‘Of course you will. You and Louise were a detective’s kids. It’s almost like talking to family.’
His turn to blush. Hannah didn’t give her trust lightly, he was bound to feel flattered. To cover his embarrassment, he said, ‘I have a confession to make.’
She laughed. ‘Oh yes, Daniel?’
‘I’ve been wondering about Callum. As you said, there isn’t much hard information, just a few clues, scattered around like crumbs. Looking at the photo of the Millais painting made me think of Giovanni Morelli.’
‘Never heard of him.’
‘Morelli was an art historian who argued that you can recognise the hand of an artist from tiny details in their work better than from a signature. The way the folds of a background character’s ears are painted is more distinctive than the theme of the picture or the stuff that’s more obvious and likely to be imitated.’
‘The importance of unconsidered trifles, huh?’
‘Exactly. And the Morelli technique isn’t confined to attributing works of art correctly. Sigmund Freud took a similar line with scientific method, finding hidden meaning in small details. Freud admired the detective work of Sherlock Holmes, who believed that inconspicuous bits of apparent trivia helped you find the truth, if only you interpreted them correctly. So if we apply that to what we know about Callum Hinds …’
‘Yes?’
If he ever talked like this to Louise, she groaned and urged him to get on with it. Hannah was different; fascinated for some reason by how his mind worked. She leant closer to him, more like a first-term student than a seasoned cop. The wind blew a strand of her hair against his cheek. It was like being stroked with silk. He was seized by the urge to put his arm around her, and draw her to him. Here they were out of sight of the cottage, and masked by the trees from people walking up on Priest Ridge. For once in his well-ordered life, he was in danger of losing control, and finding himself swept away like a stick in a stream.
He stepped backwards, creating a space between them, and ticked the points off on his fingers. ‘One, even Orla said that Callum was sly. He’d listen behind doors to rows between their parents, and boast about it to his sister. Two, he was a peeping Tom who spied on a girl in a bikini who was staying at the caravan park, and on his father making out with his new lady friend. Three, he enjoyed nursing secret knowledge, it gave him a sense of power. Little scraps of information, but they help us see a picture of Callum. So what do we make of a kid like that, half-eavesdropper and half-voyeur?’
‘Go on.’
‘Suppose he heard something he wasn’t meant to hear, saw something he wasn’t meant to see.’
‘Such as?’
‘Quite; that’s the sixty-four thousand dollar question. Answer it, and I’d guess you have the answer to everything.’
She nodded. ‘Makes sense. Callum caught somebody doing something they shouldn’t, and he dropped hints to his kid sister, but held back the full story?’
‘Yes, but my guess is that recently, she stumbled across the truth, or part of it. That’s why she wanted to talk to you. Only by then, she was too drunk and depressed to make any sense.’
‘She made it clear she wanted justice for Callum,’ Hannah muttered. ‘I owe it to her not to let them down.’
‘Don’t beat yourself up about her call,’ he said sharply. ‘I know what she was like. You couldn’t have saved her.’
‘Well, that’s a matter of opinion, Daniel.’ Hannah gritted her teeth. ‘Anyway, you can apply the Morelli technique to another snippet. When Orla called me, she said: How could you do that to your own brother? What kind of narrative can we fashion from that?’
‘She enjoyed being mysterious, if you ask me. I think she believed it made her seem more interesting. Poor Orla, she was mixed-up and naive. And she may have been nicer than Callum, but they had plenty in common.’
‘That remark — you reckon she was talking about Callum?’
‘Either him or Michael Hinds doing the dirty on Philip, I thought. But another idea crossed my mind this afternoon. A long shot, but …’
‘Try me,’ she murmured.
He took a breath, struggling to focus his thoughts on the children of Michael Hinds instead of on the woman standing in front of him, just out of reach.
‘Jolyon Hopes was left paralysed after a riding accident. He was gay, and had no children. Although he lived for another ten years or so, he died relatively young. Leaving the way clear for his sister to inherit Mockbeggar Hall.’
Hannah raised her eyebrows. ‘You think she might have caused her brother’s accident?’
She couldn’t quite mask the scepticism in her voice, and he felt his cheeks reddening. ‘As I say, it’s a very long shot.’
‘Thanks, I’ll find out how Jolyon came to have his fall.’
Letting him down lightly. ‘There are other possibilities. Orla might have been talking about Bryan doing the dirty on Gareth Madsen. Or even about Philip Hinds, rather than Michael. Suppose Philip did something cruel to his brother. That might explain why Michael took revenge by blaming Philip for Callum’s disappearance.’
‘Mike Hinds didn’t need a special reason to stitch up Philip,’ Hannah said. ‘He’s just an angry selfish bully.’
‘Hey, don’t sit on the fence,’ he said with a grin. ‘Tell me what you really feel about the man.’
She laughed. ‘You’ve gathered, we didn’t bond. Then again, I didn’t care for the way he threatened to decapitate my sergeant.’
‘Surely he wouldn’t have used the scythe?’
‘I don’t know. There’s something untamed about him. Frightening. No wonder Orla was scared by him.’ She shook her head. ‘Should we be getting back? Louise must be wondering what on earth we are getting up to.’
He managed to stifle the flirtatious joke that sprang to his lips. And he was rewarded when, without a word, she linked her arm in his as they followed the path back through the twists and turns of the strange dreamlike garden to the sunlit cottage, and reality.
‘Isn’t she lovely?’ Louise said, when they were back inside after waving Hannah off from Tarn Fold. ‘She could do a lot better than a second-hand bookseller with a roving eye, that’s for sure.’
‘Don’t start. She hasn’t finished with Marc, far from it.’ Daniel kicked off his sandals and flicked the hi-fi remote. Barber’s Adagio for Strings filled the living room. ‘But I think she fancies living on her own.’
‘She fancies you.’ Louise tapped the side of her nose. ‘Trust me, a woman senses these things. But even if she is still hooked up with the bookman — you will call her?’
‘Tomorrow.’
‘Excellent!’
‘Don’t get too excited. I’m back at St Herbert’s in the morning; there’s something about this case that I want to check and let her know.’ He thought for a moment. ‘In fact, there’s more than one question I’d like to ask.’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘She’s the detective, Daniel. You’re not, and you’re not Dad, either.’
Stretching out on the sofa, he closed his eyes, letting the lush music wash over him.
‘You really think I’d forgotten, that, Louise?’
Hannah listened to Jamie Cullum singing a mix of standards and newer stuff on the drive home. She liked his voice, it usually took her out of herself, but tonight she couldn’t help fretting about what she should do with her life. Leaving Marc to Terri’s tender mercies had to be an option. She might even try her luck with Daniel. But something bugged her about Ben’s son. He was a very bright guy, and incredibly personable; he had the world at his feet. It was taking a long time for him to get over the death of Aimee, but when he finally did so, she was sure he’d find life in the Lake District wasn’t satisfying enough. Tarn Cottage would become a rural pied-a-terre, while he spent most of his time jetting around the world on lecture and book tours. He had a first-class brain; he’d get bored with her if they spent too long together. And even if he didn’t, how could he fit in a partner whose life revolved around police work?