The Shrouded Path

by Sarah Ward

  ‘Mina. I’m sorry about this but your mum’s taken a turn for the worse this afternoon. We’re still trying to stabilise her and we thought we’d better let you know. Can you come in?’

  ‘But she was all right this morning when I saw her.’ Mina looked up at Anna towering over her, a look of concern on her face.

  ‘There’s been a change in her condition. These things do happen. The consultant thought I’d better call you.’

  ‘Is it bad?’

  The nurse hesitated. ‘I think you should come here as soon as you can.’

  3

  The open plan office, formerly known as CID HQ and renamed the Detective Room, smelt of stale food and damp wool. Wet hats and gloves had been placed on radiators and umbrellas left open to dry before the evening commute. People had stayed put for lunch, only nipping across the road to buy a sandwich and throwing the remains in the wastepaper bin. Now deserted, the room still held the smell of recently absented bodies. DC Connie Childs was studying the report she’d been putting off all day, keeping a wary eye on DI Matthews who was trying to look comfortable in Sadler’s office.

  ‘Getting herself settled in, I see.’

  A young constable she didn’t recognise slapped a report on a desk opposite her. Connie, who had been thinking the same thing, scowled at him and he scarpered.

  Two years after passing her inspector’s exams, Matthews had successfully applied for a temporary DI post to cover maternity leave. She saw it as a step towards a permanent position, which was possibly true, but, for Connie, the promotion was bad news. It wasn’t that Matthews was being an arse. Far from it. Instead, she was so carefully watching her back that she was demanding that all paperwork was completed on time and constantly checking up on the team.

  Connie was bidding for a pair of Whistles boots on eBay, size four and in a buttery fawn suede that were completely impractical in a Derbyshire autumn and yet irresistible. She’d already been outbid once but every time she took her phone out of her bag to check on progress she was aware of a pair of eyes studying her through the glass partition. She turned a page on her desk calendar to see how long it was before Sadler returned. Good God. He’d only been gone five days. She had all of the following week to get through. Why had he offered Matthews the use of his office while he was away? She wasn’t comfortable with it and neither were the team. Aware of Connie’s gaze, Matthews stood up and opened the door.

  ‘How are you getting on?’ Matthews’s glasses were perched on top of her head revealing eyes reddened from tiredness and strain.

  ‘Just examining the details of a deceased person found this week. Everything looks fine but I’m double checking.’ Matthews nodded and shut the door. Connie looked down at the file and sighed.

  A sudden death the previous day, routine. The woman, Nell Colley, unmarried, had been found sitting upright on her sofa by a neighbour who had let herself in with a spare key when Nell hadn’t answered the door. The deceased had been ill with worsening cardiac arrhythmia. She’d been seen by her GP only days earlier, complaining of pain and weakness in her arms. The illness was debilitating, although the neighbour had reported that Nell had been feeling slightly better in the days before her death.

  The ambulance service had verified that life was extinct and completed the appropriate form and left it with the next of kin, in this case Nell’s neighbour. The neighbour sent a request to the woman’s GP to come to the house to provide a death certificate, which he’d done. It had come under the auspices of an ‘expected death’ and had been dealt with in a textbook way.

  No further action, although … Connie picked up the file and flicked through it. No, Matthews was getting the wind up her, that was all. There was nothing there. No further action. Connie put the file to one side as DC Jill Mayfield came into the office, shrugging off her mac and hanging it on the coat hook. Rivulets of water dropped onto Connie’s dry umbrella. She opened her mouth to protest but thought better of it. It would get wet again soon enough. Mayfield sat down at her desk and rubbed her burgeoning stomach.

  ‘That was a waste of time. A burglary in west Bampton. No fingerprints, no identifying ID on the electronic items taken. You should see the window they got in through. I couldn’t have fitted my leg through it let alone the rest of my body, even without my bump. Why do we go to these houses when we know there’s nothing we can do?’

  Connie nodded over to Matthews.

  ‘Yes, that’s true. God, I can’t wait for this baby to arrive. I feel like I’m carting around a sack of spuds every time I go anywhere.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Bloody hell. It’s nearly time for me to pick up the kids from the child minder.’

  ‘What did you come back for? You could have gone straight there.’

  Mayfield grimaced. ‘Need to show my face. Matthews made a snide comment earlier today, something about it being difficult to balance being a detective with a family life.’

  ‘She never did.’ Connie’s voice dropped. ‘That counts as discrimination. What did she say that for?’

  ‘I dunno. Actually, it is a bit funny. She’s so meticulous about us doing everything by the book and then she comes out with crap like that. Whatever happened to our flexible working policy? Anyway, what are you up to?’

  ‘Paperwork.’ Connie picked up the file and wafted it at Mayfield. ‘Non-suspicious death that I’m checking is, well, non-suspicious.’

  ‘And is it?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  Mayfield looked up from the computer. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing. I said it was non-suspicious. Why do you think something’s the matter?’

  ‘It’s just the way you said it, that’s all.’

  ‘You’re imagining it. I’m passing it back to Matthews marked no further action.’

  Mayfield sighed. ‘Fair enough. Have you heard from Sadler?’

  ‘Me? Why would I hear from him? He’s on holiday. It’s not like we’re mates or anything.’

  Mayfield shut down the computer, got up and winked at Connie. ‘Just going to make a point of saying goodbye.’

  Connie watched Mayfield sway over to Sadler’s office and stick her head through the door. A murmured conversation and she came back looking confused.

  ‘That was odd. She said I should have gone straight home after the house visit. She’s changed her tune. Oh well. No pleasing some people. Do you know we’ve got someone new starting on Monday?’

  ‘Who?’ The force of Connie’s reply surprised them both. ‘Sorry. I had no idea, that’s all.’

  Mayfield smiled and winked at Connie. ‘It’s a guy.’

  ‘So? What’s that got to do with anything? I’m done with detectives. Look where it got me last time.’

  ‘Oh well. I suppose I can always look. It’s one good thing about carting around this lump. It makes you virtually invisible to men. You can gawp as much as you want.’

  ‘And do you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Connie laughed. ‘I suppose it’s just as well that it’s quiet, really.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, we don’t want anything happening while Sadler’s away. I mean, a non-suspicious death and a break-in. All’s quiet on the Bampton front. Long may it continue.’ Her eyes dropped to the file on her desk and she refused to acknowledge the feeling of disquiet that crept over her.

  4

  There’s a smell common to all sick rooms that’s impossible to dispel. Mina had learnt that spraying yourself with Estée Lauder’s Pleasures not only failed to mask the waft of decay but mingled with it, creating an aroma so cloying that it made her want to gag. Six months earlier, she had been unaware of the practicalities of the hospital room but you learn quickly when you have to. Her mother’s diagnosis had been slow but the decline rapid.

  Hilary lay in bed with her eyes closed, a slight sheen on her face. Only this morning, she’d been able to sit up a little and tell Mina that she was feeling better. Better as in, I might go home soo
n. I might not need to go to that nursing home that wasn’t a hospital and wasn’t a hospice. The something in between for the nearly dying. I might feel well enough to go back to the boat and spend my final days there. As Mina looked down on her mother, that morning seemed a lifetime ago. The hospital was right. Hilary had deteriorated.

  ‘She was all right earlier.’

  How many times had Mina said this since she’d arrived? The nurse stirred beside her.

  ‘It does happen, you know. She’s very poorly. She has a raised temperature so she’s probably picked up an infection. We’re going to give her some antibiotics to fight it but we need the results of her blood tests first. What we give her depends on the origin of the problem.’

  ‘An infection from where? She hasn’t had many visitors apart from me.’

  ‘This is a hospital. We do our best but …’

  ‘Is she comfortable? She’s not in any pain, is she?’

  ‘She’s settled now but she was very anxious before.’

  ‘Anxious? About what? Anxious to see me?’

  Mina’s sharp tone did nothing to ruffle the nurse. ‘She seemed a bit confused, that’s all. The infection combined with the cancer …’

  There was nothing more to say and, at the sound of a buzzer down the hall, the nurse hurried away. Mina picked up a sponge resting in a dish of water and wiped her mother’s cracked lips.

  ‘Are you thirsty?’ she whispered.

  Without opening her eyes, Hilary nodded.

  Mina looked up at the drip that was slowly pushing its nutrients through the thin body. ‘I’ll give you some more water.’

  She dipped the sponge back in the liquid and squeezed drops into Hilary’s mouth. ‘No more,’ her mother croaked and Mina stopped.

  ‘How are you feeling, Mum?’

  Hilary’s eyes, too large in her face with its translucent skin, opened slightly. Her lips worked, trying to form words.

  ‘Is something the matter?’

  Even as she said it, Mina was aware of the absurdity of the question. Of course something was the matter. Her mother, however, took the question at face value, her eyes holding Mina’s.

  ‘Scared.’ Hilary’s voice was hoarse. During a recent operation, the anaesthetist had been too rough pulling out the tube and had slightly damaged her voice box. Nothing in the general scheme of things, but still. More pain on top of all the other.

  ‘Oh Mum.’ Mina laid her hand on her mother’s arm, feeling the dry, hot skin.

  ‘Strange … just … doesn’t make sense.’

  Mina felt the stillness of the hospital room. A closed world where the hubbub of the rest of the ward could be heard distantly through the closed door. ‘What do you mean?’

  Hilary tried to lift her head, straining with the effort. ‘This morning.’

  ‘What happened this morning?’

  Hilary shut her eyes briefly with the pain. Mina leant down, feeling the heat from her mother’s fever. ‘You don’t need to talk if it’s painful. Just rest.’

  A slight shake of the head. ‘Strange.’ The words came out as dry as parchment. ‘So strange to see her.’

  ‘Who? Who’ve you seen?’

  Her mother took a shallow breath. ‘Valerie. I’ve seen Valerie.’

  ‘Valerie? Who’s she?’

  Her mother’s eyes turned towards the plant sitting on the windowsill. Mina had heard of hospitals that banned flowers but, although St Bertram’s didn’t go that far, it was generally discouraged. Instead, Mina had brought in a huge cyclamen and no one had complained of its presence. A difficult plant to sustain, the white flowers liable to wilt and the leaves to pale and wither. Preserving the plant was a shared effort but her mother couldn’t know how much energy Mina put into keeping the cyclamen alive. It was a warped reasoning but Mina held onto it. While the plant survived so would her mother.

  ‘Friend.’

  ‘You’ve seen your friend. Where? Here in the hospital?’

  Her mother’s eyes held hers. ‘I thought it was a dream.’

  ‘Maybe it wasn’t a dream. Perhaps she is here at the hospital.’

  Hilary shook her head, so slight a movement it was hard to see. ‘Didn’t expect to see her. Not real. Like a dream.’

  ‘Oh Mum. We all have strange dreams sometimes. You’re on lots of medication. It could have been that.’

  Hilary was shaking her head. ‘She must hate me.’

  ‘Hate you! Why on earth should she hate you?’

  Hilary pulled Mina towards her. ‘Scared. I’m scared because … I … I have to tell you. About … about Valerie.’

  ‘About your friend, Valerie? What do you need to tell me?’

  Her mother’s head dropped in frustration.

  ‘Tell me if it’s important. I’m listening.’

  ‘I want you to find her and check she’s okay.’

  ‘Why wouldn’t she be okay?’

  A nurse put her head through the door but withdrew when she saw Mina.

  ‘She was here and she shouldn’t have been. She was next to me.’

  ‘But I don’t understand. I didn’t think you had any visitors. How was she next to you?’

  ‘Saw her.’

  It was important to her mother. Mina could see that. In the struggle to make herself articulate, Hilary was conveying her desperation. ‘You saw Valerie. That’s okay, isn’t it?’

  Hilary shook her head.

  Mina struggled to make sense of her mother’s agitation. ‘Your friend Valerie was here and you were surprised to see her. Was it a long time since you’d seen her?’

  Hilary looked up and nodded.

  ‘How long was it since you last saw her?’

  ‘School.’

  ‘School?’ Mina’s voice rose and her mother looked alarmed. ‘Sorry.’

  Her mother hadn’t kept in touch with any classmates. There’d been plenty of work friends in and out of the house over the years but Mina couldn’t ever remember her mother talking about her school years, let alone keeping in touch with a friend.

  Hilary was trying to raise her head. ‘I want … I want you to find her. See if she’s okay.’

  ‘She lives in Bampton?’

  Her mother tried to smile but the rictus that crossed her face made Mina want to pull her head away.

  ‘I don’t know. I heard she went away.’

  ‘Okay, well, maybe she was back in the hospital visiting someone and she heard you were here.’

  ‘Can you, can you find her?’

  ‘I can try. What was her last name?’

  Hilary scrunched up her eyes. ‘Can’t remember.’

  ‘You only know her first name?’ Mina couldn’t keep the note of despair out of her voice. ‘Can’t you tell me anything else?’

  ‘Cold. Never went back there. Terrible place.’

  ‘You went to a cold place? Here in the Peaks? That’s not narrowing it down much.’ Hilary had closed her eyes. Mina leant forward. ‘Mum. Did Valerie live in a cold place? Really high up. What about Flash? That’s the highest village here, isn’t it?’

  Hilary was silent. Mina turned her head away from her mother and stared out of the large window that looked down onto the top of a sycamore, its crown a riot of yellow and brown leaves. It was a tree that Mina hated. Introduced into England in the Middle Ages, the little helicopter seeds dispersed everywhere and made her job in the summer a nightmare.

  ‘If you can’t remember her last name, how will I find her?’

  Mina could feel a well of desperation bubbling up. No last name and a first one that was hardly uncommon for that generation. Valerie. Her mother had opened her eyes again and was looking at her in desperation.

  ‘It’s important.’

  I shouldn’t be promising anything, thought Mina. Suppose I can’t find Valerie. How will I feel afterwards, bound to a promise I couldn’t keep?

  ‘I can try to find her for you. She was here in the hospital so that will help. Is that okay? I’ll start looking for Valer
ie tomorrow.’

  Hilary’s head dropped to the pillow in relief. ‘Need to see if she’s okay.’

  ‘You need to see Valerie? Why?’

  Hilary closed her eyes. ‘Because I thought she was dead.’

  5

  Detective Inspector Francis Sadler let slip a few weeks before his leave that he’d always fancied visiting West Wales and, from then, it became office fact that this was where he was heading on holiday. There had even been some superfluous Welsh jokes which he’d smiled at and then regretted. In fact, he had no intention of going anywhere, soured by his experience of previous autumn holidays. Damp, chilly weather did nothing to lift his spirits and, after a few days of lie-ins, boredom would set in. By the end of the holiday, he’d be doubting his reasons for being a policeman and brooding over the lack of any relationships on the horizon.

  Staying put, he’d discovered the previous year, lightened his mood and smoothed the worries gnawing away at him. Sadler could do nothing about the weather but he felt rooted in the landscape around him. He’d gone along with everyone’s assumption that he was heading off on his travels but had, instead, stayed in his house, reading and walking in the Peaks, keeping out of the way of his usual haunts. This year, he was doing the same. He’d ordered a case of wine online and three hardbacks from the independent bookshop struggling to pay its lease over the colder months.

  He’d just started the second of the books, a biography of Charlotte Brontë, when there was a knock on the door. He went to open it, glad of the respite from the tiny print. His neighbour, Clive, stood on the doorstep, a badminton racket dangling from one hand, as rain spat onto his head.

  ‘Do you want to come in?’

  ‘I won’t disturb you. I’m just back from the gym and I saw your car at the front. Not at work this week?’

  ‘I’m on holiday. I think the official name is a staycation.’

  His neighbour grinned. ‘I don’t blame you. I could never stand going away myself. Not the best week for it, though.’