Martin Edwards - The Cipher Garden

‘Don’t I know it? But that’s the point, Daniel. The two of you need space, a chance to see if you can make this mad idea of running away from the rat race work out for you both.’

‘Is it such a mad idea?’

‘Not for you,’ she said. ‘But for Miranda? A different story, I guess.’

‘I wouldn’t be here if it she hadn’t persuaded me we should buy the cottage.’

‘Even so.’

‘Don’t you like her?’

‘I do, actually. I’m just not sure she’s right for you.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘Because I know you.’ She hesitated. ‘And I can tell that deep down you’re not sure either.’

‘You specialise in mind-reading now?’

She tapped him on the shoulder. ‘You and me, we’ve spent too many years together to be able to fool each other. Don’t let me bother you. After all, you never did when you were younger. I want this to work out for both of you, Daniel, honestly I do. I just think you may have a better chance if I’m not here, getting in the way.’

‘You’re not getting in the way,’ he said stubbornly.

Louise slipped off the wall and disappeared into the throng of camera-toting, ice-cream-licking tourists and National Trust volunteers. He closed his eyes and felt the sun burning his unprotected cheeks. He took in a breath of hot air and then headed out of the garden and in search of Miranda.

Hannah arrived back in Kendal shortly after five. Chris Gleave had presented her with a CD of his songs and she’d been playing it in the car. His voice and guitar-playing were pleasant but unexceptional, his words and music much the same. If he’d ever hoped to earn fame and fortune as a latter-day Paul Simon, he’d been deceiving himself. He might entertain an undemanding audience here or in Keswick, but no singer so bland would ever fill Central Park.

As the town baked, tempers frayed. Drivers tooted at pedestrians who took a chance dodging through slothful traffic, mothers yelled at infants and made them wail. Hannah’s eyes were dry and sore and her abdomen hurt. She called at a chemist’s and a bookshop and then hurried back to the station.

At the water cooler, she bumped into Nick Lowther. They complained to each other about the temperature and he brought her up to speed with progress in the Cockermouth case. The good news was that they’d identified a likely culprit, the bad news was that he’d suffered a severe stroke a year back and would never speak or walk again. No one seemed to know whether the stats for the review team would record this as a success or a failure.

Nick glanced up and down the corridor and lowered his voice. ‘Can we have a word sometime?’

‘Of course.’

‘I mean, in private. Not here. It’s…personal.’

Oh Christ. I’m not sure I want to know.

‘No problem.’

‘One thing, though, Hannah. This has to be strictly off the record.’

A young woman constable passed them in the corridor and they exchanged a word. As her footsteps receded, Hannah scanned Nick’s face. He was an attractive man; she could have fancied him if he wasn’t a colleague, but over the past few days he’d aged. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot, his complexion pasty and untouched by the sun.

This is about you and Roz Gleave, isn’t it?

‘OK.’

‘Thanks.’ He swallowed. ‘I promise I won’t compromise you.’

‘No worries, Nick.’ Should she say this? Not long ago she wouldn’t have thought twice. ‘I trust you.’

‘Thanks,’ he said in a tone that told her she’d said the right thing. ‘And I trust you. Which is why I need to talk.’

‘When?’

He checked his watch. ‘I promised not to be late home this evening. The parents-in-law are coming round for a meal and I’ll be in big trouble if I don’t lend a hand.’

‘Call me when you’re ready.’

Les Bryant strode around the corner. He was in shirtsleeves and it was the first time Hannah had seen him without a tie.

‘How did you get on?’

Early on after his arrival in the team, he’d made a point of calling her ma’am, in sardonic acknowledgement of his unaccustomed position as a subordinate. At least he’d relaxed since then. One of these days he’d so far forget himself as to use her first name.

‘If you have ten minutes, I’ll update you.’

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Nick said. ‘I need to be getting off.’

Les filled his paper cup to the brim as Nick walked away. He lapped at the drink like a grizzled old cat and then said,

‘Is he all right?’

‘What do you mean?’

Les raised his eyebrows to indicate that he recognised a disingenuous reply when he heard one. ‘He’s not the man he was. Seems hassled about something.’

‘Could be the weather.’

‘Gets blamed for a lot of things, does the weather. Convenient scapegoat, if you ask me. Any road, Nick Lowther’s problems are none of my business. I had enough years worrying about my flock, believe me.’

Despite her other preoccupations, she couldn’t help savouring the notion of Les as a caring shepherd. They went back to her office and she switched her new fan to maximum. The whirring set her teeth on edge, and the room seemed hotter than ever. As she summarised her interviews with Warren Howe’s family and business partner, Les didn’t utter a word. Slumped in his chair, eyes half closed, he seemed to be dozing off despite the racket from the fan. But Hannah knew better. She’d come to admire his quality of stillness, his ability to focus all his attention on the matter in hand when not playing up to his reputation as a cantankerous Yorkshireman. As a listener, he was up in the Ben Kind class.

‘Are they all fibbing?’

She made an exasperated noise. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me. There are plenty of leads in this case, but none of them seem to go anywhere.’

‘You think she did it?’

‘Tina?’ Hannah considered. ‘She would be capable of killing him. And of covering her tracks.’

He plucked a blank sheet of A4 from her desk and waved it in front of his face in the vain hope of creating a current of air. ‘Just because a tip-off is anonymous, doesn’t mean it’s untrue.’

‘I’d have more faith if we’d been given some ammunition to fire at Tina. A clear motive, for a start.’

‘She was married to the man, for God’s sake. What more of a motive do you want?’

‘They’d been married a long time. If she snapped all of a sudden, there must have been a reason.’

‘The affair with Gail?’

‘It was supposed to be over, remember? Anyway, why choose that particular moment to kill him? There’s no rhyme or reason. Even so, she has to be the favourite. Which suggests that the alibi her kids gave her is false.’

‘Unless she hired someone to do the dirty deed.’

‘I can’t imagine Tina wanting to put herself at someone else’s mercy. I’d say she’s a control freak. Besides, there aren’t any likely candidates for the role of hit man, are there? The Sawreys aren’t exactly awash with contract killers. Poaching rabbits is as wicked as it gets in that neck of the woods.’

‘How about Oliver Cox? A young man, newly arrived in the area. A chancer, probably unscrupulous.’

‘More rewarding to make a play for Bel Jenner, surely? And a lot easier than carrying out a hit for a woman he hardly knew. Even if he did see Bel as a meal ticket, he’s put down roots now. For all the age gap, the two of them are like peas in a pod.’

‘Who knows what goes on behind closed doors? Besides, they’ve never married. Never had kids.’

‘You can be happy together even if you’re not married, even if you don’t have kids,’ she murmured.

Realising he’d touched a nerve, Les grunted. An acknowledgement, if far less than an apology. After a pause, Hannah carried on.