Martin Edwards - The Arsenic Labyrinth

‘Good to see you again, Chief Inspector. Sorry I’m in my scruffs. I’m on a day off from the hospital and Christopher’s room needs repainting. Goodbye Rupert Bear and Nut Wood. Hello Dr Who and scary aliens from outer space.’

The smell of coffee wafted from the kitchen at the rear into the hallway as Francis led her into the front sitting room. The leather furniture was stained where a ballpoint pen had leaked, a dozen children’s DVDs tottered in a tower beside the home cinema system. Bookcases groaned under Folio Society editions of classic novels, on the mantelpiece a small silver cup inscribed Come Cumbrian Dancing — runners-up 2004 was surrounded by photographs of Vanessa, Francis and their boy. Shrek was playing soundlessly on the TV. Francis flicked the remote, and the green ogre and skinny grey donkey vanished.

‘Take a seat, Chief Inspector. Vanessa won’t be long, she’s just helping Christopher with a project for school. Can I offer you a coffee, do you take milk?’

Whilst he slipped out of the room, Hannah sank into the embrace of a cavernous armchair. Facing her was a photograph of the three Goddards standing next to a gigantic Mickey Mouse under a Californian sun. The boy was lanky, the image of his father. He was clasping a sleek white iPod, staring proudly into the camera lens while his parents smiled fondly down at him.

‘Christopher was a babe in arms when I last saw him,’ Hannah said as her host returned bearing two steaming mugs.

‘Amazing how time flies. We went to Disneyworld last summer and he’s shot up since. But you wanted to speak to us about Emma?’

‘Thanks for seeing me. You spoke to Tony Di Venuto, I gather?’

‘I should have refused to say a word,’ Francis said. ‘I told Vanessa it was only a matter of time before the police came knocking on our door. If only to keep that bloody journalist off their backs.’

Hannah remembered the patience with which he’d answered her questions the first time they’d met. Remembered wondering if he’d killed Emma after she’d turned him down, and dumped the body in the lake. He’d lived cheek by jowl with her throughout his wife’s pregnancy. Suppose he wasn’t getting enough sex, might he have turned his attention to the lodger? But by the time she’d finished questioning him, the theory had lost its lustre. Perhaps Emma was dead, but surely Francis was too decent a man to have killed her?

‘Even after all this time, people may recall something they didn’t mention during the original inquiry.’

He scratched his head. ‘We did our best to help before. I’m not sure what more we can say.’

‘You and Mrs Goddard were among the last people to see Emma before she disappeared. She called here the afternoon before the last sighting of her.’

‘She was a friend. The three of us kept in touch even though she wasn’t living here any more.’

‘Anything to suggest that she might be unhappy in Coniston, ready to move on?’

He shook his head. ‘Don’t forget, Christopher was only a few weeks old. We were both preoccupied with our baby, not visitors. Emma was sweet, she came to drop off a couple of things that she’d knitted for him. She was here for no more than half an hour. She may have mentioned how business was going. Slowly, I think.’

‘Did that worry her?’

‘She was disappointed, but there was no need to panic. She’d spent a fortune on advertising, but it takes time to build up a reputation and a clientele.’

‘She was enjoying such work as she had?’

‘As far as we could tell. After she went missing, Vanessa and I wondered if we should have offered more help. But if you have a family, Chief Inspector, you’ll know that nobody is as self-absorbed as a first-time parent.’

‘You never had any other lodgers?’

‘No, Emma was our one and only. The upkeep on this place is pretty heavy, so a few extra pounds came in useful. Emma and my wife had made friends and when she said she didn’t like the room she was renting in Hawkshead, we decided to do each other a bit of good. It was never a long-term arrangement. After Christopher was born, we wanted the house to ourselves.’

‘How did you cope with the loss of income?’

‘I left the NHS and started nursing at the private hospital over in Newby Bridge to help make ends meet. We’re not rolling in it, but we get by.’

‘How long did she stay here?’

‘Not far short of a year. She was never any trouble. The perfect guest, if you like.’

‘Did she ever bring friends back here?’

‘Alexandra Clough, yes, a couple of times, before they split up. Nobody else. Emma was a very private person. Content with her own company.’

‘The last time you saw her, did you pick up any suggestion that she was under financial pressure?’

‘None. Even if holistic therapies weren’t a money-spinner, she was better off than ever. Don’t forget, she’d inherited enough to buy the bungalow and a new car.’

‘The inheritance, yes.’ Hannah crossed her legs ‘It’s rather mysterious. We never found any evidence that Emma had inherited a penny. Karen Erskine knew nothing about a legacy, the sisters didn’t have any rich relatives who’d shuffled off this mortal coil. What did Emma tell you about this windfall?’

‘Only that she’d come into money unexpectedly. We were delighted for her and of course it did salve our consciences. With a child on the way, we wanted to turn Emma’s rooms on the top floor into a playroom with a store area for the baby’s things, but we dreaded having to ask her to leave. But everything worked out for the best.’

‘Her sister couldn’t think of anyone who might have left her a sizeable bequest.’

‘The two of them weren’t close, it might be somebody Karen knew nothing about.’

Hannah sipped her coffee. An Arabic blend, too strong for her taste. ‘When she put down the deposit on her bungalow, she paid cash. Same with the Fiat she bought. A probate solicitor would pay out legatees by cheque, but her bank account didn’t reveal a significant payment in during the twelve months before she disappeared.’

‘Odd.’

‘Emma told her sister and Alex Clough that she’d won a big prize on the lottery. When we checked, that wasn’t true. Why would she lie to them, do you think? Or to the two of you?’

He stared at her. ‘Emma had no reason to deceive us. We were glad for her. After years of not having two pence to rub together, finally she could please herself.’

The door opened and Vanessa Goddard bustled in. Small and buxom with frizzy red shoulder-length hair, she wore a black tee shirt and denim jeans. Her plump arms were freckled, her lipstick vivid. A port-wine birthmark the shape of Africa spread across her left cheek. When they’d first met, Hannah’s eyes kept straying to it and she’d felt hot with embarrassment. But Vanessa had taken no notice; she’d had a lifetime to acclimatise to people staring on first acquaintance. She sat beside her husband on the sofa, their bodies touching. Francis’s hand strayed to her knee, her shoulder rubbed against his.

‘Sorry to keep you, Chief Inspector, but Christopher needed help with a Google search. Homework’s changed since the three of us were at school. Now, what can we do for you?’

Hannah wasn’t flattered by the implication that they were much of an age. Vanessa must be fifty now, her husband a few years her junior. Perhaps having a child later in life made you feel younger. How would Marc react if she told him she was expecting a baby again? Would she see that same trapped look on his face?

Jesus, this was no use. She needed to concentrate.

‘Did Emma ever talk about her time in Liverpool, mention the people she knew there?’