Martin Edwards - The Frozen Shroud

‘Sure — if we can link it to him, he’s toast. His story is, he didn’t know if the killer was still lurking at the scene. He says he was in a state of shock. Petrified, and overwhelmed by shock and grief. So he jumped into the Fiesta and drove like the clappers, desperate to get away from Ravenbank.’

‘He admits clipping the Mercedes?’

‘Oh yes, and doing a runner from his bedsit in Glenridding. He admits he wasn’t thinking straight, but he says he thought he’d been set up. Someone had lured him to Ravenbank so that he’d be blamed for the crime. He had to get away. Halfway to Euston, it dawned on him that he’d made matters much worse for himself by running away. He claims it came as a relief when he was picked up yesterday evening. By then, he was trying to get up the nerve to hand himself in.’ Fern paused. ‘And set about clearing his name.’

Hannah ground her teeth. The farrago this man had conjured up to try to save his miserable skin made her tremble with anger. Stefan must have realised he couldn’t escape justice for long. So he’d spent the time he’d bought in cooking up a tale designed to explain away any forensic evidence linking him with the crime scene. If only they could find the missing weapon.

‘You can’t seriously believe he has any chance of that?’

‘One thing you need to know.’ Fern fiddled with her collar. Why was she so uncomfortable? ‘Deyna says Terri sent the text from her mobile. Yet Robin Park says that Terri mislaid her phone yesterday, so at the moment we have no way of disproving Stefan’s explanation.’

‘Does Park know where the phone is?’

‘Uh-uh. He assures us he’s turned their cottage upside down, but no luck.’

Hannah scowled. ‘You’re worrying me, Fern. Last night you seemed so confident. Of course it’s a long haul to assemble the evidence, but …’

Fern digested the last of the Mars bar. ‘You’re not going to like this.’

Leaning back in her chair, Hannah said, ‘I’m waiting.’

‘It seems insane, but … I’m starting to wonder if he really is our man, after all.’

‘You were a bit rough with her,’ Louise said. They were standing in Tarn Fold, watching Hannah’s car disappear from view. The sun had vanished, and Daniel felt the first drops of rain on his cheeks. ‘Don’t forget, she’s the professional detective. Not you.’

‘All right, I got carried away. But the easy answer …’

‘Is sometimes the right answer,’ she interrupted. ‘That’s what you don’t get, Daniel. This isn’t an intellectual chess game. Talk to any practising criminal lawyer, and off the record they’ll admit ninety-nine per cent of their clients are guilty. The same will be true of Stefan.’

He put his hands up in mock-surrender. ‘You win. Let’s go back inside. If we stay out any longer, we’ll get drenched.’

He turned back towards the cottage, but she caught him up with a few brisk strides. ‘You don’t fool me. When you give up so easily, and change the subject, I can tell you’re not really listening.’

‘I was listening, just not agreeing. The mere fact something happens nearly all the time doesn’t mean it happens always.’

‘What makes you doubt Stefan’s guilt?’

He waited to reply until he’d closed the front door behind them, shutting out the incipient downpour. ‘Does lightning strike three times in the same place? I don’t think so.’

‘What’s your theory — that Gertrude Smith’s faceless ghost walks on Hallowe’en, and every once in a while she inflicts on some poor woman the same fate she suffered herself?’

‘If so, she certainly kept out of the way when we went searching for her. No, there’s a simpler explanation.’

‘Which is?’

He leant against the kitchen door, and looked her in the eye. ‘That five years ago, someone took Gertrude’s case as a template for a brand new murder. And the night before last, that same someone killed Terri.’

‘But why?’

‘As you say, I’m not a professional detective. I hardly knew Terri, and I’ve no idea why anyone would want to murder her. She struck me as a life-enhancing person.’

‘Hannah cared a lot for her. She’s obviously shattered by what’s happened.’

‘If Terri upset someone, she wouldn’t do it deliberately. So why react so violently?’

Louise folded her arms. ‘Are you planning to do anything about it, or just sit back and await developments?’

‘Like you said, I’m a historian, not a cop. Better leave it to the police to worry about Shenagh Moss.’

‘Meaning that you still want to research what happened to Gertrude Smith? But how? Miriam Park was no help.’

‘The only way to understand what happened to Gertrude is to understand the people she was close to. Roland Jones, and the Hodgkinsons. Any history student knows, it’s a mistake to rely too much on word of mouth recollection, especially when nobody’s left alive who remembers the people concerned. So — time to scout for documents.’

Fern stomped off to resume command of the investigation while Hannah grabbed another coffee, and asked herself how anyone other than Stefan could have hated Terri enough to kill her. Surely she hadn’t just been in the wrong place at the wrong time? Not in the small hours in Ravenbank, it was inconceivable. She must have been targeted.

Hannah was shivering, and she couldn’t blame Cumbria Constabulary for skimping on the cost of heating. The cubbyhole was stuffy and claustrophobic. Time for a breath of fresh air as she marshalled her thoughts. Five minutes later, with gusts of wind blasting rain into her face and making a complete mess of her hair, she’d begun to doubt the wisdom of braving the elements, but she turned up her coat collar and walked on until she reached the castle.

A coach was disgorging a party of children. Hannah heard an enthusiastic teacher announcing that this vast medieval stone fortress had once imprisoned Mary, Queen of Scots. But what kids who came here really loved was the story of the Licking Stones. After Bonnie Prince Charlie captured Carlisle Castle, the English inflicted brutal reprisals. Thirsty Jacobite prisoners had to resort to licking the stone walls of their dungeons to get enough moisture to stay alive. The survivors’ reward was to be taken to Gallows Hill, and executed. To this day, you could still see the marks where the tongues of the doomed prisoners had worn away the stone.

No Police and Criminal Evidence Act in those days, no civil liberties, no worries about whether the forensics would survive scrutiny in court. Hannah spun on her heel, leaving the school party to their tour. Despite the weather, the walk had cleared her head. It was dangerous to acquire a taste for revenge. Fern was right. However much she hated Stefan for his cruelty to Terri, the evidence against him needed to stack up.

Back at the station, she sought out DC Josh Higginbottom, and asked him to join her for a bite of lunch in the canteen. Josh had been an up-and-coming colleague of Fern’s, until the day he’d tried to break up a fight between two teenage thugs in a car park a stone’s throw from the station. One of the kids, a broken beer glass in his hand, slashed Josh several times across the face and throat. He’d lost one eye and only an emergency operation saved some of the sight in the other. Even then, it took eighteen months for him to admit defeat in his efforts to resume operational work and accept a job in Communications.

‘You can get used to anything in time,’ he said, when she asked how he was doing. ‘I won’t deny that I still have black dog days. When the lad who glassed me was let out of prison, the urge to track him down and give him a taste of his own medicine was almost impossible to fight. But I got pissed and got over it.’