DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crime Thrillers: Books 1-3

by Oliver Davies

  Smith was waiting for us at the station, grimacing as we stepped inside and shook the rain off our coats.

  “Any luck?” Mills asked her.

  “Not of yet. I tried her home again and left the number with her work. If she turns up or if they hear anything from her, they’ll let us know.” She began to walk with us up to our office, a trail of water behind us. “And I checked with all the hospitals, just in case.”

  “Good work, Smith. Was there anything else?”

  “From Dr Crowe.” She handed me the folder she’d been carrying. “She did a little work on the letter you brought in and the one left at the house.”

  “Oh?” I pushed our door open and peeled off my coat, dropping on the door hook and dropped into my chair, flipping the folder open.

  “I thought there was nothing from that,” Mills said, standing opposite my desk.

  “She found a hair,” I reminded him, “not that it meant anything at the time.”

  “But now?” Smith asked.

  “But now, it’s unlikely that Selene bothered to wear gloves whilst writing her letter.”

  “Skin cells,” Mills muttered.

  “She found a match,” I quickly translated all of Crowe’s rambling and subsequent science talk to the root of the point. “DNA, maternal.”

  “Whoever wrote the letter was Selene’s child.”

  “Whoever wrote the letter was Selene’s daughter,” I corrected him, spinning the page around for him to look. “Chromosomes. The hair belonged to a woman.”

  “She’s good, isn’t she?” Smith said admiringly, looking pleasantly blown away by Crowe. She must have worked last night, I realised, to have turned this around so quickly. I owed her. Big time.

  “Nadia,” Mills muttered, standing from where he’d leant over the page.

  A phone outside rang and Smith hurried away to answer it.

  “Susanne mentioned that Nadia was close to her social worker. A woman called Daureen Mitts,” I told Mills.

  “Close enough to run to in times like this?”

  “Worth asking. If we can find some contact information for Mrs Mitts, we can find out if she’s seen Nadia recently. Or maybe get more of an insight into her personal life than her work colleagues could offer.”

  “And Sebastian?” Mills asked again. “If he found out about Nadia, he might be a part of this.”

  I hesitated. “Why now?”

  “Maybe he’s only just found her,” Mills suggested, walking around to his own desk. “You don’t suspect him at all, do you?” I looked up at him at the sound of his voice, the tone harsher than usual. He was looking straight at me, stern, but hesitant.

  “Say what you want to say, Mills.”

  “I think you’re a bit biased when it comes to Sebastian Whitlock, sir. You don’t want it to be him.”

  Anyone else, I realised as he spoke, and I’d likely yell their ears off, tell them to bugger off out of my business. But this was Mills. And, reluctant as I might be to admit it, he was probably right. I knew Sebastian. In a way, I was him. No father, no mother and a difficult relationship there too. But Mills was right, Sebastian was a likely suspect as any, particularly if he found out a sister was involved.

  “Let’s call him in,” I answered calmly after a long pause. Mills visibly relaxed in his seat, nodding happily, hair still damp from outside and picked up his phone, only to put it down again when Smith appeared in the door, flushed.

  “Sharp,” was all she said, pointing over her shoulder. We scrambled up, Mills knocking over his chair in the process and legged it across the floor of desks to Sharp’s office. The door was open, and she was on the phone, but she waved us in, quickly ending the conversation.

  “Just got a call from Hocking estate,” she informed us sharply. “Apparently, our thief has left another little note.”

  “Do they—?” I began, but she held up a hand, cutting me short.

  “They’ve also taken Rose Hocking with them.”

  “Rose Hocking? Why?” Mills asked, bewildered.

  “Hostage, leverage?” She waved a hand. “That’s for you to figure out. Take Crowe to the estate, find out what you can and for the love of God, Thatcher, find that girl before something happens to her. Tell me you have a lead,” she demanded, leaning against her desk.

  “Selene’s daughter. The one given up for adoption. Her name’s Nadia White.”

  Sharp nodded and lowered herself onto her chair, shoulders straight despite the burden that was just lobbed onto them. “Find her,” she ordered.

  “Ma’am.”

  We ducked from the office, and I waved Smith over.

  “Get in touch with Sebastian,” I ordered her as we strode to get our coats, “and find an old social worker, Daureen Mitts. She might know Nadia.”

  “Got it,” she nodded.

  “Uniform on the scene?”

  “Yes, sir. And Dr Crowe’s waiting downstairs.”

  “Thank you, Smith,” I patted her on the shoulder and charged down to the car, Mills on my heels.

  Twenty-Seven

  Thatcher

  The house was in chaos when we arrived, and by the house, of course, I meant Lady Hocking. She stood outside, wearing only a dressing gown, a large pair of mud-splattered wellingtons on her feet, and a woolly hat on her head. Her cheeks were flushed, and I got the impression she’d been out here wandering the grounds looking for Rose.

  I parked the car without much care on the drive, and the three of us climbed out, Crowe making her way to the new threatening note that was currently surrounded by SOCO and a few of our own uniformed officers. I gave Mills a nod, and he headed to where Dennis stood around the side of the house, hands wrung together. I spotted Maud behind him, and left Mills to that, making my own way towards Lady Hocking. She reached out as I approached her, seizing my hands in a vice. Her eyes were bloodshot, her nose red and tears had stained her cheeks.

  “Lady Hocking.” I kept my voice low and calm, as she stammered and hiccupped. “Breathe. In and out, deep breaths. There you go.”

  She sucked down a few long breaths, relaxing slightly as I let her hold on to me.

  “Tell me what happened,” I asked her gently, leading her to the steps and helping her sit. I took a seat beside her, and she wrestled with the tie on her dressing gown.

  “Rosie wasn’t at breakfast,” she managed to say through a thick throat, “which wasn’t odd considering what happened yesterday.” She hiccupped. “So, I took her a little tray up,” she wiped at the fresh tears that sprung up, “but she wasn’t in her room. She likes a morning walk, and she wanted to clear her head. But then she didn’t come back, not for hours. So, I called her, no answer.” She shuddered and swallowed loudly. “So Rupes tried and no answer. Then Henry and Eloise.” She sniffed loudly, and I dug out a tissue from my pocket. It was crumbled and had a piece of lint on it, but she took it anyway.

  “So, we all came out, started walking around the gardens and things, looking for her. Dennis too, he hadn’t seen her leave this morning, and she usually says hello to him. Henry’s been down at the lake, but no luck yet. And then we came home,” her voice hitched and rose, her breathing speeding up again, “and it was there!” She jerked a hand over her shoulder. “And they took my baby!”

  I placed a hand on her arm. “We’ll find her, Lady Hocking. I promise, I’ll get your daughter home to you.” I stood up and offered her a hand, helping her to her feet. “Let’s get you inside and warm and dry.”

  As I walked into the entrance with her leaning on my arm, Eloise appeared, cradling a baby to her chest. Rupert was behind her, holding its twin. They must have been only one, still a bit bald, chewing on little teething beads. Eloise handed the child over to Rupert, came over and took her mother-in-law.

  “Let’s get you changed,” she said soothingly, “and a cup of tea. Rupert?”

  He nodded. “On it. Come on,” he said to the babies, one hoisted on each hip. “Help your uncle Rupes.”

  A
s Eloise pulled Lady Hocking away, Rupert’s easy smile fell flat off his face. He paced over to me with a surprising speed, given the large children in his arms.

  “Well?”

  “We’ll find your sister,” I assured him. “We know who’s taken her.”

  “Who?”

  “The twin,” I told him, following him to the kitchen where Mills now sat with Dennis and the maids. I raised my voice as we walked in, so that they could all hear. “Selene gave up the other twin, a girl for adoption. We found a match from Selene’s DNA on the letter to a hair found with the first note. It’s her daughter, Nadia.”

  “Nadia?”

  “She was one of the catering staff here the night of the party.”

  “She’s the one who came the day the note was left,” Lara piped up, taking one of the babies from Rupert, “but she never left her car!”

  “Someone else must have left it for her,” Rupert pointed out, dropping the twins carefully into highchairs.

  I looked at Maud, who was drooped over the table, her head in her hands. Daria rubbed circles on her back, muttering quietly. I turned to Dennis, whose face was an unsavoury shade of grey, his uniform and hair uncharacteristically rumpled.

  “The note?” I asked him.

  “We’d all gone to look for Miss Rose. Only the maids,” he nodded to them, “stayed put.”

  “With the babies,” Daria informed me.

  “We didn’t see anyone come up to the house,” Lara said quickly. “We swear we didn’t. We were in here.”

  “We believe you,” Dennis assured her, patting her hand.

  “Security footage?” I asked.

  “Lord Hocking is getting it now,” Dennis told me.

  I nodded and turned to Mills. “Let’s see this new threat then.”

  We got back into the hall as Henry bundled in, lowering his umbrella. I urged Mills onwards, in search of Dr Crowe.

  “Anything?” Henry asked quickly.

  “Not yet.”

  Henry’s face fell, and he glanced around. “Mother?”

  “Upstairs with your wife. Rupert’s in the kitchen,” I told him, “with your children.”

  He sank a little in relief, looking directly down that hall as if he could see through the walls to his twins.

  “Your father’s checking the security footage,” I called his attention, and he nodded. “Where might we find him?”

  “I’ll take you,” he decided, tearing himself from the corridor he had inched towards and led us to the back of the house, past the kitchens and Lord Hocking’s study to a set of small connecting rooms. The first was lined with filing cabinets, a large desk pushed to one wall, leather-bound folders on a shelf behind it.

  “It’s where we keep the accounts,” he told us as we walked through. “The whole estate is run from here.”

  It was rather an unglamorous room for such an important one. Through the door, was an even more dull room whirring with computers. Lord Hocking sat inside, fiddling with a screen, watching the day unroll before him.

  “Inspector Thatcher’s here,” Henry announced, quickly giving me a nod and turning his back on his father.

  Lord Hocking turned around at his son’s voice, face falling as he watched him walk away. He focused on us.

  “I have the day,” he tapped the screen, “but I’ve not much of a head for this type of thing.”

  “May I?” I asked.

  He nodded, rolling his chair away from the computer. I bent forward, taking the mouse and began to shift through the hours. I stopped when Rose Hocking inched from the front door in her tweed coat, jumping down from the steps and striding off into the early spring morning. No umbrella, that wasn’t smart. I sped up the time, but it wasn’t long before another figure appeared on the screen, creeping over slowly to the front door and dropping something on the step.

  “An envelope,” Lord Hocking informed me quietly, “we brought it inside to open it.”

  As the figure turned to depart, I paused the feed. They hadn’t bothered to disguise themselves this time, no need for it anymore. Nadia’s face was clear enough to me as she jumped down the steps in a move very much like Rose and ran off behind the camera.

  “Is that--?”

  “Nadia White,” I told him. “Selene gave her up for adoption.” I removed the disc and dropped it into a little plastic bag to hand to someone on my way out.

  Lord Hocking didn’t move, just remained slumped in his seat.

  “You’ll find my daughter?” he asked as I made to leave.

  “I will, Lord Hocking. Both of them.”

  I didn’t look back, angry enough at this entire situation as I stormed through the house. I found Mills in the living room, where the family had left the envelope. Crowe wasn’t there though, her white-clad, curly-haired form vanished.

  “She’s gone to check outside,” Mills told me without my needing to ask. “See if they’ve left any boot prints or anything.”

  “It was Nadia,” I told him, holding up the disc. He ran a hand through his hair and swore.

  “Well?” I jerked my chin to the piece of paper on the table.

  “Crowe reckons it’s pigs’ blood again,” he told me as I walked over and grimaced. Spikey red letters, slightly pungent in smell scrawled across the page.

  Vindicta, it read, and beneath it, there was a rather beautifully drawn rose, dripping blood and bent over.

  “Get this all to SOCO,” I ordered, handing him the disc and turned on my heel, hunting down Crowe.

  I found her outside, close to where the driveway met the grass, squatting on her haunches.

  “Lena.”

  “Sorry state of affairs, Maxie,” she said sadly, rising to her feet. “Nothing much to help you, I’m afraid.”

  “Get the confirmation on what that letter is written in, for me?”

  She nodded, peeling her gloves off with a snap and followed me back to the house. I waved down Mills who gladly jogged away from the distraught maids that had emerged from the kitchen and followed me back to the car.

  “What’s next then, sir?”

  “Station. You join Smith,” I instructed. “Try to get some more information on her childhood. See if Daureen Mitts has had any contact with her recently. I’ll follow up with Sebastian, call him into the station for a chat. Let’s try to narrow down where Nadia might be.”

  Mills nodded. “Right.”

  Sharp intercepted us as we climbed the stairs in a tidy suit, her hair perfectly swept into place as she tapped her foot on the ground.

  “Well?” she asked, arms folded across her chest.

  “CCTV showed Nadia White leaving the envelope at the house, just over an hour after Rose Hocking left. We’re in the process of trying to figure out where she might have gone, but we don’t believe Nadia’s done this all on her own,” I carried on. “She’s had help.”

  “Who from?”

  “Richard Sandow was unaware of her existence until this morning. Everyone else in the house was in the house, present and accounted for. They all left to go and look for Rose, and the letter was there when they got back.”

  “But in that time, they were all split up around the estate?” she asked, a brow arched.

  “You didn’t see them, ma’am,” I assured her. “Nobody in that house had anything to do with it. A threat, maybe, a stolen painting, maybe. But harming Rose? I don’t think any of them would be capable of it.”

  “Someone else then?”

  “Prime suspect is Sebastian Whitlock,” Mills told her. “If he became aware of Nadia’s existence, it’s not unlikely that the two of them might want some recompense for their childhood. And being angry at Rose makes sense.”

  “Hocking has three children,” Sharp pointed out.

  “Rose is his favourite,” I muttered. “Doesn’t take a genius to notice that he’s hardly subtle about it.”

  “From what we gathered from the start,” Mills added, “was that the thief paid attention to the family. They’d
have seen Rose as the most poignant one to go after.”

  “Made the right call,” I agreed, thinking of the family’s desperate faces.

  “Any word on Sebastian Whitlock?”

  “I left it with Smith.”

  “Go,” she ordered Mills, who hesitantly looked at me before ambling away to Smith’s desk. I stayed put, shifting my weight underneath Sharp’s intense stare.

  “Ma’am?”

  “You disregarded Sebastian.”

  “I did.”

  “That might have been a mistake, Thatcher.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She pursed her lips. “This has happened before, Max,” she added in a gentler tone. “When it comes to families, fathers and mothers, you’re off your game a little.”

  I averted my eyes, staring at the stairs with a scrunched face before turning back to her.

  “Still working on that old coaching house?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She shook her head. “It’s time to move on, Thatcher.” She reached out and touched my arm. “Get back to work.”

  I walked away, somewhat thrown back by that. Sharp rarely brought up my personal life, had only ever asked the most basic of questions, nodded and moved on. She was right, just like Mills. I couldn’t blame Sebastian, not the way I blamed myself.

  “Sir,” Mills waved me over to Smith’s desk. “No word on Sebastian Whitlock. He hasn’t answered any of the calls, and his neighbour hasn’t seen him for two days.”

  I cursed. “Daureen Mitts?”

  “Tracked her down to Cumbria, sir,” Smith told me. “Moved there after she retired about ten years ago.”

  “I bet that felt good for Nadia,” I muttered, raking my hair back from my face. “Where the hell would they go?”

  “It won’t be far from the estate.” Mills opened a map on Smith’s computer. “Close enough for them to come and go as easily as they have, to be familiar with the local area and access.”

  “Somewhere she can get pig’s blood,” Smith pointed out.

  “You can get pig’s blood from a butcher,” I dismissed. “It doesn’t make sense. They want them to know they took her, but won’t say where?”