Death Comes to Call: An absolutely unputdownable English cozy mystery novel (A Tara Thorpe Mystery Book 3)

by Clare Chase

  ‘Megan, you and Max had better head straight off to talk to the neighbours. Keep your heads down if you see Matthew Cope arrive – I don’t want him recognising Max. Follow your noses, but in particular, find out Luke’s habits: whether he was sociable, how often he went out and if anyone knows where to.’

  They nodded in agreement and left via the back door. Within minutes there was a knock at the front.

  Matthew Cope’s face was pale and taut, but there was something else in his expression too, Tara reckoned. Haughtiness? After all, he was coming into his childhood home – he probably felt he ought to be in charge. In reality, he was anything but, and he must know that. He wasn’t the sort of man to find the situation easy. Knowing the CSIs had been crawling all over the place, sifting through his brother’s things, was bound to feel like an invasion of privacy. But was he also worried about what they might discover, and where it might lead them? Things had spiralled out of Matthew Cope’s control. Maybe that was why he looked so twitchy.

  Blake glanced at Tara, handing her the reins.

  ‘Thanks for coming,’ she said. ‘We’ll find somewhere quiet to talk. Where would you prefer?’ That ought to give the man some feeling of influence.

  ‘We should go to the study,’ he said immediately, leading the way down a short corridor that led right, from the front entrance. He opened a door to the left, revealing a room with a window facing onto the side garden. It was he who motioned them to take seats too – round a large desk inlaid with a leather top. He was certainly happy to take charge. The trick now was to let him keep believing he was in control whilst quietly extracting the details they needed.

  ‘We were sorry to miss you last night,’ she said. ‘I can well understand you wanting to get out to help pass the time. It’s horrible to have to wait with no news.’ She leant forward and looked down for a moment. ‘I always find pubs difficult if I’m on my own.’ A worthwhile lie. She’d leave it at that to start with. She didn’t want to put him on high alert if she could possibly avoid it. Instead she just raised her eyes to his and waited for him to fill the gap in conversation.

  ‘I don’t find it a problem,’ Matthew said after a moment. ‘Though the Flag and Diamond wouldn’t be my choice of place to drink. It helped that I had a mission.’

  Tara nodded. ‘That makes sense. How did it go after I called you? Did you get any useful information?’

  It sounded as though he’d been chatting to the men Max saw for some time. Surely that wouldn’t have been the case if they’d just given him the brush-off, as he’d claimed?

  Matthew met her eyes and smiled for a second. ‘There were a couple of young guys who’d had a few drinks. They weren’t able to help, but they seemed to regard me as a bit of a curiosity, so they settled down to talk. I left once it was clear that I’d got myself companions for the night. It made approaching other people difficult.’

  If he had been trying to make useful contacts on Luke’s behalf he’d certainly got his story straight. But then he’d naturally be prepared.

  ‘It does sound awkward.’ She made a sympathetic grimace. ‘What on earth did they find to chat about?’

  ‘They wanted to know where I usually drank and what had made me venture into the Flag and Diamond.’

  All well and good, but that conversation wouldn’t have lasted for twenty minutes. ‘Did they ask you more about your brother when you mentioned him?’

  Cope nodded. ‘But they didn’t give me any information in return.’ He leant forward. ‘I’m still desperate to find him. If I had a lead I’d want your help in pursuing it.’

  She wasn’t getting anywhere. It was time to change tack. ‘Matthew, who was it who visited you just before I arrived at your house yesterday?’ Switching from gentle to direct questioning might achieve something. It was fair enough to pretend she knew he’d had visitors. Where else could the dark-blue Mercedes have been coming from?

  Matthew Cope frowned. ‘I don’t…’ he began, but then stopped. ‘What visitor?’

  ‘The one driving the Mercedes.’

  The frown was still present. ‘What makes you think they were coming to see me? Did you see them coming out of my drive?’

  She couldn’t carry on the bluff any longer. ‘They drove at speed from the direction of your house – and there isn’t anything beyond, so I assumed they must have called to see you.’

  ‘Really?’ His shoulders relaxed. ‘I’m afraid the area where I live has its drawbacks, Tara. I love the sense of space – beyond me the landscape really is just countryside until you come to the A14. But that remoteness also means you get a certain amount of laddish behaviour. People sometimes use the road as a race track.’

  She could imagine that, but… ‘I was just surprised that boy racers would have such a nice car.’ Though it could have been stolen for all she knew; she hadn’t managed to get its number, so she couldn’t check.

  Matthew shrugged. ‘I’ve heard people say that drug dealers tend to have classy cars. Could that be a possibility? The area does have that sort of reputation.’

  ‘It could.’ She caught Blake’s look. He was probably thinking the same as her – that you wouldn’t expect dealers to be racing around the country lanes for kicks. They tended to be hard-nosed business people, focused on the bottom line.

  ‘All the same, Matthew,’ Tara said, ‘it’s just possible they were close to your place for a reason. If you see a dark-blue Mercedes near your house – or outside your work for that matter – please let us know.’

  He looked edgy. ‘If you think it’s important, I will.’

  ‘Thank you – and thanks for your time. We’d better let you get on to your office now.’

  As they walked him to the door, Matthew Cope blinked a couple of times. ‘I don’t know how the hell I’m going to concentrate. I meant what I said about finding Luke. Whatever he’s done, it’s too late to change it. I just want to know what’s happened to him – the uncertainty’s horrible.’

  After they’d closed the door behind him, Blake’s dark eyes met Tara’s. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I’m surprised it took him twenty minutes to ask his questions and extricate himself from the conversation with the guys Max saw. I think we should keep an open mind as to what he’s up to. And I’m still not happy about the Mercedes. If it wasn’t Luke driving a hired car, or a contact Matthew had approached to try to help Luke, then could it have been someone who’s looking for him – just like we are?’

  Matthew Cope’s house would be a logical place to start.

  Eighteen

  Max and Megan were between interviews, walking up the street with its grand four-storey townhouses. It was a far cry from the estate where Max lived. Still, he’d been happy there when he’d first been married. He and Susie hadn’t wanted anything but each other. For a second his mind spun back to the knock he’d had at the door of that very house to tell him his wife had been killed. How could life be so cruel? She’d only been twenty-five. For the first year the memory had brought tears with it, each and every time. Now, five years on, he could control his reactions. Inside, the thought still felt like a raw stab in the gut. People tended to assume he was well over the loss by now…

  He felt Megan’s eyes on him and thought for a moment that he’d let his feelings show, but within a second she’d glanced away again. Two beats after that, her gaze was back on him. She half opened her mouth, shut it again and once more faced away. It suddenly occurred to him that it might be she who’d got something on her mind.

  ‘You all right, boss?’

  He saw her blush for a moment at the way he’d started to address her since yesterday’s news. The look of embarrassment – mingled with pleasure – was gone as quickly as it had come. He saw her swallow as she paused. ‘Yeah.’ Then she shook her head.

  ‘A problem shared is a problem dumped on someone else, so you can feel better. Feel free to go for it.’

  She laughed for a moment, but it faded too quickly for his liking
. ‘I bumped into Wilkins yesterday at the station. You know, when he came in for one of his disciplinary meetings.’

  ‘Ah, I see. You have my sympathy.’ No wonder she was looking fed-up. A run-in with Wilkins wasn’t anyone’s idea of fun. It must have been when he and Tara were out of the building. He was glad of that.

  Megan nodded. ‘It wasn’t pleasant. But even though we all know he’s a shit’ – Max wondered what was coming – ‘there was something he said that’s been niggling at me.’ She gave him a look. ‘I’m sure it shouldn’t. But, well, it got me thinking.’

  ‘Unusual for him to say anything that’s worthy of proper consideration.’ Max felt odd, saying things he would have uttered without a thought two days previously. The way Megan was hesitating, he guessed she was suffering from the same, new-found reticence. Her promotion made a difference to their relationship. Still, he was curious. ‘What on earth did he come out with?’

  Megan relayed how the disgraced DS had advised her to keep an eye on Blake and Tara, and the way they behaved together. It was clear he’d as good as told her they were having an affair. Max felt an adrenaline rush as Megan said Wilkins had implied he’d only spoken out of concern for Max and Megan’s welfare; he was worried Tara would get preferential treatment, and they’d be left out in the cold.

  He took a deep breath. Wilkins’ stirring comments shouldn’t come as a surprise after the rumours he’d spread just before Christmas, but trying to use his poison to drive a wedge in the team was new.

  ‘I’ll tell you one thing for free,’ he said to Megan. ‘I’d take Blake as a leader over Patrick Wilkins any day of the week. Wilkins doesn’t give a toss about anyone else, whatever he says.’ He turned to Megan and grinned at her through the rain. ‘And he used to call me “Max Dim” behind my back. Thinks I don’t know. Funnily enough, some of the guys at school used to shorten my surname in exactly the same way, so he’s not as original as he thinks.’ Megan’s expression hadn’t lightened. ‘He was the one who walked all over us when he was on the team. Do you remember, Megan?’

  After a moment, she nodded. ‘I do. And he’s funny about women. Doesn’t ever see them as equals. But even with all that, it doesn’t mean he’s wrong about everything.’

  ‘He’s wrong about this, that much I’m sure of.’

  Her eyes were fixed on his. ‘So you’ve never suspected any kind of special feeling between the boss and Tara?’

  As she scrutinised his reaction, Max tried not to think of his DI holding his fellow DC, just after she’d escaped burning to death before Christmas. It was a perfectly natural reaction. Max was in no doubt that his boss would have been torn apart by emotion if Max had been the one whose life had been at risk. But he also knew what he’d seen in the DI’s eyes.

  ‘You’re too nice, Max,’ Megan said, nodding. ‘You deal with so many bad guys in your work, but you still see the best in your colleagues.’

  Max cursed inwardly. Wilkins’ bile-filled words had had their effect.

  ‘I don’t think they’re having an affair.’ He really didn’t. He’d pick up on that, surely? And the DI was one of the good ones. He didn’t reckon Tara would do it, either. ‘And as for anything else, the important thing is, would either Blake or Tara let their feelings affect their judgement and the way they treat others? I’ve got no doubts in that direction.’

  Blake had stuck by him when things were as rough as they could get, fighting his corner with DCI Fleming. And he liked Tara.

  But for all his heartfelt words, he could see Megan remained to be convinced.

  There might be trouble ahead.

  Nineteen

  Tara was standing in Luke Cope’s bedroom. She and Blake had a short while before they were due to meet Monique over at the gallery, so they were giving the place a once-over. Max and Megan were still out interviewing the neighbours.

  The sheets on Luke’s king-sized bed were flung back, humped and dishevelled. It was eerie, looking at the abandoned room in the grey morning light, the rain lashing at the window. His sleeping quarters matched the studio for their untidiness and lack of order. There were clothes strewn over a chair next to the wardrobe, and books piled on a bedside table. Tara glanced at the top paperback, which was about art. In fact – she scanned the spines of the entire pile – they all were. Illustrated, critical volumes. Luke Cope was clearly dedicated to his specialist subject. There were books about art therapy too; painting to heal the soul.

  She tried to imagine having copies of Blackstone’s police manuals on her bedside table, but failed. She was keen enough, but bedtime was for relaxing.

  To one side of the room was a chaise longue. Very fancy. But its velvet cushion was covered with belongings, including an overnight bag, a pair of jeans (half inside-out) and a couple of newspapers, which were several weeks old.

  For a second she wondered about the overnight bag. Was there any connection with the holdall that Freya had supposedly been carrying the night she’d disappeared? But when she went to examine this one, she could see it contained a couple of pairs of boxer shorts and a business card in an inner see-through pocket with Luke Cope’s name on it, together with an address on Histon Road. It must have been the place he’d rented before he moved back to the family home; Tara remembered Matthew mentioning it.

  She heard Blake’s heavy footsteps just behind her, making the old floorboards creak. ‘Anything interesting?’

  She explained, turning towards him, and he nodded.

  ‘I’ll get Max and Megan to give this room a more thorough going-over,’ he said. ‘But I want you to show me the studio now.’

  She led him downstairs, quickening her pace.

  ‘Where was the picture of Freya Cross, when Matthew Cope showed it to you?’ Blake asked.

  Tara walked over to the stack of small paintings that had included the portrait of the dead woman. ‘Here.’

  The CSIs had bagged the work itself the day before, as evidence, but now Blake took out his phone to look again at the photograph of it they’d put on record. He went absolutely still, and Tara felt the chill that had swept over her two days earlier take hold again. Logic told her this was a sign of Luke Cope channelling his passionate anger with Freya Cross into his work. Matthew had said he’d thought his brother would have used the act as a safety valve, to let out his feelings. And yet there was something so calculated about the picture too.

  ‘He planned the composition,’ Blake said, echoing her thoughts. ‘He considered how this would look to anyone viewing the artwork.’

  Of course. Blake had said his mother was an art historian. He was probably better placed to judge than most DIs.

  ‘It’s the colours he’s chosen, as well as the angles,’ Blake added. ‘Blonde hair on a scarlet cushion.’ His eyes met hers. ‘This is someone who thinks of art as more important than anything else. His desire to make something pleasing to his own eye trumps other values.’ He paused for a second and shook his head.

  Tara nodded. ‘I wonder what your mother would say.’

  He frowned as he put his phone back in his pocket. ‘I might bring her in as a consultant.’

  At that moment, there was a knock at the door. Tara went and found Max and Megan, shivering on the top step. The hems of Max’s trousers were damp. Megan didn’t meet her eye, she noticed; she was sure she wasn’t imagining things. They followed her back through to join Blake in the studio.

  ‘Anything?’ their DI asked.

  Max nodded. ‘Well worth the walk in the rain. Spoke to an elderly gent next door who was very helpful. He’s around a lot of the time so he tends to see the comings and goings, from what I can gather. Apparently, Luke Cope didn’t mix much with the neighbours in general, though this guy – Montague Cavendish – remembers him and Matthew from when they were kids, and he knew their parents fairly well.’

  Blake raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Says the Copes senior had very particular ideas about how to bring up their boys. Leaving them each a house in trust
was their way of ensuring they would make their own way in life rather than just relying on their inheritance. But with reference to Luke’s current lifestyle, he said he sometimes disappears off for the day. And recently, on occasion, overnight, too. He usually takes a bag with him – and often his art equipment, as well.’

  The fact that he occasionally went off overnight fitted with what Matthew had told Tara, back when she’d first interviewed him. But the news that he took his art equipment made her pause for thought. That implied pre-planning, and the intention to achieve something whilst he was away. It wasn’t what she’d imagined when she’d spoken to his brother – at that point the periodic disappearances had sounded random and dysfunctional.

  ‘Unless he has close friends his brother isn’t aware of,’ Megan said, ‘then perhaps he has some kind of bolthole where he goes alone.’

  Blake nodded. ‘Thanks, both – that’s definitely food for thought. Right – let’s carry on searching the house now. We’ll start with this room. It looks as though his heart and soul is here. I think it’s our best bet for a lead.’

  Tara followed Max to near where the painting of Freya Cross had been stored, and Blake and Megan started work opposite them.

  She and Max each picked a stack of paintings to look through. Her collection leant against the wall, just to the left of an old fireplace. As she looked through the artworks she kept thinking of Matthew’s assertion that his brother was talented and that, under the right circumstances, he could place his work in the top London galleries. She didn’t know much about the art world, but the paintings were haunting. The one of Freya had been shocking, of course, but all of them, even the ones of the sea, or a moonlit night, had the ability to hit you in the gut. They got an emotional response from her, though generally not a pleasant one.