by D. S. Butler
Morgan placed the sheet of paper on the desk. ‘Looks similar in style. Was it the start of a note to someone? Or the discarded beginnings of an essay?’
‘Maybe she was planning to send a note to someone and thought better of it.’
They searched every inch of Natasha’s room, but found nothing to indicate where she’d gone last night: no messages, no secret diary hidden under the bed.
Then they made their way to Cressida’s room. It was decorated in a very similar style to Natasha’s, although much messier. Clothes were scattered on the floor, and scrunched-up pieces of paper were left on the desk. They were all study notes – nothing helpful.
They took their time going through the room methodically, but finally Morgan shook his head. ‘No luck with the rooms. That note worries me. I’ll ask Rick to speak to the staff at the pub in the village but I think we’re going to have to start the search, don’t you?’
Karen nodded slowly, her gaze magnetically drawn to the window. The view of the lake was almost obscured by trees. ‘Yes. I don’t know what we’re going to find in this weather, but there’s a chance one of the girls could be hurt – injured somewhere.’
‘Possibly, if it was just one of them, but two makes it unlikely. The other would have gone for help, wouldn’t they? But I think we should get a search underway. We need to make the most of the daylight hours.’ He checked his watch. ‘Right. I’ll get on to Sophie, ask her if she’s got anything from the local hospitals or accident reports, and I’ll ask Rick to follow up on the teacher who fell from the roof. What was her name? Alison?’
Karen checked the notes app on her phone. ‘Yes, Alison King.’
‘Probably nothing but it’s a bit of a coincidence it happened the same week, so I’ll get him to talk to the investigating officer.’
‘Good idea.’
‘If you can track down the other students and arrange somewhere for us to interview them, I’ll get the search party organised.’
Karen nodded. ‘Will do. Do you think we should get family liaison officers assigned for the Blakes and the Laytons?’
‘Yes, I do. Let’s get that sorted first.’
Karen pulled out her mobile phone and dialled as she looked out of the window. As she waited for the call to be picked up, she stared down at the patio below. As the rain hit the stones, it rebounded with force. Puddles pooled on the slabs. From this distance, the lawn looked lush and green, but the ground would be saturated and soggy. She hoped the rain would let up soon.
CHAPTER SEVEN
When they made it back to the entrance hall, they were met by a buzz of activity. The hall was filled with parents. The police constable who had been standing on the door was desperately trying to keep them contained in one area as they demanded to know where their children were.
Graham Doyle sat at the reception desk, his head in his hands.
He looked up as Morgan and Karen stopped beside the desk. ‘Detectives, please tell me you’re going to allow the students to go home with their parents now.’
‘I’m afraid not,’ Morgan said.
This response was greeted by angry exclamations from some of the parents who’d gathered to form a ring around the desk, and a groan from Doyle.
‘We need to speak to every student before they go home,’ Morgan continued, raising his voice so all the parents in the hall would hear him. His voice was calm but carried well, and eventually everyone fell silent to listen to him. ‘I know this is very inconvenient and you’re all worried for your children’s safety, but I promise we’ll get through the questioning as quickly as possible and you should be able to take your children home later today.’ He turned to Doyle and added, in a quieter voice, ‘We’d like to speak to Ella Seaton first.’
Doyle frowned. ‘Well, I suppose you could, but it would be more helpful if you chose one of the other students to kick things off. You see, Ella’s parents are away in Africa. They’re not going to be able to pick her up today, so she’ll be here overnight anyway. Perhaps Stuart Blythe would be a better choice. He’s quite anxious to return home. His parents are Lord and Lady Blythe—’
Morgan cut him off. ‘No, we need to speak to Ella Seaton first because she knew both the girls. Unless Stuart Blythe is close to them?’
Doyle thought for a moment. ‘No, I don’t think he is.’
‘Then we need to speak to Ella first, please.’
Doyle’s shoulders slumped as he sighed in defeat. ‘Very well. I’ll get her. The students have their meals in the dining room. It’s slightly smaller than the dining hall but should be a sufficient size to keep everyone together. Shall I ask the students and their parents to wait there until you’re ready to question them? The other teachers are already there.’
‘Yes, that’s fine.’
Doyle got to his feet, grumbling, ‘I don’t know what I’ll do at lunchtime. There’s certainly not enough sandwiches to go around.’
‘I’m sure they can sort themselves out,’ Morgan said. ‘The parents don’t have to stay. There’s nothing stopping them going out for lunch.’
Chidlow appeared at the back of the hall and barked at Doyle to keep the noise down. His face was red, and he waved his fist as he spoke.
‘V . . . very sorry, Lord Chidlow,’ Doyle stammered, trying to smooth his thinning hair. ‘I really couldn’t have anticipated this. All the parents have shown up to take their children home and—’
‘I really don’t care, Doyle,’ Chidlow growled. ‘I didn’t sign up for this. The whole thing’s an inconvenience I could do without.’
Chidlow caught sight of Karen watching him. He scowled and then retreated back along the corridor towards his study. A few seconds later, the door slammed.
Two young women were missing but Chidlow only seemed to care about the inconvenience and the disruption to his everyday life.
They settled in Doyle’s office after grabbing two extra chairs from the room next door, and waited for the programme director to bring Ella Seaton to them.
‘I’m anticipating some problems with these interviews,’ Morgan said as he quickly checked his phone for messages.
‘You think the students will be difficult?’
‘No, it’s the parents I’m worried about. Money means power, and I suspect most of the parents out there are used to getting their own way. They didn’t like being told they can’t take their children home.’
‘Well, there’s no way around it,’ Karen said. ‘We need to talk to them. We can’t just let them leave – they’re not all local. We’d be driving around the country for interviews if we let them go home now. There’s only eleven of them. It won’t take us too long.’
Morgan nodded. ‘We’ve spoken to Ethan, so that just leaves ten.’
‘Let’s hope we get something out of Ella Seaton. We might not even need to speak to the others,’ Karen said.
There was a knock on the door. Doyle entered, with a shy-looking girl trailing behind him. The girl had a mass of frizzy, mousey hair that shot out from her scalp in all directions. It must have been quite difficult to manage but the haircut she had certainly didn’t help. If anything, it made her hair appear even bushier.
Self-consciously, Ella tried to smooth her hair. As she shuffled towards a chair, she kept her head bowed. She wore baggy jeans and an oversized cream jumper. The cuffs of the jumper reached her fingertips.
Karen gave her a reassuring smile as she sat down. ‘We just want a quick chat. There’s nothing to worry about. You’re not in any trouble.’
The girl raised her head and gave Karen a quick smile in return. Her skin was pale, and her eyebrows and eyelashes were so sparse they gave her face a bare, unfinished appearance.
Ella sat meekly in the chair, waiting for the first question as Doyle picked up the master set of keys from the desk, nodded and then left the room.
‘We’re told you know Cressida and Natasha,’ Morgan began, his tone warm and friendly.
Ella clasped her hands together, re
sting them on her lap, and nodded. ‘Yes, that’s right. We go to the same school, Markham in Grantham.’
‘Do you get on well?’ Karen asked.
Ella bit down on her lower lip. ‘Well, I wouldn’t say we’re great friends or anything, but we aren’t enemies either.’
Enemies? That was a funny choice of word. ‘How long have you known them?’ Karen asked.
‘Well, I’ve known Cressida since we were quite small, maybe six or so. We went to the same ballet class in Grantham. I didn’t meet Natasha until we started secondary school, so I’ve known her since I was eleven. But like I say, we’re not particularly close.’
‘Different circles?’ Karen asked.
A frown puckered Ella’s pale face. ‘What do you mean, “different circles”?’
‘You move in different social circles. You’ve got different groups of friends.’
‘Oh, I see. Yes, I suppose so. Well, they’ve got friends, tons of them. I’m not exactly Miss Popular at school. I’ve got my parents to thank for that.’
‘Your parents? Why?’
‘Because they have decided not to spoil me.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I’m not allowed to buy my own clothes, no jewellery. I can’t even have my ears pierced until I’m eighteen, and they won’t let me have a mobile phone. So you can see why I don’t fit in. Girls like Natasha and Cressida get everything they want from their parents.’
‘I can see how that might be difficult. Do you know where they were going last night? They left around nine p.m., we think.’
Ella shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know. They didn’t really confide in me about things like that.’
‘Do you know if either of them had a boyfriend?’
Ella tugged at the sleeve of her jumper, pulling a strand of wool free at the hem. ‘I’m not sure exactly. I think Cressida did. I mean, she was always talking about different men she was seeing, but she didn’t tell me exactly. I just overheard her conversations with Natasha.’
‘And were the men her own age?’
‘No, I don’t think so. In fact, she was saying only yesterday that she preferred older men. She even said Edward Chidlow was her type.’ Ella raised her pale eyebrows in emphasis.
Karen moved smoothly on to the next question, trying not to react, but mentally filed the information away. Edward Chidlow, Cressida’s type? He was a great deal older than her – twenty-five years, minimum.
‘And what about Natasha?’ Karen asked.
‘I don’t think she was seeing anyone. She didn’t really talk about it like Cressida did. She was a bit more private I suppose.’
They continued to question Ella about the staff and the other students and their relationships with Cressida and Natasha.
When Ella was more relaxed, Karen returned to the subject of Edward Chidlow. ‘Did Cressida spend much time with Edward Chidlow?’
Ella’s jaw dropped. ‘No, sorry. I didn’t mean to imply they were together or anything. She just happened to mention him. I don’t think she was serious. She just likes to shock people, you know, to sound impressive.’
Morgan nodded.
‘I didn’t mean to get anyone in trouble,’ Ella said, her gaze flicking between Morgan and Karen.
‘You haven’t, Ella, don’t worry,’ Karen said. ‘We just want to know anything about Natasha or Cressida that could be important. It doesn’t matter if you get it wrong or it turns out not to be relevant to their disappearance. Sometimes minor things can be crucial.’
‘I do want to help. I know we weren’t the best of friends or anything, but I don’t like to think anything bad has happened to them.’
‘We hope they turn up safe and sound soon. But just in case they don’t, we need to ask a few more questions,’ Morgan said.
He continued to question Ella, and Karen took the opportunity to study the young woman.
Ella’s shoulders were hunched and her spine curved, as though she wanted to curl into a ball and disappear. Although it was obvious from her posture that she was painfully shy, she answered all their questions with a clear and sharp voice, projecting a confidence that contradicted her body language. Life at private school had taught her that, Karen thought.
When Morgan had asked his last question, Karen changed tack. ‘Ella, could you tell me what you know about Ethan Grayson and Natasha.’
‘Ethan and Natasha?’ Ella’s eyes widened. ‘I don’t think there was anything going on between them if that’s what you mean. Not that I noticed anyway. We only met Ethan this week.’
‘When was the last time you saw Natasha or Cressida?’
Ella tapped a finger against her chin. ‘I saw them at dinner and then we were in the library for a while. The fire had been lit, thank goodness, because it’s so cold at night. The central heating is terrible. I was reading and they were chatting with the other students. And then I went up to bed about eight. I got a bit bored with them all really. I prefer my own space.’ She shrugged. ‘I didn’t see them again after that. I didn’t know anything had happened until they didn’t turn up for breakfast and Mr Doyle started to panic.’
‘What do you know about the teacher who fell from the roof?’
‘Oh, that was horrible,’ Ella said. ‘Miss King was really nice. She did modern languages. I’m doing French A level, so I spent quite a lot of time with her this week. She didn’t like the house much. Said it gave her the creeps.’
‘Why’d she say that?’
‘I think the stories of the Drowned Lady got to her. She heard trickling water and the pipes banging at night, and she wasn’t really used to an old draughty house like this. None of us are. I can’t say I’m very keen myself.’
Karen had to agree. The place was freezing and must be even colder at night.
‘I suppose we’re used to modern heating systems these days.’ She smiled at Ella. ‘It is very cold.’
‘Yes, and would you believe this place doesn’t even have en-suites. Not quite what we’re used to at Markham. If I need to use the bathroom at night, I have to put on my coat and run there and back.’ Ella flushed as she caught Morgan’s eye. ‘Sorry, not very ladylike talk for a girl from Markham. I’m always getting told off for that.’
Morgan laughed. ‘It sounds like a very sensible strategy if you ask me.’
‘You’ve been really helpful, Ella,’ Karen said. ‘Is there anything else you’d like to tell us?’
Ella thought for a moment. ‘I suppose you might be interested in any men who’d taken an interest in Cressida.’
Karen leaned forward. ‘Yes, we would.’
‘Well, I’m not saying anything was going on exactly, but Cressida was boasting to some of the boys. She said the gardener had made a move on her, but she’d had to let him down gently because he was only a gardener and really not her type.’
‘Gardener?’ Karen asked.
‘Yes. He lurks around the place looking miserable. He’s got a limp and walks with a stick. Nice dog, though.’
The groundsman, Mike Harrington, jumped several places on Karen’s mental list of suspicious characters.
Morgan asked, ‘When did this happen?’
‘Um, I don’t know when he made his move, but she was talking about it two nights ago. To be honest, knowing Cressida, she could have made the whole thing up. He doesn’t really seem the type to bother with someone like her. He’s quite handsome in an odd, brooding way. Reminds me of Heathcliff in Wuthering Heights. We’re studying that for A-level English.’
Karen smiled. ‘We’ll have a word with him. Ella, you’ve been a great help.’
Morgan was opening the door for Ella to leave when they heard a commotion outside. Morgan and Karen both left the office, heading towards the shouting as Ella scurried off towards the dining room.
‘What are you doing to find my daughter?’ A tall man with broad shoulders and a protruding stomach stood in the entrance hall, towering over Graham Doyle.
He had large bushy eyebrows and a look of fury on his face a
s he prodded Doyle’s chest.
Doyle spotted Morgan and Karen. ‘Detectives, this is Todd Layton, Natasha’s father.’
But the man didn’t turn. He didn’t even acknowledge them. ‘I hope you have good insurance, Mr Doyle, because you’re going to need it.’
‘Of course I have insurance, and I understand that you’re quite upset, but really I’ve done everything I can—’
‘Mr Layton, I’m DI Morgan. This is my colleague DS Hart. We’re looking for your daughter.’
‘You are? Then what are you doing standing in front of me? You’re not going to find her here,’ Layton said in a low rumbling voice.
Morgan ignored the sarcasm. ‘We’ve been talking to other students on the course. There will be a search of the land around Chidlow House this afternoon. We’re still hopeful that Cressida and Natasha went out last night of their own accord and will return safely.’
Todd Layton’s anger ebbed away, and he raked a hand through his auburn hair. His bushy eyebrows knitted together. ‘I don’t think so. Not Natasha. She’s so quiet and well behaved. This just isn’t like her. Something must have happened.’
‘We’re going to do our best to find her,’ Karen said.
‘Maybe I was wrong,’ Layton said, narrowing his eyes and looking past Karen. ‘I think you’re probably looking in the right place after all.’
‘What do you mean?’
Layton pointed at the large oil painting of Edward Chidlow that hung behind the reception desk. ‘You’ve heard about Chidlow’s reputation, haven’t you?’
‘His reputation?’ Karen looked at the painting, which emphasised Chidlow’s close-set eyes and hawkish nose. There was something sinister about this old house, but the uneasy feeling it gave Karen had more to do with its owner than its ghost.
CHAPTER EIGHT
DC Rick Cooper made his way along the corridor on the third floor of Nettleham headquarters. He’d just been speaking to DI Harry Bolt, the officer in charge of the Alison King investigation. Karen had asked him to find out what he could about the details surrounding her death, but so far Harry hadn’t unearthed anything suspicious.