‘Isn’t it your job to find out, Chief Inspector?’
Not helpful. ‘You knew the man well. Intimately. Surely you speculated?’
‘Of course we did,’ Bel said. ‘Poor old Warren wasn’t short of enemies. Plenty of people had a motive. The one thing we didn’t know at the time…’
‘Yes?’
She hesitated. ‘I…I’m not sure it’s fair to say.’
‘Come on, Ms Jenner. The man was brutally murdered. And he did mean something to you once.’
She winced. ‘Well, we didn’t know that Tina and Peter Flint would get involved together — one day.’
‘Are you suggesting that they were having an affair at the time of the murder?’
‘I’m not suggesting anything, Chief Inspector. After all, Tina had an alibi, didn’t she? She couldn’t have killed Warren, even if she wanted to.’
Chapter Twelve
Miranda squeezed Daniel’s hand as they stood on the shingle at the head of Mardale, looking towards the remains of the drowned village. Holding him tight, as if not wanting him to stray to his sister’s side. Louise stood a few feet away, gazing over the bleached and barren stretches left exposed by the receding water. The mountainous ridge known as High Street lined the horizon. In front of them, the preserved remnant of a grey tree stump rose from the stony ground. Other lakes had lush green shores, but Haweswater was different. The drought was revealing a landscape from a lost world.
An elderly couple waved a greeting and stopped to take in the view. The woman’s weather-beaten face was a patchwork of wrinkles, her husband reeked of tobacco. They were both wearing white floppy hats and khaki shorts that stretched to their brown, bony knees.
‘My grandma came from Mardale Green, y’ know,’ the old man said out of the blue. ‘The buggers flooded the valley seventy years back so folk in Manchester could tap into the reservoir.’
‘It’s weird,’ Miranda breathed.
‘Gran told me about the vicar standing in the graveyard, before he was supposed to take the last service. Weeping for his doomed church. When they pulled it down, they used the stones for that draw-off tower, see? The yew trees were eight hundred years old, but did that stop Manchester Corporation taking an axe to ’em?’
‘What happened to the bodies?’ Louise asked.
The man’s wife said, ‘Don’t get him started, love.’
‘Dug ’em up and took ’em to Shap.’ The old man took off his hat and wiped his forehead with a yellow-stained hand. ‘They were supposed to be reburied, but I bet their ghosts still wander round here at night.’
For all the heat of the morning, Miranda gave a little shiver. She pulled Daniel closer. ‘Let’s get back to the car.’
‘Fascinating, don’t you think, Daniel?’ Louise was motionless, as though mesmerised by the resurrected walls and pathways. ‘The homes of a whole community, deluged and lost forever.’
‘They got reservists to dynamite the cottages.’ The old man gave a dry smoker’s cough. ‘Good practice for the war, my grandma used to say.’
As he and his wife pottered away, Miranda jerked Daniel’s hand. ‘Are you coming?’
‘How about we go up the old corpse road?’
‘Good idea,’ Louise said.
‘What’s the point?’ Miranda made an impatient noise. ‘We’ve got a coffin trail of our own in Brackdale.’
Daniel said, ‘OK. Where would you like to go this afternoon? Another walk, or maybe take a look at Beatrix Potter’s old house? Hill Top is only a stone’s throw from the restaurant I’ve booked for this evening.’
‘I don’t mind a bit more exercise,’ Louise said.
‘Haven’t we walked enough in this weather?’ Miranda sighed. ‘Come on, Hill Top it is.’
Kirsty huddled up in the armchair, as if trying to disappear. Her T-shirt depicted a parachutist coming down to earth. Hannah remembered the girl weeping, the first time she’d seen her. No tears yet, thank God. Her fists were clenched and her eyes darted around, as though trying to spot a pair of hidden handcuffs. For ten minutes she responded in quiet monosyllables to Hannah’s attempts to break the ice by asking her about skydiving as well as gentle questions about the murder, before the dam burst under the weight of her resentment.
‘This isn’t getting anywhere. I can’t help you, Chief Inspector, do you understand? My father died a long time ago and I’ve spent years trying to forget about it, not cast my mind back. I don’t want to be hounded any more. Why must you people keep harping on?’
‘I explained that my team reviews unsolved cases in the county.’
‘You must have plenty to choose from. Why bother with Dad? It’s not right, it’s not fair on those who have to carry on.’
The ordeal by innocence. But surely you’d want to know who murdered your father — unless you already had a good idea?
‘We never close a murder file, Kirsty. The other day, we received an item of new information.’
The girl twitched like a lumpy marionette. ‘What do you mean, what new information?’
‘I’m afraid that’s confidential.’
‘But I’m his daughter! I have rights, you know.’
‘Of course you have, Kirsty. Including the right to have us try to find out who killed your father.’
‘That’s rich! A bit late for that, I’d say. Your lot never got anywhere last time. All they did was make our lives a misery.’ Her voice faltered. ‘They — they didn’t seem to trust us. As if they didn’t believe we were up on the Hardknott, the day that Dad was killed.’
‘And all three of you were?’
‘You must have read our statements. We said so right from the start!’
‘You went up the Pass with your brother, yes. And — your mum was with you too?’
‘How many times do I have to tell you?’
Soon Hannah would lose count of the lie-signs. Fingers touching the chin, the nervous cough, traces of perspiration on her brow. Poor Kirsty, she was an amateur in deception. Trouble was, if pushed too hard, she’d fall apart.
‘OK, Kirsty, if there’s nothing else you want to tell me at present, we’ll leave it for the time being. Here is my card. Call me any time if you’d like to talk.’
Kirsty thrust the card into the pocket of her jeans. ‘Why would I want to talk anything over with the police?’
Hannah luxuriated in a yawn. ‘You’d know that better than me, wouldn’t you?’
Sam’s scornful voice burned into Kirsty’s brain as she held the mobile to her ear. He was within earshot of a client, so he couldn’t shout, but he didn’t hide his anger. She felt tears scratching at her eyelids. Thank God the overflow car park was deserted, and she couldn’t be seen or overheard. Hannah Scarlett had driven away, but you couldn’t trust anyone. Not even Oliver.
‘You stupid cow, I bet you’ve got her wondering what you’re keeping back.’
‘Honestly, Sam, I didn’t even hint…’
‘What did you say to her?’
‘Nothing, nothing at all. It was only a short conversation. She gave up in the end, I think she realised she wasn’t getting anywhere.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive, but I don’t think she’s going to let go.’
‘Shit.’
‘Listen, Sam, she knows something we don’t. You know the anonymous letters? I think whoever sent them has written to the police as well. This Chief Inspector won’t let go, she isn’t the type. She’ll want to talk to you soon, for sure.’
‘Fit, is she?’
‘You won’t get anywhere if you try to chat her up, Sam. Why don’t you tell the truth? Please?’
‘About what?’
‘About what you were doing the day that Dad died.’
‘Don’t be so fucking stupid.’
‘They’ll keep asking questions.’
‘Hey, if you don’t give me away, I’m safe.’ His voice softened and in a heartbeat he became the brother she dreamed of. ‘I’m depending on you, Kirsty. All right?’
Tina Howe was on her own in the office when Hannah arrived, scanning in photographs of a newly completed garden project. Peter Flint was working over in Hawkshead with Sam, she said, so she was catching up while she had peace and quiet. Her composure was as immaculate as her black business suit. Versace, Armani? Hannah hadn’t a clue; the closest she came to designer-wear was leafing through the colour supplements. No one could doubt that this was Tina’s domain, that she was in charge. She nodded Hannah towards a chair with crisp authority, as if greeting a tedious sales rep.