Chapter 1
Sometimes the surface of the lake appeared more like glass than the finest tumbler of crystalware. Today was one of those days. It was so still that a summer pond-skater plonking its fat feet on the miniscule veneer could be spotted from metres away.
A waddling duck searched for discarded bread crusts from the tourists who’d sat all day at the nearby Faeryland café.
Surrounding the little inlet were undulations of fells, brown and purple from different heather species, as well as from the glaring rays of the burning sun, giving the impression that all moisture had been sucked from the land.
A ripple of movement sent swells towards a colourfully painted rowing boat which was face down at the water’s edge, in the reeds, solitary in its misery.
The boats for rent were painted in bright hues of red, orange and green and they gleamed and boasted from the water’s edge, all in a little row like Christmas decorations in a box. They were given names.Theodosia,Romany,Sprite.
This one was calledWater Nymph.
The hills in the distance cocooned Grasmere inside its own suspended time and space. Stone walls and pathways looked like little scribbles across the fields, drawn by the hand of a child. The nearby café was closing for the day.
A grey squirrel darted from behind theWater Nymphsuddenly but he hesitated. There was something unusual about the smell. The rodent sniffed and looked about warily. The aroma didn’t belong near his favourite café, where the staff gave him bits of leftover cake and provided bowls of water. This was his patch. He charmed the tourists as he nibbled the seeds he found on the ground after people had dropped local artisanbread covered in them. Sometimes he got too close, and he took treats straight out of the hand of a visitor.
He knew who to trust.
But whatever was under theWater Nymphwasn’t part of the ordinary construct of a summer afternoon at the Faeryland café.
The day had been another scorcher. Grasmere had hosted crowds of people sharing picnics and frolicking in the water. A place Wordsworth called ‘the loveliest spot that man hath ever found’. Rydal Water, next door, and the smaller sibling of the pair of lakes, was connected by a grassy vale ridge with a bridge and a forest, and was less busy, but then she was better at hiding.
The squirrel wasn’t concerned with the weather, though, or the lay of the land. Despite having better shelter under the canopy of the Rydal woods, he preferred scavenging here. His main concern was just which intruder had disturbed his patch.
Until he found out, he decided to sit next to theWater Nymph, on guard because his innate sense of danger warned him that a predator had wandered into his territory.
A few flies landed on his face, just next to his nose. He twitched it to get rid of them, but they kept coming back. More numerous with each passing minute.
He moved away and realised that they were less interested in him and any spare crumbs he found for supper, courtesy of the day’s customers, and far more interested in whatever was underneath the rowing boat.
Chapter 2
Kelly was about to add sugar to her espresso when news of a dead woman in Grasmere stirred Eden House to action. The red-stone four-storey house had once been a Victorian lodge for a well-to-do family, courtesy of Cumbrian slate. From the outside, the imposing address appeared regal and at ease, which was more than could be said for the top floor where Detective Inspector Kelly Porter ran the serious crime unit for North Lakes. Cumbria might be one of the largest counties in England but it didn’t boast the most crime. The cities were welcome to their grim stats.
Dead bodies weren’t welcome here.
However, they appeared nonetheless.
Details were sketchy.Definitelya homicide. ‘Definitely’ being a euphemism for a grisly scene. Young victim, no ID, underneath a boat at the Faeryland café, which was a shame because they’d all enjoyed coffee and cake there at one time or another, beside the lake, watching the ducks waddling ahead of their young, the reeds blowing in the wind, the lovely rowing boats bobbing up and down and causing ripples on the water, and the sun shining over Loughrigg beyond.
Back at the office, DS Dan Houghton screwed up his face, because the location jarred with the occasion. DC Emma Hide excused herself and Kelly thought she’d never seen her queasy before at the mention of a dead body. Her second-in-command, DS Kate Umshaw, said ‘bugger me’ and their newbie, DS Fin Maguire, pretended not to hear.
A corpse tossed aside in the reedy underbelly of one of the most beautiful lakes in the national park wasn’t the early Monday evening they were hoping for. Kelly had imagined ajacket potato covered in oozy cheese, and an earthy glass of malbec to wash it down with. Perhaps a chat with her father and some special time with her daughter, who’d soon turn two years old. Lizzie was vocal and Kelly had encouraged it. She wanted to raise a girl who asked questions. Sometimes she reckoned the toddling tot would turn out to be a detective herself, though Kelly wouldn’t recommend it. Cuts and budgets prevented satisfactory resolution for victims’ families and it pained her to her core. She wanted more for her daughter.
It was difficult to believe Kelly had been the detective inspector for North Lakes for almost seven years now. She reflected on how much had happened in those short but long years back in her native Cumbria, and each time she did, her disbelief grew. Where had the time gone? She was a mother and a daughter. Bereaved. Responsible.
But was she enough?
After she finished stirring sugar into her coffee, she slugged it back too quickly, then gathered her things and prepared for a drive over to Grasmere.
Kate agreed to go with her.
Which reminded her that Lizzie was in good hands because her nanny, Millie, was Kate’s daughter, and Kate was who she inherited her natural mother’s intuition from. Kate Umshaw was Kelly’s dependable right-hand woman. A solid pair of hands. If she mothered Millie like she investigated cases, then Lizzie’s future was assured.
The others seemed relieved and went back to what they were doing. Days out with the boss were like a free go on a petrifying fairground ride; they could be fun but mostly they were unpleasant. But Kelly and Kate were similar in that they could shut off from the mayhem and use the opportunity to chat in the car to catch up on work and other things. After the death of her mother, Wendy, Kelly had missed the input of a wiser,older influence. And her worries plagued her. Low-level anxiety seemed to sit constantly between her shoulders. It was as if everything she’d worked for was coming to an end. Could she work like she wasn’t a parent? Could she parent like she didn’t work? The constant tearing apart and cleaving of her parts took its toll. When she was at work she fretted over her daughter, and when she was at home, she thought she could be doing more to catch bastards.
She sighed, and the sound irritated her. She was never a whinger but lately she’d grown tired of bad people. Her stamina was waning, or was it more that she was getting bored of the same old tricks? People thought they could get away with heinous crimes and not be caught out. But they always were.
