The Arsenic Labyrinth Page 7

  He stared at her. ‘Emma had no reason to deceive us. We were glad for her. After years of not having two pence to rub together, finally she could please herself.’

  The door opened and Vanessa Goddard bustled in. Small and buxom with frizzy red shoulder-length hair, she wore a black tee shirt and denim jeans. Her plump arms were freckled, her lipstick vivid. A port-wine birthmark the shape of Africa spread across her left cheek. When they’d first met, Hannah’s eyes kept straying to it and she’d felt hot with embarrassment. But Vanessa had taken no notice; she’d had a lifetime to acclimatise to people staring on first acquaintance. She sat beside her husband on the sofa, their bodies touching. Francis’s hand strayed to her knee, her shoulder rubbed against his.

  ‘Sorry to keep you, Chief Inspector, but Christopher needed help with a Google search. Homework’s changed since the three of us were at school. Now, what can we do for you?’

  Hannah wasn’t flattered by the implication that they were much of an age. Vanessa must be fifty now, her husband a few years her junior. Perhaps having a child later in life made you feel younger. How would Marc react if she told him she was expecting a baby again? Would she see that same trapped look on his face?

  Jesus, this was no use. She needed to concentrate.

  ‘Did Emma ever talk about her time in Liverpool, mention the people she knew there?’

  ‘She flitted from job to job. Temping for accountants and lawyers, a spell working on reception at a hotel, another as a PA at the Women’s Hospital. She never found her niche, that’s why she came back to the Lakes.’

  ‘Why did she leave in the first place?’

  ‘She’d had a series of dead-end jobs since leaving school and the bright lights lured her. Liverpool was an exciting city long before they called it the Capital of Culture, and she’d always been a Beatles fan. Her parents died when she was sixteen or seventeen, and she and her sister didn’t get on too well.’

  Hannah said, ‘You said before that, according to Emma, when she came out as a lesbian, Karen gave her the cold shoulder.’

  Vanessa nodded. ‘We think of the Lakes as cosmopolitan, don’t we? Because people from so many countries come here to work, as well as to visit. Go into a café in Bowness and you can be served your cup of tea by someone from anywhere in the world. But the fact is, some of the locals are deeply conservative. I’ve never met Karen, Chief Inspector, but Emma gave the impression she was rather narrow-minded.’

  ‘So Emma decided to get away from here?’

  ‘I suppose she wanted to find herself, if you like.’

  ‘But she didn’t find herself in Liverpool, did she? She doesn’t seem to have formed any meaningful ties there. That’s why she came back.’

  Vanessa sighed. ‘I was very fond of Emma, Chief Inspector. But she didn’t open up easily. That’s why she didn’t make many friends. Living on her own suited her. Even when she was staying with us, we might not see her from one day to the next.’

  ‘You weren’t aware of any lovers in Liverpool? Or anyone who might have left her a lot of money?’

  ‘No one.’

  ‘How did she set about finding herself back home in the Lakes?’

  ‘She liked working at the museum. She and Alex were happy enough for a while, but then their relationship hit the rocks. Emma took it badly and was off work with stress for months. Then she came into this money and it gave her the opportunity to start afresh.’

  ‘According to Alex Clough, their relationship simply ran out of steam.’

  Vanessa shrugged. ‘I don’t know the whys and wherefores. I never wanted to intrude. But you can take it from me that Emma was devastated.’

  ‘You were her friend, she must have given you a hint about why her affair with Alex Clough fell apart. Was there a row?’

  ‘I told you before, I’ve no idea. Emma and Alex had a lot in common, but it’s hard to work for someone you’re personally involved with. Alex was the boss and I don’t think Emma could get that out of her head. If you ask me, you have to treat each other as equals if you want to keep a relationship flourishing long term.’

  She smiled at her husband and squeezed his hand. Last time Hannah had wondered whether the lovey-dovey stuff was put on for her benefit. Perhaps when the door closed behind her they would start bawling at each other. But their intimacy struck her as instinctive, these were two people at ease with each other. Was there such a thing as a genuinely happy marriage? If so, this might just be it.

  ‘Might the money have been a pay-off from Alban Clough? Or his daughter?’

  Vanessa raised her eyebrows. ‘Why give her such a large golden handshake?’

  ‘An affair with her boss had gone wrong. Some people might conjure a sexual harassment suit out of that scenario.’

  ‘But she was a willing partner in the relationship.’

  ‘Even so. She was off with work-related stress.’ A burning topic in Police Review. ‘The pay-outs in litigation can be sky-high.’

  Francis said, ‘You’d have to speak to Alex Clough or her father about that. But Emma never gave us the impression that she meant to bring a claim. She just couldn’t face going back to work for Alex after they split up. The Cloughs paid her wages till she resigned, but we never heard about anything more generous.’

  ‘You’re a nurse, Mr Goddard. How sick was she?’

  ‘Depression is a tricky illness, Chief Inspector. She was genuinely ill, but I was confident that eventually she would make a full recovery, and so it proved. Last time we talked, you asked if she might have become suicidal. I still can’t believe she would have killed herself.’

  ‘And coming into money perked her up?’ Hannah asked drily.

  ‘Well, it would, wouldn’t it?’ Francis was earnest; he didn’t do irony.

  ‘So she set up as a reflexologist. Lifelong ambition or impulse decision?’

  ‘She was searching for something new,’ Vanessa said. ‘A deeper meaning in life. She celebrated her thirtieth birthday whilst she lived in this house. We went out for an Indian together in Bowness and she told us that she fancied being her own boss. Having no one to answer to except herself.’

  ‘Was this interest in holistic therapies new?’

  ‘Yes, they seemed to assist her own recovery and she wanted to help others to feel better. Making her plans gave her a new lease of life. She’d been putting on weight, stuffing herself with comfort food while she was down in the dumps. But she worked hard at dieting and shed more than a stone. By the time she left us, she really looked quite trim.’

  ‘When we spoke before,’ Hannah said, ‘you believed she’d left the Lakes of her own accord. But if she relished running her own business …’

  Vanessa bowed her head. ‘You’re right, Chief Inspector. I’ve had time to come to terms with the inevitable. When you and I first met, I’d not long had Christopher and I wanted to believe everyone was as happy as me. I hated to think that something dreadful might have happened to my friend. So I persuaded myself that she’d fallen for someone and followed her on the spur of the moment. I liked to think that one day she’d come back. But as the years passed …’

  ‘Seems unlikely that Emma would have thrown up her new home, her new car, for the sake of a flight of fancy.’

  ‘I was deceiving myself, I see it now.’

  ‘So what might have happened to her – any ideas?’

  Francis Goddard said, ‘Your guess is as good as ours, Chief Inspector. An accident of some kind?’

  ‘Then why has she never been found?’

  ‘If we rule out suicide, that only leaves the possibility of murder.’

  In her best press conference police-speak, Hannah said, ‘We’re keeping an open mind.’

  Vanessa touched the mark on her face, as though it were sore. A habitual gesture, whenever she was troubled. ‘Who would want to murder Emma? It doesn’t make any sense. She was a caring person, she never did anyone any harm.’

  ‘How did she get on with Karen and her hu
sband?’

  Francis said brusquely, ‘I’m sure you haven’t forgotten that Jeremy Erskine was once married to Vanessa.’

  ‘To be honest, I found that curious, Mrs Goddard.’

  ‘Vanessa, please.’

  ‘Well, Vanessa. Your husband leaves you for someone else. And then you take that someone else’s sister in as your lodger.’

  A long silence. Husband and wife exchanged glances. Vanessa cleared her throat.

  ‘I didn’t like to say this to you before.’

  Hannah leaned forward. Her heart was thumping.

  ‘Yes?’ she whispered.

  ‘As you know, I met Emma when I led a workshop at the museum. She’d just started working there and we hit it off from the start. Whilst we were talking, I realised she was the sister of the woman who’d married my ex. The truth is, I was fascinated. I liked Emma, but of course I was curious. I wanted to find out more about Karen. Hopefully to reassure me that Jeremy had made a terrible mistake.’ Vanessa was talking quickly, her hands were trembling. ‘Schadenfreude, I’m afraid. Dreadful confession, but there’s something of the voyeur in all of us, don’t you agree?’

  I’m a detective, how could I not agree?

  ‘For three years, I’d loathed Karen Bestwick, and I’d never even set eyes on her. I didn’t have a clue whether she was blonde or brunette. In my mind I christened her Miss Piggy. Nothing personal, she was skinny as a stick-insect, according to Emma. I don’t mind admitting, I’d have resented anyone that Jeremy went off with. And now I’d stumbled across someone who knew her intimately – and who didn’t think the sun shone out of her backside. Far from it. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I loved hearing what a selfish, superficial woman Karen was.’

  Hannah risked another sip of coffee, but she’d ignored it for too long and it was cold. Before coming out here, she’d refreshed her memory from the old statements. Out of the blue, Jeremy had walked out on his marriage to Vanessa to go and live with Karen, a secretary at the school where he taught. Vanessa’s morale must have been at rock bottom when she learned Karen was pregnant, but within weeks of the decree nisi landing on her doormat, she met Francis Goddard while running a reading group for patients at the hospital where he worked. Three years later, she was married to a man apparently besotted with her and living with their new baby in a lovely home near Coniston Water. Talk about falling on your feet. Hannah couldn’t find it in her heart to blame her if she got a kick from learning the faults of her ex’s new wife.

  ‘Why didn’t the sisters get on?’

  Vanessa shrugged. ‘All they had in common was their genes. If you ask me, the idea that blood is thicker than water is rubbish. Emma was quieter, more serious. Karen’s main interests were men and make-up. She was looking for someone to take care of her, shower her with flowers and chocolates.’

  ‘Was Emma jealous of her?’

  ‘Nothing to be jealous of.’

  ‘Had she ever had a boyfriend?’

  ‘You’d need to ask Karen.’ Vanessa stroked her husband’s hand. ‘In case you’re wondering, I didn’t feel I was taking a risk if ever I left her alone in the house with Francis.’

  Hannah turned to him. ‘You and she were on good terms, though?’

  Francis Goddard gave her a wry smile. ‘Certainly. And as I said last time we met, it went no further than that. You put me through the mincer ten years ago, Chief Inspector. I’m sure you suspected that Emma and I were lovers.’

  Oh God. She felt herself colouring. Ten years ago, she’d lacked experience as a detective, but she’d never realised she’d been so transparent.

  ‘I had to ask.’

  ‘Only doing your job? I understand. I’m sure if I’d had something to hide, you’d have unearthed it. Sorry to disappoint you in this cynical day and age. But I only ever had eyes for Vanessa. There was no affair between Emma and me.’

  A thought leapt into Hannah’s mind. How about between Emma and your wife? Ten years back, the possibility hadn’t even occurred to her. Vanessa was wrapped up in her new baby and the idea of her embarking on a covert lesbian relationship during pregnancy would have seemed absurd. Probably it still was. Chances were, friendship flowered between Emma and Vanessa due to nothing more than mutual convenience. It provided Emma with a roof over her head. And Vanessa with the reassurance that Jeremy Erskine had betrayed her for a Muppet.

  If Emma had been murdered, Hannah reflected as she drove, there was no evidence as to when she might have died, so alibis were pretty much irrelevant. Chances were, it was a sex crime. If so, the killer was probably someone previously unknown to her. The likeliest exception was Tom Inchmore, the Cloughs’ handyman. His family had once owned the biggest mine-works on the Coniston fells, as well as the mansion that housed the museum, before falling on hard times. But that inadequate underachiever had maintained his innocence even in the face of questioning from a DC later kicked off the force for beating up a teenager in Millom under the gaze of a CCTV camera.

  By the time she arrived home, Hannah had resolved to give the revived inquiry no more than a week. Much as she wanted to understand Emma’s fate, not every file could be tidied into the ‘case closed’ cabinet. It was too easy to chuck resources into a bottomless pit. The Post wouldn’t keep the story on the front page for long. She’d speak to the Cloughs, and to Emma’s sister and brother-in-law, then review progress.

  Marc had beaten her home and switched on the oven. He wasn’t a bad cook and she enjoyed being waited on. His good humour was explained by the fact that a customer from Tokyo had paid a small fortune for a book he’d picked up for a song in a house clearance and first advertised on the internet forty-eight hours ago.

  ‘And a friend of yours dropped in. Daniel Kind.’

  ‘What was he after?’ Her voice sounded ridiculously gruff.

  ‘Researching John Ruskin. He asked after you and I told him how glad you were of his help over that business in Old Sawrey.’ He shut the fridge door and reached out to stroke her hair. ‘So, how was your day?’

  Did he really want to know? She murmured something indistinct and that seemed enough. He was at her side now, caressing her neck whilst he kept his eyes fixed on the oven’s temperature dial.

  ‘Time to relax,’ he whispered.

  His hand strayed, as if by chance, to her breast. She closed her eyes as his lips brushed her cheek. To her dismay, a picture sprang into her mind. Not Marc but Daniel Kind, leaning close to her, his expression intent. She felt a tightness in her stomach, as if she were hungering for his touch.

  Guy slipped out of the Glimpse and set off for the call box. It was after five o’clock and Tony Di Venuto had left, but he got through to a colleague and soon wheedled the journalist’s mobile number out of her. All it took was a little persuasion, and Guy was very good at persuasion.

  ‘Is that Tony Di Venuto?’

  ‘Who is this?’

  Idiotic question. Di Venuto must have recognised Guy’s spectral whisper from the previous call. He ought to give Guy credit and not take him for a fool.

  ‘We spoke yesterday. About Emma Bestwick.’

  ‘You told me she wouldn’t be coming back. Is she dead? Look, why don’t we get together for half an hour? Over a coffee, how about it? You could …’

  ‘No coffee,’ Guy interrupted. ‘All I want to do is to tell you something.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Di Venuto’s voice rose. If he was trying to contain his excitement, he was failing.

  ‘You don’t need to know.’

  ‘Why have you called me?’

  ‘For Karen’s sake,’ Guy said.

  Christ, he might have been a cheesy cabaret singer dedicating ‘The Lady in Red’ to his latest squeeze. But he meant it, he was doing this for her.

  ‘Karen?’

  ‘Yes, she needs closure.’

  The journalist sounded mystified. ‘Did you kill Emma?’

  ‘That’s disgusting. I swear to you, she was alive the last time I saw her.’

&n
bsp; It was true, that was the wicked irony.

  ‘Then how can you be sure she’s dead?’

  ‘I know where the body is buried.’

  All at once, Guy was sweaty and shaking, as if stricken by fever. He fought to compose himself, gulping in the stale call box air. I’m not a murderer, I’m not a murderer, I’m not a murderer. It was all a terrible mistake, though nobody would believe it. But he’d come this far. He couldn’t slam the phone down yet.

  ‘Where?’ Tony Di Venuto said in a hoarse whisper.

  ‘Below the Arsenic Labyrinth.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  Over breakfast the next morning, Guy felt a calm that not even Mariah Carey warbling from the transistor radio could disturb. Calling the journalist had been tough, but courage had brought him peace of mind. He’d slept without dreaming and done justice to a full English breakfast guaranteed to fur the arteries. Sarah had cooked mushrooms, as a little treat. With a conspiratorial wink she indicated that this was to celebrate the departure of the German couple. They’d been up at the crack of dawn, feasting on toast and marmalade before setting off back to Heidelberg.

  ‘I’m not sure I’ll advertise vacancies until it’s time for you to leave. It’s been non-stop for the past fortnight and I fancy putting my feet up for a few days.’

  ‘You deserve a break.’ He considered the bags under her eyes. ‘You look tired, you must be working too hard.’

  She shook her head. ‘My own fault. I spend too much time upstairs on the computer.’

  He tutted. ‘All work and no play? You need to grab a bit of enjoyment as well as looking after your guests. Mind, you’d better be careful. You may not get rid of me as easily as all that. I’ve made myself so comfortable here that I was wondering …’

  ‘Yes?’

  She leaned across the table and he caught a fragrance that revived memories of a happy few months in Paris three years back. Chanel Number Five. So she was making a special effort. He could scarcely resist the urge to preen.