The Night Book Read online

  Seb had done his best to soothe her.

  ‘Of course you’re in a state,’ he’d told her at around five o’clock that morning after she’d woken him yet again, sliding her arms around his body and clinging to him for comfort. ‘You’re about to relive the whole ghastly thing in front of a roomful of strangers.

  ‘But remember – I’ll be there too, reporting for the network. When you’re describing it all, just imagine you’re speaking to me, me and no one else. I’ll only be a few feet away from you – it’s a really small courtroom. And inquests aren’t like big trials or anything, honestly – I’ve covered loads of them. Coroners are usually incredibly kind and thoughtful, and do their best to get people like you through it. You mustn’t worry. You’ll be fine, I promise. Just say what happened, and it’ll all be over and everything will be truly behind you – inquest, funeral, the lot of it. Then we can start building our lives together.’

  She had hugged him even closer.

  ‘You always make me feel so much better. I adore you, Seb.’

  To their slight surprise, they had made love.

  The pathologist today was the same diffident young man who had given testimony earlier in the summer, at the inquest into the Buttermere drowning. If anything he was more nervous and hesitant than he had been then, unsettled now by the large media presence in court.

  His summary was virtually identical to the one he had previously delivered from the same witness box.

  ‘. . . my conclusion is that Mr Bruton suffered death due to cardiac arrest caused by the inhalation of water.’

  ‘In other words, he drowned,’ Dr Young prompted him, exactly as he had done a few weeks before.

  The pathologist closed his eyes in self-reproach.

  ‘Er . . . sorry, sir. Yes, I mean to say, he drowned.’

  ‘Thank you, Dr Bullen. You may stand down. Clerk of the court will call the next witness, please.’

  Armstrong shuffled the papers in front of him and stood up.

  ‘Call Mrs Meriel Bruton.’

  A few moments later Meriel walked into the courtroom. She was dressed in a fitted black jacket and a matching knee-length pencil skirt. The cuffs and collar of a cream silk blouse were at her wrists and throat, and she was in black patent court shoes. Her make-up was minimal and her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail.

  She looked sensational.

  The watching press pack stirred and whispered to each other.

  Seb managed to catch Meriel’s eye as she stepped into the witness box, and he gave her a nod of encouragement. She smiled faintly at him, and then turned to face the clerk of the court.

  ‘You are Meriel Bruton, also known as Meriel Kidd, widow of the deceased?’ Armstrong asked her.

  Meriel nodded. ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘The coroner here would like to ask you some questions. You may sit down if you wish.’

  Meriel gave a quick shake of her head.

  ‘Thank you . . . I’d prefer to stand.’

  Dr Young leaned forward, trying not to be dazzled by the young woman in front of him. She was certainly, as his clerk had told him, ‘a looker’, even though the extraordinary heat in the cramped, stuffy courtroom was already beginning to fray Meriel at the edges. The collar of her blouse was curling inwards and her forehead was beginning to shine a little as perspiration broke through the powder she had applied only minutes earlier.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Kidd, and thank you very much for being here today. I do appreciate how difficult this must be for you and I assure you I won’t detain you for any longer than is necessary.’

  Meriel smiled gratefully at the coroner. ‘Thank you, sir. I appreciate that.’

  He couldn’t help smiling back at her. God, she was quite adorable.

  ‘Very well . . . We have already heard testimony from Mr and Mrs Briggs, the couple in the boat who came to your assistance on the afternoon in question, and from the police officers who arrived shortly afterwards. We have also heard from the pathologist, who confirms the cause of your late husband’s death as drowning.

  ‘What I would like to do now, Miss Kidd, is firstly to go through the events immediately prior to that tragic event. Would you begin by telling us what you were both doing out on Ullswater that Sunday afternoon?’

  Meriel paused a moment to collect her thoughts before replying.

  ‘Well . . . we’d decided to have lunch on our motorboat, a kind of picnic. Cold chicken, that sort of thing. My husband had prepared it himself. We often spent our Sundays like that, out on the lake, especially during this incredible summer. We usually took the Sunday papers with us and browsed through them.’

  The coroner nodded. ‘We’ve heard that a small amount of alcohol was found in the deceased’s blood. Can you tell us how much your husband had had to drink?’

  ‘Only about half a glass of wine – white wine. Cameron wasn’t a big drinker.’

  The coroner nodded again.

  ‘I’d like you to tell me what transpired on the boat in the minutes before Mr Bruton went for his fateful swim. What did the two of you talk about? What were you doing?’

  Meriel glanced involuntarily across at Seb. She had told him as much as she dared about her conversation on the boat with her husband. Seb was the only person other than her who knew that Cameron had promised her a very messy, public divorce if she left him.

  But Seb didn’t know that the warning had been backed up by a threat to produce her diary as grounds for divorce. Seb had no idea The Night Book even existed.

  Meriel turned back to the coroner and, trying to keep her voice as calm as she could, she told her first calculated lie.

  ‘It was just an afternoon out on the lake, much like any other. I remember that we chatted about how hot it was again . . . Cameron read a few things aloud to me from the Sunday Times’ business pages . . . there was nothing at all out of the ordinary.’

  ‘How soon after eating did your husband enter the water?’

  ‘Quite soon. About fifteen minutes or so. But he’d only had a small piece of chicken and some salad. I don’t think either of us was concerned about him getting cramp or anything like that. And of course the water was very warm, at least on the surface.’

  ‘Hmm.’ Dr Young looked thoughtful. ‘Was your husband aware of the recent spate of drownings in our region’s lakes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was he aware that experts are of the opinion that these drownings are often occurring when swimmers go beneath the surface and encounter the near-freezing layer of water below?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And were you aware of this too?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘So were neither of you concerned that your husband might stray into the extremely cold conditions just beneath him, and get into difficulties?’

  Meriel shook her head. ‘No . . . you see, Cameron didn’t like going underwater. He hated getting it in his ears. I don’t think I ever once saw him really having to dry his hair after swimming in the lake.’

  ‘I see. So do you have any theory as to why Mr Bruton went so completely beneath the surface on this occasion that he disappeared from sight for . . .’ the coroner consulted his notes ‘. . . approximately half a minute?’

  Meriel lied again.

  ‘Absolutely none, no. As I told the police, one moment he was there, swimming around and speaking to me, the next he had vanished.’

  Timothy Young frowned. ‘Speaking to you? Just a moment, please, Miss Kidd.’ He perched a pair of reading glasses on his nose and carefully examined the documents on the desk in front of him.

  ‘Ah yes, here we are.’ The coroner slid a sheet of paper from the file.

  ‘This is your witness statement to the police. You told them, as you just told me, that you saw your husband swimming around the vessel before he vanished. But I can find no mention here of him speaking to you.’

  He removed his glasses and looked quizzically at her.

  ‘Could you explain why tha
t discrepancy might be, please?’

  Meriel hesitated. ‘Well . . . no, not really. I mean, I thought I had told the police that.’

  ‘No, it seems that you did not.’ The coroner carefully placed the page back in the file. ‘Well, perhaps you can tell me about it now. What exactly did your husband say to you while he was in the water?’

  ‘Well . . . not a great deal. He waved to me, I remember . . . and then . . . let me think . . . he might have asked me the time.’

  The coroner looked calmly at Meriel.

  ‘Might have done?’

  Meriel almost bit her tongue. Why had she strayed into this? She should never have mentioned Cameron calling up to her from the water.

  She swallowed. ‘Well, yes, he did. Ask me the time, that is. I’m sorry, I’m finding this all very stressful.’

  Dr Young inclined his head sympathetically towards her. ‘Of course. I quite understand, Miss Kidd. Just take your time. Now . . . why would your husband need to ask you the time? Was he not wearing a watch on this particular occasion?’

  Shit. The watch was the last thing she wanted to talk about. Despite the electric fan, Meriel felt herself begin to perspire even more. And it was nothing to do with the cloying, oppressive heat.

  ‘Well . . . you see . . . he always took it off before swimming.’

  ‘Why? Wasn’t it waterproof?’

  God, this was getting worse.

  ‘Oh yes, yes, it was . . . it was a Rolex. But it was very expensive, and I think he was just nervous about it slipping from his wrist, so he used to leave it on deck.’

  ‘I see. So you referred to this watch in order to tell him what time it was, did you?’

  ‘Yes, I, er, think so.’

  ‘You think so, Miss Kidd?

  ‘No . . . I mean, yes. Yes, I did.’

  Shiiit!

  Timothy Young poured himself a little iced water before asking his next question.

  ‘Why did he want to know the time?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Did you have any subsequent conversation with your husband?’

  Meriel began to feel marginally less alarmed. They were moving away from dangerous territory now.

  ‘No. In fact it wasn’t long after that I noticed he’d disappeared.’

  The coroner nodded. ‘So . . . you told him the time, he carried on swimming . . . and then he disappeared.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Very well.’ Dr Young looked at his own watch. ‘I think we might adjourn here for ten minutes. Thank you, for the moment, Miss Kidd.’

  ‘That was all a bit funny, and not as in funny ha-ha, either, don’tcha think?’

  The Sun journalist sucked at his cigarette. The press corps were congregated outside on the steps of the building, smoking and sipping coffees fetched from a snack bar around the corner.

  ‘I mean,’ he went on, ‘she almost sounded like she was hiding something, I thought.’

  There were scattered nods around him, and a faint chorus of agreement.

  Seb didn’t know what to think. Meriel had never mentioned Cameron asking her the time to him. Why not? And the Sun guy was right – she had looked . . . well, shifty when the coroner had pressed her on the matter. Again, why?

  Then there was the business of Cameron’s Rolex. Earlier that week at Cathedral Crag, Seb and Meriel had had quite a long conversation about what she should do with her late husband’s personal effects. She’d put them carefully away in a mirrored box, and fetched it to show him. There were gold and platinum bracelets, diamond cufflinks, bespoke fountain pens . . . but no Rolex.

  She’d never even mentioned a Rolex.

  Why not?

  And where was it now?

  ‘Court’s reconvening, ladies and gents.’ It was the coroner’s clerk, gruffly calling to them from the entrance.

  Seb trooped back in with the rest of them.

  He was beginning to feel slightly sick.

  Dr Timothy Young had learned that his clerk’s considered opinion on a case was well worth consulting, and he had done this during the adjournment.

  ‘Cards on the table, John – what do you think?’

  John Armstrong pushed his spectacles back up onto the bridge of his nose. They kept sliding down it in the constant perspiration this infernal heat caused.

  ‘I’m not sure, sir, to be honest,’ he said after a few moments. ‘Obviously she’s holding back on something. Whether it’s important or not is another matter. My instinct is that they had some kind of row.’

  The coroner nodded. ‘Yes, that’s what I thought. Why is she so touchy about this business concerning the watch, though?’

  His clerk shrugged. ‘Who knows? Could be anything. Such as, it was a present from a mistress. Or carried an engraving from a former lover. Something like that. Forgive me for saying so, sir, but I reckon you may have missed a trick there.’

  ‘Go on.’

  Armstrong shrugged again.

  ‘I think you should ask her where the watch is now, sir. Even ask to see it. We could get a car over to her house and back again before close of play.’

  ‘You think the watch is in some way involved in the cause of death?’

  ‘Dunno. Might be, although I can’t see how. But it’s obviously a sore spot with her. You should press down on it.’

  She was so taken aback by the question that for several seconds, Meriel was unable to speak.

  ‘I’m sorry . . . I don’t quite understand,’ she managed at last. ‘You want to know the whereabouts of my husband’s watch?’

  Dr Young nodded, almost kindly – but inside he was beginning to vibrate with the quiet certainty that he was on to something. Good old John. A creature of rare instinct. Meriel Kidd’s reaction to his query on the whereabouts of the Rolex was telling, to say the least. The game’s afoot, Watson, he thought to himself. But he bided his time.

  Standing stock-still in the witness box, Meriel worked to fight down the tide of panic that was rising within her. With an almost physical effort, she managed to bring her thoughts into focus.

  No one knows anything. No one knows anything about what I did with the watch. Or with the lifebelt afterwards. I just have to stay calm and stop allowing myself to be thrown off balance like this. Get a bloody grip, Meriel.

  STARTING RIGHT NOW.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said as slowly and deliberately as she could. ‘I haven’t seen it since my husband drowned. I may have lost it.’

  The coroner – a man of considerable instinct himself – immediately felt his witness slipping away from him. It had happened before, sometimes, most often during his career at the criminal bar. Whatever it was Meriel Kidd was concealing, she had just thrown another thick blanket over it, and now she was stepping back, ready to face him down.

  Damn. Damn.

  ‘Lost it? Have you looked for it?’

  ‘Yes. Without success, I’m afraid. I remember putting it into my handbag before I left the boat with the police. I must have put it somewhere when I got home that night. I was still in shock from seeing my husband lose his life right in front of me. Forgive me, sir, can I ask why you are pursuing me with these questions? My husband drowned. What has his watch got to do with anything?’

  In a criminal court, Young reflected, the judge would instantly have rebuked the witness for bandying words with the prosecution. But this was not a criminal court, he was not counsel for the prosecution, and he was certainly not a judge.

  He was going to have to let this go.

  ‘That’s quite all right, Miss Kidd. I am merely trying to establish all the facts.’

  He pretended to shuffle the documents on the desk in front of him. After a few moments, he cleared his throat.

  ‘Miss Kidd . . . you told the police that when your husband eventually resurfaced, he was in a state of some distress.’

  Meriel immediately knew the worst was over.

  ‘Yes . . . he was thrashing around and making terrible noises. I threw
him the boat’s lifebelt, but he was completely unaware that I’d done so. I think he was already unconscious.’

  ‘Was there no possibility of you taking it to him, perhaps placing it around his shoulders?’

  Meriel appeared stricken.

  ‘No . . . I’ve never been able to swim. I feel dreadful about that now, obviously. I suppose I could have used the lifebelt to support myself as I paddled over to him, but what then? If I’d given it to him, I would probably have drowned myself. There was nothing I could do. As I say, I feel absolutely awful about this. But the fact is, I can’t swim.’

  The coroner politely inclined his head towards her.

  ‘Thank you, Miss Kidd. I have no further questions for you.’

  Seb did.

  But they’d have to wait.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  ‘Recording a verdict of death by misadventure, coroner Dr Timothy Young said he wanted to emphasise that during the current extreme weather conditions, it remains unsafe to swim in Cumbria’s lakes. To underline his warning, he commented: “One wouldn’t go swimming in a force-nine gale or a thunderstorm. People should be equally sensible of the hazards of doing so while this unprecedented heatwave continues.”

  ‘This is Seb Richmond reporting for Lake District FM and network news, live from Kendal Coroner’s Court.’

  Seb lowered the microphone and pulled the earphones from his head. Jess, sitting on the other side of the radio car’s transmitter, flicked several switches to off and gave him the thumbs-up.

  ‘Nice one, Seb. Want a drink in the Shakespeare before we head back?’

  Seb shook his head.

  ‘No thanks, Jess. I’ve got to go and see someone.’

  ‘That someone being Meriel Kidd, I take it.’

  Seb stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

  Jess snorted as he pushed the button to retract the radio mast above them.

  ‘Do me a favour, sunshine. Where d’you think you work, for Christ’s sake? A Trappist monastery? People talk. Everyone knows about you and Meriel.’

  Seb gave it up.

  ‘How?’ he asked weakly.