Martin Edwards - The Hanging Wood

‘Thanks.’ She glanced at Greg, who gave a nod. Might as well see what all the fuss was about. ‘Why not?’

As he led Hannah and Greg downstairs, Kit Payne hailed his secretary, an overweight woman in her late fifties who was waddling towards the typists’ room with a sheaf of invoices clutched in a shovel-like hand.

‘Won’t be long, Shirley. Just taking our visitors for a quick tour of the park.’

A beam lit up the woman’s face, transforming her in a moment into someone pretty and looking younger than her years. She was one of those secretaries who don’t disguise their devotion to her boss. While escorting the detectives to Kit’s office, she had boasted that he was always first into work, and the last one to leave at night. Kit Payne had risen to the board of Madsen’s through working hard and making no enemies, but taking on a ready-made family is tougher than the most demanding job, and Callum Hinds had got under his stepfather’s skin. Kit admitted his patience had snapped on one occasion. Had it happened again, with fatal consequences?

Kit opened the door with his security tag, but as he marched out, he cannoned straight into Bryan Madsen, who wasn’t able to limp out of the way in time to avoid him.

‘Sorry, sorry, my fault.’

Kit didn’t quite tug his forelock, but only because he didn’t have a forelock. Years of sitting together around the boardroom table hadn’t left any doubt about who called the shots.

‘Not to worry, my old friend.’ Bryan slapped him on the back to show no hard feelings. ‘Chief Inspector, grand to see you again. We must stop meeting like this, or people will talk!’

‘This is DS Wharf,’ Hannah said, and the vigour with which Bryan pumped Greg’s hand reminded her that twice in the Nineties he’d stood for Parliament in rock-solid Labour seats. Perhaps he’d never got out of the habit of canvassing for votes in an unpromising constituency.

‘Pleasure to meet you!’ Bryan gestured towards a bed packed with red begonias, and the fountain beyond. ‘Having a gander at the park?’

‘Everything looks very impressive.’ The ACC would have been proud of Hannah’s diplomacy.

‘Though I say it as shouldn’t, we really have created something special, and a good deal of the credit goes to this man here.’ Kit blushed like a virgin receiving her first proposition. ‘My father established the business on a sound footing, but once we appointed Kit as head of operations, the park really took off into the stratosphere. He leaves nothing to chance, you know.’

The man who left nothing to chance coaxed a modest expression out of his uneven features. ‘I always maintain it’s a team effort.’

‘True, but a successful team needs high-quality leadership, and Kit is the best leader in the business. You know, Hannah my dear, this park has become the ultimate holiday destination in the Lakes — it says so on our promotional DVDs, so it must be true! See for yourself, and I dare you to tell me you aren’t impressed!’ Bryan resembled a belted earl, throwing open his castle to sightseers who have paid their shillings for a peek at how the other half live. ‘Who knows, you may feel tempted to invest in one of our lodges yourself. A perfect destination to escape from the cares of police work — and I’m sure Kit can cut you a favourable deal with no site fees for the first eighteen months! But seriously, what brings you here?’

After all the bullshit, Hannah thought, the question he wanted to ask. Greg’s smirk revealed how much he’d enjoyed Bryan describing her as his ‘dear’. She’d suffer for that.

‘We were asking Mr Payne about his stepson’s disappearance.’

Bryan nodded. ‘I’m sure he is giving you every assistance. We understand that you have to tick the boxes. I only hope it doesn’t waste too much valuable police time.’

It was on the tip of Hannah’s tongue to tell him to mind his own business. But even if Bryan Madsen was a boring old fart, he was a boring old fart with a shedload of influence. Unwise to get on the wrong side of someone who could pick up the phone and sound off to Lauren Self the minute his nose was put out of joint. If he wanted to believe she was simply going through the motions, fine. She’d take as long as she needed.

Employing her sweetest smile, she said, ‘We’re grateful for your understanding, Mr Madsen.’

‘Bryan, please,’ he chortled. ‘Anyway, lovely to see you again. And to make your acquaintance, Detective Sergeant.’

As Kit updated him on the shifting-around of some paintings in Mockbeggar Hall, Greg murmured in her ear.

‘Should we bow and curtsey?’

‘Show some respect for your elders and betters,’ she whispered.

‘Butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth, ma’am.’

‘Lying toad.’

‘Micah, listen,’ Daniel said. ‘You mustn’t beat yourself up, it’s pointless. If Orla was suicidal, she would have killed herself somewhere, somehow, sooner or later. But when did you find out that she thought Aslan was Callum? She never mentioned it to me.’

‘Nor to me, not directly.’ Micah Bridge coloured. ‘Let me explain. As I say, she wanted someone to help her through the summer. It was tantamount to an admission that she couldn’t cope with her job, but I thought that if I said no, Fleur Madsen would take it amiss.’

‘Did Fleur imply that?’

‘In fairness, no. If anything, Fleur gave the impression that she was put out that Orla had come back to her old stamping ground. But I didn’t want to take a chance, so I advertised the support job at the minimum wage, assuming there would be no candidates with suitable qualifications, and the matter could be quietly dropped.’

‘Instead, Aslan showed up.’

‘And to clinch it, he made me an offer I could scarcely refuse. He was so keen, he was prepared to work as a volunteer, so the charity didn’t have to dip into its coffers to fund the post.’

‘I never knew he’s a volunteer, I assumed he was on the payroll.’

‘Pride, perhaps? Unemployment among the young is far too high, and he may have been afraid of being out of work, who knows? Whatever the motive for his proposal, it was remarkably generous.’

‘Why was he so eager to work here?’

‘I presumed he was spellbound by the magic of the place.’ It was part of the principal’s charm, Daniel thought, not to see anything odd in a young man offering his services to St Herbert’s for free. ‘If you love books, where on earth could you be happier?’

Yet in his conversations with Daniel, Aslan often moaned about life at St Herbert’s; his recurrent gripe concerned the need to skulk out of doors for a fag break. The principal had asked no questions; mustn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

‘But he doesn’t actually seem to have any interest in literature.’

The principal shook his head. ‘So it seems. Quite inexplicable. But from the outset, Orla took a shine to him, and I heard they went out for a drink in Keswick together. I couldn’t help congratulating myself on a job well done. The chair of trustees could hardly complain, and I’d avoided incurring unnecessary expenditure. What I never bargained for was this complication about Aslan’s supposed identity.’

‘How did you find out?’

A flush of embarrassment darkened the principal’s features. ‘I happened to overhear a conversation between Orla and Aslan.’

‘Here?’

‘Yes. I happened to be on the first-floor corridor, after a conversation with the librarian in her office up there. On my way back to the staircase, I passed Orla’s room, and I heard voices. The door was ajar, and she was talking to Aslan. I would have paid no attention, but it seemed Orla was in distress. I believe she had been drinking.’