House of Lies (Detective Karen Hart)

by D. S. Butler

  As Karen walked into the woods, rain started to fall again. It was only a light mist at first, tiny drops settling on her hair and coat. She trudged through the damp leaves, thinking how much quieter it was as she walked between the trees.

  The groundsman was odd. No doubt about it. But Sophie had filled her in on his background, and Karen knew what losing a child did to a person. It changed you. If living out here like a hermit made him feel better, helped him cope, then who was she to judge?

  But in this case, he had been in the vicinity when the young women went missing. A single man living alone. She’d be a fool to rule him out as a suspect. When the two students had left Chidlow House on Thursday evening, he could have run into them out here. Karen looked around at the tall trees, the wet leaves. It was so quiet. No one would hear. No one would have seen.

  She walked further into the woods, looking through the gaps between the trees for the cottage that Lord Chidlow had told her was close.

  But there was no sign of a building, and the rain was starting to fall more heavily now. Karen hunched her shoulders and walked faster. Then, to her right, she noticed a movement between the trunks of two hazel trees. She froze. Only the caw of a crow broke the silence.

  She waited, then heard the crack of a twig. Her heart was pounding, her mouth dry.

  Ridiculous. It was probably just an animal.

  ‘Is anyone there?’ she called out.

  Maybe it was the groundsman out for a walk. But no, his dog would be barking now, alerting him to her presence. She raked a hand through her wet hair and scanned the surrounding trees. Everything looked the same. She walked a little further, called out again.

  Another caw from a crow made her jump. She pressed a hand to her chest as the rain pattered around her. This was stupid. It was all that talk of ghosts earlier that had set her on edge. Why be afraid of a ghost? It was people in the here and now that could hurt you, as she well knew.

  Karen thought the idea of malevolent spirits was odd. If there was such a thing as ghosts, wouldn’t it be the people who loved you most who’d come back? Those that loved so deeply they couldn’t bear to leave? Surely that emotion would be more powerful than any malicious intent.

  Water was trickling down the back of her neck now, and she shivered, turning around in a circle, disoriented. All the trees looked the same. She’d been a fool to walk so far into the woods. It was easy to see how someone could get lost. She looked up at the sky, looking for the sun, trying to work out her position in respect to the lake and the house. But the sun was firmly hidden behind grey clouds.

  She walked up to a large oak tree, touching her hand to the wet bark. Moss was growing on the right side of the tree. She was tempted to turn around and walk back to the lake. But she’d come this far, and she really did want to speak to the groundsman.

  She carried on walking, and after a moment noticed a curl of smoke above the trees. Heartened by the sight, Karen moved faster, the rain hammering down now.

  She stepped into a clearing, and the cottage appeared in front of her like something out of a fairy tale. She rushed up to the small covered porch. The cottage was constructed of pale stone and looked like it had been there for centuries, now almost sinking into the earth. On the right of the door were sandbags stacked up beside a wheelbarrow.

  She hammered on the door. Would he be walking the grounds in this weather? He had to be home, didn’t he? The fire was lit.

  But he had been out in the rain before. She’d seen him.

  She heard barks from inside and then the door opened. He was even taller than she remembered, and he stood there blocking the doorway, glowering at her, an unwelcome visitor.

  ‘Mr Harrington,’ Karen said, ‘I’d like a word.’

  His expression didn’t change, but he stepped back and gestured for her to come inside.

  ‘I thought we would go back to the house for an interview, actually,’ Karen said.

  ‘In this weather?’ He shook his head and walked back inside the cottage.

  Karen hesitated before following him and shutting the door.

  Sandy padded up to greet Karen, delightedly wagging her tail, tilting her head and thoroughly enjoying Karen scratching behind her ears.

  ‘That’s enough. Back to your basket,’ Harrington ordered the dog, and then he glowered again at Karen. ‘She’s a working dog. She’s normally very well behaved.’

  He narrowed his eyes as though Sandy’s friendliness was Karen’s fault.

  Karen took in the interior of the cottage. It was as tiny as it looked from the outside. There was a small kitchen area, then a sofa in front of the fire. A well-used, round oak table with one dining chair sat under the stairs. Brown cardboard boxes were piled up by the back door. Despite its small size, the place appeared comfortable and cosy, and Karen had a sudden urge to stand beside the fire and warm her hands. Instead, she looked up at Mike Harrington. ‘Are you free to answer some questions now?’

  He looked beyond her, out of the small window, as the rain fell so heavily it obscured even the view of the trees. ‘I can’t really say no, can I?’

  ‘Well, you can, actually, though it will make you look guilty if you do.’

  He shrugged. ‘What do you want to ask?’

  ‘Like I said, it would be better to do this at the house.’

  Karen noticed that Harrington had moved so that his bulky frame was blocking the front door. She was also aware that the back door beside the staircase was blocked by the cardboard boxes. She felt cornered, trapped, and she didn’t like it.

  ‘I don’t mind walking to the house if that’s what you really want, but you don’t seem dressed for it,’ he said, looking her up and down.

  Karen frowned down at her clothes. She was wearing a waterproof mac, but it ended mid-thigh, which meant the bottoms of her trousers were saturated. Her leather boots were more suited to the office than walks through the woods. She ran a hand through her wet hair.

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘stand by the fire, dry off a bit. I’ll even make you a cup of tea.’

  Karen considered insisting they go back to the house, but he was right. The rain was very heavy. Besides, maybe he’d open up more at home.

  As she stood beside the fire, she noticed that there were no personal effects in the cottage other than one small silver-framed photograph on top of the mantelpiece. She tilted it towards her. A small boy missing one of his front teeth smiled up at her.

  ‘Don’t touch that,’ Harrington said, glaring at her with the kettle in his hand.

  ‘Sorry. Your son?’ Karen asked, putting it back.

  He grunted but didn’t answer.

  ‘You know,’ Karen called out as he filled the kettle at the sink, ‘those boxes blocking the back door aren’t a good idea. What if there’s a fire?’

  He didn’t bother to turn this time. ‘Then I’d climb out of the window.’

  ‘How long have they been there? Since you moved?’ she asked, walking towards them.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why haven’t you unpacked?’

  ‘They’re part of my old life,’ he said, tensing as she got closer to the boxes.

  She reached for one.

  ‘Would you just stop it? That’s incredibly rude you know.’ He slammed the kettle on to the hob.

  ‘Sorry,’ Karen said, putting her hands in her pockets instead. It occurred to her that maybe they were things he couldn’t bear to be parted with, but at the same time were too painful to look at every day. Perhaps his son’s possessions.

  ‘You know, it must take a special kind of person to do your job, digging into things that don’t concern you,’ Harrington said.

  ‘Thanks,’ Karen replied with false cheer, because she knew he didn’t mean it as a compliment.

  He glared at her again as the kettle whistled to a boil.

  ‘Anyway,’ Karen said. ‘You’d probably know quite a bit about my job since you were an officer yourself.’ She saw him tense. ‘Why didn’t you me
ntion it before?’

  ‘Didn’t seem important.’

  ‘You must have known we’d look into your background.’

  ‘So I suppose you know all about me now, do you?’ His words were harsh and hostile, but when he turned, he didn’t look angry. He looked broken.

  Karen suddenly felt claustrophobic. She wanted to be outside. She wanted to get out of this cottage even if it was raining. Was it because Harrington was doing his best to seem intimidating, or was it that his grief was so obvious here that it threatened to overwhelm her?

  ‘Forget about the tea,’ Karen said. ‘Look, the rain’s eased up. Let’s go back to the house.’

  He looked at her as though she’d gone mad but she walked purposefully towards the door, and to Harrington’s obvious annoyance Sandy got out of her basket and trotted up to Karen expectantly.

  ‘What’s got into you?’ he grumbled, shaking his head at the dog.

  As they walked together through the trees, Karen tried to shake off the uncomfortable feeling she’d experienced in the cottage.

  ‘Any news on the other girl?’

  It took her a moment to realise Harrington had asked her a question. ‘Not yet. We’ve got a team searching the lake this morning.’

  His face slackened. ‘You think she’s dead?’

  ‘We’re searching the lake,’ Karen said, not wanting to commit to anything more.

  Distracted, Harrington ran a hand through his hair. ‘Poor kid,’ he said in a low voice, so quietly Karen only just caught it.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Karen walked back to the house with Mike Harrington, their shoulders hunched against the light but steady rain. The search of the lake was well underway now. She nodded at Rick as they went past.

  Sandy scampered happily at Harrington’s heels.

  ‘How old is she?’ asked Karen, nodding at the spaniel.

  ‘Eleven.’

  ‘She’s still got the energy of a puppy.’

  ‘That’s the breed, I think. Believe it or not, she had even more energy when she was younger.’

  ‘She was your service dog, right?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes. A detection dog, but she’s retired now, just like me.’

  ‘After all that training they let the dog go?’ Karen asked.

  ‘Dogs tend to have one handler. It’s unusual for them to be passed around. So when I left the force, Sandy did as well.’

  ‘So, one dog, one owner.’

  ‘That’s right. We’re partners,’ Harrington said, looking fondly at the dog.

  It was the first time Karen had seen a real change to his surly expression. Could this man really be a suspect?

  He ticked a lot of boxes – single, living alone, brooding, and the people around him thought he was a bit odd. But he obviously cared deeply about Sandy, and Karen couldn’t help empathising with his situation. He’d lost his child, after all, and she knew how that turned your life upside down. At one point, she’d wished she could go off somewhere, lock herself away from everyone else and forget about the world for a while.

  She focused on Chidlow House as they approached. It dominated the landscape. Grey, angry clouds moved swiftly in the sky above. The gargoyles looked like no more than lumps of stone from this distance. Had Alison King reached to grab one of those, to save herself, before falling to her death?

  Karen shivered.

  She glanced at Harrington and decided she’d ask Morgan to talk to him further. Was she a professional? Yes, but there was a part of her that felt sorry for the ill-tempered man walking beside her, and she didn’t want that to get in the way of the interview.

  Morgan would be precise, thorough and wouldn’t let feelings get in the way. He’d be better placed to do the questioning.

  She left Harrington and Sandy in Doyle’s office and went to locate Morgan. Before she found him, Sophie caught her in the hallway.

  ‘Can I have a quick word, Sarge?’ Sophie asked.

  ‘Sure.’

  ‘Cressida is here.’

  Karen frowned. ‘At the house?’

  That was a surprise. She hadn’t thought the young woman would want to come back after her severe reaction last night.

  ‘Yes,’ Sophie said. ‘She’s with her mum and dad. They’re waiting in Chidlow’s parlour. She said she came back because she wants to help. She’s worried about her friend.’

  That was promising. ‘Maybe she’s remembered something about Thursday night.’

  Sophie shook her head. ‘She still says she can’t recall much but hoped that being back here would jog her memory. Her mum and dad aren’t too happy about her being here, but apparently Cressida begged them.’

  ‘All right. I’ll have a quick word with Cressida now. I’ve put Mike Harrington in Doyle’s office. If Morgan’s free, he can interview him now.’

  ‘I think the boss is around somewhere,’ Sophie said. ‘I’ll try to find him.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Harrington’s a bit odd, isn’t he?’ Sophie said. ‘From what his old DI said, he sounds like a recluse, a bit of an oddball. Do you think he’s someone we should look at closely?’

  Karen shrugged. ‘He likes to keep to himself, that’s for sure, but he lost a child a few years ago, and that changes a person.’

  ‘Oh yes, of course it does. Sorry,’ Sophie said hurriedly. ‘I really put my foot in my mouth there, didn’t I?’

  ‘No, not at all. Don’t worry about it,’ Karen said. ‘I’ll go and talk to Cressida and her parents.’

  Karen left Sophie and made her way to the parlour. She found Mr and Mrs Blake sitting on a small sofa beside the fire with Graham Doyle standing over them, simpering.

  ‘The girl is a credit to you,’ he was saying. ‘Shows such strength after all she’s been through.’

  Jasmine Blake smiled politely. She sat with her legs crossed, hands on her lap, poised, more like a model posing than a real person.

  Karen quickly scanned the room but Cressida wasn’t in the parlour with her parents. ‘Mr and Mrs Blake,’ she said. ‘It’s a surprise to see you here this morning.’

  ‘It was a surprise to us too,’ Ryan Blake grumbled. He, too, looked like a model on a shoot. A white open-necked shirt, tan trousers and expensive shoes, with a heavy splash of aftershave. They both clearly took care over their appearance.

  Jasmine shot her husband a chastising look and said, ‘Yes, it was Cressida’s idea. I wasn’t sure it was a good one at first, but she really wants to help Natasha and thought being back here might help her remember something.’

  ‘It might,’ Karen said. ‘Has she remembered anything at all about Thursday night or Friday before she returned?’

  Ryan Blake shook his head. ‘No, nothing.’

  ‘I was just about to get some coffee for Mr and Mrs Blake,’ Doyle said, wearing a sickly sweet smile. ‘Would you like some, DS Hart?’

  ‘That’s kind of you, but no, thank you. Where is Cressida now?’ she asked, turning to the Blakes.

  ‘She’s gone upstairs,’ Jasmine said, fiddling with the pearls at her throat. ‘She wanted to see her friend Ella. I was amazed the girl is still here. I thought all the students had gone home.’

  ‘Most of them have,’ Karen said. ‘They went home after questioning last night, but Ella’s parents are out of the country at the moment, so she’s staying here until tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, quite brave of her,’ Jasmine said, pushing her glossy hair back from her face. ‘I’m not sure I’d like to stay here after everything that’s happened.’

  ‘Well, really, it’s a most unfortunate situation, but it’s nothing to do with Chidlow House,’ Doyle said. ‘I assure you that Ella is perfectly safe. I’m still staying here, and I keep a close eye on things.’

  ‘You were supposed to keep a close eye on things before,’ Ryan Blake said, ‘and yet my daughter and her friend went missing and you haven’t found the other girl yet.’

  ‘Natasha,’ Karen said, feeling the need to give the you
ng woman’s name rather than refer to her as ‘the other girl’.

  ‘Yes, of course,’ Ryan said, turning away from Karen and looking at the fire.

  He had a long nose, a Roman profile. When she’d first met him, Karen had thought he looked young for his age, but now he looked every day of his forty-two years. His dark hair had some kind of product on it that glistened. The flickering light from the fire cast odd shadows on his face.

  ‘Right. I’ll find Cressida and see if she wants to have a chat. We’ll try to gently jog her memory. Anything she remembers about Thursday night could be important.’

  Karen left Doyle apologising profusely and offering various long-winded explanations to the Blakes.

  As she made her way to the back of the house and the staircase leading to the student rooms, she came across Morgan talking to DC Farzana Shah. They both looked up as Karen approached.

  ‘Did Sophie find you?’ Karen asked.

  Morgan shook his head. ‘Why was she looking for me?’

  ‘Mike Harrington is here. I hoped you could talk to him. He’s in Doyle’s office.’

  ‘Okay.’

  He’d paused before speaking but didn’t ask why Karen wanted to avoid questioning the groundskeeper herself.

  ‘How’s the search going?’ she asked. ‘Has Chidlow found the missing keys?’

  ‘No,’ Farzana said. ‘Yesterday he said he’s sure they’re around somewhere but couldn’t find them. He was supposed to look for them last night. Now, I can’t find him. According to Doyle, he’s walking the grounds somewhere.’

  ‘We really need to search every room. It’s unlikely Natasha’s hiding out in there, or there’s anything in there that will tell us where she is, but we can’t do a half-hearted search of the property. What about Chidlow’s study?’

  ‘We’re planning to search Chidlow’s own study later today. He’d asked me yesterday to hold back because he had some important paperwork to get finished. I said that was okay. I hope that was all right?’

  ‘No. He’s stalling. We should search his study ASAP,’ Morgan said.