AN OWL HOOTED, disturbed by tyres on gravel, as the Q5 swept to a halt outside a five-bar gate. Keeper’s Cottage lay nestled in a woodside clearing at the end of a long narrow driveway. Typically Northumbrian, the single-storey, stone and slate former gamekeeper’s cottage stood alone.
There wasn’t another house for almost three miles.
Cutting her headlights, Kate Daniels leaned against the headrest, letting her tired eyes become accustomed to the dark, taking a moment to compose herself before getting out of the car. In her time as a police officer she’d interviewed murderers and rapists. Chased armed robbers through crowded streets with sirens screaming. Hunted down the most evil drug dealers, even gone undercover, putting her life at risk. Nothing fazed her. But the prospect of meeting her father had reduced her to a small girl who was about to be denied pocket money.
To put it mildly, she was dreading the encounter.
Taking a long, deep breath, she hoped her luck was in tonight. She was counting on her father providing vital information that would take her enquiry in the right direction. Problem was, in order to drag it from him she’d first have to step into a happy world she’d buried long ago.
And so would he.
The familiar smell of a real coal fire floated in the air as she got out of the car. Though she had no key, she didn’t think to knock. Residents in this part of the world felt no need to lock their doors to keep intruders out. Even at night. Even after a double murder in the village church a couple of years ago that had shocked the community to the core. Open house was a way of life here. It had been for hundreds of years. It would take more than a depraved killer to change that.
Kate pushed open the door. By the sounds of it, her father was making himself busy in the tiny scullery at the rear of the house. Not wanting to startle him, she called out as she approached along the narrow hallway.
‘I’m not deaf!’ he grumbled as she walked in. He didn’t look up from the dishes in the sink. ‘There’s tea in the pot. Probably stewed now, but don’t blame me. It was fresh when you drove up.’
Kate hadn’t thought she’d been sitting outside that long.
Putting her briefcase on the floor, she unhooked a clean mug from a peg on the wall and took a carton of milk from the fridge. She’d drink his tea, not because she was thirsty but to keep the peace. As she poured it out, she noticed two of her favourite chocolate biscuits laid out on a plate on the kitchen bench, a nice reminder that her father had a heart. But then he went and spoiled the moment by walking away.
She found him in the living room. He was standing with his back to a roaring fire, waiting for her to explain herself. Kate sat down, apologized again for disappointing him on his birthday, then tried to steer the conversation away from her failure in the good daughter contest. ‘This is an odd question, Dad, but do you remember a string of pearls I played with as a little girl?’
His frown was a major disappointment to her.
Hoping she hadn’t wasted her time driving all this way, she tried again. ‘I seem to remember Mum telling me that Grandpa gave them to her.’
‘Grandpa?’
She gave a little nod.
When she was a youngster, to avoid confusion, her maternal grandfather was referred to as Pops, her paternal grandfather as Grandpa. Her father didn’t speak for a little while. He seemed sad all of a sudden but his melancholy didn’t last long.
‘Your grandpa would’ve given her the world if she’d asked for it,’ he said. ‘He loved your mum. Maybe the pearls were your nan’s.’
Sadie Daniels had died young, long before Kate was born. But still . . . there was a story to the string of pearls she’d found, she was certain of it. Before leaving the office she’d sent them off for analysis, requesting comparison with those recovered at her crime scene.
Searching her father’s face, she took care not to lead him. ‘They weren’t real, Dad. They were plastic. The type you pull apart and snap together. You know the sort I mean? Kids’ stuff.’
A flash of recognition crossed his face.
‘You remember them, don’t you?’
‘Every miner’s daughter got a set back then. The boys got a football.’
What on earth was he on about?
Her father was one of four boys.
For a long while he said nothing. He just stared at the floor, considering. Kate, seeing he was upset, struggled to understand the cause. Eventually, he raised his head. Picking up on her confusion, he swallowed hard and sat down beside her. Taking a deep breath, he began speaking.
‘I had a twin sister . . .’ The words caught in his throat. He paused: a moment of inner torment that seemed to last for ever. Kate didn’t pressure him. She could see how the memory grieved him. She didn’t touch him either, knowing it would push him over the edge. ‘Her name was Mary,’ he said. ‘She died when we were four. Hit and run.’
Kate couldn’t believe she was hearing this for the very first time. Then a conversation with her mother jumped into her head. Before she was born, her parents had agreed that if they had a boy her mum would choose her name, a girl and her father would. He chose the name Mary but then changed his mind when registering her birth, an action he’d never fully explained to Kate’s mum.
Now she knew why.
Mary Daniels.
It didn’t sound right.
Her father’s face was pained by the memory of his dead sister. Kate felt sorry for him. He’d lost all the women in his life: his mother, sister, wife, her. As an only child, she was the sole surviving female, the only one capable of carrying on the family name. So, it was curtains for clan Daniels. Another guilt trip he could lay at her door.
‘I’m so sorry, Dad. I didn’t know.’
‘Makes no odds now . . .’ He looked at her accusingly. ‘Your lot were next to useless when it happened. That’s what my dad told me, anyway. The police never did find the person responsible.’
God! Why did he always blame her for everything?
‘What did you mean when you said everyone got a set “back then”?’
‘The Coronation,’ he said.
‘So that would have been 1953?’
‘The Miners’ Welfare organized street parties to celebrate. A few sandwiches and cake, that’s all. But the weather was atrocious and most were moved inside. It tanked it down. The roads were all flooded, but we didn’t care . . .’ Ed Daniels’ mood lifted momentarily. ‘Aye, it was a grand day.’ Then his eyes were empty again. ‘Mary was dead within the year.’