Vanessa’s eyes narrowed and Hannah understood the depth of her contempt for the man who had deserted her. ‘I knew him well enough to be sure he’d be thrilled to believe I’d found some miracle cure for infertility. It would make him feel less guilty about betraying me.’
‘Did it matter that Emma was Karen’s sister?’
‘Karen stole my first husband by giving him a baby,’ Vanessa said. She seemed to measure each word, as if unsure how candid to be. ‘How could I not relish the prospect of her sister giving my second marriage the one thing it lacked?’
‘And Emma was up for it?’
‘Everything went like a dream. She asked for money, lots of it, but that didn’t bother us, as long as she did what we wanted. Francis doted on her during the pregnancy, no mother-to-be has ever had such wonderful care. And she presented us with this beautiful baby boy.’ Vanessa’s voice shook. ‘Our son Christopher, a gift from God.’
‘Why did she change her mind?’
Vanessa closed her eyes, like a child reciting a poem learned by rote. ‘We kept our side of the bargain, we could never understand why Emma broke her word to us. She’d promised faithfully, she’d sworn to us, that she would never make any claim on the baby. We’d paid her enough to buy that nice new car as well as putting down a deposit on her new house. And then she took it upon herself to decide that motherhood might be what she really yearned for, after all. She’d never found a job to satisfy her long term, why pretend that looking after a squealing infant might be any more appealing? It made no sense. But we couldn’t reason with her.’
‘Did she threaten you?’
‘She said she’d go public, she didn’t care if she was prosecuted, as long as she had her son back. We could have regular access – can you imagine? Our own son, the son we adored!’ A bitten-off laugh. ‘She offered to pay back the money in instalments, but that was scarcely relevant. She never gave a toss about hurting Francis or me. Let alone the child. Imagine how confusing it would have been for the little mite, to have two women claiming to be his mother. I couldn’t bear the thought.’
Vanessa was shaking in her chair. The birthmark seemed more livid than ever.
‘The selfish, selfish, bitch!’
As Vanessa dissolved into tears, Hannah called the interview to a halt and gave her time to compose herself. There must be no suggestion of improper pressure. But after twenty minutes and a cup of strong sweet tea, Vanessa insisted she was ready to resume. She kept repeating that she wanted to help. This was an utter nightmare, but she needed to do the right thing.
‘Guy Koenig,’ Hannah prompted when they were back in the room. ‘We checked the records. You met him when he was inside.’
‘Guy was my greatest success.’ Hannah didn’t think she’d ever seen a smile so bleak, so bereft of merriment. ‘I have this passion for reaching out to people who never had a chance to experience the magic of literature. The government provided a pot of money to support reader development work with prisoners. I love working in partnership with librarians in prisons, mental hospitals, residential care homes. Making a difference to people’s lives.’
Hannah could imagine Les Bryant’s scepticism. Yeah, that Guy Koenig certainly made a difference to people’s lives.
‘Guy was a member of my very first group. He took to Victorian literature like a duck to water. Gaskell, Hardy, you name it. Charles Dickens, his favourite. Guy was a charmer, I saw that with a bit of luck he could make something worthwhile of his life. I became very fond of him, we talked a lot. But prisons have rules. You’re not supposed to get too close.’
‘You came across him a second time, we discovered.’
Vanessa sighed. ‘In another prison reading group, eighteen months later. He’d been convicted again. A minor offence of deception, but his record was bad and the courts don’t understand why most sentences are better served in the community. Guy wanted to go straight, I was sure of it. But he was weak, impatient, that was his downfall. He could never resist the temptation to pretend, he used to say it was because he didn’t have a clue who he really was. His mother was on the game, he never knew his father. I tried to explain, it doesn’t matter where you come from, what counts is where you’re going to. With his gift for persuasion, he could have become a salesman or a spin doctor.’
Sounds like he had you eating out of his palm. ‘He was released for the last time a few weeks before Emma disappeared. You remained in touch?’
‘Of course it was against the rules, but I wanted him to make something of his life.’ For the first time, a hint of colour came to her disfigured face. ‘I’d told him, along with everyone else, all about my pregnancy. He was thrilled for me, he even bought a little gift for the baby.’
‘Your supposed pregnancy,’ Hannah said gently.
‘Yes.’ Vanessa swallowed. ‘When he realised I was stressed out, he thought I was suffering from post-natal depression. I was very low and he was very kind. We met for coffee in the village once or twice. It was all open and above board, please don’t misunderstand. Francis knew all about our little get-togethers, there was never anything between Guy and me of that sort. But one afternoon, I started to weep and, before I knew what I was doing, I was telling Guy about the disaster that had befallen us. About Emma and how she wanted Christopher for herself. He was appalled by her behaviour, of course.’
As Vanessa examined her short, neat nails, Hannah glanced at Linz Waller, who arched her elegant eyebrows. If you were going to confide your darkest secret, a flaky drifter wasn’t the wisest choice of confidant. But then, who didn’t make mistakes?
For some reason, Hannah found herself thinking about Marc and, in a confused way, about Daniel Kind. Oh God. This would never do. Must concentrate on Vanessa’s tale of woe.
‘Did you ask him to help?’ Linz murmured.
Vanessa shook her head. ‘He volunteered to have a word with her. Of course, I was bowled over by his kindness. I promised to help him financially, but he said he simply wanted to repay me for all my generosity. He wasn’t interested in my money.’
Hannah suppressed a groan. I bet.
‘Of course, I brushed that aside. I was willing to give him anything, if only he could make Emma see sense. If she didn’t have enough put by, we could sort that out somehow. Francis and I aren’t rich, but we’re comfortable, thanks to family inheritance. It would be better if she left the Lakes for good, so I told Guy that we’d make it worth her while if she promised never to contact us again. This was for Christopher’s sake, you understand. What she was proposing was wicked. He was my child, not hers. We’d reached an agreement.’
For Christopher’s sake? Hannah told herself not to sit in judgement. Motherhood was special, there was something mystical about the bond between a woman and her child. Maybe it was time to admit to herself what she’d tried so hard to ignore. Not a day passed when she didn’t think about the baby she’d lost.
‘What did Koenig do?’ Linz asked.
‘He phoned her on the basis Francis and I wanted him to represent our interests. At first Emma refused to meet him, but eventually she gave in. It was never easy to say no to Guy. They arranged to meet in a remote part of the fells above the village, where no one else could see them together or overhear their conversation. He loved a touch of melodrama, and Emma did, too. When I suggested he visit her at home instead, pretend to prying neighbours that he was a client in need of a reflexologist, he wouldn’t hear of it. He was supremely confident, he assured me he would talk her round. It would cost, he said, but who cared if Emma left us alone?’
‘Did you discuss Guy’s proposal with your husband?’
‘Naturally. There should never be secrets between husband and wife, that’s my motto.’
You’re crazy, everyone has secrets, and sometimes secrets keep us safe from harm. Hannah took a deep breath. Was she simply rationalising the way she kept secrets from Marc? Already he’d pushed the miscarriage out of his mind. For him, it was just one of those things. A
narrow escape, frankly.
‘But it all went wrong?’
Vanessa squeezed her eyes shut, her face folding with the pain of memory. ‘Francis took Guy’s call. I was feeding Christopher at the time. Guy was pretty incoherent, but he explained that Emma had fallen and hit her head. A freak accident, but fatal. When he realised she was dead, he panicked and shoved the body down an old mine shaft. He said he didn’t want to get us into trouble, he was afraid the truth would come out and our life with our baby boy would be ruined. He was thinking of us, not himself.’
Hannah bit back a sarcastic retort. From what she’d heard, Koenig never had an unselfish impulse in his life. If he was naïve, so were those who had asked him to negotiate with Emma, their mutinous surrogate mother. She was sure the truth about Emma’s death differed from Koenig’s account, but she was equally sure that she would never know precisely what took place that February day ten years ago.
‘Did you pay him?’
‘Every penny we’d promised, plus the extra money we’d set aside to buy Emma off. We hadn’t wanted her to die, it was a terrible misfortune. But at least it meant that we had Christopher to ourselves. Nobody would ever take him away from us.’
So that’s all right, then. Hannah exchanged a look with Linz. Sorrowful scorn was written all over her DC’s pretty face. Linz was young and free; no need to fret about that ticking clock, kids and responsibilities were years away. For her, Vanessa was a sad old cow with an obsession about a baby that wasn’t even hers.
‘And Koenig?’
‘Francis handled everything. I had my hands full with the baby, he didn’t want me upset. He made Guy promise to leave the Lake District and go abroad. In prison, he’d often talked about wanting to travel. When Francis explained the deal he’d struck, I thought it was for the best. Guy would do well with money behind him for the first time in his life. Francis gave him a chance.’
‘But Guy couldn’t keep away forever.’
Vanessa swallowed. ‘That wretched journalist. If only he hadn’t …’
‘We believe Koenig tipped him off that Emma was buried up on Mispickel Scar. Why would he do that, do you think?’
‘Heaven only knows. Guy told me once he believed in living by instinct. I’m afraid it was an excuse for muddled thinking. Of course, we were worried by the publicity, even more by the news that two bodies had been found. Two dead, not one, though we heard rumours that the other corpse is fifty years old, is that right?’
Hannah nodded.
‘So, nothing to do with Guy.’ Vanessa rubbed tired eyes. ‘We didn’t have any idea he was back in Coniston until he rang Francis after Emma was discovered. He was in a state, not making much sense. The police presence had spooked him, Francis said, and he wanted money to get away.’
‘He blackmailed you,’ Hannah said flatly.
‘No!’ Vanessa rapped the table. ‘You don’t understand. Guy wasn’t like that. I still believed in him, I felt we owed him something. Thanks to Guy, we’ve had ten wonderful years with Christopher, and no amount of money can buy that happiness. Francis said he would sort it out. All Guy wanted was to get away from here, but he was broke. He wanted a loan. Francis arranged to meet Guy to hand over some cash. He intended it as a gift, no nonsense about interest or paying us back.’
‘That’s what he said he meant to do?’
Vanessa nodded. ‘Absolutely.’
‘You had no idea that Francis took a couple of bricks with him to Monk Coniston, hoping to weight down the body? Or a torch, to hit Guy with?’
‘I don’t believe it, Francis would never hurt a fly. As for the torch, of course he needed it to find his way through the trees.’
‘What did Francis tell you about his encounter with Guy?’
Vanessa sipped from a glass of water. ‘When he came home that evening, he was in a state of shock. He’d asked Guy to promise never to return to Coniston and for some reason Guy argued. There was a scuffle – Guy started it. But Guy fell over and hit his head on a boulder. Francis checked and found he had no pulse. He was terrified. After all we’d been through, we might still lose Christopher as a result of Guy’s death. So he threw the body in the lake. It wasn’t nice and he hated doing it. My husband’s spent a lifetime caring for others, Chief Inspector, he’s an utterly decent man.’
‘So it was all an unfortunate mistake?’ Hannah strove to keep the cynicism out of her voice.
‘I begged him to speak to you, make a clean breast of things. He wouldn’t hear of it, didn’t want to expose his wife and child to shame. Christopher and I were all he cared about, he didn’t want to ruin our lives.’ Her voice trembled and she gulped more water. ‘I dreaded his doing something – drastic. When the policeman came round to ask if we’d seen anyone heading towards Monk Coniston on the night of the murder, we realised it was only a question of time before you caught up with him.’
She breathed out. ‘I must be strong, for Christopher’s sake. Are you done with me, Chief Inspector? My son and I really must get back to the hospital. We need to be by his side.’
Hannah nodded and stood up. Chances were, she was done with Vanessa Goddard. Her husband might never speak again and Vanessa needed time and space to grieve for what she had lost, as well as summoning the strength to keep caring for the child who meant so much to her. As for her story, if her readers’ group were discussing it, they’d be bound to say that it hung together. A prosecutor would say it tallied with the evidence. And Francis Goddard had been her own pet suspect, ten years ago, when everyone else was pissing in the wind, not even sure if Emma was dead. She’d been vindicated, no one now doubted that Francis Goddard was a murderer.
So why couldn’t she bring herself to believe it?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
‘Your father used to moan that I was never satisfied,’ Hannah said. ‘He told me all detectives need to learn that every case leaves unanswered questions. You do as much as you can, then move on.’
Daniel laughed. ‘I remember him scolding me for being too curious for my own good. Even as a boy, I obsessed about history. I had this crazy idea you could discover everything about the past. He told me there are things it’s better not to know. Now I wonder if he was afraid I might find out about his affair with Cheryl.’
‘He felt so much guilt about leaving his family,’ Hannah said. ‘I’m sure at times he realised he’d screwed up.’
Daniel shrugged and took another sip of Chablis. They were back in a warm nook near the bar in the Café d’Art, but Jacques Brel had been supplanted by Francoise Hardy. Hannah had called Daniel and offered to buy him a quick drink after work, a thank you for helping solve the murder of William Inchmore. She couldn’t resist telling him about Francis Goddard and the truth about the deaths of Emma Bestwick and Guy Koenig.
Or was it the truth?
‘My colleague leading the Koenig investigation is satisfied that Francis committed the murder. Not that he’ll ever stand trial. Or stand for anything else, come to that. They expect he’ll need 24/7 care for the rest of his days. But …’
‘Francis must have been frightened to death. He knew he was bound to be found out. When you and your DC showed up, he made a run for it and jumped in the lake. What more do you need?’
Hannah traced her finger along the rim of her glass. ‘Suppose they planned it, the husband and wife? Francis would take the rap. He’d pretend to attempt suicide, but he didn’t mean to die. He was a decent swimmer and intended to make for the shore if we failed to rescue him. Unfortunately, he reckoned without the dive reflex.’
‘Why take such a risk?’
‘To convince us that he was the killer. To stop the finger pointing at his wife.’
‘Vanessa Goddard?’ Daniel stared. ‘Are you serious?’
‘She knew Guy Koenig, Francis didn’t. My bet is that she asked him to bargain with Emma and paid him off after Emma died. I can believe the plan wasn’t to murder Emma. Something went wrong, we’ll never know the full story. When Koenig
returned to Coniston, he was penniless. Perhaps in the back of his mind he had the idea of extorting more cash from Vanessa. Even if he didn’t think of it like that, it was a convenient fallback when his efforts to exploit his landlady fizzled out. Vanessa must have feared she’d never be rid of him. She and her family would never be safe while he was alive.’
‘You think she murdered Guy herself?’
‘In blind panic, yes. It was a crazy cock-up of a crime. But she was obsessed, she couldn’t risk betrayal.’
A picture came into her mind of Alban Clough, that lascivious old misogynist, recounting a favourite tale. What women most desire is to have their own will. Not fair. But in the case of Vanessa, perhaps not so far off the mark.
‘And she didn’t tell Francis in advance?’
‘I doubt it. She borrowed his coat and boots, forensic examination links them to the scene. Of course Francis was much taller, so she must have found it tricky. No wonder she couldn’t carry anything heavier than a couple of bricks if she was walking all that way to the rendezvous with Koenig. Our only eye-witnesses claimed the person they saw at Monk Coniston was below average height. But we can’t build a case on that, any defence counsel worth their salt would tear their testimony apart.’
‘When the body was discovered so quickly, I suppose she realised she couldn’t get away with it.’
‘Exactly. So she talked to Francis and he decided to confess to a crime he hadn’t committed. The plan was for him to make an unsuccessful suicide attempt. Given his good character and the fact that Koenig could be portrayed as a serial blackmailer, any judge and jury might be sympathetic. With a manslaughter verdict and our prisons bursting at the seams, he’d have a chance of getting out in time to share a slice of Christopher’s late teens.’
Daniel winced. ‘He sacrificed himself.’
‘To protect his child. And the woman he loved.’
Francis as Gawain, a weird image. With Vanessa as his very own Loathly Lady.
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