The Burden of Doubt (22 page)

‘She would have been aware that the babies would be of different ethnic groups,’ Rajesh said. ‘That does rather limit the chances of passing off another man’s child as one belonging to your husband.’

Swift made no comment.

‘So she found an escape route in Jayne. And presumably a wonderful way of making her happy. That is very like Moira. But then to decide to disappoint her …’

‘And thus to end all deception regarding yourself,’ Swift said, regretting the clumsy inadequacy of the words as he uttered them.

‘Yes. Honesty was typical of Moira too. But in this particular matter she seems to have been acting out of character in respect of both honesty and trust. And simple kindness.’

‘She was facing some very hard decisions,’ Swift said.

‘Indeed.’ He looked gravely into Swift’s face. ‘And later on I had a visit from Serena Fox. And I heard an account that was rather different.’ There was a silence. ‘So now – I have to choose what to believe.’

Swift watched the other man’s face, at a loss to find words to convey his sympathy for this man who faced an eternity of unanswered questions.

Rajesh sighed. ‘There is no way of making this tragedy smell sweet,’ he said.

‘No.’

Rajesh rose slowly to his feet. ‘I appreciate your coming,’ he told Swift. ‘And your openness and humanity. But now I’d like you to leave. I shall be quite all right on my own. I’ve braced myself for the years ahead. I shall not shun my life sentence through suicide. You can depend on me, I’m as immovable as the rock within the Dales hills as far as stoicism is concerned.’ He gave a faint, wry smile. ‘Stoicism used to be highly thought of,’ he commented. ‘Once.’

It was some weeks later and Cat Fallon had come down from Durham for her interview with North Yorkshire Police. She decided to stay over for the weekend and on the Friday evening Swift took her and Naomi to one of Bradford’s family run Kashmiri restaurants which had earned itself a national reputation over the years. Once a tiny shop-like café, it had expanded and cloaked itself in an aura of glamour which managed to embrace both eastern and western cultures.

‘Flash place, this,’ Cat commented, looking around at the marble flooring and the vivid-coloured leather sofas which stood against the walls.

‘Wait ’til you taste the food,’ Naomi told her. I’m having lamb karahi bouna. And nan bread. You should see those nans, they’re the size of Scotland.’

As they ate Cat fed them little bites of information about her interview earlier in the day. It appeared that Damian Finch had been on the interview panel. ‘Interesting guy,’ she commented. ‘It was quite a relief when he was doing the questioning.’

Swift took a sip his cranberry juice. ‘Really – how come?’

‘He’d ask a question and then seem happy to do most of the answering himself.’

Swift smiled. ‘That sounds like Damian.’

‘Very keen on budgets,’ Cat reflected.

Swift was still smiling. ‘Sounds as though he was running true to form.’

‘I’ve got a feeling I might get offered this job,’ Cat said.

Naomi replaced her glass on the table; she was on pomegranate juice. ‘A detective’s hunch?’ she queried. ‘They’re often right,’ she said, glancing at her father.

‘Yeah,’ Cat agreed. ‘Let’s hope so.’

‘You’ll be needing a place around here,’ Naomi said. ‘We’ll help you find somewhere.’ She slid one of her spiky glances at her parent.

Cat noticed and threw him a glance of her own.

Swift knew that he was under some sort of siege. His feelings for Cat had been steadily growing over the last few weeks. He had found himself recalling the way she had helped him through those difficult days when Naomi had slipped off the rails, Cat’s instinctive warmth, coupled with a fine appreciation of how to keep her distance. He recalled too the warmth of her greeting when she arrived in Yorkshire the previous evening, the slight pressure of her lips, slightly opening as she kissed him. And he knew that keeping a distance was no longer what he wanted as far as Cat was concerned.

As for Naomi, she was clearly a driving force behind any womanly plot to capture his heart. Not that he thought for a moment that Cat had been plotting. He loaded his fork with aubergine curry, devoting himself to the pleasure of the food for a few moments, trying to forget the feelings of terror during those hellish minutes when Naomi had been in horrifying danger from Jayne Arnold. She had emerged unscathed physically, but he knew that the incident had left mental scars. She had started coming home quite frequently at the weekends, seeking the comfort and refuge of home, and presumably his company, support and protection.

She was young, he told himself. She would, as the psychologists say, work through it and achieve closure. And he suspected Cat would be there alongside him to help along the way. With that thought came a gentle glow of inner warmth which did not spring from the spiciness of the lamb. So now, there was just the question of the job to consider. There was a post coming up in research and policy development. A desk job – and he was wondering about it.

A shadow fell across the table. ‘DCI Swift! Hi! How’re tricks?’

He looked up and saw the foxy face of Georgie Tyson. She was with her friend Barbara who stood a pace or two behind her, assuming a tactfully disinterested expression regarding whatever verbal interchange was about to take place.

Swift stood up and introduced his companions, to whom Georgie threw a brief nod, before turning back to Swift. ‘So you got your man,’ she said. ‘Or woman rather.’

‘We did.’

She waited, her eyes hungry for any morsel he might toss her. ‘Your press officer was rather minimal with details.’

‘We have procedures to follow,’ he said.

‘Yeah, yeah. But I guess there’s a whole lot more to what murderer Jayne and victim Moira got up to than the line we’ve been fed.’

‘I guess,’ he agreed.

‘We’re going to have wait until the court case apparently.’ She shook her head in mock despair. ‘But, of course, if she’s decided to plead guilty, then there’ll just be the sentencing to consider.’

‘Quite,’ he agreed.

‘Whatever, it’s going to make good copy,’ she said, ever optimistic.

‘Do you really expect me to say something off the cuff?’ he asked.

Georgie grinned. ‘It’s always worth a try.’

‘Go and fish somewhere else,’ Swift told her amiably. ‘I’m sure you know plenty of other ponds where there’s mud to stir.’

‘I surrender.’ She grinned broadly. ‘I’m pretty skilled at getting blood out of stones, but you’re more like bloody Stonehenge. Ah well – I’m sure we’ll be doing further business together in the future, Chief Inspector. Have a nice evening.’ With a wink and a coy tilt of her head she turned away and she and Barbara moved off.

‘Nice girl!’ Cat said.

‘I don’t know how you do it, Dad?’ Naomi commented.

‘What?’

‘Put on that inscrutable act as if you’re one of the guardsmen on sentry duty in Horse Guards Parade.’

‘Now, maybe that’s a job that would suit me,’ he said.

Naomi and Cat smiled at him with knowing fondness.

He smiled back. I might surprise them, he thought.

I might surprise myself.

Rajesh Patel parked his car in the lower park at the foot of Skiddaw. In the low lying fields surrounding the mountain tiny remnants of crusty looking snow clung to those crevices in the walls where the sun could never penetrate. On the drive up from Yorkshire he had seen the crocuses at the roadsides of the village dying back and the daffodils beginning. The air smelled of damp earth and a mingle of prickling scents which heralded the imminent regeneration of spring.

He had climbed six peaks since Moira’s death, one each weekend. Skiddaw, today, would provide a good stretch of the legs, even though he intended to go easy on himself this morning, and take the unchallenging tourist route up the mountain. The weeks of grief had taught him humility: the ability to come to terms with the pointlessness of constantly pushing himself to the limit.

In the future there was the challenge of meeting with Moira’s family again to face. Of confronting Sylvia’s own life-sentence of distress, maybe even seeing Jayne and trying to make sense of what had been driving her. They were both victims, rather like him. But not like Moira. Oh, Moira! He paused in his walk to the foot of the mountain, closing his eyes at the thought of her punishing fate: the ultimate price.

Bringing himself back to the here and now he began moving forward again, his gaze moving upwards to the massive flank of the mountain and its as yet hidden summit.

AN INDEPENDENT SPIRIT

BAVARIAN OVERTURE

A TENDER AMBITION

A MAN TO TRUST

DARK IMPULSE

STAR ATTRACTION

DEAREST PRETENDER

VENETIAN CAPTIVE

MOZART’S DARLING

THE ULTIMATE GIFT

WHERE DARKNESS BEGINS

A KIND OF JUSTICE

RETRIBUTION

as Caroline Sibson

THE CHOSEN ONE

BIRDS OF A FEATHER