A Deadly Thaw

by Sarah Ward

  ‘Perhaps it was puberty. These things happen. There’s a wide gulf between being a child and a teenager. You start to explore your own identity.’

  Kat shook her head. ‘It wasn’t that. It was after I was fifteen or sixteen maybe. Lena just withdrew. Changed her mind about everything. She lost interest in school. Didn’t want to do her exams, but my dad was adamant. She did okay. Definitely well enough to go to university but she didn’t want to go.’

  ‘What about your mum?’

  ‘Well, the funny thing was that Mum was much more sympathetic. Which is surprising really because she’d had a hard time of it getting to university in the first place. She had a very traditional father who didn’t believe in educating women. He wanted her to work in an office at sixteen. Which would have been a tragedy as she was incredibly clever. It was only after a teacher at her grammar school came round and talked to him that he changed his mind. She was a wonderful doctor. Very humane. It’s difficult to believe that it very nearly didn’t happen.’

  ‘If she was a kind woman, then she probably understood about Lena’s decision, wanted Lena to do what she wanted to with her life.’

  Kat leant forward and took another cigarette from the packet. She made a face. ‘Possibly. When I think about it though, it’s almost as if those two were in cahoots.’

  ‘Cahoots? That’s quite an emotive word.’

  Kat lit the cigarette. She needed to stop soon, otherwise she’d have serious problems quitting again. ‘All I’m saying is that there seemed to be some kind of understanding between the pair of them. My mother could kick up quite a fuss when she wanted to but she never did with Lena. Funny really.’

  ‘What did she do instead?’

  ‘Lena? She went to work in a florist’s but she was always a good artist. She started this thing where she’d draw blue flowers on glass vases. It sounds a bit naff, but they were really wonderful things. Almost ethereal in their beauty. From there she moved on to canvas. She’d dabbled as a teenager, but now she got serious. Painting flowers, I mean. Really beautiful things, but always clinical-looking. Always blue.’

  ‘Have you got any of them?’

  ‘There’s a lot around the house. She painted in the back bedroom. Most of the unsold stuff will be there.’ She looked across at Mark. ‘If you’re really interested I can show you.’

  ‘I’m asking, Kat, and I know I’ve said it before, but something’s not right. What you’re telling me makes sense because you lived it. It’s the norm, as it was your upbringing. But something’s not right. Lena goes from being bright academically to refusing to go to university. She’s close to you and then she’s not. Come on, Kat. There’s something not right there.’

  Kat felt tears well up in her eyes, but Mark made no move across to the sofa next to her. ‘She said something to me. When the police came this time around. I asked her about what had gone on. If she knew the man in her bed wasn’t Andrew. She said to me something along the lines of “You of all people should know that everything can’t be told.” What the hell did she mean by that?’

  Mark was still sitting stock still, his eyes on the fire. Does he feel the same way about me? she thought. He must have felt her eyes on him because he stood up. ‘I’ll make us a brew.’ He leaned over and kissed her hair.

  As he left the room, Kat wondered what he’d meant when he said he wasn’t one to talk about relationships.

  45

  Connie burst into Sadler’s office full of repressed excitement. He frowned up at her. ‘Some people are scared enough of me to knock first.’

  ‘Well, you’ll never believe this, but you know that “weak lead” we had? Philip Staley, who Stephanie Alton complained ruined her life? Well, I’ve seen his mother and spoken to Kat Gray and I think he’s our possible first victim.’

  She was waving a photo in front of him which he took off her. It showed a man with a pale orange tan which couldn’t have come from Derbyshire sunshine – or any natural light, in fact. He had a mane of curly hair that licked around his neck. In the photo he must have been somewhere in his early thirties.

  ‘You wouldn’t trust him with your life’s savings, would you? He emigrated to Australia sometime around August 2004 and hasn’t been seen since. I hope someone would notice I’d gone missing before twelve years had passed, although I wouldn’t guarantee it.’

  ‘I’d send a squad car around to look for you after a week or so.’ Sadler was joking, but he could see from her hurt expression that it hadn’t gone down well.

  ‘I’d like to know what you want me to do next. It’s definitely a goer as far as I’m concerned.’

  Sadler tapped a pencil on his desk. ‘I agree. Start the usual searches. Look at Philip Staley’s bank accounts and see what’s happened since 2004. Look for any connections with Lena Gray. Macclesfield’s not far. They could well have met each other. You also need to go back and interview the woman at Shallowford House. What was her name?’

  ‘Julia Miles.’

  ‘Find out how Philip Staley was supposed to have ruined Stephanie Alton’s life. And I want to know more about her background, family and so on.’

  ‘We’re getting there, aren’t we? I’ve just interviewed Kat Gray and I’ve found out that Lena and Steph were friends as teenagers. There’s a photo of them together.’

  ‘Were they still friends?’

  ‘Kat doesn’t think so. But Lena’s a dark horse and it’s another link between the cases.’

  Sadler smiled at her. ‘I think, Connie, we’re beginning to make progress.’

  *

  Julia Miles looked tired as she took her seat opposite Connie. ‘The women here are pretty upset by Steph’s death. We’re all feeling unsettled at the moment.’

  ‘Do you have much trouble here?’

  ‘There’ve been incidents over the years. Not as many as you might think. Most major problems happen initially after a woman flees domestic abuse. The men can’t believe it, sometimes. That the break’s been made. Or perhaps macho pride means that they think they stand a decent chance of getting them back. Promising to mend their ways.’ Her tone was bitter.

  ‘It never happens?’

  ‘Not in my professional experience. Yours?’

  ‘It’s been a while since I attended a domestic. There were quite a few when I was first starting out. It used to make me really angry and then I lost it.’

  ‘The anger?’

  ‘Yes. There’s only so much you can be angry about in this job. You can’t keep hold of it all the time. It can eat you up. So you put it to one side. You pretend it can’t touch you any more.’

  Julia looked concerned. ‘And does it? Touch you?’

  ‘It stops being as difficult.’

  ‘But you still care?’

  Connie felt a rush of anger. ‘Of course I still care.’

  ‘The stories you hear. It can make you doubt your instincts when it comes to men. I’m lucky. I grew up with four brothers. Man-hater I ain’t but, God knows, some of the stuff I hear . . .’

  ‘Are you married?’

  Julia Miles grinned. ‘Living in sin. You?’

  ‘God no. I meet people, have a few dates, and then, well, work happens. When we’re on a case I can’t focus on anything else.’ Unbidden, Connie’s thoughts turned to Palmer. She mentally shook the thought away and concentrated on the woman in front of her. ‘So Stephanie Alton was the victim of domestic abuse?’

  ‘No. I don’t think so.’

  ‘I thought this was a facility for women who were victims of violence.’

  ‘It is. Mainly. But as I mentioned when you first came here, it’s run as a charitable trust rather than under the umbrella of the local authority. Our Trust status gives us certain flexibility but also comes with problems. The grounds used to belong to the Shaw family. Heard of them?’

  Connie shook her head. Julia got up and walked over to the bookcase. She slid her hand behind it and levered out a large painting. It was a watercolour, badly faded,
depicting an elderly woman with grey hair pulled back into a bun. She was wearing half-moon spectacles and a determined expression. ‘That’s Genevieve Shaw. The last of the family. She bequeathed this land when she died in 1967 to a trust set up to support women fleeing unhappy relationships. That’s what the wording actually says. “Unhappy relationships.” You’d never get away with that now. I should know, the amount of bureaucracy I have to jump through to keep this place ticking along.’

  ‘Are you short of money?’

  ‘Not especially. There was a fair inheritance, but it’s only to be spent on capital stuff. For the fabric of the building, for example. It’s revenue funding I need to constantly monitor. The goalposts keep changing. Plus, if I was to be totally honest, the Social Services don’t like the fact that this is a charity. They prefer to work with government-funded organisations. They don’t like some of our terms of reference. For example, the rather wishy-washy term “unhappy relationships”.’

  Connie couldn’t really care less about bureaucracy. She saw enough of it in her job. What she wanted to know about was Stephanie Alton. ‘So what happened to Steph?’

  Julia frowned. ‘She got pregnant, and it seems to have destroyed her. It was the moment in her life she decided that everything went wrong. A rubbish relationship, an unwanted pregnancy, and it’s all over.’

  ‘It seems a bit extreme.’

  ‘Yes, it does, doesn’t it? But you see it all the time in this job. Something that one person would put down as a bad experience will destroy another.’

  ‘And Philip Staley was the man responsible for this disastrous relationship?’

  ‘Apparently. I’ve always connected the two events. She would keep saying, “Philip Staley ruined my life.”’

  ‘Any idea how long they were together?’

  ‘I can’t give you any more information as I don’t have any. Steph came here because she was still considered to be vulnerable in her previous residence, but she was well enough to manage by herself. Given the long-term impact of the breakdown following her pregnancy, she appeared to satisfy our charitable terms.’

  Connie’s eyes were on the badly faded watercolour. ‘It’s a bit strange though, isn’t it? It’s not as if Stephanie was a teenager when she got pregnant. She was a grown woman. She’s not the first person to be unhappy with her choice of father for her child.’

  Julia shrugged. ‘I’m beginning to lose the concept of what’s normal.’

  ‘And how was her relationship with her daughter?’

  ‘You’ve met Mary? Well, she was initially brought up by her mum until she came to the attention of Social Services when Steph hit the bottle. There were a couple of periods in foster care.’

  ‘And recently?’

  ‘She visited occasionally. I don’t think she liked it here. We try to avoid Shallowford feeling like an institution, but it’s not easy. It may well have reminded Mary of children’s homes she was placed in. It was one of the reasons Steph wanted to leave. She fancied getting a place with her daughter if that was possible.’

  ‘And was it?’

  ‘It’s not straightforward. A mother and adult daughter. The local housing association was looking into it. Can I ask you a question?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Why are you so interested in what happened to Steph? I’ve heard there were stones in her pockets. Like Virginia Woolf.’

  ‘Virginia Woolf?’

  ‘She weighted herself down with stones and threw herself in the river. That’s what happened with Steph, isn’t it?’

  ‘Probably.’

  ‘So why the interest?’

  Connie leaned forward. ‘Because even though we both agree that we’ve lost what our sense of normal is, we’re sitting here dancing around each other well aware that something’s not right with Stephanie’s story. There’s something we’re not getting.’

  ‘You think there’s more to it than a woman gets pregnant and has an unwanted child.’

  Connie folded her arms. ‘That’s half the story. And I’m going to find out the rest.’

  46

  ‘Anna asked about you.’

  Sadler rolled his eyes at his sister. ‘I’ve told you not to bother trying to set me up with anyone. I’m capable of finding my own girlfriend.’

  ‘Are you, Francis? I’m not so sure about that. You seem to like the married types.’

  ‘That was only one girlfriend.’

  ‘One is enough. Try to find someone who’s at least single this time.’

  ‘Like Anna.’

  ‘Like Anna,’ echoed his sister. ‘Didn’t you like her even a little bit?’

  Sadler stretched his feet out in front of him and kicked off his shoes. ‘She didn’t like the fact that I was a policeman.’

  ‘You’re kidding. She’s a solicitor, for God’s sake. I’m sure that’s your imagination.’

  ‘You think I can’t read people’s reactions to my job? Anna is a very nice girl, who, when she heard what I did for a living, for a moment looked alarmed.’

  Camilla bent down, picked up his shoes and moved them to the side of the room. ‘Sorry. Force of habit, clearing up after two little boys.’ She plopped herself down next to him. ‘Funny that. Maybe I should mention it in future. I have a very attractive brother. Single, but he’s a policeman. Does that put you off?’

  Sadler put his arm around his sister. ‘Probably a good idea. Put off the potential criminals.’

  His sister looked up at him. ‘You don’t mean Anna?’

  ‘Probably not. She might have had a bad experience with the police. Not everyone is as nice as me.’

  Camilla smiled. ‘You are nice and you’re always welcome here. You don’t need an invitation.’

  ‘I know. It’s just, once a case starts . . .’

  ‘. . . you become the local celebrity. I do know. Finding the body of a long-dead man at Hale’s End.’

  Sadler made a face. ‘It gave me the creeps, to be honest.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. Horrible place.’

  ‘I know. What’s worse, I used to go there as a teenager. Larking about.’

  ‘Me too.’

  Sadler turned to her in surprise. She smirked. ‘Different type of larking, I suspect. My then boyfriend, Graham, used to drive me down there. You really don’t want to know any more.’

  ‘You’re right. I don’t.’

  He thought back to the dark copse. ‘I don’t think it’s used for that kind of stuff any more. You couldn’t get a car near the place. The old track is pretty overgrown.’

  Camilla glanced up at the clock. ‘The kids will be back from Scouts in a minute. Thank God those days are over. Best thing about being married, take it from me. No more snogging in cars.’

  ‘You don’t miss it?’

  She grimaced. ‘I suspect it’s different for men.’

  *

  ‘How’s the case going?’ Joanne had to raise her voice to be heard over the music that was playing a fraction too loud for normal conversation. They were waiting in the restaurant for their friends to arrive, a couple who were habitually late for any evening out. Palmer had once made the mistake of showing his irritation at their tardiness, and he was now convinced that they did it on purpose. He looked at his watch. ‘It’s going okay, I suppose.’

  ‘Not solved it yet, then?’ She smirked at him across the table.

  ‘Come on, Joanne. You know it’s not that straightforward.’ He signalled to the waiter. ‘I’m ordering some wine. God knows when those two will turn up.’

  ‘Not for me. I’ll have sparkling water.’

  ‘Come on, Jo. You’re not pregnant yet.’ It was the wrong thing to say. At the sight of her face, he reached across the table. ‘Sorry. But stop worrying. A glass of wine will do you good. I’ll order a Chablis. Your favourite.’

  As the waiter opened the bottle of wine, Palmer noticed him giving Joanne a sidelong glance. She was wearing a black Grecian-style dress with flat sandals, even though she’d
complained in the car that her feet were freezing. The draping fabric emphasised her body’s curves, and he was amused to see that she was enjoying the waiter’s attention.

  After the man departed, he commented, ‘You’ve got an admirer.’

  ‘Not my type. I prefer handsome policemen.’

  ‘Got anyone in mind?’

  She ignored the wine and picked up her water glass. ‘Anyway, I’m not the only one with an admirer.’ She gave him a knowing glance.

  ‘Who? Me?’

  ‘When I saw your colleague Connie in the street the other day, she was very cagey about your movements. Very protective towards you.’

  ‘Connie? Don’t start this again. Anyway, if I was working, why should she say where I was?’

  Joanne put her glass down with a bang causing the water to slop over the sides. ‘Don’t get uppity. I’m just saying, I think you’ve got an admirer too.’

  Palmer rolled his eyes and picked up the menu. ‘Connie? I really don’t think so.’

  47

  Sadler walked back on foot from his sister’s house. The nights still had the hint of winter on them. Ridiculous in May, but there you were. Derbyshire Peak District danced to its own tune. To ward off the chill, he increased his pace through the Bampton gloom and began to enjoy the spurt of adrenalin. At first, all he could hear were his footsteps tapping on the pavement.

  A woman, high-heeled shoes in her hand and limping slightly, looked in alarm as he approached. He crossed over to the other side of the street to reassure her and looked at his watch. Just gone eleven. Which meant kicking-out time at Bampton’s pubs, most of which still kept to the old opening times.

  Sure enough, as he approached the town centre, sounds of laughter and shouts of exuberance pierced the air. There weren’t many of them huddled together, fifteen in total he thought, but enough to make him quicken his pace and keep his head down. A patrol car was parked in one of the delivery bays outside a wine shop. Sadler squinted but didn’t recognise the figures inside. They took no notice of him, intent on watching the group for a sudden eruption of violence.