The Dungeon House (Lake District Mysteries)

by Martin Edwards

  ‘From what I gather, she vanished out of a clear blue sky.’

  ‘That’s right, the day the police knocked on my door and broke the news, it was the worst of my life. To make matters worse, my ex-wife blames me for Lily’s disappearance.’

  Joanna’s voice rose in outrage. ‘You were her father! To have your daughter go missing on her way to school, and never see her again, it doesn’t bear thinking about. How could anyone imagine that was your fault?’

  He made a wry face. ‘You’d have to know Anya. In her opinion, everything was my fault, from the English weather to the immigration laws.’

  Joanna buttered a scone. Much as she wanted to turn the conversation to Nigel, she couldn’t help being curious. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  ‘Not in any detail, if you’ll forgive me. It’s still very raw – the not knowing, I can’t imagine anything worse.’ His head dipped, and for a moment, she thought he was about to cry, but he sniffed loudly and kept his voice steady. ‘Obviously, my life’s been turned upside down more than once. First, the Dungeon House shootings. Terrible for Lysette and poor Amber, of course, but not very good for me.’

  She nodded. Rumours had spread through the Lake District that Malcolm Whiteley was a crook, and that Gray was mixed up in the funny business. She’d heard that Morkel’s gang had threatened to sue Gray, and that the Fraud Squad was taking a close interest in his books.

  ‘You sold your practice, didn’t you?’

  ‘It was the best solution in the circumstances. I had a rocky couple of years, but the worst didn’t happen. Morkel was scared off by the publicity over the shootings, and although I had to jump through countless hoops to satisfy the police, and the professional regulators, in the end they found other people to persecute. But I was sick of private practise, and I tried my hand as a freelance for a while. Then I went on holiday to Florence, and met Anya outside the Duomo.’

  ‘How romantic!’

  He blushed. ‘She’d fled from Croatia because of the fighting, and was working as a tour guide. To cut a long story short, I fell head over heels, and she came over as soon as we could make the necessary arrangements.’

  He nibbled at his scone. ‘When I married her, it was the happiest day of my life, at least until Lily was born. Such a beautiful child. The image of her mother, not me, thank goodness. When I was offered a partnership by an elderly accountant from Seascale, who wanted someone to buy him out in due course, I thought I’d mended my broken life, so you couldn’t see the join.’

  ‘Marvellous. It’s not true what they say. You can go back.’

  ‘Mmmmm … well. Unfortunately, Anya didn’t really want me as a husband. Just as a meal ticket.’

  ‘Sounds like Eoin and me.’

  He gave her a rueful smile. ‘You and I have something in common, don’t we? I did my best to keep the marriage afloat, but my best wasn’t good enough. She found another fool with a fat wallet, and walked out on me. Eventually I surrendered to the inevitable, and agreed to a divorce. Lily was nine by that time, and Anya was very difficult about allowing me access, but I hired the sharpest family lawyer in the county, and he negotiated terms I could live with. Anya made things as hard as possible, but Lily was spending a week with me when she went missing. Normally, Lily only stayed with me at weekends, but Anya had found yet another boyfriend by then, and he’d booked a romantic trip to the Maldives. So, reluctantly, Anya let her stay with me.’

  ‘And you never had any idea what happened to Lily?’

  ‘There were a thousand false leads, a thousand false hopes, but no real clue. Nothing. To this day, I can’t believe what happened. But there is one thing I do believe.’

  She looked him in the eye. ‘What’s that, Gray?’

  ‘I believe,’ he said, voice faltering, ‘I believe that Lily is still alive. And regardless of whether I see her again, I’ll believe that until the day I die. And you know what hurts me most of all, Joanna? Apart from losing my daughter, that is?’

  She shook her head, and he bent toward her.

  ‘It’s that Anya suspects me of murdering Lily.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘She’s persuaded the police to re-open their investigation. They’re treating it as a cold case, and the senior officer has rung me to fix an appointment. Naturally, I’m pleased about any development that gives us a chance of finding out the truth. And whatever poison Anya has dripped into the detective’s ear, she’s crazy if she still thinks I killed Lily.’

  Joanna gaped at him. Gray would never hurt a fly, she was sure of it.

  ‘But – why?’

  ‘Because,’ he said bitterly, ‘Anya was talking about leaving Britain for good to live in France with her fancy man, and she meant to take Lily with her. She believes I’m as bad as Malcolm.’

  ‘Nonsense!’

  He smiled wanly. ‘I’m glad you’re on my side, at any rate.’

  ‘Of course!’

  As she poured more tea, Joanna wondered if it was tactless to introduce Nigel into the conversation. Fortunately, Gray solved the dilemma for her, clearing his throat noisily as a prelude to changing the subject.

  ‘I suppose you’ve read the news about Nigel Whiteley’s daughter?’

  ‘Yes, yes, it’s dreadful.’

  ‘The police have been in touch. Not heard from them for ages, and now they’re talking to me every five minutes. They want to pinpoint any connections between the two girls. Teenagers do leave home, of course, but two unexplained cases in the same neck of the woods is unusual, even if they are three years apart. The fact that Nigel and I are acquainted interests them. Understandably, I suppose.’

  ‘Were Lily and Shona friends?’

  ‘They’d never even met. Lily was slightly older, and they went to different schools.’

  ‘But … things like Facebook …’ It was her turn to leave a sentence unfinished. The world of teenage girls and social media was alien to her. All she knew of it was gleaned from television and the Daily Express.

  ‘Who knows? When Lily disappeared, her computer was carted away, but the IT people never found anything to explain where she’d gone. I’m sure they will check Shona’s laptop, and phone records and such-like, so if there was a link between them, it’ll show up. It seems far-fetched to me.’

  Joanna drained her cup. ‘I feel so sorry for you … and Nigel.’

  ‘This morning, the detective in charge of the cold case unit rang to fix an appointment. Not that I’m likely to be much help. I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I’ve seen Nigel since the Dungeon House …’

  ‘You don’t act for him, then?’ Joanna felt a stab of dismay.

  ‘Good heavens, no. I doubt he’d touch me with a bargepole, given the fuss over Malcolm’s company sale. Thankfully, not everyone holds that against me. It’s taken years, but I’ve rebuilt my client list. Enough to afford a lovely home here, and pay Anya more than she deserves in alimony. Nigel’s made his own way.’

  ‘I gather he made a huge success of his business?’

  ‘Yes, he made a lot of money from paying people peanuts to hand him the right to sue for compensation for accident injuries. Real or imagined. Like Malcolm, he has an eye for the main chance.’

  Joanna bridled. ‘Nigel is nothing like Malcolm.’

  ‘No, no, I’ve put it badly. They both had an opportunistic streak, but Nigel’s much smarter.’

  This seemed like damning him with faint praise. ‘He’s a very different person!’

  ‘Oh, certainly. He was never a boozer, not like Malcolm. And thank goodness, he doesn’t own a gun. As far as I know.’

  Joanna shivered. ‘I wish there was something I could do. He and I were such good friends. I did wonder if …’

  Gray took the hint. ‘I’m sure he’d be glad to hear from you.’

  ‘You really think so? I feel … well, a bit awkward.’

  ‘No need for that, Joanna. You were good friends. Come back to the office with me for a moment
, and I’ll give you his details. I sent him an email expressing my sympathy when I heard the news about Shona.’

  ‘Did he reply?’

  ‘No, actually. Of course, he has a lot on his plate at present.’

  Molly arrived to clear the table. ‘Was that all right?’

  ‘Lovely, thanks,’ Gray said.

  ‘You made me curious about this man Gissing,’ Joanna said. ‘You said he was unlucky?’

  ‘Too right,’ Molly said. ‘His first wife was a prostitute who drank herself to death. The second went bonkers, and died in an asylum. He was sent to prison for theft, and died young, some say of syphilis. Pat reckons he was ruined by drink and money and sex. Then again, who isn’t?’

  CHAPTER TEN

  Cheryl – Cheryl Johnson, as she now was – lived in a smart bungalow a couple of lengths away from the old Art Deco Lido. A fortnight after taking her degree, Hannah had come to Grange one Saturday with a boyfriend, and swum in the saltwater baths after they’d walked up Hampsfell, and had a picnic by the little stone tower known as the Hospice. A couple of months later, the boy moved to a new job in London, and that was the end of that, but she retained happy memories of the Lido. For the past ten years, it had rotted away while a new indoor baths was built at eye-watering expense. The new pool won an award for architectural merit amid much fanfare, before closing down due to ‘structural problems’. Hannah supposed this said it all about experts on architectural merit. One day, she hoped, the authorities would come to their senses, and restore the Lido to its former glory instead of frittering money away on vanity projects that turned into white elephants. But she wouldn’t bet on it.

  The bungalow was set back from the road in a large corner plot dominated by a magnolia tree in full bloom. It wouldn’t have come cheap in this Mecca for affluent retirees. Cheryl had a knack of landing on her feet, and Hannah gathered that Mr Johnson wasn’t short of a few bob. The curtains at the bay window fluttered, and as Hannah walked up the path, Cheryl opened the front door. Her unsmiling expression made it clear that she was eager to get the interview over and done with.

  The new husband had suffered a coronary last autumn, hence this move to a one-level home close to the promenade and shops. His recovery was going well, Cheryl said, and he was out on the golf course this morning. Hannah presumed this meeting was timed to coincide with his absence. Perhaps Cheryl expected Hannah to compare Johnson unfavourably with Ben.

  Cheryl fiddled with an elaborate Italian coffee-maker, while Hannah made admiring noises about the kitchen and its array of shiny gadgets. They took their drinks into a large front room tastefully decorated, spotlessly clean, and as full of character as an airport lounge. Cheryl was, Hannah thought, fighting a losing battle with the passage of time. Her wrinkles ran deep, and she’d gone overboard with the make-up to compensate. The trouser suit, elegant and expensive, didn’t quite disguise the fact that she’d put on half a stone. Nor did she move with the briskness Hannah remembered. Was life with the rich husband taking its toll? As she perched on the edge of her armchair, her eyes were narrow with suspicion.

  ‘Right, then.’ Cheryl’s arms were folded, her body language defensive. ‘I suppose we have to remember this isn’t a social call. You’re here in your capacity as chief of the cold case unit. This job of yours is newsworthy, isn’t it? Though presumably very different from working at the cutting edge.’

  Hannah’s coffee tasted bitter. ‘Yes, I do find the work fascinating, especially when the past connects up with the present. Not that it’s always easy to join the dots.’

  Cheryl snorted. ‘Can’t be any dots to join between what Malcolm Whiteley did, the fact his accountant’s daughter vanished, and the disappearance of his nephew’s girl. The cases are years apart. Totally different, anyone can see that.’

  Hannah was determined to exude calm. ‘Some of the same individuals are involved, so it makes sense for us to eliminate the possibility of a connection. As I said on the phone, my team is reviewing Lily Elstone’s disappearance. And I wanted to ask you about Gray Elstone.’

  ‘Not clapped eyes on him for twenty years. Gray was up to his neck in Malcolm’s dodgy business affairs, and after the shootings, he ran for cover. I didn’t even know he’d married, let alone had a daughter. Pretty kid, going by the photos in the papers. Obviously she must take after her mother. Gray wasn’t in the front row when good looks were handed out.’

  ‘What did you make of him?’

  Cheryl shrugged. ‘I only knew him through Lysette. Malcolm was hand in glove with Gray. There was talk afterwards that Gray had fiddled the company books, and that Malcolm lost the plot when his fraud was discovered. Not sure about that, but Gray would never have had the guts to stand up to Malcolm.’

  ‘Did he strike you as dishonest?’

  ‘No, he was simply a weakling.’ Cheryl wrinkled her nose. ‘Not the sort of chap who would harm a fly.’

  Hannah had met a number of chaps who wouldn’t harm a fly, but had done terrible damage to fellow human beings. ‘Would you say the same about Nigel Whiteley?’

  ‘Again, you’re asking about someone I knew briefly, a long time ago. Nigel was a young man with an eye for the main chance. Confident and determined. Malcolm fell out with his father, because he had this ridiculous idea Ted was pursuing Lysette.’

  ‘Was it such a ridiculous idea?’

  ‘Yes, Ted was just an ordinary bloke. A football crazy widower. The big disappointment of his life was when Nigel failed to make the grade as a soccer player. Lysette liked Ted, but I can’t believe it went any further than that. She wanted to be a peacemaker, she hated the thought of the brothers not speaking to each other, especially when Ted was diagnosed as terminally ill. But Malcolm was jealous, and bore grudges. Hence his rampage with the rifle. At least Nigel wasn’t crazy.’ Cheryl smiled to herself. ‘He was good-looking, and popular with the girls. Even on that last night, the night of the shootings, they were all over him.’

  ‘Which girls?’

  ‘Poor Amber fancied him rotten, and so did her friend. Joanna. Odd-looking girl who worked for Gray Elstone. Gray obviously fancied her, but she only had eyes for Nigel. Anyway, she was a good deal younger than Gray.’

  Hannah put down her cup. ‘Gray was interested in young girls?’

  Cheryl’s eyes widened. ‘Don’t get me wrong. If he’d been after Amber, Lysette would have hit the roof. Joanna was in her early twenties. She’d suffered health problems, stress-related. Anorexia, alopecia, you name it. She’d grown up with Nigel, and they dated for a while. It was painfully obvious that she was desperate for them to get together again. He was sweet to her that last evening, when we all went for a meal in the Eskdale Arms. All of us except Malcolm, that is. Nigel and Joanna were the first to leave. They went off together, holding hands. Though if you ask me, Nigel was simply being kind because he felt sorry for her.’

  Joanna followed Gray up the steps to his office. The clatter of heels on the narrow staircase brought back memories of the climb up to that poky flat in Ulverston. Gray led her through a door at the top into a small reception area. A watercolour of a Lake District beauty spot, in Scott Durham’s familiar style, adorned each of the four walls. Presumably Gray still acted for Scott. A young Asian woman with crimson lipstick and matching fingernails was on the phone, trying to understand what the caller was saying.

  ‘Sorry, sir, please can you speak more slowly? You say the Revenue …?’

  The caller rang off, evidently tired of trying to make himself understood, and the woman greeted Gray with a shrug of frustration. She had long, jet black hair, and her slickly tailored business suit looked like the work of some expensive designer. Not easily paid for on a receptionist’s wages.

  ‘He talked so quickly, I couldn’t …’

  ‘Not to worry. Another time, put him through to Olive, and she will take a message. Have you had time to look at that spreadsheet?’

  The woman scowled at her computer screen, and shook her head. ‘
No, it has been busy since you left.’

  ‘Never mind. Yindee, this is Joanna Footit. Many years ago, Joanna used to work for me.’

  ‘Ah.’ Yindee raised elegant eyebrows. ‘You will have to tell me all Gray’s secrets.’

  Joanna giggled. ‘My lips are sealed.’

  A door opened, and a grey-haired woman emerged. As she handed a buff folder of papers to Yindee, Gray performed further introductions. This was Olive, his PA . Her face resembled a hatchet, the younger woman’s was shaped like a heart. An unspoken tension told Joanna that Olive and Yindee were not bosom pals.

  ‘We’ll only be five minutes,’ Gray said, ushering Joanna through a door marked with his name. Olive gave him a crisp nod, Yindee the helpless smile that seemed to be her default expression.

  As she sat down, Joanna thought that business computers might be smaller and many times more powerful than they were twenty years ago, but not much else had changed. Gray was a tidy man, and neatly labelled lever arch files filled his shelves. There was a filing cabinet, a laser printer, and a paper shredder. He’d bought his first shredder shortly before she stopped working for him. They were unfamiliar machines in those days, but she guessed he’d had the shredder working overtime as soon as he heard what Malcolm Whiteley had done.

  He closed the door, and gave his nervous cough. ‘Perhaps I should mention that Yindee and I are … um …’

  Light dawned. She’d been slow on the uptake, especially given that she’d noticed Yindee’s diamond ring. Now Gray’s whitened teeth and smart clothes made more sense. No wonder Olive looked as though her nose had been put out of joint, and Yindee could get away with an air of disgruntled incompetence.

  ‘You and she are engaged?’

  ‘Well, yes, I’m glad to say she’s done me the honour … um … her birthday’s coming up. Hence my trip to the florist’s.’