The Frozen Shroud

CHAPTER TEN

Hannah had a phobia about hospitals, dating back to her childhood. It was a dread she’d kept to herself; she’d never shared it with Marc, not even in their earliest, happiest days together. Did that show she’d never really trusted him? It didn’t matter now, anyway.

At the age of thirteen, she’d been rushed in for an emergency operation to remove her appendix, an experience more frightening than any of her adult encounters with sociopaths armed with knife, gun, or — a few months earlier — scythe. She’d never forget the heart-pounding fear of being slit open, the dizzying terror of never being whole again. To this day, the squeak of hospital trolleys on tiled floors set her teeth on edge, and the smell of antiseptic made her gorge rise. She’d spent her adult life making excuses to avoid visiting hospitals unless there was no choice. But today she had no choice. She had no hope of getting any rest until she found out how Marc was. After waking from her nightmare, she’d found it impossible to get back to sleep. She needed to know.

As she put herself through the purgatory of an ice-cold shower, she remembered where she’d seen the strange church of her dream. On a wall in Tarn Cottage. Daniel had hung a watercolour that fascinated her. A Jericho, Oxford, street scene; he said he’d lived there as a student, and the exotic architecture of St Barnabas had fascinated him. She’d never given the image another thought, and yet it had lodged in her subconscious.

As she drove through the drizzle along the winding road to Kendal, she focused on psyching herself up for whatever lay ahead. By the time she strode into A amp;E, she was ready to cope with anything. Even the suffocating claustrophobia that the labyrinth of corridors induced in her. And yes, even big hospital bureaucracy. For all its virtues, the NHS, like the police, and probably any large organisation, allowed systems and process to get in the way of talking to people.

This morning, she had become an irresistible force. Token efforts to fob her off until visiting hours made no more impression than a kid’s catapult on a Chieftain tank. Within ten minutes of her arrival, steely determination, coupled with the ruthless deployment of her warrant card, earned an audience with a calm and caring young Asian doctor.

‘I’m afraid Marc isn’t a pretty sight at the moment, DCI Scarlett. You can imagine, after such a terrible accident. He’s …’

‘What’s the damage?’ She breathed in. This felt like trying to hold off an avalanche, an avalanche of emotion. A picture flitted through her head of the cool, collected woman she’d once imagined herself to be. Just another figment of her imagination.

‘He sustained a nasty gash to his forehead that needed a lot of stitches.’ The woman paused. ‘The other cuts are largely superficial. It will be several weeks before he’s posing for snapshots again, but the scars will heal. Two ribs are broken, and there’s a lot of bruising. Fortunately, there’s nothing more serious.’

Hannah ground her teeth. ‘You think he’ll make a full recovery?’

‘I’m absolutely confident. He’s sleeping now, totally out of it, and he’ll be sore and uncomfortable for a while, but he’s a fit and healthy man, and he’ll get through in decent shape.’

Hannah didn’t trust herself to speak.

‘Don’t let him feel too sorry for himself when he comes back home. You know what men are like.’

Not really, Hannah thought: the more I know about men, the less I understand them. Do Greg, and Marc, and Daniel feel the same about me?

‘You’re sure …?’

‘He’s lucky, Detective Chief Inspector. Believe me, it could have been so much worse.’ The doctor fiddled with her spectacles. ‘How did the accident happen?’

Stupid, stupid idiot! Hannah only just stopped herself screaming in self-reproach. All she could do was mumble something hopelessly incoherent. Why hadn’t she prepared for the obvious, the inevitable question: had she completely lost the plot? Lurid visions had swum in her head. Marc in a wheelchair, Marc in a coma, Marc in a morgue. She hadn’t slept after waking from the nightmare, couldn’t rid her mind of the terror she’d felt when peering down into that open grave.

‘Are you okay?’ the doctor asked. ‘Sorry, silly question. This must all have come as such a shock. Would you like a cup of tea?’

Hannah shook her head again. ‘You’ve been very kind, Doctor Sharma. I know you have to do your rounds. I mustn’t take up any more of your time.’

They shook hands, and she made good her escape. As she turned into the corridor, it was hard to resist the urge to break into a run. Anything to get away in one piece. She’d dodged that tricky question, and though others would press her harder than a nice young medic with more important things on her mind, she’d worry about that some other time.

Marc was going to make it, and nothing else really mattered. She’d escaped from the dreaded hospital. Everything was going to be fine.

Outside, the rain was pelting down like tracer bullets, but she didn’t care. As she walked through the car park, she felt a sudden urge to sing and dance. Marc wouldn’t burden her conscience for the rest of her days. She could wriggle free of the handcuffs of moral obligation. Nothing now could stop them going their separate ways.

The words of an old movie song came into her head. Because I’m free, nothing’s worrying me.

Breakfast at Watendlath was a classic case of the morning after the night before. Daniel hadn’t stopped yawning since the stroke of seven, when Louise roused him with an imperious knock on his door. Her next lecture wasn’t due until late afternoon, but he’d promised to drop her off at the campus so she could finalise a paper about shareholder duties. A shower did nothing to invigorate him, and his brain was so fuzzy that he twice nicked himself shaving. It didn’t help that Louise looked so good in her pinstriped business suit that you’d never guess she’d been up in the early hours, searching for a ghost that refused to show. Daniel just felt like a ghost; the only bits of him that seemed real were the dry mouth and hangover-induced headache.

By quarter past, he was blundering down the stairs after her. The aroma of fresh toast wafted down the passageway linking their staircase to the rest of the house. The heating was on, and the cottage felt snug and secure from the clatter of the wind and rain outside. In the breakfast-kitchen, they found Jeffrey, plump frame enveloped in a silk dragon kimono, fussing over an elaborate bean-to-cup coffee maker like a fretful mother with a mutinous child.

‘Morning, both! Dreadful weather today, and the forecast is ghastly, but never mind. Help yourself to juice — orange, pineapple, cranberry, whatever. Cereals and fruit are on the table, pop a couple more slices of bread in the toaster if you like. Coffee will be ready in a jiffy.’

The over-the-top geniality was pure ham acting, his smile as much a disguise as a Hallowe’en mask. As he turned to resume his anxious scolding of the machine, Daniel spotted red rims around his eyes. Had Jeffrey quarrelled with Quin last night or this morning? The walls of Watendlath were as thick as a castle’s. Even if there’d been a screaming match, he’d have heard nothing.

‘Pity we didn’t manage to see Gertrude Smith on the prowl.’ Louise sank her teeth into a plump Orange Pippin. ‘I’ve caught the bug myself now. Do you think Dorothy suspected Roland of killing Gertrude, and tracked him down?’

‘Who knows? The possibilities are endless. What if she witnessed the killing?’

‘Yes, if she saw Roland Jones kill his girlfriend, she may have been too scared to say a word. Then when her mother killed herself so soon after Gertrude’s death, she’d have been even more terrified. Perhaps it took a lifetime for her to come to terms with the guilt of having kept her mouth shut.’

He smeared honey on his toast. ‘Plausible.’

‘Whoever killed Gertrude, it must have been a crime of passion. The catalyst was Gertrude’s pregnancy. It changed things for everyone at Ravenbank Hall.’

He glanced out into the wild garden. After another storm, ferns and shrubs dripped in the shadow cast by the copper beeches marking Watendlath’s boundary. The downpour had blurred the windowpanes, distorting the shape of the evergreens, turning them into dark green creatures, sombre and surreal.

‘I reckon Melody should collaborate with you on the case, not me.’

‘It’s your fault if I’ve caught the murder bug. And what I wonder about Shenagh’s murder …’

Quin strode through the door. Dark bags hung under his eyes, and the customary charmer’s smile was nowhere to be seen.

‘Shenagh’s dead, don’t you think we should let her rest in peace?’

He scowled at Jeffrey’s vast rump. His partner ostentatiously carried on pouring coffee into four mugs. Each of them was emblazoned with insults culled from the works of Shakespeare.

‘Sorry,’ Louise said. ‘That was insensitive of me. I didn’t mean to …’

Jeffrey wrapped the dragon kimono more tightly around him. His cheeks were bright pink. He handed out the coffees without a word. Quin grimaced at the writing on the side of his mug.

‘“Dissembling harlot”,’ he quoted. ‘Actions speak louder than words, eh?’

Louise threw a frantic glance at Daniel. A ringside seat to a domestic row was too close for comfort.

‘We’d better get out from under your feet as soon as we’ve finished our coffee,’ he said. ‘Thanks very much for your hospitality.’

‘Yes, you’ve been so kind,’ Louise said, desperate to ease the tension. ‘I’m so envious of you, living in such a …’

A ferocious battering on the front door interrupted her. Jeffrey plodded out to see who was calling so early in the morning. Daniel and Louise clambered down from their kitchen stools, but Quin did not move. While Jeffrey fumbled with the mortice key, the thunderous knocking began again.

‘Just a minute!’

At last the door swung open. A tall, haggard man whom Daniel had never seen before stood on the outside step. Rain rolled off his blue Barbour jacket, and down his cheeks. He’d been caught in the cloudburst, but didn’t seem to notice he was drenched. His blue eyes seemed unfocused, and he was breathing hard.

‘Robin, what is it?’ There was a tremble in Jeffrey’s voice.

‘Have you seen her?’ The man was hoarse and desperate, as if pleading for his life. ‘She’s nowhere to be found. For Christ’s sake, where is she?’

‘How is he?’

Greg Wharf had shut the door after coming in to Hannah’s office. She nodded as he took a seat, though they mustn’t make a habit of talking behind closed doors. For so many people in Divisional HQ, gossip was as natural as breathing. Essential not to give them any oxygen. Anyway, she could only give him a couple of minutes; she was supposed to be on her way to Lancaster.

‘He’ll live.’ She repeated what the doctor had said.

A theatrical sigh of relief. ‘Thank Christ for that. Looks like he’s got away with it by the skin of his teeth.’

‘Yes, he’s lucky.’

‘And the breath test was negative.’

‘Breath test?’ Her brain wasn’t functioning.

‘Yeah, I — um — didn’t mention it last night.’

‘What?’

‘Hey, you weren’t … yourself. I called Traffic as well as the ambulance when I saw his car wrapped around that tree. Best play it by the book with an RTC.’

Of course, he was right. There were no such things as road accidents, these days. They were, at the very least, incidents with some form of causation. This was a Road Traffic Collision, and the law allowed the police to breathalyse a driver involved in a collision. In practice, they always did so, in order to feed the Home Office’s addiction to statistics. Trees were, in the quaint jargon of police legalese, ‘roadside furniture’, and Marc’s crash, inflicting damage on the old oak, opened him up to prosecution. Driving without due care and attention was the likely charge. They’d never make a dangerous driving rap stick, and driving your car into a tree was solid enough evidence of a lack of due care. It could have been so much worse, but all the same …

‘Shit.’

‘Something new for you to worry about?’ He kept his face straight, but she knew he was teasing her.

‘You think the CPS will be interested?’

‘Dunno. Nobody else was involved, and the tree will get over it. At any rate, the council won’t need to chop it down. I gave it a quick once-over this morning before I came in. It’s not as if he hit another car or wrote off a signpost or something.’

A smart guy, Greg, more efficient than your typical Jack the Lad. Very good at dealing with a crisis. Of course, his reputation suggested he’d had plenty of practice.

‘Do you reckon they should treat it as a specified file?’

Guidelines covered the case of a family member of a serving police officer who was potentially liable to prosecution. Extra care needed to be taken, to avoid any whiff of nepotism.

‘Your guess is as good as mine, but chances are, the answer’s yes. It’s not long since you and Marc were a couple, and you were together a long time.’

‘Too long,’ Hannah said through gritted teeth. ‘I guess the prosecutors will want to avoid any whiff of “he only got away with it because his ex was a DCI.”’

Greg contrived an elaborate sigh. ‘You really don’t find it easy to look on the bright side, do you?’

Already the joy she’d felt in the hospital car park was beginning to evaporate. ‘Has it crossed your mind that sometimes there isn’t a bright side?’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Hannah, what are you like?’

She found herself collapsing into a fit of giggles. Absurdly childish, yes, but she couldn’t help herself. Something about him was hard to resist. Better make sure she didn’t find him too irresistible. A repeat of last night was off the agenda. Absolutely, definitely, forever.

‘That’s better.’ He looked her in the eye, his face stripped of any clue to what he was really thinking. ‘Ma’am.’

Robin Park stood in the middle of the breakfast-kitchen, dripping onto the terracotta tiles, a picture of misery. So this was the man who was planning a new life with Hannah’s best friend. Robin was unmistakably handsome, with blue eyes and regular features compensating for the weakness of his chin and limp handshake. Jeffrey fussed around him with the coffee pot, as if not knowing what else to do, but Robin waved him away.

‘We have to find her! Please, I can’t do it all by myself, and there’s no time to lose.’

‘Hang on a minute,’ Quin said. ‘We need to know what we’re dealing with here. When did you realise Terri was missing?’

‘First thing this morning. Oh, I know it’s still early. About an hour ago, I mean. I’d finally managed to get some sleep after spending most of yesterday rushing back and to from the bathroom. My stomach was empty, and I felt like shit.’ Quin nodded, as if to say And you look like it too. ‘I dragged myself out of bed and looked in the other room. Terri had said she’d spend the night there, rather than disturb me after getting back late from the party. Of course, she didn’t fancy catching whatever had knocked me for six.’

‘She wasn’t in the room?’

‘No. I assumed she’d stayed over with Mum instead. I rang her mobile, but there was no answer. So I called Mum and she said Terri saw her back to her cottage last night, then came back on her own to be with me. But … she didn’t.’

He buried his head in his hands. Jeffrey put an arm round him.

‘She’ll be fine, there’s sure to be a simple explanation.’

‘What about her car?’ Quin asked.

‘Still parked outside our front door.’

‘You’re sure she’s not somewhere in Fell View?’

‘Absolutely certain. I’ve looked everywhere, including the coal cellar, just in case she was so pissed she fell down the cellar steps. The garden as well. There’s not a trace of her.’

‘She can’t have gone far.’

Robin rubbed his jacket sleeve across his cheeks. Tears glistened in the blue eyes. He was a professional musician, accustomed to putting on an act, but Daniel was sure there was nothing feigned about his despair. Which didn’t mean it was justified.

‘Last night was Hallowe’en. You know what happens to young women in Ravenbank on Hallowe’en.’

‘Don’t talk like that,’ Quin muttered. ‘There must be some other explanation.’

‘I’ve met Terri before,’ Daniel said. ‘She is a close friend of someone I know, a police inspector.’

Robin stared at him. ‘Hannah Scarlett? Of course! Terri mentioned you to me. You and Hannah … well, it slipped my mind. I’m not thinking straight.’

‘Have you met Hannah?’

‘No, but Terri has … talked about her. She was going to introduce us.’

‘No need for the past tense,’ Daniel said. ‘One thing I do know about Terri is that she’s a joker. This might all be some sort of misguided … well, prank.’

‘No! She wouldn’t do that to me. Not after Hallowe’en, not in Ravenbank of all places.’ Robin’s voice was hoarse. ‘Two women have been killed here, it’s no laughing matter.’

‘Have you spoken to the Knights?’ Jeffrey asked. ‘Could she have gone back to Ravenbank Hall?’

‘For fuck’s sake, why would she do that?’

Jeffrey smoothed the kimono over his knees. ‘We have to consider all the possibilities.’

‘We need to mount a search party. Quin’s right, she can’t be far away. Perhaps she’s slipped, fractured an ankle or something, poor thing.’

‘On her way back from your mother’s place?’ Jeffrey considered. ‘Yes, it’s the likeliest explanation.’

‘I walked up to Beck Cottage before I came here, just to check. There wasn’t a sign of her. Mum’s in a right state. Terri’s like the daughter she never had.’ Robin caught Jeffrey’s sleeve. ‘I suppose she did get legless last night?’

Jeffrey’s eyes met Quin’s for a split second. ‘We all had way too much to drink. It was a party, the Knights are perfect hosts, what do you expect?’

‘Was there any trouble? Terri can’t keep her mouth zipped once she’s started drinking. She doesn’t know … when to stop.’

‘Hey, it was all fine. She was in high spirits from start to finish.’ Quin clapped his hands. ‘Come on, we need to get cracking, it won’t do Terri any good to be stuck outside and unable to move in this fucking awful weather.’

‘We’ll come with you,’ Daniel said.

‘Yes,’ Louise said. ‘The more people looking, the sooner we’ll find her.’

‘Let me call the Knights,’ Jeffrey said. ‘Just in case.’ A landline phone sat next to a serving hatch, and he punched in a number. ‘Hello, Melody, is that you? … Fine, now listen, we have Robin here. He’s in a state because Terri has gone AWOL. She hasn’t by any chance come to … Okay, right, just thought I’d check … Yes, it is. We’re setting out to look for her right now.’

He put down the receiver and shook his head. ‘No joy. Let’s get a move on.’

Lancaster University was hosting a symposium on cold case investigations. Representatives from a dozen police forces together with a sampling of forensic experts were there, to add a sprinkling of practical experience to academic theory. Lauren Self had decreed that the budget could stretch to allow Hannah to fly the flag for Cumbria Constabulary. Extolling the Cold Case Review Team’s successes seemed to Hannah a waste of time and money, given Lauren’s determination to rip it into shreds, but at least the jaunt would get her out of the office for a few hours. She’d have the chance to network with oppos from other forces, and might even pick up a few tips to help fight her corner over the cutbacks.

The drive should have taken less than an hour, but the weather doubled the journey time. The ferocity of the downpour had contributed to a couple of accidents on the M6, with three lanes reduced to one, visibility poor, and progress reduced to a crawl. But the hypnotic swish of the windscreen wipers, and the soothing voice of Rumer on the CD player worked as a kind of therapy, allowing Hannah’s mind to wander from the wretchedness of the traffic conditions.

The good news about Marc didn’t quite wash away her guilt about her close encounter with Greg. But the guilt was about letting down herself, not Marc. He didn’t own her; never had, never would. He needed to grow up and get used to the idea of her being with another man.

But what other man? Not Greg, she told herself. It wasn’t appropriate, and she wasn’t his type of woman anyway. In her head, she heard Terri saying she was protesting too much, but what did Terri know? She hadn’t exactly made a success of her love life, and Stefan might be the biggest mistake of them all.

Daniel, then? She tightened her grip on the steering wheel. A long-term relationship was out of the question. Celebrity historian and country bumpkin cop? It didn’t compute.

Why not follow Terri’s example and live for the moment? Thinking long-term hadn’t exactly been a recipe for success, either at home or at work. Look at her now. Relationship shot to pieces, career in suspended animation. Her life was going nowhere, just like the queuing traffic.

With a glance into her mirror, she gave the wheel a sudden wrench, and swerved onto the hard shoulder, accelerating onto the slip road at the next junction. A change of direction was long overdue. She’d throw away the route map. Time to trust her instincts.

Jeffrey assumed command, announcing he was dividing them into two groups. He would lead Daniel and Louise along the paths that meandered around the Fell View side of Ravenbank. Robin and Quin were to search the area on the other side of the lane. The plan was to meet up outside the entrance to Ravenbank Hall once they’d covered every inch of ground between Watendlath and the Knights’ mansion.

‘You don’t think she and Robin had a row, and that explains why he missed the party?’ Louise asked.

Jeffrey stopped in his tracks. ‘Can’t see it — unless the row was in the early hours, after she left Miriam and went back home. Terri was in great form yesterday. But Robin’s an easy-going fellow, and he and Terri seem to get on like a house on fire.’

The wind was driving the rain into their faces, and the paths were thick with mud. Trees swayed like creatures from another world, taking part in a slow ritual dance. The moist smell of autumn earth and leaves filled Daniel’s sinuses. Louise thrust her cold hand into his, and he gave an answering squeeze. He guessed she was remembering the ghost hunt, and Terri’s boozy cheerfulness.

‘We’re almost at Ravenbank Corner,’ Jeffrey called over his shoulder, and soon they emerged from the wood, close to where they had looked in vain for Gertrude Smith’s ghost. ‘Given that Robin has already walked up and down the lane, let’s take the path by the beck, and follow it round to the lake. We’ll come full circle before we cut across to the Hall.’

He stomped over to a well-worn pathway carpeted with leaves. Like the narrow beck, it disappeared into the trees they had staggered past the night before.

‘Daniel,’ Louise whispered. ‘What do you think has happened to her?’

‘Let’s not waste time speculating. We need to concentrate on finding her.’

‘You reckon she’s had an accident?’

‘It’s better than the alternative.’

‘You heard what Robin said about women in Ravenbank on Hallowe’en.’

‘Come on, we need to catch up with Jeffrey.’

They’d lost sight of him, but as they reached the path on the other side of the lane, they heard a loud shriek of pain, as if someone had shoved a knife into his heart.

‘Oh God,’ Louise whispered.

They ran into the wood. Jeffrey was twenty feet away, his back turned to them. Head bowed, he stood on the path close to the beck. He was staring at something in a dip in the ground, between the stream and Ravenbank Lane.

‘What is it?’ Daniel demanded.

Jeffrey turned to face them, his pudgy cheeks drained of colour.

‘A body, no signs of movement. I’m sure she’s dead.’ He was gasping for breath. ‘There’s something else. I can’t believe my own eyes.’

Daniel moved forward. He saw it for his own eyes at the same instant Jeffrey spoke again.

‘The face is covered with a blanket. And it’s soaked with blood.’

Hannah arrived at the campus in time to catch the tail end of the morning session of the symposium. A rotund Cornishman who looked more like a farmer than a forensic entomologist was speaking. His mission was to explain why the government’s decision to close the loss-making Forensic Science Service and contract the work out to the private sector was an enlightened example of forward-thinking, guaranteed to improve crime detection. A glance at the programme revealed that the speaker moonlighted from his university duties as a director of the company which was lead sponsor of the symposium. The firm provided analytical services to the police, and boasted every conceivable kitemark, as well, no doubt, as a fee tariff to match. No wonder the chap seemed so pleased with life.

Over an unexpectedly tasty lunch of pollo alla cacciatora, she chatted with colleagues from forces in the Midlands. They were appalled to hear that Lauren was butchering her team, but unsurprised. Nothing and nobody was sacred, given the government’s insistence on slashing the deficit the bankers had inflicted on the country. God knew where it was all going to end. As for their pensions …

‘DCI Scarlett?’

A thin, bespectacled woman, from her badge a member of the university staff, was bending over her shoulder so as to peer at her name tag.

‘That’s me.’

The woman coughed. Her demeanour suggested a lifetime spent apologising for things that weren’t her fault. ‘So sorry to disturb your lunch, but there is someone to see you.’

Hannah gave a wistful glance at the meringue sitting in front of her. It was simply begging to be eaten.

‘Give me five minutes?’

‘I’m afraid she says it’s very urgent.’ A nervous titter. ‘I don’t think it can wait.’

The cops from the Midlands exchanged glances. Hannah read their minds. Sounds like that cow she works for has gone on the warpath. For God’s sake, was there no escape?

Hannah stood up. ‘Excuse me, lads. Back in a tick. Don’t let them nick my dessert.’

She followed as the woman trotted through the crowded dining area. Lauren must want another chat about the team restructure. It had to be bad news, but Hannah reckoned she’d made it through the pain barrier. She felt in the mood to cope with anything.

But — why drag her out to the phone? Why not call her mobile?

‘Your colleague is waiting for you in the overseas admissions tutor’s room,’ the woman said.

Hannah halted in mid-stride. Lauren wouldn’t have come all the way out here. Surely Greg hadn’t taken it into his head to turn up?

‘Did my colleague give a name?’

The woman tittered again; it was like a nervous reaction. Her manner suggested she’d just been arrested for a crime of which she knew nothing.

‘Detective Chief Inspector Larter.’

Fern? It made no sense. Hannah shrugged and the woman led her down a long corridor. At the final door, she ventured a timid knock before stepping back to let Hannah through.

Fern sat on the near side of an imposing teak desk. She’d crammed her considerable bulk into one of a pair of chairs apparently designed for size zero students. Her face was creased with pain, as though every joint in her body hurt. She struggled to her feet, and motioned for Hannah’s guide to leave. With a nervous titter of farewell, the bespectacled woman shut the door on them.

‘What’s all this about, Fern?’ Hannah sounded angry, but really she was just bewildered.

Fern put a hand on Hannah’s shoulder. ‘Sit down, kid. I’m so sorry. There simply isn’t an easy way to give you this news.’

‘Marc? But the doctor said …’

Fern shook her head. ‘Nothing to do with Marc.’

Something in her friend’s expression, a sorrowful compassion she’d never seen before, frightened Hannah more than any words. She felt a choking sensation.

‘What?’ she whispered.

‘It’s Terri.’ Fern cleared her throat; tears glinted in her eyes. ‘Her body was found near Ullswater this morning. Someone has battered her to death.’