Aftermath by Peter Turnbull Page B

Over and above the death of my daughter?
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘What could be worse?’
    Carmen Pharoah paused before replying. ‘There will be a press release; it will make the early evening television news and tomorrow’s newspapers.’
    Philippa Goodwin sat back in the armchair. ‘Just tell me,’ she spoke softly, ‘just tell me. She was a young woman and as a parent you fear the worst . . . and we see rape victims in A and E.’
    ‘Well . . . I can tell you that there is no indication of any such violation. It may have happened but there is no definite indication.’
    ‘So what then?’ A note of alarm crept into Philippa Goodwin’s voice.
    ‘The bad news is that your daughter, Veronica, appears to have been one of . . . the last of a number of deceased women whose corpses . . . whose remains have all been found in the same place.’
    ‘A serial killer!’
    ‘So-called, yes.’ Carmen Pharoah remained silent for a few seconds and then added. ‘We know nothing of the existence of this man . . . or these people because they left their victims . . . or his victims . . . in a concealed location rather than leaving them to be found, as is most often the case.’
    ‘So I have noticed . . . as if taunting the police?’
    ‘Yes, but in this case the victims would probably have remained hidden . . . that is to say their remains—’
    ‘Yes, I know what you mean.’
    ‘. . . remained hidden for many years because they were left on private land.’
    ‘Where was she found?’
    Carmen Pharoah and Thomson Ventnor glanced at each other. Ventnor said, ‘It’ll be in the press release.’
    Carmen Pharoah turned to Philippa Goodwin and said, ‘In the grounds of an old house in the Vale . . . at the edge of the Wolds.’
    ‘You mean the house owner . . . he collected victims?’
    ‘No,’ Carmen Pharoah held up her hand, ‘no, no . . . he was elderly and housebound . . . he died recently. It was when an inventory was being taken of the contents of the house by a solicitor that he, the solicitor, found the remains. They seem to have been taken there and left there in the ignorance of the householder.’
    ‘I see.’ Philippa Goodwin glanced across her living room to the window and to the cemetery that lay on the opposite side of the road to her house. ‘You know, it never bothered me to live opposite a cemetery, especially one which is full and no longer used. I enjoyed the peace and quiet, especially at night. When Veronica was little we would sit in the upstairs room if there was a thunderstorm at night holding hands and looking for ghosts during the flashes of lightning . . . but now . . . those stones . . . they have a different meaning now. I dare say I’ll soon be choosing a stone for her, but at least I now know what happened. I’ll have her buried . . . I will definitely have her buried. I will need a grave to visit and a bit of carved granite to talk to and a little plot of land to attend to . . . make sure it’s watered if there is a dry summer.’ Philippa Goodwin turned to Carmen Pharoah, ‘An inventory? A list of things? So Veronica was not buried?’
    ‘No,’ Carmen Pharoah held eye contact with Philippa Goodwin. ‘No, her remains were exposed.’
    ‘I always thought of her lying in a shallow grave somewhere but she was lying on the surface of the ground?’
    ‘Yes . . . I am sorry . . . partially concealed by undergrowth but yes, lying on the ground.’
    ‘Does it get worse? Your eyes . . . your eyes seem to be saying that there is more to come and I won’t like any of it.’
    Carmen Pharoah swallowed and bowed her head slightly, and then looked up at Philippa Goodwin. ‘Yes, it does get worse . . . it is in the press release but it is probably better it comes from us . . .’
    ‘Yes . . . go on . . .’
    ‘The bodies, they were chained together . . . and the other victims were completely skeletal.’
    ‘Oh,’