It had taken courage for him to bare his soul to her, but surely he’d read too much into an intense teenage relationship? Schoolgirl crushes of her own had, thank God, faded into the vaguest memories. Nick needed to liberate himself from the past and look to the future. With Janice.
She checked her mobile for messages. Lauren had called, wanting to know when the latest stats recording the cold case team’s endeavours would be on her desk. And she heard Daniel Kind’s voice, breathless and jerky.
Can you call me? I’ve found out something you need to know.
Hannah’s brain hummed as she turned the last bend and caught a glimpse of The Heights. The restaurant wouldn’t be open for a couple more hours. She took the fork in the drive leading to the house next door. There wasn’t a sign of life at the windows. She hurried up the front path and leaned hard on the bell. No answer.
At the side of the house, a fence separated the back garden from the front. Six feet of willow screen, guarding the privacy of Bel Jenner and Oliver Cox. A gate beneath a wisteria-draped arch barred the way. She tested the handle and found it wasn’t locked. Without a pause, she shoved it open and strode around the side of the house. Daniel was right, she was sure of it. But if they were wrong, it was too late to worry about making a fool of herself.
A white canvas hammock stretched between a pair of beech trees. Oliver Cox lay on it, dozing. In T-shirt and shorts, with bare feet and black hair flopping over his face, he might have passed for a boy. Tall, handsome, innocent. His legs were long and smooth, like Marc’s.
On hearing footsteps, he stirred and looked round. ‘DCI Scarlett. I was expecting Bel. What can I do for you?’
‘Sorry to butt in.’
Oliver yawned and slid off the hammock. ‘You look hot and bothered. I hear you were there at the airfield. Poor Kirsty. It must have been horrific.’
‘I’ll never forget it.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘Can you?’ Hannah didn’t try to hide her scorn. ‘Will you miss her?’
‘Well, yes.’ A wary expression crept across Oliver’s face. ‘She was a lovely girl. An enthusiastic waitress, keen to learn.’
‘And that’s all?’
‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’
‘Surely she meant something more to you?’
‘She was a sweet kid, all right?’
The heat had sucked out all Hannah’s energy. It was too late for subtlety.
‘She was your sister. Half-sister. You shared the same father.’
‘What?’ Oliver’s features contorted, as if she’d slapped his cheek. ‘Who — who have you been talking to?’
‘I’m right, aren’t I?’
‘You know — about Bel?’
Hannah heard a rustle behind the willow screen, but she didn’t care who might be listening. Presumably it was the Croatian kids who worked in the restaurant; they wouldn’t have a clue what was going on. Bel was still at Keepsake Cottage, according to Daniel, as Roz attempted the impossible and tried to comfort her.
‘You fell in love with your mother.’
After a long pause, Oliver said in a scratchy voice, ‘Sorry if you disapprove.’
‘You misunderstand. What I disapprove of is what you did to your father.’
‘My father, what are you talking about?’
‘Your father, Warren Howe.’
Oliver was breathing hard. Not speaking.
‘I’m right, aren’t I? You found out that he was your father.’
‘So what?’
‘So when Roz Gleave told Kirsty that she was wasting her time with you because you were family, your sister had nothing more to live for.’
‘It wasn’t my fault! Not that she killed herself. That was the last thing I wanted.’
‘And why did she kill herself? Not just the heartbreak, is my guess. She realised that you must have confronted Warren Howe.’
‘What if I did?’
‘Was it like this?’ Hannah watched the muscles of Oliver’s cheeks fluttering beneath the flesh. ‘You approached your father, but he didn’t want to know. He’d spent the years in between believing you were dead, and that suited him fine.’
‘I didn’t need him,’ Oliver whispered.
‘But you did need Bel. The catastrophe came when Warren told you he wanted her, was determined to have her again, come what may. If you didn’t back off, he’d make sure she knew who you were. The shame of what she’d done would destroy her. That’s why you murdered him, isn’t it? Not because your father rejected you, but to save the woman you loved?’
‘Guesswork.’ Oliver was backing away, but he was backing himself into a corner too, in between Hannah and the fence that barred access to the garden from the open countryside. ‘This isn’t detective work. It’s pure imagination. Your colleagues investigated thoroughly. There’s never been any suggestion of evidence linking me with the scene of the crime.’
‘They didn’t know you were Warren’s son, or that Bel was your mother.’
‘Even if they did, nothing could be proved.’
The shaking hands belied the confident words. And yet he was right, wasn’t he? The Crown Prosecutors would demand clear evidence of guilt before authorising a trial. Hannah felt a splash of wet on her cheek, then another on her hair. Rain, at long last rain. As she watched Oliver Cox, unmoving as the raindrops fell faster, she felt overwhelmed by a tidal wave of sadness. Kirsty was dead and soon the lives of Oliver and Bel would be wrecked forever.
A thunderous voice ruptured the silence.
‘Listening to you is all the proof I need.’
Hannah heard footsteps from behind the willow screen. She didn’t need to look to know who was coming. Oh God, what have I done?
Oliver’s eyes widened in terror. Hannah clenched her fists and looked round. Approaching them was Sam Howe. He must have been working in the restaurant garden, behind the willow screen. Chances were, he’d heard everything. In his hand was a garden fork. Its prongs were pointing at Oliver’s heart.
‘Put it down,’ Hannah said.
‘He killed my father. You know what he fucking did? Threw lilies over the body and a strip of sacking. Murder wasn’t enough, he had to bury him as well.’
Play for time, play for time. The rain was falling faster, Hannah needed to blink it out of his eyes.
‘You loved your father?’
‘He killed my sister too.’
‘Did you bother much with her?’
‘He’s not part of my family.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong.’ Already the rain had soaked Hannah’s shirt, she might have been back in her bathroom, standing under the shower jet. ‘And you know something? I’d say he’s even inherited his share of the Howes’ ruthlessness. Perhaps that’s why he killed your dad.’
‘You’d better go.’
‘I’m staying.’
‘You’ll get hurt.’
‘I don’t want anyone to get hurt.’
Oliver cried out, ‘For Christ’s sake, what are you going to do — gore me in cold blood?’
‘That’s what you did to him, isn’t it?
‘It wasn’t meant to happen!’
‘Confessing, now?’ Sam showed his teeth. ‘Well, well, you heard that, Mrs Policewoman?’
‘I heard, Sam. Now, why don’t you put that fork down and we can-’
‘Forget it.’ Water was dripping off him, but he didn’t seem aware of it. There was only one thing on his mind. ‘They’ll never prosecute the bastard. That’s what this country has come to. The guilty walk free while decent people live in fear.’
Hannah took a stride towards him, keeping her arm outstretched. ‘Give me the fork.’
‘Think you’re a heroine, do you? Fuck off.’
‘Please, Sam.’
With a swift, fluid movement, Sam Howe twisted the fork upside down and swung the metal handle. It smashed against Hannah’s body. She keeled over on the wet stones, slumping heavily to the ground.
Sam was within two paces of Oliver. The chef had fallen to his knees. His eyes were closed, hands put together as if in prayer.
Sam hissed, ‘What’s that you’re saying? Our father?’
Hannah cried out:
‘No!’