LITMIR.BIZ

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snorted.

      ‘It could be relevant,’ I said. ‘If it affects people’s behaviour.’

      ‘It’s why no one goes in there,’ Jai said. ‘No kids or tramps or anything.’

      Craig made ridiculous X-Files noises. But Jai was right about no one going in the cave house. There’d been none of the usual beer cans, fag-butts or tortured teenage poetry.

      Richard elbowed me out of the way. ‘Thank you, Jai, but I don’t think this man was killed by a ghost. Anyway, back to the cake.’ He swung his gaze around the room like Derren Brown about to reveal something astonishing. ‘We’ve already tried to trace “Susie’s Cakes” and there seems to be no such company. Unless it’s incredibly obscure.’

      ‘Won’t be obscure for long if they put cyanide in their cakes,’ Jai said. Gentle snickering passed through the room. Richard shot Jai a disapproving look.

      ‘Okay.’ Jai pursed his lips as if to emphasise that he was now being serious. ‘So someone put cyanide in the cake and made it look like shop-bought so he’d think it was okay and eat it? So, we’re talking murder, not suicide?’

      ‘Bit hasty there, Jai.’ Craig folded his chunky arms over his fledgling beer gut. ‘It could be suicide but he made it look like murder so his dependants still get his life insurance.’

      ‘If he gave a shit about his family, he wouldn’t have killed himself,’ Jai said. I took an audible breath before I could stop myself and Jai glanced at me, his face turning purple. I smiled weakly at him and mouthed reassurances. I didn’t want people walking on eggshells around me.

      ‘Yes,’ I said, trying to take control again. ‘It could be murder or suicide or deliberate contamination of cakes.’

      ‘If it’s not suicide, it’s probably the wife.’ Richard had recently been through a difficult divorce.

      ‘Yes, I’m keeping an open mind too.’ I couldn’t let that go, but statistically speaking he was probably right.

      ‘Who found him?’ Jai was bouncing his leg again, probably just to annoy Craig now.

      ‘A Labrador. It was after the cake.’

      ‘Is it okay?’

      ‘Didn’t think your lot liked dogs,’ Craig said.

      I smiled at Jai. ‘He’s fine. We think he only ate—’

      ‘The dog’s fine, Jai.’ Richard rocked on his heels. ‘It’s admirable that you’re all so concerned about our loyal canine friends, but we do have a dead man as well as a slightly queasy dog.’

      ‘So he died in a haunted cave,’ Jai said. ‘And there was a hundredyear-old carving on the cave wall that seemed to predict his death?’

      I gave a slow, deliberate nod.

      Jai had stopped fidgeting. ‘Do we need to call an exorcist?’

      We ended the briefing and everyone dispersed to do their stuff. I turned for another look at the photographs, and sensed Craig standing behind me, too close again.

      ‘I hope you’re up to this,’ he said.

      I spun round. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

      He raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

      I felt the blush come over me, hot and sharp like needles.

      ‘Are you alright?’ Craig said. ‘You’re sweating like a paedo in a Santa suit.’

      ‘Yes, thank you, Craig, I’m perfectly fine.’

      He took a step closer. His breath smelt of mint and stale garlic. ‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll be keeping an eye on you.’

Chapter 3

      I retreated to my work-station and sat staring at my screen. Sweat prickled my back. I’d come to Derbyshire to get away from this. To make a new start, wipe the slate clean, and various other clichés. I couldn’t let an idiot like Craig get to me. I sat up straighter in my chair and forced my shoulders back. I’d just have to show them I was up to the job. I had a good brain. I was a good detective.

      My little pep talk sounded unconvincing even to me – like those motivational posters you see on the walls of ailing companies, or the pseudo-profound positive quotes on your most depressed friends’ Facebook pages. But I forced myself out of my chair and went to find Jai. He and I were visiting the victim’s wife that evening.

      ‘What a total arsehole Craig is,’ he said. ‘He’d be having a go at me if he wasn’t so scared of the PC brigade.’

      I felt my shoulders soften. ‘Yeah, maybe.’

      ‘And if he hadn’t heard I was a psycho.’

      I laughed. ‘Maybe I need to get more violent.’

      Jai smiled, but then his face creased into concern. ‘Watch him though. He can be a nasty bastard. Just… I don’t know. Be careful.’

      By the time Jai and I left the Station, the clouds had lifted and a streaky sunset lit the sky as we drove through the rock-strewn hills towards Eldercliffe. Mum lived on its outskirts, so I knew the town a little. Its jumbled, narrow streets hunkered down in the base of the valley, as if defending themselves from the advancing quarries.

      We headed away from the main town, up a lane so steep it made my ears pop. On the right was a farm and on the left was the rim of the quarry, the ground falling away behind it into nothingness. Just one house sat on the edge like an eagle’s nest – a cottage made from the same stone as the quarry, as if it had grown out of the rock.

      ‘That’s his house,’ Jai said. ‘Crazy place.’

      ‘Yeah, not somewhere to live if you suffer from suicidal thoughts.’ I immediately wished I hadn’t said that.

      ‘Wife’s a doctor,’ Jai said. ‘Kate Webster. Has she been told?’

      I nodded. At least we didn’t have to do that. I pictured Hamilton’s face, lacerated by his own nails. How would you cope with knowing your husband’s last minutes were spent trying to claw his skin off?

      We walked up to the cottage, and the door was flung open to reveal a small woman in jogging trousers. Her body was thin but her face was puffy as if it had been lightly inflated.

      I showed her my card.

      ‘Oh, right. I’m Beth. Peter’s sister.’ She gestured us into a long hallway which smelt of beeswax and vanilla. The kind of place where they employed a cleaner.

      ‘I’m so sorry,’ I said.

      Beth gave a quick nod. ‘Kate’s in the living room. Go through. I’ll make some tea.’

      We walked into a room dominated by a vast inglenook fireplace and a picture window overlooking the shocking drop into the quarry. The curtains were open to the darkening sky. Two squidgy sofas sat at right angles, one facing the fireplace and the other with its back to the window. There was space to walk around, unlike in my living room where you had to move around in a crab-like shuffle to avoid gouging your leg on the corner of something.

      A slender woman stood by the window with her back to us.

      ‘Dr Webster,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’

      She turned and gave us a cautious look. Her eyes were red but she looked delicate and composed in her grief, like a Victorian consumptive.

      ‘It

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