Buried With Honours: A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crime Thriller

by Davies, Oliver

  “Lady Lavinia grows them herself in the orangery,” Una said. “She’s very proud of them.”

  “Understandably,” I remarked, looking at one of the impressive vases we walked past. We passed a man in the hallway, dressed in smart, black clothes, a pile of sheets in his hand. He stopped and smiled as we passed before hurrying on.

  “That was Tom,” Una told us as we walked down a long hallway lined with a tapestry. “The baroness employs all local people from the village. Most of them have had their families work here for years. Most of them live up here too, saves them from making the trek up and down every day.”

  “I’m guessing the working hours are a little friendlier than they used to be back then,” I said.

  Una smiled. “Naturally. Monday to Friday, nine to five, apart from the cook. They get fed and free accommodation, which is always nice. Let’s them save up if they want to.”

  “Must keep the place from feeling quite so empty as well,” Mills said, still gawking at everything we passed.

  “I think so,” Una said. “There’s always someone else to go and talk to, which is welcome. Here we are,” she stopped outside a set of double doors, knocking on one of them.

  “Come in,” a voice faintly called from inside. Una gave us a grim smile, then pushed the door open and let us walk in.

  “Detective Chief Inspector Thatcher and Detective Sergeant Mills, your Ladyship, from the North Yorkshire Police,” Una announced, closing the door and following us into the room. It was large. I supposed it was a parlour, technically, with large windows looking out onto the fields, a burning fireplace, bookshelves and sofas. Modern-day things were scattered around here and there, as well blankets, shoes, and three dozy looking basset hounds. By the armchair close to the fire, an impressive looking woman sat and slowly rose up from her chair.

  “Ah,” she said, walking over to shake our hands. She had a firm grip, despite her age, a blazing look in her light blue eye that I would not want to be on the wrong receiving end of. “Welcome, gentleman, thank you for coming. Some tea?”

  “Thank you.”

  “Tea, please, Una. And one for yourself,” she added warningly.

  Una smiled. “If you say so,” she said teasingly, giving us a nod before slipping out.

  “I am Baroness Flitting,” the lady introduced herself. “Lady Lavinia, if you so choose. I know such things are outdated now, but old habits and all that.” She walked back over to her chair. “Please.” She waved a hand to the sofa closest to her.

  We all sat, and I felt strangely awkward like I’d been sent to the headmistress at school or something.

  “Thank you for inviting us, Lady Lavinia,” Mills said politely. “Your house is phenomenal.”

  “Good, isn’t it?” She said with a wink. “On other circumstances, I would show you around, but I think time is of the essence for you boys. A guest from my inn, dead?”

  “Indeed,” I said, leaning forward. “Major Alexander Riggs. He was staying at your inn whilst visiting his sister in the city for the weekend. Found dead this morning a few miles further south.”

  The baroness clicked her tongue. “An officer and all? Dreadful. I know that you’ve been to the inn?”

  “We have,” I confirmed.

  “Should I be worried that my staff will be carted away anytime soon?”

  “We have no reason to connect his death to the inn itself at this point in time. But given that it was where he was staying, we will be back from time to time.”

  “Naturally.” She nodded. “Well, Inspector, if there is anything that I can do to assist you in your investigation, I shall. They all are, after all, my tenants, so you can go wherever you need to go, I dare say. Where was the young man from?”

  “Devon,” Mills answered.

  “Oh, dear. A long way from home.” She frowned. “But he ended up dead here? Was it an accident?”

  “It’s a little early to say for sure,” I replied diplomatically, “and I’m afraid we couldn’t share much with you, anyway.”

  “No, no.” She waved a hand. “Of course not. Curiosity, lad.”

  I nodded, sitting in quiet for a moment.

  “We hear that your family have owned the estate for a long time,” Mills said politely.

  “Going on five hundred years,” she said impressively. “Though I was the first woman to inherit, thankfully times had changed enough by that point, eh? God help us if it had gone to my cousin. Instead, the reckless man would have sunk this place to the ground. I have kept it going. And the village is a very big part of that.”

  “And your son is set to inherit after you?” I asked.

  She hummed, looking down at the fire and reached forward to toss a log on. Mills and I shared a look at her sudden silence.

  The door opened again, and Una reappeared with a tray in hand, another woman following her, close on her heels. At the sight of her, the baroness grimaced and focused her attention on Una.

  “Did you make one for yourself, dear?” she asked.

  “I did. I’ll drink it in the office whilst I return the email to the gardener. Unless I’m needed here?” she checked.

  The baroness shook her head, so Una placed the tray down on the table, handed each of us a mug and departed, skirting around the other woman who stood a few steps from us, looking annoyed. She had golden hair, carefully curled to her shoulders, her arms folded, fingers tapping on her elbows.

  “This is my son’s wife,” the baroness told us. “Sara Graham.”

  I stood up and introduced myself and Mills to the young woman.

  “Nice to meet you both,” she said, walking over to another chair. “Had I known you were coming, I’d have been here to meet you myself.”

  “An interesting accent,” I observed, listening to her speak. “America?”

  “Canada,” she corrected me.

  “Sorry.”

  “Happens all the time,” she said dismissively, “especially around here.”

  “That’s because around here, the most interesting accent people here comes from Harrogate,” the baroness said before loudly slurping her tea. Sara looked annoyed and fixed her attention on us.

  “I heard about the situation,” she said. “One of the guests at the inn?”

  “Sadly.”

  “Horrible,” she muttered. “Well, the inn should close down until the matter is resolved, out of respect,” she said.

  The baroness looked appalled. “Certainly not. That place is necessary. You’ll not put them out of work.”

  “It’s nearly December,” Sara pointed out, “they’re not exactly overrun with guests, anyway.”

  “We’ve arranged that the room he was staying in goes undisturbed,” I put in before they bit each other’s head off. “That’s fine.”

  “We were just learning a bit about the estate,” Mills said, his voice cheery as usual. “Your husband will inherit?”

  “God willing.” Sara sighed. “Teddy is very unwell these days.”

  “He called the lawyers,” Lavinia told us. “So that Sara here will inherit, regardless of whether or not he lives.”

  “It’s just a technicality,” Sara sighed again, “to make sure it doesn’t go to someone else. Naturally, you or Teddy will be in charge.”

  The baroness narrowed her eyes, looking uncertain. Sara turned to us exasperatedly.

  “My mother-in-law thinks I’m going to alter the estate beyond recognition.”

  “You’ve already made changes,” the baroness said.

  “The wind turbines were Teddy’s idea just as much as mine, and they power the whole village.” Sara stopped, holding a hand up. “Irrelevant right now. How can we help you, Inspector? With all of this?”

  “Well, there is little you can do, actually.” I answered, sipping my tea. “We only really need access to the inn and this point in time, but of course, if something comes up, it’s nice to know that we have your assistance up here.”

  “Of course. What about the man’
s family? Can we help there?”

  I very much doubted that Sybil would require any help from them, but I just politely shook my head instead of pointing that out.

  “His sister is only in the city, and his mother is in Devon. We’ll do what we can for them.”

  Sara nodded, settling back in the chair, her hands propped on the armrest. “Who was working that night?” She asked, “When he checked in?”

  “Daisy Quinn,” I answered.

  “Oh, Daisy,” the baroness beamed. “What a lovely girl. Clever as a whip, I do enjoy talking to her.”

  “You know sign language?” I asked.

  “My grandfather got his ears shot to bits in the war,” she told us. “We all know it. Course, there are some new words popping up here and there, but Daisy always shows me.”

  “She is a lovely girl,” Sara said slowly, “but perhaps we should reassess her employment at the inn.”

  The baroness scoffed. “She practically grew up there! Nobody knows it better.”

  “But when things go wrong like this, we have to think practically,” Sara pushed.

  “He wasn’t murdered in the inn, was he, Inspector?”

  I hesitated, “we don’t believe so.”

  “And we can’t fire a girl for being deaf, Sara, have a heart.”

  “That’s not what I meant. We could hire her up here at the house.”

  “That far from her father? Ridiculous,” the baroness shook her head. “Daisy’s father’s not all that well himself,” she told us. “She likes to be near to him so that she can help him out.”

  “You’re a tight-knit community,” I observed.

  “We certainly are,” the baroness said with a proud nod. I wondered how that closeness extended to her daughter-in-law, an outsider not only from outside the village or the county but from a whole other country. For people like the baroness, that could be an issue.

  “Well,” I said, emptying my small teacup and putting it back on the tray, “I think we’ll leave you to it. Thank you for showing your support.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” Sara said, pushing herself wearily up from her chair. “Then I’m going to the hospital,” she told the baroness. “Would like me to take anything to Teddy?”

  Lavinia shook her head. “I’ll see him tomorrow, anyway.”

  Sara rolled her eyes and led us from the room, the baroness waving to us as we left. The doors were shut, and Sara breathed in deeply.

  “Sorry about that,” she said, pushing up off the wall and leading us back through the house. “I think she thinks that because she still owns the estate, she should have a hand in everything that happens here.”

  “Her assistance is appreciated,” I told her. “The more help we can get from the public, the better.”

  Sara smiled slightly at that, walking us back downstairs and out towards the yard where the car was. I pulled one of my cards from my wallet and handed it to her.

  “Give us a call if anything comes up,” I told her.

  “Will do. Good luck, Inspector. Sergeant,” she nodded to us both then walked back in, shutting the door tightly.

  I let out a long breath, watching it fog in the cold.

  “That was weird,” Mills said, handing me the car keys. “You drive back. I need to process.”

  I chuckled, taking the keys and walking over to the car. So did I, to be fair. I also needed a strong coffee and something to eat. One thing at a time.

  Seven

  Thatcher

  We opted not to head straight back to the station at once and stopped off in the café to grab some much-needed fuel before going to consult Sharp on our findings. She’d been handling the army, tracking down his superior officers, and I decided that the more time we gave her to do that, the better. Mills had no objections. After leaving the Flitting’s house, he’d gone quiet, almost falling asleep with his head against the window for the twenty-minute drive. It had been an early morning for both of us, and neither of us had had much in the way of breakfast this morning, other than the pastries that Mills had grabbed. They were delicious but not exactly substantial.

  Billie was happy to see us, the cold day had kept most people indoors, and low numbers of tourists meant that she was kicking around the café with her co-worker Paolo, cleaning and recleaning, organising the display of locally made mugs and tea towels that they sold and otherwise looking for anything to kill the time.

  “Liene came in this morning,” Billie told me after shooting our orders back to Paolo on the coffee machine. “Said you got called out early.”

  “Sadly.”

  Billie perked up, leaning over the counter. “Can I know?”

  “No. You can pass us two of those muffins, though.”

  Mills chuckled behind me. “We barely know anything ourselves yet, Billie.”

  “You’ll tell me when you do?” She asked, grabbing the muffins and slipping them into a paper bag.

  “You can hear about it in the news like everyone else,” I informed her, slapping a ten-pound note down on the counter.

  Billie grumbled, taking the money over to the register and handed me back a few coins of change that I quickly dropped into the tip jar.

  “That’s for Paolo,” I informed her, “not for you, you nosy parker.”

  “Thank you,” Paolo beamed, sliding the cups of coffee over to us.

  Billie sniffed. “You know, if you buy one of our reusable cups, you get 20p off every order?”

  “I didn’t know that,” Mills piped up, reaching around me to grab his drink. “Where are they?”

  Billie pointed to the shelf over by the coffee machine. Mills drifted over, joined by Paolo, who was tall enough to actually reach the bloody thing.

  “How’s the cat?” I asked conversationally.

  “Fine,” Billie waved a hand, wiping down the already clean counter with the towel over her shoulder. “How’s the coaching house?”

  “Fine. The paint looks good,” I added. “Just have to make the downstairs liveable,” I sighed. That meant hauling out a great deal of the interior and salvaging whatever could be saved. I worried that it wasn’t much, and the coaching house just wouldn’t be the same without the rickety cupboards and table that I had grown up with.

  “It’ll be done soon, won’t it?” Billie asked. “What will you do then?”

  “Live in it.”

  “No, I mean. Won’t you get bored? You need something to do, right?”

  “I’ll find something,” I said. “Maybe Mills and I can take up fishing,” I called as he walked over, making a face.

  “The last time I went fishing, I fell in,” he told me.

  “I see. Something else then.”

  “Like we ever get the time,” he muttered, looking down at his watch. “Speaking of…”

  “Right. See you later, Billie, Paolo.”

  They both waved, leaning against the counter and surveying their sorry number of customers as we stepped outside and back into Mills’s car. We sat there for a while, listening to the radio and eating our lunches, then I drove us back to the station, grabbing the evidence from the boot and balancing it and my coffee carefully as I locked the car and walked around to the doors. Mills took the cup and the code from me and headed through, holding the door open before hitting the stairs. I headed down to Wasco’s office, gripping the laptop and knocked on his door. He wasn’t usually one to shut it, so I thought it would only be polite.

  “Who is it?” He called.

  “Thatcher.”

  “Oh. Come on in, Max,” he called. I shouldered the door open, curious by his demeanour and walked in to find him standing on the top of his desk, grinning down at me, curly hair scattered around his face, holding one of his shoes in his hand.

  “How’s it going?” he asked casually.

  I slowly shut the door and walked in, looking over the floor. “Pretty sure I should be asking you that, mate. What happened? Is there a spider?”

  “I thought they slept over the winter
or something,” he muttered. “Big, horrible thing, Max, legs like pipe cleaners.”

  I sighed and placed the laptop on his desk. “Where’d you see it?”

  He handed me his shoe and pointed over to the far corner. I stepped over the wires that tangled along the floor towards the filing cabinet in question and spotted the beast clinging to the wall. It was big, the sort I was used to seeing in the countryside. I whacked it with the shoe, scooped up its body with a piece of paper and dumped it in the bin before giving Wasco a hand down and returning his shoe to him.

  “Much obliged, Max,” he said, opening his office door a crack. “Now, what can I do for you?”

  “Got a laptop here, belonging to our murder victim. Military chap. Think you can get in?”

  “Promise me that I won’t get into trouble with the military?”

  “We’re pretty sure that it’s his personal laptop, but alright, I promise.”

  Wasco nodded, pushing his glasses up his long, crooked nose and pulled the laptop towards himself.

  “Since it’s you, I’ll get started on it now.”

  “You’re a star,” I said, tapping his desk once before turning away.

  “You tell anyone about the spider, and I’ll take my sweet time with it!” He called after me. I shook my head, slipping through the door and heading upstairs.

  Mills was in the office, standing up, bent over his computer, drumming his fingers on the surface. I took my coffee back and joined him.

  He was looking at codes, more of them than I thought was strictly necessary, his face twisted into a frown.

  “You alright, there Mills? You look like you’re contemplating something heavy. More Hamlet?”

  “I can’t find it anywhere,” he muttered, scrolling through the site. “Riggs’s code.” He tapped the plastic-clad sheet of paper.

  “Might be military,” I suggested, picking up the piece of paper, looking over the strange marks. “If we manage to get word from his superior officer, then they might be able to lend a hand.”

  Mills hummed. “I was hoping we’d be able to find a key ourselves, do a bit of cracking rather than running straight for an expert.”

  “Well, keep looking for now then,” I told him. “I’ll go and talk to Sharp. We’ve got no expert to go running to yet, anyway.”