The Coffin Trail

Chapter Fifteen

After parting from Hannah Scarlett, Daniel had a sandwich lunch at a cafe in the Master’s House before returning to the library. This time he was searching out archive materials about Lakeland corpse roads that might provide background for the article he’d suggested to the editor of Contemporary Historian. For the best part of three hours, he lost himself in research. He hadn’t brought his laptop: a conscious decision. It had remained locked in its case and hidden under a pile of magazines at the bottom of a cupboard ever since his arrival at Tarn Cottage. Instead of tapping details into his computer in the manner that had become second nature, he jotted longhand notes in a school exercise book he’d picked up at the branch of WH Smith just down the road, much as he had when revising for his A Levels. It was a nostalgic indulgence, but when he checked his watch and realised that he’d spent longer than he’d intended, it dawned on him how much he’d enjoyed his afternoon’s work. Enjoyment. He’d yearned for it during his sabbatical and been disappointed. In Oxford it had eluded him but here, in a modest provincial library possessing a fraction of the resources available in the Bod, he’d rediscovered the pleasure of historical research for its own sake. At last he wasn’t racing against a deadline for a script or a book, or trying to find a new way of presenting old facts for a tutorial or seminar. He felt as though by chance he’d bumped into a childhood sweetheart and found that she was as much fun to be with as when they were both seventeen and first in love.

The sun made a belated appearance as he started back to the cottage. His mood was light and he followed a roundabout route along leafy back lanes, catching glimpses of Windermere every now and then, and of the chain-guided car ferry chugging across from Bowness to Sawrey. Low branches kept caressing the roof of his Audi. Whenever a vehicle approached from the other direction, one or other of them had to reverse as far as the nearest passing place. But the peacefulness of the Lakes amply compensated for any trivial inconveniences. He could understand why his father had fallen in love with this place, just as he could understand why the old man had liked Hannah so much. He liked her too; he felt sure he could trust her. With a little prompting, she would help him to get a handle on his father’s life after leaving home and to understand at last what had made the man tick.

Turning into Tarn Fold, he saw a flash of yellow shining through the trees. Tash Dumelow’s car was parked close to where he and Miranda had stopped that very first morning when they had found that Tarn Cottage was up for sale. The Alfa came into full view a moment later. It was carelessly parked, making it difficult for him to pass, and it was empty. She’d left the driver’s door open.

What had happened to her?

Puzzled, he pulled up behind the Alfa and jumped out. He had a half-formed idea of going in search, but maybe he was overreacting. Besides, he didn’t know which way to head.

Might she have left the car here and set off on foot for the cottage?

The sun had disappeared again and he felt a chill on his back as he wandered beneath the canopy formed by the trees, trying to decide what do for the best. He heard a rustling and then footsteps, coming from behind.

‘Hi, Daniel, how are things?’

He spun around and saw Tash emerging from a path that led between the trees and down to the beck. An artist’s pad was in her hand. Relief flooded through him.

‘Are you okay?’

She was breathing hard, as though from the exertion of the climb. As she approached, he was conscious of her perfume. Although she was casually dressed in white T-shirt and blue jeans, a second glance revealed that, despite the lateness of the afternoon, they both looked as crisp and freshly laundered as if she’d just put them on. It may have been a long time since Tash Dumelow went slinking on the catwalk, but old habits died hard. Even when she came out to do a little sketching on her own in an unfrequented corner of the valley, she took care to keep up appearances.

‘I’m fine, how are you?’

Rather than answer directly, she asked, ‘Stopping for a stroll along the banks of the beck?’

He pointed to the open car door. ‘Curious, that’s all.’

‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to distract you.’ She gave him a teasing smile, but he thought he could detect tiredness and strain behind it. ‘I should have taken more care to park prettily and lock the car up. But one of the nice things about this part of the world is that there’s so little crime. In the pay-and-displays at Bowness or Ambleside it’s different, but I don’t think many car thieves venture this far off the beaten track.’

‘You’re here to paint a picture?’

‘Not today. I’m just working up an idea for my next exhibition. Even though it’s on my own doorstep, I’ve never tackled the old corn mill. I’ve been wandering up and down and on both sides of the beck, trying to decide on the best viewpoint. Thinking out the composition, seeing how the shadows of the trees fall on the brickwork. On second thoughts, I ought to come back early tomorrow morning, catch the freshness of the light when the sun first comes out.’

‘I never realised watercolouring was so complicated.’

‘Well, sketching out a scene soothes my nerves whenever I’m a bit flustered. Some people chill out with music, others with sport. For me, the ideal escape involves heading off alone with just a few sheets of paper and a piece of charcoal for company.’

‘You don’t look flustered to me.’

‘Thanks.’ A brief smile faded. ‘It’s nothing, really.’

‘Glad to hear it.’ Instinct told him that she wanted to say more, but was holding back. She shifted from one foot to another and he was reminded of his time in college, when students wavered before confessing their latest cause for angst.

‘As a matter of fact, I’m worried about a friend of mine.’

‘Sorry to hear that.’ He wasn’t sure that it was a good idea to encourage a confidence. Especially from an attractive and very married woman. But he could hardly walk away without another word. ‘Nothing serious, I hope?’

‘I hope not. With any luck, I’m over-reacting, making a fuss over nothing.’ Head bowed, she seemed to be deliberating whether to say more. ‘Actually, it’s Jean. You know, Jean Allardyce? She may work for us, but she’s also one of my closest friends. I rely on her a lot. She’s a lovely lady.’

‘As it happens, I saw her again yesterday. I’d been walking along the old coffin trail and she gave me a lift into the village.’

‘Of course, I saw you both. She and I had a cup of coffee in the baker’s after she’d dropped you off.’

‘What’s the matter with her?’

Tash glanced over her shoulder, as if anxious that someone might overhear. But they were alone, and Tarn Fold was peaceful and silent. Daniel couldn’t even hear the sound of distant hammering from the cottage.

‘She’s — well, she’s gone.’

‘Gone?’

‘Left home. At least, that’s the way it seems. We haven’t seen her at the Hall since this morning. She’d said she wanted to have a private word with me about something and we’d arranged to get together at one o’clock, but she never showed up.’

‘Perhaps she forgot?’

Tash shook her head. ‘One thing about Jean, she never forgets.’

‘There’s a first time for everything.’

‘Mmmm…’ Tash was plainly unconvinced. ‘I waited for three-quarters of an hour. By that time, I was very concerned. It was so out of character. I walked over to the farmhouse, but there was no sign of her, inside or out. Tom wasn’t there, either. When eventually I tracked him down, he denied all knowledge of where she might be.’

‘Maybe she’s set off on another shopping trip.’

‘I don’t think so. She’s due to go to the supermarket tomorrow to stock up.’

‘There are other shops besides supermarkets.’

‘But she hasn’t taken the Land Rover and Jean wouldn’t even walk to Brack, let alone any further. She’s suffering from an ingrowing toenail… And there’s something else.’

Gently, he said, ‘Tell me.’

‘When we were in the house, I saw a suitcase, stashed behind the umbrella stand. It bulged as though she’d filled it to overflowing.’

‘It may have been there for ages.’

‘Maybe.’ Plainly she was unconvinced.

‘What did Allardyce have to say about the suitcase?’

‘I–I bottled out of asking him.’

‘But why?’

‘He may be our tenant farmer,’ she said slowly, ‘but he’s his own man. And he has a dreadful temper, not just violent but irrational. He’s always been like that, but lately, he’s seemed worse than ever. You should hear him ranting when Simon complains about the fencing or the fact that the covering on the sheep dipper wouldn’t pass muster with the health and safety people. I keep expecting him to burst a blood vessel. God knows how he’d react if I suggested that his wife might have been preparing to move out. He’s — on the edge.’

He remembered his conversation with Jean Allardyce the day before. ‘She kept a stack of tourist brochures in the Land Rover. Only yesterday she was telling me that she’d like to travel.’

‘Did she give away any clues?’ Tash’s tone was urgent. ‘What else did she say to you?’

‘Very little.’

‘Think back. Was there anything? Anything that might explain what’s happened?’

‘I gathered she was discontented, but I didn’t pick up any reason why she’d choose this particular time to leave home.’

‘You’re sure?’ When he shook his head, she gave a lavish sigh. ‘Thank God for that. I’m sorry, Daniel. I shouldn’t have loaded this on to you, and for no good reason. After all, we hardly know each other.’

‘It’s not a problem.’

‘I have this awful feeling I’ve led you and Tom on a wild goose chase. I suppose Jean will turn up any minute now, safe and sound, wondering what all the fuss has been about. Much to my embarrassment. What’s the betting, she’s back at the farm already?’

‘She’s your friend,’ Daniel said. ‘It’s only natural that you should be concerned. Especially given Tom’s reputation.’

A wary look came into Tash Dumelow’s eyes. ‘That’s not fair. Don’t forget, Jean’s stuck by him all these years. Deep down, he’s not really an ogre. She always said, his time in Northern Ireland cut him up very badly.’

‘But?’

‘No buts,’ she insisted. ‘I’m really grateful for your support, Daniel. You’ve helped to set my mind at rest.’

‘I’m glad.’ He was tempted to clasp her hand, but thought better of it. ‘I only want to help. If Jean isn’t…’

‘No, don’t say another word.’ She tossed her sketching book on to the Alfa’s passenger seat and pulled the ignition key out of the back pocket of her jeans. ‘You’ve been very kind. And so patient. It’s something we women do, isn’t it? Simon’s always saying I worry unnecessarily. Until we started talking, I’d persuaded myself that something dreadful had happened to Jean.’

‘We still don’t know where she is.’

But Tash had climbed into her car. As she switched on the engine, he realised that he was talking to himself.

‘What is she like?’ It was half an hour later.

‘Who?’ Daniel wanted a few more seconds to compose his answer. He hadn’t told Miranda about his meeting with Tash Dumelow, but he’d been speculating about Jean Allardyce’s unexplained absence and why Tash was quite so concerned about it.

‘You know. Hannah Scarlett.’

‘Oh. Pleasant enough.’

‘Is that all?’

A suitably neutral adjective occurred to him ‘Business-like, I’d say. Yes, definitely business-like.’

‘Did she help you to fill in the gaps about your father?’

‘Sort of. She said he was a decent detective, but I didn’t learn much more. She was pressed for time.’

‘Pity.’

‘I gave her my number. She said she might be willing to meet up again for another chat. In the meantime, she’ll mull over the questions I’ve asked, see what she can do to give me chapter and verse.’

‘I see.’ Miranda took another sip of wine. ‘Well, do you think there was a romance between her and your father?’

‘She said not.’

They were lazing out on the paved area, glasses at their elbows, watching a kingfisher that had become bold enough to emerge from its home in the vegetation on the far side of the tarn. It perched on a low branch of the willow that stretched its claws over the water. Every now and then the bird took flight, skimming over the surface of the tarn in a dazzle of blue and green before flying in a circle around the trees and returning to land on its perch. There it remained, undisturbed by intermittent outbreaks of Eddie’s hammering, a joyless clatter suggestive of sporadic bursts of gunfire in the face of an overwhelming enemy.

‘You mean, you actually asked her?’

‘No, she volunteered it. Perhaps she read my thoughts.’

‘Interesting. Doth the lady protest too much?’

‘She struck me as honest,’ he said icily.

‘Darling, she’s a police officer. They are trained to gather information, not to give it away. And not above telling a few porkies when it suits them. Trust me, I’m a journalist.’

Stung, he almost retorted: Hannah isn’t like that. But really, how would he know?

‘You were never a crime reporter.’

Miranda raised her eyes to the heavens. ‘Daniel, I don’t need an apprenticeship in the magistrates’ courts to have an inkling about how the police behave.’

‘Don’t forget, my father was a policeman.’

‘You rarely give me a chance to forget it,’ she retorted. ‘But you never saw him again after you were twelve. As for me, my first boyfriend after university was a DC in the Met.’

‘I never knew that.’

‘There’s a lot you don’t know about me,’ she snapped. ‘Or me about you, for that matter. Anyway, Iain and I had been going out for a fortnight before I discovered he was married. Not just involved, actually married to another woman.’

‘God,’ he said softly. But what really struck him was Miranda’s choice of words. There’s a lot you don’t know about me. Or me about you. They’d made a new life together on a whim. It was so out of character for him, he couldn’t quite believe he’d taken things so far. Thank God their love for each other was so strong.

‘Anyone at home?’

Leigh Moffat was peeping over the makeshift barricade created by the tarpaulin-covered pile of timber, destined for the bothy, that Eddie had dumped at the side of the cottage. To Daniel, her auburn hair seemed to have lost its lustre and her earnest features were pale and drawn, as if she’d missed out on a good night’s sleep.

‘I did ring the bell, and knock at the front door,’ she said apologetically, ‘but…’

A renewed onslaught with the hammer finished the sentence for her. ‘Can you squeeze past the stuff?’ Daniel waved at his glass. ‘I’ve just opened a bottle of Rioja. Care to join us?’

She shimmied between the cottage wall and the barricade. ‘I knew I’d regret that cream cake for elevenses. Back to the diet tomorrow, strict rations. But a drink would be lovely. Only one, mind, as I’m driving.’

She took a seat on the wooden patio chair that he’d unfolded for her. Her figure didn’t suggest any need to diet: she’d poured herself into charcoal jeans and a purple jersey with a generous v-neck. Lucky Marc Amos, to have this woman as a workmate and Hannah Scarlett to come home to. For a few minutes the three of them sipped from their glasses and chatted idly about the cottage renovations and shared complaints about the unreliability of tradesmen. Miranda didn’t mention Wayne, of course; the previous afternoon’s trauma seemed already to have faded into the faraway past.

‘I hate to intrude on you like this,’ Leigh said. ‘I don’t mean to presume on such a brief acquaintance.’

‘We’re glad of any visitors,’ Miranda said. ‘It’s so lovely here, but I’ve not acclimatised to the isolation yet. When the workmen finish for the day, the place is as quiet as a cemetery. One of these days, when we’re sorted, we’ll have a housewarming and you can consider yourself invited.’

‘That’s kind of you.’ Leigh put her glass down on the paving. ‘Although your hospitality isn’t making it any easier for me to ask the favour that brought me here.’

‘Ask away,’ Daniel said.

She cleared her throat. ‘The police have been questioning my sister and me this afternoon. Just because we were both working at The Moon under Water at the time Gabrielle Anders stayed there. I finished early at the bookshop so that I could meet them at home. Two constables, they’d already brow-beaten Dale. Resurrecting the past. Talking about the statement she gave after the girl was found murdered.’

‘It’s a cold case,’ Daniel said. ‘You’ve seen the publicity about this new team the police have set up? I’m sure the questions are merely routine.’

‘Dale and I were wondering why they’d chosen to dig up that particular cold case. Cumbria isn’t exactly a hot-bed of crime, but surely there are plenty of old inquiries that failed to produce an arrest or conviction. Why pick on that one?’

‘They’re not focusing simply on the Anders murder. It’s one of several they are reviewing.’

With a sharpness he hadn’t heard from her before, she snapped, ‘Then you’re already aware they are looking at the case?’

He drained his wine, barely noticing the flavour, just relishing the lift that the alcohol gave him. Miranda’s face had creased with anxiety but he could see no good reason to dissemble.

‘It’s no secret, I did talk to Hannah Scarlett.’

Leigh leaned forward so that their faces were close together. ‘Have you any idea of what you’re doing?’ she said bitterly. ‘Any idea about the can of worms you’re opening?’

For a split second he thought about Tash’s fear that Jean Allardyce had gone missing. Even if she had, it couldn’t be down to him in any way. Could it? ‘Sorry, I don’t follow.’

‘Can’t you imagine the disruption and upset this kind of thing causes?’

‘Hang on a moment,’ he said. ‘When we talked in the pub, I thought you agreed that Barrie was an unlikely killer.’

‘Barrie’s dead.’

‘Does that make everything all right?’ Miranda gave him a baleful glance, but he plunged on. ‘His reputation doesn’t matter, is that it? It seems to be a widely-held opinion in Brackdale. If he wasn’t guilty, fine, no problem. He was an oddball, anyway, a loser. So who cares?’

‘That’s not fair.’ Leigh flushed. ‘Okay, Barrie was one of life’s scapegoats, but it’s not the real issue. By encouraging the police to dig over old ground, you’re opening a Pandora’s box. Who knows what may fly out?’

‘The police are perfectly capable of turning up stones without my egging them on. Hannah Scarlett is a good detective.’ A good detective. He realised that he’d borrowed the phrase she’d used to describe his father and added quickly, ‘A woman her age doesn’t make Chief Inspector without being quick on the uptake.’

‘You’re right,’ Leigh said slowly. ‘She is a good detective.’

‘Well, then. What are you afraid of?’

‘Daniel,’ Miranda said. ‘This isn’t helping…’

‘It’s all right,’ Leigh said. ‘I’m not offended. In fact, you’re absolutely right. I am afraid, though not for myself. Afraid that innocent people will get hurt. People I care for. That’s why I came to ask you a favour.’

‘You can always ask.’ Daniel ventured a smile to take the chill off his words.

‘The favour is this. Can’t you give up on trying to fight Barrie’s corner? You know and I know what he was really like, why not leave it there? If you insist on re-opening old wounds, even more innocent people will suffer, and how can that help Barrie? I know your heart’s in the right place, and I don’t mean to be patronising when I say that. The truth is, though, you’re simply making matters worse. If you have any influence with Hannah, please try and persuade her to concentrate on something more worthwhile.’

‘Even if I wanted to do that,’ he said, ‘why should she listen to me? My only connection with her is that she worked with my dad. She strikes me as very much her own woman. You can bet she’ll make up her own mind about what she does.’

‘I suppose you’re right.’ Leigh swallowed the rest of her wine. ‘She is her own woman.’

‘In any case, if there’s one man who has a chance of talking her round, surely it’s Marc Amos. Or have you talked to him and got nowhere?’

When he’d met her previously, she’d seemed poised and self-confident, but now her voice was low with despair. ‘You don’t understand a thing, do you? Oh God, I should never have blundered in here. I’ve only made myself look ridiculous.’

Miranda reached out an arm, as if to offer consolation, only to find herself clutching at air as Leigh scrambled to her feet.

‘I must go. I’ve said too much already. Thanks for the drink. I shouldn’t have disturbed your evening. Sorry.’

Daniel watched as she pushed and shoved her way blindly past the makeshift barricade, scratching her arm on a protruding length of timber as she made good her escape.

‘Leigh,’ he called, ‘can we talk about this? Please?’

She didn’t look back, just shook her head and hurried around the corner of the building and disappeared from view. He was about to follow, but Miranda’s shaking voice halted him in his tracks.

‘Happy now? Or won’t you be satisfied until your obsession with what happened all those years ago has antagonised every single person in this bloody valley?’

After Eddie finished, they ate a scratch meal together in silence. The food tasted of dust. Whilst Daniel was filling the cafetiere, Miranda announced that she had a migraine and was going to bed. Left to his own devices, he swallowed a couple of mouthfuls of coffee, slung the crockery in the new dishwasher, and decided to go for a walk. The evening was mild and another hour’s exercise before darkness fell might help to set things in perspective. He felt a sort of kinship with those sci-fi movie heroes who slay the wicked alien only for the creature to spring back to life, more fearsome than ever, in the final reel. This new life was turning out to be even more complicated than the old.

Their bedroom door was shut. He tapped gently and said, ‘I’ll be out for an hour. Going to clear my head.’

No reply.

He padded down the stairs again and put on his jacket and boots. He’d decided on a circuit of the Fold, taking in the pack horse bridge, a stretch of the beck and the disused corn mill that Tash Dumelow was planning to paint. An undemanding ramble, a chance to sort things out in his mind.

A bright red tea rose was coming into bloom by the side of the path. The memory came back to him of his grandmother, who had stayed with the family the Christmas before she died. He would have been ten years old and he always associated her with the aroma of cigarette smoke blended with talcum powder. She was a shrewd Lancastrian who must by then have realised that her life would soon be destroyed by the cancer eating at her lungs.

‘Promise me this, you two,’ the old lady wheezed one night while he and Louise were reducing each other to tears of rage over some petty juvenile dispute. ‘Life is shorter than you realise. You must remember to stop and smell the roses.’

It was the last conversation he could recall having with her. Time to take her advice, he thought, pausing to inhale the rich scent. As he unfastened the gate, he turned over in his mind the conversations he’d had with Jean Allardyce and Tash Dumelow and Leigh Moffat. So much for being a stranger in Paradise. As a boy, life had seemed simple to him, no more than a steady and straightforward ascent of a mountainside to gain greater and greater heights. And then his father had deserted them and he’d discovered that the way forward was barred by crevasses as deep as they were dangerous.

From out of nowhere came the muffled blare of Elmer Bernstein’s theme from The Great Escape, wildly incongruous in the calm of the clearing. He hadn’t even realised that he’d left the mobile in his jacket. By the time he’d finished fumbling in his inside pocket and fished it out, the ringtone was silent.

Who could have called him? It was late for one of the tradesmen to get in touch and there weren’t many other possibilities. When they’d moved here, they’d bought each other new mobiles, ditching the old numbers that former colleagues knew by heart: all part of the plan to cut themselves off from the past.

As he pressed the button to check, the phone rang again.