by D. S. Butler
She made her way to the top of the stone steps and the uniformed officer standing there.
She tugged her ID out of her pocket, holding it up for him. ‘DS Karen Hart. Is DI Morgan about?’
This officer had definitely got the better end of the deal. Though he had to stand guard, he was under cover.
‘He is, ma’am. I saw him just a moment ago. I think he’s still in the entrance hall.’ He pointed through the large oak doors.
Karen walked inside, her heels clicking on the marble floor. She lowered her hood, thankful to be out of the rain.
The entrance hall was large with a small, modern reception desk located on the left side. Above the desk was a huge portrait of a haughty, hawkish man with fair hair, probably one of the Chidlows. Stone flooring and wood-panelled walls made the area dark and, in Karen’s opinion, a bit gloomy. A huge chandelier dominated the ceiling but hadn’t been switched on. In the centre of the hall was a large curved staircase with an ornate banister decorated with carved swirls and flourishes in the wood.
Directly ahead she saw DI Morgan talking to a short, balding man. Dark hair fringed his collar, and he moved in a jerky way – stress, probably.
Karen walked up to join them. Morgan caught her eye and smiled.
‘This is DS Hart,’ he said, introducing her to the man beside him. ‘Graham Doyle is the programme director for the intensive study week that’s being held here at Chidlow House. He’s the one who reported the two young women missing. Natasha Layton and Cressida Blake.’
Neither name sounded familiar to Karen. They certainly didn’t sound like foreign royalty. She gave Graham Doyle a brief smile. ‘Please continue. I’ll catch up.’
Doyle nodded. ‘Yes, as I was saying, I didn’t realise they were missing until this morning. Their parents pay handsomely for this study week and I like to make sure they get value for money. Lessons start at eight every morning and breakfast is served at seven. When neither girl showed up for breakfast and they weren’t in their rooms, I called the police.’
‘And what can you tell us about the two girls?’ Morgan asked. ‘Do you have any reason to believe they were planning to leave the course early?’
‘It’s highly likely if you ask me,’ Doyle said, looking around shiftily to make sure no one could overhear. ‘They were rather excitable young women, and if they sneaked off to get out of extra classes, it wouldn’t surprise me. I’m afraid their parents probably didn’t know what they were up to.’
‘Who was responsible for their welfare while they were staying here?’ Karen asked.
‘Well . . .’ Doyle rubbed his nose nervously. ‘That would be me. I’m staying on site. We did have another teacher here too, but an unfortunate incident occurred. She fell from the roof. Died instantly. It was a bit too late to get another guardian at this stage, and I thought I’d be sufficient. Of course I wasn’t expecting anyone to run off. It’s most upsetting. This is the first time we’ve run the programme here and, well, it’s not exactly good for the course’s reputation.’
‘No, I can see it wouldn’t be very good for your reputation,’ Karen said dryly, thinking that he didn’t seem particularly worried about the students’ safety. ‘When did the teacher fall?’
‘Tuesday night.’
‘What was she doing up there?’
‘I really don’t know. She shouldn’t have been up there.’
‘Did she fall or jump?’
Doyle sighed heavily. ‘Maybe things got too much for her. I didn’t know her well. I think the police spoke to her family.’
They’d need to speak to whoever had been in charge of the investigation. Karen made a mental note to ask Rick to follow up on that.
‘When where the students last seen?’ Morgan asked.
‘Natasha and Cressida were spotted leaving by Ethan, a fellow student.’ Doyle treated them to a knowing smile that only served to confuse Karen. ‘Obviously I’ve informed the parents of the missing young ladies, but I’m hoping the other parents won’t have to know.’
‘Well, our priority, of course, is locating the young women and making sure they’re safe.’
‘Of course, and I’ll cooperate fully. Whatever you want to know. I’m an open book.’
‘We’ll need to talk to Ethan if he was the last person at Chidlow House to see them,’ Morgan said.
‘Ethan said he thought they were heading to the local pub, but they didn’t want him to tag along. He doesn’t know if they were meeting anyone. I’m sure you’ll get more out of him, but that’s the basic gist of things. They were all dressed up, lots of makeup, that sort of thing.’ He paused, then sighed again. ‘It really is most unfortunate.’
‘We’ll need to talk to the owner of the property,’ Karen said.
‘Oh, I see. We’ve only just managed to persuade Lord Chidlow to open up his amazing venue to us. I’m not sure he’ll want to continue at Christmas now. We had another week of intensive study planned then.’
‘Lord Chidlow is the owner,’ Morgan clarified for Karen’s benefit.
‘Yes, that’s right. Lord Edward Chidlow. His family have owned the house since the fifteenth century, or at least the land the house is now built on. Of course, it’s changed quite considerably over the years.’ Doyle gestured around. ‘The current house was constructed in 1712. Some of it was pulled down in the 1890s but renovated in the same style as the original.’
‘And is Lord Chidlow here?’ Karen asked.
‘He is. I’d prefer we didn’t disturb him, or at least minimally if that’s at all possible.’
‘We will need to talk to him, Mr Doyle,’ Morgan said.
‘I fully appreciate that. It’s just, well . . . he’s a busy man – an important man – and I’d really like this whole mess to disrupt things as little as possible.’
‘I’m sure you would, but as we’ve already said, our priority is locating the girls – and to do that we’re going to have to talk to everybody who was here last night,’ Karen said, losing patience with Graham Doyle.
She didn’t care about the profitability of the programme. Two seventeen-year-olds could be in trouble and they had been missing for ten hours before anyone noticed.
Doyle looked at Karen as though she’d asked him to walk into a lion’s den. His face screwed up, and he pressed a hand to his forehead. Why was he so reluctant for them to talk to the owner of the house? Was Edward Chidlow some kind of tyrant?
‘Perhaps you could talk to him later, after I . . . I’ve had time to explain things to him,’ Doyle said, stuttering. ‘I think he’s very busy at the moment.’
Karen narrowed her eyes. ‘Actually, I’d prefer we spoke to him right now please, Mr Doyle.’
He was clearly worried about the future of his course, and probably rightly so. Would anyone want to send their teenagers on another study course when two previous attendees had gone missing and a teacher had died? She doubted Chidlow would like the publicity, either.
Doyle’s shoulders slumped. ‘Very well. We can go and see him now. I think he’s in his study. Although don’t blame me if he’s upset at being disturbed.’
‘We won’t,’ Morgan said curtly.
They followed him along a dark wood-panelled hallway. Karen looked up and noticed the intricate plaster patterns on the ceiling were crumbling in places. In the past this must have been a very grand house indeed. And at first appearances it was still breathtaking. But on closer inspection, the signs of wear and tear and a general lack of upkeep were clear to see. It must cost a fortune to keep the place going.
‘I’ve asked DC Sophie Jones to do a background check on all the adults who’ve been working at Chidlow House this week,’ Morgan said to Karen.
‘She find anything?’
‘Not yet.’
‘She won’t,’ Doyle said with a sniff. ‘I can assure you all staff had criminal record checks before they were employed.’
Karen sent a message to Sophie, asking her to check social media accounts for both yo
ung women and start the procedure to request their phone records.
Doyle stopped beside a door which had angels carved into the decorative panels. He rapped on the wood. A muffled voice sounded from within, and Karen assumed the person had said to enter because Doyle took a deep breath and opened the door.
A man she assumed to be Edward Chidlow was sitting behind the desk. The portrait hanging in the entrance hall was a good likeness. Even seated, he looked tall. He had a long narrow nose and close-set eyes, reminding Karen of a bird of prey. His slim build suited his expensive clothes. He probably had his own tailor. His thick white shirt showed no sign of creases.
Karen stood a little straighter and smoothed the crumpled front of her jacket.
Chidlow watched them with an impassive expression. His fair hair, lightly flecked with grey, was brushed back from his long face. His sharp blue eyes fixed on Karen as both she and Morgan approached the desk.
‘I’m very sorry to trouble you, Lord Chidlow,’ Graham Doyle began, pressing his hands together as though begging forgiveness. ‘The police officers insisted they speak to you. I’m afraid it’s about the two teenagers who’ve gone missing.’
Chidlow eased back in his chair and said in a bored tone, ‘The course is being held at my property, but I’ve never met either girl.’
He bowed his head, looking back at the paperwork on his desk, effectively dismissing them.
Morgan moved closer, leaning over the desk and looking down at Chidlow. ‘We have a few questions for you, sir.’
Chidlow looked up again, annoyance showing on his face. ‘I really don’t see how I can help you.’
‘I told them it was nothing to do with you but . . .’ Doyle trailed off.
‘Very well.’ Chidlow stood up with a sigh and moved to the French windows, gesturing for them to take a seat beside the small table in front of the floor-to-ceiling bookcase. He remained standing beside the window.
Karen knew the type. Selfish and shallow, Chidlow thought the world revolved around him. From his point of view, the police weren’t here to help, but to make his life difficult.
The windows were large, but the heavy velvet drapes and grey sky outside made the room dark and oppressive. A small lamp sat on Chidlow’s desk, and there was a fire behind his chair, but it was unlit.
Chidlow tugged absently at one sleeve of his shirt. Karen took a seat beside the small ladder attached to the bookcase. She scanned the books. They were leather-bound and in dark colours – burgundies, navy blues and forest greens – nothing like the brightly coloured paperbacks Karen had at home.
Morgan began the questioning by asking Chidlow about the course. Chidlow looked at Doyle, who was hovering next to the door looking increasingly uneasy.
‘To be honest, I have nothing to do with the course. It wasn’t even my idea, rather my accountant’s suggestion. It’s expensive to run a house like this and he thought it would bring in some extra funds. If I’d known the trouble it was going to cause, I’d never have agreed to it.’
‘The teacher who died, Alison King—’ Morgan began.
Chidlow cut him off. ‘An absolute nuisance. Why she had to pick my roof to jump off, I don’t know.’
Karen raised an eyebrow. She wanted to remark on his callousness, but he was already being difficult, and if he decided not to cooperate, he could make their investigation very challenging. ‘Was it suicide rather than an accident?’ she asked, overlooking his cold comment.
‘Why are you asking me?’ His eyes narrowed and he looked down his hawkish nose at Karen. ‘You lot investigated. You’d know more than me.’
‘By “you lot” I take it you’re referring to Lincolnshire Police?’
‘Yes, they were swarming all over the place after the teacher died and now this . . .’ He flung up his hands.
‘And this is the first time a course for students has been held here?’ Morgan asked.
Doyle interrupted. ‘Yes, I told you that already.’
Morgan turned to face Doyle. ‘Thank you for your help, Mr Doyle. That will be all. We’ll talk to Lord Chidlow on his own.’
The little dark-haired man’s face flushed scarlet. He hesitated for a moment before spinning on his heel and stalking out of the room.
After the door slammed, Chidlow chuckled. ‘You’ve made an enemy for life there.’
‘Perhaps,’ Morgan said dryly.
Karen knew Morgan wasn’t in the business of trying to make friends during an investigation. He only wanted to get to the truth.
‘This is the first time we’ve had school students here, but there have been a few business courses held here over the past two years. The adults were far less trouble.’
Morgan asked for more details and made a note of the previous courses.
‘I hope you don’t mind me saying,’ Chidlow said, ‘but you seem to be taking this very seriously. They are seventeen years old, after all, and they’ve only been missing overnight.’
‘That’s true,’ Morgan said.
‘Do you suspect foul play?’
‘We’re keeping an open mind at the moment.’
‘I thought they’d probably gone off to a party somewhere last night, and they’ll turn up nursing hangovers later today.’ Chidlow shrugged.
‘I hope they do,’ Karen said.
Her first impression of Chidlow was that the man was arrogant and used to being surrounded by flatterers and sycophants like Doyle, but he was right about one thing. This investigation had been fast-tracked for some reason. There was no evidence that the young women had been abducted or were in danger.
‘Do you have any background details on the students?’ Karen asked.
Chidlow shook his head. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to ask Mr Doyle about that. I really don’t know. I don’t even know the number of students off the top of my head. I simply know that they’ve commandeered three of the big rooms downstairs – the old drawing room, the dining hall and the main library – leaving me crammed into this little room.’ He looked around his study, which in Karen’s opinion was actually rather large, with a sneer. ‘And they’ve booked out fifteen of the bedrooms, over two floors. I believe two of the rooms were occupied by staff, so by deduction there are probably thirteen students here.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘An unlucky number if you believe that sort of thing.’
‘And how much are they charged for the course? Any scholarships?’ Karen asked, wondering if all the students were from privileged backgrounds.
‘Again, I don’t know the details. My accountant can tell you how much I’m getting paid by Doyle’s company to host the course here, but I couldn’t tell you what he charges.’
He was right. It was a question better suited for Doyle. This wasn’t the type of course an average comprehensive student would be attending to swat up for their A levels. This would be expensive, exclusive. Perhaps Chidlow moved in the same social circles as the students’ parents.
‘Do you know any of the students’ parents?’ Karen asked.
Chidlow shook his head. ‘No, and I have no interest in any of them. I’m afraid my involvement here is purely financial. Needs must. I wish I didn’t have to do it. I’d prefer to generate the money needed for the house in some other way, but . . .’ Chidlow seemed distracted. He trailed off, looking out of the window.
Karen leaned forward to get a better view. The rain was drumming against the French windows, trickling down the glass, which made it hard to see.
There was a figure walking on the lawn, heading to the terrace.
‘Who’s that?’ she asked.
‘Oh, that’s just the groundsman, Mike Harrington.’
As he got closer, Karen got a better look at him. She guessed he was about her age. He was wearing a long, dark coat, collar raised. He had a slight limp and leaned on a stick as he walked. Despite the limp, he looked strong and moved with purpose.
‘Has he worked here long?’
‘A few years. Quiet chap. Keeps to himself, but a good worker.
I’ve had no complaints.’ Chidlow sounded bored. His well-groomed appearance was a contrast to the groundsman.
‘Does he live locally?’
‘He lives on the property, actually. There’s a cottage on the other side of the lake over there.’
Karen stood and peered out of the French windows. The rain was so heavy it obscured most of the view. ‘There’s a lake?’
‘Yes,’ Chidlow said. ‘It’s hard to see today but it’s not much further than that crop of trees just there.’
She would have to take Chidlow’s word on that. She could only just make out the trees.
‘Do you live alone here in the house?’ Morgan asked.
‘I don’t see what that has to do with anything.’
Morgan said nothing but watched him expectantly until Chidlow finally answered.
He huffed out a breath. ‘Yes.’
‘Not married?’ Karen asked.
‘No, not anymore. I’ve got a flat in London and spend most of my time there, but I do try to get back to Chidlow House regularly. I wanted to be here during the course to make sure they weren’t wrecking the place.’ He frowned. ‘I suspected it was a bad idea, and I’ve been proved right. Teenagers are more trouble than they’re worth.’
‘So you won’t be holding the course again?’
‘I doubt it. Maybe business conferences but no more kids.’
There was something shifty about Chidlow. He took his time answering their questions, carefully choosing his words. And he was very keen to distance himself from the course and the students.
‘Mr Doyle was kind enough to give us a list of students who were attending the study week,’ Morgan said. ‘If I run through their names, you can tell me if you recognise any of them.’
Chidlow frowned. ‘I assure you, Detective, I’m a man of my word. I told you I don’t know any of the students, and I didn’t meet either of the missing girls. I can’t help you.’ He turned his back on them as though the matter was ended.
Karen couldn’t help thinking that this was a strong reaction for an innocent man. It didn’t mean he had anything to do with the disappearances, but she suspected Edward Chidlow was a man with something to hide.
