House of Lies (Detective Karen Hart)

by D. S. Butler

  ‘Well, no, Mrs Blake, actually—’

  But Karen was cut off when Jasmine Blake hung up the phone. Karen swore.

  ‘What’s wrong, Sarge?’ Sophie asked.

  ‘Apparently, Cressida is resting.’ Karen checked her watch, wishing the FLO, Lydia, was still at the house. ‘I’ll give them a few minutes to get back to me, and if they haven’t, then I’ll call again.’

  She grabbed two files from the desk and began to methodically go through them, looking for something they’d missed on Mike Harrington. Karen had empathised with his loss. She’d felt a bond, and she didn’t like the thought that he’d pulled the wool over her eyes, that she couldn’t trust her instincts when it came to judging his character. It was the same when the chief constable had told her his wife had died. She’d felt sorry for him and it had affected her ability to view him objectively. She wanted to trust him because she understood his pain, but that didn’t mean he was beyond corruption.

  With Chidlow on the other hand, she found it easy to imagine him tied up in all this. He was still high on her list of suspects. She rubbed her knee, trying to massage away the dull ache. It still gave her trouble now and then, thanks to Charlie Cook.

  She sighed. She had suspects but no evidence a crime had been committed. They had one missing student. And another traumatised teenager, who would not or could not tell them what had happened.

  A case like this required her to be objective, to look at all the angles, examine all the evidence and not jump to any conclusions just because she didn’t like someone . . . or because she did.

  Doyle was another interesting character. She couldn’t see a motive, but he was a possibility. Here with the students overnight, he had the opportunity.

  A few minutes later, Karen’s mobile rang.

  ‘Hello. Am I speaking to DS Hart?’ It was Jasmine Blake.

  ‘Yes, Mrs Blake. Have you managed to talk to Cressida? May I have a word with her?’ Karen asked.

  ‘Well, no, like I said, she’s resting, but I did ask her if she’d been to that man’s cottage, and she said no. She was boasting to her friends. It was just a silly story.’

  Karen frowned. ‘So she wasn’t at Mike Harrington’s cottage on Wednesday?’

  ‘No, she wasn’t.’

  ‘Do you think I could talk to Cressida directly about this? I know she’s resting, but this is really important.’

  Jasmine paused and then said, ‘Oh, very well, but do try not to upset her. She’s been through such an ordeal.’

  Karen rubbed the middle of her brow where the beginning of a headache was building.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Cressida, I’m sorry to bother you again. But there’s an important question I have to ask you.’

  ‘I know. My mum just told me you want to know if I spent time with Mike Harrington.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Karen said. ‘Did you? You’re not in any trouble. We just need to know.’

  ‘Um . . . I don’t want to get anyone else in trouble. He didn’t seem like a bad man.’

  Karen’s grip tightened on the phone. She hadn’t thought so either. ‘Did he hurt you or Natasha?’

  ‘I . . . don’t know. I can’t remember.’

  ‘Did you or Natasha spend time with him before Thursday?’

  She paused before answering. ‘No.’

  ‘I spoke to Ella earlier and she recalls a conversation between you and Natasha where you were telling Natasha you’d been inside Mike Harrington’s cottage. Is that true?’

  Cressida hesitated. ‘Well, I did say that, yes, but I was just trying to impress Natasha. She thought he was good-looking.’

  ‘So you didn’t go to his cottage?’

  ‘No.’

  Karen closed her eyes. This case was getting more and more confusing. Why would Cressida make something like that up? Was it just a matter of boasting to her friends, trying to make herself seem grown-up and important?

  ‘Did you or Natasha have a crush on Mr Harrington?’ Karen asked.

  ‘Maybe. Natasha thought he was hot . . .’ She trailed off.

  ‘Okay. So just to get this clear, there was nothing going on between Natasha and Mike Harrington as far as you know?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you see Mike Harrington on Thursday?’

  ‘Um, not during the day, I don’t think, but I’m not sure about the evening. I can’t remember anything about that.’

  ‘Okay, that’s all right. Maybe the psychologist will help you remember.’

  ‘Yes, maybe,’ Cressida said quietly.

  Karen asked a few more questions, trying to get more information from Cressida. Sometimes it wasn’t so much what a witness said as the way they said it. That could provide just as much information.

  But dealing with Cressida was like handling a closed book that refused to reveal its contents no matter how many times Karen tried to pry it open.

  Karen was frustrated she couldn’t get to the truth. Sophie’s comment was still going around in her mind. Was Cressida’s amnesia genuine, or was she hiding what had happened because she was scared?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Karen sat in a winged-back armchair with a stack of files on her lap. A gust of fierce wind howled through the small gaps in the window frame. She looked out over the blustery scenery and wondered how Morgan was getting on.

  He’d gone to liaise with Inspector Grant. The search team needed to extend the perimeter. They’d found nothing. No footprints, which wasn’t really a surprise as the rain had been so heavy. No items of clothing, no discarded bags or phones. Maybe that was a good sign. It could indicate that Natasha was safe but hadn’t wanted to return to Chidlow House.

  Karen selected a file, ready to go back through the notes, when she heard footsteps. She turned and saw Edward Chidlow standing in the doorway.

  He was scowling.

  Karen said nothing but waited expectantly.

  ‘When were you going to tell me?’ he demanded.

  ‘Tell you what, sir?’ she asked.

  ‘That you broke into one of the rooms, damaging my property.’

  ‘Ah, you’re talking about the lock?’

  ‘Yes. You should have asked my permission before getting a locksmith in.’

  ‘Actually, you’d already given us permission to search the premises. DC Shah requested the key. As you couldn’t provide it, we had to gain access by other means.’

  ‘You could have waited! I’m sure the key will turn up. I just hope you’re prepared to fix any damage.’

  Karen doubted he’d stormed into the library to tell her off without already inspecting the lock. PC Smith had done a very good job, and although the lock would need to be replaced, there was no damage to the door or the frame. He’d been very careful.

  ‘Actually, we’ve found the key,’ Karen said.

  Chidlow blinked. ‘What do you mean? If you’d found the key, why did you need a locksmith?’

  ‘Because at the time we didn’t know who’d taken the key and been using the room.’

  ‘Hang on a minute. Someone’s been using the room?’ Chidlow was outraged. ‘Who?’

  Why was he having such a strong reaction to someone being in a room he used for storage?

  ‘Are you all right, Lord Chidlow?’ Karen asked. ‘Would you like to sit down? You’re very pale.’

  He waved a hand at her. ‘I’m fine. Just fine. Who’s been in the room? What did you find in there?’

  Karen watched him closely as beads of sweat broke out on his brow. The room was full of old junk, and she knew that Ethan was the one using the speaker, so why was Chidlow so anxious?

  ‘I just want to know who was in the room and who’s got the key,’ Chidlow said.

  ‘I’ve got the key.’ Karen walked over to the desk and took the key from the drawer. ‘Here you go.’

  ‘Who had it? I demand to know. It’s my property. I should be told who stole the key.’

  ‘It was one of the students,�
�� Karen said.

  She couldn’t tell Chidlow it was Ethan. That would drive the final nail in the coffin of Karen’s hope that the chief constable would lend his support to the corruption investigation.

  ‘What were they doing in there?’

  Karen didn’t answer his question.

  Chidlow swore. ‘That’s the last time I’m having kids in my house, that’s for sure,’ he snarled. ‘And you’re not going to tell me what you found in there?’

  ‘Not right now, sir, no.’

  ‘But it’s my house! How can you refuse to tell me what was in there?’

  ‘Quite easily,’ Karen said.

  His face had flushed scarlet, and Karen thought that, any minute now, he’d stamp his foot and have a full-on tantrum.

  Sophie walked into the library, announcing that the crime team had arrived to get to work on the room next to the bathroom.

  Chidlow rubbed his neck. ‘They’re going to go through the storeroom? Whatever for? It’s just full of junk.’

  ‘We have a good reason, sir,’ Sophie said, exchanging a look with Karen and then addressing Karen directly. ‘Sarge, should I start the fingerprinting now?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ Karen said.

  Sophie turned to Chidlow. ‘We can start with you, sir, and take your fingerprints for elimination purposes.’

  Chidlow scowled. ‘I don’t think—’

  Karen interrupted. ‘It would be very helpful. We’d expect to find your prints on your possessions. We are interested in fingerprints that aren’t yours.’

  They both stared at him, and eventually he let out a disgruntled huff and agreed.

  ‘If you’d like to come with me, sir, we’ll get started,’ Sophie said cheerfully as Chidlow glowered at her.

  After they left, Karen grabbed her coat and went outside to find Morgan. She saw him crossing the lawn at the side of the house.

  ‘How’s it going?’ she asked as she reached him.

  ‘They’ve found nothing.’

  Karen sighed and looked over to the lake, where the divers were still hard at work. She told Morgan about Ella’s claim Cressida had been in Mike Harrington’s cottage.

  Morgan shoved his hands in his pockets and frowned. ‘And Cressida said she’d made it up? She denied being there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Did you believe her?’

  ‘I’m not sure. What do you think of Harrington?’

  ‘He seems to be a complicated character.’

  Karen thought that summed him up well. ‘Do you think he’s got anything to do with the disappearance?’

  ‘We can’t rule it out.’ He sighed. ‘As far as we know, Natasha could have decided to leave of her own volition. Maybe she got sick of her overbearing parents and decided she wanted a bit of freedom.’

  ‘But then Cressida coming back traumatised just doesn’t make sense, does it?’

  ‘No,’ Morgan said. ‘It really doesn’t add up.’

  ‘Sophie said something that made me think perhaps Cressida hasn’t truly forgotten what happened. Maybe she doesn’t want to tell us anything because she’s scared.’

  ‘Scared of who?’ Morgan asked.

  ‘I don’t know. I really don’t know.’

  They gazed across Chidlow’s land, taking in the russet- and gold-leaved woodland, the grey lake and the deep green of the lawns.

  ‘Beautiful here,’ Morgan said.

  They both looked up as a hawk let out a harsh call. Fully opening its brown, rounded wings, exposing its pale speckled chest, it soared majestically above their heads, on the lookout for prey. A deadly predator for songbirds and small mammals. Karen shivered. A reminder that something beautiful could also be dangerous.

  They both turned and walked back into Chidlow House.

  Karen had only been back in the house for ten minutes when she heard shouting coming from the entrance hall. She put down the file she’d been looking at and walked towards the source of the noise.

  A shrill female voice was issuing demands. ‘Don’t you know who I am? Let me pass!’

  When Karen made it to the entrance, she saw PC Smith trying to deal with a fiery woman who Karen judged to be in her forties. She was tiny and very petite – Karen guessed her to be less than five foot tall without her high heels.

  PC Smith was trying to keep the peace, holding up his hands and attempting to reason with her.

  ‘What’s going on here?’ Karen asked as she approached them.

  PC Smith shot her a desperate look. ‘She just turned up at the gate and demanded to be let in. I tried to explain that the house is closed to visitors due to the investigation, but she won’t listen.’

  ‘Who are you?’ the woman demanded imperiously.

  She had cool blonde hair, cut into a short bob. It looked sleek and elegant, but when she moved her head, Karen noticed that her hair didn’t move. It was more like a helmet than a hairstyle. There had been a serious amount of product applied.

  Her forehead was free of frown lines, but her nose scrunched up as she glared at Karen.

  ‘I’m Lady Chidlow,’ she said, hoisting her handbag higher on her shoulder, and Karen noted it was Chanel. And so was her suit, if the interlocking Cs on the buttons were anything to go by.

  ‘Lord Chidlow’s wife?’ Karen asked. ‘I thought he was divorced.’

  ‘Well, yes, we are divorced, but I still have the right to come and visit my ex-husband if I want to.’

  ‘I see,’ Karen said. ‘Did he know you were coming?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And how did you get here?’ Karen asked, wondering how she had bypassed the officer standing by the gates.

  ‘My chauffeur,’ she said.

  ‘Did the officer at the gate tell you that only police and residents’ vehicles are permitted access?’

  ‘Well, yes, he did spout some nonsense like that, but I told him I’m visiting my husband.’

  ‘Ex-husband,’ PC Smith said, earning him a glare from Lady Chidlow.

  ‘You’re the detective in charge of the investigation, aren’t you?’ she asked Karen, a sly look passing across her features.

  Karen nodded. ‘Yes, I’m one of the team investigating.’

  ‘A girl’s gone missing, hasn’t she?’

  ‘A young woman. Do you know anything about that?’ Karen asked.

  Sophie had been trying to get in touch with Mrs Chidlow but hadn’t had any luck after being fobbed off by the PA.

  ‘I could tell you some stories that might interest you.’

  ‘What kind of stories?’ Karen asked, nodding at PC Smith to indicate he could go back to his position at the door now. She gestured for Lady Chidlow to follow her inside.

  ‘I never thought I’d see the day when a detective led me around my own house,’ she said.

  ‘Is this your house?’ Karen asked. ‘You don’t share the property with Lord Chidlow, do you?’

  ‘Well, no,’ she said. ‘But I did live here for quite some time.’

  ‘Of course,’ Karen said. ‘We’re using Mr Doyle’s office for interviews. Let’s go in here and you can tell me some of these stories.’

  She held open the door for Lady Chidlow.

  ‘This used to be the secretary’s room.’ She looked at Karen disapprovingly. ‘Who’s Doyle?’

  ‘He’s the director of the student study programme. He was running the course here when the students went missing.’

  ‘I told Eddie it was a bad idea.’

  Karen found it strange to hear Lord Chidlow referred to as Eddie. ‘You did?’

  ‘Yes! He’s hard up, but not that hard up, for goodness’ sake. I don’t see why he doesn’t sell the place and buy a fancy pad abroad. Maybe a nice place in New York or Paris. He could afford it, if he sold this. Chidlow House is nothing but a drain on his finances.’

  ‘Some people like old buildings,’ Karen said. ‘They like the sense of history a place like this holds.’

  ‘Not me,’ Lady Chidlow said. ‘Besid
es, the history here is pretty dark.’

  ‘It is?’

  They took seats facing each other at the desk, and Lady Chidlow arranged her skirt and crossed her legs. ‘Yes, really terrible things happened here.’

  ‘I don’t know much about the history of the house,’ Karen said.

  ‘There was a book published. It’s out of print now,’ she said. ‘But it had some awful descriptions of the goings-on here over the centuries. I read it just after we got married. To tell you the truth, I wished I hadn’t. It should be in the library somewhere. I think it’s called The History of Chidlow House. Not the most imaginative title.’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll try to find it.’

  ‘Some of the women who lived here drowned themselves.’

  ‘Your ex-husband did mention it,’ Karen said.

  ‘Three of them in a row. Horrific stuff. Can you imagine how bad their lives must have been to do that?’ She shuddered.

  ‘Is there anything you can tell me pertaining to this investigation?’

  ‘Actually, yes.’ Lady Chidlow shuffled in her seat and leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘I’m sure you’re looking into my husband’s past.’

  Karen agreed that they were.

  ‘Well, I can tell you that he left me for a young woman, and when I say young, I mean very young. He’s always had a taste for young girls.’ She gave Karen a meaningful look.

  ‘How young?’

  ‘Much younger than him,’ she said. ‘Anyway, I just thought you’d be interested.’

  ‘How young was the woman he left you for?’

  ‘He threw away ten years of marriage for a twenty-one-year-old.’

  Karen nodded. Although not a great advert for Chidlow’s fidelity, it didn’t mean he had anything to do with Natasha and Cressida’s disappearance.

  Before Karen could ask any more questions, Lord Chidlow shoved the door open. Behind him was the simpering Graham Doyle.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ He glared at his ex-wife.

  ‘I’ve come to help with the investigation,’ she said, smiling smugly and sitting back in the chair.

  ‘Thank you, Mr Doyle,’ Karen said coldly. ‘I see you took it upon yourself to let Lord Chidlow know his ex-wife was here.’

  ‘It’s only right he knows,’ Doyle said. ‘It is his house, after all.’