Read Online The Arsenic Labyrinth by Martin Edwards - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Martin Edwards
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Ruskin’s arguments with the steel barons of Barrow.’
‘He’ll rest easier in his grave, with the steelworks closed down. Shame it took a hundred years. People used to say he was mad, didn’t they? Especially when he retreated to Brantwood and never wrote another word. All those dangerous heresies they feared would bring the nation to its knees. The welfare state, corporate responsibility, campaigning against industrial pollution.’
Daniel grinned. ‘I hear you’re opening in Sedbergh.’
‘Nothing is definite. Leigh’s excited about branching out and so am I. The real challenge is persuading Hannah that another business loan wouldn’t take us down the road to perdition.’
‘She isn’t keen?’
A shrug. ‘Who can blame her? She brings in more money than I do. And there’s no index-linked, tax-payer funded pension for second-hand bookdealers. Like all police officers, she’s a dyed-in-the-wool cynic. You’re don’t realise how lucky you are with Miranda.’
‘Lucky?’
‘Wasn’t it her idea to downshift to the Lakes? A bold move, to throw up tenure at Oxford. Going for the dream. But I guess you’ve never regretted it.’
‘Too right I haven’t.’ Though maybe Miranda has . ‘So – how is Hannah?’
‘Overworked, otherwise fine. Speaking of Coniston, she’s over there today, something to do with one of the cold cases.’
‘Give her my best.’
Marc nodded. ‘That business at Old Sawrey …’
‘Uh-huh?’ Even now, he flinched at the memory of the way he’d blundered into Hannah’s investigation.
‘I know she’s wondered how you coped with it all. She knew your father, I guess she felt a kind of responsibility for you.’
‘I shouldn’t have poked my nose in.’
Marc drained his cup. ‘What happened wasn’t your fault. She told me how much you helped her.’
‘She did?’ Daniel felt an embarrassing surge of pleasure, like a hapless schoolboy complimented on an unexpectedly good report.
‘Yeah. According to her, you’d make a good detective. After all, it’s in your blood.’
Hannah hadn’t encountered either Alexandra Clough or her father during the original inquiry, but from all she’d heard, Emma’s former lover was an ice maiden. The impression was confirmed as soon as she rang to ask for a meeting.
‘It was ten years ago, for goodness’ sake.’ A cool voice, superior, doubtless the product of a pricey education. ‘Why rake over old coals?’
It took Hannah five minutes to persuade her to agree to an interview. Today was impossible, Alex insisted, she and her father were far too busy. It sounded like an excuse, the delay a reprisal for having to surrender to the inevitable. Hannah was left in no doubt that this whole cold casenonsense was some form of PR guff, so that the police could curry favour with a journalist who had column inches to fill.
‘I must ask you not to bother my father excessively. He’s seventy-five, you know.’
‘I understand that he still runs the museum?’
‘You may have forgotten, I’ve been the manager here since he turned sixty. My father founded the museum; naturally he continues to advise me. But I put you on notice, he has a heart condition. Last year the doctors fitted a pacemaker. A police interrogation is the last thing he needs. If anything should happen to him …’
‘I’m not proposing an interrogation, just to ask a few questions.’
An elaborate sigh. ‘I can assure you, Chief Inspector, that at the time Emma Bestwick disappeared, we told your colleagues everything we knew.’
Not quite, Hannah thought. True, you did both say a great deal. But you didn’t actually tell us very much at all.
Suppose I did no more than stumble across her body? If only I hadn’t panicked. Emma wasn’t murdered, there was no intent. She died a natural death.
As Guy walked down Campbell Road, a narrative took shape in his brain. This was his gift, to reinvent his life so as to wipe away the petty mishaps and
‘He’ll rest easier in his grave, with the steelworks closed down. Shame it took a hundred years. People used to say he was mad, didn’t they? Especially when he retreated to Brantwood and never wrote another word. All those dangerous heresies they feared would bring the nation to its knees. The welfare state, corporate responsibility, campaigning against industrial pollution.’
Daniel grinned. ‘I hear you’re opening in Sedbergh.’
‘Nothing is definite. Leigh’s excited about branching out and so am I. The real challenge is persuading Hannah that another business loan wouldn’t take us down the road to perdition.’
‘She isn’t keen?’
A shrug. ‘Who can blame her? She brings in more money than I do. And there’s no index-linked, tax-payer funded pension for second-hand bookdealers. Like all police officers, she’s a dyed-in-the-wool cynic. You’re don’t realise how lucky you are with Miranda.’
‘Lucky?’
‘Wasn’t it her idea to downshift to the Lakes? A bold move, to throw up tenure at Oxford. Going for the dream. But I guess you’ve never regretted it.’
‘Too right I haven’t.’ Though maybe Miranda has . ‘So – how is Hannah?’
‘Overworked, otherwise fine. Speaking of Coniston, she’s over there today, something to do with one of the cold cases.’
‘Give her my best.’
Marc nodded. ‘That business at Old Sawrey …’
‘Uh-huh?’ Even now, he flinched at the memory of the way he’d blundered into Hannah’s investigation.
‘I know she’s wondered how you coped with it all. She knew your father, I guess she felt a kind of responsibility for you.’
‘I shouldn’t have poked my nose in.’
Marc drained his cup. ‘What happened wasn’t your fault. She told me how much you helped her.’
‘She did?’ Daniel felt an embarrassing surge of pleasure, like a hapless schoolboy complimented on an unexpectedly good report.
‘Yeah. According to her, you’d make a good detective. After all, it’s in your blood.’
Hannah hadn’t encountered either Alexandra Clough or her father during the original inquiry, but from all she’d heard, Emma’s former lover was an ice maiden. The impression was confirmed as soon as she rang to ask for a meeting.
‘It was ten years ago, for goodness’ sake.’ A cool voice, superior, doubtless the product of a pricey education. ‘Why rake over old coals?’
It took Hannah five minutes to persuade her to agree to an interview. Today was impossible, Alex insisted, she and her father were far too busy. It sounded like an excuse, the delay a reprisal for having to surrender to the inevitable. Hannah was left in no doubt that this whole cold casenonsense was some form of PR guff, so that the police could curry favour with a journalist who had column inches to fill.
‘I must ask you not to bother my father excessively. He’s seventy-five, you know.’
‘I understand that he still runs the museum?’
‘You may have forgotten, I’ve been the manager here since he turned sixty. My father founded the museum; naturally he continues to advise me. But I put you on notice, he has a heart condition. Last year the doctors fitted a pacemaker. A police interrogation is the last thing he needs. If anything should happen to him …’
‘I’m not proposing an interrogation, just to ask a few questions.’
An elaborate sigh. ‘I can assure you, Chief Inspector, that at the time Emma Bestwick disappeared, we told your colleagues everything we knew.’
Not quite, Hannah thought. True, you did both say a great deal. But you didn’t actually tell us very much at all.
Suppose I did no more than stumble across her body? If only I hadn’t panicked. Emma wasn’t murdered, there was no intent. She died a natural death.
As Guy walked down Campbell Road, a narrative took shape in his brain. This was his gift, to reinvent his life so as to wipe away the petty mishaps and
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