Under a Silent Moon

“Yes.”

  “I’ve never met an artist,” he said.

  I’m not surprised, Flora thought. He didn’t look like he had much appreciation for the aesthetic.

  “You said Polly was involved with other people, when you moved out. Can you tell me who?”

  “I didn’t want to know.”

  “But you must have had an idea, Flora.”

  He waited again. Let him wait. He would hear about Polly from everyone else in the village, let them gossip about Polly—she wasn’t going to.

  They were still staring each other down when Taryn came back. She cast a glance at Flora and saw the expression on her face.

  “I told him about me and Polly,” she said.

  15:14

  They’d driven for almost three miles before he spoke.

  “Are you okay?”

  She was watching the road with a fixed expression, eyes forward. The weather was closing in and it was almost dark. Rain spattered on the windscreen and reflected on her face as they waited at traffic lights.

  “Louisa?”

  “Hmm? Sorry, I was miles away.” She turned to look at him and for a moment could not look away.

  “I asked if you’re okay. You seem a little distracted?”

  She managed a smile that didn’t quite go up to her eyes. “It was something somebody said earlier, I can’t even remember what. But it’s making me think about other things.”

  There was a long pause as the traffic lights changed to green. The queue of traffic, however, did not move. They were waiting to join the long ranks of the commuters on their way home.

  “I’m sorry,” she said at last, “this was probably a bad idea. Bad timing, anyway.”

  “I can think of worse places to be.”

  She laughed. “Are you sure?”

  “So,” he said resignedly, “if we’re going to be stuck in traffic for an hour, you can tell me all about what’s really bothering you.”

  Another pause while she decided whether she really wanted to go there or not. After all, she had nobody else to talk to. Jason was as good a bet as any.

  “Parental responsibility.”

  “Ah.”

  “Nobody is ever good enough for their parents, I find. Do you get on with yours?”

  “Sure. I talk to them all the time. It’s difficult being so far away sometimes.”

  “Are they in . . .” she thought for a moment and then risked it: “Canada?”

  He smiled at her. “Yeah. You know, you wouldn’t believe the number of people who assume I’m American.”

  “Really? But the accent’s completely different,” she said, glad that she’d made the right guess.

  “I think so. But most Brits seem to get them easily confused.”

  “How come you’re here?”

  He hesitated, looking out of the window. “Kind of a long story,” he said. “I’ve been here six years already.”

  He hadn’t actually answered the question but she let it go. “Do you have brothers and sisters?”

  “One brother, older. He lives over here too, works in IT. You?”

  “I have a sister and a brother. My sister is happily producing babies. My brother is bumming around Europe at the age of twenty-nine, having never held a job down longer than four months. And they are both utterly wonderful in the eyes of my parents, whereas I am always sadly lacking. I’ve never been able to work it out.”

  “Maybe their expectations of you are higher?”

  “You’re probably right, but how is that fair? No matter what I do, they always make me feel like a failure.”

  “At least it keeps you striving.”

  She laughed. “Are you trying to make me feel better, Jason? Because it’s not working.”

  “You’re probably too tough on yourself. I’ve no doubt they must be really proud of you and what you’ve achieved. But you’re always pushing yourself to achieve more, and I’m sure that drive is in you, rather than in them.”

  He had a point, of course. “I think my mother will be happy when I’m married with two-point-four children, and my father will be happy when I’ve done that and got to chief constable.”

  “Save that for next year.”

  She looked at him, smiling because already she felt better, and the eye contact between them went on until the traffic began to move and someone beeped behind her.

  “So what about you? Don’t you feel under pressure to start having kids?” It was the sort of flirting that you could almost get away with when you got to your mid-thirties.

  “I’ve fallen behind the field with that one,” he answered. “I guess I’ve been single a bit too long.”

  She waited, knowing that if he really did want to participate in this particular conversation, more would come along.

  The traffic ground to a halt again. The rain was coming down so fast now the wipers were having trouble keeping up. There was a tension in the air that had nothing do with the storm. Lou felt the warmth of the air, almost thought she could feel him breathing. She felt his eyes on her face again and turned to look.

  “Can I ask you something personal?” Jason said then.

  “Go on.” She turned her gaze back to the road ahead.

  “You and Andy Hamilton—is there something going on?”

  “Shit. That is personal.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Why do you ask?”

  He shrugged. “Just curious.”

  Lou sighed, wanting to be honest but also not wanting to rake over what she still thought of as something sordid. “Yes, there was something going on, but there definitely isn’t anymore. And that’s something I’d like to keep quiet, if possible. How’s that?”

  “So you’re not seeing him anymore?”

  “No. He neglected to tell me he was married, I found out by accident, and that was that.”

  Jason nodded slowly. “Figures.”

  For a moment she couldn’t speak.

  “Look, I’m sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t going to mention it. And you know I won’t say anything, right? This is between you and me.”

  “I’m sorry that you’re seeing me in a really unprofessional light here. I did everything I could to do the right thing . . .”

  “I can see that,” he said. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.”

  “You didn’t,” she lied. She thought she had detected a note of amusement in his voice.

  “Good. Is this the place?”

  Hardly realizing it, Lou had driven all the way to Morden and they were pulling up on the driveway of Yonder Cottage. There wasn’t a lot of room; two cars and a CSI van were already squeezed onto the gravel. Polly’s car had gone for forensic examination.

  They got out of the car. The rain had stopped, and the sun was trying to force its way through the breaking clouds.

  “This is Yonder Cottage,” Lou said, although he could have seen that for himself by the slate sign hanging on the wall. “There are two entrances to the farm—you can go further up this driveway, which goes through a farmyard with barns and outbuildings, then curves round to the left, and eventually you get to the farmhouse itself. There’s another drive about a hundred yards further down the road which also goes to the farmhouse.”

  High heels sinking into the gravel, picking her way between the puddles, Lou led the way up the road to a five-bar gate on the opposite side. This time a handsome oak sign with gold lettering proclaimed it to be Hayselden Barn. From the road the driveway stretched between manicured lawn and flower beds up to a vast horse chestnut tree, and beyond it a black-timbered former barn.

  “There you go,” she said. “Not far, is it?”

  He shaded his eyes against the sunshine. Lou was only aware that she was gazing at him like a teenager when he turned his head toward her and smiled.

  “They must be seriously loaded,” he said. “All of them. What does Fletcher-Norman do for a living?”

  “Some sort of executive, shipping I think. Although he’s supposed to be semiret
ired.”

  They walked back to Yonder Cottage. The road was quiet and Lou could hear birds singing. She unlocked the car but stood for a moment, looking from the cottage up the driveway toward the outbuildings. Somewhere a horse neighed. From the map, you’d imagine that there would be a view of the cottage from the upper floors of the farmhouse, but there were several big trees obscuring the line of sight.

  “You want to go someplace else?” he asked.

  She was lost in thought, hardly heard him. Then her phone rang and she pulled it out of her jacket pocket. She recognized the number on the display, stared at it for a moment. She wasn’t ready to talk to Hamilton. If it was important, he would leave her a voice mail.

  “I think we’d better get back to the office,” she said.

  There was silence between them for the rest of the journey. To try and distract herself, she turned on the radio to catch the local news headlines, but she wasn’t listening to it. Their earlier conversation was going round and round in her head. His easy confidence had taken her by surprise, the relaxed way he’d asked her questions that were so personal. And now she was suddenly uncomfortable in a different way, not knowing what to do with herself, believing that he could see right through her and that it was all a game to him.

  A game that she already knew she was going to lose.

  15:17

  This time Taryn saw her coming, escorted to the sales floor by the receptionist, who looked far too excited for this to be a regular visitor. With Reg away, there was no intermediary. They approached Taryn’s desk.

  “Taryn, this lady is here to see you,” said Juliet, and scooted back off to reception.

  Taryn stood up uncertainly. This one was younger, on her own, dressed in a smart linen suit with short, honey-blond hair and green eyes behind rectangular-framed glasses. “My name is Detective Sergeant Sam Hollands. I’m working on the Polly Leuchars murder investigation. I wondered if I might have a word with you? Somewhere private?”

  As she showed Sam Hollands into Reg’s office, Taryn was partly worried that she was going to get told off for failing to tell Andy Hamilton who she was, and partly worried about what on earth Polly’s death had to do with her.

  “Thanks,” Sam said as Taryn indicated Reg’s small conference table. “It’s not bad in here, is it? I can imagine worse offices to work in. I gather my colleagues came to tell you the news about your father and his wife. I am sorry you had to hear about it under such circumstances.”

  Taryn gave a tiny shrug. “As I explained to your colleagues, I am not really in contact with my father, so the news was probably less upsetting to me than they were anticipating.”

  “So I gather. Have you been to visit your father at all?”

  “Yes. I went last night. He was still unconscious.”

  “You know he’s come round now?”

  “The hospital left me a message. I might go back after work, if I get a chance.”

  “I think he might appreciate that.”

  Taryn made a noise, and Sam Hollands tried a different tack. “Are you aware of the circumstances of Mrs. Fletcher-Norman’s death?”

  Taryn shook her head. She wanted to say, Actually, I’m not especially interested in that, either, but a part of her somewhere was certainly curious. “Car crash?”

  “Mrs. Fletcher-Norman was found in her car at the bottom of Ambleside Quarry. We’re trying to establish whether there might have been any connection between her death and the murder of Polly Leuchars.”

  “She was found at the bottom of a quarry? You mean she drove off the edge and killed herself?”

  “It’s possible.”

  “How strange.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t think of anyone less likely to commit suicide than Barbara.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Taryn thought about Barbara being mean, vindictive, and rude; thought of her voice getting louder when she’d had a drink. “I guess she was always a bit flaky. But I never realized she was unhappy. You said you’re linking her suicide to Polly’s death? Does that mean you think she killed Polly?”

  “We can’t rule anything out yet, but it’s one of the lines of inquiry.”

  Taryn took a deep breath. She had a sudden mental picture of the bruises she had seen on her father’s arm last night. “I didn’t think she was prone to violence. Has my father said anything?”

  “About what?”

  “About—oh, maybe she was violent at home, or something. You don’t simply turn psycho and kill people overnight, do you? Even if you have a reason.”

  “Not usually. You know, your father may tell you things that he wouldn’t feel comfortable telling the police.”

  Taryn gave a short laugh. “Have you met my father?”

  “I saw him earlier.”

  “Well, then. He tells you what he wants you to hear. That goes for you as well as me.”

  “I realize things are—difficult between you. Can I ask how that came about?”

  Taryn was useless at fibbing, even when she was doing it with good intentions; she would blush, fluster, get things muddled up. The safest thing to do would be not to answer.

  So she took a deep breath, tried to be calm. “It’s nothing in particular. He left my mother when I was quite small. Ever since then I’ve been a bit of an inconvenience to him. Having to see me was always a chore. It was hurtful. But it’s only in the last few years that I can’t seem to put up with it anymore. He’s not used to people standing up to him; he doesn’t like it. So these days we steer clear of each other.”

  “And Barbara?”

  “She was a complete bitch. I know I shouldn’t speak ill of her after she’s died in a horrible way, but she was. She was always hostile toward me, which is bad enough when you’re an adult; when you’re a small child it’s very difficult to deal with.”

  “I can imagine,” Sam said. “I’m sorry.”

  Taryn was taken aback by the sympathy, more so because she could tell that Sam Hollands meant it. “Are you?”

  “Of course. You can’t choose your family, can you? And you can’t really escape it, not when you’re too young to be able to speak up for yourself.”

  “No. Exactly.”

  “Can you remember when you last visited them?”

  “Months ago. I can’t remember exactly. April, sometime. That was the last time I saw him until last night in the hospital.”

  “Did you speak to them on the phone in that time?”

  “No. The last time I went to the Barn, with the bike, they weren’t in and I left a note.”

  “The bike?”

  Taryn sighed. It sounded so stupid, this. “He’d taken up cycling, for some reason. I got him a bike for Christmas. It wasn’t right. Long story.”

  There was a pause. Taryn wondered if she was supposed to say anything else. Then Sam smiled at her and produced a business card. “I’ve taken up enough of your time. Will you give me a call if you think of anything that might help us?”

  “I don’t think there’s anything I can help with,” Taryn said quickly. “I only met Polly once or twice.”

  “But your father might mention something to you that would be helpful. After all, they were right across the road from Polly. Who knows what they might have seen, or heard.”

  “Surely he would tell you that himself.”

  “Nevertheless. You never know if you might need to talk,” she said. Her voice was calm, soothing. Taryn wondered at the woman’s patience.

  “Thank you,” she said at last, giving in. “You’ve been really kind.”

  She watched Sam Hollands heading back toward reception and thought about the other police officer, the great hulking rugby player, and she knew which one of the two she preferred.

  16:05

  The MIR was busy when they got back. Jane Phelps collared Jason as soon as he got through the door, and when Lou logged on to the workstation she saw that she had received a hundred and fifty new emails.

&nbsp
; She left her door open to listen to the buzz from the room, trying to catch up on all the stuff that had come in, and as a result Andy Hamilton thought it was okay to walk straight into her office and sit down. She deliberately ignored him until he gave a discreet cough.

  “Have you got an update for me?” Lou asked, still looking at the screen. Deleting emails.

  He looked surprised when she finally managed to look at him.

  “Everything okay?” Andy asked.

  “Everything’s fine. What have I missed?”

  “We’ve had intel back on Maitland. Only the same stuff we had last year about him and the McDonnells doing people trafficking. Special Branch were looking at it, but they’ve got other stuff on their plates right now. Mandy says there should be some more later this evening, she’s putting it all on HOLMES.”

  “Good—it’s something, anyway. Would be excellent if we could get another phone number for Maitland.”

  “Speaking of whom, I met up with Flora. She’s pretty done in by Polly’s death. Seems she had a relationship with her earlier this year. She said it ended in the summer when she moved out of the farm.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think there’s more to it than she was telling me, but whether she bumped her off I couldn’t say.”

  Lou realized he was jumpy, excitable, beyond what might have been caused by her bad mood. “What else?”

  “The PM is done with Mrs. Fletcher-Norman.”

  “And?”

  He smiled. “Multiple head wounds. Multiple trauma. Excess blood alcohol, consistent with her being rat-arsed. And some of the blood she was covered in wasn’t actually hers.”

  07484 322159 to 07194 141544

  02/11/12 1732hrs

  Going to go to hosp see dad. Not sure what time will be back. Hope OK T xxx

  17:45

  He saw her before she saw him, stopping at the nurses’ station and waiting patiently for them to pay attention to her. She’d put on weight, of course. Impatience nearly made him call out to her but, really, what was the point. Everything just felt too exhausting. She would find him eventually, and if she’d just turn her head slightly she would see him anyway. Like a sensible person would do. He despaired of her.

  And at that moment she looked round and, very briefly, there was the happy, girlish smile of recognition before she put the mask back on.