Ophelia's Flowers

By Carol Kennedy

OPHELIA’S FLOWERS tells the story of a young couple who work for a narrowboat company. Having been reported missing by her fiancé, Robbie Edwards, the body of Alice Drummond is found in the debris of a land slippage. Robbie Edwards body is found a couple of days later in the canal.

DCI Anna Anderson and Dr Maisie Shaw, Forensic Pathologist, set out to discover if Robbie killed Alice and then himself, or if they were murdered by someone else.
The owner of the boatyard, Mark Flowers, where Robbie and Alice, worked has a traumatic past. His wife is reported as having died in a swimming accident, twenty years previously, followed a couple of years later by the disappearance of his youngest son whilst playing with friends. The remains of a young boy are discovered in a tree in the vicarage garden. DNA testing shows that the remains are not those of his missing son.

At the sites of all the bodies, flowers are found, rosemary, columbine and daisies, respectively, which relate to those spoken about by Ophelia in Hamlet. DCI Anderson also receives anonymous letters, which contain lines from Hamlet that relate to each of the deaths. Fennel, rue and pansies are also left at other places.

OPHELIA’S FLOWERS is full of family intrigue, twists and turns that leave the reader thinking they know who the murderer is, until the last pages.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Carol Kennedy
• Release date: Nov 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781370261048

Carol Kennedy

I am fifty-eight years old and married. My husband is vicar of two rural parishes in North Warwickshire and we have three grown-up children. Our middle child is severely autistic and while acting as carer for him, I ran my own cross-stitch business, designing and producing charts and kits.The rest of my working life has been in administration and management, which includes a hospital in Toronto, a Rural Community Council, Littlewoods Delivery Service, a Christian Charity and a parish church.I have an MA in English Literature with Merit and a BA (Hons) in Leadership and Management, both obtained through the Open University. Holidays are spent cruising the inland waterways of Britain with my husband, on our narrowboat.

Book preview

OPHELIA’S

FLOWERS

Carol Kennedy

Copyright

Copyright © 2017 Carol Kennedy

All rights reserved.

Carol Kennedy has asserted her right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Thank you for downloading this ebook. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favourite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

Other Books by Carol Kennedy

Love Lies Dead

Conspiring Black Sheep

DEDICATION

To my parents

For always believing in me

and encouraging me to follow my dreams.

Contents

Other books by Carol Kennedy

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Chapter One

‘When did it all start? That is a tricky question, but thinking back, it was probably when my mother died trying to save me and my brother. Our parents had taken us on holiday, a rare event, as dad worked hard in the business he had set up. We had gone to the seaside just for the day, I think, and dad had bought us one of those inflatable dinghies. It did have a rope attachment so that the boat couldn’t float off too far, but dad, in his wisdom, decided we were too big for that and could cope with the paddles. Dad lay down on the towel that mum had laid out for him, while she sat upright, with her newly purchased sun hat perched on top of her head. I remember it was pale blue with a pink flowery lining. She watched us as we splashed about in the sea. We took turns jumping out of the boat into the shallow water and climbing back aboard. We tried to haul each other back in, but this was difficult given the amount of sun tan cream that mum had covered us in and of course by the time we’d hauled ourselves in a few times, most of the sun cream was now on the dinghy making the surface slippery. I can’t remember which of us, probably me, decided that it would be good fun to row around the cove. It wasn’t very large and we reckoned that it would take us half an hour at the most. We would be back for the picnic we had helped mum prepare.

Sitting side by side in the dinghy, we had an oar each. For some reason, I didn’t know that when you rowed, you had your back to where you were going, so I didn’t realise we’d got to the mouth of the cove until we were the other side of it, looking in. I remember seeing my mum stand up, whip off her hat and run. She swam out to us. I’m not sure what happened next. I know she’d reached the cove entrance, but she was unable to get to us. It seemed like she was swimming around the corner instead of towards us. Dad later told us that she must have got caught in what he called a rip-tide. The life-guards on the beach had a motorised dinghy which they used to bring us back to the beach. Mum’s body was never found. It could have been eaten by any number of large marine life as it floated further out to sea.

We couldn’t have a funeral, there was no body to bury, but we did have a memorial service. The vicar let dad put a memorial stone in the churchyard so that we would have something to focus on, a place we could visit. There are always flowers left there. I don’t know who leaves them, probably dad.

Afterwards, dad was like a robot, going through the motion of looking after us and running the business. He didn’t talk to us much. Most of his conversation was to tell us to get up, have breakfast and go to school. We seemed to have adopted the good sense of not getting into too much trouble, so we were rarely told off. When we got home from school, it was usually left to me to cook up a meal. For a while, I cooked for all three of us, but dad never ate, so in the end, I just cooked for me and my brother. I set fire to the chip pan one day, which seemed to wake dad out of his grief ridden stupor. I wasn’t allowed to cook again, for a long time.

It was when we got home from school that we missed mum the most, especially bed time. She always read us stories, lying on the bed with us, one either side of her. I continued reading stories to James, lying on the bed, just as mum had done. He nearly always fell asleep crying for her.

The next tragedy to hit our lives was when James went missing. We had been playing in the vicarage garden with other children in the village. The house was empty, and the garden, being enclosed, was a good safe place to play in. We were playing hide and seek, and it was my turn to seek. I didn’t find everyone, I think a couple of them went home. I presumed that my brother had also returned home, as I couldn’t find him.

My brother’s disappearance seemed to tip dad back over the crevice he had climbed out of. I think he blamed me, but never actually said so. There was always a plate of sandwiches or something to heat up in the microwave when I got home from school. Dad was never there to greet me and barely said a word to me when he was around. I may as well have never existed.’

Chapter Two

A man in his mid-twenties entered the police station. He was of average height, approximately five feet nine inches, slim, wearing khaki coloured knee-length shorts and a long-sleeved black t-shirt advertising a well-known popular brand of beer. He had on walking boots with a thick pair of socks folded down to the top of the boots. His brown hair was cut short, in a modern style, with a longer length left on top. He wore designer sunglasses which he didn’t remove whilst he was inside.

‘Hi, I hope you can help me, I want to report a missing person.’ He tried to speak in a voice that would have told anyone listening, of his anxiety, but his voice rose in pitch. He coughed and stifled a sob.

‘Right sir. Who is the missing person and how long have they been missing for?’

‘It’s my fiancé, Alice Drummond, and she’s been missing for about seventy two hours.’

‘And your name, Sir?’

‘Robbie Edwards.’

He watched intently as the officer wrote everything down on his log pad.

‘Address?’

‘Iris, bridge 70, Lindon Canal.’

‘Is that a house or a boat?’

‘Boat.’

The officer finished writing, then looked Robbie Edwards up and down. He didn’t much care for the hippy types who lived on barges. Though to be fair, this chap didn’t exactly fit his picture of the hippy type. The officer thought it was odd, that given the summer heat, he was wearing a long-sleeved top, but then, perhaps he had caught too much sun and was protecting his skin.

‘Right sir. What causes you to think she is missing?’

Robbie rolled his eyes. Surely the fact that he was here reporting it, told the officer enough.

‘Well let’s see. She went shopping, on her bike, and so far, hasn’t come back. I’ve called her mobile, but it just rings. We’re getting married in a couple of months’ time. She asked me, so I don’t think she’s done a runner, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘Could I have a description of the young lady?’

‘When she left to go shopping she was wearing a pink t-shirt, dark blue denim skirt and slip-on sandals.’

‘Could you please describe her?’

‘Oh, sorry. About five feet six inches, brown hair that came down to her shoulders, and green eyes.’

‘Age?’

‘Twenty-nine, last birthday.’

‘Any distinguishing marks, like a tattoo, scars?’

‘She has a tattoo on her left arm, just here.’ He pointed to the middle of his forearm.’

‘Could you describe the tattoo?’

‘Er, it’s a heart with two sets of initials.’

‘Thank you sir.’

‘Are any of Miss Drummond’s effects, her possessions missing?’

‘Robbie scratched his right ear. Now I come to think about it, yes, some of her clothing and the photograph of her parents have gone. What’ll happen now?’

The officer shook his head. This one wasn’t very bright if he couldn’t connect the fact that personal items were missing. She’d obviously done a runner.

‘We’ll alert the local news stations and ask if anyone’s seen her. Do you have a photo of her at all?’

‘Got one here on my phone. Will that do?’

The officer looked at the picture on Robbie’s phone.

‘Yes, that’ll do nicely. Do you have the option to print the picture?’

‘Yes.’

‘Press the three dots in the corner of the screen. You should see the option to print, press that and I should be able to get a printed copy.’

The printer beneath the enquiry desk whirred into life and printed a copy of the photograph, complete with the sender’s mobile number and the time it was sent.

‘Is your boat permanently moored at bridge 70?’

‘Yes, we work at Fleur Boatyard.’

‘Could I have the mobile number for Miss Drummond?’

‘Yes, of course… Hang on a sec while I find it, I have it on speed dial so I don’t have to remember it… Right, it’s 07700 900294.’

‘Ok sir. Thank you for the information. I shall be in touch with you should we need to ask you any further questions, or have any news for you.’

‘Is that it?’

‘At the present moment, yes sir.’

‘Right, thanks. I hope to hear from you very soon. It’s probably best if you ring me on my mobile. Do you want the number?’

‘It’s here on the print out from your phone.’

‘Great.’

Robbie Edwards left the station with a smile on his face. Unknown to him, he was captured on CCTV, both entering and leaving the station.

A media campaign was launched for any sightings of Alice Drummond without any luck. Robbie tried to shed tears in front of the police, but they weren’t forthcoming. After a month, posters that had been put up in local shops were fading in the sunlight. It looked to the Police, that Alice had had second thoughts about committing herself to Robbie Edwards, and had left. Robbie himself didn’t seem overly upset by the conclusion reached by the police.

A letter arrived at the station addressed to DCI Anderson.

‘Letter for you Ma’am, looks hand delivered.’

Anna Anderson opened the envelope and pulled out the paper sitting inside it. It was an A5 piece of paper on which words had been printed from a computer:

There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance: Pray, love, remember. IV.iv.180

Is she to be buried in Christian burial that wilfully seeks her own salvation? V.i.1

Anna looked at the message, then picked up the envelope to see if there was anything else inside it. The envelope had a printed label and was empty.

‘What a strange thing to send.’ She said to herself. She shrugged her shoulders, put the paper back in the envelope and put it in the top drawer of her desk.

Chapter Three

A tree fell silently, uprooted from where it had stood for the last fifty years. Its large branches, covered in leaves made a swooshing sound as the air trapped beneath it, escaped. It came to rest across the canal, its top resting on the towpath. Unseen, the earth moved, as if on a conveyor belt, silently down the slope. Another tree toppled to the ground as the soil flooded into the canal. As quickly as it all began, it stopped.

It had rained solidly for three days causing flooding all over the country. There were one or two areas on the canal system where rivers and canal merged and the canals themselves had flooded causing great consternation to those whose boats were bravely moving in the terrible weather conditions.

Jim Lawson worked for the Canal and River Trust, which had responsibility for the inland waterways in the United Kingdom. He had worked as a civil engineer until he was made redundant. At the age of fifty, he wanted a change of scenery and applied for the post of area manager, which allowed him to work outdoors as well as in the office and use the skills he had acquired during his working life. Now that the rain had stopped, he was able to inspect the damage in the canal cutting. The land slide was now blocking any movement by boat. One of the two trees that had fallen over, uprooted by the soil corrosion, was lying partially in the water. There was no way that the