Henderson Manor

by Emma L. Clapperton

  I had to remind myself that this little fantasy story that I was living would be coming to an end relatively soon. Sam knew me as Deborah Bell, mysterious and fun. I hadn’t ever given him the opportunity to meet my family because there was absolutely no way around it. I mean, how the hell would I explain firstly that my name is not my name? And secondly, Lisa would instantly figure everything out. My sister was like my dad in that sense — she had traits of being a good detective and not a lot of things got past her. That is why I had kept all of this a complete secret. I didn’t mention anything about a relationship with anyone. The only thing I ever mentioned was my friend from university. I didn’t divulge any information about how I met her, who she was or where she was from. That would have been too dangerous. She would have worked it out in a second, even though she had never met Sam when he was with Sarah. Sarah had told her so much that she would have put two and two together.

  My head was spinning from it all and even though I watched the screen, I was not listening to the words spoken by the reporter.

  “I think I am going to head to bed. The wine has muddled with me,” I said smiling.

  “Ok, I’ll be in soon. I want to watch the rest of this and see if there is anything else on that girl Claire,” Sam said.

  I felt sick.

  “Ok, goodnight.” I bent down to kiss him and then went to Sam’s bedroom.

  I undressed as I sat on my side of his bed and looked at the little photo in the frame of us together. Jenny had taken it; we had been sitting in the kitchen having dinner when she took it. It was my favourite thing to look at if I was feeling sad or scared, except for the real thing of course.

  I crawled under the quilt and lay my head on the pillow. Memories of the night I killed Claire swirled around in my mind. She hadn’t even seen me coming; she was just walking along the car park on her way home from work. It had all happened so quickly. I had taken a knife from Sam’s kitchen and gone to the café to wait for her in the shadows. Sounds sinister I know, but I had to do something. She was too friendly and I know that guys like Sam may read the signs wrong — especially Sam. He is so lovely and he would read her signs of lust and passion as signs of friendship and end up in a compromising situation. What had really put the icing on the cake was the conversation in the bathroom in that café. The stupid bitch hadn’t realised what I was capable of.

  Claire didn’t protest. She didn’t shout out or plead. It was quick and easy, which scared me. It scared me how easy it was and how much of a thrill it gave me. Her life was in my hands and it was up to me whether she lived or died. I chose the latter. There was no choice really; I had to do it for the good of my heart. To be honest, I knew that what I was doing was wrong and I would be caught eventually but until that day was upon me I would do anything to keep Sam in my life. I knew it would hurt him when he found out what I was, who I really am.

  As I drifted off, I felt the bed dip on Sam’s side. I smiled gently at the thought of him cuddling in to me and falling asleep.

  “Night baby,” I said sleepily.

  I felt his arm slide around me over the top of the quilt and I felt his breath on my ear.

  “Not long now, Jane.”

  The words that were whispered harshly into my ear made me jump out of the bed in fright. When I turned to face the bed, Sam’s side was empty. It was then that I realised that the voice was female.

  Sarah Henderson wasn’t going to let me forget what I had done to her. And I was sure that she wasn’t going to let me forget about Claire either.

  33

  Sam woke up to find that he was no longer sharing his bed with Deborah and that she had left a note on his bedside table. It read; Gone shopping, will be back soon. Love you. D x

  Sam stretched out and got out of bed. The room was cold and so he put on a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt. He yawned and on exhaling he saw a white mist appear in front of his face. Was it so cold that he could see his breath? He was startled by the crash behind him and when he turned back to face the bed he saw a photo frame on the floor, face down with broken glass surrounding it.

  “What the hell was that?” He found himself asking.

  He picked up the frame and inspected the area around it. There was nothing that could have knocked it over. There was no breeze and he was nowhere near it.

  Something made him look up at the mirror on his dresser and he drew back in fear of the face staring back at him. Sarah Henderson.

  You are one big fool, Sam.

  Sam watched as the eyes became narrow on Sarah’s face as she looked out at him. Her mouth did not move but he heard the words. What did she mean?

  Sam closed his eyes and hoped that when he opened them, she would be gone from his sight. He felt himself begin to shiver and as he opened his eyes, he was relieved to see that she was gone. Sam got dressed quickly and grabbed his phone and the photo frame. He searched for the name in the phone’s address book and pressed the call button.

  “Patrick, its Sam. I’m coming over. I have something to show you.”

  “You sound shaken up. Are you ok?” Patrick replied.

  Sam exited his building and was half way down his street already. He didn’t want to be in his flat any longer than he had too.

  “Not really. I’ll be with you in about fifteen minutes. I’m just getting in a taxi now.”

  Sam ended the call and told the driver where to go. All the while, he clutched at the photo frame and replayed Sarah’s words over and over in his head.

  ***

  Sam walked up the gravel driveway towards the main entrance to Henderson Manor. He eyes scanned the entire building and thought about Sarah’s death. What a lonely way to die. He found himself outside the door and before he could ring the bell, Patrick opened the door wide and invited him inside. Without saying a word, Sam handed the photo frame to Patrick.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s a picture of me and my girlfriend Deborah.”

  Patrick frowned. “Why would I want to see this in such a hurry? No offence.”

  Sam turned away from the stairs to face Patrick. “Because when I woke up this morning, alone may I add, it was knocked off my bedside table with such force that it smashed.”

  Sam searched Patrick’s face for answers. “There’s no way you could’ve knocked it over by yourself?”

  Sam laughed loudly. “So you’re a sceptic as well as a psychic?”

  Patrick shook his head and looked down at the photo. “Who did you say the girl in the picture is?”

  “Deborah. She’s my girlfriend.”

  Patrick walked to the kitchen and Sam followed him, not daring to look at the bottom of the stairs. He had a horrible feeling that he would see Sarah lying there and he was already beginning to feel guilty about her death.

  “Sarah’s death wasn’t your fault Sam. You didn’t kill her.”

  “Someone else did though. I think she’s trying to tell me something about her death. Why else would my flat have all these weird things happening in it?”

  Sam looked up from the floor as Patrick sat down at the kitchen table. Patrick wasn’t looking at Sam; he was studying the photo.

  “This must have come down with some force for it to have broken into shards like it has.”

  Sam was quiet for a moment. He tried to put into order the words that he wanted to say. “Sarah was in my bedroom this morning, straight after that frame was knocked down. She spoke to me but her lips didn’t move. It was like I heard her voice in my head.”

  Patrick nodded. “That’s the way it normally goes. What did you hear?”

  “She said I was a fool.”

  Patrick was quiet.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I think you’re right. I think that Sarah is trying to tell you something about her death.”

  Sam sat, down across from Patrick. He feared the outcome of the events leading him to Patrick.

  “So what do we do about it? I mean, this concerns both of us. Aft
er all, this used to be her house.”

  Patrick put the photo frame to one side and thought for a moment. He couldn’t sort this alone. If Sarah was murdered, he had to involve the police. He knew the outcome of her death was concluded as accidental because Sam had explained it all to him. Patrick knew now that it wasn’t accidental but he had to find a way of proving it to his sources.

  “I have connections in the police. I’ll get in contact with them today and see if they’ll entertain me.”

  Sam sat back and seemed to relax at Patrick’s words. “You think they’ll listen?”

  “They have in the past. I can’t say for sure that they will again. You don’t ask; you don’t get.”

  34

  D.S Paul Preston and D.C Jim Lang were sat in the office, doing the least enjoyable part of the job: paperwork. If they had picked a job that was purely office based, they would have died of boredom long before now.

  “My dad came over last night after dinner,” Preston attempted to fill the silence.

  “Oh aye?” Lang replied.

  “Seems Barbara won big at the bingo.”

  Jim Lang laughed; in knowing Tam well enough, he could tell what was coming next.

  “I assume he wanted her to spend big on him?”

  The shrill ringing of the phone pierced their ears and as Preston reached for the receiver he said, “Aye, he wanted to book them into some posh hotel down next to the Erskine Bridge.”

  Lang smiled and shook his head as Preston turned his voice to that of a professional.

  “D.S Preston speaking.”

  Lang continued shuffling papers and busying himself when one word made him look up.

  “Patrick.”

  Lang narrowed his eyes and mouthed, “What does he want?”

  “The Sarah Henderson case was closed last year, Patrick.”

  Lang frowned.

  “By all means, although I’m not sure how I can…” Preston pulled the receiver away from his face and stared at it.

  “That was weird.”

  “What did he want?” Lang asked.

  “He wants to talk to us about Sarah Henderson.”

  “Why?

  Preston shook his head. “He said he has some information that may contribute to her case.”

  Lang stood up and walked over to the white board in the office. They seriously didn’t have time to be mucking around with this ghostly nonsense again. There had been a brutal and callous murder and the last thing Lang wanted was Patrick hanging around saying the poor girl had come to him in his sleep or some other crap like that.

  “Well, unless he’s brought her back to life then I doubt there is anything we can do for him. What’s he got to do with her anyway?”

  “God knows but he sounded pretty certain on the phone.”

  Preston and Lang had been working on the Claire Prowse case over the last few days and they had hit a brick wall with the lack of evidence. There had been no murder weapon, no prints at the scene; nothing. Her face stared out at them from the white board in the office and Lang wondered, like he always did, how people could be so cruel, for such a young girl to die in such a brutal way baffled him.

  “It would be more helpful if he had a lead on the bloody Prowse case. That’s what we need right now.” Lang said through gritted teeth.

  “Her phone records should be back by the end of the day and the CCTV from the café where she worked should provide us with information on the people she had come into contact with over the last few weeks. If we spot the same person more than once, we need to speak to them.”

  “And the CCTV from the street cameras?” Lang asked.

  “That should be back at the same time as the footage from the café.”

  Lang turned his back on the white board and exhaled loudly, demonstrating his frustration.

  “I’ll grab us some coffee; we’re going to need it if Mr McLaughlin will be joining us.”

  Some things never change, Preston thought to himself.

  ***

  Patrick walked into the station and felt a wave of déjà vu wash over him. He was transported back to the first time he walked through the doors of Pitt Street Police Station and remembered feeling scrutinized by Lang and not quietly by any means. He remembered the worrying look on Jodie’s face when he had told her he was going to the station to tell the police about his knowledge on the murders of the girls in the city centre. He still thought about them from time to time. Patrick remembered how he felt when he imagined what it would have been like not to help them but to ignore them. It would have niggled away at him and their families would never have found justice.

  That was how he felt walking into the station now, that niggling feeling in the back of his mind. Jodie had been so supportive the last time that it had almost killed her. Ross had almost killed her. Patrick tried not to think about that part of his life and what it may have been like had he not been adopted. It made him sick to his stomach. Now his mind was asking him if what he was doing now was the right thing for him, for his family. Jodie had walked away with Lewis, the two people in his life who he would take a bullet for, yet they were gone and here he found himself standing in a police station, once again fighting for the dead instead of the living. He just could not stop himself. Patrick could feel it in his gut that what he was doing was the right thing for the long term although he could not explain how. He knew Jodie and Lewis would be waiting for him when all this was over with. He just didn’t know how long it would take.

  “I’m here to see D.S Preston and D.C Lang,” he said to the officer behind the desk.

  Patrick waited for a few moments before he was greeted by Lang.

  “Patrick, long time no see,” Lang offered his hand.

  Patrick shook his hand and then followed Lang back to his and Preston’s office. Walking down the corridor took him back to that day again. Where he bared his soul to the two officers for the first time and remembered how Lang was having none of it. Preston had been kinder to Patrick and was willing to listen. He had the sneaky suspicion that history would repeat itself.

  Lang opened the office door and allowed Patrick to go inside first.

  “Patrick, nice to see you. To what do we owe this pleasure?” Preston stood up from his seat.

  He heard the door close behind him and could be sure that he felt Lang’s eyes burn into the back of his head. They all sat down and Patrick tried to figure out how to place his words.

  Lang eyed Patrick with scrutiny, just like he did the first time they had met.

  “You investigated the murder of Sarah Henderson last year.”

  Preston nodded.

  “And her death was concluded as accidental,” Lang added with certainty.

  “Well, I bought her house earlier this year.”

  Again, Preston was silent. However, he heard a very loud sigh come from Lang. “Oh course you did.”

  “And what do you mean by that?” Patrick replied, failing to hide his annoyance towards Lang’s ever so sceptic attitude.

  “Gentlemen, it’s like old times,” Preston shook his head. “Patrick, unless you have something concrete that would make us consider looking into the death of Miss Henderson again then I’m afraid you’re wasting your time.”

  “And ours,” Lang said.

  Patrick wanted to punch Lang square in the jaw but refrained from it. The thought of prison wasn’t so appealing to Patrick.

  “Like I said, I bought her house at auction earlier this year. Everything was fine until I got a visit from a Sam Leonard only a few days ago, telling me that he thinks he is being haunted by her.”

  Preston frowned.

  “He’s her ex-partner; we questioned him about her death. He knew nothing about it.”

  “He didn’t know anything. Sam came to me for help and by pure coincidence it turned out that I had bought his ex-girlfriend’s house. I made connections with other members of the Henderson family.” Patrick was interrupted.

  “Dead, I assume?�
� Lang asked with sarcasm.

  “Yes, actually, there’s a book of family archives in my loft. The house has a lot of history to it and the family were very wealthy. Sarah was the last surviving Henderson. Anyway, as I was saying I made a connection with one. Her name was Anna. She made me aware that Sarah was murdered.”

  Lang got up from his seat and walked to the white board. “You see this here, Patrick?” He pointed to a picture of a young girl’s face. “This here is a murder enquiry and involves one dead girl and a loose killer. This is what’s real, not your silly little ghost stories. So, if you don’t mind …”

  Preston stood up. “He’s right Patrick, we can’t do this anymore. You had the chance to work with us and you turned it down. We did our job; this set up,” his hands flapped back and forth between himself and Patrick, “it’s dead and buried. Sorry mate. There’s nothing we can do.”

  Patrick got up, feeling defeated. He made a last attempt. “There’s one more thing. Sam gave me a photograph and there’s something about it that I can’t quite put my finger on. I was wondering if you could have a look.”

  Preston shook his head. “Right, what is it?”

  “A photo of Sam and his new girlfriend, Deborah. the frame was damaged by an unknown force this morning. Sam said he witnessed it himself.”

  Patrick produced the photo and just as he was about to hand it to Preston, he felt it pulled from his grasp.

  “Did you not hear me the first time?” Lang said as he looked down at the picture. He fell silent as his eyes set on the people in the picture.

  “What is it Jim?” Preston asked as he saw Lang’s expression change.