by Roz Watkins
Ben opened his mouth and paused. ‘Okay. It’s a vast cave system below the Devil’s Dice, you know, the rock formation. It’s not a good place. The tunnels go for miles and miles. Some of it’s underwater. And there’s a noose in a cavern deep inside. Teenagers go there to commit suicide.’
I felt a flush of adrenaline, hot then cold. Why was he telling me this? I didn’t want to know.
Ben continued. ‘The rumour is – if you can’t find the noose, it’s your sign you should live.’
I stared at the light filtering through the trees, feeling the familiar thickness in my throat. I couldn’t let it get to me. I was over all that now. Reinvented. I firmed up my stomach. ‘And the relevance of this?’
‘So, the point is, if you can find the noose, they say you find your initials have already been cut into the cave wall behind it.’
‘Cut into the wall by someone?’
‘They’re said to appear on their own.’
‘Have you been there?’
Ben hesitated, then licked his lips and nodded. ‘We tried to save a girl. We were too late. I’m a caver – I should have got to her quicker.’ He looked clammy and kind of avocado coloured. He pressed his hands against his stomach. ‘I could never go back there. Never.’
I tried to stop myself picturing the noose hanging still and straight, deep inside a cavern. My hands clenched into fists, nails digging into palms. ‘And the initials?’
‘Well, there were initials engraved into the cave wall. Lots of them. They looked old. We didn’t check for our girl’s.’
‘So it’s not a recent thing?’
‘It started in the times of the witch trials, apparently. If a girl was suspected of being a witch, she’d be led into the Labyrinth. If they could find the noose, then her initials would already be on the wall behind, and she’d be forced to hang herself. If they couldn’t find the noose, she was innocent, but she had to find her own way out.’
‘Jesus.’
‘I know. So then in Victorian times, there was a spate of girls going in to commit suicide.’
‘And this one more recently?’
He shifted from one foot to the other. ‘Yes. It was about ten years ago.’
I imagined the cave wall, covered with the initials of dead people. ‘If people kept hanging themselves, why didn’t someone get rid of the damn noose?’
‘They put bars across the cave entrance after… that girl. But you can still get in from above, if you know how.’
*
Two hours later, fully prepped and preened, DCI Richard Atkins and I walked into the incident room back at the Station. The large quantity of cops crammed into a small space had given the room the fugginess of damp trainers and wet dogs, but the electricity of a suspicious death zapped around underneath.
A board at one end was covered with photographs of the dead man and his surroundings. I stepped forward to take a closer look while Richard bustled to and fro pinning names and assignments onto a grey board opposite. Low tech, but at least it wouldn’t crash.
DS Craig Cooper was peering at the photos and invading my personal space. Craig had worked his way up in the traditional manner and seemed to be the worst kind of old-fashioned police bloke – casually homophobic, with a fifty-inch TV, a subscription to Sky Sports, and a plastic-headed wife. I suspected he felt entitled to the job I’d been given, and I didn’t know how to handle him. I folded my arms into a defensive position.
‘Okay!’ Richard strode to the front of the room. He’d removed his jacket, and dark marks stained his armpits. His face glistened. I slid into what I judged was an appropriate second-in-command spot.
‘We have a male in his thirties, Peter Hamilton, found today in a cave house fifteen foot up a cliff face in Eldercliffe quarry.’ Richard looked at his notes. ‘Time of death around the middle of the day. We’re waiting on lab results and the post mortem but early suggestions are he was killed by cyanide poisoning.’
A rumble of voices filled the room. They liked the cyanide, with its hints of Agatha Christie.
‘In a cave house?’ DS Jai Sanghera squinted his surprise. ‘Fifteen foot up a cliff face?’
Jai was a lapsed, un-turbaned and de-bearded Sikh. He’d always appeared mild-mannered, but was apparently prone to occasional explosive incidents which no one had ever witnessed but everyone seemed to know about.
‘Yes, Jai,’ Richard said testily. ‘It’s a cave, and people used to live in it. You have to climb steps to get there. We’re pretty sure he went up alive.’
‘Unless the murderer was the reigning Mr Universe,’ Craig said.
‘Yes, yes, or the victim was a zombie, climbing glassy-eyed and un-dead up to the cave house.’ Richard was in a creative mood.
‘Did it to himself then.’ Craig’s tone was scathing. He clearly had little time for the suicidal.
‘We don’t know. There were some odd things about it. Meg’ll fill you in.’
I moved sideways into the hot spot; steeled myself. An unnerving smirk crept across Craig’s fleshy face.
I told them about the probably poisoned cake, the carving on the cave wall, and the strange fact of the man’s initials appearing under it.
‘Was it home-made or shop-bought cake?’ Jai jiggled his leg up and down as if he was keen to sprint off and get started.
‘Bloody hell, Jai, have you been on the speed again?’ Craig said.
‘We don’t know for sure.’ I ignored Craig. I’d noticed that was what Richard did – his years of experience hadn’t given him a more advanced strategy. ‘The wrapper had a paper label stuck to it saying “Susie’s Cakes” and it had a “best before” date months away.’
‘Interesting,’ Jai said, also ignoring Craig. ‘What’s the history of the cave house?’
‘That bit of cliff hasn’t been quarried since pre-Victorian times. They think the cave house was created in the mid 1800s and people lived in it until about fifty years ago.’
Jai said, ‘I heard it was supposed to be haunted.’
Craig snorted.
‘It could be relevant,’ I said. ‘If it affects people’s behaviour.’
‘It’s why no one goes in there,’ Jai said. ‘No kids or tramps or anything.’
Craig made ridiculous X-Files noises. But Jai was right about no one going in the cave house. There’d been none of the usual beer cans, fag-butts or tortured teenage poetry.
Richard elbowed me out of the way. ‘Thank you, Jai, but I don’t think this man was killed by a ghost. Anyway, back to the cake.’ He swung his gaze around the room like Derren Brown about to reveal something astonishing. ‘We’ve already tried to trace “Susie’s Cakes” and there seems to be no such company. Unless it’s incredibly obscure.’
‘Won’t be obscure for long if they put cyanide in their cakes,’ Jai said. Gentle snickering passed through the room. Richard shot Jai a disapproving look.
‘Okay.’ Jai pursed his lips as if to emphasise that he was now being serious. ‘So someone put cyanide in the cake and made it look like shop-bought so he’d think it was okay and eat it? So, we’re talking murder, not suicide?’
‘Bit hasty there, Jai.’ Craig folded his chunky arms over his fledgling beer gut. ‘It could be suicide but he made it look like murder so his dependants still get his life insurance.’
‘If he gave a shit about his family, he wouldn’t have killed himself,’ Jai said. I took an audible breath before I could stop myself and Jai glanced at me, his face turning purple. I smiled weakly at him and mouthed reassurances. I didn’t want people walking on eggshells around me.
‘Yes,’ I said, trying to take control again. ‘It could be murder or suicide or deliberate contamination of cakes.’
‘If it’s not suicide, it’s probably the wife.’ Richard had recently been through a difficult divorce.
‘Yes, I’m keeping an open mind too.’ I couldn’t let that go, but statistically speaking he was probably right.
‘Who found him?’ Jai was bouncing his leg again, p
robably just to annoy Craig now.
‘A Labrador. It was after the cake.’
‘Is it okay?’
‘Didn’t think your lot liked dogs,’ Craig said.
I smiled at Jai. ‘He’s fine. We think he only ate—’
‘The dog’s fine, Jai.’ Richard rocked on his heels. ‘It’s admirable that you’re all so concerned about our loyal canine friends, but we do have a dead man as well as a slightly queasy dog.’
‘So he died in a haunted cave,’ Jai said. ‘And there was a hundredyear-old carving on the cave wall that seemed to predict his death?’
I gave a slow, deliberate nod.
Jai had stopped fidgeting. ‘Do we need to call an exorcist?’
*
We ended the briefing and everyone dispersed to do their stuff. I turned for another look at the photographs, and sensed Craig standing behind me, too close again.
‘I hope you’re up to this,’ he said.
I spun round. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’
He raised his eyebrows and shrugged.
I felt the blush come over me, hot and sharp like needles.
‘Are you alright?’ Craig said. ‘You’re sweating like a paedo in a Santa suit.’
‘Yes, thank you, Craig, I’m perfectly fine.’
He took a step closer. His breath smelt of mint and stale garlic. ‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll be keeping an eye on you.’
Chapter 3
I retreated to my work-station and sat staring at my screen. Sweat prickled my back. I’d come to Derbyshire to get away from this. To make a new start, wipe the slate clean, and various other clichés. I couldn’t let an idiot like Craig get to me. I sat up straighter in my chair and forced my shoulders back. I’d just have to show them I was up to the job. I had a good brain. I was a good detective.
My little pep talk sounded unconvincing even to me – like those motivational posters you see on the walls of ailing companies, or the pseudo-profound positive quotes on your most depressed friends’ Facebook pages. But I forced myself out of my chair and went to find Jai. He and I were visiting the victim’s wife that evening.
‘What a total arsehole Craig is,’ he said. ‘He’d be having a go at me if he wasn’t so scared of the PC brigade.’
I felt my shoulders soften. ‘Yeah, maybe.’
‘And if he hadn’t heard I was a psycho.’
I laughed. ‘Maybe I need to get more violent.’
Jai smiled, but then his face creased into concern. ‘Watch him though. He can be a nasty bastard. Just… I don’t know. Be careful.’
*
By the time Jai and I left the Station, the clouds had lifted and a streaky sunset lit the sky as we drove through the rock-strewn hills towards Eldercliffe. Mum lived on its outskirts, so I knew the town a little. Its jumbled, narrow streets hunkered down in the base of the valley, as if defending themselves from the advancing quarries.
We headed away from the main town, up a lane so steep it made my ears pop. On the right was a farm and on the left was the rim of the quarry, the ground falling away behind it into nothingness. Just one house sat on the edge like an eagle’s nest – a cottage made from the same stone as the quarry, as if it had grown out of the rock.
‘That’s his house,’ Jai said. ‘Crazy place.’
‘Yeah, not somewhere to live if you suffer from suicidal thoughts.’ I immediately wished I hadn’t said that.
‘Wife’s a doctor,’ Jai said. ‘Kate Webster. Has she been told?’
I nodded. At least we didn’t have to do that. I pictured Hamilton’s face, lacerated by his own nails. How would you cope with knowing your husband’s last minutes were spent trying to claw his skin off?
We walked up to the cottage, and the door was flung open to reveal a small woman in jogging trousers. Her body was thin but her face was puffy as if it had been lightly inflated.
I showed her my card.
‘Oh, right. I’m Beth. Peter’s sister.’ She gestured us into a long hallway which smelt of beeswax and vanilla. The kind of place where they employed a cleaner.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I said.
Beth gave a quick nod. ‘Kate’s in the living room. Go through. I’ll make some tea.’
We walked into a room dominated by a vast inglenook fireplace and a picture window overlooking the shocking drop into the quarry. The curtains were open to the darkening sky. Two squidgy sofas sat at right angles, one facing the fireplace and the other with its back to the window. There was space to walk around, unlike in my living room where you had to move around in a crab-like shuffle to avoid gouging your leg on the corner of something.
A slender woman stood by the window with her back to us.
‘Dr Webster,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’
She turned and gave us a cautious look. Her eyes were red but she looked delicate and composed in her grief, like a Victorian consumptive.
‘It must be a mistake.’ She took a couple of steps towards us. ‘Please tell me you’ve come because it’s a mistake.’
‘I’m sorry. We’ll need to formally identify him, but he had his driving licence on him. And he matched your description exactly.’
A tear dripped onto her T-shirt. ‘What the hell happened to him?’
‘Are you able to answer a few questions?’ I asked. Jai and I walked across the oak-boarded floor and sat on the sofa facing the fire. I hoped she’d follow our social cue. She didn’t.
‘How did he die?’
‘I’m afraid we don’t know yet. When did you last see him?’
She started pacing up and down by the window, shoulders hunched and arms crossed. ‘I saw him this morning. He was working from home which he always does on Mondays. It was all totally normal, for God’s sake. They say he was found in a cave or something?’
‘Yes, it’s about fifteen feet up, cut into the rock.’
‘What the hell was he doing in there? He’s supposed to have a quick walk to clear his head, not sit around for hours in a cave.’
‘We don’t know. Did you know about the place?’
‘I knew there was supposed to be a cave. The locals say it’s haunted. They’re a bit like that round here. They say our house… Oh, never mind.’
Beth returned with a tray of tea and digestive biscuits. She lowered it onto a rather splendid coffee table made from old painted floorboards, and sat down. Kate stepped across the room to sit next to her.
Jai took a mug of tea, got stuck into the biscuits, and made notes.
‘What were you saying about this house?’ I asked.
‘Oh, just that everyone said it was bad luck,’ Kate said. ‘That we shouldn’t come here. But we took no notice. How can a house bring bad luck? But now I’m thinking—’
‘Come on, Kate.’ Beth’s tone was sharp. ‘It’s terrible about Peter, but it’s not the house’s fault.’
‘But what about those other people? Before we moved here?’ Kate turned to us. ‘No one would buy the house. It had been empty for ages.’
Jai paused with his biscuit halfway to his mouth. ‘What happened to the other people?’
‘The man fell off the cliff outside, or threw himself off, no one knew. And then his daughter… Oh, it was horrible.’
‘It’s not relevant,’ Beth snapped. ‘We need to find who killed Peter.’
‘She was only fifteen,’ Kate said. ‘She went off to this horrendous underground cave system on the other side of the valley and killed herself. Everyone said the house was cursed, but we thought we were so clever, we were above all that. We got it cheap.’
‘I remember that,’ Jai said. ‘Section tried to get her out, but—’
‘It’s not relevant,’ Beth said. ‘Kate’s just upset. There’s nothing wrong with the house.’
I remembered Ben Pearson telling me about the girl he’d failed to rescue. ‘Was she the girl who hanged herself in the Labyrinth?’
‘Yes. It was awful. And the Victorian who originally built the
house threw himself off the cliff.’ Kate sat forward on the sofa and spoke fast. ‘And other people have died here. Even Peter’s grandmother said there’s a curse. Something to do with witches. She said the spirits of the witches can push you off the cliff out there, so you shouldn’t get too close to the edge. Not that Beth takes any notice when she’s tending that horrendous rock garden.’
‘It’s bloody ridiculous,’ Beth snapped.
Kate turned to me. ‘Why do people who live here keep dying?’
Beth folded her arms. ‘My grandmother’s in the early stages of dementia. I can’t believe we’re talking about a ludicrous old wives’ tale when my brother’s just been killed!’
I made a note to talk to the grandmother. My ears always pricked when relatives laid into one another. They’d sometimes forget we were even there. Beth obviously hadn’t forgotten us though. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘This is all irrelevant. What do you need to know?’
I smiled at them both. ‘Do either of you know why he’d have gone in the cave house?’
‘He always liked caves,’ Beth said. ‘But I didn’t realise—’
‘Hang on.’ Kate stared right into my eyes. ‘Was someone else there with him? Is that why he went to the cave house?’
I shook my head. ‘We don’t think so.’
She looked down at her tea. ‘Right.’
‘We’ll need to take his phone,’ I said. ‘And his laptop. And we’ll have to get people to go through the house.’
Kate sighed. ‘Yeah, do whatever.’ She hesitated. ‘Just so you know, there’s, well, emails on his laptop from me saying I’ve had enough.’ She shook her hair off her face. ‘But it wasn’t serious. Normal marital stuff, you know. He’s been difficult recently. But I didn’t kill him.’ She gave a slightly hysterical laugh. ‘If I had, I’d have deleted the emails, wouldn’t I?’
I mentally noted her assumption that she could access her husband’s emails. ‘Where were you today?’
‘What? I was at work all day. You don’t seriously think I might have done it?’
‘Just a formality,’ I said. ‘What did Peter do for a living?’
‘He was a patent attorney. You know, with inventions.’ She leaned forward over the coffee table, took a biscuit and looked at it with horror before dropping it back on the plate. I’d observed with the bereaved, the thin ones never ate the biscuits.
