by D. S. Butler
Farzana nodded. ‘Okay.’
‘What about the cellars?’ Karen asked.
‘Nothing down there apart from old bottles of wine and some casks of port.’
‘If I recall correctly, PC Smith used to be a locksmith,’ Morgan said, thoughtfully. ‘I’ll ask him to take a look at the cupboard and the locked room to see if he can get access without causing any damage.’
There were footsteps behind them.
Karen turned and to her annoyance saw Mike Harrington standing there. ‘I thought you were waiting for me in Doyle’s office.’
‘I was,’ he said, ‘but I got bored. You’ve been ages. I couldn’t help overhearing you need to open a lock. I’ve got some tools.’
Karen was momentarily thrown by a suspect offering to assist them. But PC Smith couldn’t tackle the lock without tools.
‘That would be helpful. Thank you. Where’s Sandy?’ Karen asked.
‘Sandy?’ Morgan raised an eyebrow.
‘Mike’s dog,’ Karen explained.
‘She’s still in Graham Doyle’s office, curled up by the fire. For an ex-working dog, she sure likes her home comforts these days,’ he said dryly. ‘Shall I go and get those tools?’
Karen looked at Morgan. ‘Did you want to question him first?’
‘No, get the tools,’ Morgan said. ‘We’ll open everything up so it can be searched, and I can talk to Mr Harrington afterwards.’
‘Suits me.’ Harrington turned and strolled off, presumably to get the tools.
‘I’m going to find Cressida,’ Karen said. ‘Apparently she’s gone to talk to Ella Seaton.’
‘I didn’t know they were good friends,’ Farzana commented.
‘I’m not sure they are,’ Karen said, ‘but I suppose they’ve got a common bond at the moment. They’re surrounded by adults – parents, teachers and police officers – so they’ll probably gain some comfort talking to each other.’
As Karen made her way up the creaking staircase she kept her eyes averted from the portraits. She wouldn’t describe them as spooky, as Rick had, but they were disturbing. The women looked so sad, so hopeless.
Keeping her gaze focused straight ahead, she marched up the steps. When she got to the girls’ floor, she paused, trying to remember which one was Ella’s room. Number seven, she thought, and began to walk towards it, only to freeze halfway down the corridor when she heard the strange sounds again.
Distant, muffled whispers. She held her breath so she could hear better. The sound of dripping water was faint but most definitely there.
She followed the noise. It was coming from the door with no number, next to the bathroom. Karen reached for the doorknob and turned it, but found it still locked.
She pressed her ear to the smooth wood and listened. There it was again – dripping water and whispering. The combination was disturbing. She pushed the image of the Drowned Lady – a pale figure standing on the other side of the door, water dripping from her wet clothes – from her mind. This was no ghost. There had to be a rational explanation.
The whispers were louder here, but she couldn’t work out what the voice was saying.
The protesting creak of a floorboard made Karen jump. Her heart rate spiked, and her breath caught in her throat.
She spun around, pressing a hand against her chest, feeling her heart thudding beneath her ribcage.
It was Ethan.
‘What are you doing here?’ Karen demanded. ‘You’re supposed to be at home.’
‘I wanted to see how you were getting on. Have you found Natasha yet?’
‘Why didn’t you ask your dad?’ Karen asked. ‘I’m sure he’d keep you updated.’
‘I’m grounded.’ Ethan shrugged. ‘He’s not really talking to me.’
‘If you’re grounded, how come you’re here? How did you get past the cordon?’
He shrugged again. ‘I didn’t tell my dad I was coming, and I told the officer at the gate that I left some belongings here and if he had an issue to call my dad, so he let me through.’
Unbelievable. Karen shook her head. She turned away as the whispering started up again. Quiet but definitely audible.
‘Can you hear that?’ Karen asked, pressing her hand against the flat wood of the door.
Ethan paused, but then shook his head. ‘No. Hear what?’
‘Whispers and dripping water.’
He looked at her oddly, tilting his head to one side, apparently listening, but then said, ‘No, I can’t hear anything.’
Karen rubbed her hands over her face. She wasn’t imagining things. Maybe Ethan was hard of hearing, or maybe all the talk of ghosts was getting to her.
‘Have you seen anyone enter this room?’ Karen asked.
‘No.’
Irritated, she tried to turn the doorknob again, but the door remained stubbornly shut. ‘Have you seen Cressida or Ella?’
Ethan’s eyebrows lifted. ‘Cressida is here?’
‘Yes, she is. But I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to see her.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because you shouldn’t be here, Ethan. Your dad is right. You’re in enough trouble. If you want to keep your nose clean you need to stay at home and keep out of this.’
‘But I haven’t done anything wrong. I’d never hurt Cressida or Natasha. And if I knew where they were, I’d tell you.’
‘You have done something wrong, Ethan. You might not be involved in their disappearance, but you were smoking drugs with the girls.’
‘It was only weed,’ Ethan said dismissively.
‘Your father’s a police officer. You must have known how that would reflect on him.’
‘He doesn’t care about me. Why should I care about him?’
‘Of course he cares about you.’
‘Yeah, right,’ Ethan said, folding his arms over his chest in a sulk that made Karen want to give him a shake.
‘You could think of him now and again, you know,’ Karen said, shocking herself by sticking up for the chief constable. Ethan pulled a face. ‘He doesn’t have an easy job. I’m not saying he’s perfect, but your behaviour makes him look bad, and that’s not fair.’
Ethan rolled his eyes. ‘So I made a mistake. It’s not like I set out to mess up his career. All he goes on about is his stupid job.’
Karen heard the noise again. She turned to look at Ethan. ‘Can you really not hear that?’
Ethan shook his head. ‘No, I can’t. It must be the ghost, don’t you think?’
Karen gritted her teeth. ‘No, I don’t.’
Looking bored, Ethan pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned his attention to the screen. It didn’t make sense. Why couldn’t he hear it? Abruptly, the noises stopped.
Karen sent Ethan downstairs, telling him to go straight home, and then knocked on Ella’s door.
When Ella answered, she was smiling. ‘Oh, hi,’ she said, stepping back.
Cressida was sitting on Ella’s bed. Her flaxen hair fell past her shoulders. The scratch on her cheek still looked angry and raw, but overall she looked much better today – healthier, with flushed cheeks. Definitely less traumatised. She stood up and linked arms with Ella, who looked surprised but pleased.
‘Is there any news on Natasha?’ Cressida asked.
‘I’m afraid not,’ Karen said. ‘I was surprised you’d come back to Chidlow House today, but pleased. Have you remembered anything?’
Cressida looked down at the ground and tucked her hair behind her ear, and as she did so, Karen saw she’d been biting the skin around her fingernails. They were bleeding.
‘I haven’t. Not yet. I just thought maybe being back here, you know, might make me remember what happened. All I can recall is getting ready on Thursday night . . . but after that it’s just blank until I remember sitting in the parlour yesterday, wet and cold and scared. The period in-between is just blackness, like someone reached inside my head and ripped out all the memories. Do you think I’ll ever be able to remember?’
/>
‘I hope so,’ Karen said. For Natasha’s sake, she added silently.
‘Ella’s ever so brave for staying here on her own,’ Cressida said, looking at the girl with the frizzy hair.
Ella beamed happily. ‘Oh, I’m fine. Made of stern stuff. Takes a lot to scare me.’
‘Did you sleep all right last night?’ Karen asked.
‘Yes, fine.’
‘You didn’t hear any noises or . . .’
Ella shook her head. ‘No, nothing. I slept really well. I feel guilty for saying that, but I slept straight through.’
‘Good,’ Karen said. ‘And your parents – when are they getting back? Tonight?’
‘Tomorrow,’ Ella corrected. ‘Then they’ll take me home.’
‘You’re okay staying here for another night?’ Cressida asked, eyes wide.
‘Oh, yes. I’ll be fine.’
‘Are you ready to have a chat?’ Karen asked Cressida.
Cressida nodded. ‘Yes. I mean, maybe in ten minutes or so. I just want to get my head together.’
‘All right,’ Karen said. ‘I’ll meet you back in the parlour with your parents in about ten minutes.’
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Karen left Cressida and Ella, wondering if she’d done the right thing by giving Cressida another ten minutes. She didn’t want to pressure the young woman, not when she seemed to be turning a corner and appeared so much better than yesterday, but the clock was ticking.
The longer Natasha was missing, the less likely it was she would turn up safe and well.
Karen reached the top of the stairs just as PC Smith and Mike Harrington began to climb them.
Harrington saw her and lifted a bag of tools. ‘I think these should work,’ he said.
PC Smith cracked his knuckles. ‘I’m a little bit rusty, but I should be able to get that door open.’
Karen walked with them, leading them along the corridor. ‘This is the door that won’t open. I keep hearing strange sounds coming from it, like whispering.’
‘You think Natasha could be in there?’ PC Smith’s jaw dropped, and he made a grab for the tools in Harrington’s hand. ‘I didn’t realise it was so urgent.’
‘I don’t think it’s Natasha in there,’ Karen said. ‘In fact, it sounds so similar every time I hear it I think it must be a recording.’
‘A recording?’ Harrington scratched his head. ‘Why would someone be playing a recording in a locked room?’
‘I’ve got my suspicions, but I might be wrong. Let’s just wait until you manage to open the door.’
PC Smith kneeled on the red carpet and peered closely at the lock. ‘It might take me a few minutes. I don’t want to damage the lock and land us with a bill from Lord Chidlow. I imagine he’s not going to be very pleased when he gets home and finds out what we’ve done.’
Karen shrugged. ‘He gave us permission to search the whole house, and we have a warrant now. His signature is on the paperwork.’
As PC Smith worked, Harrington stood beside him, handing him tools. Karen pulled out her mobile phone and walked to the other end of the corridor, planning to return Alice Price’s call.
It rang for a long time before anyone answered.
‘Yes.’ It was a male voice.
‘Oh, I was hoping to speak to Alice,’ she said. ‘It’s Karen Hart, DS Hart.’
‘Alice isn’t here.’ Karen recognised the voice now. It was Declan, Alice’s husband.
‘I’ll call again later.’
‘There’s no point. She’s gone away,’ he said in a listless voice.
‘Gone away? But she hasn’t taken her mobile?’
‘No, she does this quite a lot. Likes to go off on her own for a bit. It’s her way of coping, I think. Being alone with her thoughts. Not being interrupted by frivolous phone calls.’
Karen frowned. ‘I’m returning her call.’
There was silence on the other end of the phone and then Declan said, ‘She called you?’
‘Yes.’
‘What about?’ he asked, sounding suspicious.
‘I’m not really sure,’ Karen said, truthfully, ‘but Alice asked me to call her back.’
Karen didn’t mention Churchill’s name. She wasn’t entirely sure why, but she felt like it wasn’t something Declan needed to know. Alice’s husband wanted her to forget about the past and move on. Unsurprisingly perhaps, as his wife had had a breakdown. Maybe it was unfair, but Karen didn’t feel like confiding in Declan.
‘Do you want me to take a message?’ he asked.
‘No, that’s all right. I’ll catch up with her later. Do you know when she’s coming back?’
‘No.’ He sounded shifty, evasive. ‘I don’t know. Probably a few days.’
‘Right. I’ll call her in a few days then. Thanks.’ Karen hung up and looked at the phone, feeling uneasy.
That was odd. Sure, maybe Alice wanted to get away for a few days, but wouldn’t she take her phone with her and just turn it off if she didn’t want to be disturbed? In this day and age, most people kept a phone with them in case of emergency.
She put her own phone in her pocket and walked back to PC Smith, who was still hard at work on the lock. As she got closer, she heard the whispering and the dripping water.
‘Tell me you hear that,’ she said, pointing at the door.
‘Yeah, I hear it,’ Harrington said. ‘And it’s definitely coming from this room.’
At that moment there was a click followed by a loud clunk, as PC Smith finally managed to open the lock.
As the door swung open with a drawn-out groan, all three of them stood there staring. The room was absolutely jammed full of junk, and it looked like the door hadn’t been opened for years. Dust and cobwebs coated everything. The wallpaper was yellowed with age, and the light fitting looked as though it was from the turn of the last century.
Then there was the sound of whispering again. PC Smith stood up and made to enter the room, but Karen put a hand out to stop him.
‘Wait. Don’t go in there yet.’ She pointed to the floor, where she’d just noticed large footprints in the dust covering the floorboards. ‘Someone’s been in here.’
She scanned the area. There wasn’t much space to walk between the stacked chairs, rolled-up rugs and old lamps and paintings. But Karen could see footprints in the dust – at least one person had been in here recently.
She was aware that both PC Smith and Mike Harrington were watching her. But she wasn’t going to be hurried. She carefully took in the scene.
There was something odd about the whole situation. Chidlow had said he’d misplaced the key to this room, but Karen suspected he either hadn’t wanted them to get in or someone else had taken the key, with or without his knowledge.
Someone had the key. Someone had been in here.
Her gaze travelled over a stack of gilt picture frames, and that’s when she saw it. Something modern and quite out of place in a room stuffed with damaged, dusty antiques.
‘There,’ she said, pointing out a rectangular black box. ‘That’s a speaker, isn’t it?’
As if on cue, the sounds started up again.
‘I think we’ve found the source of the voices,’ Karen said.
‘Looks like a Bluetooth speaker,’ PC Smith said. ‘No wires. So we still don’t know the source of the recording.’
‘No,’ Karen said, frowning. ‘It could be coming from someone’s phone.’
She glanced at Harrington.
‘Don’t look at me. I haven’t got a mobile.’
‘Or it could be coming from a computer nearby,’ PC Smith suggested.
Karen nodded. ‘I wonder if there’s a way we can trace it.’
‘Well, we could have a look ourselves first,’ PC Smith said, taking out his phone. ‘I’ll see what other Bluetooth devices are in the vicinity.’ He began to tap on the screen. ‘Oh, there’s quite a few phones. Looks like a MacBook as well.’ He paused. ‘But we can’t tell which is connected to the speaker,
not from my phone at least.’
‘No. Maybe the tech team can help us with that. Can you get on to Forensics?’ Karen asked. ‘We’re going to want the room fingerprinted, and we’ll need photographs of these footprints as well.’
‘Do you think it’s related to Natasha’s disappearance?’ PC Smith asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Karen replied honestly.
Harrington began to put his tools back in the bag. ‘I wouldn’t put it past Chidlow to be behind this. It’s probably his way of trying to drum up business. Ghost tours on the estate. That sort of thing.’
‘Maybe,’ Karen said, but another idea had occurred to her.
‘Do you think Chidlow’s been trying to scare us?’ PC Smith asked.
Karen wasn’t sure. She wouldn’t say she was scared by the noises, but they had unnerved her. Harrington had made a good point. It could be Chidlow trying to drive interest in his property and set the place up as some kind of haunted house for tours in the future. He’d probably prefer that to having a house full of students. But there was another explanation. One that, to Karen, made even more sense.
‘I don’t think this is down to Chidlow,’ Karen said. ‘In fact, I’m pretty sure someone else is behind it.’
‘Well, don’t leave us in suspense,’ Harrington called as Karen walked off.
But she wasn’t going to say anything until she’d confronted the culprit face to face. She only hoped she wasn’t too late.
Karen was in luck. Ethan was in the parlour with Cressida and her parents. Karen was glad he hadn’t done what he was told and gone home.
He didn’t notice Karen enter the room. He was too focused on Cressida.
‘Ethan, I’d like a word,’ Karen said, before apologising to Cressida and her parents. ‘I’ll just be a few minutes. Sorry to keep you waiting.’
She escorted Ethan to Doyle’s office.
‘I was just about to leave,’ he said as Karen shut the door and told him to sit down.
She folded her arms and remained standing, so she could look down at him. ‘I know it’s you.’
‘What’s me? I haven’t done anything,’ he said. ‘I don’t know anything about Natasha.’
‘That’s not what I’m talking about, Ethan, and you know it.’