Martin Edwards - The Coffin Trail

‘He’d have seen it as the chance of a lifetime.’

‘He was a man. Utterly predictable.’ The smile flickered, then died. ‘Don’t look at me that way. It was a matter of survival. Him or me.’

‘No contest, then.’ Anger raged inside him. ‘After you’d dumped the body, I guess you drove back down the fell along the coffin trail. You still had work to do. Clothes to destroy, evidence to eliminate. How much did Simon know, or guess, about what you’d done?’

‘Not a thing, thanks to a sedative. The most terrifying moment was when I thought I’d given him too much and he’d never wake up again. I hated being the cause of the terrible headache he had the next day. But what else could I do? Simon always wanted to protect me and make sure I had everything I wanted. I almost took him into my confidence, but it was too great a risk. Better for only one of us to have to keep the secret. And it all worked out so beautifully.’

There was a dreamy look in her eyes. Almost self-congratulatory. She had the chilly detachment that he presumed was the stock-in-trade of any successful murderer. But in the end, it hadn’t been enough. Maybe Theo had been right that escapists can never escape their fate.

‘Only one thing went wrong. The farmhouse windows look out towards the coffin trail and Jean Allardyce saw you.’

‘I didn’t even realise.’ She shook her head sadly. ‘Jean was often subdued when we were together, but that was her nature. Hardly surprising, when she was sleeping with a man like that. I never guessed she had a clue. No hint of blackmail, all she wanted was for the pair of them to keep working here until it was time to pick up their pension. She was genuinely decent in an old-fashioned way. One of life’s victims, what more can you say? We got on well, of course, she wasn’t too bright. I think she was happy to persuade herself that Barrie was the killer, even if she didn’t believe it deep down. She told me it had preyed on her mind, seeing me bumping down the coffin trail late at night when I was supposed to be tucked up in bed with the flu.’

‘So you hit her on the head, threw her in the sheep dipper, and pulled the cover across to hide her from view.’

‘You make it sound so cruel,’ she said, pouring herself another drink. ‘I didn’t have much choice, did I? From the moment she told me she’d rung the police — she actually apologised — it could only end one way. I tried to allay her suspicions, said I’d been worried that Gabrielle was missing and had gone out looking for her. She was so relieved, said she knew she must have misunderstood. She promised she’d call them again and say she’d made a mistake. But how could I trust her? My life was in her hands, that’s no way to be. Then, when I saw the two of you chatting in her car, I was afraid she’d said something to you.’

He shook his head. ‘You misjudged her. She was confused and unhappy, she didn’t know what to think. But she never betrayed you.’

‘So you told me, but I couldn’t be sure what might happen in future. Suppose she talked to her husband?’

‘You spun her some yarn over tea in the baker’s shop and arranged to meet her the following day. You’re stronger than Jean, she didn’t have a chance once you’d decided to kill her. After that you wanted to point the finger at Allardyce as well as checking that she hadn’t blurted out too much while she was giving me a lift. So you parked up in Tarn Fold and waited for me to show up.’

‘You scared me,’ Tash said, taking a sip of gin. ‘Even before we met, when I heard someone had moved into the Gilpin cottage, someone with the same surname as the detective who interviewed me about Natasha.’

Softly, he said, ‘You fooled my father.’

‘Did I? I was never sure. All the other police officers were sympathetic because I was a kind of victim, I’d lost my friend. And they liked casting sidelong glances at my tits. Your father was different. Gruff and guarded. He intrigued me, because he gave nothing away. I used to lie awake at nights, wondering whether he’d add up two and two. However much care I took over my statements, he never seemed satisfied.’

He cleared his throat. ‘You were lucky with your scapegoats. Barrie fell, quite literally, into a trap. Tom Allardyce you managed to push over the edge in an entirely different way.’

‘One thing Natasha told me about the high rollers in Vegas,’ Tash said. ‘The guys who make the big money make their own luck. They take risks, yes, but they make their calculations first. Good advice, I kept it in mind when I was working out how to get rid of her.’

‘And now,’ he said, ‘your luck’s run out.’

Tick, tick, tick.

‘It ran out the day Allardyce was shot. There I was, thinking the whole mess was sorted and then Simon broke his news. The only man — the only man — who ever understood how to treat me. And I’ve lost him. Twenty minutes before you arrived, I said goodbye but I’d left it too late. He didn’t recognise me. It’s almost over.’

‘I’m sorry about Simon,’ he said awkwardly.

‘Yes, well.’ She pursed her lips. ‘Of course, you’re taking a risk yourself. Killing can become an easy option. A habit. Why should I scruple at one more death?’

Even as she spoke, she put down her glass and walked away from him, towards the corner of the room. He recalled Simon bragging about the thickness of the walls in the tower. Behind closed doors, someone could scream like a dying pig and nobody outside would hear a sound. Tash halted next to a bookcase. On its top, a pair of heavy brass bookends in the shape of lions enclosed a row of Wainwrights. She lifted one of the bookends and a couple of the books tumbled on to the floor.

‘Because it’s pointless,’ he said. ‘You’d never get away with it.’

‘What’s happened to Simon is pointless,’ she said. ‘I could make a sort of statement by killing you. A grand theatrical gesture. Show how pointless our whole fucking lives are — when you get down to it all.’

He felt himself tensing. The living room had two doors, one leading up to the tower, the other linking with the main part of the Hall. He could run if he chose, run back the way they had come. Indecision paralysed him. He’d never talked to a murderer before. What would his father have done?

Tash took a stride towards him. He caught the whiff of alcohol on her breath as she ran her finger along the edge of the bookend. She was caressing the lion’s mane as if fondling a pet.

‘Dusty,’ she said, wrinkling her nose. ‘That’s what happens when you don’t have a housekeeper to keep things nice and tidy.’

Daniel took a breath. Hannah had told him that the m.o. in the killings of Gabrielle and Jean were the same. They’d both been bludgeoned first, rendered insensible so that the killer could destroy them at leisure.

He could hear Hannah speaking of his father. I saw him face danger, many times, and he never flinched.

So: was he his father’s son?

Neither of them moved.

Tick, tick, tick.

Presently, Tash shook her head. Turning, she replaced the brass lion on top of the bookcase.

‘I think it’s time to go.’

As he watched, she spun on her heel and walked out through the door that led to the tower. The heavy key rattled in the lock. For an instant, he thought he was trapped.

Wrong, wrong, wrong. He could walk back into the main building and she was no longer there to stand in his way. So why would she lock the door?

Shit.

Images suddenly poured into his head, as if someone had opened a sluice-valve. He could hear Aimee’s message on his mobile phone, feel the pounding of his heart as he realised what she meant to do. He was back in Cornmarket, temples throbbing as he raced along the pavement. He could hear excited whispers, see fingers pointing up into the sky. Up to the top of St Michael’s Tower.