Martin Edwards - The Hanging Wood

‘Fleur knew Gareth had killed Aslan — and Callum. The boy’s bones have been dug up from the dogs’ grave. No wonder he was keen to lead the original search of the Mockbeggar Estate. Fleur must have known the remains were there. She can’t possibly hope to get away scot-free.’

‘Want to bet? Fleur claims she challenged Gareth about Callum’s death, and under pressure he said something about Castor and Pollux. Fleur says that was what Orla overheard. But she also maintains she had no proof Gareth was a child-killer, and it’s a serious thing to accuse your own brother-in-law. She was wrestling with her conscience about whether to talk to us when Aslan died. Again, her line is that she couldn’t know for sure that Gareth was responsible. He cooked up a story throwing all the blame on Mike Hinds, and she swallowed it, hook, line and sinker.’

‘So Fleur claims to be squeaky clean?’

‘Absolutely. All part of her narrative, you see. She has cast herself as the loyal mistress, denied her conjugals by an act of God, standing by the man she married for better or worse, then seduced and woefully misused by a charming rogue. At one point, she actually said, I’m not looking for pity . As if.’

‘You believe she knew Gareth killed the boy?’

‘My best guess is that she leapt joyfully on to the idea that Philip was responsible, like everyone else. Shut her mind to the possibility that Gareth might be involved. We all do denial when it suits us, don’t we?’

‘I suppose.’

‘When Orla started sniffing around, I think Fleur became suspicious, hence her conversation with Gareth. She must have guessed Gareth killed Aslan after luring him to the farm. It looks as though he planned to lay all the blame at Mike Hinds’ door.’

‘Which is why Fleur wanted me to believe that Hinds was guilty.’

He closed his eyes, taking in the fragrance of the woodland. A mix of earth and fern and wood and wild flowers. So far removed from the stench of death.

‘Spot on. I’m sure they were in cahoots, though there’s no chance of a conspiracy charge now. Gareth went to talk to Hinds, pretending to help him out by footing his legal bills. He meant to take Hinds by surprise and kill him, just as he’d done with Aslan. Make it look like suicide. Hinds hasn’t made much sense during the limited time we’ve had to interview him, but we’ve pieced things together by talking to Deirdre as well. It seems that Hinds started to wonder if Gareth had something to do with Aslan’s death. He knew he was innocent, though he had no idea why Gareth would want to kill anyone. When the conversation didn’t go as Gareth planned, he lunged at Hinds. At that moment, Deirdre came out of the house and screamed, and Hinds took Gareth off guard and knocked him out. When he woke, he was trussed up and lying on the log cutter, waiting to be turned into sausage meat. He pleaded for his life, but Hinds wasn’t in the mood for mercy. Deirdre begged him, too, but he smashed her cheekbone and she crawled away in case he decided to slice her up for good measure. Hinds didn’t switch on the machine at once, that we do know. He let Gareth sweat for a good ten minutes. Christ, it must have seemed like an eternity. And when he saw Hinds reaching for the lever to start the saw …’

For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.

‘It can’t be right,’ Daniel said. ‘Fleur didn’t lay a finger on anyone, but morally …’

‘The police avoid getting too hooked up on morality,’ Hannah said gently. ‘Ben must have told you that. Upholding the law is difficult enough as it is.’

‘But if Fleur gets away with this …’

‘Tough shit, she gets away with it. Orla has had justice, sort of, and that makes me feel marginally better about messing up when she called me. But justice is always messy, ask any lawyer.’

In his frustration, he punched the tree trunk. Stupid, really. It hurt his hand, for no good reason, but somehow he didn’t care.

‘It’s so wrong.’

‘You know what they say, Daniel.’ Hannah’s smile was wan. ‘History is written by the survivors.’

‘I almost forgot.’

Hannah wound down the driver’s window of her car. Daniel was seeing her off after she’d declined an offer of dinner. Things to do back at the house in Ambleside. It was true, yet it wasn’t the whole truth. She wasn’t ready to insert herself any further into his life.

‘Yes?’

‘Marc gave me a present.’ She lifted the copy of Hidden Depths from the passenger seat. ‘I’ve read one poem every night before going to bed.’

‘Oh God, my juvenilia.’

‘Hey, I like poetry. Everything from John Donne to Thom Gunn. Not every police officer is a philistine, you know. I’ll let you into a secret — I wrote a few verses myself, when I was a student. But they were lousy, not like yours.’

‘So Marc tracked the book down for you? It’s pretty scarce. Deservedly so, I’m afraid.’

‘He wanted to surprise me. For once, he succeeded.’

Daniel shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his chinos. ‘What’s the latest with the two of you?’

She shook her head. ‘That’s the most difficult question you’ve asked me all day.’

‘Sorry, I don’t mean to pry.’

‘I’m not trying to be evasive.’ She ground her teeth. ‘My mate Terri thinks it’s about — you know, the miscarriage. I don’t agree; that was ages ago, but she reckons I still haven’t got over it.’

‘A loss like that,’ he said, ‘you don’t get back to normal any time soon.’

‘And you lost Aimee. To say nothing of Miranda.’

‘You’re right there, let’s say nothing of Miranda. That was a mistake, pure and simple. My fault, not hers — I dived into another relationship far too fast after Aimee killed herself.’

Hannah blushed. ‘I wondered if you’d sign the book for me?’

‘Love to, but I didn’t bring a pen out with me. Hang on, and I’ll nip back to the cottage.’

‘Don’t worry, it will do another time. I’m sure we’ll see each other again before long.’

‘I’d like that — if you’re sure?’

‘Why not? We’re friends, aren’t we?’

She watched his face fall. ‘Well, yes. Of course.’

‘Fine. And — thanks again for a lovely afternoon.’

‘The pleasure’s mine.’

She thought he would kiss her goodbye; instead he took a step backwards, and waved. She raised her hand as she put her foot down and accelerated out of Tarn Fold.

A mile later, Terri rang. It took five minutes for her to get to the point. She coughed nervously, and the timid build-up was so out of character that Hannah guessed what she was about to say.

‘I just wanted to mention … I bumped into Marc last night. There was a book signing at his shop, and I was at a loose end, with Stefan working. Marc and I went for a quick drink later on. I mean, that’s absolutely all there was to it. He talked about you the whole time; he’s still besotted, you know.’ She paused. ‘Honest, it was totally innocent. You don’t mind, Hannah?’

‘Course not.’ Why was her upper body rigid with tension?

‘Thanks, Hannah. I knew you’d understand.’

Half a minute later, she’d rung off. It might have been the shortest phone chat she and Terri had ever had.

On the radio, Carole King sang ‘It’s Too Late’. Hannah remembered Marc, turning up at their home the other night, and the hard time she’d given him. The lane was narrow and winding, and Hannah realised she was taking the bends too fast. She stamped on the brake just in time to avoid a collision. The drystone walls were a hazard, the lane barely wide enough to take a single vehicle, let alone offer latitude for careless driving. If you encountered a car coming in the other direction, you had no choice but to reverse until you came to a passing place. Trouble was, Hannah hated going backwards.