Authors: Martin Edwards
‘And he and Dorothy met just before he died.’
‘I’ll come on to that. The first major event in her life after Gertrude’s murder was the death of her father. Clifford
sank his fortune into the Ravenbank project, and when it collapsed, he had to sell the Hall to stave off his creditors. He died of TB not long afterwards. A life insurance payout meant Dorothy had no need to dirty her hands with a job, or feel compelled to find a rich husband. She became a lady of leisure, passionate about climbing and walking the fells. All the same, she bore a stigma. The daughter of a woman who had murdered her father’s mistress won’t have been regarded as absolutely respectable.’
Hannah savoured her brandy. The fire was blazing, the cottage was snug, and this seriously charming guy had turned into her own personal storyteller. How long was it since she’d last felt so much at ease with herself, and with a man?
‘That’s appalling. She was a victim, like Gertrude.’
‘Dorothy’s solution was to involve herself with good works. Over the years, she became a mover and shaker in the charitable world. Her death notice listed a dozen pet causes, ranging from the Cat Bells Climbing Society to the RSPCA. I’ve seen her photograph – hair in a bun, gimlet eye, hatchet chin. A formidable character, and it sounds like she put a few noses out of joint along the way.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘One or two of the tributes sounded double-edged. Plenty of talk about her strength and her iron will, nothing about her compassion or generosity of spirit. Her climbing days came to an abrupt end when she fell off Helvellyn and broke her back. Her doctors said she’d be crippled for life, but she taught herself to walk again. If she set out to win people’s respect, rather than their love, she achieved her aim.’
‘But she failed to clear her mother’s name.’
‘She may have decided it was too late, even before her path crossed again with Roland’s.’
‘Strange how things come round full circle.’ Just as she’d learnt about police work from Ben Kind, and now she was talking murder with his son.
‘Yes, the Ravenbank Trust, which ran the home, was wound up when it merged with a bigger charity. The Hall was too remote for it to be easy for people to visit residents, especially in winter. So Francis Palladino bought it and turned it back into a private home. The Trust’s main aim had been to look after patients with serious lung diseases, and towards the end of his life, Roland suffered from emphysema. That’s why he finished up at Ravenbank.’
‘So Dorothy was involved with the Trust?’
‘She chaired the board of trustees. The fact that her father had died of TB, and that the Trust owned her old home meant it was a cause dear to her heart.’
‘Must have been a shock, seeing Roland Jones there. A face from the past.’
‘A real-life ghost, yes.’
‘If Roland killed Gertrude – in a fit of jealous passion, say, because of her affair with Hodgkinson, or her pregnancy, or both – he may have been ready to make a deathbed confession.’
‘Miriam didn’t hear it.’
‘But did she say he
didn’t
confess? If he did, Dorothy may have decided to do nothing about it. The satisfaction of being sure that her mother wasn’t a murderer may have been enough.’
Daniel finished his drink. ‘Suppose there’s a totally different explanation.’
‘Such as?’
‘What if Dorothy and Roland shared a secret? That Gertrude was killed by Dorothy’s father?’
Lying in bed, Hannah found sleep elusive. What happened at Ravenbank a century ago would tell her nothing about Terri’s murder, but wrestling with the puzzle offered a form of escapism. Had Clifford Hodgkinson murdered Gertrude Smith, and then committed the ultimate betrayal, allowing his wife to commit suicide and posthumously take the blame for his crime?
Daniel’s suggestion had startled her. ‘What’s your evidence?’
‘Give me a break. It’s a century-old mystery. It’s asking a bit much to crack it in twenty-four hours.’
She’d had to laugh. ‘Sorry. Once a police officer, always a police officer.’
‘I’m the first to admit, it’s pure guesswork.’
‘If you’re right, and Roland Jones knew that Clifford Hodgkinson killed the woman he’d loved, why keep his mouth shut all those years?’
‘Perhaps he didn’t have any evidence, either. Or perhaps he kept quiet for his pupil’s sake. Bad enough to lose one parent through suicide – for the other to be hanged would be the stuff of nightmares.’
‘You’re sure Letty did commit suicide?’ It was almost a game. So very different from a savage killing in the here and now. ‘Suppose Hodgkinson poisoned her …’
‘If only I could track down Letty’s suicide note. But
none of the newspaper accounts of the case shed light on what it said.’
‘If Clifford was the killer, and Dorothy guessed as much, it might explain why she didn’t campaign to clear Letty’s name.’
‘Precisely. Not much reputational benefit in having an innocent mum if you wind up with a guilty dad.’
‘Was reputation all she cared about?’
‘I may be doing her an injustice, but the signs are that she enjoyed having her photograph in the local press, opening a youth club or day centre, or whatever it might be. The glow that gave her was a payback for all the time and effort she put in.’
A woman like Dorothy must have hated being typecast as the daughter of a killer, Hannah thought. The Faceless Woman had become a legend, the Frozen Shroud part of Lakeland folklore. No wonder she’d done her best to build a life in which she commanded respect. If not, perhaps, love.
She shifted under the duvet. The bed was comfortable, and she felt exhausted, but her mind couldn’t stop roaming. What motive could Clifford have for killing Gertrude? Suppose she’d got above herself, and started making demands that he couldn’t or wouldn’t meet. Even if Roland was the father of her unborn child, Clifford might not know the truth. What if she wanted him to dump his mentally disturbed wife, and make his pretty young mistress the second Mrs Hodgkinson? She might have tried her hand at a spot of blackmail. Hard to see the prosperous businessman reacting well to pressure from a servant. In those days, rich men shagged the staff, but
rarely married them. You didn’t need to be a professional historian to know that.
Or perhaps Gertrude had fallen for Roland Jones, and Clifford had taken it badly. Suppose she’d mocked his lovemaking, or she told him they were running away to start a new life together. He might have erupted with jealous rage.
Murder had so many motives. Her thoughts drifted back towards the one question that she meant to answer, whatever it took. Even as she drifted to sleep at last, her fuddled brain could not let it go.
Terri never harmed anyone. So why would someone want to murder her?
Next morning, Hannah was up at six. Fog was forecast, and the journey through the twisting lanes of Brackdale was bound to take an age. When she opened the bedroom curtains, Tarn Fell was invisible, and she could barely see the spiky branches of the monkey puzzle, poking through the mist.
She and the Kinds had croissants and coffee together before going their separate ways. Louise was scheduled for a teaching day, and Daniel was due back at Ravenbank for his lunch with Oz and Melody.
‘Let’s speak at the end of the afternoon,’ she said, buttoning her coat. ‘I’m not asking you to spy on your friends, but …’
‘Listen,’ he said. ‘Anything I can do to find out what happened to Terri, I will do. Promise.’
They brushed each other’s cheeks with a kiss. He smelt good; his aftershave had the faintest tang of citrus. She
picked up her case, and hurried out into the cold without a backward glance.
Greg Wharf found her at the water cooler five minutes after she arrived at Divisional HQ. His eyes travelled up and down her body, more out of habit than lust, she thought. His mood seemed to match the weather.
‘What’s this I hear about that shit who killed Terri? Word on the street is that Fern’s bottled out of charging him.’
‘She’s never bottled out of anything in her life. It looks like he was set up. Someone nicked Terri’s phone and texted him to come to Ravenbank in the small hours after the Hallowe’en party.’
‘You can’t be serious. Why would anyone other than Deyna want to hurt her?’
‘If Fern knew that, she’d have made an arrest by now.’
A theatrical noise of despair. ‘I hope she knows what she’s doing.’
‘You can bet on it.’
He slurped down some water. ‘You’ve come back to work too soon. You look like death warmed up.’
‘Thanks, that makes two of us. See you at the team meeting.’
She marched off in the direction of her office, but he kept pace with her. ‘Sorry, Hannah, but someone had to say it. Better me than some people.’
She halted in mid-stride. ‘Thanks for your concern. Now, I’ve got things to do and so, I expect, have you?’
He grimaced. ‘Back to DCI and DS, eh? Is this about the other night?’
Hannah returned his gaze, trying to choke back her anger. ‘Nothing will ever be about the other night.’
He blinked first.
‘I give up.’
‘Good plan.’ She swept away down the corridor, leaving him to stare at her back view. She was sure he was no longer admiring it.
Hannah was tempted to slap a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door of her office. Uninterrupted thinking time was in short supply, but she needed some. But the familiar strains of
Doctor
Who
broke in before she had a chance to start marshalling her thoughts. The caller’s number was unfamiliar.
‘Is that Detective Chief Inspector Scarlett?’
A man’s voice, eager, and tinged with anxiety.
‘Yes, who’s calling?’
‘My name is Robin Park.’
Hannah squeezed the phone in her palm. Robin, the man whose bout of sickness meant that, instead of being by his side or in his bed, Terri had been wandering around Ravenbank on her own, easy prey for someone with murder on their mind.
Or had his ailment been bogus, a crude ploy to avoid suspicion?
‘Hello? Are you there, Chief Inspector?’
‘Sorry. I … didn’t expect to hear from you, Mr Park.’
‘It’s such a shock, isn’t it? What happened to Terri.’
A pause. ‘Yes.’
‘Devastating, impossible to …’ His voice faltered. ‘You were her oldest friend, she often spoke about you.’
‘We went back a long way.’
‘I wondered … would you mind if we talked? Not over the phone, but face to face.’
‘If you have any evidence that’s relevant to the inquiry into Terri’s death, anything that can cast light on what happened, you should speak to DCI Larter or someone on her team. Straight away.’
‘No, it’s not that. God, I only wish I knew what happened. I’m in a daze. The sense of loss … it’s overwhelming. You two were so close, you must feel the same.’
‘Yes, it’s … hard.’
‘So – can we meet? Not in your capacity as a police officer. But as Terri’s friend.’
Hannah made a quick calculation. What were the risks? The chance of finding some clue to Terri’s fate had to be worth taking. She’d square it with Fern. Of course, she was itching to set eyes on Park. Was he any improvement on his hopeless predecessors? Above all, she needed to discover what had led to Terri’s death. Nobody was more likely to know than this man.
‘All right, Mr Park.’ She took care to sound offhand. ‘I can spare you an hour after lunch. When shall we meet, and where?’
Daniel slammed on the brakes as a car careered through the gloom towards him. He’d almost reached Ravenbank Corner, but the fog was lingering, and the hatchback’s lights were on. A man in a hooded jacket was hunched over the wheel, driving as if he were fleeing for his life. The car came to a shuddering halt a few feet short of his front bumper. Daniel recognised it as Quin’s VW hatchback. He reversed to a muddy passing place, and the hatchback eased forward before pulling up alongside him.
Quin wound down his window. ‘Sorry about that. My fault. Jeffrey keeps saying I’ll kill someone one of these days.’
He was striving for jauntiness, but his features were pinched and nervous. Did that shadow on his cheek hint at a bruise disguised by a touch of make-up? When he saw Daniel flinch, he said quickly, ‘Sorry, not in the best of taste after what’s happened. He means, we see so little traffic, I get careless.’
‘No worries.’
‘For goodness sake, I’d have thought you’d have seen enough of Ravenbank to last a lifetime. Let alone on a vile day like today.’
Daniel was in no hurry to satisfy his curiosity. ‘It’s autumn in the Lakes. Fog and rain are par for the course.’
‘Yeah, it lingers in Ravenbank, even when Martindale is bathed in sunshine.’ He sighed. ‘At least five years ago, we had closure. Craig Meek was dead within an hour of killing Shenagh. But the stuff happening now …’
‘What stuff?’
‘Robin tells me the police have carted Terri’s computer away. There’s a CSI and a family liaison officer at Fell View even as we speak. The police are picking through Terri’s stuff. God alone knows what they hope to find. He’s moved back in with Miriam to get out of their way. As for the journalists, they doorstepped the poor man until he agreed to give an interview. Disgusting, after he’d asked them to respect his privacy, to give him space to grieve. They didn’t take a blind bit of notice, the parasites.’
‘They’d say they are only doing their job.’
Quin narrowed his eyes, as if unsure where Daniel’s loyalty lay. ‘So what brings you back here?’
‘Melody invited me to lunch. I promised her I’d help research the Gertrude Smith case.’
‘Never mind a crime committed a century ago.’ Quin grimaced. ‘Have you heard the latest?’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s been on radio and TV. The police have let Terri’s stalker go. Can you believe it? They wrapped it up in
police-speak, but the bottom line is, the scumbag hasn’t been charged. Incredible, you couldn’t make it up.’
‘The police know what they are doing.’
‘You reckon? A polite young woman rang up half an hour ago, wanting to book appointments with Jeffrey and me for further interviews. “Just to clear up one or two points, sir.”’ He mimicked a Geordie falsetto with cruel accuracy. ‘The case is open and shut. What the fuck are they playing at?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine.’
‘Not really, my friend.’ Quin’s cheeks reddened, like a teenager with anger management issues. Was the Celtic charmer just one more part he played? ‘You’re the murder expert, on first name terms with the local plod. I saw you chatting to the fat chief inspector the day before yesterday, while they put the rest of us through the mill.’
‘I was questioned too, remember. If they have let Stefan Deyna go, there will be a reason. To do with gathering more evidence, I suppose.’
‘How much fucking evidence do they need? He did a runner, didn’t he? Everyone knew he made Terri’s life a misery. After they tracked him down to London, now they’re letting him walk out the door. It’s crazy, why catch a dangerous killer, and then let him loose again?’
‘They don’t confide in me.’ Well, it was more or less true. ‘So where are you off to in such a tearing hurry?’
‘To Keswick. Jeffrey and I intended to go together, but … we had a bit of an argument, and he went off in a huff. He’ll be at the theatre by now. We’re rehearsing this afternoon. The show must go on, and all that crap.’ Quin rubbed his cheek. ‘I’m worried about Jeffrey, badly worried. For once, I’d have been glad to hear his bloody
awful snoring last night, but he didn’t sleep a wink. He’s still devastated after finding the body.’
So devastated, he’d vented his feelings by slapping his partner? ‘Sorry to hear that.’
‘The sooner the police lock that man up, the sooner we’ll be able to get on with our lives. If they keep on like this … nothing will ever be the same again.’
He wound up his window, and they set off in opposite directions. At Ravenbank Corner, the crime scene was still cordoned off with police tape. The fog was thicker here. Crawling towards Beck Cottage, he saw Robin Park, well wrapped up in Barbour and scarf, step out of the side porch, and raise a gloved hand in greeting. He pulled up on the verge by the low garden wall.
‘How are you, Robin?’
A grimace. ‘I still can’t believe what’s happened. It’s Mum I’m most concerned about. She thought the world of Terri. The shock has hit her very hard.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Oh, she’ll get through it. She’s a strong lady. A survivor.’ He clenched his fist, willing himself to believe. ‘Going to the Hall? You must be, there’s nothing else the other side of this cottage.’
‘Lunch with the Knights.’
‘I’m due to meet your friend this afternoon. Hannah Scarlett. What’s she like, by the way?’
‘A very good detective, that’s all I can say.’
‘How discreet! Come in, why don’t you? It’s freezing out here.’ As Daniel checked his watch, Robin added, ‘I’ll only keep you a moment.’
The interior of the cottage was cramped but immaculate.
All the curtains were drawn, an old-fashioned mark of respect for the dead. Through an open door, Daniel glimpsed a neat kitchen dominated by a wood-burning stove. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted out, inducing pangs of hunger. Robin called up the stairs to his mother that they had a visitor, and led him into a low-ceilinged living room. Horse brasses and an embroidered child’s sampler from the nineteenth century hung on the wall, and a glass corner cabinet was filled with old sporting trophies, silver plate cups, and crossed hockey sticks made from gold resin. A dozen photographs stood on a mahogany sideboard. A single publicity shot showed Robin posing at a piano; the rest were assorted family snaps from his younger days, when his father was still alive. The male Parks bore a strong resemblance to each other, with their regular features and ready smile. Where they lounged, Miriam stood to attention. Her stolid features habitually wore an expression of wariness, as if she expected the camera flash bulb to explode in her face.
‘Mum’s been resting. She’s not as young as she was.’
‘I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have disturbed her on my account.’
‘No, she’d be mortified if I invited you in, and she didn’t show her face. Anyhow, she told me you wanted to know about that conversation she overhead between Dorothy Hodgkinson and Roland Jones. By the way, how is Hannah Scarlett coping? I’ve been dying to meet her, just never expected it to be in these circumstances.’
‘Terri will have told you all you need to know. She was much closer to her than I am.’
Robin raised his eyebrows, and Daniel felt his cheeks burn. What had Terri said about Hannah and him?
‘Terri’s not here,’ Robin said quietly, as Miriam Park came into the room. ‘Oh, Mum, there you are. How are you feeling?’
Miriam’s face was drained of colour and her shoulders had a stoop. She’d looked better dressed up as a witch.
‘What can’t be cured, must be endured.’ She gave a heavy sigh. ‘Hello again, Mr Kind.’
‘Daniel, please. It’s very hard, to endure the murder of two people you knew.’
‘I was very fond of Terri, you know.’ She sounded defiant, as though she’d suffered a personal injustice. ‘She and Robin could have been so happy together here.’
Robin put a hand on her shoulder. ‘And she cared for you, Mum.’
‘You were friendly with Shenagh Moss, as well?’ Daniel asked.
‘Oh, she was good company. The two of us were talking, the very day she died, about the Faceless Woman.’ Miriam bowed her head. ‘Shenagh didn’t believe in ghosts, but you have to wonder, don’t you?’
‘I’m still curious about what happened to Gertrude Smith. That conversation you overheard …’
She shook her head. ‘It was such a long time ago. Like I said, I can’t swear to exactly what was said.’
‘But – roughly?’
Her features contorted as she dug into the recesses of memory. ‘Mr Jones said something like … “Your mother didn’t kill Gertrude, we both know that.”’
‘And she agreed?’
‘Yes, I’m sure she did. That was really all there was to it. Miss Hodgkinson left a few minutes later. She was
obviously upset, didn’t even stop for a chat with any of us. Normally, on her visits, she liked to have a conversation with the staff. If you ask me, she’d always had a suspicion that Mr Jones killed Gertrude, but no more than that. She couldn’t take it in.’
‘You didn’t get the impression that they both thought … Clifford Hodgkinson murdered Gertrude?’
‘What?’ Miriam’s eyes widened. ‘That never crossed my mind. I just assumed … well, I suppose you may be right. But we’ll never know now, will we?’
‘Sometimes the truth comes out, long after the event, and it’s not what everyone expected. The same may happen over the murder of Shenagh Moss.’
‘We all know who killed Shenagh,’ Miriam insisted. ‘That man Craig Meek, may God forgive him. I’m not just talking about Shenagh. He as good as put a bullet through poor Mr Palladino’s head, as well. To say nothing of poor Hippo.’
‘Hippo?’
‘Mr Palladino’s dog. Adorable, he was. Poor Hippo was getting on in years, and the shock was too much for him. The vet had to put him down not long after Shenagh’s body was found.’
One more victim, then. ‘What if there is a connection between Shenagh’s death and Terri’s?’
Miriam stared. ‘Impossible. It’s no secret who battered that dear girl to death. That vile Polish …’
‘We can’t fathom why the police have released him,’ Robin said quickly, as if to forestall a potentially racist rant. ‘I’m praying it’s just a temporary manouevre, that they’re playing for time while they make sure the case against him is watertight.’
Miriam passed a hand over her forehead. ‘It’s a nightmare.’
‘Mum,’ Robin said, ‘you need to get back to bed.’
‘And I need to get out from under your feet,’ Daniel said. ‘I’m sorry to have pestered you about what you heard from Roland Jones.’
Her face was ashen. ‘I used to feel sorry for Gertrude Smith, and her ghost, endlessly walking down Ravenbank Lane. She deserved justice, that’s what I thought. Now I’m older and wiser. It’s not the dead we need to worry about. It’s the living.’
‘You timed your arrival to perfection.’ Melody greeted him with a delicate kiss on the cheek. Her lips were cold. ‘The mist is clearing over the lake, though it’s only a temporary respite. Freezing fog is forecast for later on. I almost feel sorry for those journalists, shivering outside the gates.’
‘I used to live with a journalist,’ he said. ‘If she was here, she’d tell you not to waste your sympathy, it’s like commiserating with a school of sharks.’
‘Yesterday was surreal – a helicopter whirling overhead, reporters on a boat, taking photos of our grounds. Did they expect to spot another dead body, dumped in the old boathouse, or draped over the pergola? I thought they’d leave us alone today – we’ve told them everything we know. I took them a tray of tea and biscuits, to remind them we’re human beings, not creatures to gawp at in a zoo. And now, the police have phoned to say they want to talk to Oz and me again. Will it ever end?’ She closed her eyes for a split second, as if gathering strength. ‘Come on. Quick tour of the garden, before we eat?’
‘Thanks, I’d love that,’ Daniel said.
‘You can see where poor Letty is buried.’ She yanked a black Barbour waterproof jacket from a coat rack on the porch wall, and pulled on a pair of muddy wellingtons. ‘Some of our visitors think it’s creepy, having someone’s grave in the grounds of your house. To me, it’s sweet. This was where she and her husband and child expected to live happily ever after, before her mind started to give way. At least Clifford made sure that she would never have to leave her home. Whatever else, I respect him for that.’
‘Guilty conscience?’
‘Yes, he must have felt rotten about his affair with the girl.’
Melanie’s brow furrowed as she zipped herself into the jacket. Thinking about her own husband’s lapse with Shenagh Moss? Apparently, it hadn’t crossed her mind that Clifford might be a murderer as well as an adulterer.
‘Oz is due back soon,’ she said, as if reading his mind. ‘He’s spent the morning with our bank manager.’
‘Expanding the business?’
‘I wish.’ She locked the front door, and led him along a path which wound around the Hall. ‘This is between you and me, right? I’ve seen enough of you to know you can keep a secret.’
‘Sure.’
‘I hate to sound selfish, but this dreadful business about Terri has come at the worst possible moment. You’ve seen the newspapers, the TV bulletins?’ Daniel nodded. ‘Our names are all over them. People say no publicity is bad publicity, but that’s simply not true. Not when you’re running an events company, that is, and all of a sudden you find yourselves associated with a murder case. And
this morning we hear that the Polish guy has been let out. Things are getting grimmer by the hour.’
The fog had cleared to allow them to see the bulk of Hallin Fell, looming up on the other side of the narrow strip of water separating it from the Ravenbank promontory, but patches of mist still obscured its upper reaches. Melody led Daniel under a pergola swathed in winter jasmine and honeysuckle, onto a paved area overlooking a fish pond, rose garden, and a huge spherical water feature made from stainless steel. Stepping stones meandered across a lawn cut in elaborate circular stripes before disappearing through an archway in a neatly clipped holly hedge.
‘Wow,’ Daniel said. ‘Even at this time of year, everything in your garden looks lovely.’
She sighed. ‘No expense spared, that’s our problem. Until August we had two gardeners working full-time. If things don’t look up, this time next year, I’ll be the one pruning the roses and feeding the Koi carp.’