For a little while, Daniel didn’t speak, just studied the ground at his feet.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked.
‘I spoke to his neighbours,’ he said, looking up again. ‘They told me that Cheryl started an affair before he died.’
‘It wasn’t her first,’ Hannah said shortly.
‘I take it that you weren’t a member of her fan club?’
‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘I’d rather you tell me the truth.’
‘Even if the truth is uncomfortable?’
‘Historians expect it to be.’
‘Just like any police officer, then?’ she said with a glimmer of a smile. ‘Don’t get the wrong idea. Cheryl and I scarcely knew each other. The two of us had nothing in common, apart from Ben. Besides, I don’t think Cheryl had many women friends.’
‘But men friends?’
‘Men she liked. She was a flirt. And once or twice she went further.’
‘My father told you that as well?’
She cleared her throat. ‘In this job, when you work together for a long time, you share a lot. Grief, disappointment. Confidences get shared too.’
As he considered this, he didn’t look at her, kept his eyes on the river rushing past. For all the warnings, he couldn’t help dipping his toes into that dangerous water. Presently, he said, ‘So you and he were very close?’
‘We weren’t lovers,’ she said shortly, ‘if that’s what you mean. Very good friends. The best, I’d say. But no more than that.’
Her candour startled him. ‘Sorry. I…’
‘No need to apologise. Cheryl made the same assumption, apparently, but I’m not sure she gave a damn. On the contrary. If Ben was getting his oats elsewhere, he wouldn’t be troubling her, would he? I suppose that’s the way her mind worked. Of course she was wrong. As you’ve discovered, I share a house with Marc Amos.’
‘Owner of one of the best bookshops north of Manchester.’
‘So he tells me,’ she said with a crooked smile.
‘Small world, huh?’
‘That’s the Lakes for you. Everyone is connected to everyone else.’
‘Sort of appealing.’
‘Some people find it suffocating.’
‘Even with all the hills and meres and open spaces?’
‘Sure. I love the beauty of the Lakes, same as you or any other tourist. But even here, people lie and cheat and commit crimes, same as everywhere else.’
Same as you or any other tourist. He cringed inwardly. Her instinct was to bracket him with the sightseers who clogged the lanes and car parks around Bowness and Grasmere.
‘Did Marc tell you, he and I bumped into each other yesterday?’
‘Uh-huh. I gather you were up on Priest Edge by the Sacrifice Stone. Where Gabrielle Anders’ body was found.’
‘My first time there since that family holiday.’
She said softly, ‘I confess, I’m intrigued. As I understand it, you’ve thrown up your home and your career to come and live in this neck of the woods. It may not seem that far from the madding crowd if you’ve ever been stuck in a traffic jam on the way to Windermere, but it’s a different world from Oxford and Television Centre.’
‘What’s so strange? There’s nowhere more beautiful in England. For once the tourist brochures aren’t a pack of lies. Even though I don’t believe what I was told, that it rains less here than in Devon.’
‘It’s a fact. Even so, they say if you can see High Gill through the mist, it’s going to rain. If you can’t, it’s raining already. Tell me this, though. Of all the properties on the estate agents’ books, how did you happen to end up with Tarn Cottage?’
‘It’s a long story.’
She pulled back the leather sleeve and glanced at her watch. ‘You have ten minutes.’
‘And there I was, thinking I’d be asking the questions. Finding out more about him.’
‘Are you saying you came up here just to explore your past?’
‘No it was more a matter of getting away from the present. For Miranda, as well as me.’
‘Miranda’s your wife?’
‘My partner. She’s a journalist.’
‘So you’re a media couple,’ she said lightly.
‘No,’ he said, more vehemently than he’d intended. ‘Absolutely not. From the moment we got together, one of the things we had in common was that we both needed a change in our lives. She’d split up with her boyfriend and was having problems at work. I’d stopped enjoying teaching and television is a treadmill. Of course, I won’t earn as much based here, but money isn’t everything.’
‘In my experience,’ she said drily, ‘people who have no money never say that.’
‘Ouch. Then let’s just say, I was sick of academic in-fighting. And there was something else. My ex-girlfriend had died and suddenly my old way of life had too many sour memories.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘In an odd kind of way, I wanted some good to come out of Aimee’s death. I guess that at one time or another in our lives, all of us have the urge to make a new beginning.’
She knitted her brow. ‘You reckon?’
‘Yes,’ he said gently, ‘I reckon. Why, have you never found that?’
‘Marc and I have been together a long time. We’re set in our ways, soon we’ll be like Darby and Joan.’ For a moment she seemed to be talking to herself rather than to him. Forcing a smile, she added, ‘Also, we care about our jobs. I can’t imagine life outside the police and Marc is crazy about books. Your situation was obviously different.’
‘Miranda and I were fortunate. Not everyone has the opportunity to start again, but I suppose that sometimes it’s a mistake to surrender to the temptation.’
‘Like Ben?’
‘We weren’t abandoning anyone, that’s the difference. We saw a way out. So we took it.’
She gave a brisk nod, as if to say: that’s enough small talk. ‘All right, then, the Gabrielle Anders case. Have you been talking to people about the murder since you moved to Tarn Cottage?’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘Is it true, have you been making waves?’
He noticed that she’d dodged his question by asking another. ‘You could say so. I’m an incurable nosey parker. There are lots of loose ends connected with the case, don’t you agree?’
‘Occupational hazard.’
‘Isn’t that rather defeatist?’
‘My job isn’t an academic exercise,’ she snapped.
‘Touché.’ For the first time, he saw a spark of temper in her eyes. She wasn’t quite as controlled as she wanted him to believe. It gave him a buzz that he’d managed to pierce her defences, if only for an instant. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you. Too many years in an ivory tower, I guess.’
‘Police work isn’t as neat as a thesis, nicely typed and bound. It’s all about the messiness of reality. We don’t have endless time to toss around theories or ponder over psychological whys and wherefores.’
‘You’re not immune from curiosity, though? Barrie Gilpin was an oddity, but why would he kill Gabrielle?’
Hannah’s mouth became a tight line. ‘Why does any man commit an act of violence? Why does a teenager rape a defenceless old woman, or a father suffocate his kids? Barrie was a voyeur and he’d taken a fancy to Gabrielle. Who knows what may have happened between them? We can’t make up the evidence to fit our preconceived ideas. Or preferences. Don’t historians base their work on hard facts, too?’
‘With some of my former colleagues, you might be surprised. But you’re right. Historical research isn’t intuition, it’s detection.’
‘I heard you say that on the telly, so it must be true,’ she mocked. ‘All I can say is that the original investigation turned up nothing that exonerated Barrie Gilpin. Not a thing.’
‘Guilty till proved innocent, then?’
‘I didn’t say that.’ She sighed. ‘Listen, I didn’t mean to be glib about
the loose ends after Barrie’s body was found. They bothered me, just as they bothered your father.’
‘He knew the real Barrie. He’d played with him, even performed a few magic tricks, much to old Ma Gilpin’s disapproval. I can’t believe he saw Barrie as a murderer. So – why not review the old file?’
She nibbled at her lower lip. ‘All right, I’ll tell you something. In strict confidence, okay?’
‘I’ll respect it.’
‘If you’re your father’s son, I’m sure you will. Mind you, this won’t stay confidential for long. If I know the Lakes and the way people talk, it’ll be common knowledge by this time tomorrow. The Gabrielle Anders case is one of those we’re taking a second look at. Starting this afternoon, we’ll be talking to some of the people who gave statements, seeing whether memories can be jogged.’
‘That’s good news.’
‘I don’t suppose everyone we speak to will be quite so positive.’
‘But if it helps the truth to come out…’
‘Daniel,’ she interrupted. ‘Just be clear about this. One thing you learn in my job is that the truth is usually the last thing people want to emerge. Guilty or innocent, it doesn’t matter. Everyone has something to hide.’
‘Everyone?’
For a moment he thought she was about to say something else, but instead she stood up and brushed droplets of rain from her coat. ‘I’d better go.’
He scrambled to his feet. ‘Thanks for your time. I appreciate it.’
She offered her hand. Her flesh was cold. As they shook, another question struck him.
‘Hannah.’ Using her first name felt strangely intimate. ‘Why did you ask if I’d been making waves?’
She opened her mouth and he thought: she’s about to say no particular reason and it will be a lie. This woman doesn’t ask questions without reason.
But she paused and seemed to have second thoughts. ‘Daniel, I’m already running late. I’m sorry, you wanted me to tell you more about your father. Maybe one of these days we can talk again.’
‘I’d like that.’ He took a slip of paper from his pocket and scribbled two numbers on it. ‘Call me any time at the cottage or on my mobile.’
She didn’t reply, but gave a quick nod and walked swiftly away towards the bridge. He watched her go, while the questions she hadn’t answered swirled across his mind like ripples on the river.
Chapter Fourteen
‘Nipped out to do a bit of shopping, then, ma’am?’ Nick Lowther asked.
He was kicking his heels outside the door to Hannah’s office, looking for all the world like a sardonic teenager. A creased sheet of A4 was in his hand. Somehow, what would have been insubordination from anyone else she found acceptable from Nick. In the job, you had to trust someone and he’d never let her down. Feigning to cuff his ear, she waved him to follow her into the room.
‘If you must know, I’ve been talking to someone with a personal interest in the Anders killing.’
‘I wondered where you were hurrying off to. You seemed rather cloak and dagger about it.’
Hanging her coat on the hook, she hoped she wasn’t blushing. She always worried that her cheeks reddened easily, even when she had nothing to be embarrassed about. Nick often had that effect on her. He might get above himself sometimes, but he was scarily perceptive. So far she hadn’t told anyone that she’d arranged to meet Daniel Kind. It had taken long enough for the rumours to fade about her and Ben. Neither of them had ever done anything to encourage gossip that they were having an affair but that made no difference. Nobody enjoyed indulging in wild guesswork more than supposedly trained detectives – not when it came to prurient speculation about other people’s sex lives. Not that Nick would have given her any grief. Perhaps she should have confided in him earlier, but if Daniel had proved a waste of time, what would have been the point?
‘I talked to Ben Kind’s son. Daniel, the historian, who’s moved into Tarn Cottage.’
Nick’s face was as inscrutable as though they were on opposite sides of the table in an interview room. How easy it was to stumble into the trap of sounding guilty and defensive; just as well there’d been nothing incriminating about her encounter with Daniel.
‘What’s he like?’
‘All right,’ she said, groping for the right words. He wasn’t bad looking, but that was irrelevant. ‘Pretty bright, I’d say.’
‘That’s a relief, ma’am. We’d hate to think that Oxford’s standards are in decline, wouldn’t we?’
‘That’s your quota of sarky backchat used up for the week,’ she said. ‘In one way he reminds me of his father. Ben was never content with obvious explanations.’
‘Sometimes the obvious explanation is right.’
‘Yes, Ben could be a pain,’ she said with a grin. ‘Daniel Kind isn’t as tough, but I’d guess he’s no pushover. Once he starts something, I don’t believe he’d give up easily.’
She gave him a quick run-through of the conversation with Daniel. ‘I’m keeping an open mind about whether there’s a connection between his arrival and the call we had about Gilpin. He’s fascinated by the case and my guess is that he’s not hidden it when he’s been talking to people in Brack. Maybe something he’s said caused that woman to call. I suppose she still hasn’t rung back?’
He passed her the sheet of paper. ‘You suppose wrong, ma’am. Which is precisely why I was trying to find you.’
She scanned the note. This time Linz had answered the phone. In large, voluptuous handwriting she’d recorded the brief conversation. The woman had identified herself as having rung earlier and then said that she had made a mistake.
‘I didn’t mean to cause any trouble, I just got confused. I wouldn’t want you to waste any more time. That’s all. Better let sleeping dogs lie. It’ s right, what people said at the time. Barrie Gilpin did kill the girl, must have done. I’m so sorry. Please forget what I said before. Please. Goodbye.’
* * *
She’d rung off before Linz could put a question.
Hannah sighed. ‘Thanks a million, whoever you are. What do you make of it?’
‘According to Linz, she sounded panicky. Chances are, she’s a neurotic with time on her hands.’
‘Or someone has leaned on her. The update briefing is at twelve. Let’s see where we’re up to before you and I set off for Brack.’
‘Finally, the Gabrielle Anders murder.’ Hannah pointed to the scrawled agenda on the whiteboard. ‘We don’t have enough material to justify a full-scale review. DNA hasn’t thrown up any new leads. But there has been a development that makes it worth spending a little time on the case. Linz, can you take us through it?’
Lindsey glanced round at her colleagues. Making sure that she had everyone’s attention, Hannah thought: that always mattered to her. So far she’d had less than her customary share of the lime-light. The other pair of DCs were working with Les Bryant on the review that was progressing fastest, an inquiry into a series of rapes coupled with the attempted murder of a prostitute. The crimes had been committed in Workington, Whitehaven and Cleator Moor, and an interesting new name had come into the frame. The only snag was that it belonged to someone who had left Britain for Australia six years back.
‘Mobile switched off, Gul?’ Linz asked. ‘Or are you still waiting for hot news from the Chief Constable?’
Everyone laughed; even Gul mustered a sheepish smirk. His phone-dependency was a standing joke and he took at least one allegedly urgent call in the course of every briefing. The rest of the team reckoned it was less to do with his receiving a flood of vital information than with trying to polish his image for Linz’s benefit. The ace detective, with a range of contacts the envy of the Cumbria Constabulary. Hannah was sure that Linz, like everyone else, knew that half of his calls came from a much more extensive network, comprising past and present girlfriends.
When her audience had settled, Linz talked them through her note of the call about the Brackdale murder. ‘To my mind, she wa
s fibbing. This crap about making a mistake, I don’t buy it. She was scared stiff. Age, mid-thirties, maybe older. Local accent.’
‘You’d go along with that, Maggie?’ Hannah asked.
‘Uh-huh. Same woman, must be.’
‘Just because she’s scared,’ Les Bryant said, chewing his gum, ‘that doesn’t mean she has any evidence to give us that’s worth tuppence.’
‘How do you mean?’ Maggie asked. She never disguised her enthusiasm for learning from the guru, but Hannah couldn’t decide whether Les was flattered or irritated by her attention.
‘She might just have got hold of the wrong end of the stick. What if she was full of sympathy for Gilpin and couldn’t believe he was guilty? If the man she suspected has got wind of it, he may not be best pleased. He may even have threatened her. Doesn’t mean he did for Gabrielle.’
Bob Swindell murmured assent and Hannah made a mental note that he and Les were chumming up. Better keep an eye on them to make sure that knee-jerk cynicism didn’t become corrosive and start to demoralise the whole team.
‘Good point, Les. We won’t know, of course, until we catch up with her. Are we any further forward on identifying who she is?’
‘Even if we only look at the people interviewed at the time of the murder, there are several candidates,’ Nick Lowther said. ‘I’ve prepared a simple profile of our caller.’
Les Bryant grunted. He rated psychological profilers on a par with old ladies who pronounced on their friends’ fortunes after reading patterns in their tea leaves. She wondered if Nick had used the phrase deliberately to wind him up.
‘We’re looking at a Brackdale resident or visitor,’ Nick continued, ‘probably a woman born and bred in the valley. Someone who knew Barrie Gilpin and had come across Gabrielle Anders while she was staying at the pub. Possibly connected with someone who featured in the original inquiry, maybe as an early suspect before the spotlight fell exclusively on Gilpin.’
‘And what are you doing now you’ve drawn up this…’ – Les Bryant couldn’t even bring himself to utter the word – ‘what d’you call it?’
The Coffin Trail Page 17