The Frozen Shroud

by Martin Edwards

  ‘What if,’ Louise said, ‘Terri and Stefan arranged to meet in the small hours, after the party was over?’

  ‘No way. One thing I can promise you, Terri had no wish to see Stefan ever again.’

  ‘She was a creature of impulse, wasn’t she? Robin’s illness might have given her an opportunity. Suppose Stefan rang up and persuaded her, for one last time …’

  ‘He can’t have called her mobile,’ Daniel objected. ‘Don’t you remember? She’d lost it earlier that day. I suppose he might have contacted her before then, but …’

  ‘Lost it?’ Hannah raised her eyebrows. ‘Terri loved that wretched phone, never went anywhere without it. How did she come to mislay it?’

  ‘No idea.’ Daniel drank some coffee. ‘She didn’t know herself. I can’t imagine he called on the landline, at the house of the man who’d taken his place. Whilst we’re debating little mysteries, why did Stefan try to imitate the previous killings?’

  Hannah shrugged. ‘Trying to establish a connection with Shenagh’s death, taking himself out of the frame?’

  ‘Mmmmm … maybe.’

  ‘Look, are you suggesting that Stefan didn’t kill Terri?’

  ‘Historians are just as bad as prosecutors,’ he said. ‘We don’t jump to conclusions, we look for evidence.’

  Hannah flinched. ‘Ouch.’

  ‘Hey, Daniel,’ Louise said. ‘This isn’t some university debating society, you know.’

  He coloured. ‘Sorry, Hannah. This whole business is heartbreaking for you. I should have …’

  ‘Forget it,’ Hannah said. ‘It does Terri no favours if the wrong man is accused of killing her. I just can’t believe Stefan is innocent. She was genuinely frightened by him, and Terri didn’t scare easily.’

  ‘What if,’ Daniel said, ‘someone in Ravenbank took advantage of that, to pin the blame for the murder on an outsider?’

  His question echoed in Hannah’s head on the journey up the motorway to Carlisle. She liked his reluctance to settle for easy answers. Long before they’d met, she’d heard enough about him from Ben to be intrigued. She couldn’t imagine lecturing to large audiences, or making a name for herself on TV, but Daniel took it all in his stride. In person, his quiet self-assurance was daunting. She could never match it. Ben used to berate her for underestimating herself, told her it was simply a matter of having belief.

  Whatever. One thing she did believe was that Terri, her own worst enemy, had allowed the unspeakable Stefan to take revenge for her desertion. He was selfish enough to believe that if he couldn’t have the woman he wanted, nobody else could.

  When she reached Carlisle, Fern was waiting for her. They found a cubbyhole near a vending machine, and Fern gulped down a black coffee before making inroads on a Mars bar. The rings beneath her eyes testified to a night with little sleep. Like most detectives leading a murder inquiry, she was fuelled by adrenaline and junk food.

  ‘Do you want the good news or the bad news?’ she demanded.

  ‘I’m in the mood for good news, to be honest.’

  ‘He’s instructed Dizzy Gillespie to act for him.’

  At last, a stroke of luck. The dead jazz trumpeter himself would make a more formidable adversary. Gervase W. Gillespie owed his nickname less to flair for music than to a lifelong love of alcohol matched by his lack of ability to cope with it. Rumour had it that he’d never learnt to drive, on the basis that he realised he’d never keep his licence, so he travelled everywhere by taxi. He was a sole practitioner, mainly because nobody had ever wanted to take him into partnership, and ran a tiny office above a fishmonger’s in Keswick. He earned a crust in the criminal and divorce courts of Cumbria, taking the cases that didn’t offer enough profit to bigger firms. Somehow he’d managed to avoid being struck off the roll of solicitors; the word was that the Law Society thought that keeping a sad old drunk in business demonstrated their commitment to diversity within the profession.

  ‘Wow, a lucky break. Has he advised Deyna to confess yet?’

  ‘That’s the bad news I mentioned. The man is sticking to his story like glue. At first, we thought we were quids in, when Dizzy said he was happy for his client to answer our questions, not hide behind a wall of no-comments. But Stefan is fighting tooth and nail.’

  ‘What does he have to say for himself?’

  ‘Maintains he’s the victim of a mysterious conspiracy, would you believe?’

  ‘Does he deny stalking Terri?’

  ‘He admits they had issues. He’s latched on to the phrase “unfinished business”, claims that’s why he kept pestering her.’

  ‘And stealing her cat?’

  ‘He’s coughed to that, and to sending Terri the decapitation photo. Said he did it to teach her a lesson. Reckons she wasn’t into pets, and didn’t take good care of Morrissey. He found Morrissey roaming around when he called at Terri’s, so he took it home. Never meant to harm the creature, on the contrary. He sent the photo as a kind of rebuke. I gather the cat’s well nourished, and he’s done his best to look after it.’

  ‘A candidate for sainthood, eh? What about the murder?’

  ‘He claims Terri texted him and said she was willing to meet.’

  ‘Lying toad.’

  ‘Wait a minute.’ Fern finished her Mars bar and bought another. ‘It’s not quite as ridiculous as you may think.’

  ‘Have you seen the text?’

  ‘Nah, he deleted it.’

  ‘Surprise, surprise. What did it say – allegedly?’

  ‘He says she offered to meet him at Ravenbank at two in the morning.’

  ‘And he believed that? Jesus, he must think we’re soft.’

  Fern crushed the chocolate wrappers in her hand. ‘His story is, he was desperate to see her again. He’d bombarded her with calls, and never had a response.’

  ‘A rendezvous in the small hours on a freezing autumn night, in the middle of nowhere?’ Hannah shook her head. ‘It makes no sense.’

  ‘He didn’t see it that way. She was with another bloke, it might be difficult to get away from him to see her ex. He thought she was going to sneak out while Park was snoring.’

  ‘Bollocks. Why should she?’

  ‘His wasn’t to reason why. When she changed her mind about seeing him, out of the blue, he didn’t ask questions, just grabbed his chance.’

  Hannah groaned. ‘All right, then what?’

  ‘His story is that she asked to meet him at Ravenbank Corner, where two lanes cross.’

  ‘How far is that from Park’s house?’

  ‘Three hundred yards at most. You can’t see Fell View from there, because the lane bends. The Corner is overlooked by one house, but it’s empty at present.’

  ‘How many houses are there in Ravenbank?’

  ‘Six in total, but two haven’t been occupied for some time. Stefan says he showed up in good time, half an hour early, but there was no sign of Terri.’

  ‘I can’t believe he expects us to fall for this crap.’

  ‘According to him,’ Fern said, eyes fixed on a patch of damp on the wall, ‘he became restless, and decided to wander up the lane, to see if he could spot her. He’d never been to Ravenbank in his life, and he thought he might have misunderstood what she’d said about where to meet.’

  ‘And then he conveniently stumbles on her dead body?’

  ‘Pretty much. He followed the course of the beck, and a few minutes later he found her. She was lying in a dip in the ground, with a blanket over her face. He says he recognised her shoes, but he lifted the blanket to make sure. And saw that someone had bashed her face in.’

  ‘What about the murder weapon?’

  ‘Says he didn’t see anything that might have inflicted the damage. He dropped the blanket back on her face – and legged it. Close to where his car was parked, he threw up.’

  ‘We’re looking to find where the blanket came from?’

  ‘Sure – if we can link it to him, he’s toast. His story is, he didn’t know if the
killer was still lurking at the scene. He says he was in a state of shock. Petrified, and overwhelmed by shock and grief. So he jumped into the Fiesta and drove like the clappers, desperate to get away from Ravenbank.’

  ‘He admits clipping the Mercedes?’

  ‘Oh yes, and doing a runner from his bedsit in Glenridding. He admits he wasn’t thinking straight, but he says he thought he’d been set up. Someone had lured him to Ravenbank so that he’d be blamed for the crime. He had to get away. Halfway to Euston, it dawned on him that he’d made matters much worse for himself by running away. He claims it came as a relief when he was picked up yesterday evening. By then, he was trying to get up the nerve to hand himself in.’ Fern paused. ‘And set about clearing his name.’

  Hannah ground her teeth. The farrago this man had conjured up to try to save his miserable skin made her tremble with anger. Stefan must have realised he couldn’t escape justice for long. So he’d spent the time he’d bought in cooking up a tale designed to explain away any forensic evidence linking him with the crime scene. If only they could find the missing weapon.

  ‘You can’t seriously believe he has any chance of that?’

  ‘One thing you need to know.’ Fern fiddled with her collar. Why was she so uncomfortable? ‘Deyna says Terri sent the text from her mobile. Yet Robin Park says that Terri mislaid her phone yesterday, so at the moment we have no way of disproving Stefan’s explanation.’

  ‘Does Park know where the phone is?’

  ‘Uh-uh. He assures us he’s turned their cottage upside down, but no luck.’

  Hannah scowled. ‘You’re worrying me, Fern. Last night you seemed so confident. Of course it’s a long haul to assemble the evidence, but …’

  Fern digested the last of the Mars bar. ‘You’re not going to like this.’

  Leaning back in her chair, Hannah said, ‘I’m waiting.’

  ‘It seems insane, but … I’m starting to wonder if he really is our man, after all.’

  ‘You were a bit rough with her,’ Louise said. They were standing in Tarn Fold, watching Hannah’s car disappear from view. The sun had vanished, and Daniel felt the first drops of rain on his cheeks. ‘Don’t forget, she’s the professional detective. Not you.’

  ‘All right, I got carried away. But the easy answer …’

  ‘Is sometimes the right answer,’ she interrupted. ‘That’s what you don’t get, Daniel. This isn’t an intellectual chess game. Talk to any practising criminal lawyer, and off the record they’ll admit ninety-nine per cent of their clients are guilty. The same will be true of Stefan.’

  He put his hands up in mock-surrender. ‘You win. Let’s go back inside. If we stay out any longer, we’ll get drenched.’

  He turned back towards the cottage, but she caught him up with a few brisk strides. ‘You don’t fool me. When you give up so easily, and change the subject, I can tell you’re not really listening.’

  ‘I was listening, just not agreeing. The mere fact something happens nearly all the time doesn’t mean it happens always.’

  ‘What makes you doubt Stefan’s guilt?’

  He waited to reply until he’d closed the front door behind them, shutting out the incipient downpour. ‘Does lightning strike three times in the same place? I don’t think so.’

  ‘What’s your theory – that Gertrude Smith’s faceless ghost walks on Hallowe’en, and every once in a while she inflicts on some poor woman the same fate she suffered herself?’

  ‘If so, she certainly kept out of the way when we went searching for her. No, there’s a simpler explanation.’

  ‘Which is?’

  He leant against the kitchen door, and looked her in the eye. ‘That five years ago, someone took Gertrude’s case as a template for a brand new murder. And the night before last, that same someone killed Terri.’

  ‘But why?’

  ‘As you say, I’m not a professional detective. I hardly knew Terri, and I’ve no idea why anyone would want to murder her. She struck me as a life-enhancing person.’

  ‘Hannah cared a lot for her. She’s obviously shattered by what’s happened.’

  ‘If Terri upset someone, she wouldn’t do it deliberately. So why react so violently?’

  Louise folded her arms. ‘Are you planning to do anything about it, or just sit back and await developments?’

  ‘Like you said, I’m a historian, not a cop. Better leave it to the police to worry about Shenagh Moss.’

  ‘Meaning that you still want to research what happened to Gertrude Smith? But how? Miriam Park was no help.’

  ‘The only way to understand what happened to Gertrude is to understand the people she was close to. Roland Jones, and the Hodgkinsons. Any history student knows, it’s a mistake to rely too much on word of mouth recollection, especially when nobody’s left alive who remembers the people concerned. So – time to scout for documents.’

  Fern stomped off to resume command of the investigation while Hannah grabbed another coffee, and asked herself how anyone other than Stefan could have hated Terri enough to kill her. Surely she hadn’t just been in the wrong place at the wrong time? Not in the small hours in Ravenbank, it was inconceivable. She must have been targeted.

  Hannah was shivering, and she couldn’t blame Cumbria Constabulary for skimping on the cost of heating. The cubbyhole was stuffy and claustrophobic. Time for a breath of fresh air as she marshalled her thoughts. Five minutes later, with gusts of wind blasting rain into her face and making a complete mess of her hair, she’d begun to doubt the wisdom of braving the elements, but she turned up her coat collar and walked on until she reached the castle.

  A coach was disgorging a party of children. Hannah heard an enthusiastic teacher announcing that this vast medieval stone fortress had once imprisoned Mary, Queen of Scots. But what kids who came here really loved was the story of the Licking Stones. After Bonnie Prince Charlie captured Carlisle Castle, the English inflicted brutal reprisals. Thirsty Jacobite prisoners had to resort to licking the stone walls of their dungeons to get enough moisture to stay alive. The survivors’ reward was to be taken to Gallows Hill, and executed. To this day, you could still see the marks where the tongues of the doomed prisoners had worn away the stone.

  No Police and Criminal Evidence Act in those days, no civil liberties, no worries about whether the forensics would survive scrutiny in court. Hannah spun on her heel, leaving the school party to their tour. Despite the weather, the walk had cleared her head. It was dangerous to acquire a taste for revenge. Fern was right. However much she hated Stefan for his cruelty to Terri, the evidence against him needed to stack up.

  Back at the station, she sought out DC Josh Higginbottom, and asked him to join her for a bite of lunch in the canteen. Josh had been an up-and-coming colleague of Fern’s, until the day he’d tried to break up a fight between two teenage thugs in a car park a stone’s throw from the station. One of the kids, a broken beer glass in his hand, slashed Josh several times across the face and throat. He’d lost one eye and only an emergency operation saved some of the sight in the other. Even then, it took eighteen months for him to admit defeat in his efforts to resume operational work and accept a job in Communications.

  ‘You can get used to anything in time,’ he said, when she asked how he was doing. ‘I won’t deny that I still have black dog days. When the lad who glassed me was let out of prison, the urge to track him down and give him a taste of his own medicine was almost impossible to fight. But I got pissed and got over it.’

  Hannah smiled. ‘Not exactly what the doctor ordered, but if it works …’

  ‘Yeah.’ He rubbed the livid scar on his neck. ‘Sorry to hear about your mate.’

  As usual when she was with Josh, she felt ashamed of being unnerved by his gaze. One glass eye, one that didn’t seem focused, peering out from damaged flesh. He could be moody, Josh, he was well known for it, but nobody had more right. He was a man she admired, and whose company she enjoyed, yet whom she always found strangely intimidati
ng.

  ‘Thanks. I’m still in denial, to be honest. But like you say, getting your head round bad stuff takes time. The unfairness of it all, the sheer … finality. I’ve often wondered how you’ve coped.’

  ‘Me too. You can’t simply rely on the passage of time. You need to force yourself to carry on. However reluctant you are. If that seems tough, trust me, it’s better than the alternative.’ He studied his fingernails. Badly bitten, she noticed. ‘As you can probably guess, I did think long and hard about the alternative, but life’s short enough as it is.’

  ‘You were on the team with Fern five years ago when another woman was murdered at Ravenbank. Shenagh Moss, an Australian.’

  ‘You know something? The last major case I worked on before …’ He gestured at his face. ‘I’ll never forget it. When I heard someone else had been killed in Ravenbank, I couldn’t believe my ears. It’s so tiny, you wouldn’t expect two bike thefts, let alone two murders.’

  ‘Last time, the assumption was that Shenagh was killed by her ex, but Fern wasn’t convinced.’

  ‘Me neither. But Fern didn’t agree with my theory.’

  Hannah felt her heart pounding. ‘Who did you think killed Shenagh?’

  ‘The bloke who kept pestering her. Not Meek, the neighbour.’

  ‘Which neighbour?’

  ‘The smarmy bloke she’d dumped for old whatsisname who lived in the big house. Knight, he was called. Oz Knight.’

  The Armitt Museum and Library stood just beyond Ambleside’s constantly photographed Bridge House, on the route to Rydal Water and Grasmere. Set back from the road, it was a modern stone building, designed to house an eclectic assortment of books, manuscripts, paintings, geological specimens, and miscellaneous unclassifiable bits and pieces. There were even second-hand books for sale.

  A young Dutch volunteer called Trijntje was on duty. She recognised Daniel from his television series, which had been screened across Europe, and five minutes spent chatting about historians as detectives was the perfect prelude to the questions he wanted to ask.