Embroidering Shrouds
Page 22
Chapter Twenty-seven
10 a.m. Wednesday, November 4th
Solving a murder should bring satisfaction, Joanna lectured herself angrily. But so often all it gave her was a tired feeling of unnecessary destruction – of lives, of people, of time, money, effort, emotion. She felt drained. How often murder was the result of weakness – not strength, of ducking the truth, responsibility. Gardiner would pay for a short indiscretion and a very long lie, and she had the feeling the courts would not be lenient. He would die in prison as he had lived in one.
She and Mike sat opposite each other in her office. He kicked the desk and she stared at the floor.
‘Poor man,’ she said.
Korpanski stared at her. ‘I don’t know how you can say that, Jo. You were at the post-mortem.’ His dark eyes held accusation, puzzlement. ‘He broke how many bones?’
‘She goaded him for all those years, robbed him of his principles, his life, his vocation. Everything he valued.’
‘He could have owned up at any time.’
‘But he didn’t. And the longer he left it – it became impossible, Mike.’
‘They deserved each other.’
She gave a tight grimace. ‘Maybe.’ She gave a long sigh. ‘And then we’ve got the other little matter.’
‘Christian?’
‘No. Arnold Patterson. He murdered–’
‘Surely we aren’t going to pursue that?’
‘We’ve no option, Mike, but to let the law grind its course. And have they hauled in Elland yet for his little visit to Emily Whittaker?’
‘Can’t you hear the noise out there?’
Both were silent until Joanna looked up. ‘So, Korpanski,’ she fixed her eyes on him, ‘what about Eloise and your mother-in-law? Our unwelcome guests?’
His mind must still have been lagging behind. He looked startled. ‘We’ll get rid of them.’
‘How?’ she challenged.
‘She’s an old bag but not that ...’ Then he caught the humour in her face. ‘You didn’t mean that.’
She laughed and after a short pause Korpanski joined her.
Outside in the corridor two PCs listened. ‘They must have cracked it,’ one said.
‘And feel sure of a conviction,’ Cumberbatch answered.
After he’d left Joanna sat for a while in her office toying with a pencil, and ideas. There was a similarity between Nan Lawrence and Eloise Levin. Nan had set out to ruin a life for no reason other than malice. She could have hoped to gain nothing. She could not have believed Leon Gardiner had any intention of marrying her, ever. Nan Lawrence had been young, twenty years old when her child had been brutally murdered by the brother she had once adored. And Eloise? She would love to ruin Joanna and Matt’s relationship. But she would not part them. She must not part them.
Joanna picked up her handbag. It was time to go home.
Chapter Twenty-eight
9 a.m. Monday, February 1st
Three months later in the thickest snowstorm of winter Joanna drove again along the Macclesfield Road. She had heard rumours.
Spite Hall had gone. Vanished as though it had never been. The shape of Brushton Grange loomed through snowflakes like Bronte’s Wuthering Heights. The scene had been returned to the vista of fifty years ago. They must have come in the previous weeks to demolish it.
Now Matthew would be summoned, because somewhere beneath the rubble lay the skeleton of a child that had lived long enough to draw breath once. Twice? No more.
She turned her car around and headed back to the station, welcoming the warmth that greeted her. The desk sergeant saluted her with a grin.
From somewhere in her office was coming a strange noise – cracked tones. Joanna winced. Korpanski was singing. For him happiness had returned; Fran’s mother had gone. But she didn’t feel much like joining him in the tune. Eloise would be back.