The Arsenic Labyrinth (24 page)

‘Christopher is engrossed in his maths homework,’ she said. ‘He’s such a diligent boy, but he needs to concentrate. I wouldn’t want him to be disturbed.’

Hannah heard a door bang somewhere in the back of the house. ‘May we talk to your husband as well?’

‘Francis? I … I’m not sure …’

‘Is he here?’

Vanessa fingered the mark on her face. ‘He … no, I don’t think so.’

She’s losing the plot
. Hannah listened out for an engine starting up, but heard nothing. Besides, if he’d left his car in the garage, they were blocking him in. Gritting her teeth, she said, ‘Mrs Goddard, I don’t want to waste time. We need to talk to your husband as well.’

Vanessa’s expression froze. Suddenly, they heard a young boy’s voice, loud and crystal clear, calling from the next room.

‘Daddy, come and see this!’

Half a second of silence was snapped by the boy again. He sounded petulant.

‘Daddy! Where are you?’

Hannah said, ‘Mrs Goddard, you have to tell us, if not your son. Where is your husband?’

Vanessa’s brown eyes moistened. ‘We saw your car through the curtain. Francis said he had to go.’

‘On foot?’

She nodded.

’Do you know where he’s heading?’

‘I think … to the lake.’ She stifled a sob. ‘That’s what he said he would do.’

‘Tell me.’

‘He said he’d rather end it all than bring shame and disgrace to Christopher and me.’

Francis couldn’t be far away. Hannah and Maggie parked by the trees fringing Coniston Water. The moon was hiding, but they left their headlights on to light a patch of land and lake. The café and the steamship ticket office
were shuttered and no living soul was in sight. Hannah’s sole coherent thought was that darkness had an infinite number of shades.

They jumped out of the car. Wind was rattling the branches above their heads, water lapped against the shore. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, Hannah picked out a shape in the murk ahead, caught the rasp of laboured breathing. A man exhausted, close to defeat.

‘Mr Goddard!’ Hannah cried. ‘This is DCI Scarlett and DC Eyre – we need to talk.’

Footsteps pounded across stony ground, then clattered against the wet wooden surface of the L-shaped pier. Francis Goddard wasn’t in the mood to talk.

Maggie broke into a run. She was young and fit, with long, loping strides. Hannah followed in her wake. Surely he didn’t plan to steal a boat? It was madness, he wouldn’t stand a chance.

‘Stop!’ Maggie screamed. ‘Don’t do it! You’ll never …’

The dark shape seemed to pirouette on the pier. An easy, elegant movement. Hannah remembered that Francis loved dancing, he knew how to move. But then he let out a cry of despair. She heard a loud thud as his body hit the water. By the time she reached the pier, Maggie was bending over and tearing off her boots.

‘I’m going in,’ Maggie hissed.

‘You can’t! It’s too cold. Nobody can survive down there.’

Francis was thrashing around in the lake, making a
muffled noise that might have meant anything. Did he want to be rescued or just left to drown?

Maggie stood up. ‘Sorry, Hannah. It has to be done.’

‘No!’

Hannah moved to restrain her, but her shoes slid on the rain-sleeked wood and she lost her footing and pitched forward. Her knees hit the pier with a painful crash. She stretched out her arms, as if in prayer.

Then watched Maggie jump.

‘So Francis Goddard is expected to live?’

Hannah couldn’t tell from Les Bryant’s grimace whether he was glad or disappointed. Hunched over the table in her office, she strove to shut the fan heater’s asthmatic roar out of her mind. She wasn’t in doubt, she wanted Francis fit and able to talk. Some questions only he could answer.

‘They hope so. But the doctors are worried about brain damage.’

Les’s nose wrinkled, as though at a dodgy sick note. ‘Brain damage? He was only underwater for a couple of minutes before that bloody girl dragged him out.’

That bloody girl.
Les was furious with Maggie for having risked her life for a man who had committed one murder and caused another. When Hannah told him that Maggie was going to be OK, he’d come close to shedding tears of relief. Those desperate moments when Maggie
grappled with Francis underwater before somehow summoning the strength to drag his inert body on to the shore had been as long as any in Hannah’s life. Thank God the ambulance had come so quickly.

‘They say it’s a case of dive reflex.’

Les curled his lip and leaned back in his chair. His conservatism was ingrained, he was always suspicious of anything he’d never heard of.

‘And what’s that when it’s at home?’

‘When you dive into very cold water, sometimes your larynx goes into a reflex spasm, closing up to stop your lungs drowning. The body starts hibernating to protect itself, but the danger is anoxia, being starved of oxygen. That’s why the doctors are so concerned, that’s what happened to Francis.’

‘Let’s not beat about the bush. If he doesn’t make it, who cares?’

‘His wife, his son …’
And me.

Les snorted. ‘Listen, I don’t want to dance on the bugger’s grave, but what’s he got to live for? He’s going to spend a long, long time in prison.’

Hannah shrugged.

‘Hey, what’s up? Lauren’s over the moon, you’re flavour of the month, we can all move on. Why are you so downbeat?’

‘It’s just that …’

He wagged a stubby, tobacco-stained finger in her face. ‘Forget it. You solved the case. Nothing else matters.’

 ‘Francis wanted a child as much as I did.’

Vanessa Goddard’s voice dropped to a whisper, barely loud enough for the tape recorder. Hannah had to lean close to make sure she picked up every word. She and Linz Waller were sitting on either side of Vanessa; the idea was to avoid any hint of confrontation. Hannah had brought in Linz, rather than Les or Bob, in the hope of encouraging Vanessa to open up. Three women together. Like a private chat, except that every word would be taped. And the plan was working; Vanessa was subdued, but far from reticent. She’d hired a solicitor, a local woman and a family friend, to represent Francis if and when he recovered, but she didn’t want a lawyer to accompany her when she talked to the police. Even when Hannah pressed the point, she’d remained adamant. She wasn’t under arrest, she’d committed no crime. She could handle this on her own.

Deep furrows criss-crossed her brow; she was concentrating with the intensity of a tennis star whose next serve would decide Wimbledon. Her gaze fixed on a point high on the wall of the interview room, her only movement was the fiddling of her fingers with a bracelet. She spoke with as much care as if giving a presentation to library officials. No cue cards, but Hannah was sure she’d memorised a script.

‘Jeremy told me you’d been trying for a baby for years.’

‘I felt a failure. He said it wasn’t my fault, but there was no getting away from the bitter truth. I couldn’t
give him what he wanted. What I wanted too, more than anything.’

‘It must have hurt when you found out that Karen was expecting a baby.’

Vanessa twitched, as if Hannah had yanked her hair. ‘You can’t imagine the wound. We’d had a good marriage …’

Her voice quavered, she dabbed at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. Hannah gave her a minute to compose herself.

‘And then you met Francis.’

Vanessa sat up in her chair and Hannah saw the glimmer of a fond smile. ‘A man who loved me for myself. I’ve always been self-conscious about this mark on my face, but it meant nothing to him, he saw the real woman underneath. I gave him everything I could. But … he wanted a family and I was afraid he might …’

‘Tell us about the surrogacy.’

‘After I got to know Emma, she told me Alex had suggested adopting a child. Their relationship was falling apart at the time and Emma refused point blank. Said she’d rather have a nice new car than children. I won’t speak ill of the dead, but Emma wasn’t really a
giving
person. There was no maternal streak. I mentioned it to Francis, because it was so ironic. Presumably Emma would have no difficulty bearing a child, but she couldn’t care less. To us it meant everything, and yet we were thwarted at every turn. We talked about fostering, about adoption, but the agencies put up so
many hurdles and, besides, what we wanted was a baby that was
ours
. And then we started wondering – what if we paid Emma to produce a child for us? Nobody else need ever know.’

‘But Jeremy knew you couldn’t conceive.’

Vanessa’s eyes narrowed and Hannah understood the depth of her contempt for the man who had deserted her. ‘I knew him well enough to be sure he’d be thrilled to believe I’d found some miracle cure for infertility. It would make him feel less guilty about betraying me.’

‘Did it matter that Emma was Karen’s sister?’

‘Karen stole my first husband by giving him a baby,’ Vanessa said. She seemed to measure each word, as if unsure how candid to be. ‘How could I not relish the prospect of her sister giving my second marriage the one thing it lacked?’

‘And Emma was up for it?’

‘Everything went like a dream. She asked for money, lots of it, but that didn’t bother us, as long as she did what we wanted. Francis doted on her during the pregnancy, no mother-to-be has ever had such wonderful care. And she presented us with this beautiful baby boy.’ Vanessa’s voice shook. ‘Our son Christopher, a gift from God.’

‘Why did she change her mind?’

Vanessa closed her eyes, like a child reciting a poem learned by rote. ‘We kept our side of the bargain, we could never understand why Emma broke her word to us. She’d promised faithfully, she’d sworn to us, that she would never make any claim on the baby. We’d paid her enough
to buy that nice new car as well as putting down a deposit on her new house. And then she took it upon herself to decide that motherhood might be what she really yearned for, after all. She’d never found a job to satisfy her long term, why pretend that looking after a squealing infant might be any more appealing? It made no sense. But we couldn’t reason with her.’

‘Did she threaten you?’

‘She said she’d go public, she didn’t care if she was prosecuted, as long as she had her son back. We could have regular access – can you imagine? Our own son, the son we adored!’ A bitten-off laugh. ‘She offered to pay back the money in instalments, but that was scarcely relevant. She never gave a toss about hurting Francis or me. Let alone the child. Imagine how confusing it would have been for the little mite, to have two women claiming to be his mother. I couldn’t bear the thought.’

Vanessa was shaking in her chair. The birthmark seemed more livid than ever.

‘The selfish, selfish, bitch!’

As Vanessa dissolved into tears, Hannah called the interview to a halt and gave her time to compose herself. There must be no suggestion of improper pressure. But after twenty minutes and a cup of strong sweet tea, Vanessa insisted she was ready to resume. She kept repeating that she wanted to help. This was an utter nightmare, but she needed to do the right thing.

‘Guy Koenig,’ Hannah prompted when they were back
in the room. ‘We checked the records. You met him when he was inside.’

‘Guy was my greatest success.’ Hannah didn’t think she’d ever seen a smile so bleak, so bereft of merriment. ‘I have this passion for reaching out to people who never had a chance to experience the magic of literature. The government provided a pot of money to support reader development work with prisoners. I love working in partnership with librarians in prisons, mental hospitals, residential care homes. Making a difference to people’s lives.’

Hannah could imagine Les Bryant’s scepticism.
Yeah, that Guy Koenig certainly made a difference to people’s lives.

‘Guy was a member of my very first group. He took to Victorian literature like a duck to water. Gaskell, Hardy, you name it. Charles Dickens, his favourite. Guy was a charmer, I saw that with a bit of luck he could make something worthwhile of his life. I became very fond of him, we talked a lot. But prisons have rules. You’re not supposed to get too close.’

‘You came across him a second time, we discovered.’

Vanessa sighed. ‘In another prison reading group, eighteen months later. He’d been convicted again. A minor offence of deception, but his record was bad and the courts don’t understand why most sentences are better served in the community. Guy wanted to go straight, I was sure of it. But he was weak, impatient, that was his downfall. He could never resist the temptation to pretend,
he used to say it was because he didn’t have a clue who he really was. His mother was on the game, he never knew his father. I tried to explain, it doesn’t matter where you come from, what counts is where you’re going to. With his gift for persuasion, he could have become a salesman or a spin doctor.’

Sounds like he had you eating out of his palm.
‘He was released for the last time a few weeks before Emma disappeared. You remained in touch?’

‘Of course it was against the rules, but I wanted him to make something of his life.’ For the first time, a hint of colour came to her disfigured face. ‘I’d told him, along with everyone else, all about my pregnancy. He was thrilled for me, he even bought a little gift for the baby.’

‘Your supposed pregnancy,’ Hannah said gently.

‘Yes.’ Vanessa swallowed. ‘When he realised I was stressed out, he thought I was suffering from post-natal depression. I was very low and he was very kind. We met for coffee in the village once or twice. It was all open and above board, please don’t misunderstand. Francis knew all about our little get-togethers, there was never anything between Guy and me of
that
sort. But one afternoon, I started to weep and, before I knew what I was doing, I was telling Guy about the disaster that had befallen us. About Emma and how she wanted Christopher for herself. He was appalled by her behaviour, of course.’

As Vanessa examined her short, neat nails, Hannah glanced at Linz Waller, who arched her elegant eyebrows. If you were going to confide your darkest secret, a flaky
drifter wasn’t the wisest choice of confidant. But then, who didn’t make mistakes?

For some reason, Hannah found herself thinking about Marc and, in a confused way, about Daniel Kind. Oh God. This would never do. Must concentrate on Vanessa’s tale of woe.

‘Did you ask him to help?’ Linz murmured.

Vanessa shook her head. ‘He volunteered to have a word with her. Of course, I was bowled over by his kindness. I promised to help him financially, but he said he simply wanted to repay me for all my generosity. He wasn’t interested in my money.’

Hannah suppressed a groan.
I bet
.

‘Of course, I brushed that aside. I was willing to give him anything, if only he could make Emma see sense. If she didn’t have enough put by, we could sort that out somehow. Francis and I aren’t rich, but we’re comfortable, thanks to family inheritance. It would be better if she left the Lakes for good, so I told Guy that we’d make it worth her while if she promised never to contact us again. This was for Christopher’s sake, you understand. What she was proposing was wicked. He was my child, not hers. We’d reached an agreement.’

For Christopher’s sake? Hannah told herself not to sit in judgement. Motherhood
was
special, there was something mystical about the bond between a woman and her child. Maybe it was time to admit to herself what she’d tried so hard to ignore. Not a day passed when she didn’t think about the baby she’d lost.

‘What did Koenig do?’ Linz asked.

‘He phoned her on the basis Francis and I wanted him to represent our interests. At first Emma refused to meet him, but eventually she gave in. It was never easy to say no to Guy. They arranged to meet in a remote part of the fells above the village, where no one else could see them together or overhear their conversation. He loved a touch of melodrama, and Emma did, too. When I suggested he visit her at home instead, pretend to prying neighbours that he was a client in need of a reflexologist, he wouldn’t hear of it. He was supremely confident, he assured me he would talk her round. It would cost, he said, but who cared if Emma left us alone?’

‘Did you discuss Guy’s proposal with your husband?’

‘Naturally. There should never be secrets between husband and wife, that’s my motto.’

You’re crazy, everyone has secrets, and sometimes secrets keep us safe from harm
. Hannah took a deep breath. Was she simply rationalising the way she kept secrets from Marc? Already he’d pushed the miscarriage out of his mind. For him, it was just one of those things. A narrow escape, frankly.

‘But it all went wrong?’

Vanessa squeezed her eyes shut, her face folding with the pain of memory. ‘Francis took Guy’s call. I was feeding Christopher at the time. Guy was pretty incoherent, but he explained that Emma had fallen and hit her head. A freak accident, but fatal. When he realised she was dead, he panicked and shoved the body down an old mine shaft.
He said he didn’t want to get us into trouble, he was afraid the truth would come out and our life with our baby boy would be ruined. He was thinking of us, not himself.’

Hannah bit back a sarcastic retort. From what she’d heard, Koenig never had an unselfish impulse in his life. If he was naïve, so were those who had asked him to negotiate with Emma, their mutinous surrogate mother. She was sure the truth about Emma’s death differed from Koenig’s account, but she was equally sure that she would never know precisely what took place that February day ten years ago.