by Tim O'Rourke
“Unnatural, how?” I asked, staring across the table at Locke, while reaching up and yanking on Potter’s sleeve, tugging him back down into his seat, wanting him to stay.
“There is something so strange about Amanda’s disappearance that it terrifies me,” Locke whispered. “And although Sir Edmund wouldn’t admit to it, I think he is terrified, too.”
“You’ve got ten minutes,” Potter said, lighting another cigarette. “And what you say better be good, Ms. Locke, because I have a stroppy-as-hell fiancée to go and sort out, and she terrifies the shit out of me too.”
Chapter Three
“It was just a few weeks ago that I went to Amanda’s room to find her bed empty,” Heather Locke, began to explain. “I knew it was unlike Amanda to wake before me, or even her father, who did like to linger in bed all morning unless he had some pressing parliamentary business to attend to. Being a member of the House of Lords, Sir Edmund could often be away or abroad. But when he was at home, he could be a late riser if he wished to be.
“But Amanda was sixteen after all, and like most teenagers, she had come to love her bed and was often reluctant to be hoisted out of it much before lunch on a weekend. So it was with some surprise that I went to her room one Saturday morning to discover that her bed hadn’t been slept in,” Locke said.
“How can you be so sure her bed hadn’t been slept in?” Potter asked, taking a notebook and pencil from his jacket pocket.
He was taking notes now! I thought, nearly falling from off my chair in surprise. The Potter I had known had never written anything down as far as I could remember. He’d used his hands to fight. With a sideways glance, I watched Potter’s strong-looking hands grip the notepad and pencil as he made some notes, and I couldn’t help but remember what those hands had felt like as he had held me – touched me with them.
“Her bed had been made, that’s how I knew Amanda hadn’t slept in it,” Locke said, jarring me from my memories of Potter and me together. “Ever since she had been a child, I’d made Amanda’s bed for her and Sir Edmund’s too. I was cook and housekeeper, as well as nurse to Amanda.”
“Sounds like a right barrel of laughs,” Potter muttered under his breath, scribbling again in his notebook.
“Sorry?” Locke asked.
“Nothing,” Potter said, glancing up from his notebook. “Please continue with your interesting story.”
Potter tried to sound enthused, but I knew that he wasn’t really. So why make notes? I couldn’t help but wonder.
“After discovering that Amanda hadn’t slept in her bed, I searched the house and then the grounds.”
“Grounds?” I asked.
“Bastille Hall is set in over one hundred acres of its own land,” Locke explained. “There is a wood, a river runs through it, and there is a most excellent orchard. Amanda would spend many happy hours scrumping as a child and fishing from the…”
“Has the apple picking and fishing got anything to do with her disappearance?” Potter sighed, sneaking a quick glance at his wristwatch.
“No,” Locke said.
“Then, just the facts, please, Ms. Locke.” He forced a smile back at her, then lit another cigarette.
Waving the smoke away from in front of her face, Heather Locke continued her story.
The layout of the grounds could be important, I wanted to tell him. If we were going to do a thorough investigation, the grounds of Bastille Hall needed to be searched. The fact that there was a wood and a river could be important. Amanda could have fallen down, injured herself and died, or drowned in the river.
“How thoroughly did you search the grounds?” I asked Locke with a smile.
“The best that I could,” she said. “But it seemed I was just wasting my time.”
“I could have told you that,” Potter muttered just out of earshot of his client.
But I heard it. I glared at him.
I was surprised that his detective agency ever had any clients if this was how he treated them all. He grinned back at me with that obnoxious look on his face. The one I had so often wanted to wipe from his face.
“Why did you think that you had been wasting your time?” I asked. I was interested in her story, even if Potter wasn’t.
“Fearing that something terrible had happened to Amanda, I went to Sir Edmund’s room,” Locke explained. “There was no answer. So after calling out his name several times, I entered his room. To my shock, I was surprised to see that his bed hadn’t been slept in either. Leaving his room, I began to wonder if perhaps Sir Edmund hadn’t taken his daughter away someplace for the evening – perhaps to London to see a show. But in my heart I knew this couldn’t be so, as I had seen them both late the night before. I had seen them both go to their rooms.”
“And what time was that?” I asked.
“Amanda went up to her room at nine, like she did most nights, and Sir Edmund followed close behind at about half past the hour,” Locke said. “It was somewhat earlier than he would usually go to his room, but still too late to travel to London to see a show. The night train would have departed already.”
Potter scribbled something else down into his notebook, the smouldering cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. “Go on,” he said without looking up.
“So fearing that something terrible had happened, although for the life of me I couldn’t think what, I tried to reach both of them on their mobile phones,” she said. “I called Sir Edmund first. After all, he is the master of the house. But there was no signal. It was like he had switched his phone off. So I then tried to make contact with Amanda. But just like her father’s phone, it had been switched off. All day I paced the house, fearing that some tragedy had befallen the both of them. I wanted to call the police…”
“So why didn’t you?” Potter asked, looking up, pencil poised over his notepad.
“Like I said before,” Locke explained, “Sir Edmund is a member of the House of Lords and a highly respected member of society. I was scared that if I called the police, I might bring some scandal to him. So as it grew dark outside, I decided that if they hadn’t returned by early next morning, I would indeed go to the police.”
“And did they?” Potter asked, cocking an eyebrow at her.
“Just one of them,” Locke said. “Sir Edmund. He must have returned during the night. For when I woke, he was already up and sitting at the kitchen table fully dressed. I later checked his bed and it was as it was before. Untouched.”
“And what excuse did he give for his and his daughter’s sudden disappearance?” Potter asked.
“When I asked him where young Miss Amanda was, Sir Edmund simply said that he had sent her abroad,” Locke explained, a haunted look in her eyes as she stared at us. “When I asked what he meant, he said in a dismissive tone, ‘I’ve sent Amanda to study at a private school in Switzerland.’
“‘Switzerland?’ I had gasped, my heart feeling as if it had broken. ‘Why so far away?’
“‘That is where the best schools are,’ he said, getting up from the table and looking out across the lawns toward the wood. ‘You have done your best at teaching my daughter, Ms. Locke, and I am very grateful to you, but it is time that Amanda had a full and proper education.’
“‘But when will she be home again?’ I asked, so unhappy that I hadn’t been given the chance to say goodbye to Amanda after she had become such a large and loving part of my life.
“‘I expect she will be abroad for many years to come,’ Sir Edmund said, still looking vacantly through the window toward the wood.
“‘Years?’ I gasped, tears welling in my eyes. ‘But…’
“‘No, buts,’ he said, turning on me, his voice suddenly angry. He had never spoken to me in such a way before and I flinched away from him. ‘Now that Amanda has gone, I will no longer be in need of your services, so I would like you to leave at once.’
“‘But I have been in your service for sixteen years,’ I reminded him, sniffing back my tears. ‘I have no
family… no other place to go. I will be out on the streets.’
“‘Very well then,’ Sir Edmund said, turning back to the window. ‘I give you four weeks’ notice – four weeks to make your arrangements, then you must be gone. I will make sure that you receive a very healthy severance pay.’
“‘It’s not the money, sir…’ I started.
“‘Please, Ms. Locke, I have said all there is to say on the matter. My mind is made up,’ he said, his back to me. ‘Please don’t make this any harder for either of us than it has to be. Now I’d be grateful if you went back to you chores.’
“‘Yes, sir,’ I said, fighting back my tears and turning away.
“At the door, he called after me and said, ‘Should anyone ask you where Miss Amanda is, you tell them, like I have told you, she has gone abroad to be educated. Now that is all I have to say about my daughter. Please don’t raise the subject again while you remain in my employment.’
“‘Yes, sir,’ I said, lowering my head and leaving the room.”
Chapter Four
I sat across the table and looked at Heather Locke. The tears that she had fought for so long to hold back now spilled down her pale face.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice broken and husky.
“We understand how hard it must be for you to lose someone you thought of as your daughter,” Potter said.
“It’s not your understanding I need, Mr. Potter,” Locke said, taking a hanky from her pocket and mopping up her tears. “It’s your help I need.”
“Look, sweetheart,” he said, as I cringed. “We can’t stop Sir Edmund from sending his daughter away to be educated. I admit it’s a bit odd how he snuck her away in the middle of the night, but perhaps he did that because he knew how upset you would be. As far as I can see, no crime has been committed.”
I looked at Potter agog. Did he really believe that? I wanted to ask him, but to do so in front of his client would be unprofessional of me. However much I disliked the idea, Potter was my boss in this new world. I had to tread carefully if I wanted to stay close to him. In this world I meant nothing to him. As far as he was concerned, I was just some pretty bimbo a temping agency had sent him. He could easily send me back, however much he thought my lips were hot and my cheeks sweet.
“But I haven’t told you everything,” Locke beseeched him.
“Look, I’d love to stay and chat,” Potter said. “Don’t worry, I won’t charge you for this consultation.”
“Money isn’t a problem,” Locke said. “I have managed to save some money over the last sixteen years while in Sir Edmund’s employment…”
“I don’t come cheap, lady,” he said, getting up again. “And besides, I wouldn’t want to charge you for something I can already see is going to be a big fat waste of time. My advice to you is, keep your money, take a nice, long holiday, and try and forget all about this Amanda kid. You never know – you might meet someone on holiday and have a kid of your own. That should sort you out.”
I looked at Potter, mouth open. I felt like punching him like I had so many times before. But I didn’t tell him how I felt. Heather Locke did that for me.
“Listen to me, Mr. Potter,” she said, her voice now suddenly cold and stern, eyes bright. “If it wasn’t for the fact that I am so desperate for your help, I would have thrown my drink in your face, you brute. You might think me just another hysterical woman, but you have not even bothered to hear everything it is I have to tell you. Now, we had a professional agreement that we would meet here tonight, and I’d like you to honour that agreement. So show me enough professional courtesy to sit back down and listen to everything I have to tell you. If then, you still think my case is just some trifling matter, I will happily part company with you and pay you for wasting your time.”
“A brute, huh?” Potter smiled, flexing his chest muscles beneath his shirt as if she had paid him a compliment. Lighting another cigarette, he slowly took his seat again. Then looking at her, he said, “Just one thing. Don’t make threats you can’t make good on.”
“Threats?” she mused.
“You said you were going to throw your drink over me,” Potter smiled wistfully at her as if she had somehow gained his respect. “You don’t have a drink.”
“Yes, she does,” I said, sliding my bottle of water across the table toward Locke.
“Whose side are you on?” Potter asked.
“The side of truth,” I told him.
“Oh, Christ, that agency has sent a right girl guide this time around,” he grunted, sticking the cigarette between his lips.
Ignoring his smart mouth, I said, “Please, Ms. Locke, tell us what happened next.”
Shifting in her seat as if composing herself again, Ms. Locke continued. “I left Sir Edmund in the kitchen and went straight to my room. On the way, I had to pass by Amanda’s bedroom. I stopped in the doorway. Sensing that something other than Sir Edmund’s odd manner wasn’t quite right, I looked into the room. It was then I realised what was vexing me so. As a child, Miss Amanda had a blanket that she liked to cuddle at night. She had kept this all of her childhood and into her teenage years. She couldn’t sleep at night unless she had her blanket. It was a dirty old thing as far as I was concerned, but to hold it close to her face at night was comforting for her. The rows we’d had when every now and then I had washed it. Amanda would complain that I’d washed away its smell. So I was alarmed to see the blanket lying across the foot of her bed, as I knew she would have not gone anywhere willingly without it. So stepping into her room and closing the door behind me, I checked her wardrobe. Not one of her garments was missing. The same was for her favourite books, and her iPod. All of her belongings, in fact, were exactly where they had been had she still been living at the house. Could it be possible that she would have gone to move abroad without taking anything with her?
“Confused more than ever and sensing that something terrible had happened to Miss Amanda, I went back to my room. I slept little that night. It was warm in my room, and I had opened my bedroom window to let some air in. It was in the dead of night, as my mind wrestled with my fears of what might have happened to young Amanda, I heard a noise that chilled my blood and almost stopped my heart.”
“What did you hear?” I asked.
Potter was scribbling in his notebook again.
“It was a deep growling sound, like that of a lion loose in the grounds of Bastille Hall. Pulling my dressing gown around me, I crept from my bed to the window. There was a half-moon in the sky and it cast its pale light down onto the lawns stretching away from the front of the house and toward the wood. It was then that I saw what was making such a noise. In the poor light I could see the silhouette of what looked like a giant hound. It was making its way along the treeline of the woods.
“As I peered from the safety of my room, I heard another sound, this time a voice. I recognised it. It was the voice of Sir Edmund,” Locke said, just above a whisper. Again, I noticed her look toward the door of the pub, then back across the table at us.
“It was difficult for me to hear, as I was so far away and high up, but from my hiding place, it sounded like Sir Edmund was saying over and over again, ‘leash, leash, leash.’ At first I wondered what it could mean, then I saw that he had the giant hound tethered to a long leash he held with both hands. I saw Sir Edmund pull on it several times, and on each occasion, I heard him say in a disturbing voice, ‘leash! Leash! Leash!’” Ms. Locke whispered, her eyes wide with dread.
Chapter Five
“So he got himself a dog,” Potter said, closing his notebook and stuffing it back into his jacket pocket.
“That’s what Sir Edmund told me the following morning when I asked him about the matter,” Ms. Locke said, picking up the bottle I had given to her and unscrewing the cap.
I couldn’t help but notice how Potter leant back in his seat and away from her.
“You have nothing to worry about, Mr. Potter. So much talk has made me thirsty that is all,” L
ocke said.
I smiled to myself and Potter scowled at me. “So, did you tell Sir Edmund exactly what it was that you saw from your window?” I asked her.
“No!” she gasped. “I didn’t want to put him on the spot like that. I feared another confrontation with him, but I couldn’t let the matter go. I said that I’d heard the sound of a terrible roar during the night and asked whether he knew what it might have been. He told me that he had returned from Switzerland with a dog.
“‘Now that Amanda is abroad,’ he explained, ‘and you will soon be leaving too, I thought I would get myself a dog to keep me company.’
“‘But where is this dog?’ I asked him, as I hadn’t seen any such creature since his return.
“‘I have locked it in the old outhouse on the edge of the woods,’ he said, picking up the morning newspaper and opening it.
“‘Locked it away? But why?’ I dared to push him.
“Without glancing up from his newspaper, he said, ‘The dog is very large – it’s a Flanders Cattle dog. I was assured that the animal had a good and loyal temperament, but now I’m not so sure. Perhaps it finds its new surroundings unsettling. I will just have to see.’
“‘But…’ I wanted to question further, unsatisfied by Sir Edmund’s answers.
“‘Do you not have any chores to do?’ he asked, now peering over the top of his paper at me.
“‘Yes,’ I nodded, leaving him alone in his study.”
“Did you make any further enquiries as to this giant dog?” Potter asked before yawning.
Giant dog? What was Potter thinking? What Ms. Locke had seen had been a wolf. I was sure of it. Potter hated wolves – didn’t he? The Potter I’d known and loved took delight in hunting them down and killing them. So why was this Potter so disinterested?
“Later that day, Sir Edmund went out for a few hours,” Locke continued. “I took this opportunity to creep out to the edge of the woods. I went to the old outhouse that he spoke of. Standing on tiptoe, I tried to peer in through the windows, but they had been boarded over from the inside so it was impossible for anyone to peer in. The door had been secured with a huge padlock. I rattled the lock over and over, but it was no use, as the door would not budge even one inch. But it was then I noticed something very strange…”
