Martin Edwards - The Coffin Trail

‘She’s your friend,’ Daniel said. ‘It’s only natural that you should be concerned. Especially given Tom’s reputation.’

A wary look came into Tash Dumelow’s eyes. ‘That’s not fair. Don’t forget, Jean’s stuck by him all these years. Deep down, he’s not really an ogre. She always said, his time in Northern Ireland cut him up very badly.’

‘But?’

‘No buts,’ she insisted. ‘I’m really grateful for your support, Daniel. You’ve helped to set my mind at rest.’

‘I’m glad.’ He was tempted to clasp her hand, but thought better of it. ‘I only want to help. If Jean isn’t…’

‘No, don’t say another word.’ She tossed her sketching book on to the Alfa’s passenger seat and pulled the ignition key out of the back pocket of her jeans. ‘You’ve been very kind. And so patient. It’s something we women do, isn’t it? Simon’s always saying I worry unnecessarily. Until we started talking, I’d persuaded myself that something dreadful had happened to Jean.’

‘We still don’t know where she is.’

But Tash had climbed into her car. As she switched on the engine, he realised that he was talking to himself.

‘What is she like?’ It was half an hour later.

‘Who?’ Daniel wanted a few more seconds to compose his answer. He hadn’t told Miranda about his meeting with Tash Dumelow, but he’d been speculating about Jean Allardyce’s unexplained absence and why Tash was quite so concerned about it.

‘You know. Hannah Scarlett.’

‘Oh. Pleasant enough.’

‘Is that all?’

A suitably neutral adjective occurred to him ‘Business-like, I’d say. Yes, definitely business-like.’

‘Did she help you to fill in the gaps about your father?’

‘Sort of. She said he was a decent detective, but I didn’t learn much more. She was pressed for time.’

‘Pity.’

‘I gave her my number. She said she might be willing to meet up again for another chat. In the meantime, she’ll mull over the questions I’ve asked, see what she can do to give me chapter and verse.’

‘I see.’ Miranda took another sip of wine. ‘Well, do you think there was a romance between her and your father?’

‘She said not.’

They were lazing out on the paved area, glasses at their elbows, watching a kingfisher that had become bold enough to emerge from its home in the vegetation on the far side of the tarn. It perched on a low branch of the willow that stretched its claws over the water. Every now and then the bird took flight, skimming over the surface of the tarn in a dazzle of blue and green before flying in a circle around the trees and returning to land on its perch. There it remained, undisturbed by intermittent outbreaks of Eddie’s hammering, a joyless clatter suggestive of sporadic bursts of gunfire in the face of an overwhelming enemy.

‘You mean, you actually asked her?’

‘No, she volunteered it. Perhaps she read my thoughts.’

‘Interesting. Doth the lady protest too much?’

‘She struck me as honest,’ he said icily.

‘Darling, she’s a police officer. They are trained to gather information, not to give it away. And not above telling a few porkies when it suits them. Trust me, I’m a journalist.’

Stung, he almost retorted: Hannah isn’t like that. But really, how would he know?

‘You were never a crime reporter.’

Miranda raised her eyes to the heavens. ‘Daniel, I don’t need an apprenticeship in the magistrates’ courts to have an inkling about how the police behave.’

‘Don’t forget, my father was a policeman.’

‘You rarely give me a chance to forget it,’ she retorted. ‘But you never saw him again after you were twelve. As for me, my first boyfriend after university was a DC in the Met.’

‘I never knew that.’

‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me,’ she snapped. ‘Or me about you, for that matter. Anyway, Iain and I had been going out for a fortnight before I discovered he was married. Not just involved, actually married to another woman.’

‘God,’ he said softly. But what really struck him was Miranda’s choice of words. There’s a lot you don’t know about me. Or me about you. They’d made a new life together on a whim. It was so out of character for him, he couldn’t quite believe he’d taken things so far. Thank God their love for each other was so strong.

‘Anyone at home?’

Leigh Moffat was peeping over the makeshift barricade created by the tarpaulin-covered pile of timber, destined for the bothy, that Eddie had dumped at the side of the cottage. To Daniel, her auburn hair seemed to have lost its lustre and her earnest features were pale and drawn, as if she’d missed out on a good night’s sleep.

‘I did ring the bell, and knock at the front door,’ she said apologetically, ‘but…’

A renewed onslaught with the hammer finished the sentence for her. ‘Can you squeeze past the stuff?’ Daniel waved at his glass. ‘I’ve just opened a bottle of Rioja. Care to join us?’

She shimmied between the cottage wall and the barricade. ‘I knew I’d regret that cream cake for elevenses. Back to the diet tomorrow, strict rations. But a drink would be lovely. Only one, mind, as I’m driving.’

She took a seat on the wooden patio chair that he’d unfolded for her. Her figure didn’t suggest any need to diet: she’d poured herself into charcoal jeans and a purple jersey with a generous v-neck. Lucky Marc Amos, to have this woman as a workmate and Hannah Scarlett to come home to. For a few minutes the three of them sipped from their glasses and chatted idly about the cottage renovations and shared complaints about the unreliability of tradesmen. Miranda didn’t mention Wayne, of course; the previous afternoon’s trauma seemed already to have faded into the faraway past.

‘I hate to intrude on you like this,’ Leigh said. ‘I don’t mean to presume on such a brief acquaintance.’

‘We’re glad of any visitors,’ Miranda said. ‘It’s so lovely here, but I’ve not acclimatised to the isolation yet. When the workmen finish for the day, the place is as quiet as a cemetery. One of these days, when we’re sorted, we’ll have a housewarming and you can consider yourself invited.’

‘That’s kind of you.’ Leigh put her glass down on the paving. ‘Although your hospitality isn’t making it any easier for me to ask the favour that brought me here.’

‘Ask away,’ Daniel said.

She cleared her throat. ‘The police have been questioning my sister and me this afternoon. Just because we were both working at The Moon under Water at the time Gabrielle Anders stayed there. I finished early at the bookshop so that I could meet them at home. Two constables, they’d already brow-beaten Dale. Resurrecting the past. Talking about the statement she gave after the girl was found murdered.’

‘It’s a cold case,’ Daniel said. ‘You’ve seen the publicity about this new team the police have set up? I’m sure the questions are merely routine.’

‘Dale and I were wondering why they’d chosen to dig up that particular cold case. Cumbria isn’t exactly a hot-bed of crime, but surely there are plenty of old inquiries that failed to produce an arrest or conviction. Why pick on that one?’

‘They’re not focusing simply on the Anders murder. It’s one of several they are reviewing.’

With a sharpness he hadn’t heard from her before, she snapped, ‘Then you’re already aware they are looking at the case?’

He drained his wine, barely noticing the flavour, just relishing the lift that the alcohol gave him. Miranda’s face had creased with anxiety but he could see no good reason to dissemble.

‘It’s no secret, I did talk to Hannah Scarlett.’