Martin Edwards - The Arsenic Labyrinth

‘Alex was her lover. She’ll have understood her, if anyone did.’

‘Maybe.’ His expression was bleak and faraway and Hannah was sure he wasn’t thinking about Alex. ‘But sometimes it doesn’t help to be close to someone. You become blind to what’s going on inside their head. You think you understand them, when the fact is, you really don’t have a bloody clue.’

Alex Clough had taken refuge in a postcard-pretty cottage on the outskirts of Newby Bridge. It belonged to a fiercely protective friend called Mina, a spiky-haired woman in a Greenpeace T-shirt and mud-stained jeans whose hallway bookcase overflowed with magazines and guides to self-sufficiency. Mina made it clear that, if it was up to her, the police wouldn’t be allowed near Alex until she’d had time to mourn in peace. But Alex, though pale and thinner than ever, was no longer the weeping wreck of the night before and she insisted that she was willing to talk to Hannah.

Even in grief she remained immaculate: black velvet jacket, white blouse and clingy dark trousers. Silently she listened as Hannah explained how her father and grandmother had conspired to cover up the truth about the murder of William Inchmore. When she denied all knowledge of the family’s secret, Hannah believed her. And if she was lying, it could never be proved. Nobody was left alive to prosecute. A mystery had been solved by Daniel’s discovery, that was all.

Alex pushed her hands deep into her pockets and strolled to the rain-flecked window that looked out over Mina’s large working garden, with its damp vegetable patch, hen coop and fruit trees. She pointed to a white bee hive in the distance, near the fence separating Mina’s land from a ploughed field.

‘If my father were here, he’d say that we should have told the bees everything that’s happened. Did you ever hear him recount the legend of Jenkins Syke? It was one of his favourite tales.’

Hannah shook her head, said nothing.

‘The Syke is a narrow beck not far from St Andrew’s Church. In olden days, folk said that if someone died, the bees must be told. The custom in these parts was to hang a black ribbon on the hives. The bees formed part of the community, and needed to be treated with respect. Failing to do so brought bad luck. The story goes that the coffin bearing the body of a man called Jenkins slipped from the sled on which it was being carried along the old Coniston corpse road and fell into the stream. My father’s theory was that his family only had themselves to blame. They must have neglected to tell the bees of his passing.’ Her voice broke. ‘Perhaps I’d better go outside and put them in the picture.’

Hannah said softly, ‘What will you do next?’

Alex cleared her throat. ‘Time for a fresh start. The hall was only insured for a fraction of its value, the premiums were crippling. But something nice may be happening between Mina and me. Years ago, long before Emma came on the scene, Mina and I were close, but she and my father never hit it off. Now, well, who knows? We’ll take it one day at a time.’

‘I wanted to talk to you about Emma. Did she ever mention a man called Guy Koenig?’

Alex frowned. ‘Isn’t he …?’

‘You may have heard on the news, his body was found in the lake. He’d been hit on the head.’

‘And there’s a connection with Emma?’

‘We think so.’

Alex’s bewilderment surely couldn’t have been feigned. ‘His name meant nothing to me. If Emma knew him, she never told me.’

‘Any more ideas about how she came into so much cash?’

She lifted her head and stared into the distance. ‘It’s a mystery to me. I thought I knew her, but I was deceiving myself. We all keep something back, don’t we, Chief Inspector? As Edith Inchmore did, as my father and grandmother did. As Mina and I are bound to do. Whatever the reasons, we never allow anyone else to know the whole of our personal history. I suppose we’re afraid of what they might think of us. But there’s more to it than that. We are terrified of what they might do with the knowledge.’

The rain was easing as Hannah drove past the Blawith Fells, through a landscape of muted greens and browns. Next stop was chez Erskine. She’d arranged to meet Maggie there. Jeremy needed to know about Edith’s journal, but she also wanted to seek out any connection between the Erskines and Guy Koenig. ‘At this Time’ was playing on the CD player and, like a detective in anguish, Elvis Costello wanted to know who are these people who keep telling us lies. When her in-car mobile rang and Terri’s number showed on the screen, she pulled on to the verge overlooking the lake. A chat with Terri demanded her full attention.

‘Just ringing to check you’re still OK for tonight.’

Shit . She’d forgotten that Terri had arranged a get-together of girls they’d known in the sixth form. Love Rivals Reunited, Terri called it.

‘Actually …’

‘Oh, Hannah!’

‘Sorry. I mean, I’ll see what I can do, but we’re still working on this case out at Coniston. I’m on my way into the village right now. We’ve solved one of the murders, but not the other.’

‘Fifty per cent success rate in the space of a few days sounds pretty good to me. Surely you’re entitled to a night off?’

‘I can’t promise to make it to the pizzeria for seven o’clock’

An exaggerated sigh gusted down the line. ‘You know something? I never thought I’d feel sorry for Marc. But I’m starting to think he leads a dog’s life. Never knowing from one moment to the next whether you’ll be around. No wonder he spends most of his time with his nose stuck in some musty old tome. You’d better watch out. If you don’t keep your eye on him, some other woman will start checking out his catalogue.’

Terri must be pissed off if she was taking Marc’s side. She’d always maintained that any man who spent his life surrounded by damp and smelly books must be pretty sad. Her preference was for hunks, although with her track record of matrimonial disasters, maybe she wasn’t ideally qualified to advise on preserving a relationship. Then again, hers was the voice of bitter experience.

‘I’ll pop in for a quick drink later on, OK?’

A sulky sniff. ‘I suppose that’ll have to do.’

‘Terri, I didn’t mean to mess you about.’

‘It’s just that … as a matter of fact, I’ve got a bit of news for you. I wanted to tell you face to face, but …’

‘What is it?’

‘Actually, you’ll never believe this.’

Hannah waited, watching a lonely gull circle above the lake. Terri enjoyed building suspense. A lifetime of TV soap operas had taught her all the tricks of the trade.

‘Go on.’

‘Well, have you got your ears pinned back? My date last night just happens to be a millionaire!’

Already the sulkiness had disappeared from her voice and she sounded full of herself. She was never downcast for more than five minutes, it was one of the things Hannah loved about her. She was a make-up artist with her own beauty salon and her moods changed as rapidly as her appearance.

‘Wow. Tell me more.’

‘Well, he built up a successful business selling artificial limbs and now he’s sold out, he wants to enjoy life. He was telling me all about this wonderful house of his up near Blencathra. He’s created a brand new garden from scratch. Pergolas and fountains and rare azaleas, blah, blah, blah. It’s his way of getting up close and personal with Mother Nature, after too many years in the rat race.’

‘I’m sure you’ll help him get closer to nature.’

A whoop of laughter exploded in Hannah’s ear. ‘You bet! Thank God I had the presence of mind to put on my shortest skirt. Not that I misbehaved, I’ll have you know. Other than flashing a glimpse of stocking-top as I climbed into my taxi at the end of the evening. All Denzil got from me was a peck on the cheek and I made it clear that I was otherwise engaged tonight. Of course I didn’t mention that I’ve already lined up four more blokes through the website! Might as well see what’s around, eh? Besides, it doesn’t do to let a man get too many ideas too soon.’