Martin Edwards - The Serpent Pool

On her way out of Divisional HQ, Hannah looked in on Fern’s office. Both of them were pleased with the briefing, except for the last few minutes.

‘Bloody Greg Wharf,’ Fern said. ‘Complete pain in the arse.’

‘I’ll have a word with him after I’ve seen Clare and Saffell.’ Hannah hesitated. ‘There is just one thing.’ Fern gave her a curious look. ‘What?’

‘Has Greg worked this patch before?’

‘Don’t think so. Spent most of his career in Newcastle, hasn’t he?’

‘Can you check if he ever had a secondment on this side of the Pennines? Keep it low-key, I’m just ticking a box.’

Fern was suspicious. ‘So, what box do you want to tick?’

‘Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m sure there’s nothing in it.’

‘Come on.’

‘Well, he arrived in the county a month before Saffell was killed. If he was around six years ago…’ Fern laughed. ‘You can’t seriously believe he had anything to do with those three deaths?’

‘No, but…’

A wicked glint came into Fern’s eyes. ‘Yeah, but I catch your drift. Won’t do any harm to rattle his cage, will it?’

‘I’ve moved out,’ Marc said.

Cassie took a long time to answer. He began to worry that she’d hang up. For the past hour, he’d kept wandering the streets; now he was perched on a low wall near the library. This was the third time he’d called her. Until now, her phone had been switched to voicemail. He’d left two messages, but she hadn’t called back. Busy, or simply playing hard to get?

‘You’ve left home?’ Her voice was small and wondering, like a child’s at Christmas. ‘I never expected-’

‘Things are…difficult.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. Hannah’s seeing someone else.’

‘What makes you think so?’

‘I know so. The man is Daniel Kind, the television historian. They’ve been meeting in secret. She used to have a soft spot for his father. Daniel’s better looking and more successful than his old man; no wonder she’s acting like a star-struck teenager.’

‘She’ll get over it. And come back to you.’

He took a breath. ‘I’m not sure either of us want that.’

Was that true? He didn’t know, he wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

‘Really?’

He didn’t answer.

‘So, where are you?’

‘Staying with Mum in Grange. For a day or two, while I make plans.’

Another pause. What was Cassie thinking?

‘And what plans do you have in mind, exactly?’ she asked.

‘Hate to disappoint you, Hannah, my dear, but not only don’t I own a car, I never even learnt to drive. My contribution to saving the planet, you know. Sorry I can’t be of more assistance.’

If Nathan Clare experienced even a twinge of dismay at his inability to help, he hid it with an insolent leer. Payback for Hannah’s temerity in interrupting his day.

They were sipping allegedly hot, but actually tepid, chocolate in a draughty cafeteria on the Staveley campus of the University of South Lakeland. There wasn’t a student in sight: term hadn’t started yet, and in any event, Hannah guessed the first thing they learnt here was the inadequacy of the catering. Clare had been summoned to a meeting of external lecturers, and at first he’d insisted he didn’t have time to fit her into his busy schedule. When she offered an alternative of an interview at Busher Walk, he grudgingly agreed to spare her ten minutes. No more, he was a busy man.

‘How do you get around?’

‘Some of us possess genuine green credentials.’ He tutted in mock rebuke. ‘I’m a passionate believer in public transport. If only the people who run the trains and buses shared my faith, all would be well. As it is, I do a lot of walking.’

Hannah suppressed a groan of irritation. She’d hoped against hope he might blurt out something that contradicted what he had told Fern. Suppose he’d lent Wanda a car to drive to Crag Gill? But it had been the longest of long shots. Nathan Clare might not be as clever as he thought he was, but he wasn’t stupid.

‘And Wanda Saffell?’

‘She drives a sports car. A BMW, I believe, but you’ll need to confirm that. Cars mean nothing to me.’

‘She doesn’t happen to have a second car?’

His nose twitched, as if smelling sour milk. ‘Why would she bother with two cars?’

‘She could afford to buy a runabout. What about her late husband’s car?’

With exaggerated patience, he said, ‘George’s car was leased by his firm, I remember her mentioning that it went back when he died.’

‘It’s clear the two of you are very close.’ He took a swig from his mug, and the chocolate left a frothy moustache.

‘What do you mean by that?’

‘You don’t deny it?’

‘You know Wanda and I have been friends for years.’ He wiped his mouth, rather to Hannah’s regret. ‘She admires my work. Why do you think she published my latest book of poetry?’

‘Because you sleep with her?’

‘Hannah, you have a waspish tongue in that pretty head of yours. No one would ever realise.’

‘So, you admit that you and she are lovers?’

‘It’s no cause for shame. Wanda and I have been intimate for years.’ His long tongue licked the rim of his mug. ‘Off and on, as you might say.’

‘You first slept together around the time of Bethany’s death.’

His brows knitted together, increasing his resemblance to an ill-tempered gorilla. ‘Poor Bethany’s death had nothing to do with our relationship. Or with either of us.’

‘Did she commit adultery during her marriage to George Saffell?’

‘I would not presume to speak for Wanda.’

‘Did she sleep with you before he died?’

He shook his head. ‘A gentleman never tells. Suffice to say, we all deserve a little treat, now and then. Live for the moment is a good philosophy, don’t you agree?’

‘Did you know Saffell personally?’

‘We weren’t friends, we had nothing in common, except that we’d both shagged Wanda. Not that the poor old fellow did it particularly well, I gather. As for books, their appeal for him was as items for his collection. His understanding of literature itself was skin-deep.’

He’d answered a question she hadn’t asked. ‘So, you did meet him?’

‘Our paths crossed a few times. His firm sponsored various university activities. Showing the acceptable face of estate agency by subsidising the work of needy academics. I bumped into him once or twice at events.’

‘What form of sponsorship?’

‘I struggle to recall. The bursar can provide you with the details. He and the vice chancellor will still be in mourning. Losing George Saffell’s munificence must have hit the university hard. I expect they’ll use it as an excuse to hike up tuition fees.’

‘Wanda must be a wealthy lady. No wonder you were keen to renew the relationship.’

‘I couldn’t care less about Wanda’s money.’

‘Is that so?’ At last she’d touched a nerve. ‘What were you saying about deserving academics? How refreshing to meet someone who is not remotely interested in filthy lucre.’

He slurped another mouthful of hot chocolate, didn’t speak.

‘You’ll have heard that Stuart Wagg’s body was found yesterday afternoon. His business supported the university too. Did you know him?’

‘You think I could afford his fee rates?’

‘Are you saying the two of you never met?’

His eyes narrowed, as if he’d detected a trap she didn’t know she’d set.

‘When you look into his records, you will find that he represented me once. Six or seven years ago, when his reputation was a little less lustrous and he undertook work on legal aid, not just for privately paying fat cats.’