillie Swain that might just change the course of both their lives.

  Darkness swept in on the wings of the low cloud that had already settled over the fells. Allan Gresham came into the kitchen just before six, rubbing his hands against the damp chill. ‘How do you fancy pizza and a film?’ he said to Judy, Dan and Jane, who were huddled round the Aga drinking tea.

  ‘That sounds lovely,’ Judy said. ‘I’ve only done a chicken curry, it’ll be even better tomorrow.’

  ‘Sorry, Allan, but I’m just about to set off for London,’ Dan said. ‘I’ve got to teach Jane’s seminars tomorrow.’

  ‘Which is much appreciated. What’s on, Dad?’ Jane asked.

  ‘No idea.’ He rummaged through the letter rack and picked out the flier from Zeffirelli’s in Ambleside, which combined a pizzeria with two cinema screens. ‘There you go,’ he said.

  Jane glanced at it. She’d already seen one film and had no desire to see the other. ‘You go without me,’ she said. ‘I’ve got plenty of work to be getting on with.’

  Judy tried to talk her into joining them, but Jane was adamant. She’d already realised their evening out could be a ticket to a couple of hours of freedom for Tenille since Dan was all set to leave for his whirlwind trip to London. ‘I’ll be back tomorrow night,’ he promised.

  After everyone had gone, she decided to give it twenty minutes before she headed for the slaughter shed. In the meantime, she could try to find a way to contact John Hampton. She’d been racking her brains, but she hadn’t been able to come up with a better idea than Tenille’s suggestion.

  She got Noreen Gallagher’s phone number from directory enquiries. She answered after a couple of rings. ‘Mrs Gallagher?’ Jane said, recognising the heavy breathing as nothing more sinister than the Irishwoman’s normal respiration.

  ‘Who is this?’ her neighbour demanded.

  ‘It’s Jane Gresham from next door,’ she said.

  ‘It’s all right, you know. I wouldn’
t let them break the door down. I told them you were a decent woman. I don’t know what the world’s coming to when the police want to do the burglars’ job for them.’ She paused for a liquid cough.

  ‘I appreciate that. It’s good to be able to count on your neighbours.’

  ‘There’s precious few round here I’d rely on, and that’s the truth. So you can rest easy, the flat’s safe and I think your pal got away safely.’

  ‘My pal?’

  ‘That black girl that’s always round at yours. I distracted the policeman so she could give them the slip. Well, it stands to reason, doesn’t it? A slip of a thing like that, she’s not going to be going round murdering folk, now, is she?’

  Jane was confused, but she reckoned that seeking an explanation would only confuse her further. ‘I’m sure you did the right thing, Mrs Gallagher. Look, I need to ask you a big favour. And if you want to say no, that’s fine.’

  ‘Ask away. Talk’s free. If I can help you out, I will.’

  ‘I need to get a message to someone on the estate…John Hampton.’

  There was silence save for Noreen’s wheezing. ‘The Hammer?’ she said finally.

  ‘It’s OK. I’ve met him. He knows who I am.’

  ‘That wouldn’t make me sleep easier at night, I tell you that for sure. Men like that, you’re better off when they don’t know who you are.’

  ‘It’s all right, Mrs Gallagher. I know what I’m doing.’

  She snorted noisily. ‘I don’t think you have any idea what you’re doing. That man’s trouble, make no mistake about it.’

  ‘I promise it won’t bring trouble to your door. I just need you to deliver a note asking him to call me.’

  ‘And all I have to do is stick a note through his door? I don’t have to sign it with my name or anything?’

  ‘No, nothing like that. Just a note asking him to call Dr Gresham.’

  ‘Because he’s got a fearsome reputation on him. I wouldn’t want to be crossing him.’

  ‘You won’t be crossing him. He’ll be pleased to hear from me, honestly.’

  Mrs Gallagher sighed noisily. ‘You know where he lives?’

  ‘D eighty-seven.’

  ‘Go on then, give me your number. I’ll do it right now, tonight. Before my cold feet get the better of me.’

  Jane gave her mobile number, then repeated it to make sure. ‘You’re a gem, Mrs Gallagher,’ she said. ‘I won’t forget this. It’s really a big deal to me.’

  ‘You take care of yourself now. Mixing with the likes of the Hammer isn’t right for a woman like you.’

  Jane finally managed to extricate herself from the conversation with a promise that she would come and see her neighbour when she got back to London. She put the phone down with a sigh of relief. She had no idea what Tenille and Mrs Gallagher had been up to, and she really didn’t want to know.

  A few minutes later, she opened the slaughterhouse door and shone the torch on a blinking Tenille. ‘How do you fancy a couple of hours indoors? Dan’s gone back to London and Mum and Dad have gone to the pictures in Ambleside. They won’t be back till gone ten. You could even have a bath if you wanted.’

  Tenille quickly wriggled out of the sleeping bag. ‘That’s baaad,’ she said, grinning. ‘Man, I’ve been losing my mind in here. It’s OK in the light, but it gets dark so early. I didn’t realise how fucking dark the countryside is.’

  Tenille followed her back into the kitchen, making a beeline for the warmth of the Aga. ‘This is so cool,’ she said, looking round the kitchen. ‘Man, you are so lucky having a place like this.’

  ‘I know,’ Jane said. ‘Maybe you can come back again for a visit when all this has died down.’

  ‘That’d be gold,’ Tenille said.

  ‘By the way, Mrs Gallagher is going to take a note round to your dad, asking him to call me. Let’s hope he’s got some bright idea about how to get you off the hook.’

  Tenille scowled. ‘I don’t want him thinking I’m not grateful for what he did.’

  ‘Let’s not go there. Do you fancy a bath? Something hot to eat?’

  ‘I’m all right with the shower. I don’t really like baths. But something hot to drink would be great. A coffee, maybe?’ She watched Jane fill the kettle and set it on the Aga. ‘I never asked you. What are you doing up here anyway?’

  ‘I’m on study leave. Some research I could only do up here.’

  ‘Research into what? Come on, Jane, take my mind off the shit. Tell me what you’re working on. You know I’m interested in all that stuff.’

  Jane could see the enthusiasm in Tenille’s eyes and found she couldn’t deny her. She made coffee for them both, then settled down at the table to tell Tenille the whole story. She even produced the family trees to show how she’d come up with her prioritised list of people to interview. Tenille interrupted several times to ask questions that were surprisingly percipient and the time sped by under the spell of narrative. ‘That’s so cool,’ she said when Jane reached the end of her tale. ‘But you’re not going to get anywhere being nice, you know.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘If the manuscript exists, I don’t buy it that nobody in the family knows anything about Dorcas and her papers. So if it does exist, they must have been holding it secret, like some sacred thing that was trusted to them. Or else they know it doesn’t really belong to them, so they’re keeping quiet about it. Either way, they’re not going to go, like, “Hey, Jane, we’ve so been waiting for somebody to come along and ask us for this.” They’re going to go, “Oh shit, somebody’s guessed the big family secret, we better all put our heads together and throw her off the scent.” Doesn’t matter how nice you are to them, they’re going to put the wall up.’

  ‘You think so? You think they’d still want to keep it secret after all this time? What would be the point?’

  Tenille shrugged. ‘Fuck knows. But people are weird when it comes to family stuff. You know they are.’

  ‘So what would you suggest?’ Jane said frostily.

  ‘Nothing that would appeal to you, sister,’ Tenille said drily.

  Before Jane could say anything more, the phone rang. She started, glanced at the clock and said, ‘Oh shit, look at the time.’ She grabbed the phone. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Jane? It’s Jimmy. Jimmy Clewlow. It’s not too late to ring, is it? I know how early farmers hit the hay.’

  Distracted by the call, Jane didn’t notice Tenille slip a sheet of paper under her jacket. ‘No, it’s fine, Jimmy. Just give me a minute, though.’ Jane covered the mouthpiece. ‘You need to go. Mum and Dad will be back soon.’

  Tenille nodded. ‘Thanks for this evening. It’s been really cool. I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?’ She was already on her way to the door.

  ‘Tomorrow.’ Jane sketched a wave then returned to her call. ‘Sorry, Jimmy, just had to take something off the stove before it boiled over. I’m sorry about this morning.’

  ‘Think nothing of it. Alice is stroppy at the best of times, and this morning was a long way from the best of times. Listen, I wondered if you and your pal Dan fancied getting together for dinner tomorrow?’

  ‘Sounds good to me. But Dan’s had to go down to London. He won’t be back till about eight.’

  ‘I’ll pick you up at half past eight, then. That OK with you?’

  ‘Perfect.’ They chatted for a little longer, then said their goodbyes. Jane put the phone down with a smile on her face. Two birds with one stone. A possible ally in their attempts to unlock the Clewlow family memories and a perfect excuse for avoiding the dinner invitation she felt sure Jake would issue at lunch. Things were definitely looking up.

  As we explored our new home, it soon became clear that men had lived here before. There were traces of paths through the undergrowth & the shapes of gardens long overgrown on the eastern slopes. The rich red earth looked fertile & we discovered plentiful supplies of all the native plants we had learned would supply the staples of life-mulberry trees for cloth, c
andlenuts for light, palms for thatching, fruit & vegetables growing wild. There was abundant fresh water. In short, everything we needed was readily to hand. It would be difficult going at first, but I believed we could make something remarkable here based on hard work. & liberty. Our explorations had also revealed another anchorage, on the east of the island, & we removed Bounty there and prepared to settle our new Eden I was so overjoyed at our arrival & our prospects that I forgot that there needs must be a serpent in every Eden.

  30

  Riding a bike without lights in the dead of night in London would be lethal. But then, the night was never dead in London. Not like here, Tenille thought as she freewheeled down the gentle slope from Fellhead to the main road. Here, now it was cloudy and you couldn’t see the stars, it was like cycling underground. Tenille imagined herself as a tube train, speeding unlit through silent tunnels, empty of people. Just her and the rats, the only other things with a pulse. She supposed there were animals out there, doing their night-time thing, stalking and killing and being killed. But their domain was outside hers, it had no relevance.