House of Lies (Detective Karen Hart)

by D. S. Butler

  Harrington offered his hand again but Karen ignored it, pushing herself to her feet and testing her knee gingerly. ‘I’m fine,’ she said. Then she looked down at the slimy mud covering her trousers from knee to ankle and swore. ‘This better be worth it.’

  ‘Oh, I think it will be.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me what it is, or are you going to keep up this enigmatic show until we get there?’ Karen asked.

  ‘I wasn’t trying to be enigmatic. It’s just not easy to explain because I don’t really know what I saw.’ He began walking again and Karen followed.

  ‘That makes no sense,’ she said.

  ‘I’m trying to explain.’

  ‘Well, try harder.’

  ‘Fine. It was last night. I was out late, about two a.m. I couldn’t sleep, so I went for a walk to clear my head.’

  ‘Do you do that a lot?’ Karen asked.

  ‘Quite often,’ he said.

  ‘Thursday night?’

  He turned, glaring at her stonily. ‘No.’

  ‘All right. I had to ask. What did you see?’

  ‘Lord Chidlow,’ he said. ‘He was walking over here. I spotted the light from his torch and wondered what he was up to.’

  ‘What was he up to?’

  ‘He was carrying two boxes, roughly shoebox size, taking them away from the house. When he crossed the stream with them, I started to think he might be planning to bury them in the woods.’

  ‘That wouldn’t be a very intelligent move if he was trying to hide them, since there’s a search team crawling over the entire estate.’

  ‘No, and I underestimated him. He didn’t bury them.’

  ‘So what did he do with them?’ Karen asked as they stopped in front of a hedgerow.

  ‘He took them over here.’ He nodded at the open fields.

  ‘This isn’t Chidlow land anymore, is it?’ Karen asked as they slid between a gap in the hedgerow and began to walk along the edge of a field.

  ‘No, it belongs to old Billy Dyer,’ Harrington said. ‘He’s a nice old guy. His son runs the farm but lives over in Washingborough. Billy still lives in the old farmhouse. He’s a stubborn character. He had a stroke a year ago, so I pop in now and then, to see if he’s coping okay. And he usually is. He’s pretty independent. Still makes all his own meals, even brews his own beer.’

  As they reached the crest of the hill, he pointed out a small two-storey house on the far side of the next field. It had been hidden from sight before they’d reached this point. Next to it was a dilapidated barn and farm equipment that looked so old it could be antique. Long grass grew around the machinery. It hadn’t been touched for a while. A fenced-in area at the side of the house made Karen wonder if animals were kept on the property, but she couldn’t see any.

  As they walked closer, Karen noticed the farmhouse could do with a bit of TLC. The paint was peeling from the wooden fascias. The door and window frames were cracked.

  To the left of the property was a large chicken coop. Sandy bounded up to it, barking. The chickens clucked in panic and scattered.

  Harrington called Sandy off, and she obediently returned to his heel.

  ‘Is this definitely where Chidlow came last night?’ Karen asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘You think he asked Billy to look after the boxes for him?’

  Harrington shook his head. ‘No, I saw him stash them in the chicken coop.’

  Karen frowned. ‘In the chicken coop?’

  ‘Yes, I thought it was weird. I was going to talk to Billy today, ask him about it. I thought maybe Chidlow had his permission, but I didn’t get a chance after being taken in for questioning.’ He gave Karen a pointed look.

  ‘You should have mentioned this to DI Morgan. You’re ex-police. We should be on the same side.’

  ‘It didn’t feel like DI Morgan was on my side during the interview.’

  Karen stared at the chicken house inside the coop. It was constructed from wood, and the roof was covered with felt and bitumen paint to keep it watertight.

  ‘I wanted to investigate last night,’ Harrington said. ‘But figured Sandy would spook the chickens. If they woke Billy, he’d have been out here with his shotgun. I wasn’t confident he wouldn’t mistake me for a fox.’

  ‘Didn’t you worry Chidlow might get shot?’

  ‘Crossed my mind, that’s why I stuck around. But Billy didn’t come out. Chickens barely made a sound. They’re used to humans, not dogs.’

  ‘Right. Let’s talk to Billy, then.’

  Harrington rapped on the door. A small elderly man opened it. He had bright blue eyes, a flash of white hair and was wearing a chunky red jumper and blue trousers. He grinned at them.

  ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’ He focused on Karen. ‘Nice to see Mike hasn’t cut himself off from civilisation completely.’

  ‘You’re one to talk,’ Harrington said with his customary frown. ‘You’re not exactly a social butterfly yourself.’

  Billy chuckled. ‘I’m an old man. You’re young. You shouldn’t be on your own. Come in.’

  As Karen walked in, Billy whispered, ‘He’s not as bad as he’d like you to think. Checked in on me every day after my stroke, he did.’

  ‘Thanks, Billy, but she’s not interested in my good points. She just wants to take a look in your chicken coop.’

  The old man blinked. ‘My chicken coop? Why?’

  ‘She’s a detective.’

  Before Karen could show her ID, Billy guffawed. ‘I don’t think the chickens have broken the law, Detective.’

  ‘We think someone put something in there last night,’ Karen said. ‘Edward Chidlow. Did you give him permission?’

  The smile dropped from the old man’s face. ‘No, I didn’t! He’d better not have hurt those chickens,’ he said, stalking out of the house.

  Karen and Harrington followed as he strode up to the coop. He put a hand on the gate but Karen stopped him.

  She pulled a pair of latex gloves from her pocket. ‘Let me do it,’ she said. ‘Just in case. Fingerprints.’

  Billy stood back. ‘Has this got anything to do with the girls who went missing?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘He didn’t put a body in there, did he?’ Billy’s eyes widened. He looked in horror at Harrington, who shook his head reassuringly.

  ‘No, no. Nothing like that. I saw him with two boxes last night, about this big.’ Harrington moved his hands to show the size.

  Karen left them talking and entered the chicken coop. The chickens scurried away from her. The henhouse was at the centre of the coop, raised from the ground by stilts. A ramp led up to a small entrance so the chickens could come and go as they pleased. She peered in.

  ‘You can take the whole roof off,’ Harrington called out. ‘Need a hand?’

  ‘No, I’ve got it, thanks.’

  As she pushed the roof, it creaked noisily, but it was easier to lift than she’d expected due to a hinge mechanism. It stayed open when Karen let go.

  Two chickens squawked at the intrusion.

  Nestled in a bed of straw at the centre of the henhouse were two cardboard boxes. Karen leaned in awkwardly. She could reach just far enough to lift one of the lids. Inside were unmarked DVDs and wires with what looked like tiny lenses at one end. Some kind of recording equipment?

  And then it dawned on her. Small cameras. The perfect size to fit in peepholes. She pulled the first box towards her, then lifted it clear of the chickens.

  ‘What is it?’ Harrington asked.

  ‘DVDs.’ She didn’t mention the miniature recording equipment.

  ‘Are they labelled? What’s on them?’

  ‘No. I imagine it’s something Chidlow didn’t want us to find.’ She set the box down, peeled off a latex glove and pulled out her mobile to call Morgan. He would be very interested in this discovery.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Morgan and Karen took the evidence to Nettleham station. They needed to find out what was
on those DVDs as soon as possible, especially as recording equipment had been found alongside the discs.

  While Morgan organised the paperwork, documenting the evidence, Karen checked a room was available and that they had all the equipment they would need, then went to grab coffee.

  DC Farzana Shah was at the coffee machine when Karen approached. ‘Have you checked the discs?’ Farzana asked.

  ‘Not yet. Morgan’s processing them. It shouldn’t be long though.’

  ‘What do you think is on them?’

  ‘I dread to think,’ Karen said. ‘Chidlow put in a great deal of effort to hide them.’

  ‘Which moves him up our suspect list.’ Farzana put a mug under the coffee machine spout.

  As the machine buzzed into life, Karen nodded thoughtfully. ‘It does. I’m not sure it proves he had anything to do with Natasha’s death, but I’m hoping this is the start of the breakthrough we need.’

  ‘How are the Laytons doing?’

  ‘Sophie and Rick gave them the bad news, and they took it about as well as you’d expect. They’re devastated and heartbroken.’

  Farzana removed her steaming coffee mug and held her hand out for Karen’s. ‘I can’t even imagine what they’re going through.’ She looked up. ‘Actually, Sarge, I wanted to have a word.’

  ‘Yes?’

  Farzana pressed the button on the machine again, and steaming black liquid trickled into Karen’s mug. ‘It’s about the polo shirt found on the roof. I just wanted to say . . .’ She looked around to make sure nobody was in earshot and then continued. ‘I know it must be really difficult for you to trust people after what Freeman did. To trust your colleagues, I mean.’

  Karen had to admit she did find it hard. ‘It is, but I should apologise because you’re right. I should trust you. If you say you searched the roof thoroughly, then you did.’

  Farzana offered a smile. ‘I really did.’ She picked up her own coffee and took a sip. ‘I understand how it looks like we screwed up the search. But I went over that roof inch by inch and the polo shirt wasn’t there.’

  ‘I believe you.’ Karen had doubted Farzana once before, but she’d come through and shown herself to be a good officer. If she said the polo shirt wasn’t there yesterday, then it wasn’t.

  ‘Good; but it means the polo shirt has to have been planted,’ Farzana said with a frown.

  ‘Which suggests someone was trying to frame Mike Harrington. Have we got forensics back on the shirt yet? Do we know if it’s Natasha’s blood?’

  Farzana shook her head. ‘We’ve prioritised the request, but it’ll be a few hours yet, I think.’

  Karen nodded impatiently and reached for the milk, adding some to her coffee. ‘I felt sorry for Harrington,’ she said. ‘Chidlow was pretty keen for us to look at him, so it’s possible Chidlow planted the evidence.’

  ‘It’s a good theory. He was certainly quick to point the finger at Harrington. You’re glad the groundsman is off the hook, aren’t you?’

  Karen struggled to find the words to answer. ‘I suppose I am, really. Though he’s not in the clear yet. I felt sorry for him after everything he’s been through.’

  ‘He is bad-tempered, a bit of a loner.’

  ‘I agree,’ Karen said, sliding another mug on to the chrome base of the machine for Morgan’s coffee. ‘And I know that my viewpoint is probably skewed because of what he’s been through.’

  ‘What you have in common, you mean?’ Farzana asked gently.

  Karen managed to nod and took another sip of her coffee, then set it back down on the counter, ignoring the tightness in the back of her throat.

  ‘Your opinion means a lot to me, Sarge,’ Farzana said, tucking her hair behind her ear. ‘I don’t want to let you down, but if I’d messed up that search, I would have been honest and told you.’

  ‘I know,’ Karen said, just as Morgan strode into the open-plan office area.

  ‘Karen, everything’s set up. Are you ready?’

  ‘Yes.’ She picked up both mugs of coffee and followed Morgan to the computer room she’d booked.

  Morgan shut the door as Karen set the coffees down on the table. Then they both sat down, and neither of them spoke as Morgan inserted the first DVD.

  Karen stared at the screen as he double-clicked on the DVD icon and a variety of files came into view, all labelled with different dates.

  She took a shallow breath. Morgan clicked on one of the files. A video began to play. It was the bathroom on the first floor.

  Karen had known this was coming, but that didn’t make it any easier to watch. Morgan swore under his breath and said, ‘He was using that peephole to record the girls’ bathroom.’

  Karen muttered a few choice words to describe Chidlow and leaned forward, resting her elbow on the desk and her chin in her hand.

  ‘He was convincing when he nonchalantly brushed off the discovery of the peephole. When all along . . .’ Karen said.

  ‘Yes. Makes you wonder what else he’s hiding, doesn’t it?’

  Morgan fast-forwarded the video until they saw someone enter the bathroom. He pressed play. It wasn’t one of the students from the course. It was a woman of around twenty-five with long dark hair.

  ‘This must be a guest from a previous course at Chidlow House,’ Karen said. ‘How are we going to identify her?’

  ‘We’ll have to get records from Lord Chidlow. Ask about all of the courses held at the property, and the names of the attendees. And then we’re going to have to contact them individually, try to match up faces to the names.’

  ‘That’s not going to be an enjoyable job,’ Karen said, watching the screen as the unsuspecting woman began to unbutton her blouse. She let it slide to the floor and then leaned over and turned on the taps to run a bath.

  Morgan’s gaze flickered away from the screen. ‘It feels wrong to be watching this.’

  ‘Yes,’ Karen agreed. She looked at the rest of the DVDs, which had now been bagged and labelled as evidence. ‘How many are there in total?’ she asked.

  ‘Thirty,’ Morgan said.

  ‘It looks like there’s multiple recordings on each disc as well.’ Karen shook her head in disbelief.

  They watched the first DVD on fast-forward. Somehow it seemed less personal, less invasive to watch it that way. There were three women, and Karen wondered if there were three women on each of the other DVDs. That would make ninety women in total. The thought made her feel sick to her stomach.

  ‘Right,’ Morgan said, pushing back from the computer. ‘I’ll ask Sophie to go through these DVDs and take screenshots of the women’s faces. Then we can create a database and crossmatch them against the IDs we get from Chidlow and the course organisers. Hopefully we’ll be able to identify all the women who have been recorded without their knowledge.’

  ‘Sounds like the most sensible method.’ Karen glanced at her watch. ‘I thought I’d go to the mortuary and talk to the pathologist, ask him if he’s got any preliminary findings he can report on Natasha Layton.’

  ‘All right,’ Morgan said, getting to his feet, jaw clenched. ‘You do that. I’m going back to the house to bring Lord Chidlow in for questioning.’

  Karen picked up the mugs of cold coffee. They’d been so focused on the task they’d forgotten them. She paused. ‘Actually, before I go to Raj, I’m going to get Ella Seaton. She’s been staying at Chidlow House while all this has been going on. She can’t stay there any longer.’

  ‘You’re right. Where are her parents?’

  ‘They’re on their way back from Africa, as far as I know. But she must have other family, or a friend she could stay with.’

  Morgan nodded soberly. ‘Wherever she stays tonight, it has to be better than Chidlow House.’

  Karen left the station just after Morgan. She wanted to get Ella Seaton away from Chidlow House as soon as possible. As much as she’d like to see Lord Chidlow squirm when they presented him with the evidence, she’d have to leave that pleasure to Morgan. She had a list
of tasks she needed to get through if they wanted to build a strong case against Chidlow.

  She slipped behind the wheel and turned the car heaters on full. First task: find Ella. There was no way the young woman could stay where she was after what they’d found. Karen would bring her back to the station while they tracked down a friend or relative Ella could stay with until her parents returned. At least she’d be safe there.

  Her second task would be speaking to Raj and finding out what she could from the pathologist. It was far too early to expect him to have completed the full post-mortem, but if he’d looked at the body, he might be able to give her some initial observations.

  A light patter of rain hit the windscreen. Karen flipped on the wipers. Surely they’d used up their quota of rain for the month! The news had been filled with stories describing local flooding. She glanced at the dashboard clock. It seemed later than it was. So much had happened in a few short hours. This morning they’d still held out hope that Natasha would be found alive.

  Karen focused on the road, her hands tightening on the wheel as a flurry of leaves swirled around the car.

  Most of the rainwater had drained away from the roads, though huge puddles still spread across the small country lanes. When Karen finally pulled up outside Chidlow House, it was pouring. She ran inside, greeting PC Smith who was stood at the door.

  ‘Everything all right, Sarge?’ he asked.

  ‘We’re getting there,’ she replied. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen Ella Seaton?’

  ‘The student who hasn’t gone home yet?’

  Karen nodded.

  ‘She was down here a few minutes ago, watching DI Morgan take Chidlow away. She’s gone back upstairs now, I think.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Karen headed to the staircase at the back of the house. As she reached the hallway, Graham Doyle appeared, carrying a large holdall and a small wheeled case.

  ‘Ah, Doyle,’ Karen said. ‘Have you seen Ella Seaton?’

  ‘No, I’ve not seen her for ages.’

  Karen glanced at the holdall. ‘Are you going somewhere?’

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact I am. I’m going home. The course was meant to end today anyway. The whole thing’s been a disaster.’