Free The Arsenic Labyrinth by Martin Edwards

misdemeanours. They confused so many people. Too often folk saw him as a liar and a cheat rather thana man misunderstood. By the time he sauntered into Sarah Welsby’s kitchen, he was brimming with good cheer.
    ‘Had a good day, Rob?’
    His full-wattage smile encouraged her to start jabbering away while she loaded the dishwasher. Shopping, a conversation with the German guests, a rambling anecdote about an elderly neighbour whose poodle had been put down.
    When she paused for breath, he said, ‘Tell you what. Why don’t I take you out for a meal tonight? There are a couple of good restaurants close by.’
    ‘Oh, but I couldn’t possibly …’
    He raised a hand. ‘No objections, please. Do we have a date?’
    She blushed. ‘I suppose we do.’
    As he left the kitchen, his eye caught today’s copy of the Post on the work surface. Emma’s sister must be tormented by the not-knowing, if the journalist was to be believed. Without closure, she could not move on. Why not bring the story to an end? Time was a healer, it was safe now. Nobody could prove anything against him. He was ready to draw a line under the tragedy. How better than by telling a little of what he knew?
    Compassion seized him. The tragedy . That was precisely the phrase he’d been groping for all these years. To call it murder was foolhardy and wrong. OK, he’d blundered, but to err was human. He wanted to make amends, to do the right thing. Redemption lay inputting Karen out of her misery and ending the years of uncertainty and despair.
    Yes, Karen deserved closure and he had the power to grant it to her. He would be wise and gracious. He would reveal where Emma had been lain to rest.

CHAPTER FIVE
    Thurston Water House, residence of the Goddards, was a double-fronted Victorian villa. Set back from the road, it was a stroll away from the steamship pier, but guarded from the trippers’ gaze by spreading oaks and a hawthorn hedge. Ten years ago, Hannah had asked herself how a nurse and a librarian could afford such a place on public sector pay. Sinister speculation was dashed when Francis explained that Goddards had lived in these parts since the days when the lake was known as Thurston Water. His great-great-grandfather had owned a gunpowder works at Elterwater and made a fortune out of those who blew holes in the hillside. This house was the fruit of all that destruction.
    Francis answered the door. Ten years hadn’t aged him. Tall and gawky, he still resembled an overgrown schoolboy in a sleeveless cricket sweater and paint-splashed corduroyjeans. Hannah remembered her surprise at learning that he and his wife shared a passion for dancing; he looked as though he had two left feet. But she’d found his awkward eagerness appealing, even as she wondered if he was capable of murder.
    ‘Good to see you again, Chief Inspector. Sorry I’m in my scruffs. I’m on a day off from the hospital and Christopher’s room needs repainting. Goodbye Rupert Bear and Nut Wood. Hello Dr Who and scary aliens from outer space.’
    The smell of coffee wafted from the kitchen at the rear into the hallway as Francis led her into the front sitting room. The leather furniture was stained where a ballpoint pen had leaked, a dozen children’s DVDs tottered in a tower beside the home cinema system. Bookcases groaned under Folio Society editions of classic novels, on the mantelpiece a small silver cup inscribed Come Cumbrian Dancing – runners-up 2004 was surrounded by photographs of Vanessa, Francis and their boy. Shrek was playing soundlessly on the TV. Francis flicked the remote, and the green ogre and skinny grey donkey vanished.
    ‘Take a seat, Chief Inspector. Vanessa won’t be long, she’s just helping Christopher with a project for school. Can I offer you a coffee, do you take milk?’
    Whilst he slipped out of the room, Hannah sank into the embrace of a cavernous armchair. Facing her was a photograph of the three Goddards standing next to a gigantic Mickey Mouse