Martin Edwards - The Frozen Shroud

‘Only flagging up a question that you’re bound to be asked.’ She gave him a shamelessly disingenuous smile. ‘Giving you advance warning, if you like.’

‘Excuse me for not prostrating myself with gratitude. Better do your research more carefully before you start flinging accusations around. It’s verging on slander. I don’t care about myself, but I won’t have you slagging off my mum. You haven’t the faintest idea about the terms of Francis Palladino’s will, have you?’

His anger was genuine, no question. A bilious feeling in her guts told her she’d blundered. Risked making an enemy of the man Terri had loved.

‘Care to enlighten me?’

‘Francis drew up a new will when he fell for Shenagh. Previously, four-fifths of his estate went to charity, and the rest to Mum. In recognition of all she’d done for him, and for Esme. A hell of a lot of money, but he didn’t have any close family. With Shenagh on the scene, he arranged that she’d take half the estate. Mum’s share was unchanged, the legacies to charity were scaled down pro rata. After Shenagh’s death, the original provisions kicked in again. The murder didn’t make a ha’p’orth of difference to Mum financially.’

‘I see.’

‘No, I tell a lie,’ he said fiercely. ‘It made my mother sick with distress, she was so distraught about what had happened. Shenagh was her friend, and Francis she idolised. The poor old boy never recovered from losing the woman he loved. He lost the will to live. Even the poor old family dog died. It was a disaster all round. Satisfied?’

Ouch. No question about who had seized the moral high ground. Time to beat a hasty retreat. ‘Sorry, but I had to ask.’

He put his head in his hands. Theatrical, yes, but effective. ‘It’s a mucky job, yours. Terri never understood how you could stomach working for the police.’

Terri had never said that to her. She knew how much the job meant. And yet his jibe had the ring of truth. It hurt like a poke in the eye, that Terri had confided in a man she’d only known five minutes things that were taboo between two best friends. Hannah dug her nails into her palm. Urging herself not to fall into the biggest trap of all, and succumb to jealousy of Terri’s relationship with this man.

‘I don’t like it myself, sometimes.’

‘You don’t seem capable of trusting anyone.’

Twisting the knife, but probably she deserved that. She bit her tongue.

‘I trusted Terri. Now she’s gone, I want to find out why she died, and who killed her. If that means asking embarrassing questions, too bad. All I care about is the truth.’

He looked up, and she saw a teary glistening in his eyes. ‘The truth is that Stefan Deyna killed her. Why can’t we leave it at that?’

‘We can’t settle for a solution just because it suits us. Rough on the innocent, but there’s no alternative.’

‘There’s no persuading you, is there?’ He shook his head, as if making a decision. ‘That’s it, then. I’d better not waste any more of your afternoon.’

This time, their handshake lasted a nanosecond. Hannah said, ‘I’m still not clear why you wanted to meet.’

‘I only met Terri in August,’ he said. ‘You grew up with her. How I envy you, knowing her since you were both kids. There’s so much I don’t know about her. I hoped we could talk, you could help me fill in the gaps. I was expecting reminiscences, not the Spanish bloody inquisition. Stupid of me, I should have realised a police inspector has different priorities.’

Hannah glanced outside. The fog was coming down again. Already it was hard to make out the trees on the opposite side of the river. Perched on the beer garden wall of the pub next door, two crows were quarrelling, like an old couple who’d been together too long.

‘How well do any of us know anyone else? Another time, when all this is sorted, we can talk about Terri.’

Almost to himself, he said, ‘I doubt there’ll ever be another time.’

He moved back onto the piano stool. This time he chose ‘Cry Me a River’, humming softly as he played. Hannah listened to the first verse, before slipping away into the unforgiving cold.

Daniel’s phone shrilled. He had hands-free, but a lay-by was a hundred yards ahead and he decided to pull up.

‘Hello?’

‘Daniel! Thank God you answered!’

‘Melody, you sound frantic. What’s the matter?’

‘It’s Oz.’ Her voice faltered. ‘I’m so scared.’

‘What of?’

‘I’m frightened of what he’s going to do.’

Hannah rang Fern from her car, and they agreed to meet at Undercrag that evening for a catch up. Hannah offered to cook, but Fern refused to let her go to any trouble.

‘You’ve got enough on your plate without worrying what to put on mine. Besides, you’d only make me eat something healthy, and I can’t be bothered to count the sodding calories. Ring for a pizza from that Italian on Rydal Road. Mine’s a Stromboli De Luxe with double pepperoni and garlic bread on the side. Long, long day, got to cater for the inner woman. Must dash, see you later.’

From her vantage point outside the Sun Inn, Hannah saw Robin Park come out of the Jazz Lounge. The weight of the world seemed to be pushing down on his narrow shoulders as he squeezed into his natty little sports car. Ravenbank was only five or six miles away, and Hannah felt a sudden urge to follow him and see it for herself. She must, she absolutely must, make a pilgrimage to the place where Terri’s body had been found. Not this afternoon, however. The fog would soon return, and she had plenty of work to do before she talked to Fern.

On the way to Kendal, she replayed the conversation with Robin Park in her mind. If Stefan was innocent, then Robin had to be a prime suspect. If the relationship with Terri had imploded, or if she’d found out something linking him to Shenagh’s death, he might have had a motive for murder. Yet her death seemed to have stunned him, and though he was too self-absorbed for Hannah’s taste, she hadn’t detected a lurking predisposition to the rage and violence necessary for two such brutal killings.

But, she reminded herself, she’d been surprised once or twice before about what a seemingly decent human being is capable of when pushed beyond endurance.

She was supposed to progress the Cold Case Review Team’s reorganisation this afternoon, but as soon as she reached the sanctuary of her office, she buried herself in the material Les Bryant had supplied. She wouldn’t have the sanctuary much longer, might as well use it as a bolt-hole whilst she could. She managed twenty minutes’ reading before a bang on the door broke into her concentration.

Greg Wharf didn’t wait to be invited in, or to take a seat once he’d shut the door.

‘Sorry to burst in, but you’ll be receiving an email from HR any minute now, and I wanted to speak to you first.’

He seemed purposeful yet defiant, as if bracing himself for an onslaught.

‘This had better be quick.’

‘Fine.’ His jaw was set. ‘In a sentence, I’ve asked to be redeployed.’

She stared at him. ‘What for?’

‘I thought you wanted me to be quick. I’ve said what I came here to say.’

She groaned. ‘Please, Greg, I’m not in the mood to be messed about.’

‘And I don’t want to mess you about, which is why I’m moving on. Lauren was right — hey, I never thought I’d say that. If I go, you’ll be able to keep someone else. Les Bryant is lower cost, there’s no pension to factor in. If I go, there will be no complications.’

‘Complications?’

He gave an exaggerated sigh. ‘You-and-me complications. People are whispering about us already. You’re a detective, you must have picked up on it. My fault, my reputation goes before me. You’ve had enough to contend with, I don’t want you damaged on my account.’