“Funny. That’s exactly what I told your father.”
Chapter Nine
To Joe’s way of thinking, there was no sense in hanging around the hospital. The answers to this puzzle were back at the Ballantynes’ home, not in Burnley.
He stepped out of A & E just as the sun climbed above the roofs of semi-detached houses opposite, momentarily dazzling him. The rising heat broke sweat on his forehead, and again he had to remind himself that he had been up most of the night. He was overdressed even for this early hour.
Climbing into his car, he fired the engine and switched the heaters over to cold. He had needed them on warm to dispel the condensation on the windscreen in the early hours. He did not anticipate needing them again over the next day or two.
As he picked up the road back to Sabden, he considered the bits he had read of Katya’s notes. Somewhere along the line, he had persuaded himself that he needed Maddy’s help, and Toby had given permission, but the dashboard clock read only 7:45 and it was still too early to call her. What to do in the meantime?
For the first time, he questioned his own motives. In all the cases of murder and other crimes he had come across, he had never before kept evidence from the police, but this time, he had chosen to do so. The envelope containing Katya’s contradictory documents and the receipt from the Maitland Hotel would remain in the boot of his car until he had a chance to speak to Maddy.
Why? Was he simply trying to steal a march on the police? There was clearly something going on in the background, something which Sir Douglas had not been aware of, something he, Joe Murray, needed to get to the bottom of, but that did not excuse his actions.
It was exactly the kind of mystery he loved to get his teeth into. He crossed over the M65 Motorway and began a steep climb away from the town. The sun shone over his right shoulder, and the bulk of Pendle Hill was lost in the nearer treeline. He felt a sharp thrill run down his spine. The attacker was hidden in plain sight, just like Pendle Hill, and exposing him/her would be tricky, but no mystery was unsolvable. The would-be killer had not yet come up against Joe Murray at his best.
The rural roads were still quiet, and such traffic as there was, headed towards Burnley, leaving his way clear ahead. In less than twenty minutes, he was pulling through the still open gates of The Sorting House, and cruising slowly along the drive.
Police vehicles crowded the little parking area out front. Across the expanse of lawn, three uniformed officers were making their way back to the house as Joe pulled in alongside Rodney’s Vauxhall, killed the engine, climbed out and entered the house.
He found Sergeant Hollis talking to a tall and lean man. In his late thirties according to Joe’s estimation, his dark hair showed the first sign of receding from his forehead, lending his already grave face an air of anger.
He turned on Joe. “Who the bloody hell are you?”
“This is Mr Murray, sir,” Hollis said. “I told you about him.”
Joe could imagine the conversation, and smiled. “I’ve just come back from the hospital, and now that I’m here, who the bloody hell are you?”
“Inspector Driscoll. CID.” He made no move to bring out his warrant card, but scanned Joe up and down. “Your name seems familiar. Have we met before?”
“Nope. Do you know Chief Inspector Burrows? Blackpool CID?”
“We’ve met. Usually when he was complaining about the Ballantyne family.”
“Yeah, well, ask him who solved the two deaths at the Ballantyne depot at Easter.”
“You’re that Joe Murray.” Driscoll did not wait for Joe to reply. With the passion in his words matched by the fire in his eyes, he said, “I’m warning you right now. Keep your nose out. I will not have clueless amateurs shoving their unwanted opinions into my investigation.”
Joe smiled. “Fair enough.” He made for the drawing room. He’d taken only a few paces when he stopped and turned. “Oh. You’ve found Katya Nolan, have you?”
“There’s an all ports warning out on her. Trouble is, she had a good head start before the warning was put in place.”
“I don’t think so.”
“You were the one who told us she was missing,” Driscoll objected.
“No.” Joe pointed at Hollis. “I told him that her car was missing. She’s still here.”
“We checked the house and the outbuildings, and I’ve just had these officers combing the woods.” Driscoll gestured at the three uniformed men Joe had seen as he arrived. “She’s not here.”
“According to my information, you’d need a damn sight more than three men to check those woods properly. I’m off for some breakfast. See you later.”
***
At a few minutes to nine, having enjoyed an excellent full English breakfast, courtesy of Mrs Winters, and spoken with her husband, Joe sat with his two friends on the terrace, enjoying the morning sun, a bottle of chilled water in front of him. Once he had brought them up to speed, he composed a text message, hit the ‘send’ button on his phone, then tucked the instrument in his pocket.
“Maddy?” Sheila asked, keeping her voice low. When he nodded, she pursed her lips in a mix of concern and disapproval. “You could be in serious trouble if the police find out about this, Joe.”
He, too, looked around, ensuring no one was in earshot. It was not a major concern. There were no police officers visible. Serena, Hermione and Verity were walking the grass fifty yards from them, and Dennis, the gardener/chauffeur, was busy riding round on his tractor some distance beyond the two women.
“Why should I be in trouble? The cops are busy working on Sir Douglas’s room and Katya’s. According to Alistair, they haven’t even asked to look in the study.”
“You’re withholding evidence. Concealing it in the boot of your car.”
“No one knows that it’s evidence. Even we don’t know that it’s evidence.”
“Of course it is,” Brenda snorted. “It proves that young Rodney is a fake. He’s a damned fortune hunter.”
Joe sipped his water. “It proves nothing of the kind. All it does tell us is that one of the two sets of documents is a fake, and right now, we don’t know which one. And even if it shows that Rodney is hooky, what of it? He didn’t attack Sir Douglas. He can’t have done.”
The two women remained silent, their blank stares telling Joe all he needed to know.
“When the siren went off, I was out of my room in less than five seconds,” he went on. “I didn’t even bother to put my bath robe on.”
“We noticed.” Sheila’s nose wrinkled in disgust.
“Rodney was at the far end of the corridor. Now how did he attack Sir Douglas, get out of the room, get to the far end of the corridor in time to turn and come towards me?” He drank more water. “I don’t know what’s going on, but Rodney did not attack the old man. And I don’t think Katya did, either, because I was at the open window less than fifteen seconds after the siren sounded and she was nowhere to be seen.” He paused again and when they said nothing, he went on. “I gave the police her work in that box file. That’s enough for them to be going on with. But just because Rodney and Katya were both, apparently, iffy, it doesn’t say either of them had anything to do with the attack, and we know what the Ballantynes are like when it comes to managing the filth. This is a private matter for the family, and unless I learn something to the contrary, it’ll stay that way.”
“So what are you going to do with the information?” Sheila demanded.
Joe smiled. “Maddy’s a genealogist, isn’t she? Who better to get to the bottom of it?”
“And you might just get to the bottom of Maddy.”
Joe scowled, and Sheila deliberately ignored Brenda’s ribald comment. “What do you think has happened, Joe?” she asked.
“To be frank, I don’t know.” He leaned forward across the table, lending their conversation an even more conspiratorial air. “Y’see, if Katya was applying pressure on the old man, she’s hardly going to leave the evidence lying around in a
box file, where anyone might find it, is she? And that might explain why she didn’t take the box file with her. But she left some things for someone to find. In this case, me. Why did she leave them behind? More importantly, why leave that hotel receipt in another little envelope.”
Brenda shook her head and blinked a few times as if trying to clear her senses. When she looked upon Joe, it was with a stare of irritation. “I don’t understand this. You just said you don’t think Katya had anything to do with the attack and yet here you are trying to prove that she did.”
“Not quite. She didn’t attack Sir Douglas. I’m sure of it. But I think she was up to something, else why would she just disappear? Why hide this second lot of information? And again, why leave it behind? Why switch off the CCTV system – and I am certain it was her. The timing is too coincidental. She needed those cameras off while she moved her car. But without the car, how did she get away so quickly after the attack? She didn’t is the answer and while Driscoll and his people have been scouting the house and the woods, she’s made her escape. Not because she stabbed the old man. She was nowhere near him when it happened. Climbing out of the bedroom window and down that ladder, there is no way she could have got to anywhere in or around the house without me hearing her. Even if I’d only heard her footsteps as she ran for it, I would believe it, but I didn’t. No, she was gone before the old man was attacked, and she didn’t want anyone to know she had gone. Why? Because she learned something about Rodney, and the stuff in the envelope may be that very something.”
“She may have robbed the place,” Sheila suggested. “That would mean she needed a quick getaway.”
“And yet she hung around to have dinner with us all?” Joe’s tones told her of his opinion. “Talk sense, Sheila. She’s been here for months on a guaranteed earner of sixty grand over the next coupla years. All right, so she may have been casing the joint for a boyfriend, but whatever they were hoisting would have to be pretty valuable. According to the family, Sir Douglas didn’t keep that much cash in the house.”
“He didn’t have any cash on him when he came to The Lazy Luncheonette,” Brenda reminded them.
“Easy to dispel too,” Sheila said prompted by their objections into giving the subject more thought. “One tour of the house would be enough to tell if there was anything missing.” She, too, leaned into them as Serena and Verity neared. “But the timing is all too coincidental, as you’ve just pointed out, Joe. She’s chosen to disappear and Sir Douglas is attacked at roughly the same time. She must be involved.”
“We don’t know,” Joe said. “I think she may have been working with whoever did attack the old boy.” He chewed his lip. “It all hangs together, but right now, the only hook I can see to hang it on is called Rodney Asquith, and he can’t have done it, either.”
“You’re not making a lot of sense, Joe,” Sheila protested.
“Because this whole thing doesn’t make sense… yet. I need more information.”
His phone began to warble for attention.
“Then let’s hope Maddy can get it for you,” Brenda said as he dug the instrument out.
Joe checked the screen and was delighted to see that Brenda’s guess was on the mark. He made the connection, put the phone to his ear, and announced, “Maddy. Great to hear from you.”
“That’s him in seventh heaven,” Brenda scowled.
“No, no. Only Brenda wittering as usual.” Joe said into the phone. He stood up and ambled away from the table while he continued his conversation.
“Jealous, dear?” Sheila asked.
Brenda delivered a grunt which could have been an admission or an attempt to laugh it off. “Not really. I don’t like to see him make a fool of himself. Especially over a woman like that.”
“A woman like what?”
“TV type. Remember I-Spy and Gibraltar House? I met a few of them during that week, Sheila. False, the lot of ’em.” Brenda shuddered at the memory.
“You can’t judge every TV personality based on just a few,” Sheila said.
“Why not? Every single one I’ve met or not comes across exactly the same. Determined to indulge their own egos, and I guarantee Maddy Chester is no different. Norman Parrish was the same, wasn’t he? Remember him from school? Quiet as a mouse, yellow as custard, but the minute he made it on TV, he changed completely.”
“Hmm. That argument is a bit thin, but I take your point. Let’s just hope Maddy is different. If not, I’m sure Joe will let us know.”
The man himself returned, tucking his phone back in his shirt pocket, a broad smile on his face. “Maddy’s on her way. She should be here by one o’clock.”
“I’m pleased for you, Joe,” Brenda said.
Sheila got to her feet, Brenda followed suit.
“Ignore her, Joe, she’s in a funny mood. Why don’t we see what the police are up to?”
“You’re hoping to persuade me to hand over the envelope. Not a hope in hell. Not until Maddy’s had a look at the documents.”
“I was hoping you might see sense,” Sheila replied as they stepped back into the house.
Moving through the dining room and into the hall, they were surprised by a female officer making her way out carrying a bundle of women’s clothing, all sealed up in evidence bags. When they asked, she would tell them nothing.
“I wonder whose it is?” Sheila asked.
“Not the old man’s, surely?” Brenda giggled at her own idea. “Maybe he’s a secret tranny.”
“It’s Katya’s,” Joe said. “I noticed it all in the wardrobe when we were in her bedroom. They’ll be taking it away for forensic checks.”
They found Driscoll and Hollis in the drawing room questioning the staff.
“Kitting your wife out, are you Driscoll?” Joe asked.
The inspector glowered. “What?”
“All the gear your constable is carrying out. For your missus, or are you donating it to the local charity shops.”
“For your information, Murray, it’s Katya Nolan’s clobber, and it’s being taken away for analysis. We may have her banged to rights on this job, but we still need to jump through the hoops.”
“Defence barristers, eh? Demanding trivia like evidence.” Joe led the two women back out into the hall. “Told you.”
“All right, smartarse. So what kind of a hurry was Katya in this morning?” Brenda did not wait for him to answer. “I’ll tell you. She was in a devil of a hurry.”
“Fast enough to duck out of sight before I got to that window?”
“I don’t know, but I do know she’s a snappy dresser. Even her skimpy clothing on the terrace yesterday afternoon shouted fashion, and no woman would leave that kind of expensive gear behind.”
“You know, that’s a point, Brenda,” Joe commented. “Are we absolutely sure the police have searched every room looking for her?”
Sheila nodded. “Twice. We’d barely been back in bed an hour when two of them came in and asked us to leave.”
“They searched yours again, too, Joe.”
Joe gestured back along the hall and through the kitchen. “How about the outhouses, the garages and so on? Driscoll said they’d had a look, but you know what the cops are like.”
The moment he said it, he wished he had not. Sheila’s glare reminded him that her late husband had enjoyed a distinguished career with the police.
“Come on. Let’s take a look.” He marched off.
“You don’t seriously imagine she’s there, Joe?” Sheila asked as she and Brenda hurried along to keep up with him.
“No, but you never know.”
Passing through the kitchen, they emerged into the sunshine again, this time at the rear of the house. Through the back gates, Dennis could be seen astride his tractor, but there was no sign of any police officer.
“What are you three doing here?”
Jeffrey Claremont, emerged from the rear of his car, parked in one garage. He had a duster in one hand, a cigarette in the other as he leaned
on the bonnet of his Mercedes.
“We’re having a look around, Mr Claremont,” Sheila replied. “Are we breaking house rules, or is it merely a breach of protocol?”
Changing his stance perching on the bonnet, he fished into his pockets, brought out a lighter and lit his cigarette. “Not my house to argue. A lot of expensive horses out here, though.” He gestured lazily at the other limousines and sports cars in the adjacent sheds.
Joe made a pretence of looking them over. “Rolls Royce, Bentley, Jaguar.” He brought his steady gaze to Jeffrey. “Designed by geniuses, built by craftsmen, driven by idiots.”
“You’re going out of you way to be unpleasant,” Jeffrey said.
“You want unpleasant, you should turn up at The Lazy Luncheonette first thing in a Monday morning.”
Jeffrey appeared as if he was about to react to Joe’s challenge, but before he could, Brenda cut in.
“We were thinking about Katya and where she could have got to.”
“Well, I should think that’s obvious. As far away as she can get in that cheap car of hers.”
“The cheap car could be the other end of the country,” Joe assured him, “But Katya isn’t. Tell me something. You and Hermione left the terrace not long after her last night. Did you see anything of her?”
“I thought the police were asking all the questions.”
“I’m asking a few, too. And if I don’t get answers, I’ll only tip the cops off and they’ll ask the same questions. You won’t be able to ignore them.”
“Well, since you ask, no. I saw nothing of her after dinner last night, until she showed up on the terrace, and I’m sure Hermione didn’t, either. She had one of her heads, and took her pills. She was still out like a light when that damned siren went off… or didn’t you notice that she wasn’t in the old man’s bedroom with the rest of us?”
“Now that you mention it. No.”
Jeffrey smiled. “Did you say you were some kind of private detective?” He crushed out his cigarette and returned to polishing his car.
“Yep, but I’m not at my best late at night. Talking of your wife’s pills, is she missing any?”
A Killing in the Family Page 11
