by Cleeves, Ann
It was only an hour’s drive from Newcastle but it could have been a world away. It was already dark when Holly left home – this close to the winter solstice there seemed to be hardly any daylight – and out of the city there were no street lamps. The old Roman road that led west was straight but hilly, a roller coaster of sudden stomach-dropping dips that left her feeling seasick. Occasional headlights appeared suddenly over the brows of the hills, blinding her. Snow was still piled on the verges, but the tarmac was clear. She followed her satnav to the address Dorothy Felling had given her, and she arrived at the cottage before realizing quite where she was, without any sight of the big house.
When she’d phoned Dorothy had said they’d be in, but sounded a little reluctant. ‘If you really think it won’t wait until tomorrow . . . Please don’t ring the doorbell though. Our son will be asleep.’
Now Holly stood in the garden, tapping at the window. The curtains seemed heavy, and there was no view inside. She hoped they would hear her and let her in.
The door was opened. All she could see was the silhouette of a man, backlit from the room beyond. He moved into a wide front porch where jackets had been hung and boots stood in a line, where split logs had been neatly stacked and two wooden chairs looked out to the garden. There must have been a sensor, because the porch light came on, making her blink.
‘You must be the detective. Do come in.’ A Scottish accent. He stepped aside and she saw he was dark, slender, movie-star good-looking.
The living room was small but tidy. Bookshelves had been built on each side of the chimney breast above low, white-painted cupboards. The shelves were packed but ordered, no stray copies piled on top of other books. Holly liked that. There was a small sofa and a large armchair facing the fire. No television. A wicker basket full of toys was tucked away in a corner, and next to that a box of board picture books. Dorothy sat on the sofa with a glass in her hand. The woman got to her feet. ‘Come in. I’m sorry if I sounded grumpy on the phone. It’s been quite a couple of days. I don’t suppose you’d like a glass of wine?’
‘I’d love one, but I’ve got to drive home.’
The man held out his hand. ‘Karan Pabla. Do sit down. I could make some coffee?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Holly agreed, because she could tell it would be good coffee. ‘That would be terrific.’ She thought that if these weren’t witnesses, she’d like them as friends; she suddenly felt strangely lonely.
She sat in the armchair, felt warmed by the fire, comfortable.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you so late,’ Holly said, when coffee was made, biscuits offered. ‘But the first few days of a murder investigation are so important.’
‘And we do live close by . . .’ Karan smiled.
‘Well, yes. Dorothy, were you in the big house all day on Friday?’
‘It was an important day for the family,’ Dorothy said. ‘Mark has this idea for saving the building, keeping it in the family, making it a focus for cultural tourism in the North-East. It was his chance to pitch it to their friends, influential people in the regional arts scene. Well, I suppose they were mostly his friends. His acquaintances. Juliet didn’t know many of them. It was all a bit of a nightmare for her. Mark was hoping for enough sponsorship to allow him to make a big match-funding bid. We all wanted things to go well. When the weather closed in, we wondered about cancelling, but by then some people had already turned up, so we decided to go ahead.’
‘You help them all out there?’
‘She’s the only person who keeps it together,’ Karan said. ‘It would fall apart without her.’
‘Really? I hardly think so.’ But Dorothy gave a little laugh and Holly could tell she was pleased.
‘What brought you there?’ Holly wasn’t quite sure how to phrase the question. What’s an obviously intelligent, well-educated woman doing being a skivvy for a bunch of entitled people?
‘I’m Juliet’s friend.’ Dorothy seemed to understand what Holly wanted. ‘We were at school together. I went on to Cambridge. Crispin, Juliet’s dad, was already in failing health, so she came back here to help her mother on the estate as soon as she’d done A levels. She was never very interested in the academic thing anyway. But we kept in touch. After university, I started in law, got a place in chambers, all set to be a barrister, but I hated it. London and the work. Really, I’m much happier here in the country and I love bringing order out of domestic chaos. Karan wants to train to be a teacher, and we didn’t have much money after he gave up his job in the city, so when Juliet offered us the cottage rent free, it all came together. Karan’s been tutoring some of the local teenagers. It’s experience and a bit of extra income.’
Karan pulled a face. ‘For my sins. At least it’s made me realize I made the right choice when I plumped for primary teaching. No way could I do high school!’
Dorothy continued, as if he hadn’t interrupted. ‘This is a great place for Duncan, our son, to grow up. When he’s older he’ll have the run of the garden. Imagine the freedom . . . We’d like to buy this place later if the family agree. It would give them a bit of extra cash and be some security for us. We’re saving frantically for a deposit.’
‘What do Mark and Juliet say about that?’
‘Juliet loves the idea,’ Dorothy said. ‘They could use the money. Mark’s more ambivalent. He says they might need accommodation for visiting actors. I don’t know where he expects us to move to, if that’s what he’s planning.’ She frowned and for the first time since Holly had met her, the woman sounded a little rattled.
Karan reached out and touched his wife’s arm. ‘I’m sure the detective doesn’t want to hear about our domestic problems.’
‘Of course.’ Dorothy smiled. ‘Sorry.’
‘Did you know Lorna Falstone?’ Holly directed her question to the woman.
‘No, your boss already asked me that. I went to school in Newcastle with Juliet. I didn’t grow up here. I came to stay for weekends but I don’t remember meeting Lorna. She’d have been younger than me.’
‘You never met her in Kirkhill?’
‘I don’t think I’d know her. Karan has been doing the house-husband thing until his teaching course starts in September. He’s been taking Duncan to the toddler group and Rhythm and Rhyme in the library. He’s more likely to have met her than me.’ Dorothy looked at her partner. ‘Did you ever come across them?’
‘The little boy is called Thomas.’ Holly looked at Karan.
He seemed to think for a moment before shaking his head. ‘Sorry, that doesn’t mean anything to me.’ There was a quick grin. ‘I find the toddler group pretty hard going actually. I’m the only bloke. I tend to take a paper, sit in a corner and read.’
Holly smiled. She wasn’t quite sure she believed him. Wouldn’t a charmer like him be the centre of attention among a group of bored women? Because Holly couldn’t imagine that a woman with only a house and a child to occupy her would be anything but bored. Surely Karan wouldn’t be allowed to sit apart, reading his paper, even if he were the retiring type? And besides, she sensed he’d enjoy the banter, would see nothing wrong in a little harmless flirtation. Here, though, with his wife listening, she didn’t feel she could push him. ‘If you could quickly take me through your movements yesterday, I can leave you in peace to enjoy the rest of your evening.’
‘I was at the big house all day,’ Dorothy said. ‘I was there by seven in the morning to start prepping. It wasn’t just the food, but most of the guests had been invited to stay over. Mark wanted to make it very special, a real country-house weekend. I’d made sure that the bedrooms were all clean the week before, but they needed the extra touches to make them welcoming. Juliet helped, of course, but we were all thrown when people started turning up early because of the weather.’
‘You didn’t come back here during the day? To see your son perhaps?’ Holly knew this might be important. Lorna’s body had been found not far from the track between the big house and the cottages.
Doro
thy shook her head. ‘Really, I didn’t have a minute to breathe. I phoned here early evening, about six, to say hello to Duncan before he went into the bath, just so he wouldn’t forget who I was, but apart from that it was head down all day.’
‘Like I said,’ Karan broke in, ‘they couldn’t run that place without her. Sometimes, I think they take advantage.’
‘Juliet’s a friend,’ Dorothy said, ‘and I love it.’
‘You didn’t hear anything unusual?’ Holly was still talking to Dorothy. ‘It would have been early evening, after the snow had settled.’
‘It was manic there. Guests arriving every ten minutes, needing tea, to be shown their rooms. I’m not sure I’d have heard a rocket being launched from the front lawn.’
‘And did they all arrive at the front of the house?’ Holly asked. ‘Nobody came down the back track where Lorna’s body was discovered?’
‘Oh, no! Mark was very definite about that. He’d staged the whole thing as if it was a piece of film. He wanted their first view of the house to be grand, beautiful – the big cedar on the lawn with the lights, the steps lit from below. There were directions on all the invitations to make sure the guests came to the right entrance.’
Holly nodded and turned her attention to the man. ‘And you, Mr Pabla, how did you spend your day?’
‘Duncan and I went into Kirkhill to do some shopping in the morning. I wanted to go early because the forecast was bad for the afternoon. We just did a quick trip to the Co-op to stock up on essentials. Duncan was well wrapped up in the pushchair, but it was already freezing. When we came back, he went down for his nap and I split some logs. We get given logs from the estate, but they’re whole, too big for the wood-burner. Besides, I quite enjoy it. It’s exercise and it keeps me fit. By mid-afternoon the weather had really closed in and we stayed indoors. Duncan played and I read – I’m catching up on stuff for the teaching qualification. It’s pretty intensive once you start.’
‘Did you see anyone in Kirkhill? Anyone you knew?’
‘Lots of people to wave to in the shop. Everyone uses it, so it’s a kind of social hub. I’m pretty distinctive. The only person of colour in the village.’ He seemed easy, slightly amused to stick out.
‘Anyone specific?’
‘I had quite a chat with Connie Browne. She’s a retired primary headteacher and she’s been giving me some advice on possible voluntary placements before I start the course.’
Holly said nothing. She recognized the name. Miss Browne was Lorna Falstone’s neighbour, the owner of the car which had ended up in the ditch. Was it plausible that Karan Pabla could be so close to the retired teacher, but know nothing of Lorna? Especially if everyone used the same shop? It seemed unlikely.
‘Did you hear anything in the late afternoon or early evening? A vehicle driving down the back track? It is very quiet here. Surely you would hear.’
Karan thought for a moment, then shook his head. ‘I’m sorry. It’s very quiet now, but it’s not when Duncan has all his toys out. I didn’t notice a thing.’
Holly got to her feet. She had a suspicion that she was being played, that these people were too pleasant, too charming. She imagined secrets cleverly hidden, stories still to be told. Then she told herself she spent too much time with rude, aggressive and ignorant people, and that she’d lost any sense of perspective. She was standing just inside the door, when something else occurred to her, the sort of question that Vera would have asked.
‘Juliet and Mark. Are they happy?’
The couple seemed surprised, almost shocked, and there was a moment of silence. In the end, it was Dorothy who answered. ‘They come from very different worlds,’ she said. ‘Mark’s a city boy. It must be hard for him here. I struggled at first too with the whole feudal, lord-of-the-manor thing. It seems so outdated; that sense of history must weigh the family down. I think the theatre project will help. It’ll give him his own identity – he won’t just be Juliet’s husband and Harriet’s son-in-law.’
‘What did Harriet make of the match?’
A pause. A little smile. ‘I don’t think Mark would have been her first choice. She’d have preferred someone with a similar background, someone who understood the responsibilities. A member of the Northumberland landed classes. Mark didn’t even have any money. But at least he was willing to move to Brockburn to make it his main home. If Juliet can give her a grandchild to inherit the estate, I think Harriet will tolerate Mark as a son-in-law.’
‘I think they’re happy,’ Karan said. ‘Not as happy as we are, obviously. We’re ridiculously in love still. Horribly soppy. But I think they’ll make a go of it.’
He put his arm round Dorothy’s shoulder and she looked up at him and smiled. Holly felt as if she were intruding on a moment of intimacy and again there was a flash of envy. What must it be like to have a relationship like this? She couldn’t imagine it ever happening for her; she wasn’t sure she’d have the confidence to let anyone get that close. Perhaps she’d end up like Vera, wedded to the job.
The thought still haunted her as she drove home down the straight, empty roads.
Chapter Thirteen
IT WAS SUNDAY MORNING, STILL DARK, and the roads were quiet. On the outskirts of Kimmerston, a couple of elderly women were going to the early service in the Catholic church on the edge of town, huddled into coats, heads down to face the raw weather. Vera got to the station before the rest of the team and put the kettle on. She was still thinking of the phone conversation she’d had the night before.
She’d called a former colleague, a man who’d been based in the police station in Kirkhill when there were still village bobbies. Ernie Moorland had lived in the police house and knew everyone in the village and the surrounds. He’d been a passionate conservationist, a ringer of birds and surveyor of the uplands’ natural history, for a while the county’s police wildlife liaison officer, dealing with all things rural from poaching to badger baiting. His particular interest had been animal welfare and the theft of raptors from the wild. So, Hector’s natural enemy. Vera had gone to him for advice when she contemplated joining the police force and he’d encouraged her, more, she’d realized even then, to annoy Hector than because he thought she’d be any good. He’d retired years ago, but she bumped into him occasionally in Kirkhill. He was in his late eighties now, but still a force of nature.
‘You’ll have heard about the murder at Brockburn, Ernie?’
‘Aye.’ Ernie had never been one for wasted words.
‘What can you tell me about the lass?’
‘Not a lot. I don’t have much contact with the youngsters. Not these days.’
‘Anything you can tell me about the Stanhopes then? I haven’t had much to do with my relatives recently.’ Not that I ever did, much.
‘You know I never thought much of that family.’
Ernie would never have thought much of any major landowner. If he’d been born a bit earlier, he’d have been one of the ramblers marching on a mass trespass to get rights of access to the uplands.
‘I need details, pet.’ Vera had started losing patience at that point. ‘I didn’t get any sleep last night and I’m ready for my bed.’
‘Crispin Stanhope was a randy goat. He thought it was part of his laird’s privilege to have sex with his workers.’
‘Eh, man, that was years past. When did he die? I read it in the Journal. Three years ago? And he’d have been ill before that. Have you nothing more recent to tell me?’
A pause. ‘I’ve heard word that the new man in the house treats his wife with the same lack of respect as his father-in-law did Harriet.’
‘You’re saying that Mark Bolitho has affairs? With the tenants?’
‘Well, maybe not so close to home. But I understand he’s a bit of a lad. He’s been seen in the city with another woman.’
‘With Lorna Falstone?’ Her imagination had been running wild at that point.
‘Nobody’s put a name to the lass,’ Ernie had said. ‘You k
now that the dead woman had a kid, though.’ At that point, he’d said he needed to be away to his bed too.
Now, in the police station, Vera looked down at the street and replayed the conversation in her head again. She thought there’d been little substance in it. They needed more than gossip and rumours.
There’d been rain overnight and it had cleared the remaining snow. She carried her tea into her little office and wondered how she’d explain the set-up at Brockburn to her colleagues. Even the ones who’d grown up in the country would find it difficult to understand the place of the big house in a community like Kirkhill. They’d be thinking it was all about money and class, Downton Abbey for the modern world: servants downstairs slaving for the rich above them. The rumours about Crispin Stanhope and Mark Bolitho’s adultery would feed into the myth.
Vera understood life in the country was a bit more nuanced these days than the plots of a costume drama, but she suspected the Stanhopes would still be pulling the strings. They owned the land the tenants farmed and the houses where they lived. People depended on them for their homes and their work, so life for employees could be precarious. The landed classes had the confidence that went with generations of living in the same place, knowing every inch. But still, there were obligations and responsibilities. Ownership would bring stress. She was glad that Hector had offended them all and been cast out, and she had no part of any of that.
People started to drift into the operations room. Holly arrived first, although she had furthest to come, then Joe, then Charlie; this was Vera’s core group, the people she relied on. Soon the room was full.
Vera took centre stage in front of them, stood for a moment looking out, waiting for the chatter to die down so that she had their full attention.
‘Our victim is Lorna Falstone. Rather a sad young woman, at least when she was growing up. She had an eating disorder and a long spell in a psychiatric hospital. I’ve checked that out. It was a private clinic in Cumbria called Halstead House. No information about how her family afforded it, but it’d be good to find out who paid the bills. Maybe her family got themselves into debt to do the right thing by her, but they’re tenant farmers and there’s not a lot of cash in sheep these days.’ Vera paused for breath and again she wondered how many of the team would understand the context. Most of them had come into the region from outside. Joe was brought up in Northumberland, but in a former pit village in the south-east of the county. There, the chapel and the union had shaped his life. He wouldn’t understand how tough farming was at the moment. Charlie had been born in the West End of Newcastle and probably hadn’t seen a sheep until he was an adult. For him, lamb came from the Indian takeaway in a korma.
