The Cipher Garden by Martin Edwards Page A

over.’
    ‘Why? You didn’t want it, obviously. I found it in with the rubbish.’
    ‘Who do you think you are, some kind of detective, sticking all the bits together again so you can have a good laugh?’
    ‘Sam!’ Even through the haze of drink, she hoped he might realise he was being unfair. ‘I was upset for you. The fact that someone has written something so nasty to you.’
    ‘Who cares about shit like that?’
    ‘I care! Nobody ought to say that about my brother! Do you think we ought to tell the police?’
    ‘What?’ He blinked. ‘You must be joking, didn’t we see enough of them to last a lifetime when…?’
    ‘When Dad was murdered.’
    ‘Well, yeah.’
    ‘I know, but it isn’t acceptable, Sam. Who can possibly be doing this?’
    ‘Some interfering scumbag with nothing better to do.’
    ‘I didn’t know you had any enemies.’
    He scowled. ‘You never know what some people might do after a couple of pints.’
    ‘So you think a man sent this?’
    ‘No idea.’
    ‘I thought it might be a woman.’
    ‘Someone I’ve screwed, you mean? Some bitch trying to get her own back?’
    She winced. ‘Surely it’s someone who knows something about Dad. It’s so strange, after all this time.’
    He shrugged. ‘I’ve got better things to do than lose sleep over it.’
    ‘You mean you’re going to let them get away with this?’
    She thought she’d landed a shrewd blow. Turning the other cheek wasn’t Sam’s style. Again, she watched his fuddled expression while his brain cranked into gear. In the end, he took the easy option. Typical.
    ‘I’ll think about it tomorrow. It’s been a long day, and I’ve put my back out. You know what, I’ve been digging all afternoon, it’s a terrible slog.’
    Whatever form of exercise had put out his back, Kirsty doubted that it was gardening, but she bit back a waspish retort. They needed to be on the same side over this. Someone wanted to hurt both of them.
    ‘We can’t brush this under the carpet. Who could bear such a grudge against us?’
    Her brother spread his arms. He didn’t have an answer, so much was clear.
    ‘It’s me they’re getting at, not you.’ She didn’t speak and he frowned. It was almost possible to watch the jumble of thoughts clattering around inside his brain. ‘Hey, did you get one?’
    ‘One what?’
    ‘You know what I mean.’ He waved vaguely at the note. ‘A creepy thing like this. Poisoned pen letter or whatever you call it.’
    ‘All right.’ She put her hands on her hips, wanting to face him down. ‘What if one was sent to me?’
    A coarse smile. ‘How could anyone write anything unkind about sweet little Kirsty? What did it say?’
    ‘It doesn’t matter, it was nonsense. A pack of lies.’
    ‘Come on. You shouldn’t…’ – he was groping for the simplest words – ‘you don’t want to blush if you’re trying to hide something from me.’
    He reached out and clamped his hand on her shoulder.She screamed in disgust at his foetid breath, she couldn’t stop herself shoving him away with all her might. He lost his balance and finished up on the floor. When he looked into her eyes, he didn’t seem to like what he saw. Perhaps it was revulsion; she couldn’t disguise how she felt.
    ‘You fucking bitch,’ he said thickly.
    The next thing she knew, his hands were around her throat.

Chapter Six
    A clammy night, too hot to sleep. Daniel sweated under the duvet, battling insomnia for hour after endless hour, Miranda’s smooth warm body nestling by his side. She was restless and every now and then, she murmured in her dreams, but he couldn’t make out the words. In the end, he eased himself noiselessly out of bed and tiptoed downstairs to find the histories of the Lake District that he’d bought from Marc Amos.
    He poured himself a glass of water and settled on the living room sofa. He loved the smell and feel of old books. To hold them was to touch the past. Skimming the pages, he came across a handful