He wrenched his thoughts back to Hannah. If only he could learn something about Callum Hinds’ disappearance to pass on to her.
‘And your neighbour at Lane End Farm?’ he said. ‘How did Mike Hinds cope with the fact that his brother was supposed to have killed his son?’
Gareth shook his head. ‘I hate to say it, but it was just as well Philip hanged himself. I was afraid Mike might take the law into his own hands.’
‘And harm Philip?’
‘I’m afraid so. Look at how he used to rough up poor Niamh.’
‘He’s an animal, frankly.’ Bryan’s languid tone didn’t disguise his contempt. ‘But what do you expect of a man who cares more about beasts on his farm than his own flesh and blood?’
‘That’s a bit harsh, Bryan,’ Sally said.
Bryan rolled his eyes. ‘I can only speak as I find. Philip was useless, but even if Mike had his suspicions, he didn’t need to be the one to point the finger. Not at his own brother.’
‘I hope you remember that if I ever run into trouble with the police,’ Gareth said lightly.
‘Did you all like Philip?’ Louise asked.
‘We felt sorry for him,’ Bryan said. ‘My father let him live in the wood for nothing, in return for a few odd jobs. The cottage wasn’t much, but to be honest, we got the worst of the bargain. Not that we minded, really. My father saw looking after Philip as an act of Christian charity, and so did we.’
‘My husband likes to do good,’ Fleur whispered in Daniel’s ear. ‘As long as it doesn’t cost too much.’
‘He was harmless,’ Bryan continued. ‘Or so I thought. You may say that shows I’m not such a good judge after all, but my guess is, he never intended to kill Callum.’
‘What do you think happened?’ Louise asked.
‘I’d say there was a bit of horseplay between them, and then things got out of hand. And the upshot was that Hinds lost both a son and a brother.’
‘Now he’s lost his daughter as well,’ Sally said.
‘You don’t know for sure that he lost his son,’ Purdey said.
She’d been yawning, a young woman wearied by the dinner table chit-chat of her elders. She reminded Daniel of students he’d taught with a low boredom threshold. They liked to spice up their tutorials with an occasional bit of melodrama.
‘What do you mean?’ Sally asked.
‘Suppose Mike Hinds’ son is still alive?’
‘Darling, it’s not a joking matter.’
‘I’m not joking.’ Purdey gave an elaborate yawn. Lapping up the attention, Daniel could tell. Everyone’s eyes were on her, and he was sure that was what she’d aimed for.
‘Purdey, what are you talking about?’ Gareth demanded.
‘What I said, Dad. Mike’s son is alive and well.’
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘I’m not being silly.’ Purdey’s silky smile made it clear she was about to play her ace. ‘In fact, I’ve met him.’
‘Marc, for God’s sake!’
The instant Hannah recognised him, her panic was lost in a surge of fury. He stood next to the front door of Undercrag, hands in pockets, his demeanour expectant yet tinged with irritation, as if she had no right to come home this late. She had to stifle the urge to rush up and throttle him.
‘Not the warmest welcome,’ he said. ‘I’ve been hanging around here for two hours, wondering where you might be.’
Deep breaths.
‘You’ve still got a key. Your name is still on the title deeds. It’s not as if I changed the locks.’
‘I would have felt like a trespasser. It’s your place at present, not mine. I meant to do the right thing, by not going inside and making myself at home without permission. I thought you’d understand.’
Aaaaagh! He hadn’t lost his flair for sidestepping her wrath, and putting her in the wrong. She knew him well enough to be aware that he’d see his behaviour as eminently reasonable – sensitive, even. Must it always be like this in a relationship between a man and a woman? Two different views of the world, because the two of you were never standing in precisely the same place?
‘What do you want?’
‘Hannah, we need to talk.’
‘It’s Friday night. I’ve been working all day.’ Well, a permissible exaggeration. ‘I’m knackered. All I want is to have a soak in the bath and then climb into bed. On my own, Marc, before you get any ideas.’
He waved away the gibe, as if swatting a bunch of midges, and took a stride towards her. The smell of his aftershave mingled with the fragrance of lavender in a large stone tub outside the living room window.
‘I may be crass, Hannah, but I’m not quite that crass. Listen, we can’t go on like this. We had something special together, and I fucked up big style. How many times do you want me to apologise? Not a problem, I’ll grovel as much as you like. We just need to move forward, that’s all.’
‘You don’t have to grovel,’ she said. ‘For what it’s worth, I’ve forgiven you. That isn’t the point; the question is what I want to do with the rest of my life.’
‘Spend it with me.’
He reached out an arm, but she skipped out of reach. ‘No, Marc, I’m not ready.’
As soon as she said it, she regretted her choice of words. Not ready implied that one day she would be ready. In the light from the halogen lamp fixed under the house eaves, she saw a spark of hope in his eyes, and cursed herself.
‘All right. It will take as long as it takes, I guess.’
‘Marc, you need to get over me.’ Horrible cliché, but what else should she say? She forced a smile. ‘Terri was asking after you. You could do worse than give her a call.’
‘Terri?’ He was hoarse with amazement. ‘Is that meant to be funny? How many times has she wrinkled her nose when she talked about my musty old books?’
‘I didn’t realise she carried a torch for you either. Seems we were both wrong.’
For a few moments, a look crossed his face that she recognised, as he weighed up pros and cons.
‘No,’ he said. ‘She’s your friend. This is about you and me. Not Terri.’
‘Up to you.’
‘I’d better go.’ He took a couple of paces away from her, before halting, as if he half-expected her to call him back. Typical man, Hannah thought. Hope sprang eternal. ‘I parked down the lane.’
‘Goodnight, Marc.’
She fished out her keys and walked up to the front door. Not trusting herself to speak, far less to look back over her shoulder.
‘You may not believe this, but I’ve changed.’
Oh yeah?
‘I’m sorry about your miscarriage, Hannah, more than I ever said. Heartbroken. But we can start again.’ He paused. ‘Try for a baby.’
Jesus.
She caught her breath.
I don’t believe I’m hearing this.
‘Hannah.’ His voice was clear as he walked away; in the quiet of the evening, it seemed unnaturally loud. ‘Don’t forget one thing. I love you.’
The key rattled in the lock. She felt clumsy and juvenile. Her hands began to tremble.
* * *
‘Aslan Sheikh?’ Fleur repeated. ‘I don’t believe it!’
‘You don’t have to,’ Purdey said. ‘I’m telling you what he told me. And I happen to believe it’s true.’
‘You’re making it up!’ Sham blurted out. ‘He never said anything about it to me!’
Purdey shrugged. ‘So?’
Gareth said, ‘I think you’d better tell us the whole story.’
For once, he sounded stern and humourless, like the Victorian paterfamilias who stared down from the opposite wall. Daniel snatched a glance at his fellow diners. Kit and Glenys looked bewildered, Bryan displeased, Sally agog and open-mouthed, hungry for fresh revelations. Hurt and angry, Sham had turned the colour of beetroot. Louise was frowning with concentration, keen not to miss anything. Only Fleur’s expression – or lack of it – gave nothing away. Perhaps her studied indifferenc
e was a clue; why make such an effort to appear unfazed? Daniel found himself admiring her gift for hiding what she really thought.
‘Yes,’ Purdey said. ‘Mike Hinds was his father, and Aslan had come back to check him out.’
‘Check him out?’
‘Correct. They’d never met, and Aslan was afraid he wouldn’t be welcome if he turned up on his father’s doorstep and introduced himself.’
‘Never met?’ Bryan was bewildered. ‘But if you’re trying to say that this man is Callum Hinds, then—’
‘I’m not saying that!’
She was dragging it out, Daniel thought, relishing her fifteen minutes of fame in the family circle.
‘What, then?’
‘Aslan wasn’t Callum. His mother met Mike Hinds in a bar. They had a fling, and Aslan was the result. By the time he was born, his mother had left Keswick for Carlisle, and before long she went back home to Turkey. Mike Hinds never knew anything about the child.’
‘This is bizarre.’ Gareth shook his head in disbelief. ‘I know Mike was a womaniser in his younger days, but …’
Sally said, ‘How on earth did you find this out?’
‘I met Aslan when I called in at St Herbert’s. Aunt Fleur asked me to drop off some financial statements for the principal. Aslan and I got talking. He invited me to meet up for a drink at a bar in town that night, and since I had nothing better to do, I agreed. That was when he told me his story; it only took a few drinks to loosen his tongue. He swore me to secrecy, but I think he wanted to impress me with his exotic life story. An illegitimate son of a Keswick farmer, raised in Istanbul, who has roamed the world for years and is now back in Cumbria in search of his roots. Fascinating if you like that sort of thing, but he wasn’t my type. When he invited me back to his flat, I made it clear I wasn’t interested.’
‘I bet,’ Sham muttered.
‘What do you mean?’ her mother asked.
‘Oh, come on, Mum, don’t tell me you haven’t worked it out. Why do you think she was so upset when Dad’s secretary Lily went back home to Australia?’
Purdey said quietly, ‘Keep your nose out of my life, Sham. It’s nothing to do with you. Besides, you ought to be grateful. I told Aslan he’d stand a much better chance with you. If he fancied easy pickings.’
‘You cow!’ Sham banged her spoon on the wooden tabletop. Her lower lip was thrust out, making her resemble an infant losing her temper at mealtime.
‘Purdey, Sham, you’re not teenagers any longer, behave!’ Gareth was seething. ‘I’ll speak to you both later, when our guests have gone home. Your private lives aren’t for public consumption. All I want to know right now is whether there’s any truth in this incredible story that Mike Hinds has an illegitimate son he knows nothing about.’
‘He had no reason to lie,’ Purdey said sulkily. ‘Everything he told me seemed perfectly believable. He hadn’t contacted Mike Hinds at that time; he’d heard from his mother, and also by asking around, that Mike has a vicious temper. I told him he needed to choose his moment carefully if he wanted a reunion. Time it wrong, and Mike would be getting out his shotgun. I said I wasn’t sure Mike would be thrilled to discover he had a long-lost son.’
‘But he’d lost Callum,’ Sally said.
‘I don’t think he’d see Aslan as a straight swap, Mum,’ Purdey said with exaggerated patience. ‘It’s not as simple as happy ever after.’
‘The real question is whether this tale he told you is true,’ Bryan said. ‘It seems extraordinary, like something out of one of Orla’s fairy stories.’
‘It could be true,’ Kit Payne said. ‘Niamh told me about some of Mike’s affairs. The ones she knew about, anyway. A girl from Eastern Europe was among his conquests, I remember.’
‘So Aslan really is Mike’s son?’
As Gareth lingered over the question, his brain seemed to be stepping up a gear. Like everyone else, Daniel thought, he must be computing what he’d learnt, trying to figure out the implications.
‘Well, well,’ Bryan said. ‘The prodigal has returned, after all.’
‘But not the prodigal everyone hoped for,’ Fleur Madsen said.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Saturday morning in Keswick, and Market Square was crammed with bargain hunters swarming around stalls that sold pies and paintings, clothes and crafts, and pretty much everything else you could wish for. Traders’ raucous cries punctuated the hum of a hundred conversations, smells from the fishmonger’s wafted through the warm air, mixing with those of home-made preserves and pungent cheeses. Marooned in the pedestrianised area was Moot Hall, with its sturdy tower and one-handed clock. Over the years, it had served as a courthouse, a prison and a town hall. Now it housed a tourist information office, with posters, leaflets and videos extolling Keswick’s various delights: Derwent Water, the Theatre by the Lake, Skiddaw, Blencathra – and a pencil museum.
The temperature was rising as Daniel smeared a dollop of sunblock on his face and neck. He’d arrived early, but he was hopeless at waiting, and found himself inventing a dozen reasons why Hannah might not show up. At last he spotted her through the crowd, handing over money at a stall that sold belts and bracelets. The bag under her arm bulged with purchases. A single woman with a busy job didn’t have much time for shopping, and she’d made the most of the market. A short-sleeved blue top and denim jeans clung to her. Since their last encounter, she’d lost weight, he thought, even though she’d never had much to lose. From a distance, she looked scarcely old enough to have left police college, let alone take charge of a cold case squad. His spirits rose as she caught sight of him, and gave a wave before hurrying over to him.
‘Thanks for sparing me an hour or two,’ he said. ‘I’m sure your Saturdays are precious.’
‘Glad to.’ She smiled, showing even white teeth. ‘This is a treat.’
He dropped a light kiss on each cheek. She wasn’t wearing make-up – no need. He liked the fresh smell of her hair and her skin. The Madsen women were sleek and gorgeous in a no-expense-spared way, but give him the natural look any time.
‘Derwent Water, then?’ The lake was only five minutes away. ‘So how is your book going?’
‘The question all writers dread,’ he told her. ‘No matter what target or deadline you set, it always turns into a frantic race against time. Coupled with the need to dream up increasingly unlikely excuses for slow progress whenever your agent calls. Ensconcing myself in the library at St Herbert’s seemed like a smart idea at the time. Allegedly, it’s an oasis of peace, where nothing ever happens, the only disturbance an occasional snore from an adjoining table. But what happens the minute it becomes my second home? Orla Payne decides to make me her confidant, and next thing I know, all hell breaks loose.’
Hannah laughed. ‘You’re fated.’
‘My own fault.’
‘She must have found you sympathetic.’
‘Nosey, more like. I’ve never been able to get rid of this urge to find things out. Very useful in academe, but in the real world, sometimes it’s easier not to know. When I was a kid, Dad used to tell me I was too curious for my own good, and he was dead right.’
‘He usually was,’ she said.
‘I overheard him talking to Cheryl on the phone when he thought the house was empty, so I knew about his affair a week before he broke the news to Mum.’ He aimed a kick at a scrap of litter on the pavement. ‘Looking back, that may just have been the most agonising seven days of my entire life.’
‘I’m sorry, Daniel.’ Her hand brushed his. ‘It’s such a shame you never spent enough time together before he died. He was thrilled by your idea of history as detective work. It showed you were a chip off the old block, he said.’
‘Hardly. When Orla told me about her missing brother, and that she didn’t believe he was dead, I tried to winkle more information out of her. But she clammed up on me. It was obvious she was unhappy, but I didn’t know why.’
‘She never hinted at suicide?’
‘
I keep asking myself if I should have spotted what was in her mind.’ His tone was as bleak as Blencathra in winter.
‘There were subtle clues, just as with Aimee. But I didn’t spot them.’
‘You did all you could, you told her to talk to me.’
‘Passing the buck, to be honest.’
‘It was the right advice. Don’t beat yourself up about it.’
‘Easier said than done, Hannah.’
‘Listen.’ She seized his arm, forcing him to stop in mid stride. ‘I spoke to her, so did my DC the day she died. She was drunk and depressed. We are supposed to be the professionals, and we couldn’t get any sense out of her. How do you help someone who won’t let you help? I’m sure you couldn’t have saved Aimee, and you’re certainly not to blame for what happened to Orla, OK?’
‘OK.’ They started to walk again. ‘You know, I could never make out whether she wished she’d kept her mouth shut, or whether she’d discovered something that changed the complexion of things.’
‘What do you think she might have discovered?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine. Perhaps it was all in her mind. She was seriously mixed up, and the booze didn’t help. The last couple of times I saw her, she reeked of it. The principal wasn’t happy, and one or two colleagues started to keep their distance.’
They had reached Hope Park. Hannah said, ‘Which colleagues?’
‘Sham Madsen, for one; she was never a fan of Orla’s. And a chap who worked with her, and took her out a time or two, started avoiding her. Or so she thought.’
High in the sky, a gaudy yellow-and-red kite caught their attention, and they watched it gust along before starting a jittery descent towards Derwent Water.
‘Not Aslan Sheikh, by any chance?’
‘You know him?’
‘I know the name. We haven’t interviewed him yet, but he’s top of the list for Monday.’
‘Good plan.’ In front of them lay the slate and roughcast stone exterior of the Theatre by the Lake, blending in with the landscape so that it looked as though it had been part of the scenery for ever, not for just ten years. A poster advertised What the Butler Saw. Daniel couldn’t resist the temptation to ham up the suspense. Lowering his voice, he said, ‘But … do you know his real identity?’
The Hanging Wood Page 19
