Martin Edwards - The Arsenic Labyrinth

‘You can’t identify his voice.’

‘He spoke in a whisper, what do you expect? I mean, do you want me to give it to you on a plate, or what? Stevenson killed Emma, you can bet on it.’

She stared. ‘Why? You’re suggesting a sex crime?’

He contrived a theatrical groan. ‘Isn’t it obvious? Jeremy Erskine wanted Emma dead, but he was determined not to be implicated in her murder. So he hired a hitman to kill her. When his paid assassin came back to the Lakes, he was scared of exposure. Solution — kill the killer.’

Daniel had booked an early table at a seafood restaurant in Staveley as a peace offering. On the drive from Brackdale, neither he nor Miranda spoke and although the food was excellent, their conversation was desultory. Miranda was off to London again the following day and she seemed lost in a world of her own. She insisted that he order a bottle of Chablis, and although he only allowed himself one glass, she’d finished the rest before the end of the dessert course.

His mind kept straying to Sylvia Blacon and the gentleman in the lake. After leaving the old woman’s bungalow, he’d checked out the news on Radio Cumbria and learned the police were treating it as murder. The detective leading the inquiry sounded unexpectedly jovial, but gave no hint about any link with the bodies hauled up from beneath the Arsenic Labyrinth.

‘Daniel, we need to talk.’ Miranda fiddled with a shoulder strap of her little black dress. ‘I’ve come to a decision.’

He considered her flushed face. This wasn’t going to be good news.

‘About?’

‘About us.’ She pushed her cup to one side and leaned across the table, keeping her voice low. ‘It’s not working, is it?’

Two drunken couples at the next table were arguing about how to split their bill and a Scouse waiter was sharing a raucous joke with the girl behind the bar. At the piano, a young man who had hired an ill-fitting tuxedo was playing selections from the Barbra Streisand songbook. The background noise made no impression, he and Miranda might have been alone on a desert island. But she’d built a raft for herself and was planning to sail away.

‘No, I suppose not.’

The moment he admitted the truth, relief rippled through him. He wouldn’t protest, wouldn’t try to urge her to stay. She’d had the courage to say out loud what both of them had known for weeks. Months, maybe.

She reached out and ran her nails over the surface of his hand. ‘I’m sorry, Daniel. I so wanted this to work out.’

‘Me too.’

She folded her arms, a defensive gesture. ‘You think I’m sleeping with Ethan, don’t you?’

‘I don’t think about Ethan.’

‘Well, I’m not.’ Huge intake of breath. ‘But I won’t lie to you. I want to, and he wants it too.’

He picked up his napkin, crushing it in his fist. ‘What would you like to do about the cottage?’

‘I’ll move out as soon as I can, if that’s OK. I can’t bury myself here any longer. For me the Lakes will always mean me and you, and if we aren’t to stay together … as for my half-share, we can sort things out when it suits you. No panic. I’ve decided against buying the flat in Greenwich, so I won’t be desperate for cash.’

‘You’ll be moving in with Ethan?’

‘When he suggested it, I said no way. You know something? I actually said I would be sticking with you, trying to make things work between us. He and I had a blazing row, actually. A hundred times worse than when you and me fell out. Sparks fly off the two of us when we’re together, it’s a weird relationship. But right now it feels like what I need. While you were out this afternoon, he called me to apologise for putting me under too much pressure too soon. Things seemed to fall into place while he was talking, I couldn’t fight my feelings one moment longer. Though if you’d changed your mind about sharing the flat … well, it might have been different.’

The pianist was humming as he played that song about people who need people. The luckiest people in the world. Daniel fixed the man with a stare, willing him to stop.

‘Thanks for telling me.’

She tapped her saucer with a teaspoon, a little clink of irritation. ‘You’re taking this in a very English way. No ranting, no raving. If we don’t watch out, we’ll finish up acting like characters in a 1940s film.’

‘You’d rather I scream blue murder?’

She ventured a smile. ‘If I were a suspicious soul, I might wonder if I’ve played into your hands. Is that what’s going through your mind? I’ve got rid of the needy cow, I’ve won back my freedom? ’

He shook his head. ‘At this precise moment, my mind is a vast empty void.’

‘Louise will be thrilled. She really can’t stand me.’

‘Feeling’s mutual, isn’t it?’

‘Louise is so protective of you, I’ll never measure up. I can understand why, after what happened to Aimee. You were a wreck, you kept blaming yourself, even though it wasn’t your fault she jumped from the tower. All I wanted was to make things better for you.’

God, she was so gorgeous. That flawless skin. Those eyes.

‘And you did.’

The familiar dreamy look spread across her face. She’d battled through the worst of the conversation, she was ready to rework it, as any good journalist might revise a piece of hasty writing to smooth out the flaws. Create a better impression.

‘Whatever you may think, I fell head over heels in love with the Lakes, same as with you. And I don’t regret it, please don’t imagine I do. But it’s a mistake to become infatuated with a place. When I was a kid, I used to love our holidays in Great Yarmouth. When my parents took me there one winter week-end, with the amusements shut up and a gale howling in from the sea, it wasn’t the same. The spell was broken forever and I’ve never gone back since.’

He intercepted the glance of the Scouse waiter, who was running his eye over Miranda’s curves, and asked for the bill. ‘So it’s back to London for good tomorrow?’

She nodded. ‘I’ll take as many of my things as I can carry. The rest I can leave till I’ve moved in with Ethan. I suppose you’re still determined to stick it out here?’

Why did she have to make it sound like a feat of endurance? ‘Me, I’m still infatuated.’

‘But with the Lakes, not with me.’ She sighed. ‘That’s the difference, Daniel. The countryside just doesn’t do it for me, I need the excitement of city life. Sheepdog trials and ivy-clad coaching inns are fine, but they aren’t enough. For me, something always needs to be happening.’

Pictures flickered in his mind. Strap-hanging commuters on the London Underground, glancing nervously at their fellow passengers’ rucksacks. Drunken youths smashing bottles outside the doors of a nightclub and pissing in shop doorways. Oxford dons bickering at High Table.

‘Depends on what you want to happen, I guess.’

At five to eight, Les put his head round the door and said, ‘Time to go home.’

Hannah pulled her eyes away from the columns of figures on the spreadsheet on her screen. She’d spent the last hour juggling overtime and equipment budgets. Even in cold case work, making the numbers add up was more of a challenge for a DCI than detecting crime.

‘See you tomorrow.’

‘I meant time for you to go home,’ he said, stepping into her room. ‘For me, it doesn’t matter. Long hours are good, it’s like the old days, takes me out of myself. It’s different for you. Don’t make the mistake I made.’

‘What was that?’

‘Forgetting that there’s someone waiting for you at home.’

She felt her cheeks burning. ‘Marc is out visiting a customer in Carlisle this evening. Besides, he knows what the job involves.’