As I waited for the coppers to finish whatever they were doing, I glanced out the front window and saw the police car parked at an odd angle. The sun reflecting off its windscreen almost blinded me. I turned away. Wicklow pointed to the hinged lockable frames of fine mesh fitted to the kitchen windows.
“What on earth are these?” he asked.
“They’re to keep the flies out of here. My father had them made for our housekeeper. There’s one fitted to the back door too, so she could leave it open in the summertime.’
“Hmm, very clever,” he said as he and Wicklow went out the back door and wandered around checking goodness knows what. I just left them to it and picked up an apple to munch on.
Once they were satisfied, I took them through to the oak-panelled dining room with its stone fireplace.
“Are these all the downstairs rooms?” Wicklow asked, making a show of checking the window locks.
“More or less. As you can see, my father was strong on security, so I don’t think you need to concern yourselves about my mother’s paintings.”
“You’ll be surprised by just how many houses we’ve seen where the owners thought they’d done everything they could to make them secure.” Heythorp leaned against the doorframe. “Only to return home to find the house has been ransacked because they had carelessly left the bathroom window open. The summer months are the worst for break-ins as people often forget to secure windows before leaving the house.”
“Well, I’ll keep that in mind next time I go out.”
“You just do that, lad.” Heythorp rolled his eyes as if he had heard it all before. “Don’t you get lonely living out here on your own?”
“In my line of work I need solitude if I’m going to create my best. Having a woman about twenty-four seven would be distracting. Maybe when I’m old, and past caring, I might wish I had a wife and kids. For now, if I want sex, I can go to London and buy it.” I gave a wink and added, “If you know what I mean.”
I stepped into the hallway, wishing they would just sod off and leave me to my work. I became aware of their frantic whispering and called to them. “I suppose you’ll want to check upstairs too?”
Wicklow appeared in the doorway. “Where’s your cellar, mate?” Without waiting for an answer, he crossed the hall, and snatching open the coat cupboard door.
“My what?”
“Cellar.” He raised an eyebrow as if daring me to lie. “An old place like this must have one. I’m sure the Victorians would’ve stored plenty of wine down there.”
“Look, if you want to search my place, don’t you need a search warrant or something?”
Heythorp stepped around me. “Yes, you’re right, James. But we’re not searching, just looking. It would be amiss of us, knowing about your valuable art collection, if we did not do our job properly and give you a security check while we’re here. If you want us to leave you’ve every right to say so, but if you’ve nothing to hide then why make a fuss, sir.” He smiled broadly, as he waited for my reply.
“So you want to see the cellar?”
“If you don’t mind.” His tone echoed his sarcasm.
“It’s fine by me. You need to be aware you enter at your own risk. The narrow stone steps down there are slippery. There’s an underground spring, which makes the cellar very damp. Father never liked anyone going down there as it’s so poorly lit.”
“Aha, so that’s your secret to having a green lawn, underground springs. My grandfather would be chuffed to bits if he had piped water under his lawns. I was going to ask you what your secret…”
“The entrance to the cellarage is in here.” I cut Heythorp off before he started asking me for gardening tips. A look of confusion crossed the coppers’ faces as I stepped back into the room we had just left.
They studied the layout of the room again, trying to see how they could possibly have missed the entrance to a cellar. As they looked about, I sensed their frustration in their body language. On one side of the room, French windows overlooked the rear garden and the fields beyond. A large Turkish rug covered a polished parquet floor. On it stood a long oak table with eight chairs surrounding it. I crossed to the far side of the brick and stone-dressed fireplace and tapped on an ornate panel. A door sprung open after a two-second delay, and I heard Wicklow gasp, sounding like an excited teenager. “Oh my God, Sarge. A hidden room!”
“Not hidden really.’ I stepped aside. “It’s my father’s study.”
They followed me into the small room. A large oak desk faced a small window. Covering two walls from floor to ceiling were books. On the third wall, a narrow door made from two roughly-cut planks was set into it. I opened the door and pulled a cord. Below, the gloom lightened.
“Please take extra care. The lighting is appalling down there. The steps are very narrow.”
“Don’t worry about us. We can look after ourselves.” Heythorp said, producing a torch. “You just lead the way.”
A chilled air rose to meet us as we descended into a large space. Stone pillars supported a vaulted ceiling that had once been part of the church. The lighting, a modern addition, consisted of four single bulbs that hung at the centre of the arches. Their pale, yellow light made more shadows in the gloom, rather than helping with the visibility.
“Not much to see I’m afraid.” I stepped further into the cellar, guessing that they wanted to explore for themselves. Once their curiosity was satisfied, they would leave, I hoped.
“What’s that?” Wicklow asked. Before I could stop him from charging off into the blackness, he had disappeared.
“Be careful…” was all I managed to shout.
“Fucking hell!” shouted Wicklow.
“Wicklow!” Heythorp called, shining his torch in the direction of his colleague.
“Over here, Sarge!” came his pitiful cry.
Heythorp inched forward, scanning his torch beam in front of him until we found Wicklow leaning against a pillar.
“I tried to warn you.”
“I bashed my fucking shin bones. There’s some sort of plinth.” He ground the words out through clenched teeth. Heythorp pointed the torch downward, highlighting an ornate stone raised platform. “What the hell is that for?” he asked.
“For God’s sake, they’re coffin rests. I did say that you couldn’t just charge around down here. Upstairs, the redevelopment of the house has happened over many years, but down here, little has changed. We’re standing in the oldest part of the church, the original Saxon crypt.”
Heythorp shone his torch on Wicklow’s leg. “At least it isn’t broken. Let’s have a look at the damage, lad.”
Wicklow pulled up his trouser leg. Apart from a dark red mark on his shin, the skin hadn’t broken.
“You’ll have one hell of a bruise tomorrow,” I said. “I hope you’ve seen enough now. I need to get back to my work.”
Heythorp scanned the rest of the cellar with his torch. Its beam disappeared into the semi-darkness, beyond the reach of the ceiling lights. He inched forward slowly and then paused.
I knew what he had spotted.
He focused in on a chink of light at the far end of the cellar where the ceiling sloped down. His torch beam highlighted a few cobwebs, and then out of the darkness, a shape emerged.
“What’s over there?” He was unable to conceal his excitement as his torch beam picked out more shapes half hidden in an alcove. “Packing crates?” Heythorp flicked the torchlight across my face, blinding me for a second. “They don’t look Anglo-Saxon to me. Relatively new I would say.”
I sat down on a stone coffin, the last remaining one, and knew that their search of the cellar wasn’t going to end anytime soon. “You’re right— if nineteen forty-four is classed as relatively new to you. The gallery that sold mother’s paintings used this space as a kind of workshop to crate her finished works.”
I didn’t mention mother’s instability. Her nasty habit of destroying her work just before it was ready to go off to the gallery. After all
, some people think madness is hereditary.
Heythorp raised his eyebrows and asked, “So how did they get the crate out of here once it was packed?”
“Through the brewery-type hatch up there.” I pointed to an angular shape trapdoor, edged in a sliver of light. “It was the same way coffins were stored in here overnight, and how the stone coffin was brought in. The packers kept doors open when working down here because the lighting was so poor.’
“How come we saw no sign of the entry outside?” Wicklow limped over to us.
“Father planted a shrubbery on the other side of the trap door to hide the entrance, which is now overgrown. My father kept a large collection of vintage wines down here as well.” I pointed to racks of bottles covered in layers of dust. “Now if you’ve finished can we go back upstairs, please?”
In the entrance hall a look passed between the two of them as I tried to guide them towards the front door. My concern was for Annie now after leaving her too long.
“Right, the guided tour is over now,” I said, trying to keep the humour in my voice. “I need to get on with my work.”
“Well, thank you for being so cooperative, James.” Heythorp added emphasis to my name. “But we would be failing in our duty if we didn’t check upstairs.” Wicklow limped towards the staircase.
“Hang on a minute.” I dashed after him. “You’ve no right to search my home, you said so yourself, Detective Heythorp. I want you to go now!”
“You must have something to hide, sir” Wicklow said.
“No, I haven’t. There’s no need for you to do a security check up there. If anyone breaks in, I won’t blame you. Just get out! Let me get on with my work!”
Wicklow pushed me aside. I fell hard against the wall, unable to stop him as he continued up the stairs. Heythorp offered his hand to me. I pushed it away, choosing to stand by myself.
Heythorp shook his head. “Such a highly-strung lad. I’m sorry, but once he latches on to something, he’s like a dog with a bone.”
“What’s got him so excited?” I rubbed my elbow.
“Well, see here, James, it’s those missing girls and paintings.”
“Sorry? What girls? What paintings are you talking about?” I turned from him and headed back into the drawing room.
Heythorp followed me. “Surely, you’ve read about the missing girls in the papers, James?”
“I don’t have time for papers.” I poured myself a drink. “If you haven’t noticed, I don’t possess a television either. I’ve no idea what you’re talking about Detective Heythorp. So maybe now would be a good time to explain why you really did come to see me.”
“Sarge!” Wicklow shouted. “Come and have a look at this—”
I flinched and caught my breath.
“Well, well. It seems like my lad has found something not quite to your liking, James.” A grin spread across Heythorp’ blotchy face.
I followed him upstairs. On the first landing, we found Wicklow leaning against the doorjamb of mother’s room.
“In there, Sarge. It looks to be his studio, but I think we’ve uncovered Mr Ravencroft dirty little secret. He’s a pansy.” He pointed into mother’s dressing room.
Heythorp looked me up and down. “A young man like you, with long hair and living on his own, with no sign of a woman around, and a closet full of beautiful gowns hung neatly on their hangers, with matching shoes and handbags. What’s a man like me meant to think, Mr Ravencroft in this liberal day and age?”
Heythorp’s look of revulsion told me he wasn’t accepting of homosexuality. It put me in a dangerous situation. I had to answer the question he hadn’t even asked.
“If Wicklow is so knowledgeable about my mother, then he would know she died. This used to be her bedroom and dressing room, I’m just using her studio. My bedroom is just down the corridor there.” I pointed to another door. “I can show you if you want.”
“When did your mother die?” Wicklow asked.
“1944. I was seven at the time.”
“So why keep all her belongings?” Heythorp’s hard face softened.
“My father couldn’t come to terms with her loss,” I moved to the window. “In a house this size, one never needs to throw anything out.”
“Well, Wicklow, I think we’ve seen enough, don’t you?” Heythorp moved towards the door “Thank you for showing us around, James. Any problems, just phone us on this number.” He handed over a business card.
I dropped it on the table next to the phone as I followed them out, and down the stairs.
When I was sure they had left, I went up to the attic stairs’ window and watched until the car became a small dot flashing through the trees in the bright sunshine.
Heythorp hadn’t explained about the missing girls or paintings. I wasn’t sure why he had mentioned it. I chuckled, knowing that I had just set Basil up. “How perfect is that?”
The promise of rain had been nothing more than a promise. The heat in the attic hit me as I made my way up the final flight of stairs eager to get back to Annie. I’m not sure what I became aware of first as I entered the studio, the sour odour, or the low hum. The first thing I encountered was the odd fly as I opened the door. The overpowering stench made me gag. I threw open the French windows. A swarm of flies hovered around the door to the side room, while others added to the growing numbers coming through the skylight.
I gasped and stepped onto the roof, trying to fill my lungs. The sound of the feeding flies reverberated through me as though they were in my head. It made me retch. I grabbed a strip of material from my ragbag near the sink and soaked it with water before tying it over my mouth and nose. I rushed into the antechamber and pulled the bed into the main room.
A black rippling mass of flies rose up and followed me. Thousands of beating tiny wings moved as one. Unable to look at Annie, I knew the sight would horrify me. The smell of her was enough to know she was dead. A trail of yellowish-brownish liquid dripping from the bed was alive with flies.
“Bloody hell! Why couldn’t you wait just a little longer, Annie?” I flung my arms out in an effort to disturb the flies. As I lifted Annie’s body, a couple of flies flew out of her mouth followed by a trickle of vomit. I turned my head away and retched. I stripped the dress from her and tossed it aside. The flies began to lose interest and disperse as I wrapped her body in a clean sheet and carried it to the lift. I set to work using wads of rags soaked in bleach and began to wash the studio floor, piling up everything that needed to go into the lift.
Rags, spoiled blankets and the body wrapped in the sheet I took down to the next floor. I dashed to the outbuildings and manhandled a straw bale into a wheelbarrow. I pushed it across the garden, keeping to the gravel paths, so as not to mark the lawns. Ducking under low branches of a large rhododendron bush, I pulled the wheelbarrow backwards into the centre of it. I heaved the straw bale out and stood it next to the grave. Then I manoeuvred the grave lid half onto the straw bale to support its weight. With the weight of the lid now supported it gave me room enough to squeeze the body in.
The decomposing soil within the grave smelled a lot sweeter than I did. I pushed the empty wheelbarrow back to the house and piled everything out of the lift into it, desperate to finish the grisly task before the gardener turned up.
I dropped the rags and blankets into a garden incinerator ready to burn later, before crossing to the tomb. I struggled with the body as I tried to avoid contact with the fluid that leaked from it. The flies returned in force, buzzed around me. I retched again nearly dropping the bundle into the pool of liquid that had gathered in the bottom of the wheelbarrow. I heaved the body into the open tomb. I dashed to the back of the greenhouse and shovelled compost in the wheelbarrow. Sweat poured down my face and back, soaking the tops of my jeans and plastering my shirt to me as I hurried back to cover the body. I pushed the top of the tomb back into place, relieved that I had finished. All I wanted now was a shower.
I lifted the straw bale back into the whe
elbarrow and tucked the spade in next to it. Halfway across the lawn, I heard someone shout my name.
“Oh, Mr Ravencroft, there you are!”
I halted and inhaled. Not quite believing he was back again. I left the wheelbarrow where it was and walked towards him. I wondered how long my visitor had been leaning on the side gate watching me. He drew lazily on his cigarette.
“Hello Detective Heythorp, back so soon?” I leaned over at the gate, looking for his sidekick but I couldn’t see him.
“So sorry to disturb you again,” Heythorp said. “Doing a spot of gardening now, sir.” He pointed in the direction of the wheelbarrow.
“No, it’s my workout. It helps to de-stress me, so I can think more clearly.”
“Sorry, did our visit upset you?” Heythorp sniffed the air momentarily and I hoped years of smoking had deadened his sense of smell. He looked over my shoulder. “What’s with the straw bale?”
I looked in the direction he was pointing. “My father’s idea, he had me run about with it to build my muscles as a child. You should try it yourself.” I unlocked the gate and gestured to him to have a go.
“No thanks, sir.” His eyes locked on mine.
I had to look away and closed the gate behind me. “So what can I help you with this time?”
“My colleague and I were wondering if you had any idea where Basil Hallward is at the moment.”
“Basil?”
“Your agent I believe, sir.”
“I’m just one of his artists. If I were you I would try asking his secretary.”
“Okay, we’ll try his office. Thank you for being so helpful, sir.”
As we turned the corner of the house I saw Wicklow standing by the side of the car.
“How old is this house, Mr Ravencroft?” he asked as we approached.
“Some parts date back as far as the 1500s, others to the early 1800s, but I’ve already told you this. Now, is that all?”
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