The Shrouded Path Read online

  The pub was empty except for a couple eating at one of the corner tables. Emily wasn’t anywhere to be seen so Mina scribbled a note to her to say she wouldn’t need a table reserving this evening. She made the steep climb up to her room as her knees groaned in protest. Light was seeping from a door immediately at the top of the stairs. The Nettle Inn had a new guest. As the board squeaked under her foot, the door opened a fraction and shut again. Mina was left with the impression that she’d been studied and assessed.

  As she went into her room, she saw that a note had been thrust under the door. She unfolded the slip of paper.

  LEAVE VALERIE ALONE.

  Mina turned the note over. There was nothing else; it was just a piece of paper ripped out of a notepad. She folded the note, put it in her back pocket, and went downstairs. Emily was back behind the bar, totting up a round of drinks on the till.

  ‘Has anyone been up to my room today?’

  Emily flushed. ‘I made up your bed and gave it a quick dust. Why?’

  ‘Was there a note on the floor when you went in?’

  ‘I didn’t see anything. What note?’

  ‘Someone’s put a note under the door. I wondered if it was you.’

  ‘Me? A note about what?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  Mina climbed up the stairs once more and paused outside the room at the top. Gathering her courage, she gave a sharp rap on the door. There was no answer. She tried it again, louder this time. Again no answer. She turned the handle but the door was locked. With a baffled glance at the door, Mina moved to go back to her room as the timer on the hallway light bulb switched off and she was plunged into darkness. She swore under her breath and fumbled around for the light switch. It’s a health and safety risk, she thought. Like the rest of the bloody building.

  The next thing she knew, Emily was standing over her while a paramedic was putting an oxygen mask over her face.

  ‘Wha—’

  ‘You’re back with us. How are you feeling, Mina?’ The paramedic’s voice was muffled in her ringing ears. ‘I’m giving you some oxygen. Can you hear me?’

  Mina nodded and looked up at him in puzzlement. He understood the unspoken question.

  ‘It looks like you tripped coming up the stairs and you’ve landed awkwardly on the landing. There doesn’t seem to be much damage. Have you fainted in the past?’

  Mina shook her head.

  ‘You should have put the light on at the bottom.’ Emily sounded annoyed rather than concerned.

  The paramedic frowned. ‘How’s the head, Mina?’

  ‘All right.’ She pulled at the mask. ‘I just need to sleep it off.’

  ‘I don’t think so. I want you to take a trip down to St Bertram’s. You okay with that?’

  ‘Do I have to?’ Memories of her mother’s last days came flooding back. ‘I’d rather stay here.’

  ‘You’ve had a fall. I’d rather someone looked at you. We’ll take you down in the ambulance and you can call a friend to bring you back. Okay? Do you want to try to stand?’

  Gingerly he helped her up, aided by a female colleague who appeared out of the shadows. As she stood she felt a rush of blood to her head. She was still wearing her coat, so she checked her pockets. Her phone and purse were still there. She turned to Emily.

  ‘Where did you find me?’

  ‘I told you, on the landing sprawled outside your door. You must have tripped on the last stairs. I’ll have to put up a sign telling residents to switch the light on at the bottom. Once you get to the top you’ve got to cross to the other side of the landing to find the switch.’

  But I made it that far, thought Mina. I knocked on the door opposite and fumbled around for the switch at the top of the landing, not on the last stairs.

  ‘What about the person in the room at the top of the stairs? Didn’t they hear anything?’

  ‘What person?’ Emily looked sharply at Mina. ‘That room’s empty. They all are.’

  ‘I thought … I thought there was someone staying there tonight.’

  Emily shook her head. ‘There’s no one staying here but you.’

  Mina stared at Emily in dismay. She’s lying. She turned to the paramedic. ‘I’ll go with you.’

  51

  On the way out of the station, Connie counted the number of cigarettes left in the packet in her handbag. Five. Theoretically, given she was limiting herself to ten fags a day, those five should last her through the evening. However, she had the habitual smoker’s fear of running out and waking up in the morning, desperate for a puff. On the way to Lorna Hallows’s house, she called at a shop and bought herself a packet.

  It was one of those places, once so common to rural England, that was gradually disappearing. It was part florist, part fruit shop and also served as a corner shop for odds and ends that local residents might need. Two elderly women sat chatting behind the counter and, over in one corner, a young woman breast-fed a child. The women recognised Connie and one of them reached up for her usual brand of cigarettes.

  ‘Am I that predictable?’

  ‘We were just saying that we hadn’t seen you since, oh, Wednesday.’

  ‘I’m cutting down.’

  ‘I’ve heard that before,’ the other woman cackled, ringing up the price on the till. ‘You’re not going up Cold Eaton way, are you?’

  Connie looked up in surprise. ‘Near there. Why? Oh, you’ve heard about the accident?’

  ‘It’s a bad one, apparently. A guy with a kid in the back. One’s dead but we don’t know which.’

  Connie winced. ‘I’m not going that far.’

  ‘A lorry driver told us. They’re passing the message along their radios to avoid the road.’

  Connie looked out of the window at the clear evening. ‘It’s okay now but people drive too fast when it’s foggy.’

  ‘That road is a devil and I’ve heard it wasn’t the lorry driver’s fault. The car just came out of a side road, they say.’

  Who says? thought Connie as she picked up her fags and left the shop.

  Hallows Farm was as remote as you can get in the Peak District without being completely off grid. The road that led up to the farm from Cold Eaton was barely more than a track with a few passing places. Switching on her main beam, she came to a sign, mottled with age with the name of the farm just discernible. The driveway looked uninviting and, concerned about her car’s suspension, Connie parked next to the gate. She took her torch out of the boot and set off down the bumpy track. Connie reflected that she would need to revise her opinion of a neurotic mother, for surely this wasn’t a place that a woman fretful about personal security would choose to live. The farm was pitch black in the night and the remoteness of the cottage must be a severe hindrance to an active teenager’s social life.

  As she neared the house, a light came on, illuminating a woman who was standing by the front door with a large black Labrador sitting by her feet. She was wearing green corduroy trousers, flared around her ankles over trainers. A black and white checked shirt was tucked into her waist, part of it spilling out. She had obviously dressed in a hurry and looked forlorn as she watched Connie approach, shielding her eyes from the glare of the torch.

  ‘Have you found her?’

  Connie shook her head. ‘Not yet but we’re looking. I’ve come to ask you a few more questions.’

  She walked over to the woman and held out her warrant card. Lorna Hallows didn’t look at it.

  ‘I felt stupid when I called but that was a couple of hours ago when it was still light-ish. Now the darkness has fallen I’ve lost all my confidence. She definitely left the hospital and headed out towards the bus stop. After that, it’s a blank. Look, come in.’

  Connie followed the woman through the front door, which led straight onto a long living room. An open fire was burning and the heat of the room was such a contrast to the outside temperature that Connie could feel her skin begin to itch.

  ‘Is Catherine’s father around?’
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  ‘He died.’ There was a note of finality in the woman’s voice. Subject closed.

  ‘What about other relatives?’

  ‘There’s only me and Catherine. She sometimes goes in to say hello to Gerry and Maureen in the house at the top. They’ve not seen her since earlier in the week.’

  ‘You’ve not managed to speak to the school at all? They may be able to give some pointers as to where she might be.’

  Lorna crossed to the fire and poked one of the logs with a stick. ‘No one’s answering the school telephone and there isn’t an emergency number to call. I rang one of her friends, Abby, who said that she saw Catherine this morning and that was it.’

  ‘She goes to Bampton Grammar? She’s happy there?’

  Lorna kept her back turned away from Connie. ‘I suppose so. She’s a quiet girl. Everything goes on in her head, she doesn’t let much out. In year eight she was bullied and I had to go into the school and sort it out. I thought they kept an eye out for these things but clearly not.’

  ‘The issue was resolved?’

  ‘One of the girls was expelled. That’s how bad it was. She’s certainly not getting bullied any longer.’

  ‘You’re sure about that?’

  ‘As sure as I can be. I have meetings once a term with her class teacher. It was the school’s suggestion after her history. They’ve not spotted anything and Catherine does appear happier.’

  ‘She’s never come home late before?’

  ‘She, well, she does like to disappear but that’s mainly at weekends. I never know where she goes, she just takes herself off.’

  ‘What about after school?’

  ‘She’s never this late into Cold Eaton because if she misses her normal bus, there’s only two others after and that’s it for the night. There’s no way of her getting home.’

  ‘The bus drops her—’

  ‘Outside The Nettle Inn. She sometimes walks from there. I’ll meet her when I can but I work so it’s not always possible. Emily Fenn gave her a key to one of the rooms upstairs in the pub to do her homework but she rarely uses it. You know what kids are like.’ Lorna looked up. ‘She tends to walk home when I’m not around. She takes the path past where the gallows once stood.’

  Connie took a deep breath. ‘Okay, so what about this evening?’

  ‘I finished earlier than expected so went to wait for the bus. I just missed it so I assumed Catherine had started walking and I drove up here to wait for her. She should have been home by about four thirty at the latest. Maybe five.’

  ‘You called the police at six. You didn’t wait long.’

  ‘I went to see Gerry at the end of the lane and he’d not seen her and neither had Emily at the pub. There’s nowhere else for her to go. I rang the station number for advice and they sent a car straight away. Did you know they searched the house and out the back?’

  ‘You’d be surprised how many teenagers we find hiding in their houses.’

  ‘Isn’t there anything else you can do? It’s been hours now.’

  ‘I think we need to think about the sequence of events assuming Catherine got the bus as far as Cold Eaton. The patrol cars are looking out for her in Bampton. When you’re not giving her a lift, Catherine takes the old path from Cold Eaton to here. I should walk the route just to see if she’s had an accident.’

  Lorna opened a packet of cigarettes and, with shaking hands, offered one to Connie. Reluctantly, Connie shook her head. ‘I’ve walked the path twice tonight. There’s nothing there. It’s the first thing I thought of. What else? I feel helpless just waiting here.’

  ‘I also need to contact the bus company.’

  ‘The drivers should recognise Catherine. I tried to call but no one is answering the phone there. The only place I managed to speak to was the hospital and she clocked off her shift there at half three as usual.’

  ‘Does she have a mobile?’

  ‘That’s switched off, which is normal for her. She’s not a typical teenager. I usually have to persuade her to turn the bloody thing on. The only thing she uses it for is to search the internet.’

  ‘What about a boyfriend?’

  ‘She doesn’t have one. It’s not a problem if she did. I appreciate I’m only her mother but I’ve not spotted anything.’

  ‘Was there trouble at home?’

  Lorna looked up, hurt in her eyes. ‘There’s only her and me and we’re close. I can’t even remember the last argument I had with her.’

  ‘She’s fourteen.’

  ‘Yes, but a young fourteen if you know what I mean. She likes books, sitting on the computer, walking around here …’

  ‘She didn’t say anything to you before she left for school this morning?’

  ‘All I can remember is saying goodbye and shutting the door. That’s it.’

  Connie looked at her watch. The girl had only been missing for a few hours but, at fourteen, she was a vulnerable child with no history of absconding.

  ‘Can I see her room?’

  Connie followed Lorna up a steep, narrow flight of stairs that led onto a small landing. Catherine’s bedroom was painted in a light purple with thin gauzy curtains matching the colour of the walls. The walls were bare, no pictures of pop groups or film stars. A narrow bed was pressed up against the window. No bedside table, only a floor lamp. Connie opened the white chest of drawers and rifled through the contents. Just clothes and childish underwear, no bras. There was a small desk in the alcove and the single drawer held a variety of coloured pencils and flowery notebooks. Connie flicked through them. All were blank.

  ‘There’s not much to see, is there?’

  ‘Not much,’ agreed Connie, looking at her watch. ‘It’s been a long day, is there any chance of a cup of tea?’

  With the girl’s mother out of the room, Connie slid her hand behind drawers, looked under the bed and searched for other hiding places where a girl might store her possessions. She found nothing. She picked up a photo of a small teenager with dark hair, standing with her back to a tree. The girl had none of the confidence Connie associated with the teenagers who streamed out of the gates of Bampton Grammar. She was looking into the camera, her expression uncertain although she was trying to smile. Perhaps this fragility would have made her a magnet for bullies.

  Lorna reappeared with the tea. Connie showed her the photo. ‘Is this Catherine?’

  ‘Yes. It was taken over the summer on holiday. There’s a similar one downstairs which I gave to the first police who came.’

  ‘This photo, is it a good likeness?’

  ‘I’d say so. Did you find anything?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I could hear you opening drawers when I was downstairs. So, did you find anything?’

  Connie shook her head. Unashamed. ‘Nothing at all.’

  ‘Where do you think she is?’

  ‘I don’t know. Teenagers often disappear for short periods of time. I know I did once when I was fifteen. I took a train into Manchester and stayed out until two in the morning. I then had to phone my mum for a lift home.’

  ‘Catherine’s not like that.’

  ‘Are you sure? I don’t mean she’s gone into town. I mean she could have been persuaded by a friend to go somewhere. Let me see what I can do.’

  Using the torch on her phone, Connie picked her way carefully through the potholes to the top of the track. She slid in front of the steering wheel and groped for her fags. She checked both pockets of her coat but could find nothing then delved into her handbag. Bloody hell. Don’t tell me they’ve dropped out of my pocket. She opened the car door and went back towards the house checking on the ground. Something glinted under the kitchen window but it was a rusting dog bowl.

  Connie knocked on the door but it went unanswered. She peeped through the kitchen window and saw Lorna emerge from a room at the back with a basket of washing. She untied a rope at the side of the Aga and the airer sitting above it gradually lowered. As she watched, the woman pegged the
first garment onto the wooden slats and Connie watched the blue dress billow from the wooden rack. She changed her mind about knocking on the door and made her way back up the track thinking, her cigarettes forgotten. The nurse’s uniform now drying in the kitchen meant Lorna was possibly implicated in the case of Hilary Kemp. Connie switched on the engine and made her way back to the station to work through the night.

  52

  The next morning, Mina’s head still ached, a dull throb at the back of her skull. The codeine she’d ingested was only touching the outer fringes of the pain and had induced a lassitude she was trying to shake off. An x-ray in the hospital confirmed that no permanent damage had been done to either her head or ankle and they’d discharged her after a night’s observation on a general ward. Back at The Nettle Inn, she was still unsteady on her feet. She put a thick sock on over the bandage and support sleeve given to her at the hospital and eased her foot into her boots, leaving the zip at the back undone and the laces loosely tied.

  On the landing, she stopped outside the door at the top of the stairs and flung it open. It was empty, the bed bare, unmade for visitors. Across the room, Mina could hear a commotion coming from the gravelled area outside the pub. She crossed the chilled room and looked out of the window. The car park was half full, not tourist cars but local vehicles: Land Rovers, farm trucks and even a tractor parked in the corner. A group of people were huddled together, talking and gesticulating. Another noise permeated the room, the sound of a woman sobbing. Mina went back into the corridor and closed the door behind her. Hobbling down the stairs, she made her way to the breakfast table. The bar was full, the mood subdued and Monica Neale was sitting at a table, weeping into a towel.