The Crooked Shore

by Martin Edwards

  ‘So you think he killed her in the mistaken belief he was due to inherit?’

  ‘Exactly!’

  ‘Why bother, why not wait for her to die of natural causes? Why risk arousing suspicion?’

  ‘Prentice is a chancer,’ Kingsley said. ‘And he’s cruel. My bet is that it gave him pleasure. Having power over life and death. The mark of a psychopath.’

  Kingsley sounded like a true crime devotee. Daniel bit off another mouthful of fudge cake, almost more than he could chew. A good excuse for keeping quiet, letting the man talk.

  ‘I saw Prentice again for the first time, almost a fortnight ago.’ Kingsley paused. ‘This was at Strandbeck, on the afternoon that jogger committed suicide. Have you studied the reports of that incident?’

  ‘I’ve glanced at them.’

  ‘Then you’ll understand why I’m so nervous about putting my head above the parapet. I couldn’t tell the press or the police that the reason I was so distracted was that I’d just spotted Logan Prentice. Are you familiar with the Crooked Shore?’

  ‘No. I’m a relative newcomer to this part of the world.’

  The ghost of a smile flitted across Kingsley’s face. ‘I’m sure you’ll have realised by now that to some of us locals in Cumbria, a person is still a newcomer after they’ve lived here for thirty years.’

  He explained his role at the manor, his brief sighting of Prentice, and how he’d become acquainted with Tory Reece-Taylor.

  ‘Since she moved into the manor, Ms Reece-Taylor and I have become … um, very close.’ Colour came to Kingsley’s cheeks again. ‘She’s a marvellous woman, like nobody I’ve ever met before, far less been in a … well, an intimate relationship … anyhow, you see, that business with Prentice was a complete aberration.’

  Kingsley scanned Daniel’s expression. What was he looking for? Daniel wondered.

  Clearing his throat, the older man continued. ‘Tory takes pride in boasting that she’s as tough as old boots. Like me, she’s a private person, but I sense she’s had her share of knocks over the years. A while back she had a cardiac arrest. One of her favourite sayings is that she loves coming back from the dead.’

  ‘So she might easily suffer another, fatal attack?’

  ‘Precisely!’

  ‘What makes you think she’s at risk from Prentice?’

  Kingsley told him about his most recent visit to Strandbeck Manor. ‘My guess is that Prentice laid low after Ivy Podmore’s death. Even though he got away with his crime, I suppose he was reluctant to draw any more attention to himself. To be thwarted over Ivy’s will must have made him angry. And even more determined.’

  ‘You think he’s bided his time, waiting to find another suitable victim?’

  ‘Absolutely. And now he’s chanced upon Tory and ingratiated himself. A rich woman with a dicky heart. The perfect victim.’

  ‘Ms Reece-Taylor sounds much better equipped than Ivy Podmore to look after herself.’

  Kingsley frowned. ‘You think I’m making a mountain out of a molehill?’

  ‘Your concern for her well-being does you a lot of credit.’ Daniel chose his words with care. ‘She obviously means a great deal to you. Prentice sounds like a man on the make, but you can’t be sure he’s contemplating anything sinister.’

  Kingsley swallowed hard. ‘What you’re saying is that you don’t think the police will pay any attention to me.’

  ‘I can’t speak on their behalf, Mr Melton. But let’s face it. There’s no evidence that a crime is about to be committed. Only supposition.’

  ‘Don’t forget Prentice’s track record. He killed Ivy Podmore.’

  ‘There’s no proof he did her any harm. Even his alleged motive doesn’t stack up.’

  ‘He didn’t know she was incapable of making a valid will!’

  ‘Even so.’

  ‘The police could speak to him.’

  ‘What do you expect them to say?’

  ‘They could warn him off. Put the wind up him.’ Kingsley drummed his fingers on the table. ‘He’s a coward. If his card was marked, he’d leave Tory alone.’

  ‘To pick on someone else, you mean?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘If he’s such a rogue, surely it’s a certainty.’

  ‘All I want is for Tory to be safe.’ The drumming intensified. ‘Would you … I mean, you’re a friend of DCI Scarlett. Might you have a word in her ear? She specialises in cold case work, and the death of Ivy Podmore surely qualifies as …’

  ‘Why not approach the police yourself?’

  ‘As I said on the phone, I have my reasons.’

  Daniel could restrain his curiosity no longer. ‘Is that because you witnessed the suicide at Strandbeck. Or is something else holding you back? Something you’ve not mentioned?’

  The drumming stopped and Kingsley sprang to his feet. For a tall and ungainly man, his movements were surprisingly quick. Too quick, because his elbow caught the handle of his coffee cup and knocked it over. The drink spilt over the table and onto the deck.

  ‘Sorry, Mr Kind.’ In his efforts to get the words out, he was jabbering. ‘Tory is in danger. I hoped to persuade you that preventing a crime is infinitely preferable to solving one when it’s too late. Obviously, I was mistaken.’

  Daniel stood up to offer his hand, but Kingsley Melton was already hurrying away.

  ‘So Vee was a code name for a married lover?’ Hannah said.

  Maggie nodded. ‘If Gerry Lace’s brief was right.’

  ‘Ravi Thakor?’ Hannah considered. ‘Vee as in Ra-Vee?’

  ‘Ingenious,’ Les said.

  ‘Thakor claimed that she’d mentioned Vee to him,’ Maggie said.

  ‘But do we believe him?’ Les said.

  Maggie considered. ‘Good question.’

  ‘Was there any evidence to support the barrister’s theory?’ Hannah asked.

  ‘None that I’ve discovered,’ Maggie said.

  ‘Wily devil, old Edgar.’ Bunny sounded almost nostalgic.

  ‘Tell us what happened at the trial,’ Hannah said. ‘Did Gerry Lace give evidence?’

  ‘Yes,’ Maggie said. ‘A high-risk tactic, but it paid off. Edgar Priestley said his client was determined to tell the world what actually happened. Truth was stranger than fiction, and Lace’s testimony proved it.’

  ‘Attack is the best form of defence,’ Les muttered.

  ‘Gerry Lace’s version of events was far-fetched, but he stuck to his guns in the witness box. The cross-examination was gruelling. At one point he was reduced to tears. If anything, Counsel for the prosecution went in too hard. He looked like a bully.’

  ‘So Lace got away with it?’

  ‘Yes, if you assume he killed Ramona. In his closing speech, Priestley suggested that she’d arranged to meet Vee at the Crooked Shore. She persuaded Gerry Lace to take her there, and then humiliated him. Probably it was revenge for the way he’d treated her. Not even Priestley claimed that his client was a saint. But he insisted that Ramona herself was as hard as nails.’

  Bunny nodded. ‘Some truth in that, perhaps. Not that it justifies killing her.’

  ‘No. According to Priestley, it was possible that she knocked Gerry out and was then picked up by Vee. Then something went wrong. She was in a foul temper, and the two of them quarrelled. Vee killed her, maybe by mistake, and disposed of the body.’

  ‘Crime of passion?’ Hannah asked.

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine. The jury was out for ages, but eventually they found Gerry not guilty.’

  Les puffed out his cheeks and exhaled. ‘Juries, eh? Bloody hell.’

  ‘Suppose Vee planned it all along?’ Hannah was thinking aloud. ‘An elaborate plan to kill two birds with one stone. Getting rid of Ramona and making Gerald Lace the scapegoat. The anorak and the rucksack were hidden to incriminate Lace.’

  ‘Any bright ideas about Vee’s identity?’ Les asked. ‘Other than Thakor?’

  Maggie shook her head. ‘There was no shortage
of men in Ramona’s past, and all her known associates were interviewed. Nothing seemed to fit. Gerry Lace was the obvious culprit, but Priestley’s whole point was that the killer was someone we hadn’t cottoned on to.’

  ‘And the jury bought that?’ Les sighed.

  Maggie shrugged. ‘You know the score. It isn’t for the accused to prove his innocence. Priestley was a past master at feeding the media with juicy titbits. His line was that no woman in Cumbria was safe because the police had taken their eyes off the ball. They were too busy persecuting an innocent man.’

  Les groaned. ‘I don’t bloody well believe it. On second thoughts, perhaps I do. That’s defence lawyers for you.’

  ‘After the verdict was delivered, Gerald Lace made the usual speech outside the courtroom entrance. Thanking the jury, his legal team, and his family, and asking for privacy and the chance to get on with his life in peace, blah, blah, blah. Then he pushed his luck too far, said that he was leaving court without a stain on his character. Someone threw an egg at him and shouted that he ought to say where he’d hidden the poor girl’s body. Ben Kind was interviewed and it was obvious he was livid.’

  Hannah nodded. ‘When I worked with him, he hated talking about the case, but he told me about that interview. He admitted he shouldn’t have talked to the media when he was still feeling raw. It wasn’t his finest hour.’

  ‘I remember,’ Bunny said. ‘Although the file was being kept open, he made it clear that there were no new lines of enquiry for the police to follow. That threw fuel on the flames. You didn’t need to be a mind-reader to see he thought Lace had got away with murder.’

  ‘Don’t blame him,’ Les said. ‘He can’t have been alone.’

  ‘Far from alone,’ Maggie said. ‘There was a lot of unpleasantness. Graffiti painted on the Laces’ house and car, branding him a murderer. Customers boycotted the shop, and it closed down. The family suffered, Lace’s wife and kids most of all. He struggled to find work and ended up on benefits.’

  ‘Not a happy ending,’ Hannah said.

  ‘Not for anyone,’ Maggie said. ‘Shirley made a nuisance of herself, complaining to all and sundry that her husband was a victim of police failures in general and Ben Kind’s prejudice in particular. And then Nadine Bosman, the woman who had accused Gerry Lace of rape, confided in one of her friends about it. She claimed that he’d attacked her in the storeroom of the shop. Word got round, and a group of local vigilantes beat Lace up. At that point he made another unsuccessful attempt at taking his own life.’

  Bunny groaned. ‘One disaster after another.’

  ‘After such a lapse of time, there was obviously no evidence to substantiate Nadine’s allegation. Interestingly, she knew Ramona. They’d been to the same school. She said she warned Ramona to be careful of Gerald Lace, but Ramona said she could look after herself.’

  ‘And it didn’t stop her sleeping with Lace?’ Les asked.

  ‘No, but Lace’s beating sent his long-suffering wife into orbit. According to her, the police had blackened the poor fellow’s name so that he was easy prey for any malicious attention-seeker. And then the worst happened.’

  ‘Gerald Lace committed suicide,’ Hannah said softly.

  ‘Yes, the note he left for Shirley protested his innocence and said he’d chosen to die in the place where his life effectively came to an end.’

  ‘Strandbeck,’ Hannah said.

  ‘Exactly. He accused Cumbria Constabulary in general and Ben Kind in particular of tormenting him. His widow didn’t give up on her crusade. She continued to pester us and the media, desperate to clear her dead husband’s name. A gutsy woman, Shirley, but fanatical. It ruined her life and her son’s as well. Darren inherited his father’s depressive streak, and twenty years to the day after Gerald Lace died, his son went back to the Crooked Shore.’

  Maggie sat down, switched off her laptop, and finished her water in a long gulp.

  ‘What a nightmare,’ Bunny said.

  Hannah stood up. ‘It’s a human tragedy. For everyone concerned. Whichever way you look, in this case there are only losers. Thanks, Maggie, that was brilliant.’

  Les leant back in his chair and looked at her. ‘So what now, boss?’

  ‘Our task is simple, isn’t it?’ Hannah spoke with more assurance than she felt. ‘Starting first thing on Monday, we start putting right the wrongs of the past.’

  One of the secretaries put her head round the door with a note for Hannah. She took a brief glance and allowed herself a brief smile.

  ‘On second thoughts, why wait until Monday? A Mrs Clarke has turned up in reception and wants to see me urgently.’

  ‘Mrs Clarke?’ Maggie said.

  ‘Mrs Nadine Clarke. Formerly known as Ms Nadine Bosman.’

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Nadine Clarke was a small, plump woman in her early fifties with curly brown hair going grey, rimless spectacles, and a strong Lancashire accent. She explained she’d seen Hannah on the regional news, talking about Ramona Smith.

  ‘Does my name mean anything to you, love?’

  ‘You made a complaint against Gerald Lace, a year or so before Ramona disappeared.’

  Nadine nodded. ‘Thought you’d do your homework. You look the type.’

  Hannah wasn’t sure if this was a compliment. She exchanged a glance with Maggie. ‘DS Eyre has just given my team a detailed briefing on the case. You said that Gerald Lace assaulted you, but shortly afterwards, you withdrew the allegation, and he was never charged.’

  ‘That’s right, love.’ Nadine compressed her lips into a tight line. ‘Not a day has gone by since then when I haven’t regretted it. Or blamed myself for what it led to.’

  Her voice was steady but her knuckles were white. Hannah waited.

  ‘I was in two minds about speaking to you, but if you’re taking an in-depth look at the whole case, sooner or later you’d come knocking at my door. I’d rather get it over with.’

  Hannah said gently, ‘I’m grateful for any help you can give us.’

  ‘Since Gerry Lace killed himself, some folk have treated him like some sort of martyr. Trust me, he wasn’t. I’m sorry his son died, but I can’t bear the thought of the man who tried to rape me having his reputation whitewashed. It’s bad enough that he got away with killing Ramona.’

  ‘What would you like to tell us, Mrs Clarke?’

  The woman sucked in her cheeks. ‘You’d never believe it now, but in my younger days I was quite something.’

  Delving into a capacious handbag, she fished out a photograph. It showed a young woman with frizzy blonde hair and a deep tan, lazing on a beach and winking at the cameraman. She was wearing a tiny swimsuit and sucking an orange lollipop. The picture was crumpled and blurred, but there was no disguising her prettiness. Nadine Bosman, half a lifetime ago.

  ‘Never believe it was me, would you? The ravages of old age, Chief Inspector.’ She smoothed down an errant curl. ‘I enjoyed myself in those days, far too much. Loads of boyfriends, not a care in the world. Then I went to work for Gerry and Shirley Lace.’

  ‘Tell me about them.’

  ‘Shirley didn’t show her face much in the shop. Always having a fit of the vapours about something, that woman. Very intense, not my cup of tea at all. I don’t mean to be unkind, but she enjoyed her ill health. It was the kids I felt sorry for.’

  ‘And her husband?’

  ‘Gerry was good company. Nice-looking fellow, liked to crack a joke. A decent boss, turned a blind eye if you came in late after a night on the town. I heard he had a reputation as a Casanova, but that didn’t put me off when he started flirting with me. One thing led to another, you know how it is.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  Nadine coloured. ‘He was quite a smoothie, older than the lads I’d knocked around with. Seemed more mature. Generous, too. Every now and then he could turn moody. Once he told me he’d always suffered from insomnia, he took pills to calm his nerves. I told him the insomnia didn’t bother me. I wasn’t i
ntending him to go to sleep when we were together. Call me irresponsible if you like, but I just wanted some fun. I didn’t want to marry him or wreck his marriage, and he was good in bed. But very demanding.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘Yes. Before long, he was expecting me to do things that made me uncomfortable. To cut a long story short, I dumped him. I handed in my notice, but he said he wouldn’t accept it. He begged me to give him a second chance, he simply couldn’t bear rejection. When I said no …’

  After a long pause, Hannah said, ‘He attacked you?’

  Nadine took a breath. ‘At the back of the shop, there was a big storeroom. There was an airbed, that’s where … Anyway, he pushed me down onto it and started ripping off my clothes. When I fought back, he twisted my arm and slapped both my cheeks. Then he put his hand around my throat. I was scared stiff. I’d never seen him like that. He was like a wild animal.’

  ‘But he didn’t go through with it?’

  ‘No.’ Nadine gave a wry smile. ‘Another minute and he’d have choked the life out of me, but I was saved by the bell, quite literally. Someone rang the shop doorbell and wouldn’t stop ringing. It was lunchtime and the shop was closed, but he’d forgotten that a delivery was due. A consignment of tea towels with maps of the Lake District. Thank God for souvenirs. Without them …’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘He pulled himself together and got dressed. Went into the shop and spoke to the driver. You’d never guess what had been going on a few moments before. It gave me the chance to get away. Some of my undies were torn but I managed to tidy myself up and walk out through the shop. There was nothing he could do to stop me. He asked where I was going and I simply said home. For good. The delivery driver was watching, Gerry couldn’t utter a squeak of protest.’

  ‘When did you report the attack?’

  ‘That’s where I messed up,’ she said. ‘I was so shocked by what had happened. This bloke I thought was quite nice, acting like a monster. I was terribly upset, and didn’t utter a word to anyone. I was renting a bedsit in Windermere, and I stayed there for two whole days. When I plucked up the nerve to ring the shop to ask for my wages in lieu, Shirley answered. She was furious, told me she’d had to get out of her sick bed to help because I’d flounced out. So I told her what had happened, and she called me a lying bitch. I slammed the phone down on her and went to the police.’