Martin Edwards - The Arsenic Labyrinth

‘Any joy?’

‘None whatsoever. So Sid brought in the nastiest DC in the force to give Inchmore a hard time. But even he didn’t manage to beat out a confession.’

‘Run a criminal records check. See if Tommy’s been a good boy over the past ten years.’

‘Over the last five years, certainly.’

‘You reckon?’

‘He’s been dead that long.’

‘Oh yeah? How did that happen?’

‘Accident. No suspicious circumstances. He fell off a ladder while he was fixing a tile on the roof of the house where he lived.’

Yes, poor Tom Inchmore had been a loser right to the end.

‘So, if he did kill Emma, not much chance of finding what he did with the body.’

‘’Fraid not.’

‘No wonder Thornicroft gave up the unequal struggle?’

‘To concentrate on improving his golf handicap.’

Les belched to show what he thought about golf. ‘Other theories?’

‘Emma might have gone for a walk and fallen into a tarn or down a ravine. It happens. But usually to over-adventurous visitors. Not to people born and bred in the Lakes.’

‘The usual checks were made?’

‘Mountain rescue, helicopters, the lot. An elderly neighbour gave us a lead. Her kitchen looked out towards the fells and when she was taking her washing off the line one afternoon, she said she caught sight of Emma, making her way up a rough track that meanders towards the fells. When we couldn’t find any wet-weather clothes in the bungalow, we thought we were on to something. She might have got into difficulties and broken a leg or worse. But the witness was scatty and couldn’t put a date or time on the observation. Besides, Emma was more into yoga than yomping. Nobody knew what was in her wardrobe, so we couldn’t check what might be missing. The search of the fells came up with zilch. It’s hard enough seeking a needle in a haystack when you’re sure the needle is waiting to be found. The weather was against us too. Gales, thunderstorms, landslides, the whole apocalyptic bit.’

Les sighed. ‘What about Emma’s dark secrets?’

‘Her cupboard seemed bare of skeletons.’

‘That’s suspicious, for a start. Everyone has dark secrets.’

‘Even you, Les?’

He scowled. ‘Never you mind. How about yourself?’

‘If only. They might make me more fascinating.’

‘What’s up, Hannah?’ He bent towards her. ‘Feeling unloved?’

His insight shocked her. Swallowing hard, she told herself to take care. This was the danger of working with good detectives. Time for a diversion.

‘Lauren bollocked me for not alerting the media about our continuing active interest in Emma’s case. To appease Di Venuto, of course.’

He sniggered. ‘So she’s happy for you to reopen the inquiry?’

‘You know what she’s like. If something photographs well or merits briefing the media, she’ll throw resources at it like confetti.’

He slid off her desk. ‘Best let you get on with it, then. Shout if you need me.’

As the door closed behind him, Hannah groaned. She mustn’t let her problems with Marc spill over into her work. Things would sort themselves out. Into her head came the voice of a dead man, Ben Kind, when a row with an odious colleague the week after her promotion to DS drove her to the brink of tears.

‘Stop putting yourself down. All you need is more confidence in yourself. Trust me, I’m a policeman.’

Remembering Ben led her to thinking about his son. What was Daniel Kind up to these days? The other night, with Marc out book-hunting and nothing worthwhile on the box, she’d searched against his name on the internet, but found no recent mention of him. Presumably he’d settled down with his pretty girlfriend to live the dream in Brackdale. Maybe one of these days they’d bump into each other again.

She picked up Emma’s photograph again and forced her mind back to the unfinished business of the misper investigation. She still believed Emma to be dead, but yearned to be proved wrong. Maybe if they ever met, the two of them would find they had things in common. Things bubbling beneath the surface that nobody else suspected.

Families fascinated Hannah. She studied them as others might scrutinise exotic fish in an aquarium. Some glittered and charmed, others bared sharp teeth, all seemed mysterious to her. Supposedly, your sister should be your best friend, but she’d met dozens of sisters who hated the sight of each other. First time around, Hannah hadn’t met Karen Erskine. This time she intended to speak to her and her husband — but not yet. She wanted to feel her way back into Emma Bestwick’s life and it made sense to start with people she’d interviewed before.

Last time, she’d spent hour after hour trawling through lists of Emma’s school contemporaries, teachers, people she’d worked with. Most of their recollections of her were fuzzy. She hadn’t made a lasting impression, nobody had bothered to keep in touch. Les was right. Ms Very Ordinary Indeed.

Francis and Vanessa Goddard had given Emma a roof over her head before she came into money. In the early days of the inquiry, Hannah had wondered if Francis had developed an unhealthy interest in their paying guest. Ben Kind had trained her to suspect everyone, but there was no evidence to justify pointing a finger at Francis and in the end Hannah had concluded that what you saw with Francis was what he was. A man in love with his wife. As for Vanessa, she’d been married before. And Jeremy, her first husband, had left her to marry Emma’s sister. The Lake District, for all its millions of visitors from the four corners of the globe, remained at heart a gathering of tightly knit communities with everyone seemingly connected to everyone else.

The Goddards hadn’t moved house in the past decade and Hannah phoned to make an appointment. With druggies, you never gave advance warning, because by the time you showed up they would have disappeared. But the Goddards were going nowhere and it made sense to observe the courtesies. Hannah needed witnesses on her side if this was to be any more than a wild goose chase.

Vanessa Goddard snatched up the receiver on the second ring. She sounded relieved when Hannah announced herself. Not a universal reaction.

‘I thought it might be the school,’ she explained in the breathless voice that Hannah remembered. ‘Christopher, my boy, was under the weather this morning, a tummy bug. He attends the prep school at Grizedale College, you know. I wasn’t sure whether to send him, especially in such dreadful weather, but Francis keeps saying we can’t wrap him up in cotton wool. When the phone went, I thought it might be the nurse, to say I needed to bring him home and put him to bed.’

Obviously I’ve never lived, Hannah thought, never having been a doting mother. Though if I hadn’t miscarried …

She said quickly, ‘It’s ten years since Emma Bestwick disappeared. You may have seen the coverage in the local press.’

A sigh. ‘Yes, it brought the memories flooding back. We’ve been expecting someone would get in touch.’

‘You won’t remember, but I was the officer who interviewed you and your husband.’

‘It’s not something you forget in a hurry. We’re just normal people, we don’t have much to do with the police. So they’ve made you a Chief Inspector? My goodness. I suppose I should feel honoured.’

Hannah didn’t think Vanessa Goddard was taking the mickey. She remembered her as a friendly, talkative woman who lived on her nerves, but she’d have felt more flattered if Vanessa hadn’t sounded startled by her promotion.

‘These days I’m in charge of the county’s Cold Case Review Team.’

‘I read about it. Don’t you specialise in unsolved murders, DNA, that sort of thing?’ An intake of breath. ‘Has a body been found?’