Martin Edwards - The Coffin Trail

Nick’s questions turned to the disappearance of Jean Allardyce and Tash confirmed Daniel’s account of their conversation. Neither Nick nor Hannah was left in any doubt that she was worried about Jean’s safety, but when pressed on Tom Allardyce’s temper, she was evasive.

‘Who can tell what goes on behind closed doors in a marriage? The two of them have been together for a long time, I’m sure there’s a spark there.’

‘But he did hit her?’

Tash ducked her head, reluctant to face them. ‘Well, he may have slapped her once or twice. To be frank, I know he has. But anything more than that…no, it doesn’t bear thinking about. I’m sure there’s some innocent explanation. I just wish I knew what it is.’

Hannah said, ‘Suppose something has happened to Jean Allardyce? An accident, perhaps. It’s not uncommon on farms. They are dangerous places.’

Tash pursed her lips. ‘Simon is always preaching to Tom about the importance of health and safety. But Tom’s dreadfully careless. He doesn’t seem to realise how important it is these days to comply with all the rules and regulations. He simply says they’re crap, but that isn’t the point. Simon worries that we might not be covered by our farm insurance if we don’t obey all the small print.’

‘I wonder,’ Hannah said. ‘Would it be possible for us to take a look around?’

‘You mean — the Hall? It’s not a problem, but I can assure you, Jean isn’t hiding anywhere in the building. If she’s anywhere…’

She stopped short and Hannah said, ‘Yes?’

‘No, no. Forget it.’

‘Please, Mrs Dumelow. This isn’t a game. You’re anxious about Jean Allardyce and so am I. What were you going to say?’

Tash swallowed. ‘It’s just that, if — if she is anywhere on the farm, I’d have thought he might — I mean, she could have had an accident…’

‘Where do you think she might be?’

‘Well,’ Tash said wretchedly. ‘There are plenty of outbuildings. You could have a look round those if you want.’

Subdued but holding hands, the Dumelows took Hannah and Nick on a guided tour of the farm. In other circumstances, Hannah might have wondered if the apparently affectionate husband and wife were putting on a show for the benefit of their visitors. This afternoon such cynicism would have seemed crass and offensive. She had no doubt that the Dumelows were genuinely in love.

The yard smelled of mud and dirty straw. As they walked through it, they bumped into Tom Allardyce, who was on his way back from the fields. When Simon explained that the police just wanted a quick look round the farm, Allardyce replied by striding past them without another word. Tash ran after him and murmured something in his ear, but Allardyce didn’t turn to face her. He just spat on the ground and stomped into the house.

Simon turned to the detectives and cast his eyes to the heavens.

‘See what we’ve had to put up with?’ he mouthed.

Tash rejoined them. ‘I just wanted to remind Tom that if there was anything he wanted to tell the police, now was the time. All you want is a bit of co-operation. You saw how he reacted.’

None of them said much as they trudged around the scattered buildings and sheds. Hannah’s headache had returned and her wellingtons were tight. Despite the fine weather, there was still mud on the ground, as well as a regular quagmire in her brain. If Allardyce had killed his wife, there were plenty of places in the vicinity of Underfell for him to dispose of the body at minimal risk. This was a lonely spot; as long as you weren’t careless enough to be seen by a walker over on the coffin trail, or someone watching from the Hall, you could do more or less as you pleased without fear of detection. It would take a painstaking search by a large team of officers to have a realistic hope of finding a well-hidden corpse on the farmland. If he’d buried her somewhere up on the fells, chances were that it might never be discovered.

She heard Simon Dumelow whisper to his wife, ‘Are you okay, darling?’

‘Yes, it’s just that — I’m afraid that he’s hurt her. You know what he’s like. Perhaps he hurt her more than he intended.’

‘Where next?’ Nick asked.

Simon rubbed his forehead; his stride had shortened in the last few minutes and he seemed close to exhaustion. Hannah noticed that his wife gave him a sharp glance. Her concern was almost tangible and Hannah wondered if she had already guessed that something was wrong.

‘What do you think, darling?’ he asked. ‘Is it worth taking them up to the sheep handling facility?’

She clapped him on the back. ‘It won’t take long. Then you can have a rest. You look as though you need it.’

‘Working too hard, that’s all,’ he mumbled.

The four of them made their way in the direction of the coffin trail and the slope of the fell, towards the small field near the beck. ‘This is where the sheep are gathered in,’ Tash said. ‘They are kept in those pens and there’s a dipper behind those dry stone walls.’

‘Twice a year dipping isn’t compulsory any more,’ Simon added. ‘Unfortunately, there’s been talk of an outbreak of sheep scab, so Tom dipped the animals the other week to give them protection.’

‘But the dipper isn’t enclosed?’

‘Not in a building. Sheep dip’s toxic, you know. Better to have the tank out in the open air.’

They reached a dyke and beyond it the walls enclosing the sheep dipper. It was about fifteen feet long, with a battered wooden cover. Simon said, ‘We can’t leave it open to the elements, of course. The tank’s protected to avoid accidents and keep the insurers off our back.’

‘The cover doesn’t look that secure,’ Nick said.

‘One more job to do and to pay for,’ Simon said with a hollow smile. ‘I’ve kept nagging Tom about it. He ought to get round to it soon.’

‘Mind if I lift the cover and take a look?’

Simon leaned against the wall for support. ‘Be my guest. I’d give you a hand, but…’

‘No problem, leave it to me.’

Nick strode to the sheep dip tank and, bending down, started to pull the cover to one side. Even in the open, the stench took Hannah’s breath away. As the tank came into view, they could see the grey milky fluid. And then they saw something else.

Tash screamed and buried her face in her husband’s neck. He seemed to be hypnotised. Nick’s face was empty as he kept on shifting the cover.

Hannah chewed her lip so hard that it began to bleed. She’d never once been sick at a post-mortem. Throwing up in the presence of death was an admission of weakness. But the sight of Jean Allardyce’s fully clothed body floating in the sheep dip tank was enough to make the strongest stomach heave.

The morning after his talk with Hannah Scarlett, Daniel overslept by an hour, but as Eddie wasn’t due to turn up until ten, it didn’t matter. When Miranda opened the blinds, sun flooded the kitchen and as they munched croissants, she chatted about her plans to turn the barn into their office. It was as if they’d never exchanged a cross word.

In the course of a cold and invigorating shower, Daniel had resolved to stop worrying about Jean Allardyce and Barrie Gilpin. Hannah was right: he could do no more for them than he could for poor Aimee. If Jean had disappeared, no-one would try harder than Hannah to find her. Another decision was not to think too much about Hannah, either. Each time he remembered the way she’d put her hand on his, he felt like a schoolboy fantasising over a girl who is out of reach. Dangerous territory; better not to stray into it.

As she filled the cafetiere, Miranda announced that she was itching to write again. She fancied producing a series of features about downshifting for a lifestyle magazine and she meant to ring every editor in London until she found a taker for it. After all, they’d have to start earning a bit of money soon. The house proceeds wouldn’t last forever.