earth. Hannah remembered the girl weeping, the first time she’d seen her. No tears yet, thank God. Her fists were clenched and her eyes darted around, as though trying to spot a pair of hidden handcuffs. For ten minutes she responded in quiet monosyllables to Hannah’s attempts to break the ice by asking her about skydiving as well as gentle questions about the murder, before the dam burst under the weight of her resentment.
‘This isn’t getting anywhere. I can’t help you, Chief Inspector, do you understand? My father died a long time ago and I’ve spent years trying to forget about it, not cast my mind back. I don’t want to be hounded any more. Why must you people keep harping on?’
‘I explained that my team reviews unsolved cases in the county.’
‘You must have plenty to choose from. Why bother with Dad? It’s not right, it’s not fair on those who have to carry on.’
The ordeal by innocence. But surely you’d want to know who murdered your father — unless you already had a good idea?
‘We never close a murder file, Kirsty. The other day, we received an item of new information.’
The girl twitched like a lumpy marionette. ‘What do you mean, what new information?’
‘I’m afraid that’s confidential.’
‘But I’m his daughter! I have rights, you know.’
‘Of course you have, Kirsty. Including the right to have us try to find out who killed your father.’
‘That’s rich! A bit late for that, I’d say. Your lot never got anywhere last time. All they did was make our lives a misery.’ Her voice faltered. ‘They — they didn’t seem to trust us. As if they didn’t believe we were up on the Hardknott, the day that Dad was killed.’
‘And all three of you were?’
‘You must have read our statements. We said so right from the start!’
‘You went up the Pass with your brother, yes. And — your mum was with you too?’
‘How many times do I have to tell you?’
Soon Hannah would lose count of the lie-signs. Fingers touching the chin, the nervous cough, traces of perspiration on her brow. Poor Kirsty, she was an amateur in deception. Trouble was, if pushed too hard, she’d fall apart.
‘OK, Kirsty, if there’s nothing else you want to tell me at present, we’ll leave it for the time being. Here is my card. Call me any time if you’d like to talk.’
Kirsty thrust the card into the pocket of her jeans. ‘Why would I want to talk anything over with the police?’
Hannah luxuriated in a yawn. ‘You’d know that better than me, wouldn’t you?’
Sam’s scornful voice burned into Kirsty’s brain as she held the mobile to her ear. He was within earshot of a client, so he couldn’t shout, but he didn’t hide his anger. She felt tears scratching at her eyelids. Thank God the overflow car park was deserted, and she couldn’t be seen or overheard. Hannah Scarlett had driven away, but you couldn’t trust anyone. Not even Oliver.
‘You stupid cow, I bet you’ve got her wondering what you’re keeping back.’
‘Honestly, Sam, I didn’t even hint…’
‘What did you say to her?’
‘Nothing, nothing at all. It was only a short conversation. She gave up in the end, I think she realised she wasn’t getting anywhere.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Positive, but I don’t think she’s going to let go.’
‘Shit.’
‘Listen, Sam, she knows something we don’t. You know the anonymous letters? I think whoever sent them has written to the police as well. This Chief Inspector won’t let go, she isn’t the type. She’ll want to talk to you soon, for sure.’
‘Fit, is she?’
‘You won’t get anywhere if you try to chat her up, Sam. Why don’t you tell the truth? Please?’
‘About what?’
‘About what you were doing the day that Dad died.’
‘Don’t be so fucking stupid.’
‘They’ll keep asking questions.’
‘Hey, if you don’t give me away, I’m safe.’ His voice softened and in a heartbeat he became the brother she dreamed of. ‘I’m depending on you, Kirsty. All right?’
Tina Howe was on her own in the office when Hannah arrived, scanning in photographs of a newly completed garden project. Peter Flint was working over in Hawkshead with Sam, she said, so she was catching up while she had peace and quiet. Her composure was as immaculate as her black business suit. Versace, Armani? Hannah hadn’t a clue; the closest she came to designer-wear was leafing through the colour supplements. No one could doubt that this was Tina’s domain, that she was in charge. She nodded Hannah towards a chair with crisp authority, as if greeting a tedious sales rep.
‘Matter of fact, Chief Inspector, I was wondering when you might show your face.’
‘Is that so?’
‘Kirsty called half an hour ago, told me you’d spoken to her about Warren’s murder. I guessed you’d make this your next stop.’ Tina glared. ‘She’s in a right state.’
‘We only talked for a few minutes, but I’m sorry if she’s upset.’
‘It’s hard for her, she was very close to her father, she went to hell and back after he died.’
Hannah gave a no-harm-done smile. Tina’s agenda couldn’t have been clearer if typed out in bold twenty- point capitals. The family were victims, not suspects. Put a foot wrong and complaints would come flying in to Lauren.
‘When she’s slept on our conversation, I’m sure she’ll appreciate that it’s in everyone’s interest for us to review the case. We owe it to you and your family, Mrs Howe. You deserve justice. So does your late husband.’
Tina raised thick dark eyebrows. She wasn’t conventionally attractive, yet you scarcely noticed that. For most men, the revealing blouse, short skirt and musky perfume would make up for a lot.
‘Why now? What’s woken up the guardians of justice?’
Don’t let her needle you, Hannah told herself. This isn’t the sort of women who likes members of her own sex. Let alone female police officers.
‘I explained to your daughter that we’ve received additional information about the case.’
‘An anonymous letter?’
Hannah leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk that formed a barrier between them, cupping her chin in her hands. Invading Tina’s space.
‘Why do you ask?’
‘I’m right, aren’t I?’
‘Sorry, Mrs Howe, I can’t comment on that. But I would like to know why you mentioned an anonymous letter.’
Tina put her hands behind her head and breathed out. Hannah guessed it was a well-practised pose. Never mind the horsy jaw, Tina exuded confidence. If she’d let something slip by mistake, she wasn’t going to let it bother her. She’d seen the police off years ago, she could do it again. Hannah half expected a couple of buttons on the silk blouse to pop.
‘I received one myself this week.’
‘Concerning the death of your husband?’
‘Correct.’
‘What did it say?’
‘Can’t remember the exact words, it was only a sentence.’
‘I’d have thought it would stick in your mind.’
‘Frankly, I only glanced at the thing for a couple of seconds.’ Tina shrugged. ‘Did it say I was a murdering bitch? I’m not sure. Something like that.’
Too smooth, Hannah thought, too much like a disdainful actress, rolling out well-rehearsed lines. Yet why
