But there was a bush in the middle of the lawn. Not a big one. Maybe big enough.
I dived behind it just as the Porsche came up the drive, accelerating then braking into a skid-stop just outside the door.
I scrambled to keep myself behind the bush, and peeped round the edge just in time to see Carr opening the front door and disappearing inside. I could hear him though, shouting for his uncle.
How long would that conversation last, I wondered?
“Where is she?”
“Just left!”
It might be that quick and then he’d be out again and after me.
I was already running again when I thought that. Sprinting flat out for the gate at a speed I hadn’t attained since my last school sports day. Perhaps not even then.
Out on the road again, and Macrae had his car turned round and parked opposite the drive so that I could dive straight into the open door, phone still clutched in one hand and painting in the other.
He was already accelerating down the road as I managed to get myself properly into the seat and fumbled for the belt.
“Well, that was exciting,” he said calmly.
“What… happened?” I asked between pants. “I thought… we had… more time?”
“So did I. But according to my DC, Carr had some sort of message on his phone. He just looked at it and left in a hurry.”
“A message? Sir Arthur didn’t make any calls.”
“Not while you were there, perhaps. But he could have called before he let you in. Or it might have been an automatic notification from the intercom. And perhaps he had a link to his CCTV as well.”
I lay back in the seat and shut my eyes. “Whatever. Too close.”
“Yes. Sorry. But it’s good to get the adrenaline flowing now and then! Let’s you know you’re alive, right?”
I opened one eye and looked at him. “Next time I want to know if I’m alive, I’ll go and see my doctor!”
He took the direct route back into town, and drove fast, so that by the time I had all my breath back and my nerves in order he was pulling into the police car park.
“So, did we get anything useful from that wee exercise?” he asked as we came to a stop.
“That ‘wee exercise’ was a lot more exercise than I’ve had in a long time, and not at all welcome either,” I told him. “But yes, we may have something from that.”
I related the full story to him. He was a good listener, keeping focused on what I was saying without any interruptions.
Finally, when I’d finished, he put in a question. “So have you any idea what he saw in the picture that caused such a reaction?”
I shook my head. “We were talking about artists’ signatures. I thought he must have seen something like that, but I’ve checked and checked that painting, and I’ll swear on a Bible that there’s no signature there. I don’t think there was one on the other painting either. I’ll take a closer look at the images I recorded, though.”
“Aye, do that. And if you could Bluetooth those pictures to me now?”
We got out our phones and made the transfer.
“I suppose this counts as another of those coincidences you don’t like? I mean, myself and Sir Arthur both getting these pictures and at about the same time.”
“This goes way beyond coincidence.” Macrae was staring out of the windscreen, frowning and drumming his fingers on the dashboard. “I’m wondering if he recognized the location of your picture.”
“Possibly. I didn’t have time to dig into that, and I hadn’t actually told him where it was. But if he did know the place – and what happened there – then that would explain his reaction.”
“Back when you were chasing this yourself, Sandra, did you ever make a link to Coren Hall?”
“In my mind I did. Well, it was an obvious jump to make. Unidentified teenager found dead within a mile or two of a school and home for orphans? Of course I considered a link. But – as you probably know – the police investigation discounted that. All the Coren Hall pupils were safe and accounted for. No one from the school had ever been near the farmhouse. Didn’t even know it existed.” I sighed, remembering past frustrations. “Of course, I tried to check that out for myself. I was allowed one interview with a member of staff, who called himself Mr Hargrove. Deputy head. By telephone. All he did was confirm what the police had said. No further information. No other questions allowed. No contact with pupils allowed. No visits allowed. I went out there, couldn’t get past the gate. Short of breaking and entering, I couldn’t go any further.”
“How often did you think of doing that?”
I gave him a sharp look; he gave me a poker face, but with a twinkle in his eye.
“About as often as you would have, I suppose! But Graham talked me out of actually doing it. So in the end I just had to accept the police account.”
“As a police officer, I must advise against any criminal activity on your part, Mrs Deeson, however good the motive, and commend your husband on his good advice. But as David to Sandra, you might be interested to know that the farmhouse was originally part of the Coren Hall estate. So was most of the land around there – including all that is now Coren Hall Village.”
“That’s interesting. And who actually owns it? The Hall, the farmhouse, the land?”
“Ah, now that’s a very good question. But not an easy one to answer. There’s a note in the file from the original investigation about joint ownership, but no details. And so far, all I’ve been able to discover is that there’s a company called ‘Coren Hall Estates’ that holds the paperwork for it all. But the names behind that are elusive. The real names, that is.”
“You’ll let me know what you find?”
“As much as I can.” He caught the look I gave him, and sighed. “You understand that DI Macrae has to operate within the constraints of his job, and that David Macrae has to respect that?”
“A bit late to be playing that card, isn’t it? Well, I appreciate you have to be careful, but keep me in the loop, OK? You owe me that much.”
He nodded. “I do indeed. And I want you in the loop anyway. Unless I’m very wrong about all this, you’ve been part of this story from the beginning, and my gut tells me that you need to be in it to the end.”
“Thanks. I think.” I shook my head. “I am part of it. I wish I wasn’t. I wish I’d left it alone thirty years ago. I wish I could leave it now. But I can’t. I can’t stop caring about who these people were, about why they died. I know I care too much. But I can’t help it.”
I opened the door and began to climb out, but was stopped by his hand on my arm. “Sandra – I don’t think you can care too much.”
I looked back at him. “You don’t know what it cost me,” I said, and got out.
My plans for a frank and open discussion with Graham needed some serious revision after the morning’s adventure. I wasn’t sure how to tell him that I’d gone right back to where I was before we were married. And besides, I had left Yvonne coping with things at the library, which wasn’t very fair on her. So I decided to let the problem stew in my subconscious for a while and went back to my day job, stopping on the way to pick up some takeaway lunch as a peace offering.
There was a large white van parked outside when I arrived, with Yvonne sitting in her car a few spaces behind it. I parked in the nearest gap, waved, and went over to join her.
“So how was the dishy DI, and what do I tell Graham if he asks? And I hope that pizza’s for me. I’m starving.”
“It’s for sharing,” I told her. “And there’s something chocolaty for dessert, providing you say nothing to Graham.”
“Deal.” We sat and munched on a deep pan spicy meat feast while watching anonymous figures in all-enveloping white suits going in and out, carrying various unidentified items.
“They’ve got more equipment than the CSIs had,” I commented after a while. “And better suits.”
Yvonne nodded. “When they started going into the van and coming ou
t dressed like that, I asked where their spaceship was and if this was an invasion. But they didn’t seem very amused. Probably heard it before.”
“Probably, and it wasn’t very good the first time. Did they say when they’ll be finished?”
“Hopefully by about five tonight, they think. I was going to leave them to it and come back, but they’ve got some company policy about having a member of staff on hand.”
“Oh, yes. I think there was something about that in the small print. Sorry, I’d have gone for a different company if that had registered.”
“Not to worry. I’m treating it as a quiet day at work and catching up on some reading. We should be OK to go back in tomorrow morning and get the place opened up again.”
“Are those paintings still there?”
“No. The chairman – what’s his name, Ferrers-Manton? Anyway, he turned up with some of the other members this morning so it’s a good thing I was stuck here. They’ve arranged an alternative venue for their exhibition. Guild Hall, I think he said. So they took everything down there. I say they, but he didn’t do much. Stood around for a while telling everyone else what to do. Talked a bit about the investigation, sort of trying to imply that he was helping out the police, but also asking questions about what was happening – just like Carr did – so I don’t think he really knew much. Then he announced he had an important meeting at Central Police Station and would have to leave them to it. I don’t think anyone cheered, but there was relief all round when he left.” She gave me an appraising look. “This meeting at Central Police Station – that wasn’t anything to do with you, was it?”
“No, not really.” I wasn’t going to tell Yvonne about the morning – certainly not before I’d talked to Graham. And perhaps not then – she knew my past history almost as well as he did and would be even quicker to set me right about digging up the past. “Macrae just wanted to bring me up to date with a few things, that’s all.”
“I see. And that mud on your face: was that part of the dating – sorry, updating! – process?”
“What mud?”
I pulled down the sun visor and looked in the mirror. There was indeed a big dirty streak along my cheek. And, when I looked, another one on the sleeve of my coat – in about the same position as the sore spot that I was starting to become aware of. All legacies of my dive behind the bush, I realized. I hadn’t even noticed before – though it did explain the strange looks I’d got in the pizza shop.
“Oh, that mud,” I answered myself. “It’s nothing. I fell over.”
Yvonne raised an eyebrow. “And when you weren’t falling over DI Macrae, did he tell you anything useful? Like have they heard anything about Emily?”
I winced. “Sorry. I should have told you first.” Except that with everything else that had happened, that had dropped out of my mind. “They’ve found her car, but they don’t think it helps much. It was near Heathrow, Macrae said, but he thinks it might have been dumped there as a distraction. Oh, and he also said I should keep that to myself – so please keep it to yourself, Yvonne.”
She sighed and tossed the empty pizza box into the back of her car. “Bring on the chocolate and my lips are sealed.”
“You’ll find it hard to eat then.”
“I’ll find a way, don’t worry.”
She proceeded to do so. I helped. While we did that, I considered what to do with the rest of the day.
“Yvonne, why don’t you get off home for a bit? I’ll stay here and babysit.”
She considered it. “I don’t suppose you can get into too much trouble just sitting in the car.”
“Trouble? Why would I get into trouble?”
“Says she with mud all over her face!” She fumbled around in the door pocket and produced a packet of wet wipes. “Here, that’ll help with the mud and the chocolate stains.” She fussed over me until I was presentable, then sat back with a serious look on her face. “Tell me honestly, Sandy – how are you? Because with all you’ve been through in the last few days, I don’t think you should be here at all. If you didn’t want to stay at home, you should be jetting off to somewhere sunny.”
“Sweet of you to worry, but I’m doing fine.”
“Are you sure? Because the last time something like this happened, it was pretty devastating, wasn’t it? And that’s the sort of experience no one should have even once in their life, let alone twice.”
There were far too many people who knew about my past. I’d told Yvonne the story years ago – or some of it – and of course, she wouldn’t forget something like that. I certainly wasn’t going to tell her about the connections with recent events.
“It’s not the same at all. Maybe it looks similar, but I’m a different person, the circumstances are different…”
“OK. If you insist. But if you take over here this afternoon, you leave things to me tomorrow. In fact, you should take a few days off. I’ve got it covered.”
I knew that look, and there was no arguing with it. Besides, I could probably make use of the time.
“Oh, all right then. And thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Now get out of my car. If I get going I can still catch the afternoon soaps!”
She drove off, waving, while I was making myself known to the cleaning people and letting them know that the shift had changed. The person in charge, a dour little man who looked as though he’d spent too much of his life cleaning up after other people’s evil, had bad news for me. Bad enough that he pulled down his mask to convey it.
“Sorry to say, but it’s going to be longer than we thought. That superglue’s a b… a bit more difficult to shift than we’d hoped.”
“So what time?”
He scratched at his chin. “Six-ish, I hope. Or perhaps seven?”
“Right. Well, whatever it takes.” I couldn’t do anything about it, anyway.
I phoned Graham, and explained where I was and what I was doing, making no mention of this morning’s adventures, of course.
“Do you want me to come and sit with you?” he asked.
I considered this and was tempted. His solid presence and the warmth of his company would have been very welcome.
But, on the other hand, it would have been very difficult to sit next to him for hours and not talk about everything that was happening. Of course I was going to tell him. But in my own time.
And besides, he was recovering from a heart operation. Had to keep remembering that.
“Thanks, but there’s no point. It’d just be pretty boring for you. I’ll call you later, when I’m finished up. How about we go out to eat tonight? Down to The Plough, perhaps?”
“Sounds good. Call it a date, then. But you will let me know if you need anything, won’t you?”
“Of course I will. Bye now.”
As soon as I’d broken the connection, I regretted it. Without Graham, without Yvonne, without even David Macrae, I felt far too much on my own, and far too vulnerable. The memory of Jonathan Carr storming up the drive returned to me, and with it the thought, “What if he’d seen me? What if I’d been thirty seconds later coming out of that door?”
Of course, Macrae had still been there. Carr couldn’t have actually done anything. And in any case, it was beside the point. He hadn’t seen me.
But of course he had seen me. On the CCTV.
I looked around nervously.
“Pull yourself together, girl!” I said sharply. “If he does turn up, you’ve got a perfectly valid reason for being there, and Sir Arthur will back you up. And he’s not going to do anything, because that would just give David an excuse to go after him.”
Sound logic, I thought. I hoped.
Comforted slightly by my reasoning, I thought over what had happened that morning, trying to be objective about it. What was the link between the two paintings, and what had made such an impact on Sir Arthur?
They were linked by style, and by the timing of the delivery. Both just before the exhibition, though I hadn’t seen it until afterwar
ds.
I remembered the note that had been in with mine, and getting out my phone, I scrolled through the images until I could see it again.
“Dear Sandy, This is a personal gift for you. You’ll understand why when you’ve seen the exhibition paintings. We plan to donate prints from them to the library, once things have quietened down a bit! But we thought that this would be appropriate for you to have. Emily.”
Something had been planned for the exhibition. Something that was going to cause a big sensation – because it would need to “quieten down a bit”. Something that probably involved the dead man and the missing paintings.
And something connected with Sir Arthur, as well.
I looked at the images I’d recorded that morning, searching for clues in Sir Arthur’s painting. Something in his past, perhaps, given that note referring to “memory lane”. Or was it, for some reason, referring to Sir Arthur’s own picture, his own “Memory Lane”?
I wondered where that was. Was there an actual street called Memory Lane?
I tried an online search, but the internet connection was too slow. I’d do better if I could get in the library and connect to the Wi-Fi – or even use the PC there – but there was no sign of the cleaning crew finishing yet.
So, I put that aside for the time being. What else had I learned?
The connection between Coren Hall and the farmhouse was interesting. I hadn’t known that at the time, though it probably wouldn’t have made much difference if I had.
I leaned back, closed my eyes, and thought about the one and only time I’d actually visited the place. Or attempted to.
My attempts to arrange a proper visit over the phone having failed, I decided to go out there and make a nuisance of myself until they let me in and talked to me properly. I’d borrowed Graham’s car – he had a rusty little Mini in those days – and driven myself out. No satnav in those days, of course, but with an old-fashioned map and a bit of luck I’d eventually come across a narrow lane flanked by crumbling stone pillars and a barely legible sign announcing “Coren Hall”. It also had a much newer and more readable sign just above it: “NO UNAUTHORIZED ENTRY. WARNING – GUARD DOGS. TRESPASSERS WILL BE PROSECUTED”.
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