The Hanging Wood

by Martin Edwards

  ‘You were satisfied the father didn’t decide to take matters into his own hands?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Kit sounded as though he couldn’t believe his ears. ‘The man was a police officer.’

  And police officers can do no wrong? Hannah thought. Hmmm, thanks for your confidence. ‘Did Callum upset anyone else, to your knowledge? Or become involved with anyone unsuitable, anyone who might have had an unhealthy interest in teenage boys?’

  ‘No, no, no.’ His voice trembled. ‘For God’s sake, he was only a kid, he didn’t have a line of enemies queuing up to harm him.’

  ‘Orla spoke to me, the day before she died,’ she said. ‘She wanted justice for her brother.’

  ‘Meaning what?’

  ‘That’s why I’m asking you these questions, Mr Payne. Because of Orla.’ Hannah looked him in the eye. ‘When did she lose her hair?’

  The change of tack seemed to knock him off balance. ‘I can’t recall. After she left home, when she was studying for her degree.’

  ‘It’s a stress-related disorder, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, but there’s a genetic component. Niamh suffered from the same condition.’

  ‘I didn’t know that.’

  ‘There’s a lot you don’t know, Chief Inspector.’

  The retort stung like a whiplash, but as soon as he saw Hannah’s expression, his face fell, as if he realised he’d said too much.

  ‘I’m sure that’s right,’ she said. ‘So how did Niamh cope with her alopecia?’

  ‘By pretending it didn’t exist. Her hair fell out when she was in her early twenties, and it never grew back, so she wore a hairpiece. She carried it off so well that I never even realised until the night we slept together. Nobody else did, either. She called it her little secret. Orla dreaded the same thing happening to her, and sure enough, it did. But her case was more severe than her mother’s. She lost all her body hair too. She drew on a pair of eyebrows, and often wore tinted glasses so people wouldn’t see that she had no eyelashes. For a young woman, looks matter a lot.’

  ‘She chose to wear headscarves rather than a wig.’

  ‘Yes, and she looked fine, though she could never bring herself to believe it. She was attractive, but lacked Niamh’s confidence and vivacity. I think she found it hard to build relationships. Although she had a few boyfriends, none of them lasted long. She once told me that men she met tended to assume from the scarves that she was a cancer survivor. To her, the truth was more depressing. After she moved back to Keswick and started work at St Herbert’s, she started seeing someone, but it soon fizzled out.’

  ‘Did she tell you who she was seeing?’

  ‘No, and I didn’t like to poke my nose into her private life. Although we kept in touch, inevitably we saw less of each other once I found happiness with Glenys.’

  ‘Was she upset when you remarried?’

  ‘She understood I needed to move on after the difficult years when Niamh was so ill. I hoped Orla would find someone she could share her life with. I’m afraid she was lonely, Chief Inspector, and that is why she loved to retreat into the world of fairy tales.’

  ‘This love of fairy tales, where did it come from?’

  ‘Oh, it dated back to her childhood. A form of escape. Her parents’ marriage was unhappy, and the real world held little appeal for her. She liked to imagine herself as Gretel, with Callum as Hansel, when they roamed the Hanging Wood and visited Philip in his tumbledown cottage.’

  ‘St Herbert’s has a good stock of obscure books of old fairy tales, I hear.’ Hannah’s lips felt dry in the heat. Who needed the South of France, when you had weather like this in the Northern Lakes? ‘I suppose she was thrilled to be offered a job. Were you able to pull a few strings?’

  ‘As it happens,’ Kit Payne said, ‘I didn’t even know she’d applied for the post. The first I heard of it was when she rang to say that she was leaving Newcastle and coming back to Keswick.’

  ‘So you were reunited again?’

  Kit Payne shrugged. ‘Is the heat bothering you, Chief Inspector? We can move inside if you wish.’

  Hannah got to her feet. ‘Good idea, it is very warm out here.’

  ‘A suntrap, isn’t it? Pity I can’t take advantage when I’m slaving over a hot computer. Now, I need to meet some important visitors from Bulgaria before long, but would you like to stretch your legs for a few minutes before you go, take a look around our wonderful park?’

  ‘Thanks.’ She glanced at Greg, who gave a nod. Might as well see what all the fuss was about. ‘Why not?’

  * * *

  As he led Hannah and Greg downstairs, Kit Payne hailed his secretary, an overweight woman in her late fifties who was waddling towards the typists’ room with a sheaf of invoices clutched in a shovel-like hand.

  ‘Won’t be long, Shirley. Just taking our visitors for a quick tour of the park.’

  A beam lit up the woman’s face, transforming her in a moment into someone pretty and looking younger than her years. She was one of those secretaries who don’t disguise their devotion to her boss. While escorting the detectives to Kit’s office, she had boasted that he was always first into work, and the last one to leave at night. Kit Payne had risen to the board of Madsen’s through working hard and making no enemies, but taking on a ready-made family is tougher than the most demanding job, and Callum Hinds had got under his stepfather’s skin. Kit admitted his patience had snapped on one occasion. Had it happened again, with fatal consequences?

  Kit opened the door with his security tag, but as he marched out, he cannoned straight into Bryan Madsen, who wasn’t able to limp out of the way in time to avoid him.

  ‘Sorry, sorry, my fault.’

  Kit didn’t quite tug his forelock, but only because he didn’t have a forelock. Years of sitting together around the boardroom table hadn’t left any doubt about who called the shots.

  ‘Not to worry, my old friend.’ Bryan slapped him on the back to show no hard feelings. ‘Chief Inspector, grand to see you again. We must stop meeting like this, or people will talk!’

  ‘This is DS Wharf,’ Hannah said, and the vigour with which Bryan pumped Greg’s hand reminded her that twice in the Nineties he’d stood for Parliament in rock-solid Labour seats. Perhaps he’d never got out of the habit of canvassing for votes in an unpromising constituency.

  ‘Pleasure to meet you!’ Bryan gestured towards a bed packed with red begonias, and the fountain beyond. ‘Having a gander at the park?’

  ‘Everything looks very impressive.’ The ACC would have been proud of Hannah’s diplomacy.

  ‘Though I say it as shouldn’t, we really have created something special, and a good deal of the credit goes to this man here.’ Kit blushed like a virgin receiving her first proposition. ‘My father established the business on a sound footing, but once we appointed Kit as head of operations, the park really took off into the stratosphere. He leaves nothing to chance, you know.’

  The man who left nothing to chance coaxed a modest expression out of his uneven features. ‘I always maintain it’s a team effort.’

  ‘True, but a successful team needs high-quality leadership, and Kit is the best leader in the business. You know, Hannah my dear, this park has become the ultimate holiday destination in the Lakes – it says so on our promotional DVDs, so it must be true! See for yourself, and I dare you to tell me you aren’t impressed!’ Bryan resembled a belted earl, throwing open his castle to sightseers who have paid their shillings for a peek at how the other half live. ‘Who knows, you may feel tempted to invest in one of our lodges yourself. A perfect destination to escape from the cares of police work – and I’m sure Kit can cut you a favourable deal with no site fees for the first eighteen months! But seriously, what brings you here?’

  After all the bullshit, Hannah thought, the question he wanted to ask. Greg’s smirk revealed how much he’d enjoyed Bryan describing her as his ‘dear’. She’d suffer for that.

  ‘We were asking Mr Payne about
his stepson’s disappearance.’

  Bryan nodded. ‘I’m sure he is giving you every assistance. We understand that you have to tick the boxes. I only hope it doesn’t waste too much valuable police time.’

  It was on the tip of Hannah’s tongue to tell him to mind his own business. But even if Bryan Madsen was a boring old fart, he was a boring old fart with a shedload of influence. Unwise to get on the wrong side of someone who could pick up the phone and sound off to Lauren Self the minute his nose was put out of joint. If he wanted to believe she was simply going through the motions, fine. She’d take as long as she needed.

  Employing her sweetest smile, she said, ‘We’re grateful for your understanding, Mr Madsen.’

  ‘Bryan, please,’ he chortled. ‘Anyway, lovely to see you again. And to make your acquaintance, Detective Sergeant.’

  As Kit updated him on the shifting-around of some paintings in Mockbeggar Hall, Greg murmured in her ear.

  ‘Should we bow and curtsey?’

  ‘Show some respect for your elders and betters,’ she whispered.

  ‘Butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth, ma’am.’

  ‘Lying toad.’

  * * *

  ‘Micah, listen,’ Daniel said. ‘You mustn’t beat yourself up, it’s pointless. If Orla was suicidal, she would have killed herself somewhere, somehow, sooner or later. But when did you find out that she thought Aslan was Callum? She never mentioned it to me.’

  ‘Nor to me, not directly.’ Micah Bridge coloured. ‘Let me explain. As I say, she wanted someone to help her through the summer. It was tantamount to an admission that she couldn’t cope with her job, but I thought that if I said no, Fleur Madsen would take it amiss.’

  ‘Did Fleur imply that?’

  ‘In fairness, no. If anything, Fleur gave the impression that she was put out that Orla had come back to her old stamping ground. But I didn’t want to take a chance, so I advertised the support job at the minimum wage, assuming there would be no candidates with suitable qualifications, and the matter could be quietly dropped.’

  ‘Instead, Aslan showed up.’

  ‘And to clinch it, he made me an offer I could scarcely refuse. He was so keen, he was prepared to work as a volunteer, so the charity didn’t have to dip into its coffers to fund the post.’

  ‘I never knew he’s a volunteer, I assumed he was on the payroll.’

  ‘Pride, perhaps? Unemployment among the young is far too high, and he may have been afraid of being out of work, who knows? Whatever the motive for his proposal, it was remarkably generous.’

  ‘Why was he so eager to work here?’

  ‘I presumed he was spellbound by the magic of the place.’ It was part of the principal’s charm, Daniel thought, not to see anything odd in a young man offering his services to St Herbert’s for free. ‘If you love books, where on earth could you be happier?’

  Yet in his conversations with Daniel, Aslan often moaned about life at St Herbert’s; his recurrent gripe concerned the need to skulk out of doors for a fag break. The principal had asked no questions; mustn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

  ‘But he doesn’t actually seem to have any interest in literature.’

  The principal shook his head. ‘So it seems. Quite inexplicable. But from the outset, Orla took a shine to him, and I heard they went out for a drink in Keswick together. I couldn’t help congratulating myself on a job well done. The chair of trustees could hardly complain, and I’d avoided incurring unnecessary expenditure. What I never bargained for was this complication about Aslan’s supposed identity.’

  ‘How did you find out?’

  A flush of embarrassment darkened the principal’s features. ‘I happened to overhear a conversation between Orla and Aslan.’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘Yes. I happened to be on the first-floor corridor, after a conversation with the librarian in her office up there. On my way back to the staircase, I passed Orla’s room, and I heard voices. The door was ajar, and she was talking to Aslan. I would have paid no attention, but it seemed Orla was in distress. I believe she had been drinking.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘She was apologising to Aslan, and asking if they could still be friends. She sounded tearful. I heard her say, I was so sure you were Callum.’

  ‘And he said?’

  ‘He was trying to calm her down. I had the impression he was trying to talk sense to her, but she kept rambling and wouldn’t let him get a word in edgeways.’ The principal frowned, groping in his memory for the words. ‘The walls have ears, that’s how I heard about Callum, and Castor and Pollux.’ As she said that, it occurred to me I’d better move along. They might notice the door was open, and I didn’t want to appear to be listening to a private conversation between two members of staff, with one in such an emotional state.’

  ‘What was all this about Castor and Pollux?’

  ‘Heaven only knows. She wasn’t making any sense. Even Aslan probably could make neither head nor tail of it.’

  ‘Orla once told me her brother liked to be cryptic and mysterious, but I doubt he was in her league when it came to talking in riddles.’

  ‘She was a troubled young woman. I moved along the corridor not a moment too soon. She came out of her room and dashed past me without a word. I could see she’d been crying.’ The principal toyed with his coffee cup. ‘Daniel, I do not make a habit of poking my nose into the business of others. I simply did not know whether I should offer help or behave as though I was unaware of the conversation.’

  ‘What gave her the idea that Aslan was her long-lost brother?’

  ‘I heard her say he looked rather like Callum. The shape of his head, the colour of his eyes, the same beaky nose.’

  ‘But Aslan’s ethnicity …’

  ‘He is half-English, don’t forget.’ The principal sighed. ‘I have been unsure whether the conversation I heard has any bearing on her suicide. Hence my decision to consult you. I am aware of your involvement with that matter of the De Quincey Festival.’

  Daniel said slowly, ‘I’m beginning to see what happened. How about this? Orla meets Aslan, and takes a shine to him. Then she persuades herself that he is really Callum, but when she puts this to him, he disillusions her with the truth.’ He kept thinking aloud. ‘The relationship fizzles out, and in her distress, Orla decides to end it all.’

  ‘The truth being, that Aslan is not Callum?’

  ‘Unless … Aslan lied, and Orla’s idea was right all along.’

  The principal chewed on a piece of Turkish delight. ‘You once wrote that all historians are detectives. I am sure your guess is better than mine.’

  To call Madsen’s a caravan park was, Hannah realised as they walked around the site, akin to describing Windermere as a long strip of water. The country club boasted a brasserie that wouldn’t seem out of place on the Riviera, plus a couple of bars, a gym, a climbing wall, a badminton court and a tenpin bowling alley. Beyond vivid rose beds and the large gushing fountain lay a fishing lake, sports arena, and a nine-hole golf course. Hannah had expected the place to be swarming with unruly kids and harassed parents, but everywhere she looked there were smart and sprightly senior citizens, and clean-cut families with offspring who answered to names like Justin and Minette, and who had no doubt travelled here in the freshly washed SUVs that lined the car park.

  Kit showed Hannah and Greg round a luxury lodge that put Undercrag to shame with its triple glazing, underfloor heating, solar panels, spa and hot tub. You could laze in the sunshine on the decking and admire the view of Blencathra. With vaulted ceilings, exposed wooden beams and floor-to-ceiling windows, the atmosphere inside was less like a mobile home, more like a place of worship. Sun worship, at least.

  When they moved out in the sunlight again, Greg pointed to a camera fixed high up on the wall of the lodge. ‘That makes a round dozen cameras I’ve counted so far, Mr Payne. You take security pretty seriously here.’

  ‘Our customers pay good money
to enjoy the park, DS Wharf. We have a duty to make sure they are kept safe and sound.’ Kit indicated a squat single-storey building on the other side of a tennis court. ‘Come and take a look at our site security.’

  Inside the control centre, two men in shirtsleeves kept a watchful eye on a bank of screens. Kit Payne made Hannah’s eyes water by explaining how much the Madsens spent on park security, before rattling off the technical specifications of the surveillance equipment. She wondered how long it would be before his favourite phrase cropped up: state of the art. The answer turned out to be a minute and a half. As he talked, one of the men waved him over.

  ‘We seem to have a trespasser in Mockbeggar Zone 3.’

  Hannah and Greg moved forward to peer over Kit’s shoulder at the screen in question. The rear view of a tall man was visible. He was making his way towards a small copse. The undergrowth was dense, and as they watched, he stumbled and lost his footing. Kit and the security men groaned in unison.

  ‘Tripped over a tree root,’ Kit said, with a touch of malicious satisfaction. ‘I suppose he fancied taking a short cut to see how the Hall looks in the run-up to the official opening. You see why we discourage people from accessing areas of the site that we haven’t cleared and upgraded yet. Health and safety is core to our vision, and our insurers insist we take every precaution. That chap could easily sprain his ankle, and ruin his holiday.’

  ‘He’s one of your residents?’ Hannah was sure she’d seen the man before. Where was it?

  ‘Presumably.’ Kit sighed. ‘You’ve seen for yourself, we provide every possible facility in the public areas. But some people you could give gold, and it wouldn’t be enough. He’s wandered into a part of the Hall grounds that we haven’t cleared and opened to the public in the first phase of the park expansion. Of course, there’s always someone who doesn’t understand the meaning of “no entry”. We’ll send a warden from our security team to make sure he’s all right, and have a quiet word to remind him of park rules.’