Death's Silent Judgement: The thrilling sequel to Dancers in the Wind (Hannah Weybridge Book 2)

by Anne Coates

  Kneeling down Hannah wrapped her arms around the small body taking comfort from her familiar fragrance, the softness of her skin. She would have loved to hide behind her as she wished away the scene before her.

  “Hello darling,” she said nuzzling her neck. “Will you go upstairs with Janet to run your bath? I shan’t be long.”

  Elizabeth looked as though she was about to protest with a shriek but did take Janet’s hand as the nanny, obeying the cue, led her away.

  “Nice girl,” Paul murmured as Hannah closed the door after them. She wasn’t quite sure which “girl” he was referring to.

  “What the hell are you doing here Paul?”

  Paul had sat down again. “I would have thought that was obvious. I’ve come to see you, of course.”

  “Why?” None of the reasons that sprang to Hannah’s mind was acceptable.

  “I was in the area – ” he shrugged. “I just thought I’d drop in. See how you’re faring.” His gaze took in the room and Hannah’s frock and smart boots. He smiled that old smile which once had made Hannah’s stomach turn somersaults but now left her strangely immune. That, at least, was a relief.

  “You look well. You both do.”

  “We are.” Hannah still hadn’t sat down. “I won’t ask you how you are because frankly I really don’t care. What I do care about is why you are here?”

  “I told you, I...”

  “Rubbish. I haven’t heard from you for nearly two years. You didn’t even bother to find out about the baby.... When you departed, that was it. And you conveniently changed your business and home addresses in case I tried to contact you.”

  “Did you?” He looked pleased. “Did you try to contact me?”

  “No Paul I did not. If I’d wanted to find you, rest assured I would have found it no problem.” Her tone would have frozen sand in the Sahara.

  Paul was silent for a moment. “I can see my visit’s come as a shock,” he conceded. “I thought you’d be pleased to see me.” He tried to look crestfallen but didn’t quite manage it. “I’ll go now but I’ll talk to you soon.” He smiled. “Elizabeth is my daughter too, remember.”

  Hannah felt faint. She took a deep breath and steadied herself against the door she was holding open for him. “Elizabeth has been your ‘daughter’ for the past 14 months. You, however, gave up any rights in that department a long time ago.”

  “Did I?” He spoke quietly but there was no mistaking the undertone of menace in his voice. He picked up his car keys which he’d left on the table, a habit which had always irritated Hannah throughout their five year relationship, and sauntered out. “I’ll be in touch.”

  They were the last words Hannah wanted to hear. She shut the front door firmly behind him before running up the stairs and barging into the bathroom. “Never – ever –” the words almost exploded from her – “let anyone into my house again when I’m not here. I thought I’d made that perfectly clear when I took you on.”

  Janet’s face reddened. “But... but he said...”

  “I don’t care what he said. No one comes in, is that understood?” Hannah knew she was being unreasonable. Paul’s charm could be devastating when he chose. She had no doubt that he’d managed to overcome any reservations Janet had had.

  A cry from Elizabeth diverted her attention. She knelt down by the bath, picked up a small duck and made ridiculous quacking sounds until the toddler was giggling and had blown bubbles onto her mother’s face.

  Janet had busied herself picking up the discarded clothes. Her face was very pink and just for the moment Hannah wondered if she was about to cry. That was all she needed now. “Janet, why don’t you go and load the washing machine and tidy up downstairs?” She smiled in what she hoped was a conciliatory manner as the girl, obviously glad to escape, left the bathroom.

  Another abortive call out. Father Patrick headed down York Road towards the Bull Ring and St John’s. He wrapped his cloak more tightly around him to ward off the bitter chill in the air. The weather did little to improve his mood. The ward sister at St Thomas’s, Mary O’Callaghan, had been adamant that no one had asked to see him and even checked with the hospital chaplain.

  “Not that we’re not always happy to see you, Father. Will I get you a cup of tea before you leave.”

  Patrick had been persuaded to join Mary for tea and biscuits in her office and and made the most of warming up before leaving.

  The tea had not dissipated his irritation. This was the second time recently he’d been called to the hospital under false pretences – to visit a non-existent patient. His mind went back to the first occasion. The evening Liz Rayman was murdered. And he had left her there alone and vulnerable.

  Now it occurred to him that his absence was orchestrated by someone who wanted Liz dead. Like her friend Hannah, he didn’t believe for one moment that she had been killed by one of her homeless patients. She had been killed for what she knew and he was being blackmailed for the same reason.

  He crossed the road and descended into the underpass. Two men jostled him.

  “Sorry, Father.”

  His arms were being held from both sides and he felt a prick at the side of his neck before everything went black.

  “Right so how did Paul Montague manage to overide my intructions – my very clear, specific intructions that when I was out of the house no one, no one was allowed to come in?” Hannah had joined the nanny who was packing away toys in the sitting room, Elizabeth looking pink and relaxed after her bath was in her arms.

  Janet stared at the floor. When she looked up, her face bore an unreadable expression. Far from being overcome with remorse, Hannah realised that the nanny not only thought she was being unreasonable but that she had done nothing wrong.

  Hannah cleared her throat. “You are still here on probation, Janet.”

  For a split second Hannah thought the younger woman was going to walk out, then something stopped her. An unpleasant thought crossed her mind. Had Paul said something to win her over? Had he offered her some incentive? It seemed improbable. But you could never be too sure. Not when Elizabeth was involved.

  “I am sorry, Hannah. He came to the door with an enormous bouquet –” Hannah raised an eyebrow – “the flowers are in the kitchen. And a huge teddy for Elizabeth. He did ask for you first and when I said you were out…” Janet paused. “Come to think of it, he didn’t seem surprised you were out. It’s as though he expected it...”

  “Or knew,” said Hannah more to herself than to Janet.

  “At first I thought he was an uncle or something but he said he was Elizabeth’s father. Then he more or less pushed his way in and –”

  “I’ll have to do something about security,” Hannah muttered.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Go on.”

  “Well he was really only in here a few minutes – ten, fifteen at most – when you came back.”

  “Did you leave her alone with him?”

  “Only to take the flowers to the kitchen. I didn’t even put them in water. I came straight back. He was just talking to Elizabeth and she looked quite happy.”

  A shaft of pure hatred pierced Hannah’s heart. She didn’t want Paul in their lives. Not now, not ever. He had had his chance and forfeited that right when he walked out after Hannah told him she was pregnant. His parting words today “I’ll be back,” echoed in her mind.

  “Right. I explained when I took you on that there are reasons why I don’t want you to let anyone in the house – anyone whoever they may claim to be.” She studied Janet’s face which was now rather pink. “If that is too much to ask, that you follow my instructions, then…”

  “No of course not. I admit I was totally in the wrong. He just looked so nice and his smile is just like Elizabeth’s –” She saw Hannah’s expression and stopped short. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”

  “No it won’t. Anyway I’ve kept you long enough. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Janet looked relieved.

>   “And take the flowers with you. Give them to your mother.”

  TEN

  The scene with Paul and then Janet left Hannah feeling even more drained than she’d felt after her conversation with Father Patrick and his astounding claim that he was being blackmailed.

  Her mind went back to the scene in his sitting room which doubled as his study.

  She had been stunned by his fury when he said, “I’m being blackmailed.”

  Hannah hadn’t known what to say or why he had chosen to tell her. “Isn’t there someone in the church hierarchy you can talk to?” Then a terrible thought struck her. “Do you know anything about Liz’s murder?”

  The priest looked up blankly. Then there was a dawning realisation. “Good God, you don’t think I killed her?” He looked as though the very thought would choke him.

  Hannah said nothing. She had always found silence a good way to get people to talk. Listening was her strength.

  “Perhaps this was a mistake. I should never have asked you to come here… But Liz was always talking about you and how much your friendship meant to her that I… I have assumed too much. I’m sorry.”

  “Did Liz know you were being blackmailed or has this happened since her … her death?” Hannah still found that word so hard to pronounce.

  Father Patrick studied his hands as though he could see his future written there or at least the words he would say next. He looked up and Hannah could see how much he was struggling not to break down. It seemed rather strange to her. Shouldn’t priests be the ones to cope, to understand death? To console and help people through their grief? It made her wonder about his relationship with Liz. Could he be the father of her unborn child? It seemed far-fetched; she couldn’t imagine Liz becoming romantically involved with a priest. But there again she hadn’t imagined her going off to work with a medical charity in Somalia or coming back and running a drop-in dentist facility either.

  Father Patrick looked up as though he’d come to some sort of decision. “The blackmail started before Liz, before Liz died. But she didn’t know anything about it.”

  Privately Hannah doubted that. “So her murder and your being blackmailed are not connected?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “What are you saying, Patrick? And really why are you telling me. You should really go to the police.”

  “I spoke to Lady Rayman yesterday.” He said this as though the fact that he had had a conversation with Liz’s mother explained everything.

  “And?”

  Patrick looked bemused. “Well she told me you were helping her.”

  Would he never get to the point? Hannah thought irritably. She could be back home with Elizabeth. She looked at her watch in an obvious manner. Patrick took the clue. “I’m sorry, I’m detaining you. Do you have another appointment to get to?” he asked rather formally.

  Hannah relented and smiled. “Yes with my daughter’s bathtime.”

  Patrick smiled too. “Ah yes. Baby Elizabeth. I have…”

  “Look, I’m sorry Patrick that you have a problem but I’m not sure why you are telling me or in fact even wanted to see me. The police…”

  “Have interviewed me several times about the murder. They know nothing about the blackmail and I have to keep it that way which is why I wanted to see you. Lady Rayman spoke so highly of you and, of course, I know you need to be paid but…”

  “Hold on – need to be paid for what?” Patrick’s last words had come out in a rush and Hannah was now completely confused.

  “Well to help me of course. I need you to deal with the perpetrator.”

  Hannah was momentarily at a loss for words. Lady Rayman really shouldn’t have given the impression to the priest that she was some sort of private investigator. Had he confided in Liz’s mother?

  “I’m sorry, I don’t know what Lady Rayman has told you but I’m just a freelance journalist who…”

  “Who is helping her make some enquiries about Liz’s murder.”

  “Ye-es but…”

  “Supposing the two things are linked? The blackmail and murder? Looking into one might lead to clues about the other and I am prepared to pay you, Hannah. I need help and I need your complete discretion.”

  Hannah stared at the piece of paper she was holding. It was the second post mortem report that Lady Rayman had requested at Hannah’s instigation after Tom had advised her. He was certainly right. There seemed to be a discrepancy between the Home Office Pathologist’s findings and those of Dr Matthew Carter.

  Dr Carter had found a needle mark on Liz’s arm but there had been no suggestion of drugs, illegal or legal, in her blood samples. The slight bruising around the mark (how did the police PM miss this?) suggested that the needle may have been inserted against the victim’s will.

  Nausea threatened to overcome Hannah as the scene in Liz’s make-shift surgery forced itself upon her. The blood… Liz’s slashed throat. Liz had suffered a heart attack but there was never anything to suggest she had a cardiac problem.

  Maybe it was just the violence of the attack?

  She wondered if she would gain more by actually speaking to Dr Carter. The needle mark certainly added a new dimension. Hannah sighed. She knew she was way out of her depth. She dialled the pathologist’s number and didn’t know whether to be relieved or not when he answered himself.

  “Ah yes, Lady Rayman said you might contact me,” he said after Hannah had introduced herself.

  “What do you think could have been injected, Dr Carter?”

  “Well, for something that would leave no trace afterwards it could have been a massive dose of adrenaline which would have made her heart give out.”

  “But what about the slash to the neck?”

  “That would have been done afterwards – presumably to make it look like an attack by one of her patients high on drink or drugs.”

  “To cover the real reason for her murder.”

  “That’s a definite possibility. Do you have any theories?”

  “None at all.” Hannah sighed.

  “In my experience, the reason is always there to be seen. Sometimes you need to look at the problem from a different angle.”

  Hannah thanked Dr Carter and left him her number just in case he thought of anything else.

  Why would anyone want to kill Liz? The police conclusion that it was a frenzied attack by a drink or drug-fuelled tramp seemed to be discredited now.

  And what about Jacob Gurnstein? Why had he died – or committed suicide as far as the police were concerned? Hannah thought of DI Turner and her supercilious smile. Should she contact the patronising bitch?

  Oh Tom why aren’t you here? But she hadn’t heard from Tom for a couple of days. Transatlantic calls were expensive but she could really do with hearing his voice right now. Sharing what she had discovered with him. He’d know exactly what to do.

  As if on cue, the telephone rang. But if Hannah expected to hear Tom’s voice she was sorely disappointed. It was the last person she wanted to speak to – Paul.

  “Hi Hannah. I’m sorry we got off on such a bad footing yesterday but I really would like to meet up with you and discuss seeing my daughter on a regular basis.”

  “You shit! How dare you call her your daughter. All she has of you is half her genes. You are nothing to her and I intend to make sure it remains that way!”

  There was the briefest of pauses before Paul said, “What on earth has got into you, Hannah? Does what we once had mean nothing to you?”

  Hannah almost exploded. “You made it perfectly clear that it meant nothing to you when you asked me to have a termination and then walked away from the situation.”

  “I think you’re being a little unfair, what I said was – ”

  “What you said was you did want children at some stage but didn’t want to have one with me, if I remember correctly.”

  “Oh I didn’t say that, did I? What I meant was…”

  “Paul what on earth are you doing? Why have you deci
ded this is the time to contact us?”

  “Well I obviously heard about Liz and know how close you two were. I was worried. I thought you might welcome some support.”

  “I have support.”

  “So I heard.” The words were quietly spoken but there was something in the tone that made the hairs on the back of her neck tingle.

  “And what did you hear, Paul?”

  “Oh just that you are friendly with a certain detective inspector who’s been shipped off to the US following some sort of scandal last year involving the death of prostitutes who…” his voice petered out as he realised he had said too much.

  “Now I wonder where you heard that fairy tale?” And what on earth led him to such a revelation? Hannah’s voice was hard as steel. “I really don’t think we have anything more to say.”

  She replaced the received with studied calm when inside she was volcanic. She felt hot then cold then hot again. Her hands were shaking and she felt near to collapse. How did he know? And, more to the point how much did he know? The prostitutes’ deaths were common knowledge. She concentrated on getting her breathing under control. But he had mentioned a scandal and that was the very thing that had been hushed up. Her story had been spiked. The cover up had been forensically achieved. So what did Paul know and what was he involved in to have discovered it?

  That, Hannah decided, she’d make it her business to find out.

  ELEVEN

  “If you commit one very bad sin, a monstrous sin, does it wipe out all the good you have done or tried to achieve in your life?” Those words came back to her as she dialled the number for St John’s vicarage.

  Father Patrick had stared into her eyes. She recalled her embarrassment – she was certainly way out of her comfort zone.

  “That wasn’t a rhetorical question…”

  “Surely you are in a far better position to answer that, than I am?”

  Hannah remembered the priest’s anguished look as he had opened the taxi door for her after she had agreed to help him. “Thank you.” He smiled but sadness was etched deeply into his features.