The articles they’d had drafted on their phones were now something they’d deal with in the morning, there wasn’t anything to tell these people the killer was still out there.
Except one person, they knew. Wherever they were.
“One last look,” I grumbled, peering through the circular windows in the kitchen doors.
The room was a mix of two groups, the two younger cooks talking to the chefs, and two waiters standing in their corner, seemingly opening another bottle of champagne, squeezing a towel around the neck and over the cork so the almighty pop wouldn’t scare people to think someone had brought a handgun to the party as well.
Back out in the reception area, were a cool breeze rolled through and whipped around my neck, providing me with an extremely nice cool massaged sensation. The woman Finley had brought was finally out of the area, as was Ben, the man who’d been at the reception desk.
“Hello,” Zara said, waving at me.
“Hi,” I replied, approaching her. “Have you seen a woman in a cook’s uniform?”
She pressed a hand to her chest. “The one that was taken into the ambulance?”
“No, another.”
She sighed heavily. “Too many people in and out, absolutely freezing” she said. “You know this place is hundreds of years old, there’s draughts coming in from all places.”
“And what about the balding man with the serious face?” I asked, painting Paul’s image.
She snorted. “Think he’s outside,” she said.
I glanced to the empty chair at her side. “And your colleague.”
“Ben,” she said. “He’s in there, getting us a couple plates of food.”
At least it wasn’t going to waste.
“I’ll leave you to it,” I said, turning to head outside.
In view from the doorway, Paul stood butting a cigarette out into the bin. He shrugged and scoffed at me.
“It’s been a rough night,” he begrudged.
“I’m not judging you,” I said.
He shook his head. “Did you call her?”
“No answer.”
“Just the luck, isn’t it.” Hunching his shoulders, he walked away from the door. “Didn’t find the other cook either.”
“Sir, there’s someone driving up in a car,” an officer, running straight to Paul. A voice of static came from the talkie strapped to his lapel. “She just got out of the car. Are we letting people come in?”
“Get the name and ask what they want,” he said.
I shrugged. “I don’t see why people coming is an issue, we should be looking at people who have left already. Like the woman from the kitchen, nobody has seen her since Sandra was taken into the back of the ambulance.” I glanced around the roofs of the cars to spot the ambulance in the corner, stationary without lights.
TWENTY-TWO
Nora Anders arrived in her small red hatchback. She was in fits of tears, crying and begging for the officers to let her see Spencer.
I watched, after following Paul to the entrance drive where she’d been stopped. Her two children were sleeping in the back of the car, all the lights on, shining ahead from the headlights. She threw herself on the ground, her voice growing louder.
Charlie, noticing her in distress, barked before running straight towards her. I chased after him the best I could in my short heels.
“Eve, what are you—” he cut himself off.
“Let me see him, please,” she begged as Charlie nuzzled his head at her arm.
“Get her up,” Paul nodded to an officer. “Bring her car off the road as well, I don’t want it to cause a jam.”
She handed the keys to an officer as she stood with his help.
“He didn’t do it,” she said. “He didn’t do it.” Walking closer towards me as Charlie trailed after.
“What do you know?” I asked.
She wiped her eyes and sniffled. “I saw it online.”
“I tried calling you from his phone.”
She gasped, quickly frisking herself for her phone. “It might be in the car. Maybe—maybe I left it.” Once again, tears came quickly down her cheeks.
“Listen,” Paul said. “It’s okay. I’ll take you to see Spencer.”
“You will?” she said, turning to Paul, a huge smile on her face. “Please, I just want to make sure he’s okay.”
The officers went on ahead with Nora, while Paul walked behind alongside me. He wrapped a hand around the back of his neck, pulling at the tension.
“I want to keep an eye on you,” he said.
“What for?” I scoffed.
“The notes match,” he said. “For Finley, for Spencer, and for you. Finley is dead, Spencer was almost imprisoned, and you—” he shrugged. “You’re a meddler. Probably why someone knows you were looking into it.”
“Yeah,” I mumbled back. “I had been in the kitchen, and I was talking near to the cooks, so it’s possible Lorraine heard. Plus, the cooks had been out of the kitchen earlier to place food, it’s possible they went back out and did more of the same, going undetected.”
He nodded along with the theory. “I have the officers looking for her,” he said. “Someone is trying to get an ID on her car, but nobody has left, so she’s either on foot in the fields, or she’s still inside.”
“With Nora here, we can get her to help us.”
“If she wants to.” He rolled his eyes.
“If it sets Spencer free, then surely, she’ll help.”
Or so, that was the idea. The hysterics she’d been in when she arrived, it was a surprise she’d made it this far driving at all. But I had no idea where she’d been living or how far she’d driven at all.
In the back of the police car, Spencer welcomed Nora. Deep in his arms. He was uncuffed. I glanced at Paul.
“If she’s gonna help us,” he said. “She’s got to trust us.”
After the crying, which lasted several minutes longer than it should have with Spencer cooing at her, and her fussing over his appearance.
“Stink of alcohol,” she mumbled, doing up his tie around his neck. “No wonder, you were out of it. I can’t imagine what you were thinking.”
“I didn’t do it,” he replied.
“We have reason to believe he was blackmailed,” Paul said.
“Blackmail,” her voice dropped an octave as she repeated. “What? Why? Who would blackmail you?”
“That’s why we tried to call you,” I said softly. “The note—”
“The note,” Paul took over, giving me a sideways glance. I had overstepped my mark. “We have a note naming you in what we believe to be blackmailing Spencer into taking the blame for the murder.” He stuck his hand inside his jacket pocket, pulling his notebook out.
“What?” she asked, pressing both hands against Spencer’s cheeks. “Me? Why?”
I had thought by now, the why would’ve been obvious. Spencer was married, and she was his mistress.
“You know,” Spencer replied softly. “Caroline.”
“Is she behind it?” she asked.
We’d been there already—well, I had already thought it was her.
“It doesn’t make sense for her to kill Finley,” I interjected.
Paul nodded. “And to mention, she’s not here.”
Spencer’s brow creased, the question of how appearing in his face. Just as it appeared in mine.
“We contacted with Caroline,” Paul said. “She’s at home, nearly four hours away.”
They both exhaled deeply. But it didn’t quite matter whether or not they were being blackmailed because now people knew. Whether or not he took the fall, people now knew about him and Nora.
“We have a list of names,” Paul said. “We’d like to know if you recognise any of them, someone from your past, someone you told about Spencer. Perhaps they’re a friend, or ex-friend.”
“Someone from the charity,” I said.
Nora scoffed. “That was years ago,” she said. “We could be talking, fifteen year
s.”
“Fifteen?” I choked. It had been going on for fifteen years, and Caroline didn’t know? And nobody had spilt the beans before this? It baffled me.
“Wasn’t it started twenty years ago?” Spencer asked.
I hoped he wasn’t aiming the question at me. I had no idea how long ago anything was started. Although I knew Harry had been in business for an incredibly long time, definitely for longer than we’d been together and married.
“Whatever,” Nora said. “Let me see the names. I lived with many different people during my time under the charity, but I never told anyone about Spencer. I never said a word.”
“That’s okay,” Spencer said, giving Nora’s arm a gentle squeeze. “Did you bring the boys?”
She nodded. “They’re asleep.”
He smiled back at her.
“Let’s go over there,” Paul said, nodding to an empty spot between cars.
As Paul and Nora left, Spencer sobbed lightly. Shaking his head. “I can’t believe I almost took the blame for it, I’ve never felt so—so stupid,” he said. “Caroline’s family has a great solicitor; they’ll take everything when they find out.”
From what I’d seen last on the phone, Caroline had attempted to call and text him. I don’t think she knew about the affair, but the suspected murder was definitely on her mind, and perhaps that would be her grounds for divorcing.
“Eve! There you are!” Ruth said, interrupting my thoughts. “I’ve been all over the place looking for you.”
Spencer attempted to step out of the car.
“Stay,” an officer said, stepping from behind the car and in front of the car door. “to be cautious.”
I joined Ruth, exasperated as she grabbed at my arm.
“What happened?”
“I know how it’s made,” she said, pulling me away from the prying ears of wandering police officers.
“The ricin?”
She nodded. “Someone very skilled with a steady hand,” she said. “It’s made with lye water.”
“What’s that?”
She puffed at her cheeks and sighed. “Sodium hydroxide.”
I rolled a hand over. “Again, I know sodium is salt, but—”
“It’s dangerous,” she said. “And soaked with the castor beans, it makes an incredibly deadly powder.”
“Can anyone make it?” I asked.
Hesitant as she poked her tongue between her teeth. “Frank said whoever did it wouldn’t have been successful on their first try.”
TWENTY-THREE
We were looking for someone with scars. Someone who had possibly been burned by the ricin, by the lye water mixture. The stuff could bubble up the skin on contact. This wasn’t just anyone, this would’ve been someone who had some type of intellect to themselves. And it made sense for a cook, someone who had knowledge of preparing foods.
As Ruth informed Paul of what she knew, she noted it down in his little book.
“Did she recognise any names?” I finally asked, noting Nora wasn’t with him.
He shook his head. “It was a long time,” he said. “They could’ve changed their names by now. I’m waiting on the photographs to be sent to my phone so she can look through them.”
“And the cook?”
“Nobody has seen her either,” he said. “But we have officers around the perimeter. And we’re looking for someone who could have had a hand in making the ricin.”
“Someone with burns,” I said. “Someone with burns.” I repeated back to myself, a photo flooded my memory bank. I’d seen just the sort of burn.
Paul nodded. “I’ll let them know.” He walked off, turning his back on us.
“Ruth,” I said, taking her arm in my hand. “Someone with burns.”
“Yes.” She nodded. “We said that.”
“No, no,” I said. “Don’t you remember. The waiter with the odd hand, it looked sore.”
Her eyes opened wide as she looked back at me. “The burn looked fresh, I thought perhaps from hot water, but you could be right,” she said. “I’ve not seen a chemical burn in years.”
As a nurse, Ruth had seen a whole lot of different types of sicknesses and different things happening to people, but in Briarbury and Silver Lake, we weren’t plagued by too much bad luck regarding burns. Ruth and Frank dealt mostly with general check-ups. I knew this because anything remotely interesting was talked about over coffee.
“Let’s go inside,” I said, tugging on my shawl over my shoulders. “Let me grab Charlie first.”
“There’s at least eight of them,” she replied. “And they’re all wearing the same clothes with the same gloves.”
“Do you remember his name?”
I didn’t remember whether or not we’d been given a name.
After finding Charlie sniffing around Nora and Spencer, I collected him in my arms, careful not to disturb them while they talked in the back of the police car. Spencer was still unable to leave it.
Back inside, the party continued as if nobody knew anything else was happening outside. The jazz band played louder, almost loud enough to drown out the sound of drunk people talking. And this was too loud for Charlie’s ears. He yapped and writhed in my arms.
“We’re going, we’re going,” I hushed him, as we walked into the kitchen.
It was spotless.
They’d cleaned all the countertops and mopped the floors.
“The floor’s wet,” a chef said, nodding to the yellow sign on the ground.
“Question,” I said. “One of the waiters, he burned his hand earlier.”
He shook his head and shrugged. “Can’t keep track of everything,” he said. “If it was serious, it’ll be in the accident book.”
“AHHH!” one of the cooks screamed.
Charlie jumped from my arms.
Ruth and I chased after him, chased him right to the source of the scream.
A cook was stood in front of the cleaning cupboard, staring at Lorraine as a muffled cry came from behind grey electrical tape wrapped around her mouth. She shook back and forward.
“Don’t just leave her,” I said as the cook stepped away.
The other cook came forward, followed by the two chefs.
Ruth and I tore the tape from her face and untied her hands and legs.
She gasped, the light mascara on her eyelashes now soaked into her cheeks.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Daniel,” she said, between gasps. “I found him—them.”
“Them?” Ruth asked.
She nodded, sobbing into her chin. “Him and his mother.”
“Mother and son,” I said.
“They were planning on—on—hurting someone else.”
From the note I’d found addressed to me, it could’ve been me they were trying to hurt. “Where did they go?”
“She’s in the back o the ambulance,” Ruth said.
“He went with her,” one of the cooks from behind us spoke.
Had this been their plan all along? Get put into the back of an ambulance as their means of escape. Nobody would suspect the paramedics doing their job as part of the ploy for the killers to get away.
We raced out through the hallway and into the reception area.
If the ambulance hadn’t left, we still had time to find the killer.
Outside, Paul choked on the smoke of a cigarette.
“In a rush?” he asked.
“We know who did it,” I said.
He glanced passed us to see Lorraine, the other cook. The one we’d thought had been a suspect. When really, she was being set up, and heard more than she should’ve done.
“It’s not her,” I said, interrupting his thoughts. “It’s the woman who got herself in the back of the ambulance.”
He nodded ahead to the ambulance. “They’re still here,” he said. “They were supposed to leave five minutes ago.”
“Supposed to?” I asked.
“Doesn’t sound god,” Ruth agreed.
�
�Let’s go.”
Charlie didn’t take much convincing; he was already running on ahead. As for myself, I couldn’t run, I hurried quickly, clutching my clothes so I didn’t trip and fall from how constricting they were against my movement.
I reached the back of the ambulance doors.
Knock. Knock. Knock. My fists pounded on the metal. “They did it,” I said. “Open up.”
No answer.
I pulled on the handle, met with a clunk. “They dosed themselves to get out, so we wouldn’t think it was them.”
And still a continuation of nothing.
“Open it,” Ruth said.
“I tried.”
“Pull harder.”
I pulled harder, passing the clunk into an eased opening.
“They in there?” Paul asked.
Inside the back of the ambulance, the two paramedics were strewn across their seats at the side, their necks and chins dipping slightly to their chests.
A gasp found itself vibrating from the back of my throat and out into the open.
I glanced to Paul and nodded. There was someone in there, but they weren’t the mother and son duo we had expected.
“Are they dead?” I asked.
Ruth pulled at her pantsuit leg slightly at the hip. “Let me check,” she said, stepping into the back of the ambulance.
“They’re not here,” I told Paul.
“What?” he asked, poking his head into the back of the ambulance.
“Where are they?” he said.
The question we all had.
TWENTY-FOUR
They weren’t dead. The number of deaths remained at one. One murder was enough. We didn’t need more dead, especially when the people responsible were almost caught.
“Looks like the boy hit them over the head,” Ruth said after her examination. “I’m sure they’ll come to soon.”
Paul barked his orders at the men, commanding them to search the grounds. The mother and son were around here somewhere. They were bound to be, but they couldn’t get far without a car, and the entire place was surrounded by fields and forestry out into the middle of nowhere. They’d need to have a great sense of direction and a map to navigate it.
Murder at Maple House Page 11
