‘Maybe you’re right.’
‘But how can I prove it?’
‘Do you want to prove it?’
Hannah swallowed the rest of her drink. ‘Good question.’
‘I mean – what good would it do? Perhaps the Goddards have suffered enough.’
‘But is that justice, to let her get away with it?’
Daniel said, ‘Do you really think she’s got away with anything?’
Hannah remembered the paramedics by the banks of Coniston Water, loading the inert body of Francis Goddard on to a stretcher. His face had been frozen in an expression of unimaginable terror, as though he’d looked into the heart of the Devil himself. And she remembered catching sight of Vanessa, sobbing uncontrollably in a hospital corridor after the doctors had told her the news.
‘I suppose you’re right.’ She checked her watch. ‘I’d better hit the road, I promised Marc I wouldn’t be too late. Thanks for sparing your time.’
‘A pleasure.’
‘I never even asked you … how are things?’
‘Looking up. An American company has offered me a gig on a cruise line, talking history to a party of wealthy tourists as we sail the Caribbean for a month in spring. It’s a late opportunity. They booked Hattie Costello ages ago, but last week she fractured her ankle in a celebrity ski-ing show and had to cry off. Shame, huh?’
‘And the writing?’
‘It’ll keep until I return to the UK. But I have the germ of an idea for a new book. Ruskin wasn’t the only Lake District literary figure worth writing about.’
‘Don’t tell me you’re falling back on dear old Willie Wordsworth?’
He grinned and reached for the pocket of the coat he’d hung on the chair. With a magician’s flourish, pulled out a paperback. When Hannah saw the author and title, she couldn’t help laughing.
Thomas de Quincey, On Murder.
‘Hannah!’
As she walked back along Stricklandgate, Hannah was stopped in her tracks by a familiar cry. Glancing across the road, she spotted Terri, in long leather coat and high heels, waving with gusto. She hurried over to join her.
‘You’re looking very gorgeous.’
It wasn’t idle flattery. Terri might be a make-up artist, skilled at dressing mutton as lamb, but in her own case she had the advantage of fantastic bone structure plus thick red hair and a figure to die for.
Terri beamed, showing lots of sharp white teeth. ‘Another date.’
‘And how is Denzil?’
Terri thrust out her lower lip, a gesture Hannah remembered from the playground, twenty years ago. ‘That old fart? He called last night to say he really didn’t think we were suited for a long term relationship, but he hoped we could remain good friends. As if! Apparently I didn’t show enough excitement about his azaleas, it’s how he quality-controls prospective girlfriends. Oh well, easy come, easy go.’
‘So who is it tonight?’
‘He describes himself as a senior professional. It’s all rather mysterious, he doesn’t give much away. I’m thinking a barrister, tall, dark and handsome. Possibly a doctor? Or knowing my luck, a serial killer. But I can’t come to much harm in the middle of a swish new Russian restaurant, can I? I’ve taken a peek at the menu. The caviar costs a fortune, but …’
‘You’re worth it?’
‘Dead right.’ Terri brushed Hannah’s hand with hers. ‘By the way, I wanted to apologise. When I was talking about Denzil, I was excited. I suppose what I said about your miscarriage was insensitive. I’m sorry, sweetie.’
‘No worries.’
At least not as far as Terri was concerned. Last night in bed, she’d finally got up the nerve to ask Marc how he felt about trying for a baby. He hadn’t quite managed to stifle a nervous sigh before whispering that they ought to talk one of these days, but not right now. He was focused on the business, and besides what was the hurry? They had all the time in the world.
‘Sure?’ Terri asked.
‘Promise. As a matter of fact, you pointed me in the right direction. Something you said helped me understand the case I was working on.’
‘Seriously?’ Terri clapped her hands in delight. ‘That’s a first, eh? Incidentally, I’ve forgiven you for not turning up that night. I hope your constable’s OK after trying to rescue that feller.’
‘Thanks, she’s fine.’ Hannah pressed her lips against Terri’s cheek. ‘Have a lovely evening.’
She hurried back across the road but as she passed a home furnishing shop, she saw a familiar figure reflected in the plate glass window. Les Bryant was striding along the opposite pavement, a rolled umbrella in his hand. He had an overcoat slung around his shoulders and underneath she glimpsed a blazer and tie. She’d never seen him looking so natty before, he might have been on his way to a bank managers’ reunion.
Suspicion suddenly swelled in her mind. She glanced over her shoulder, towards where she’d left Terri waiting.
As if on cue, Les halted and said something to Terri. Her friend smiled, gracious as royalty, and extended her hand.
Well, well. Hannah turned in the direction of the car park. It wouldn’t do for them to see her watching them. With any luck they’d have a great night. Though as a long-term relationship, it didn’t have a hope in hell. Did it?
It was a funny thing about relationships. The more she saw, the less she understood why some of them worked and some fell apart.
Wanting to get home, yet not sure why, she broke into a run.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The Lake District is, fortunately, a real place, but this is a work of fiction. At the risk of stating the obvious, I should say that all the characters and incidents are invented, as are all the named organisations that play a part in the story except for the Cumbria Constabulary – my version of it is fictitious, while the real one may change its shape if the much-debated reorganisation of the police service ever comes to fruition. The agencies which Hannah consults about the crime scene investigation at the Arsenic Labyrinth are also imaginary. Any resemblance between people and events in the book and counterparts in real-life is coincidental and unintended. To underline this, I have also taken a few liberties with topography and local history. Arsenic was mined at Caldbeck, but not, so far as I have been able to discover, at Coniston, and there is no arsenic labyrinth in Cumbria. Nor is there a museum like Alban Clough’s, a Ruskin Archive of the kind described, or a Cumbrian newspaper called the Post.
I am indebted to a large number of people who have been generous with both time and expertise as I have researched the background to this book. I should like to express particular thanks to John Prest, for offering insights into the work of a historian, Roger Forsdyke for advice on police procedure, Helen Pepper and Andy Barrett for sharing their crime scene know-how, Kathryn White of the Bagshaw Museum, Adam Sharpe, Cornwall County Council’s senior archaeologist, who guided me through the mysterious world of arsenic labyrinths, and Howard Hull, Director of the Brantwood Trust and the Ruskin Foundation for information about Ruskin and his relations with the people of Coniston. Amongst the many authors whose books I have consulted, I should like to express particular appreciation for the work of Eric G. Holland (an intrepid explorer of copper mines), Dinah Birch (an authority on Ruskin), Ian Pepper (husband of Helen and another authority on crime scene work), and the late Robin W. Winks, a historian and detective fiction fan, of whom Daniel Kind is a disciple. I have also consulted websites and newspaper articles too numerous to list, but this is a novel and ultimately the story must take precedence over the factual background. My colleagues in Murder Squad, my agent Mandy Little and my British and American publishers, Susie Dunlop and Barbara Peters, have offered me enthusiastic support, as always and a final word of thanks go to my wife Helena, my daughter Catherine, and my son Jonathan, who has created a website to be found at www.martinedwardsbooks.com.
About the Author
MARTIN EDWARDS was born in Cheshire. He read Law at Oxford and then trained as a soli
citor. He is married with two children, and is currently a partner at Mace & Jones law firm, based in Liverpool and Manchester. The author of the acclaimed series of legal mysteries featuring Harry Devlin, he is also a critic and has edited various short story collections.
www.martinedwardsbooks.com
By Martin Edwards
LAKE DISTRICT MYSTERIES
The Coffin Trail
The Cipher Garden
The Arsenic Labyrinth
The Serpent Pool
The Hanging Wood
HARRY DEVLIN NOVELS
Waterloo Sunset
Copyright
Allison & Busby Limited
13 Charlotte Mews
London W1T 4EJ
www.allisonandbusby.com
Hardcover published in Great Britain in 2007.
Paperback edition published in 2008.
This ebook edition published in 2011.
Copyright © 2007 by MARTIN EDWARDS
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
All characters and events in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN 978–0–7490–4080–2
The Arsenic Labyrinth Page 29