Dead End
Table of Contents
Cover
Title Page
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Also by Rachel Lynch
Copyright
Chapter 1
Ullswater’s visitors had packed up for the day, and the lake was still. The water kissed the pebble beaches along her northern shores, and the cars that normally choked the lay-bys and car parks were gone. The steamers had finished their hourly chugging up and down, and the only onlookers were the bowing trees, gently swaying; until tomorrow, when it would all start again.
Hidden away from prying eyes, whatever the time of day, concealed beyond a private driveway, lay an old stately pile, proudly dominant for two hundred years. Wasdale Hall, home to the Fitzgeralds since the Domesday Book, sat in darkness for two reasons: one, the current earl, Xavier-Paulus II, baulked at the electricity bills; and two, his grandson, Zachary, had been out fishing all day. There was ample light, though, from the mid-May sun as it dipped further behind the Helvellyn range to the west of the lake. In the driveway sat three old Land Rovers, one still containing Zachary’s kit from his session at Aira Beck. He’d pulled out a three-pound beast of a trout that morning, and the kitchen still smelled of cooking. Linda, the housekeeper for almost thirty years, had cooked it the way Grandpa liked it: with plenty of butter, and parsley from the herb garden at the rear.
Zachary stayed in the kitchen by the Aga, which beat out the only heat in the house, and forked chunks of dog food into two feeding bowls. He’d long since pulled off his boots, and his belly was full; now it was the turn of the dogs, who eyed him greedily. There wasn’t a sound; they watched TV rarely, and not even a radio broke the hush, while Grandpa was long for his bed and Linda had washed up and gone to her home in Watermillock hours ago.
Samson and Delilah hovered hungrily but patiently; they knew their turn would come. The two great lumbering dark brown Labradors licked their lips in anticipation. Zachary stood up and the dogs padded over from their baskets and began to eat. He put the fork in the sink and the tin in the dustbin and watched them gobble their dinner. Fatigue gripped him and he yawned. There was little more to do; only have a shower and climb into bed. The season was heating up nicely, and there would be plenty more fishing days to come. He knew that as soon as he left the warmth of the kitchen, he would be hit by the icy blast of the rest of the old windy mansion, until he jumped beneath his duvet and generated his own heat. Grandpa was adamant: the heating went off on 31 March, and came back on again on 1 November, every year without fail.
Zachary lingered a little longer. The kitchen was his favourite room: it was where he talked to Linda, and Brian the gardener, and it was where he could put his feet up on a chair, muddy boots drying by the Aga. It was where he talked about his paintings, and the best places to catch perch; it was where he gutted his fish, and it was where he listened. It was also where he preferred to eat. Grandpa ate in the dining room, alone. It had always been so. Zachary preferred to sit with Linda and Brian. Not because he didn’t love his grandpa; nothing could be further from the truth. It was simply because Grandpa had certain routines that would never change. He was a creature of habit.
Zachary allowed the dogs to finish, and let them out to roam around in the garden for the last time before bed. They always stayed close and he never worried about them wandering off. But tonight they didn’t seem to want to go. Samson whined and looked up to the ceiling, as if he wanted Zachary to take him upstairs. Zachary laughed and stroked the dog. Delilah copied and refused to go out.
‘Have it your own way then,’ he said affectionately. ‘In your baskets.’ They reluctantly obeyed, and stared up at their master with huge eyes. Zachary almost felt like curling up beside them. He shrugged his shoulders and yawned again, flicking off the light. No one locked doors around the lake except the tourists, even after last year, when that woman had been found by Watermillock church. He shivered.
As he climbed the stairs, he thought about his grandpa’s weakening health. It wasn’t that he suffered from a malady or a dangerous infection; more that he was simply old. He was ninety-five and was beginning to show it. He grew weaker by the day, and it pained Zachary to see him like that. He’d always been strong, independent and steady, but now he was frail. There was no one else, and it had been like that for a very long time. Something inside Zachary ached, and it was a familiar feeling: Grandpa was not going to be around forever.
His thoughts were interrupted by a faint thud overhead, and he stopped on the bottom stair and looked up to the ceiling.
He heard the noise again.
The great hallway was freezing, and he felt his way up the grand staircase lit only by the moonlight coming through the window, reflecting off the lake. He could easily find his way in much darker corners – after all, he’d lived all nineteen years of his life here – but he still held onto the banister and watched for anything illuminated or out of place. He dismissed the noise and carried on.
He paused at the impressive window on the first landing, overlooking Ullswater. The lights of the Peak’s Bay Hotel could be seen across the lake, and Zachary was thankful for the peace and quiet afforded by their isolation. He imagined couples dancing and friends drinking in the bar until the early hours, and thought that Grandpa must have enjoyed that life a long time ago, but not now.
He continued up the stairs, but halfway up, he stopped. He thought he’d heard the sound again. This time it concerned him, as it was an unfamiliar noise, and he tried to work out what it was. He listened carefully in case it happened again, but there was nothing. He made a decision to check on Grandpa before he retired to his own bed. He didn’t usually do it, but it wouldn’t hurt. The noise could have been Grandpa dropping something, or even falling, and he couldn’t risk leaving it till the morning. Grandpa might need him.
There was a light under Grandpa’s study door, and Zachary wondered if he’d fallen asleep at his desk. Maybe the thud he’d heard was his grandfather tumbling from his chair. His steps quickened, and he went to the study door.
‘Grandpa,’ he said, qu
ietly at first. No answer came back. Maybe he’d just forgotten to turn off the light.
‘Grandpa,’ he said again, louder this time.
Even as he turned the handle, he knew that something wasn’t right. A whiff of something in the air, a creaking noise …
He swung the door fully open, and sank to his knees.
The smell of shit stung his nostrils, and Zachary buried his face in his hands and sobbed. Covering his mouth, he crawled towards the middle of the room, where a stool lay knocked over on the floor. Above it, the body of his grandfather swung to and fro.
Chapter 2
Kelly jumped from the top of Kailpot Crag into the freezing water below and screamed. She didn’t reckon there was anyone else on the planet who would dare push her over the edge, and as she emerged from the lake below, she squealed at Johnny in mock horror. He laughed out loud and jumped in after her, making his body into a bomb. She wasn’t offended when he pretended to be laddish, because she saw straight through it. It was a relief to be with someone who expected nothing from her apart from what they already got.
The water would have stopped the heart of someone from a warmer climate, but for Kelly and Johnny, it was luxuriously refreshing. They were alone, because it was May, and too cold for tourists to venture here. But the cold bothered neither of them because they knew that this was the best time to visit; when they both needed to cool off after equally taxing days.
They swam towards the middle of the lake, and Johnny caught Kelly’s leg. She wriggled and they both went under the surface. The cold stung her eyes as she searched underwater for him. He’d swum beneath her and grabbed her leg once more. They broke the surface and caught their breath. The water was a deep turquoise, and they could see fifteen feet below them. Kelly was a confident swimmer in the Lakes, but not in open water: she hated swimming in the sea. Here, only the odd ugly pike lurked beneath, and the experience didn’t leave a sticky residue of salt and sand.
They swam out further and got used to the temperature. The tensions of the day melted away and Kelly felt free.
‘Race!’ Johnny shouted. She was as competitive as he, and he knew she’d take the bait.
‘Where to?’ she asked, treading water. She was used to the cold now, though she could feel her body was covered in goose bumps.
‘Back to the beach,’ he called. They were about a hundred metres away from the shore, and Kelly wondered if they might spot a steamer puffing around the bend, to the left or right of them. But there was no sound.
‘Go!’ she shouted, and dived beneath the surface. She knew Johnny would grin broadly as he held his breath and took his first stroke. But he’d still win.
He pounded the water back to the shore, coming up only every six strokes for air. Kelly had to take a breath every four. She could feel his body pushing through the water only feet away from her and knew he was overtaking her. She pushed harder. By the time they were in less than three feet of water, he was close enough for her to grab his shorts and pull them down. He stopped and clutched at them, but it was too late; Kelly swam past him and was officially the winner.
She strode out of the water, pulling her hair back and wringing it out over her shoulder. Laughing to herself, she turned round to watch Johnny pulling his pants back up. He grinned and came towards her. She expected a kiss, but at the last moment he slapped her firmly on her backside. Technically that was a victory too; he knew she hated it. Well, she pretended to. The first time he’d done it, on a run around the lake, she’d gone to berate him, delivering the full extent of her indignation, but he’d smiled and defused her mood without saying a single word.
They were both short of breath, and sat down on their towels on the tiny shingle beach. It was the type of place you saw in a magazine, empty, hidden and private; but come summer, it would be rammed, noisy and annoying.
‘So, was it broken?’ Kelly asked as she pulled a sweater over her bikini and lay down on her side, propped up on an elbow. A light breeze began to stir the trees, and they moved from side to side, like elders nodding their consent. Johnny rubbed himself roughly with his towel; goose bumps covered his body. Kelly watched him. Maybe it was time to get dressed after all.
‘Yes, in three places. It was pretty bad,’ Johnny said. He was talking about a woman he’d brought off the mountain this morning, who’d fallen down a gully on St Sunday Crag. Luckily her boyfriend’s mobile phone had a signal, and the helicopter had managed to get Johnny up close enough to reach her within two hours. She was now tucked up in the Penrith and Lakes Hospital, awaiting complicated surgery. ‘It must have hurt like hell,’ he added. For Johnny to say that, it must have been bad.
Kelly’s day hadn’t been anywhere near as exciting, but it had been challenging nonetheless. Her superior at HQ, DCI Eddie Cane, was doing his best to get her to commit to a desk there, pen-pushing reviews and cold cases. Technically it was her next step – a promotion, and an honour indeed, but not one that Kelly wanted bestowed upon her. Reappraising cases and crunching paperwork at HQ had never been her intention; she was an operational officer, made for the outdoors, and she couldn’t desert her team, not now.
* * *
‘You can’t avoid promotion forever, Kelly,’ DCI Cane had said to her this morning, catching her out.
‘Why not? I’m doing the constabulary a favour,’ she’d said. ‘I’m not ready to stare at the wall; when I am, I’ll let you know.’
Cane would have a job convincing her, but the powers that be wanted to acknowledge her contribution, which was not insignificant. Since moving back home, Kelly had put herself in a few tight spots that had perhaps been unnecessary, but that had led to convictions. On paper, she was worth the extra letter before her name, but Cane knew that she saw HQ as a graveyard of crusty old men, ploughing through data and cobbling the odd press release together. They were both aware that was not the case at all, but that wasn’t the point. Kelly Porter was a risk-taker, which was precisely the reason they needed her at HQ, but it also meant that she’d only be satisfied cracking cases rather than handing them out.
‘Don’t you think you need a break, Kelly? Let some young blood get their teeth into cases.’ DCI Cane never gave up. ‘What about Will Phillips?’ he’d asked.
‘Young blood? Christ, I’ve only just turned thirty-eight! Will is a good operator, Eddie, but he’s not ready. You know that.’
Kelly could feel the thrill of running a case threatening to leave her behind as a young upstart filled her shoes. It bugged her. It was nothing to do with Will. She had a solid relationship with him that had been tested many times. But the same was true of the whole team, and she wasn’t ready to let go yet.
‘Strictly speaking, Eddie, it should be Kate Umshaw who becomes the next SIO.’
‘So is that a no?’ DCI Cane had asked. Kelly had taken her hands off her hips, where they’d sat defiantly the whole time she’d been in his office, and folded them together. She’d said enough. Cane had smiled. She was off the hook. For now.
‘Can I take the increased salary but be a senior operational officer at the same time?’ Her head had tilted to the side and her eyes shone cheekily.
Eddie Cane had known it was coming. Hell, if they were in a bigger force, she’d have no choice, but here things were slightly more … fluid. Besides, Eddie had to admit that with Kelly as the go-to SIO for serious crime in the northern Lakes, they would do well to keep her there.
‘Do you ever sit down, Kelly?’
‘You know the answer to that, Eddie. Sir.’
* * *
‘It’s the same in the army,’ Johnny said now. ‘The better you are in the field – allegedly – the higher you go and the further away from the real troops. You end up getting a bunch of muppets sitting behind desks in Whitehall, making decisions for the boots on the ground and risking their lives. They get out of touch. It’s like teaching or the NHS: top heavy with honour-seeking egotists. It’s crazy but unavoidable.’ He never had to explain army jargon to Kelly,
because it was so close to the language used by coppers. It was one of the things they loved about each other.
‘And that’s exactly what I don’t want. I joined to be a copper, not a document-handler. Paperwork doesn’t excite me, Johnny.’
‘I know, but there are benefits too: you’d have the authority to get other people to do stuff on your behalf,’ he pointed out. ‘Isn’t that what always frustrates you? When you know what you’ve got to get through, when you should be concentrating on connecting the dots rather than drawing them all first? I’ve seen it, I’ve seen you doing it, and you hate it.’
‘I know, but if I’m not there at the beginning, then I’m playing catch-up. It’s Hobson’s choice,’ she said. She stood up and pulled her jeans over her wet bikini bottoms; she’d rather do that than hang around and get colder. They started to pack up.
‘What about the money?’ he asked.
‘You don’t strike me as the type to bother about that kind of thing,’ she said, and smiled.
‘I only don’t bother about it because I have enough of it. Stop evading the question. No one refuses promotion, Kelly.’
‘Well I do. I’m happy where I am, and I’ve built a cracking team that works.’
‘Can’t you take the title and stay where you are?’ he asked.
‘I already asked that. They’re thinking about it.’
Johnny shook his head. She’d been sitting on the information all along.
She slipped on flip-flops and picked up her things, wet hair dripping down her sweater. She didn’t mind; she wasn’t the type to get prissy about it. He slapped her bottom again, probably half because he knew it pissed her off, and half because he wanted to touch her. She rounded on him and stuck her chin out.
‘I love that face,’ he said.
She turned around and marched away, with Johnny bringing up the rear. She knew he was watching her swing her hips from side to side, as she did when she was making a point.
* * *
When they reached her house in Pooley Bridge, she went straight to the fireplace to start a fire. The evening air still had a pinch in it, and besides, Kelly liked to take advantage of the open fireplace in her new home whenever she could. She could stare at the flames lapping over glowing logs all evening. Johnny opened a bottle of wine, and Kelly flicked on the news. They were growing more comfortable with each other, and moved around like a couple. Occasionally Kelly considered making things official, but more often than not she dismissed the idea straight away.
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