Read Online The Serpent Pool by Martin Edwards - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Martin Edwards
Ads: Link
herself?’
‘Another way of tormenting herself?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine.’
He shrugged. ‘So, why are we bothered?’
Good question. Hannah was ready with an answer. Though, as when she’d talked with Marc up at the Serpent Pool, it wasn’t a complete answer.
‘The SIO who led the inquiry wasn’t satisfied. He mentioned the case to me before he retired. He always believed she was murdered.’
‘Yeah?’
She remembered Ben Kind telling her about the investigation into Bethany’s death, after he was told to run it down. She’d been embroiled on another inquiry at the time. Even now, she could hear Ben’s voice.
I can’t get her last moments out of my mind. A woman who hated water, drowning herself like that? She must have been terrified. Why would anyone do that to themselves ?
‘Bethany had a lover called Nathan Clare. The SIO wondered if Clare knew more about Bethany’s death than he was prepared to admit. But there was no proof, and plenty more pressing cases where there was no doubt a crime had been committed. He had to give up. But letting go rankled with him. Unfinished business.’
‘This SIO.’ His white teeth gleamed. ‘Not Ben Kind, by any chance?’
Shit . If this was chess, he’d placed her in check. She gave a quick nod, praying that she wasn’t blushing.
‘I used to work with him.’
‘Yeah, I heard.’
His knowing smile grew broader. The bastard. What had people said about her and Ben?
‘What he told me about the case convinced me that Bethany’s death was worth looking into, once we had the capacity.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah, your arrival is the lucky break I’ve been waiting for.’
Take that, you cheeky bugger.
Greg Wharf frowned.
‘What do we know about her, then?’
So he was interested, after all? Better not let point-scoring wreck things between them from the start. For an ambitious guy with a high opinion of himself, Cold Cases must seem like a dead end. In the absence of material yielding fresh evidence thanks to the advances of DNA technology – the sort of stuff that had the Press Office salivating at the prospect of sexy headlines – only a minority of investigations made progress.
Leaning against the whiteboard, she closed her eyes. No need to consult her notes. After hours poring over witness statements and a transcript of the inquest, she knew the key points off by heart.
‘Bethany was twenty-five. She had countless short-term jobs after she graduated. Writing was her passion, but she needed to earn enough to pay the rent while she spent every spare moment scribbling. She often worked as a temp, and she spent a whole term as a secretary in the offices at the University of South Lakeland. Until shortly before her death, she was seeing a man who gave lectures in English from time to time.’
‘This Nathan Clare, her shag buddy?’
She ignored his leer. ‘Clare’s phrase was “lovers without commitment”.’
‘Don’t tell me, he was married?’ She shook her head. ‘Commitment wasn’t his cup of tea.
He never tied the knot.’
‘Unless it was around Bethany’s neck?’
‘The sort of man who enjoys his freedom, by the sound of it.’
‘My sort of bloke, then.’
‘Yeah, he’s keen on Samuel Taylor Coleridge and all that. You could chat about Xanadu over a pint of real ale.’
He pushed a lock of hair off his forehead and looked round, as if in search of a mirror to preen before. ‘Xanadu? That’s a nightclub in Whitehaven, isn’t it?’
Hannah followed his gaze. It lingered on a second photograph of the victim, this time a head and shoulders snap taken by her mother twelve months before her death. Bethany was quietly pretty, with shoulder-length brown hair. Her skin was clear, her teeth strong and even. A Mona Lisa smile suggested she was enjoying a private joke at the photographer’s expense. No question, Hannah thought, something about her compelled interest. There was more to Bethany Friend than met the
‘Another way of tormenting herself?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine.’
He shrugged. ‘So, why are we bothered?’
Good question. Hannah was ready with an answer. Though, as when she’d talked with Marc up at the Serpent Pool, it wasn’t a complete answer.
‘The SIO who led the inquiry wasn’t satisfied. He mentioned the case to me before he retired. He always believed she was murdered.’
‘Yeah?’
She remembered Ben Kind telling her about the investigation into Bethany’s death, after he was told to run it down. She’d been embroiled on another inquiry at the time. Even now, she could hear Ben’s voice.
I can’t get her last moments out of my mind. A woman who hated water, drowning herself like that? She must have been terrified. Why would anyone do that to themselves ?
‘Bethany had a lover called Nathan Clare. The SIO wondered if Clare knew more about Bethany’s death than he was prepared to admit. But there was no proof, and plenty more pressing cases where there was no doubt a crime had been committed. He had to give up. But letting go rankled with him. Unfinished business.’
‘This SIO.’ His white teeth gleamed. ‘Not Ben Kind, by any chance?’
Shit . If this was chess, he’d placed her in check. She gave a quick nod, praying that she wasn’t blushing.
‘I used to work with him.’
‘Yeah, I heard.’
His knowing smile grew broader. The bastard. What had people said about her and Ben?
‘What he told me about the case convinced me that Bethany’s death was worth looking into, once we had the capacity.’
‘Yeah?’
‘Yeah, your arrival is the lucky break I’ve been waiting for.’
Take that, you cheeky bugger.
Greg Wharf frowned.
‘What do we know about her, then?’
So he was interested, after all? Better not let point-scoring wreck things between them from the start. For an ambitious guy with a high opinion of himself, Cold Cases must seem like a dead end. In the absence of material yielding fresh evidence thanks to the advances of DNA technology – the sort of stuff that had the Press Office salivating at the prospect of sexy headlines – only a minority of investigations made progress.
Leaning against the whiteboard, she closed her eyes. No need to consult her notes. After hours poring over witness statements and a transcript of the inquest, she knew the key points off by heart.
‘Bethany was twenty-five. She had countless short-term jobs after she graduated. Writing was her passion, but she needed to earn enough to pay the rent while she spent every spare moment scribbling. She often worked as a temp, and she spent a whole term as a secretary in the offices at the University of South Lakeland. Until shortly before her death, she was seeing a man who gave lectures in English from time to time.’
‘This Nathan Clare, her shag buddy?’
She ignored his leer. ‘Clare’s phrase was “lovers without commitment”.’
‘Don’t tell me, he was married?’ She shook her head. ‘Commitment wasn’t his cup of tea.
He never tied the knot.’
‘Unless it was around Bethany’s neck?’
‘The sort of man who enjoys his freedom, by the sound of it.’
‘My sort of bloke, then.’
‘Yeah, he’s keen on Samuel Taylor Coleridge and all that. You could chat about Xanadu over a pint of real ale.’
He pushed a lock of hair off his forehead and looked round, as if in search of a mirror to preen before. ‘Xanadu? That’s a nightclub in Whitehaven, isn’t it?’
Hannah followed his gaze. It lingered on a second photograph of the victim, this time a head and shoulders snap taken by her mother twelve months before her death. Bethany was quietly pretty, with shoulder-length brown hair. Her skin was clear, her teeth strong and even. A Mona Lisa smile suggested she was enjoying a private joke at the photographer’s expense. No question, Hannah thought, something about her compelled interest. There was more to Bethany Friend than met the
Similar Books
