DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crime Thrillers: Books 1-3

by Oliver Davies

  “What about the Hocking children?” he asked. “What we talked about before? Them learning about Selene and Sebastian. Maybe they took the painting to find what could be a shred of proof. And now they want revenge for being lied to.”

  “Speculation,” I murmured. “Until we know what was so special about that painting to Selene, it’s all we have. But it might be worth going back to the estate, seeing if anyone has anything more they’d like to offer about what happened back then or since.” Since Maud had stayed in contact with Selene, had helped her with Sebastian, maybe somebody else did too, and wanted to help look after her in any way they could.

  “Should we bring up Sebastian to the other children?” Mills asked hesitantly. “Try to gauge their reaction?”

  “If they don’t know, we’d be throwing a bit of a grenade into the family,” I pointed out.

  “But if they already know…?” Mills trailed off suggestively. “It might help. Once the secret is out there, they might be more willing to talk about it.”

  “Leave it for now,” I told him. “We’ll go over it again tomorrow at the station with Sharp. For now, get some rest. Enjoy your evening.”

  “Will do, sir. How did you guess about something being inside the frame?” Mills asked suddenly. “It’s brilliant, I wouldn’t have thought of it.”

  “I’ve seen it before,” I told him, slightly annoyed that it had taken me this long to consider it. I looked at the photograph in front of me on the table. “Good night, Mills.”

  “Good night, sir.”

  Eighteen

  Thatcher

  It was raining again, dribbling from the sky like sweat down a middle-aged man’s back. The sort of rain that didn’t really get you wet or leave puddles, just left everything slightly damp and sticky. Humid; the worst kind of rain. Meant that storms were due though, Dr Crowe always reminded me on days like this.

  Mills and I headed into the station early, hoping to catch Sharp before she was greeted by the usual torrent of messages and emails that greeted her every morning and ruined her otherwise, not unfriendly, temper. I liked the city at this hour, when everything was slowly waking up, only a few stragglers on the roads, making the most of light traffic and empty pavements. The sunlight was faint through the clouds, but there was enough of it to keep away a chill.

  “Have you thought much more about Sebastian, sir?” Mills asked as we drove.

  “About telling the family about him?” Mills nodded. “I have.” Reluctantly. “We can’t be tiptoeing around this, not if he’s as involved as we think, and certainly not given how much his mother is.” I breathed in deeply, staring out at the passing buildings. “Though I will be sorry to mess up the family like this.”

  “You’re not messing anything up, sir,” Mills replied, sounding surprised. “It’s Lord Hocking and his brother who messed up the family. All you’re doing is telling the truth they should have told years ago.”

  I regarded him, my hand curled under my chin. “You’re awfully moral for someone who studied politics at university.”

  He laughed at that, stopping to let an old man cross the road. “Suppose that’s why I never stuck with it then.”

  “Good,” I told him, “else I’d be stuck with some other sergeant.”

  Mills would have been wasted in politics, maybe he was even wasted here. That brain worked quickly, I envied it at times, but the heart of the man was even better, he wasn’t just here to solve puzzles, not like the rest of us.

  “So, what’s our next approach?” he asked, looking chuffed with the compliment.

  “Give Sharp a rundown,” I answered, “and head back out to the estate. I want to talk to the family and the staff, this time very specifically about Selene and her son. And let’s see if there are any other works of art in that house that she was partial to.”

  “Sir?”

  “Perhaps,” I had been mulling over this last night, “the reason nothing has happened with the painting is that it’s the wrong one.”

  “The wrong one?”

  “They didn’t know for sure where Selene might have left her letter,” if indeed she did, I left unsaid. “Maybe they took the wrong one?”

  “If that’s the case,” Mills added, “they’ll likely be back.”

  “They already came back,” I reminded him, “only we were there. Weren’t we?”

  “That painting,” Mills started piecing together aloud, “was Lord Hocking’s favourite. But if she wanted to leave a message for Richard Sandow, surely she’d have put it somewhere he would have found it.”

  I turned and looked at him. “You’re quite brilliant sometimes, Mills, especially given the early hour.”

  He grinned. “I woke up early sir. I’ve had time to think.”

  “Then in that case, we’ll be needing a little inventory of the paintings in that house. I want to know which ones are favoured by which family members.”

  “Would Richard Sandow have not simply taken his favourite painting?”

  “I doubt he’d have been allowed,” I pointed out, “places like those have rules. And I’d like to think that if he had, he’d have known about Sebastian by now.”

  “Not if he never swapped the frame.”

  Yes, that was something. They would have had to have had some clue from Selene that she would leave something behind, if she had. We were pinning a lot on this little theory but, and I intended to make as much clear to Sharp when we saw her, I felt right about it. We were on the right path. I knew it, could feel it in my gut.

  We arrived to a fairly quiet station, only a few tired faces milling around in the pale morning light. I headed straight upstairs, flicking on the kettle and dug out a travel mug. Mills followed me, leaning against the fridge.

  “Tea?” I offered.

  “I’m alright, sir, had three this morning already.”

  I shook my head with a smirk, made my tea and walked back to our office to look hopefully at our board whilst we waited for Sharp to appear.

  Our timeline had formed and grown. It now spanned the past few decades, from the death of Rosemary Hocking, to Richard’s quitting of the estate, Sebastian’s birth, Selene’s death. The timeline of the evening itself remained full of gaps, but there was little use I could really imagine it having. Other than the arrival and departure of the guests and the staff, nobody’s memories of the night were clear or promising enough to pin any one person down on. What I wanted to figure out was who, not so much as when.

  “Might it be worth starting with Lord Hocking?” Mills suggested. “Let him know what we have learnt about Sebastian first? Give him a chance to elaborate before going to the family?”

  “We can try,” I allowed, “but at this point in time all this beating around the bush is wasting time and my patience.”

  “And a very precious resource it is.”

  “Let me handle the family,” I told him, taking a gulp of tea. “I want to start off down this painting route of yours. Talk to Maud, she seems to know Selene the best. Find out what other paintings in that place Selene was fond of, or any that Richard favoured.”

  Mills nodded, and at the same leant back in his chair, peering out the open door, “Sharp’s here.”

  I pushed myself up and skirted around him to the doorway, jogging after her as she made her way smartly to her office.

  “Morning, ma’am,” I greeted her cheerfully. She glanced round, an eyebrow flicking up in surprise,

  “You’re chirpy this morning,” she said, opening her door and piling in. She took her coat off, shaking off the scant trickle of rain and passed it to me to hang on the stand in the corner and leant on her desk. “Well?”

  Her face didn’t change as I filled her in. For those unfamiliar with our own dear Superintendent, it was hard to know what she thought of you, or your plans. Her face revealed nothing. But I watched her as I spoke, and noted the slight quirk of her mouth, the angle of her head. She liked my plan, that was relief. Half of my troubles in life were conv
incing Sharp to trust my plans.

  “You’re pinning a lot on this,” she told me when I finished, her arms folded across her chest, “on this hidden message in the back of frame business.”

  “I know.”

  “Why?”

  “I can’t imagine Selene wouldn’t have made some effort to tell Sebastian’s father about him,” I replied. “Even if the chance might be that they never found it, she did something. The opportunity was there. And I can’t think why else anyone would take the painting, if not to sell it. Proof that Lord Hocking or his brother have an illegitimate child from a woman who was quite poorly treated by the family could land them a hell of a lot more money than just the painting alone.”

  “Vindicta,” Sharp muttered. “You think this whole thing is about Selene?”

  “I do.”

  She cocked her head to one side. “And yet you don’t suspect Sebastian himself as being the driving force behind this? If anyone wanted revenge for Selene, surely it would be him?”

  “That’s a fair idea,” I told her, “and not one I’ve completely disregarded. But there were plenty of people in that house who cared about her. Maud, for one.” Maybe even the butler, I had begun to think. A young girl, probably not far from his own daughter in age, in a great big house. Maybe he took her under his wing.

  “So, your plan of action?” she asked, walking around her desk to sit herself down, dragging her hair back from her face and clipping it up.

  “Head back to the house, open up this whole Sebastian business properly, and see if there any other paintings that might have drawn out thieves back to the house the other day.”

  She nodded, her fingers steepled beneath her chin. “Solid. Do us a favour before you go?”

  “Ma’am?”

  “Fetch me a coffee, will you?”

  I looked at the shadows under her eyes and smiled. “Late night?”

  “Have you ever had an eleven-year-old vomiting all through the night?”

  “Can’t say I have.”

  “Coffee,” she ordered, “then be on your merry way.”

  I bowed to her, shuffling from the room and headed over to the kitchen. Mills joined me just as I left her office again, even gave her a few biscuits for good measure, and we trundled out of the station to his car.

  “She on board with everything?” Mills asked as he started up the car.

  “More or less,” I answered, “but if we don’t start to wrap this up soon, she’ll start breathing fire. I don’t doubt HQ have already been on the bell this morning.”

  Mills let out an annoyed breath between his teeth. “As if they could do it any faster.”

  “It’s a competitive world we live in, Mills,” I answered, sipping at my tea.

  “I called ahead,” he told me, “whilst you spoke to Sharp. Told the family we’d be coming in, just to make sure that they were all actually there and staying put.”

  “Good. Henry?”

  “Is in. Only Eloise will be out, taking the children to some baby reading group or something at the local library.”

  I nodded. I sometimes preferred the element of surprise, but in this case, Mills was right. We needed them all there.

  The house looked somewhat dismal when we arrived. The thin sheet of rain fell around it gloomily, leaving it damp and cold looking. The rain seeped into the sandstone, turning it grey, and the windows looked miserably out onto the path.

  As we pulled up in front of the stairs, Dennis opened the front door, hovering under the alcove as we jogged from the car and up into the house.

  “Inspector, sergeant,” he greeted us, shutting the door behind us with a loud, firm clanging. The foyer was empty, the lights not on and with the surrounding rain it was grey and not unlike a Bronte novel. All we needed was a mad man in a long coat and dog.

  “The family are all in the living room,” Dennis informed me, no doubt with a nice burning fire to keep the chill out.

  “Thank you,” I offered, shrugging my damp coat off. “I wondered if Mills here might have another audience with yourself and some of the maids? We have a few questions about Selene Whitlock.”

  Dennis looked surprised, his white bushy brows going up into his white bushy hair. “Certainly,” he answered quickly, “please follow me, sergeant.”

  Mills gave me a tight-lipped smile and strolled after the butler, leaving his coat behind. I hung mine up and rolled my shoulders back, gritting myself up for this particular encounter. I walked into the hallways until I could hear the noise of the family. They were, as suspected, huddled around the fireplace, scattered on the sofas and chairs. Rose sat crossed legged on a large floor pillow by her father’s knees. The visitors were not present, I was happy to see.

  “Inspector,” Lord Hocking rose as I walked in, offering me a hand to shake.

  “Lord Hocking. Everyone, thank you for this.”

  “Have you found our painting, Inspector?” Lady Hocking asked as I sat myself down on an old wooden chair.

  “Not yet, Lady Hocking. But we’re making fast work on figuring out who might have taken it. There is something, delicate, that I have to discuss with you on that front.” I looked at Lord Hocking, who was quick to catch onto my meaning and shook his head.

  “Must you?”

  “If you want to have your painting returned, Lord Hocking, then yes.”

  He waved a hand, a little pompously. “Oh, let them have it!”

  “Darling!” his wife objected.

  “Let them! It’s hardly worth all this, is it?”

  “What is it?” Rose Hocking asked. Her father looked down at her, but it was me her attention was fixed on. “What do you know?”

  “There was a maid who worked here,” I began, and Lord Hocking deflated slowly in his chair, “back before any of you were born.”

  “Selene,” Lady Hocking quickly snapped. “Is this about her?” she demanded of her husband.

  He gave a slow, solemn nod, his hand finding Rose’s. She clung on to him but kept her gaze on me.

  “Who’s Selene?” Rupert drawled from where he sat, legs spread akimbo before the fire.

  “The girl father loved before he met mother,” Henry replied quietly. The family and I all looked to him.

  “You knew?” Lord Hocking asked.

  Henry looked offended. “I’m not an idiot.”

  “Father was in love with someone else?” Rupert asked.

  “Most people have more than one girlfriend, Rupes,” Rose pointed out. “You should know.”

  “Well, what happened to her?” he asked.

  “She left the house,” Lord Hocking told them, “and I met your mother.” He sent her a loving look which she half-heartedly returned.

  “Well, then,” Rupert asked, “what’s she got to do with all of this?”

  “She is the reason your uncle Richard left,” Lady Hocking told them. I was pleased that she was taking over, this really wasn’t a comfortable situation for me to be in.

  “Why?” Rose asked.

  “He loved her too.”

  “Eugh,” Rupert looked disgusted, “you shared her?”

  “Rupert!”

  “I’m sorry, mama, but really? You and Uncle Richard fell out over a girl?”

  “It’s more complicated than that,” Lord Hocking snapped, and at this, his wife looked surprised.

  “How so?” Lady Hocking asked.

  “Selene Whitlock had a child,” I told them quietly, “only she never made it known who the father was.”

  There was a brief pause, a lull in the room that was peaceful. And then all hell broke loose. The siblings were shouting over one another, Lady Hocking too, all of them at Lord Hocking who waved his hand a few times and stood up, looking at me.

  “We never knew whose the child was. Never even knew who the child was.”

  “His name is Sebastian,” I told him, “and he has very little interest in any of this.” I waved my hand around the room. “But it’s my belief that is someone were awa
re of his existence and his relation to you, they might use that information against you.”

  “You’ve met him?” Lord Hocking asked.

  “I have.”

  “A child?” Lady Hocking leant back into the sofa; her hands twisted together. Henry pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes pinched shut. It complicated things, if Sebastian was older than he was, and from the look on his face I’d wager he was thinking just that.

  “Blackmail,” Rose muttered, her eyes flicked once to her oldest brother.

  I nodded.

  “How would they know?” she asked.

  “It’s my suspicion that Selene left some confirmation. Somewhere important, where it was likely you might find it.”

  “In the painting?” Rupert realised. Smart boy, I noted, smarter than he let on.

  I nodded. “Only, we’re not entirely sure which one.”

  Right on cue, Mills appeared in the living room. He looked at the faces of the family with a small wince and turned to me. “The art that Richard Sandow liked best is down in the cellars.”

  “In storage,” Lord Hocking supplied. He looked pale, slightly sick, but was still standing proud. “You think they took the wrong painting?”

  “It’s possible. If they picked the wrong brother.” I turned to Lady Hocking. “May we search the cellars?”

  She nodded, looking rather faint and Rupert shuffled himself across the sofa to wrap an arm around her. She leant into his side.

  “By all means, Inspector. Put this nasty business to an end.”

  Nineteen

  Mills

  I left Thatcher to meet the family. I knew he was doing it on purpose, shouldering the brutal force of such a conversation, but there would be little I could do to persuade him otherwise even if I wanted to. Which in complete honesty, I didn’t. Dennis, who had happily perked up at the mention of Selene led me down to the warm kitchen where the maids were already gathered, sitting around with a pot of tea between them, Daria ironing in the corner.

  “Ladies,” Dennis greeted them as we strolled in, “Sergeant Mills here has a few more questions for us. I fear Lara might not be able to help. She hasn’t been here long.”