Martin Edwards - The Frozen Shroud

‘Was there any trouble? Terri can’t keep her mouth zipped once she’s started drinking. She doesn’t know … when to stop.’

‘Hey, it was all fine. She was in high spirits from start to finish.’ Quin clapped his hands. ‘Come on, we need to get cracking, it won’t do Terri any good to be stuck outside and unable to move in this fucking awful weather.’

‘We’ll come with you,’ Daniel said.

‘Yes,’ Louise said. ‘The more people looking, the sooner we’ll find her.’

‘Let me call the Knights,’ Jeffrey said. ‘Just in case.’ A landline phone sat next to a serving hatch, and he punched in a number. ‘Hello, Melody, is that you? … Fine, now listen, we have Robin here. He’s in a state because Terri has gone AWOL. She hasn’t by any chance come to … Okay, right, just thought I’d check … Yes, it is. We’re setting out to look for her right now.’

He put down the receiver and shook his head. ‘No joy. Let’s get a move on.’

Lancaster University was hosting a symposium on cold case investigations. Representatives from a dozen police forces together with a sampling of forensic experts were there, to add a sprinkling of practical experience to academic theory. Lauren Self had decreed that the budget could stretch to allow Hannah to fly the flag for Cumbria Constabulary. Extolling the Cold Case Review Team’s successes seemed to Hannah a waste of time and money, given Lauren’s determination to rip it into shreds, but at least the jaunt would get her out of the office for a few hours. She’d have the chance to network with oppos from other forces, and might even pick up a few tips to help fight her corner over the cutbacks.

The drive should have taken less than an hour, but the weather doubled the journey time. The ferocity of the downpour had contributed to a couple of accidents on the M6, with three lanes reduced to one, visibility poor, and progress reduced to a crawl. But the hypnotic swish of the windscreen wipers, and the soothing voice of Rumer on the CD player worked as a kind of therapy, allowing Hannah’s mind to wander from the wretchedness of the traffic conditions.

The good news about Marc didn’t quite wash away her guilt about her close encounter with Greg. But the guilt was about letting down herself, not Marc. He didn’t own her; never had, never would. He needed to grow up and get used to the idea of her being with another man.

But what other man? Not Greg, she told herself. It wasn’t appropriate, and she wasn’t his type of woman anyway. In her head, she heard Terri saying she was protesting too much, but what did Terri know? She hadn’t exactly made a success of her love life, and Stefan might be the biggest mistake of them all.

Daniel, then? She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. A long-term relationship was out of the question. Celebrity historian and country bumpkin cop? It didn’t compute.

Why not follow Terri’s example and live for the moment? Thinking long-term hadn’t exactly been a recipe for success, either at home or at work. Look at her now. Relationship shot to pieces, career in suspended animation. Her life was going nowhere, just like the queuing traffic.

With a glance into her mirror, she gave the wheel a sudden wrench, and swerved onto the hard shoulder, accelerating onto the slip road at the next junction. A change of direction was long overdue. She’d throw away the route map. Time to trust her instincts.

Jeffrey assumed command, announcing he was dividing them into two groups. He would lead Daniel and Louise along the paths that meandered around the Fell View side of Ravenbank. Robin and Quin were to search the area on the other side of the lane. The plan was to meet up outside the entrance to Ravenbank Hall once they’d covered every inch of ground between Watendlath and the Knights’ mansion.

‘You don’t think she and Robin had a row, and that explains why he missed the party?’ Louise asked.

Jeffrey stopped in his tracks. ‘Can’t see it — unless the row was in the early hours, after she left Miriam and went back home. Terri was in great form yesterday. But Robin’s an easy-going fellow, and he and Terri seem to get on like a house on fire.’

The wind was driving the rain into their faces, and the paths were thick with mud. Trees swayed like creatures from another world, taking part in a slow ritual dance. The moist smell of autumn earth and leaves filled Daniel’s sinuses. Louise thrust her cold hand into his, and he gave an answering squeeze. He guessed she was remembering the ghost hunt, and Terri’s boozy cheerfulness.

‘We’re almost at Ravenbank Corner,’ Jeffrey called over his shoulder, and soon they emerged from the wood, close to where they had looked in vain for Gertrude Smith’s ghost. ‘Given that Robin has already walked up and down the lane, let’s take the path by the beck, and follow it round to the lake. We’ll come full circle before we cut across to the Hall.’

He stomped over to a well-worn pathway carpeted with leaves. Like the narrow beck, it disappeared into the trees they had staggered past the night before.

‘Daniel,’ Louise whispered. ‘What do you think has happened to her?’

‘Let’s not waste time speculating. We need to concentrate on finding her.’

‘You reckon she’s had an accident?’

‘It’s better than the alternative.’

‘You heard what Robin said about women in Ravenbank on Hallowe’en.’

‘Come on, we need to catch up with Jeffrey.’

They’d lost sight of him, but as they reached the path on the other side of the lane, they heard a loud shriek of pain, as if someone had shoved a knife into his heart.

‘Oh God,’ Louise whispered.

They ran into the wood. Jeffrey was twenty feet away, his back turned to them. Head bowed, he stood on the path close to the beck. He was staring at something in a dip in the ground, between the stream and Ravenbank Lane.

‘What is it?’ Daniel demanded.

Jeffrey turned to face them, his pudgy cheeks drained of colour.

‘A body, no signs of movement. I’m sure she’s dead.’ He was gasping for breath. ‘There’s something else. I can’t believe my own eyes.’

Daniel moved forward. He saw it for his own eyes at the same instant Jeffrey spoke again.

‘The face is covered with a blanket. And it’s soaked with blood.’

Hannah arrived at the campus in time to catch the tail end of the morning session of the symposium. A rotund Cornishman who looked more like a farmer than a forensic entomologist was speaking. His mission was to explain why the government’s decision to close the loss-making Forensic Science Service and contract the work out to the private sector was an enlightened example of forward-thinking, guaranteed to improve crime detection. A glance at the programme revealed that the speaker moonlighted from his university duties as a director of the company which was lead sponsor of the symposium. The firm provided analytical services to the police, and boasted every conceivable kitemark, as well, no doubt, as a fee tariff to match. No wonder the chap seemed so pleased with life.

Over an unexpectedly tasty lunch of pollo alla cacciatora , she chatted with colleagues from forces in the Midlands. They were appalled to hear that Lauren was butchering her team, but unsurprised. Nothing and nobody was sacred, given the government’s insistence on slashing the deficit the bankers had inflicted on the country. God knew where it was all going to end. As for their pensions …

‘DCI Scarlett?’

A thin, bespectacled woman, from her badge a member of the university staff, was bending over her shoulder so as to peer at her name tag.

‘That’s me.’

The woman coughed. Her demeanour suggested a lifetime spent apologising for things that weren’t her fault. ‘So sorry to disturb your lunch, but there is someone to see you.’