DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crime Thrillers: Books 1-3

by Oliver Davies

  “Put in word with local force as well,” he told me as I joined him. “They’ll hold him until we get there. Think he’ll run for it?”

  “It’s likely. But he won’t have far to go out there. And at least we can pull him in for obstruction of justice and lying to my lovely face.” Mills smirked, and we headed back to our office, going over the board again, drinking our coffee.

  A knock came at the door, and we both looked over, surprised, even more so when it opened to Sharp, who rarely knocked if she could help it. She strode in, another person behind her, and I shot up as Liene Dorland walked in, a smile on her face.

  “Morning, boys,” Sharp declared, standing aside for Liene. “I hear you’ve sent out some uniform to pick up Dibbit?”

  “We have, ma’am.”

  “Good. Philips passed these onto me.” She handed me a folder. “So that’s two birds with one stone.”

  I opened it up, reluctantly looking away from Liene to the enhanced images Philips had sent over. Out of all the objects we’d brought from the house, he’d found four of them, not including the duck, with Dibbit’s telltale mark scratched into hard to spot places. I passed one over to Mills, and he let out one short laugh.

  “We know these came onto display in the house via Josephine Goddard,” he muttered, more to himself. Then he looked at me. “Shall we go and pick her up?”

  I shook my head. “Let’s give her a call. See if she’ll come in on her own.”

  Mills nodded, picking up his phone and ducking from the room. I put the pictures down and rubbed my face, picked up my coffee and turned back to the two ladies.

  “Sorry,” I told them. “Very rude of me.”

  “Liene’s finished giving that box a once over,” Sharp told me. “Dropped it back off.”

  “I appreciate it,” I told her earnestly. “Anything interesting about it?”

  “Viviane was right to keep it safe,” she told me happily, handing it back over, wrapped up a little box. “It’s genuine. I’d date it as early Victorian, maybe older. The panels are hand-painted ivory, and the gold is very real.”

  “Christ,” I muttered. I’d been lugging it around under my arm. I placed it down on Mills’s desk, where things were less likely to get knocked over.

  “Any word from Crowe?” Sharp asked me.

  “Not yet, but I know better than to rush her,” I replied.

  She smiled. “You’re one of the few. Right then.” She clapped her hands and turned to Liene. “That’s done. Coffee?”

  “Please,” Liene answered. “Good luck with the case, Max. Let me know if I can help in any way at all.”

  “We might need a few more objects that need authenticating,” I told her.

  Her smile grew. “Bring them round whenever.”

  I smiled back and nodded. Sharp, a smug gleam in her eyes, led Liene from the office. The doctor waved back at me and nodded to Mills as he let them through. He walked back in, a frown between his brows.

  “No answer,” he told me, dropping his phone on the desk.

  I leant back, folding my arms. “How many times did you ring?”

  “Three,” he said. “Left her a voicemail to call back as soon as. Tried to sound light-hearted about it all and said we just had a few more questions about the house we hoped she could answer.”

  I gave him an approving nod. “She strikes me as the sort of woman who takes pride in what she knows about the place. Alright,” I stood up, “we’ve got the real box back.” I pointed to his desk. “Real gold, ivory panels, so we know it’s worth a lot.”

  “So, would they have put this on display?” Mills asked. “Or sold it?”

  “This could have nothing to do with the house,” I told him. “It could just be the best place to store things until they move. Make a copy, replace it, sell the original.”

  “Use the house as a front, since all sorts of things are coming in and out all the time,” he concluded. My phone pinged, and as Mills headed over the board, rearranging a few things for our new theory, I pulled it out, scanning it over.

  The uniforms had gotten to the workshop, and it looked like Dibbit had made a run. They had him, though, and were en route back to the city.

  “They’ve got Dibbit,” I told Mills, putting my phone back down, face up on the desk.

  “Typical, isn’t it?” he said. “You wait days for a solid lead, and then they all come hurtling in at once.”

  “Don’t pout about it, Mills. It’s ungrateful.”

  He snorted and looked at me over his shoulder. “Dr Dorland seemed well,” he said suggestively.

  “She did, didn’t she?” I answered, not in the mood to dance around the topic anymore.

  “Came all this way instead of emailing or calling,” he carried on anyway.

  “She had to drop the music box off,” I told him. “Not really the sort of thing you post.”

  “Could’ve left it downstairs,” he said. “She came all the way up here.”

  “To meet Sharp and get a coffee together.” I retorted. Mills rolled his eyes and turned back to the board. This new theory of ours was sitting well with me, and once Crowe got back to us on the wet woollen back Mills had dug out from the garden bush, we might actually have the means to start wrapping this case up.

  My phone rang, yet again, and my annoyance at it faded as I saw Rita’s name on the screen.

  “Rita,” I answered quickly. “Everything okay?”

  “I was with Harry, and he got an alert on his phone from the alarm company,” she told me. “There’s someone in the house.”

  Twenty-Eight

  Thatcher

  “Are you alright?” I demanded quickly.

  “We’re fine. We’re outside,” she assured me. “Just the alarm was turned off, and there're some lights on. Someone’s definitely in there.”

  “And you haven’t gone in?”

  “No.”

  “Stay there,” I told her. “We’re on our way. Don’t go inside and try to not draw any attention to the street. If someone comes out, stay back, alright?”

  “Got it.”

  I hung up and reached for my coat, hauling it over my shoulders.

  “What is it?” Mills asked as he fumbled with his coat.

  “Rita and Harry,” I told him. “Someone’s in the house.”

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered, grabbing his things. “D’you think it’s Goddard?”

  “I’d put some money on it,” I answered as we jogged downstairs and outside, jumping into the car. I let Mills drive again, and he sped along, but we kept the siren off, not wanting to scare the visitor from the house and directly into Harry and Rita.

  “So, the alarm got turned off.” Mills’s voice was hurried with nerves. “And Harry got notified?”

  “That’s right. New set up with the alarm company. Whenever it gets turned on or off, they let him know. And right now, he’s the only one who's supposed to be going in and out.”

  “How did Rita sound?” he asked to kill time.

  “She sounded alright,” I said. “Especially for someone who could be a few metres away from the person who locked in the cellar.”

  “I’d say she’s tougher than she looks, Rita is,” Mills added.

  “People generally are. I’m glad she called, and that they didn’t choose to wade on in themselves.”

  Mills laughed breathily. “Like you would have done?”

  “Maybe,” I answered defensively. “At least these two have been a help throughout all this.”

  “It’s always nice when people comply,” Mills agreed.

  We fell into silence then, reaching the house shortly after and parked on the corner of the street where we couldn’t be seen from the house. Harry and Rita sat on a bench by the park railing, and they hopped up as we left the car, Harry clutching his phone.

  “Alright?” I asked as we joined them on the other side of the road. “Talk me through it.”

  “We, well,” he stuttered a little. “We met
up for a coffee this morning to check in after yesterday, and then I got an alert from the alarm company that the system had been shut off. So, we came round to have a look and saw that the lights were on in a few rooms.”

  “Saw a shadow in there too,” Rita added. “Crossing one of the windows.”

  “Thanks for calling us,” I told them. “I’m guessing you’ve had no clear visual of who it is?”

  Rita shook her head. “I gave Josephine a call to see if she or Nia were in there, but she didn’t answer.”

  Mills and I shared a look; she hadn’t answered us either.

  “Let’s go and check it out,” I said, leading the way to the house. I debated telling Harry and Rita to stay out here, but it might so happen that we needed their help to navigate the place, so I ordered them to stay put, Harry with Mills and Rita with me.

  She nodded determinedly, jaw set as she looked up at the house, the windows illuminated against the grey sky. I’d grabbed my handcuffs as we left and a can of PAVA spray that I’d only ever used once and was reluctant to use again, and I crept up to the front door. It was locked, so I held my hand out to Harry, who obediently dropped the keys in my palm.

  Unlocking the door, I kept quiet as we wandered in, stepping slowly to keep my boots from making too much noise on the tiles floor. Beside me, Rita raised her head to the ceiling, where a faint clattering was just about within our hearing. She paled slightly, listening to what must be an unpleasantly familiar noise. I was about to suggest she wait outside, but she gritted her teeth and stepped into place behind me. I met Mills’s eyes over the top of her head, and he nodded once.

  We went for the stairs, climbing up slowly around the curved case to the landing above. The bedroom doors were open, and the noise came from the bottom of the hall where the Master chambers were, footsteps sounding as someone moved about.

  “There are two doors,” Rita whispered to me, jerking her head to one side. “Through the dressing room.”

  I walked down the hall to a smaller, less interesting door than the others and opened it quietly. Inside was the dressing room, which led into the bedroom, and I sent Rita a grateful nod as we easily walked in, past the wardrobes and dressing screens and into the bedroom.

  It was a large room, with another sitting sort of place attached to it through two double doors, like a fancy hotel room. Our intruder was in there, and this close, I could even hear the faint huffs of laboured breathing as we walked closer. I paused, jerking my head and then Mills was at my side, looking more serious than he ever really did.

  “Good thing Sharp sent us home early,” he muttered lightly before we strode through the doors.

  “North Yorkshire Police, don’t move!” I shouted. The figure stood across from the fireplace, their back to us dressed in a dark hooded coat, arms in the air, hands in gloves. Well, that wasn’t a suspicious get up for a spring day, was it?

  “Turn around, please,” I ordered. They obliged, and we were faced with a flush, sweaty looking Josephine Goddard whose wide eyes swept over Mills and me, and then Harry and Rita before she swallowed loudly and plastered a smile on her face.

  “Heavens, you gave me a fright,” she panted, dropping her hand to her heart. “Inspector, Sergeant. Mr Cuthbert. And Rita, hello. Why the sudden outburst?”

  I stuck my can of spray into my belt and looked around the room. It was a mild state of disarray, with a few drawers open, cushions on the floor from the two sofas and the frames on the wall slightly askew.

  “Let’s have a seat,” I decided, indicating the sofas. I sat down casually, draping one leg over the other. Mills sat beside me, and as Josephine, with a very confused expression on her face, sat opposite us, Harry picked up the chair from the desk for Rita and sat himself down on a little footstool, his head on level with her shoulder. Josephine looked at them, her smiley expression faltering somewhat, but then focused herself on me.

  “What’s this all about then?” she asked.

  “What are you doing here, Ms Goddard?” Harry asked her, and I let him take the reins. She was his employer, after all. “I gave you all paid leave until this matter was settled.”

  “I know,” she said airily, “but I just wanted to make sure the house was in order, especially with the comings and goings.” She waved a hand in mine and Mills’s direction. My phone chimed, and I spared it a quick glance. It was Smith, telling me that Horace Dibbit was now in custody. I shot her a quick reply, telling her who we were with and then put my phone away and focused back on the others.

  “There was no need for that, Ms Goddard,” Harry answered her in a stern voice that didn’t suit him. “I would have asked you, if there was.” She, to her credit, looked a little sheepish at that and looked at me.

  “You did give me a start, Inspector.”

  “Apologies,” I said dryly. “Mr Cuthbert got a warning from the alarm company that someone was inside the house, and he was naturally concerned.”

  “I didn’t break in,” she protested. “Why should they have told you that there was a break-in?”

  “Not a break-in, Ms Goddard,” Harry told her. “Just what with all that’s been going on, I now get informed whenever someone turns the alarm on or off.”

  Josephine adjusted her sitting and looked at Rita with a sour face. “That’ll be you, young lady. Sneaking in the other night.”

  Rita’s eyes narrowed. “Who told you that I was here the other night, Ms Goddard?”

  The manager turned grey, and she opened and closed her mouth several times.

  “What about the other person who was here the other night?” I piped up. “What can you tell me about them, Ms Goddard?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. All I know is that the police were called out here, because of Rita.”

  “Because somebody tried to kill Rita,” Harry informed her pointedly.

  “Kill Rita?” she repeated. “Surely not.”

  “Surely yes,” Rita retorted, her face scrunched up with outrage and disgust. “Someone who knew how to get into the house, knew where I was, knew where the cellar was, and likely knew why I was down there.”

  “For this,” I supplied, pulling up a picture of the music box on my phone and placing it on the table between us all.

  “The music box?” Josephine asked. “The one she stole?”

  “This is a fake. Rita did not steal it,” I informed her sharply. “But she did recover the original one, stolen from Viviane Charles’s flat, in the cellar of this house.”

  “I—” Ms Goddard began, but I cut her off.

  “A man called Horace Dibbit made the fake,” I pushed on. “He’s a friend of yours, Ms Goddard. He’s also known as Robert Pike, who confirmed your alibi for us. So that throws your alibi for the night Viviane died out the window, doesn’t it?”

  “He’s also the clever workman who made several other fake artefacts in the house,” Mills added. “Ones that Harry and Rita here kindly brought to our attention.”

  “He is, at present, in custody for lying to the police. And I’m wondering what other charges he might be in wait for.”

  Josephine had stiffened as we spoke, and now she squared her shoulders and shook her head.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said snippily. “None whatsoever.”

  “Allow me to help.” I smiled. “This is my theory, Ms Goddard. That you and Mr Dibbit, or Mr Pike, whichever you prefer. Have been making false or copied artefacts to put on display in this house, to further your own career, I’d imagine at best. I doubt you began this with any particularly nefarious motives in mind. But also furthering her career was Viviane Charles. Did you know that she was getting all the education and practice needed to become head curator here? She’d have been good at it too, I reckon.” I looked at Harry. “Mr Cuthbert?”

  “She’d have been brilliant,” he answered shortly.

  “Must have been upsetting,” I carried on. “Being overlooked for her. It would upset me, truth be told.” />
  “Nonsense,” she scoffed.

  “Someone stole Viviane’s music box from her flat,” I pushed on, my voice darkening, “and then replicated it with a fake. A fake that was also put into Rita Jones’s bag, to make her a leading suspect in our investigation.”

  My phone buzzed, and I almost threw it at the wall, but Crowe’s name lit up the screen, so I wordlessly passed it to Mills, who walked to the other side of the room, answering in a lowered voice.

  “My guess is,” I carried on, “that Viviane figured out what was going on here. She knew her antiques, after all. Maybe she even figured out that someone had stolen a gift her grandfather left her, and when she decided to do something about that, she was killed.”

  “You can’t think I had anything to do with that,” Josephine sneered, looking helplessly around the room.

  Mills walked back over and leant over my shoulder. “DNA match,” he murmured. “It’s our murder weapon. And a word from Sharp, Dibbit’s caved, named her as his client.”

  “Thank you, Mills. You were saying, Ms Goddard?”

  “That I had nothing to do with any of this!”

  I raised an eyebrow. “We know that you are the one who had Mr Dibbit make the duplicate of the music box, and the other counterfeits. He’s told us so himself.”

  She started stuttering, and I leant closer towards her, letting my anger and annoyance roll off me in waves.

  “Did Viviane find out?” I asked her in a calm voice. “Did she find out what you were doing and confront you? Why steal her music box? To make it seem like this was all her doing. To get a profit, make yourself rich? Either way,” I waved a hand, “she knew something, didn’t she?” Josephine had started fidgeting, leg jumping, hands twitching as she looked around the room, looked anywhere but my face. “Enough to make you nervous. Enough to make you want her gone, with all her questions and suspicions. I mean, it’s bad enough that she’s taking your job, but throwing you under the bus for your little side venture—”

  “She didn’t deserve it!” Josephine finally yelled. “Alright? She didn’t deserve it, any of it!”