The Crooked Shore

by Martin Edwards

  Thank heaven he was on the mend. As Tory poured the tea through a silver strainer, he reflected that she was on her best behaviour.

  ‘Bearing up,’ he said bravely. ‘Now, about this intruder. What exactly did you see?’

  A smile, uncharacteristically bashful, spread across her face. ‘Oh, it was nothing. It was getting dark, and as I was about to lock the door to the terrace and draw the curtains, I thought I caught sight of someone outside, close to the trees.’

  ‘Man or woman? Young or old?’ With a professional flourish, Kingsley produced a ballpoint pen and notepad. ‘I’ll need to write an incident report.’

  ‘Oh, please don’t. It was only for a split second.’ She paused. ‘It was probably only the shadow from the trees.’

  The pen hovered in mid-air. He might have been a judge at the Old Bailey, about to record a damning admission.

  ‘So you aren’t certain that you did see someone?’

  ‘Now I come to think about it, I was almost certainly mistaken. I’m so sorry, I must have panicked.’

  ‘Panicked? That’s not like you, Tory. Especially since you saw this figure last night and didn’t ring me until this morning.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking straight. I shouldn’t have bothered you about something so trivial.’

  ‘I’m here to be bothered,’ he said portentously. ‘That’s what Greengables pays me for. I’ve changed the gate code remotely as a precaution.’

  He handed her a slip of paper with the new number. Tory gave a bashful smile.

  ‘Sorry, Kingsley. I’m such a rotten nuisance. I should have rung you back to cancel, but … well, I was hoping to see you, to make sure you were all right.’

  He rubbed his jaw. It crossed his mind that the call was a ruse. Tory wasn’t above telling lies when it suited her, but then, everybody was economical with the truth from time to time. Including himself. All that mattered was that she wasn’t bored with him. If she thought him quaint or old-fashioned or simply a bit odd, fair enough; how could he deny it, how could he pretend to be someone he wasn’t? What he dreaded was losing her.

  Their affair had so far been sporadic in nature, to say the least. They hadn’t yet made love, unless you counted that unconsummated fiasco, which was best forgotten. All the same, their relationship was by far the most important thing in his life. It kept him going, made him feel young and desirable and masculine. Yet sometimes when he was talking, he caught her stifling a yawn. The thought she might care enough to invent an excuse to lure him here made his spirits soar.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘That’s very decent of you.’

  ‘Nonsense. What use are friends if we don’t look after each other?’

  He wanted to say they weren’t just friends. In his own mind, they were lovers, without a doubt. But he bit his tongue.

  Impulsively, she took his hand. ‘Are you really OK? You look rather frazzled.’

  ‘It’s been rough,’ he said, opting for plucky stoicism. ‘But I’ll live.’

  Tory gave a theatrical sigh. ‘I suppose that’s more than can be said for the poor wretch who topped himself.’

  ‘I don’t suppose I’ll ever forget it,’ he said in a melancholy tone.

  ‘What on earth drove him to such extremes?’ she said, unable to disguise her habitual asperity.

  ‘I suppose the memory of his father’s suicide twenty years ago …’

  She clicked her tongue in disapproval. ‘Even in my bleakest moments, I’ve always found a reason to keep going.’

  It suddenly occurred to Kingsley that it couldn’t be easy for a woman of her age to move to a distant part of the country where she knew not a soul, after suffering the distress of bereavement. But if anyone could cope, it was Tory.

  ‘Terrible story,’ Kingsley said as he drank his tea. ‘I suppose disturbed minds run in families.’

  She shot him a sharp glance. ‘You think so?’

  ‘You must have heard, his father murdered a young woman, but they couldn’t prove it.’

  ‘Didn’t I read that the father was found not guilty?’

  ‘You know what they say.’ Kingsley frowned. ‘No smoke without fire.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  ‘What do you reckon to Gleadall?’ Les Bryant asked Hannah at the end of the afternoon. ‘To be honest, I don’t believe in fairy godfathers. Specially not if they wear Rolexes and Savile Row suits.’

  ‘A man in a hurry, that’s for sure. Beyond that, it’s too soon to say. He talks a good game, but he would, wouldn’t he? A PR man to his fingertips.’

  ‘Rich one, too,’ Les said. ‘Sold his business for a king’s ransom when he was only forty-five. Told the newspapers he intended to fulfil his childhood dream, roaming the fells of his native county. Didn’t take him long to get itchy feet, did it?’

  ‘You’ve looked him up.’

  Les nodded. ‘I was curious. My contract is coming up to its expiry date. It crossed my mind I’d be surplus to requirements. Swept clean by the new broom.’

  A sudden panic seized Hannah. ‘You don’t want to retire? Tell me you’ll sign up for another term. We can’t afford to lose your experience, even if Gleadall delivers on this promise of bringing in fresh blood.’

  Les allowed himself a smile, a rare treat. He’d played the curmudgeonly Yorkshireman for so long that now it was a way of life. Hannah liked him very much. He was a good detective but above all a man she could trust.

  ‘All right, if you twist my arm, I don’t mind helping out a bit longer. It’s not as if I want to spend my time fell-walking. Bad for your feet.’

  ‘Even Gleadall found you could have too much of a good thing.’

  ‘You reckon this job is just a rich man’s fancy? Serve for four years and then bugger off to do something more exotic?’

  Hannah spread her arms. ‘Your guess is as good as mine. He’s not your typical public servant. My hunch is that achieving things is what turns him on. Making a difference. He’s ticked all the boxes in the private sector. Now he’s strutting on a bigger stage.’

  ‘The shine will wear off soon enough.’ It never took long for Les’s inner sceptic to reassert itself. He consulted his watch. ‘We’d best get moving. Daren’t be late for Linz’s send-off.’

  ‘How much do you remember about the old murder case?’ Tory asked. ‘The killing of the girl from Bowness?’

  She and Kingsley had come inside from the terrace after tea and settled down next to each other on the sofa. Their arms and thighs were touching, but as yet he’d made no advances. He was learning. It was unwise to seem too eager. He must take his time.

  ‘Mmmm.’ Kingsley felt the tension in his shoulders. Why rake over old coals? It was nothing to her.

  ‘The story must have made headlines. There can’t be many mysterious murders in the Lake District.’

  ‘You’d be surprised,’ he blurted out.

  He was thinking of Logan Prentice and old Ivy Podmore, smothered to death with a pillow at Sunset View. Lately he’d found it impossible to banish Prentice from his mind.

  ‘Really?’ She leant towards him. ‘I’m intrigued.’

  He strove for lightness. ‘Doesn’t Sherlock Holmes have a line about that? Something about urban villainy being less sinister than the secrets lurking behind the smiling face of the countryside?’

  Tory brushed this literary allusion aside. ‘I’m not much of a reader.’

  It was perfectly true. There wasn’t a single magazine or book to be seen in the vast open living space. Because this was the original show flat, the carpets, curtains, and principal fittings and furniture had been included in the – suitably inflated – purchase price. On moving in, Tory had bought half a dozen Lakeland landscapes by the county’s priciest watercolourists to adorn the walls, but her interest in culture and the arts was minimal.

  Material possessions didn’t matter to her, although a swish laptop sat on a coffee table and her home entertainment system must have cost a fortune. Yet there were no personal mem
entoes or knick-knacks. One of the many differences between the two of them was that he loved old things and surrounding himself with clutter from the past. The main clue here to Tory’s personality or tastes was a large, custom-made gin rack.

  ‘I like a good novel myself,’ he said. ‘My father was a passionate reader with a very catholic taste. I was named after Amis senior and my sister after a Bond girl. I suppose I’ve inherited …’

  ‘Cast your mind back,’ Tory interrupted. ‘You were living in the Lake District at the time of the murder, weren’t you?’

  He wished she wouldn’t keep harping on about Ramona Smith. ‘Oh, yes, I’ve never moved away. At that time I worked in retail.’

  ‘For the family business, didn’t you say? In Kendal, wasn’t it?’

  He felt flattered that a casual remark had lodged in her mind. When they were together, it was unusual for them to talk about their past lives, and that suited him down to the ground. All the same, there were moments when he wondered if Tory took him for granted. She often asked him to undertake little tasks for her, liaising with tradesmen or window cleaners. An ignoble thought had occurred to him. Did it suit her to keep him sweet because he worked for Greengables and with his office next door, he was at her beck and call? No, he couldn’t believe she was so calculating.

  ‘My parents owned an antique shop on Kirkland.’ He paused. ‘As I say, I had a younger sister, but she drowned when I was nine.’

  Tory’s eyes gleamed. ‘How dreadful.’

  ‘My parents never got over it. Her death cast a shadow over all of us. I started working in the shop after I didn’t get into university. Father died when I was twenty-five, and my mother kept the shop until ten years ago. We liked the way of life too much to give it up.’

  ‘Why did you sell up?’

  ‘Mamma and I loved antiques but hated managing the accounts. In the end we decided to concentrate on antique fairs. Thankfully, Father owned the freehold of the shop, so we lived comfortably enough on the sale proceeds. The last of the money paid for her care home fees.’

  ‘When did you move to Bowness?’

  ‘Actually, I’ve lived in the same bungalow my entire life. I was born there; it’s steeped in memories. You really must come over sometime. Take a look at my treasures.’

  She pinched the bridge of her nose, as if working things out in her head. ‘So you were in Bowness all those years ago when that Smith woman went missing. It’s a small town, a glorified village, really. You must have bumped into her.’

  ‘I very much doubt it.’ He frowned. ‘We kept ourselves to ourselves. Anyway, Bowness teems with tourists. In summer you can hardly move for sweaty visitors, gabbling away in every language under the sun. People come and go all the time. When the police said the woman had gone missing, a lot of folk reckoned it was a fuss about nothing. Everyone assumed she’d simply moved on.’

  ‘I suppose the trial gave rise to a big hoo-hah. What was his name, that fellow who was supposed to have done it?’

  ‘Lace,’ Kingsley said. ‘The police believed that he’d murdered the woman and hidden her body. Rumour had it that he weighed the corpse down with a concrete slab and dumped it in the middle of Windermere. Or maybe dropped it into a ravine on one of the remote fells. When Lace got off, it caused a huge rumpus. Folk reckoned he’d committed a terrible crime and got away scot-free.’

  ‘Call that justice?’ She sounded disgusted.

  ‘Lace was tried in the court of public opinion.’ Kingsley shook his head. ‘It must be terrifying. To be hated so much.’

  ‘Don’t waste your pity,’ Tory said. ‘If he attacked a young woman …’

  Kingsley heaved a sigh. ‘True enough. And he must have done it. Why else would he drown himself? Such a terrible death, it doesn’t make sense unless he was tormented by conscience. As for his son …’

  ‘They were obviously a dysfunctional family.’ She stroked his hand. ‘I’m sorry those journalists were so horrid to you. If that man was determined to commit suicide, how could you have stopped him?’

  ‘Precisely!’

  He ached to fling his arms around her and shower her with kisses. People regarded him as an introvert, a loner, an eccentric, but he had feelings, like anyone else. Sometimes he struggled to control his emotions.

  She considered him. ‘Nice to see you again, Kingsley. Sorry I was sharp with you last time we met.’

  He felt the pressure of her thigh against his and told himself not to ruin things by appearing too eager. Let alone desperate. He mustered a valiant smile.

  ‘I won’t be forgetting that afternoon in a hurry.’

  ‘I bet you won’t, you poor lamb.’ She bent towards him and brushed his cheek with her lips. ‘Now, must you dash off? Surely Greengables have already extracted their pound of flesh for the day? I do hope I can persuade you to stay for a meal. I got some extra food in, just in case. Italian meatballs with pasta, your favourite!’

  He wanted to hug himself with delight. Keeping his distance for a few days had worked wonders. The torment the press had inflicted on him no longer mattered. He clutched at her ringless fingers.

  ‘Thanks, Tory, I’d love to.’

  ‘Linz is good fun,’ Bunny Cohen said, raising her voice so that she could be heard over the cacophony. ‘We’ll miss her.’

  The large private function room at Effie Grey’s on Lowther Street was packed to bursting. Linz and her fellow maternity leaver had chosen the music, if that’s what you called the relentless rap blasting out from the speakers. Hannah had done her bit in terms of circulating before arriving at Bunny’s side. She was fond of Bunny, a long-serving DC in her fifties famous for her blunt manner. Her outspokenness had probably cost her more than one promotion.

  ‘Too right,’ Hannah said. ‘Incidentally, were you around in the days when Ramona Smith went missing?’

  Bunny downed some of her vodka and lime. ‘Ramona Smith? Yes, I was. And not just around, I worked on the case.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, I spent a bit of time with Ramona’s father in the days before we had proper family liaison officers. Can’t pretend I liked Jimmy Smith. He insisted she’d done a runner. Refusing to face facts. Understandable, I suppose. People clutch at straws in those circumstances. Losing your only daughter must be heart-breaking, even if the two of you were at daggers drawn.’

  Hannah took another sip of Sauvignon. One of the perks of having bought a flat within walking distance was that she could have a drink at an office knees-up. Only one, mind. At a party, the senior officers were on show. You had to make sure you didn’t make a fool of yourself, or allow anyone else to make a fool of you. Especially when so many people had their phones out, snapping selfies.

  ‘Sounds as if you remember the case well.’

  ‘You never forget a tragedy like that. Young woman, in the prime of life. I was only on the fringe of the investigation and after a fortnight, I was pulled in to another team to work on a major fraud enquiry.’ Bunny peered at Hannah, searching for clues. ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘My team is taking another look at Ramona’s disappearance.’

  ‘Great news.’ Bunny knocked back the rest of her drink. ‘Long overdue.’

  ‘You don’t think we’re wasting our time, after all these years?’

  ‘Far from it. I used to ask myself where her body might be. Buried in woodland, under water maybe?’ Her tone hardened. ‘And I’d wonder what that bastard might have done to her before she died.’

  ‘That bastard?’

  ‘The bloke who killed her. Gerald Lace.’

  ‘If he did kill her. There may be other candidates.’

  Bunny frowned. ‘Careful what you say, the walls have ears.’

  Hannah stared. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Don’t you know?’ Bunny moved closer and lowered her voice. ‘Ravi Thakor was in the frame at the start of the investigation. Fortunately for him, his alibi was fireproof.’

  ‘Is that right?’

  Ra
vi Thakor owned Effie’s, and over the past ten years had turned it into one of the most popular bars in the south Lakes. A wealthy businessman and local philanthropist with fingers in plenty of pies, he took inordinate care to keep on the right side of Cumbria Constabulary. A few years back Linz Waller had dated his son, and right now Hannah could see her chatting to Ravi, a tubby moon-faced man in his fifties whose natty suits were always complemented by a bright red waistcoat. He caught Hannah’s eye and lifted his hand in greeting.

  ‘Yeah, Ravi’s always been a ladies’ man.’ Bunny waved and Ravi Thakor responded with a nervous smirk before turning back to Linz. ‘As it happens, he and I once went out for a drink together. Only the once, mind, and only for a drink. This was a long time before he made his millions. If I’d known …’

  Her grin was self-mocking. ‘Actually, no, it would never have worked. He’s mad about cricket. Honestly, I ask you. Anyway, our little dalliance was years before he got involved with Ramona Smith.’

  ‘Involved how?’

  ‘At the time she disappeared, she was working at Guido’s, a bistro he used to own in Bowness. At the time he was still with Poppy, his first wife.’ Bunny shook her head. ‘Like me, he’s been married three times. The difference is that as he gets older, his wives get younger.’

  ‘So he was a suspect?’

  ‘Yes, but he dropped lucky. Usually he spent every night at Guido’s. But the night Ramona went missing, he and Poppy were out celebrating their wedding anniversary. As a matter of fact, Poppy went to the same school as me, she was a couple of years younger. Pretty girl, big boobs. She’d found out about Ramona and he reckoned he’d ended the affair with no hard feelings on either side. He swore he’d behave himself in future. Lying toad, but that’s men for you. That night was his wedding anniversary and he took Poppy out for a slap-up meal at the Sharrow Bay.’