‘Miaow,’ Les Bryant said.
‘Yeah, probably more your type than mine, Les. Bottle blonde, trim figure. CD collection packed with Abba, Neil Diamond and Barry Manilow. You could make sweet music together, I think.’
‘Sounds like a follow-up interview is called for. Conducted by a more mature officer.’
‘Mature’s the word, is it?’ Linz asked sweetly. ‘Not semi-retired?’
Les yawned. Thirty years as a cop had given him a hide that any rhino would envy. He’d made it to detective superintendent, acting as SIO for the Whitby caravan shootings and the Beast of Leyburn case along the way. After opting for pipe, slippers and pension, he’d discovered that he missed the job; or maybe Mrs Bryant didn’t care to have him under her feet so much. Lauren Self had hired him on a short-term contract for the Review Team. They called it Dream Policing, this combination of gurus and young Turks, but managing the generation gap was, Hannah found, occasionally a bit of a nightmare.
‘What does Gail say about her affair with Warren Howe?’ she asked.
‘Her story is that they were just good friends who happened to go to bed with each other a few times.’
‘Being married to other people wasn’t an obstacle?’
‘Obviously there isn’t much else to do in Old Sawrey than sleep around. Tell you what, the village has a pretty efficient grapevine. She let it slip that she knew you’d interviewed Roz Gleave, ma’am. I think she was miffed that she only rated a lowly DC.’
That wouldn’t have gone down well with Linz, whose ego was as well nourished as Les Bryant’s. Sometimes Hannah wondered if this was where she went wrong. Fast though she’d climbed the ladder, status had never mattered much to her. She cared about meeting her own standards, not other people’s.
‘Do I get the impression the two of you didn’t exactly hit it off?’
Linz made a face. ‘She’s in the wrong business, if you ask me. The wine trade isn’t healthy for someone with a drink problem. She offered me a drink the minute I walked through the door. I said no, but it didn’t stop her pouring herself a large one.’
‘She’s taken the divorce hard?’
‘She says it was her decision to split up, but there doesn’t seem to be another man around. The booze keeps her company, I’d guess. She did her best to come over as nice as pie, but beneath the pleasantries, she’s a cold-hearted bitch. She shagged Tina’s husband, now Tina is returning the compliment. Serves her right.’
‘Don’t sit on the fence,’ Les Bryant murmured. ‘Tell us how you really feel.’
‘That’s an objective and professional assessment, actually. She made a point of saying that she and her ex-husband are still best mates, and she doesn’t bear him any ill will, but I didn’t buy it. Even though she made a joke of it, said what goes around, comes around. She smiles with her mouth, but not her eyes.’
‘What did she have to say about Warren?’
‘She comes from Hawkshead, just down the road from Old Sawrey, but she hardly knew him until he and Peter set up in business together. Like everyone else she was aware Warren played around, but for years nothing happened between them except for an occasional snog at parties when everyone had had plenty to drink. The Flints and the Howes don’t seem to have had much in common and that was true of the wives as well as the husbands. Tina worked in an office and spent her spare time taking photographs, Gail preferred being her own boss. Over time, Gail and Peter drifted apart. Neither of them was interested in kids, so that wasn’t an issue, but he wanted a little woman at home to take care of him and she was determined to be her own person.’
‘So far,’ Hannah said, ‘she’s got my sympathy.’
‘Her story is that Warren chased her. He had the advantage of knowing when Peter would be out of the way. I suppose if you’re going to carry on with someone else’s wife, it helps if he’s a bloke you can keep tabs on. He turned up at the house one evening when Gail was there on her own. Reckoned he expected to find Peter there, but later he admitted he knew Peter was out of harm’s way up at Cleator Moor, quoting for a new job. Anyway, she offered him a drink and one thing led to another.’
‘How long was this before Warren was killed?’
‘Four months, give or take. They both got what they wanted, a bit of no-strings sex. She said he was a terrific lover. Lots of experience, of course. And she enjoyed telling me that it made her realise what she was missing with Peter. As if to rub it in that Tina had got the worst of the bargain. But she said she went into the relationship with her eyes open. She didn’t want to settle down with Warren, what she really wanted was her freedom.’
‘So why didn’t she leave Peter Flint years ago?’
‘She claims that Warren’s murder horrified them both. In a strange kind of way, it brought them closer together. But they were only papering over the cracks. She’d tasted excitement and she couldn’t get enough of that from poor old Peter.’ Linz laughed. ‘She said that if he was as inventive in bed as he was when it came to designing pergolas and water features, they’d still be together.’
‘Why did her affair with Warren end?’
‘She said they both recognised it was going nowhere and tongues were wagging in the village. His van had been seen outside her house a bit too often. She was getting cold feet and he didn’t want any more grief from Tina. So they parted by mutual agreement.’
Les sniffed. ‘That’s what they call it when a company sacks an unsuccessful executive or a football club dumps its manager when it’s bottom of the league. Pack of lies. Who do you think really finished it?’
‘Warren.’
‘Would she have been as relaxed about it as she claims?’ Hannah asked.
‘Not if she wasn’t ready to give him up. If you ask me, she isn’t one of life’s gracious losers. I bet she can scratch and claw with the best of them.’
Les puffed out his cheeks. ‘She didn’t have much of an alibi for the murder and there’s a possible motive. I’ll follow up, shall I? If all else fails, mebbe she’ll let me listen to her Abba records.’
As he shambled out, Linz said, ‘One more thing, ma’am. I did just wonder — is DS Lowther OK?’
‘Any reason why he shouldn’t be?’
‘Only that I was in early this morning, before he set off. He had rings under his eyes as if he hadn’t slept and when I said hello, he didn’t answer. Yesterday, when I asked him something, he bit my head off. Perhaps it’s this weather. So oppressive.’
‘You’re telling me, I feel shattered…’
As the door shut behind Linz, Hannah thought the trouble with working alongside detectives was that you couldn’t hide things for long. On the shelf next to her desk was a dog-eared paperback with an orange cover. Police Interrogation: A Handbook for Investigators. It had been Ben Kind’s bible until he’d presented it to her years ago. She turned to the page with a quote from Freud that always rang true:
He that has eyes to see and ears to hear may convince himself that no mortal can keep a secret. If his lips are silent he chatters with his fingertips; betrayal oozes out of him at every pore.
Her mobile rang and she recognised the caller’s number on display. Daniel.
‘Am I disturbing you?’
‘No, it’s fine.’
He felt guilty because it wasn’t yet five o’clock and she was a busy woman, while he was free to roam the fells. Miranda and Louise were back at the cottage and he’d been seized by the urge to hear her husky voice again. Talking to her was a treat, like an extra glass of Chablis. It would be all too easy to overindulge.
He’d gone for a walk up Tarn Fell, halting by the stone cairn to take out his phone. The mobile signal from this point was better than usual on the slopes of Lakeland. His new boots were pinching and he sat on the rocky ground to ease them off. In the distance a buzzard hung motionless in the air. It seemed so calm that it was hard to believe it had murder on its mind. He imagined its small dark eyes, scanning the landscape for prey.