The Shrouded Path Page 17

  ‘Who is she? Why did you mention her name?’

  Connie didn’t answer but squinted at the girl in the photo. She had Monica’s hauteur and gave off a similar air of discontent. ‘I’m going to need a copy of this. One of the girls might also be Nell Colley. I can show it to her neighbour.’

  Mina looked alarmed. ‘That photo is important to me. Can I have it back?’

  Connie hesitated. ‘I need to check the other girls in the photo.’

  ‘But it belongs to me and you won’t even tell me what this is all about. You can’t just take it.’

  Connie looked at Mina’s grief-marked face and relented. ‘Tell you what, let me take a photo of it with my phone. That’ll do me for the moment and I can show it to my boss, DI Sadler. I’d like a physical copy as soon as possible.’

  ‘If I drop by my house, I can scan it into my computer and send you a copy tomorrow.’

  Connie focused the phone camera on the photo. As she pressed the button, a call came through from Matthews, who was probably wondering where she was. Connie, distracted, managed to both fudge the shot and decline the call from her colleague.

  ‘Damn. I’m going to need to return this call, I’m afraid.’ The hazy snap would have to do for the moment. ‘Don’t lose it, will you? Send me a scanned copy as soon as you can.’

  39

  Mina hiked back up the hill towards the manor house brooding over the village. Thank God Connie hadn’t insisted on taking the photo. The thought of giving it up had made Mina feel sick but it had clarified the thought that had been niggling away at her since she arrived in Cold Eaton. This was a village with secrets that it wouldn’t give up easily and yet might lead her to an understanding of her mother’s final fears. At last, she’d been given the name of someone who might be able to help her understand her mother more. Monica Neale.

  The Neale house was a huge grey square that could have been made graceful by the addition of tall windows but instead had been built with thin narrow strips of glass pushed to the outer fringes of the building. Harry Neale stood at the threshold, his green waxed jacket filthy with damp clods of mud from the wood gathering.

  ‘It’s the land girl.’ Harry Neale had lost some of his heartiness from the churchyard and he looked over his shoulder into the shadows of the house. ‘I’ve looked at your leaflet. You’d have your work cut out with my plot. And I can’t afford to pay you.’

  ‘I wanted a quick chat with your wife, if that’s okay. About my mum who I think used to spend time here.’

  Harry hesitated and opened the door. ‘You’d better come in.’ He led her into a large kitchen and pulled out a chair. ‘So you want me to ask Monica about your mother?’

  ‘She’s not here?’

  ‘Upstairs, I think.’ There was a pause. ‘She’s not feeling that well, otherwise I’d call her down.’

  ‘Maybe you could ask her when you have a chance. My mother’s name was Hilary Kemp. I’d like to know if she remembers her.’

  ‘Of course.’ He looked to the Aga but didn’t offer her a cup of tea. ‘I ought to be getting back to the fields. Was there anything else?’

  ‘When we met before in the churchyard—’

  ‘I haven’t forgotten.’ He sounded amused. ‘Walking amongst the graves. Not everyone’s choice of an afternoon stroll.’

  ‘It was actually quite comforting. The thing is, I saw someone who I think my mother also knew. Valerie Grace Hallows.’

  ‘But she’s dead. Oh, I see. You saw her gravestone. Well, what of it?’

  ‘Did you know her?’

  Mina saw him hesitate. ‘No. She died before I moved to Cold Eaton. She was a friend of Monica’s.’

  ‘It looks like she died young.’

  ‘She took her own life, I think.’

  Mina stared at Harry in dismay. ‘She killed herself? What happened?’

  ‘She’d just had a child. A son. They thought she was suffering from postnatal depression. She’d taken too many of her Valium tablets, although the coroner, if I understand rightly, recorded an open verdict.’

  ‘Then she might not have killed herself. There must have been some element of doubt.’

  ‘I don’t think that was the reason for the verdict. It’s a common conclusion for suicides when there’s no note. It’s kinder on the family to say they don’t really know if it was intentional.’

  ‘She lived in Cold Eaton?’

  ‘No. Up at Hallows Hill.’

  ‘Hallows Hill?’

  He looked at her. ‘Name not to your liking? They hung poachers up there centuries ago. They reckon at one time the family name was actually Gallows and someone last century changed it to Hallows. Not much there now except Hallows Farm and a couple of cottages. Why are you so interested in the family?’

  ‘I heard the name spoken by someone.’

  ‘By who?’ They both jumped at the voice that interrupted them from behind. Mina swung around to get a better look at the woman who had spoken. She was tall and thin with wiry grey hair that hinted at a natural auburn colour. Her lined face looked strained with illness. She came into the room and filled the kettle at the side of the Aga. ‘Who talked about the Hallows?’

  Mina looked at the woman’s severe face and felt the need to protect her mother. Should she reveal Hilary’s identity?

  ‘My mother mentioned a name in passing, that’s all, and I made the connection in the churchyard.’

  ‘Your mother?’

  ‘You might have known her. Mum was called Hilary Kemp.’

  ‘Hilary?’ At the tone of familiarity, Mina frowned. ‘You look like your mum. Same curly hair.’

  ‘You remember her?’

  ‘She was a few years older than me but I certainly remember your mother.’

  ‘And the woman in the churchyard, Valerie Grace Hallows?’

  ‘And her,’ confirmed Monica Neale.

  ‘What was she like?’

  ‘She was, well, she was one of the Hallows. She was older than me too, a friend of my sister’s really, but I tried to help after she had the baby and was struggling.’

  ‘So you know the family well?’

  ‘Not really, although I still pop up there occasionally. The son’s gone too. It’s just Lorna Hallows and her daughter Catherine.’

  ‘Catherine, of course.’

  ‘You know Catherine then?’

  Mina used the table to steady herself. ‘I met her at the hospital. My mum died there on Wednesday.’

  Monica glanced across at her husband. ‘She died? How?’

  ‘She had cancer.’

  ‘Oh.’ The voice sounded neutral but, as she shifted in her seat, Mina saw the woman’s hands shaking as she tipped hot water into the teapot. She moved around to face them, leaning back against the Aga. A pose Mina had seen before.

  ‘You said you remembered my mother. She was friends with your sister, wasn’t she?’

  ‘She was one of Ingrid’s friends. She’d come to the village from Bampton, I think. I don’t really remember.’

  ‘Can I show you this?’ Mina handed over the photo and Monica scanned it briefly. ‘You remember them?’

  ‘I recognise some of them.’

  Mina looked at the five girls and pointed at the second girl on the left. ‘So this is Ingrid. Which one is Valerie Hallows?’

  Monica stared at Mina for a moment and smiled. ‘Ahh.’ She bent over the photo and pointed at the thin, proud girl on the left. ‘Here.’

  ‘That’s Valerie Hallows?’

  There was a glimmer of humour in Monica’s expression. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘Do you know what “GIVEN” refers to?’

  ‘Given?’

  Mina turned over the photo. ‘See.’

  The woman’s eyes were on Mina. ‘GIVEN. It must be a code.’

  ‘A code?’

  Monica looked at the picture and Mina had the impression she was laughing. ‘Valerie Hallows. So that’s where you are.’ She handed back the photo to Mina. �
�Good luck.’

  40

  For a brand new building, the architects had managed to imbue the corridors with the institutional feel common to all hospitals. As he looked for somewhere to quell the nauseous feeling in his stomach, Dahl’s senses were assaulted by the clank of trolleys carting patients in and out of the lifts, the unmistakable smell of disinfectant and vomit, and the disorienting effect of walking past yards of blank white walls. Detectives in the temporary incident room were finishing statements from all staff associated with Oncology B, the ward where Hilary had been nursed, and the question was whether to extend the interviews to other wards. Not his decision, thank God.

  Dahl found the canteen full of reassuringly healthy snacks and chose a fruit bar and a packet of plain crisps that would soothe his stomach and strong coffee that probably wouldn’t. Back on the fourth floor, and heading back to the interview room, he passed a second set of lifts. The doors opened and deposited a confused-looking Connie.

  ‘Looking for me?’

  ‘Bloody hell. This hospital is like a maze. How the hell do you find your way around?’

  ‘You get used to it.’

  She looked longingly at his coffee and he passed it to her. ‘You sure?’

  ‘It’s my third today. I was just stretching my legs and trying to find something to settle my stomach.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘All these interviews. Have you heard how sick the patients are in this ward? It’s upsetting listening to the day to day tasks of the people who work in here and then asking them if they suspect any of their colleagues, or, more unlikely, any of the other patients, of trying to help Hilary towards the end.’

  ‘Anything come up?’

  ‘Nothing that helps finger the culprit. Hilary was unusually agitated before her death. Staff put it down to an imbalance of medication but it could well have been symptoms of an overdose.’

  ‘You think the drip had been tampered with more than once?’

  ‘It’s possible. She seemed to be talking about a childhood friend a lot called Valerie. The daughter reassured her it was a hallucination. Funny.’

  ‘What’s funny?’

  ‘Hilary talked to one of the porters about the drowned village underneath the Ladybower reservoir. It related to Valerie. The nurse said Hilary was grasping his sleeve the whole time. I’ve no idea why. It’s strange how the mind plays tricks.’

  ‘Grasping at his sleeve? Then she must have been desperate to tell him something. I don’t see any significance in relation to the Ladybower reservoir, though, do you?’

  ‘I’m struggling to make sense of anything. It’s bothering me that we’re looking into the potential deaths of older people. Their lives aren’t any less valuable because their time left on earth was limited.’

  Connie looked at him. Surprised. ‘No one’s saying that.’

  ‘I suppose not but would the deaths of Ingrid Neale and Nell Colley have been investigated more thoroughly if they had been younger?’

  Connie hesitated as if she wanted to say something. She changed her mind and looked contrite. ‘I appreciate it’s hard. Maybe I shouldn’t have been so moody this morning because I was stuck at my desk.’

  ‘Moody? You?’

  She glared at him, and then laughed. ‘Cheers for this anyway.’ She took a swig. ‘Listen. Two bits of news. First of all I’ve found a link. Hilary Kemp knew Ingrid Neale as a teenager. There’s a photo that Mina has of a group of them taken from Hilary’s album.’

  ‘That’s good, isn’t it? It proves a connection beyond the ad in the newspaper.’

  ‘It’s a solid link, which is great, but I think we need more. I also need to track down one of the patient support staff. Apparently, Hilary Kemp was being visited by a girl called Catherine Hallows.’

  ‘She must be the killer with a surname like that.’

  ‘This is no time for jokes, Dahl. I’m going to track down the supervisor but I wanted to check you hadn’t interviewed her first.’

  ‘That name’s not come up in the list of visitors. I’ve just been through the list and I’m sure I’d remember a name like that. She definitely saw Hilary Kemp?’

  ‘According to the daughter, she did.’

  ‘Right.’ Dahl looked around. ‘I’ll come with you.’

  As they descended in the lift, Dahl looked at Connie standing with her back to the mirror. Her dark shoulder-length hair was tied back in a ponytail but didn’t look like it had seen a brush that morning. Her face was bare of make-up, although it looked like she’d put on lipstick and at some point smudged it off. He thought of his elegant mother and wondered what she would make of Connie. The lift stopped at every floor on its descent so that it was crammed by the time it reached the ground floor.

  ‘Pooh. There was someone in there with a serious body odour issue.’ Connie looked like she was going to be sick.

  ‘Want me to buy you some mints?’

  ‘Let’s get the interview done so that I can leave. The boss wants us back tonight anyway for a meeting to see where we’ve got to.’

  They approached a cheerful woman wearing a sash across her body.

  ‘I’m looking to find one of your regular hospital visitors called Catherine Hallows.’

  ‘Cathy? I don’t think she’s in today. Let me check the roster.’ The woman consulted a clipboard. ‘She’s not due in until Monday.’

  ‘Monday?’ Connie showed the woman her police ID and a look of concern crossed her face. ‘Everything’s all right, isn’t it?’

  ‘We’d like to ask her a few questions about the patients she’s been visiting.’

  ‘There haven’t been any complaints, have there? I interviewed Cathy myself and I took up references from the school.’

  ‘Does she have the freedom to visit any patient?’

  The woman was shocked. ‘Not at all. She’s given a specific ward, ophthalmology in Cathy’s case, and a list of patients who’ve indicated they’re happy to be visited by patient support. She can’t just go around visiting people willy nilly.’

  ‘Any idea why she was visiting a patient in the oncology ward?’

  The woman opened her mouth and shut it again. ‘No idea. Has something happened?’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘It’s, well, she seemed a bit upset earlier this week.’

  ‘Upset? When was this?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Yesterday, or maybe the day before. I remember thinking that maybe she was a bit young for this. It can be difficult to get away from the work. Is that the problem?’

  Dahl shrank from the hope in the woman’s eyes.

  ‘Don’t mention anything to her when you see her. We’ll come back then. How old is Catherine?’

  ‘Fourteen.’

  They moved away from the desk towards the entrance. ‘Think we should call her in for interview before Monday?’ asked Connie.

  ‘I’m not sure. All she’s done is visit the patient but it didn’t come up in any of the nurses’ statements. They were specifically asked to identify anyone who had been in the room that morning. They were assiduous. They mentioned cleaners, breakfast staff, someone who wanted an early visit and was turned away, even a lost patient looking for the dentistry department. Why would anyone forget a schoolgirl?’

  ‘Then she didn’t visit Hilary on Wednesday unless she managed to slip past staff.’

  ‘She’d have needed to go past the front desk. It’s possible but not likely.’ Dahl looked at his watch. ‘We can bring it up at the team meeting. I think Sadler will be more excited about your link to Ingrid Neale, although God knows where that leaves us.’

  ‘Funny.’ Connie slung her cup in the recycling bin. ‘The name Hallows clearly rang a bell with Mina Kemp. She’s a difficult person to read given she’s in the early stages of grief but the name meant something to her. I’m going to follow it up. Mina may well know more than she’s telling us.’

  41

  ‘I saw a grave when I was delivering
leaflets yesterday.’

  ‘Did you?’ Emily was distracted, doing a stocktake ready for the expected business from the bonfire on Sunday. ‘The dead don’t normally need their lawn mowing.’

  ‘The name written on the stone was Valerie Grace Hallows.’ Mina took a deep breath. ‘Did you know her?’

  A bottle dropped from Emily’s hands and she went after it on hands and knees. After retrieving it, she stood up and faced Mina, hands on hips. ‘The Hallows? They’re a strange lot. Live up on Hallows Farm. Miserable place. If you think we’re isolated here then you want to see there. Why are you interested in the grave, anyway?’

  ‘My mum mentioned her. I thought she might have been one of the girls in the photo you looked at yesterday morning.’ Emily bent down, continuing to count the bottles. Mina could feel her eyes beginning to fill with tears. ‘Well, was she?’

  Emily didn’t turn at the wobble in Mina’s voice but stopped counting the drinks in the cabinet. ‘I don’t remember.’

  ‘Why are you being like this?’ Mina felt the tears spill over her lids and down her cheeks. She hunted in her pockets for a tissue. ‘It’s a simple question. I’m just asking you who was in the photo.’

  Emily stood up and finally looked at Mina. ‘It was a long time ago and these things are best left alone. You’re grieving your mum. Why rake up the past?’

  ‘Because I think it’s important,’ she said, dropping her soaking tissue and using her sleeve instead to wipe her face. ‘Was it you who left the message on my van at the Cutting?’

  ‘Message? What message?’

  Distraught, Mina gathered up her things and hurried outside. Struggling to find a mobile signal, she resorted to the large map of Derbyshire she kept underneath her driver’s seat. Hallows Farm was two miles out of Cold Eaton, accessed via a road that wound up a steep hill. From the map it looked more like a hamlet than a village, merely a small cluster of houses around a farm.