Martin Edwards - The Hanging Wood

A gust of wind sent leaves fluttering along the beck in Tarn Fold. Daniel felt a momentary chill on his neck, for all the warmth of an August Saturday. He and Hannah had spent the past hour walking to the top of the fell and returning by way of the wooded slopes of Brackdale. With excruciating tact, Louise had insisted on staying at home to pore over her finances as she decided whether to put in an offer for a picture postcard cottage in the heart of Hawkshead.

‘Fleur is sticking to her story, then?’ he asked.

They’d talked about the case when Hannah arrived earlier in the afternoon. Mike Hinds was still undergoing psychiatric assessment. Deirdre had been discharged from hospital, still adamant that her husband was a victim, not a wrongdoer. When the medics examined her, they’d found old scars on her ribcage and buttocks that she claimed were the legacy of years of consensual rough sex. Nobody believed her, but what could you do? Her cousin, who farmed in Borrowdale, had agreed to keep Lane End Farm ticking over, until it could be put on the market.

‘Like superglue.’

‘For God’s sake, what a woman.’

‘You said it, Daniel.’

‘How has Bryan Madsen taken all this?’

‘His upper lip is so stiff, you’d think it was injected with novocaine.’ Hannah shook her head. ‘Got to hand it to him. His brother was a murderer, with whom his wife had a long-term affair, but you’d never know to listen to him. Life must go on , that’s what he says. Of course, he’s right, but easier said than done, eh? I’d hate to think what’s going on beneath the surface, probably better not to know. The company’s PR people issued a press release saying that Bryan’s thoughts are with Deirdre Hinds “at this difficult time”.’

‘I caught Kit Payne reading a statement on the television. The message from Madsen’s Holiday Park is business as usual .’

‘Yeah, can you imagine? But Kit says that bookings and enquiries reached an all-time high over the last seventy-two hours. Everyone loves a good murder, even better with lashings of sex and gore thrown in. The bad guy is dead, the man who turned him into mincemeat is under twenty-four-hour guard. We have uniforms outside the farm to turn back sightseers and journalists with zoom lenses, desperate for a glimpse of the log cutter. Talk about a money shot. Pity finances didn’t stretch to us having a constable at Lane End when it really mattered, but I don’t suppose it would have made any difference.’

‘So all’s well that ends well?’

‘Yes, if all you care about is a cheap frisson.’ Hannah tore a leaf from a sycamore branch and screwed it up in her fist. ‘Mario Pinardi is on sick leave. I visited him again last night, he’s in a poor way. It’s heartbreaking; he simply can’t deal with what we found at the farm.’

‘Not surprising.’ Every time he pictured the scene in his own mind, his gorge rose. How had his father handled this kind of stuff, how did Hannah cope? They stared at each other. Her expression gave nothing away. ‘And how are you doing?’

‘The welfare people offered me counselling, and I spent an hour with a nice lady from Kendal, but now I’ve found my diary is mysteriously booked up for the foreseeable future.’ Hannah gulped in the soft woodland air. ‘Never thought I’d say this, but I’m with Bryan Madsen. It’s best not to dwell on these things. That way madness lies, huh?’

‘Nobody can be strong all the time, Hannah.’

‘I used to say the same to your dad, but he took no notice. I thought he was invincible, but no one is, are they?’

‘No,’ Daniel said in a whisper.

‘When he died, I thought I’d never get over it. Heaven knows how you handled it, I was only his protegee.’ Locks of hair had fallen over her eyes, and she flicked them back. ‘What I’m trying to say is, I know you’re right. That first night alone at home, after we found … what we found … at the farm, I won’t pretend it was easy. I hardly slept a wink. But that was almost a week ago. I’m over it.’

He leant back against the nearest tree trunk. ‘It’ll take a lot longer than a few days to forget what you saw.’

‘I’m not sure I want to forget it, not entirely. It’s a reminder of what human beings can do to one another. Makes me remember why police work is worthwhile. We can make a difference, even working in a backwater like cold case reviews.’

‘Don’t keep underselling yourself.’

She laughed. ‘You sound just like Ben. How many times did I hear him say that? But you’re wrong, I don’t undervalue myself. Specially not after Lauren Self told me what a great job I was doing yesterday. Stuck in her gullet to say it, but she’s recovered from the shock of seeing the Madsens’ sponsorship go up in smoke, and she has a vested interest in looking on the bright side if she wants promotion. We may not have saved Gareth Madsen’s life, but at least they’ve avoided the cost of the trial, and my money is on Hinds being unfit to plead. Given all the cutbacks, it might mean a net gain to the bottom line. Budget calculations were scrawled all over her face. But even Lauren couldn’t quite bring herself to claim a glorious victory.’

Daniel exhaled. Cost pressures and internal politics, these were the reasons he’d fled from academe. ‘Will Fleur’s nerve crack, do you think?’

‘We’re not banking on it. Her class aren’t short of self-assurance, and Bryan is sticking by her. She’s intelligent enough to have settled on her story — it’s a subtly revised version of the one she rehearsed with you. She’s determined enough to recite it, word-perfect, until we run out of difficult questions.’

‘Remember that lecture we attended in the spring?’ he said. ‘The stuff about women who commit serious crimes? How women learn “good-behaviour narratives” early in life, and mitigate consequences of their actions by accessing “good” narratives. It’s the power of storytelling. All of us do it. Orla, Aslan, Fleur, you and me. Anyone can rewrite their story to make a horrendous experience seem strangely positive.’

‘Fleur maintains her fling with Gareth was something and nothing. Even though they evidently went at it hammer and tongs whenever the opportunity presented itself. She excuses herself on the basis that the car crash left Bryan impotent, and a woman has to take her satisfaction where she can find it.’

‘Wasn’t Bryan supposed to be a randy old goat?’

‘That was his narrative. All part of the image for a successful entrepreneur. His relationship with Fleur sounds more like a business partnership. He confirmed that what he calls his “wedding tackle” was mangled in the accident. My sergeant interviewed him, though he spared me the grisly details.’

‘What about Sally Madsen?’

‘Fleur says she was having an affair with the bloke who runs her suntan lounge, the latest in a long line of toy boys, so she won’t find it too easy to clamber on to the moral high ground. At least Fleur and Gareth kept it in the family, eh? Sally plans to move in with her lover while she fights Bryan and Fleur over who gets Gareth’s shareholding. Even if she does, it’s a minority stake. Bryan and Fleur will keep control of the business. And Mockbeggar Hall.’

‘Does Fleur still deny that Gareth caused Bryan’s car crash?’

‘Categorically. A wicked invention. Slanderous. Not a shred of evidence to back it up, et cetera. She’s even talked about consulting m’learned friends to protect her reputation. Attack is the best form of defence.’

‘You don’t believe a word of it?’

‘When she says the car crash was a genuine accident? No, Daniel, your theory that Gareth wanted Bryan dead feels right. Who knows, maybe he got the idea from Jolyon’s accident. A convenient mishap leading to a valuable inheritance. The first night I met the Madsen brothers, in Mancini’s bar, Fleur made a flip comment, comparing Gareth to an actor in an old film, The Postman Always Rings Twice . Isn’t that the one where the bloke kills the husband to get hold of his wife? I can’t help wondering if it was some sort of private joke between them. But none of that will wash in court, and we’ll never know for sure. Just as we’ll never know whether Gareth pushed Orla, or she jumped. Makes no difference; either way, she’s cold in her grave. My take is that she wanted to die, and so she did his dirty work for him.’