Burying the Past Read Free Page A

woman,’ Mark corrected him. ‘Look: she goes up and down those damned ladders like an old-fashioned monkey-on-a-stick toy.’ He looked away quickly. Clearly, his trip to the roof hadn’t cured his vertigo, which even seemed to afflict him second-hand, when someone else was scaling heights – or, in this case, descending from them briskly.
    â€˜Will you be having a big wedding? A police guard of honour is always a fine sight. It would look well in the Cathedral Close. Imagine that.’
    He must mean Canterbury Cathedral! ‘I think we might rattle round a bit in a building as grand as that,’ she said, trying to sound diplomatic. Infinitely better than poor ugly St Jude’s, of course. On the other hand, a pretty country church . . . ‘But I would like to be escorted, wherever we end up. Thank you.’
    â€˜Good. That’s settled then,’ he said, suddenly gruff. He swallowed, and continued: ‘Do you have any other family, Fran? I know Mark’s having trouble with his daughter . . .’
    That certainly wasn’t an issue Mark would want aired just now, so she gabbled, ‘I’ve a married sister in Scotland. She keeps an eye on my mother, whose ambition is to take over and run the care home she’s in. But I should imagine she’ll be physically too frail to come down, and I don’t know that my sister would want to leave her in case she causes an insurrection.’ Not that she’d want her sister anywhere near her, for all she was fond of her clergyman brother-in-law.
    The chief laughed.
    â€˜I’ll say this again, Adam,’ she said, keen to change the subject, ‘I really shouldn’t be involved with this investigation. I’ve told you: there may be real clashes between me as an investigator and me as the householder. And Mark’s not exactly disinterested, either.’
    He looked at her under his eyebrows. ‘I’d trust you with my life, my dear – and if you imagine my eventual replacement will have time to concern himself with anything involved with day-to-day crime fighting you must be living not here but in cloud cuckoo land. You’ve got some good DCIs – trust them if you’re in any doubt, though they must be up to their ears carrying Harry’s caseload as well as their own. And didn’t I hear that one of them is on maternity leave? Otherwise, do what you do best, with the rider that you must save money while you’re doing it. Think cuts, Fran, think cuts.’ He might have said more, but, looking anxiously at Caffy, who was fast approaching, he let himself into the car and, with a general wave, set off more quickly than was wise given the state of the track.
    Caffy, arms akimbo, stared. ‘Was it something I said?’
    Mark shook his head repressively. ‘Police business.’ But his face softened. ‘Maybe he didn’t want to meet the person who’d got the job he really wanted. Best whatever.’
    â€˜He’s going to give me away instead,’ Fran said quickly. ‘Which will suit him much better than organizing Mark’s stag do.’
    Caffy looked enigmatic, something she did remarkably well. ‘It’s all in hand – what a good thing you didn’t let him usurp me, Mark.’ Her eyes followed the retreating car. ‘He didn’t want to meet me because of Simon’s suicide – something to do with protocol, right?’ Clearly, she wasn’t going to give them a chance to offer more condolences. ‘No problem. Oh, there is, isn’t there? Don’t tell me he’s decided it’s all his fault and he’s got to pretend he’s an ancient Roman and fall on his sword. Simon was mad, that’s all there is to it. If you want to make it sound romantic, mad with love. OK, a weird, possessive and entirely unrequited love. So it’s not the old guy’s fault, any more than it was yours. Hey, don’t