The Serpent Pool

Bethany was desperate for affection to persuade her into playing some kind of bondage game. Bethany would have made herself vulnerable.’

‘Yeah, that may have been what happened.’

‘You think Roland Seeton was present at the scene?’

‘The kind of man I think he is, it would turn him on. For all we know, they shared the work. Say Cassie hits Bethany on the head, and while she’s stunned, Seeton leaps out of the undergrowth and pushes her head under the water. The details don’t matter.’

Greg nodded. ‘It’s easier to get away with a weird crime than something orthodox — until you come under the microscope.’

‘Which Cassie never did, because Bethany kept their affair secret. She was afraid her mother would be upset if she found out her daughter was mixed up with another woman. And Seeton may never even have met her. He took a risk by coming forward as a witness.’

‘But he got away with it.’

‘Not completely. Cassie had a breakdown when it sank in that she was responsible for someone’s death. Seeton lost the plot and abandoned her. Left the country, took a new name, forged a new career.’

Greg put down his cup. ‘He couldn’t keep away from her for ever.’

‘He’d reinvented himself successfully as Arlo Denstone. Nobody was likely to remember Roland Seeton, and in any case, his appearance had changed almost beyond recognition. When the Culture Company dreamt up a De Quincey Festival, and looked around for someone to lead it, the temptation was irresistible. He didn’t even ask for payment. So long as he could get back together with Cassie. He liked to say he was a cancer survivor. A good metaphor for jealousy. Once he was back with Cassie, he found himself succumbing again.’

‘Because she’d slept with Saffell and Wagg.’ Greg’s expression hardened. ‘Even though the affairs were over and done.’

‘That’s the nature of jealousy. It’s a disease. Left untreated, it destroys everything.’

‘Spoken from the heart.’

Greg scanned her face for clues, but she was determined to give nothing away.

‘Yeah, well. I’m trying to get inside Arlo’s head. Not a nice place to be. He’s obsessed with Cassie Weston, and with anyone who’s been involved with her. Two murders in a matter of weeks? He’s losing the plot all over again.’

‘Saffell was a loner. Easy to target him when he was in the boathouse. Wagg must have been a trickier target.’

‘My guess is that Cassie never quite got Bethany out of her system. Bethany had worked for Wagg and Saffell. They were older, successful men, perhaps she carried a torch for them.’ She paused, unable to resist asking herself the question: Is that how it was with Marc, as well? She fancied him, and he was flattered, but did either of them do anything about it? She cleared her throat. ‘Cassie followed in her footsteps, she was fascinated by the woman she’d slept with and then helped to kill. But she went further than Bethany. She had brief flings with each of them, but after she teamed up with Arlo again, she rekindled the relationship with Stuart. Possibly George too, for all I know. She’s gorgeous, and they were weak.’

‘Yeah, well, men are different from women.’

‘Brains in their underpants, tell me about it.’ She shook her head, trying not to think about Marc. ‘Wagg even invited her to the New Year party, but she played hard to get. She and Arlo didn’t want to bump into each other in public, and besides, Louise Kind was in the way.’

‘What about the wine-throwing incident?’

‘My bet is that Wanda told the truth.’

‘Don’t tell DCI Larter. She’d rather believe that pigs do fly.’

‘Arlo provoked her as a distraction from any possible link with Cassie.’

‘Over-elaborate.’

‘Like everything about Arlo is over-elaborate. He’s a drama queen, same as his hero, De Quincey. Once the party was over and done with, Cassie persuaded Wagg to drop Louise like a hot potato. As soon as she packed her bags and left Crag Gill, Cassie and Arlo seized their chance. The MO varied each time, but they were variations on a single theme. They relied on making people vulnerable. Provoking a kind of crazy desire for Cassie. Then destroying them because of it.’

‘Dangerous lady.’

He was right, Cassie was bad news.

She shivered, remembering that Bethany had worked for Marc, and now Cassie did too. What if Marc were with Cassie now?

The cold woke him. That, and the pain. As consciousness returned, he became aware of the throbbing of his head and arms. His wrists and ankles felt as though they were on fire, but the rest of him was freezing.

Where in God’s name was he, what was happening? He didn’t have a clue how much time had passed since he’d rung Cassie’s doorbell. His eyes were shut, and he dared not open them. He dreaded the truth.

‘Coming round?’

A man’s voice, soft, yet not in the least reassuring. Marc tried to speak, but no words came. He couldn’t open his mouth. Someone had taped it shut. His hands were bound up above his head; impossible to move them an inch.

‘Open your eyes.’

Marc did nothing. For as long as he did not see, he could imagine the possibility of escape. Hope, he must cling to hope.

‘Open your eyes!’ the man shouted.

Marc obeyed.

He was in a small, circular room. Old stone walls, rough floor hewn from rock. A single narrow window, boarded up with a couple of dirty old wooden planks. Ten feet above his head was a brick roof. He was naked, his body shrivelled and defenceless. No wonder his arms ached; they were covered in bruises, and so were his chest and legs. Someone had manhandled him on the way to this place. His wrists were fastened by thick black cord that cut into his flesh. The cord was tied to a rusting hook on the wall. His ankles were bound to each other.

The man stood in front of him. He was wearing a bright yellow fluorescent jacket, but Marc’s eyes were dragged away to something lying on the floor. A nauseous fear seized him at the sight of it.

A huge creature lay sprawled on the rough ground, motionless.

Sedated, must be.

It had a fawn and white coat, red nose, tail thick and tapering to a point.

No muzzle.

An ugly, savage beast of the kind that growled and slavered through the worst of nightmares.

A pit bull terrier.

CHAPTER TWENTY

‘Marc, where are you?’ Hannah hissed into the phone.

His failure to return her calls was eating into her nerves. At first she’d assumed his silence was payback following their row. Now her anxieties were growing like bindweed. He fancied Cassie, and she wouldn’t put it past him to try his luck with her. If Cassie got a thrill out of provoking Arlo Denstone into jealous crimes of vengeance, she might encourage Marc’s advances.

Why didn’t he answer?

‘Everything all right, ma’am?’

Greg Wharf had come up behind her. On his way to see the chairman of the Culture Company and check out Arlo Denstone’s background.

‘Fine,’ she muttered. ‘Fine.’

Talking the case through with him had helped sort it out in her mind, but she wasn’t in the mood to confide her anxieties. He’d interpret it as a sign of weakness.