House of Lies

by Terry Lynn Thomas

  ‘What? So soon? Don’t we at least get to question him about Lucy Bardwell’s killer?’ In reality, Thomas wanted to give the man a thrashing for his interaction with Cat.

  ‘Alibied. Had to let him go. It seems our illustrious Mr Grenville was locked up in a London nick at the time of Lucy Bardwell’s murder. He’s desperate, but he’s not our murderer.’ DCI Kent ran his fingers through his cropped hair.

  ‘So what do we do next?’

  ‘We start at the beginning. Re-interview the witnesses, revisit and re-evaluate the crime scene. I feel like I’m missing something, and I don’t know what it is.’

  ‘And Hinks?’

  ‘Getting released this morning. His wife is coming to fetch him.’ DCI Kent checked his watch. ‘She should be here within the hour. Before she gets here, I’d like to meet with the men and make a plan.’

  ‘With your permission, sir, I’d like to talk to Hinks, ask him for information about Lucy Bardwell we would not get otherwise. If she was seeing someone else, had another circle of friends, or any other secrets, he may know about them.’

  ‘We’ll let him go home, eat a meal and sleep in his own bed. Tell him he’s got a twenty-four-hour rest period. We’ll talk to him after that.’

  ‘No disrespect, sir, but I would like to speak to him today before he goes home. He’ll be eager to help so he can get out of here. We can conduct a more thorough interview in a day or two. But I’d like to get some background, if you don’t mind. I’m afraid his surly attitude will return once he is out of our control. Knowing Hinks, he’ll conjure up a good deal of anger at being locked up.’

  DCI Kent stared at Thomas for a moment, before he nodded. ‘Agreed. See to it.’

  ‘Sir,’ Thomas said. ‘I need to tell you something.’ He shut DCI Kent’s office door and took the chair across from him. ‘I have a sister.’ He told DCI Kent about Margaret, leaving out the emotional pain about his parents and his own fruitless efforts to find her. When he was finished, he added, ‘I felt you should know. She’s probably going to come after me.’

  ‘I cannot believe the way that Carlisle woman attracts trouble,’ DCI Kent said. He walked to the window and stood with his back to Thomas.

  ‘Cat doesn’t have anything to do with this, sir. She didn’t attract Margaret. I’m afraid that mess lies with me,’ Thomas said.

  DCI Kent turned to face him. ‘Maybe not. But she didn’t hesitate to bring your sister into her home, did she? Life with Mrs Carlisle is going to be interesting, Tom.’

  ‘I think that’s part of the attraction, if you don’t mind my saying so.’ Thomas gave DCI Kent a sheepish grin.

  ‘Do you think your sister had anything to do with Lucy Bardwell’s murder?’

  ‘I don’t know, sir,’ Thomas said. ‘I haven’t seen her in decades. She was so violent when we were young, my parents had her committed. I don’t know what type of woman she became.’ Thomas thought about taking Cat away. But where would they go? There was nowhere to run. Thomas and Cat would have to face Margaret. Together, out of necessity, they would see this scenario through. ‘If she comes after me, I may need to call for help. I hate to burden you with this, but I’ve Beck and the missus to think about.’

  He was surprised when his superior officer turned to face him, a steely determination in his eyes. ‘Of course you’ll call for help. That’s what we’re here for.’

  ***

  Hugh woke up with the sun. He reached for Vera, but the bed was empty, the place where she had lain rumpled and warm and smelling of her. Rolling into her pillow, he paid attention to this feeling, unsure how long it would last, and wanting to remember it. As he sat up, he reached for his bandaged ear, surprised to find the sticking plaster damp. Droplets of blood dotted his pillow. He ran his finger over the stain, a physical reminder of his time in Vera’s bed. In all the years he had been married to Margaret, Hugh had never experienced anything like last night. He gave a pleasurable sigh.

  Now he had to contend with the idea of George Hinks returning home. Hugh had been so surprised and enraptured by their lovemaking he had forgotten all about George Hinks. Vera had whispered she loved him right before she fell asleep, the sweet words echoing through his mind as she lay next to him. Their future was uncertain, Hugh acknowledged that, but he wouldn’t abandon Vera. How convenient it would have been if George had indeed murdered that girl. How easily their problems would have been solved.

  Hugh threw on his clothes and hurried down to the kitchen, where Vera bustled about, busying herself with breakfast. After pouring Hugh’s tea, she cracked four eggs into a cast-iron frying pan, sliced four pieces of fresh bread and put them under the grill. Once that was finished, she set about slicing apples. ‘There’s cheese in the refrigerator. Would you get it?’

  Hugh did as she asked, setting the block of cheese on the table before he took her in his arms. ‘I don’t like the idea of George in bed with you, especially after last night.’

  ‘Don’t worry, darling. George won’t be sleeping with me.’ She gave him a bright smile. ‘Ever again.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Hugh hoped against hope Vera had found the strength to toss aside her religious conviction and follow her heart. ‘Are you going to leave him?’

  ‘I don’t want to speak of it now. Come sit.’ Vera looked at him with soft eyes and touched his cheek before she put the toast in the rack and set it on the table. ‘I’ve got fresh butter from Harley’s farm. Usually we trade a jar of apples for a chunk of butter. Not anymore. I had to give four jars of apples this time and my butter portion was smaller. It’s the rationing.’

  ‘I’m afraid it will get worse before it gets better,’ Hugh said. In the beginning, many predicted the war would be over quickly. Hugh had never agreed. Naive in many ways, Hugh had seen the worst of mankind in the trenches. He, along with many men of his ilk, had known that Germany would never rest easy after the Treaty of Versailles. This war would be a long one. Germany wouldn’t go down easily. Hitler would never capitulate. Turning his mind to better things, he focused on Vera, the curve of her hips, the feel of her arms around his neck. Soon they were having their breakfast in silent companionship, like an old married couple.

  ‘What will you do with the money?’ Vera asked.

  ‘Give it to the police and let them return it to Hermione. I’ll need to tell them about Margaret.’

  ‘Your blood has seeped through the sticking plaster. I’ll put a fresh one on before we leave.’ Vera stared at Hugh’s injured ear. ‘You should tell the police how she bit your ear, Hugh. It speaks to her state of mind.’

  ‘I intend to.’ After sopping up the last of eggs with his toast, Hugh pushed his plate aside, concerned all of a sudden for Vera. Her demeanour was a wee bit too chipper this morning. ‘What is it? Something’s wrong. I can tell.’

  In one efficient motion she swept their plates from the table and plopped them into the sink full of sudsy water. ‘Nothing. I’m just trying to cope as best I can.’ She turned, her face serious now. On edge already, Hugh’s heart leaped. ‘I don’t want George in this house, Hugh. I don’t care if he rots.’

  Hugh moved to her, trying to hold her, but she pushed him away. ‘Don’t. Please. Don’t look at me with pity. I can’t bear it.’

  ‘I’m not looking at you with pity. You need my help. Surely there’s something you can do. Does George have family? Could he stay in a hotel?’

  ‘No, you dear man. That’s not the answer. I’ve something else in mind.’ She turned back to the sink and busied herself with the dishes. ‘I’ve made other arrangements. You just need to trust me.’

  Hugh left Vera long enough to return to his cottage, shave and put on his best suit. As they walked from Vera’s kitchen to the garage, Hugh tried to hold Vera’s hand. Distracted, she pushed it away and tossed him the car keys. They didn’t speak during the drive. By the time they arrived in Rivenby, Vera’s face had become so pale, her eyes so haunted, Hugh wondered if she was ill.

  Grabbing
her arm before she got out of the car, he said, ‘You don’t have to do this. I can go in there and tell him you don’t want to see him. No one would blame you.’

  ‘I have to face him.’ Vera stared straight ahead, not meeting his eyes. ‘This is my problem, Hugh. I’ve never been one to send another body to clean up my messes. No matter what happens, you should know I love you. I never stopped loving you. Seeing you again has changed my life.’

  ‘Vera …’ Hugh said. But Vera didn’t hear his words. She was already out of the car.

  When they entered the lobby area, Vera stepped away from Hugh and hurried over to a female constable. Imagining she was looking for the loo, Hugh didn’t think twice when she turned to him and said, ‘I’ll be right back.’

  Hugh watched as Vera walked away from him, her back rigid as a soldier on parade, clutching that blasted handbag as though it were a lifeline.

  ***

  Thomas waited for George Hinks at the desk just outside DCI Kent’s office. Situated in the back of the main room, the desk afforded a supervisory view of the constabulary but was well enough away to ensure privacy. DCI Kent had suggested Thomas use the desk while he conducted the morning briefing, and Thomas was glad of it. Aside from a slew of burglaries in surrounding villages, Lucy Bardwell’s murder remained the prime focus of the Rivenby Constabulary. Thomas had spent six years in the Army and another twenty-plus years working for Sir Reginald Wright doing undercover work. During his long career, he had served under intelligent men who had achieved success where others surely would have failed. DCI Kent had earned Thomas’s respect, along with the respect of his men, who listened intently to the morning briefing. Kent’s words were a combination of praise for a job well done so far, and strategy for how to proceed in the future. Shoulders slumped and a collective sigh filled the room when DCI Kent said, ‘Now we start over.’

  A constable accompanied George Hinks as he stepped into the room, staying towards the back so as not to disturb the others. The time spent in police custody had not been kind to Mr Hinks. Gone was the surly mien and sneering mouth. Gaunt and unshaven, George Hinks’s clothes – the same ones he had been wearing when they had taken him from his local pub – smelled of sweat and fear.

  He sat down, gazing at Thomas with eyes that were bloodshot and swollen. ‘You probably think I had this coming to me.’

  ‘I’m not judging you, Hinks. But we need your help to figure out who killed Lucy. You knew her, probably better than most.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said.

  ‘For what?’ Thomas asked.

  ‘Reserving your judgement. I am not deserving of your goodwill. I treated you rotten. And I’m sorry for it. My poor wife. She’s going to bear the brunt of this. My god, what a mess I’ve made.’ He rubbed his face. ‘I’ll help you. I’ll tell you anything you need to know.’

  ‘Good,’ Thomas said. He handed a list of names to George Hinks as he uncapped his fountain pen. ‘Here’s a list of all of Lucy Bardwell’s friends. Can you think of anyone else we should talk to?’

  George read the names and handed the list back to Thomas. ‘None on this list. Those are just her mates from school. She had another group of friends, most of them newly relocated from London, her party crowd. She used to meet them at the dances in Hendleigh. A bit wild, but Lucy did like a good time.’

  ‘Good time?’

  ‘She liked to go to the dance clubs, sip from a flask, have a few laughs.’

  ‘How often did you and Lucy spend time together? Did you have a set night you met? And where did you conduct your trysts?’ Thomas asked.

  Hinks’s stomach rumbled. ‘I haven’t eaten much.’

  Thomas ignored him.

  ‘We met on Wednesdays.’

  ‘Hinks, how did you stay away from home so much? Didn’t your wife wonder where you where?’

  ‘Vera and I haven’t been close these past few years. I started spending most nights with an old Army friend.’ He shrugged. ‘She didn’t seem to miss me.’

  And you didn’t seem to miss her. Thomas didn’t give voice to his words.

  ‘Lucy had money, so she would get us a hotel in Hendleigh.’

  ‘And you would spend the night there?’

  ‘Not me, no. Not the whole night. Lucy would sometimes. But she’d hurry back to Saint Monica’s so she could sneak in of a morning. She liked Mrs Carlisle. I want you to know Lucy spoke very highly of her.’

  ‘I’ll pass that along. Tell me more about the friends from London. Do you know their names?’

  ‘Not their names.’ He fidgeted, as though he were deciding how much to tell Thomas.

  ‘We need your full cooperation, Hinks. If you know something—’

  ‘It’s probably nothing. One night Lucy and I were supposed to meet – this was in the beginning before we had our Wednesdays regular like. I followed her and her friends to the dance club near the hotel where she would get our room. I watched her dance with one of the lads – a soldier on leave, I reckon – and when he made a pass at her, she slapped him good. Kicked him in the shin before she flounced off the dance floor. Grabbed her friends and left. She was a tough one, especially for someone so young.’ He met Thomas’s gaze. ‘She didn’t deserve to die.’ His stomach rumbled again. ‘I don’t suppose you’d see your way to some tea and biscuits?’

  Thomas looked around for a lad he could send to the canteen, but didn’t want to take anyone from DCI Kent’s briefing. ‘I’ll go. Wait here.’

  Rumour had it the tea in the canteen was strong enough to put hair on your chest. Thomas had never availed himself so he couldn’t speak to its quality one way or another. He was always amused at the cornucopia of baked goods, provided by the Women’s Institute and a bevy of other citizens, who felt it incumbent upon them to keep the wheels of justice in Rivenby well stocked with baked goods. After loading up a plate for George Hinks, Thomas took the proffered cup of tea and headed back to his desk when he recognised a man talking to the desk sergeant.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Thomas said. ‘I believe I saw you walking near my house the other day. I’d like to speak with you, if you could spare a moment.’

  The man faced Thomas, eyed the plate piled high with biscuits and the cup of tea with a healthy dose of scepticism and said, ‘Are you a policeman?’

  ‘In a manner of speaking,’ Thomas said.

  The man scrutinised Thomas from top to bottom. Finally he gave a grunt of satisfaction. ‘Very well. But when we’re finished, I’d like to speak to a proper policeman, if you please. I’ve come to make a statement.’

  The man followed Thomas through the back room to the desk where George Hinks sat. DCI Kent had stopped speaking to the group and was now huddled in the corner with three sergeants looking over a large map of the woods behind Saint Monica’s. Thomas set the plate of biscuits and the tea in front of George Hinks. ‘I’ll leave you to eat in peace for a few minutes.’

  Hinks nodded as he tucked into the biscuits.

  ‘Come with me, sir,’ Thomas said. He led the man away from Hinks to a quiet corner where they could speak without being heard. The man was tall and thin, with bright blue eyes and a weak chin. ‘My name is Thomas Charles. I assist in investigations here at the constabulary.’ Thomas held out his hand.

  The man took it. ‘Hugh Bettencourt.’

  ‘I saw you near my home the other day. Do you remember?’

  The man nodded.

  ‘Did you by chance return a relic and leave it by the front door?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I did.’

  Thomas bit back his irritation. The man wasn’t exactly forthcoming. ‘Would you care to tell me why?’

  ‘First of all, you should know that I had nothing to do with the theft. My wife stole it. I happened to follow her because I knew she was up to no good. We’re divorcing, but that’s not important. We came here from Scotland so she could collect some sort of inheritance. She was desperate for money, as I have none to give her and she needs to support herself. Shortly after we
arrived, I discovered she had blackmailed a dear friend. I’ve got a letter to prove it. After I found the letter, I grew suspicious, thought she was up to no good. I followed her and saw her and her lover break into your house and steal that relic. Don’t know why they buried it in the woods rather than take it with them. But I took it and gave it back to you.’

  ‘So are you saying you just returned the chalice out of the goodness of your heart?’ Thomas didn’t bother to hide his scepticism.

  ‘Not my choice of words. I feel responsible for my wife’. The man reached into his pocket and took out a packet of money, along with a folded piece of paper, worn thin at the creases. ‘My wife discovered Martin had a mistress and used it to ruin him. There’s a letter from Martin in there. I found it with Margaret’s things. It proves she blackmailed him. If you see the money is returned to Martin’s wife, I’d appreciate it. Somehow, I think returning it personally isn’t appropriate.’ Hugh wiped his eyes with the back of his sleeve.

  Thomas read the letter twice. As he read, the strange events clicked into place, and he knew without question the man in front of him was Margaret’s husband. ‘I’m Margaret’s brother. I’ve been told she came to Rivenby to find me.’

  Hugh stared at Thomas, a look of his surprise in his tired eyes. ‘Is it true then? Was she coming to you about an inheritance?’

  Thomas sighed. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t heard from her, nor have I seen her in years. Frankly, I don’t even know what she looks like now. But I’ve money for her. When I sold our parents’ home, I saved her half.’

  ‘That’s probably the first honest thing she’s told me,’ Hugh said.