The Frozen Shroud (7 page)

‘How long have you two known each other?’ Marc asked as they shook hands.

‘We met on Saturday, at a conference Oz organised,’ Melody said. ‘Daniel gave this wonderful talk on De Quincey and murder, and he agreed to be interviewed about his new book, to help my career as a budding journo. He and his sister are coming to our Hallowe’en party, by the way.’

‘A trip to Ravenbank? Now I understand your sudden interest in the Frozen Shroud.’

Daniel nodded. ‘One of my fellow speakers turned out to be a neighbour of Melody’s. He told me about Gertrude Smith, and Shenagh Moss.’

‘You’ll love Ravenbank, if you’ve never been that far. Gorgeous spot, and the Hall is marvellous.’

‘You’re so sweet, Marc,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you change your mind and come to the party too? Bring Leigh, if you like.’

Marc shook his head. ‘Sorry, can’t make it. Now, I’d better leave you to talk about Ullswater spectres, while I price up a collection I’ve just bought. It came from the executors of a critic for a literary magazine who never parted with a single review copy. Bliss.’

As he disappeared towards his office, Melody said, ‘Such a shame. You can tell he isn’t over the break-up yet. Ever met his ex? She’s a detective. Very nice, by all accounts, but a workaholic. Can’t be easy for Marc.’

‘Yes, I know Hannah.’

‘He was potty about her. Still is, I’d say. Last year, he was going to bring her along to ours for Hallowe’en, but she was called away at the last minute, something to do with her job. He was furious, though of course we understood. Now she’s dumped him, he realises what he’s … lost.’

Melody’s voice trailed away as she stared into the flames. Daniel guessed she wasn’t thinking about Hannah Scarlett, but within moments she pulled herself together. ‘Oh well, he’s a very good-looking man, and he won’t be on his own for long. Come on, I’m dying for a hot drink. To say nothing of a slice of that fabulous cake.’

‘I starved myself at lunchtime, simply to justify treating myself like this,’ Melody said, as she polished off the last
of Leigh Moffat’s home-made lime and pistachio zucchini cake. She’d also indulged in a large glass of Chablis. ‘And I’m going to have to starve myself all over again if I want to squeeze into my party outfit.’

‘Bet it was worth it.’

Daniel had pigged out on the chocolate fudge gateau while answering her questions about
The Hell Within.
He’d worry about his cholesterol count another day. At least he’d stuck to Earl Grey; he wanted to keep his head clear. Melody wasn’t the most incisive interviewer, more like a rich woman playing at being a writer. But he was filling his face in a bookshop in attractive company. There were worse ways to spend an afternoon.

‘Absolutely. Leigh is a genius. And here she is!’

Leigh Moffat was on patrol, brisk and businesslike as always, keeping an eye on whether her customers were content. ‘Everything okay here?’

‘Need you ask? I really must beg the recipe for this cake from you, it’s utterly divine.’

As Leigh moved to the next table, Melody whispered, ‘I don’t know why she and Marc haven’t shacked up together yet. Only a question of time, if you ask me.’

‘You reckon?’

Melody giggled, and he wondered if the Chablis was her first drink of the day. ‘You must think I’m a horrid old gossip. Poking my nose into other people’s business like a latter day Miss Marple. I’m even passionate about knitting, as well!’

She pointed with childlike pride to the scarf and hat squatting on the spare chair next to her. Daniel duly admired her handiwork before switching the subject.

‘So Ravenbank was the scene of two separate murders. You knew Shenagh Moss. What was she like?’

‘Very pretty.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Shenagh was engaging company.’ Melody considered. ‘She … certainly had the knack of making herself popular.’

Hardly the most fulsome obituary. ‘Nobody disliked her, apart from Craig Meek?’

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Marc told me that one or two police officers weren’t sure that Meek was guilty.’

Melody pulled a face. ‘They can’t be serious.’

‘A friend of Hannah’s was on the team, and she had doubts.’

‘That’s the first I’ve heard of it.’

‘Even as a local journalist, someone who was on the spot?’

‘Hey, I’d never published anything at that point. It’s only lately that I’ve built up the courage to submit pieces to the local press. It’s not like I’m trained, or anything. I never made it to uni, I spent a few years as a model, would you believe?’ Yes, Daniel could easily believe. ‘I even tried a bit of acting, but I wasn’t much good, not in the same street as Jeffrey or Quin. At the time Shenagh died, I was helping Oz to build up the business. I found myself copywriting, and that led to an interest in journalism. I’ve had a little more time for writing since we employed someone to help with the work.’

He dragged the conversation back to Shenagh Moss. ‘So you never heard any whispers around Ravenbank, nobody hinted that that Craig Meek might have been innocent, after all?’

‘Not a dicky bird. Craig Meek was a nasty piece of work, by all accounts. Besides, if he was innocent, someone else must have been guilty.’ A wary smile. ‘It could be anyone. Goodness, even me.’

‘But you didn’t have any reason to kill her.’

She considered. ‘As it happens, an outsider might think I had every right to kill poor Shenagh. You see, before she turned her attention to Francis Palladino, she’d been shagging my husband.’

Follow that
, her disarming smile seemed to say. Daniel was supposed to be good at diplomacy, but her pleasant candour left him choking on his cake. And groping for a suitable response. Two elderly women at the table on their left were debating the best way to make treacle toffee; to their right, a well-dressed couple were moaning about the cost of their kids’ student fees. A cafeteria in a second-hand bookshop in the Lakes wasn’t an obvious venue for a confessional about adultery and murder. Melody Knight was testing him.

‘Did I shock you?’ Her eyes stretched wide in pretend astonishment.

‘I was wondering if you were equally frank with the police after Shenagh died, that’s all.’

‘Ouch!’ She grinned. ‘Oz reckons I talk too much. He says so much for ethnicity, I’m the polar opposite of an inscrutable Oriental. Though I was born in Morpeth, would you believe? Yes, yes, it’s true. My dad was a Geordie, my mum came over from Singapore when she was seventeen. Unfortunately, my dad ran off with a barmaid when I was a baby, and Mum died when I was five, so I finished up living with my uncle and aunt.’

Daniel wasn’t prepared to be sidetracked. ‘About Shenagh …’

‘What happened between Oz and Shenagh was an open secret. I’m not telling you anything you wouldn’t find out if you speak to anyone at Ravenbank.’

‘Uh-huh.’

Was Melody’s frankness misleading? Why had she wanted to meet today? She’d learnt little more about his book or the history of murder than she’d heard in his lecture. A quick internet search could have answered the biographical questions she’d asked.

‘Oz is fantastic, but he’s also notorious, he’s the first to admit it. When he and I got together, he did make it clear I was buying into the whole package, not just the lovely bits. His affairs never last long. But you know something? I’m the only woman he’s ever stayed with for more than eighteen months. Let alone married.’

‘Must be love, eh?’

‘Whatever it is, it works.’ Protesting too much, Daniel thought. ‘Anyway, Oz wasn’t the only notch on Shenagh’s bedpost. But in my honest opinion, it’s barking up a blind alley to suggest Meek didn’t murder her. The case of Gertrude Smith was much more puzzling and macabre.’

‘Although everyone thought it was open and shut?’

‘Exactly. But I’m sure you’ll agree, it’s an intriguing case.’ Her expression suggested an angler, about to reel in her catch. ‘The build-up to this Hallowe’en started me thinking about it properly for the first time. And the more I mull it over, the more I’m convinced Letty Hodgkinson suffered an injustice.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘I don’t believe she battered Gertrude to death. No wonder the housemaid’s ghost walks at Hallowe’en. The culprit escaped scot free – but not by committing suicide.’

‘Let’s get this straight,’ Daniel said. They’d strolled back into the bookshop, ensconcing themselves in the old leather armchairs thoughtfully positioned close to the inglenook fire. ‘Your theory that Letty was innocent is based on a hazy, second-hand account of a conversation between her daughter Dorothy and her old tutor when they were both in their dotage?’

‘Roland Jones was Gertrude’s lover. Nobody was more likely to know the truth about her death. And I suspect he killed her.’

‘Why?’

‘That’s what I’d like to find out. I suspect he was jealous because of her affair with Hodgkinson, but that’s supposition.’

‘Did he confess to Dorothy?’

‘He may not have made an outright confession, but if Dorothy had already guessed the truth, he didn’t need to. When they met, he was dying. If the crime had weighed on his conscience all those years, he might have been glad of the chance to let her know she was right, and that her mother was innocent.’

‘You’d need evidence to make that stack up.’

‘Who knows? There might even be a book in it.’ Melody leant across the table, her fingers almost touching his. Her eyes shone. The Chablis had energised her, and he found her enthusiasm infectious. ‘I’d like you to talk to Miriam Park. She holds the key.’

‘Because she overheard what Roland Jones said to Dorothy Hodgkinson?’

‘When she was working at the Hall all those years ago, when it was a care home.’

‘What did she tell you?’

Melody sighed. ‘To be honest, it was her son, Robin, who told me the story. Miriam keeps herself to herself, and she’s incredibly discreet. But she told Robin and …’

‘He’s not discreet?’

Melody laughed. ‘Robin has the gift of the gab. Plays jazz piano, and likes to have a good time.’

‘Does he believe Letty Hodgkinson was innocent?’

‘He couldn’t care less. Robin lives in the here and now, he only mentioned the story in passing. When I quizzed him, he told me to pump his mother instead. But she gave me the brush-off.’

‘She might do the same to me.’

‘I don’t think so. You’re well known, you’ve published books and appeared on the box. Miriam is bound to be impressed.’

‘Will she be at your party?’

‘Of course, all our neighbours are invited. I’m sure you’ll have more luck than me. When I tried to interrogate her, she made me feel like a nosy cow for prying.’

‘Why doesn’t she like talking about what she overheard in the care home? Does she think it’s unseemly?’

‘Yes, there is that. But if you ask me, she’s afraid.’

‘Afraid?’

‘Superstition, plain and simple. The poor old thing is convinced that the Faceless Woman still walks down Ravenbank Lane on Hallowe’en. She’d rather let sleeping
ghosts lie. Yet I’m sure poor Gertrude would want the truth to come out.’ She checked her watch. ‘God, is that the time? I really must dash. It will be dark long before I get home, and I have pumpkin lanterns to get ready and God knows what else to do. We can talk again about Gertrude Smith at the party.’

He held out his hand. ‘See you on Hallowe’en.’

She curled her warm fingers around his. ‘Don’t forget your mask.’

The last time Hannah and Marc had met, the simmering tension between them almost exploded into all-out war. After Marc moved out of the house they shared, Hannah swore to herself that the break-up would be civilised. No ranting, no finger-pointing, no blame game. Even though the split was his fault. He’d cheated on her, but what made her determined to dump him wasn’t his betrayal – a symptom, not a cause – but his selfishness. It was in his DNA. People can apologise, and make amends; she even knew a couple of murderers who, on release from prison, had led lives as decent and worthwhile as others who never so much as nicked an office biro. But Marc would never change.

He didn’t get it. He wanted another chance, and was willing to beg. They’d been together so long that she could read him like one of his books, and he’d persuaded himself that if he grovelled for long enough, she would give in. 
A tried-and-tested tactic, but she’d stopped falling for it. Ditching him hurt, because he was a good companion, as well as good in bed and good to look at. But all good things came to an end. The decision was made, and if he put it down to stubbornness, too bad. And so, despite her best intentions, their skirmishes were becoming hostile. She hadn’t seen or spoken to him since a huge row about putting Undercrag on the market.

‘What do you want?’ she snapped.

She heard him choke off a grunt of exasperation. ‘Bad day at the office?’

‘Yes.’

‘Sorry to hear it. I heard on the radio about cuts in police spending. Hope you’re not directly affected.’

On his best behaviour, then. He was seldom so sympathetic about her work. Last time, she’d made the mistake of venting about Lauren Self and her demands for ‘efficiencies’, provoking Marc into a homily about the cosseted life led by public sector workers. People in the private sector, who actually made and sold things, weren’t blessed with gold-plated pension benefits, taxpayer-funded early retirement schemes, and long-term occupational sick pay. She retaliated by asking if he really believed that selling second-hand books would kick-start economic recovery, and the conversation plummeted downhill from there.

‘Lauren is downsizing the team. I’ll be left with two detectives and a couple of kids in the back office.’

‘Jesus, after all you’ve done.’

‘Yeah, well.’ She’d blundered by giving him the chance to offer moral support. ‘You didn’t answer my question. What do you want?’

‘I saw Daniel Kind a few minutes ago. He asked after you.’

‘You rang to tell me that? Thanks, but I can’t see my desk for paperwork.’

Not literally true – otherwise, she’d have committed a hanging offence under the terms of the Clear Desk Policy – but she still had plenty to do before heading home for a quick shower and change before her rendezvous with Terri.

‘Hannah, I’ve been thinking. There’s so much we need to sort out. Talk over. There’s Undercrag, and everything else. Why don’t we get together, over a drink, or a meal if you’re up for that?’

‘We tried that, and nearly came to blows, remember?’

‘My fault, I’m sorry. I’ll keep my stupid mouth shut next time. Promise.’

‘Then it will be a rather one-sided conversation, won’t it? The estate agent will email you about the sales particulars, to check you’re happy with them. As for your books in the loft, we can sort out a date for you to come and collect. You still have your key, so I can make myself scarce while you’re shifting stuff.’

‘The last thing I want you is for you to make yourself scarce. Hannah, listen, I’m pleading here. Won’t you reconsider?’

‘I’ve done plenty of considering. My mind’s made up. End of.’

The brush-off sounded more brutal than she’d meant. His tone changed into something wintry and quite unlike Marc.

‘So who is your urgent appointment with? Not Daniel Kind.’

Who did he think he was? ‘You’re right. And you also need to start minding your own business.’

‘You are my business.’ His voice was clotted with anger and distress. Oh Jesus, was he about to burst into tears? ‘You’re seeing Greg Wharf, aren’t you?’

Hannah didn’t trust herself to answer without making things worse. He didn’t have a monopoly on anger and distress. She killed the call.

She still had her head in her hands when Les Bryant looked in to say goodnight.

Hannah stood at the door of Balotelli’s and scanned the bar. Terri was perched on a high stool by the counter, as unmissable as a bird of paradise on a dry stone wall. Since their last get together at a curry evening during the Kendal Festival of Food, she’d dyed her hair a vivid red to match her lips and fingernails. To have poured herself into that tiny skirt, she must have lost close to a stone in quick time. But then, Terri never did things by halves. She was wearing lashings of musky perfume, and she’d already finished her first Bacardi and coke of the evening. At least, Hannah hoped it was her first.

‘Sorry I’m late.’

‘No problem. Someone’s got to keep the thin blue line intact, eh?’

‘Easier said than done. The ACC is downsizing my team. Left to her, the cold cases would freeze.’

‘Stupid bitch,’ Terri said. ‘What are you drinking? Please, not orange juice again.’

‘I was planning to drive home tonight, stone cold sober.’

‘Forget it. Call a cab, like me.’

‘Okay, you win. I’ll have a glass of Sauvignon Blanc. Small one.’ This might just turn into a very long evening. ‘Stay with me at Undercrag overnight. It’s safer than going home. What if Stefan’s lurking in the shadows when the cab drops you at your front door?’

‘It’s okay, thanks, I’m sorted for tonight.’

So that explained why she’d gone overboard on the perfume. Hannah peered at her friend. ‘What have you arranged?’

‘God, I wouldn’t like to be a suspect you took in for questioning. No third degree, please, I’m not in the mood.’

‘There’s something different about you. Not just your hair colour. Which I love, by the way.’

‘Thanks, sweetheart. I refuse to think about all the petrochemicals that go into caring for it. As for what else has changed, you’re the detective, I’ll give you three guesses. Sorry, deductions.’

‘You haven’t …’

Terri smirked. ‘I might have.’

Well, well. So she’d finally gone for it. Those bags under Terri’s eyes, legacy of countless late nights and chip suppers, and cause of more angst than all her cellulite, wrinkles and weight issues put together, had vanished. There was still a touch of swelling, but any bruises that remained had been skilfully camouflaged. The pair of them had often debated cosmetic surgery. Hannah had no time for it, and she’d given Marc short shrift when he made the mistake of wondering aloud if implants might be worth the money. Terri was more than happy to give Mother Nature a helping hand, if only she could afford it.

‘How much did that cost, if you don’t mind my asking?’

‘My lips are sealed – and not because I’ve gone in for a trout pout!’ Terri was gleeful. ‘Honestly, I can’t imagine why I’ve waited so long. It’s not that I’m such a horribly vain old cow. Deep down, I’m shy and retiring, happy to fade into the background.’ This last was an outrageous untruth, and Hannah struggled not to gasp. ‘It’s about changing my life, and boosting morale, and the plan has worked a treat. A single day being treated like royalty in this posh private hospital, and hey presto! I look ten years younger and feel like a teenager on the pull again.’

‘You look fantastic. Then again, you always do.’

Terri squeezed her hand. ‘Thanks for not scolding me, Han. I know you disapprove.’

‘I’d never do it myself, but everyone has to make up their own mind. Free country.’

‘Is it? Sometimes I wonder. But really, the surgery has made such a difference. Especially with this palaver about Stefan and everything.’

‘The big issue with Stefan Deyna is how to kick him out of your life.’

Not that Hannah was necessarily well qualified to advise on dumping a troublesome ex-partner, given how hard she was finding it to ditch a second-hand bookseller who, for all his faults, was a thousand times gentler than Stefan.

‘Sorry I acted like a wet Kleenex when I rang you. He’s behaved like an utter shit, but everything will be fine in the long run.’

A thought struck Hannah. ‘He didn’t … contribute to the cost of the surgeon, did he?’

‘No way!’ Terri squeaked in outrage. ‘What do you take
me for? As a matter of fact, he hates my new look. He thinks these changes are about making a brand new me, and for once, he’s dead right.’

‘Shall we order some food, if you need to get away before it’s too late?’

Terri frowned, weighing pros and cons. ‘Actually, I’m desperate for a wee. Back in a minute.’

If she did want to blend into the scenery, the crimson lips and talons, tight top and black micro-skirt weren’t the right way to go about it. Threading through the salivating office workers who circled the bar, she seemed not to notice the threat she posed to their blood pressure, but Hannah knew she was lapping up the attention. The blink-and-you-miss-it wiggle of the bum was the proof. Oh well, good luck to her. Terri dressed to kill not only because she loved to look great, but as her way of coping. Time after time, life knocked her over, but she never failed to dust herself down and start again.

Hannah took a quick peek at her emails while she waited. The estate agent said someone was interested in Undercrag. Time to think about where to move next. The house was ideal when they were a couple, but too rambling and expensive for either of them to live there alone. A pity, since she adored the solitude, hidden away from the bustle yet only a stiff walk from the centre of Ambleside. Perhaps the truth was that she was a loner, happiest in her own company, and unsuited to the give-and-take of a long-term relationship. Funny, she’d once imagined she would end up in a conventional marriage with two point four children, maybe working part-time behind the scenes for Cumbria Constabulary. But the clock ticked on, and
with each passing year the fantasy existence faded further away.

‘Would you care for a drink?’

A man resembling a pinstriped Friar Tuck had detached himself from a group of middle-aged men in sleek suits that didn’t adequately hide their paunches. They were talking loudly about football, but looked as though they’d never scored in their lives. Bankers out on the razzle after a day spent inflicting further damage on the economy?

‘No, thanks.’

After the day she’d had, she wouldn’t give Jude Law a second glance. To her relief, she saw Terri weaving her way back to her side. The man permitted himself a leer, and when Terri responded with a look she might bestow on a maggot emerging from a chocolate cake, he scuttled off to the safety of debate about the destiny of the Premier League title.

‘They never learn,’ she said.

‘Perhaps we don’t, either,’ Hannah said.

‘Yeah, well. Change of plan. Can I take you up on your kind offer? I’d love to stay over. I was bothered because you need to work in the morning, but one late night won’t hurt, eh?’

What plan had she changed? ‘Are you sure it suits you?’

‘What could be better than spending the night with my best mate?’

Historically, she’d preferred to spend the night with her latest unworthy loser. The reticence to explain Plan A suggested that Hannah wouldn’t approve of it.

‘Just like old times, then?’

Terri’s face broke into the smile that always melted
Hannah’s heart, even when they’d been fighting cat and dog. They’d met at school, and bonded as fast as superglue, thanks to a shared hatred of their games teacher. Terri was the daredevil, forever getting into trouble; Hannah provided the shoulder to cry on. She was the one who felt uncomfortable unless she played by the rules. Was the secret of their enduring friendship – that each of them wanted to be more like the other?

‘What shall we have, then?’ Hannah picked up a menu. ‘A poster in the window said a Neil Diamond tribute act starts in half an hour. Let’s order a bottle of something, and then if he’s hopeless, the booze will dull the pain.’

‘You still know how to get round me, kid.’ Terri clapped her hands, as enthusiastic as she had been back in Year 7. ‘We’re gonna have a great night, aren’t we? Just like old times.’

Before Marc came along, in other words. They’d still seen plenty of each other, but the combination of long hours at work and Marc’s tendency to monopolise meant that Hannah often had to say no when Terri asked her out. Hannah had never married, while Terri had trotted down the aisle no fewer than three times, but Terri was always up for a night on the town, and if her man of the moment didn’t like it, he could lump it.

A young and rather handsome waiter called Giovanni found them a table in the restaurant, chatting them up as he did so. Morale duly boosted, Terri demanded to know the state of play with Marc.

‘He’s becoming a pest. Nothing like as awful as the hassle you’re experiencing at the moment, but …’

‘You’re sure it’s over and done with between you?’

‘Cross my heart and hope to die.’

Terri had gone out for a drink with Marc before things started to get heavy with Stefan, and she admitted to fancying him. Was she was paving the way for a shift from casual flirtation to full-on affair?

Hannah’s face gave her away, and Terri put down her glass and said, ‘Hey, don’t get the wrong idea. Not many women would kick him out of bed, but we never got further than a peck on the cheek, and we’re not going to. Trust me.’

‘I wouldn’t be upset.’ Hannah laughed. ‘You’d be doing me a favour. I can’t wait for him to get fixed up with someone else, so that he’ll stop bugging me. He and I both need to move on.’

‘Watch my lips. I’m definitely not moving on with Marc, that’s not an answer to your prayers. You ought to try my method. Let him see you canoodling with a new man, so he understands he’s history.’ She leant across the table. ‘Talking of history, where are you up to with Daniel Kind?’

‘Not seen him for ages. Too busy.’

Terri swallowed a chunk of garlic bread. ‘You’re crazy, you know that? Absolutely off your lovely head. The guy used to be on television, for God’s sake!’