by ML Rose
“Is that flat roof part of the kitchen?” Arla asked Rebecca, who was standing next to her.
“It’s the roof of the back porch, and it happens to be just below the bathroom as well.”
Arla’s eyes widened a fraction. Synapses were firing at a furious speed in her mind, the wheels whirring and clicking. A pattern was forming, but all she could see was a vague outline. It was enough, for now.
Harry appeared in the doorway. Arla beckoned him over and put sterile gloves on. Harry did the same.
“Do you mind if we open the window?” she asked.
Rebecca shook her head. Arla raised her hand and turned the round metal bolt between the sash panes. She stood to one side as Harry stepped in her place. He put a gloved hand on either side of the lower pane and lifted. It rose up smoothly and a gust of cold air blew into the room. Without putting his hands on the window frame, Harry bent his lanky form at the waist and stuck his head outside.
“Less than six feet drop. Definitely doable.” Harry was silent for a few seconds, then he turned to face Arla. She caught the glitter in his eyes.
“What is it?” she asked quickly.
“Footprints. Man-sized shoes.”
“Let me see.” Arla bustled forward, then stopped short. Her belly was in the way, preventing her from leaning over the window.
“Let me take some photos,” Harry suggested, touching her shoulder. She stepped back as Harry leaned over the windowsill again.
Arla wondered at the lack of ingenuity of the expensive architect who had designed this house. This was a huge flaw in the design, lending a helping hand to any burglar who wanted to gain entry. Mentally, she shook her head.
CHAPTER 8
Arla turned away from the window. Harry took some photos on the department camera, then showed them to Arla. Scene of Crime would take detailed images, measuring and showing every inch of the room, but that was not an option right now.
Arla stared at the photo of the boot print, her eyes shining. “Excellent,” she whispered.
Rebecca was leaning against the opposite wall, a proprietary hand on the empty cot. She was staring into the distance again, her gaze lost in a vacuum. Arla’s chest constricted painfully. She walked over to Rebecca and touched her elbow. The woman’s flat, unseeing eyes turned towards Arla.
“Maybe you should get some rest. Have a lie-down for a while,” Arla suggested.
The grieving mother shook her head vigorously. “I can’t lie down. I can’t rest.” A distant animosity flared in her eyes, then transformed into panic as her pupils dilated.
“Where could Reggie be? The person who took him, will he look after him? Will he. . . . Oh, God!” Her head sank down, chin touching chest. Arla helped her back on the seat.
Harry said quietly, “I think we should go downstairs, or to a different room. We are done here.”
Arla agreed and it seemed Rebecca didn’t have much to say. Harry helped her up from the chair. He went out onto the balcony, then guided her down the opulent, carpeted staircase.
Arla stood at the railing of the balcony, committing the building’s floor plan to memory. The balcony went round in a circle, closed doors leading off it. From any point on the balcony, one could stand and see who was downstairs, in the foyer. She still had her gloves on and wondered if she should walk around trying the handles on doors. For now, she decided against it.
She went down the staircase slowly. A doctor had told her most injuries happened going downhill. Uphill was strenuous but less prone to accidents. Harry was standing at the bottom of the staircase, hands on his hips. She knew he wanted to help her, but was holding back in case she refused. Which was the right decision. She gave him an encouraging smile as she came off the last stair.
“See? Piece of cake.”
Harry rumbled something under his breath, then led the way into the kitchen. Rebecca was already there.
The wooden parquet floor gave way to Italian marble. The kitchen counter seemed to be made of the same black-and-white marble, which created a continuous pattern from the floor to the counter. Arla counted four Rangemaster cookers. Enough cooking power to feed an entire army. The dining table looked big enough for a banquet hall, seating at least twenty either side.
Beyond the dining table lay sofas near the concertina bifold doors. The concertina doors took up an entire wall, providing an unrestricted view of the garden.
Rebecca was sat on a sofa, her spine erect, fingers twisting on her lap. Edna came over with three glasses of water and put them on a small table. This time Arla reached for one.
“We need to speak to Edna in private,” Arla said. It was a statement, not a request. Rebecca nodded. “When is your husband coming back?”
Rebecca took a long sip from her glass, finishing more than half. She paused to wipe her mouth. “He left just before you arrived.” She glanced at the wall clock. “He should be back in an hour’s time.”
Harry turned down his lips. “He runs for two hours? How often does he do that? Must be really fit.”
“It varies. I think he does it twice a week at least, sometimes more.”
Arla raised her voice a notch. “Well, the sooner we can start our work, the better it is. We’ve got some solid leads here—thank you for the help.”
“What sort of leads do you mean?” Hope flickered to life in Rebecca’s eyes. She squared her shoulders and her spine snapped straight.
Arla raised her palm, regretting her choice of words. “I didn’t mean to say anything definite. It’s all conjecture and possibilities at the moment.”
Rebecca slumped. A look of irritation creased her face. “Then what did you mean? How did someone get into this house and take my baby?” Her voice choked up at the end and beads of moisture pulled at the corner of her eyes.
Arla took in a deep breath, then sighed. Harry took over. “Given that the bathroom window was open, it is possible that the intruder gained entry from there. He left what looks like a boot print on the windowsill and we will analyse this on our databases to see if there is a match.”
Despite her predicament, Rebecca’s eyebrows rose. “You have a database for boot prints?”
“It’s just an aid,” Arla said. “Nothing can replace human intuition.”
Rebecca’s lips pressed together in a tight line, turning them from pink to white. She spoke between clenched teeth. “So, he came in through the bathroom window, took Reggie, and left through the nursery window?”
“It would seem that way. Please be aware these are very preliminary findings. I’m not saying this actually happened. But it’s certainly possible.” Harry chose his words with deliberate care and, at the end, glanced at Arla.
“Can we please speak to your housekeeper now?”
Rebecca’s eyes flitted from Arla to Harry. She opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it. “Edna.” She repeated herself, turning to the side. At the summons, Edna appeared at the doorway of the kitchen. She walked over and stood uncertainly behind her mistress.
“The detectives would like to have a word with you,” Rebecca said.
Arla stood. “Is it okay if we go to the lounge room?”
Rebecca agreed and they escorted Edna to the spacious lounge room where they had first spoken to Rebecca.
Edna sat down and Arla took the chair opposite. Harry stood by the window, looking at the road outside and the dense, clumped trees of the Common beyond.
Arla opened up her notebook. “Where were you this morning, Edna?”
The woman cleared her throat. She tucked a few strands of grey and white hair behind her ears. “The missus told me to buy some groceries and baby food. I went shopping.”
“What time did you leave for the shops?”
“Seven-fifteen.”
“Are supermarkets open at that time?”
“We have a twenty-four-hour store about fifteen minutes’ drive away. That’s where I normally go. I don’t like the traffic later on in the morning, so I go early.�
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“And what time did you come back?”
“Just after eight-thirty. I can’t remember the exact time. But I remember it being before eight forty-five, as I put the washing machine on timer.”
Arla wrote down the times in her notebook and circled them with a pen. She connected the two circles with a line. “When you leave the house, you use the entrance of the annex, right? That’s your living quarters?”
“Yes, that’s right. I left by that entrance and when I came back, I parked the car and came in. . . .”
“And are you sure you locked the door when you left?”
Edna thought for a while. “Yes, I did.”
Harry turned from his position at the window. He walked over and stood behind Arla.
“How long have you worked for this family?”
“Almost one year now. I saw an advertisement online and responded to that.”
Arla asked about her last two employers and took down their names and addresses. “You don’t mind if we approach them for a reference?”
“No problem at all. Please do.”
There was something about Edna Mildred that made Arla pause. She couldn’t put a finger on it but her senses, honed from many years of deciphering strange human minds, were tingling, a subtle wave rippling across her mind.
Arla folded her hands on her lap and relaxed back in the chair. “What do you think of Jeremy, Rebecca’s husband?”
Edna shrugged. “He comes and goes. Stays out a lot. I don’t really know a great deal about him, I’m afraid.”
“Have you ever seen his uncle, Grant Stone?”
“I know who he is, of course. Everyone does. But I can’t say he’s ever been to this house.”
“Do you have any children?” Arla asked the question smoothly, hoping the subtle but sudden change of topic would throw Edna. Her curiosity was piqued when the lady took it in stride, not missing a beat. The corners of her mouth didn’t tighten. Her pupils didn’t constrict. The forehead muscles remain slack. Even the neck muscles, which are the hardest to control when someone is lying, remained relaxed. Most unusual, if she was trying to hide something.
“Yes, I do.” Edna’s slate grey eyes shone with a sudden intensity. “One son, who’s now twenty-five years old. He lives in Aberdeen, works in the oil industry.”
“I see. Thank you.”
“Do you enjoy working here?” Harry asked.
Edna lifted her chin to look at Harry. She shrugged. “It’s a lovely house, as you can tell. Of course, my apartment’s rather different.” She smiled and Arla permitted a brief tug at the corners of her lips. Edna continued.
“The master and missus are always polite. Things changed after the baby arrived, obviously. I have to take more care of the baby and the missus.”
Something in her tone alerted Arla.” Do you look after the baby much?”
A genuine smile appeared on Edna’s calm and dignified face. The crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes crinkled and lit up with joy. “It’s been a while since I’ve held a little baby, so it’s lovely, yes. He’s gorgeous.”
Arla smiled as Edna’s eyes travelled down to her bump. “You can’t be far off yourself,” the housekeeper added.
“Seven weeks and counting.” Arla grinned. Then she became serious. “Have you noticed any changes in the husband’s behaviour since the baby was born? Has he done anything that got your attention?”
Edna frowned as she thought. Then she shook her head. “Nothing unusual, no. Like I said, he spends a lot of time outside the house. On his film shoots and so on.”
Harry asked, “Has he not spent more time at home since the baby arrived?”
“No, he hasn’t. He still spends a lot of time away. The missus and I just get on with it.” Edna’s jaw tightened as she frowned. “Yes, I think that’s a bit strange. I did expect him to be more at home, being a new father and all.”
CHAPTER 9
After Edna Mildred’s interview was over, Harry took her back to the kitchen. Presently, he returned with Rebecca. She had changed into blue jeans and a cream-coloured pullover sweater. Her face remained devoid of makeup, a listless, restive torment in her hazel eyes. Arla stood.
“Miss Stone, we would like to look around the garden and also the woods beyond. Is that okay?”
“Do anything you have to, please. I’m sorry to ask, but will anyone else be involved?”
Arla tried hard not to show her irritation. Rebecca was being polite enough, but her dogged insistence on privacy was beginning to wear thin on Arla’s patience. She wasn’t here as Rebecca’s private investigator. She was a senior detective of the London Met, and she had a job to do.
“No one else will join us at this stage. But you must understand that in order for us to do our jobs, we need help from our colleagues. For instance, if you want us to find out who the man opposite your house was, we need to check CCTV images. In order to do that, I need to ask one of the detectives in my department to pull up the images. It is not possible for myself or DI Mehta to do everything.”
Rebecca folded her arms across her chest and her eyes flashed. “I realise that, of course. But if word leaks out—”
Arla held up a hand, silencing her. “It won’t be from any of my staff, I can assure you. I have worked with them all my life, on several high-profile cases not dissimilar to yours. They have never breathed a word to the media.”
Rebecca didn’t alter her stance. Her jaws clenched together and the stiffness of her spine and shoulders clearly showed her unhappiness.
Arla softened her voice. “I shall abide by your wish not to involve scene-of-crime officers at this stage. You’re correct in assuming that the more people we involve, the greater are the chances of a leak. I will confine the details of the investigation to no more than three members of my staff, and I will personally take responsibility for them.”
Arla chose her words with care. When it came to Lisa Moran, Rob Pickering, and Roslyn May, she was confident of their integrity. Nevertheless, as she stared back at Rebecca, she was struck by how a woman who had just lost her baby was more concerned about privacy than finding the perpetrator. However, Arla also knew any whiff of bad news about a celebrity was like the scent of blood to shark-nosed reporters. They would probably have helicopters flying overhead, given half the chance. That thought also gave her an idea.
“I can promise you total discretion from my closest members of staff. For the time being, no one will come to see you apart from DI Mehta and myself. I would like to ask your permission, as well, to get a drone’s view of your house, the woods behind it, and also the route you take into Clapham Common.”
Rebecca nodded in silence. “Very well,” Arla said. “We would like to have a short discussion in the car and then return. Is that okay?”
Harry and Arla sat in the car for a few minutes, gathering their thoughts. Harry had the engine on, and warm air blasted from the vents. Arla stretched out her hands to the stream of air, warming herself.
Harry said, “Can’t see any CCTV here. I was looking on the way in as well. They must be on the main roads.”
“Yes,” Arla agreed. “Send Lisa a message to pull the images from the nearest CCTV. Hopefully, we can get some photos of the man Rebecca saw.” She continued. “Note down the approximate time and date Rebecca saw the man waiting at the bus stop. It’s a long shot, but if we can pick up the registration of the correct bus, then we might be able to see where he got off.”
Harry groaned and inclined his head back on the seat. “Trust you to come up with something like that. Needle in a haystack.”
Arla squinted at him. “It’s worth a try. We can’t use SOC right now so we have to keep our options open.” She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was coming up to mid-day. One of the reasons why she was sitting in the car was to see which direction Jeremy Stone turned up from. Neither the housekeeper nor his wife seemed to know if he had left the house in his running gear. Could he be out on business? Arla found hi
s behaviour strange, to say the least. She remembered they hadn’t checked if his car was in, but surely his wife or the housekeeper would know if he had opened the garage.
She said, “We need to ask Rebecca for a photo of her husband. And any photos of the new baby as well. Also, get copies of the hospital notes dealing with the delivery and baby’s health.”
Harry said, “Baby was healthy, but she went through a tough time. Lost a lot of blood and had a transfusion.”
“And she gets tired easily as she is still anaemic. I get that. But having the hospital notes would fill any gaps.” She looked at Harry and saw his chestnut brown eyes dancing inquisitively. He rolled his shoulders once, then reached out a large hand and placed it softly on her bump. His eyes were focused on his hand and a smile played on his lips.
“He’s moving.”
“It’s a she.”
“No. A girl wouldn’t be this restless.”
Arla hooked an eyebrow at him. “You call me restless.”
Harry made a face. “That’s different. You’re an adult. But I think you—we, I mean—are going to have a boy.”
They grinned at each other, then Arla gently removed his hand. “We have work to do,” she reminded him softly.
Harry rubbed the stubble on his cheeks, making a rustling sound. She desperately wanted to feel his stubble, and a lot more besides. A knot of desire untangled low in her belly, spreading heat between her legs. Breath caught in her chest, and she swallowed hard, not taking her eyes off Harry. He glanced sideways, eyes narrowing.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Arla looked out the window quickly, to the magnificent Stone residence on her right.
Harry opened the driver’s-side door and climbed out. Opening the boot, he took out Wellington boots and a torch. He slammed the door down after he had changed his shoes. He opened the driver’s-side door slightly and leaned his long frame towards Arla.
“I’ll walk around the garden and also in the woods beyond, then have a brief look at the pavement on the opposite side. Sure you don’t want to sit inside?”
