Martin Edwards - The Arsenic Labyrinth

‘But she didn’t.’

‘On one occasion I spoke to Francis and suggested that Emma consult a psychiatrist. I didn’t doubt that, as a nurse, he was caring well for her, but I was sure she needed specialist help. To his credit, Francis agreed. He said he’d already persuaded Emma to see someone. But before an appointment could be arranged, I received a letter from her, tendering her resignation and proffering apologies for having messed me about. I gave a copy to your colleague who interviewed me.’

‘So you didn’t have to pay her any compensation?’

‘Compensation for what?’

Hannah shrugged. ‘Constructive dismissal, sexual harassment, damage to emotional well-being. Employing people is a minefield, isn’t it?’

‘We’ve never had a problem.’ The temperature in the room was dropping with every sentence. ‘Not with Emma and not in the ten years since. I hear there’s a compensation culture in the police service, but the private sector is different. Small employers like the museum don’t fork out large sums to pacify disgruntled workers, they can’t afford it.’

‘Litigation lawyers conjure claims out of nothing.’ Hannah chose a more-in-sorrow-than-in-anger smile. ‘A boss who has an affair with a worker that turns sour is vulnerable to all kinds of unfounded allegations.’

Alex clenched the computer mouse as if it were a stress ball. ‘It’s academic. Emma never threatened legal action. We paid her up to the end of her notice period as a goodwill gesture, that’s all.’

‘No golden handshake?’

‘Not a penny more than she was due.’

‘Then where did she get the cash to buy a house and car and start her own business?’

‘Your guess is as good as mine.’

‘She told different tales. An inheritance, a lottery win. Neither was true.’

‘She said to Father it was lottery money. I knew she picked the same numbers each week, it was the closest she came to a religious ritual. When I heard it had paid off, I was genuinely thrilled for her.’

‘No bitterness?’

‘Like my father, I adhere to the philosophy of Edith Piaf. No regrets. Yes, I was bruised, but I got over it. After Emma resigned, we stayed in touch. Which is why your theory that she held us to ransom over an employment claim is absurd. The flame may have died, but there was no ill will between us.’

‘When did you last see her?’

‘I visited her bungalow a couple of days before she disappeared. She seemed fully recovered. I was so glad to see her happy. I told her I hadn’t been sleeping well and she lectured me on herbalism, holistic therapies and maintaining the body’s natural equilibrium. Guff, perhaps, but she was brimming with zest. It reminded me of her early days at the museum.’

‘You went for a massage?’

‘Please don’t look so prim, Chief Inspector, I’m sure you’ve encountered more shocking confessions. She offered me a free initial consultation and we both kept our knickers on.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Hannah had worked out that Alex’s conversational m.o. was to use frankness as a weapon. Was the candour more apparent than real, a device to conceal what was really going on in her head?

‘Emma applied pressure to my feet with her hands. She was good at it. I always loved to be touched by her, but of course nothing sexual took place.’

‘Were you disappointed?’

Alex Clough shuffled a couple of sheets of paper on her desk, aligning their corners so that they were neat and tidy. Without looking up, she said in a voice of infinite calm, ‘On the contrary, I had a glow of well-being and relaxation. You should try it, Chief Inspector.’

‘Did you book another appointment?’

‘Yes, it was scheduled for ten days after the first. But by then Emma had disappeared.’

‘Had you hoped to rekindle the affair?’

‘Reflexologists have their own code of conduct, I presume. Emma wouldn’t have behaved unprofessionally’

‘Forgive me, Ms Clough, but that is hardly an answer.’

‘Very well. I wanted to see how she was. We’d been so intimate — I couldn’t pretend to myself that she’d never existed. As for what might happen in the future, I was philosophical. Events must take their course. No pressure, to coin a phrase.’

Oh yeah? Alex Clough was a rich man’s daughter, she’d probably had pretty much everything she’d ever wanted. She was accustomed to being in control, would dread surrendering to the mercy of Fate.

‘And how did she respond?’

‘The only time I put a foot wrong was when I complimented her on how well she looked. It was nothing but the truth. She’d lost weight after the illness, and she was very trim. But she suspected I was having a dig, implying that she hadn’t really been sick. I assured her nothing could have been further from my mind and after that she was fine.’

‘When we interviewed you before, you couldn’t account for Emma’s disappearance. Has anything occurred since then to explain it?’

Alex Clough shook her head. ‘Things were looking up for her. Why would she run away? It makes no sense.’

Ten years back, Hannah had thought the same. Today, trapped in the cage of calendars and chloroformed by bureaucratic routine, she could see the appeal of starting again, somewhere nobody knew a thing about her. She’d even dreamed of it a few nights back, dreamed of waking one morning in a strange hotel room. When she looked in the mirror, she’d gone strawberry blonde, when she went downstairs, the man at the desk greeted her by an unfamiliar name. Everyone spoke a foreign language she couldn’t understand, yet she wasn’t frightened. The weirdness of it was exhilarating. She felt free.

‘What do you think happened to her?’

‘Who knows? An accident?’

‘Or perhaps she was murdered?’

‘By whom?’ Alex Clough wasn’t the sort to let her grammar slip, even when asked about the possible homicide of an ex. ‘And for what reason? Unless she had the bad luck to fall prey to a rapist who throttled her and somehow disposed of the body.’

‘You speak of her in the past tense. Presumably you believe she is dead?’

‘Nothing else makes sense, does it? I did my grieving in private long ago. I have had to move on.’

‘Aren’t you curious about your lover’s fate? Sad that you never had a chance to say goodbye?’

A brisk shake of the head. ‘Like I said, no regrets.’

‘I’m surprised, Ms Clough. Museum folk, they’re supposed to have a thirst for knowledge. Do you really not want to find out what happened?’

Alex Clough folded her thin arms. Her pale face had turned grey. ‘You have your job to do, Chief Inspector, but I’ve decided ignorance is bliss. Some things are too painful. I can only pray that the end, when it came, was quick. That she didn’t suffer.’

‘Your relationship with Emma still means a great deal to you, doesn’t it?’ Hannah said in a quiet voice.

A long pause. Alex Clough bowed her head, but Hannah could still see the single tear trickling down her cheek. When she spoke, she no longer sounded glacial. Just hoarse, and old before her time.

‘Everything. You must understand, Emma Bestwick meant everything to me.’

When the phone trilled, Daniel was in his study, leafing through the correspondence that he’d bought at auction. Letters written by a neighbour of Ruskin who had been an occasional visitor to Brantwood in the years before genius yielded to mental collapse. Already Daniel was regretting his failure to buy more of the lots. The old story. You always regretted the ones that got away.

He picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’

‘It’s Louise.’

His sister. A corporate lawyer, currently working in academe. Even in a social call, she was as brisk and no-nonsense as a textbook on insider trading. When he explained that Miranda was away in London, she tutted.