Martin Edwards - The Coffin Trail

‘I don’t know much about Bryant. Except that he’s a Yorkshireman.’

‘So we can look forward to an open-minded, forward-thinking colleague who’s always first to buy a round at the bar and the last to venture a controversial statement, for fear of giving offence to those who might disagree. And is that a pig I see flying past the window?’

Hannah laughed. ‘And you reckon Yorkshiremen are bigoted! Be fair. We ought to give him a chance before we write him off.’

‘When did being fair ever have anything to do with police work? Did they teach you nothing at police college?’

Nick gave her a mischievous grin. He had untidy black hair and easy charm. Whenever people described him, the adjective of choice was laid-back. Only the absent-minded way he gnawed at his fingernails made Hannah wonder if he was really as relaxed as everyone thought.

‘On second thoughts, you’re right.’ She leaned back in her chair and stretched her arms out wide. ‘Anyway, you’ve taken the ACC’s shilling now. You’re spoken for. There’s no going back.’

‘Fine by me.’ He yawned and said, ‘Better this than a transfer to Millom. And to tell you the truth, I was ready for a change.’

‘Me too.’ She’d never thought so until that moment, but as soon as Nick said it, she knew he was right. ‘Patel was such a sickener. But the first time I spoke to you about reviewing cold cases, you gave me the impression it was taking a step down.’

‘That was before I heard that the ACC had arranged for us to tell the world how good we are before we actually do a lick of work.’

She giggled. ‘Kelsen’s sure I’ve been shown a yellow card. One more mistake and I’ll be out of his life forever.’

Nick made a gesture that gave a graphic indication of his opinion of Detective Inspector Albie Kelsen. ‘Yeah, he’s as happy as a dog with two dicks. It’s what he wants to believe, that your career’s gone off the rails. None of it’s about you, it would be the same with any younger woman who climbed the ladder faster than him. Don’t take any notice.’

‘Honestly, I try not to. But can you remember, as a kid, trying to ignore chicken pox? You know what you shouldn’t do, but the irritation’s so great that you simply can’t resist…’

Of course Nick was right. Generous, too. Both of them knew that he was just as good a detective as she was. Yet, smart as he was, he’d never had much luck with promotion boards and exams. Perhaps he didn’t want it enough, perhaps he preferred to be one of life’s sidekicks. The two of them had worked together for a couple of years and not once had he ever given her a moment’s trouble. Marc maintained it was because he wanted to sleep with her, but she refused to believe that. Nick never flirted and she never caught him giving her a sidelong glance. She told herself that she was almost entitled to feel peeved by his lack of interest. All that grief from Marc and not a thing to show for it.

‘To Tarn Cottage,’ Miranda said, raising her glass.

‘To Tarn Cottage — and us.’

Daniel took a sip of Bollinger and leaned back gingerly in his chair. His back was creaking like the cellar door after a long afternoon spent laying carpets in the hall and living room while the plumber fitted a wash basin and the builders put finishing touches to the new airing cupboard. No matter how many times it was vacuumed, the cottage never seemed free of dust, and he and Miranda were always glad of a chance to get some fresh air into their lungs. They escaped to the paved area outside the living room as soon as the last of the workmen left. The York stone flags were uneven and some were half-hidden by creeping dandelions, but until the sun sank out of sight they could escape the wood shavings and the smell of new carpets and look out at the tarn. In the chill evening air, he felt another twinge: an unexpected sense of loss. One day, would he regret abandoning the career he’d striven for, simply to fulfil a fantasy of a new life with a woman he still hardly knew?

The moment she stretched her arms and yawned elaborately, allowing him to admire the way she filled the navy blue overall, he knew the answer. How could he ever tire of Miranda?

‘Oh, I do love sloshing paint on walls.’ Her overall was covered with splashes. ‘Wonderful therapy.’

‘I never suspected you of this insatiable appetite for do-it-yourself.’

‘It’s not my only insatiable appetite,’ she said, sneaking a hand inside his shirt. ‘At least there are one or two things you’re still good for. But I’m not having you use your lack of expertise with drill and chisel as an excuse for fiddling with a new book just yet.’

‘Spoilsport.’

‘Did you hear the forecast for tomorrow? It isn’t bad. Why don’t you get out from under my feet and leave me to be lusted after by that nice young builder with the unicorn tattoo? You can go into the village and run a couple of errands. Afterwards, you could make a start on clearing the grounds.’

‘Aren’t you supposed to wait a year in a new house before making any drastic changes to a garden? So you can work out exactly what is growing, and where.’

She removed her hand and waved at the thick undergrowth spreading out from the patio all the way down to the pool. ‘Does it take an Einstein? The brambles have to go. Same with the ground elder. Weeding isn’t enough. It needs digging out, so not a trace of it is left. Otherwise we’ll never be rid of it.’

He savoured the flinty taste of the champagne. It crossed his mind that she wanted rid of more than the ground elder. She was determined to transform the cottage in a matter of weeks, to make it unrecognisable as the house that a supposed murderer and his mother had shared. A sort of exorcism. But Mrs Gilpin had left no trace of her personality here, nothing to show that she had ever existed. It was as if she had withdrawn from the world after the death and disgrace of her son, determined to wipe away all evidence of his life or hers, even in her own home.

‘You’re a ruthless woman.’

‘I know what I want.’

‘Me too,’ he said, reaching towards her.

She shivered. ‘It’s freezing. I think I’ll take my drink inside.’

He put his arm around her. ‘Good idea. I’ll help you to warm you up.’

‘Twenty minutes ago you were dog-tired and your back was killing you.’

‘A chance for you can try out that massage technique you wrote about last month.’

‘But the bedroom stinks of paint, even with the windows open.’

‘There was another reason I bought that sheepskin rug for the living room. Come on, let’s test it for comfort.’

‘Daniel?’

‘Mmmmm?’

‘You were talking in your sleep.’

His head was hurting after too much Bollinger and his back still ached. Miranda always made love with an intensity that he’d never before experienced, not even with Aimee. Exhilarating, but she’d left him drained. He forced his eyes open. The living room was in darkness.

‘What time is it?’

‘Half past four.’

‘Too early.’

‘No, Daniel, don’t drop off again. This is important.’

They were curled up together under a duvet on the massive new rug. He felt a spasm of pain in his vertebrae as he propped himself up on his elbows and looked into her anxious face.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘I woke up ages ago and couldn’t get back to sleep again. Then I heard you muttering to yourself.’

‘What was I saying?’

‘Aimee. You kept repeating her name, over and over again.’

Guilt knifed him. ‘Oh Christ, Miranda, I’m so sorry.’

‘You were dreaming of her.’

‘No, no. It’s just that…’