Death on the River: A gripping and unputdownable English murder mystery (A Tara Thorpe Mystery Book 2)

by Clare Chase

Wilkins shook his head, slowly. ‘You already know my answer to that. If he’d had someone with him you’d expect that person to have shared the vodka he was drinking, but there’s no forensic evidence to support that. And not one of the people interviewed had seen him with anyone else.’

  Tara’s head was starting to ache. ‘The perpetrator might have brought their own favourite liquor and taken the bottle away when they left. If they were acting maliciously they’d hardly leave their prints for us to find. And the place where Lucas Everett swam out from was remote. I wasn’t surprised there were no witnesses. And then there’s the missing notebook – Lucas Everett wrote his message on a page that was ripped from one, but not one that was in his possession.’ Talk about clutching at straws…

  Wilkins was smiling. ‘Oh, well – case proven then! Look, just suppose for one moment we imagine you’re right, and this ghost-like person exists. What then? That same person was also admired by Christian Beatty, and similarly encouraged him to go and leap around on top of a tall building in the middle of the night?’

  Max and Megan looked all the more doubtful, and Tara couldn’t blame them.

  But Blake’s look was steady. ‘I get everything you’re saying, Patrick,’ he said. ‘And yet, we do have three connected people who’ve died in quick succession in odd circumstances. Their deaths seem to tie in with those used in Cairncross’s books and the same unusual brand of vodka was found near two of the bodies.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘It’s possible both Everett and Beatty liked that sort best, and it’s a complete coincidence. But it’s also possible someone was there the night Lucas Everett died and decided to buy Beatty exactly the same brand yesterday. And if they did that, I think it was to send us a message. They’re laughing at us. They know we’ve got nothing, but they want to make sure we’re wondering. Wondering and aware that there’s something going on that’s just beyond our reach.’ He glanced sideways at Tara. ‘And if it was them that iced your front path, they might have got you – or indeed any of us – in their sights. It could escalate. I know I’m not telling you anything you don’t know.’

  Each of them nodded. Blake was right, though personally, Tara had been trying not to focus on the danger she might be in. Anyone could have set that booby trap…

  Watching Megan and Max’s faces, Tara could see fresh uncertainly. She wondered what Fleming would think of it all, and if Blake was planning to share his thoughts with his boss.

  ‘What about motive?’ Blake said, taking up the final slice of his pizza.

  Tara leant forward. ‘Christian Beatty’s ex said he’d cut her out when he took up with Cairncross. And Sadie Cairncross also seemed to feel she’d been abandoned by her husband. It’s clear she still loved him but her feelings seemed a bit obsessive and unbalanced to me. She might have been angry with him, and with the Acolytes, who seemed to hold so much fascination for Ralph. Maybe something he or they did finally drove her over the edge. We’ve only got her word for it that she took pills and went to bed the night he died.’

  ‘A bit OTT, don’t you think?’ her DS said, leaning back in his chair, his cool eyes on hers.

  Tara shrugged. ‘Maybe.’ You’re not getting to me, Wilkins. Watch me stay cool whilst you get all wound up…

  ‘If any of this is true – which I seriously doubt – then I’d have the daughter down for it,’ Wilkins added. ‘She’s a firebrand.’

  Tara remembered Philippa Cairncross objecting to Wilkins addressing her as ‘Miss’ rather than ‘Ms’. That would be enough for him to come to that conclusion. Prat.

  ‘And although I can’t for a minute believe someone could have engineered Everett or Beatty’s deaths,’ Wilkins went on, ‘she could have been admired by them. She’s got a certain something about her.’ His tone was grudging. ‘And she’s the image of her father. Even Everett, who was gay, might have been swayed by her looking so much like the leader of their cult.’

  And it did seem like a cult. ‘Well, she’s certainly still angry with her dad and protective of her mother,’ Tara said. ‘But she was with her boyfriend the night her father died, according to the files. So she couldn’t have been out in the Fens, putting the snake in the car.’ She bet Wilkins was cursing her for paying attention. ‘It’s a long shot, but I understand Cairncross bequeathed the house on the Forty Foot Bank to the Acolytes collectively. Each time one of them dies the share the others get increases. And any of them could easily have slipped out of the party and put the snake in the car.’ But realistically, she doubted the house out in the Fens was worth that much, and the Acolytes all seemed to come from wealthy backgrounds, so they probably weren’t in need. She shook her head. ‘I agree with what you’re no doubt all thinking: it would be a crazy way to try to make money. But Cairncross’s PA might be someone to keep in mind.’

  ‘Who’s she?’ Blake said.

  Tara dragged the memory back without needing her notes. ‘Someone called Tess Curtis. The Cairncross academic expert I spoke to says it’s strongly rumoured she had a long-term affair with her boss, but that it was over some time before he died. Still, she might have held a grudge against him if he’d treated her badly. And against the Acolytes too, if they seemed to have a greater hold on his affections than she did.’

  It was thin; she knew it was.

  Suddenly, something Jackie Everett – Lucas’s mum – had said, came back to Tara. ‘One last idea. Mrs Everett said Lucas seemed more invigorated just before he died. He was talking about the Acolytes banding together and staying strong, so they could keep Cairncross’s ideals alive. What if one of them has become so obsessed with Ralph’s philosophy that they’re wiping the group out, one by one, before they leave their youth behind?’ She was sure they all thought she was the one who was crazy, not some unidentified plotter.

  But Blake only paused for a moment, before he looked at Wilkins and spoke. ‘I want the remaining members of Cairncross’s group interviewed and warned, just as I said. And the same for Cairncross’s family too. We don’t know what we’re dealing with, and I’m not happy about that.’

  Wilkins turned to Tara. ‘I’ll take Thom King. You might as well visit Stephen Ross. I know how much you love being involved with this “case” and I’d like to get to bed before midnight.’

  Before he could continue, Blake said: ‘That makes sense – it’ll save time, as you say. Max and Megan – you should go home and enjoy what’s left of your Sunday. Tomorrow will do for contacting Christian Beatty’s old college to see if he was a known night climber. You can gather additional information from his neighbours then too. I’d like you both to divide your time between that and tying up the last of the Hunter paperwork.’

  He looked from Tara to Wilkins. ‘You two prioritise this case for now. After Thom King and Stephen Ross, I want you to go together to see Verity Hipkiss. She’s the last of the Acolytes you need to tick off, and whatever your opposing views on this, I need you to work as a team. And I want to hear everything that happens.’

  Twenty-One

  Tara went back to her desk to call Stephen Ross – she wanted peace and quiet for her first talk with him. For a start, she didn’t know if she’d be breaking the news of his friend’s death. If he’d been out for the day he might not have heard. And she wanted to concentrate on what he sounded like at his least guarded. The idea of him intrigued her. Stephen seemed to be the responsible member of the group. He’d been the one to try to stop Ralph Cairncross from driving home when he was drunk, and the one who’d made it to the phone, the morning after the boozy party, when Philippa had called the house on the bank to try to track her father down. Philippa had implied that Stephen’s more conventional outlook on life had meant he’d been seen as a lesser person by the rest of the group. Had he been aware of that, and resented it?

  Taking a deep breath and holding all her thoughts together, she dialled.

  When she gave him her name and explained who she was, his voice became more definite.

  ‘You’re calling about Christian?�
�� he said. ‘I already know all about it. It was on the news by early morning. That’s part of the reason I came out here.’

  ‘Out where?’

  ‘I’m at the house on the Forty Foot Bank. Ralph Cairncross – the writer – left it to me and the rest of the Acolytes for us to use after he died. I’m a poet and it’s the perfect place to come for peace and quiet.’ There was a pause. ‘Verity Hipkiss, one of our group, wanted us all to meet up in town to “talk about our feelings”. I’m not into that sharing stuff. I wanted to work, so I came here instead. What happened to Christian is shocking, but although we admired and respected one another, we weren’t close. It was Ralph that linked us all.’

  Tara wished she could see Stephen face to face as he spoke, but even without her background knowledge, he didn’t sound sincere when he spoke about their mutual admiration. The words he’d trotted out were formulaic; easily said. A poet and a model. It might just be that they had nothing in common. And they sounded as though they were at opposite ends of the spectrum when it came to attitudes to adventure and risk taking. Whatever had happened on Christian’s last evening, he must have been happy enough to scale the building he’d fallen from.

  ‘I understand,’ Tara said. ‘I wasn’t just ringing to arrange to break the news in person, though – I’d like to come and talk to you.’

  ‘About what happened to Christian?’ He sighed, but it was with irritation, not emotion. He wanted to carry on working, Tara guessed, and she was going to come and interrupt him.

  ‘Yes.’ She’d rather give him the full explanation when they were in the same place. She wanted to see his physical reactions.

  ‘All right,’ Stephen Ross said at last. ‘I haven’t managed to get stuck into my writing yet anyway.’

  Would he have said no if he’d been on a roll? Nice sense of priorities…

  ‘Thanks.’ She made her voice as warm as cocoa, but mainly because she wanted to make him feel guilty. ‘How about if I come straight over now? Then I can get out of your hair and let you carry on.’

  As she hung up, she realised Blake was standing just behind her. ‘Stephen Ross?’ he said.

  She nodded.

  ‘He’s at home?’

  ‘No. He’s out at that house they’ve all been left, on the Forty Foot Bank.’ She gave Blake a look. ‘He’s gone off there to write poetry and avoid social interaction with the other remaining Acolytes. He knew all about Christian Beatty’s death by this morning, apparently. Probably read it on Not Now’s bloody website, given how quickly my erstwhile colleague Shona turned up at the scene.’

  Blake looked thoughtful, his dark eyes on hers. ‘Yes, I heard she materialised as if by magic.’

  ‘I visualise her as a vampire, out at all hours of the night, scenting blood and then seizing on her prey.’

  Blake gave her a half smile. ‘She’s always put me on high alert, when our paths have crossed.’

  ‘A healthy reaction, I’d say.’

  He nodded. He had a coffee in his hand – as usual – and was swigging the dregs out of the bottom. ‘So you’re off into the Fens?’

  ‘Yes.’ She really wanted to see both Stephen Ross and the bolthole the Acolytes occupied. What’s more, she was glad to go without Wilkins. She reckoned she could pick up on much more when he wasn’t wading in. But all the same, darkness would fall before she could make it home again, which wasn’t her idea of fun – not that she’d ever admit it. Her mother lived in that direction and she tried to avoid it in winter, when the roads were icy. She knew how treacherous they could be. Ralph Cairncross was witness to that. Still, she wouldn’t give up the interview on account of the location.

  Blake slapped his empty cup down on a random desk. ‘Just a moment,’ he said, turning back towards the corridor that led to his office. ‘I’m coming with you.’

  Automatically, she glanced round the room, but there was no one left to hear his announcement. In particular, no Wilkins; he’d already gone off to mishandle the interview with Thom King. Just as well. She could imagine what he’d have said.

  She followed Blake out into the corridor. ‘What do you mean you’re coming with me? I’m quite all right on my own.’ She stood in his office doorway. ‘I know I let the side down and required backup when that murderer tried to kill me in the Fens, but I don’t intend to make a habit of it.’ She’d thought she’d been streetwise back then, when she’d made her living as a hack – but she knew a lot more, now that she’d retrained.

  Blake was dragging on a black woollen coat. Although he was looking down she could see there was a twinkle in his eye. ‘I know.’ Having fastened his buttons, he lifted his head to meet her look. ‘If you were in a stand-off with our mystery conspirator it’s them I’d be worried about.’

  ‘That’s all right then. So, what’s going on?’

  ‘I want to see the house. I wasn’t there in the summer, don’t forget, when Ralph went into the drain. I want to understand more about the set-up, and how things might have played out if someone did plant that snake in his car.’

  ‘Wilkins will love this.’ Hell. She shouldn’t have let that worry slip out.

  Blake strode out ahead of her towards the car park. ‘Lucky it’s not his call then. Besides, I’m letting him take the lead. I just want to absorb a few of the background details. Shall we take my car?’

  She wondered if he was thinking back to when she’d been forced to drive across the Fens at knifepoint. Her would-be killer had used the weapon she’d been carrying. All in all, not a good memory. But not one that should rule her, either. ‘No, I’ll drive.’

  ‘All right.’

  Great, now she’d got ice, treacherous banks, deep drains and sitting within a hair’s breadth of Blake to deal with.

  The first five miles were awkward. Or, they were in her head at least. Blake seemed totally relaxed. Thank God the traffic was light, so they covered the ground quickly. They had plenty to discuss, of course. Tara explained about Stephen’s apparent standing within the group, and everything she knew about him. But as she talked, she could still feel their past hanging in the air between them. Back in the pub four years ago, she’d been drawn to Blake. At the time she’d been pretty sure the feeling was mutual, but now she wasn’t so convinced. The urge to kiss Blake had been pulling her like a magnet; maybe she’d just imagined the rest.

  As she waited at a junction she snatched a sidelong glance at him. It was inconvenient that she still felt the same way; the fact wasn’t easy to hide, for all her acting skills. She suspected he felt only comradeship now. He’d been back with his wife for four years, and they had a daughter, anyway. Tara’s parents had been pretty cavalier about her when she was small. She didn’t want to see any other child treated that way – or to be responsible for that.

  She focused on the road ahead. ‘Does Karen Fleming know what we’re all up to?’ she asked.

  ‘In general terms.’

  Tara could hear the smile in Blake’s voice, even though she was staring determinedly at some tail lights.

  ‘I had to get her approval for the overtime, for the extra staff doing the door-to-doors and for you and Patrick too. I’ll be required to give a convincing explanation of my thinking tomorrow, when she’s back in the office.’ He didn’t sound worried.

  ‘You’re pretty sure something’s off?’

  ‘I am. Monica Cairncross thinking she was followed… well, maybe. The ice on your path, the matching vodka bottles and the missing notebook… perhaps. But all of that with the link between the books and the way each of them died… it’s too much. I’ll have to work out what spin to put on it though, when I update Fleming.’

  ‘You’re starting to sound like a journalist.’

  ‘Listening to your interviews during the Samantha Seabrook case gave me plenty of tips on how to get the right message across.’

  Discussing the case carried them through the rest of the journey. As Tara drove along the Forty Foot Bank, she focused on the road ahead and the fie
lds to her right, scanning for the remote house they needed. But to her left she could also see the channel of cold, dark water, running straight as a rod, below the level of the road.

  At last, she saw the turn. The sign for the house was swaying in the wind. As she pulled the car round she saw it up ahead – a large, red-brick building she guessed might be Georgian, set well back from the road. Behind it the sky was stormy and already darkening to a heavy grey that promised snow.

  The driveway was a dirt track and Tara wondered about the undercarriage of the car as she bumped along. After a moment she pulled up to one side and parked. Once Blake was out, she made sure the doors were locked. She wasn’t taking any chances.

  As she walked closer to the house, she realised it hadn’t been well maintained. The paintwork was peeling in places and stained in others. It probably needed regular upkeep to cope with the exposed conditions out there, but she was betting Cairncross hadn’t been the sort of man to spend time dealing with decorators and getting quotes. As for the Acolytes… She thought of Stephen Ross’s voice – his irritability at her interruption. Would he lift his head up from his poems to take care of the place? Would any of the others? Or would the Cairncross family’s home fall to wrack and ruin now it had passed out of their hands?

  Blake was at the door. He raised an eyebrow. ‘Ready?’

  She nodded and he knocked.

  Twenty-Two

  Blake heard the sound of a text come in on Tara’s phone as they waited for Stephen Ross to answer the door.

  ‘Anything interesting?’

  She nodded, her eyes still on the mobile’s screen. ‘Looks as though Max has carried on working, despite your advice to go home.’

  It didn’t surprise Blake – the DC had always been dedicated, but he suspected the long hours he’d put in since his wife died saved him from returning to an empty house that still echoed with her memory. He couldn’t imagine what it must be like.