DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crime Thrillers: Books 1-3

by Oliver Davies

  I wasn’t surprised to find out that it was an ancient, rusted thing. This didn’t seem the usual place for the family to come and spend any time. He carefully slid it into the lock, the mechanism clunking loudly, and together, we heaved the door open. Mills must have been leaning against it, because when it opened, he sprawled out into the hallway, head knocking against the stone floor. He groaned, blinking rapidly, eyes unfocused, his skin a bad, almost bluish tinge. Dennis and I hauled him up, draping his arms around our shoulders as we dragged him quickly through the hallway and up the stairs, Rose behind us, clutching the water bottle tightly. We passed a flustered looking Daria in the hall, and I kicked the door aside, easing Mills out into the yard. I settled him on a bench as he gulped down air, slumping forward, resting against his knees. Rose opened the water and passed to me, and I sat beside Mills, pulling him upright as I held the bottle to his face. He took a few gulps, and with my hand against his neck to keep him upright, I could feel his pulse hammering like a bird under my fingers. He leant back against the hedge behind us, eyes closed, taking slow, deep breaths, eyes pinched together.

  “I’ll fetch some ibuprofen,” Dennis told me. “I won’t doubt he’s got a lovely headache to come.”

  “Thank you,” I answered. He gave me a nod and ducked back into the house, passing Rupert on the way. He had Mills’s coat in his hands.

  “I’ve propped the door open,” he told me. “I think he might have found something in there.” He passed his coat over, draping it on the bench beside Mills, who gave a very feeble thumbs-up.

  The siblings exchanged a look and then turned to me.

  “So, it’s true?” Rupert was the one to ask. “We might have a sibling out there? Or a cousin?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he never told us,” Rose muttered.

  “It’s not exactly the thing he would share, is it?” Rupert replied. “’By the way, children, I impregnated a maid before I met your mother and never bothered to care for the child I may have borne. Now, who’s up for some Trivial Pursuit?’ He clapped his hands together, chest puffed out in not a bad impersonation of his father.

  Rose didn’t look impressed, but I smiled.

  “You think that she might have left a clue as to whose the child was?” she asked me.

  “We think so.”

  Mills sat forward with a groan, looking groggily around. “That wasn’t fun,” he croaked.

  “Oxygen deprivation rarely is,” I answered, handing him the water. He took it, taking slow sips.

  “You eat some spinach,” Rupert told him, “lots of iron in spinach.”

  “Noted,” Mills replied, rubbing at his forehead. “Did you go after them?” he asked me, taking a moment to focus his gaze on me.

  “No. I heard the thud, realised they came from wherever you were, and lucky I did,” I clapped him on the shoulder, “else you’d be a little blue shrivel by now.”

  “You can last awhile without oxygen for a few hours,” he pointed out.

  “In a room that size?”

  He shrugged, taking another sip. He looked rather as if he’d just been on an exceptionally fast carousel and very much regretted the fact.

  “Have you met him?” Rose asked quietly. “The child?”

  I nodded.

  “Does he look like us?” Rupert asked.

  “A little. You father and uncle share some strong genes.”

  “Does he want to meet us?” Rose asked.

  “No.” I couldn’t tell if she was disappointed or relieved by that, but Rupert slung an arm around her shoulders.

  “We should probably have this nice chat with mum and dad about all this. And then, Trivial Pursuit.”

  Rose rolled her eyes but gave us a parting smile before wandering back into the house with her brother. I watched them leave and turned to Mills.

  “Did you find something useful?”

  “I think so. Did you?”

  “Might have done.”

  He looked over my shoulder to the door and the cellars beyond. “I’m guessing our robber didn’t. Not if they came back.”

  “They certainly didn’t want you finding it,” I answered, taking in his steadily improving appearance. His skin was turning pink again, his eyes focused, his breathing settled.

  “Let’s find it then.”

  Twenty-Two

  Thatcher

  I offered Mills a hand, hoisting him to his feet. He wobbled slightly, clutching the water bottle in an iron-fisted grip, but he gave me a nod, so I released him. Once I was certain he was steady, I picked up his coat and handed it over.

  We headed back into the house, bumping into Dennis, who offered Mills a sheet of painkillers. He took two with a grateful nod, and the butler accompanied us down into the cellar.

  “Lady Hocking wasn’t sure if the police should be called,” he told us as we walked, “on account of the intruder. But seeing as you’re both already here, I thought it unnecessary.”

  “It might be worth getting a few uniforms out to scour the woods,” I thought aloud, “see if we can’t figure out how they”re getting in and out so easily, but you can leave that to us.”

  Dennis nodded, looking a tad relieved. “You believe it was the same robber?” he asked. “The one from the party?”

  “It currently looks that way.”

  “Why would they come back?”

  “Perhaps whatever they were looking to find in Lord Hocking’s painting wasn’t there,” Mills suggested. “Maybe they stole the wrong thing.”

  “Or maybe they just wanted another go,” I muttered, “make a little more profit.”

  “Has Lord Hocking’s painting been sold?” Dennis asked.

  “Not to our knowledge,” Mills replied. He stopped in the hallway outside the door that Rupert had propped open, this time with a much sturdier looking trunk that left dragged scuff marks all along the pale stone floor. Dennis looked at the marks with a fatigued expression as I ducked into the room. It didn’t look like the youngest Hocking son had moved anything. An open box lay in the middle of the room, a ledger atop it. I picked it up, tucking it under one arm and left, jerking my head to Mills who gratefully backed away from the small room, following me to where I had been, searching through paintings.

  “I’ll make a call about that door,” Dennis muttered, looking worriedly at the heavy contraption.

  “Good. If I had to find a new bagman, I’d be absolutely livid,” I called over my shoulder. I couldn’t see Mills, but I knew what expression would be on his face. Annoyed for being called a bagman, but still a little proud.

  We stopped in the room opposite the portrait of who I had assumed to be Rosemary Hocking.

  “Ah,” Dennis smiled sadly at the young face, “this was painted on her fifteenth birthday. She was a dear little thing, very smart,” he said proudly. “A wonderful singing voice.”

  “You knew her well?”

  “As well as the others,” he answered.

  “Would Selene have known her?”

  “Oh, yes. They got on very well. Selene was good with hair, better than the late Lady Hocking.”

  “She must have been sad when she died.”

  “The whole house was, sir.” He tucked his hands into his pockets, shoulders slumping, the first time I’d witnessed him break posture. “Selene wouldn’t have left long after.”

  “There’s not much of a resemblance between Rosemary and Lord Hocking,” Mills noted.

  “No,” Dennis shook his head, “she favours the other side of the family. As does Rosie, for that matter.”

  I studied the painting, noting the similarity in the pointed chin and high cheekbones. There was something familiar about the girl, but perhaps it was just her resemblance to her niece. I shook my head, the thoughts unhelpful.

  “Why was this painting put into storage?”

  “Lord Hocking’s idea, sir,” Dennis replied. “When the rest of Master Richard’s things were cleared up, as was this. I don’t think he could
look at it without thinking of his brother or Selene.”

  Mills and I exchanged a look.

  “Dennis, might we remove the frame and have a look at the back of the picture?”

  He looked up from Rosemary’s face and blinked. “You think Selene left her little clue here?”

  “Might have done,” I said with a shrug, “but it’s as good a place to start as any. There are a few more,” I pointed to the little stack of paintings I had made, “that might be likely candidates too.”

  Dennis breathed in deeply and nodded. “Let me fetch some tools then, Inspector.” He strolled off purposefully, and Mills sat down on the box, flipping the ledger open. I crossed over to stand by his shoulder.

  “There are some patterns,” he pointed out. “Selene would read a book, and a few days later, Richard would read the same one. It’s like they had a little book club going on.”

  “You have the titles?”

  “Just here, sir,” he pointed to the appropriate column, “and I made a list,” he patted his trouser pocket where his notebook sat, “of all the books Selene borrowed over and over again.”

  “Books and paintings,” I muttered, standing up straight and scratching my chin. “Would Selene have left something so important there?”

  “I think you’re onto something with Rosemary, sir,” Mills told me, nodding to the painting. “She was, other than Selene, the only thing the brothers had in common. Maybe Selene would have counted on that.”

  “Check the ledger,” I told him, “see if Rosemary crops up in there at any point.”

  Mills nodded, flipping back to the start of the book as Dennis returned. His jacket was off, his starched sleeves rolled crisply to the elbows, with a small roll in his hands holding a selection of screwdrivers.

  “Together, Inspector?” he asked. I nodded and tugged my collar loose as we bent down to the frame as Mills got back to work on the ledger. I held the frame steady as Dennis loosened it, not wanting to be responsible for any damage that might occur.

  “Does Lord Hocking mind you doing this?” I asked. “You don’t have other duties elsewhere?”

  “I do, but this seems more important. I owe it to Selene, I think.” He looked up at me, one strand of hair falling loose and tumbling into his eyes. “You’ve met the child?”

  “I have.”

  He smiled. “How does he seem?” he asked, turning back to the frame.

  “Well enough, despite all his mother went through. He’s a teacher.”

  “He is?” He looked surprised. “I always thought Selene would have made a good teacher. The way she was with Rosemary. Told her as much when she left, but I don’t think that was the path she went down.”

  “Not in the end, no.”

  “Ah well,” he put down his tool and wiggled the frame, “not much to be done dwelling over what might have been,” he said sadly. The frame loosened, coming away from the painting. Dennis held it steady as I stood and peered down the back, looking for a scrap of paper, an envelope. Nothing. I sank back down, and we slowly replaced the frame.

  “This seems like rather a lot of work, Inspector. I’m not sure when Selene would have done it,” Dennis told me, wrapping the portrait back in its sheet. “Especially doing it alone, sir.”

  Quite right. These paintings were heavy, the frames almost welded in place. Either she had help, or she hid it somewhere else, or we were barking completely up the wrong tree.

  “Lord Hocking should be able to narrow it down,” Dennis told me, standing up and offering me a hand. His own was tough, calloused, years of work marking his skin. “Despite the fallout, he did know his brother well. They were very close throughout their childhood, and he knew Selene well too, as much as he pretends not to have cared for her.” Disapproval tinted his words, and I was surprised to hear him talk out so displeased about his boss. Perhaps all the business with Selene coming into daylight again was enough to turn his loyalty. Whatever it was, Dennis was tumbling lower and lower on my list of suspects, Agatha Christie or not.

  “He’s still upstairs?” I asked.

  “He is, sir. They all are now and,” he checked his watch, “as is Miss Eloise. She should be home by now, too.”

  Henry would need her, I imagined. I turned to Mills, who stood up, tucking the ledger under his arm and gave me a brief nod. We needed more information, a narrower list. If Selene wanted Lord Hocking or Richard Sandow to find some clue she left behind, it would need to be somewhere they’d look. We followed Dennis out of the cellars, through the main hall of the house and towards the sound of shouting voices into the living room. We stood in the doorway, taking in the scene.

  Lord Hocking stood by his chair; arms raised as he argued with Henry. Eloise, her coat still on, sat with Lady Hocking by the window, calmly murmuring between each other. The Lady occasionally looked over to where her son and husband argued, her eyes and nose pink, a handkerchief clutched in her hand. Rupert and Rose were the only quiet ones, lounging on the sofa, watching it unfold, an unopened box of Trivial Pursuit actually on the table before them. There was something a little amusing about that.

  Dennis waved us in. “Tea or coffee?”

  “Tea, please,” Mills requested.

  “And for me,” I added. Dennis smiled and wandered gladly from the raucous family as Mills and I sank down onto the sofa opposite Rose and Rupert. They looked up, turning to Mills.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Better now, thank you. I take it your brother’s not happy?” he added, glancing to Henry.

  “No,” Rupert drawled, “throws a lot of his plans out the window all this.”

  “Plans?”

  “For the estate,” Rose answered. “He’s got some ideas for when he takes over, good ones.” Rupert nodded in agreement as she continued. “The place needs a bit of a modern touch. And of course, his children are supposed to inherit after him.”

  “Bit of a spanner in the works all told,” Rupert added, “unless the child is Uncle Richard’s.”

  “Couldn’t we just do a paternity test?” Rose asked. “Save all this bother?”

  “He doesn’t want one,” I told them. “He has no interest in being in this family.”

  “But someone is interested in him,” Rupert added darkly, “blackmail.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of the sofa. “Who’d want to blackmail us?”

  Rose shrugged. “Someone who cared about Selene? Did she ever marry?” she asked. I shook my head.

  “What about her parents? Her family?”

  “As far as we know, she didn’t have any.”

  “So, she was all on her own?” Rose asked. “And he knew that?” She turned a disapproving eye towards her father, whose face had turned almost purple as his son raged at him.

  “If we can find what the robber is looking for,” I said to call their attention back, “we can get ahead of them.”

  “Find what Selene left?” Rose asked.

  I nodded.

  “No more robberies?” Rupert asked hopefully.

  “No more robberies.”

  “Well then!” He smacked his hands loudly down on the table, drawing the attention of the rest of the family. “Let’s find this sodding note so we can stop getting robbed and these nice policemen can, with all due respect,” he added politely, “bugger off out of our home.”

  Lord Hocking stuttered, and Henry opened his mouth to speak, but Eloise shot to her feet.

  “Rupert’s right. The sooner this is over, the better. We know what they’re looking for, and since they came back,” she looked to me for confirmation, and I gave her a quick wink, “we know they don’t have it. It wasn’t in your painting, Lord Hocking, so it’s obviously somewhere else.”

  “This house is huge.” Henry sank into an armchair, rubbing his face. “It could take days, weeks to find one little note.”

  “So, we each take a room.” His wife grabbed his arm and hauled him upright. “Anything that your father likes, anything your Uncle Richard cared
about, we bring back here and look through together.”

  “Or Rosemary,” I added. “She knew you wouldn’t get rid of anything to do with Rosemary.”

  Lord Hocking was still purple, still looking violently sweaty and unhappy, but he nodded.

  “The music room then,” he straightened his jacket, “that was her favourite.”

  “Mills will take the library,” I instructed, and he held up the ledger in confirmation.

  “I’ll help you in there, sergeant,” Rupert announced, jumping to his feet. Mills looked a little uncertain about that, but Eloise beamed at him.

  “Rupert reads more than anyone,” she told us.

  “You never sign books out!” Rose looked up at him incredulously.

  “Not from my own home.” He kicked her legs aside and led Mills from the room, muttering under his breath about respect and recognition. It seems his own family had been as ignorant to his intelligence as I had.

  Perhaps I owed the boy an apology. Perhaps.

  “I shall go to the music room.” Lord Hocking smoothed his hair back, glancing over his shoulder to his wife and strode away.

  “I’ll do Auntie Rosemary’s room,” Rose announced, and Henry trailed after her.

  “We’ll do down here,” Eloise told me, looping her arm through Lady Hocking’s in solidarity, “all the parlours and everything.”

  “You should try the summer house, Inspector.” Lady Hocking pulled away from Eloise, only to cross to a small desk and pull a drawer open, reaching inside for a key. “There’s a piano in there that Rosemary liked to play, so I’m told,” she added, pressing the key into my hand.

  “Thank you, Lady Hocking. And you have my apologies, for all of this.”

  She straightened her back, squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “None of this is your doing Inspector. It’s my husband and his brother who have to answer for all of this nonsense. You’re merely doing your duty.” She smiled at me, the expression still tinged with sadness and worry, but she reached behind to take Eloise’s hand and pulled her along through to the next room.