Ripples (The Blake Harte Mystery Book 3)

by Robert Innes

  “Yes, please,” she answered in her raspy voice. “Try and make it as cold as you can, dear. It sooths my throat.”

  Harrison nodded and hurried to the bar with her glass. Blake stood up and pulled his ecig out of his pocket. “You should put in a complaint about your treatment at that hospital, Patricia. The local one was it?”

  “Yes,” Patricia said as Harrison returned with the glass. “Mind you, the speed in which they were driving that ambulance, you wouldn’t know it.”

  Blake nodded and smiled courteously. “Well, we just thought we’d check on you. Take care, Mrs Urquhart.”

  Blake strode out to the reception area, with his phone in his hand. He typed a message to Sally and pressed send, just as Harrison caught up with him.

  “That poor woman,” Harrison said quietly. “I’ve never known somebody so ill. How do you cope with something like that?”

  “She’s very ill, yes,” Blake replied, distracted. “Harrison, when we were in her room when we first met her, do you remember what fell out of her toiletry bag?”

  Harrison stared at him. “Her toiletry bag?”

  “Remember when you knocked it over and the contents all spilled out?”

  Harrison bit his lip thoughtfully. “Not really. Toothbrush, toothpaste, razor. The sort of thing you’d expect to find in a woman’s toiletry bag.”

  “Exactly,” Blake replied, striding up the stairs.

  “Blake?” Harrison called, chasing after him. “What are you talking about? Where are you going?”

  Blake stopped and waited for Harrison to catch up. “I know who killed Duncan. I can’t believe I didn’t realise it sooner. It’s been there, staring at me the entire time, but with everything else, people walking across lakes, dead people being murdered, it clouded my thinking, which in fairness was exactly what it was supposed to do.”

  “You do? How?”

  “I’ll explain later. But I need you to get up to her room, and grab me that toiletry bag.”

  Gresham slammed his car door and glared at Blake as he stormed towards him. “You’ve got some nerve calling me at this hour, Harte. Especially when I’ve got a suspect in custody.”

  “You won’t regret it,” Blake told him. “I promise. Just make your way to the hut, would you?”

  Gresham frowned at him as Sally approached them, having arrived with him.

  “You were right,” she told him, shaking her head in disbelief. “We’ve got the footage should you need it.”

  “Thanks,” Blake said to her. Shall we go?”

  They all made their way down the car park and towards the lakes. The lights from the manor were the only thing lighting the way now as night had well and truly drawn in.

  “You’re sure about this, I take it?” Sally asked him. Blake nodded. It had taken him the rest of the day to gather everything and everyone he needed, but only after he had gone over and over the facts in his head, and it all tallied. While there were certain strands of information that were still unclear, he was hoping what was going to happen next would rectify that.

  Blake pulled his mobile out of his pocket when they got to the hut and checked his screen. Harrison had text him, confirming that he was ready for Blake’s signal.

  Inside the hut, there were only two people missing from the group that Blake had gathered. Nathan looked up at Blake as he walked inside and held his hands out in a sign of confusion.

  “Blake, what the hell’s going on here?”

  Blake merely smiled cheerfully at him. “All in good time, Nathan. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

  The hut was arranged in exactly the same way it had been on the night of the murder. Blake had made absolutely sure that the table and chairs were all in the exact positions they had been when they had all been gathered in the hut. Davina was sat next to Nathan, her hands clasped together, staring at the wall. She looked extremely nervous.

  “So can we get started, Harte?” Gresham asked, dramatically folding his arms together. “I am a very busy man, I don’t have time to play your little games.”

  “Very nearly,” Blake replied. “We’re just waiting for – Ah, here they are now.”

  The door to the hut opened again and Patricia was wheeled in through the doorway. It was a tight fit, but with a slight effort, Polly managed to maneuverer the bulky wheelchair in.

  “What on earth is all this about?” Patricia wheezed as Polly parked her by the table.

  “Yes,” Polly said, frowning at Blake. “I’d quite like to know that myself.”

  Blake placed his hands in his pockets and wandered across to the mini bar in the corner. “Thanks for coming everybody. I’m sorry to make this all so clichéd, but in this instance, I’m afraid it was necessary.”

  “Mr Harte, I am not a well woman,” Patricia croaked, rubbing her chest, her bald head shining from the light hanging down from the ceiling. “I should be in bed.”

  “No, I know you’re not well, Patricia.” Blake said, leaning against the bar. “Still, I’m quite prepared to pause if you’re chilly. You can always run back to your room and grab yourself a jumper?”

  “Jesus Christ, Blake!” Nathan exclaimed, staring at Blake in disbelief. “That’s low, even for you. Is it not enough you’ve made her come out here?”

  Blake leant his head to the side and glanced at Patricia. “You want to explain, or shall I?”

  Patricia stared at him. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Or maybe you, Polly?” Blake asked. “Or you, Davina?”

  “Harte, what the hell are you blabbering on about?” Gresham snapped.

  Blake nodded. “Fair enough, let’s cut out the pretending. Starting with you, Patricia. The floor is yours. Tell the group. Explain to everybody - what it’s like to have Munchausen’s syndrome?”

  Patricia stayed silent. She merely gazed back at Blake with a calm expression on her face.

  Nathan scowled at Blake, clearly bemused. “Come again? Munch-what syndrome?”

  “Munchausen’s,” Blake repeated. “It’s a psychological disorder, where you pretend to be ill. There’s plenty of reading about it online. People with Munchausen’s tend to crave the attention that being gravely ill warrants.”

  “Harte, you should be absolutely ashamed of yourself!” shouted Gresham, standing up and looking outraged. “I saw this woman go into a seizure myself, how dare you accuse her of-“

  “Yes, you did, didn’t you? From what I understand, it was right in the middle of you interviewing her? Because Patricia craves attention, don’t you? More than crave, it’s an addiction,” Blake continued. “And you know exactly what you need to do in order to get as much of it as possible, don’t you?”

  Patricia chuckled and stared at Blake with an expression of derision. “You think you’re so clever, don’t you? And may I ask, what proof you have of these wild and unfounded accusations?”

  Blake nodded and produced the toiletry bag that Harrison had gotten him and placed it on top of the bar. Patricia’s cold expression briefly faltered. “I would never have seen it, Patricia. Honestly, I was completely fooled. Everything you’re doing – I mean, seriously. You’re very, very good. The problem was that Harrison knocked over your toiletry bag when we came up to your room to tell you about Duncan’s death.” He unzipped the bag and rooted around it. “And when all the contents spilled out onto the floor, I didn’t even realise I’d seen it. It’s such a normal thing for a lady to have. Well, that is, it’s normal for a lady who isn’t going through the amount of chemotherapy you claim you are.”

  The whole room was now silent as Blake pulled out the razor that had clattered across the floor that night and had since been bothering him without Blake even realising it. He held it up for everybody to see. “There’s even hairs just shy of the blades, Patricia. Repeated chemo, you lose it all. There should be nothing for you to shave. So why on earth would you need a shaving razor? Other than to keep up appearances. Oh, and let’s not forget that viole
nt cough that seems to have suddenly vanished since we started this discussion. I could not put my finger on what it was about you that was bothering me after our first encounter, then I realised. But me and Harrison were rather set up by someone pretending to be ill before we left here who actually had a remarkably similar fake cough to you. The difference being, of course, is that they didn’t have your acting experience and there was nothing selfless in what you were doing. It was all just for you.”

  Everyone in the room turned to look at Patricia. She seemed completely unbothered by Blake’s accusations, in fact Blake could tell she was rather enjoying herself.

  “But why is all this relevant?” Blake continued. “You want to pretend to be incredibly ill, that’s the syndrome. That’s your life. I mean, it’s a waste of hospital beds whenever you get that feeling you need attention and decide to fake a seizure or something but what does that have to do with the murder of Duncan Urquhart? Shall I go on, Patricia? I mean it was you, wasn’t it? You did murder your son. You stabbed him to death, am I right? Because, let’s make things perfectly clear here; if there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you except a serious psychological condition, then there’s absolutely no need for you to be sat in that wheelchair, is there? And you’re just as capable of stabbing a man to death as the poor man currently in Inspector Gresham’s custody?”

  Sally cleared her throat and produced her mobile phone. “I went to the hospital you were at last night, Mrs Urquhart.”

  Patricia glared furiously at her. “I know my rights – you’re not allowed access to my medical records without my consent!”

  “Correct,” Sally said, flicking through her phone. “But all I was really looking for was proof that you were there. That we are allowed to do. And a quick search for the CCTV cameras shows you climbing in and out of your bed, with no assistance whatsoever. You even at one point, take a wander down the corridor to, what I can only assume is complain at the receptionist?”

  Sally held up her mobile for them all to see. The footage showed Patricia, waving her arms angrily at the receptionist, but standing up and walking around quite quickly as she did so.

  “Good God,” Nathan murmured.

  Patricia looked down at the floor and sighed, then as calmly as ever, looked up at Blake. “You don’t have any idea what it’s like to be me, do you Detective? If you’d had the childhood I’d had – the beatings, the trauma, the abuse, then maybe you’d understand. When the only love and attention you get as a child is from the doctors and nurses caring for you when you’ve been beaten black and blue, is it any wonder you start to crave it? My parents didn’t care for me. I was an accident, they told me that as many times as most children hear their mothers say ‘I love you.’”

  “Why did you kill your son?”

  Patricia ran her hand over her shaved scalp. “Because he didn’t know. Duncan was not aware of my condition. As far as he was concerned, I was dying. But, instead of doing what any good son should do, caring for his sick mother, making sure I was comfortable, he was far more interested in making sure that my will was organised. My husband, God rest his soul, left all of this to me. And Duncan was after it. Anything to be able to lord it over everybody he came into contact with. As I explained to you, Detective, my son was not a nice man.”

  “No, which brings us to everybody else,” Blake continued. “You see, everything that has happened here, this whole crazy plan to get rid of Duncan whilst making sure that the murderer, the true killer, was never caught, it couldn’t be done by just you, could it?”

  A whimper from the table told Blake that everything he had said was right. He looked down at the person who had made the noise. She had gone from staring at the wall, avoiding eye contact with everybody, to a shaking wreck.

  “Davina?” Nathan said, staring at her. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s over, Davina,” Blake said. “You don’t have to pretend anymore. I don’t know why you did it, but I’m not wrong am I? You were involved?”

  “Oh, what the hell are you on about, now? You after trying to get my wife locked up, Blake? Is that it? You couldn’t handle us breaking up, so what is this? Some sort of messed up revenge?” spat Nathan at Blake, before turning back to his quivering wife. “Would you calm down? What are you going on like this for?”

  “Think about it, Nathan,” Blake said. “That night. When we were watching that hooded figure. The only person who wasn’t in the hut with us.”

  “She went to ring the police, because she saw whoever it was running about, that’s what you told us!” Nathan exclaimed, staring between the two of them.

  “I tried to tell you,” mumbled Davina. “I hated myself. But we needed the money, Nathan.”

  “I don’t understand what you’re saying,” Nathan replied, looking as serious as Blake had ever seen him. “You’re not involved in all of this. How could you be?”

  “Nathan, you know how much debt we’re in. There were only so many final demand letters I could handle coming through our letterbox. Your job doesn’t pay enough, neither does mine. I had to do something.” She turned and looked at him imploringly, clearly trying to make him understand. “Everything we’ve been through together, it would all have been for nothing. I had to try and help us.”

  Nathan stared at her in confusion. “No, but I don’t get it. What did you do? You didn’t murder someone, she did that.”

  Davina put her head in her hands. “I pretty much killed him. I helped make it happen, I as good as put that knife into him myself.”

  “Davina, you don’t have to say anything else,” Polly said sharply. “Listen to what he’s saying, he’s got no proof you did anything.”

  “Oh, Polly, for God’s sake!” Davina shouted, her eyes wide and frantic. “It’s over! I can’t have this on my conscience anymore, I just can’t.”

  “And I haven’t forgotten about you, Polly,” Blake said, sighing. “Because you were the key to the whole thing, weren’t you? Without you, none of this would have even been possible.”

  “What are you talking about, Blake?” Polly exclaimed, outraged. “I was in here, with you! You can’t pin a crime on me when I was one of the witnesses!”

  “Yeah,” Blake said, nodding. “A role you played to absolute perfection. You kept yourself well out of the way, because if something went wrong, like you say, you were one of the witnesses. How could you possibly be involved? Because one of you had to be in here, otherwise the illusion couldn’t have happened. And that’s exactly what it was, an illusion. But your role was the most important of all. Why were you involved though? Patricia was like a spider in the centre of a huge web of lies. Why were you one of her flies?”

  Patricia laughed bitterly. “Because I found out about her little affair. I walked in on her with her arms around my son, except it was the wrong son, wasn’t it, Polly?”

  Polly closed her eyes and put her hands to her mouth.

  “Problem was I actually did walk in on her. Duncan didn’t see me, but she certainly did. Everything she thought she knew about me was gone. We suddenly knew each other’s secrets. I was not everything I was claiming and she was having an affair with her husband’s brother.”

  Blake looked up at Polly in surprise. “You were having an affair with Duncan? I thought you hated him.”

  “I did!” snapped Polly, throwing her hands down. “I absolutely despised him. But he had as much say over everything that happens in this house as he thought he did. He had been letching over me for months and I thought that if I gave him what he wanted, it might save us a bit of time, or that at the very least, he might lay off his abuse of Rupert for a bit.”

  “But then your family started turning up as the hooded figure and causing you even more problems, didn’t they?” Blake continued. “Nothing you could do about it, they’d made their minds up that they were going to cause trouble and there wasn’t anything you could say to stop them. But it gave you an idea, Patricia. A way you could get rid of your son and stop him fro
m trying to own this manor and keep yourself way out of the suspects list. And because you’d caught Polly in the act, you could bribe her.

  “But I don’t think, despite how carefully the whole thing was choreographed, that any of you three thought that forensics would be able to determine that the stab wounds weren’t new.” Blake glanced at Davina, who shook her head in response. “Once it was established that Duncan was already dead, it meant that you’d created one more impossible event than you’d intended to. And whilst you might just be able to get away with the notion of this mysterious stalker walking on water, the fact that what we were watching was essentially a corpse standing there defending itself from its attacker just wasn’t possible, so the whole thing started to fall apart. It was just a case of working out which of the two events was intentional. Like I said all along, the hooded man walking across the lake to Duncan and stabbing him to death was so self-indulgent in itself, it could only be that one.”

  Gresham cleared his throat. “And how did they do it? Come on, Harte. Stop with the suspense, you’re clearly dying to tell us.”

  Blake pulled his mobile out of his pocket and dialled Harrison’s number. “If everybody could just look out the window?”

  Nathan, Gresham and Sally all turned to stare out of the window. The view from the window allowed them to see right across the lake, where the silhouette of Harrison stood, waving.

  “That’s Harrison, waving over there.” Blake added. “In case, anybody was wondering. And yes, that really is Harrison. Now, Sally – would you mind closing the curtains to the window?”

  Sally did as she was told. After pulling the curtains across, so that the view of Harrison was blocked, she returned to her seat. All the time, Blake did not move from behind the mini bar, he just looked at Polly inquisitively. “How long does it take, Polly? Roughly? I’ve not done it before, I’m sort of improvising here, you see.”

  Polly didn’t answer. She remained as silent as Patricia, who was just sat placidly in the wheelchair, taking in everything that was being said and done as if she was watching a documentary on television.