Martin Edwards - The Cipher Garden

She took another look at the statements made first by Roz Gleave and later, after he turned up again, by Chris Gleave. They’d been interviewed by a pair of DCs whose names she didn’t recognise. Neither Roz nor Chris had contributed much of value, even though Roz had found the body. This time around, she’d talk to the couple herself.

A young girl with a ponytail knocked on her door. ‘The ACC wanted you to see this, ma’am. She asked if you could action it straight away.’

Paling as her eye caught the photographs, she handed Hannah a sheaf of paper about a clampdown on misuse of emails and the Internet. One force had been dragged through the mire in the Press after one group of officers were found sending each other racist and homophobic messages. Another lot devoted half their time to playing an Internet game that involved a yeti with a baseball bat trying to hit animated penguins out of sight. Lauren was putting new policies and procedures in place to make sure that Cumbria’s computer systems were squeaky clean. Hannah gave a long, low groan. The girl was gone before she realised that her ungracious response had come close to shooting the messenger. It wasn’t the sort of mistake she usually made with staff relations. No point in denying it, the brush with Nick had unsettled her.

At moments like this, it was a lonely job. Working for Ben had been tough, he’d been a hard taskmaster, but ultimate responsibility had lain with him and his superiors. The Cold Case Review Team was her baby and Lauren would judge her by its success or failure. Without making a conscious decision, she found herself checking her organiser for the phone list.

She’d give Daniel Kind a ring. It was about time. Hadn’t Marc himself suggested it? As she keyed in his mobile number, she felt her mood lifting. It wasn’t a big deal, just a small treat, on a par with nibbling chocolate or buying a new cologne. Nothing more serious than that.

At last Sam slammed the front door shut and revved his van underneath her window for a full minute, the old engine bellowing like a tormented beast. A parting flourish to make sure she’d woken up.

Kirsty lay very still for several minutes. Gathering her thoughts, and her strength. She told herself he hadn’t meant to kill her. He’d had too much to drink, he didn’t know his own strength. Perhaps she was partly to blame. Mum often said she let him wind her up too easily.

Life must go on. Clambering out of bed, she paused to look at a photograph on her dressing table. It had been taken at the airfield, the last time she’d jumped there. She was kitted out in her skydiving gear, a broad smile splitting her face. Recalling the excitement of the day lifted her spirits. For years, she’d found it simplest to share the enthusiasms of her current boyfriend. Football, quad biking, skiing, whatever. Trouble was, though she found it easy enough to pick up boyfriends, their enthusiasm for her never seemed to last. Skydiving was a hobby she’d discovered for herself. The Westmorland Gazette had carried an article and she decided to give it a go. It had looked like fun but she’d never imagined the sheer liberation of jumping from a plane and seeing the world beneath as you sailed through the air. Sam mocked her as a buzz junkie, but she didn’t care. Skydiving empowered her, made her feel as though at last she was living life to the full. She’d never felt so free before.

In the bathroom she studied the mark on her neck. No need to panic. Give it a few days and it would disappear. Sluicing herself under the hot shower jet, she considered her body. There was a bit more of it than she’d have liked, but never mind. She kept trying diets but in her opinion restaurants didn’t want waitresses to look like stick insects, it wasn’t a good advertisement. If she curved in the right places, a few excess pounds weren’t worth worrying about. She’d never match Bel for elegance and glamour, but at least she was still young.

Halfway through a self-denying breakfast of muesli and orange juice, she heard the mail drop through the letterbox. Skydiving Monthly was due to arrive today. Jumping off her stool, she padded out to collect it, but it wasn’t the shrink-wrapped magazine that caused her to freeze as she bent to pick up the delivery, it was an envelope addressed to her mother. The stencilled lettering was unmistakable.

‘It’s great to hear from you,’ Daniel said into his mobile.

He was up in the tiny third bedroom, staring at a blank computer screen. This was his temporary study until the bothy was converted. He liked to look out on to the peaceful tarn and watch the water birds come and go.

‘Sorry I didn’t return your call sooner.’

‘No problem.’

‘Marc tells me you called into the shop.’

‘I was looking for books about Brackdale’s history. Not that I’ll have too much time for research over the next few days. My sister has come to stay.’

‘Louise?’

He whistled. ‘You have quite a memory.’

‘Your father liked to talk about you both. He knew she’d taken the break-up to heart and it hurt him to realise how much pain he’d caused. It’s funny, I felt almost as if I knew your family, long before you and I ever met.’

He was beginning to wonder how well he knew his own sister. In the living room, Miranda and Louise were discussing lingerie. Suki wanted a thousand-word piece reviving the thong-versus-knickers debate, ‘hopefully with a rural lifestyle angle, darling’. When Miranda had complained to his sister that she found G-strings as comfortable as a chastity belt made from piano wire, Louise startled him by saying that she always liked to wear something sexy under the severe suit she wore for work: ‘Something lovely, you know? Turquoise, leopardskin, whatever.’ He’d escaped upstairs, unable to contain his amazement. Louise the Puritan in leopardskin knickers?

‘You must have known him — understood him — better than anyone.’

‘Well, perhaps Cheryl…’

He didn’t bother to hide his scorn. ‘I can’t believe she understood him.’

‘No, maybe not.’

‘I was wondering if we could get together sometime, have another chat. I know you’re very busy-’

‘OK,’ she interrupted. ‘Why not? Would you bring Louise along?’

‘Christ, no,’ he said quickly. ‘I mean, she isn’t ready to talk objectively about Dad. The wounds are still raw, as far as she’s concerned. And she’s finished with a boyfriend, that’s why she’s here in the Lakes, to get away from it all. It wouldn’t be a good idea…’

‘Just you and me, then?’

‘If you don’t mind.’

‘No,’ Hannah said. ‘That’s fine.’

‘Lovely morning!’

A pair of cheery grey-haired walkers greeted Kirsty and she forced a smile in reply. In one sense they were right: the sun was already so fierce that she was wearing her dark glasses and a skimpy T-shirt emblazoned with a picture of an opened parachute and the legend If at first you don’t succeed…maybe skydiving isn’t for you . It turned her on to think of Oliver stealing a glance at her boobs or bare midriff. But the hate mail hung over her like a big black cloud.

She’d borrowed her mother’s chiffon scarf to hide the mark on her neck and left her Citroen at home. Walking to The Heights would clear her head. Sam would never have attacked her but for their row about letters. What had she and her family done to cause someone to be so cruel? They were harmless, ordinary people.

Leaves from an overhanging oak grazed her cheek as she rounded the last bend in the lane. Pushing the branch away, she reminded herself that one extraordinary thing had happened in their lives. Her father’s killing. Why would anyone rake the tragedy up after so long? It didn’t make sense.