Martin Edwards - The Hanging Wood

‘Well, that’s a matter of opinion, Daniel.’ Hannah gritted her teeth. ‘Anyway, you can apply the Morelli technique to another snippet. When Orla called me, she said: How could you do that to your own brother ? What kind of narrative can we fashion from that?’

‘She enjoyed being mysterious, if you ask me. I think she believed it made her seem more interesting. Poor Orla, she was mixed-up and naive. And she may have been nicer than Callum, but they had plenty in common.’

‘That remark — you reckon she was talking about Callum?’

‘Either him or Michael Hinds doing the dirty on Philip, I thought. But another idea crossed my mind this afternoon. A long shot, but …’

‘Try me,’ she murmured.

He took a breath, struggling to focus his thoughts on the children of Michael Hinds instead of on the woman standing in front of him, just out of reach.

‘Jolyon Hopes was left paralysed after a riding accident. He was gay, and had no children. Although he lived for another ten years or so, he died relatively young. Leaving the way clear for his sister to inherit Mockbeggar Hall.’

Hannah raised her eyebrows. ‘You think she might have caused her brother’s accident?’

She couldn’t quite mask the scepticism in her voice, and he felt his cheeks reddening. ‘As I say, it’s a very long shot.’

‘Thanks, I’ll find out how Jolyon came to have his fall.’

Letting him down lightly. ‘There are other possibilities. Orla might have been talking about Bryan doing the dirty on Gareth Madsen. Or even about Philip Hinds, rather than Michael. Suppose Philip did something cruel to his brother. That might explain why Michael took revenge by blaming Philip for Callum’s disappearance.’

‘Mike Hinds didn’t need a special reason to stitch up Philip,’ Hannah said. ‘He’s just an angry selfish bully.’

‘Hey, don’t sit on the fence,’ he said with a grin. ‘Tell me what you really feel about the man.’

She laughed. ‘You’ve gathered, we didn’t bond. Then again, I didn’t care for the way he threatened to decapitate my sergeant.’

‘Surely he wouldn’t have used the scythe?’

‘I don’t know. There’s something untamed about him. Frightening. No wonder Orla was scared by him.’ She shook her head. ‘Should we be getting back? Louise must be wondering what on earth we are getting up to.’

He managed to stifle the flirtatious joke that sprang to his lips. And he was rewarded when, without a word, she linked her arm in his as they followed the path back through the twists and turns of the strange dreamlike garden to the sunlit cottage, and reality.

‘Isn’t she lovely?’ Louise said, when they were back inside after waving Hannah off from Tarn Fold. ‘She could do a lot better than a second-hand bookseller with a roving eye, that’s for sure.’

‘Don’t start. She hasn’t finished with Marc, far from it.’ Daniel kicked off his sandals and flicked the hi-fi remote. Barber’s Adagio for Strings filled the living room. ‘But I think she fancies living on her own.’

‘She fancies you.’ Louise tapped the side of her nose. ‘Trust me, a woman senses these things. But even if she is still hooked up with the bookman — you will call her?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘Excellent!’

‘Don’t get too excited. I’m back at St Herbert’s in the morning; there’s something about this case that I want to check and let her know.’ He thought for a moment. ‘In fact, there’s more than one question I’d like to ask.’

Her eyes narrowed. ‘She’s the detective, Daniel. You’re not, and you’re not Dad, either.’

Stretching out on the sofa, he closed his eyes, letting the lush music wash over him.

‘You really think I’d forgotten, that, Louise?’

Hannah listened to Jamie Cullum singing a mix of standards and newer stuff on the drive home. She liked his voice, it usually took her out of herself, but tonight she couldn’t help fretting about what she should do with her life. Leaving Marc to Terri’s tender mercies had to be an option. She might even try her luck with Daniel. But something bugged her about Ben’s son. He was a very bright guy, and incredibly personable; he had the world at his feet. It was taking a long time for him to get over the death of Aimee, but when he finally did so, she was sure he’d find life in the Lake District wasn’t satisfying enough. Tarn Cottage would become a rural pied-a-terre, while he spent most of his time jetting around the world on lecture and book tours. He had a first-class brain; he’d get bored with her if they spent too long together. And even if he didn’t, how could he fit in a partner whose life revolved around police work?

A rabbit ran across the road and she slammed on her brakes at the last moment to avoid squashing it. An SUV following too close behind did an emergency stop and finished a couple of inches short of her back bumper. The driver took out his anger by hitting his horn. He’d have thought better of it if he’d realised she was a cop, but Hannah didn’t want to make a scene. As the rabbit disappeared into the hedgerow, she set off again, and the SUV overtook at the first opportunity, horn blaring again in disgust as it disappeared into the night.

She needed to concentrate on the road. Driving in the dark was never easy on the Lakes’ narrow byways, and she shouldn’t allow herself to become distracted. Most of the men Hannah knew were skilled at compartmentalising — how else had Marc indulged himself with Cassie Weston while setting about building a new life with her after the move to Ambleside? She’d never been much good at filing her emotions in neatly separated folders, but she wished she could learn the knack.

‘Our Day Will Come’, Jamie was promising, as she pulled up outside Undercrag. Better hope he was right. At least Marc didn’t seem to be lurking around the house again like a ghost. Her mobile chirruped as she was climbing out of the car. Terri again. She’d seen a couple of missed calls from her, made during her stop at Tarn Cottage. Before setting out, Hannah had called Terri and made the mistake of telling her she was going to see Daniel Kind. Obviously her friend was agog for an update.

Ignoring her wouldn’t work; Terri never took no for an answer, and if she was determined to talk, there would be another call, and then another. Hannah checked her watch. Must have been about this time last night that a desperate murderer hit Aslan Sheikh on the head and threw him into the slurry tank. She pressed answer and said, ‘Hi, kid.’

‘Been trying to get hold of you all evening.’ Terri sounded breathless. ‘Are you still … with Daniel?’

‘No, I’m back home.’

‘You’ll have to tell me about it some other time.’ This might just be the most unexpected thing Hannah had heard Terri say. ‘Hey, listen, I need to talk to you.’

She gripped the phone in her palm. ‘What is it?’

‘This bloke who was murdered at the farm near Keswick?’

‘Yes?’

‘I was talking to Stefan this evening. He told me about this mate of his, who works at the farm.’

‘One of the Polish labourers?’

‘Yeah, really fit bloke, name of Zygmunt. He’s a witness; you need to talk to him.’

‘My colleagues at Keswick have spoken to people at the farm. I can’t just muscle in on their patch.’

‘Listen, Zygmunt has decided he’s not going back to the farm, he’s a free agent now. These two deaths have spooked him, and no wonder. A woman suffocated in grain, and a man chucked into a slurry tank? You couldn’t make it up. Anyway, he told Stefan he saw something the other day, when that woman jumped into the grain tower.’

Hannah felt as though an icy finger had traced a pattern down her spine. ‘What did he see?’