by Robert Innes
“I’ll show you to her room,” Polly said, before turning to Rupert. “You get yourself to bed. Try and get some sleep. I’ll be up in a minute. I think it might be best if we ask the rest of the guests to go home tomorrow, what do you think?”
“They’ll all need interviewing before they can go anywhere,” Blake told her as he passed Harrison the rest of his drink. If he was about to tell a very ill woman that her son had been brutally murdered, the last thing he wanted to appear was drunk, even if he wasn’t on duty.
Rupert grasped Blake’s hand as he stood up. “Thank you, Blake. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate all you’re doing for me.”
Blake gave him a small smile, while at the same time wondering how he had managed to get himself into this situation. “It’s no problem.”
“Harrison, would you mind coming too?” Polly asked him once Rupert had left the bar. “I’m sure Patricia would appreciate a friendly face?”
Harrison stared up at her, looking horrified. “Me?”
“Why Harrison?” Blake asked her, equally as surprised.
“The way you rushed to help me this morning when I was upset,” Polly said, looking down fondly at Harrison, “I need someone to be there holding my hand. You don’t mind do you?”
Harrison looked slightly lost for words for a moment, but he quickly seemed to pull himself together. “No, no of course not. If it’s what you want?”
“Thank you,” Polly said gratefully. “Well, let’s get this over with shall we?”
Patricia’s room was at the top of the last flight of stairs and as they walked up the third sweeping staircase and past a sign that had the words ‘STAFF ONLY’ written in large black letters, Harrison could not have felt more guilty for getting Blake into this position. He knew Blake would be as calm and as sensitive as the situation required, but it was not something he should have to have been doing.
“It’s just down here,” Polly told them.
The corridor they were now walking down looked very different to the rest of the hotel. While it was no less grand, more dust had been allowed to collect around the various picture frames that were hanging on the walls. As they walked silently along the dark corridor, Harrison noticed that the pictures on the wall were different to the ones downstairs in the reception area and the guests’ hotel corridors. These pictures were of people, some were oil paintings, and others were photographs in sepia, black and white and just one or two in colour.
“Are these members of the family?” Blake asked, just as Harrison was about to ask the same question.
“That’s right,” Polly replied. She stopped and pointed to a large ornate frame near to the last door in the corridor. It contained an old photograph of a man and woman on their wedding day. The bride was a beautiful auburn haired woman with a radiant smile clutching the arm of the groom, a dashing older looking man with a beaming grin. “That’s Patricia and Jeremy, Rupert’s father, getting married. Look at her. So graceful and beautiful. I’m afraid it’s a far cry from what she looks like now.”
As they approached the door at the end of the corridor, Harrison leant forward and whispered “What’s wrong with her?”
“Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma,” Polly said quietly. “Nasty form of cancer, bless her. She’s one of these unlucky ones that has just been absolutely plagued by illnesses all her life. Only in her sixties, but she’s in a wheelchair and she’s had a lot of chemo, which as you can imagine…” her voice drifted off as she indicated towards her own hair. Harrison nodded, feeling instant sympathy for the woman he was about to meet. Polly sighed as she knocked gently on the door. “What this will do to her, I dread to think. Patricia? It’s Polly. I’ve got some people with me. Can we come in? We need to talk to you.”
“Come in,” said a raspy sounding voice behind the door
“Ready?” Polly asked Blake.
“Yeah.”
The door creaked loudly as Polly slowly pushed it open. The room was dark and smelt slightly musty. “Patricia?”
In front of the window, with her back to them, was a frail looking woman in a manual wheelchair. She was wearing a white nightie, which flowed down to the floor. Her bald head shone in the moonlight from the window.
“Come in,” she said without turning round. Her voice made her sound like she was incredibly out of breath and constantly thirsty. “Tell me, Polly. Why are the police here?”
Polly went to speak, but then looked at Blake helplessly.
Blake glanced at Patricia, appearing nervous before he took a deep breath and stepped forwards. “Mrs Urquhart? My name is Blake Harte, I’m a police officer.”
Patricia turned her head weakly towards Blake. “Forgive me for not standing.”
Blake didn’t seem sure how to respond to that. “I’ve been asked to speak to you. I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news.”
“You people always do in my experience,” Patricia wheezed, shifting herself around with some apparent difficulty so she could turn her wheelchair to face him.
Now she had turned, Harrison could make out her facial features better. She was looking at Blake with what looked like concern and trepidation, but Harrison couldn’t help but wonder if this was an expression that had been on her skeletal face so regularly over the years, with doctors constantly giving her bad news about her health, that it was one that had become stuck permanently.
“Oh God,” Polly said under her breath, looking down at the floor as she gripped Harrison’s arm.
“It’s about your son, Duncan,” Blake said gently, kneeling down to her level. “I’m so very sorry to tell you this, but he was killed a few hours ago.”
Harrison watched Patricia as she took in the news. Her worried expression hardly faltered, except her large eyes widened even further. “Dead?” she wheezed. “My Duncan? What do you mean? How can he be – Polly, what is this man talking about?”
“It’s true, Patricia. I’m so sorry. He’s been murdered,” Polly said, her voice breaking as she gripped Harrison’s hand arm tighter.
“Murdered?” Patricia exclaimed.
“He was attacked by someone wearing a long hood.” Blake replied. “We couldn’t see who it was.”
Harrison was surprised to see Patricia was yet to burst into tears or show some signs of grief. Perhaps she had felt so much pain over the years, this was just another sort. Or maybe she was just in shock? Either way, Harrison could not take his eyes off the woman in front of him; he found her strangely fascinating. She looked a lot older than in her sixties, but beneath the wrinkles in her face and the wheezing in her voice, Harrison could just make out some life in Patricia. She looked to be somebody who had fought many battles throughout her life, but now she was a retired soldier, tired of fighting.
Without taking his eyes off Patricia, Harrison sat down on what he thought was a sturdy looking box behind him, but the lid gave way beneath him, sending his bottom half down through the box and his arms flying outwards to try and save himself crashing fully to the ground. Patricia and Blake turned to him, startled by the noise as Patricia’s toiletry bag, which had been sat on top of a small chest of drawers beside Harrison, fell to the ground and the contents spilled out.
“Oh, God! I’m so sorry,” Harrison exclaimed. “I thought that box would hold me, let me just-“
“Who is this?” Patricia asked, watching Harrison scramble to pick up the contents of the toiletry bag.
“This is Harrison,” Blake said, an apologetic air in his voice.
“Is he a policeman too? They’re getting very young and careless aren’t they?”
“No, I’m not an officer, sorry,” Harrison replied hastily, as he put everything back into the toiletry bag as quickly but as carefully as possible. “I’m just here with Blake, that’s all. Polly asked me to be here, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to-“
“Harrison and Blake have been incredibly supportive, Patricia,” Polly said, taking the refilled toiletry bag from Harrison and rearranging it again. “To me and
Rupert. I honestly don’t know what I would have done without them.”
Patricia went to reply, but instead began coughing loudly. This went on for a few seconds, to the point where Blake stood up to offer her some assistance, but she waved a dismissive hand at him, so he sat down on the bed, watching her with concern in his eyes instead. “How is Rupert?” she wheezed at last. “Where is he?”
“He’s gone to bed,” Polly said, pulling a bottle of water out from a cupboard, before unscrewing the lid and passing it to Patricia. “He’s in absolute bits. He loved Duncan, Patricia. You know that.”
Patricia weakly nodded her head as she took a sip from the bottle. “He did. Foolishly, some might say.”
Blake leant forwards towards her, his hands clasped together. “Patricia, I hope you don’t think me insensitive when I say this, but you don’t seem all that-“
“Surprised?” Patricia cut in.
“Well, yes.”
“I’m not. Not really.” She took another long sip from the bottle and closed her eyes, sighing as she gripped her side, looking like she was in pain. “Duncan didn’t have many friends. Did you ever meet him?”
“Not directly, but I did see him,” Blake replied, his tone giving nothing away as to his actual feelings about him.
“Then you’ll know he was not the nicest of men,” Patricia said, her tone weak but serious. “He couldn’t treat another human being decently if his life depended on it. He hurt a lot of people in his lifetime. His father was just the same. I was almost relieved when he finally died, if anything just to give me some peace. Duncan was my son and I loved him very much. But am I surprised that he finally pushed somebody too far? No. I’m afraid not.”
Blake glanced at Harrison, then looked thoughtful for a few moments. When he asked his next question, Harrison realised he had been pondering on whether to ask it at all.
“You’re saying you could think of multiple people who could have done this?”
Again, Patricia began coughing, far more violently and this time, Blake had to move forwards in order to stop her falling out of the wheelchair. Finally, she leant back, clutching the bottle of water tightly and panted. Harrison could not have felt sorrier for her – she looked absolutely wretched, as if she was angrier at the pain than anything else.
“Yes,” she whispered at last. “Though, Polly is who you should really be asking.”
“She means my family,” Polly said, as she gently poured water into Patricia’s mouth. “Remember what I was saying about the trouble they caused at the wedding? Patricia was there. Despite all the pain, you were there, weren’t you? To watch your son get married.”
Patricia swallowed the water, then took hold of Polly’s hand. “I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”
“Did you tell Gresham about your family?” Blake asked her.
Polly shook her head, one eye still on Patricia. “I didn’t think to. I was still in shock when he was interviewing me, and to be honest, I was more taken aback by how blunt he was being.”
Blake groaned and rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that sounds like Gresham.”
“You will find the person who did this to my son?” Patricia asked Blake, looking up at him pleadingly. “To be frank, I don’t know how much longer I have left and the thought of dying whilst my son’s death goes unpunished is just too much to bear.”
Blake knelt down to Patricia’s level again. “The thing is Patricia, I’m not in charge of this investigation. I’m actually just a guest at the manor, Harrison and me, we just happened to see it happen. There’s police looking into what’s happened though and they will find your son’s killer and bring them to justice, I promise you that.”
“You sound rehearsed,” Patricia said, an unmistakable air of condescension in her voice, behind the wheezing. “The way you were talking just now didn’t sound like you had a lot of faith. I want my son’s killer caught!”
“Patricia,” Harrison said nervously, stepping forwards. “The man in charge might not be that reliable, but there’s another officer working on the case, and she’s Blake’s best friend who he used to work with. Blake knows his job and he wouldn’t be that close to someone in the police if he thought they couldn’t do it, would you Blake?”
Blake smiled. “No. I promise you, Patricia. Sergeant Matthews will make sure that everything goes the way it’s supposed to.”
“Well, we’ll see, won’t we?” Patricia replied crisply, turning her chair to the window again. From his own standpoint, Harrison could just about make out some figures in the dark by the lake where the murder had taken place. "I don’t have a very high opinion of police, I’m afraid. Let’s hope that you prove me wrong. Now, leave me alone, please.”
Polly walked across the room and opened the door again. “I think we could all do with trying to get some rest. It’s been one hell of a day.”
Harrison found himself extremely keen to get out of the room. As he walked back out to the dark murky corridor again, he found himself with the unshakable feeling that something was wrong, but he had absolutely no idea what it was. As he and Blake made their way back towards the stairs, he decided that it must have merely been the fact that he had never seen anybody look as ill as Patricia had and it had unsettled him.
“I can’t thank you enough, Blake,” Polly said once they had reached the second floor again. “I’m sorry for asking you to do that.”
“It’s fine,” Blake said. “I’m just sorry that she’s going through everything that she is. I wouldn’t wish any of that on my worst enemy.”
Polly shook her head. “Well, I think I’ll get to bed. No doubt those police will be interviewing Rupert and I all day, and then I’ve got to think how to get rid of the guests. We’ll probably have to refund the money. This discount week was our last chance of getting this business off the ground and now…” She rubbed her eyes, looking tired and stressed. “I don’t think I could say this to anybody else, but I can almost feel Duncan smirking at how all this has turned out. Anyway. Good night, and thanks again, both of you.”
They bid Polly goodnight and watched her disappear down the corridor. When they heard the sound of a door closing in the direction Polly had gone, Blake leant against the stair bannisters and exhaled. “There’s something very weird about all of this.”
“What do you mean?” Harrison asked him.
Before Blake could reply, the main door to the reception opened and Sally-Ann stepped inside.
“Sally,” called Blake, running down to the bottom of the stairs. “How’s it all going?”
Sally looked at Blake and shook her head. “You know full well I’m not supposed to say anything to you Blake, you’ve got no jurisdiction. Gresham would kill me if he thought I was giving you any info.”
“I know he would,” Blake replied, and Harrison was surprised to see a small smile appearing at the side of his mouth. “Well, we’ve just been up to see the mother, Patricia Urquhart. Polly asked me to be the one who told her about her son’s death.”
“That’s what I was just on my way to do,” Sally said, giving Blake a swift smack on the arm, but she too then smiled. “You’d be all over this case if you were still with our force, wouldn’t you?”
“He’s all over it now,” Harrison said, ignoring Blake’s protests.
“Why am I not surprised?” Sally grinned, looking at Blake knowingly.
“None of it makes any sense, Sally,” Blake replied. “If you want my honest opinion, Gresham is in way over his head here. And that’s not even me claiming that I’d do any better. It’s just all so weird.”
“You want weird?” Sally sighed, glancing out of the window, possibly to see that her boss wasn’t about to burst in. “I can give you weird.”
“Why?” Blake said, frowning. “What’s happened now?”
Sally glanced at Harrison, perhaps wondering whether to say what she had to say in front of him, but then said, quietly, “What did you say Urquhart was doing when that hooded figure killed him
?”
“Fishing,” Blake said. “He was in a small rowing boat, in the centre of the lake, fishing.”
“I’ve just finished speaking to forensics,” Sally continued. “They were looking at his stab wounds. According to them, the clotting around the wounds would indicate that he was stabbed at least four, five hours ago.”
Harrison stared at her bemused. “What are you saying?”
Sally didn’t reply, she just looked expectantly at Blake.
“She’s saying,” Blake murmured, “that Duncan Urquhart had already been stabbed to death when we saw him being attacked.”
Harrison’s eyes widened. “You mean-“
“Exactly. What we witnessed was the murder of a man who was already dead.”
The next morning, Blake was lying on his front on top of his bed, with a large sheet of paper in front of him that he had found at the bottom of one of the drawers in his room. He had spent most of the night tossing and turning, with the bizarre details of the last few hours tirelessly going around his head, until he had decided that trying to sleep any more was pointless. He had then mapped out all the facts he knew so far, including detailing out the apparent murder he had witnessed and how it had happened. As he had feared when he started however, anything solid that he could work with was still eluding him.
Since Sally had told him that Duncan was already dead when Blake had seen him apparently standing up in a rowing boat and trying to defend himself against the spectral figure, Blake had hoped that because the situation was so impossible, something would stand out to him to make the rest of the illusion fall apart, but nothing he had written in front of him was being any help to him at all. If anything, his thoughts had become even murkier with a load of fruitless theories that led nowhere. Half of him was quite glad that he wasn’t the officer in charge of the investigation, but then, as he stared aimlessly at the list of suspects he had written out in front of him, he realised that even when he was supposed to be on holiday, he clearly found it impossible to really let go and forget about his job, even in less extreme circumstances than this.