Martin Edwards - The Frozen Shroud

‘How are you, Robin?’

A grimace. ‘I still can’t believe what’s happened. It’s Mum I’m most concerned about. She thought the world of Terri. The shock has hit her very hard.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Oh, she’ll get through it. She’s a strong lady. A survivor.’ He clenched his fist, willing himself to believe. ‘Going to the Hall? You must be, there’s nothing else the other side of this cottage.’

‘Lunch with the Knights.’

‘I’m due to meet your friend this afternoon. Hannah Scarlett. What’s she like, by the way?’

‘A very good detective, that’s all I can say.’

‘How discreet! Come in, why don’t you? It’s freezing out here.’ As Daniel checked his watch, Robin added, ‘I’ll only keep you a moment.’

The interior of the cottage was cramped but immaculate. All the curtains were drawn, an old-fashioned mark of respect for the dead. Through an open door, Daniel glimpsed a neat kitchen dominated by a wood-burning stove. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted out, inducing pangs of hunger. Robin called up the stairs to his mother that they had a visitor, and led him into a low-ceilinged living room. Horse brasses and an embroidered child’s sampler from the nineteenth century hung on the wall, and a glass corner cabinet was filled with old sporting trophies, silver plate cups, and crossed hockey sticks made from gold resin. A dozen photographs stood on a mahogany sideboard. A single publicity shot showed Robin posing at a piano; the rest were assorted family snaps from his younger days, when his father was still alive. The male Parks bore a strong resemblance to each other, with their regular features and ready smile. Where they lounged, Miriam stood to attention. Her stolid features habitually wore an expression of wariness, as if she expected the camera flash bulb to explode in her face.

‘Mum’s been resting. She’s not as young as she was.’

‘I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have disturbed her on my account.’

‘No, she’d be mortified if I invited you in, and she didn’t show her face. Anyhow, she told me you wanted to know about that conversation she overhead between Dorothy Hodgkinson and Roland Jones. By the way, how is Hannah Scarlett coping? I’ve been dying to meet her, just never expected it to be in these circumstances.’

‘Terri will have told you all you need to know. She was much closer to her than I am.’

Robin raised his eyebrows, and Daniel felt his cheeks burn. What had Terri said about Hannah and him?

‘Terri’s not here,’ Robin said quietly, as Miriam Park came into the room. ‘Oh, Mum, there you are. How are you feeling?’

Miriam’s face was drained of colour and her shoulders had a stoop. She’d looked better dressed up as a witch.

‘What can’t be cured, must be endured.’ She gave a heavy sigh. ‘Hello again, Mr Kind.’

‘Daniel, please. It’s very hard, to endure the murder of two people you knew.’

‘I was very fond of Terri, you know.’ She sounded defiant, as though she’d suffered a personal injustice. ‘She and Robin could have been so happy together here.’

Robin put a hand on her shoulder. ‘And she cared for you, Mum.’

‘You were friendly with Shenagh Moss, as well?’ Daniel asked.

‘Oh, she was good company. The two of us were talking, the very day she died, about the Faceless Woman.’ Miriam bowed her head. ‘Shenagh didn’t believe in ghosts, but you have to wonder, don’t you?’

‘I’m still curious about what happened to Gertrude Smith. That conversation you overheard …’

She shook her head. ‘It was such a long time ago. Like I said, I can’t swear to exactly what was said.’

‘But — roughly?’

Her features contorted as she dug into the recesses of memory. ‘Mr Jones said something like … “Your mother didn’t kill Gertrude, we both know that.”’

‘And she agreed?’

‘Yes, I’m sure she did. That was really all there was to it. Miss Hodgkinson left a few minutes later. She was obviously upset, didn’t even stop for a chat with any of us. Normally, on her visits, she liked to have a conversation with the staff. If you ask me, she’d always had a suspicion that Mr Jones killed Gertrude, but no more than that. She couldn’t take it in.’

‘You didn’t get the impression that they both thought … Clifford Hodgkinson murdered Gertrude?’

‘What?’ Miriam’s eyes widened. ‘That never crossed my mind. I just assumed … well, I suppose you may be right. But we’ll never know now, will we?’

‘Sometimes the truth comes out, long after the event, and it’s not what everyone expected. The same may happen over the murder of Shenagh Moss.’

‘We all know who killed Shenagh,’ Miriam insisted. ‘That man Craig Meek, may God forgive him. I’m not just talking about Shenagh. He as good as put a bullet through poor Mr Palladino’s head, as well. To say nothing of poor Hippo.’

‘Hippo?’

‘Mr Palladino’s dog. Adorable, he was. Poor Hippo was getting on in years, and the shock was too much for him. The vet had to put him down not long after Shenagh’s body was found.’

One more victim, then. ‘What if there is a connection between Shenagh’s death and Terri’s?’

Miriam stared. ‘Impossible. It’s no secret who battered that dear girl to death. That vile Polish …’

‘We can’t fathom why the police have released him,’ Robin said quickly, as if to forestall a potentially racist rant. ‘I’m praying it’s just a temporary manouevre, that they’re playing for time while they make sure the case against him is watertight.’

Miriam passed a hand over her forehead. ‘It’s a nightmare.’

‘Mum,’ Robin said, ‘you need to get back to bed.’

‘And I need to get out from under your feet,’ Daniel said. ‘I’m sorry to have pestered you about what you heard from Roland Jones.’

Her face was ashen. ‘I used to feel sorry for Gertrude Smith, and her ghost, endlessly walking down Ravenbank Lane. She deserved justice, that’s what I thought. Now I’m older and wiser. It’s not the dead we need to worry about. It’s the living.’

‘You timed your arrival to perfection.’ Melody greeted him with a delicate kiss on the cheek. Her lips were cold. ‘The mist is clearing over the lake, though it’s only a temporary respite. Freezing fog is forecast for later on. I almost feel sorry for those journalists, shivering outside the gates.’

‘I used to live with a journalist,’ he said. ‘If she was here, she’d tell you not to waste your sympathy, it’s like commiserating with a school of sharks.’

‘Yesterday was surreal — a helicopter whirling overhead, reporters on a boat, taking photos of our grounds. Did they expect to spot another dead body, dumped in the old boathouse, or draped over the pergola? I thought they’d leave us alone today — we’ve told them everything we know. I took them a tray of tea and biscuits, to remind them we’re human beings, not creatures to gawp at in a zoo. And now, the police have phoned to say they want to talk to Oz and me again. Will it ever end?’ She closed her eyes for a split second, as if gathering strength. ‘Come on. Quick tour of the garden, before we eat?’

‘Thanks, I’d love that,’ Daniel said.

‘You can see where poor Letty is buried.’ She yanked a black Barbour waterproof jacket from a coat rack on the porch wall, and pulled on a pair of muddy wellingtons. ‘Some of our visitors think it’s creepy, having someone’s grave in the grounds of your house. To me, it’s sweet. This was where she and her husband and child expected to live happily ever after, before her mind started to give way. At least Clifford made sure that she would never have to leave her home. Whatever else, I respect him for that.’