The Cipher Garden (17 page)

‘I must remember, you’re only doing your job. You don’t mean to be offensive.’

Hannah said nothing. If the woman wanted a battle of wills, fine.

‘Only, I wonder if you have any idea what it’s like, Chief Inspector? Having your husband murdered? How would you feel in my shoes, if you came home one day to be greeted by a pair of young constables who told you that your man was dead? And not just dead, but butchered? Cut up like an animal in a bloody abattoir?’

There was a catch in her voice, but no tears. The face powder and blue eye shadow made a good mask. Impossible to gauge whether this came from the heart or was a performance worthy of an Academy Award. Hannah waited.

‘I’ll tell you what it’s like, then. It’s utterly horrible. Whatever Warren did wrong in his life – and he did plenty – he didn’t deserve that.’

‘Which is why I ask questions. I don’t mean to be intrusive, but I would like to know when your relationship began with Mr Flint.’

Tina gazed straight at her. Wondering what to say next? When she shrugged, Hannah exulted inside.

‘All right. The truth is this. Peter and I liked each other from the start. He is so different from Warren. A breath of fresh air. But I didn’t think he’d be interested in me. Tarty Tina, put-upon wife of Jack the Lad. After all, he had a good-looking wife of his own, even if she is as tough as granite. It was a long time before I realised he had any feelings for me. Even longer before he did anything about them. Worse luck.’

‘And you say this was after your husband was killed?’

‘Long after. The murder – knocked us all sideways. You don’t come to terms with something like that in five minutes.’

Hannah wasn’t convinced. But Tina Howe wasn’t going to confess this afternoon. She’d cracked a little, but she’d take time to break.

Kirsty pounded up the path to the front door of Keepsake Cottage and leaned on the bell while she fought to regain her breath. Her sweat-soaked T-shirt was clinging to her, her calves ached, the soles of her feet were screaming. She hadn’t stopped running ever since she’d set off from The Heights. A long way, but she ought to be fitter than this, with a jump imminent. She needed to make sense of things before it was too late. This morning she’d read her stars in the
Daily Mirror
. They were uncannily to the point.
You 
are going to make a decision that will change your life. It’s now or never.

De Quincey was barking inside the cottage. She kept pressing the bell. Roz must be at home, her car was parked in the drive. She glanced around, waving a cloud of midges away from her face. Her father had been killed here, but she’d never made a pilgrimage to the scene of the crime. Keepsake Cottage was a private home and besides, she’d wanted only to forget what had happened.

After what seemed like an hour, the door swung open. Thank God, it was Roz. She must have been washing her hair. Although she’d wrapped a fluffy towel round her head, a few drops of water were running down her cheeks. She had on a white cotton top and fraying shorts that revealed a wedge of cellulite. At the sight of Kirsty, her eyes opened wide.

‘Kirsty! Are you all right?’

‘I’m fine. Just give me a moment.’

‘You look as though you’ve been training for the marathon.’

‘I’ve run over from The Heights.’

‘But what on earth brings you here? I mean we’ve never…’

‘There’s something I need to talk to you about. Please, can we go inside and talk? I hate to bother you, but I’ve been mulling this over in my mind and you’re the one person who can help me. You can tell me what to do.’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand.’

A thought slapped Kirsty. ‘Is Chris in?’

‘No, he’s out in Kendal, talking to someone who runs a folk club. I’m not expecting him back for an hour, longer if he gets engrossed.’

‘Thank goodness. We can talk in private.’

‘Talk about what?’

‘Do you mind if we go in? You see, the thing is, I need to ask you a favour, a big, big favour. Look, I’m ever so sorry to disturb you. I wouldn’t do it if I wasn’t desperate. But there’s nobody else I can turn to.’

Peter Flint talked rapidly, Adam’s apple bobbing, hands moving up and down for emphasis. Hannah could understand the appeal of his boyish animation for Tina, even if a bespectacled boffin and a satyr’s widow made strange bedfellows.

‘It was an appalling business, Chief Inspector, appalling. Warren wasn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but to die like that…it doesn’t bear thinking about. Not even I can quite imagine what it must have been like for Tina and the children. It’s taken a long time for them to get over it – if you ever can get over something like that. So it’s scarcely surprising that they dread a new inquiry. Utterly dread it. Painful memories are bound to come flooding back.’

Hannah glanced at Tina. Following her lover’s arrival, she had emerged from behind her desk and now they were all sitting together in Peter’s office. His presence seemed to soothe her. Her body language was mellowing, her smile losing its glacial edge.

‘You have to do what you have to do, Chief Inspector,’ Tina said. ‘Just remember that the murder turned our lives upside down. It wasn’t an easy time.’

‘We appreciate the sensitivities, Mr Flint, but you’ll understand that I have to ask you about your relationship with Warren Howe.’

‘Personal or professional?’

‘Both.’

Hannah would bet any money that Tina had called him
as soon as she’d heard from Kirsty. The party line would already be agreed. She’d be told what they wanted to tell her, no more.

‘We both shared the same passion,’ Peter Flint said.

Hannah’s gaze flicked over to Tina. Yes, I bet. But since when?

‘I mean, Warren and I were fascinated by gardens. By gardening.’ He spread his arms, reminding Hannah of a magician’s stooge trying to fathom an illusion. ‘It becomes an addiction. Once you’re in its clutches, the tendrils wrap around you like a Russian vine. There’s no escape.’

‘How about your business – any problems?’

‘My goodness, have you ever known any business without problems? As it happens, we were lucky, we had more contracts than we could handle. Above all, we loved the work.’

‘With an added bonus,’ Tina murmured. ‘They divided the tasks, so they could keep out of each other’s way.’

Peter grinned. ‘Which is probably why we seldom had cross words. I concentrated on design and marketing. Warren was our out-of-doors man. He did the labouring, as well as dealing with the nurseries. We made a damn good team. After Warren died, frankly, our revenue fell off a cliff. It wasn’t easy to find a replacement, let alone a plantsman of the same calibre. Customers cancelled agreements, it took years to get the firm back on an even keel.’

‘Is that why you wanted Mrs Howe to work for the company?’

‘When we were struggling, I couldn’t afford to buy out her share. Now, of course, I wouldn’t want to.’

‘And Sam?’

‘He worked for me during his summer holidays as a schoolboy. After he left school, he flitted around from job
to job. When I needed another pair of hands, he was the obvious choice. The lad was born with green fingers; it’s in the genes. All he needs to do is realise that he needs to put in the hours, bend his back more often.’

‘And your personal relationship with Warren Howe?’

‘What can I say? He was a rough diamond. The sort of man whose idea of philosophy is: never spend your money on anything that fucks, floats or flies.’

Hannah couldn’t help smiling at the gruff impersonation. She would never know whether Peter had captured Warren’s tone of voice, but she’d bet he had. ‘Not exactly your kind of chap, then?’

‘Apart from gardening we didn’t have much in common.’

‘What about your wife?’

Two pink spots appeared in Peter’s cheeks. ‘What about her? I wasn’t Gail’s keeper. She’s always cherished her independence. That’s why she devoted her time to her own business ventures rather than Flint Howe. Whatever she got up to was, to coin a phrase, her own affair.’

‘Even while you were married?’

‘Even then.’

‘You were aware of the gossip about the two of them?’

‘I take no notice of gossip, Chief Inspector. It’s the curse of village life. The idle chatter of small-minded people doesn’t interest me.’

‘Did you confront her, ask her outright if she was having an affair?’

‘Of course not.’ He sniffed, as if at a bad smell. ‘Listen, we’d married young. I fell head over heels, I don’t mind admitting. Gail’s an attractive woman, it took many years for me to realise that wasn’t enough. That’s why we stayed together for so long. Too long, if I’m truthful. Today – I’m
just thankful it’s over. I’m happier now than ever before.’

Tina reached across the table and patted his hand. They smiled as they looked into each other’s eyes. Hannah stifled a sigh of exasperation.

‘So you weren’t jealous?’

Peter Flint cocked his head. ‘I suppose if someone had proved to me that Warren was sleeping with my wife, yes, I would have been unhappy. Thank heaven, it never arose. Warren didn’t rub my nose in it, and I’m not plagued by the green-eyed monster.’

Quite a paragon, aren’t you? Hear no evil, see no evil.

‘Is it true that your wife’s involvement with Warren Howe ended a short time before he was killed?’

‘If I don’t know for sure that there was any involvement, how could I know if and when it ended?’

‘How did she react to the news of his death?’

Peter blinked. ‘You’re surely not wondering whether…’

‘All I’m trying to do is to get a clear picture of Warren Howe’s life. His relationships.’

‘Gail didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

‘I haven’t suggested it.’

‘She has a tongue like a stiletto, I don’t deny it. Especially after she’s had a few drinks. But she isn’t a murderer.’

Tina frowned and Hannah sensed a warning. Don’t overdo it.

‘Your divorce, Mr Flint. Was it acrimonious?’

He lifted his chin. ‘Aren’t all divorces?’

‘Was it your decision to part?’

‘After Warren’s death, it was as if for a time, in some strange way, the tragedy brought us together. But we were only papering over the cracks.’ More gesturing with the hands. You’re like a politician, Hannah thought, only
answering the questions you like. ‘We’d become different people since our marriage. Both self-employed, working long hours trying to make ends meet. Between us, we’d sunk every penny into our businesses. We had very little time together. It was never going to work out, we both came to recognise that. A mutual decision, let’s say.’

‘The anonymous letter, did you see it?’

‘Tina destroyed it before she mentioned it to me. Quite right, too. Wicked nonsense.’

Brakes screeched outside. Peter winced and through the window Hannah saw a white van pulling up. A burly figure clambered out and for a shocking instant she thought it was Warren Howe. The shape of the head and the dark tousled hair resembled the old photograph in the file. But of course this must be his son Sam. The dead never came back to life.

The crowds at Hill Top gave Miranda a headache. Beatrix Potter had stipulated in her will that the old farmhouse should be maintained in its original state, and entry was restricted by a timed ticket system. They waited for an hour to get into the shrine, but within five minutes Miranda declared that she’d seen enough and wandered off to seek refuge from the worshipping sight-seers amongst the whitewashed cottages of Near Sawrey.

Louise lingered in silence over the old bound volumes in the library while Daniel leafed through a pamphlet about the author’s life. She’d had an unexpected fondness for mystification, he discovered. It had taken years to crack the secret code in her private journal. He liked the story about her dressing up in sackcloth and being mistaken by a tramp for a fellow traveller. And for all her tales about dear little creatures, Beatrix could be clinical as well as cute. Skinning a rabbit, boiling the bones and then reassembling the skeleton with an autopsy technician’s attention to detail, questing for authenticity, determined to give her pencil drawings a cutting edge.

The shaded room offered shelter from the heat and noise. Something was troubling his sister, he could tell; each time the room cleared, she seemed about to speak, but then more visitors came in and the moment passed. Only when they made their way out into the cottage garden did she reveal what was on her mind.

‘I’m outstaying my welcome, aren’t I?’

‘She’s tired, that’s all.’ He screwed up his eyes in the glare of the afternoon sun and reached into his pocket for his dark glasses. ‘This weather doesn’t suit her.’

‘It’s not about the weather, Daniel.’

‘Don’t take it personally. Miranda will be fine.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Louise exhaled. ‘I’ll check train times.’

‘Don’t be silly. There’s no need. Listen, I enjoy having you here. I don’t want you to leave.’

She brushed his cheek with her lips. ‘Thanks, Daniel. The break’s done me good. But I don’t want to come between you and Miranda.’

‘Anyone would think you’re an old mistress, returning to haunt us. You’re reading too much into a few grumpy remarks.’

‘She wants you to herself.’

She rested her backside on a low stone wall and he perched beside her, out of the way of people taking pictures of each other, gleefully snapping and posing in Mr Macgregor’s flower-filled back yard.

‘I want you to be happy together.’

‘We are.’

‘I’m not just talking about the sex, Daniel.’ A rueful smile. ‘That sounds pretty good.’

Early that morning, Miranda had woken him up and hauled her warm naked body on top of his. As they made 
love, she’d cried out in delight. Even with the thick stone walls of Tarn Cottage, it would have been a miracle if Louise in the next-door room had slept through.

He groaned. ‘Christ, Louise, I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. All I’m saying is that you need more than fun at bedtime to keep you together. Trust me, Rodney was surprisingly good in that department, but in the long run it wasn’t enough.’

‘Hey,’ he said, determined not to think about Rodney with his sister, ‘you and I aren’t the only people who’ve had a rough time. Before we met, Miranda had an affair with a married man that didn’t work out. Plus a lesbian boss who made a pass and then victimised her when she didn’t say yes. She’s been badly bruised. Healing takes time.’

‘Don’t I know it? But that’s the point, Daniel. The two of you need space, a chance to see if you can make this mad idea of running away from the rat race work out for you both.’

‘Is it such a mad idea?’

‘Not for you,’ she said. ‘But for Miranda? A different story, I guess.’

‘I wouldn’t be here if it she hadn’t persuaded me we should buy the cottage.’

‘Even so.’

‘Don’t you like her?’

‘I do, actually. I’m just not sure she’s right for you.’

‘What makes you think that?’

‘Because I know you.’ She hesitated. ‘And I can tell that deep down you’re not sure either.’

‘You specialise in mind-reading now?’

She tapped him on the shoulder. ‘You and me, we’ve spent too many years together to be able to fool each other. Don’t let me bother you. After all, you never did
when you were younger. I want this to work out for both of you, Daniel, honestly I do. I just think you may have a better chance if I’m not here, getting in the way.’

‘You’re not getting in the way,’ he said stubbornly.

Louise slipped off the wall and disappeared into the throng of camera-toting, ice-cream-licking tourists and National Trust volunteers. He closed his eyes and felt the sun burning his unprotected cheeks. He took in a breath of hot air and then headed out of the garden and in search of Miranda.

Hannah arrived back in Kendal shortly after five. Chris Gleave had presented her with a CD of his songs and she’d been playing it in the car. His voice and guitar-playing were pleasant but unexceptional, his words and music much the same. If he’d ever hoped to earn fame and fortune as a latter-day Paul Simon, he’d been deceiving himself. He might entertain an undemanding audience here or in Keswick, but no singer so bland would ever fill Central Park.

As the town baked, tempers frayed. Drivers tooted at pedestrians who took a chance dodging through slothful traffic, mothers yelled at infants and made them wail. Hannah’s eyes were dry and sore and her abdomen hurt. She called at a chemist’s and a bookshop and then hurried back to the station.

At the water cooler, she bumped into Nick Lowther. They complained to each other about the temperature and he brought her up to speed with progress in the Cockermouth case. The good news was that they’d identified a likely culprit, the bad news was that he’d suffered a severe stroke a year back and would never speak or walk again. No one seemed to know whether the stats
for the review team would record this as a success or a failure.

Nick glanced up and down the corridor and lowered his voice. ‘Can we have a word sometime?’

‘Of course.’

‘I mean, in private. Not here. It’s…personal.’

Oh Christ. I’m not sure I want to know.

‘No problem.’

‘One thing, though, Hannah. This has to be strictly off the record.’

A young woman constable passed them in the corridor and they exchanged a word. As her footsteps receded, Hannah scanned Nick’s face. He was an attractive man; she could have fancied him if he wasn’t a colleague, but over the past few days he’d aged. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot, his complexion pasty and untouched by the sun.

This is about you and Roz Gleave, isn’t it?

‘OK.’

‘Thanks.’ He swallowed. ‘I promise I won’t compromise you.’

‘No worries, Nick.’ Should she say this? Not long ago she wouldn’t have thought twice. ‘I trust you.’

‘Thanks,’ he said in a tone that told her she’d said the right thing. ‘And I trust you. Which is why I need to talk.’

‘When?’

He checked his watch. ‘I promised not to be late home this evening. The parents-in-law are coming round for a meal and I’ll be in big trouble if I don’t lend a hand.’

‘Call me when you’re ready.’

Les Bryant strode around the corner. He was in
shirtsleeves
and it was the first time Hannah had seen him without a tie.

‘How did you get on?’

Early on after his arrival in the team, he’d made a point of calling her ma’am, in sardonic acknowledgement of his unaccustomed position as a subordinate. At least he’d relaxed since then. One of these days he’d so far forget himself as to use her first name.

‘If you have ten minutes, I’ll update you.’

‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Nick said. ‘I need to be getting off.’

Les filled his paper cup to the brim as Nick walked away. He lapped at the drink like a grizzled old cat and then said,

‘Is he all right?’

‘What do you mean?’

Les raised his eyebrows to indicate that he recognised a disingenuous reply when he heard one. ‘He’s not the man he was. Seems hassled about something.’

‘Could be the weather.’

‘Gets blamed for a lot of things, does the weather. Convenient scapegoat, if you ask me. Any road, Nick Lowther’s problems are none of my business. I had enough years worrying about my flock, believe me.’

Despite her other preoccupations, she couldn’t help savouring the notion of Les as a caring shepherd. They went back to her office and she switched her new fan to maximum. The whirring set her teeth on edge, and the room seemed hotter than ever. As she summarised her interviews with Warren Howe’s family and business partner, Les didn’t utter a word. Slumped in his chair, eyes half closed, he seemed to be dozing off despite the racket from the fan. But Hannah knew better. She’d come to admire his quality of stillness, his ability to focus all his attention on the matter in hand when not playing up to his reputation as a cantankerous Yorkshireman. As a listener, he was up in the Ben Kind class.

‘Are they all fibbing?’

She made an exasperated noise. ‘It wouldn’t surprise me. There are plenty of leads in this case, but none of them seem to go anywhere.’

‘You think she did it?’

‘Tina?’ Hannah considered. ‘She would be capable of killing him. And of covering her tracks.’

He plucked a blank sheet of A4 from her desk and waved it in front of his face in the vain hope of creating a current of air. ‘Just because a tip-off is anonymous, doesn’t mean it’s untrue.’

‘I’d have more faith if we’d been given some ammunition to fire at Tina. A clear motive, for a start.’

‘She was married to the man, for God’s sake. What more of a motive do you want?’

‘They’d been married a long time. If she snapped all of a sudden, there must have been a reason.’

‘The affair with Gail?’

‘It was supposed to be over, remember? Anyway, why choose that particular moment to kill him? There’s no rhyme or reason. Even so, she has to be the favourite. Which suggests that the alibi her kids gave her is false.’

‘Unless she hired someone to do the dirty deed.’

‘I can’t imagine Tina wanting to put herself at someone else’s mercy. I’d say she’s a control freak. Besides, there aren’t any likely candidates for the role of hit man, are there? The Sawreys aren’t exactly awash with contract killers. Poaching rabbits is as wicked as it gets in that neck of the woods.’

‘How about Oliver Cox? A young man, newly arrived in the area. A chancer, probably unscrupulous.’

‘More rewarding to make a play for Bel Jenner, surely? And a lot easier than carrying out a hit for a woman he
hardly knew. Even if he did see Bel as a meal ticket, he’s put down roots now. For all the age gap, the two of them are like peas in a pod.’

‘Who knows what goes on behind closed doors? Besides, they’ve never married. Never had kids.’

‘You can be happy together even if you’re not married, even if you don’t have kids,’ she murmured.

Realising he’d touched a nerve, Les grunted. An acknowledgement, if far less than an apology. After a pause, Hannah carried on.

‘No, if Tina killed Warren, my guess is that she took the scythe to him herself.’

‘If you want to break her alibi, sounds like young Kirsty’s the weak link.’

‘Yes, she’s not as hard-faced as her mum or her brother. I felt sorry for her, even though I was sure she was holding out on me.’

‘I’ve never felt sorry for a suspect.’

She could believe him. ‘I can’t see Kirsty slashing her dad to pieces.’

‘I’m not saying she wouldn’t feel bad about it afterwards.’

‘If she has a guilty conscience, I don’t think it’s because she’s a murderer. Frankly, if she’d killed Warren, I think even Charlie would have caught her. Kirsty’s the sort who would want to get it off her chest. Covering up for her mother might be different. If she was protecting someone else, she might force herself to be strong for their sake.’

‘Ask Linz to talk to her. They may have things in common. Pop music, fashion, lads, whatever. She’s a similar age to Kirsty, it may give us a way in.’

‘So I’m too old to bond with her? Thanks a lot.’

‘Horses for courses,’ he said, deadpan. ‘We’re none of us
as young as we were. How about brother Sam?’

‘I’m certainly past it as far as he’s concerned. Talk about a chip off the old block. I bet that every woman he meets, he undresses them with his eyes.’

‘That obvious, eh?’

‘As a matter of fact, yes. I’m sure he’s not as stupid as he likes to make out, but subtlety isn’t his strong point. I’m afraid that what he saw when he looked me over mustn’t have met his high standards.’

‘Can’t believe that.’

She grinned. It was the closest she’d ever heard him come to gallantry. Possibly the closest he’d come in years.

‘Trust me, the bloke didn’t make the slightest effort to make friends or influence me. Even Tina seemed embarrassed by his rudeness.’

‘Suppose you prove the alibi is fake. Even if one of them admits that Tina wasn’t up on the Pass that day, we’d still be a mile off having a strong enough case to put to the CPS. You know what most prosecutors are like. If you can’t give them a video of the mad sniper as he guns down his victims, the file goes straight into the “too difficult” cupboard.’

Hannah sighed. ‘For all we know, she and Peter took the opportunity to have a quick shag while Warren was working at Keepsake Cottage.’

‘Or maybe Tina persuaded Peter to kill him.’

‘I can believe he would be putty in her hands. But if that’s what happened, it was an own goal. The business struggled and Peter and Gail didn’t split up for years.’

‘What if they were playing it long term?’

‘Peter might be capable of that,’ she admitted. ‘But Tina? If she wanted Peter for herself, I can’t see her letting him stay with his wife for so long afterwards. Even if they
were having it off together on the quiet in the meantime.’

Les glared at the clattering fan. ‘Some choice, eh? Either fry or be deafened. All right. We’ve spoken about Cox. Other candidates?’

‘Gail Flint must be worth another look. Bel Jenner – I don’t think so. She’d not long since lost her husband and was in the process of seducing Cox. Or being seduced by him, same difference. I’m not sure she’s bright enough to get away with murder so successfully. But even if I’m wrong, her relationship with Warren was ancient history.’