The Crooked Shore

by Martin Edwards

  ‘How did that go?’

  ‘Awful,’ Nadine said. ‘I felt like I was the criminal. Talk about the third degree, when I told them I’d been having an affair with Gerald Lace, they pretty much lost interest. Obviously, by then there was no physical evidence of what had happened. I’d chucked the torn clothes in the bin. They spoke to him, but Shirley stuck in her oar.’

  ‘She was in denial?’

  Nadine snorted. ‘She was in denial her whole life. I feel sorry for her in some ways, but when people make out she was some kind of angel for standing by her man, it makes my blood boil. She said I’d made the story up as a way of getting money out of them. Told the police about some of the lads I’d been involved with. Two of them had seen the inside of a prison cell. She even accused me of topping up my wages from the till.’

  ‘Did you steal from the shop?’

  Nadine averted her eyes. ‘No, but who would believe me? When I was eighteen, I had a job in a cafe. The staff used to help themselves to all sorts, but I was found out. I only nicked a tenner, but the case went to court, and the magistrate fined me. I didn’t even realise Shirley had heard about that, but Bowness is a small place, and I was never any good at keeping secrets.’

  ‘You withdrew your complaint about Gerald Lace?’

  ‘I was up against it, I felt I had no choice. The Laces played dirty. There was no proof of what happened, it was my word against theirs. And the delivery driver’s. He said I looked fine when I walked out of the shop. The idiot didn’t even notice the marks on my cheeks. Maybe Gerry bribed him, I’ve no idea. So I said it was all a misunderstanding. I’d lashed out at him because I was heartbroken that he’d finished me. The police were happy to close the book on it. They let me off with a stern talking-to.’

  ‘When did you tell Ramona about the attack?’

  ‘I heard on the grapevine that she’d started at the shop. I didn’t know her well. She kept herself to herself, at least as far as other girls were concerned. Maybe she didn’t fancy any competition. She was a strange one. Bright enough, but content to drift from one dead end job to another. I’d been the same, but the attack changed me. Woke me up. I was sick of retail, so I started working in a library, and that’s where I met Kevin, my husband.’

  ‘What did you say to her?’

  ‘I told her to watch herself with Gerry Lace. He might seem as nice as pie, but there was another side to him.’

  ‘And how did she react?’

  ‘She asked a few questions, and at first I thought I was getting through to her, but in the end she laughed it off. More or less said to my face that if I’d handled things better, he’d never have laid a finger on me. Not a word of thanks, she wasn’t the type. So I gave up and got on with my life.’

  ‘You talked to the police after she went missing.’

  ‘When the news came out, my first thought was that Gerald Lace had lost control again. She’d probably taunted him, I’m afraid she was the sort who would do that. If things had got out of hand …’

  ‘Public-spirited of you to come forward.’

  Nadine Clarke scanned Hannah’s face, as if suspecting sarcasm. Satisfied with what she saw, she gave a brisk nod.

  ‘I felt it was my duty. Kevin and I are Christians. Born-again, you might say, though we prefer the word evangelical. I hoped against hope that Ramona might be found safe and well. For all her faults, she didn’t deserve to be murdered. It’s not that I still wanted revenge on Gerald Lace, I didn’t speak up to get him into trouble.’

  ‘You’d forgiven him?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said defiantly. ‘But I hadn’t forgotten that time in the storeroom. I’ll remember it till the day I die.’ She paused. ‘I hated that man, but perhaps I ought to be grateful. What he did to me was terrible, but without that, I’d never have started again. I’d never have seen the light.’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Daniel whistled. ‘Quite a view.’

  He and Hannah were approaching the top of Hoad Hill on a bright, clear Saturday afternoon. Whichever way you looked, the vistas were magnificent. To the north lay the Coniston Fells and the Langdales. Turn your head a fraction and you saw the Leven estuary with its tiny island and the railway viaduct over the river. Morecambe Bay spread out beyond the coastline and, in the far distance, Daniel’s sharp eyes spotted the faint outlines of Blackpool Tower. Below the hill, a short stretch of water connected the bay with the town where they’d parked. This was Ulverston Canal, said to be the widest, deepest, and straightest in the world.

  Daniel had picked up Hannah in Kendal that morning before heading out to the peninsulas of south Cumbria. They’d stopped for a snack in a colourfully painted cafe tucked away in the maze of Ulverston’s cobbled streets. The place was called Another Fine Mess, a nod to the town’s most famous son, the skinny half of Laurel and Hardy.

  Over a veggie Caesar salad, Hannah had given Daniel an outline of his father’s ill-fated attempt to solve the puzzle of Ramona Smith’s disappearance and of Darren Lace’s death on the Crooked Shore. He hadn’t mentioned his encounter with Kingsley Melton.

  On the warmest day of summer so far, the chance to put on their sun hats and shorts and get out in the fresh air was too good to miss. Everyone else had obviously had the same idea; following the path up, they’d seen almost as many people as they’d seen sheep. There was barely a breath of breeze, even on this exposed hilltop. They meant to go on to the Crooked Shore and Birkrigg Common, but first Daniel had persuaded her to make this climb.

  Their goal was an eccentric landmark that caught his attention each time he drove past on the A590, heading to the west coast. A mile and a half inland, on the crest of the hill, it looked like a lighthouse that had got hopelessly lost.

  Hannah lifted her dark glasses. Standing on tiptoe in her trainers, she peered up at the Sir John Barrow Monument. Painted white and made of limestone, it towered above her, one hundred feet high.

  ‘Now that’s what I call an erection,’ she murmured.

  Daniel laughed. ‘This is a copy of the third Eddystone Lighthouse, now rebuilt at Plymouth Hoe. The monument was put up to commemorate an intrepid geographer and explorer who was born in Ulverston. The spoilsports of Trinity House insisted they couldn’t put a light in. Why people thought it was appropriate to pay tribute to Sir John’s geographical expertise by plonking a fake lighthouse on top of a hill remains a mystery.’

  ‘You’re such a mine of information.’ She gave a mocking grin. ‘And not all of it is useless.’

  ‘Last night I read up on the history of the area. ‘Lancashire North of the Sands’ they called these parts, before the county boundaries were shifted around. The story is in a quaint old book I picked up yesterday when I went over to Marc’s.’

  ‘How is he?’

  Her tone was casual. Too casual? Daniel threw her a covert glance. He was as sure as he could be that she was over Marc, but you never knew. At times he found Hannah’s cool demeanour as tricky to read as Sanskrit.

  ‘Fine.’

  Some time back, she’d got pregnant by Marc, only to have a miscarriage. She’d never said much about it, but the loss of the unplanned baby had hurt her badly. He had no doubt that she still grieved in private for a child she’d never see or get to know. An idea leapt into his mind. Was Leigh expecting, was that why Marc was finally taking the plunge? If so, how would Hannah react? She wasn’t the jealous type, and the decision to split up with Marc had been hers, but it would be only human to feel a pang of regret for what might have been. What would be the right moment to break the news about the impending nuptials?

  ‘Good.’

  She shrugged, as if to shake her former lover out of her thoughts. Even on a lovely Saturday afternoon when she wasn’t on duty, her mood was pensive. He could tell her mind was roaming. Since his return from America, she’d seemed distant, more like a passing acquaintance than a lover. His fault for going away for so long. Or maybe her quietness was due to her absorption in this latest cold case.
A major enquiry put extra strain on her because she took such a hands-on role. With so much mental and physical energy committed to an investigation, there wasn’t much room to spare for fun. Or even him.

  He squeezed her hand as they contemplated the panorama. ‘Are those the Yorkshire Dales in the distance?’

  ‘Could be.’ She returned the pressure of his hand. ‘Good idea of yours to come here, do the touristy things. Call myself a local? I’ve never actually climbed the Hoad before.’

  Daniel pointed towards the estuary and its outcrop of rock, overgrown with brambles. ‘In olden days, a pathway ran across the water by way of Chapel Island. The route connected the priory at Conishead with Cartmel Sands. The old ruin there now is a folly, built to enhance the view in the nineteenth century. The Augustinian black canons built the original chapel on the island as a refuge and a place for travellers to pray.’

  ‘Darren Lace could have done with a few prayers.’ Hannah sighed. ‘The sands are so beautiful. You’d never guess they are treacherous.’

  ‘A dreadful way to die. How appalling to feel such despair that you decide the only way out is to sink into the mud and wait to be drowned. ‘

  ‘Yes, his father had a lot to answer for. Even if Gerald Lace didn’t kill Ramona Smith, his lies were self-destructive. They destroyed his family. The mother squandered the rest of her life on a hopeless mission to clear his name. The daughter fled at the first opportunity. The son never forgave himself for having told another kid about his dad’s false alibi. I only hope we can find out what happened to Ramona.’

  ‘After all this time, it’s a big ask.’

  She smiled. ‘You’re telling me.’

  ‘What’s your current thinking?’

  ‘A betting man would say your dad was right, and Lace was responsible for her death.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘We start from ground zero. No assumptions. Ben was only human. He made his share of mistakes.’

  ‘As Louise has often reminded me.’ He groaned. ‘This isn’t the first time you’ve had to review one of his investigations.’

  Hannah shrugged, a brisk movement of bony shoulders under her white T-shirt. Her figure was supple, almost boyish. Daniel thought she’d lost weight while he’d been away. She had a habit of skipping meals when she was on her own and working long hours.

  ‘Ben stuck to his principles, come what may.’

  ‘What you mean is,’ Daniel said, ‘sometimes he’d cut off his nose to spite his face.’

  ‘He hated time-servers who carved out careers by dodging real responsibility. That’s why he used to upset the top brass.’

  ‘I guess he didn’t always play by their rules. At home or at work.’

  ‘The rules are there for a reason. Senior police officers need to choose their words carefully. But he was the best detective I ever worked with. There’s a reason why he was always given the toughest cases.’

  They began the descent in silence. Halfway down, Daniel said, ‘By the way, Marc asked me to pass on some news.’

  ‘Oh, yeah?’

  ‘He and Leigh are getting married.’

  Her confident stride faltered, but only for a moment.

  ‘About time, I suppose,’ he said.

  ‘I must call into the cafe one of these days,’ she said. ‘I ought to wish Leigh luck. She’ll need it.’

  ‘You must let me help,’ Tory said.

  Logan shook his head. ‘You’ve done so much for me already. I can’t keep accepting your charity.’

  They were strolling arm-in-arm along Strandbeck Lane. That morning Logan had filled the van and transported his possessions from the bedsit in Ulverston to his new home in the manor. After a picnic lunch in the summer house, they’d gone for a walk along the Crooked Shore.

  Tory stopped by the low wall of the old churchyard. ‘It’s not charity. If Ingrid is sick and in desperate need of cash to fund her treatment, it’s only common sense. The cost of health care in the States is appalling.’

  ‘Something’s sure to turn up.’

  ‘You weren’t saying that yesterday, sweetheart. Don’t you see you can’t let your sister’s life depend on luck, you can’t let her just slip away?’

  She gestured towards the lichen-encrusted gravestones.

  He said, ‘It’s not a question of pride. It’s about right and wrong. Imagine what bloody Kingsley Melton would say if he got wind of it. As far as he’s concerned, I’m just a man on the make. When he hears I’ve moved in with you, he’ll go berserk. If he finds you’ve paid for Ingrid’s treatment, he’ll accuse me of exploiting you for my own gain. I can take it, it’s happened before, but I can’t bear you being dragged into his vendetta against me.’

  Tory entered the code to open the gates. ‘I don’t give a toss what Kingsley says. It’s none of his business.’

  ‘Even though you and he …’

  ‘I told you. There’s no need to be jealous.

  ‘I’m not jealous, it’s just that …’

  ‘Listen.’ She looked into his eyes. ‘I felt sorry for Kingsley. Especially after the press crucified him. That’s all there was to it. He doesn’t own me. No-one does.’

  Logan watched as the gates admitted them. ‘Yes, you’re a strong woman, only a fool would doubt it. But there will always be a sliver of doubt in the back of your mind, won’t there? It’s human nature. Young man with no money meets an attractive older lady and they launch into a passionate relationship. He confides in her about a personal calamity, she offers financial help. Looks suspicious, doesn’t it? Anyone who didn’t know the two of us would be cynical. People always want to believe the worst.’

  She put her hands on her hips. ‘Listen to me, sweetheart. What other people think doesn’t bother me. Never has. I stand on my own two feet, make my own decisions. And now I’ve decided that you and me are all that matters.’

  It was a short drive from Hoad Hill to Strandbeck. The coastal lane was a narrow ribbon, looping off the main road and along the edge of the peninsula. Daniel turned off on to Strandbeck Lane and finally came to a halt in front of the tall gates barring the way to the manor.

  A large sign bearing the ubiquitous Greengables logo waxed lyrical about the exclusive dwellings on sale. Intimate development. Meticulously restored to its former splendour. Quality bespoke homes. Highly individual living spaces. Effortless blend of traditional and contemporary.

  Tory Reece-Taylor’s home ground. There wasn’t a soul in sight. Ulverston was four miles away, but the bustle of the market town seemed to belong to a different world.

  ‘Tempted to move in?’ Hannah’s tone was sardonic.

  Until now, she hadn’t spoken during the journey, responding to a couple of Daniel’s throwaway remarks with a non-committal mmmmm. Brooding over Marc, wondering if Leigh was going to have his baby? Or just thinking about work?

  ‘Just nosey.’

  He executed a three-point turn and headed back towards the coast, where they got out of the car.

  ‘So this is the Crooked Shore,’ he said. ‘A landscape of legends.’

  ‘You sound like a documentary presenter.’

  ‘I used to present documentaries, remember.’

  ‘So you did. Not that I often watched them, I’m afraid.’

  Not like Alex Samaras, he couldn’t help thinking.

  ‘You didn’t miss much.’

  ‘Well, modesty’s the best policy. I suppose that book you bought discusses this place?’

  ‘A whole chapter is devoted to the medieval manor of Muchland.’

  ‘Never heard of it.’

  ‘Strandbeck was part of Muchland. Lost villages abound on this stretch of coast. At one time Strandbeck was far more significant than it is today. The tides washed the old settlements away, so the story goes. That’s probably the truth behind the folk tale that strangers who outstay their welcome here are doomed to seven years of misfortune.’

  ‘We’d better not hang around too long, then.’

  F
ifty yards further along was a wooden bench. The quiet of the shoreline made a contrast with the stream of walkers on Hoad Hill. Despite the sun, there was nobody in sight.

  ‘This must be where whatshisname was sitting,’ Hannah said quietly, ‘when Darren Lace ran into the sea. Imagine ignoring that.’

  ‘Kingsley Melton,’ Daniel said.

  ‘That’s the fellow.’ She threw him a glance. ‘Well remembered.’

  He didn’t reply. Last night he’d lost sleep, mulling over everything Kingsley had told him, wondering how much to relate to Hannah, and whether it would make any difference, whatever he decided. In the small hours, he’d made up his mind to pick the right moment and tell her about meeting Kingsley.

  They passed a metal sign on which garish yellow triangles accompanied bleak words of warning. Beware quicksand. Beware uneven surface. Beware fast moving tides. Beware deep channels. Beware sudden drop.

  Just in case anyone had failed to get the message, a hazard notice on the lower half of the sign emphasised the risk of being cut off. Safety instructions were accompanied by a map of the shoreline and emergency phone information.

  ‘One thing is for certain,’ Daniel said, ‘Darren knew what he was doing when he ran out into the bay.’

  Hannah gestured towards the water shimmering in the sunshine. ‘On a day like today, you’re reminded of what makes life worth living. How wretched must someone be for such a gorgeous sight to lose all meaning?’

  Daniel nodded. He had first-hand experience of the damage and pain inflicted by mental illness. While he was living in Oxford, his partner, Aimee, had taken her own life. Leaving academe and coming up to the Lake District had been his way of fleeing the bitter memories. Yet every historian knew that it’s impossible to escape from the past.

  He took a breath. ‘Let’s get on.’

  They followed the line of the shingle shore for ten minutes before heading inland and up a rise. A narrow hedged path skirted Sea Wood. Once upon a time, oak timbers from here had been floated out at high tide to shipbuilders at Ulverston. Daniel had planned their route on a map over lunch, but no cartographer could capture the stillness of the air or the smell of the vegetation. He caught a whiff of wild garlic long before he spotted its white flowers among the trees.