The Darkest Evening

by Cleeves, Ann

  She sat to catch her breath, leaning against the straight trunk of a spruce, and fished her phone from her pocket, pressed in the passcode. One bar. When she dialled Joe’s number, there was a ringtone, but nobody answered and even the ringtone sounded hesitant and uncertain. She left a message. Thomas is in Jinny’s Mill. Take care and take backup. I’m . . . But before she could continue the phone cut out. Now there were no bars and reception had disappeared altogether.

  This seemed to be a path of sorts and she continued, reaching out with her hands on each side, to make sure she was following the line of trees. Perhaps eventually it would come to a road or a Forestry Commission track, she’d pick up reception again and she could use her phone to find out where she was through GPS. Perhaps. Holly had shown her the trick once, but Vera had never quite worked out how to do it.

  Time seemed not to move. Every step was the same and she could have been on a treadmill, moving but motionless. At last the path grew wider. Vera started to be aware of falling flakes, icy on her skin, and there was snow beneath her boots now. It creaked as she walked on it: dry not slushy. Her eyes had got used to the lack of light and could make out the contrast between the straight white path and the rigid line of conifers on either side. Then the trees stopped and she was in a wide space, leaving behind the rustle of branches. The clouds parted once more and she saw that she was in the area of clear fell where Constance Browne’s body had been found. The place of her nightmares. But the place too where pink plastic ribbons would lead her back to the track and at last to the road.

  She was exhausted. She’d never been one for exercise, even when she was a lass, and this was new to her. Her doctor would be delighted, but she needed to rest before she started back. She wondered what was happening at the cottage, if Holly and Joe had picked up her message about Thomas, if they’d had the sense to act on the earlier text she’d sent. She sat on a pile of branches and closed her eyes.

  Perhaps she fell asleep. Certainly, she didn’t hear the approach and there must have been footsteps, even though they’d be deadened by the snow. It was the voice that brought her back to the present, made her suddenly alert. A voice that was intimate, very close. Then the barrel of a shotgun, colder even than the falling snow, against the side of her head, just above her left eye.

  ‘Did you really think you could escape? I grew up here. I’ve known this place since I was a child. I could find my way blindfold and I knew where you were heading, even if you didn’t.’

  Chapter Forty

  THEY FOUND VERA’S LAND ROVER PARKED close to Karan and Dorothy’s cottage. Charlie had turned up to sit with the Falstones. Holly and Joe had both needed action by then, to escape the couple’s misery, and they were desperate to find out what had happened to Vera. They pulled to a stop outside the Brockburn cottage, thinking perhaps she might be there. There was a light at the window, although it was two in the morning. Joe knocked on the door, not caring that they might wake up the baby, not caring much about anything, except that they’d had a mumbled message from Vera that they couldn’t make out at all. That the boss had sounded disorientated, almost scared.

  Karan came to the door, still dressed despite the hour.

  ‘Have you seen Vera? DI Stanhope?’

  The man looked confused, shocked. Joe thought that was only to be expected. The couple wouldn’t usually have visitors so late at night.

  ‘No, no, I’m sorry. What is this all about?’

  ‘Is your wife at home?’

  ‘No, she took Duncan to her parents’ home this evening and decided they should stay over because of the weather.’

  The man made no move to ask them in. Through the open door behind him, Joe glimpsed two coffee mugs on a table, the wood-burner still lit.

  ‘You’re up late. A visitor?’

  ‘No, not now.’ Karan gave a little laugh. ‘I don’t clear up if Dorothy’s not here to chivvy. I’ll make sure it’s all tidy before she gets back. Cath Heslop was here earlier. I’m coaching her for her exams.’

  Joe paused. What else was there to do here? Nothing. Perhaps it was strange that the man was still up in the early hours of the morning, but even if he’d had a guest who wasn’t his student, that was none of their business. ‘Sorry to disturb you.’

  Holly was waiting impatiently on the track. ‘Vera’s first text said she was checking out Jinny’s Mill. That’s where she’ll be.’

  He nodded. He was still anxious about the more recent voicemail. The words had been blurred, but he’d picked up the panic, the exhaustion. Vera never panicked.

  ‘Why don’t I go on to the mill?’ Holly said. ‘I’ll run, get there faster. In case she was right and the boy’s there. You check out for Vera on the way.’

  He nodded again, because he could feel himself overwhelmed by panic too and he was glad Holly was willing to make a decision. He watched her set off, fleet-footed into the night, wearing a headtorch to light her way. Of course, he thought, she would have come suitably prepared. In comparison, he felt leaden and inadequate.

  When Brockburn came into sight, he hesitated. Should he go to the big house to check if Vera was there? It seemed dark and silent and the people who lived in Brockburn intimidated him. He could imagine how angry they’d be if he woke them with no real reason. But this place seemed at the heart of the investigation. Lorna’s body had been found very close to where he was standing. He paused for a moment looking at the bulk of the house, lit by the security lights, then he walked on down the path towards Jinny’s Mill. Vera had said that was where she’d be. All the same, he continued shining his torch through the trees on both sides of the track looking for signs of the boss. Holly might be quick, but he was thorough.

  He saw nothing to cause him anxiety when he approached the cottage. Everything was quiet. There was snow on the roof and the window ledges, a candle at the window. A Christmas-card scene of warmth and welcome. He imagined Vera inside, the child awkwardly on her knee, a strange middle-aged Madonna. Then he thought this was all too quiet. Holly should be here by now and if the boy was in the mill, they would want to get him back to his grandparents. They wouldn’t be waiting for Joe before carrying him back through the forest. There was something sinister in the calm and the stillness. It was the stuff of horror movies: the picturesque scene was hiding something monstrous inside. His heart raced and he felt every beat.

  He still had his torch as he approached the house. The beam trembled and he held it more firmly. As he got close to the building, he saw something metallic shining dully in the light. He knelt and picked up a few pellets of shot, visible because there was a bare patch of ground in the shelter of the wall. Searching, he collected more.

  He waited and listened at the door. Nothing, then a faint cry. He pushed it open and saw Holly, not Vera, holding the baby. He could tell it was her first time with a child that age and that she was terrified she’d drop him. She was standing close to the range and he felt the heat from the fire as he walked through the door.

  ‘The boss was right. He was here all the time in a cradle in the room next door. Alone. I’ve checked him over. He seems fine.’

  ‘Have you told the Falstones?’

  She shook her head. ‘No reception.’ A pause. ‘There’s no sign of Vera, though.’

  He held out his hand and showed her the pellets. ‘Someone’s been here with a shotgun. Recently. I found more that had gone through the snow and left a mark.’

  There was a moment of silence. ‘I think you should take Thomas home,’ Holly said, ‘away from danger and back to his grandparents. They’ll be frantic.’

  ‘You could take him, leave me here.’

  She shook her head. ‘There’s a child seat in your car and anyway I don’t do kids. As soon as you get reception, call for backup.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  She looked at him as if the answer was obvious. ‘I’ll see if I can find the boss.’

  For the second time that night, Joe did as Holly suggested. He c
arried a sleeping Thomas in his arms back towards his car. It took longer than he’d expected and he struggled to manage the torch and the child. The dark closed around him as he left the light of Jinny’s Mill and he stopped every few yards to check that he was on the path. All the way he was worrying about Vera, running through scenarios which might explain her absence. He couldn’t see how she would have left the boy behind unless she was in some danger. Even then it would be out of character. Occasionally, he thought he heard noises, footsteps, a distant shout, but when he paused to listen, there was nothing at all.

  At last he reached the track behind Brockburn. He shifted the weight of the boy onto his shoulder. Walking past Dorothy Felling’s cottage, he saw that there was a light still on inside. The curtain was pulled aside and Karan Pabla looked out, as if he were waiting for someone. Perhaps he was expecting his partner to return. The curtain dropped back into place immediately, even though Karan must have seen Joe walking past.

  When he reached the car, there was mobile signal. He strapped Thomas into the seat and called the Falstones. Robert answered immediately and Joe heard the man sobbing at the other end of the line. Then he phoned the station, demanding action, every available officer.

  ‘There’s someone armed with a shotgun and the boss is wandering around in the forest on her own.’

  Chapter Forty-One

  VERA SAT QUITE STILL FOR A moment and tried to control the panic. She didn’t want her career, her life, to end in this place that reminded her of a war zone: dead trees like twisted limbs and animals ready to eat her flesh when she was gone. She had never before been so certain that she wanted to live to boring old age.

  ‘You do know it’s all over, pet. My chaps will have found Thomas by now and he’ll be back safe and sound with Robert and Jill.’ She’d aimed at jaunty, but her voice sounded tight and scared.

  Still the barrel of the shotgun was icy against her skin. She could feel the weight of it, the round imprint burning like a brand. But it shifted a little and that gave her the confidence to continue.

  ‘What good will it do, shooting me? Another dead woman to add to your tally? You’re not that sort of person. Not a psychopath or serial killer. Not a monster.’

  ‘He’s my boy!’

  ‘I know he is, but Lorna would never acknowledge you as the father, would she?’

  ‘She said once that she loved me.’

  ‘Aye, well, she was a young lass looking for some kind of father figure.’ Vera paused for a beat. ‘Tell you what, why don’t you give me the shotgun? I’ve got a flask of whisky in my coat pocket. I reckon we both deserve a nip to warm us up and then you can tell me all about it, how it all fell apart.’

  She could hear him breathing, smell the waxed jacket and the leather boots. She felt in her pocket for the flask. The clouds cleared and she held it so the moonlight reflected from it. ‘Just as well I filled it up after I spent the night here with Constance Browne.’

  ‘She was an interfering cow.’

  ‘Well, I did get that impression myself.’ Another pause. ‘What do you say? Give me the gun. I’d say that was a fair swap.’ Vera thought how ridiculous this was, bartering her life in return for whisky, and she felt a snort of hysteria rising from her stomach. But this man would hate to be laughed at and he’d already killed twice. She pushed back the impulse to giggle.

  The cold steel moved from her skin. Now he was standing with the gun at his side.

  ‘Pass it over,’ she said, ‘and sit down. You’ve had a dreadful week. What was it you called it when I saw you at your daughter’s party? A nightmare. It must all seem like a nightmare.’

  He raised the gun and she thought she’d miscalculated. She hadn’t played him right at all. But Neil Heslop flung the shotgun away from him. She heard the crash of twigs snapping as it landed in a pile of dead, discarded wood. In the silence the noise sounded like gunfire. She thought it would take the team an age to find it again. He got down on his knees, then twisted his body so he was sitting beside her. She unscrewed the flask, took a sip, then handed it over to him.

  ‘How did it start?’ she asked. ‘Some sort of mid-life crisis. Your son all grown up, but back home and reminding you he still had a life ahead of him, and your daughters suddenly independent young women, with lives of their own. Planning a future away from you. Your wife a domestic goddess, but without much time for you. Life a bit of a boring routine.’

  ‘Something like that,’ he said. He spoke very slowly, as if he was still in a sort of trance. ‘And then Lorna was so bonny.’

  ‘She was,’ Vera said. ‘She took after her mother. How did you meet her?’

  ‘She was working in the pub in Kirkhill. I’d go occasionally for a break, a bit of time to myself. I’d ask Rosemary to come along but she always had something better to do. A floor to mop or biscuits to bake . . . Important things. More important than me or our marriage.’ In his voice, there was resentment mixed with a thread of self-pity.

  Vera was tempted to tell him what she thought about the self-indulgence of a middle-aged man who had a life most people would envy, but that could wait until she was somewhere warm and safe and she’d already heard his confession.

  ‘We started talking,’ he said. ‘I’d find myself hoping Lorna would be there when I went into the bar. I worked out what shifts she was working, dropped in when it was quiet. Not thinking it would lead anywhere, like, just enjoying her company. But dreaming about her when I was working the farm. Not able to get her out of my mind. One night there were a few rowdy guys in the pub, bikers, full of ale and hassling her. I helped her clear them out at last orders and offered to walk her home to make sure she got in safely.’ A pause. ‘She asked me in for coffee. That was when it started.’ He turned towards Vera. The moonlight caught his face. ‘I was her first. Her first boyfriend. That made it special.’

  Oh aye, it would do. Every middle-aged man’s fantasy. ‘Then she found herself pregnant.’

  ‘I wasn’t upset,’ he said. ‘Not angry. I was pleased. Pleased when she decided to keep him. I could see how it would all work out. We’d be a family. A proper family. I told her I was willing to leave Rosemary and the children for her. I’m good with bairns when they’re young, so trusting and full of life. I’d have made a fine father.’

  Vera could see that a baby might be easier than an arty grown-up son and a couple of bolshie teenage girls, but still she didn’t challenge him. Best to let him carry on talking.

  ‘I went to see her as soon as she was home from the hospital with the baby. I told Lorna then that I wanted to marry her, that I wanted us to set up home together. I explained that I’d just have to sort things out with Rosemary. It hadn’t been much of a marriage for years. That was what I told Lorna. She said she’d wait. She wanted me then as much as I wanted her.’

  ‘But it didn’t last, did it, pet? The passion and the excitement. For her at least. Lorna was growing up, getting a bit more confidence. She didn’t need you in the end.’

  ‘She was young,’ he said. He sounded as petulant as one of his kids. ‘She didn’t know her own mind.’

  Again, Vera bit back a reply. For a moment the forest was silent again. ‘Then she started going out with your son. The lovely Josh. I rather think my DC has a soft spot for him. Even I can see the appeal.’ Vera turned to him. The sky was quite clear now and the stars seemed so close she felt as if she could reach out to grab a handful. ‘And you never had found the courage to tell Rosemary you wanted to leave and split up the happy family. No wonder Lorna lost patience and preferred a boyfriend her own age.’

  He tensed. She sensed the hostility coming from him.

  ‘Thomas was my son.’

  She was glad he’d thrown away the gun, but he was still bigger than her and very much stronger. There was anger in his voice; she should be more careful how she spoke to him. Then she remembered Lorna and the way Heslop had tried to own the young woman, a brave young woman, who’d survived an eating disorder and who was ma
king a life for herself and her child. At that moment, anger took over and thoughts of self-preservation flew away.

  ‘I got it all wrong,’ she said. ‘We all got it wrong. We thought Lorna was trying to hold on to her lover, to persuade him to stay with her. Not that she was trying to escape from a toxic relationship, a relationship that wasn’t working for her any longer, with a man who was becoming more and more controlling and obsessive.’

  He tensed again, but she continued talking all the same. ‘Did you feel that she’d used you? That she was keen to see you while she was still frail and needy, but once she was stronger, she wanted someone closer to her own age?’

  ‘I made her stronger!’ He thumped the icy ground beside him with his fist.

  ‘You did,’ Vera agreed. ‘But if you’d loved her, you should have let her go. Not bullied her into staying as your bit on the side.’ She turned to him. ‘You wanted it all, didn’t you? Happy families at home, and an illicit young woman to spice up your love life. You couldn’t bear it when Lorna started to see sense.’

  ‘Thomas was my child.’ It had become a refrain. She thought he’d repeated it over and over in his head until it had become an obsession, a belief in the justice of his actions. The words had convinced him that Lorna had been planning to steal what was rightfully his.

  ‘Was she going to tell Josh?’ Vera asked. ‘Not just that you’d had the relationship, but that you were stalking her? Is that why you had to kill her?’

  ‘She was going to take everything away from me.’ The voice was implacable, without emotion.

  ‘So, you arranged to meet her at the lay-by looking down over Brockburn. You had the tractor and came over the field. What I don’t understand is why she agreed to be there that evening, in the dark and the snow, the bairn in the car when the driving was dangerous. And what had panicked her the day before?’