Deborah Crombie - A Share In Death

He should have seen it. All the bits and pieces had slotted into place as neatly as a shuffled deck and he’d held them in his hand. Could little things-contradictions, coincidences-add up to such a fatal sum? Eddie Lyle had apparently told his wife that he’d been unable to buy a week outside term-time. Yet when Kincaid, thinking about the Frazers, had suggested such a difficulty to Cassie, she’d been astonished. And Lyle had intimated more than once that the holiday had been Janet’s idea, when according to both Janet and her neighbor, it had been entirely his. Gemma had described Lyle as overextended… with aspirations beyond his means… Kincaid’s mind went back to the conversation he’d overheard that day in The Blue Plate-Janet worrying over Eddie’s plans to send their daughter to a university she was sure they’d never be able to afford… Eddie’s aunt dying young of a rare disease, as had Miles Sterrett’s wife… Miles’ despised nephew, and Hannah barring the way to Miles’ estate.

Kincaid shook his head. Perhaps he was making it up out of whole cloth, his fear for Hannah distorting his logic. But then he thought of Eddie Lyle tearing off, shortly after Hannah’s departure, on an unnecessary and unexplained errand, and his hands tightened again on the wheel.

The light shifted across the tops of the moors as Kincaid entered Wensleydale. He pushed his speed up on the straight stretches until the pastures ran into a green blur.

The ancient town of Middleham registered only as bright flags on the castle battlements and the steaming hindquarters of racehorses disappearing around a corner. Wensley and sleepy West Witton slowed him as old men and pram-pushing mothers turned to stare-then one last stretch of clear road to Aysgarth.

Just when he’d begun to breathe a little easier, a flock of sheep ambled across the road in front of him. He came to a dead stop and swore. There was no hurrying sheep. They milled about, a wooly, white, pulsating mass, marked with great splashes of red or blue dye. Kincaid leaned on his horn and nudged the stragglers with his bumper. The shepherd shook his crook at him, and the last sheep cleared the road with a scatter of stones.

The road made one last sharp turn and swooped down to cross the River Ure, and there on the left lay the car park for Aysgarth Falls. Kincaid left the Midget skewed across the first empty space and stood up to get his bearings. Hannah’s green Citroën sat sedately in a corner by itself, empty.

Before him lay the path to the Upper Falls; behind him, across the road and down the valley, the path led to the Middle and Lower Falls.

Kincaid hesitated a moment, then sprinted down the Upper path, bumping sightseers and backpackers as he ran. The way grew dark with overhanging trees, mossy underfoot and filled with the sound of running water. Foreboding clutched him, but when he came into the open all he found were family picnics and booted hikers posing on the great stones. Of Hannah there was no sign.

The path across the road was as calm as a country lane. Open meadow lay on one side, and on the other the dense growth of the river bank. A family straggled into the path from a flight of wooden steps. The children looked damp and querulous, the parents harried.

“I want an ice cream now, Mummy. You promised!” The small boy’s voice rose ominously.

“Hush, Trevor. I told you-”

Kincaid almost plowed into them. Between gasps for breath he said, “Anybody else down there?”

“Not with us.” The man pointed. “Some folks a little further downstream, though.”

“Two people?”

The man pursed his lips. “Think so. Wouldn’t swear to it.”

Kincaid left them staring after him, already forgotten.

He almost missed the signpost, and the body’s-width opening in the tangled greenery of the bank. LOWER FALLS. EXIT ONLY. Ignoring the sign’s discreet warning, he plunged down the track.

His feet slipped in the sand and loose stones, propelling him downward at breakneck speed. With a shower of gravel and a last grasp at a bramble, he slid out of the trees and onto the level surface of the bank.

Ten meters from him, Hannah Alcock bent over the river’s edge. Behind her, Eddie Lyle stooped and Kincaid caught the white flash of a stone in his hand.

Kincaid shouted, afterwards he was never sure what. Memory gave it to him as a wordless, echoing yell, a soundtrack to the slow-motion scene playing before him.

Hannah straightened and turned, breaking into a smile as she recognized him. Lyle froze. An instant later his arm shot around Hannah’s neck and he thrust his other hand into his coat pocket. Kincaid saw a dull gleam as Lyle pulled his hand out and lifted it to Hannah’s temple.

A gun. The bastard had a gun. Hannah’s brief struggle died as the pistol’s blunt mouth pressed against her scalp.

Kincaid raised his hands and took a few careful steps forward.

“Don’t come any nearer.” Lyle’s voice rose shrilly. His grip tightened on Hannah’s neck and Kincaid saw her eyes roll.

“Can you hear me, Eddie?” Kincaid didn’t shout, afraid that would make the situation even more volatile. “Listen to me, Eddie. It’s no use. Let her go.”

“No use?” Lyle laughed. “What’s to stop me killing you both and no one the wiser?” The fussy mannerisms had been replaced by a kind a feverish excitement. He was enjoying it, Kincaid thought. Sebastian and Penny’s murders may have been expedient, but Lyle had come to like killing. The knowledge froze Kincaid’s bones.

Hannah must have made some sound, because Lyle forced her head back further. “I can do what I like, Superintendent.” The words were contemptuous.

“Killing us won’t stop it, Eddie. You left traces. The lab found latent prints on the handkerchief you hid, as well as Penny’s blood.”

A flicker of doubt crossed Lyle’s face. Kincaid pressed his advantage. “You must have planned this for a long time, Eddie. You and your mother were Miles Sterrett’s only relatives. How convenient of your mother to die just about the time you broke into Hannah’s flat. Narrowing the field, were you, Eddie?”

“Copper’s tricks, Kincaid. Going to keep me talking until the reinforcements arrive? Did you think I’d fall for that?” Beneath Lyle’s light, almost bantering words, Kincaid heard the hostility that fueled him. “You’ve left out the flattery, Superintendent.”

Kincaid swallowed to work some saliva into his dry mouth. “I was coming to that.” Reinforcements were the last thing he wanted on Eddie Lyle’s mind-he wanted him to think he had all the time in the world. But where the hell was Gemma?

And what argument could he use to sway this man who had nothing left to lose? Lyle would never see Miles Sterrett’s money now, and he’d face life imprisonment whether he killed Hannah and Kincaid or not. “Satisfy my curiosity, Eddie. I know Penny must have seen you the night you killed Sebastian. Did she agree to meet you on the tennis court?” Kincaid’s tone suggested they might be chatting over a pint. He weighed the possibility of reaching Lyle before he could fire the gun, then decided it was physically impossible. He’d have to rely on his tongue.

“A passing suggestion on my part.” The smile came again. “It was as good a place as any.”

“And Sebastian? What did Sebastian find out?”

“The bloody snoop.” Lyle sounded peevish. “He saw me coming out of her room.” His arm tightened on Hannah’s neck, leaving no doubt whom he meant. “I’d been… checking on things. I couldn’t have any connection made afterwards, could I?”

“No. No, I’m sure you couldn’t,” Kincaid answered as if it were the most reasonable question in the world. He thought he heard a faint scuffling from the path above, and he spoke quickly to stop Lyle hearing it as well. “Listen, Eddie-”