DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crime Thrillers: Books 1-3

by Oliver Davies

  “But everything went as usual?”

  “Clockwork. We are all out by what, half twelve?” They looked at Robbie.

  “I’d say so,” he confirmed. “It was my turn to drive.”

  “What time did you see them down by the study, Nadia?” I asked her.

  She pulled at the end of her sleeve, on a loose bit of thread. “It was around eleven? Around that time, that girl got carried off. Who was that?”

  “One of the guests had a bit too much, and her brother had to intervene.” The older woman sounded somewhat disapproving.

  I nodded. “And did you see anyone around there? Down any of the other halls?”

  She thought for a moment, pursing her lips. “The butler was around,” she said eventually. “Sort of down by the kitchens, you know? I think they keep wine down there.”

  “In the cellar?”

  “Well, I didn’t go down,” she said quickly, defensively.

  “Where was the van parked last night? Surely it would be in the way around here?”

  “Oh, aye. We usually park round the back.” Robbie pointed to the other side of the house. “There’s a little yard out there. Keeps us out of the way of the other cars that were coming in.”

  “How many of you were out there? Around eleven?” I asked, leaning on my knees.

  “There was me,” Will pointed to himself, “Nadia, Farah,” he pointed to another girl, a colourful scarf draped around her head, “Luca,” the lad beside him, the one with the thick accent raised his hand, “and Sam. But Sam’s not here this morning. Hospital appointment.”

  “Did any of you see anyone else coming out into the yard? Any of the guests or the permanent staff in the house?”

  “Don’t think so. We are all a bit focused on Nadia, truth be told,” Luca said, “wanted to make sure she was alright.” He nudged her with her shoulder, and she smiled gratefully.

  “Not anywhere to go from there, anyway,” Farah added, “except the garages, or you just end up in the grounds.”

  “No one at all?” Mills asked, a little desperately.

  “We have reason to think that the thief left the house through the cellars,” I told them. “They’d have come through the yard.”

  The four of them look startled, heads popping up to stare at me, Will’s cigarette hanging from his mouth.

  “When we were out there?” he asked.

  “If it was around eleven, possibly.”

  Luca let out a curse that earned him a light smack over the head from Robbie,

  “Apologies for my grandson, inspector.”

  I smiled. “An understandable word for the circumstances.”

  “It was quite dark by then,” Farah said. “There are no lights out there. The family haven’t gotten them fixed, since they never go out that way.”

  A lucky break from the thief, or something they already knew?

  “Was it a big painting?” the older woman asked.

  “Moderately sized.”

  “I’m sorry,” Will looked up at us, his expression genuine. “Should have paid more attention.”

  “You were there for a break,” I assured him, not letting my annoyance show, “not to keep watch on the property.”

  “Doesn’t help our case,” Luca said, “that they think it was us who took it.”

  “If we can clear your alibis, all should be well. Can you confirm any of these times we’ve been discussing?” I asked.

  “Nadia came out around eleven,” Farah said surely. “We had the radio on, remember, and it was around the newsbeat? So, half eleven, maybe?”

  “And before then?”

  “We were inside,” the older woman told us. “Two of us in each of the main rooms with Maria circulating between us. Hurts your feet,” she kicked her legs out, “but it’s not bad work.”

  “What about the people down the hallway?” Mills asked Nadia. “Did you hear any of their names?”

  “Just the boy,” she said, “the others called him Humphrey.”

  I made a mental note to check our guest list for Humphrey and refrained from letting out a groan. They were all down there at the right time, someone must have seen something, and yet the only other person Nadia saw down that side of the house was the butler. It wasn’t adding up right, none of it was.

  “The rest of you should get back to work,” I told them, rubbing my hand over the face. “Nadia, if you don’t mind talking to us a bit longer?”

  She shook her head, climbing up from the floor as the others all got back to work and walked towards us, leaning against the wall of the house.

  “When you were down in the hallway,” I began, “was there anything coming from the study? Any noise, a light on underneath the door?”

  “No light,” she said surely. “I don’t think I heard anything, but the music was so loud, it was hard to tell.”

  “Do you know if there was anyone around after you left? Did you hear a door open? See anyone?”

  “The only person I saw before going outside was the butler, down by the kitchens.”

  “How did you get out into the yard?” Mills asked abruptly. “Did you use the front door?”

  “No,” she folded her arms around herself, “there’s a door sort of to the side. I think they call it the boot room. We came through there. Goes onto the drive, then just round the corner to the yard.”

  “Were you close to the kitchens out there? Could you see that door?”

  “Not really. We were parked further up,” she said, “more towards the boot room.”

  “And when you saw the butler,” I asked, “what was he doing?”

  “Couldn’t really tell,” she answered doubtfully. “Tidying, I think. What do butlers even actually do?”

  “Was he carrying anything?”

  “He had his back to me, but he was a bit hunched over. I thought he might have just been a bit tired. Long days, he must work. Especially when there’s a party going on in the evening.”

  “So, he didn’t see you?”

  “Not that I know of. Sort of hurried away, I think he was busy.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “Down that hallway, to the kitchen.”

  “And these people in the hallway,” I brought us back round to them, “how did they seem?”

  “Rich, drunk young people,” she lifted one shoulder in a shrug, “lounging about like they owned the place, giving us more work. Laughing a lot like they had an inside joke. I didn’t like them,” she said abruptly, firmly. “I didn’t like being around them.”

  “Made you feel on edge?”

  She nodded, tightening her grip around herself.

  “Well, Nadia. I’m going to give my card to Ms Russo. So, if there’s anything you think of, anything you remember, feel free to call, alright?”

  “Alright.” She gave a shrewd smile and headed over the others, getting a comforting arm draped around her shoulder by Will.

  I turned to Mills, who looked as mixed up as I felt. “What was it you said about Agatha Christie?”

  Six

  Thatcher

  As we headed back round to the front of the house, the butler was waiting, hands folded patiently behind his back. He had a face that somehow both kind, and yet extremely stern. I imagined that for the children growing up here, he was the man who helped when you fell over and skinned your knee, and also the only person you didn’t want to catch you stealing treats from the kitchen or messing up the furniture.

  “Detective Inspector Thatcher,” he greeted me, “Lord Hocking has returned. I’ve been asked to take you to the gardens.”

  “Thank you. Mills,” I turned to him, “go in and have a chat with some of the permanent staff, the cook and the maids. See if there’s anything they know.” Or suspect, I hoped my tone of voice conveyed. Mills nodded, casting a wary look in the direction of the butler as he turned and led me through the front doors, down the winding halls.

  “I hear you’ve worked for the family for some years,” I said c
asually, looking at his greying hair.

  “Since Master Henry was a child,” he informed me proudly, “and since Rupert and Rose were born.”

  “Must be difficult for them to get by without you.”

  “They are rarely without me, sir.” His voice was toneless, hard to read.

  “And your father before you,” I recalled.

  “Indeed.”

  “Though I hear,” I stated carefully, watching him closely, “that your daughter is not likely to take over the post.”

  His face didn’t change, didn’t shift from the impassive, stoic, professional face he must have plastered on from dawn to dusk.

  “I don’t plan on retiring for some time yet,” he eventually said.

  “Still, a shame to have such a rare, loyal kinship come to an end.”

  “Time’s change,” he replied coolly.

  “They certainly do. Must be a lot of work,” I remarked as we walked through the dining room, the table still littered with silverware and half-burned candles. “Cleaning up after a party like this.”

  “We have gotten used to it, sir. A system has been developed.”

  “What do you do yourself? Whilst it’s all kicking off?”

  “Whatever I am needed to do. Last night,” he said, finally looking at me with an unreadable, blank face, “it was mostly ensuring that nothing got broken, or destroyed.”

  “Or stolen?”

  A slight twitch between those bushy eyebrows, annoyance. “Lord Hocking is very adamant on handling his study himself. He lets few people in except for Lady Hocking, myself, the cook and the maids; and only,” he added as an afterthought, “if they’re bringing tea with them.”

  “He has the only key?”

  “He does.”

  “Seems risky. Only having one key for a room with so much importance.”

  “It’s not my place to question Lord Hocking,” he stated in a tone of voice that led to believe it wasn’t my place either. Though, given my job description, it was exactly my job.

  “Were any other place off-limits to the guests?” I asked, and he came to a stop by a set of doors. “The kitchen, cellars?”

  “The private rooms were off-limits, but not locked. Some of the bedrooms were, mostly the children’s rooms. And I can’t think why any of them would want to go down into the cellars or the kitchen.”

  “Did you go down there?”

  “Of course,” he opened the doors, “it’s where Lady Hocking’s favourite wine is stored.” He walked away dismissively, leading me into a large glass room that led out into the gardens.

  A man was strolling along the grass in a long coat, a hat pulled down over his ears and hands linked behind his back. The butler fixed his jacket, squared his shoulders and led me from the room, down the steps towards the man, who looked up as we joined him and smiled.

  “Ah, Dennis. Is this he?”

  “Detective Inspector Thatcher, sir. Inspector Thatcher,” he addressed me, “Lord Hocking.”

  We shook hands, and the butler, looking somewhat reluctant, headed back inside to continue with the mammoth task of cleaning up.

  “It’s good to meet you, sir,” I told him. “I’m sorry for the circumstances.”

  He shook his head and began pacing up and down the grass once more. I joined him, sticking my hands in my pockets. “A favourite of mine, that painting,” he told me as we walked. “Had it since I was a young man.”

  “You didn’t inherit it with the rest of the house?”

  “Not that one. Picked it myself, I did. You will be able to get it back, won’t you?” he asked, peering around at me.

  “I sincerely hope so, sir.”

  “Good man. Now, you have questions?”

  “We’re trying to figure out the window of time that this happened, it might help to narrow down who was where. We understand from your wife that you locked the door to your study at around seven in the evening, and that everything was as normal?”

  “Completely normal,” he confirmed. “I had spent an hour or so in there, a little alone time before everyone arrived.”

  “And you didn’t go into the room again until this morning?”

  “I did not.”

  “Your butler tells me that there is only one key, and that it remains in your possession?”

  He patted his pocket. “Always,” he said with a wink.

  “Lord Hocking,” I began, “given the fact the thief in question broke into your study and stole a very personal painting from your collection, my suspicion is that this is a personal attack. Not anything to do with profit.”

  “I quite agree,” he cuffed my shoulder good naturedly. “They could have stolen all sorts from that house, and I’d never had noticed it was missing. Some of the older rooms in the attic and such. Not in our own rooms.”

  “Your son tells me you’re quite the stickler when it comes to belongings.”

  His eyes narrowed, a brow rising. “Which son?”

  “Rupert.”

  “Made a quip about lightbulbs, did he?” He laughed. “Some things still fall under even my very impressive radar, Inspector, I’m sure that’s something you might understand.”

  “I do indeed.”

  “A personal affront then?” He puffed out his chest. “Makes sense. A random criminal would have stolen something bigger, wouldn’t they? Not my measly little landscape.”

  “Someone who knows the emotional value of the piece. Is there anyone, Lord Hocking,” I came to a stop, and he followed suit, “anyone who would want to harm you in this way?”

  “Not that I can think of, my boy.”

  I scratched my jaw. Either the thief was going to sell the piece or use it to get something else from the ruddy-faced Lord. Families had personal effects; families had secrets. This man, Lord of the land, patriarch over the lot of them, would be the one to know. Perhaps what he knew, his butler did too.

  “I noticed that amongst the family portraits,” I said hesitantly, joining him in walking once more, “that there was something of a leap. It went from, I presume your parents, to you recently with your own children.”

  He gave a low hum.

  “It looks as though a generation has almost been skipped,” I trailed off.

  “Getting children to sit for a painting is a very difficult business, Inspector. Do you have any children?” he asked me suddenly.

  “No,” I replied, nor did I have many plans to, not that I would tell Elsie that. She’d thump me over the head with a spoon.

  “Can be a challenge, especially when you have a few. Siblings.” He shook his head and tutted. “Always squabbling. Especially my boys,” he added, “Henry and Rupert. Something about brothers, I believe. They never have an issue with their sister. Have you a brother?”

  “I don’t,” I looked out the fields beyond the wall before us, “but I was very close to a friend growing up. We’ve known each other since we were babies. I think of her as a sister.”

  “And could you ever despise her?”

  “Never,” I said instantly, Sally’s face flashing through my head.

  “Nor I.”

  “You have a sister?”

  I knew, vaguely, that he wasn’t the only son of his late father, but I never did bother to find out how many of them there were. He was the Lord, the one with the house, and the land and the money.

  “I did. Passed away, dear thing, when we were teenagers.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Named Rosie after her,” he told me brightly. “The people we love live on, in some way or another. I’m rambling.” He laughed heartily and patted me on the arm.

  “I’d like to hear more about the house,” I told him, “places such as these often have some good stories.” We stopped, leaning against the tall wall, looking back up the sloping garden to the house. The many windows and pointed roofs leered down over us, glinting in the sunshine.

  “Elizabethan,” he told me, “can’t recall the exact year, mind you. Passed down
generation to generation. And it was used as a hospital during the war, of course.”

  I nodded, most houses like these were.

  “My grandfather left it to my mother,” he surprised me there. “She was an only child, poor dear. And then it came to me.”

  “Was it only you and your sister?” I asked.

  His face seemed to freeze slightly, eyes boring up at the house like a sailor staring at land. Hands still linked behind his back; he took a long, shallow breath through his nose.

  “No,” he said after a long pause, in a calm, toneless voice. I didn’t press. I’d been asking people personal questions long enough now to know when not to press. And there were some things I could find out myself, with a good bit of digging.

  “And the house will go to Henry?” I asked.

  He brightened instantly, turning to me with a grin. “That it will. The boy is more than ready for it. Already now he handles most of the business with the tenants, and the staff in fact.” He gave another hearty chuckle. “Almost puts Dennis out of business with his efficiency.”

  “Oh?”

  “Of course, I’d be lost without Dennis,” he added. “He’s as dear a friend to me as any.”

  “What will you do when he retires? I understand he has a daughter.”

  “Camilla,” he sighed, “lovely girl. As smart as her old man is, of course. We’ve known her since she was born. My wife, though, doesn’t seem terribly keen at the thought of having her to be a butler.”

  “Call her a housekeeper,” I shrugged.

  Lord Hocking laughed again. “Good man! Why not, eh? Now, back to business. My painting.”

  “We’ll be keeping an eye on the market, if anyone tries to sell it, we should be able to catch it before they do. It’s usually the way we go about situations like this,” I said.

  “But?” He caught onto my tone.

  “But if this is a personal matter, it may be that they have other plans in mind. Lord Hocking,” I turned to him seriously, “it would be my advice to tread very carefully for a while. Keep the family close, ensure that all your security is running.”

  “Heavens, man. You think so?”

  “Purely precautionary, sir. But I’d rather give that advice than none at all.”