He picked up on the hesitation. ‘You came across them at work?’
A wry grin. ‘I’m glad you became a historian, not a lawyer. I’m not sure I’d like to be cross-examined by you. Your father was persistent, too. Good at luring people into indiscretions.’
‘Persistent, I’d own up to that. I hope you didn’t mind my calling you. It’s just that…’
As he groped for words, she came to the rescue. ‘I should have rung back sooner.’
‘I was glad to hear from you.’
‘Pleasure.’ As if to cover embarrassment, she added, ‘I owe a lot to your father. He behaved badly, leaving his family for Cheryl, and I’d say he felt guilty until the day he died. But he was a good man, even so.’
‘Are the cold cases warming up?’
‘The powers that be have secured extra funding for the project, so they’re happy enough.’
‘Congratulations.’
‘Frankly, it’s a mixed blessing. The work fascinates me, but I don’t want to spend too long in a career cul-de-sac. For a historian, there may be a future in the past, but I didn’t join the police to second-guess mistakes made by long-gone colleagues.’
‘So why did you join the police?’
‘To make a difference.’ She spoke as if stating the obvious, and then gave an incredulous laugh. ‘Hark at me, I sound like a politician. Arrogant, puffed up with my own importance. But it’s true.’
‘Nothing wrong with a bit of idealism.’
‘Over the years, you learn to temper it with reality. How much difference can one detective really make? Even so, I suppose a part of me hasn’t changed. I like to think I’m helping justice to be done. Perhaps I’m kidding myself. Ben used to warn me I’d grow out of it. Even though he believed in justice as much as me, each time I became too serious, he’d tease me something rotten.’
‘He was the same with Louise and me.’
‘I can imagine.’
Neither of them spoke for a few moments. An old man in an unseasonal donkey jacket threw a stick for his Golden retriever, a flock of black-headed gulls flapped overhead. Daniel guessed that Hannah was remembering his father. The laconic humour, the quiet resolve that on occasion became unyielding stubbornness. If only he’d seen through Cheryl sooner. The family need never have been torn apart.
‘How did you come across these garden designers?’
She studied her short and unvarnished fingernails. There was nothing fussy about Hannah Scarlett. She didn’t pretend to be someone she was not.
‘A partner in the firm was murdered a few years ago.’
‘Hardly a recommendation?’
She grinned. ‘I don’t think his death had anything to do with the quality of his work.’
‘What was it to do with?’
‘If only we knew.’
He leaned towards her. ‘Is it one of your cold cases?’
‘Maybe.’
‘I suppose your lips are sealed, you can’t tell me anything about it?’
His expression made her laugh and he realised he must look like a spaniel hoping to be taken for a walk. ‘I’m not giving away confidential information. The facts are well known, they were all over the newspapers.’
‘Was my father was involved?’
‘Uh-uh. If he had been, we’d have stood a better chance of getting a result, but the SIO was useless.’
‘Who was the victim?’
‘Warren Howe. He was murdered while he was making over a client’s garden.’
‘Even less of a recommendation. The culprit wasn’t an unhappy client?’
‘Whoever killed him must have had an idea where to find him that particular day. But the client had an alibi and so did several other candidates. Warren Howe was a good gardener but a bad man, as far as I can make out. Motives weren’t in short supply, but no one could be linked to the crime.’
‘No forensic evidence?’
‘Nothing worthwhile.’
‘What made you decide to look into the case again?’
‘A bit more information has come to light. Someone has pointed a finger at a possible suspect. Without, unfortunately, giving us any solid evidence to build a case with. The review is a long shot. We don’t have infinite resources, but the case interests me.’
‘Why?’
‘Good question.’ She rubbed her chin. ‘Perhaps because of the way he died. Or seeing photographs of the man and his family. I’ve been wondering what it must be like, to have it hanging over you for years. The unsolved murder of a husband and father.’
‘What was it about the way he died? Or isn’t that in the public domain?’
‘Oh yes. The journalists loved it.’
She told him about the scythe and that Warren had dug his own grave. Her features were mobile, expressive; occasionally she used her small hands to make a point. Even some of his cleverest former colleagues at Oxford lacked the knack of conveying their knowledge in a way that captivated their pupils, but he could listen to Hannah Scarlett all day. His father had been a wonderful raconteur, had entertained Louise and him for hours with stories he made up about Sherlock Holmes and an exceptionally inept Dr Watson. His protegee had the same gift of entrancing him.
‘I can see why you’re fascinated. Solve the crime and you lift the cloud of suspicion from the suspects. From all but one, anyway.’
‘My sergeant sees it the opposite way. He doesn’t think we’ll find the truth and all that will happen is that we’ll reopen old wounds.’
‘Is his glass always half empty rather than half full?’
‘No, he’s one of the most positive men I know. But this case is different. He was involved in the original inquiry and people he knew were involved.’
‘Difficult to be detached if you have a personal connection.’
She shook her head. ‘I’ve decided to do some of the asking around myself. One of the constables in my team can fill in the gaps. First port of call is Warren Howe’s client, who found the body. I’m seeing her this afternoon.’
‘Poor woman. She wanted a new garden and ended up with a body in a shallow grave.’
‘She lives in the house to this day. The crime scene was preserved for a long time, but eventually Warren Howe’s partner completed the project.’
‘I was about to ask if you thought it suspicious that she never moved. Then I remembered that my cottage was supposedly home to a murderer. So I’m equally weird?’
A couple walked past, on their way to the castle. The young man had a small child over his shoulder, facing behind them. Her ice-cream-smeared face was beaming and she waved a small hand at Hannah and Daniel. When Hannah winked and waved back, the child whooped with delight.
‘That doubtful grin of yours reminds me of your father.’
Daniel laughed and said, ‘Did he ever talk to you about why he left my mother?’
Hannah pursed her lips. ‘Well — it was all about Cheryl, wasn’t it? He was besotted and she wasn’t prepared to be a mistress. She wanted him all for herself.’
‘What did he see in her?’
‘Use your imagination,’ she said dryly. ‘I’m not a member of her fan club, but even I’d admit that twenty years ago she must have looked great. And he was a man.’
‘That simple?’
‘They weren’t soulmates, that’s for sure. He got to know her through work and she set her cap at him. He became infatuated, they started an affair, the rest you know.’
‘What was going on inside his head?’
‘I hate to say it, because I was very fond of Ben, but I don’t think his head came into it. It was another part of his anatomy altogether. Like I said, he was a man.’
‘We’re all the same?’
‘No, but one thing I did learn a long time ago is that men aren’t the same as women. They think differently, behave differently. They compartmentalise their lives in a way that few women do. I’m not even sure they really know what they want like we do. Cheryl wanted Ben. He succumbed to some kind of lustful dream. As time passed, he realised the mistake he’d made.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, not that he ever said so in as many words. I’m certain of it. He’d burned his boats, he couldn’t go back, but when passion began to fade he saw Cheryl for what she was. Not a bad woman, not even — to be fair — a scheming minx. But behind the pretty face was a person he didn’t have much in common with.’