The Darkest Evening

She carried her tea into her little office and wondered how she’d explain the set-up at Brockburn to her colleagues. Even the ones who’d grown up in the country would find it difficult to understand the place of the big house in a community like Kirkhill. They’d be thinking it was all about money and class, Downton Abbey for the modern world: servants downstairs slaving for the rich above them. The rumours about Crispin Stanhope and Mark Bolitho’s adultery would feed into the myth.
Vera understood life in the country was a bit more nuanced these days than the plots of a costume drama, but she suspected the Stanhopes would still be pulling the strings. They owned the land the tenants farmed and the houses where they lived. People depended on them for their homes and their work, so life for employees could be precarious. The landed classes had the confidence that went with generations of living in the same place, knowing every inch. But still, there were obligations and responsibilities. Ownership would bring stress. She was glad that Hector had offended them all and been cast out, and she had no part of any of that.
People started to drift into the operations room. Holly arrived first, although she had furthest to come, then Joe, then Charlie; this was Vera’s core group, the people she relied on. Soon the room was full.
Vera took centre stage in front of them, stood for a moment looking out, waiting for the chatter to die down so that she had their full attention.
‘Our victim is Lorna Falstone. Rather a sad young woman, at least when she was growing up. She had an eating disorder and a long spell in a psychiatric hospital. I’ve checked that out. It was a private clinic in Cumbria called Halstead House. No information about how her family afforded it, but it’d be good to find out who paid the bills. Maybe her family got themselves into debt to do the right thing by her, but they’re tenant farmers and there’s not a lot of cash in sheep these days.’ Vera paused for breath and again she wondered how many of the team would understand the context. Most of them had come into the region from outside. Joe was brought up in Northumberland, but in a former pit village in the south-east of the county. There, the chapel and the union had shaped his life. He wouldn’t understand how tough farming was at the moment. Charlie had been born in the West End of Newcastle and probably hadn’t seen a sheep until he was an adult. For him, lamb came from the Indian takeaway in a korma.
Holly took advantage of Vera’s pause to stick up her hand and speak. ‘A couple of the party guests had links with the hospital. Sophie and Paul Blackstock. Sophie ran drama workshops for the patients – some sort of therapy – and Paul’s brother Nat was a patient. He died several months later.’
Vera nodded. Holly had passed on the information the day before, excited by the connection. Vera couldn’t quite see that it was important after all this time, but of course it had to be followed up. ‘They live in Tynemouth. Joe, can you go this afternoon? See if they have any more information about Lorna and if they’ve seen her since.’
Joe nodded. Holly seemed put out. She’d feel more at home in the smart coastal village of Tynemouth than in the Northumberland hills.
‘What about the other two couples who were overnight guests? Any links to the murdered lass?’
‘None that they’re admitting to,’ Joe said, ‘and I can’t see that they could have killed her. They were with the others the whole evening, apart for a few minutes to use the bathroom. Sophie and Paul Blackstock took themselves off for longer just before dinner – they’ve got a new bairn and they wanted to talk to the babysitter. Juliet let them use the phone extension in her bedroom, because they had no mobile signal in the house, but it would have been a stretch to go outside, kill Lorna and then come back. It’s not as if they’d been dressed for it.’
Vera thought about that. ‘We’ll be checking the Brockburn phone records anyway. Let’s just make sure that’s what they were up to when they disappeared from the rest of the group.’
She looked back at the faces turned towards her and continued. ‘There’ve been rumours that the husband of Harriet and father of Juliet, Crispin Stanhope, who died a few years ago, had a number of affairs in the village. It seems possible that Mark Bolitho has been continuing the tradition. It would be interesting to know if Lorna Falstone was one of Mr Bolitho’s conquests. Let’s make some discreet enquiries. No need to wreck a marriage unless we’re forced to.’ Another pause to check she still had their attention before she went on.
‘Lorna was a single mum. Her little boy Thomas was strapped into his car seat, but the vehicle had skidded off the road. It belonged to retired headmistress Constance Browne and had been taken without her knowledge. Not stolen. She wanted us to know that. They had an arrangement and Lorna was allowed to borrow the car when she needed it. The father of the little boy remains a mystery. We need to track down a name. The registrar won’t be working today, but first thing tomorrow, let’s see if there’s anything on the baby’s birth certificate, any clue that might give us a link to Bolitho.’
Once more, Vera paused. ‘The body was found in the grounds of Brockburn, a big house belonging to a family called Stanhope.’ There were a few giggles. ‘And yes, they are relatives, but only distant and I haven’t seen them for years so I don’t see any conflict of interest.’ Another pause. ‘Anyone got any problem with that?’
No response.
‘Joe here’s been to see Lorna’s parents. What did you make of them?’ She thought they’d all