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Authors: Martin Edwards
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temperature in the car plummeted.
She said in a low voice, ‘Do you ever wonder how he could sleep? How he could live with himself?’
Daniel kept his eyes on the road. ‘He’s dead now.’
After a pause she said, ‘Yes. And I’m sorry about that. And I know how much you cared for him. Like I used to. And I realise I’m a miserable cow, I fully understand. It’s just that…’
To his horror, she started to sob. In all the years since their father’s departure, Daniel could never remember his sister crying. Not even during those frail anorexic days. Louise didn’t yield to emotion, Skiddaw would crumble before she shed a tear. A flame of anger spurted inside him. That smug bastard Rodney, this was his fault.
He pulled off the road and parked on a grassy verge. If ever there was a time to put his arm around her, this was it, but she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and pushed him away.
‘I’m all right.’
‘You think so?’
‘Happens every day, doesn’t it? Woman falls for man, man shags woman, woman gets clingy, man meets another woman and runs away. And the whole cycle begins again. I’ll get over it.’
‘So you don’t like men too much at the moment, big sister?’
‘I don’t exactly like myself, come to that.’
A sudden instinct made him want to say, ‘But I like you, Louise.’
Thank God he bit the words back on his tongue. She’d never forgive him for such a horrendous outburst of sentimentality. For patronising her. For taking pity on her.
In the quiet of the car, as she dried her tears, he realised – with a shock, because he’d never turned his mind to it before, except in the shallowest way – that it was true. For all the years of bickering, for all the gulf between them whenever they discussed their father, there was a bond between them. They were all that remained of their family.
So Kirsty Howe was weeping buckets and the same day, her mother had been accused of killing her father. Hannah leaned back in her chair. She’d been in the job long enough to realise that coincidences, like cock-ups, were commoner than conspiracies. Interesting, though.
Nick looked in. ‘See you there in twenty minutes. Mine’s half a Guinness.’
She slipped the anonymous message into a plastic wallet and Charlie’s irritatingly uninformative crime-scene log back in its labelled folder. There were few less exciting virtues in an SIO than tidiness, but Ben Kind had always preached its importance. Mess wasn’t merely a nuisance, according to Ben, it could hamper an investigation if it prevented you seeing the facts with a clear eye. It wasn’t the end of the world if the facts were incomplete – an occupational hazard in an investigation led by Charlie. Spotting gaps might suggest fresh lines of inquiry. Even the lack of evidence is evidence. Like The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time .
She sat up in her chair, realising it wasn’t an original thought. She could hear Daniel Kind quoting those words, in a television programme. A week ago, she’d seen a DVD of his BBC series on special offer and picked up a copy.One evening when Marc was out, she’d watched it for half an hour. The following day, she’d picked up a voicemail message. Daniel, suggesting that they get together again sometime. He wanted her to tell him more about Ben, fill gaps in his knowledge of his father. She hadn’t returned the call, wasn’t sure it would be a good idea.
He liked to compare the work of historians and detectives. She was reluctant to be convinced, but his arguments defied easy contradiction. Ben might not have been an academic, but he had had a sharp mind and was more down to earth than his son. To abandon fame and fortune to get away from it all – even in the Lakes – was daring. Reckless. She could never do what he had done. Yet she couldn’t help admiring his nerve in walking away from fame and money, to make a new life with the woman he loved.
At least, she supposed
She said in a low voice, ‘Do you ever wonder how he could sleep? How he could live with himself?’
Daniel kept his eyes on the road. ‘He’s dead now.’
After a pause she said, ‘Yes. And I’m sorry about that. And I know how much you cared for him. Like I used to. And I realise I’m a miserable cow, I fully understand. It’s just that…’
To his horror, she started to sob. In all the years since their father’s departure, Daniel could never remember his sister crying. Not even during those frail anorexic days. Louise didn’t yield to emotion, Skiddaw would crumble before she shed a tear. A flame of anger spurted inside him. That smug bastard Rodney, this was his fault.
He pulled off the road and parked on a grassy verge. If ever there was a time to put his arm around her, this was it, but she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and pushed him away.
‘I’m all right.’
‘You think so?’
‘Happens every day, doesn’t it? Woman falls for man, man shags woman, woman gets clingy, man meets another woman and runs away. And the whole cycle begins again. I’ll get over it.’
‘So you don’t like men too much at the moment, big sister?’
‘I don’t exactly like myself, come to that.’
A sudden instinct made him want to say, ‘But I like you, Louise.’
Thank God he bit the words back on his tongue. She’d never forgive him for such a horrendous outburst of sentimentality. For patronising her. For taking pity on her.
In the quiet of the car, as she dried her tears, he realised – with a shock, because he’d never turned his mind to it before, except in the shallowest way – that it was true. For all the years of bickering, for all the gulf between them whenever they discussed their father, there was a bond between them. They were all that remained of their family.
So Kirsty Howe was weeping buckets and the same day, her mother had been accused of killing her father. Hannah leaned back in her chair. She’d been in the job long enough to realise that coincidences, like cock-ups, were commoner than conspiracies. Interesting, though.
Nick looked in. ‘See you there in twenty minutes. Mine’s half a Guinness.’
She slipped the anonymous message into a plastic wallet and Charlie’s irritatingly uninformative crime-scene log back in its labelled folder. There were few less exciting virtues in an SIO than tidiness, but Ben Kind had always preached its importance. Mess wasn’t merely a nuisance, according to Ben, it could hamper an investigation if it prevented you seeing the facts with a clear eye. It wasn’t the end of the world if the facts were incomplete – an occupational hazard in an investigation led by Charlie. Spotting gaps might suggest fresh lines of inquiry. Even the lack of evidence is evidence. Like The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time .
She sat up in her chair, realising it wasn’t an original thought. She could hear Daniel Kind quoting those words, in a television programme. A week ago, she’d seen a DVD of his BBC series on special offer and picked up a copy.One evening when Marc was out, she’d watched it for half an hour. The following day, she’d picked up a voicemail message. Daniel, suggesting that they get together again sometime. He wanted her to tell him more about Ben, fill gaps in his knowledge of his father. She hadn’t returned the call, wasn’t sure it would be a good idea.
He liked to compare the work of historians and detectives. She was reluctant to be convinced, but his arguments defied easy contradiction. Ben might not have been an academic, but he had had a sharp mind and was more down to earth than his son. To abandon fame and fortune to get away from it all – even in the Lakes – was daring. Reckless. She could never do what he had done. Yet she couldn’t help admiring his nerve in walking away from fame and money, to make a new life with the woman he loved.
At least, she supposed
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