by Jo Allen
‘Interesting point. I get on well with her and Storm, though I wouldn’t say we were bosom buddies. But I don’t understand why, if they wanted to tell us that they think it was Cody or Brandon or both who killed Lynx, they couldn’t tell us directly. They’ve had plenty of opportunity.’
He looked back down to the camp again, frowning. He was the first to pull Chris Marshall up on the casual assumption that anyone who was different was the first to be questioned on suspicion of a crime, but this was something he had to look at more closely. ‘Which begs another question. Are they trying to distract us from something they don’t want us to look at?’
‘I wondered that. I wondered if the man Storm allegedly followed through the woods really existed.’
‘He said he followed him for a mile and a half before he realised it wasn’t Lynx. I don’t know if you know that path. You can see the beginning of it from here.’ Jude pointed to where the line of the path followed the shore. ‘Some if it goes through the woods, but at this time of the year, with no leaves, it isn’t hard to identify someone, even at a distance. And there are long parts of it where you get a clear view along the lake shore, even in summer.’ And it wasn’t as if Lynx, with his long hair and dark woollen clothing, would be easily confused with the typical Lakeland walker.
‘It looks as if they’re trying to pull the wool over our eyes, doesn’t it?’
This thought depressed him more than it ought to because he already suspected them of lying. He tried to make light of it, turning to carry on striding up the hill. ‘So what did the cards really say? No answers to any of your questions?’
‘I didn’t ask them any. And actually there was no coherence to them. They were a completely random selection.’
Even though it was early afternoon, there was a light on in the cottage. Through the small-paned window, Cody was visible, sitting at a table in the living room frowning over her laptop, with Brandon by the fire holding a broadsheet newspaper up in front of his face. Although for the life of him he couldn’t find a connection between the deaths of Owen Armitstead and Lynx, Jude couldn’t bring himself to rule it out. ‘Let’s see how we get on. Though as the good doctor is formidably short with people like us, I don’t imagine we’ll be here for very long.’ He lifted his hand to the door.
It was Brandon who answered, flinging the door open as if they were welcome guests. ‘Come on in. You must be the detectives. Come to tell us who killed the poor dude down by the water?’
‘I wish I could.’ Jude held out his hand in greeting and Brandon clasped it in a tight, redneck handshake. ‘I’m DCI Satterthwaite from Cumbria Police. This is DS Ashleigh O’Halloran. I wondered if we could ask you a few quick questions?’
‘There’s no need for you to come in.’ Cody bounced in from the living room, her ponytail swinging in indignation. ‘I’m really busy right now. This whole business has been very trying. More to the point it’s been very disruptive. And I have work to do.’
‘Honey,’ Brandon said, turning to his sister with an engaging smile, ‘these guys are doing their best.’
‘Doing their best is bumbling around like the keystone cops, or so it seems.’ She turned her glare on the visitors. ‘It shouldn’t be taking you this long to decide that Owen killed himself when everybody knows it. You should be focusing all your attention on what happened down in the field.’
‘That’s why I’m here.’
‘I already told you I didn’t see anything. I was quietly minding my own business.’
‘I was here,’ Brandon offered, semi-apologetically, ‘but I didn’t see anything. Can’t say I’d have been much help if I was. I was so jetlagged I barely knew which side of the world I was on.’
‘Brandon had a difficult journey.’ At last Cody showed some fellow feeling to someone. ‘Another reason we don’t need to be disturbed. And don’t feel you need to patronise me by coming to keep me informed. I’d far rather be left alone.’
Jude stiffened a little. Beside him, he could sense Ashleigh was at least as irritated. ‘I haven’t forgotten that there have been threats made against you. It’s my job to make sure you’re safe.’
‘That's great, but I have Brandon and that’s all I need. I’ve been around the world in far more dangerous places than this. I can look after myself. Thank you.’
She moved to shut the door but it was Brandon who put his foot in it. A power struggle played out between the two of them, and he won, turning back to Jude and Ashleigh with a charming smile. ‘Guess it’s not a good time for you to ask questions right now. Maybe you can come back. I’m sure you’ve got other things you can do.’
‘I’ve answered all the questions I could possibly answer,’ Cody snapped. ‘I’m tired of questions. Owen’s death has been traumatic but I don’t even know the man who’s dead. Maybe they had some trivial fallout. Those people are like that. It’s nothing to do with me.’
‘Did you ever speak to him?’
‘Once, maybe, when I first came. I vaguely remember trying to be polite. Not that they were polite in return.’
‘What we were looking for was some background information about yourself, Dr Wilder.’ Ashleigh, attempting to lower the temperature by changing the direction of questioning, would fail just as Jude himself had failed with Cody in this belligerent a mood, but he had to credit her for the attempt.
‘Why do you need it? Everything about me is in the public domain. Isn’t that what you pay your hundreds of detectives to do?’
‘Cody, honey.’ Brandon’s voice held the shade of a warning and his sister, after a moment, heeded it and managed a too obviously false smile. ‘It won’t do any harm. A few questions don’t hurt. It’s no more than you’ll have to tell your journalist friend when she comes.’
Brother and sister fought a second round in their silent battle of wills and again, he won. ‘I’d forgotten about her. I’ve agreed to give an interview to that journalist woman, Chief Inspector. Persistence pays, I’ll say that for her. You should try it.’ She paused as if to invite an answer, then carried on when she didn’t get one. ‘Perhaps you just want to send one of your detectives to sit in on the interview. It’ll save a lot of effort for both of us and spare me a lot of stress.’ The smile was even more fake, her lips pinned back to reveal the slightest hint of perfect teeth. ‘That’s what we’ll do.’
Jude took a moment to think about it. A journalist wouldn’t ask the questions he wanted to ask, but he couldn’t force Cody to answer so there was nothing to lose. ‘Yes, all right. I’ll meet you halfway on that one.’
Brandon seemed to think that was uproariously funny, but he took the chance to end the interview. ‘Sure. Send someone along. Cody’ll let you know when to turn up. Have a good day.’ And he closed the door.
*
‘This is starting to get to me.’ Cody wound her scarf around her neck and tucked the ends of it into her coat. It wasn’t an admission she’d have made to anyone but Brandon, and she wasn’t even prepared to tell him everything. Somehow Wordsworth, whether William or Dorothy, found the right words for her mood which, today, was melancholy. How fast has brother followed brother, From sunshine to the sunless land. ‘Let’s get outside and get some fresh air.’
‘Sure.’
Brandon was never much of a talker. The wilderness did that to you, or to some people, turning them into silent types who’d learned there was rarely any point in wasting words when they too often got ripped from your lips by the wind or, worse, floated away over miles of plains, clear as a bell as they echoed off the rocks and were heard by no one. It had the opposite effect on her. She’d learned how wonderful words were, how they made good companions in a desolate silence and enriched lives through generations. Once that secret had dawned on her it had almost been inevitable that she’d go on to study language in its richness.
She stepped out into the lane, blanking out the grim truth of what had happened to Lynx and looking instead to the circling hills. ‘The Wordsworths loved this
area. It’s hardly surprising.’
‘It sure is pretty.’
She shot a sideways glance at him. She’d have expected him to have got over his jetlag by now, but he was still uncharacteristically distant from her, tired and unlike his enthusiastic self. His sleeping patterns hadn’t settled down, either, and he’d been rumbling round when any other sane person would have been asleep. It had its advantages – the dishwasher and the washing done, the kitchen cleaned before she got up, but really. Anyone would think he was the one who was the focus of all the suspicion, that death had come calling in his home not hers.
She averted her gaze from the field as they reached the bottom of Coffin Lane. She wasn’t quite sure why she’d denied knowing Lynx to the police. Her liaisons with him belonged to a shared past, but it surely wasn’t anything to do with her and his threats were meaningless. He was a man who liked to play rough in bed, but out of it he’d cared for nothing. Whoever was hating her now, whatever had produced the endless stream of invective that had played its part in driving Owen to his death, was a more modern intolerance. Some people couldn’t handle freedom of expression. William Wordsworth would have had a few things to say about that, too.
‘Afternoon, Dr Wilder.’ The policewoman on duty in Coffin Lane stepped aside to let her past. Cody turned towards her with a forced smile, trying not to look at the scene beyond. She’d miss Lynx, who had been kind to her, but life had taught her the hardest lesson and now she knew you couldn’t trust the people who ought to care for you. Only Brandon, to whom she was tied by the double lock of blood and secrecy, had never hurt her.
‘Howdy, ma’am,’ Brandon said to the policewoman, falling into step beside Cody as she moved on. His deliberate adoption of the stereotypical cowboy’s speech and manner irritated her further. Dear God, she said to herself, surely I’m not letting this get to me?
‘Cody.’
She skidded to a halt, alerted by his tone. Brandon never called her by her name, always honey or baby or, occasionally, sis. ‘What?’ Her mind jumped back a quarter of a century. ‘What have you done now?’
He stopped, too, and turned towards her as if he’d made a decision, though he wouldn’t look her in the eye. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Last time you spoke to me like that was when—’
He raised a hand in warning and wisdom prevailed. The words died on her lips. Look where your last good idea got us, she wanted to shout at him, but she knew what he’d answer. He’d say: it got us out of hell. ‘Ssh!’
They didn’t talk about it. They didn’t dare. ‘So what is it this time?’
‘It’s all good. You’ll be pleased for me, baby. I’d have told you before, if there hadn’t been so much going on. The whole reason I came over here is to tell you. I’ve met the best girl in the world and I’m going to marry her.’
Brandon, marrying? Hitching his star to another woman’s wagon? ‘I’m sorry, honey. I thought you came to hear my presentation.’
He was by no means stupid but with him everything boiled down to brutal necessity and sarcasm always washed over his head. The wilderness did that to you. ‘Sure. That, too. But while I was here, I wanted to tell you my news.’
‘Married?’ The thought appalled her, on too many levels. ‘You’ve found some girl who’s prepared to go and live twenty miles down a dirt track and see no one but you for weeks on end?’ To her disgust, his sheepishness gave way to a bashful, boy-in-love smile. In response, she forced a smile but dread and guilt and anger welled up in her heart. At the end of that track, Brandon and his unsuspecting wife would have kids who’d be stranded out in the back woods just as she and Brandon had been, isolated in a way that would make them both dependent and interdependent. History threatened to repeat itself. Her stomach lurched at the thought. ‘It’ll never last. She won’t cope.’
‘Guess she will. She’s prepared to take me on.’
He was looking at her furtively, as if he was unsure of her response, and it gave her the opportunity to be generous. She saw Brandon little enough and was confident enough to believe he’d always come when she called, that if she ever needed him, no wife, no kids, nothing would come between them.
‘Well, sweet.’ She leaned towards him and hugged him, offering him an untypical peck on the cheek to show him how open-hearted she was. ‘I can’t wait to meet her. What’s her name? What does she do?’
‘She’s called Laura,’ he said, setting off more jauntily as if he’d passed some difficult hurdle with ease. ‘She works for a tech company in LA.’
‘LA, huh? Wyoming’s going to be a change for her.’ Catching up with him, she smiled as they passed the Gordons’ cafe. ‘That’s where those nutters live who think I killed their kid.’
‘Jeez. Did you tell the police that?’
‘They already knew. They weren’t exactly subtle about their banner.’
‘I wish I’d made it here in time. I’d have ripped it down myself and made them eat it, shred by shred.’
In reality, Cody cared nothing for the Gordons. ‘Let’s go and find somewhere for a coffee. There’s a proper American diner around the corner that does waffles and pancakes. Scones and weak tea are real authentic but right now I need a kickass coffee.’
They negotiated their way past the cafe and into the village centre, and even there she was attracting stares. Normally that wouldn’t have bothered her but that sudden thought, that memory of life on the ranch alone with Brandon and her parents and its inevitable brutal outcome, had unsettled her. Violence extended through the years and she was powerless to stop it. ‘These guys are as bad as snakes,’ she said loudly to Brandon, as they crossed the road to the churchyard.
‘Worse than snakes, honey. Snakes don’t pretend to be anything they’re not.’
That was true enough. The majority of those who stared with such intense curiosity weren’t hostile, and the chances were that whoever had killed Lynx wasn’t among them. But she couldn’t be sure.
Outside the church, a mother with a pushchair, a child and a dog occupied the pavement as she unpacked her bag in search of something or other. The child, bored, sat on the pavement sorting scarlet yew berries into a pattern and as Cody and Brandon stepped out into the road to pass by, the woman lifted her head to stare.
‘Stare all you like, honey,’ Cody heard herself saying. And then the woman’s dog jumped up at her and she squealed and kicked it out of the way. ‘Get that beast on a lead!’ She jumped and ran a few steps, mortified at her weakness, at how fast her heart was beating.
‘So sorry, ma’am.’ Brandon intervened. ‘My sister’s terrified of dogs.’
Did she really need him to smooth things over when she was perfectly right to be annoyed? ‘I am not scared of dogs. But they should be kept under control. If you can’t do that you shouldn’t be allowed to have them. Or children. Look at your kid. Sitting on the sidewalk playing with poison berries? Do you realise how dangerous that is?’
Ears back, tail still, the dog flattened itself against the tarmac and growled. The woman stared, speechless. The child, sensing aggression, broke into a doleful wail.
‘Honey.’ Brandon took charge once more, linking his arm through Cody’s and steering her away before more people could gather. ‘Let’s get somewhere quiet, huh? Let’s get you that coffee.’
Tension pained her like a rope around her head, so that she even wanted to scream at Brandon, cursing him for his folly in dragging some poor woman out of the modern world and back into the brutal wilderness, but she fought it back. ‘Sure. Or maybe something stronger, huh? To celebrate your good news.’
10
‘Let’s get on.’ It was already later than Jude had intended and a team meeting scheduled for three o’clock had slipped until its completion would take them way over the time when everyone hoped to leave; he’d end up negotiating the murky water of who was entitled to overtime and who was being asked to do just too many hours. With that in mind, as well as the need to keep information as tight
ly controlled as possible, he’d called together Doddsy, Chris and Ashleigh to summarise the day’s activity. Outside the incident room in Penrith’s police headquarters, the damp January night rubbed up against the windows, condensation blooming where heat met cold. ‘Okay, Doddsy. How’s it going?’
Doddsy pushed back his chair. They were sitting in their usual place, in the incident room beneath the whiteboard that supported maps and pictures of victims and the scenes. When Jude looked up at it, he saw photographs of Owen, sophisticated and modern, and of the luxury cottage where he’d died, alongside images of the damp, dreary campsite in the rain. There were no pictures of Lynx alive. ‘I feel like it’s Christmas and I’m doing a jigsaw puzzle with Auntie Gladys. Two puzzles, in fact, mixed up in the same box. One of them’s cute little Grasmere and the other’s the Wild West.’
This was an unusual bout of levity from the usually dry inspector. Something had got into Doddsy, Jude mused. Maybe he’d started counting down to early retirement and realised he only had another decade in the job before he could think about getting out of it. He lifted an eyebrow, but it was a cheerful one. After all, he himself was noticeably more relaxed than he used to be, he had Ashleigh to thank for that. ‘It does feel like that, doesn’t it? My gut tells me that two deaths very close together like that have to be connected, but there’s no evidence for it. We’ll treat them separately just now.’
‘Shall we start with Owen? That looks like the straightforward one.’
‘Go ahead.’ Jude had decided to bring the two cases into the same incident room and put them up on the same board, but they were still officially separate.
Owen’s death was Doddsy’s project, so he took the lead. ‘There’s no evidence of any other involvement in his death. He seems to have been a nice enough guy, although I’ve had people talking with his friends and former colleague and he was known for being mentally frail. He didn’t perform well under pressure.’