The Frozen Shroud

by Martin Edwards

  Robin laid a restraining hand on her shoulder. ‘What do—?’

  Hannah shook off his hand. ‘I suppose you put something in his breakfast, or in his dinner the night before, to make him ill? Nothing harmful, just something to get him out of the way for half a day, so that you were able to do what you wanted?’

  Miriam’s features froze. ‘I’m saying nothing.’

  ‘You stole Terri’s phone, so that you could text Stefan Deyna, and invite him to Ravenbank. I guess you played a similar trick on Craig Meek, and then had an extra stroke of luck when he died in a car crash.’

  ‘Good riddance, if you ask me,’ Miriam said. ‘He was a bully, a good-for-nothing.’

  ‘Mum—’ Robin began.

  She put up a gnarled hand to hush him. ‘I was sorry about Shenagh, but really, she was her own worst enemy. The way she played around with Oz Knight was bad enough, but to betray Francis with that queer – it really was disgusting. And yet, you know, I could have forgiven her.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really. If she hadn’t insisted on taking Francis away. He was an old man, not in the best of health. He wouldn’t have lasted five minutes in Australia.’

  ‘Shenagh’s death killed him,’ Hannah said. ‘What’s more, it killed the dog too.’

  ‘That wasn’t meant to happen.’ Miriam’s voice rose in anguish. ‘I loved Hippo! But of course, he’d seen everything, and he couldn’t understand. For ever afterwards, he looked at me with such sad eyes, I couldn’t bear it. He was getting old, and I said to Francis it was kinder to have him put down.’

  ‘You wanted Francis all for yourself.’

  ‘All my life,’ Miriam said, ‘the people I’ve loved have been taken from me. My mam and dad. My husband, Bobby. Francis. As for Robin, who meant most of all, I couldn’t bear the thought of …’

  Robin said hoarsely, ‘We would still have been in touch. There are aeroplanes. Phones. Skype. In this day and age …’

  ‘It’s not the same,’ Miriam said. ‘You know that, darling. Deep down.’

  ‘But why—?’

  The doorbell cut off his question. Hannah said, ‘My colleagues have arrived. Can you let them in, please?’

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Miriam rise from her chair. In the same instant, Robin’s face twisted in horror.

  ‘No!’ he shouted.

  Half-hidden behind a bread bin at the back of the work surface beside the stove was a wooden knife block. Miriam reached over, and plucked out a steak knife. Her eyelids didn’t flicker as she held it up, serrated edge glinting under her nose.

  Hannah tensed. Thank God the large table stood between them.

  ‘Put the knife down, Mrs Park.’

  ‘Mummy!’ Robin cried. ‘Mummy, please, no!’

  Holding the knife in her iron grip, Miriam plunged it into her throat. As the blade penetrated the vein, she let out a gurgling howl that filled the cottage kitchen. An outpouring of agony, and defeat.

  The doorbell shrilled again, and Robin started to scream.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  After an overnight frost, Saturday morning dawned bright and crisp. Sunshine played on the surface of Ullswater, as Hannah caught sight of Daniel standing on the wooden pier at Glenridding. She felt light and free, as if a dead weight had been unstrapped from her back, and she found herself skipping like a child as she made her way to join him. A phone conversation with Fern had delayed her, but he cut short her apologies.

  ‘Occupational hazard. I’m the son of a policeman, remember?’

  ‘How could I forget?’

  She enjoyed watching his cheeks redden. A bright guy, Daniel, and a minor celebrity, yet unexpectedly easy to embarrass. Not like his dad.

  Or had Ben, beneath that grizzled exterior, been much shyer than she’d realised? Was that why …?

  Daniel was talking; she must stop daydreaming about what was dead and gone. Including Ben.

  ‘… and the steamer doesn’t sail for a few minutes. I’ve already bought our tickets. Let’s walk along the shore while you tell me everything.’

  ‘In a few minutes? A few hours, more like.’

  ‘Fine, we’ve got all day.’ He clapped her on the shoulder as they passed the ferry terminal. ‘So – how are you?’

  ‘Still alive, thanks. Unlike Miriam Park.’

  Miriam had died in the ambulance from that single stab wound. In Northern Ireland, she’d learnt about ruthlessness, and working in a care home had supplied enough anatomical know-how to ensure the knife found her jugular vein. Her death was for the best, everyone agreed – even Robin, it seemed. But there were still procedures to follow. Regulations classified her suicide as a ‘death following contact with the police’, so Professional Standards were tasked to carry out an internal investigation under the watchful eye of the IPCC.

  ‘You solved the case, why put you through the pain of an inquiry?’

  ‘Strictly speaking, I shouldn’t have gone into the cottage on my own. Not that I’m worried, events overtook me. If I bent the rules, I didn’t break them. There’s no question of a suspension. On the contrary, Lauren Self has been sweetness and light, urging me to get counselling “after all I’ve been through”. Very kind, but I’m not into touchy-feely stuff. I’ll make do with a few glasses of wine, preferably in pleasant company. Like I said on the phone, I’m catching up on a bit of leave.’ She laughed. ‘Speaking of Lauren, she’s handed in her resignation. Headhunted by an American firm of management consultants, who want to market her insights into leadership and management. They’ll learn.’

  ‘Where does that leave the team restructure?’

  ‘It’s feeling more like a slight tremor than an earthquake, thank God. I’m only losing Greg Wharf.’ She hesitated. ‘He … decided it was time to move on. But Les Bryant may stay put. Seems the brass has remembered the value of cold case reviews, now we’ve solved two murders for the price of one. Not counting your work on Dorothy Hodgkinson, which started everything off.’

  ‘At least that compensates for my messing up over Terri. I should have told you sooner that she planned to move closer to her father. It never crossed my mind he didn’t live locally.’

  ‘For goodness sake, don’t beat yourself up. How could you know about Florida? Quite possibly Fern’s team already filed away that titbit, but unless you know the context, it seems unimportant.’

  ‘The context being that Miriam couldn’t let go?’

  ‘Robin told Fern that when she was serving in Belfast, her best friend had her head blown off by an IRA gunman. She threw herself into caring for other people. Robin’s dad she adored, but he died young, and left her bereft. Admirable – until it becomes an obsession. Hence her son becoming a spoilt brat. Eventually, she devoted herself to Francis Palladino. Fern reckons she hoped he would marry her, after his wife died. When he fell for a sexy gold-digger instead, Miriam swallowed her pride, and took Shenagh under her wing. She thought she mattered to both of them. What she couldn’t bear was the prospect of Palladino abandoning her forever, and moving to Australia with his floozie.’

  ‘So the motive wasn’t money?

  ‘No, it was love.’

  Their steamship was nearing the pier, and as they retraced their steps, Hannah told him what Robin had said about Francis Palladino’s will. ‘Of course, killing Shenagh was utterly self-defeating. The murder broke Palladino, the last thing she wanted. Pity she didn’t learn her lesson. If she had, poor Terri would still be alive.’

  ‘Her MO was influenced by Dorothy’s killing of Gertrude Smith,’ Daniel said. ‘Craig Meek was as much a scapegoat as Letty Hodgkinson, and battering Shenagh’s face to turn her into a latter day Faceless Woman was Miriam’s idea of covering up what the murder was really about. She repeated the pattern with Stefan and Terri.’

  ‘Fern’s found out how Miriam smashed Shenagh’s face. She destroyed that weapon, but used another one, exactly the same, to kill Terri.’ Hannah swallowed hard. ‘A hockey stick.’ />
  Daniel stopped in his tracks. ‘You’re kidding.’

  ‘Robin says she kept a couple of sticks for years, had a sentimental attachment to them. There’s no trace of either of them in Beck Cottage now. Robin is in bits, as you might expect, but fighting to save his own skin by cooperating. If he’s to be believed, he didn’t have a clue about what his mum was up to. Heard no evil, saw no evil.’

  ‘And is he to be believed?’

  ‘Debatable. Sounds like he’s rewriting history.’

  ‘Happens all the time.’

  ‘You’re the historian, you should know. Anyway, he’s admitted starting to become suspicious in the last day or two. He remembers her burning wood on her stove after both deaths. Not unusual in November, but he thinks she burnt the hockey stick she used to kill Shenagh, and did the same after murdering Terri.’

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘Despite her age, she was strong, and she knew how to use a hockey stick. Her victims were half her age, but she had the advantage of surprise.’

  ‘Like Dorothy with Gertrude.’

  ‘Yes, there are so many parallels. No wonder Miriam felt Ravenbank was haunted.’

  ‘That wasn’t her idea, either. She nicked it from Esme Palladino.’ They had reached the pier, and he followed her up the wooden steps to join the queue of passengers. ‘I suppose that was Miriam’s problem, the flaw that wrecked her life.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘She lacked imagination.’

  The Lady of the Lake chugged past the wooded tip of Ravenbank on her way to the bay at Howtown, pursued by a flock of noisy gulls. Hannah and Daniel were out on deck, leaning on the rail, a stiff breeze flicking their hair into their eyes as they spotted the boathouse from which Oz Knight had paddled off into the fog less than forty-eight hours earlier.

  ‘I suppose the Knights will sell the Hall,’ he said. ‘There’ll be a positive glut of houses in Ravenbank coming on to the market any day now.’

  ‘I guess Louise won’t be making an offer?’

  ‘Not likely. She’s given up on her move to Glenridding. The surveyor found the cottage was riddled with damp. Hard to believe, it looks like something from a picture postcard.’

  ‘Rather like Ravenbank, huh?’ She sighed. ‘Beautiful, but rotten at its heart.’

  ‘At least Jeffrey and Quin are back on an even keel.’

  ‘Until the next time jealousy provokes Burgoyne into giving Quinlan a good slapping.’

  He turned to look at her. Hannah’s eyes were fixed on Hallin Fell, her expression unreadable.

  ‘How about you? You’ve had a rough time, what with Terri’s death, and … everything.’

  ‘I’m not an invalid,’ she snapped. ‘Oh, shit. Sorry, Daniel, didn’t mean to bite your head off. Truth is, I’m dead on my feet.’

  ‘It’ll take time to come to terms with losing Terri.’

  ‘At least now I understand why she kept quiet about her plans. She was excited about this new life with Robin, but she realised making it happen would be complicated. The last thing she wanted was me, trying to be the voice of reason, advocating restraint when she was desperate to get away from Stefan, and panicking about how Miriam would react to losing her precious boy.’

  ‘Do you think Robin really meant to make the break and move to Florida?’

  ‘Absolutely – if he’s telling the truth. With a man like that, you can never be sure. He told Fern that he yearned to escape from Ravenbank. Mother love was suffocating him. So much for the devoted offspring.’

  ‘Robin didn’t deserve her. Neither did Stefan.’

  ‘Sure, but it takes two to tango. When it came to men, she kept making bad choices.’

  Not that I can talk, given my recent track record. Time to make a good choice, for a change.

  The gulls had flown away, heading for Bonscale Pike. The leaves left on the trees were countless shades of green and gold. The only sounds were the steady chop of the ship through the water, and the impatient hustle of the wind.

  Daniel took his hands out of his pockets. ‘So how much do you think Robin knew?’

  ‘Fern reckons he persuaded himself first that Stefan had killed Terri, and then that Oz was to blame. Anything rather than face up to the possibility that Mummy had committed murder, just to make sure she could keep him.’

  He nodded. ‘Like Quin and Jeffrey, each silently frightened that the other was a killer.’

  ‘He had a double motive for wanting to meet me. Not simply to pick up clues to the progress of the investigation, but to distract my attention from Miriam as a possible suspect.’

  Ravenbank was slipping out of sight behind them now, and as they rounded Hallin Fell, the little jetty at Howtown came into view, along with the gentle slopes of Steel Knotts, rising up behind the village. The plan was to have a leisurely lunch in the hotel, and stroll up to the cairn at the fell summit before catching the steamer on its way back.

  ‘Don’t rush back to work before you’re ready.’ He put one of his hands on hers. She liked the way he gently squeezed. ‘You deserve a break.’

  ‘Yeah, Undercrag needs an autumn clean, to make it fit for viewing by prospective buyers.’ She gazed out across the lake, willing him to make a move. No way was she going to chase him, it would never work. ‘Plus, I ought to start looking for somewhere else to live.’

  ‘Plenty of time for that. Why not get away for a few days? Change of scene. This isn’t the only gorgeous place in Britain.’

  ‘Not sure I can be bothered. Too much hassle.’

  ‘An old college friend of mine has a place in mid-Wales, high above the Mawddach estuary. A two-bedroom cottage. Very remote, very quiet. Not a crime scene in sight. He’s offered it to me for a few days. I was wondering … would you fancy coming along too?’

  She blinked. ‘You are joking. Aren’t you?’

  ‘Trust me, I’m serious.’ He grinned. ‘Too serious, if Louise is to be believed. By the way, she’s staying up here. Tied up lecturing to wannabe hotshot lawyers next week. There’s only one snag.’

  ‘This cottage is so remote we might get cut off from civilisation?’

  ‘No, no.’ His grin widened. ‘That wouldn’t be such a disaster. I’m sure we’d find ways of passing the time.’

  Hannah laughed. Inside a few breath-snatching seconds, she’d travelled back half a lifetime, and become a carefree, excited teenager again. Two bedrooms? Oh well, she’d see how she felt.

  ‘All right. Break it to me gently.’

  ‘The owner swears blind the cottage has its very own ghost.’

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Ravenbank – fortunately, given its homicide per capita rate – does not exist, but I much enjoyed my visits to Ullswater while researching this book. As usual, I’ve made some changes to the topography of the Lakes in order to avoid confusion between fact and my fictional world. In particular, the characters who appear are imaginary and not intended to have any resemblance to any living persons. Most of the organisations mentioned are also invented, with a few obvious exceptions. My description of Cumbria Constabulary, and the people who work for it, is intended as a portrayal of an imagined version of the real thing: Hannah and her colleagues do not represent real-life equivalents, and whilst I touch on one or two issues that impact on all police forces today – notably the need to contain costs – I have not based events in the story on anything of which I’m aware in the real, as opposed to make-believe, Cumbria Constabulary. Happily, the Theatre by the Lake, Keswick Museum, and the Armitt Library and Museum all exist in the real world, and a good thing too – I strongly recommend all of them to anyone visiting the area.

  Once again, I’ve been lucky enough to receive plentiful and generous help in writing this book. Roger Forsdyke and Ian Pepper, as so often before, kindly provided me with much information about the work of police officers and forensic scientists, which I adapted for the purposes of fiction. Rachel Laurence, of Hunt and Laurence (www.huntlaurence.co.uk), and a sometime crime fictio
n reviewer, supplied fascinating insights into the life of an actor in a two-person company.

  In the Lake District, David Ward, of Theatre by the Lake, again gave valuable encouragement. Nigel Harling of Patterdale Mountain Rescue Team not only provided me with an insight into how the rescue of Oz Knight would be organised, but was also good enough to read and comment on the draft scenes; here, as ever, the needs of fiction must prevail, but such input does help me in my quest to achieve that indefinable touch of authenticity. Charlotte Stead, the curator of Keswick Museum, gave me a personal tour behind the scenes, and patiently answered many questions. Not long after, the museum closed for its refurbishment, and I look forward to a return visit to this marvellous place when it reopens. Judy Burg’s short but excellent article on the work of an archivist in the Autumn 2012 issue of The Author informed my account of Daniel’s researches, and Kerrie Smith and Bernadette Bean from Australia gave me some clues to Shenagh’s early life. I’d also like to thank my agent, Mandy Little, and my publishers for their continuing support – as well, of course, as my readers, whose messages of goodwill and enthusiasm for this series of novels mean so much to me.

  About the Author

  MARTIN EDWARDS was born in Cheshire. He read law at Oxford and then trained as a solicitor. He is married with two children, and is currently a partner at Weightmans LLP, a leading national law firm. He writes the hugely popular crime series set in the Lake District, featuring The Coffin Trail, which saw him shortlisted for the Theakstons Crime Novel of the Year Award. He is also a critic and has edited various short story collections.

  www.martinedwardsbooks.com

  By Martin Edwards

  LAKE DISTRICT MYSTERIES

  The Coffin Trail

  The Cipher Garden

  The Arsenic Labyrinth

  The Serpent Pool

  The Hanging Wood

  The Frozen Shroud