Martin Edwards - The Frozen Shroud

Hannah gave a wistful glance at the meringue sitting in front of her. It was simply begging to be eaten.

‘Give me five minutes?’

‘I’m afraid she says it’s very urgent.’ A nervous titter. ‘I don’t think it can wait.’

The cops from the Midlands exchanged glances. Hannah read their minds. Sounds like that cow she works for has gone on the warpath . For God’s sake, was there no escape?

Hannah stood up. ‘Excuse me, lads. Back in a tick. Don’t let them nick my dessert.’

She followed as the woman trotted through the crowded dining area. Lauren must want another chat about the team restructure. It had to be bad news, but Hannah reckoned she’d made it through the pain barrier. She felt in the mood to cope with anything.

But — why drag her out to the phone? Why not call her mobile?

‘Your colleague is waiting for you in the overseas admissions tutor’s room,’ the woman said.

Hannah halted in mid-stride. Lauren wouldn’t have come all the way out here. Surely Greg hadn’t taken it into his head to turn up?

‘Did my colleague give a name?’

The woman tittered again; it was like a nervous reaction. Her manner suggested she’d just been arrested for a crime of which she knew nothing.

‘Detective Chief Inspector Larter.’

Fern? It made no sense. Hannah shrugged and the woman led her down a long corridor. At the final door, she ventured a timid knock before stepping back to let Hannah through.

Fern sat on the near side of an imposing teak desk. She’d crammed her considerable bulk into one of a pair of chairs apparently designed for size zero students. Her face was creased with pain, as though every joint in her body hurt. She struggled to her feet, and motioned for Hannah’s guide to leave. With a nervous titter of farewell, the bespectacled woman shut the door on them.

‘What’s all this about, Fern?’ Hannah sounded angry, but really she was just bewildered.

Fern put a hand on Hannah’s shoulder. ‘Sit down, kid. I’m so sorry. There simply isn’t an easy way to give you this news.’

‘Marc? But the doctor said …’

Fern shook her head. ‘Nothing to do with Marc.’

Something in her friend’s expression, a sorrowful compassion she’d never seen before, frightened Hannah more than any words. She felt a choking sensation.

‘What?’ she whispered.

‘It’s Terri.’ Fern cleared her throat; tears glinted in her eyes. ‘Her body was found near Ullswater this morning. Someone has battered her to death.’

‘Stefan Deyna killed her,’ Hannah’s voice was flat and lifeless. It was as if Terri’s murderer had cut out her heart, leaving a vacuum to be filled with bitter despair. ‘He couldn’t have her, so he made sure nobody else could.’

‘We’ll soon have the bastard under lock and key,’ Fern promised. ‘It’s only a matter of time.’

They were back at HQ in Kendal, in Fern’s office, with its Lauren-defying Cluttered Desk Policy. A DC in Fern’s team had driven them from Lancaster; Fern had insisted on arranging for someone to pick up Hannah’s car. She’d turned a deaf ear to Hannah’s protests that she was fit to drive.

During the journey back up the motorway, Fern had described the discovery of the body at Ravenbank. Terri had been bludgeoned to death, and her face covered with a rough blanket. She’d been found by a small party of locals; together with two visitors, of all people, Daniel Kind and his sister. Within minutes, interviews revealed that Terri was being stalked by her former lover. Fern, who was familiar with Ravenbank and its inhabitants from the Shenagh Moss inquiry, didn’t only have Robin Park’s word for it; all the neighbours knew Stefan was refusing to let Terri go. She’d told everyone about his obsession.

There was more. Already Fern’s team had picked up a reported sighting of Stefan’s hired Ford Fiesta, on the narrow road bordering Ullswater’s east bank, at one o’clock that morning. He’d nearly crashed into a Mercedes coming in the opposite direction, not long after midnight. He’d clipped the wing mirror of the other car, but rather than stopping to inspect the damage, and exchange insurance details, had sped off in the direction of Pooley Bridge. Motive and opportunity were in the bag. With a known prime suspect, all Fern needed was to find him.

As the SIO in charge of the case, she had a thousand and one things to do in the first twenty-four hours after the crime, those ‘golden hours’ on which so much depended. But she’d been determined to break the news to Hannah in person. It wasn’t solely a matter of kindness. As Terri’s oldest friend and confidante, Hannah might possess information that could help to make a murder charge stick. Sure enough, Hannah had painted fresh detail into the picture formed by talking to people at Ravenbank, including the story of the missing cat.

‘So Stefan packed his bags and buggered off?’

Fern nodded. ‘In a tearing hurry, by the look of things. He rented a bedsit in Patterdale, and moved in after he and Terri split up. The house is owned by a nice old couple who live on the premises. See no evil, hear no evil types. He left sometime after midnight, owing a month’s rent. They were fond of him, and hadn’t pressed for the cash. Needless to say, he didn’t supply a forwarding address. His car’s already been found abandoned in a side road near Oxenholme Station.’

Oxenholme, on the outskirts of Kendal, lay on the West Coast main line. You could reach central London within three hours on a Pendolino train.

‘Presumably he’ll have headed south rather than to Scotland?’

‘I guess so. We don’t yet know whether he bought a ticket this morning, but that won’t take long to confirm. The first train of the day arrived at Euston around nine in the morning, so he’s a few hours ahead of us. London’s an ideal place to hide, but we’re checking out people he might be acquainted with down there. Hot on the trail, trust me.’

With Terri gone, there was nobody else in the world right now whom Hannah trusted as much as Fern. In the blink of an eye, everything had changed. Strange to think that she’d never again hear that raucous laugh, see that conspiratorial wink, feel a hand tugging her sleeve, urging her to do something against her better judgement. You only live once, was Terri’s motto. Too true, love, too fucking true.

‘Are you okay?’

‘Yeah.’ A barefaced lie, and they both knew it.

‘Will you let me organise that cup of tea and biscuit for you?’

‘No, thanks, I’m not sure I can keep anything down right now.’

Fern gave her a hard stare. ‘You’re not on some kind of guilt trip, are you?’

‘What makes you say that?’

‘I know what you’re like. You take responsibility. Including when it isn’t yours to take. Admirable fault, some would say. Load of bollocks, in my book. You weren’t Terri’s keeper, you were her mate. I knew her too, remember. She wasn’t someone you could ever tell what to do. Don’t start torturing yourself because you didn’t save her from some sicko who couldn’t take no for an answer.’

Hannah gazed through the window at the cascade of rain. Fern’s office commanded a view of the force’s overflowing dustbins; a tiny act of malice on Lauren’s part the last time rooms had been reallocated. In the ACC’s eyes, Fern committed the dual sin of being not only highly effective, but also a fellow woman officer — and therefore a potential competitor. She hadn’t even given Lauren any chance to kick her into a career cul-de-sac such as cold case work. Hannah suspected that Fern frightened the ACC. Buried within that large, jolly body was an inner core of tungsten. Fern had the ruthlessness to go for the kill, whatever the consequences.