by D. S. Butler
‘That’s a fantastic description,’ Karen said. ‘Very helpful.’
Ethan smiled shyly.
‘I couldn’t help noticing your description of Natasha was more detailed. Why is that, Ethan?’
Ethan’s cheeks flushed. ‘I . . . I’m not sure. I suppose I just noticed Natasha more.’
‘Do you like Natasha?’
‘Yes, she’s nice. I mean, she takes the time to talk to me in class, but Cressida is always around and she doesn’t like me as much.’
‘Would you say you had a crush on Natasha?’ Karen asked.
‘A crush? That’s ridiculous,’ Grayson said quickly. He’d remained silent up until now. ‘Don’t be silly, Ethan,’ he snapped at his son.
His reaction was understandable. They were looking into the disappearance of two young women, and having a romantic interest in Natasha would lead to them viewing Ethan as a suspect. Grayson didn’t want that for his son.
Ethan looked even more uncomfortable. ‘I, uh, not really. I just . . . she’s just nice, you know?’
Morgan took over. ‘Any ideas as to where they were going?’
‘Maybe the pub.’
‘The one in Harmston?’
‘Yeah. I don’t know for sure. I just heard them talking about it.’
‘Last night?’
‘No, a couple of days ago.’
‘And had they gone out like this before?’
Ethan nodded. ‘Yeah, a couple of times this week.’
‘And students aren’t supposed to leave Chidlow House, are they?’
Ethan swallowed and looked at his father before answering. ‘No, but, you know, since that teacher fell off the roof, it’s only Mr Doyle keeping an eye on us now, so it’s easy to sneak out if you want to.’
‘Did any of the other students go out last night?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Ethan said.
‘Were you aware of Natasha or Cressida being particularly friendly with anyone else on the course? Are they close to anyone?’
‘Not really. I don’t think they hang out with anyone else. I mean, I know Cressida and Natasha go to school with another girl who’s on the course, but I don’t think they’re friends.’
‘And what’s the girl’s name?’
‘Ella. Ella Seaton.’
Karen made a note. She’d be high up on the list of students they needed to question.
‘Is there anything else you want to tell us, Ethan?’ Morgan asked. ‘Anything you can think of that might be important.’
Ethan shook his head. ‘I don’t think so.’
When they’d finished questioning Ethan, he asked if he could leave. Morgan gave his permission and the chief constable’s son practically ran out of the room.
Odd behaviour? Or just a kid with awkward social skills? Being interviewed by police officers could be a nerve-wracking experience, even for a chief constable’s son. His reaction was a bit extreme, but understandable, wasn’t it?
Karen was sure Ethan had a crush on Natasha and that could be important to their investigation.
‘So, what do you think so far?’ Grayson asked, slapping his hands together and looking at Karen and Morgan.
‘It’s early days, sir,’ Morgan said. ‘We’ve spoken to the parents and they’re keen for us to start the search.’
Grayson groaned. ‘It’s not come to that yet, has it?’
‘It might be a bit premature,’ Karen agreed. ‘Especially in this weather.’
Morgan said, ‘We’re going to talk to the students first, and search Natasha and Cressida’s rooms. If, after speaking to the students, we haven’t any answers, then we’ll start a search of the grounds and go into the local village, the pub and talk to locals.’
‘Right,’ Grayson said, stroking his chin.
‘Unless you have any comments or recommendations, sir?’ Morgan asked.
‘No, no. I have full confidence in you. The superintendent told me you were her best. I’m sure you’ll track them down. They’re young. Probably went out for the evening and didn’t think of the pandemonium that would ensue when they didn’t turn up for their cornflakes this morning.’ His words were jovial, but his expression was tense.
He stood.
‘Right, I’ll let you get to work. Keep me updated,’ Grayson said.
‘I’ll find Mr Doyle and get the keys to Natasha and Cressida’s rooms,’ Morgan said, as Karen hung back.
‘Sir, I wanted to have a quick word if that’s possible?’ Karen asked Grayson when Morgan had left the room.
‘Of course. What is it?’
‘It’s actually nothing to do with this case. It’s about the internal investigation into DI Freeman’s corruption. You’re aware of it, sir.’
‘Yes,’ the chief constable said slowly, carefully. ‘I am aware of it, DS Hart.’
‘I’ve been trying to get an appointment to see you but it’s been nigh on impossible.’
‘I’ve been very busy. I believe you spoke to Assistant Chief Constable Fry.’
‘I did, sir. But I found it hard to convey how important this investigation is, not just to me personally but to the force. I don’t believe the corruption starts and ends with DI Freeman.’
‘I’m well aware of your thoughts, DS Hart. I believe you shared all this with the assistant chief constable a few weeks ago.’
‘I did, sir, but since then nothing has happened, and quite frankly, I’m losing hope in the system.’
‘The system is in place for a reason, DS Hart. The investigation is ongoing. There are two young women missing. If you can’t give this case your full attention, then perhaps I should ask the superintendent to assign another officer.’
Karen clenched her teeth and took a deep breath before replying. ‘That won’t be necessary, sir. I’ll give this investigation my whole focus. I just wanted to make sure that you hadn’t forgotten about it.’
‘Of course I haven’t forgotten. I’m hardly likely to forget a corruption investigation,’ he said in an annoyed whisper as he buttoned his coat.
After he left the room, Karen took a moment to collect her thoughts. That hadn’t gone well but perhaps it was her fault. She hadn’t chosen the best time to approach him.
Trying to push all thoughts of corruption aside, she headed out to find Morgan. Chief Constable Grayson was right – Natasha and Cressida deserved her full attention. As much as it pained her to admit it, Freeman and the corruption investigation would have to wait.
CHAPTER SIX
Karen found Morgan talking to Graham Doyle in the entrance hall. Doyle had a set of keys clutched in his hand.
‘Mr Doyle has the master set,’ Morgan explained as Karen approached. ‘He’s going to take us up to the rooms.’
‘Thank you,’ Karen said to Doyle, stepping back for him to lead the way.
Doyle gave a snooty sniff and strode across the entrance hall. They walked along the corridor, passing the drawing room and the closed door to Chidlow’s study, to the rear of the house where there was another large, sweeping staircase.
It was even darker there. The wood panelling covered every wall and the floor-length curtains let in very little light from the window in front of the stairs. Portraits of women in old-fashioned clothes were hung along the staircase.
As they began to climb the stairs, Karen asked, ‘Was this the set of stairs where Ethan saw Natasha and Cressida leaving last night?’
‘Yes, actually, it was,’ Doyle replied.
‘The teacher who fell from the roof . . .’ Karen began.
‘A very unfortunate incident.’
‘What’s your gut reaction? Do you think it was an accidental fall?’
Doyle paused before replying. ‘I really couldn’t say.’
The wood creaked beneath their feet as they continued in silence.
When they reached the first-floor landing, Doyle turned to Karen. ‘She didn’t seem depressed to me. There’ll be an inquest, I expect. One thing was a little odd, though.’
‘What was odd?’
‘Well, she didn’t like this house very much. Got a fancy into her head it was really haunted. Silly, I know.’ He smiled and shrugged, playing with the set of keys, passing them from hand to hand. ‘She said she’d heard noises.’
‘What kind of noises?’
‘I don’t know. I think she’d been spooked by the ghost stories.’
‘Ghost stories?’ Morgan asked.
‘Well, they say Chidlow House is haunted by the Drowned Lady, one of Lord Chidlow’s ancestors who drowned in the lake. All nonsense, of course, and I didn’t really think Alison, Miss King, was the flighty type. She was a good teacher. Obviously something had scared her. I wondered if she’d dreamed the noises. Perhaps she’d been sleepwalking when she fell from the roof.’
‘Did she have a history of sleepwalking?’
‘I don’t know. It’s pure speculation on my part.’
‘She fell at night and no one saw anything?’ Karen asked. She would need to follow this up and get the official incident report.
‘Yes. They think it happened at night, but no one saw or heard anything. She wasn’t found until the next morning, when the groundsman discovered her body on the patio. Thankfully I was able to stop the students seeing the body.’ He turned and pointed to the next set of stairs. ‘The boys sleep on the second floor, but Cressida and Natasha’s rooms are on this level.’
‘How many girls are there on the course?’ Morgan asked.
‘Six girls, and seven lads,’ Doyle said. ‘I’ve been fielding calls this morning. I’m sure all the parents are going to want to take their children home today, so if you want to speak to them, I suggest you do it pretty quick.’
‘I’d appreciate it if you would make sure that none of the students leave before we talk to them, please, Mr Doyle,’ Morgan said.
‘I’m not sure how I can stop the parents taking their own children home.’ Doyle sniffed.
‘Do your best. Tell them the police have asked the students to remain on the premises until after we’ve told them they can leave.’
Doyle sighed as though he had the weight of the world upon his shoulders. ‘I can’t believe this is happening. This course has been one disaster after another.’
He put a key in the lock of the first door they came to. ‘This is Natasha’s room.’
The room was small with a single bed pushed against the wall. The decor was similar to the rest of the house. The lower half of the wall was covered in wood panels; above it was a section wallpapered with a grey-and-white damask pattern, faded with age.
There was a brass and crystal light fitting in the centre of the ceiling, too big and grand for such a small area. A tall mahogany chest of drawers was set back against one wall, with an oval mirror sitting on top. Karen walked towards the small desk and fragile-looking chair which sat under the large window.
The rain had let up a fraction. Though it was still coming down heavily, visibility was better now, and she got a glimpse of the lake. It was steel grey, a reflection of the sky. The view from Natasha’s room was impressive. On another occasion, Karen might have described it as beautiful, but today it looked ominous.
As Doyle prepared to leave them to their search, there was a noise outside that caught Karen’s attention. It sounded like whispering.
‘What is that?’ Karen said, walking towards the door.
‘Oh, it’s the pipes. Old houses like this one make funny noises sometimes.’
Karen frowned. It didn’t sound much like gurgling pipework to her. Was this the odd sound Alison King claimed to have heard?
Before Doyle left, he handed them the master set of keys. ‘This one,’ he said, pointing to the one labelled 10, ‘is Cressida’s room. When you’re done, I’ll be down in my office.’
They put on gloves, then searched Natasha’s room carefully. Karen went through the wardrobe first and found an empty wheeled suitcase at the bottom. She examined the clothes and found only staid, sensible outfits. The type of thing she’d expect a businesswoman in her thirties or forties to wear, not a seventeen-year-old student. Interesting, she thought, filing the knowledge away. The clothes Natasha had been wearing on Thursday night, according to Ethan’s description, hadn’t been like the rest of the items in her wardrobe.
Perhaps Natasha wasn’t as sensible as her mother believed. There was a collection of lipsticks on one corner of the chest of drawers, next to a large bottle of Ghost perfume and a big red makeup bag. Karen picked up the bag. There was foundation, concealer, a shimmer highlighter, two types of mascara, three eyeliners, bronzer, blusher and various brushes. All items that suggested Natasha took great care over her appearance. Quite a large collection of makeup to take to a study week.
Morgan searched the chest of drawers.
‘Anything?’ Karen asked.
‘Nothing unusual. Underwear, T-shirts and a few jumpers.’
As he moved to the nightstand, Karen walked over to the desk. It was scattered with study materials and textbooks. An A4 pad sat in the centre of the desk next to a battered copy of Anne of Green Gables. Karen smiled as she turned the book over in her hands. She’d read it many times herself over the years. She’d just set it down beside the maths textbook when a movement outside caught her eye.
‘It’s him again,’ she said.
‘Who?’ Morgan asked, moving to her side.
‘The groundsman, Mike Harrington.’
‘Well, he is the groundsman. He’s supposed to be tending the gardens.’
‘In this weather?’
‘We’ll have a word with him later. He might have seen something.’
There was something about Mike Harrington that didn’t seem quite right, but Karen wasn’t sure what it was. Was it simply that he was out in the rain? But then a groundsman would have to do his job in all weathers. He walked fast for a man with a limp, his stick stabbing into the ground with each step. A spaniel, bedraggled thanks to the rain, trotted beside him. Surely there would be something he could do inside during weather like this, especially if the grounds turned out to be a crime scene and he was trampling all over it.
He had a strong jawline. He rubbed a hand over his unshaven chin as the wind buffeted against him, opening his unzipped coat. Underneath he wore an olive-green polo shirt and brown cargo trousers. His hair looked black, but it was hard to tell if it would be lighter when dry.
‘So, what did you think of Chidlow?’ Morgan asked.
‘Bit of a snob, though that doesn’t mean he had anything to do with the girls disappearing.’
‘No,’ Morgan said. ‘I didn’t really warm to him either. What about the parents? Hiding anything?’
‘Too early to say.’ Karen flicked through a textbook hoping to find something helpful inside, but found nothing. ‘Uptight, but you’d expect that as their daughters are missing. Ryan Blake’s interesting.’
‘Interesting?’
‘Wouldn’t look me directly in the eye when I spoke to him.’
Morgan nodded as he pulled open another drawer. ‘I noticed that too. It concerns me we haven’t seen Mr Layton yet.’
‘Yes; do you think he really is performing surgery?’
‘Stupid to lie about it. We can easily check.’
Karen nodded. It wasn’t a pleasant prospect to consider the parents being behind their own child’s disappearance. But it was a necessity.
Everyone knew about the danger of abductions and the need to keep your children safe and close to home. But, for some, the danger lurked at home. They couldn’t discount any of the parents as suspects if something had happened to the students. Teenagers pushed boundaries. Mix that with a parent with a temper problem and the worst could happen.
‘Now we know why we’re taking this case at a hundred miles an hour,’ Morgan said dryly.
‘Yes, the chief constable’s son.’
‘What did you think of Ethan?’
‘He seemed a bit browbeaten to me. I’m sure he had some feel
ings for Natasha. You don’t describe someone like that and notice what they’re wearing in such great detail otherwise,’ Karen said.
‘I’ll try talking to him again when his father’s not there,’ Morgan said. ‘That might get him to open up.’
‘I’m not sure Grayson would like that. He shut down any talk of Ethan having a crush on Natasha.’
‘It’s only normal for him to be protective of his son.’
Karen nodded and opened a drawer, wondering how protective she’d have been of Tilly if her daughter had reached her teenage years. Josh would have found it hard when she developed an interest in boys. Karen liked to think she’d have been the one Tilly would have confided in. But she’d never know, thanks to Charlie Cook, and Freeman and his network of corrupt officers.
Karen slammed the drawer shut. ‘I’ve been wanting to talk to the chief constable for ages and suddenly he appears on one of my cases.’
‘You wanted to talk to him about Freeman?’ Morgan asked.
‘Yes, I want to know what the hold-up is. I want to know why everything is taking so long and nobody’s pushing for a resolution.’
‘Internal investigations do take a long time, Karen,’ Morgan said.
She knew Morgan was only being reasonable, but right now his reasonableness annoyed her. Besides, there was taking time and making progress and there was coming to a dead standstill, which is what had really happened.
‘Well, it doesn’t hurt to keep an eye on things and encourage the inquiry to focus on the facts,’ she said, flipping through another textbook.
‘No, of course not. I don’t mean . . .’ Morgan broke off.
He was kneeling next to the wastepaper bin, going through the contents.
‘What is it?’ Karen asked, crouching beside him.
Morgan flattened out a piece of screwed-up paper. On it were two handwritten words.
Somebody knows.
‘Somebody knows what?’ Karen said. ‘Do you think Natasha wrote that? Here, let’s compare it to the handwriting in her study notes.’
