The Green Remains (27 page)

Chapter Fifty-Nine

“In the end Jack Burdette came back to Holt after all.”

— Kent Haruf,
Where You Once Belonged

10:50
AM

Ian felt exhausted. Things with Kate were pure crap, as his Gran used to say, and there appeared to be no joy to be had in any of his cases. As he reviewed the rest of the background checks that he’d asked for, one note caught his eye. Nothing else seemed to be of much use toward the three murders, but one item bore checking out. He asked the civilian at the computer terminal to track down a birth record in Scotland. “All routes of inquiry should be pursued,” he’d learned in training, justifying the request to himself as the door to the incident room banged open and Higgins rushed in.

  “Sir, there’s been a reliable sighting of the missing girl in Windermere,” he said.

  “Grab the keys and ride with me,” Ian instructed.

  The young detective kept to the speed limit, just, as he drove them north of Kendal to the town of Windermere, filling Ian in on their destination.

  “We had a call from the hostel with a description match on Anne Reed,” he said, pointing up the High Street. “That distinctive teal anorak gave her away.”

  Ian hoped he was right. It would be nice to close this case with a positive result. They pulled in front of the Lake District Backpackers Lodge and entered the orange-painted haven of dorm beds (“laundry on premises”), used largely by international travelers and students on a strict budget. Ian knew the place,
near the train station, had a good reputation and thought it was remarkably clean for this kind of housing.

  Flashing his warrant card to the ponytailed man at the desk, Ian established he was the person who had called in to headquarters. The man pointed and said quietly, “Laundry,” motioning to the back room, anxious to remain uninvolved. Still, Ian acknowledged, he’d done his civic duty.

  The sound of whirring machines, augmented by the smell of hot air, bleach and detergents, led the men to the laundry. At their entrance, a scrawny young man with too many earrings in his left ear nudged a slender, chestnut-haired girl, who folded clothes to the beat of the music in her ear buds. The wire led to an open black-suede backpack. Pulling the ear buds from her ears, the girl looked furtively toward the back door. Ian motioned to Higgins, who covered the exit.

  “Excuse me, a word please,” Ian said pleasantly, his stiff smile indicating he would brook no argument. He flashed his card, introduced himself and Higgins, and pointed to a row of plastic chairs.

  “We haven’t done a thing, not a bloody thing,” the girl said, but they sat, the young man draping his arm protectively around her shoulder.

  “It’s fine, Peach,” he assured her. “We’ve nothing to hide. Always glad to assist the police with their enquiries,” he added cheerfully.

  He’s a polite charmer, Ian thought, but then she was supposed to be a bright girl. “Do you have any identification?” Both nodded and produced driving licenses. “Peter Morris, age twenty, of Sawrey; Anne Reed, age seventeen, from Windermere.” He thanked them and returned their cards, wondering where the two young people had met. Some athletic event, he decided, noting the pile of folded clothes contained several brightly striped rugby shirts.

  “Miss Reed, your mother has filed a missing person report in Windermere and is extremely worried about you.” In fairness, he didn’t know if the girl’s stepfather shared this sentiment.

  The girl colored but set a determined line about her mouth as she answered. “I’m seventeen, almost eighteen, and old enough to make my own decisions. She’s got the little ones to fuss over, him to take care of and I don’t need to be their babysitter any more. I’m allowed to have some fun and have my own life, you know.”

  She glanced at her companion and blushed harder. “Besides, they didn’t understand how much Peter and I really love each other and want to be together the right way. He takes care of me.”

  Ian sat back and rubbed his hand over his face. Legally, he could do nothing to force Anne Reed to return home, nor would he be able to convince these youths they were making a huge mistake running away together. At least he could tell her mother she was alive and looked well. “What are your plans?”

  Peter pulled Anne against him. “We’re getting ready to head down to Weston-super-Mare, got a lead on jobs at the SeaQuarium there, right, Peach?”

  “Down to North Somerset?” Ian asked. “You haven’t traveled very far in a week,” he noted.

  This time it was Peter who blushed. “What kind of a blighter do you take me for? We were married last Friday, been having a proper honeymoon for a few days in Bowness, Peach and me, at Rose Cottage.”

  Rose Cottage? It turned out there might be some joy to be had after all.

*

11:15
AM

Ian directed Higgins to speak with Anne Reed’s mother and reassure her that her daughter was safe and acting of her own accord. The newlywed reluctantly promised to call home that evening, probably in search of funding. He could imagine the teary reunion call.

  He had his sergeant drop him back at the station and went directly to the incident room to check on his earlier request. He read the information that confirmed what he’d suspected, while one part of his mind replayed the unexpected information his careful questioning of the couple had elicited. It all came together now.

  Yes, they’d admitted, they’d been at Rose Cottage when all of that fuss had occurred in the front arbor. They remembered having come in after dinner, close to 8. The arbor had been empty then.

  “Did either of you know the dead man?” he had asked, a matter of form.

  “No, sir,” Peter Morris had replied, eager to be taken as a compliant adult. “It really upset Peach here when we heard the sirens, didn’t it, luv?”

  Anne’s pretty face had lost its color. “It was so sad,” she’d agreed. “Especially when he’d seemed so happy when we passed him.”

  Ian’s pulse had quickened. It had been the connection he’d hoped for when he’d heard the couple had stayed at Rose Cottage. “Where was that, Miss—uh—Mrs. Morris?”

  The girl had beamed at the use of her married name. “At the ice cream stand right near The Scarlet Wench. He and a bloke were sharing a nip from a grotty old flask.”

  Ian had felt a surge of excitement. Simon had been nowhere in this vicinity; he would be able to clear him shortly. His copper’s instincts had told him this case would soon be solved. He had resolved to visit Kate at his first opportunity to plead his case. The conflict that had dogged him about doing his duty versus loving her had melted away. He was on firm ground now, thanks to the young couple.

Chapter Sixty

“ … watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. … ”

— Roald Dahl

11:15
AM

Simon was pleased with how his painting was progressing. He’d had to paint in a different flower when the rare one he’d borrowed from Sommer had been taken into evidence, but since it had turned out to be an instrument of death, its presence would have been disconcerting. The art was a surprise for Nora. He hoped she would be pleased and not view his gift as interference or worse, as possessiveness. He meant it as an assurance of her strength and his support of her decision to raise her child alone. He hoped Nora would see it the same way.

  He felt better now after getting real sleep. With only Tony Warner at the lodge to have breakfast, Sally and Agnes had coped and he and Kate had both slept in. Last night had been surreal. The stark interior of Kendal station was starting to become too familiar and had looked far more menacing at night. He’d felt a tremor of dread pass over him when he stepped inside. Kate had gripped his hand tightly. She’d remained at his side until Ian had showed her to a small side room, allowing her to watch as Sergeant Higgins conducted the interview in the presence of his solicitor.

  All of Simon’s fear had dissipated. If he were a serious suspect in Ian’s eyes, someone Ian really felt was capable of murder, Ian never would have allowed the woman he loved to watch while he took her brother down.

 
Simon had decided this was calculated to keep Ian on the right side of procedure as he tried to win back Kate’s love. Simon had answered the sergeant’s questions comfortably and felt relaxed as he recounted his movements over the last week, none of which had taken him in the vicinity of Clarendon Hall. As they had waited for Ian to excuse them, Kate had hugged him.

  “See, that wasn’t so bad, Katy-did.” His use of her childhood nickname had made her beam.

  “I was so afraid for you,” she had admitted. “I had the solicitor promise me you wouldn’t have to spend the night in a cell.”

  “What? You thought I had something to worry about?” Simon had stood away in mock horror.

  “Never,” Kate had grinned. “I just hate to see you caught up in this. Nora feels the same way. Let’s get some sleep.”

  Thinking of Nora had him checking his watch. He decided to see how her morning had gone. When he got to her door, it stood open. The bed was neatly made, and Darby was stretched out on the soft duvet right in its middle. There was no sign of Nora.

  “Down,” he told the dog and turned to leave with Darby slinking at his heels when he noticed the screen saver on Nora’s laptop, a montage of Connecticut: the hills and shore views from her hometown’s Main Street, a meadow in flower, a tall white flagpole with a huge American flag undulating in the breeze.

  Simon advanced into the room; she must be in the alcove, admiring the baby gear, if her door was unlocked. The side room stood ready for its little occupant. The crib and cradle had been made up with the new linens, the clothes and tiny outfits stored away. Nora had placed a worn volume of Mother Goose nursery rhymes on the small table next to the lamp.

  Simon picked up the book and flipped through. It was a 1917 edition of the original 1881 book with illustrations by Kate Greenaway. He flipped to the first page and saw written in pencil in a childish scrawl:

Nora Alicia Tierney

Bought with my allowance, 1987

How Simon wished he’d known her then! Still small, she had probably been teased for looking younger than her age with those freckles across her nose. He wondered when she had started wearing glasses, remembering she’d said she’d tried and hated contact lenses. He wished he knew more of her childhood. She had no sibling to share those days and had told Simon that books were her constant friends. Her love of travel had been born in her books, as had been her desire to write.

  Where was Nora, anyway? Since the assault on Agnes, she’d been locking the door if she left the lodge. Putting the book down, Simon walked to her desk and touched the space bar to bring up her screen. The document that appeared before him was labeled KCman.doc. As he examined it, he saw the question mark Nora had seen and instantly knew where to find her. He left the lodge, Darby at his side, and didn’t stop to make the dog go back.

*

11:25
PM

At first, Simon thought he’d been mistaken. There was no sign of Nora, but he was certain she’d been there. The chapel stood empty and silent, already regaining its musty odor but with a hint of the lemony scent Nora used. Darby picked up on his tension and ran around him in circles, barking.

  His anxiety propelled him along the path toward the Hall, but he faltered when he approached the kitchen door. This kind of pursuing behavior had gotten him into trouble with Nora before. But she had been on the trail of something; her scent in the chapel confirmed that. Plus, she’d left her computer on and her door unlocked. This was not the same as wanting to shadow her every movement. With a determined set to his jaw, Simon raised his hand and knocked.

*

11:26
AM

Ian took the corners fast, causing Higgins to put a steadying hand on the dashboard. The background check from Scotland had had a surprising result. He checked his watch. Things were falling into place, but his instincts told him to hurry.

  He gave Higgins the number for Ramsey Lodge and took the phone from him when Kate answered. He thought he heard a softening in her tone, but he didn’t have time to make up with her at that moment.

  “Keep everyone in your household away from Clarendon Hall, Kate.”

  “I don’t know where Simon or Nora are—Ian, you’re frightening me.”

  “I don’t mean to.” He covered the phone and directed Higgins to make a call. “But if you see either of them, don’t let them go up to Clarendon Hall.”

Chapter Sixty-One

“A mother’s love for her child is like nothing else in the world. It knows no law, no pity, it dates all things and crushes down remorselessly all that stands in its path.”

— Agatha Christie,
The Last Seance

11:27
AM

Nora thanked Sommer and Antonia for the visit and let herself out of their room. Her son had kicked hard for the last few minutes, so she pushed his foot in and was rewarded with an answering shove, a game she never tired of. Doc Lattimore had said his head was down, in position; those kicks under her ribs were his strong feet. She would know more when she saw her OB in the morning.

  She walked down the hall, deep in thought, evaluating her actions. She felt justified getting involved in this murder investigation to clear Simon, but she knew others would have a different perspective.

  “Snooping,” Cook had termed it, and with a pang of regret, Nora wondered if she would ever stop being a busybody. Maybe motherhood would cure her. She stopped in the gallery to the right of the stairs, searching the portraits of the four handsome, young people whom fate had seen fit to injure, each in a different but permanent way.

  Nora studied the two women: Julia, the chestnut-haired beauty who had never known she was a mother; then Antonia, the fairer one who needed above all to be one. Next she studied the two men, wondering what childhood had been like for the muscular Edmunde, with his luxurious dark hair, and his thinner brother, Sommer, hair straight and slicked back. Each must have the major genetic makeup of the opposite parent for the brothers to look so different.

  Nora leaned on the gallery railing as a memory came back to her. She was about nine and had traveled to Manhattan with her parents for a long weekend. It started with the Thanksgiving parade, which they watched from their hotel room high above the crowded street, warm inside on the cold November day. She refused to leave the window during the entire spectacle, the huge balloons floating past the glass and stunning her with their nearness. She thought it had to be the most fantastic sight she’d ever seen.

  But she’d been wrong. The most fantastic sight for her that weekend turned out to be a billboard her father pointed out as they walked through Times Square while her mother shopped. Above the jostling throngs and the yellow taxis with their cacophony of horns, above the earthy smells of roasting chestnuts and hot, soft pretzels, the billboard had captured her attention and her imagination.

  It wasn’t what the board displayed; it was that every fifteen seconds the image split into vertical panels and rotated a quarter turn to the right, emerging with a completely different ad. This switch fascinated Nora, and she stood rooted to the spot through numerous revolutions until her father tired of watching it and dragged her off.

  Nora stared at the portraits in front of her. She pictured Robbie Cole without his baseball cap. If she stood back and combined all of the information she had on the Clarendons, everything shifted into place.

  Thoughtfully, she left the gallery, negotiated the wide central staircase and unlocked the front door. She didn’t want to face Cook again, so she stood on the broad front step, looking out at the shimmering lake in the distance. A huge cloud passing overhead was reflected in its surface, and she thought distractedly that they were in for more rain. Nora turned toward the dock and the stone gazebo that sat at the end of it. She would sit there, examine her idea and ruminate on what was reality and what was her imagination in overdrive.

*

11:32
AM

When Simon asked for Nora, Cook sent him upstairs. He left Darby outside and ran through the kitchen into the hallway and up the main staircase, trying to contain his agitation.

  He found Antonia and Sommer on their balcony, watching the heavy fog roll down the fell. They turned at his knock.

  “Sorry to bother you, but Cook said Nora was here.” Simon thought he heard footsteps coming up the staircase.

  Sommer answered, “She left us just minutes ago.”

  They were all startled by the appearance of Ian Travers in the doorway. “Where’s Gillian Cole?”

*

11:33
AM

Nora stepped out onto the Clarendons’ stone dock. The cloud bank had stalled overhead, turning the day grey. She walked toward the octagon-shaped stone gazebo at the dock’s head. Mist swirling around the dock held the promise of a shower, and she knew she should get back to the lodge before she got wet.

  This was the other face of the Lake District, the rapidly changing weather, but Nora still appreciated a different kind of beauty intrinsic in the murky fog. She felt damp and shivered, looking into the water lapping the pilings, surprised at its depth. Like people, she thought, pulling her sweater closer around her chest: unimagined depths, swirling emotions, hidden motives.

  Concentrating on her insight, unraveling the puzzle that had her in its grip, she abruptly sensed movement at the foot of the dock and looked up. The brume had already covered the dock’s junction with the land, and Nora had the odd sensation of standing inside a cloud as the mist whirled around her ankles. She listened intently. Just as she convinced herself she was being ridiculous, she heard a definite footstep on the stone dock.

  “Who’s there?” she called in a voice much stronger than she felt. The only immediate response was a dog yapping nearby. Out of the mist Gillian Cole appeared, her right hand hidden deep in the pocket of her navy cardigan. Her white uniform accentuated her ghostly appearance, and she advanced slowly toward Nora.

  “You think you have it all figured out, don’t you?” Gillian’s voice was menacing in its quiet tone. “I watched you leave the chapel.”

  Nora swallowed hard. Her uterus tightened, and she felt a surge of pain grip her lower abdomen, causing her to clutch at her stomach.

  “Tell me!” Gillian commanded.

  Nora took a step away from Gillian’s advance, talking earnestly, wondering if anyone would hear her should she scream. “I know that Keith was really Edmunde’s son. And I think Robbie is Edmunde’s, too. Your dead husband never existed. You murdered Keith so your son would inherit the Clarendon estate.”

  Gillian’s laugh was a loud bark. “You’re only half right. Robbie
is
our son. But Keith’s own biological father killed him. Edmunde owed me that. I never asked him to do it—I wouldn’t—but he did it for me and for Robbie.”

  Nora didn’t understand. Edmunde had murdered Keith? “How is that possible?” The wave of pain had passed but had left her nauseated.

  Gillian’s mouth curved into an unattractive sneer. “He can do more than he lets on. He took the elevator to the kitchen weeks ago when Antonia and Sommer were napping and Cook was asleep. It was a simple matter of crushing a few seeds from that plant and putting them into the first bottle of scotch in the pantry. Keith sometimes added a dollop to his flask before going out. It was only a matter of time before he did it again and died. It could have happened any time he decided to fortify his tea.”

  “But why would Edmunde kill his own son?” Nora stalled for time as she remembered she’d told Simon this family was like a Greek tragedy. She put a tentative foot behind her and shifted herself away from Gillian. Was that a knife in Gillian’s pocket? Nora’s legs cramped from coiled tension. She could barely hear her own voice over the noise of her heart pounding in her ears. Short of jumping off the dock into the deep water, she couldn’t see a way out.

  Nora tried to keep the woman talking. “Surely blood testing would prove paternity, and Sommer would have to provide support for Robbie.”

  “I’m dying,” Gillian said. “Pancreatic cancer. There was no time for a court battle against Keith. I needed to know my son would be taken care of, and Edmunde
owed
me! He promised me Robbie would inherit if I continued to take care of Sommer.” The woman’s eyes had taken on a fierce light. “And then he had his stroke, and Sommer had to take over his affairs legally.” She gave a sharp nod. “My son deserves it! All the years I’ve been the village gossip and taken care of this family down to wiping their bums. Edmunde
hated
Keith. He blamed him for Julia’s death. This was a gift of love to
me
!”

  “When you realized what he’d done you were glad?” Nora couldn’t keep the incredulous tone out of her voice. “What about Rowley?” She raised her voice, hoping in vain that someone would overhear their voices carried on the fog, willing her legs to support her.

  Gillian snorted at her question. “He became a liability. I knew you’d been at Keith’s computer. I told Rowley to watch you, and I’d pay him well, but he wanted to be paid for knocking you down and finding nothing. Then he saw me leaving the lodge after tossing your room—yes, I knocked Agnes out. She came into the room and almost found me. After that, he had to go. A truly worthless piece of humanity.” She shrugged. “It got rid of the scotch bottle from the pantry, and he took if from me very willingly.”

  So Daniel
had
been looking for something in my bag, Nora thought sadly, knowing it didn’t do her any good to be right on that point. She tightened her knees to stay upright as a wave of weakness washed over her. All at once, a warm gush ran down her legs and into her shoes, followed by the hardest contraction yet.

  Nora gasped and stumbled closer to the end of the dock. “What did Jack Halsey have to do with it?” Was that her name being called?

  Gillian’s eyes blazed. “Another useless man, but then most of them are. Wasn’t my fault Rowley shared his flask with him.”

  This time they both heard a dog barking. Gillian sneered, turning the expression into a grotesque grin. “There’s no one to save you. I’ll tell the others I heard you scream as you fell in. A shame I got here just a moment too late.”

  Gillian advanced. Nora fantasized the barking was getting louder and closer. She was aware of the moist air on her scalp and the clinging dampness between her legs. The treated wood gave off a scent that reminded her of Martha’s Vineyard, and for a moment she saw her father’s face smiling at her over Gillian’s shoulder. It gave her courage. She appealed to the nurse’s instincts. “My water broke—I’m in labor. Please, help me save my baby.”

  Gillian was so close Nora could smell her fetid breath. “Jump, or I’ll push you,” she hissed, one hand in her sweater pocket, the other held out in front of her, ready to shove Nora into the lake.

  Nora crossed her arms protectively over her stomach just as a voice shouted from the top of the dock, stopping Gillian’s advance toward Nora.

  “Gillian! This is Ian Travers. Simon and I have heard everything. Put your hands up.”

  Barking furiously, Darby rushed onto the dock. A siren whined in the background. “Put your hands up, for God’s sake!” Simon shouted.

  Gillian wheeled around from the running dog and back to Nora in a panic. “Not for God’s sake, for Robbie’s sake!” With a cry of frustration as Darby snarled and leapt at her, Gillian hurled herself into Nora, pushing them both off the dock and into the depths of the lake.

  “No!” Nora heard Simon’s shout, saw the edge of Gillian’s sweater in Darby’s mouth and took in a huge breath as they hit the water with a tremendous splash.

  Hitting the frigid water with the scrawny woman on top of her, Nora gasped at the cold but held her breath, feeling them sink. She struggled to free herself—she had to save her son! She kicked upward toward the surface. Gillian slid down her body, hanging on to Nora’s legs to keep them under water, dragging them down toward the icy depths of the lake.