Ripples (The Blake Harte Mystery Book 3)

by Robert Innes

  He was glad when he answered the door to find Harrison standing there, smiling.

  “Morning,” he said. “Did you sleep alright?”

  “With a killer running around across lakes murdering people that are already dead? Yeah, like a log,” Blake chuckled, holding the door open so Harrison could walk in.

  “Me too,” Harrison sighed, sitting down on the bed and looking down at the paper. “As if this family hasn’t got enough to deal with anyway. Their mum being really ill, this hotel business going through the floor, and now this. I really feel for them.”

  “That’s because you are a kind and caring person,” Blake said, smiling warmly at him.

  Harrison picked up the paper and began reading it. “Did you think of anything?”

  Blake sighed. “No, not really. I can’t get past the fact that whoever was under that hood would have needed some sort of platform or something to stand on so that they could walk across the water, but then I’ve probably been watching too many episodes of The Masked Magician.”

  “So, do I start packing?” Harrison asked, looking up at Blake with an expression of disappointment. “Polly said she’s going to be asking all the guests to leave today.”

  “Do you think that includes us?” Blake said, sitting on the bed beside him. “After all, she did say we’re being a lot of help to her.”

  Harrison put the paper down and stared at Blake seriously. “You said you couldn’t be part of the investigation, Blake. You said you don’t have any jurisdiction.”

  “I don’t, not really,” Blake replied, rubbing his tired eyes.

  “But Nathan was right, wasn’t he?” Harrison murmured. “You’ve got to find out what’s been happening.”

  Blake felt a jolt of annoyance at Nathan’s name, especially followed by the words ‘was right.’ “Don’t pay any attention to what Nathan said. Yes, I’ll admit, I want to know who killed Duncan and why. But that’s the part I’ve got no jurisdiction over. There’s a team of officers investigating that.”

  “Led by someone who you used to work with, who you don’t like,” Harrison pointed out, grinning.

  “Yes, but that’s beside the point.”

  “Is it?”

  Blake stared at Harrison. He had to admit that he had underestimated quite how perceptive Harrison was. “You know me better than I do myself, don’t you?”

  Harrison looked at the floor, embarrassed. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

  “No, it’s alright,” Blake said, taking hold of Harrison’s hand. “I don’t mind. It’ll probably do me some good to be brought down a peg or two. You’re right – I’d love to get one over on Gresham. He made my life hell when I was under him.”

  “So? What do we do?”

  “We?”

  Harrison picked up the piece of paper with all Blake’s notes on and put it in front of them. “You not having any jurisdiction means that you’re just a witness, right? Same as me and everybody else who was in that hut?”

  “Right?”

  “So that means that you and me are just normal members of the public.”

  Blake frowned. “Where are you going with this?”

  “There are two things I’ve always wanted in my life. One is for a guy to serenade me with some soppy love song. Don’t look like that, it’s true,” he added when Blake raised an eyebrow. “And the other thing is I’ve always wondered what it would be like to be an amateur detective,” Harrison replied. “This is my chance.”

  “Harrison,” Blake said gently. “This isn’t Miss Marple we’re talking about here. Someone has been murdered, brutally. They were stabbed to death. This is real life. Dangerous real life.”

  Harrison sat himself up, looking like he was trying to make himself look as serious and adult as possible. “And don’t you think that everything that has happened to me since we met has taught me all I need to know? I’ve had one boyfriend murdered by my parents, another jump off a church roof after murdering people himself. I’m not a child, Blake. I know it’s dangerous.”

  “I’m not saying you’re a child,” Blake replied. “But, still – this isn’t a game. There’s absolutely no guarantee that whoever was under that hood won’t try and attack somebody else.”

  “Then we should go home?” Harrison asked, standing up. “If it’s not safe for us to be here, then the best thing would be for us to leave, right?”

  Blake bit his lip, trying to think of a reply but he was saved the trouble when there was another knock at the door.

  “Come in?” Blake called.

  The door opened and Sally walked in. “Polly Urquhart said this was your room,” she glanced at Harrison and smiled coyly. “Not interrupting anything, am I?”

  Blake rolled his eyes. “No. Are you here in an official capacity, officer?”

  “I’ve been talking to Polly this morning,” Sally said, taking her coat off and throwing it on a chair. “She’s been telling me about her family and how they’ve been giving the Urquharts hassle all these years. She said she’d spoken to you about it. I was just about to go and speak to them.”

  “Good idea,” Blake said, nodding. “And you’re telling me this because?”

  “I was wondering,” Sally said innocently. “I wondered if you fancied a lift into town while I’m on my way there.”

  “I wasn’t going into town.”

  “You are now. Get your coat on.”

  Blake looked at Harrison and was surprised to see he was grinning from ear to ear. “Sally, are you suggesting what I think you-“

  “Look, Blake,” Sally said firmly, sitting on the bed. “It’s as simple as this. You know just about as much about this case as we do, if not more. If you happened to be on your way to see Polly’s family, and I just happened to turn up to interview them while you were there-“

  “Sally, listen to me. I am no longer your superior officer, you know that. Gresham would have a fit if he knew I was helping you investigate. It’s not even-“

  “And Gresham’s not here is he?” Sally pressed. “He’s talking to the guests downstairs, lording it about the way he always does. I know you’re dying to get involved in this one, Blake.”

  “That’s what I said,” Harrison added.

  “So, come with me. Me and you, one last interview together. Come on, Blake. Where’s that detective I once knew who wouldn’t rest until he’d found his culprit?”

  Blake looked between Harrison and Polly and sighed. “Fine, I’ll go with you. But I’m not saying anything – I’m just going as your number two. That’s all.”

  “Fine,” Sally said, smirking to herself. “I’m sure you’ll be able to keep quiet.”

  “Shall I just stay here?” Harrison asked, as Blake picked his coat up.

  Sally glanced between the two of them. “I’ll wait for you outside.”

  Blake watched her leave and then sat down on the bed again. “Harrison, I shouldn’t even be going. I can’t let you go too.”

  Harrison nodded. “I know, it’s fine.” Blake could tell he was extremely disappointed.

  “Look. We don’t even know if we’re staying. Why don’t you go and talk to Polly and find out what she wants us to do?”

  Again, Harrison nodded. But as Blake stood up and walked towards the door, he said, “Nathan was right though wasn’t he? This week came to an end as soon as that murder happened.”

  “Of course it did, Harrison. Someone lost their life!” Blake replied, staring at him, confused.

  “That’s not what I meant,” Harrison said, before standing up and walking out the room without another word.

  “Well? What do you think he meant?” Sally asked him as she climbed into the driver’s seat and started the car.

  “I have no idea,” Blake replied hotly. “I mean, Harrison isn’t really one for metaphors and double meanings. So I don’t actually have a clue.”

  “Blake, you know I love you, yes?” Sally said, as they pulled out of the car park and towards the main road.

&nbs
p; “Yes?”

  “Good. You really are an absolute tit sometimes, aren’t you?”

  Blake rolled his eyes. “Why?”

  “He means that your time together came to an end when that murder happened. The romantic little getaway. As in you would drop anything if it meant you getting to the bottom of some case. It’s always been your way, Blake. You know when you were still at Sale, the one thing that everybody said about you? ‘The best officer we’ve got, great with suspects, great with victims, and every single night, goes home to sleep with Scotland Yard.’”

  “Catchy,” Blake muttered sarcastically.

  “You know what I mean.”

  “You’re the one who asked me to come with you!”

  “I know, but don’t you see what he was hinting at when he was asking you to play Sherlock to his Doctor Watson?” Sally asked. “He wants to be a part of your life.”

  “And I want to be a part of his,” Blake replied, annoyed. “But…” He paused and rested his head on the window, staring out at the countryside flying past. He had forgotten how quickly Sally drove when she was in interrogation mode.

  “But what?”

  “Ever since I met Harrison, his whole life has been turned upside down. And you know as well as I do how difficult being in a relationship with a copper can be sometimes. I mean, there’s got to be some reason Nathan went for a safer option.”

  “Oh, come on, Blake,” Sally tutted, swinging the steering wheel round to take them round a sharp bend in the road. “You can’t start blaming yourself for Nathan cheating on you, that’s ridiculous.”

  “I’m not. But what I’m saying is ours isn’t a job of guarantees. When I go to work every day, there’s not a one hundred percent chance I’m coming home that night. Or the night after. Do you get what I mean?”

  Sally looked at him, sympathy in her eyes. “Of course I do. But come on, Blake. You live in Harmschapel. It’s a village the size of a matchbox. Compared to where you used to be, it’s a lot safer.”

  “I know, but you do realise that the two murder cases I’ve been in charge of in Harmschapel have both involved Harrison in some capacity? And one of them nearly killed both of us.”

  “Yes, and Mrs Hutchins could get knocked down by a bus on her way to her shift at the local supermarket,” reasoned Sally. “I get that seeing Nathan again has raked up a lot of confusing feelings, but you’ve got to get your head straight. You said Harrison had told you that he needed to come to terms with a few things. Maybe he’s not the only one.”

  Blake stayed silent.

  Before long, Sally was pulling the car up to an isolated house in the middle of the countryside. Blake had been surprised when Sally had driven the car straight through some of the surrounding villages, but as it turned out, this was not Sally’s first visit to the Lomax house.

  “We’re well aware of the Lomaxes,” she said to Blake as the car came to a stop in the large yard outside the house. “Remember, the Urquharts think that one of them is this hooded figure. They’re always delighted to see me.”

  She grinned as she pulled the keys out of the ignition and climbed out of the car.

  “Do you have your ID with you?” she asked him as they walked along the gravel path towards the house.

  “Yes, it’s in my wallet. Not that it matters – I’m not the one who’s going to be asking the questions, remember?”

  Sally threw him another cheeky smile. “Then, why’d you bring it with you, Detective?”

  Before Blake could reply, the loud sound of a steam train’s whistle blasted out around them, causing Blake to jump about a foot in the air. Sally laughed as he caught his breath and waited for his heartbeat to return to its normal speed.

  “Oh, did I forget to mention?” she added lightly. “They’ve got motion sensors to let them know when they’ve got visitors. I did exactly the same as you when I first came here.”

  “A train whistle?” Blake panted, clutching his chest.

  Sally shrugged. “Some people have security lights, some people who are crazy into trains like the Lomaxes have the sound of a train whistle. Apparently it’s The Flying Scotsman.”

  Blake shook his head in disbelief as they arrived at the front door of the house. “What sound does the doorbell make? The theme tune to Thomas the Tank Engine?”

  But before he could press the bell to find out, a sharp voice called out from behind them.

  “What the hell do you lot want from us again?”

  They turned to see an angry looking old man standing in the doorway to a large shed on the other side of the yard. He had a grey beard and similar coloured short hair and was wearing a white vest, covered in, what looked like, grease and oil.

  “Morning, Lionel,” Sally said cheerfully, walking towards him and holding out her ID. “You remember me, Sergeant Sally Matthews, this is my colleague, Detective Sergeant Blake Harte.”

  She subtly nudged Blake in the ribs, signalling him to produce his own identification from his wallet.

  “I don’t give a monkeys who you are,” the old man replied, grumpily. “Just tell me what your business is and push off. If it’s those toffee nosed Urquharts again, grassing us up about something or other, then you can just turn right round and drive off again. I’ve got nothing to tell you.”

  He turned around and walked back into the shed. Sally raised an eyebrow at Blake and followed Lionel through the door. Blake was surprised that Lionel appeared to have no idea as to why they wanted to speak to him, then had to remind himself that he was not in Harmschapel, and news of the murder would probably not have reached him, especially in a secluded area like this.

  “It is to do with the Urquharts actually,” Sally said as she walked into the large shed. “But I’m afraid this is a bit more serious than a bit of alleged vandalism.”

  As Blake followed Sally through the large wooden doors, he was surprised to see that the shed was more like a large workshop. All around were large sheets of scrap steel, toolboxes, workbenches, and placed precariously on the walls around were various parts of what Blake could only assume to be old steam engines. Most impressive of all was the huge model railway set in the centre of the workshop, which had various model trains and wagons running around it.

  “Whatever it is, it had nothing to do with any of us,” Lionel grunted, peering in a toolbox with his back to them.

  “We’re here investigating a murder, Mr Lomax.” Blake found himself saying, before closing his eyes regretfully. It had been completely automatic.

  Lionel stood up straight and turned to face them, looking stunned. “A murder?”

  “Duncan Urquhart was killed last night,” Sally replied, staring at Lionel seriously. “You might remember we’ve had cause to ask you about a hooded figure that’s been harassing the Urquharts over the past year or so?”

  Lionel nodded, his eyes still wide.

  “Well, I’m sorry to say that whoever it was rather stepped up their game,” Sally continued. “Now, considering the, I think it’s fair to say, hardly secret problems between your family and the Urquharts, the fact that you and your son turned up at a wedding at the Urquhart manor and had to be physically removed by police for an unprovoked attack on the family, it shouldn’t be very difficult for you to work out why we’re here.”

  “So, any trouble that goes on for that family and we’re automatically involved, is that it?” Lionel snapped, throwing the wrench he was holding into the metal toolbox with a large clang.

  Sally continued her calm gaze at him. “Where were you last night between the hours of seven and eleven PM?”

  “I was here,” Lionel replied. “And so was Micky.”

  “Where is your son at the minute?” Sally asked him.

  “Why?” Lionel snapped. “Want to throw more accusations at him? Lock him up again for something else he didn’t do?”

  “I take it that young Mr Lomax is a regular of yours?” Blake asked Sally, crossing his arms.

  “He is indeed,” Sally re
plied, not taking her eyes off Lionel. “What have we had him for in the past, Lionel? Vandalism? GBH? Theft?”

  “You’d blame him for other countries wars if you got the chance,” Lionel grunted. “Anyway, he’s not here.”

  “Nah, it’s alright, Dad. I’ve got nothin’ to hide.”

  They all turned to the doorway where a cocky young man in a tracksuit and baseball cap was standing with his hands in his pockets and a lit cigarette between his lips.

  “You don’t need to tell them anything, son,” Lionel told him as he strode arrogantly into the workshop. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Thought it had been a while since you showed your pretty face,” Micky said, winking at Sally whilst deliberately looking her up and down. “You come to put those cuffs on me, again darlin’? If you wanna go for a date sometime, you only had to ask.”

  Blake glanced at Sally, who merely smirked at Micky. “Where were you last night, Michael?”

  Micky threw himself onto a revolving chair on the other side of the workshop and dragged his feet along the ground so that he rolled towards them. “Don’t think I remember.”

  “No?” Sally remarked lightly. “Well, that’s a shame because we’re here because of a murder enquiry, so do I take it we should be putting you right on top of the suspects list?”

  Despite his bravado, Micky’s cocksure facial expressions visibly faltered to the point where Blake had to suppress a chuckle. Like so many lads his age that Blake had dealt with in the past, there was a line that Micky clearly felt he should not go over whilst trying to wind the police up, and apparently being connected to a murder was that line. “Murder? Who’s been murdered?”

  “Duncan Urquhart,” Blake replied. “Last night. So, do you want to think about your answer again?”

  Micky glared at Blake briefly before glancing at his father. “I was here all night from seven.”

  “Anyone else who can verify that?”