The Janus Stone

There was something in his tone, and in the kiss, which makes Ruth’s heart beat a little faster as she remembers it. He can’t possibly fancy her, especially now he knows she is pregnant but, nevertheless, there is something, a hint that they might be more than just friends. Does she fancy him? A little, she admits. He is very much her type, tall and dark and intelligent, a little distant. But all those usual women’s magaziney feelings have been submerged by the overwhelming fact that she is expecting a baby. She can’t really think of anything else. Even now, lying here luxuriating in the warm bed, she is thinking about the creature inside her. She even fantasises that she can feel him move, although the nurse at the hospital said it was too early. There is something though. A heaviness, a presence, a sense of space filled. She has even thought of a name for him. She has begun to call him Toby. She doesn’t know why, she doesn’t even particularly like the name, but she just has a feeling that this baby is called Toby.

Damn, she needs to go to the loo again. She might as well make a cup of tea now she’s up. Downstairs, the early morning view over the Saltmarsh is spectacular, seagulls wheeling against the pale blue sky. The news is on the radio but soon there will be that blissful listening hour between nine and ten: feel-good stories, inheritance tracks, bizarre facts about people who collect matchboxes or who have unknowingly married close blood relations. Perfection.

Ruth pads upstairs with her tea. She’ll listen to the radio and then she’ll think about getting up. She might even go for a swim, do something healthy. It’ll be good for Toby. Humming tunelessly, she gets back into bed.

Nelson faces his team across the now more crowded incident room. ‘So,’ he is saying forcefully, ‘whilst the evidence needs to be verified, it does seem that we are looking at an earlier timescale for this crime. Elizabeth Black was born in 1968. If the expert evidence is correct, the skull can’t possibly be hers.’

‘Are we sure the skull and body are the same child, sir?’ Nelson cranes his head to see who has asked this excellent question. A new recruit, Tanya Fuller.

‘Good question, Tanya. Yes, the DNA results confirm this. So, we’re looking at earlier events in the house. Cloughie, what does the title deed registration tell us?’

Clough, who has been glaring resentfully at Tanya, jumps to his feet. He flicks importantly through his file.

‘Prior to 1960, the house was owned by… Bloody hell!’

After breakfast, Ruth contemplates her day. There is always work, of course, but the sun is shining in the dust motes by her window and she doesn’t feel like working. Exercise would be good but she no longer fancies the swimming pool with its smell of chlorine and other peoples’ feet. A walk, that’s what she’d like. A brisk walk with a pub lunch at the end of it.

She almost phones Shona, who is sometimes amenable to walking if compensated by alcohol, but then she hesitates, wondering if she’s up to further bulletins on the state of Phil’s marriage. Anyway, Shona would want to eat in King’s Lynn, somewhere where she can be sure of extra virgin olive oil and ciabatta. Ruth fancies something a little more rustic. Suddenly, a vision of the Phoenix comes into her head – the smell of chicken cooking on the outdoor grill, the view over the hills, the clink of glasses and the hum of conversation.

Didn’t Max say something about discovering some more finds on the site? If Ruth drives out to Swaffham, she won’t be going to see Max, she’ll be going to see the pottery and the coins and the pieces from the Roman board game. That’s all right then.

Ruth fetches her jacket.

‘Prior to 1960,’ Clough looks portentously around the room, ‘the house was owned by Christopher Spens.’

‘Christopher…’ Nelson echoes, ‘not the same family…?’

‘One and the same.’ Clough sounds like he is enjoying himself though, in retrospect, this is an oversight of fairly epic proportions. ‘Father of Roderick Spens, grandfather of Edward Spens.’

‘Explains why he still owns the site really,’ says Tanya brightly. Clough scowls at her.

‘Did the Spens family actually live in the house?’ asks Judy.

‘Looks like it – I’ve got the census here. Yep, census of 1951. Christopher Spens, Rosemary Spens, children Roderick and Annabelle.’

‘Right.’ Nelson gets to his feet. ‘Cloughie, you find out all you can about the Spens family. Judy and Tanya, you get on to the lab for the test results. I’m going to have a little chat with Edward Spens.’

*