Martin Edwards - The Coffin Trail

Daniel, I’m so sorry. I’ve tried hard but it isn’t any good. I’m going to the tower. Please don’t think badly of me. I do love you. I do.

He felt dizzy, unfocused, as though in a moment his legs would buckle and he’d crumple on to the gravelled path. She meant to kill herself, he was sure of it. He had to find her, to rescue her for a second time.

The tower. Oxford had plenty, but he was sure she meant St Michael’s, in Cornmarket. It was part of the Northgate Church and its Saxon origin made it the oldest building in the city. Aimee loved the church and sometimes slipped in to pray, though Daniel was never clear what exactly she was praying for.

He found himself running through the college gate, ignoring a porter’s cheerful greeting, brushing past a baffled SCR colleague in the lodge. Cornmarket wasn’t far away. How long would it take her to reach the top of the tower? A student on a bicycle nearly collided with him as he raced across the road without looking and a woman with a double buggy containing two red-faced infants clipped his ankles as he plunged through the mass of shoppers.

Breathless, he turned into Cornmarket. As he raced along the pavement, he could see a crowd that had gathered a little way ahead. Around the foot of St Michael’s Tower. As he found his progress blocked, he turned to a diminutive Asian man who was standing on tip-toe, trying to see what had captured everyone’s attention.

‘What is it?’

‘Someone threw themselves off the tower,’ the man said. ‘A young lady, I heard. And on such a beautiful day, as well.’

Blinking away tears, Daniel pushed through the onlookers, telling himself that the worst might not have happened. This wasn’t the first time that someone had chosen St Michael’s for a suicide attempt. It might not be Aimee.

‘Hey, mate, who d’you think you’re shoving?’

‘Yeah, this isn’t a peep-show, you know.’

He took no notice of the angry exclamations and didn’t mutter an apology as he elbowed in the ribs a couple of young shop assistants. They didn’t seem to notice; they were just excited by the enlivening of their afternoon. In the distance he could hear a siren keening.

‘The ambulance will be here in a minute,’ someone said.

He pushed his way through to the front of the crowd. Stretched out on the pavement not far from the foot of the old tower was the body of a woman. A tall man was bending over her. He’d taken off his tweed jacket and slipped it over the corpse’s head. It was a corpse, Daniel was sure of that. The fall from the top of St Michael’s would kill anyone. Her skull must have been smashed on the unyielding concrete.

Daniel couldn’t see the dead woman’s face, thank God, but he didn’t need to. He recognised the Aran sweater she’d knitted for herself, the navy blue corduroy jeans, the strands of chestnut hair that had escaped the covering jacket. And he recognised the end result of a despair too deep for him to touch. No second chance this time. He’d failed to save her, after all.

You mustn’t blame yourself?

Absurd. How could he not?

A light was still on in the spare room when Hannah got back to the house. When she opened the front door, she heard Marc’s footsteps on the landing. As she hung up her jacket, he padded down the stairs.

‘You’re out late,’ he said as they turned to face each other in the hall. In the harsh light his pale face was haggard. She’d bought his red silk dressing gown last Christmas, but beneath it his shoulders seemed to slope in defeat.

‘Interviewing a witness.’

‘With Nick Lowther?’ When she groaned, he repented at once. ‘Sorry, ignore that. None of my business.’

‘No, I wasn’t with Nick. I am capable of making a few enquiries on my own.’

She didn’t say that she’d been talking to Daniel Kind. In days gone by, Marc had made even more of a fuss about Ben than he did about Nick. She didn’t want to create a new object for his absurd jealousy. And it was absurd, of course.

‘Sorry, I didn’t…’

‘Oh, forget it,’ she said. ‘Look, I fancy something to eat. Can I tempt you?’

‘Hannah, we need to talk.’

‘Not tonight we don’t, Marc. It’s been a long day.’

She made as if to move past him and head for the kitchen, but he folded his arms and stood in her way. The smell of whisky on his breath was unmissable.

‘Please, Hannah. It must be tonight.’ He wasn’t quite slurring his words. Not quite. ‘This is very important, not just for me, but for — for us.’

She stared at him. ‘Living room?’

He led her to the sofa and they sat facing each other, wary as two dogs encountering each other in the park, uncertain whether they are friends or foes. For once he didn’t reach automatically for the remote control to put on classical music. God, she said to herself, this must be serious.

‘What’s on your mind, Marc?’

‘I need to tell you something. Make a clean breast.’

The central heating had been programmed to switch itself off half an hour earlier, but that wasn’t why she suddenly felt cold. The expression in his eyes, on his face, was not familiar. For a few moments she couldn’t place it, but then she realised that he was ashamed. Marc, ashamed? Well, well, talk about a first time for everything. All of a sudden, she was listening in her head to the cool voice of Ben Kind.

‘When the suspect is about to confess, it’s the most delicate moment of all. You’re walking a tightrope, you mustn’t rush. One false step — and you’re finished. Don’t give a clue what’s going on in your mind. You may be winning, but no game is over until it’s over. Never let the initiative slip.’

She stretched out her legs. ‘Okay, Marc. I’m listening.’

‘You’re always so calm,’ he said, in a tone of nervous wonder. ‘What must be going on in your head?’

‘Not a lot,’ she said. ‘It is late. But like I said, I’m listening.’

He took a breath. ‘There’s a reason why Dale and Leigh were stressed-out by the interviews today.’

‘Other than brutal police interviewing techniques?’

Ben would have fumed, but she couldn’t resist scoring a cheap point; it helped release the tension. Marc waved a hand, a tired gesture of surrender.

‘I’m sorry about earlier on. Forget what I said. I was overwrought, okay?’

Hearing him say sorry so often was a novelty. She’d never known him give the impression of being fearful of her. She was in charge, but it didn’t feel good.

‘Carry on.’

‘After Gabrielle Anders was killed, I told you a lie.’

She fought to keep her voice from trembling. ‘What did you lie about?’

‘I was out in Brackdale on the day of the murder. But I told you that I walked the Horseshoe. It wasn’t true. I made a detour and went down the coffin trail and into the village.’

Her gaze didn’t flicker, but her thoughts were jumping. Had he seen something relevant to the murder inquiry and kept his mouth shut?

‘I headed straight for The Moon under Water.’ The booze must have given him courage; the story started tumbling out like a stream in spate. ‘Dale was in charge of the cleaners there. Sometimes she took advantage and invited a boyfriend round. If a room wasn’t occupied, she could make use of it. She said Joe Dowling didn’t know, but thinking it over, I’m not so sure. The slimy toad had his eye on her and I bet he knew what she was up to. She never admitted it to me, but I’d lay odds that he made sure there was a payback. Probably that’s why she stopped working there.’

‘Go on.’ Hannah scarcely trusted herself to say any more.

He coughed. ‘Anyway, on this particular occasion, I was the one she invited.’