The Darkest Evening

by Cleeves, Ann

  Harriet’s only reaction was to straighten her back and raise her chin a little. ‘I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘He showed it to me before he died.’ Juliet had planned the lie as soon as she’d realized this conversation was inevitable. And it was only half a lie. After all, her father had hinted about the content of the letter. She thought Vera would go along with the fib, but that would mean getting to the inspector first to explain. No way could Juliet confess to Harriet that she’d been snooping in this room in her mother’s absence.

  There was a silence, as icy as the temperature in the rest of the house.

  ‘That was unfortunate,’ Harriet said at last. ‘I’d have thought he’d have had more decency. More honour.’

  ‘You didn’t have the decency to carry out his wishes.’ Juliet had raised her voice and felt suddenly liberated from a lifetime of politeness.

  ‘How could I,’ Harriet said, ‘without telling the world our business?’

  ‘Well, I’ve told the police. I thought they had the right to know.’

  ‘You did what?’ Now Harriet was seriously shaken. She was on her feet. The colour had drained from her face.

  Juliet thought her mother might faint, but the sense of power was intoxicating and she continued almost joyously. ‘I met Vera this morning and I told her. Two women have died.’ A pause. ‘Besides, she’d already guessed that Crispin was Lorna’s father, though she was a little surprised that you hadn’t carried out his last wishes.’

  There was another silence, while Harriet regained her composure. She returned to her seat and stared at Juliet.

  ‘What is this about? You never previously had any sisterly feelings for Lorna Falstone. I don’t recall your suggesting that she should share your inheritance. When she was ill, you didn’t visit or invite her to Brockburn to recuperate. So why these sudden scruples? Is it revenge? Have I really been such a poor mother that you delight in causing me embarrassment?’ She paused. ‘Or do you have something to hide? Is this a way of turning the police’s attention away from you and Mark and your intellectual friends in the cottage? It would be much more convenient for you all if I weren’t here to stand in the way of your grandiose plans for my home.’

  Juliet felt herself become light-headed and confused. The flash of confidence had already disappeared. How could she have ever thought she might get the better of her mother in any situation? She was stumbling her way towards a reply, some sort of apology that might improve the situation, when she heard the sound of a growling engine, the crackle of scattered gravel. Vera had arrived.

  She left her mother’s room and almost ran down the stairs, tripping on the last step. Through an open door she could hear Mark talking on his phone to someone from the theatre and in that moment, she hated him. She wished she could recapture the courage that had allowed her, at least for a moment, to challenge her mother, and throw him out. How could he not sense how tense she was, how scared? She should be able to share with him the nightmare of her twisted, tangled family. Just as Vera started ringing the bell, Juliet opened the door to let her in. The detective stood there, legs slightly apart, as solid as the hills from which she’d grown. Behind her the lights on the tree twinkled, seeming to mock them.

  ‘You have to know something.’ Juliet spoke quickly before moving aside to let Vera in. ‘I told Mother that Crispin explained about the letter, asking her to take care of Lorna, before he died. I couldn’t admit that I’d been in her room. You do understand?’ Because surely this woman, who had been so comforting when she’d confided about her inability to conceive, would understand.

  ‘Well, I’ll do my best, but two women have been killed. I’m not prepared to play games.’

  Then she was inside, stooping to take off her wet and muddy boots, puffing with the effort of bending to untie the laces, grabbing on to Juliet for a moment when she nearly toppled over.

  ‘Where is she then?’

  ‘In her room.’ Juliet came halfway up the stairs with Vera and pointed it out, but Vera stood for a moment in her stockinged feet.

  ‘I want you there too,’ she said. ‘I don’t have the time to repeat myself.’ She stomped on up to the landing, assuming that Juliet would follow. And of course Juliet did. Because Juliet had always done what she was told.

  Vera tapped on the door, but went in before Harriet could answer. Juliet stood behind her.

  Harriet was standing too, prepared for the onslaught. ‘We’ll go downstairs, shall we? I don’t think my bedroom is the place for any kind of official discussion.’

  ‘Oh, I think we’ll stay here,’ Vera said, moving in, looking around. ‘Plenty of room and it’s nice and cosy. I’ve been freezing my tits off outside for most of the day.’ She landed on a small silk chaise longue that stood under the window.

  Juliet saw Harriet wince, but whether she was offended by the language or anxious that the furniture might not withstand Vera’s weight, it was impossible to tell.

  ‘Why don’t you both take a seat?’ Vera went on. ‘This might take a while.’

  Harriet seemed about to object, but she went back to the armchair where she’d been sitting earlier. Juliet perched on the end of the bed.

  ‘You know I could charge you both with wasting police time.’ Vera was staring at them, her conker-brown eyes hard and cold. There was silence.

  ‘There are some things,’ Harriet was at her most imperious, ‘that should remain private.’

  ‘Not in a murder investigation!’ Vera had raised her voice so she was almost shouting. Juliet thought she was genuinely angry. ‘Do you think Lorna’s family want people in the village gossiping about her? Speculating about who her father might be? Her illness? The father of her child? Of course they don’t. But there’s gossip all the same. What makes you so different?’

  Another silence.

  ‘You’ve known from the start that Lorna was most likely Crispin’s child.’ Vera spoke more quietly now, but Juliet found the tone of reason and logic even more chilling. ‘But you both pretended that you hardly knew her.’

  ‘We did hardly know her,’ Harriet said. ‘We didn’t have her round every week for tea on the lawn.’

  ‘Ah.’ Vera sounded suddenly wistful. ‘Tea on the lawn. Scones and strawberry jam. Meringues.’

  Harriet stared at her as if she was mad.

  Vera’s attention seemed drawn back to the present with a jolt. ‘You must have realized it was important for my investigation to understand the lass, to know all about her. You deliberately hindered my work. That’s an offence.’

  Harriet said nothing.

  ‘Let’s see this famous letter then. The one Crispin told Juliet about before he died.’

  Juliet almost fainted with relief. At first, she thought Harriet would refuse to comply. Her mother sat, stony-faced.

  ‘Look, pet, if you want to be difficult, I can always get a warrant, fetch my specialist search team in to look for it.’ A pause. ‘And if you’ve destroyed it, I’ll charge you with hampering a police investigation.’

  Without a word, Harriet got to her feet. She fetched the key from the music box and unlocked the drawer, took out the envelope and handed it to Vera. The jaunty music died away. Vera looked at the letter as if she were reading it for the first time, slowly, taking in every word. Now, Juliet felt not only relief, but gratitude.

  Vera stretched her legs so her feet were no longer touching the floor; she seemed beached on the fragile chaise like a whale. ‘Had Lorna found out about this? Had she come to you making demands?’ She waved the letter in her hand.

  ‘No,’ Harriet said. ‘How could she possibly have found out about it?’

  Vera seemed not to hear. ‘Because it seems a strange coincidence. Just as you’re all making plans to turn this place into a money-making venture, the lass who could ruin the family reputation and claim the right to a heap of your cash is suddenly found dead on your property.’

  Juliet expected an explosion of outrage f
rom her mother, but Harriet’s response was strangely subdued, dismissive.

  ‘You must think what you like, Vera.’

  ‘Did either of you have any contact at all with Lorna Falstone in the weeks running up to her death?’

  Juliet almost put up her hand like an eager child in the classroom, but Vera had already turned to her, waiting for her to answer. ‘Really, I haven’t,’ Juliet said. ‘Not on her own, at least. I saw her about a fortnight ago in the Co-op. She had Thomas in the buggy and I couldn’t help stopping to look at him. He’s probably my nephew, after all, and of course I was interested.’

  ‘You had a conversation?’

  ‘Only the sort of chat you have with a young mum. Hasn’t he grown? How are things going?’

  ‘How did she respond?’

  ‘Just as you’d expect. There was nothing meaningful. Nothing to suggest she knew about the letter and was about to make a claim on the estate. We were in a queue for the till – some poor elderly woman couldn’t remember her PIN so everyone was having to be patient. Then Karan came in with Cath Heslop. He’s been tutoring her to get her through A levels and he’d given her a lift into the village. Lorna lost patience then. She was only there for milk and she said she’d come back when it wasn’t so busy.’

  Vera hesitated for a moment. ‘Did you have the impression that Lorna was running away? That she didn’t want to speak to Karan?’

  ‘No,’ Juliet said, though she wasn’t sure now. She played the scene in her head. Perhaps Lorna’s ending of the conversation had been a little abrupt and her scurrying out of the shop a little odd. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  Vera turned her attention to Harriet. ‘What about you? Have you had any contact with Lorna in recent weeks?’

  ‘Not to speak to.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ Juliet could tell that Vera was losing patience now, that soon there would be an explosion of anger.

  ‘I drove past her one day,’ Harriet said. ‘She was walking up the back drive from the house towards the cottage, where Dorothy and Karan live. It’s not a public right of way and I was tempted to tell her so.’

  ‘But you didn’t. Because she was Crispin’s daughter and she had as much right to be there as you.’

  ‘No.’ Now Harriet was contemptuous. ‘Because I was in a hurry to get home and I couldn’t be bothered.’

  ‘When was this?’

  Harriet shrugged. ‘About a month ago.’

  Vera swung her legs round until her feet were on the carpet and she stood up. Juliet slid off the bed and opened the door for her. They were hit by a blast of icy air from the landing and walked down the stairs together. Vera stooped to put on her boots.

  ‘Thanks so much,’ Juliet said.

  Vera replied with a kind of snort. No words. In another room, Mark was still laughing.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  AFTER SPEAKING TO HARRIET, HOLLY WENT back to Kirkhill, but she had little luck with the other residents she talked to. They expressed shock at the death of Constance Browne, but gave no helpful information. She was making her way to the car, thinking that she’d head back to Kimmerston and the evening briefing, when she saw Karan Pabla walking down the street, a woven shopping bag in either hand. She shouted a greeting. The light was fading and for a moment he seemed not to recognize her. Then there was the beautiful smile, the sense that she was just the person he was hoping to see. She crossed the road to join him.

  She nodded to the bags. ‘Stocking up?’

  ‘Dorothy sent me out for supplies. Apparently, there’s more snow forecast. Though she’s always got enough in stock to feed an army. She’s the most organized person I know.’ He set down the bags. ‘How’s the investigation going? Poor Connie.’

  ‘You knew her well?’

  ‘She helped me get a couple of voluntary placements in schools. Teaching practice before the PGCE starts in September.’ He paused. ‘She must have been an awesome teacher. So interested in all her pupils.’

  ‘And her former pupils. She was very kind to Lorna.’

  ‘Do you think that was why she was killed?’ Karan said. ‘Because Lorna had shared information about her killer?’

  Holly was tempted to reply. There was something in Karan that invited confidence. But she only shook her head. ‘You’ll understand that I can’t talk about an ongoing investigation.’

  ‘Of course.’ He picked up the bags. ‘I shouldn’t have asked. Good luck, though. When all this is over, you’ll have to come round for supper.’ He walked away in the gloom towards his car.

  It was the evening briefing. They sat in the ops room, where one of the strip lights flickered occasionally, giving Holly a headache. The ancient radiators were pumping out the heat. Vera was at the front, there before the rest of them, perky as if she’d just woken up from a good sleep, so Holly knew that she had information, or an idea, or that maybe she’d cracked the case without the rest of them. The others just looked tired.

  Vera slid her bum from the table she’d been resting against and called for order. The background chatter ended.

  ‘Let’s catch up,’ she said. ‘Lots of information this evening so I hope you lot are taking notes.’ A quick grin. Vera was famous for never seeming to need notes. ‘First, we now know that Lorna was indeed Crispin Stanhope’s daughter.’

  Charlie got to his feet. ‘Sorry to interrupt, boss.’ Something in his voice made Holly think that he wasn’t at all sorry. ‘But we don’t know that.’

  ‘I realize before it was only a suspicion,’ Vera said, ‘but since we last met, I’ve seen a letter from Crispin to Harriet telling her that Lorna was entitled to a portion of his estate.’

  ‘Well, he might have written that letter,’ Charlie said, ‘and he might have believed that he was the lass’s dad. Or hoped that he was, maybe, if he’d fallen for her mother. But the DNA’s just come through and he was no relation.’

  Vera looked deflated. Physically smaller, like a balloon with a pin stuck in the side. Holly enjoyed the moment, then couldn’t help feeling sorry for her.

  ‘Well,’ Vera said at last. ‘That’ll teach me to make assumptions. All that gossip – folk saying how Juliet and Lorna looked alike. Jumping to their own conclusions. Just because it made a good story, but ruining the lass’s life. Nearly killing her with the anorexia. And ruining the lives of her parents, tearing them apart.’

  There was silence in the room. Everyone knew better than to speak.

  ‘I’ll call on the Falstones on the way home.’ Vera was talking to herself. ‘Let them know. After all these years . . .’

  Joe stood up. He was the only one who could move her on when she was in this mood. ‘Does it make any difference to the investigation? If everyone thought she was Crispin’s daughter, the motive’s still the same.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Vera was still lost in thought.

  ‘I spoke to the vicar and her husband.’ Joe could be persistent when it was needed. Holly thought he knew Vera better than anyone else in the world. If he left the team, the boss would be lost. Maybe that was the only thing that would persuade her to retire. ‘Connie was at church the day before she went missing. So was the family from the big house. She didn’t speak to the vicar, but she did talk to Doug, the husband. He said something was troubling her and she asked if she could have a chat with them. He invited her to lunch on the Monday but of course she didn’t turn up.’

  He’d managed to pull Vera’s attention back into the room. ‘Did Connie talk to the Brockburn lot at church?’

  Joe shook his head. ‘Doug doesn’t think so. The family rushed away almost as soon as the service was over.’

  ‘So, what did Connie know?’ Vera looked around at them all. ‘What was the secret that killed her?’

  Holly waited long enough to allow that particular question to remain unanswered before standing up to speak.

  ‘Yes, Hol? What have you got for us?’

  ‘I spent some time in Kirkhill, chatting to the residents about Cons
tance Browne. One elderly guy saw a car outside her house on the morning she disappeared. He thought someone either went in or out of the house and then the car drove away.’

  ‘A credible witness?’

  Holly thought of Matty Fuller. ‘Oh, definitely. A bit deaf but sharp as a tack.’

  ‘He’d have noticed if she’d been screaming and struggling?’

  ‘Yes,’ Holly said. ‘I think he would. That would have taken more time. The guy only saw shadows and he didn’t get any details of the vehicle, but if that was when Connie left the house, I’d say she went willingly.’

  ‘Did you get a chance to talk to Harriet?’

  Holly nodded. ‘She definitely knew about her husband’s affair with Jill Falstone at the time and was furious that it had become public knowledge, but after all these years I can’t see she had any motive for killing Lorna, even if she believed she was his daughter.’

  Vera nodded, then looked up at them. Holly could tell the boss was about to share the information that had excited her. ‘I’ve found Lorna’s cottage. The one that she painted. It’s in a bit of deciduous woodland on the Brockburn estate, not very far from the house, or from the patch of clear fell where Connie’s body was found, but you’d probably never find it if you didn’t know it was there.’ She paused. ‘Someone’s been using it recently.’

  Holly felt a moment of anticlimax. She’d been expecting something more relevant.

  Vera turned to the senior CSI. ‘Billy, your team has been in there. Have they found anything to make an ageing detective very happy?’

  Billy smiled his weasel smile. ‘Lorna Falstone’s fingerprints. Will that do?’

  ‘Oh, it certainly will. Buy them a drink from me.’

  Billy muttered under his breath that he’d need to see her money first.

  Holly stuck up her hand. ‘But we know Lorna had been there. She must have been if she painted the place.’

  ‘They were everywhere,’ Billy said. ‘On the pieces of furniture. You won’t have seen the bed, Vera, because you were a good girl and didn’t go further than the front door, but Lorna’s fingerprints were on the brass headboard.’