A Stranger's House

by Clare Chase

  ‘Nate Bastable had to get someone in at short notice,’ I said, ‘and so I suppose his choice was limited. He came to meet me on the day I arrived—’

  ‘On the day you arrived? That really was last minute, wasn’t it?’ DI Johnson was still smiling, but I felt under attack. Adrenaline pumped round my body, and its effect was overlaid with a sense of disbelief. He seemed to be using everything I said to show that either I, or the house-sitting business, was wanting.

  ‘The whole thing was very last minute, as I said. Nate didn’t have many options. But anyway,’ I tried to keep my voice steady, ‘he came to meet me to satisfy himself that I was suitable. I assume he must have had Damien Newbold’s go-ahead, and that would have been the main thing, surely?’

  ‘Of course,’ DS Brookes said. ‘I imagine he must have admitted your lack of experience to Mr Newbold and, for whatever reason, Mr Newbold decided to proceed regardless.’

  ‘He probably didn’t imagine there would be so many complications,’ I said, hearing how ridiculous that sounded. Complications. That hardly covered it. But DS Brookes merely nodded.

  DI Johnson stood up and wandered over to the window to look out onto the Common, then turned back into the room to face me. ‘You were saying that Mr Newbold’s life came across as dysfunctional,’ he said. ‘Could you explain, please, what gave you that impression?’

  Well, where to start? It was probably best to include everything now; even those things I hadn’t highlighted to Nate. ‘The first thing that struck me was the paintings on his bedroom walls.’

  ‘You’ve been into all the rooms, have you?’ He raised his eyebrows for a moment, but then let them relax. ‘Part of the job I suppose.’

  I agreed, and explained about the cleaning tasks I’d been set, and he nodded.

  ‘So the paintings? Perhaps it would be easiest if you showed me.’

  We went upstairs to the front bedroom in silence, and I let them go in ahead of me to see the display Damien Newbold had put on, apparently for my benefit.

  ‘I see,’ DI Johnson said.

  ‘I know who three of them are now,’ I said. ‘I expect you’ve heard from Nate Bastable about Maggie Cook, who let herself in to this house whilst I was out.’

  Johnson nodded.

  ‘That’s her,’ I pointed. ‘And that one is Tilly Blake, Mr Newbold’s cleaner.’ I saw Brookes raise his eyebrows in a way that told me he’d like a cleaner like her. Hmm. ‘And that,’ I said, pointing at the painting opposite the bed …

  ‘Is Mr Newbold’s mother?’ DI Johnson capped my sentence. ‘I recognise her from the photograph you showed us downstairs. Not the sort of face you’d forget in a hurry.’

  We were all silent for a moment.

  ‘But I haven’t identified the subject of the fourth picture yet,’ I said, and indicated the woman with her eyes cast down.

  Johnson and Brookes exchanged a glance. ‘Oh, don’t worry,’ Brookes said. ‘We know who she is.’

  I wished I could ask.

  As we went back downstairs I explained about Tilly’s visit, and how she was able to tell me that Maggie’s painting was normally the only nude hanging in the bedroom. ‘And somehow, that didn’t come as a complete surprise. It had seemed to me, more and more, that he was having a game with me. Setting up situations that would embarrass me – and the women in his life – for his own amusement. It wasn’t a very nice feeling.’

  ‘And yet you stayed on,’ Brookes said.

  ‘I don’t like giving up. And I don’t actually have anywhere else to go, as you already know.’

  Brookes looked down at his feet and I felt as though I’d scored a point at last.

  After that, they got me to recap all the other ‘incidents’ that had made me feel uncomfortable: the picture of Damien’s mother in the DVD cupboard, Maggie’s phone call to his mobile in the middle of the night, the package someone had sent him, and every detail of Maggie’s unexpected visit.

  ‘You say it all seemed staged,’ DI Johnson said. ‘As though Mr Newbold wanted you and Maggie Cook to come face to face.’

  I nodded. ‘And he wanted me to have done his cleaning, only to find Tilly Blake was booked to come in and do it anyway, and I needn’t have bothered. And equally, I think, for Tilly to turn up and find someone else had taken her place.’

  ‘You’d think she’d be glad,’ Brookes said, ‘to find someone else had done her work for her.’

  I shook my head. ‘I know it seems weird, but I’ve written about that sort of situation before. She was pleased he still needed her, whether it was for sex or for washing the floor. I didn’t want to tell her he’d double booked us. I could see it would hurt her feelings.’

  DS Brookes looked mystified. As well he might.

  DI Johnson said, ‘And each time one of these incidents took place, you reported them to Mr Bastable?’

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘I did whenever it was something I thought needed to be reported back to Damien Newbold. If it was just an oddity, like the paintings or the photo in the cupboard, I obviously didn’t bother saying anything.’

  He nodded. ‘But when you felt it warranted it, you went through Mr Bastable?’

  ‘Of course.’ Why the repeat question?

  ‘And you’ve never met Damien Newbold personally?’

  ‘No.’

  He looked at me. ‘I was just wondering why it was then, that you tried to make direct contact with him whilst he was away.’

  ‘Direct?’ My confusion must have shown on my face. ‘How do you mean?’ I paused for a moment. ‘I didn’t.’

  Johnson glanced down at his notebook. ‘I’ve got a record of a call made to a mobile found at the cottage Mr Newbold was renting on Sunday 7th June at three forty-two p.m. The call went unanswered. It came from this house.’

  It took me a moment or two to get it. The mobile in the package. God – Damien Newbold had sent it himself. Of course, now that I’d been told, it made perfect sense. He knew damn well I’d leave it for him to open when he got back, and so I’d get woken by the alarm. He was the one who’d made me look, and no doubt sat there watching the mobile ring when I’d called. I should have known as soon as I’d got the note tucked into the attic bed. Both acts had the same hallmark.

  I explained to DI Johnson. Of course, I couldn’t produce the mobile with its text, given that I’d finally thrown it away as instructed and the bins had been emptied since then. That and the fact that I had to admit my nosiness in opening the package were demoralising, but at least the basic story fitted with Newbold’s taunting modus operandi. And, of course, Nate would be able to confirm my call about the mysterious package that had woken me up in the night. I wished he didn’t need to know about my having opened up the parcel.

  ‘Have you still got the bit of paper you wrote the number down on?’ DI Johnson asked.

  I fished in my jeans pocket and gave it to him. ‘You might want this too,’ I said, handing over Tilly Blake’s number.

  ‘And we’ll have the mobile that Maggie Cook called, please,’ DS Brookes said.

  I went into the drawing room to fetch it from the bookshelf where it still lay, switched off. The detectives followed me.

  ‘And where were you yesterday evening between, say, six and nine p.m.?’ DI Johnson said.

  ‘Just here on my own. That’s mostly the case at the moment.’ I handed him the phone.

  ‘Yet you didn’t answer when we telephoned.’

  I could feel the heat creeping up my neck, the flush spreading to my cheeks. ‘I told you when you called the second time; I was in the bath.’

  ‘So you did.’

  We re-crossed the drawing room.

  ‘Officially,’ he went on, ‘there were only two people who knew where Mr Newbold was staying: Elizabeth Edmunds, who owns the cottage he was renting, and Mr Bastable.’ He walked through the hall and went over to lean against the dining room wall by the window. ‘Then Maggie Cook let herself in and found the address, and, of course,’ he paused
, ‘we understand you saw that address too, after she’d left.’

  DS Brookes sat back down at the table and I followed suit, my legs wobbling.

  ‘Naturally,’ Brookes said, ‘we’ve no way of knowing who else he may have told, but in general it looks as though he kept his whereabouts fairly quiet. His work didn’t know where he was staying, for instance. Of course, he was still in the office each day, so they had no particular reason to ask.’

  At that moment my mobile went. Nate. Johnson inclined his head, indicating that it was all right to break off for a moment. So long as I had whatever conversation it might be in his hearing, of course.

  ‘Are they still interviewing you?’ Nate said as soon as I picked up.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Jeez. Right. Call me when they leave?’

  ‘Okay.’

  And that was that. I hoped it left my visitors feeling frustrated and curious.

  I turned back to face them. ‘I’m so sorry. You were saying?’

  Johnson looked at me. ‘About how few people seem to have known where Damien Newbold was staying. It’s important for us to talk to anyone else who had that information. We’ll be checking with Maggie Cook, of course, in case she passed the address on. What about you?’

  I shook my head. ‘I haven’t told anyone,’ I said.

  Brookes leant back in his seat. ‘And has anyone been asking?’

  I paused, not because I was intending to lie, just because I really didn’t want to be the one to put the police onto Emily Amos. She’d started to confide in me, just a little bit, and it felt wrong to be casting suspicion on her. ‘There’s a student next door,’ I said at last, and explained the background. ‘But I never gave her any clue as to where Mr Newbold was staying, so I don’t see how she could have found out.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Johnson nodded. ‘We’ll look into that.’

  My head was aching. ‘God,’ I said, ‘she won’t even know Damien Newbold’s dead yet.’

  ‘Probably not,’ Brookes agreed.

  His choice of words only struck me as they went off to look through the contents of the house. They sent a shiver down my spine.

  DI Johnson, DS Brookes and their colleagues were still at the house, sifting through papers and belongings, at twelve.

  Whilst they’d been working, I stayed in the dining room feeling sick, unable to put my mind to anything. I was still reeling, images spooling through my brain: Maggie in the house, Emily’s haunted eyes, Damien Newbold’s mother, a defeated Tilly. A thick mesh of unhappiness, fury and passion stirred up for all the wrong reasons.

  When, at last, Johnson and Brookes left, I leant against the front door. Thank God I didn’t have to answer any more questions. For the time being at least. I could guess the detectives’ next port of call though, and nipped through to the kitchen. Sure enough, they were knocking on the door of Oswald House. I saw Fi answering, and the puzzled expression on her face as she led them inside. After that I could only imagine the scene as the news came out.

  The rest of the police team were gone by two, and it was only then that the feeling of being under siege really receded. I waited for five minutes until I’d stopped feeling sick, and then called Nate.

  Ruby opened the door quickly, and Nate wondered if she’d been looking out for him. He followed her into the kitchen.

  ‘Would you like something cold? I’ve got Coke.’

  ‘Thanks. How were the police?’

  ‘Very unlovely.’ She explained how she’d opened the package addressed to Damien with its mysterious alarm, and how she’d found the ‘made you look’ text, and eventually called the sender’s number. ‘And it turned out that that was none other than Newbold himself. Not knowing the background, they wondered why I’d been trying to contact him direct. They’re bound to ask you about it. I told them you’d be able to confirm I’d received the package at least.’

  ‘And that Newbold asked that you throw it away unopened.’

  She looked at the floor. ‘Um, yes. That too.’

  But Nate couldn’t wind her up after she’d had such a tough morning. ‘Relax. I’d have done the same. Ever thought of going into PI work?’

  The ghost of a smile crossed her lips as she took the Coke cans out of the fridge. ‘Steph calls me “understandably curious”.’

  ‘That’s one way of putting it.’ Nate leant against the worktop. ‘Well, it certainly confirms my feelings about Newbold. One screwed up git. Anyone who’d go to those lengths to pull someone’s strings is definitely way off-beam.’

  ‘I suppose that might tie in with what’s happened; he pushed someone over the edge. He was certainly out to taunt me.’ As Ruby took down tumblers and poured their drinks she told Nate about the note from Newbold that she’d found in the bed in the attic, when she’d decided to decamp there the previous night. She looked at him over her shoulder. ‘Serves me right for going against instructions, really.’

  Nate shook his head. ‘I reckon most people would have cracked sooner. So, have you decided to start sharing things with me? It would have been good to know about the student next door with the older man fixation. And Steph told me Maggie’s nude portrait isn’t the only one on Newbold’s bedroom wall.’

  She was dispensing ice from the fridge freezer. ‘I did think they were weird, but not enough to make a thing about it. Not in comparison to everything else that’s been going on, anyway.’

  ‘I guess I can understand that. But from now on, take it as read that I’m “understandably curious” too. Plus, sharing can sometimes make things less stressful.’

  She glanced at him over her shoulder for a second, then looked away, and Nate wondered what she was thinking.

  ‘So what else did the police want to chat about?’

  ‘There was definitely nothing chatty about it.’

  ‘Ah. I was afraid of that.’

  ‘Every comment they made set me squirming.’ She put the glasses on the kitchen table, and they sat down. ‘It was clear they thought it was really weird that you’d given me this job in the first place. They treated me as if I was some kind of imposter. And when I told them about the paintings upstairs, it was as though they thought I’d been ransacking the house for personal details.’

  ‘I’m sure they don’t really view you as a suspect though.’

  ‘Why not?’ She leant forward, hunched over her drink. ‘As the police pointed out, I’m one of only four people that definitely knew Damien Newbold’s whereabouts.’

  ‘We’re part of an exclusive gang. I’d like to know what motive they could dream up for you.’

  She shrugged, and raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m a woman in emotional turmoil, with every reason to hate men at the moment. I’ve admitted I was being taunted by Damien Newbold; perhaps it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Something finally snapped and I strode out into the evening air to wreak my revenge.’

  ‘It’s nice and dramatic, I’ll give you that, but you’d have to be pretty far gone to kill him for that reason.’

  ‘They might think I am,’ she said. ‘But then I can imagine other reasons why I might have done away with him too.’

  This was getting interesting. ‘Such as?’ Nate asked.

  ‘Well, this house is full of valuable stuff. What if I’d gambled that no inventory existed, gone off to kill Damien and then removed a few of the choicer items before the police turned up, assuming no one would be any the wiser?’

  Nate must have smiled, and when he saw her smile back it brought the feelings he’d been trying to shut down to the fore. ‘You should definitely be a PI. Being able to think like a criminal’s a prerequisite. But it would be pretty risky to assume there was no record of the house contents.’

  She shrugged. ‘People take risks all the time. And the police might reason that I’d be very glad of the money, given that I now have no home to call my own.’

  ‘And your conscience?’

  ‘They’d assume that it would be calmed by the fact that Da
mien Newbold was clearly a nasty man who treated women badly.’

  ‘Neat.’

  There was a moment’s pause. ‘Do you know how he died?’

  Nate shook his head. ‘The police weren’t keen to share that with me, though it’ll be in the papers soon enough. You’re thinking the method might provide a clue as to who killed him?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Listen, Ruby, even if this murder was entirely personal, I’m not happy with you being here. And I don’t know where Newbold’s death will leave this house-sitting job anyway. I gather his next of kin is his brother. If River House goes to him, it’ll depend on whether he still wants the place minded.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Obviously, I know this is more than just a job for you—’

  ‘Yes.’ Her green eyes locked onto his. ‘Look, I’ll be fine, honestly. Whatever’s going on, it doesn’t seem to involve me. I can just sit tight, assuming the brother wants me to stay on.’

  Nate leant forward, resting his elbows on the table. ‘I don’t want those to turn out to be famous last words.’

  ‘Well, amen to that.’

  ‘Look, if you really want to stay then fine, but I’m going to stay too.’ Nate couldn’t help noticing her startled look in response to that. Not flattering. ‘Damien’s got enough spare bedrooms to shelter a team of house-sitters, and I’m no longer convinced that this is a one-person job. I know you’re capable and tough; you’ve proved that. It’s just … well, safety in numbers, that’s all. I’d be planning exactly the same thing if it was one of my regulars, Bill Morris, sitting in your place. He’s ex-army and six foot five, but I still reckon he’d regard it as a sensible precaution.’

  Ruby bit her lip. He could tell she wasn’t overwhelmed with joy at the idea, but he couldn’t back down. Especially given her habit for digging up information and then keeping it to herself. Digging dirt when there was a murderer on the loose tended to be a hazardous pastime.

  ‘Besides, although I’ve no intention of going back to PI work, old habits die hard, and the experience might yet come in handy.’