Free The Dungeon House (Lake District Mysteries) by Martin Edwards

would be bankrupted, even if he was forced to cough up some money to settle litigation.’
    ‘He would say that, wouldn’t he?’
    ‘Correct. Elstone was in it up to his neck, and it suited him to play down any suggestion that the people who purchased the business were misled. But he admitted Whiteley had frittered away a small fortune. He’d have needed to draw in his horns.’
    Hannah nodded. ‘According to Ben, Whiteley’s self-image depended on being seen as a man with a Midas touch. Grand house, gorgeous wife, glamorous teenage daughter.’
    ‘On the day of the killings, he hosted a barbecue in the grounds of the Dungeon House. An annual event, loads of people invited. He was losing the plot big style, and hada skinful before anyone arrived. He insisted on making a speech of welcome, but only succeeded in coming across as a drunken loser. Some guests were amused, most of them cringed. Nobody imagined he was about to go on a killing spree.’
    ‘Did anyone have any idea he owned a rifle?’ Hannah asked.
    ‘Ted Whiteley, his brother, knew. The rifle was a Winchester that belonged to their father, and he taught his lads how to use it. Ted wasn’t fussed about guns, but Malcolm enjoyed shooting. When the father died, he left the Winchester to Malcolm. The brothers didn’t get on, and there was a big row some time before the killings. After that, Malcolm never spoke to Ted again, even when Ted was diagnosed with terminal cancer. He’d given Ted’s son, Nigel, a job in his business, but after the takeover, Nigel left, and became an ambulance chaser. He and his uncle remained on speaking terms, and he helped man the bar at the barbecue. Ted, the dying brother, wasn’t invited.’
    ‘What an utter shit,’ Maggie said.
    ‘Of course, after the killings, people said they’d always thought there was something seriously wrong with Malcolm Whiteley. Not sure if it was really true. After a crime as horrendous as that, everyone jumps on the bandwagon.’
    ‘Understandable,’ Maggie said. ‘Hard to have sympathy for a family annihilator.’
    ‘Family annihilator, eh?’ Les plucked at a hair growing in his nostril. ‘American term, is it? Something you picked up off the telly?’
    ‘It’s a well-established phenomenon,’ Maggie retorted. ‘A man – well, usually it’s a man – murders his wife andone or more of his children, and then kills himself. It’s becoming more common, nobody knows why.’
    ‘You’re assuming,’ Hannah said, ‘that Malcolm Whiteley did kill Lysette and Amber before he shot himself.’
    Maggie glanced at the newspapers on the table. ‘Has anyone suggested that he didn’t?’
    ‘Yes, as it happens,’ Hannah said. ‘Ben Kind believed the whole truth about the Dungeon House murders never came out.’

CHAPTER SIX
     
     
    Joanna switched off the television. She was feeling peckish, and didn’t have much in the fridge. Better nip out to the convenience store. She could treat herself to a cheese and mushroom toastie at that new coffee shop in the centre of Lytham. These pangs in her stomach were unfamiliar. Since finishing at work, she’d lost her appetite. Was she feeling hungry because she’d seen Nigel’s face up close again, out of the blue?
    ‘Told you what a good-looking chap he was,’ she murmured to Darcy.
    Darcy, a glossy Siamese, curled up in his basket, feigning supreme indifference. His jealousy amused Joanna. Fresh competition for her affection wouldn’t go amiss.
    Seeing Nigel again reminded her of the afternoon they’d taken the ferry across Windermere, before walking through the woods near Hawkshead. Not long ago, she’d dreamt about that day, reliving every magic moment. Heartbreakingto wake up, and find herself no longer a young woman with high hopes for the future. Doctor Chanderpaul was right, she’d got herself into a downward spiral. Yet it was all very well for outsiders to harp on about thinking positive. First, you needed something to think