The Dungeon House (Lake District Mysteries) (11 page)

‘I want to make sure we cover all the angles.’

‘I suppose you learnt that from the trial you messed up.’ Cheryl gave a tight, humourless smile. ‘Someone called Rao, wasn’t it? I read about that in the papers, too.’

Hannah took a breath. She’d anticipated a frosty conversation, but the hostility in the woman’s voice verged on hatred. For a wild instant, she imagined Cheryl stalking her at a distance, scouring reports in the Press and on television, hoping to read about her not-so-brilliant career veering off the rails. But no way would she let Cheryl have the satisfaction of rattling her.

‘Yes, we all make mistakes, don’t we? I try to learn from mine.’ A frosty pause. ‘You and Lysette Whiteley knew each other from way back, didn’t you?’

Cheryl held her gaze for a moment, then looked out
through the window. ‘We were best friends. She was lovely, caring, funny, and she deserved better luck. Both her parents died before she was ten, and she was brought up by a miserable old maiden aunt. She didn’t have any other family, I was closer to her than anyone. She could have had her pick of men, but once Malcolm got his hooks into her, he never let go.’

‘You disliked him?’

A sigh. ‘No, actually, not till the end. He was smart, driven, you could see he’d make something of himself. But Lysette was artistic, and there wasn’t a cultural bone in Malcolm’s body. Attraction of opposites, you might say. Obviously she was flattered to be wanted so much.’

She stared blindly through the bay window, and Hannah guessed she was recalling her early days with Ben. She’d bewitched a savvy, seen-it-all cop into leaving his job, his wife, his children. Who wouldn’t be exhilarated, to wield such power?

‘They only had the one child.’

‘Amber’s birth was horrendously difficult. Lysette was an only child herself, and she’d never been that maternal. So she decided enough was enough, and told Malcolm he had to get his bits snipped.’

Why hadn’t Cheryl and Ben had kids together? It wasn’t a question Hannah had dared to ask him, and she could scarcely quiz Cheryl out of sheer curiosity.

‘So she became a stay-at-home mum, while Malcolm worked round the clock, building up his business?’

‘That’s right.’

‘What was Amber like?’

‘I didn’t see a lot of her as she grew up. I’d moved to
Manchester with a boyfriend. Malcolm spoilt Amber rotten, I’m afraid, and it turned her into a teenage diva. When Lysette tried to rein her in, she was rude and rebellious. I told her it was a phase, and the silly girl would grow out of it. The tragedy is that nobody will ever know, thanks to bloody Malcolm. It’s incredible. He idolised that girl. When I heard he’d run amok and killed her, I couldn’t believe it.’

‘Yes, it is hard for you and me to credit.’ Hannah tried again to establish common ground. ‘But there are people who think the world revolves around them, and can’t believe their children will want to live without them.’

‘It’s only men who behave so selfishly,’ Cheryl snapped. ‘What woman in her right mind would murder her own child? Malcolm was insanely jealous. Lysette couldn’t so much as smile at another fellow without him flying into a temper.’

‘Did she give him much to be jealous about?’

Cheryl hesitated. ‘Lysette had a great deal to put up with, but she was a loyal wife.’

‘There were rumours about affairs. How much did she tell you?’

‘Nothing’ A pause. ‘Well, toward the end, yes, there was someone. When Malcolm had pushed her too far. After he sold the company, his behaviour became intolerable. No wonder she wanted … some comfort.’

‘Where did she find it?’

‘She took up painting. There was a professional artist, a man called Durham, who gave her lessons. He was a good-looking, sympathetic, widower … I suppose she succumbed to temptation.’

‘She told you about the affair?’

‘Certainly not, she was obsessively discreet. Malcolm had a violent streak, and years earlier, he beat up a boy from school who took a shine to her. She was frightened he’d do the same, or worse. When I came back to the area, I had Ben in tow, and she’d never have wanted to get Malcolm into any trouble with the law. So she kept her mouth shut.’

‘Then how did you know she was involved with someone?’

‘The night before Malcolm went berserk, she asked me for a favour. She wanted to catch up with a friend, but she didn’t want Malcolm to find out. If he asked me, she wanted me to say we’d spent the evening together. To cover her tracks, she came to our house, but only stopped for a couple of minutes. Ben knew nothing about it. It was just between me and Lysette. Our little secret.’

‘Didn’t you ask about this friend?’

‘I trusted her to tell me when she was ready. I didn’t know how far things had progressed, and I had no intention of subjecting her to the third degree. She deserved a breather. Life with Malcolm was suffocating her.’

‘You’re sure this friend was a man?’

‘I knew Lysette better than anyone,’ Cheryl said. ‘Trust me, it was a man. Blokes swarmed around her like bees with honey. Not that she encouraged them. All I wanted was for her to find happiness. And Scott Durham was definitely an improvement on Malcolm.’

‘Did this man Durham ever admit that he was seeing Lysette?’

‘Denied it till he was blue in the face.’ Cheryl swallowed some coffee. ‘I don’t blame him. Who in their right mind
wants to be mixed up in something so terrible? To be seen as the person who caused such a tragedy?’

‘So it might have been someone else? Not Gray Elstone, presumably?’

‘You must be joking.’

‘And not Malcolm’s brother?’

‘Ted? No way. That really would have driven Malcolm to … no, it’s unthinkable. It must have been Scott. Though at one time I did wonder …’

‘Yes?’

‘There was Robbie Dean, though he was much younger than Lysette. He’d grown up with Nigel, and they were both mad keen on football. Robbie was a good player, but a bad influence. He’d take Nigel drinking, and the two of them used to watch porn together, so Malcolm said. He seemed to think it was a huge joke. Robbie was involved in a car crash which wrecked his career, and he finished up working for Malcolm as a sort of handyman and gardener. He was certainly fit, but Lysette wasn’t the sort to go in for a bit of rough.’

‘And he was rough?’

‘I never cared for him. He was moody to the point of rudeness. Lysette used to joke that he was the strong, silent type. He’d stand and stare at you, as if he was picturing you in his mind, without your clothes on. To be honest, he was at it again, that very last night.’

‘Really?’

‘Yes, he was in the bar, throwing darts. Stupid game. At one part, he came over to talk to Nigel, but he wasn’t part of our group. That was just Lysette and Amber, Gray and Joanna, and Nigel. Plus Ben and me, of course. Scott
turned up later on. His teenage son had played guitar and sung a few songs at the barbecue, and he’d organised a meal for the boy before joining us. The idea was to have a nice, relaxing evening after the barbecue.’

‘And was it relaxing?’

‘Anything but. Amber was vying for Nigel’s attention, but after the main course, Nigel asked Joanna if she fancied a walk along the foreshore, and Amber wasn’t invited. They wandered off together, hand in hand, all very romantic. He and Joanna had cycled down to the pub, and I remember her dropping a heavy hint that her parents were away from home, so they’d have the place to themselves.’

‘How did Amber react?’

‘She was in a foul mood all through the desserts. The rest of us lingered over coffee, winding down after a lovely day in the sun. Ben did his best to lighten the atmosphere, and told some funny stories about stupid criminals he’d known, and even more stupid chief constables. But Amber spoilt the evening, sniping at Lysette at every opportunity. Such a pity that’s my last memory of her.’

Cheryl pulled a tissue from her bag, and blew her nose noisily.

‘I’m sorry to put you through this, Cheryl.’

‘No, you’re not!’ Her cheeks were pink with indignation. ‘This is what the police do, isn’t it? Making life worse for people when you should be helping put things right.’

‘My best friend was murdered,’ Hannah said softly. ‘I think about her every day. I hope you’re going to tell me that the pain lessens.’

‘No,’ Cheryl sniffed. ‘When you lose someone to murder, the pain never goes.’

Time to draw breath. ‘Can I get you something. A glass of water?’

‘All I want is for you to go away.’

‘I will get out of your hair in a minute, promise. First, I just need to ask a couple more questions. Did anything happen between Lysette and Scott to make you suspect they were … involved together?’

‘Not at all. They were very discreet. I think Scott was terrified Amber would say something to her Dad, just to spite Lysette.’

‘Would she have done that?’

‘It’s perfectly possible. In the end, she announced she had a headache, and wanted to go home, so we all went our separate ways. Never dreaming, of course, that by the time we woke up the next morning …’

She dabbed her nose with another tissue.

‘Ben told me about a witness who supposedly saw someone outside the Dungeon House that night. Did he talk to you about that?’

‘I remember.’ Cheryl made a face. ‘The witness was someone Ben knew from the cricket club. The chap was an alcoholic, and everyone in the team seemed to drink like there was no tomorrow. It wasn’t sensible for a detective inspector to keep company like that, and cricket’s a boring game, anyway. The shootings were big news, and a lot of rubbish was talked. Conspiracy theories, you name it. I said to Ben, the man was probably hallucinating when he’d had a skinful.’

‘Ben didn’t agree?’

‘No, he insisted the chap wasn’t a fantasist. He could be very obstinate, could Ben. You only saw one side of
him. I never believed for one second that anyone else was involved. Malcolm went mad, simple as that.’

Ignoring the sideswipe, Hannah said, ‘Ben wasn’t satisfied.’

‘It wasn’t his case. That prat Des Loney was in charge. Ben was miffed because Loney wasn’t interested in making a simple case any more complicated. To be fair, this was one time when Loney was right.’

‘Ben’s instinct never let him down.’

Cheryl gave her a long, lingering look. ‘Oh, I’m not sure that’s right at all. Sometimes he got things very, very wrong.’ Hannah couldn’t restrain herself any longer. Through gritted teeth, she said, ‘Look, Cheryl. Whatever you may think, I never slept with Ben.’

‘Oh, I know that.’ A false laugh, more like the squeal of a wounded animal. ‘I could read him like a book. But secretly, he wished you had.’

Nostalgia lured Joanna back to the dunes at Drigg that afternoon. As she steered the Polo into the almost deserted car park, she told herself that people who said you should never go back were wrong. Seeing Scott and Gray again had boosted her confidence. Surely Nigel would be glad to see her after so many years? His daughter’s disappearance had turned his world upside down, and even a strong man needed someone to lean on.

A tiny grey-haired woman in a quilted body warmer was returning to her Toyota, accompanied by a bouncy Labrador. ‘Bit of a nip in the air!’ she called.

Joanna waved back with a smile. Drigg’s long, sandy beach was perfect for folk walking their dogs, but nobody else was around. And yes, it was as blustery as ever. Tiny grains of sand blew into her eyes and hair. The terrain along this stretch of coast was gentle, yet Drigg never lost its mood of lonely wildness.

On the way here, she’d wondered whether the old lookout post had been pulled down – or fallen down – but she spotted it at once, a small brick building perched on a low rise above the beach. Skylarks sang as she ploughed through the mud and the grey-green marram grass, and it only took a couple of minutes to reach her destination. The look-out had lacked a door for donkey’s years, and she walked straight in. Once upon a time, this was an observation post for a gunnery range, and a few rusty metal fixings for a long vanished telescope still survived.

Hard to imagine shots being fired in such a peaceful place, but then again, she’d have thought the same about the Dungeon House. Her own memories of the look-out were very different, very personal. She stood still, staring out toward the polished blue water.

In this confined space, she’d lost her virginity to Nigel Whiteley. One summer evening, he’d brought her for a walk along the beach and the dunes, and they’d finished up in the look-out. She’d known all day that she was going to surrender to him, but she made him wait until the sun was setting before letting him take her by the hand to the little brick building, and take off her clothes. For all his eagerness, he’d behaved tenderly, realising she was scared of being hurt, and shy about allowing him to see her in the nude, after so many years when they’d been more like brother and sister. She’d wondered if part of her appeal for him was the fact that she wasn’t an easy conquest. Finally, his determination not to take no for an answer had earned its reward.

As they rested afterwards, she caught sight of an adder slithering in to join them. With a scream of terror, she ran
out of the look-out post, stark naked. Thank goodness so few people frequented Drigg dunes. Nigel pulled on his pants and padded after her, laughing until the tears ran down his face.

‘Would you believe it?’ he’d said. ‘A serpent in Eden.’

‘It’s not funny. Adders are poisonous.’

‘It didn’t bite you.’

She looked at the red mark on her tiny left breast. ‘Not like you.’

‘Badge of honour. It’ll make a nice bruise, sort of a souvenir. Come on, let’s have a skinny dip.’

So vivid was that scene in her mind, it might have been yesterday. No adders were sliding around today, at least none she could see. She strolled out on to the sand, watching the black-headed gulls swoop over the dunes. Thank goodness her first time had been somewhere special. There was history here – settlers had come thousands of years before the Romans – as well as romance. When people spoke about Drigg, they often grimaced, although it was home to a nature reserve and a site of special scientific interest, but in her mind it
was
romantic, with the waves lapping against the sand, and the sun peeping through the clouds. Never mind the snakes, and the high wire fence that separated the lonely shore road from the low level nuclear waste repository. That evening at Drigg, she’d experienced an intensity of happiness unlike anything she’d known before. Or since.

‘What do you make of Anya Jovetic?’

Hannah and Maggie Eyre were having a catch-up in the briefing room. The younger woman grimaced. ‘A
glamorous gold-digger with a vindictive streak and a deep distrust of the British police.’

‘You two really bonded, then?’

‘She demanded to know why we still haven’t arrested her ex-husband. I tried to explain that it was difficult without any evidence that he’d done harm to their daughter, but she wasn’t impressed. The satisfaction she showed when we agreed to review the case has vanished. Just like Lily.’

‘Nothing to implicate Elstone?’

‘Nothing. She’s just cutting up rough because of their financial arrangements post-divorce. Reckons he used his accountancy wiles to hide lots of assets. Not sure why she feels so hard done by, with her designer clothes, and an open-top sports car parked outside her detached house. She’s a busty blonde who looks like she’s stepped out of a centerfold. Her boob job and hair extensions probably cost more than I earn in six months. She gives Elstone no credit for bringing her over here in the first place, and I’d say the closest she came to true love was when he showed her his credit cards. She’s annoyed because he’s found another young woman. A Thai girl, this time. Looks like his M.O. He lacks confidence with women, so he scuttles overseas in search of attractive foreigners who want some bloke to carry them off to England.’

‘Why would Elstone hurt his own daughter?’

‘She can’t come up with a plausible reason. Apparently, he’s no great shakes in bed, but not even our Anya can point to any girl he’s ever mistreated. He doesn’t seem to have a temper. She says he was hell to live with, but that’s par for the course with most men, isn’t it?’

Hannah laughed. ‘They aren’t all hopeless.’

‘Les wasn’t best pleased when I said the same to him.’ Maggie reached into her bag. ‘Lily had a makeover shortly before she went missing. Her Dad arranged for her to have a professional photo shoot, it was something she’d mithered about for ages. She fancied herself as a model, but Anya was dead against it. If you ask me, she didn’t want the competition. She looks quite different in these photos, much more mature than in the pictures that were widely issued at the time of her disappearance.’

She tossed a couple of prints on to the table, and Hannah said, ‘I see what you mean.’

‘I thought we could publicise these shots, see if they jog any memories.’

‘Good idea.’ Hannah considered the young woman posing for the camera with a provocative half-smile. ‘Attractive girl.’

‘Doesn’t look her age, does she?’

‘No,’ Hannah said. ‘She certainly doesn’t.’

What impelled Joanna to take a detour to Lower Drigg? Curiosity, she supposed. She felt an inexplicable urge to see where Robbie Dean lived. Lower Drigg barely qualified as a hamlet, comprising of just a couple of small farms and a solitary cottage scattered along a long, winding lane that eventually looped away from the dunes, and met the shore road again near the railway station. Halfway down the lane, she spotted a van outside the only cottage in sight. She slowed down to a crawl, and saw it was Robbie Dean’s.

The old Joanna would have reversed the Polo, and driven away at top speed, but returning to Ravenglass
had emboldened her. You couldn’t remain scared forever. Life was a lottery, you could never be sure what Fate had up her sleeve. You never knew. Robbie might even have spent years regretting his unkindness toward her. A flight of fancy, perhaps, but today Joanna felt lucky.

She pulled up on the verge, leaving just enough room for other vehicles to pass. Not that traffic ever built up in Lower Drigg. Tourists didn’t flock to see nuclear waste dumps, and anyone who strayed out here might be surprised that the landscape lacked a menacing blue hue. Only the high security fence and warning signs supplied clues to what was stored in those sealed vaults far below ground.

No sign of life behind the grubby net curtains. The cottage was built of grey stone, and had none of the charm of Scott Durham’s home. A couple of squat outbuildings were visible beyond the garage, and the grounds were separated from the dunes by a barbed wire fence. They were laid mostly to lawn, while rhododendrons had colonised the border. Unless something special was hidden round the back, Robbie had made no effort to advertise his talents as a gardener. Perhaps only the hardiest plants flourished so close to a subterranean stores of radioactive sludge.

‘Hello!’ she called. ‘Anybody at home?’

She heard a noise. Someone was moving behind the garage. It must be Robbie, but he wasn’t answering.

Perversely, this strengthened her resolve. She’d done nothing wrong, and he really ought to treat her with the respect she deserved. When he’d crashed his car, he might have killed her as well as Carrie.

‘Robbie? Robbie Dean?’ Still nothing. Even as a young man, he’d been antisocial. Leopards didn’t change
their spots, but she decided to give it one more try. ‘You remember me, don’t you?’

Suddenly he came into her line of vision, moving with that swaggering limp she remembered so well. The long-handled shears held in his fist shone in the light. The blades were pointing at Joanna’s heart.

Desmond Loney’s reluctance to meet for a chat about the Dungeon House case equalled Cheryl’s, but Hannah had long suspected that the old goat fancied her, and in the face of a tongue-in-cheek charm offensive, his resistance crumbled.

‘Police work isn’t what it was,’ he complained. ‘The job’s all about form-filling and diversity awareness nowadays. Load of codswallop, in my humble opinion.’

There wasn’t much that was truly humble about Desmond. He was quietly spoken, but buoyed by an invincible self-esteem.

‘The bureaucracy can be a nightmare,’ Hannah agreed. ‘Like you used to say, you can’t beat …’

‘Good old-fashioned bobbying? Spot on, Hannah, I always knew you’d go far. Seen you on the telly a time or two. When we’ve been in England, that is. Pammy and I spend half the year in our holiday home in Paphos.’

Les Bryant put his head round the door. Hannah mouthed,
Good old fashioned bobbying
, and when he whispered, ‘Desmond Loney?’
How did you guess?

‘I’m lucky to catch you, obviously. Is tomorrow convenient, before you jet back to the sun, you lucky fellow? It will be good to catch up on your news, maybe pick your brains.’

‘I wouldn’t do it for anyone, young lady,’ Desmond Loney said with complacent magnanimity. ‘But you could always twist me around your little finger.’

The moment she put down the phone, it rang again: Billie Frederick, with an update on the Shona Whiteley investigation.

‘Good news. At last, we have a credible lead. A motorist has come forward to say she was driving down the lane that runs past the Whiteleys’ house, and she caught a glimpse of a girl answering Shona’s description. She was getting into a car which was tucked away on the grass verge, under some trees.’

‘Make and description?’

‘Ever the optimist, Hannah.’ Billie sighed. ‘The witness was taking her family off on a short holiday, which is why she’s only just got in touch. Unfortunately, at the time, she wasn’t paying attention. Her mother was nattering away, and she was trying to hush her kids, who were bickering on the back seat. All she can tell us is that it was a small car. Possibly black, but she can’t be certain.’

‘Does the time of the sighting fit?’

‘Perfectly. According to Shona’s dad, she’d left the house ten minutes earlier. If this was Shona, it sounds like a pre-arranged meeting, rather than a casual pick-up.’

‘So she may have run off with a lad.’

‘Let’s hope so. If this is some romantic escapade, there’s a chance she’s safe and well.’

‘But no information about a possible boyfriend?’

‘Nothing.’ Billie sighed. ‘It’s not like a teenage girl to be so discreet. We can only pray she hasn’t got herself mixed up with whoever abducted Lily Elstone.’

In the sky above Lower Drigg, gulls were squawking. On the ground, the hands holding those wicked shears, were shaking. Robbie Dean was angry, not nervous. Joanna’s body was rigid with tension, but somehow she kept her voice calm.

‘Hello, Robbie. Is this how you greet an old friend?’

His forehead was lined, and his hair was thinning, but he remained stocky and muscular, and quite unmistakable. He was staring as if unable to believe the evidence of her eyes.

‘Joanna?’

‘How are you?’ From somewhere she found the guts to switch on a smile, and hold out her hand. It was as if she’d become another person, fearless and in command.

‘What the fuck are you doing here?’

‘Charming!’ She gave a little laugh, to show she wasn’t mortally offended. ‘I’m staying in Ravenglass. I arrived yesterday.’

‘For fuck’s sake. What for?’

‘A holiday, what else?’ Something prompted her to add, ‘It’s been utterly wonderful, revisiting old haunts. This morning I had a look around Seascale, and just now I went for a wander on the dunes.’

He seemed lost for words, so she kept talking, not for one moment taking her eyes off the cruel blades. ‘I saw poor Nigel on television, and your van was outside the house. So I realised you must work for him, just like …’

She’d meant to say,
just like you worked for Malcolm
. But it sounded too much like an accusation, as if bad luck followed him around. Staring at her in disbelief, he still kept a grip on the shears.

‘Won’t you put them down? For a moment, I almost thought you were going to stab me.’

She tittered, to show how absurd the very notion was. He glared, but took a step back. Opening the back of his van, he put the shears inside.

‘Can’t be too careful,’ he muttered.

Joanna wanted to yell with delight. She’d faced him down! But it still wasn’t wise to annoy him. She waved at the CCTV camera fixed under the roof of the house. ‘So I see.’

‘I keep my England schoolboy cap and the other souvenirs under lock and key. There’s a trade in football memorabilia, my stuff is worth a packet.’

‘Better than a pension,’ she said, forcing a giggle.