Hannah took a breath. ‘Okay. So what are the other possibilities? Do you go along with Josh Higginbottom? He told me he thought Oz Knight might have killed Shenagh Moss.’
Fern nodded. ‘Oz and Shenagh had a fling. This was before she moved in with Francis Palladino. The affair was no secret, even though Oz wasn’t long married to a pretty woman who worked for him. He revelled in his image as a Casanova, and Melody Knight turned a blind eye. As far as we could tell.’
‘Why was that? Was she playing away as well?’
‘My take was, she was just happy to have snared the boss.’ Fern didn’t hide her scorn. She had no time for women whose idea of a career plan was to marry the richest bloke they could find. ‘Trouble was, Knight couldn’t let go. He kept pestering Shenagh.’
‘How do you know?’
‘When we checked her phone, we found she’d saved his texts. Not very edifying. An uneasy mixture of pleading and bullying. Didn’t seem to get him very far.’
‘Did Francis Palladino know anything about this?’
Fern shook her head. ‘He had no illusions about Shenagh’s past, but he was convinced she was a reformed character. Possibly he was right. Like Melody, she’d got what she wanted. She didn’t tell Palladino about the texts, possibly because she didn’t want him to make a fuss. He wasn’t in the best of health. If you ask me, she saw their relationship as a five-year investment, give or take a bit. Once he was safely in the grave, she would be free to do as she pleased. And rich.’
‘Did Knight have any sort of alibi for the killing?’
‘That was the other problem. He and Melody had spent that Hallowe’en night in bed together, or so they both said. We found nothing to link him to the crime scene. Whereas there was no doubt that Meek had been on the spot.’
‘Terri worked for Oz,’ Hannah said. ‘And she’d fallen for another bloke. Are you thinking that Oz wanted her, and when he realised he couldn’t have her …?’
‘Stranger things have happened.’ Fern finished her coffee, and checked her watch. The press conference was due to start in ten minutes. ‘But without any evidence, we’re just pissing in the wind.’
Hannah had promised to take Daniel and Louise out for a meal, as a thank you for their hospitality. Their chosen destination was the Brack Arms, lavishly revamped after a change of ownership, and recently lauded by The Good Food Guide. Ten miles away from the Cricketers, it might have been in a different country. And century.
A slinky Greek waitress called Efthalia took their order. Hannah noticed her giving Daniel the once-over; he seemed unaware of the scrutiny. Like Ben, he had no ego. Over their starters, Hannah supplied a carefully edited account of progress – or lack of it – in the case. Much the same information, she assured herself, as would have been put out at the press conference. That a 38-year-old man who had been helping with enquiries had been released without charge.
‘If, by any chance, Stefan didn’t do it,’ Daniel said, ‘there aren’t many suspects. Just the people who live in Ravenbank, and the guests at the Hallowe’en party. Including us.’
‘Daniel.’ Louise’s eyes flashed. ‘How could anyone imagine …?’
Her outrage amused him. ‘Even solicitors aren’t automatically above suspicion. We were both on our own after we went up to bed, it would have been easy for one or both of us to go out via that separate staircase without disturbing Quin or Jeffrey. Are your bosses happy about your staying with us, Hannah?’
‘Fern’s relaxed about it, and it’s not a breach of any protocol. The fact your dad was very popular up here still counts for something, and it’s not as if we weren’t already friends. You two were on the spot, any information you can provide is likely to be trustworthy, and might just make all the difference. So if, for the sake of argument, we rule out the pair of you …’
‘Your colleagues went through the guest list with the Knights yesterday morning. We were at the Hall, with Jeffrey, Quin and the Parks. Coming to terms with the shock of finding Terri’s body. Most of the party guests were ferried away by coach at midnight, but a few went home under their own steam.’
‘The Knights didn’t have anyone staying at the Hall overnight?’
Louise said, ‘No, I talked to some friends of theirs who live at Silloth, and had arranged to spend the night at Ravenbank Hall. During the evening, their son called. His pregnant wife had been rushed into hospital, so they shot off to lend him a hand.’
‘And the catering staff had gone by the time you went ghost-hunting?’
‘Yes, they were bussed in from Penrith, and left before midnight. Nobody who works at the Hall lives in. Though one of the guests may have parked down the lane, and then hung around waiting for Terri to show.’
‘All the people who drove home themselves were couples,’ Daniel said. ‘Not a solo murderer among them.’
‘Someone might have come by water,’ Louise said
‘Nobody could swim from any distance,’ Hannah said. ‘That stretch of the lake is a challenge for swimmers even in the height of summer. People have drowned close to the shore on perfect days, and the water’s freezing cold.’
‘But arriving by boat …’
‘At that time of night, and year, you’d have to be tired of life to make the attempt.’
Louise said, ‘Ravenbank Hall has its own tiny harbour. Melody said they have a boathouse. Oz Knight fancies himself as a sailor. But …’
‘Fern hasn’t quite ruled out someone arriving by boat, and it’s also possible that the killer drove to Ravenbank, as Stefan did, in the hope of finding Terri. But both scenarios seem unlikely, to say the least.’
‘If you rule out Stefan, and don’t count us,’ Daniel said, ‘that leaves just the Knights, Jeffrey and Quin. Together with Miriam Park – and son Robin, if you don’t accept that he was out of action due to sickness.’
‘This stomach bug,’ Hannah asked. ‘Any reason to think he might have faked it?’
‘Quite the opposite,’ Daniel said. ‘Terri was in no doubt that he was genuinely ill, and she didn’t strike me as easily fooled.’
‘No,’ Hannah said. ‘She may have been hopeless at picking men, but she wasn’t gullible. And she could see through malingerers.’
‘She said she’d have stayed with Robin, but he only wanted to sleep. So she and Mrs Park went to the party.’
‘Terri was a party animal, but what about the old lady?’
‘She spent years working for old man Palladino as a sort of part-time housekeeper, and jumped at any excuse to go back to Ravenbank Hall. The legend of the Faceless Woman fascinates her. If you ask me, she actually believes it.’
‘Robin’s illness was crucial to what happened,’ Hannah said. ‘A stroke of bad luck. It created the chance for someone to murder Terri. If he’d been fit and well, the two of them would have stayed together and slept together.’
‘An opportunistic murder, then?’
‘Sort of.’
‘Most crimes are opportunistic, aren’t they?’ Louise said, as Efthalia brought their food, giving Daniel a broad smile as she shimmied around the table. ‘Suppose the murderer acted on the spur of the moment. He or she somehow seized the chance of a late-night get together with Terri, and it didn’t go as planned.’
‘Maybe,’ Hannah said.
‘You don’t sound convinced.’
Hannah tasted her moussaka – aubergine, spinach, and lentil, Fern would have hated it – before explaining that, if Stefan was telling the truth, he’d been lured to Ravenbank by a fake text message purporting to come from Terri. It was always a judgement call, where to draw the line, how much information to dole out in order to get something in return. She didn’t plan to drop any hint that Oz Knight had come under suspicion in the case of Shenagh Moss.
‘You believe the murder was premeditated?’ Louise’s eyes widened. ‘Someone wanted to make Stefan a scapegoat?’
‘Just like Craig Meek.’ Daniel said. ‘And possibly like Letty Hodgkinson, all those years ago.’
‘I’m not saying there wasn’t an element of opportunism, taking advantage of Robin’s illness. Did anything unexpected happen at the party?’
‘Nothing,’ Daniel said. ‘As you’d expect from a couple who specialise in events management, Oz and Melody are very good hosts. They’ve invited me back to the Hall tomorrow.’
‘Really?’
‘Melody rang. She and Oz are still reeling from the shock of Terri’s murder. I told her I was researching the Gertrude Smith case, and she invited me over for lunch.’
Hannah sipped her wine, thinking about what Josh and Fern had said. Was it possible that Oz Knight had fancied Terri, and been so jealous of her relationship with Robin that he’d begun to stalk her? Or had Melody been the jealous one?
‘I find it so hard to believe someone we met that night could do such a thing,’ Louise said. ‘Everyone we met was pleasant company. No deranged lunatics, no monsters. What would drive an ordinary person, not only to kill Terri, but also to disfigure her so horribly?’
Hannah forced herself not to think about the damage done to Terri’s lovely face. She didn’t care whether Stefan was responsible, or one of the supposedly pleasant partygoers. Never would she rest until the killer paid the price. It wasn’t simply a matter of doing justice. Her grief was so raw that she wanted revenge. She caught Daniel’s eye, and felt herself blushing. It was as if he could read her mind.
‘Hey,’ he said softly, ‘let’s not talk any more about murder, shall we?’
‘What you mean is,’ Louise said, ‘you don’t want to be distracted while you gorge on your Chateaubriand.’
He grinned at Hannah. ‘Can’t get away with anything, can I?’
The moment they arrived back at Tarn Cottage, Daniel brought out a bottle of cognac. Not Hannah’s favourite tipple, and it was years since she’d last tasted the stuff, but she let him fill her glass to the brim.
‘Tell me about your day,’ she said, curling up in the vast armchair like a well-fed cat. After feasting at the Brack Arms, she felt as though she’d put on half a stone. Worth it, though. And the brandy tasted silk-smooth. ‘What news of Gertrude Smith?’
‘We agreed we wouldn’t discuss murder any more.’
‘Terri’s murder is one thing. Gertrude Smith’s is different. None of the people involved is alive. It’s much more remote. What Miriam Park overheard seems like a puzzle, a challenge to be solved.’
He nodded. ‘I’ve been piecing scraps of information together about the dramatis personae. I found some titbits at the Armitt this morning, and a few more this afternoon in Kendal. The Carnegie Library holds the archives of most of the county’s old newspapers.’
‘And?’
‘Are you sitting comfortably?’ he said with a grin. ‘Then I’ll begin.’
His sister contrived an elaborate yawn. ‘I’ve already heard the edited highlights. To be honest, I’m knackered, must be delayed reaction after the horrors of yesterday. Daniel, you finish off my brandy. I’ll … leave you two to it. Goodnight.’
Her parting smile was almost as suggestive as Efthalia’s. As the door closed behind her, Daniel uttered a low groan.
‘Sorry about that. You’ll have gathered, Louise fancies herself as a matchmaker. Worst possible timing, and horribly embarrassing. She’s not usually this insensitive. Just ignore her.’
The food and the cognac and the company had mellowed Hannah. Just as well, after recent events. Not that she was mellow enough to make a fool of herself with a man twice in quick succession. She waved away his apology.
‘Louise has been great. I’m just interested to hear about your researches.’
He cleared his throat. ‘It wasn’t hard to put together biographies for Roland Jones or Dorothy Hodgkinson. They were both sufficiently well known to merit obituaries in the local press. Roland made quite a name for himself as an educator, and specifically for writing about Robert Southey. I guess he was drawn to the Lakes by his love of one of its major poets.’
‘I don’t know much more about Southey than his name.’
‘Most people don’t, but he was a celebrity in his day. Chum of Wordsworth and Coleridge, and a radical supporter of the French Revolution who mutated into a pillar of the establishment. So much so that he became Poet Laureate. His sarcastic line “’twas a famous victory” belongs to one of the first anti-war poems ever written. He recognised Charlotte Brontë’s talents, but told her a woman shouldn’t pursue a literary career. Shades of the guy who said The Beatles would never amount to much.’
‘Any idea why Southey’s work appealed to Roland Jones?’
‘I’m sure it’s because they were both romantics. I’ve not read Roland’s book about Southey, but a Google search suggests it’s devoted to the poems, not his biographies or his politics. Unlike Southey, Roland never married.’
‘Gay?’
‘Not necessarily. What if he never got over the death of Gertrude Smith?’
‘You think he was tormented by guilt after killing her?’
‘It’s possible. Or he may simply have been devastated by the loss of someone he adored. Grief takes people in different ways.’
‘Like guilt,’ she said softly.
‘Immediately after his wife committed suicide, Clifford Hodgkinson sent his daughter to stay with relations in Pickering, in North Yorkshire. Roland was out of a job, but once war broke out, his life changed forever. He joined the Army, but although he was a member of the officer class, he didn’t hide away at a safe distance from the enemy lines while his men were blown to smithereens. By the time he was severely wounded in heavy shelling, he’d twice been decorated for bravery. As soon as he was discharged from hospital, he returned to the Somme, where he promptly lost a leg and almost died. Only then was he invalided out for good.’
‘Losing Gertrude may have made him reckless whether he lived or died.’
‘Again, that could be due to grief or guilt.’
Hannah pictured those young men in France, risking sudden death or catastrophic injury, while fighting over a few inconsequential yards of muddy and featureless land.
‘What a transition. From teaching a thirteen-year-old girl in a comfortable rural environment, to the terror of the trenches.’
He nodded. ‘After the war, he met Charlotte Mason, and worked at her House of Education in Ambleside, training governesses in Charlotte’s philosophy of teaching. Later, he was a senior master at a number of small private schools in Cumberland and Westmorland, and found time to turn his love of Southey’s lyrical ballads into a book. Despite his wartime injuries, he lived into his late eighties.’
‘And he and Dorothy met just before he died.’
‘I’ll come on to that. The first major event in her life after Gertrude’s murder was the death of her father. Clifford sank his fortune into the Ravenbank project, and when it collapsed, he had to sell the Hall to stave off his creditors. He died of TB not long afterwards. A life insurance payout meant Dorothy had no need to dirty her hands with a job, or feel compelled to find a rich husband. She became a lady of leisure, passionate about climbing and walking the fells. All the same, she bore a stigma. The daughter of a woman who had murdered her father’s mistress won’t have been regarded as absolutely respectable.’
Hannah savoured her brandy. The fire was blazing, the cottage was snug, and this seriously charming guy had turned into her own personal storyteller. How long was it since she’d last felt so much at ease with herself, and with a man?
‘That’s appalling. She was a victim, like Gertrude.’
‘Dorothy’s solution was to involve herself with good works. Over the years, she became a mover and shaker in the charitable world. Her death notice listed a dozen pet causes, ranging from the Cat Bells Climbing Society to the RSPCA. I’ve seen her photograph – hair in a bun, gimlet eye, hatchet chin. A formidable character, and it sounds like she put a few noses out of joint along the way.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘One or two of the tributes sounded double-edged. Plenty of talk about her strength and her iron will, nothing about her compassion or generosity of spirit. Her climbing days came to an abrupt end when she fell off Helvellyn and broke her back. Her doctors said she’d be crippled for life, but she taught herself to walk again. If she set out to win people’s respect, rather than their love, she achieved her aim.’
‘But she failed to clear her mother’s name.’
‘She may have decided it was too late, even before her path crossed again with Roland’s.’
‘Strange how things come round full circle.’ Just as she’d learnt about police work from Ben Kind, and now she was talking murder with his son.
‘Yes, the Ravenbank Trust, which ran the home, was wound up when it merged with a bigger charity. The Hall was too remote for it to be easy for people to visit residents, especially in winter. So Francis Palladino bought it and turned it back into a private home. The Trust’s main aim had been to look after patients with serious lung diseases, and towards the end of his life, Roland suffered from emphysema. That’s why he finished up at Ravenbank.’
‘So Dorothy was involved with the Trust?’
‘She chaired the board of trustees. The fact that her father had died of TB, and that the Trust owned her old home meant it was a cause dear to her heart.’
‘Must have been a shock, seeing Roland Jones there. A face from the past.’
‘A real-life ghost, yes.’
‘If Roland killed Gertrude – in a fit of jealous passion, say, because of her affair with Hodgkinson, or her pregnancy, or both – he may have been ready to make a deathbed confession.’
‘Miriam didn’t hear it.’
‘But did she say he didn’t confess? If he did, Dorothy may have decided to do nothing about it. The satisfaction of being sure that her mother wasn’t a murderer may have been enough.’
Daniel finished his drink. ‘Suppose there’s a totally different explanation.’
‘Such as?’
‘What if Dorothy and Roland shared a secret? That Gertrude was killed by Dorothy’s father?’
Lying in bed, Hannah found sleep elusive. What happened at Ravenbank a century ago would tell her nothing about Terri’s murder, but wrestling with the puzzle offered a form of escapism. Had Clifford Hodgkinson murdered Gertrude Smith, and then committed the ultimate betrayal, allowing his wife to commit suicide and posthumously take the blame for his crime?
Daniel’s suggestion had startled her. ‘What’s your evidence?’
‘Give me a break. It’s a century-old mystery. It’s asking a bit much to crack it in twenty-four hours.’
She’d had to laugh. ‘Sorry. Once a police officer, always a police officer.’
‘I’m the first to admit, it’s pure guesswork.’
‘If you’re right, and Roland Jones knew that Clifford Hodgkinson killed the woman he’d loved, why keep his mouth shut all those years?’
‘Perhaps he didn’t have any evidence, either. Or perhaps he kept quiet for his pupil’s sake. Bad enough to lose one parent through suicide – for the other to be hanged would be the stuff of nightmares.’
‘You’re sure Letty did commit suicide?’ It was almost a game. So very different from a savage killing in the here and now. ‘Suppose Hodgkinson poisoned her …’
‘If only I could track down Letty’s suicide note. But none of the newspaper accounts of the case shed light on what it said.’
‘If Clifford was the killer, and Dorothy guessed as much, it might explain why she didn’t campaign to clear Letty’s name.’
‘Precisely. Not much reputational benefit in having an innocent mum if you wind up with a guilty dad.’
‘Was reputation all she cared about?’
‘I may be doing her an injustice, but the signs are that she enjoyed having her photograph in the local press, opening a youth club or day centre, or whatever it might be. The glow that gave her was a payback for all the time and effort she put in.’
A woman like Dorothy must have hated being typecast as the daughter of a killer, Hannah thought. The Faceless Woman had become a legend, the Frozen Shroud part of Lakeland folklore. No wonder she’d done her best to build a life in which she commanded respect. If not, perhaps, love.
She shifted under the duvet. The bed was comfortable, and she felt exhausted, but her mind couldn’t stop roaming. What motive could Clifford have for killing Gertrude? Suppose she’d got above herself, and started making demands that he couldn’t or wouldn’t meet. Even if Roland was the father of her unborn child, Clifford might not know the truth. What if she wanted him to dump his mentally disturbed wife, and make his pretty young mistress the second Mrs Hodgkinson? She might have tried her hand at a spot of blackmail. Hard to see the prosperous businessman reacting well to pressure from a servant. In those days, rich men shagged the staff, but rarely married them. You didn’t need to be a professional historian to know that.
Or perhaps Gertrude had fallen for Roland Jones, and Clifford had taken it badly. Suppose she’d mocked his lovemaking, or she told him they were running away to start a new life together. He might have erupted with jealous rage.
Murder had so many motives. Her thoughts drifted back towards the one question that she meant to answer, whatever it took. Even as she drifted to sleep at last, her fuddled brain could not let it go.
Terri never harmed anyone. So why would someone want to murder her?
Next morning, Hannah was up at six. Fog was forecast, and the journey through the twisting lanes of Brackdale was bound to take an age. When she opened the bedroom curtains, Tarn Fell was invisible, and she could barely see the spiky branches of the monkey puzzle, poking through the mist.
She and the Kinds had croissants and coffee together before going their separate ways. Louise was scheduled for a teaching day, and Daniel was due back at Ravenbank for his lunch with Oz and Melody.
‘Let’s speak at the end of the afternoon,’ she said, buttoning her coat. ‘I’m not asking you to spy on your friends, but …’
‘Listen,’ he said. ‘Anything I can do to find out what happened to Terri, I will do. Promise.’
They brushed each other’s cheeks with a kiss. He smelt good; his aftershave had the faintest tang of citrus. She picked up her case, and hurried out into the cold without a backward glance.
Greg Wharf found her at the water cooler five minutes after she arrived at Divisional HQ. His eyes travelled up and down her body, more out of habit than lust, she thought. His mood seemed to match the weather.
‘What’s this I hear about that shit who killed Terri? Word on the street is that Fern’s bottled out of charging him.’
‘She’s never bottled out of anything in her life. It looks like he was set up. Someone nicked Terri’s phone and texted him to come to Ravenbank in the small hours after the Hallowe’en party.’
‘You can’t be serious. Why would anyone other than Deyna want to hurt her?’
‘If Fern knew that, she’d have made an arrest by now.’
A theatrical noise of despair. ‘I hope she knows what she’s doing.’
‘You can bet on it.’
He slurped down some water. ‘You’ve come back to work too soon. You look like death warmed up.’
‘Thanks, that makes two of us. See you at the team meeting.’
She marched off in the direction of her office, but he kept pace with her. ‘Sorry, Hannah, but someone had to say it. Better me than some people.’
She halted in mid-stride. ‘Thanks for your concern. Now, I’ve got things to do and so, I expect, have you?’
He grimaced. ‘Back to DCI and DS, eh? Is this about the other night?’
Hannah returned his gaze, trying to choke back her anger. ‘Nothing will ever be about the other night.’
‘I give up.’
‘Good plan.’ She swept away down the corridor, leaving him to stare at her back view. She was sure he was no longer admiring it.
Hannah was tempted to slap a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door of her office. Uninterrupted thinking time was in short supply, but she needed some. But the familiar strains of Doctor Who broke in before she had a chance to start marshalling her thoughts. The caller’s number was unfamiliar.
‘Is that Detective Chief Inspector Scarlett?’
A man’s voice, eager, and tinged with anxiety.
‘Yes, who’s calling?’
‘My name is Robin Park.’
Hannah squeezed the phone in her palm. Robin, the man whose bout of sickness meant that, instead of being by his side or in his bed, Terri had been wandering around Ravenbank on her own, easy prey for someone with murder on their mind.
Or had his ailment been bogus, a crude ploy to avoid suspicion?
‘Hello? Are you there, Chief Inspector?’
‘Sorry. I … didn’t expect to hear from you, Mr Park.’
‘It’s such a shock, isn’t it? What happened to Terri.’
A pause. ‘Yes.’
‘Devastating, impossible to …’ His voice faltered. ‘You were her oldest friend, she often spoke about you.’
‘We went back a long way.’
‘I wondered … would you mind if we talked? Not over the phone, but face to face.’
‘If you have any evidence that’s relevant to the inquiry into Terri’s death, anything that can cast light on what happened, you should speak to DCI Larter or someone on her team. Straight away.’
‘No, it’s not that. God, I only wish I knew what happened. I’m in a daze. The sense of loss … it’s overwhelming. You two were so close, you must feel the same.’
‘Yes, it’s … hard.’
‘So – can we meet? Not in your capacity as a police officer. But as Terri’s friend.’
Hannah made a quick calculation. What were the risks? The chance of finding some clue to Terri’s fate had to be worth taking. She’d square it with Fern. Of course, she was itching to set eyes on Park. Was he any improvement on his hopeless predecessors? Above all, she needed to discover what had led to Terri’s death. Nobody was more likely to know than this man.
‘All right, Mr Park.’ She took care to sound offhand. ‘I can spare you an hour after lunch. When shall we meet, and where?’