A Stranger's House

by Clare Chase

  I navigated back to the results page again and tried to find a follow-up to that first article. What had happened next?

  There was another. The headline this time read: ‘The Wrong Place at the Wrong Time – Was Brother Intended Victim of Two Wells Farm attack?’

  I felt goosebumps rising all down my arms and scanned the page once again.

  ‘Police have reason to suspect that Nate Bastable might have been the intended victim of the arson attack that took place at his home in Little Nighting on December 23rd. It has emerged that it was only a lucky last-minute change of plan that kept Bastable, a private investigator, away from home on the night of the attack. Sources say that his sister, Susie Bastable’s visit was also unplanned, in this case with tragic consequences.’

  I could only begin to imagine what he’d gone through; the guilt, as well as the grief. It put a whole different complexion on the warnings he’d been giving me, too – and on his concern when Damien Newbold had seemed to be under fire from so many people. He’d already seen the results of a bystander getting in the way of a killer. I thought back to my huffy reaction to the telling off he’d given me. He’d been thinking of his dead sister and I’d stuck out my metaphorical bottom lip, like a kid.

  And who had been after Nate? Someone he’d crossed in his work?

  I searched several more pages of results after that, finding that the story of the fire had reached some of the nationals too. But I didn’t find any further information; no details of an arrest or a trial. It looked as though Susie Bastable’s murderer was still out there.

  Chapter Eighteen

  I’d been intending to get on with my writing whilst Nate was out, but I couldn’t settle after what I’d discovered. I was pacing round the ground floor of River House when a hammering at the door jolted me back to reality and filled me with the usual sense of foreboding.

  Through the spyhole I could see it was Maggie Cook, looking distinctly the worse for wear. Wonderful.

  I opened up and got her in greater detail. She had mascara running down her cheeks and her hair looked as though it hadn’t been washed since she’d heard about Damien. ‘Ruby?’ she said. ‘You did say it was Ruby?’

  I nodded.

  ‘You’ve got to let me in.’ She wasn’t crying now, but her voice was high and desperate.

  I made to answer but she put up a hand as though to hold back my response, stumbling slightly as she did so. She reeked of alcohol and cigarettes. ‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘I know. You’re not allowed to have me in. I remember you told me that before, when I went into Damien’s study. But it’s different now.’ She looked at me, her eyes frighteningly intense. ‘You must see that.’

  I shook my head, drawing myself up to full height. ‘I’m so sorry for what you’re going through, Maggie,’ I said. ‘But Samson Newbold’s given me exactly the same rules as Damien did, and I can’t go breaking them; least of all at a time like this, when everyone’s overwrought, and no one really knows what’s going on.’

  ‘You mean you don’t know who you can trust!’ She spat the words out and a fleck of saliva shot from her mouth, landing on my sleeve.

  ‘There is that too,’ I said.

  ‘But you let Samson Newbold in.’

  I could feel my eyes roll before I got them under control. ‘Well, I didn’t exactly have much choice, given that he’s Damien’s heir, and his executor.’

  Her eyes flashed and her mouth opened, ready to say something, when I saw her visibly pause and think – something only obvious in the very drunk – and then change tack. ‘Look, Ruby,’ she said, ‘there are things in River House – things that belong to me – and I want them back.’ She cried a little now, and it came across as very theatrical. She would probably have done it better if she hadn’t been hammered. ‘They’re things I had when Damien and I were together. All I want is to see them again; they’re all I’ve got left now. The police must have searched the house by this time.’

  I nodded.

  ‘And if they have, then where’s the harm? Surely you can’t grudge me this?’ Her tone was veering haphazardly between wheedling and threatening now, the extravagantly acted tears forgotten again.

  ‘What kind of things did you leave?’ I said, trying to sound calm and reasonable.

  ‘It’s none of your fucking business!’ she suddenly snarled, shocking me with her unexpected ferocity. I could feel myself reeling slightly, when I noticed movement beyond her. Someone was wheeling a bike across the Common from the direction of town.

  ‘Everything all right, Ruby?’ Paul Mathewson said, frowning as he got close enough to see what was going on.

  I gave him a wry smile. ‘Just another average day. It’s okay though, thanks, only something that needs a bit of sorting out.’ Which, thinking about it, wasn’t calculated to soothe my visitor.

  ‘You’re damned right it does,’ Maggie said, her voice grating. She looked round to see who had caused the interruption.

  Paul ignored her and looked at me. ‘I thought I’d pop in and check on Fi and Emily, so I’ll probably be around for five minutes or so. If you want any assistance, you’ve only got to knock on their door.’

  I was confident I could cope, but that didn’t stop it being nice to have someone fighting my corner. ‘Thanks, Paul,’ I said. ‘I really do appreciate it.’

  He grinned. ‘I’ll see you around, anyway.’

  ‘Who the hell was that little shit?’ said Maggie, squinting after him.

  ‘Paul Mathewson is not a little shit, or even a shit of any kind,’ I said, suddenly feeling inexplicably jolly and flippant. ‘Not all men are like Samson and Damien Newbold, thankfully.’

  The last bit of my sentence was a stupid comment to make, and I could see her reacting, but then once again the expression on her face changed. She was going to have another go at being nice. The smile she adopted sent shivers down my spine.

  ‘Come on, Ruby,’ she said, trying to cajole me, like a small child asking for an ice cream just before supper. ‘You can do this for me. You’ve lived in his house. You know what he’s like. I loved him for God’s sake, even though he was a bastard.’

  ‘If you told me the things you need to collect, maybe I could go and look round the house for them, gather them up and bring them outside. I’m sure no one could object to that.’

  And now she started to cry again, big heaving sobs, her whole body shuddering with emotion. I wasn’t sure what to do, but I was quite certain the tears were genuine this time. On impulse I grabbed the front door keys, set the alarm, and stepped out of the house, pulling the door shut behind me. ‘Let’s talk,’ I said, and set off on the path across the grass.

  Midsummer Common itself wasn’t crowded, but the pathway along the river was still busy. ‘Maybe we should just sit down where we are,’ I said, looking again at her face. She wouldn’t want to be paraded past a load of bicycle commuters, heading home from work. And if anyone recognised her we’d probably have the press out.

  She tried to descend into a sitting position and ended up half falling into the long grass.

  ‘What did you really want?’ I asked.

  She looked me. ‘I think there was probably a shawl in there, and maybe some scent …’

  I went on staring at her, my eyebrows raised.

  ‘Oh, all right,’ she said, taking out a handkerchief and blowing heavily into it. ‘I wanted to look for some paperwork.’

  ‘Paperwork? What do you mean?’

  ‘Before he died,’ Maggie said, ‘a little while back, Damien and I had a really good patch.’ She put a rather snotty hand on my arm and I tried not to flinch as her fingers slid towards my wrist. ‘We fought,’ she said. ‘Everyone knows we did – like cats and dogs – but that can be part of a relationship. If you have two people with personalities that feed off drama, and highs and lows.’ She took her hand away again and leant to one side on the grass. ‘Six months ago Damien started to say things like, “I’m beginning to think you’re the only girl
for me, Maggie.” He actually said that. It was just after a row. Our slanging matches always seemed to make him feel … exhilarated.’

  Creepy. And where was this leading?

  ‘And then one day, he told me he wanted to leave me everything.’ She dropped the words out, giving them each an individual emphasis.

  ‘He was going to make you the sole beneficiary in his will?’

  She nodded. ‘He said he was going to alter it to make sure I had a comfortable future, and that none of it would go to his brother. I know it sounds crazy, but it probably makes more sense when you know about his relationship with Samson.’

  I looked across at her.

  ‘Hated him,’ Maggie said. ‘It was all to do with their mother. Damien adored her, but she let him down, and then their relationship collapsed completely. It wasn’t directly to do with Samson, but Damien was jealous of him because by the time it all happened, Samson was a fairly biddable eleven-year-old who still took his mother’s side. Damien couldn’t seem to connect with either of them.’ She paused. ‘Then the mother killed herself.’

  ‘It really was suicide?’

  Maggie’s unfocused eyes showed surprise. ‘Well, she got drunk and drove herself, very fast, head on into a large brick wall. I think officially they might have called it an accident to protect the feelings of the family, but you work it out.’ She paused again, and twisted her legs round so that they were tucked under her skirt. ‘Well, Samson blamed Damien for that.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Said he’d goaded Bella into it. Bella was devastated because her lover had died. Damien, on the other hand, was delighted. I don’t suppose he made a secret of the fact either. He told me he’d hated the lover and assumed that family life would return to normal once he was out of the picture.’

  ‘But it didn’t?’

  She shook her head. ‘Bella was grief-stricken and Damien was left out in the cold, even more than he had been when she was caught up in the love affair. Then one night, so Samson says, Damien found her crying again and told her she was absolutely no use as a mother, and if she was going to carry on like that it would be better for everyone if she was dead, like the lover.’

  ‘God. And that was when she killed herself?’

  ‘Couple of days later. Damien denies the conversation ever took place, and says her suicide was simply the last in a line of selfish acts, a sort of final abandonment of him.’ She looked at me. ‘Poor Bella. Damien was warped, wasn’t he? Really messed up. I knew that. But that was what made him interesting. And that was why he needed me.’ And she started to cry again.

  A couple walking their dog were staring at us, but looked away quickly when I caught them at it. I waited for Maggie to recover herself and then asked, ‘So, do you think Damien really did draw up another will?’

  Maggie nodded. ‘He said he was determined to do it. Hated the thought of everything going to Samson, but up until then that’s what would have happened. No other relatives to leave it to.’ Her hand was back on my arm. ‘Samson killed Damien,’ she said. ‘Or had him killed. Doubt if the slimy, little shit would do it himself. He probably thinks he got in in time, before Damien made the new will, but I think the new one will be in the house somewhere. Or at least, there’ll be some hint that it exists; letters or something. And if they do go ahead and process everything using the current one, I’m going to contest it.’

  I didn’t think she’d have much luck, with no bit of paper and no witnesses. And anyway, I was losing track. ‘Hang on,’ I said. ‘How would Samson even have known there was a danger Damien might change his will?’

  Maggie looked down at the grass. ‘I told him,’ she said, quietly. ‘It’s because of me that Damien’s dead.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  She looked up at me, still squinting slightly although she was obviously sobering up. ‘Damien and I were at Newmarket racecourse, around four weeks ago. Damien was in an exceptionally good mood – he’d really dressed up for the occasion – and I’d gone to town too. I was wearing a low-cut satin dress and I’d bought myself a good hat. I remember Damien was unusually demonstrative, putting his arm around me all the time.’ The tears were back in her eyes again. ‘He wasn’t usually much of a romantic. The local paper took our photograph and the caption afterwards called us a handsome couple.’ She sighed and looked at me. ‘We were good together,’ she said, nodding.

  ‘It was when we were going off to get some food that we saw Samson. He was drunk, of course, always is.’ She caught my eye. ‘I know, I know, pot, kettle, black. Anyway, Damien was in the sort of mood when even bumping into his brother couldn’t dampen him down. We all went to eat together and Samson put away the best part of a bottle of champagne that Damien had actually paid for.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Everything was going okay, until Damien saw some people from work, over at a table on the opposite side of the restaurant. He nipped across to say hello.’

  ‘And you and Samson got talking?’ I said.

  She looked at me and pulled a face. ‘He made a pass at me.’ She was physically squirming at the memory. ‘It was fairly full on. So much so that I was pretty forthright in my put down.’

  ‘And I don’t imagine he liked that.’

  ‘He was livid. How he could have thought that I’d … Well, anyway, he turned on me, smiling, and said, “You’d be better off with me, you know. Damien can’t form proper relationships with women – been like that since school days.” And then he said, “You look like our mother, you know. Damien hated her and you can take it from me he hates you too.”’

  ‘Blimey.’

  She nodded. ‘That was when he told me that Damien had goaded his mother into killing herself. Anyway, I said, “If he hates me so much, how come he chooses to spend his time with me?” But Samson didn’t even have to search for an answer. He said, straightaway, “Because he wants to control you. He couldn’t control our mother, but he’s damn well determined all other women in his life are going to stay firmly under his thumb.” It was horrible.’

  I could see goosebumps coming up all over her arms at the memory. And then I thought of all the games Damien Newbold had played with me after I’d arrived at his house. It fitted with his desire to control women. I was too tall to resemble his mother, but my hair and face were more or less right.

  ‘What happened then?’ I asked.

  ‘Samson leant forward and breathed in my face,’ Maggie said. ‘I can still remember exactly what he said. “You’re like a beautiful butterfly, stuck on a pin in Damien’s collection, only you’re still alive and writhing.” And I think I hated him all the more because he was right. Even though I loved Damien – because I loved him – that was exactly the way it was.’ She paused. ‘And that was when I told him. “If he hates me so much,” I said, “and wants to control me, then why is he planning to leave me all his money?” I had his attention then, I can tell you. I can still see that smug smile falling away; his horrible, jowly jaw going slack. And then I rubbed it in. “That’s right,” I said. “You were expecting that little prize, weren’t you? If you’re lucky enough to outlive him; which, the rate you’re going …” And then I looked down at that gut of his and the booze in his hand and let the sentence hang. “But Damien’s planning a little alteration in my favour. Sorry to disappoint you.” Truth is, I’d been drinking too, and I was hell bent on denting his revolting air of superiority.’ She put her head in her hands. ‘It was so stupid of me. In the normal way of things Damien would’ve been around for decades, so the will thing wouldn’t have made much difference. But he’d had a scare recently. His heart.’ She shrugged. ‘I didn’t know if Samson knew, but, if he did, he was probably already looking forward to the day when he might inherit. And for me it was symbolic – a way to score points that happened to come to hand. Anyway, there’s no doubt he knew all about Damien’s intentions, and it’s my bet he always thought he could call on the cash any time he needed by helping Damien on his way. Then suddenly he was in danger of lo
sing that security.’

  Would Samson really have been willing to go to those lengths for cash? Even if she was right, I was still sceptical. How could she be sure Damien had actually gone ahead and made the change?

  As though reading my thoughts, she said, ‘I can see you’re not convinced. If you let me into River House, maybe I can provide you with evidence.’

  ‘Maggie, you know I can’t. But, believe me, I’m sorry.’

  I expected her to be angry, but instead she looked thoughtful, as though she was working out her next move.

  Nate caught sight of Ruby sitting on the grass on Midsummer Common talking to a woman as he came back from Tesco. He was pretty sure it was Newbold’s actor girlfriend. He recognised her from the news coverage of the murder – that and the painting in the master bedroom. He might have gone over to join them if he hadn’t been loaded up with shopping. Also, he had a feeling Ruby would think he was interfering. He was unpacking the food when she let herself back in.

  ‘So how was Maggie Cook?’

  She did a double take. Clearly she hadn’t seen him pass by them out on the Common. He wasn’t surprised. Things had looked rather intense.

  ‘Pretty awful, to be honest. She was drunk again. Not that she doesn’t have an excuse, under the circumstances.’

  ‘What was she after?’

  She paused for a moment. ‘She wanted to come inside. Said something about having left a shawl here. I promised I’d look for it, but I wouldn’t let her in, of course.’

  Nate gave her a look. ‘Of course. And then she unburdened herself?’

  ‘Yes. She told me all about her relationship with Damien. Apparently its volatility gave them both a buzz. And she knows Samson, too; says he made a pass at her recently when she and Damien bumped into him at Newmarket Races. Actually, a pass is probably putting it mildly. Seems he’s got the same womanising instincts his brother had, but is rather less successful.’