‘Nothing worthy of note. Bowness is a lively place, as we all know, but there was no evidence that Ramona had been attacked on her way home. Far less heaved into the lake.’
‘So why assume she’d been murdered?’
‘Nobody jumped to conclusions. Far from it. The initial enquiry was led by Desmond Loney, and he took a lot of convincing she was dead.’
‘Good old Desmond,’ Bunny said, adding disloyally, ‘Cumbria’s Clouseau.’
She rolled her eyes, and Hannah struggled to suppress a highly unprofessional burst of laughter. During his long career, Loney was a byword for his anything-for-a-quiet-life philosophy. Ben Kind said he raised taking the easy way out into an art form. Today, Hannah reflected, Ben was cold in his grave, and Desmond was spending his pension on Mediterranean cruises and pottering around his garden up in St Bees. Was there a moral in that?
Maggie said, ‘People with ordinary, relatively stable lives don’t simply vanish in a puff of smoke. There must be an explanation. But Jimmy Smith was no help. He thought she’d run off with some bloke. Her grandma was senile and past caring. A few days later she went into a home for dementia sufferers, and she was dead within a month. Ramona wasn’t close to her work colleagues – Ravi Thakor excepted – or even people in the same street that she’d known for twenty years.’
‘What about the other men she got close to?’ Les asked.
‘A different story. She’d had an active love life since her mid-teens. She liked men with money who lavished gifts on her, but she didn’t want to settle down with them. One reason being that they were married.’
‘All of them?’ Les asked.
‘The vast majority, for sure. Naturally, that complicated the enquiry, because they weren’t public-spirited enough to come rushing forward with information.’
‘Surprise me,’ Les muttered.
‘To do her justice, Ramona never gossiped about her fancy men. She was good at keeping her mouth shut.’
‘No question of her blackmailing anyone?’ Hannah asked. Ravi Thakor, she supposed, would never have considered himself a blackmail victim. He’d simply rewarded Ramona’s discretion.
‘Nothing came to light.’
‘Given that she was short of money, did she spend heavily on drugs or gambling?’
‘Again, no evidence of either.’
Maggie bent over her laptop and the screen filled with a montage of newspaper headlines. Bowness Woman Missing. Police Issue Fresh Appeal. Have You Seen This Woman?
‘At first the case sparked a blaze of publicity. Public appeals for information, alleged sightings. Nothing came of them.’
‘Was suicide ruled out?’
‘Not at first. She’d left no note, and there was nothing to indicate that she was so deeply troubled. Most people thought that she was at the bottom of a lake or tarn.’
‘There’s no shortage of them round here,’ Les said. ‘Very tempting for any killer to dump her in a watery grave.’
‘Too right. Of course it was impossible to conduct a specific search, with nothing to go on. Desmond’s investigation lost focus. Poor Ramona didn’t have people rooting for her, demanding to know the truth about her fate. Things changed when Ben Kind came on the scene.’
As Maggie took a breath, Hannah nodded.
‘I bet.’
‘He’d not long moved up here from Manchester. Desmond was kicked sideways to head an investigation into a spate of robberies, and Ben was asked to look at the Ramona Smith case with a fresh pair of eyes. Straightaway he had a stroke of luck. This was found.’
A green canvas rucksack, dirty and scuffed, filled the screen.
‘Ramona’s?’ Les asked.
‘Yes, she’d had it for years. A constant companion when she went walking on the fells.’
‘Where did it turn up?’
‘At Strandbeck, on the Crooked Shore.’
For Daniel, the smell of old books was as sweet a perfume as you’d find in any rose garden. He strolled along a set of tall bookshelves in Amos Books, breathing in the heady aroma of ancient tomes on the lore of Lakeland.
‘Hello, stranger,’ said a voice behind him. ‘Back from your travels at last?’
Daniel spun round and came face-to-face with the shop owner. Marc Amos was in his late thirties, amiable, and attractive to women. In his smooth, regular features there was a hint of weakness, of softness, that some people said was a clue to his character, but Daniel couldn’t help liking the man. A shared bibliomania had led to their becoming friends, despite the awkwardness of Marc’s having lived with Hannah for several years before she finally ditched him.
‘Yes, home from the States. Great people, but I’m glad to have the chance to catch my breath. How’s business?’
‘As you well know, booksellers are as gloomy as farmers. We’re always moaning that trade ain’t what it used to be. Not that I’m complaining.’ He coughed. ‘As a matter of fact, I’ve got some news for you.’
‘Fire away.’
‘Leigh and I are getting married. We haven’t named the day yet, but you’ll be invited, for sure.’
Leigh Moffat looked after catering here and at another bookshop-cum-cafe she and Marc ran in Sedbergh. She’d hauled Marc back onto the straight and narrow after a calamitous dalliance with a girl who worked in the shop, around the time his relationship with Hannah was falling apart. To judge by his waistline, she was already fattening him up. He must have put on a stone since Daniel first met him.
Daniel clapped him on the back. ‘Congratulations.’
‘Um – how’s Hannah?’
‘Rushed off her feet with work.’ Daniel grinned. ‘For a change.’
‘Any chance of the two of you … ?’
Daniel gave a shrug. ‘You never know.’
Marc’s cheeks were tinged pink with embarrassment.
‘Um – I haven’t got round to telling her about Leigh and me. You know how it is.’
Did he think that Hannah would torment herself with dreams about what might have been? If so, it only went to show how little he understood her. She was made of sterner stuff. Much sterner stuff than Marc, for sure.
‘I’ll mention it to her.’
‘Thanks, hugely appreciated.’ With that problem sorted, Marc brightened. ‘So what brings you here?’
‘I’ve arranged to meet someone, and I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone. If he doesn’t turn up, at least I might pick up a bargain.’
Marc waved at the crammed shelves as he turned to leave. ‘Happy hunting!’
Daniel headed down the aisle. The shop occupied two floors in a converted water mill, with the cafe at the rear. The doors at the far end were flung open. They gave on to an elevated area of decking, above the rushing beck.
A man sat on his own at a table at the far end of the deck, scanning each customer who entered the cafe. He seemed unable to keep still, as gripped by nervous tension. The photograph on the Greengables website was almost flattering in comparison to the twitchy, gaunt reality.
Daniel strode past the counter and went out into the fresh air. The other man rose to his feet. His suit was smart and his pink tie made of silk, but somehow they didn’t seem right for him. He looked born to wear a knitted cardigan and baggy corduroy trousers.
Daniel extended his hand.
‘Kingsley Melton, I presume?’
‘The Crooked Shore,’ Bunny said. ‘Where the prime suspect’s son killed himself the other day.’
Les peered at her. ‘Coincidence?’
‘No chance.’
‘Some kids found the rucksack, hidden among bushes,’ Maggie said. ‘A breakthrough which raised as many questions as answers.’
‘What connections did Ramona have with the area?’ Hannah asked.
‘None, unless you count the ailing grandma who lived nearby.’ Maggie paused. ‘Does everyone know the Crooked Shore?’
Les, Yorkshire born and bred, was the only one to shake his head.
A view of Str
andbeck at high tide came up on the scene. The photograph had been taken on a summer’s day, with the water shimmering under the sun.
‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ Maggie sighed. ‘Notice how quiet it looks. Off the beaten track, you see. The Crooked Shore isn’t far from Ulverston, but it’s also near Barrow-in-Furness, not exactly a tourist honeypot. People drive straight past on the main road, without knowing Strandbeck is there. Though it’s close to one notable sight. Birkrigg Common.’
‘Never heard of it,’ Les said.
‘There’s an ancient stone circle. Much less well-known than Castlerigg or Long Meg and her Daughters, but a place of worship dating back to the Bronze Age. To this day, Druids venerate it.’
‘Get a lot of Druids round here, do you?’
‘More than you’d think,’ Bunny said. ‘My first husband was interested in paganism for a time. He reckoned it was all about getting close to nature with a bunch of naked women.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Les wore his usual poker face.
Bunny scowled. ‘There’s a reason why he’s an ex.’
‘A week after that discovery,’ Maggie said, ‘there was another find. The anorak turned up at Birkrigg Common. Like the rucksack, it had been stuffed under a bush. Crucially, it bore tiny smears of blood.’
A navy blue anorak appeared on the screen. Maggie zoomed in so that everyone could see a scattering of bloodstains.
‘Ramona’s blood was a match. But some of the blood belonged to a person unknown.’
‘Well, well,’ Les said.
‘Ben Kind was convinced that Ramona was dead and her body had been disposed of. For starters, he focused on two prime suspects, her most recent lovers. Ravi Thakor was one, Gerald Lace the other. Each man claimed to have a cast-iron alibi for the night of Ramona’s disappearance. They were persuaded to agree to DNA testing. This resulted in one match with the blood smears. The man in question was Gerald Lace.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘This prehistoric site …’ Les said. ‘I’m guessing they didn’t dig it up to see if they could find what was left of Ramona Smith?’
‘Too right,’ Maggie said. ‘Where would you start? You can’t turn an ancient and historic beauty spot into a ploughed field without a hell of a good reason. Without a corpse, it’s never easy to make a murder charge stick.’
‘It’s hard enough when you do have a body,’ Les grumbled.
‘Tell us more about Gerald Lace,’ Hannah said.
‘He and his wife Shirley co-owned a gift shop, a couple of streets away from Guido’s. Flogging souvenirs for tourists, watercolours of the Langdales, Beatrix Potter memorabilia, and all the rest. On the surface, the Laces were an attractive couple with a young son and a daughter, but both parents had health problems. Shirley suffered badly from fibromyalgia, and Gerald from depression. It didn’t help that he had a habit of misbehaving with other women. Some time before Ramona’s disappearance, he took an overdose of sleeping pills, but Shirley found him and his stomach was pumped. He recovered and went back to his bad old ways.’
Maggie scanned her notes. ‘Ramona worked behind the counter for the Laces for a few weeks prior to taking the job at Guido’s. Lace and Ramona launched into a steamy affair. But they were soon caught out.’
‘By the wife?’ Bunny asked.
‘Worse than that. If it had been left to Mrs Lace, she’d have kept her mouth shut and nobody outside would be any the wiser. But one day a cousin of hers who didn’t care for Lace called in at the shop. She wanted to see how Shirley was. The closed sign was in the window, but that didn’t deter her. She went round the back, heard suspicious noises, peeked through a window, and saw Lace and Ramona were … well, I leave it to your imagination. After giving them a piece of her mind, she went straight round to the Laces’ house and broke the news to Shirley.’
‘What happened?’
‘Ramona walked out on her job and started at Guido’s. Shirley was distraught, but even though it wasn’t the first time her husband had strayed, she was prepared to forgive and forget. She simply couldn’t envisage life without him.’
‘More fool her,’ Bunny said.
‘Ramona’s heart wasn’t broken. Plenty more fish in the sea, as far as she was concerned. The problem was that Lace became obsessed with her. No way was he willing to give her up. As soon as he’d made his peace with Shirley, he pestered Ramona to resume their affair. Showered her with expensive presents, clothes and jewellery. After a few weeks, she agreed to carry on where they’d left off. Even though by now she was sleeping with Ravi Thakor.’
‘Complicated,’ Les said.
‘You bet. What happened after that is the heart of the case. When we first appealed for information about Ramona’s whereabouts, the cousin came forward and told us about the affair. She loathed Lace and suspected he was still up to his old tricks. Lace was already a person of interest because another woman had accused him of rape. She’d worked at the gift shop, and they’d had a brief relationship.’
‘What happened?’
‘Lace said the complaint was malicious, a reprisal because he’d dumped her. As soon as the woman realised that she risked having her own sexual history pored over in court, she withdrew the allegation. Claimed it had all been a misunderstanding.’
Bunny shook her head. ‘Good old British justice, eh?’
‘All this happened just before Lace took his overdose. The bottom line was that Lace had a clean criminal record. Early in the enquiry he was questioned, but he claimed his relationship with Ramona was over. He said she’d told him that she’d fallen for Thakor in a big way.’
‘Very different from what Thakor told me,’ Hannah said.
‘And from what he told the police at the time. At first, though, there was no evidence to link Lace with the disappearance. Shirley gave him an alibi for the night in question, said they’d been together all the time. They’d had a meal with the children, watched television, and finally gone up to bed about midnight. It was only when the rucksack and anorak were discovered that Ben turned up the heat. Lace was interviewed again and so was Shirley. The breakthrough came thanks to their son.’
‘The son who killed himself at Strandbeck?’ Les asked.
‘Yes, it was Darren Lace who gave the game away.’
‘I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your time and trouble,’ Kingsley said as he put the tray down on the table. From his pocket he produced an oblong of card bearing Greengables’ logo. ‘Here, let me give you my contact details.’
He was so eager to please, he might have been trying to sell a house. ‘This is a long story, but I’ll try to keep it short.’
Daniel inhaled the aroma of his coffee and homemade chocolate fudge cake. Once he got back home, he’d burn off the calories with a long walk on Priest Ridge.
‘Please, go ahead.’
Kingsley glanced around, like a secret agent in a black-and-white movie. There weren’t many potential eavesdroppers. A young couple with Australian accents only had eyes for each other, while two elderly fell walkers were gorging on large chunks of lemon meringue pie with the concentration of men who had spent lavishly on their desserts and meant to get value for money if it killed them.
Leaning over the table, Kingsley said, ‘This is about a man called Logan Prentice. I met him just over two years ago. He’s in his mid-twenties and very plausible. He runs a small business from a bedsit, specialising in computer and laptop repairs. In his spare time he does a bit of acting and plays the piano in clubs and bars. He used to call in at Sunset View, my mother’s care home, to entertain the residents. He made a point of befriending elderly people with money. An old woman called Ivy Podmore took a shine to him. She had no family, and she told people at the home that she’d changed her will in his favour.’
‘Uh-huh.’
‘One afternoon, when my mother was going upstairs for a lie-down, she passed Ivy’s room, which was next to hers on the second floor. The door was open and she saw Prentice bending over Ivy
, who was in her bed. He was holding her pillow. At first my mother thought he was straightening it.’
‘Did she raise an alarm?’
Kingsley sighed. ‘She’d already suffered three strokes. Thankfully, her mind wasn’t affected, but she was tired and frail, and just went to bed for a nap. Afterwards, she berated herself. When she got up and went downstairs for supper, Ivy was nowhere to be seen. One of the care assistants went to her room and found her dead. The doctor was called in and said she’d passed away in her sleep. My mother refused to believe it.’
‘Why not?’
‘She didn’t trust Prentice an inch. Physically weak as she was, she was still on the ball. You couldn’t say the same for Ivy, who was showing signs of dementia. Easily influenced, an obvious target for a predator like Prentice. She’d been fine that afternoon, and there was nothing to suggest she was about to die. My mother was morally certain that she’d seen Prentice, ready to smother Ivy.’
There was a long pause while Daniel digested this.
‘You said on the phone that she witnessed a murder.’
Kingsley bit his lip. ‘Well, yes. In a manner of speaking.’
‘But she didn’t actually see him do anything to harm Ivy Podmore?’
‘No,’ Kingsley admitted. ‘But why would he be there if he wasn’t trying to harm her?’
‘Let me play devil’s advocate,’ Daniel said. ‘Perhaps he was simply concerned for her and took too much on himself.’
Kingsley made a scornful noise loud enough to cause one of the fell walkers to glance irritably in their direction.
‘To look at him, you’d think butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth. Pure façade. Deep down, he’s utterly selfish and amoral.’
‘Did your mother tell anyone in authority what she’d seen?’
‘She told me.’
‘With all due respect, that’s not the same.’
‘She made me swear to take the matter up. Unfortunately, she suffered another stroke almost at once, and it proved fatal. Of course, I passed on the information she’d given me.’
The Crooked Shore Page 13