The Dungeon House (Lake District Mysteries)

by Martin Edwards

  ‘Congratulations! How long have you known each other?’

  ‘We met in Bangkok when I was on holiday last year, and it was … gosh, love at first sight.’ He ventured an apologetic smile. ‘Arranging a visa was complicated, and it helped for her to have a job ready and waiting. Between ourselves, it’s not working out terribly well, but I only ever saw reception work as a temporary expedient. Yindee’s English is improving all the time, but her real love is modelling with clay. A client of mine is helping her start a little business, selling at craft fairs and so on. As you can see, she has real talent.’

  He gestured to a small clay bust of a man’s head and shoulders occupying a corner of his desk. The spectacles were undoubtedly Gray’s, the rest a flattering image. Much younger, and borderline handsome.

  ‘How marvellous!’ Craning her neck as she looked around the room, she saw the screensaver on Gray’s computer. A soft focus head-and-shoulders studio portrait of a young woman was the only other personal touch in the room. Fair hair, bare shoulders. Her appearance triggered an unexpected memory. ‘That isn’t …?’

  ‘Lily, yes.’ He bowed his head. ‘The last photograph taken of her, only a month before she disappeared. I paid for her to have a session with a professional photographer in Carlisle. Anya was furious, said I was trying to buy her affection, letting a young girl pose like a tart. Nonsense, the shots were all in perfectly good taste. Thanks to Anya, the photographer was put through the third degree by the police, just in case he’d taken a fancy to her. Ridiculous.’

  ‘It’s just that …’ She didn’t know how to put it.

  ‘The pictures printed in the press were different, you’re right. That was Anya’s doing. I told her that it made sense to publicise the very latest photographs, just in case anyone recognised her. Anya would have none of it, even though the older snaps showed Lily with short, mousy hair, looking younger than her age.’

  ‘She doesn’t look her age there.’

  ‘No.’ There was an unmistakable pride in his voice. ‘Quite the glamorous young lady, isn’t she? Anyway, let’s not …’

  ‘No, no, sorry.’ She paused. ‘You don’t think Nigel will mind if I get in touch, do you?’

  ‘I’m sure he’ll be glad to … catch up.’ He fiddled on his keyboard, and glanced at the screen. ‘Here we are. Shall I print off his details?’

  ‘Thank you.’ The printer’s whirr masked the tremble in her voice as she asked the sixty four thousand dollar question ‘Am I right in thinking Nigel isn’t … with anyone at the moment?’

  Gray chewed at a hangnail. ‘I really have no idea. When I saw him on television, his comments seemed to imply that he’s single.’

  She said eagerly, ‘Yes, I saw that. It makes it so much more difficult to bear, being on your own, when something like this happens.’

  ‘Yes,’ Gray said. ‘That’s what I found. Since Anya left me, there’s been nobody else – until I met Yindee.’

  ‘And Nigel? His wife died twelve months ago, didn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, a brain tumour. She was a good deal older than Nigel, in her late fifties, but even so, it’s no age. Very sad.’

  Joanna lowered her eyes, but she found it impossible not to feel a tremor of excitement. Surely Nigel would be glad to see a friendly and familiar face, as he waited for his daughter to come home? On the subject of familiar faces … ‘Speaking of that television report, I noticed Robbie Dean outside Dungeon House.’

  ‘It’s called Ravenglass Knoll these days,’ Gray said. ‘Nigel changed the name of the house as soon as he moved in. As a matter of fact, I do Robbie’s books. Nigel gave him a long-term contract years ago, and there’s more than enough work at Ravenglass Knoll to keep him going. He has a couple of chaps working for him on a self-employed basis. I’m the first to admit Robbie isn’t my cup of tea. Surly fellow, always has been. But an accountant doesn’t need to like his clients. He simply has to make sure they pay the right amount of tax.’

  ‘So Robbie works for Nigel?’

  ‘He and the Whiteleys go back a long way, don’t they?’ He frowned. ‘He was drinking in the Eskdale Arms that night, wasn’t he? The night of the shootings.’

  ‘Tell me about that day,’ Hannah said. ‘The barbecue, and the meal you had together.’

  Cheryl glared. ‘This morning, in the newsagents, I saw the tabloids are using Shona Whiteley’s disappearance as an excuse to crawl over what happened at the Dungeon House. Prurient, if you want my opinion. Anyway, didn’t Ben tell you all about it? The pair of you spent a lot of time … talking to each other.’

  Hannah let that one whistle past her. ‘He did speak about the case, but it was years ago, and he was an outsider. You came from that part of the world, you were close to some of the people.’

  ‘I was only close to Lysette,’ Cheryl retorted. ‘She and Amber have been buried a long time. We all know what Malcolm did. Let his poor wife and daughter rest in peace, that’s what I say.’

  ‘I want to make sure we cover all the angles.’

  ‘I suppose you learnt that from the trial you messed up.’ Cheryl gave a tight, humourless smile. ‘Someone called Rao, wasn’t it? I read about that in the papers, too.’

  Hannah took a breath. She’d anticipated a frosty conversation, but the hostility in the woman’s voice verged on hatred. For a wild instant, she imagined Cheryl stalking her at a distance, scouring reports in the Press and on television, hoping to read about her not-so-brilliant career veering off the rails. But no way would she let Cheryl have the satisfaction of rattling her.

  ‘Yes, we all make mistakes, don’t we? I try to learn from mine.’ A frosty pause. ‘You and Lysette Whiteley knew each other from way back, didn’t you?’

  Cheryl held her gaze for a moment, then looked out through the window. ‘We were best friends. She was lovely, caring, funny, and she deserved better luck. Both her parents died before she was ten, and she was brought up by a miserable old maiden aunt. She didn’t have any other family, I was closer to her than anyone. She could have had her pick of men, but once Malcolm got his hooks into her, he never let go.’

  ‘You disliked him?’

  A sigh. ‘No, actually, not till the end. He was smart, driven, you could see he’d make something of himself. But Lysette was artistic, and there wasn’t a cultural bone in Malcolm’s body. Attraction of opposites, you might say. Obviously she was flattered to be wanted so much.’

  She stared blindly through the bay window, and Hannah guessed she was recalling her early days with Ben. She’d bewitched a savvy, seen-it-all cop into leaving his job, his wife, his children. Who wouldn’t be exhilarated, to wield such power?

  ‘They only had the one child.’

  ‘Amber’s birth was horrendously difficult. Lysette was an only child herself, and she’d never been that maternal. So she decided enough was enough, and told Malcolm he had to get his bits snipped.’

  Why hadn’t Cheryl and Ben had kids together? It wasn’t a question Hannah had dared to ask him, and she could scarcely quiz Cheryl out of sheer curiosity.

  ‘So she became a stay-at-home mum, while Malcolm worked round the clock, building up his business?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘What was Amber like?’

  ‘I didn’t see a lot of her as she grew up. I’d moved to Manchester with a boyfriend. Malcolm spoilt Amber rotten, I’m afraid, and it turned her into a teenage diva. When Lysette tried to rein her in, she was rude and rebellious. I told her it was a phase, and the silly girl would grow out of it. The tragedy is that nobody will ever know, thanks to bloody Malcolm. It’s incredible. He idolised that girl. When I heard he’d run amok and killed her, I couldn’t believe it.’

  ‘Yes, it is hard for you and me to credit.’ Hannah tried again to establish common ground. ‘But there are people who think the world revolves around them, and can’t believe their children will want to live without them.’

  ‘It’s only men who behave so selfishly,’ Cheryl snappe
d. ‘What woman in her right mind would murder her own child? Malcolm was insanely jealous. Lysette couldn’t so much as smile at another fellow without him flying into a temper.’

  ‘Did she give him much to be jealous about?’

  Cheryl hesitated. ‘Lysette had a great deal to put up with, but she was a loyal wife.’

  ‘There were rumours about affairs. How much did she tell you?’

  ‘Nothing’ A pause. ‘Well, toward the end, yes, there was someone. When Malcolm had pushed her too far. After he sold the company, his behaviour became intolerable. No wonder she wanted … some comfort.’

  ‘Where did she find it?’

  ‘She took up painting. There was a professional artist, a man called Durham, who gave her lessons. He was a good-looking, sympathetic, widower … I suppose she succumbed to temptation.’

  ‘She told you about the affair?’

  ‘Certainly not, she was obsessively discreet. Malcolm had a violent streak, and years earlier, he beat up a boy from school who took a shine to her. She was frightened he’d do the same, or worse. When I came back to the area, I had Ben in tow, and she’d never have wanted to get Malcolm into any trouble with the law. So she kept her mouth shut.’

  ‘Then how did you know she was involved with someone?’

  ‘The night before Malcolm went berserk, she asked me for a favour. She wanted to catch up with a friend, but she didn’t want Malcolm to find out. If he asked me, she wanted me to say we’d spent the evening together. To cover her tracks, she came to our house, but only stopped for a couple of minutes. Ben knew nothing about it. It was just between me and Lysette. Our little secret.’

  ‘Didn’t you ask about this friend?’

  ‘I trusted her to tell me when she was ready. I didn’t know how far things had progressed, and I had no intention of subjecting her to the third degree. She deserved a breather. Life with Malcolm was suffocating her.’

  ‘You’re sure this friend was a man?’

  ‘I knew Lysette better than anyone,’ Cheryl said. ‘Trust me, it was a man. Blokes swarmed around her like bees with honey. Not that she encouraged them. All I wanted was for her to find happiness. And Scott Durham was definitely an improvement on Malcolm.’

  ‘Did this man Durham ever admit that he was seeing Lysette?’

  ‘Denied it till he was blue in the face.’ Cheryl swallowed some coffee. ‘I don’t blame him. Who in their right mind wants to be mixed up in something so terrible? To be seen as the person who caused such a tragedy?’

  ‘So it might have been someone else? Not Gray Elstone, presumably?’

  ‘You must be joking.’

  ‘And not Malcolm’s brother?’

  ‘Ted? No way. That really would have driven Malcolm to … no, it’s unthinkable. It must have been Scott. Though at one time I did wonder …’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘There was Robbie Dean, though he was much younger than Lysette. He’d grown up with Nigel, and they were both mad keen on football. Robbie was a good player, but a bad influence. He’d take Nigel drinking, and the two of them used to watch porn together, so Malcolm said. He seemed to think it was a huge joke. Robbie was involved in a car crash which wrecked his career, and he finished up working for Malcolm as a sort of handyman and gardener. He was certainly fit, but Lysette wasn’t the sort to go in for a bit of rough.’

  ‘And he was rough?’

  ‘I never cared for him. He was moody to the point of rudeness. Lysette used to joke that he was the strong, silent type. He’d stand and stare at you, as if he was picturing you in his mind, without your clothes on. To be honest, he was at it again, that very last night.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, he was in the bar, throwing darts. Stupid game. At one part, he came over to talk to Nigel, but he wasn’t part of our group. That was just Lysette and Amber, Gray and Joanna, and Nigel. Plus Ben and me, of course. Scott turned up later on. His teenage son had played guitar and sung a few songs at the barbecue, and he’d organised a meal for the boy before joining us. The idea was to have a nice, relaxing evening after the barbecue.’

  ‘And was it relaxing?’

  ‘Anything but. Amber was vying for Nigel’s attention, but after the main course, Nigel asked Joanna if she fancied a walk along the foreshore, and Amber wasn’t invited. They wandered off together, hand in hand, all very romantic. He and Joanna had cycled down to the pub, and I remember her dropping a heavy hint that her parents were away from home, so they’d have the place to themselves.’

  ‘How did Amber react?’

  ‘She was in a foul mood all through the desserts. The rest of us lingered over coffee, winding down after a lovely day in the sun. Ben did his best to lighten the atmosphere, and told some funny stories about stupid criminals he’d known, and even more stupid chief constables. But Amber spoilt the evening, sniping at Lysette at every opportunity. Such a pity that’s my last memory of her.’

  Cheryl pulled a tissue from her bag, and blew her nose noisily.

  ‘I’m sorry to put you through this, Cheryl.’

  ‘No, you’re not!’ Her cheeks were pink with indignation. ‘This is what the police do, isn’t it? Making life worse for people when you should be helping put things right.’

  ‘My best friend was murdered,’ Hannah said softly. ‘I think about her every day. I hope you’re going to tell me that the pain lessens.’

  ‘No,’ Cheryl sniffed. ‘When you lose someone to murder, the pain never goes.’

  Time to draw breath. ‘Can I get you something. A glass of water?’

  ‘All I want is for you to go away.’

  ‘I will get out of your hair in a minute, promise. First, I just need to ask a couple more questions. Did anything happen between Lysette and Scott to make you suspect they were … involved together?’

  ‘Not at all. They were very discreet. I think Scott was terrified Amber would say something to her Dad, just to spite Lysette.’

  ‘Would she have done that?’

  ‘It’s perfectly possible. In the end, she announced she had a headache, and wanted to go home, so we all went our separate ways. Never dreaming, of course, that by the time we woke up the next morning …’

  She dabbed her nose with another tissue.

  ‘Ben told me about a witness who supposedly saw someone outside the Dungeon House that night. Did he talk to you about that?’

  ‘I remember.’ Cheryl made a face. ‘The witness was someone Ben knew from the cricket club. The chap was an alcoholic, and everyone in the team seemed to drink like there was no tomorrow. It wasn’t sensible for a detective inspector to keep company like that, and cricket’s a boring game, anyway. The shootings were big news, and a lot of rubbish was talked. Conspiracy theories, you name it. I said to Ben, the man was probably hallucinating when he’d had a skinful.’

  ‘Ben didn’t agree?’

  ‘No, he insisted the chap wasn’t a fantasist. He could be very obstinate, could Ben. You only saw one side of him. I never believed for one second that anyone else was involved. Malcolm went mad, simple as that.’

  Ignoring the sideswipe, Hannah said, ‘Ben wasn’t satisfied.’

  ‘It wasn’t his case. That prat Des Loney was in charge. Ben was miffed because Loney wasn’t interested in making a simple case any more complicated. To be fair, this was one time when Loney was right.’

  ‘Ben’s instinct never let him down.’

  Cheryl gave her a long, lingering look. ‘Oh, I’m not sure that’s right at all. Sometimes he got things very, very wrong.’ Hannah couldn’t restrain herself any longer. Through gritted teeth, she said, ‘Look, Cheryl. Whatever you may think, I never slept with Ben.’

  ‘Oh, I know that.’ A false laugh, more like the squeal of a wounded animal. ‘I could read him like a book. But secretly, he wished you had.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Nostalgia lured Joanna back to the dunes at Drigg that afternoon. As she steered the Polo into the almost deserted car park, she
told herself that people who said you should never go back were wrong. Seeing Scott and Gray again had boosted her confidence. Surely Nigel would be glad to see her after so many years? His daughter’s disappearance had turned his world upside down, and even a strong man needed someone to lean on.

  A tiny grey-haired woman in a quilted body warmer was returning to her Toyota, accompanied by a bouncy Labrador. ‘Bit of a nip in the air!’ she called.

  Joanna waved back with a smile. Drigg’s long, sandy beach was perfect for folk walking their dogs, but nobody else was around. And yes, it was as blustery as ever. Tiny grains of sand blew into her eyes and hair. The terrain along this stretch of coast was gentle, yet Drigg never lost its mood of lonely wildness.

  On the way here, she’d wondered whether the old lookout post had been pulled down – or fallen down – but she spotted it at once, a small brick building perched on a low rise above the beach. Skylarks sang as she ploughed through the mud and the grey-green marram grass, and it only took a couple of minutes to reach her destination. The look-out had lacked a door for donkey’s years, and she walked straight in. Once upon a time, this was an observation post for a gunnery range, and a few rusty metal fixings for a long vanished telescope still survived.

  Hard to imagine shots being fired in such a peaceful place, but then again, she’d have thought the same about the Dungeon House. Her own memories of the look-out were very different, very personal. She stood still, staring out toward the polished blue water.

  In this confined space, she’d lost her virginity to Nigel Whiteley. One summer evening, he’d brought her for a walk along the beach and the dunes, and they’d finished up in the look-out. She’d known all day that she was going to surrender to him, but she made him wait until the sun was setting before letting him take her by the hand to the little brick building, and take off her clothes. For all his eagerness, he’d behaved tenderly, realising she was scared of being hurt, and shy about allowing him to see her in the nude, after so many years when they’d been more like brother and sister. She’d wondered if part of her appeal for him was the fact that she wasn’t an easy conquest. Finally, his determination not to take no for an answer had earned its reward.