The Lake
A gripping murder mystery, with a compelling family drama at its heart.September 1975.A body is discovered in the receding waters of a manmade lake, and for Peggy Casey, 23-year-old landlady of The Angler’s Rest, nothing will ever be the same.Detective Sergeant Frank Ryan is dispatched from Dublin, and his arrival casts an uneasy spotlight on the damaged history of the valley, and on the difficult relationships that bind Peggy and her three older siblings.Over the course of the weekend, Detective Ryan’s investigation will not only uncover the terrible truth behind the dead woman’s fate, but will also expose the Casey family’s deepest secrets.Secrets never meant to be revealed.
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This is a work of fiction. Any references to real people, living or dead, real events, businesses, organizations and localities are intended only to give the fiction a sense of reality and authenticity. All names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and their resemblance, if any, to real-life counterparts is entirely coincidental.
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First published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2015
Copyright © Sheena Lambert 2015
Sheena Lambert asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work
Extract in Chapter 10 from ‘Stand By Your Man’ by Tammy Wynette
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Ebook Edition © MARCH 2015 ISBN: 9780008134747
Version 2015-03-04
For John, forever
Contents
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey, I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
– W. B. Yeats
Friday, 26th September 1975
‘Frank. Phone call.’
Somewhere between asleep and awake, Frank heard the words barked from behind his bedroom door. It took a second or two before he could open his eyes. Sunlight streamed through the unlined curtains as if they were hardly there at all. The digital clock by the bed flashed 00:00. Frank groped for the wristwatch lying next to it and squinted at it instead. Twenty-five past nine. Who the hell could be calling him? He tried his best not to disturb Rose as he got up from the bed and went out into the hall.
The receiver was cold in his hand. ‘Hello?’
‘Frank? Is that you?’ The lilt in the voice did little to soften its booming depth.
Frank stood a little straighter. ‘Yes. Inspector Carter?’
‘Yes. Look Frank, I know you have the weekend off, but, well, something’s come up.’
Ah Jesus.
‘It’s a body. And Jason’s away. And Eddie … well, I’d just rather you went down there, Frank.’
He pressed his fingers into his eyes. ‘Down where, sir?’
‘Crumm. The local guard is on his own there. The doc will be down later today. Hopefully.’
‘Hopefully?’
‘Well, there’s been another incident in Cork. And this thing in Crumm; it looks like it might only be a bog body. He might have to prioritize Cork. He might not get to Crumm until the morning.’
‘Tomorrow morning?’
‘Yeah. You’d better pack for the weekend.’
Frank rubbed his castigated eyes again. Rose was going to kill him.
The phone was silent for a moment. ‘So when can you get here? I’ll have the file ready for you.’
‘Right. Okay.’ It was freezing in the hall, even though the weather had been warm for weeks. Frank wished he had put on a T-shirt. ‘I’ll be in by eleven.’
‘Okay. Thanks Frank.’
‘Sure, sir. No problem.’
Frank was so intent on shutting the door soundlessly that he forgot about the warped floorboard just inside the threshold. Rose’s eyes opened, although her head didn’t stir from the pillow.
‘What was that about?’
‘I thought you were asleep.’ Frank pulled down the covers and vaulted back into bed, shivering. ‘That bloody hall feels like ten below.’
‘The phone.’ Rose’s tone was barely tempered by the pillow half covering her mouth.
Frank turned his head to face her. ‘It was work.’ He waited a second. He knew he wouldn’t have to elaborate.
‘Ah Jesus, Frank.’ Rose suddenly seemed very awake; her head propped up on one elbow, her apparent disbelief glowering down on him and his pillow. ‘Tell me you’re not going in?’
‘Worse, I’m afraid.’ Frank was conscious that the disappointment of this conversation was going to be predominantly one-sided. He turned his head on the pillow and wondered briefly what that meant. Yellowed paint was peeling from a patch of ceiling above their heads. ‘I have to go to Crumm. Overnight.’ He looked at her again. ‘I should be back tomorrow.’
