Martin Edwards - The Coffin Trail

Upstairs, Wayne had stopped hammering. He must have overheard. Daniel could picture the young builder’s coarse features wrinkling with prurient amusement. He swore to himself. His shoulder muscles tightened with tension; he’d never seen her like this before. How to calm her down? He might have been a junior doctor, asked to diagnose from symptoms he’d never encountered in his career.

‘You can’t keep on with it,’ she said, ‘this constant…reaching back in time.’

But I told you, it’s what I do, he almost said. I’m a history man. He ground his teeth, forcing himself not to throw more coal on the flames.

‘We were supposed to be starting all over again,’ she said. ‘Clean sheets for both of us.’

‘That’s right. Of course. I never meant…’

‘Then why hark after what’s gone?’

‘This isn’t about Aimee. You’re right, we agreed we had to get over everything that had gone wrong. Aimee, Richard. And it’s working, we’re doing fine. Talking to Hannah Scarlett is different, it’s about…’

‘It’s about Barrie Gilpin! Your precious Barrie, the suspected murderer! You know something? It’s finally dawning on me. You’d never have wanted to live here if it wasn’t for Barrie.’

She was leaning towards him, pointing her finger. During the small hours, he’d been dimly aware of her restlessness. The smell of paint lingered in the bedroom and neither of them were sleeping well. In the early hours, she’d climbed from under the duvet and disappeared downstairs to make herself a drink.

She’s overwrought, he said to himself. All this work on the house, living 24/7 in a building site, it’s enough to exhaust anyone. The noise, the dirt, the dust, they’d test the goodwill of a Mother Teresa clone. This isn’t about me, or Barrie, or Hannah Scarlett. I just need to give her space.

‘Sorry, I know I’ve harped on about the Gilpins. This is our place now, not theirs. I never meant to hurt you.’

He reached out for her, but she stepped backwards, evading his grasp. Her foot slid in the pool of coffee and she gave a little yelp as she clutched at the table to keep her balance.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked. Not a clever question, but the best he could manage.

‘No, I’m not okay.’ As her head shook, her hair flapped in front of her face so that he couldn’t make out her expression. ‘I just feel I can’t shake it off, this thought that a murderer lived here, in my house. I thought if we cleaned and painted and everything, the place would become ours. But Barrie Gilpin’s clinging on like — like some sort of incubus.’

‘Miranda…’

‘There’s no escaping him. Not when we go out to The Moon under Water. Not when we’re invited to dinner by the Dumelows. We had the chance to make new friends and then you started asking about Barrie Gilpin and the evening was spoiled.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said again.

‘This isn’t healthy, Daniel. You need to let go.’

‘I don’t care so much if Barrie was a murderer.’ He surprised himself by saying this, but as soon as the words left him, he knew it was the truth. ‘I liked him, but you’re right, it was a long time ago. If he killed the girl, he deserved his fate, as everyone says. But I need to speak to Hannah Scarlett.’

‘What for?’

‘Dad and Cheryl were drifting apart, and his work meant everything to him. Maybe he confided in Hannah Scarlett. She can tell me about him.’

‘But what do you want to know?’

‘What he was like.’

Arms folded, she said, ‘He’s dead, Daniel. I hate to say it, but you need to move on. Start writing again, we can’t live on fresh air.’

He swallowed hard. ‘You’re right. But first I want to talk to someone who knew him well. All I want to do is to fill in a few of the blanks…’

‘Don’t even try,’ she said. ‘Some mysteries aren’t meant to be neatly solved, some questions don’t have any answers. Leave them be.’

‘I can’t.’

She snorted with exasperation. ‘I give up. There’s no reasoning with you. All right, but don’t blame me if you end up hurt. He did walk out on you, remember.’

‘I remember.’

‘A man who’s capable of that is capable of anything.’

There was a knock and Wayne put his face around the kitchen door. As usual, he made it obvious that he was drinking in the sight of Miranda. In her clinging Levis, she always looked good, for all the blotchiness of her complexion and the rings around her eyes. Trying not to smirk — but not trying too hard — Wayne couldn’t keep the schadenfreude out of his voice.

‘All right, folks? Any chance of a cuppa, if you’re not too busy?’

‘Hannah Scarlett.’

Her voice was low and cautious, as though he was calling to sell uPVC windows or a time share in Spain. As he’d waited to be put through, he’d wondered if she would instruct a minion to fob him off. He watched the sun play on the surface of the tarn as he pressed the mobile to his ear. Miranda had retreated to the bedroom with a headache but that hadn’t stopped Wayne humming “Yellow Submarine”. Daniel didn’t have a game plan, other than to hope that curiosity would get the better of her when she was given his name. So far, so good.

‘We’ve never met, but you worked with my father, Ben Kind.’

‘That’s right.’

‘I moved to the Lake District recently and…’

‘Yes, I heard.’

‘I met Marc when I visited his shop.’

‘He mentioned it.’

The conversation was becoming a ritual dance, the participants invisible to each other and unwilling to risk a false move. What might she look like, he wondered irrelevantly: another peaches-and-cream blonde, a younger Cheryl — or more like his mother, angular and dark?

‘I suppose you’re puzzled about why I should call you.’

‘The thought’s crossed my mind,’ she said calmly, ‘but I’m sure you’re intending to explain.’

‘You’ll be aware that we’ve bought Tarn Cottage.’

‘Uh-huh.’

Too late, he realised that he should have planned what he was going to say. He’d never give a lecture without adequate preparation and rehearsal, so why had he blundered into this without proper thought?

‘It’s just that…I’d love to talk to someone who knew my old man.’

‘You could try his wife.’

‘Been there, done that, come away with a flea in my ear. She’s moved on.’

‘I bet she has,’ Hannah Scarlett said drily.

‘She doesn’t want to be reminded of the past. Or that I was part of his life before she took over.’

After a pause she said, ‘He talked about you.’

His skin prickled with embarrassment. ‘Not tediously, I hope.’

‘Ben was never tedious,’ she said. ‘He was proud of you and of what you’d achieved. You should be proud of him.’

‘I suppose so,’ he said, ‘which is precisely why I’d love to talk to you about him. Not over the phone, but face to face. Sorry, I know it’s an imposition — but would you mind?’

Another pause. He guessed she was weighing up pros and cons. When she spoke again, her voice seemed to shrug.

‘I don’t see why not.’

He almost stammered out his thanks but something stopped him, an intuition that if he became effusive this woman would draw back into herself. Ben Kind had prized loyalty; that was why his desertion of his family had come as such a shock. Cheryl had been — well, an aberration. If Hannah Scarlett had earned his father’s trust, she must be dependable and discreet. She’d keep her emotions on a tight leash and have little time for people who lacked the same control.

‘When would suit you? Of course, I’ll fit in with your diary. My time’s my own and you must be rushed off your feet. Leigh Moffat told me that you’ve taken on a new project.’