Dead & Buried

Chapter 4

4

Gwen O’Connell loved living on Hollybush Lane. It was quiet, serene and tranquil. She’d always lived in the countryside, and loved being outdoors. She was fortunate to only work part-time now, so she could spend five days of the week pottering in the garden or taking walks along the local footpaths, of which there were plenty.

Her favourite route was to go through the gate at the edge of the layby almost opposite the end of her drive, skirt up the edge of the field and then walk down the river towards the village, before heading back up the hill to Hollybush Lane. It was a walk she did early every morning with Bessie, her golden retriever. Sometimes, if the weather was nice, she’d do it again in the evening, after dinner. It was about two miles in total, and Gwen credited her relatively good health to the walking and gardening, which she enjoyed in equal measure.

She told Bessie to sit as she opened the gate at the end of her front path, the same as she did every morning. Bessie knew the routine, and would often sit before Gwen had even told her to. There were rarely any cars passing by here, and if there were she’d have heard them coming up the gravel track long before they reached this point, but she knew it was good practice to teach dogs to only cross the road when told. She couldn’t bear to think of Bessie being harmed.

Her husband, David, had taken their previous dog, Alfie, to the vet when it became clear he’d reached the end of his life. Gwen couldn’t bring herself to go into that cold, soulless building for such an intimate moment. She’d far preferred to say her goodbyes to Alfie in the comfort of his own home. She didn’t think she was being selfish — she just didn’t want to remember him in that place.

Alfie had never been the same after being hit by a cyclist in the village about three years before he died, and many of his health problems likely stemmed from that incident. Although she knew no dog would be around forever, Gwen wasn’t taking any chances with Bessie. Bessie was her friend and her companion — the only one she had while David was working away.

She led Bessie across the road, and they walked side by side for ten or fifteen yards until they reached the layby. Gwen walked over to the small gate, as she did each morning, unlatched it and pushed it open against its springs to let Bessie through. This morning, though, Bessie wasn’t playing ball.

Gwen looked over at the dog and called her name, but got no response. Bessie was sniffing at the undergrowth near the turnstile. Gwen knew this area like the back of her hand — every flower, every bush, every divot in the footpaths — and something didn’t look quite right to her. The undergrowth looked like it had been disturbed, and there was a patch where the ivy and bracken was loose, although it had been pulled back over the ground after being lifted.

Bessie let out a single bark, then started digging in the mud underneath the foliage.

‘Bessie. Stop. Come here,’ Gwen shouted, hoping the tone of her voice would be enough to catch Bessie’s attention, but it wasn’t.

She walked over to Bessie and took hold of her collar, pulling her away from where she’d been digging.

It was then that she noticed the chequered shirt sleeve sticking out of the undergrowth.