their new home. Three lines of vehicles stretched ahead of them, as far as the eye could see. In a minibus in the adjoining lane, a group of teenage girls were waving their arms in the air and singing to pass the time. Rudimentary lip-reading suggested a tribute to Abba’s greatest hits.
Miranda took a breath. ‘If it’s about Aimee, you don’t need to say any more, okay? That’s all in the past. What went on between you and her — it’s private. It doesn’t affect you and me.’
‘It’s not about Aimee.’
With a wicked grin, she said, ‘Listen, I already worked out that you weren’t dressing down for the benefit of the TV ratings. No image consultant required, you really are that scruffy.’
‘Lucky that unkempt was fashionable at just the right time. No, it’s about the cottage.’
‘Oh, is that all? Break it to me gently. Does the roof need replacing? Some bad news in a secret codicil to the survey that I wasn’t allowed to see?’
‘The roof’s fine. This is to do with the cottage’s history.’
‘You’ve been investigating?’ She smiled. ‘Does it have a ghost? The spirit of an old farmer’s wife who fell in the tarn and was too plump to climb out?’
‘No ghost,’ he said. ‘At least — not exactly.’
‘What, then?’
He swallowed. ‘All those years ago, when we took a holiday in Brackdale, I made friends with a murderer. He lived at Tarn Cottage.’
‘Jesus.’
‘But he was only thirteen years old. He’d never done anyone any harm in his life. What’s more, I’ve never believed he was capable of murdering anyone.’
‘A miscarriage of justice?’ She was at once sympathetic, ready to be outraged. Her research for a series of articles about women falsely accused of killing their children had robbed her of faith in the judicial system. She cared passionately for life’s victims; it was one of the things he loved about her.
‘He was suspected of murdering a young woman, a tourist. But the case never came to court. He and I met while my dad and I were out walking. Our first full day in the Lakes. His name was Barrie Gilpin and he lived in Tarn Cottage with his widowed mother. We talked and started playing together. I could tell he was different, but I didn’t know quite why. I’d never heard of autism and he had a mild form of it. We were two loners who sort of hit it off together. We saw each other every day, he became part of our family for a fortnight. When we were leaving, I made a promise to write, to stay in touch. Then my father left home and our world fell apart. I let Barrie down. I never wrote that letter.’
‘You can’t take the blame for that. Don’t always be so hard on yourself.’
The car was stuffy, the windows were misting up. He turned down the heater and said, ‘There’s more. Like I told you, I swore to my mother that I wouldn’t make contact with my father. Louise never exchanged a word with him from the day he walked out until the day he died. But I did. He’d fallen for a civilian worker at police headquarters and they moved up to Cumbria together. He’d always loved the Lakes, wanted to settle there, but my mother was Mancunian, through and through. The Lakes weren’t far away, but she insisted on sticking close to her roots. We never travelled much, for me going up to Oxford was a great adventure. All the time, I wanted to get back in touch with my father. I must have written him a hundred letters, over the years, but I never sent a single one. I just couldn’t do that to my mother, it would have been worse than his infidelity.’
Miranda squeezed his hand. ‘But he was your flesh and blood. She didn’t have the right…’
‘She didn’t have very much at all after Dad abandoned her,’ Daniel said. ‘He was never mean over money, but the divorce was bitter. There were rows over his right of access to Louise and me. In the end he simply gave up. That made me feel he’d written me off, but as the years drifted by, I wondered if there was another side to the story. Then one day I saw my father’s name in the newspaper. Inspector Ben Kind of the Cumbria Constabulary, quoted in connection with a murder inquiry. A woman had been killed and her body left on the Sacrifice Stone. Remember it?’
‘The strange boulder, perched on the summit of the fell.’
‘Yes, Barrie was in awe of the Stone. The story was that every year in pagan times, the community used to sacrifice a virgin. To make sure the gods were appeased and the lakes didn’t run dry. I’d forgotten all about it until I read that report in the
‘Did your father arrest Barrie?’
Daniel shook his head. ‘He never got the chance. Barrie’s body was found not far from the victim’s. He’d fallen into a ravine and died. Case closed, as far as the police were concerned. I couldn’t help thinking about his mother. Poor Mrs Gilpin, he must have caused her plenty of grief, but she still worshipped him.’
‘And she’s the lady whose cousin is selling the cottage?’
Ahead of them, traffic was edging forward. Daniel touched the accelerator and switched the tape back on. Carole King, singing “It’s Too Late”.
‘So there you have it. Tarn Cottage was once home to a murderer, if the police were to be believed. Barrie spent his whole life there. He would never have moved away. Sorry, I should have told you before. But…’
He hadn’t known how she would react, but she surprised him with her calm. ‘It’s not a problem. You didn’t want to upset me, to put me off after I’d set my heart on the cottage. That was sweet of you. Just like your trust in your old friend.’
‘Barrie may have seemed odd, but he was a gentle soul.’
‘You and he were only kids. Time passes. People change.’
‘Not that much. There wasn’t a violent bone in his body. My father knew Barrie, he entertained him one wet afternoon with the card tricks he used to amuse Louise and me with. Barrie lapped it up, the two of them got along famously. That should have counted for something with the old man.’
‘You discussed it with him?’
‘Not for a long time. I was too furious. It seemed to me that they’d found a convenient scapegoat. But eventually I made the call. He’d retired by then and he nearly had a seizure when he realised it was me on the line. He wasn’t good at articulating his feelings, but that was what I suppose I wanted. When it didn’t happen, I felt frustrated. I’d had a couple of beers, I said a few harsh things. When I rang again to apologise, he said he’d done a lot of thinking. He wanted to call my mother and apologise for the hurt he’d caused her. Louise too.’
‘And did he?’
Daniel kept his eyes fixed on the line of cars ahead. ‘No, but it wasn’t his fault. I–I didn’t encourage him. I said they were both still bitter, even after so many years. Knowing them as I did, I couldn’t imagine them letting bygones be bygones. They were too proud.’
‘Did you discuss Barrie Gilpin?’
‘It was a one-sided conversation. He clammed up on me. I had the feeling that there was plenty he wanted to say, but he didn’t know how to say it. Not long after that, while I was speaking at a conference in Philadelphia, he died. Killed one night in a hit and run accident. They never found the driver, I suppose it was some idiot who was way over the limit. I didn’t even find out he was dead until after the funeral. My mother had a stroke a month later and never regained consciousness.’
‘What did you think he’d wanted to tell you?’
He hesitated. ‘It’s probably wishful thinking.’
‘Go on.’
‘Something in his manner made me believe that he agreed with me. He didn’t believe Barrie Gilpin was a murderer.’
Chapter Three
‘Think of it as an opportunity, a new start.’ The Assistant Chief Constable had spent six months on a management training programme in the United States and she’d come back with the tooth-whitened smile and relentless self-confidence of a seasoned television evangelist. ‘A fresh challenge.’
Hannah Scarlett said through gritted teeth, ‘Yes, ma’am.’
