Martin Edwards - The Cipher Garden

‘How has Mrs Flint reacted to your relationship?’

Tina picked up a pencil and started doodling on the pad in front of her. It was hard to tell what she was sketching. Perhaps a bed of roses.

‘You’d better ask him, I try not to have anything to do with her.’

‘Thanks, I will.’

‘He’ll be back in half an hour. Feel free to hang on here, if you don’t mind my getting on with my work. But remember this. Peter’s marriage was dead before he and I got together.’

‘Is that right?’

‘What are you implying, Chief Inspector?’

‘Just asking a question, Mrs Howe.’

Tina stabbed the pad so hard with her pencil that its point broke. She tossed it into a black plastic desk tidy beside the computer monitor. Her screensaver, Hannah saw, was a group of well-oiled bodybuilders in tight tigerskin pants, flexing their muscles in a variety of leering poses. Perhaps her late husband wasn’t the only Howe whose appetite was insatiable.

‘I must remember, you’re only doing your job. You don’t mean to be offensive.’

Hannah said nothing. If the woman wanted a battle of wills, fine.

‘Only, I wonder if you have any idea what it’s like, Chief Inspector? Having your husband murdered? How would you feel in my shoes, if you came home one day to be greeted by a pair of young constables who told you that your man was dead? And not just dead, but butchered? Cut up like an animal in a bloody abattoir?’

There was a catch in her voice, but no tears. The face powder and blue eye shadow made a good mask. Impossible to gauge whether this came from the heart or was a performance worthy of an Academy Award. Hannah waited.

‘I’ll tell you what it’s like, then. It’s utterly horrible. Whatever Warren did wrong in his life — and he did plenty — he didn’t deserve that.’

‘Which is why I ask questions. I don’t mean to be intrusive, but I would like to know when your relationship began with Mr Flint.’

Tina gazed straight at her. Wondering what to say next? When she shrugged, Hannah exulted inside.

‘All right. The truth is this. Peter and I liked each other from the start. He is so different from Warren. A breath of fresh air. But I didn’t think he’d be interested in me. Tarty Tina, put-upon wife of Jack the Lad. After all, he had a good-looking wife of his own, even if she is as tough as granite. It was a long time before I realised he had any feelings for me. Even longer before he did anything about them. Worse luck.’

‘And you say this was after your husband was killed?’

‘Long after. The murder — knocked us all sideways. You don’t come to terms with something like that in five minutes.’

Hannah wasn’t convinced. But Tina Howe wasn’t going to confess this afternoon. She’d cracked a little, but she’d take time to break.

Kirsty pounded up the path to the front door of Keepsake Cottage and leaned on the bell while she fought to regain her breath. Her sweat-soaked T-shirt was clinging to her, her calves ached, the soles of her feet were screaming. She hadn’t stopped running ever since she’d set off from The Heights. A long way, but she ought to be fitter than this, with a jump imminent. She needed to make sense of things before it was too late. This morning she’d read her stars in the Daily Mirror . They were uncannily to the point. You are going to make a decision that will change your life. It’s now or never.

De Quincey was barking inside the cottage. She kept pressing the bell. Roz must be at home, her car was parked in the drive. She glanced around, waving a cloud of midges away from her face. Her father had been killed here, but she’d never made a pilgrimage to the scene of the crime. Keepsake Cottage was a private home and besides, she’d wanted only to forget what had happened.

After what seemed like an hour, the door swung open. Thank God, it was Roz. She must have been washing her hair. Although she’d wrapped a fluffy towel round her head, a few drops of water were running down her cheeks. She had on a white cotton top and fraying shorts that revealed a wedge of cellulite. At the sight of Kirsty, her eyes opened wide.

‘Kirsty! Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine. Just give me a moment.’

‘You look as though you’ve been training for the marathon.’

‘I’ve run over from The Heights.’

‘But what on earth brings you here? I mean we’ve never…’

‘There’s something I need to talk to you about. Please, can we go inside and talk? I hate to bother you, but I’ve been mulling this over in my mind and you’re the one person who can help me. You can tell me what to do.’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’

A thought slapped Kirsty. ‘Is Chris in?’

‘No, he’s out in Kendal, talking to someone who runs a folk club. I’m not expecting him back for an hour, longer if he gets engrossed.’

‘Thank goodness. We can talk in private.’

‘Talk about what?’

‘Do you mind if we go in? You see, the thing is, I need to ask you a favour, a big, big favour. Look, I’m ever so sorry to disturb you. I wouldn’t do it if I wasn’t desperate. But there’s nobody else I can turn to.’

Peter Flint talked rapidly, Adam’s apple bobbing, hands moving up and down for emphasis. Hannah could understand the appeal of his boyish animation for Tina, even if a bespectacled boffin and a satyr’s widow made strange bedfellows.

‘It was an appalling business, Chief Inspector, appalling. Warren wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but to die like that…it doesn’t bear thinking about. Not even I can quite imagine what it must have been like for Tina and the children. It’s taken a long time for them to get over it — if you ever can get over something like that. So it’s scarcely surprising that they dread a new inquiry. Utterly dread it. Painful memories are bound to come flooding back.’

Hannah glanced at Tina. Following her lover’s arrival, she had emerged from behind her desk and now they were all sitting together in Peter’s office. His presence seemed to soothe her. Her body language was mellowing, her smile losing its glacial edge.

‘You have to do what you have to do, Chief Inspector,’ Tina said. ‘Just remember that the murder turned our lives upside down. It wasn’t an easy time.’

‘We appreciate the sensitivities, Mr Flint, but you’ll understand that I have to ask you about your relationship with Warren Howe.’

‘Personal or professional?’

‘Both.’

Hannah would bet any money that Tina had called him as soon as she’d heard from Kirsty. The party line would already be agreed. She’d be told what they wanted to tell her, no more.

‘We both shared the same passion,’ Peter Flint said.

Hannah’s gaze flicked over to Tina. Yes, I bet. But since when?

‘I mean, Warren and I were fascinated by gardens. By gardening.’ He spread his arms, reminding Hannah of a magician’s stooge trying to fathom an illusion. ‘It becomes an addiction. Once you’re in its clutches, the tendrils wrap around you like a Russian vine. There’s no escape.’

‘How about your business — any problems?’

‘My goodness, have you ever known any business without problems? As it happens, we were lucky, we had more contracts than we could handle. Above all, we loved the work.’

‘With an added bonus,’ Tina murmured. ‘They divided the tasks, so they could keep out of each other’s way.’

Peter grinned. ‘Which is probably why we seldom had cross words. I concentrated on design and marketing. Warren was our out-of-doors man. He did the labouring, as well as dealing with the nurseries. We made a damn good team. After Warren died, frankly, our revenue fell off a cliff. It wasn’t easy to find a replacement, let alone a plantsman of the same calibre. Customers cancelled agreements, it took years to get the firm back on an even keel.’