‘The next thing I know is Mike running downstairs…’
‘How do you know it was Mr Hanson and not Ms Davies?’
‘Mike and not Bette? Well, it was heavy-footed you know and I heard Bette call something after him. I got worried at this stage as there was quite a blizzard that evening and if Mike planned to drive, it could have been very dangerous.
That was when I threw on my dressing gown and ran downstairs to try to stop him. But he had already left the house and was moving towards his car. I grabbed my coat and hastily put on my boots and ran out in the snow to follow him. He heard my shouts and stopped.
Then we both got into his car where I managed to persuade him to calm down and not to drive that night. He finally agreed it was a mad idea, but he was so angry, you see. Anyway, thank goodness, he came back into the house with me and I persuaded him to talk it through with Bette in the morning.
He knew it was the wise thing to do, so he stayed the night on the big couch. I went to bed relieved that I’d been able to stop him driving in a state in such shocking weather conditions.’
‘And can you tell us what happened then?’
‘Well, as you may imagine I was embarrassed to be there with them at this point and kept out of the way, but we all muddled through, Mike sleeping on the couch until the 31st when I came down in the morning to find a note in Mike’s handwriting. It said that they were going away for a couple of nights to Snowdonia to hike and talk things over. There was a fair amount of snow on the lanes and a high wind was blowing it into drifts. It didn’t seem the right conditions to be going up there at all, but they’d left, so what could I do? They left me the keys and plenty of food. And they’d left their dog. By the evening of the third day–’
‘This was January 2nd?’ interrupts Jane to clarify.
‘Yes,’ the blonde woman agrees. By the evening of January 2nd they didn’t return and by the following morning I was beginning to fret. Then I got a call from Mike on the 3rd saying they were fine and hoped I wouldn’t mind if they stayed a bit longer and that they would let me know when they’d be back.’
She now sobs uncontrollably. Jane nods to Evans who hands the distressed woman another piece of kitchen roll.
‘But, Sara, did you think of calling us?’
‘I didn’t know what to do. I mean it was only four days ago Mike called and said, “a bit longer.” Well, what’s “a bit longer”? But now their phones are both dead. I was going to call you. I would have done so today but you lot beat me to it.’
‘Don’t suppose by any chance you still have the note Mr Hanson left for you?’
‘As a matter of fact I do, at Cliff Edge.’
‘Lucky for us. We’ll collect it later. Also, do you happen to know the couple’s Cambridge address?’
‘It may seem very odd, but I have never been to their house. I am a friend of Bette’s… We walked the dogs together, occasionally had lunch at a farm café but didn’t visit one another’s homes. I know it was north of the river and near Midsummer Common, as Bette told me. I think it was a road beginning with a K – Kin or King something, but I don’t know the actual address.’ Slow tears ease down her pale cheeks. ‘Please tell me I’m not under suspicion, am I?’ She looks apprehensive.
‘You must understand, Sara, that your story is all we have to go on at the moment and that the police only work with facts. Once we have followed up and hopefully traced Mr Hanson and Ms Davies alive or otherwise, we will be better placed to answer that question.’
Jane decides there is no point in keeping the truth from her now. She nods at Evans who passes her a folder from which she removes photographs and spreads them on the tabletop. Jane will tell her now and watch her reaction.
‘We can’t be certain who it is just yet but we have retrieved a woman’s body from the Witches’ Cauldron.’
Watching the woman closely she says, ‘Do you recognise any of these items, Sara?’
Sara wipes her tearful eyes and looks at the photos. She seems to think about the pictures before answering. This may mean she has been taken by surprise. Delays in answering can imply that people are dreaming up answers that may be far from the truth. It could, on the other hand, mean the woman is being careful in case she misidentifies the things. She scans the pictures with care. Then, suddenly she gulps for breath and her hands involuntarily fly to her face. ‘Oh my God!’ She points to a picture. ‘This looks like Bette’s coat.’ She starts to tremble. Her eyes dart back to another of the photographs. ‘And she definitely has a necklace like that with a cross on but it’s silver. Oh God, did these come from the body you recovered?’
‘They did.’ Jane quickly places another three photos on the table. ‘These are grim, I’m afraid, but I have to ask, do you recognise any of these?’
The photos show one of the distended corpse and two close-ups of the remains of the face.
Sara reels with shock. She looks as though she may throw up. For a while she seems unable to speak. She rocks gently in her chair before stopping to sit in silence and stare across the room, an expression of misery on her face. Jane reaches out in sympathy and touches her arm again. ‘Would you like some water, Sara?’
The shaken woman stammers her reply and Evans nips to the kitchenette to find a paper cup of water which he quickly hands to her.
Jane has done with the sympathy card for the moment. She does not intend to let up. ‘Can you look at the pictures again, please.’
Sara forces herself to look again.
‘Are you able to identify the person in any of these photographs?’
‘I think it’s Bette, but I just can’t say for certain. I mean without the eyes…’ – she shudders and looks away – ‘if it is her, although she’s virtually unrecognisable, but I suppose on balance from the shape of the face and the hair I would say it probably is.’ Now she doubles up in grief and more tears spill out of her already red eyes.
Jane says, ‘Do you by any chance have any photo of her on your phone?’
‘Erm…’ Between sobs and hesitating, she manages to say, ‘I have some of her and of both of them taken at Christmas.’ Still trembling slightly as she searches through her phone photos and finds them.
Jane cannot help glancing at her watch under the table. She is worrying about Meg and needs to get home. ‘May I ask you to send me a copy of that picture, please.’ Jane hands over her personal mobile number. ‘This number may prove useful to you anyway, as you may remember things you have forgotten to say today or need to contact me for any other reason. And also before we return to Cliff Edge, we will need to take your DNA and fingerprints just for our records and to rule you out of any involvement.’
‘Of course, I completely understand.’
Watching her closely, Jane notices that Sara doesn’t blink and seems perfectly happy to allow a PC to swab the inside of her mouth and then to take her fingerprints.
‘And we will have to ask for your mobile which we’ll get back to you tomorrow, soon as we’ve checked it over.’
Now the woman baulks. ‘But I can’t stay at that house all alone without a mobile. I mean, what if Mike tries to call me? There’s no landline there and I just wouldn’t feel safe.’
‘I am going to ask a couple of officers to stay overnight outside the house, so if there’s any emergency, you can ask them to call.’
Sara looks down at her furry boots. Her head hangs and she starts to cry again. She is shaking. ‘This all makes me feel as though you think I’m guilty of something. That you even think I might have had something to do with Bette’s death. I loved her. And I can tell you that I absolutely did not. If only I’d called you right away when they didn’t return, I think you wouldn’t be so suspicious of me.’
‘I’m afraid life is full of if onlys, Sara.’
They sit quietly in the car as Evans drives them back to Cliff Edge. Sara is numb with shock.
When they get back, the dogs greet Sara with great excitement. The officers wait while she l
ets them out and feeds them a late supper. Sara then goes straight to the kitchen where she opens a drawer and takes out a note.
How very helpful she is, thinks Jane who watches her crossing the room. She seems relaxed, perhaps it’s the police presence. She hands the folded note to Jane who reads it.
We’ve decided to take a couple of nights hiking in Snowdonia. We’ll stay at pubs or B&Bs. We think we need some time together to talk things through. So sorry for everything. We’ll sort it out. Here’s the keys and some money for food and extras. Mrs Edwards’s son is dropping her off on the 2nd at 2.30. She’ll do three hours and if we’re not back, can you please let her in and pay her £12 per hour then run her home to Moylegrove afterwards? Sorry to ask and to leave you alone. Hope you’ll be ok. Call if any problems.
Take care and see you soon, Mike & Bette x
This could be anyone’s writing, thinks Jane. ‘Out of interest,’ she asks, ‘I was just wondering what your reason was for keeping the note? After all, it was just a casual few sentences, not of any great importance, I imagine.’
‘I was about to chuck it, but their disappearance was so peculiar I suppose you could say it was a kind of insurance in case no one believed me. Also, I wanted to keep a record of what I’d paid Mrs Edwards just so they knew I’d done so as asked.’
‘Do you by any chance have anything else written by Mr Hanson, where we can compare the handwriting?’
Sara thinks for a while then suddenly seems uncomfortable and wriggles in her seat. She looks down at her clenched hands on the table in front of her. They tighten a bit more. She repeats the question while she thinks and then says, ‘Well, I myself don’t personally but Bette did once show me a billet-doux from him to her that she always kept in her wallet. She said if ever she doubted that he loved her, she would fish it out and read it.’
She crosses the room again, this time to the porch where an expensive brown leather shoulder bag is hanging on a coat hook. She unhooks it and brings it over to the table.
‘I feel bad about handing it to you. It has Bette’s private things in it.’ She hands it to Evans who opens it and removes a crocodile-skin wallet. He fumbles through receipts and notes to find an old, well-worn, single page letter. It is written in an unusually precise hand, the letters beautifully formed and evenly spaced. He places it on the table between Jane and himself.
My darling, You are the light and the love of my life and always will be.
Yours for ever, Mike.
It certainly looks to be the same handwriting as on the note. Although only an expert could tell if the same person wrote both the note and the love letter.
Jane turns to Rhys. ‘Come with me please, Roberts.’ The constable follows her upstairs while Evans remains with Sara. They go into what is obviously the main bedroom. On a dressing table there are a man’s and a woman’s hairbrushes along with a silver framed photo of the couple with their arms around one another. She points to them and Roberts dons some latex gloves. He picks up the brushes and photo frame and drops them carefully in plastic bags. Also with gloves on, Jane closely examines the bed pillows. Finding a couple of strands of blonde hair as well as a short brown one, she pops them into separate bags as well.
On one of the bedside tables, there is a thick, padlocked, five-year diary. In the drawer of the table she finds a small key that fits the lock. Jane opens the diary and is unsurprised to see it is Bette’s. She slips that into a bag, too. Then they go into the bathroom where there are a couple of toothbrushes. Roberts slips them into two more bags.
There is little left to ask the woman downstairs. She is being a helpful witness and Jane’s gut tells her to believe her. Whether her story is true or not, they need to find Mike Hanson and they need to take all the trekking poles in Cliff Edge to Max Granger, the pathologist, to see what he can make of them. She doesn’t explain her reasons for putting plastic bags round the bottoms of them. Sara looks surprised when they do this, but not unduly bothered.
Jane shakes her hand and asks her to remain in Cliff Edge while they continue to conduct their enquiries.
The woman looks relieved to have got her story off her chest, if not to be asked to remain in this lonely place. Her brow puckers. ‘Am I safe to stay here alone?’
To reassure her, Jane curls a gentle hand around Sara’s forearm. ‘We’ll be watching the place in case Mr Hanson decides to return. Which, I am certain he won’t. He knows we will be looking for him sooner or later and this is the last place he is likely to come back to. Don’t worry, Sara, you’ll be safe here. You have the officers outside and you can ask them to call me any time night or day. You’ll have your phone back tomorrow. And it won’t be long before you’ll be able to return to Cambridge.’
‘Oh thank you, thank you.’ She is crying again.
21
7 January 2018. Carmarthen
Meg Owen is used to pain. She had been taught methods of coping with it by the pain clinic in the rehab unit.
Nowadays, the original agony has left her except for occasional sharp twinges down her right arm, but here it is again. Hello pain, she sings in her head, my old friend. But what she will never get used to is hospitals. Their sounds, their atmosphere but most of all their smells.
She gazes at the hurting wrist lying on her lap and tries the meditation trick. But there is too much noise in the A&E department for her to concentrate. One woman is moaning in agony from something wrong with her stomach; and a small child screams and cries as the result of a bleeding wound in his arm which has a large piece of glass sticking out of it.
Carys won’t stop chattering as usual and Meg wishes she was anywhere other than where she is. But if there is one thing she has mastered it is both mental and physical tolerance. Once, when a visiting friend had remarked on her bravery and how in spite of everything she carried on, she had snapped, ‘I don’t exactly have a choice, do I?’ and had regretted it afterwards. She had since made a personal vow to herself never to put her problems on others as mostly all they wanted to do was help. But the vow didn’t always work.
At times, she does feel sorry for herself, very sorry for herself, and at others she yearns for – aches for – her mam, and occasionally she feels like giving up the fight. But by and large, though, she manages well to be cheerful, knowing it is her best chance of having a half-reasonable life.
Another thing Meg has recently recognised is that she cannot go on for ever relying on Jane. It isn’t fair on her hard-working sister. Perhaps if she can become more independent, she might find a life she can properly enjoy. She feels ready now. She dreams of driving to a job and being a normal person, like everyone else. She is tired of being pitied and called ‘dear’ and patronised as though she is very old and hard of hearing. Because that’s what happens when a person’s in a wheelchair.
The first thing she needs to do is to find a disabled driving instructor to give her lessons in an adapted car. Then she needs to pass the test, then to apply for a car. Yes, she must now start to fight for an independent life of her own. She might even meet a man. Or better still, reunite with the boyfriend she had before the accident ruined everything. They had been deeply in love at the time. She still often fantasises and dreams about him and is always deeply despondent when she has to wake up to reality. Now, the memory of him thrills her and her mind is enjoying an afternoon of passion with him in the garden shed while her mother is out.
‘Meg Owen?’ She is jolted back to reality and automatically takes hold of the wheels of her chair. A vicious pain shoots through her wrist, causing her to let out a cry.
‘Now Meg, let me do that, let me do that.’ Carys grabs the wheelchair handles and they follow a disgruntled nurse to a cubicle. The nurse is not actually disgruntled, she just looks it because she is exhausted. Nearing the end of what has turned out to be an extra-long shift, she longs to get home, stuff her face with a large meal and fall straight to sleep afterwards.
When the doctor arrives some twenty minutes later, M
eg is sent to X-ray. Carys, still nattering, follows the nurse as she wheels Meg.
Diagnosed with a scaphoid fracture, Meg has her wrist encased in a plaster of Paris cast and is told it can be removed in six to twelve weeks. Once they have seen her, she is given a prescription for some painkillers and discharged with an appointment for six weeks’ time and a letter for her doctor.
The plaster cast is “a darned nuisance”, as Meg’s mother used to say. The other hand, although better and working relatively well, is still affected by the shoulder injury and she has had to learn to brush her hair with her left hand. Ah well, she tells herself, Jane can do it in the mornings.
She thinks about her sister with deep affection. Although she didn’t always remember to appreciate Jane, Meg knows just how wonderful she is to her. She feels a pang of concern for her since she is very distracted. Apparently, she is leading an ongoing murder investigation and it’s the first time as boss when such a thing has happened on her ‘patch’.
Meg knows talking will help relieve some of the stress she can tell Jane is under and she is determined to get her sister, who is not really supposed to discuss cases outside the force, to tell more. Talk and Scrabble are their main things in the evenings and the discussions they share are more vital to Meg than she knows. They talk about all sorts from matters of the heart to the state of the world. Like Radio Four, they help her remain in touch with the outside world. So it cuts both ways, helping Jane deal with pressure and Meg to maintain interest in life.
When they leave Cliff Edge, Jane calls Fishguard and asks for PC Thomas. He tells her that on his search of the arched part of the rock that straddles the watery sea cave he has found a discarded mobile phone in the grass.
Cliff Edge: a gripping psychological mystery Page 17