Authors: Martin Edwards
His anger was genuine, no question. A bilious feeling in her guts told her she’d blundered. Risked making an enemy of the man Terri had loved.
‘Care to enlighten me?’
‘Francis drew up a new will when he fell for Shenagh.
Previously, four-fifths of his estate went to charity, and the rest to Mum. In recognition of all she’d done for him, and for Esme. A hell of a lot of money, but he didn’t have any close family. With Shenagh on the scene, he arranged that she’d take half the estate. Mum’s share was unchanged, the legacies to charity were scaled down pro rata. After Shenagh’s death, the original provisions kicked in again. The murder didn’t make a ha’p’orth of difference to Mum financially.’
‘I see.’
‘No, I tell a lie,’ he said fiercely. ‘It made my mother sick with distress, she was so distraught about what had happened. Shenagh was her friend, and Francis she idolised. The poor old boy never recovered from losing the woman he loved. He lost the will to live. Even the poor old family dog died. It was a disaster all round. Satisfied?’
Ouch. No question about who had seized the moral high ground. Time to beat a hasty retreat. ‘Sorry, but I had to ask.’
He put his head in his hands. Theatrical, yes, but effective. ‘It’s a mucky job, yours. Terri never understood how you could stomach working for the police.’
Terri had never said that to her. She knew how much the job meant. And yet his jibe had the ring of truth. It hurt like a poke in the eye, that Terri had confided in a man she’d only known five minutes things that were taboo between two best friends. Hannah dug her nails into her palm. Urging herself not to fall into the biggest trap of all, and succumb to jealousy of Terri’s relationship with this man.
‘I don’t like it myself, sometimes.’
‘You don’t seem capable of trusting anyone.’
Twisting the knife, but probably she deserved that. She bit her tongue.
‘I trusted Terri. Now she’s gone, I want to find out why she died, and who killed her. If that means asking embarrassing questions, too bad. All I care about is the truth.’
He looked up, and she saw a teary glistening in his eyes. ‘The truth is that Stefan Deyna killed her. Why can’t we leave it at that?’
‘We can’t settle for a solution just because it suits us. Rough on the innocent, but there’s no alternative.’
‘There’s no persuading you, is there?’ He shook his head, as if making a decision. ‘That’s it, then. I’d better not waste any more of your afternoon.’
This time, their handshake lasted a nanosecond. Hannah said, ‘I’m still not clear why you wanted to meet.’
‘I only met Terri in August,’ he said. ‘You grew up with her. How I envy you, knowing her since you were both kids. There’s so much I don’t know about her. I hoped we could talk, you could help me fill in the gaps. I was expecting reminiscences, not the Spanish bloody inquisition. Stupid of me, I should have realised a police inspector has different priorities.’
Hannah glanced outside. The fog was coming down again. Already it was hard to make out the trees on the opposite side of the river. Perched on the beer garden wall of the pub next door, two crows were quarrelling, like an old couple who’d been together too long.
‘How well do any of us know anyone else? Another time, when all this is sorted, we can talk about Terri.’
Almost to himself, he said, ‘I doubt there’ll ever be another time.’
He moved back onto the piano stool. This time he chose ‘Cry Me a River’, humming softly as he played. Hannah listened to the first verse, before slipping away into the unforgiving cold.
Daniel’s phone shrilled. He had hands-free, but a lay-by was a hundred yards ahead and he decided to pull up.
‘Hello?’
‘Daniel! Thank God you answered!’
‘Melody, you sound frantic. What’s the matter?’
‘It’s Oz.’ Her voice faltered. ‘I’m so scared.’
‘What of?’
‘I’m frightened of what he’s going to do.’
Hannah rang Fern from her car, and they agreed to meet at Undercrag that evening for a catch up. Hannah offered to cook, but Fern refused to let her go to any trouble.
‘You’ve got enough on your plate without worrying what to put on mine. Besides, you’d only make me eat something healthy, and I can’t be bothered to count the sodding calories. Ring for a pizza from that Italian on Rydal Road. Mine’s a Stromboli De Luxe with double pepperoni and garlic bread on the side. Long, long day, got to cater for the inner woman. Must dash, see you later.’
From her vantage point outside the Sun Inn, Hannah saw Robin Park come out of the Jazz Lounge. The weight of the world seemed to be pushing down on his narrow shoulders as he squeezed into his natty little sports car. Ravenbank was only five or six miles away, and Hannah felt a sudden urge to follow him and see it for herself. She
must, she absolutely must, make a pilgrimage to the place where Terri’s body had been found. Not this afternoon, however. The fog would soon return, and she had plenty of work to do before she talked to Fern.
On the way to Kendal, she replayed the conversation with Robin Park in her mind. If Stefan was innocent, then Robin had to be a prime suspect. If the relationship with Terri had imploded, or if she’d found out something linking him to Shenagh’s death, he might have had a motive for murder. Yet her death seemed to have stunned him, and though he was too self-absorbed for Hannah’s taste, she hadn’t detected a lurking predisposition to the rage and violence necessary for two such brutal killings.
But, she reminded herself, she’d been surprised once or twice before about what a seemingly decent human being is capable of when pushed beyond endurance.
She was supposed to progress the Cold Case Review Team’s reorganisation this afternoon, but as soon as she reached the sanctuary of her office, she buried herself in the material Les Bryant had supplied. She wouldn’t have the sanctuary much longer, might as well use it as a bolt-hole whilst she could. She managed twenty minutes’ reading before a bang on the door broke into her concentration.
Greg Wharf didn’t wait to be invited in, or to take a seat once he’d shut the door.
‘Sorry to burst in, but you’ll be receiving an email from HR any minute now, and I wanted to speak to you first.’
He seemed purposeful yet defiant, as if bracing himself for an onslaught.
‘This had better be quick.’
‘Fine.’ His jaw was set. ‘In a sentence, I’ve asked to be redeployed.’
She stared at him. ‘What for?’
‘I thought you wanted me to be quick. I’ve said what I came here to say.’
She groaned. ‘Please, Greg, I’m not in the mood to be messed about.’
‘And I don’t want to mess you about, which is why I’m moving on. Lauren was right – hey, I never thought I’d say that. If I go, you’ll be able to keep someone else. Les Bryant is lower cost, there’s no pension to factor in. If I go, there will be no complications.’
‘Complications?’
He gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘You-and-me complications. People are whispering about us already. You’re a detective, you must have picked up on it. My fault, my reputation goes before me. You’ve had enough to contend with, I don’t want you damaged on my account.’
‘So this is a noble act of self-sacrifice?’
‘Don’t get stroppy, Hannah, I’d rather part on good terms.’
She counted to ten. ‘You’re a good detective too, Greg. I’d want you in my team any day. What happened the other night doesn’t change anything.’
‘It does, actually,’ he said. ‘For me, anyway.’
‘What are you talking about? We agreed, we can be mature adults.’
‘Yeah, but I thought it over and I realised I’m no good at being a mature adult.’ A glimmer of a smile. ‘That’s the difference between us. Zanny used to complain that I can’t control myself, and for once, she was right. I can’t – but you can, and that’s too much to bear. Okay?’
Heart sinking, she shook her head. It was very much not okay. But what could she say that wouldn’t send the wrong signal?
‘Anyway, HR have put the wheels in motion, so it’s a done deal. Public Protection can’t be that bad, can it?’ He jumped to his feet, pausing as he opened the door. ‘Thanks, Hannah. I mean – thank you, ma’am.’
Daniel raced along the road to Ravenbank, taking the zigzag bends of the Hause so fast that twice he nearly came off the road as he came over the top and began his descent towards the little church and the valley. No farm vehicles in the way this time, thank God, but the respite from the weather had proved short-lived. Fog was rolling down the slopes of the fells above Martindale, wrapping itself around the scattered farm buildings, fences and huddles of sheep.
Melody had sounded fuzzy and incoherent on the phone. She’d probably washed down her Rioja with pills to cope with the migraine. All he could make out was that Oz had gone missing, and she feared the worst. Whether she was afraid for her husband or herself, he couldn’t tell.
The traumas of her youth had left a mark deeper and longer lasting than any of Quin’s bruises. Until now, Daniel had assumed that she and Oz slept together, handily providing each of them with an alibi for murders committed in the middle of the night. But if she wasn’t interested in sex, perhaps they occupied separate bedrooms. In which case …
The same might be true of Jeffrey and Quin. The Irishman had moaned about Jeffrey’s habitual snoring,
and said that his partner hadn’t slept a wink. But if someone suffered from insomnia, what more natural than to get out of bed and go downstairs? Once you looked beyond Stefan, all kinds of possibilities opened up. Because Terri had never returned to Fell View Cottage, Robin Park had no alibi, but neither, he suspected, did anyone else.
Bumping over the little bridge, he found himself looking towards Ravenbank. The tops of the trees were wreathed in mist, the beauty spot had become lonely and forlorn. On a day as dark as this, the Faceless Woman might be tempted to resume her melancholy promenade.
He drove past Beck Cottage, with its drawn curtains. The journalists had finally departed; they must have decided that if they didn’t get away before the fog returned, they might wind up stranded for the night on Ravenbank Lane. A solitary figure stood guard outside the gates of the Hall. In the gathering gloom, he felt like Walter Hartright, catching a glimpse of the Woman in White. As he drew closer, she pulled down her hood, and he saw that in fact it was Melody, enveloped in a vast white puffer jacket.
He jumped out of the car, and she ran up, and flung her arms around him. She was sobbing wildly, and he felt her body convulsing against his chest. He could smell alcohol on her breath. After a moment, he took a step back, taking hold of her shoulders and gazing into her reddened and tear-filled eyes.
‘What happened to Oz?’
‘He … he’s disappeared!’
‘Has he gone somewhere in the car?’
‘No, all our cars are locked in the garage. I checked.’
Jeffrey had mentioned that, for some reason, the Knights had three cars, a couple of SUVs and a natty little open top sports car. No wonder money was tight.
‘When did you last see him?’
‘As you were leaving. Not long after, my mobile rang. I was half asleep, and didn’t answer. Some time later, it rang again and this time I took the call before it went to voicemail. It was Oz.’
‘What did he say?’
Melody gulped in air. ‘“I’m sorry.”’
‘Sorry for what?’
‘That’s all. He sounded distraught, and rang off. I called him back, but couldn’t get through. I ran downstairs, and the front door was still open. Did you see where he went?’
‘As I drove off, he was walking across your lawn.’ Daniel pointed. ‘As if he were heading to the gardens. He’s probably gone for a stroll around the shoreline, a breath of fresh air to clear his head.’
‘We’re not … we’re not a pair of drunken sots, you know.’
‘Hey.’ He hushed her. ‘I never said you were.’
‘You thought it, though, didn’t you?’
It hadn’t crossed his mind till now, but he’d seldom seen either of them without a drink in their hand. Even at Amos Books, he recalled. During lunch, they’d worked their way through a couple of bottles, and Oz had knocked back the greater share.
‘You think he’s gone for a walk and had an accident?’
‘Oz isn’t much into walking. I tease him about how he drives to the pillar box on the other side of Ravenbank
Corner, when he wants to post a letter. Whilst I was waiting for you, I realised what’s happened. He’s gone out in the boat.’
He put his hands on his hips, unable to hide disbelief. ‘In this weather?’
‘Yes. I found his mobile, he’d tossed it away on the path near to Letty’s grave. I went down to the boathouse.
King Ulf
is missing.’
His head was spinning. ‘King Ulf?’
‘Oz named the boat after the Nordic chief who gave his name to the lake,’ she said impatiently. ‘He fancied himself as Ulf’s modern day successor.’
She was speaking in the past tense. He hoped it was just that she was thinking back to when Oz bought the boat.
‘Please, come on,’ she said. ‘We need to find him.’
‘If Oz didn’t moor the boat securely, it may have broken loose in one of the storms we’ve had lately.’
‘Oz wouldn’t make a stupid mistake like that.’
Daniel blinked. Oz had surely done nothing but make stupid mistakes for far too long.
‘Have you called the police?’
She shook her head. ‘Not yet. I’d rather not get them involved if there’s no need. That’s why I called you. I need your help, your advice. I don’t know who else to trust.’
‘Ring them now. They have people at Robin’s cottage, they can be here in two minutes.’ He looked into her eyes, but didn’t see any hint of a meeting of minds. ‘It’s the logical thing to do.’
She shut her eyes. ‘Haven’t you figured it out yet, Daniel? I’m really not a logical person.’
You can say that again.
Fighting to contain his frustration,
he dug his mobile out of his inside pocket. ‘Let me phone them, if you won’t.’
‘Okay, I’ll call them. But come with me to the boathouse first. Let’s see if we can figure out what he’s done. Maybe we can catch sight of him.’
She set off without him, breaking into a trot as she headed across the grass for the path they’d taken together on the tour of the Hall grounds, waving for him to follow her lead.
A crazy thought flitted into his mind. Nobody else knew he was here. The fog was descending over Ravenbank, and soon darkness would fall too. Suppose he was walking into a weird kind of trap?
Fantastic. Yet not impossible? What if Melody was afraid he was about to give them away, what if she or her husband had let something slip that would link them to Terri’s murder, or Shenagh’s, or both? He’d already worked out they might sleep in separate rooms. What if …?
No, no,
no
.
He couldn’t bring himself to believe it. Now wasn’t the time to get carried away by his obsessive interest in the drama of murder. Melody was many things, but she wasn’t a deranged psychopath. In a momentary flash of bravado, he told himself he’d stake his life on that. Whatever her failings, this was a woman who did not betray; she had suffered betrayal. A victim, not a culprit.
Melody reached the path and turned to face him.
‘Come on!’
He sucked cold Cumbrian air into his lungs, and set off after her.
Hannah’s brain was hurting by the time she packed her notes into her briefcase and locked her office. She didn’t have the time or inclination to agonise about Greg’s resignation. He was a grown man, and had to take responsibility for his own decisions. The notes Les had given her raised endless questions, and she’d decided to beat the deteriorating weather and try to work out some answers at home. His experience meant that he’d distilled a handful of telling details from the morass of information facing him as he waded through the Blue Book and the background papers.
Half a dozen people were on the spot in Ravenbank at the time of both murders. Whatever else he’d done, Stefan probably wasn’t guilty of bludgeoning Terri to death. He’d been someone else’s cat’s paw. And if that was true of him, it was likely true of Craig Meek. The key to the mystery lay in the killing of Shenagh. Find the motive for that crime, and you’d find the culprit.
The fog was closing in, and the journey back to Undercrag took twice as long as usual. She decided to invite Fern to stay for the night. The last thing she wanted was for Fern to risk driving home later in lousy conditions after a long and exhausting day. She didn’t fancy any more visits to the bedside of RTC victims. Besides, she could do with Fern’s company. After a couple of nights at Tarn Cottage, the prospect of tossing and turning in her lonely bed at home had zero appeal.
Once at home, she made herself a coffee and resumed her study of Les’s notes. Fern called to say she should arrive in another half an hour, the cue for Hannah to order the pizzas and garlic bread. When the doorbell rang, she
thought the pizza delivery man had made it in record time.
Marc stood on the doorstep, his face muffled by a scarf his mother had knitted, a padded envelope in his hand.
‘Here are the keys. I thought I ought to let you have them, so you won’t be worrying that I might make any more unwanted calls now I’m out of hospital.’
She’d seen him look prettier, but he was in one piece, and so far as she could tell, the cuts on his face were beginning to heal. She held out her hand.
‘Thanks.’ No way was she going to invite him in. ‘You needn’t have bothered to deliver them in person, especially on a night like this.’
‘I felt I had to do it, as soon as I was discharged. Sort of symbolic, if you know what I mean. End of an era, and all that.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘I’ll speak to the estate agent tomorrow. I’m assuming you don’t want to make me an offer to buy out my share?’
She shook her head. ‘This isn’t a house for one person. I rattle around too much. I need a change. A small cottage, maybe.’
‘Greg isn’t moving in?’
She gritted her teeth. Even when he tried to be on his best behaviour, he couldn’t resist a dig.