‘All the more so because Warren was a former boyfriend?’
‘We went out a few times as kids,’ she snapped. ‘Nothing more. It was buried in the past, it didn’t mean a thing. I was sorry he died such a brutal death, but candidly, I was sorrier still that it happened here. I won’t pretend that I spent much time in mourning. Warren wasn’t a nice man. Not like his daughter. Poor Kirsty.’
‘One thing I’ve learned about history is that things we believed were buried in the past can reach out and poke us in the eye today.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Your relationship with Warren. I hate to be intrusive, but I’ve found out that Oliver Cox is adopted. He told my partner, Miranda, and I couldn’t help wondering…’
Roz Gleave’s face contorted with dismay, bordering on disbelief. ‘He discussed his past with someone he hardly knew?’
‘She’s adopted as well. She was confiding in him.’
‘My God, he always said he would never…’
‘She’s a journalist. Very accomplished at worming information out of people. I’m sure when Oliver told her a little about his own past, he didn’t mean to cause any embarrassment.’
‘Meaning what?’
Daniel said softly, ‘Meaning that I’m sure he didn’t intend anyone to suspect that you might be his mother.’
She put a hand to her mouth and he thought she was going to faint. But when she spoke, it wasn’t to admit that he’d seen through to the truth.
‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’
He’d expected outrage or evasion. Not amazement. It felt like being hosed with cold water. ‘You’re denying it?’
‘You bet I’m bloody well denying it!’ She stood up. ‘You’d better go.’
No one could feign such shock. Her face was reddening, astonishment giving way to anger. And yet he couldn’t imagine that his theory was so wide of the mark.
‘Oliver said that meeting his birth mother changed his life. Until then he’d been a drifter…’
Roz’s hands were on her hips. She nodded towards the path that led around the cottage.
‘Please don’t outstay your welcome, Mr Kind.’
Oh Jesus. He got to his feet. ‘I’m wrong, aren’t I? Oliver isn’t your son.’
She said hoarsely, ‘I’m not able to have children. It’s been a great sadness, but at least I have a marvellous husband. Now – please go.’
Hannah said, ‘You talked to Chris after he came back to the Lakes?’
‘He asked if we could meet. When he heard about the murder, he was overwhelmed by guilt, for having left Roz to endure the trauma on her own. He was afraid Charlie would find some way of pinning the crime on her, but that was never an option. Her alibi was as unbreakable as his. I wanted to know if he had any idea of who was responsible, but if he had, he wasn’t telling. He hadn’t wished Warren dead, but his only concern was to return a semblance of normality to his life.’
‘So he settled for domestic bliss rather than chasing after unsuitable young men?’
Nick gave her a sharp glance. ‘I’ve never asked if he’s strayed since then, and he hasn’t told me. One thing he did make clear, he didn’t care if Warren’s murder was never solved. I said it would only take a single stroke of luck, and he said he hoped we never got it. Whoever had been driven to such violence must have had good reason to kill Warren. We’d never argued until then. I thought he was wrong to side with the murderer, when the crime had put Roz and everyone in Old Sawrey under the microscope.’
‘The ordeal by innocence?’
‘Yes.’ Nick exhaled. ‘I suppose things were never the same between us afterwards. Since then we’ve not spoken more than once or twice a year. But he promised that he’d never told anyone we’d been lovers. Not even Roz.’
‘Did she know he was gay?’
‘Not according to Chris. Until he explained about Jason, she didn’t have the foggiest.’
‘Did you believe him?’
‘Yes.’ He looked her in the eye. ‘If you told Janice I was gay, she’d never believe you.’
Hannah shrugged. ‘You and Chris, it was a long time ago. You were kids, experimenting. He may have played around since, but…’
‘I haven’t?’ Nick’s face was desolate. ‘That doesn’t mean I haven’t been tempted. Which is what I’m afraid of, Hannah, if you really want to know. Janice might not have guessed and you might not have guessed. But I know who I am and what’s in my heart and mind. What keeps me awake at night is the fear that I’m living a lie.’
As Daniel walked back to his car, he felt Roz’s eyes boring into his back. She had retreated into her cottage, only to stand at the window of the front room and keep watch, making sure that he didn’t hang around.
For all his hot embarrassment, he didn’t mean to be hurried. There was too much to think over. He unwound the sunroof. The air was heavy, soon there would be the first drops of rain. As he changed the CD, his brain was racing. How could he have made such a mistake?
In the distance, he heard a car engine. Someone was coming to Keepsake Cottage. The friend Roz had mentioned? He glanced back at the house and caught sight of Roz’s face. It was haggard with fear.
He fastened his seatbelt, taking an age over it, wanting to see who visited Roz. Within a minute, his time-wasting was rewarded as Bel Jenner’s BMW glided to a halt alongside his Audi.
She opened her door and treated him to a guileless smile. ‘Hello again. Small world.’
He unbuckled the seatbelt and got out too. The cottage door opened; in a moment Roz would join them and try to shoo him away. But he only had eyes for Bel.
The dark hair, high cheekbones and beaky nose were clues, of course. The resemblance wasn’t obvious, but it was there if you searched hard.
Small world was right. This time he was sure. Oliver Cox was Bel Jenner’s son.
Chapter Nineteen
‘Is everything all right?’ Bel asked.
Daniel shook his head. It was as if he’d been kicked in the solar plexus. Speech was beyond him. He needed to take this in.
She doesn’t know. Jesus. She doesn’t have the faintest idea that for years she’s been sleeping with her son.
Bel was a woman who liked things comfortable about her. Pleasant. Very English. She’d used her money to create a secure little world. And she indulged herself with a passionate devotion to the young man who had sought her out and then fallen in love with her. But he had kept secrets from her. He’d understood that she couldn’t cope with the truth.
Daniel heard the door of the cottage open behind him. He spun round to see Roz advancing towards them. Her gaze was focused on him and he could tell that she realised he’d worked it out. She might have been Eve, contemplating the serpent.
‘I asked you to leave.’ Her voice was a croak.
‘What’s wrong?’ Bel asked.
Roz’s breath was coming in short jerky gasps. When she spoke, her voice was stripped of pride. She was begging.
‘Don’t say another word, Mr Kind! Just go!’
‘Nobody else knows, is that right? Just the two of you?’
Roz and Oliver, he meant. She understood and gave a quick nod.
‘How come?’
Roz stood within an arm’s reach of him. Her mouth was clamped shut.
Bel put her hands on her hips. ‘Will someone please tell me what on earth is going on?’
Daniel ground his teeth, his gaze flicking from one woman to the other.
I can’t do it. I’m not the police, it’s not for me to play games with people’s lives. Much as I want to know everything that is to be known. If I push on, it would be like taking an axe to a doll’s house.
He bent towards Roz and murmured, ‘Did Warren know that Bel had fallen pregnant?’
Her eyes were as hard as pebbles. When she whispered in reply, her lips scarcely moved.
‘She told him the baby had died.’
The door closed behind Nick, leaving Hannah alone with
the fan, gasping with mechanical emphysema. So many years of friendship and shared gossip, and yet she hadn’t really known her sergeant after all. This affable, laid-back man was quietly torturing himself and she’d never had a clue.
It had taken courage for him to bare his soul to her, but surely he’d read too much into an intense teenage relationship? Schoolgirl crushes of her own had, thank God, faded into the vaguest memories. Nick needed to liberate himself from the past and look to the future. With Janice.
She checked her mobile for messages. Lauren had called, wanting to know when the latest stats recording the cold case team’s endeavours would be on her desk. And she heard Daniel Kind’s voice, breathless and jerky.
Can you call me? I’ve found out something you need to know.
Hannah’s brain hummed as she turned the last bend and caught a glimpse of The Heights. The restaurant wouldn’t be open for a couple more hours. She took the fork in the drive leading to the house next door. There wasn’t a sign of life at the windows. She hurried up the front path and leaned hard on the bell. No answer.
At the side of the house, a fence separated the back garden from the front. Six feet of willow screen, guarding the privacy of Bel Jenner and Oliver Cox. A gate beneath a wisteria-draped arch barred the way. She tested the handle and found it wasn’t locked. Without a pause, she shoved it open and strode around the side of the house. Daniel was right, she was sure of it. But if they were wrong, it was too late to worry about making a fool of herself.
A white canvas hammock stretched between a pair of beech trees. Oliver Cox lay on it, dozing. In T-shirt and shorts, with bare feet and black hair flopping over his face, he might have passed for a boy. Tall, handsome, innocent. His legs were long and smooth, like Marc’s.
On hearing footsteps, he stirred and looked round. ‘DCI Scarlett. I was expecting Bel. What can I do for you?’
‘Sorry to butt in.’
Oliver yawned and slid off the hammock. ‘You look hot and bothered. I hear you were there at the airfield. Poor Kirsty. It must have been horrific.’
‘I’ll never forget it.’
‘I can imagine.’
‘Can you?’ Hannah didn’t try to hide her scorn. ‘Will you miss her?’
‘Well, yes.’ A wary expression crept across Oliver’s face. ‘She was a lovely girl. An enthusiastic waitress, keen to learn.’
‘And that’s all?’
‘I don’t know what you want me to say.’
‘Surely she meant something more to you?’
‘She was a sweet kid, all right?’
The heat had sucked out all Hannah’s energy. It was too late for subtlety.
‘She was your sister. Half-sister. You shared the same father.’
‘What?’ Oliver’s features contorted, as if she’d slapped his cheek. ‘Who – who have you been talking to?’
‘I’m right, aren’t I?’
‘You know – about Bel?’
Hannah heard a rustle behind the willow screen, but she didn’t care who might be listening. Presumably it was the Croatian kids who worked in the restaurant; they wouldn’t have a clue what was going on. Bel was still at Keepsake Cottage, according to Daniel, as Roz attempted the impossible and tried to comfort her.
‘You fell in love with your mother.’
After a long pause, Oliver said in a scratchy voice, ‘Sorry if you disapprove.’
‘You misunderstand. What I disapprove of is what you did to your father.’
‘My father, what are you talking about?’
‘Your father, Warren Howe.’
Oliver was breathing hard. Not speaking.
‘I’m right, aren’t I? You found out that he was your father.’
‘So what?’
‘So when Roz Gleave told Kirsty that she was wasting her time with you because you were family, your sister had nothing more to live for.’
‘It wasn’t my fault! Not that she killed herself. That was the last thing I wanted.’
‘And why did she kill herself? Not just the heartbreak, is my guess. She realised that you must have confronted Warren Howe.’
‘What if I did?’
‘Was it like this?’ Hannah watched the muscles of Oliver’s cheeks fluttering beneath the flesh. ‘You approached your father, but he didn’t want to know. He’d spent the years in between believing you were dead, and that suited him fine.’
‘I didn’t need him,’ Oliver whispered.
‘But you did need Bel. The catastrophe came when Warren told you he wanted her, was determined to have her again, come what may. If you didn’t back off, he’d make sure she knew who you were. The shame of what she’d done would destroy her. That’s why you murdered him, isn’t it? Not because your father rejected you, but to save the woman you loved?’
‘Guesswork.’ Oliver was backing away, but he was backing himself into a corner too, in between Hannah and the fence that barred access to the garden from the open countryside. ‘This isn’t detective work. It’s pure imagination. Your colleagues investigated thoroughly. There’s never been any suggestion of evidence linking me with the scene of the crime.’
‘They didn’t know you were Warren’s son, or that Bel was your mother.’
‘Even if they did, nothing could be proved.’
The shaking hands belied the confident words. And yet he was right, wasn’t he? The Crown Prosecutors would demand clear evidence of guilt before authorising a trial. Hannah felt a splash of wet on her cheek, then another on her hair. Rain, at long last rain. As she watched Oliver Cox, unmoving as the raindrops fell faster, she felt overwhelmed by a tidal wave of sadness. Kirsty was dead and soon the lives of Oliver and Bel would be wrecked forever.
A thunderous voice ruptured the silence.
‘Listening to you is all the proof I need.’
Hannah heard footsteps from behind the willow screen. She didn’t need to look to know who was coming. Oh God, what have I done?
Oliver’s eyes widened in terror. Hannah clenched her fists and looked round. Approaching them was Sam Howe. He must have been working in the restaurant garden, behind the willow screen. Chances were, he’d heard everything. In his hand was a garden fork. Its prongs were pointing at Oliver’s heart.
‘Put it down,’ Hannah said.
‘He killed my father. You know what he fucking did? Threw lilies over the body and a strip of sacking. Murder wasn’t enough, he had to bury him as well.’
Play for time, play for time. The rain was falling faster, Hannah needed to blink it out of his eyes.
‘You loved your father?’
‘He killed my sister too.’
‘Did you bother much with her?’
‘He’s not part of my family.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong.’ Already the rain had soaked Hannah’s shirt, she might have been back in her bathroom, standing under the shower jet. ‘And you know something? I’d say he’s even inherited his share of the Howes’ ruthlessness. Perhaps that’s why he killed your dad.’
‘You’d better go.’
‘I’m staying.’
‘You’ll get hurt.’
‘I don’t want anyone to get hurt.’
Oliver cried out, ‘For Christ’s sake, what are you going to do – gore me in cold blood?’
‘That’s what you did to him, isn’t it?
‘It wasn’t meant to happen!’
‘Confessing, now?’ Sam showed his teeth. ‘Well, well, you heard that, Mrs Policewoman?’
‘I heard, Sam. Now, why don’t you put that fork down and we can—’
‘Forget it.’ Water was dripping off him, but he didn’t seem aware of it. There was only one thing on his mind. ‘They’ll never prosecute the bastard. That’s what this country has come to. The guilty walk free while decent people live in fear.’
Hannah took a stride towards him, keeping her arm outstretched. ‘Give me the fork.’
‘Think you’re a heroine, do you? Fuck off.’
�
��Please, Sam.’
With a swift, fluid movement, Sam Howe twisted the fork upside down and swung the metal handle. It smashed against Hannah’s body. She keeled over on the wet stones, slumping heavily to the ground.
Sam was within two paces of Oliver. The chef had fallen to his knees. His eyes were closed, hands put together as if in prayer.
Sam hissed, ‘What’s that you’re saying? Our father?’
Hannah cried out:
‘No!’
Sam gave a roar like a wild creature and, as Oliver looked up, thrust the steel prongs into his neck.
Chapter Twenty
Daniel stood by the window, listening to the drumbeat of rain on the roof of the cottage. Puddles had formed on the stone slabs, flowers leaned under the weight of water, clouds merged into a vast grey tarpaulin. Hard to believe that the sodden cipher garden had ever possessed a secret meaning. A foul-tempered wind was howling through the valley, making the trees dance to its angry tune. The tarn looked swollen, the summit of the fell was wrapped in mist. He thought about Alice Quiller and John, about Oliver Cox and Bel Jenner. Some passions defied all wisdom, sometimes devotion justified any sin.
‘I should have kept my nose out.’
‘You said it, darling.’ Miranda ran her fingertips down his cheek. ‘Never mind. It’ll make a marvellous story.’
He flinched, as if at a wasp sting. ‘You’re not going to write about what happened?’
‘Why not? I may have changed my mind about tracing my birth mother, but everything is copy. Grist to the mill.’
‘You can’t, it’s too close. Too personal.’
‘Like telling our bedroom secrets?’ She laughed. ‘If you could only see your face! Come on, darling, lighten up.’
‘Sam got his just deserts,’ Marc said.
Rain had streaked Sam Howe’s face as he stared down at his half-brother’s body. Impossible for Hannah to imagine what was running through his mind. No need to make sure Oliver was dead; the fork buried in his windpipe left no room for doubt. She huddled on the ground, breath knocked out of her, body throbbing with pain. Not making a sound, not daring to move. Would she be next?
The Cipher Garden Page 26
