Jeremy was wearing an open-neck sports shirt, slacks with a razor sharp crease and spotless loafers. A man at ease with himself. Hannah yearned to grab him by the arm and shake the smugness out of him. As he listened, he reached out and draped his arm over Karen’s tanned shoulder. She was dressed as though for midsummer in a skimpy top and skirt and nestled closer at her husband’s touch. If the flimsiness of their alibis for the night of Koenig’s murder worried them, Hannah saw no sign of it. Trying to prise the truth out of a happy couple would be a nightmare. To save each other, they would lie through their expensively whitened teeth.
Jeremy made a characteristic pay-attention throat-clearing noise. ‘So, Chief Inspector, what progress with your investigation? I asked DC Eyre here if the murder of this fellow a couple of days after Emma’s body was discovered was simply a coincidence and she refused to be drawn.’
Maggie was sitting in the corner, squashed between the drinks trolley and the portable TV. Her lips were pressed tight together, giving nothing away. But under his sardonic gaze, her fair cheeks coloured, as though she’d failed to come up with a good excuse for not doing her homework on time.
Jeremy smirked at Hannah and said after a theatrical pause, ‘So – naturally I deduce there is a link?’
Answer a question with a question. ‘You didn’t know Guy Koenig?’
‘Good heavens, no. There’s talk in the village that he was a petty criminal. Spent years in and out of prison. Karen and I are hardly likely to socialise with someone like that.’
‘He was a smooth talker, by all accounts. Well read, plausible. You wouldn’t necessarily have taken him for a rogue.’
‘Even so. We really don’t mix in those circles. You could have a word with Vanessa, if you like. She may have come across him.’
Hannah blinked. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘She worked with prison libraries for a couple of years. After we separated, she threw herself into outreach work. Vanessa is a thoroughly decent woman, she always likes to think she is doing good. She believes in rehabilitating offenders, though I have to say that in my book, she’s naïve. You’ll never persuade a young thug to walk the straight and narrow simply by introducing him to Charles Dickens or Thomas Hardy. Let alone Martin Amis or …’
‘Which prisons?’
Jeremy freed his arm from Karen’s shoulder as he gave the question thought. ‘That place at Millom, of course, it’s pretty much on the doorstep. Haverigg, isn’t that the name? And I seem to recall her mentioning a project at Preston. Did this man Koenig ever serve a sentence there?’
Through the panes, Hannah saw the Erskine children, engrossed in what they were watching. Neat, well-turned out youngsters, with their mother’s blonde hair and the long Erskine jaw. Apples of their parents’ eyes.
‘How long were you married to Vanessa, Mr Erskine?’
Karen frowned, curled herself up into a ball, wrapping her arms around her upper body, as if for protection. Maggie wrinkled her brow, trying to work out where all this was leading.
Jeremy flushed and said, ‘Eight years, nine? Possibly less, I can’t recall. It was a very long time ago and as a wise man once said, the past is another country. My life is with Karen and the children, that’s all I care about. I’m afraid I can’t see why you should ask about my previous marriage, it can only cause distress.’
‘I don’t mean to be intrusive,’ Hannah said. ‘But something puzzles me. You are obviously a caring father, Mr Erskine. And Mrs Goddard is devoted to her own boy.’
‘She dotes on him,’ Karen snapped. ‘I don’t think it’s healthy.’
Jeremy put a restraining hand on her knee. ‘What’s your point, Chief Inspector?’
‘I wondered why you and your first wife never had children.’
‘I’m not sure it’s any of your business.’ Jeremy’s face had turned lobster-pink. ‘How can this have any bearing on Emma’s death? Frankly, your question strikes me as prurient.’
Hannah said, ‘Did Vanessa have problems, trying to conceive?’
Jeremy cast an anxious glance at his wife. ‘If – if you must know, she did. It was a nightmare for us both. We had been anxious to start a family. I can assure you, I was delighted when it turned out that Vanessa was able to have a baby after all. I knew how much it meant to her.’
‘But you’d thought it was impossible for her to have children?’ Hannah persisted.
‘So the doctors told us. We tried IVF, all kinds of alternative stuff, one minute our hopes were raised, next they were dashed. Nothing seemed to work. Nothing.’ Jeremy’s voice had become hoarse. He swallowed hard. ‘When Karen told me she was pregnant, it was the happiest moment of my life. Even though I knew it meant my marriage was finished, even though it crucified me to hurt Vanessa, to treat her so cruelly. She deserved better and I thank God that in the end she got it. Now – does that satisfy your curiosity, Chief Inspector?’
Slowly, Hannah nodded.
‘Fern’s line is still busy,’ Maggie said.
‘Keep trying.’
They were in the car, racing along past the dark gift shops and tea rooms in the direction of Thurston Water House. Hannah almost hit an unlit van as she swung round a corner. Her mind should have been on the road, but was travelling through the years to the time of Emma Bestwick’s murder. Her stomach was tight. At last she understood.
‘This is about Emma,’ she said, almost to herself, ‘about the kind of woman she was.’
‘I’m not with you.’ Maggie was good at what she did, but one gift she lacked. Ben Kind always said that the best detectives had imagination, they looked beyond what they could see and hear and smell.
They turned into the road that led to the lake and the car jolted on a speed bump. Hannah swore and slammed her foot on the brake. ‘She never settled to anything. All her life she spent searching for fulfilment, but she never found it. She fancied becoming a reflexologist, but that required money and she didn’t have two pennies to rub together. Luckily, the people she lodged with were willing to fund her. On condition that she gave them a baby.’
‘So – she was the mother of the Goddards’ child?’
‘A surrogacy deal. Conducted in secret because it’s illegal to pay the surrogate mother anything more than expenses. Once she realised how desperate the Goddards were, Emma must have driven a hard bargain. Vanessa and Francis belonged to a small community. They wanted everyone to regard Christopher as theirs – and theirs alone. It must have seemed a perfect plan. Emma lived with them and Francis, as a nurse, could take good care of her. They hid her away to make sure that nothing went wrong and nobody had any idea that it was she, rather than Vanessa, who was pregnant.’
In her head, she heard Vanessa, speaking with passion. If you ask me, the idea that blood is thicker than water is rubbish. A curious remark for a devoted mother, she should have paid it closer heed.
‘She wasn’t stressed out after breaking up with Alex, was she?’
‘No, she just couldn’t be allowed out once her bump became visible.’
‘So what went wrong?’
The dour bulk of Thurston Water House loomed up in the headlights. Hannah swerved off the road and into the driveway, shuddering to a halt in front of the up-and-over garage door. The Goddards were at home. Lights shone behind the curtained windows on the ground and first floors. Somewhere inside, the boy was doubtless lounging around or watching TV. Young Christopher Goddard, innocent cause of death and disaster.
‘Remember the last conversation Emma had with Jeremy? She’d changed her mind. After her child was born, she found it impossible to let go. Alex said she was possessive, mentioned her mood swings. The Goddards didn’t realise the risk they were running.’
They strode up to the front door and Hannah rang the bell long and hard. A full minute dragged by before anyone answered, although as they shifted impatiently on the step, they could hear hurried movements inside the house. At last the door inched open on a security chain. Vanessa G
oddard peered out at them. She looked as nervous as if she thought a pair of ghosts had come calling.
Perhaps that was it, Hannah said to herself. The woman was frightened of a ghost.
‘Oh, Chief Inspector, it’s you. I wasn’t … I mean, on dark nights like this, you can’t be too careful.’
‘May we come in?’
Vanessa screwed her face into an anxious frown. ‘We’ve already had a young policeman here. Wanting to know where Francis and I were the night that poor man was thrown in the lake.’
She showed no sign of releasing the chain. Why was she playing for time? Hannah said, ‘If you wouldn’t mind allowing us to come into the house, Mrs Goddard?’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. Of course.’
Vanessa fumbled with the chain and finally pulled the door wide open. But when she shooed her visitors into the front room, her haste contrasted with her hesitation before letting them inside her home.
‘Christopher is engrossed in his maths homework,’ she said. ‘He’s such a diligent boy, but he needs to concentrate. I wouldn’t want him to be disturbed.’
Hannah heard a door bang somewhere in the back of the house. ‘May we talk to your husband as well?’
‘Francis? I … I’m not sure …’
‘Is he here?’
Vanessa fingered the mark on her face. ‘He … no, I don’t think so.’
She’s losing the plot. Hannah listened out for an engine starting up, but heard nothing. Besides, if he’d left his car in the garage, they were blocking him in. Gritting her teeth, she said, ‘Mrs Goddard, I don’t want to waste time. We need to talk to your husband as well.’
Vanessa’s expression froze. Suddenly, they heard a young boy’s voice, loud and crystal clear, calling from the next room.
‘Daddy, come and see this!’
Half a second of silence was snapped by the boy again. He sounded petulant.
‘Daddy! Where are you?’
Hannah said, ‘Mrs Goddard, you have to tell us, if not your son. Where is your husband?’
Vanessa’s brown eyes moistened. ‘We saw your car through the curtain. Francis said he had to go.’
‘On foot?’
She nodded.
’Do you know where he’s heading?’
‘I think … to the lake.’ She stifled a sob. ‘That’s what he said he would do.’
‘Tell me.’
‘He said he’d rather end it all than bring shame and disgrace to Christopher and me.’
Francis couldn’t be far away. Hannah and Maggie parked by the trees fringing Coniston Water. The moon was hiding, but they left their headlights on to light a patch of land and lake. The café and the steamship ticket office were shuttered and no living soul was in sight. Hannah’s sole coherent thought was that darkness had an infinite number of shades.
They jumped out of the car. Wind was rattling the branches above their heads, water lapped against the shore. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, Hannah picked out a shape in the murk ahead, caught the rasp of laboured breathing. A man exhausted, close to defeat.
‘Mr Goddard!’ Hannah cried. ‘This is DCI Scarlett and DC Eyre – we need to talk.’
Footsteps pounded across stony ground, then clattered against the wet wooden surface of the L-shaped pier. Francis Goddard wasn’t in the mood to talk.
Maggie broke into a run. She was young and fit, with long, loping strides. Hannah followed in her wake. Surely he didn’t plan to steal a boat? It was madness, he wouldn’t stand a chance.
‘Stop!’ Maggie screamed. ‘Don’t do it! You’ll never …’
The dark shape seemed to pirouette on the pier. An easy, elegant movement. Hannah remembered that Francis loved dancing, he knew how to move. But then he let out a cry of despair. She heard a loud thud as his body hit the water. By the time she reached the pier, Maggie was bending over and tearing off her boots.
‘I’m going in,’ Maggie hissed.
‘You can’t! It’s too cold. Nobody can survive down there.’
Francis was thrashing around in the lake, making a muffled noise that might have meant anything. Did he want to be rescued or just left to drown?
Maggie stood up. ‘Sorry, Hannah. It has to be done.’
‘No!’
Hannah moved to restrain her, but her shoes slid on the rain-sleeked wood and she lost her footing and pitched forward. Her knees hit the pier with a painful crash. She stretched out her arms, as if in prayer.
Then watched Maggie jump.
CHAPTER TWENTY
‘So Francis Goddard is expected to live?’
Hannah couldn’t tell from Les Bryant’s grimace whether he was glad or disappointed. Hunched over the table in her office, she strove to shut the fan heater’s asthmatic roar out of her mind. She wasn’t in doubt, she wanted Francis fit and able to talk. Some questions only he could answer.
‘They hope so. But the doctors are worried about brain damage.’
Les’s nose wrinkled, as though at a dodgy sick note. ‘Brain damage? He was only underwater for a couple of minutes before that bloody girl dragged him out.’
That bloody girl. Les was furious with Maggie for having risked her life for a man who had committed one murder and caused another. When Hannah told him that Maggie was going to be OK, he’d come close to shedding tears of relief. Those desperate moments when Maggie grappled with Francis underwater before somehow summoning the strength to drag his inert body on to the shore had been as long as any in Hannah’s life. Thank God the ambulance had come so quickly.
‘They say it’s a case of dive reflex.’
Les curled his lip and leaned back in his chair. His conservatism was ingrained, he was always suspicious of anything he’d never heard of.
‘And what’s that when it’s at home?’
‘When you dive into very cold water, sometimes your larynx goes into a reflex spasm, closing up to stop your lungs drowning. The body starts hibernating to protect itself, but the danger is anoxia, being starved of oxygen. That’s why the doctors are so concerned, that’s what happened to Francis.’
‘Let’s not beat about the bush. If he doesn’t make it, who cares?’
‘His wife, his son …’ And me.
Les snorted. ‘Listen, I don’t want to dance on the bugger’s grave, but what’s he got to live for? He’s going to spend a long, long time in prison.’
Hannah shrugged.
‘Hey, what’s up? Lauren’s over the moon, you’re flavour of the month, we can all move on. Why are you so downbeat?’
‘It’s just that …’
He wagged a stubby, tobacco-stained finger in her face. ‘Forget it. You solved the case. Nothing else matters.’
* * *
‘Francis wanted a child as much as I did.’
Vanessa Goddard’s voice dropped to a whisper, barely loud enough for the tape recorder. Hannah had to lean close to make sure she picked up every word. She and Linz Waller were sitting on either side of Vanessa; the idea was to avoid any hint of confrontation. Hannah had brought in Linz, rather than Les or Bob, in the hope of encouraging Vanessa to open up. Three women together. Like a private chat, except that every word would be taped. And the plan was working; Vanessa was subdued, but far from reticent. She’d hired a solicitor, a local woman and a family friend, to represent Francis if and when he recovered, but she didn’t want a lawyer to accompany her when she talked to the police. Even when Hannah pressed the point, she’d remained adamant. She wasn’t under arrest, she’d committed no crime. She could handle this on her own.
Deep furrows criss-crossed her brow; she was concentrating with the intensity of a tennis star whose next serve would decide Wimbledon. Her gaze fixed on a point high on the wall of the interview room, her only movement was the fiddling of her fingers with a bracelet. She spoke with as much care as if giving a presentation to library officials. No cue cards, but Hannah was sure she’d memorised a script.
‘Jeremy told me you’d been trying for a baby for years.
’
‘I felt a failure. He said it wasn’t my fault, but there was no getting away from the bitter truth. I couldn’t give him what he wanted. What I wanted too, more than anything.’
‘It must have hurt when you found out that Karen was expecting a baby.’
Vanessa twitched, as if Hannah had yanked her hair. ‘You can’t imagine the wound. We’d had a good marriage …’
Her voice quavered, she dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. Hannah gave her a minute to compose herself.
‘And then you met Francis.’
Vanessa sat up in her chair and Hannah saw the glimmer of a fond smile. ‘A man who loved me for myself. I’ve always been self-conscious about this mark on my face, but it meant nothing to him, he saw the real woman underneath. I gave him everything I could. But … he wanted a family and I was afraid he might …’
‘Tell us about the surrogacy.’
‘After I got to know Emma, she told me Alex had suggested adopting a child. Their relationship was falling apart at the time and Emma refused point blank. Said she’d rather have a nice new car than children. I won’t speak ill of the dead, but Emma wasn’t really a giving person. There was no maternal streak. I mentioned it to Francis, because it was so ironic. Presumably Emma would have no difficulty bearing a child, but she couldn’t care less. To us it meant everything, and yet we were thwarted at every turn. We talked about fostering, about adoption, but the agencies put up so many hurdles and, besides, what we wanted was a baby that was ours. And then we started wondering – what if we paid Emma to produce a child for us? Nobody else need ever know.’
‘But Jeremy knew you couldn’t conceive.’
The Arsenic Labyrinth Page 27