“Oh, yes.”
“What about Sara Graham? Was she an ideal guest?”
“Miss Graham? Oh, always. I don’t blame her for wanting to stay here. I imagine that house can be a bit lonely at times.”
“She was here on Saturday night,” I commented.
“She was. Apologies for not mentioning it sooner. I wasn’t sure it would be important.”
“It’s important for us to know about everyone who was in the building that night.”
Helen blinked. “Why?”
“Procedure,” I answered blandly. “Well, thank you for all your help. We appreciate that.”
“Not at all. I hope it helped in some way.”
Mills walked over to join me, a slight crease between his eyebrows.
“We’ll get out of your way now,” I said. “Thank you and thank Daisy again for us too.”
Helen looked a bit confused but nodded and walked us back to the front door. We strolled out, putting a bit of distance between ourselves and the inn before talking.
“You seemed very invested in those curtains, Mills. Are you redecorating?” I asked.
“They smelt funny,” he said, his nose wrinkling. “Like hospital sheets.”
“Cleaned recently?” I asked.
He nodded. I made a low sound in the back of my throat, peering up at the inn, at its inviting façade.
“Something happened there,” I muttered. “They clearly don’t want to tell us much, so let’s go and see if Miss Graham can.”
We set off down the road, beginning the rather long walk to the house.
“We should have driven,” Mills sighed as we plodded along, pushing against the wind.
“We should have,” I agreed. “But there’s no going back now, and a bit of exercise will do you good.”
Mills didn’t look overly convinced, and I couldn’t blame him. It was too cold a day to be trekking about the countryside, and wellies were good, but they were not made for long walks over uneven terrain. A little bit longer, I told myself, and if we were lucky, there’d be a cup of tea for us at the end.
Fourteen
Thatcher
It was a fairly unenjoyable walk to the large house at the end of the drive, but we made it there in one piece, more or less. The wind was against us the whole way, battering our faces. Rain fell in short, sporadic intervals, somehow angled directly into our faces. At least we had the raincoats on, though, and we pulled our hoods up, tightening the cords to keep them being blown back off our faces. The house, at least, was sheltered by the trees that surrounded it, so we were able to make ourselves look a little bit more presentable as we reached it.
Rather than skirting around uninvited to the back door we had been admitted through last time, we headed over to the large front door under a stone arch, and Mills pulled the long chain that had the bell ringing through the foyer. We stood there, shivering like wet cats, probably looking more like beggars from a story rather than respectable police officers here to bring about justice.
The doors opened with a loud creak, and a middle-aged man with greying dark hair, thick eyebrows and smartly dressed in a black suit looked out at us with mild surprise.
“Can I help?” he asked us politely.
“Detective Chief Inspector Thatcher,” I pulled out my warrant card and held it out, “and Detective Sergeant Mills, North Yorkshire Police.”
He looked over the card, not seemingly surprised to find us here, but just looked evenly at me with regret on his face.
“I’m afraid the baroness is out, sir,” the man told us, looking sorrily over our bedraggled appearances. “She’s currently visiting her son at the hospital.”
“That’s alright,” I assured him, putting my warrant card away. “We’d like to talk to Miss Sara Graham, actually, if she’s in.”
“Miss Graham? Of course, please come in,” he stepped back, letting us walk through the entrance into the foyer. “Please wait here,” he requested, leaving us standing awkwardly by a side table as he walked up the grand, sweeping staircase. I felt worried about dripping on the nice floor and made sure I wasn’t standing directly on the rug.
“They have a butler,” Mills said, watching him vanish upstairs. “An actual butler.”
“I noticed.”
“He was even dressed like a butler. Do you think he has a pair of white gloves?”
“Why don’t you ask him when he comes back?” I said with a grin, giving him a nudge. Mills rolled his eyes, and we straightened up, sobering our faces as the butler returned, descending from the staircase beside Sara Graham.
“Thank you, Brown,” she said to the man as she reached us. “Inspector,” she nodded, “sergeant. Can we get you some tea?”
“Please,” I asked. “Normally we’d say no, but the weather is rough today.”
She smiled understandingly, and as the butler moved, she held out her hand, stopping him in place. “I’ll do it, Brown. You get back to whatever you were doing.”
“Thank you, my lady,” he said cheerily, turning and walking away. Sara turned to us with a polite smile on her face.
“This way,” she said, walking us down a long corridor to a kitchen at the end. It was empty, surprisingly. I don’t know why I expected to be bustling with people, but I had. Maybe I’d seen too much of Downton Abbey myself. Sally and I used to watch it together.
The kitchen was an old, large room with a massive wooden table dominating the space. Sara filled a kettle and placed it on the stove, grabbing some mugs from one of the cupboards. Proper mugs, rather than the dainty teacups we’d been given last time. She grabbed a biscuit tin and slid it our way.
“My mother-in-law isn’t here, Brown told you?”
“He did. But we’re here to speak to you.”
Sara nodded, popping some tea bags into the mugs.
“You’ve been in the village?” she asked as we waited for the kettle to boil.
“We have,” Mills answered.
“What is a successful trip?”
“It was, rather. But it is also what brings us back here. I hope you weren’t in the middle of something.”
“Nothing that can’t wait,” Sara answered, picking up the kettle as it started whistling and filled the mugs. “Besides, it’s definitely not as important as this. Any sugar?”
“Not for us, thanks.”
She carried the mugs over, splashed a bit of milk in each one, then sat in a chair opposite us and pried the lid off the biscuit tin.
“Help yourself,” she offered, grabbing one for herself.
“Thank you,” I replied, reaching in blindly before offering the tin to Mills. I ended up with a shortbread, which I was happy enough with, taking a bite before we started talking.
“We heard that the baroness has gone to visit your husband?”
Sara nodded. “She prefers going on a weekday, says it’s not as busy.”
“Is that right?”
“It’s a private hospital,” she shrugged, “it’s never busy. So,” she cradled her mug in her hands, “how can I help?”
“We were at the inn just now,” I told her, “and we learnt that you often take a room out?”
Sara nodded, brushing some crumbs from the sleeve of her jumper.
“They’ve set one aside for me, which is lovely of them. Or Daisy has, anyway.”
“And you were staying in it on Saturday?” I asked, watching as her face paled a little, and she nodded.
“I was.”
“Why didn’t you tell us that?” Mills asked.
“Because she was there.” Sara shrugged. “I know I should have told you anyway, called or something, but I wasn’t sure if it mattered. He was found in the river, wasn’t he?”
“He was. But we don’t believe he was killed by the river.”
“Good God,” she said. “You don’t think— At the inn?”
“We’re exploring every possibility, but you can understand why it’s important for us to know that you were there.�
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“Of course.” Her eyes were wide. “Of course, yes. Let me see. I went there just after lunch and spent most of the day, I’ll admit, in bed. A few hours reading, watching some TV. I went down for dinner, then went back up, had a bath and an early night. I was back here by breakfast so that my mother-in-law didn’t notice my absence and start formulating horrible theories.”
“Do you think that she would?”
“Oh, most likely. I wouldn’t doubt it, so I don’t risk it.”
“Fair enough,” Mills said.
“Whilst you were at the inn,” I asked her, “did you see Major Riggs about the place?”
“Briefly,” she admitted. “I asked Daisy to bring me up another blanket before she went home, and I saw him walking into his room as she brought it to me. But that was it. I never spoke to him or anything.”
“This was around ten in the evening?”
“Around then.” She nodded. “I don’t know exactly, I’m sorry.”
We had a rough, loose hour of time where people were coming and going from the inn, but we did know that Daisy left not long after Riggs arrived back from the city.
“Do you often stay at the inn?” Mills asked conversationally, sipping his tea afterwards.
Sara nodded. “From time to time, when I know they’re not too busy, I don’t want to get in the way. But being in here,” she looked around the cavernous room, “it’s always felt a little weird, and now without Teddy here, it’s just nice to go somewhere small and more homelike for a night.”
“And the baroness has no idea that you do?”
“I’m sure she does,” Sara said. “To be perfectly honest, but she never mentions it. I suppose she doesn’t really know. She likely has just heard about it. Village gossip.”
“Was there anything that made you want to go there that night?” I asked.
Sara held my gaze for a bit, then let out a sigh, her shoulders slumping.
“The conversation you heard us have yesterday, about me inheriting and making changes and all that,” she waved a hand, “is a common occurrence in this house. We spoke about it that morning, and I just…” She sighed again. “I needed a break, Inspector,” she admitted.
She looked, now that she was relaxing, exhausted. Her prim and proper appearance was just a front. The reality was that she was a young woman, far from home, her husband sick and with a mother-in-law who’s not at all her biggest fan. It would be difficult for anyone to bear.
“We understand,” I said reassuringly. “How is your husband, if I might ask?”
“He’s okay right now,” she said. “He goes up and down. But he was awake and lucid when I went to see him yesterday, so we had a good talk. Hopefully, he’ll be able to come home soon.”
“Did you tell him about what had happened?” Mills asked.
“I didn’t.” She shook her head. “There’s nothing he can do about it, and I didn’t want to make him stressed.”
“That’s very considerate of you,” I said.
She shrugged. “No doubt his mother will tell him anyway,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Do either of you have a mother-in-law?”
“Nope,” I answered. I had met Liene’s mother, though, and she’d been lovely. It must be a different situation, though, when it’s a mother and a son. I looked over at Mills, wondering if his mother was particularly brutal with his sister-in-law or not. He looked at ease, and from what I’d heard of his mother, she was nothing short of a saint.
“Well, I had heard it could be difficult, especially marrying into a family like this, but I’d hoped we’d at least agree on some things from time to time. I feel like I’m trying to move a very stubborn donkey whenever we talk.”
I chuckled at that, and her face brightened slightly.
“Miss Graham,” I went on. “Did you see or hear anything strange whilst you were at the inn? Any other voices, any odd noises, inside or out?”
She thought for a moment, reaching for another biscuit. We all reached for one, dunking them into our tea before she answered.
“I heard some on the hallway at one point, just as I was settling down. They sounded hurried. I assumed it was Helen running for the phone or something,” she said with a shrug.
“Any doors opening or closing?” I asked as Mills made a note of that.
Sara weighed her head from side to side. “Probably, but if I heard it, then I didn’t make any note of it. It’s an inn, people come and go all the time. The floors are thick, despite the old building, so once you’re in your room, it’s hard to hear much of anything. It’s why I like it. Downstairs is probably different. Oh!” She stopped, her hand hovering over the tin. “Someone went down, came up and went down again. I thought it was Helen, like I said, but I thought that was weird.”
“Rushing, you said?”
She nodded. “You know, like when you’re going upstairs and the phone rings or something, so you rush back down, but you always miss it? A bit like that, I suppose. Probably not.”
“And you thought it was Helen. You didn’t check?”
She shook her head. “I was half asleep at that point. The only reason I heard them at all was that I got up to pee.”
“I see. Around eleven, midnight?”
“Around then, yeah.” She nodded. “Might it have been him?” she asked suddenly, her eyes wide.
“Quite possibly. Whoever it was, they definitely went back downstairs?”
She nodded firmly. “Definitely.”
“Okay. Thank you, Sara.”
“No problem. Sorry I didn’t tell you about the inn before.”
“You were right before we were only focused on the river, so we didn’t need to know. And you left there Sunday morning?”
Another nod. “We have breakfast here at eight on Sundays, so I was out of there by half six.”
It wasn’t too many hours later, really, until we’d pitched up.
“And you didn’t see anything odd when you left?”
She shook her head. “No. I cycled, so I came back via the lane down the church. Nothing odd. Everything seemed normal enough when I left.”
“Did any of the staff see you leave?”
“Daisy,” she said. “She was there bright and early, dear girl. Looked a little tired though, I think they should ease up on giving her the night shifts.”
“Nobody else?”
“Nobody else. And Brown was here to let me in when I got back,” she said with a fond smile. “He’s one the few here who actually like me. We have tea together sometimes when he’s not too busy.”
“The place must keep him busy,” I remarked.
“Keeps everyone busy,” Sara answered. “It’s a good thing that I have the patience to suffer through all that paperwork. Otherwise, the books would be in the doghouse by now. Teddy usually handles them.”
“They’re lucky to have you,” I said.
“Kind of you,” she replied, draining the last of her tea. Mills and I finished ours, then she walked us back to the front door, waving us out with a kind smile on her face. We trudged off down the drive. At least we weren’t too far from the car now.
“Is it possible she has some connection to him?” Mills wondered. “Maybe they met before and decided to see each other whilst he was up here for the weekend?”
“I see where your mind’s going, Mills, and it is certainly something to look into. We can do some digging, look for a mutual friend, or find out if he was ever stationed in Canada or something. Might turn up nothing, but I’m with you. There is something about the fact that they both happened to be there that night.”
Mills looked relieved to have me agree with him, and he stuck his hands deep into his pockets as we walked all the way down, back along the riverbank.
“Somewhat successful then, all in all,” he stated. “Got a blood sample, alibis to clear.”
“Hopefully, Wasco’s into that laptop now, but if this blood is a match, then at least we’ve got something concrete to be dealing with.�
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“And if it’s not?”
“I’m not even going to dwell on the possibility if it’s not. There’s no way I’ll make it back to the car with such negative thoughts bouncing around my head.”
Mills chuckled. “Positive thoughts only then?”
“Damn right. What do you make of her, Sara Graham?”
Mills blow out a long breath. “I feel sorry for her, more than anything. I imagine she must get lonely in that big old place and knowing that the village hasn’t got her back must be a pain.”
“No,” I agreed. “And this situation isn’t likely to do her any favours in that regard, is it?”
“I doubt it,” Mills muttered. “I suppose we’d better get cracking then, hadn’t we?”
We had indeed.
Fifteen
Thatcher
Getting into the car was a blessed relief, and we ended up sitting there for a bit with the heaters on full blast, getting some warmth back into our bodies before I drove us back to the city. The day was passing quickly, and after a morning spent in the village, it was lunchtime by the time we got back, and Mills was already mumbling away about getting something to eat soon. I had to agree with him, my stomach rumbling quietly. But we had a few priorities to get into order first. We headed straight to the station, climbing out and discarding our wellies and raincoats, wandering into the warm building.
“God, I missed it here,” Mills said as we walked in.
“We were only gone for a few hours,” I replied. “But so did I.”
We went downstairs to the lab to drop off what we hoped was blood to the lab. A match for Riggs would be the boost this case needed, frankly, and I couldn’t begin to understand who else’s blood would be on the pavement outside the inn.
With the little flakes of dried blood safely in the hands of our lab technicians, Mills and I wandered upstairs, collapsing on our chairs in the office.
“I’m still so cold,” Mills muttered, rubbing his hands together.
“I like to think that it’s made us tougher men,” I said.
“Wishful thinking,” a voice drawled from the doorway. I lifted my head from where I’d dangled it over my chair to find Sharp standing there, looking at us with a bemused expression on her face.
Buried With Honours: A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crime Thriller Page 12