The Darkest Evening

by Cleeves, Ann

  In some of the paintings the scene was almost dark and there was a light in the window. A pale light from a candle or lamp. In others the cottage was shown in full daylight. Sunshine slanted through the trees onto the building, changing the colour of the stone to silver. Clover and buttercup grew in a meadow in front of the house, bringing splashes of colour, making the scene feel almost joyous.

  She called down to Charlie. ‘What do you make of these?’ She heard the sound of his footsteps on the stairs, then he was standing behind her, peering at the pictures on the wall.

  There was a moment of silence. ‘Are we sure that she did these?’

  ‘Yes, your friend Veronica in the pub told me she went to a community art class.’

  ‘Poor lass,’ he said. ‘Poor troubled soul.’

  ‘Then there are these.’ Holly stood aside so he could see the cottage paintings. She’d leaned a number against the wall, facing out. ‘All of the same place. Any idea where it is?’

  He shook his head. ‘Somewhere out here in bandit country. The boss might know.’

  Holly nodded and started taking photos. ‘Why so many paintings of the same place? Some kind of obsession? A place where she was once happy?’

  Charlie shrugged and repeated his earlier words. ‘Poor troubled soul.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  VERA KNOCKED AT THE DOOR OF the Home Farm house, where the Heslops lived, but there was no answer. There were lights on inside, though, and she thought the family must be around. She moved to the side of the building and looked through a sash window into a long living room. The view was partially blocked by a giant Christmas tree, a Scots pine. It was hung with ancient, home-made decorations and fairy lights shaped like flowers. On the top was a star, a child’s creation, years old, covered in glitter. She thought that the tree had been recently cut and decorated because there was no sign of dropping needles. No sign of people either. No fire in the grate.

  The house was quiet, but Vera became aware of music, drifting from somewhere beyond it. She continued moving around the building towards the yard and the music got louder. Vera was mystified. It was dark and cold and, even if the Heslop young people had been willing to brave the elements for an impromptu party, this was hardly rave material. This was the traditional music she remembered from her childhood.

  There had been a pub Hector had frequented when he’d felt a sudden need for company, or he’d run out of booze in the cottage. As a small girl, she would be left outside in the car with crisps and lemonade, and occasionally, when the door opened, she’d see two elderly men by the fire, one playing fiddle and the other the Northumbrian pipes. The music brought the image immediately to mind now.

  Moving on, she came to a square wooden barn facing a yard, where half a dozen cars were parked. Bunting was strung outside, along with more fairy lights, as if for a celebration. The timing seemed odd, almost as if the family was responding to the death of Lorna Falstone in the most inappropriate way possible. A wake before the funeral. The wide barn door slid open and the two Heslop girls came out. They walked into the shadows and shared a roll-up. For a moment, before the door closed behind them, Vera glimpsed people gathered inside, a long trestle table loaded with food, bales of hay forming makeshift seats.

  ‘Hiya! What’s going on here?’

  She must have startled them, coming out of the dark, but Nettie seemed to recognize her voice immediately. ‘Cath’s birthday party.’ She shivered dramatically. ‘A family tradition. All birthdays celebrated by a bash in the barn, whatever the weather.’

  ‘All right if I gatecrash? I was hoping to speak to your brother.’

  Cath answered. She was rounder and softer than her sister. Gentler, with less attitude. ‘Of course. The more the merrier. Josh is in there.’

  She put out the cigarette, put the stub carefully back into the tin of tobacco and led Vera into the barn.

  Their father, Neil Heslop, was standing at the front on a low stage formed of bales, playing a violin. An older woman, sitting beside him, leaning forwards, was on guitar. Vera hadn’t seen Heslop properly on the night he’d found Lorna’s body. Then he’d been wrapped up against the cold, hood up, a scarf around his face. She thought now there was something of the Viking about him: sandy-haired, blue-eyed.

  The place was surprisingly warm and filled with people of all ages. A small child was asleep on a blanket laid on a bench in the corner. A middle-aged woman with grey curly hair was supervising the laying out of the food. Nettie went up to her, while Cath joined a group of girls who were passing round a bottle of Prosecco.

  ‘Mam, this is the detective who’s investigating Lorna’s murder. She wants to speak to Josh.’ Then Nettie too wandered away to join the other young guests, without waiting for her mother to respond.

  The woman held out her hand. ‘Rosemary Heslop.’ She looked out at her daughters and grinned. ‘Sorry about that. You bring them up to be polite, then they turn into teenagers and all the manners disappear.’

  ‘It’s your youngest’s birthday? Eh, pet, I’m sorry to intrude. I wouldn’t have bothered you if I’d realized.’

  ‘Yes, my baby’s turning seventeen very soon. The years have gone by in a flash. We thought about cancelling. Neil’s been that upset since he found the lass’s body – he’s hardly slept since it happened – but it was all organized and the girls wanted to go ahead.’

  The tempo of the music changed, became slower. It must have morphed into a tune Nettie and Cath knew, or perhaps they’d been expecting it, because they started singing along and the others joined in. The girls’ voices were sweet and clear and Vera could see that Rosemary was almost in tears.

  The song ended and the musicians laid down their instruments. ‘Time for supper,’ Neil Heslop said. ‘And make sure it all gets eaten, or we’ll be having it all week.’ The humour sounded forced and Vera could see the dark shadows under his eyes.

  He’d seen Vera and came up to her. They stood apart while the guests queued up for the food. ‘Is there any news?’

  She shook her head. ‘I came hoping to speak to your Josh. It seems Lorna went to an art class he taught.’

  ‘Oh, aye. Connie Browne bringing culture to the masses.’ He gave a little smile but still he seemed distracted.

  ‘How are you getting on?’

  There was a moment’s hesitation. ‘It all seems like a dream.’ He spoke very slowly as if he was reliving the nightmare. ‘The snow. The dark. I was just keen to get our lasses safely home out of the weather. I was thinking I should never have let them go to the big house at all. Then suddenly to see that face in the ice.’

  ‘Of course. And you were able to identify her for us. It’s always harder if it’s someone you know.’ A pause. ‘Though when I bumped into Nettie, she said you weren’t close friends with the family. Is that a bit strange when you both farm estate land?’

  Rosemary had joined them and it was she who answered. ‘They’re not really sociable, the Falstones. It’s not that we’ve ever fallen out. Nothing like that. We help each other professionally, but I wouldn’t just call in for a coffee if I was on my way to Kirkhill, like I would some of my other neighbours. I know they wouldn’t welcome it.’

  ‘They might welcome it now,’ Vera said. ‘Just losing their daughter and with a kiddie to look after, it’s a lot to cope with on your own.’

  That appeared to knock the breath from Rosemary and she seemed mortified, anxious that Vera might consider her unsympathetic. ‘You’re right, of course. Poor souls! I’ll go in tomorrow. When Lorna was ill, they made it clear they didn’t want any interference. They cut themselves off from the village. Before that, Jill would come to the WI if there was a topic that caught her fancy and I’d see her occasionally at church, but after Lorna went away to the clinic for help, they shut down all contact. I don’t blame them. The Kirkhill gossip can be brutal. But I’ll pop in. See if there’s any way we can help.’

  ‘I was hoping to chat to your lad.’

  ‘
Apparently Lorna went to that art class of his,’ Heslop said. Vera wasn’t sure if that sounded like an explanation or a warning. He called out to a dark-haired young man with soft eyes and lashes that a girl would envy. ‘Josh, this is Inspector Stanhope. She’d like a word.’

  Josh joined them. The parents stayed, one on each side, protective as guard dogs. Vera would have liked to take him back to the house and chat to him there on his own, but she didn’t want to upset the family. She might be glad to have them onside later.

  ‘Lorna came along to the class you ran for Miss Browne in the Kirkhill hall?’

  Josh nodded. ‘She came along to a couple of sessions.’

  ‘Was she any good?’

  It wasn’t the question he’d been expecting and it took him a while to answer. ‘Yes. Better than any of the others, certainly.’

  ‘You must have known her from school. You’d have been the same sort of age.’

  ‘We were in the same year, but I didn’t really know her.’

  Vera wondered again if they’d find anyone who’d admit to any kind of intimacy with Lorna.

  Josh was still speaking. ‘You know what it’s like. You keep to your own little groups, people who share your own interests.’

  ‘And with you it was art?’

  ‘Art and theatre.’ He gave a shy grin. ‘I was always up for making a fool of myself in the school play.’

  ‘But Lorna was into art too. She wasn’t part of your group?’

  Josh shook his head. ‘She was a bit of a loner. I was surprised when she turned up for the class in the village hall. I think she was only there because Connie Browne dragged her along.’ He paused. ‘She didn’t make it into the sixth form because she was ill, anorexic. I made most of my strongest friends then.’

  Vera had never made it to the sixth form either. By the time she was sixteen she’d had enough of school and enough of Hector. She’d joined the police force as a cadet and found her own family. She’d been a loner too and felt an increasing sympathy for Lorna Falstone. ‘Did you see her away from the class?’

  ‘Once. One evening. I just bumped into her in Kirkhill. She had the baby in the pushchair and was walking around to try to get him to sleep. Apparently, he was teething. I’d just gone to the Co-op for something Mum had forgotten. Lorna asked me into her house for a coffee.’

  ‘And you went?’

  ‘Yeah, sure. Why not? I was curious, I suppose. There’d been all that talk about her in the village. She showed me some of her paintings. I think that was why she asked me. She wanted me to give her some feedback.’

  A silence. Neil moved away to gather up plates, but Rosemary stayed to listen.

  ‘Did you talk about anything else? Other than art?’ Vera wished again that there wasn’t an audience. She should have asked to speak to Josh Heslop on his own, even if it had annoyed his parents and disrupted the party. She’d been seduced by the warmth of the family, had thought this would be a routine chat. Now, looking at him, at the tense little smile, the leg that couldn’t quite stay still, she wasn’t so sure.

  ‘Probably. We looked at her paintings first. They were in a small room upstairs. Then she made me some coffee. The baby was asleep by then and Lorna put him into his cot, so I was alone for a while, but when she came back, we chatted. I can’t really remember what about. Old schoolfriends, probably. That’s a standard when you get together with someone you’ve not seen for a while.’

  ‘You must have asked about her? Her life?’

  ‘A bit. She wanted to go to art school too. She asked what it was like. I suggested places for her to do her foundation year.’ He looked up. ‘It was just chat. I was surprised because she was good company. Intelligent. Fun.’

  ‘Did you get the impression that she was in a relationship?’

  He shrugged. ‘Not really. She didn’t mention anyone.’

  ‘She didn’t tell you about the father of her child?’

  ‘No! And I didn’t ask. I knew better than to pry.’

  ‘Where were you on Friday night?’

  Vera asked the question in the same tone, and it was Rosemary who realized the implication first. ‘You can’t think Josh had anything to do with Lorna Falstone’s death?’

  ‘I don’t think anything yet, pet. That’s why I’m asking all these questions. We’ll be asking everyone who knew the lass.’ Vera turned back to Josh. ‘So? Where were you?’

  ‘In Newcastle with some mates. Friday night in the pub. It had been arranged ages ago, a kind of university reunion. Our own version of a Christmas bash. I stayed over. That had always been the plan, even before the snow.’

  She nodded to show she accepted the reply. ‘I assume you drive?’

  ‘Sure. Everyone does. It’d be impossible out here without a vehicle.’

  ‘Lorna didn’t have a car,’ Vera said. ‘Witnesses say she used to go into Newcastle occasionally on the bus.’

  ‘Connie Browne let her borrow hers. And lots of us use the bus for Newcastle. That’s how I went in on Friday. It’s cheaper than paying for parking.’

  ‘I don’t understand where you’re going with this, Inspector.’ Rosemary was ready for battle, protecting her son again.

  ‘No, well, nor do I really.’ Vera smiled. ‘That’s what it’s like at the beginning of a case. ‘We’re all groping in the dark.’

  Vera thought she’d been seduced by her first sight of the Heslop clan, by the party, the music and the singing. The party that was far more enticing than the fund-raising bash at Brockburn had been. Of course, they’d have their secrets; every family did. She pictured the two lasses as she’d first seen them, standing in the cold for a sneaky cigarette. She’d bet their parents didn’t know they smoked. There’d be other things going on too, with bonny lasses of that age. Vera imagined them in an upstairs bedroom at the farm with their mates, giggling, smoking weed out of the window to get rid of the smell, letting in lads when nobody else was in, escaping to wild parties but telling their parents they were doing revision at friends’.

  Now the conversation with Josh was over, Rosemary was hospitable again. ‘Stay and have a bite to eat.’

  ‘That’s very kind,’ Vera said, ‘but it’s been a long day and I’ll be glad to be home.’ A pause. ‘I wouldn’t mind using your lav, though, before I go.’

  ‘Sure,’ Rosemary said. ‘The back door’s unlocked and there’s a cloakroom before you get to the kitchen.’

  Vera was crossing the barn when the door opened again and Dorothy Felling came in with a man who must be her partner Karan Pabla. They were carrying a present for Cath and they waved to Rosemary. The mood in the room seemed to change. These were welcome guests. The girls went to greet them.

  ‘Sorry we’re late,’ Karan said, in a voice that was loud enough to take in the whole room. He could have been some kind of celebrity. Perhaps it was the glamour of the big house rubbing off on them. ‘Juliet offered to babysit and we wanted to get Duncan settled before we left.’

  Neil was still standing close to Vera. ‘Pals of yours, are they?’ she asked.

  ‘Karan’s been tutoring Cath. She’s been struggling with English and history.’ He smiled. ‘She takes more notice of him than she does of her teachers.’

  Vera thought about that. She could understand why Holly had been so taken with the man – he had a presence that lit up the room – but wondered why he’d taken Cath Heslop as a pupil. Because he needed the money? To feel valued in the community?

  And then there was dark-haired, dark-eyed Josh, the artist. What secrets might he have about Lorna Falstone? Could he be her secret lover, the father of her child?

  Vera slipped unnoticed from the barn and headed for the house. She could have waited for a pee until she got home, but she’d been itching to get inside, to get a real sense of the family. A corridor led from the back door into the kitchen. As Rosemary had said, there was a cloakroom to one side, the light on, for guests who needed it. Along the corridor photos had been fixed to the walls,
memories of family life: Neil and Rosemary’s wedding, the bride and groom in ridiculous nineties clothes, the kids as babies and growing up, local views and places where they must have taken holidays, moody silhouettes against sunsets and sunrises.

  ‘Did you find it okay?’ Rosemary must have come into the house without Vera noticing.

  ‘Yeah, fine, thanks.’ Vera paused. ‘Sorry, I couldn’t help nebbing. It goes with the job, I’m afraid.’

  ‘You do know Josh would never harm a fly,’ Rosemary said. ‘We’re a close family.’

  ‘I can see that, pet.’ Vera looked again at the photos and let herself out.

  Back in her cottage, Vera lit the fire and sat for a while at the table. She took a large sheet of paper and began drawing a chart, all circles and lines. A way of making sense of the complex relationships. There were three families all linked. The Falstones: Robert and Jill and baby Thomas, tied by blood to Lorna, but tied, it seemed, by little else. The Heslops, the happy family: parents Rosemary and Neil and the kids, Josh, Nettie and Cath. They were linked to Lorna in more ways than Vera had first supposed. Neil had found the body, the girls had been in Brockburn when Lorna had died, and Josh had become a recent friend. Then there were the Stanhopes at the big house. Because Mark had become a Stanhope by marrying Juliet, whatever name he called himself. Mark had a girlfriend, according to rumour, and Lorna took the bus occasionally to Newcastle to meet up with a wealthy man. Also linked to the Stanhopes were Dorothy Felling and Karan Pabla, and Paul and Sophie Blackstock. Too many people.