by Adam Carter
“Most people in London need ta listen to the accent better.”
Lin smiled. The man’s name was Dave, for she had been talking to him the night before. He was about nineteen, probably working his way through college, and had proven a friendly fellow. His accent changed from guest to guest, and she found herself wondering not for the first time whether he toned it down for the tourists or built it up for the locals. That he got away with either showed him to be a fairly good actor, anyway.
“D’ye know that Chamberlain guy in the house on the cliffs?” Dave asked.
“No,” Lin answered casually. “Who is he?”
“Ach, some rich toff from London. I thought you might be with him or something.”
“If we were with him, we’d be staying in the house on the cliffs.”
Dave considered that, found it entirely logical. “Aye, I suppose you would. I was just wondering how poor Agnes was coping, hoped you’d be able to tell me.”
“Agnes?”
“Agnes McBright. She’s working up at the house, been employed to look after his Lordship.” He performed a mock bow which told Lin precisely what he thought of English aristocracy. “I told her not to do it, wasn’t worth the money to be bossed about by the likes a him. But that was the problem. The money was good. And Agnes, she has plans that one. And plans need money.”
“What sort of plans does she have?”
“Ah, she wants to open a tea shop. Find a quiet little place to settle and sell cakes and coffee ‘til she retires.”
Lin smiled. “You’re sweet on her.”
“Ach, no,” Dave said, turning away although not being able to hide his scarlet cheeks.
“Well, I’m sure in that storm last night she would have stayed at home.”
“She is home, at least until Chamberlain goes back to England. She’s stayin’ at the house with him. I haven’t seen her in a few days, don’t think his Lordship much likes her moving about the town.”
“No, she couldn’t have been at the house last night.”
“Why’s that?”
Lin froze. Because Baronaire told me to my face there was no one else at the house. “Well, I don’t know. I just can’t see anyone staying on top of the cliffs in that weather.”
“Oh, Agnes is used to all that.”
“Oh.”
“Anyway, I have to get these dishes out to the kitchen. Nice talking to you, Sue. Have a good trip if I don’t see you before you leave.”
Lin smiled half-heartedly and said goodbye, but her mind was churning. Baronaire had lied to her. Or maybe Dave was wrong. Two possibilities, and she knew which she believed over the other.
But why would Baronaire lie? Maybe Chamberlain had proven a problem and Baronaire hadn’t noticed Agnes standing there watching it all. Maybe Baronaire had been forced to kill her as well. It was a terrible thought, but a peril of the job. If that had been the case, though, Baronaire would have told her, kept her appraised for when they had to file their reports. At the very least Lin needed to know in order for her not to let something slip while they were still in Scotland. No, Baronaire had lied to her for a reason. Lin had no doubt that Agnes was dead, but why? What had Baronaire done?
Lin knew of only one way to find out, although she shuddered at the thought of going up to the house alone. What they needed to do was place some distance between themselves and the crime scene. Baronaire had been fortunate in the unusual storm covering his tracks, but there was no reason to draw undue attention their way by actually going up there.
But Lin needed to know. She needed to be sure.
She headed farther into the hotel and knocked on Foster’s door. After a few moments it opened, although by Foster’s pallor it was clear she was far from her usual merry self. “I could do with an hour or two to lie down,” was the first thing she said.
Lin bit back her question. She had intended to ask Foster whether she wanted to come, but if she wasn’t feeling well perhaps it was only a good thing. At least this way it gave Lin the time she needed to take a quick look at the house. “Do you know where Baronaire went?” she asked.
Foster shook her head. “Probably off moping somewhere. You tried the roof? He loves roofs.”
Lin smiled. “You just go back to bed, Shaz. I’ll go for a walk or something, get out of your way.”
“Good idea.”
Lin closed the door, hanging the “do not disturb” sign from the knob. If Baronaire was happening by he would see it and understand Foster was hung over. Yes, this would give her plenty of time. With the utmost stealth, Detective Lin sneaked out of the hotel and headed up alone to the house on the cliffs.
From high above, on the roof, sinister eyes watched the departure of the detective. Baronaire knew precisely where she was going, precisely what she had somehow found out. He did not like it, but she was allowed to do as she pleased. He could stop her, but Sanders wouldn’t like that. Narrowing his eyes, Baronaire considered his options, leaning against the brick chimney and wishing Detective Lin could be just a little worse at her job. Foster, now there was a partner he never had any problems with at all.
CHAPTER THREE
When Sue Lin was fifteen years old her friends had dared her to spend the night in a haunted house. They were into horror films back then, mostly ones which ended badly for teenage girls, and only the night before the dare had they watched an Amityville marathon. Fifteen year old Sue had sucked up her gut and proclaimed she wasn’t scared of any stupid haunted house, mainly because there was no such thing. But all the locals knew about the house on Barley Street. Her parents never spoke of it, but Old Man Dennis who ran the sweet shop had always regaled them with tales when they were much younger. But they were grown up now, adults, and didn’t believe such stupid stories.
There were five of them originally, all full of bluster, all eager to prove their courage, all with thoughts of pranks they would play throughout the night on their fellow adventure seekers. Two of the girls dropped out before they had even left their homes, citing their parents wouldn’t let them go. Now that was baloney, since they had all arranged to be staying over each other’s houses should any parent ask. But young Sue didn’t much care about those who had dropped out: it only meant that when the three who were still going came out alive the following morning, they could rib their friends about it forever.
The house was old, ancient even. The gate opened and shut in the fierce wind, as though a dozen spectres were inviting themselves to the party, and the overgrown weeds leading up the pathway were almost to Sue’s shoulders at some points. They approached from the rear of the building, but had barely set foot on the grounds when one of the other girls pulled away, shaking her head and mumbling about something she had to be doing. Sue and the remaining girl, Davina, didn’t catch the lie, but they looked into one another’s eyes and steeled their nerves. They were here, they would do this, and they alone would retain the bragging rights.
An unlocked window in the roof gave them easy access, and even climbing the tree in order to reach that window provided no small amount of excitement. Once inside the house they found themselves standing within a large uncluttered attic. There were several boxes, sheets of thin plastic, and evidence birds had been nesting, probably having got in through the broken window. The two girls considered staying in the attic, but they had come this far: they wouldn’t chicken out now.
Lowering the ladder, they made their way through the house. It was freezing, the wind rushing through the broken windows as though in a mad effort to escape the place as quickly as possible. Spiders had taken root in every corner, and the carpets had been shredded in some areas, as though by the talons of grasping ghouls attempting to get underneath the bedroom doors.
They stopped at the top of the stairs, peering down, but bravery only went so far, so they explored instead the upper floor. They carefully examined every room, trying not to meet the eyes of the strange portraits leering at them from the walls. They entered the master bedroom,
which was a large, old-fashioned affair with what had at one time been an expensive dressing-table, four-poster bed and floor-length mirror. The girls studiously avoided looking into the mirror, afraid that something might be staring at them over their shoulders: something that was not visibly there otherwise.
Sharp nails sounded suddenly upon the window and Davina emitted a little shriek. Sue sucked in a breath to steady her pounding heart as she moved across to flick the curtain over with the aid of a coat-hanger. They could see the dark night outside the window, and through the cracks in the window the wind howled and the rain spat, and the girls understood it was the storm outside which was causing all the noise.
Behind Sue, Davina shrieked again, and had jumped onto the bed. Sue leaped up after her, terror in her eyes, and the two girls stared frantically at the floor, one of them not even knowing what they were looking for. Then Sue saw it: a small white mouse scuttling along the edge of the carpet, disappearing behind a wardrobe.
Terrified, freezing and growing increasingly wet from the fine spray of rain, the two girls settled down upon the large bed, shivering from everything assailing their nerves. They decided they would sleep in shifts, Davina taking first watch. But after an hour Sue gave up even trying and said Davina might as well give it a go. Four hours into the night, they both surrendered any idea of sleep. The old house was making far too many noises, casting far too many shadows, for either of them to sleep.
Several times they bolted upright, like petrified meerkats, at the sound of chains rattling across the landing. Sue could have sworn she had heard a low moan, although Davina refused to believe it. When they were able to move again they settled once more to sleep, although downstairs they could hear cupboards banging incessantly, as though an unhappy poltergeist had lost its favourite kitchen knife.
Then they heard a steady clump, clump, upon the stairs. Booted feet of an axe murderer. They stared at the door in horror, expecting at any moment for it to burst in, the head of an axe splintering it down the centre. Sue’s eyes widened when she thought she saw a shadow move under the door, but the room was all shadows and she could not be certain of anything.
Twenty minutes later they heard running water, as though the taps had been turned on full power. Ten minutes later they shut off, and the sudden silence was deafening.
The night passed incredibly slowly, but finally dawn broke. Still the room grew no lighter. Five in the morning came and went and it was still pitch black in the master bedroom. As the hour approached six Sue moved her stiffened limbs, still huddling her warm coat to her body, even though it was by far inadequate to the task, and moved across to the window. Drawing the curtains apart, a little light spilled in, but the trees had grown up about the house on this side and their branches and leaves were blocking most of the natural light.
Deciding to get out of the room, the two girls agreed they had spent the night and could now leave. Sue moved across to the door leading to the landing and pulled it open.
And they both screamed as the shambling cadaver reached for their young pretty faces with outstretched, maggot-ridden talons.
Detective Lin thought about that house as she stood at the edge of the cliffs. It was morning, and the house before her looked nothing like the one which belonged to Old Man Dennis. It turned out the man in the sweet shop liked to make up stories about his own house, and of course none of the girls had any reason to know he lived there. Why he didn’t ever do it up Lin couldn’t say even today, although she suspected he was saving every penny. He had nothing in the house worth stealing anyway, so it didn’t matter if the locks didn’t work too well.
She remembered how hard Old Man Dennis had laughed at their screams as he had reached for them. He then swore them to secrecy. It was a bizarre little game for him, enticing people to stay at his house; then scaring them witless. Harmless fun at the time maybe, but Lin couldn’t imagine people getting away with things like that today.
Lin glanced down the cliffs, wondered whether that was where Chamberlain had ended up. Probably a good idea, since it could easily be explained away as an accident. Baronaire had been doing this for years and she did not doubt his professionalism. In fact she hardly doubted him at all, but the DCI had brought in Lin because he wasn’t sure Baronaire could be trusted any more, and Lin was concerned. Baronaire had been tortured last year and the DCI was worried he had not recovered. In turn Baronaire wanted her to spy for him, on the DCI no less. It turned out DCI Sanders knew things about Baronaire which Baronaire wanted to know. They were each trying to play her against the other, which to her mind made both men similar. It was ironic they seemed so intent to be at one another’s throats.
Taking a deep breath, Lin headed across to the house. It was a fairly nice house, with a low red wooden fence and what had probably been a well-tended garden before last night’s storm had destroyed it. It was one storey, an old-fashioned chimney standing in the centre, and Lin decided this was a pleasant place to retire. Not that she had any intention of retiring, but she would not stay in the police force forever. One day she would get married, settle down, raise a family. This seemed like a nice place to be able to do that.
Lin approached the front door, not approaching in any underhanded way. She was finished with climbing trees and entering through roofs. She knocked, but there was no answer. She waited, but no one came, so she tried the handle. The door was locked of course, and Lin removed a paperclip from her pocket. She had always been especially good with locks, and it wasn’t long before she had this one licked. Slowly pushing open the door, she half expected to come upon a grisly scene of murder, but there was nothing out of place. The real fireplace in the centre was untended and had died, but the furniture remained intact and there were no marks on either the carpet or the wallpaper. As she progressed further into the house she could see no sign that anyone had even been here at all recently.
Baronaire had indeed been thorough, and she was ruining all his hard work by trampling over everything.
Lin wandered across to the fireplace, touching the logs. They were cold, as she had expected. Standing beside the fireplace she gazed about the room. This would have been where Agnes had at one time stood. Chamberlain had likely lounged in the chair while his servant kept the fire alive. Now they were both dead, their bodies lost. If Lin was indeed correct and Baronaire had tossed them over the cliffs they may resurface eventually. Until then their families would be distraught with not knowing what had happened. Thousands of people went missing every year across the United Kingdom, and the number who never turned up would surprise anyone who didn’t deal with such figures. Toddlers, teenagers, right the way through to the elderly. They would pop out to the shops, or jump on a bus at the last second, or simply go for a night out. And they were never seen again. Some bodies turned up here and there, and there was always a vast amount of John and Jane Does which likely accounted for many of the missing persons. But it was a sad fact that so many people in the country died and no one ever knew about them.
Yet so many people cared.
Lin thought about Dave then, back at the hotel. He had spoken of Agnes with a smile, and it was clear she was loved. What would Dave, or Agnes’s family, go through when they realised she was no longer at this house? There would be a search, perhaps Chamberlain would be blamed; perhaps that had been Baronaire’s intent all along. But even though it was within their remit, it did not change the fact that an innocent young woman was dead, and so much turmoil would be caused because of it.
Like most officers of WetFish, Detective Lin did not like to think about the people they killed. Operation WetFish was a legal, yet unorthodox branch of the police. Should a case fall apart in the courts due to witness intimidation or lack of evidence, the police’s involvement did not necessarily end there. Each not guilty verdict was reviewed by Lin’s DCI, who made the decision as to whether the verdict was accurate. If he determined it should have been a guilty verdict, he would then decide whether it was in the public int
erest to intervene. That was the point at which assignments were handed down to the WetFish officers. The assigned officer would have to make the decision of whether to plant enough evidence on the target to assure a return to court for a guilty verdict, or to simply remove the target cleanly and without any hint of suspicious death.
Still, even the scum of society had families, people who cared for them. But Agnes McBright had never murdered anyone, never raped anyone, never smuggled drugs into the country and been responsible for the deaths of hundreds of people. She was just an ordinary person. A civilian. Someone the police should have been protecting. And instead the police had killed her in order to maintain their secrecy.
Sometimes Lin thought the system was unfair. But it was her job and she had to agree with it wholeheartedly, otherwise she would not be able to do it. And it was a necessary job, she reminded herself. The benefits by far outweighed the mistakes they made. Lin had been at the job for only a few short months and already it was getting to her. DCI Sanders had lived this life for decades. There was no wonder he was as cantankerous as he was.
Sighing, Lin moved from the room and headed through to the back of the house. There was a door leading down into the cellar, and she hesitated, uncertain of even why. She had a feeling the body of Agnes might be down there, that perhaps Baronaire had pushed her so it looked as though she had stumbled on the stairs and broken her neck. It was a far less tidy execution than throwing her off the cliff, but at least then the family would be able to have a body to mourn and bury.
Moving past the cellar door, Lin found the bedrooms. She opened the first to find a room which had clearly belonged to Chamberlain. Men’s clothes lay neatly folded, the bed was made, and there were various magazines strewn about the place. Lin could almost imagine how Agnes had pottered about the room, tidying up because it was in her nature, and also because Chamberlain was complaining about his room being a mess. Lin gently picked up a photograph of a smiling young woman, happy and content. She had no idea who the woman was. Chamberlain’s sister perhaps, a girlfriend maybe. Whoever it was, Chamberlain obviously cared for her. Perhaps there were even people who would miss a man like Walter Chamberlain.