The Dungeon House (Lake District Mysteries)

by Martin Edwards

  ‘Very futuristic!’

  She caught a flicker of the old familiar zest as he said, ‘You should see it lit up at night.’

  ‘I’d love to!’ She coughed. ‘Never mind me, you’re looking very fit.’

  His face darkened. ‘I’ve lost half a stone since Shona disappeared. Losing your only child has a more drastic effect than any diet. These biscuits are for you, by the way. I’m hardly managing to keep anything down.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ Instinctively, she rested her hand on his. For a moment, she feared he would flinch, or pull away, but he didn’t react. It was almost as if he didn’t notice. ‘Is there any news about Shona?’

  ‘Nothing credible,’ he said bitterly. ‘I speak to the police constantly, and they still seem to think that she may have run off with someone she knew. I don’t believe it for a moment. She wouldn’t have been able to hide it from me. I’m not blaming them, they are doing their best. What terrifies me is the thought that Shona has been abducted by a pervert. For all anyone can tell, it’s the same person who took Gray Elstone’s daughter.’

  ‘You haven’t thought about talking with Gray?’

  ‘What good would it do? Two grown men, crying on each other’s shoulders? Not for me, thanks.’ He stared out toward the horizon. ‘To tell you the truth, I feel bad because I didn’t contact him when his girl went missing. Never crossed my mind that one day I’d be in the same boat. The worst is that, from that day to this, nobody’s heard anything of her. Who knows what the man who took her did? Buried her in woods, threw her body down a ravine, rowed across a lake, and dropped it into the deepest part?’

  She shivered. ‘There’s always hope, Nigel.’

  He turned to face her. ‘You think so?’

  ‘Look at me,’ she said, and was rewarded by the intensity of the way his dark eyes scrutinised her. ‘Not so long ago, my life scarcely seemed worth living. No partner, no job, no reason to get out of bed in the morning. My health was rotten, and my doctor was really worried. And now I’m back on my feet, as you can see.’

  ‘I can see,’ he said slowly. ‘How did you manage it?’

  ‘I’m on medication,’ she admitted. ‘But there’s more to it than that. Doctor Chanderpaul said I needed to start liking myself again. To be honest with you, the turning point came when I saw you on television.’

  His eyebrows lifted. Did it excite him, that he still exerted such power over her? She hoped so. Nigel was someone who needed to be in control. How he must loathe his present helplessness, relying on the police for news of Shona, and unable to do anything to save her. ‘You’re kidding.’

  ‘No, honestly. I remembered the life we all had together up here.’ She hesitated. ‘They were good times, weren’t they?’

  ‘You had rough days along the way.’

  ‘Like when Robbie crashed the car? At least you and I weren’t hurt.’

  ‘No, but you were … upset for a long time.’

  Even now, the memory of the shattering impact as the car hit the tree filled her with horror. It had taken her years to get over it. Nigel was made of sterner stuff. He’d dusted himself down, and got on with his life.

  ‘They have a name for it nowadays, don’t they? Survivors’ guilt.’

  ‘You had nothing to be guilty about.’

  ‘I lived, and that poor girl died. And the crash wrecked Robbie’s life.’ She looked straight at Nigel. He really was a handsome man. The years had treated him kindly. She supposed having all that money helped. ‘You stuck by him, though. Then – and now. You pay him to take care of your garden.’

  ‘It’s not an act of charity. He’s not expensive, and he doesn’t do a bad job.’ Nigel gestured through the windows of the lounger. ‘As you can see.’

  ‘The garden is gorgeous.’ She hesitated. ‘Though I must say I never understood why you and he were such good friends.’

  ‘He was a wonderful footballer. With a ball at his feet, he was a magician. I felt proud that he was my mate.’ He gave a bark of laughter. ‘Perhaps I’m fascinated by unusual people, Joanna. Like you, I suppose.’

  ‘Oh, there’s nothing fascinating about me.’

  A crooked grin. ‘I don’t agree.’

  She gulped some coffee, trying to hide her delight. ‘To be honest, I’ve not felt remotely interesting for a long, long time.’

  ‘You treat life seriously,’ he said. ‘It’s a mistake to take everything to heart. Best live for the moment.’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘I assumed you’d have married, and brought up kids.’

  ‘I rather expected things would turn out that way myself,’ she admitted. ‘That’s what I wanted, I suppose. Life as a wife and mother.’

  ‘You can’t have wanted it enough. Otherwise, you’d have made it happen.’

  This was the Nigel she remembered. Life was simple. Make up your mind what you want, and go for it. No dithering. He’d set himself the goal of seducing her, but once he succeeded – she saw it with hindsight – his interest began to fade. Even before the car crash sent her into a tailspin of misery and despair, she was losing him. Afterwards, she’d felt inadequate, a freak. It came as such a thrill on the day of the barbecue to discover he still cared for her. And then Malcolm Whiteley went berserk with his rifle, and destroyed everything.

  ‘After I left Cumbria, I floundered, didn’t know what to do with myself. And I’m the first to admit, I’m a hopeless judge when it comes to men. My last partner was a businessman, or so I thought, but he spent the money I lent him for a new venture on another woman he’d met through the Internet. If I hadn’t stumbled across the truth by having a peek at his phone messages, he’d have bled me dry.’

  ‘Not an easy ride, then,’ he said quietly.

  ‘You can say that again.’ For a dreadful moment, she thought she was about to cry, but somehow she managed to hold back the tears.

  He gave her hand a quick squeeze. ‘Care to take a walk round the grounds?’

  ‘Thanks.’ Her heart was doing somersaults. ‘I’d love to.’

  ‘There’s one thing I wanted to ask you,’ Joanna said. ‘I hope you don’t mind.’

  She was following Nigel along a curving path of stepping stones cut into the lawn, past a border blazing with crimson camellias, and toward a rock garden bounded by a low stone wall with aubretia spilling over it. He halted, but didn’t turn round. Was he afraid she was about to say something lovey-dovey and embarrassing? ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s about this house. I mean, it’s fabulous, of course, but I couldn’t help wondering …’

  The stepping stone path led to an oak tree with a wooden bench running around it. Bright yellow celandines shone from the grass beneath the branches. He sat down, and gestured for her to join him. His face was stripped of any expression.

  ‘How I could bear to live here, after everything that happened?’

  What a relief that he’d read her mind. Putting the question into words herself would have sounded judgmental, as if she were accusing him of not caring enough about Lysette and Amber, and their dreadful fate.

  ‘I don’t want to be nosey …’

  ‘You were always nosey, Joanna, but don’t lose too much sleep over it.’ His thin smile didn’t quite rob his words of their sting. ‘Okay, I’ll satisfy your curiosity. If you must know the truth, I’m here because of a promise I made to my Dad before he died.’

  ‘Your Dad?’

  Ted Whiteley had succumbed to his cancer a few months after the shootings. She’d heard the news from her parents. Ted had died in the same hospice as Scott Durham’s wife. No flowers, by request, but Joanna scribbled a note of condolence to Nigel, and sent a donation to hospice funds. He hadn’t acknowledged either. Secretly, she’d been dismayed. He was grieving, of course, but she’d still hoped he would drop a line, or even, seeing that she’d put her phone number in the note, give her a ring. But … not a word.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Before he died, he made me promise not to se
ll up.’

  Light dawned. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘After the shootings, your Dad was Malcolm’s next of kin. I suppose Lysette had no close family?’

  ‘It came as a total shock,’ Nigel said. ‘The lawyers told Dad that the house was in Malcolm’s sole name. He was a real male chauvinist, you know. With Lysette and Amber dead, the property passed to Dad. The final tragedy was that, after years of struggling to make ends meet, he became rich overnight, when he was too sick to enjoy the money.’

  ‘How ghastly.’

  ‘You said it,’ he muttered. ‘The last thing I wanted was to come and live here, in the house where my uncle had killed his wife and my cousin.’

  ‘I can imagine.’ She hesitated. ‘Poor Amber, she was so young.’

  ‘Yeah, she wasn’t such a bad kid. Vain as hell, mind.’

  ‘I liked her very much.’

  ‘Her dad spoilt her. No wonder she became such a diva.’ He looked her in the eye. ‘I suppose people say I made the same mistake with Shona. At least I have the excuse that her mother battled pancreatic cancer for a long time. I felt I had to make up to Shona for having her childhood torn apart.’

  ‘I’m sure you are a wonderful father.’

  ‘Not really.’ He finished his coffee. ‘You always see the best in people, Joanna. It’s a rare quality.’

  Her cheeks were burning. Did he share her regret that things had not worked out between them? She was daring to hope.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he began tentatively, ‘whether you want to see the quarry garden?’

  ‘Oh. Well …’

  ‘Perhaps it’s not a good idea.’ He was studying her face with genuine concern. ‘After what happened there.’

  ‘I suppose … we all have to learn to confront our demons.’

  ‘I guess that’s right,’ he said quietly. ‘Is that why you’ve come back here?’

  ‘That’s part of it, I suppose.’ She hesitated. ‘I’d seen Scott Durham and Gray Elstone already before I called on Robbie.’

  His eyes widened. ‘You have been busy.’

  ‘Are you still in touch with Scott?’

  He frowned. ‘We’ve bumped into each other once or twice over the years. Good old Lake District, eh? You can never escape from the past.’

  ‘Perhaps we shouldn’t try to escape from it,’ she said. ‘I ran away because I couldn’t deal with what happened, but it didn’t make me happy.’

  He was watching her closely. ‘You’d had a rough time. I should have been kinder.’

  ‘You were young. To have such a flaky girlfriend must have been a pain.’ Her throat felt dry. ‘I didn’t blame you for getting bored with me. Though I wish you hadn’t told Robbie about … the look-out on Drigg beach.’

  Nigel flinched. ‘Tease you about it, did he? I’m sorry, Jo. It was just … lads talking. I suppose I boasted about my conquests. Not that there were many of them.’

  ‘Robbie is …’ She didn’t know how to describe him.

  ‘He fancied you, you know.’

  ‘No, he only had eyes for Carrie. Nobody could replace her, certainly not me.’ She paused. ‘He didn’t confide in you, did he?’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I know he’s your friend, and you’ve always been so loyal to him. But there’s plenty you don’t know. Did he tell you about Seascale, for instance?’

  He looked baffled. ‘What about Seascale?’

  ‘Not long before the barbecue, he and I bumped into each other one evening at Seascale. He bought me a few drinks in a seedy pub, and as it grew dark, he took me down to the beach. He’d always intimidated me, I could scarcely believe it.’

  ‘Like I said, he fancied you.’

  ‘Not enough,’ Joanna said. ‘He took me to a quiet spot below the cliffs, and pulled my knickers down. I was tipsy and in the mood. I’m not making excuses, it was just one of those things. But he couldn’t manage to …’

  He stared at her. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yes.’ This was the first time she’d ever told anyone what happened that night, and at once the words came out in a rush.

  ‘It was incredible. Embarrassing. Robbie Dean, the glamorous football star, was impotent.’

  For a few moments, they sat together in silence. ‘There,’ she said, ‘I’ve shocked you, haven’t I? The respectable Joanna.’

  He gave her a wary grin. ‘You were never quite as respectable as you liked to crack on. But … how did he react?’

  ‘As you might expect,’ she said ‘Badly. He said some very cruel things to cover his blushes. Blamed the way I looked, said I didn’t turn him on. It wasn’t even as if I laughed at him, or tried to make him feel inadequate. And then he put his hands around my throat. I was terrified he was going to strangle me.’

  ‘Steady on.’ Nigel swallowed. ‘Robbie’s not the easiest, but I’ve never known him attack anyone. Never.’

  ‘Looking back on it, I suppose it was just on the spur of the moment. He did hurt my neck, but I wriggled free, and when I ran off along the beach, he didn’t follow.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ He took a breath, as if making a decision. ‘Still want to see what he’s done to the quarry garden?’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Linz Waller, a DC in Hannah’s team, had dug out the paperwork for the deaths at the Dungeon House. The witness who claimed to have seen a man dressed as a woman near the scene of the crime was called Anton Friend. Hardly a common name. Hannah asked her to see if Friend could be traced. If he hadn’t been inconsiderate enough to die in the meantime, she wanted to have a word. Would he stick to his story after all these years? And, if he did, would she find it as persuasive as Ben had done, or conclude that he was simply an alcoholic time-waster?

  Desmond Loney had celebrated his retirement by moving from Carlisle to the coastal haven of St Bees. Hannah had arranged to see him before driving south for a meeting with Gray Elstone in Seascale. St Bees lay a few miles outside the National Park, but was the starting point for the coast to coast walk, and she cherished a vague fantasy of trekking across England along with Daniel. If they stayed together long enough, if he didn’t get bored with her.

  The clouds of early morning cleared during her journey, and by the time she arrived in the village, the red sandstone of the old and unexpectedly impressive priory church was resplendent in the sun. St Bees Man was buried here, she remembered, the perfectly preserved remains of a medieval knight, which had been discovered, wrapped in a shroud. He’d died a violent death, according to the experts, but that was one cold case she’d never be asked to investigate.

  The Loneys’ retirement bungalow was called The Cop Out. Desmond wasn’t devoid of a sense of humour, but most of his colleagues would say that his career had been one long cop out. Switching off the ignition, she spotted Desmond by the side of the bungalow, planting a wicker hanging basket with herbs. Tall, stoop-shouldered, and vaguely raffish in a panama hat, he’d put on weight since she’d last seen him. When he turned at the sound of her car, she could almost hear his body groaning with the effort. He beckoned with his trowel, and kissed both her cheeks by way of greeting. She caught a whiff of damp earth and stale beer. He’d always liked a drink, had Desmond, and his unsteadiness on his feet wasn’t accounted for solely by arthritis.

  ‘We save a fortune growing our own,’ he boasted, as he led her round the back to a tidy patio equipped with a table-cum-firepit, and four aluminium chairs. ‘See over there, behind the hydrangeas? Strawberries, potatoes, cucumbers, you name it.’

  ‘Retirement’s suiting you,’ Hannah said, as Pamela Loney served soft drinks and milk chocolate digestives.

  ‘I need to lick the garden into shape in time for summer.’ Desmond gave his orange juice a resentful glare, and Hannah guessed he wouldn’t need much of an excuse to bring out the booze.

  ‘How lovely,’ she said dutifully, although she much preferred the eerie wildness of Daniel’s cipher garden to these neatly striped lawns, and the regimented tulips in the weed-free bo
rders.

  ‘I keep that busy, I’ve no idea how I ever found the time to go to work,’ he chortled. ‘Mind, I can’t do exactly as I please. Pammy insists on keeping me in order, don’t you, love?’

  Pammy, a muscular ex-midwife with features as bleak as Scafell Pike, pursed icy lips before making herself scarce with the practised discretion of a career policeman’s wife. Hannah allowed Desmond five minutes to update her on the state of his diabetes, interrogate her about his least favourite former colleagues, and tut reproachfully at news of a couple of undeserved promotions, before turning to the deaths at the Dungeon House.

  ‘It was a long time ago. These other cases you mentioned, the two girls who have gone missing. You’re surely not telling me they are connected to what Malcolm Whiteley did?’

  ‘Gray Elstone was Malcolm’s accountant. Nigel is his nephew. What happened at the Dungeon House must have affected their lives. I’m looking to get a full picture.’

  Desmond snorted. ‘You can have too much information. Clouds the issue more often than not, mark my words. When I hear all this bollocks on the telly about intelligence-led policing, I want to puke. You can’t beat an experienced copper’s gut.’

  He patted his substantial stomach for emphasis.

  ‘I’m interested in your view of how events unfolded that night.’

  Lifting the panama, he scratched his shiny bald head. ‘It wasn’t much of a mystery to me. Whiteley was in financial trouble, and jealous over his missus. While she went out carousing after the barbecue, he drank himself into a rage. When Lysette and the girl arrived back from the pub, the kid went up to bed, and he confronted his wife about her affair. One thing led to another, and he shot her. Young Amber heard the commotion, came downstairs, and saw what her Dad had done. My bet is, he threatened her with the rifle. She panicked, and made a dash for it. Poor kid was in her nightclothes, not wearing any shoes. She never had much of a chance. He followed her out to the quarry path, and pushed her over the edge.’