Brenda Chapman returned home with mixed feelings. Undoubtedly it was good to see Ian again. She’d missed her husband, even though they’d spoken every day on the telephone. Yet, she remained worried about her friend and intended to go back to Melkinthorpe very soon. Ian would understand that Alice needed her support, although the detective’s wife had proved to be a good friend.
It was nearly two weeks since Rachel Roberts disappeared and although the police continued to work tirelessly, there appeared to be no new leads.
Brenda found comfort in talking to Ian and thought he must be heartily sick of listening to her voice by now. On her first night home, they lay curled together in bed, talking into the early hours of the morning, or at least Brenda talked while Ian listened. She described Alice’s new home in Melkinthorpe and how perfect it would be if only Tom were there. She vilified Rachel Roberts in just about every sentence, still unable to believe that any human being could treat another so wickedly, especially a member of her own family.
‘Did I tell you how she convinced Alice that Tom was dead? She’d actually gone to the trouble of printing an order of service for his ‘funeral’. Can you believe it? The woman drugged her mother, cleared out all of Tom’s things from the house and left this cruel, disgusting order of service where she knew Alice would find it. How low can a person stoop and after all her parents have done for her over the years?’ Brenda’s ranting was heavily punctuated with tears, both of anger and sorrow.
* * *
Ian listened patiently, holding his wife when she needed his comfort and utterly amazed at the unbelievable callousness of their friend’s daughter. Most of the facts she related, she’d told him previously during their phone calls. Still, Brenda needed to talk to get the whole unpleasant incident off her mind, to find release through sharing, although they both knew that this sorry affair was far from over. There was almost certainly more heartache to come.
* * *
Brenda was in the habit of visiting their son’s grave at least every two weeks, and as they lived only a few minutes’ walk from Matlock cemetery, she made the short journey on foot, taking fresh flowers whenever they were in season. On the Saturday morning after arriving home from Melkinthorpe, Brenda set off on her pilgrimage, a bunch of purple and white lisianthus clasped in her hand.
The cemetery was a peaceful place, shady in the heat of summer, with the cool greens of the trees casting dimpled shadows across the paths. Brenda found great solace from her visits here. After the disturbing events of the last couple of weeks, the familiar tranquillity was more than welcome, and the peacefulness washed over her.
It was rare to meet any other visitors, especially in the quiet of the early morning, her preferred time of day. Ian never accompanied his wife and chose to remember their son as he’d been in life, happy and vital, not lying in the earth, cold and still. But that was fine, Brenda understood and enjoyed the time alone, and as it was her practice to talk to Harry, she didn’t feel self-conscious.
Turning onto the path from the main cemetery drive, Brenda was surprised to see a figure up ahead, a woman not far from Harry’s resting place. Not wishing to meet anyone or intrude on another mourner’s grief, Brenda instinctively slowed her pace, as yet unseen by the other early morning visitor. She halted to better study the woman, beginning to think there was something familiar about her. The woman’s red hair was lifted by the gentle breeze and Brenda squinted into the distance, shielding her eyes from the sun to get a better look. A sudden chill ran through Brenda’s body as she recognised the woman ahead as Rachel Roberts.
Stepping quickly behind a tree, Brenda leaned against the trunk for support, fearing her legs would crumple beneath her. Brenda’s heart was beating so rapidly that she felt sure it could be heard outside of her body. The flowers were dropped, forgotten, as she pulled her phone from her pocket and tapped in her husband’s number with trembling fingers.
‘Ian – Rachel’s here in the cemetery!’ Her mind wasn’t functioning correctly. Perhaps she should have rung the police, not her husband.
‘Are you sure it’s her?’ he asked.
‘Yes, I’m bloody sure! Ring the police, I’m going to watch her and follow if she tries to leave – and Ian, hurry, I don’t want her to get away.’
‘No, don’t, she’s dangerous, wait for–’ Ian’s fear for his wife was evident in his voice, but without letting him finish, Brenda ended the call and looked again at the woman up ahead. Yes, there was no doubt in her mind who it was. Her legs still felt like jelly. If Rachel decided to move, what would she do? Following her could be risky; the woman was a psychopath who’d probably murdered her own father. But why was she here in the cemetery?
Staying hidden behind the tree and pressed against the rough bark of the trunk, Brenda allowed herself to sneak regular looks ahead and watched as Rachel appeared to be walking around in circles. Of course! It suddenly dawned on her; Jenny’s grave was there too, not far from Harry’s. She’d come here once with Alice and they’d visited both sites, their shared grief bringing them closer together, two bereaved mothers.
Glancing at her watch, Brenda wondered how long it would take the police to get there. She should have told Ian to tell them to hurry, that Penrith police wanted Rachel in connection with a disappearance. Would he think to tell them how urgent it was, or should she ring them herself? As she deliberated, Rachel moved.
Brenda’s heart felt as if it would burst, but rising anger and a desperate longing for justice supplanted her fear – there was no way she was letting her get away. The woman had much explaining to do. Fortunately, Rachel walked further into the cemetery rather than back towards the entrance, so following at a distance was still possible. Brenda dashed from one tree to the next on shaking legs, keeping her quarry in sight and willing the police to arrive quickly.
Rachel paused to look down, causing Brenda to almost burst with indignation. The woman was standing by Harry’s grave! What was she doing there? Without thinking, Brenda allowed her anger to propel her out from behind the tree towards the younger woman who was running her hand across the top of Harry’s gravestone.
‘How dare you go near my son!’ The angry shout shattered the morning silence, and a small cloud of blackbirds rose squawking from the trees. Rachel looked up, momentarily startled.
‘Get away from there. You’re not fit to be on hallowed ground!’ All fear dissipated, and Brenda was emboldened by her sense of outrage, not thinking of her safety or that her outburst could prompt Rachel’s escape. The latter watched Brenda’s approach and a smile crossed her face as she tilted her head upwards, adopting an arrogant stance. When the women were close enough to touch, one was filled with anger and the other simply laughed in her face.
‘You’re wrong. I have every right to be here – after all, I put him there.’ Rachel spoke the words calmly, the sardonic smile still in place.
Brenda suddenly paled, anger turning to shock and her legs almost buckled beneath her as she processed the words.
Rachel continued, her smile still in place. ‘Yes, you heard me correctly. I pushed your precious son down those stairs. He was a bully; he hurt my Jenny and had to pay for it. I only needed to wait for the right time…’
Brenda suddenly lunged forward and grabbed at Rachel, tears streaming down her face and her mind in turmoil. She wanted to tear the woman’s hair out, to scratch at her face and hurt her physically, as she was hurting. But Rachel was taller and stronger. She pushed at her adversary, knocking her to the ground with ease, then ran towards the cemetery entrance. Brenda struggled to her feet, still intent on catching this mad woman who had killed her son, but a sudden pain shot through her ankle and she stumbled. Looking up from the ground, she saw Ian approaching, heading towards them.
‘Stop her, Ian. She killed Harry!’
Ian reacted quickly. A big man and still fit for his age, he blocked Rachel’s path, and when she tried to push past him, he grabbed her arms, pinning them to the side of her body. Then, as she continued to struggle, with surprisingly more strength than he expected, he pushed her to the ground, falling on top of her with his considerable weight making escape impossible. With the sound of police sirens quickly approaching, Ian held fast, hoping his vice-like grip was hurting this evil woman who persisted in fighting for her freedom.
The police quickly took charge of the situation, and Ian helped his wife limp towards a waiting police car.
Statements would need to be taken, not only about the morning’s events but about the shocking confession Brenda had been confronted with, one which stunned her to the core and which she did not want to believe was true. Knowing Rachel, however, in her heart, Brenda didn’t doubt her.
On the way to the police station, Brenda wept quietly into her husband’s shoulder while he remained silent, shocked at this appalling development.
Over the years, they’d wrestled to come to terms with Harry’s death, struggling to live with the pain and the loss. But things had changed, and the knowledge that it hadn’t been an accident hit them like a physical blow. Instead, their beloved son’s death was needless, violent and vindictive, and they desperately wanted this woman to pay for her crimes.
