by J. R. Ellis
‘No.’ Granger smiled sympathetically, thinking about her own problems with Lesley.
‘Are you going to catch the bastard?’ the father blurted out, caught between grief and anger.
‘I’m sure we will, Mr Barnes. I’ve got lots of officers on the case and they’re searching everywhere.’
‘Good. Don’t let me near him when you find him or . . .’ He looked away, unable to finish his sentence.
‘You say you heard them arguing. Was Holgate ever violent towards her?’
‘Not when I was around; he wouldn’t bloody dare.’
‘And what did they argue about?’
Barnes glanced at his wife. ‘It was money, wasn’t it?’ She nodded, still seemingly incapable of speech. ‘I don’t think either of them made much money in their jobs and they struggled to live in London. Andrea wanted them to move up to Leeds and live in our Caroline’s flat, but he wouldn’t have it. I think he wanted her to sell it.’ He sighed. ‘I wish they bloody well had come up here. We could have watched them more closely.’
Which is probably why they didn’t, thought Granger.
‘To your knowledge, did either of them have any enemies?’
‘Our Andrea?’ said Barnes. ‘No, everybody liked our Andrea. She was . . .’ He didn’t finish the sentence and his eyes had a faraway look. The reality of what had happened was still too painful to contemplate. Granger decided it wasn’t fair to keep them long. They could speak to them again later if necessary.
‘Well, thank you for coming in,’ Granger said. ‘If you think of anything else about your daughter and Holgate, let me know. It could be important. We’ll release your daughter’s body to you as soon as we can so you can arrange the funeral.’
At this Mrs Barnes started sobbing again.
‘Yes, we’ll get her away from here all right,’ her husband continued in a tone of desperation. ‘I’ve always hated this place. Your damn brother doesn’t make it any better.’
Mrs Barnes looked up. ‘There’s no point blaming Ian for anything, Fred. He’s got nothing to do with it.’
‘Who are you talking about?’ enquired Granger gently.
‘My brother-in-law, Ian Withington. He has a jeweller’s shop down on Church Street. He used to have one in Leeds but he had to leave because he was on the fiddle. He’s a rogue; always on the make. He got my mother-in-law to change her will so he got most of the money.’
‘Fred, please!’
‘What happened?’ asked Granger. She felt the need to ask about this even though it was unlikely to have any bearing on the case.
‘She was losing it, poor woman, and he went round to her house telling her this and that, and before long she’d signed documents leaving the house to him and some of her cash. He told her his business was in trouble and that Joyce and I were okay financially, that kind of stuff. He’s a sneaky bugger.’
‘I see.’
‘You didn’t like the fact that our Andrea liked visiting here and she always went to see her uncle,’ said Mrs Barnes in a weak and faltering voice.
‘No, I didn’t. When she wasn’t in London she was always over here or in her flat in Headingley. We hardly saw her.’
‘Was it your sister that left her the flat?’
‘Yes, Caroline. She was arty like Andrea; never married. Those two got on really well. She did well for Andrea in the end. It compensated a bit for Ian’s rotten tricks.’
‘Yes.’ Granger felt she couldn’t take much more of this tragic couple. They seemed to have lost their daughter long before she actually died.
Granger was about to bring the interview to an end when Mrs Barnes said, ‘You see, Andrea always liked that Whitby jet that Ian dealt in. She had a few pieces of that.’ The memory triggered yet more tears.
‘I see,’ replied Granger, finding it difficult to think of what to say. It was quite a relief when they finally left.
Later that evening back at home, Granger was trying to relax. It was Friday evening, but a serious case like this went on continuously until it was solved. She would have to go into work at some point during the weekend.
She was watching television with Ian when Lesley came into the room. She was dressed in all her goth gear with purple lipstick and heavy black mascara. She wore a short black skirt, laddered fishnet tights, a tattered black coat and black boots.
‘God, you look disgusting!’ said Ian.
‘That’s the general idea,’ replied Lesley, adding some finishing touches as she looked in a mirror.
‘Before you go,’ said Granger. ‘I want to ask you something.’
‘What? I’ve got to go soon.’
‘What do you know about escape rooms?’
‘Escape rooms? Oh, I forgot; you’re investigating that murder, aren’t you? Bloody creepy, that is. Bloke kills his girlfriend in Dracula’s Lair in Goth Week. Was it a publicity stunt?’
‘Unfortunately not. Have you been in one of those rooms?’
‘Just one; a lot of them are over-eighteen and they ID. They’re cool. It’s a laugh. You need a good team to win against the clock though. We didn’t.’
‘Do you know anything about this one? Dracula’s Lair?’
‘I know someone who did it. Said it was good. He said there was a funny woman running it who sounded as if she actually was from Transylvania and they have this actor playing Dracula who pursues you through the rooms. It sounds amazing. I’ll bet they were doing a good trade at this time of year until that happened. Anyway, have to be off.’
‘Back at half eleven,’ said Granger. She didn’t even bother to comment on her daughter’s appearance.
‘Okay,’ replied Lesley wearily, before leaving the house.
Granger turned to Ian. ‘Are you interested in goth stuff?’
Ian laughed. ‘Me? No way. It’s for losers: dressing up like something from a horror film.’
‘You’d rather be in football kit, wouldn’t you?’
‘Yeah, ’course, any day.’
Granger smiled. Ian was far more predictable and easier to handle, but he was only fifteen. There was still time for things to change.
The next morning, Oldroyd, Steph and Louise stood outside the grand three-storey mid-Victorian stone-built house in a quiet area off the busy Headingley Lane in Leeds. The pavements were thick with leaves shed by the huge sycamores and beeches that lined the avenue. At the top of the street large trees could be seen on Woodhouse Ridge.
‘It’s that one on the first floor.’ Louise pointed up to a window where the curtains were closed. Louise had visited Andrea there a few times.
Using the key from Andrea’s bag, Oldroyd opened the external door and they entered a tiled hallway. He collected the post for Flat 2 and they went up a wide staircase. Louise felt dreadful. This was the second time she’d had to go into Andrea’s private living spaces and experience the terrible quiet left by the missing person. Her legs felt weak and she stumbled on the stair. Steph helped her up.
Oldroyd unlocked the door. The interior of the flat was impressive, if a little dusty and untidy in places. There was a high-ceilinged corridor with a polished parquet floor. The walls were lined with sketches and paintings, including some by the local nineteenth-century artist Atkinson Grimshaw. The large living room had chintzy sofas, a thick-pile carpet and ornamental mirrors over an elaborate fireplace. There were more pictures on the walls. There was also an uncanny silence everywhere, which unsettled Louise. She kept expecting Andrea to walk into the room at any moment.
‘Was your friend’s aunt an artist or a collector?’ asked Oldroyd as they gazed at the opulent surroundings. ‘It’s a very impressive display.’
‘She did some of her own work. That’s one of hers over the fireplace.’ Louise pointed to a dales landscape in watercolour. ‘She wasn’t an expert or anything, according to Andrea. She never studied art; she was a civil servant in the tax office, I think. She acquired everything gradually throughout her life; just bought what took her fancy. She lived h
ere for over forty years and then she passed it all on to Andrea. I don’t think Andrea knew what to do with it. She didn’t know much about fine art either, but she liked the flat. It had a lot of memories for her. I think she felt bad about changing anything, although the decorations and the furniture are not her style. She said she felt her aunt wouldn’t like it.’
‘I see. Well, let’s have a good look round, though I don’t know what we’re looking for. Are you okay to do this?’
‘Yes. With Steph’s help.’ She smiled at the detective sergeant.
‘Okay, Let’s get going then.’ They all put on plastic gloves. Oldroyd and Steph began a painstaking examination of each room while Louise watched and answered questions. In the living room she noticed a framed photograph of Andrea and Dominic; they were laughing and seemed to be having a great time at some party or other. It caused grief to well up inside Louise again. How could everything have changed so quickly and so dramatically?
Unfortunately, the flat, like the bedroom in the Airbnb, yielded little of interest. There was nothing in Andrea’s possessions or in any letter or document that gave any hint of what had been going to happen in Whitby. There was some more jewellery made with Whitby jet: a pair of earrings and a gothic-looking piece with a black spider on a silvery web.
‘She certainly liked this Whitby jet stuff, didn’t she?’ asked Steph.
‘Yes. I think the blackness of the gemstone appealed to her. She’d been a bit of a goth when she was a teenager, and I guess she never quite grew out of the love of black.’
‘I see. Did she go to Whitby quite a bit then?’
‘I think she might have. She once mentioned an uncle who lives there but you don’t need to travel to places to buy local stuff anymore, do you?’
‘True.’
Having searched everything as thoroughly as he could, Oldroyd glanced around the flat in frustration. It seemed as if the visit was fruitless. Then, as they were about to leave and he walked into the hallway, he finally noticed something and stopped.
‘It looks as if there was something hanging there until quite recently,’ he said, pointing to a gap at the end of a row of pictures. He examined the walls. ‘There’re still some remnants of the dust that would have collected behind it. You said she was reluctant to change things in here. Did she ever say anything about taking a picture down? Or maybe even selling one?’
‘No, she didn’t. I can’t see why she would do that; her aunt’s legacy was very important to her.’
Oldroyd looked again at the space. He could see no obvious significance in the absence of whatever it was that had hung there. But, like any little detail which had no immediate explanation, it made him think.
Oldroyd dropped Steph off in the centre of Leeds near the flat she shared with Andy overlooking the river. Then he drove out to Chapel Allerton to take Louise to her mother’s house. As they drew up outside the house in the terraced row, Julia, seeing the car, came quickly out of the door and embraced Louise as soon as she got out of the car.
‘Oh, come here! How are you?’ she said anxiously.
‘I’m okay, Mum. I’m coping. Don’t worry.’
‘But it’s such a terrible thing to happen. Poor Andrea; I remember her well. She used to come here quite a bit when you were at the sixth-form college, didn’t she? Dark-haired girl. Oh, I just hate to think about it! What about her poor parents?’ Julia was starting to cry herself. ‘Come on inside and I’ll make a cup of tea.’ She put her arm round Louise’s shoulders and then seemed to notice Oldroyd for the first time. ‘Oh, Jim! Hello. Won’t you come in, too?’
Reluctantly, Oldroyd followed them through the door and down the narrow hallway to the dining area at the back of the house. A one-storey kitchen extension led from this out across the yard to the back alleyway. Julia had lived alone here since the family house had been sold when she and Oldroyd had split up. It was immaculate and very artfully decorated and furnished. She had made a big effort to make it into her space.
Oldroyd sat down on a bouncy bentwood chair from IKEA. It would be better if he stayed out of things as much as possible. He was never sure whether Julia’s attitude towards him would be friendly or hostile. Louise and her mother sat at the table.
‘I can’t imagine what you’ve been through,’ Julia went on as she brought the mugs of tea over.
She seems more upset than Louise at the moment, thought Oldroyd, as he wondered what effect staying here would have on his daughter. He hoped her mother’s presence would be helpful and would not amplify Louise’s feelings. ‘You must stay here for a while until you feel better.’
‘Well, I . . .’ began Louise and looked across at her father.
‘She can’t stay for long,’ he said. ‘She’ll need to come back to Whitby. The inspector in charge has not given permission for those involved to leave the town yet. Louise is only over here because we needed to look at Andrea’s flat in Headingley.’
‘What?! Jim, she can’t go back there. It’s too traumatic for her. And it’s not safe; you haven’t caught the killer yet.’
‘Mum, it’s okay. I can manage. I’m not on my own.’
‘No, but the others will be in the same state as you.’
‘That’s why we’re supporting each other. I have to go back and help the police if they need me. Dominic might send another text message.’
Julia shuddered. ‘Oh, it must have been so creepy to get that.’
‘It was, but the next time it might lead the police to him.’
Oldroyd sat back and said nothing until Julia spoke to him.
‘Will you be going back over there, Jim?’ she asked.
‘Yes, but I’m not sure for how much longer. It depends on whether they need me and if Tom Walker agrees to it. I really don’t think she’s in danger, Julia, and I don’t think she’ll need to be there be for long.’
‘Would it help if I came over? I’m sure I could get some compassionate time off if necessary.’
This was what Oldroyd wanted to avoid. Luckily Louise felt the same way.
‘No, Mum. Really. You’d only get worried and, anyway, what would you do?’
Julia shook her head. ‘I suppose I’d only get in the way. I just don’t like to think of you there with a murderer on the loose.’
It took a while, but Julia eventually accepted that Louise would return to Whitby after the weekend but would ring every night to reassure her mother that she was all right. As Oldroyd had expected, Julia made it clear that she held him responsible for their daughter’s welfare. Leaving Louise with her mother for the weekend, he was quite relieved to make his escape and drive over to Harrogate. It was not without some sadness on that journey that he reflected on how he now wanted to avoid the company of the woman he’d once loved. For many years after their separation he’d been keen to see her and remained hopeful of a reconciliation. But those feelings had now faded.
It was mid-afternoon by the time Oldroyd reached Harrogate and his flat overlooking the Stray. Deborah was waiting for him. She was lying on the sofa reading a book and looking very relaxed. She shut the book when Oldroyd came into the room. He sat down heavily in an armchair.
‘Jim! I’m glad you’re back. How was it? I’ve been thinking about poor Louise. Is she okay?’
‘Not bad, considering the circumstances. I’ve just dropped her off at her mother’s. We’ve been to the flat of the girl who was murdered; see if there were any clues.’
‘How gruesome! And were there any?’
‘Not really, just something that made me think.’ He told her about the missing picture. ‘The problem is: there’s no one who can tell me what was there. Her boyfriend might have known, but he’s apparently the murderer and has disappeared. Louise can’t remember and I don’t know anyone else who’s actually been into that flat.’
‘Surely some of her friends must have visited her.’
‘Yes, I’ll have to ask them when I get back.’
‘And her parents? Where are t
hey?’
‘They’ve come over from Leeds. Alice Granger’s dealing with all that. It’s the nastiest job in policing: dealing with parents whose child has been murdered.’
Deborah winced at the idea. ‘Absolutely terrible. So what’s the plan now? I take it you’re not just going to leave the police over there to sort it out as you mentioned going back. And I notice you said “apparently” in relation to the murderer. Are you sceptical?’
‘You know me: I’m always sceptical. I don’t like open-and-shut cases. I’m always looking for something more complicated. There are some things that puzzle me about this case.’
‘Not everything is complicated though, is it? Sometimes the most obvious solution is the right one.’
‘Oh yes, in fact most of the time. I don’t really see the routine cases anymore, which are actually the vast majority. When I’m called in it usually means there’s a mystery to solve. The difference here is that I’ve only got involved in this case because of Louise.’
‘So maybe you’re making more of it than you need to.’
‘Perhaps. Interestingly, Louise is not happy with the obvious answer either, despite being a witness.’
‘Like father, like daughter, then?’
‘Yes. Though at the beginning I thought her attitude could be due to shock. Imagine what it’s like to see one of your friends murder another. Now I’m not so sure.’
‘Horrendous! And I see what you mean. It would be hard to accept that it had really happened.’
‘There’s also some weird stuff going on.’ He told her about the texts from Dominic and the aborted meeting at the church. As a psychotherapist, Deborah took an interest in this.
‘That is strange. It sounds as if the stress and shock of what he did could have caused some kind of psychosis around the Dracula theme. Also, he may want to talk to his friends so he contacts them but is overcome with guilt and can’t face meeting them when it comes to it. Have the police over there really no idea where he is? He sounds as if he’s in a desperate state.’
