Bold Lies

by Bold Lies (retail) (epub)

  ‘It’s a beautiful house,’ she said.

  Montague-Roland turned around and flashed a smile. ‘Thank you. My grandfather had very good taste. Can I offer you tea?’

  ‘No thank you. We’d like to ask you some questions. I apologise in advance if you feel you’ve been over it a thousand times before.’

  ‘It’s only to be expected. Let’s go into Grandfather’s study.’

  He led them through a hallway and they passed several uniforms checking off inventories. Kelly spotted two forensic officers chatting in a doorway and held up her hand in greeting. Cumbria wasn’t a large constabulary, and forensic officers were few and far between. She’d worked with both of them before. She paused as Emma went on ahead.

  ‘Anything?’ she asked.

  ‘The owner says nothing was touched in here, but we’re checking the rooms used by the deceased. We’re finishing up now. It’s surprisingly clean and tidy. We know the fire was used because there’re dead embers and a recent copy of the Gazette for kindling.’

  Kelly thanked them and caught up. Mr Montague-Roland looked impatiently at his watch, appearing slightly miffed that she had made a detour. He was clearly a man who thought himself in charge.

  The room they entered was panelled, with wooden cupboards, a desk and walls of books. It was like a study photographed for a high-end magazine, languishing in its perfection. Several computers sat on tables, switched off and dusty. There must be thousands of pounds’ worth of kit in this one room alone. Kelly couldn’t figure out why burglars would have targeted the boathouse and not the main house, given the obvious opulence of the property.

  ‘Please sit down.’ Sebastian sat behind the grand desk, looking every inch the heir to an empire. Kelly made a mental note to contact the solicitors for the estate to see who the trustee was.

  ‘How did you know George Murphy?’ she began, and Emma took out her notebook.

  ‘Straight to the point, eh?’ It was a cold response from a man whose property had been violated. Kelly said nothing.

  ‘He was actually a friend of my grandfather’s. They met at a cricket match, I believe, a freebie laid on at Lord’s by Ravensword, and clicked over their shared enthusiasm for English sports that have had their day. Grandfather was a lonely man and I found out that he invited all sorts of people here, to fish, to hunt, to dine and to provide company. That’s my understanding. The invitation was further extended to George after my grandfather’s death as a goodwill gesture. He knew the old place well, and always looked after it. I asked him to check a few things out before I came up myself to finalise building plans. I was too late.’ He looked at his hands. It was the first sign of emotion.

  ‘Sorry, I’m confused, Mr Montague-Roland,’ Kelly said.

  ‘You can call me Sebastian.’

  ‘Sebastian. I thought the estate was left in trust; are you saying that you own it outright?’

  ‘Oh, that business is all sorted now. Grandfather was worried that I’d turn it into a debauched party cave. It was always meant to be mine, and now it is.’

  Kelly looked at Emma. A thought occurred to her that had been sitting on her shoulder since they had arrived. Debauched party cave? The late Lord Allerdale had not approved of his grandson’s lifestyle. She looked at his hands, and then at his socks, noting the way he occasionally glanced at the male uniforms. He was either a homosexual or a dandy, and the latter had died out decades ago. Was there a family skeleton here?

  ‘Right. You said that you thought George had left a day earlier than scheduled. What made you think that?’

  ‘I called the house several times and he didn’t answer, that’s all. It was just a presumption. I should have raised the alarm then; he might still be alive.’ Another flash of grief came and went.

  ‘It’s vitally important that we create a picture of George’s life so we can get to know him better. I’ve asked for any paperwork left by your grandfather to be collected, mainly to see if their relationship was anything more than friendship. For example, whether they had business dealings together, or if they knew the same people.’

  ‘Well, I kept a lot of his things. I haven’t really been up here much; business keeps me in the capital. Still, we’ll make something of the place yet. My plan is an exclusive resort, with a Michelin-starred restaurant and a luxury spa – that’s all the rage now…’ He had wandered into his own world of money-making, and Kelly brought him back to the present.

  ‘Would anybody else have known that George was here?’

  Sebastian’s demeanour shifted, but he shook his head. He also folded his arms.

  ‘I doubt they knew the same people. George was a salt-of-the-earth East End lad. My grandfather was a philanthropist; he brought all sorts of waifs and strays home.’

  The condescension struck Kelly as curious. She got the impression that Sebastian didn’t appreciate his grandfather’s penchant for friends with less money or status than himself.

  ‘So, you don’t think the friendship was genuine?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m sure George got a lot out of it.’

  ‘Can you elaborate? Did Mr Murphy gain financially from the relationship?’

  ‘I have no idea, but I think my grandfather was too generous to everyone, and towards the end, he’d let anyone in.’

  ‘How long had they known each other?’

  ‘I’m not sure. Best part of ten years, I think.’

  ‘Could you show us where George slept?’

  ‘They’ve already been over everything with their sticky tape and plastic bags.’

  ‘I’d still like you to show us,’ Kelly said.

  Sebastian sighed and stood up, leading them back to the hall and upstairs to a bedroom. Kelly flicked on her iPad and scrolled to the forensic reports that they had so far. Some genetic material had been collected from the en-suite bathroom adjoining George’s room and sent to the lab for testing. A few usable prints had also been lifted from a water glass by the bed and a bottle of medicine in the bathroom. She noted from the report that the bathroom seemed to have been cleaned thoroughly and had smelt heavily of bleach when forensics first entered. Kelly still didn’t have a murder scene, and she was on the lookout for one. Dogs had been used to search the area around the boathouse for anything indicating the smell of death, but had turned up nothing. It was a puzzle.

  The bedroom was tidy. She walked towards the bathroom and opened the door. The aroma of bleach was still present. She knew from the report that the use of fluorescein by forensics had indicated that blood residue could have been cleaned from the shower, but only the lab could confirm that. They’d have a long wait to determine whether George had merely cut himself shaving or whether there was enough blood to cause suspicion.

  ‘Do you have a cleaner?’ she asked.

  ‘No. There’s no point. All of this will be ripped out as part of the refurbishment.’

  ‘Can’t you smell bleach? But there isn’t any in here.’ She opened various cupboards and checked her notes for items removed. Cleaning products were not on the list.

  Sebastian sniffed. ‘I’m not sure. It could be the wild garlic outside the window.’

  ‘Did you speak to George when he was here?’

  ‘No. Like I said, I rang but he didn’t answer. The key was left in a lockup and he knew where to find it. Not that he needed it round here; the doors are always left open. He knew about my plans to convert the house to a business and he said he wanted to stay here for one last time.’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘It was by email. A couple of months ago, I think.’

  ‘Do you know how he got here? There’s no sign of a car, and it’s a remote location.’

  ‘I did notice that. He always drove.’

  ‘So, we’ve probably got a missing vehicle too,’ Kelly glanced at Emma, who made a note. ‘It’s curious that the burglary occurred at the boathouse but they didn’t bother to come inside the house, don’t you think?’

  ‘It’s a disappoin
ting start to a new venture,’ Sebastian said. Kelly stared at him and Emma looked away.

  ‘Why were you calling him on Sunday?’

  ‘I wanted to ask him if the builders had arrived to start work. They’re notoriously lazy.’

  ‘Which building firm are you using? It’s our understanding that there have been no sightings of work vans in the area.’ She was thinking how builders’ vans would be perfect to transport the heavy and sizeable stolen goods.

  ‘I can’t remember off the top of my head. I’ll have to ask my PA and get back to you.’

  ‘What is your occupation in London?’

  ‘I don’t have a job as such. I look after several investments, and I manage this.’ He swept his hand around, indicating the house.

  Kelly took one last look at the bedroom. It was too neat for a man in his fifties with no wife to tidy up after him and no one to impress on his mini-break. Nothing was scattered across chairs; there were no toiletries on shelves, no newspapers and no luggage. Perhaps George had already packed to leave, but she knew from experience that men didn’t normally leave a bed that well made or fail to throw the odd dirty sock into a corner.

  ‘Thank you for your time. We’ll be staying for a while to chat to some of our officers. Thank you.’

  ‘Yes, help yourself.’

  They went back downstairs to the study, and Sebastian asked if he could leave. Kelly watched out of the window as he walked towards the lake, his hands in his pockets.

  Several box files and envelopes containing bank statements had already been packed away, and Kelly ordered the computers to be removed as well. The affairs of the old Lord Allerdale were in immaculate condition, but she knew instantly from the volume of them that they’d need weeks to trawl through it all. She peered out of the window and watched Sebastian. Beyond him, across the lake, she could make out the Keswick Launch, and she called to Emma, who followed her gaze.

  ‘The easiest way to get a body over to the marina would be by boat,’ she said.

  ‘Which is why there were no witnesses to vehicles in the middle of the night.’

  ‘It also indicates local knowledge.’

  Kelly’s phone rang; it was DS Kate Umshaw from Eden House.

  ‘Guv, we’ve just had the Met on the phone. Two of George Murphy’s colleagues have turned up dead in a garage in Bethnal Green, and another has gone missing. All four worked in the same lab.’

  Chapter 10

  Johnny helped Kelly pack, or rather, more accurately, watched her place items in a suitcase and take them out again. He lay on her bed eating a steak baguette in an attempt to put on weight. So far he had no new plans for any more crazy fell races.

  Kelly was antsy. HQ had given her a week to visit the Met, working alongside the team investigating the deaths of George’s two colleagues. She was to take one officer with her, and she chose DC Emma Hide, who could do with the exposure. It was a victim information-gathering exercise as well as a collaboration, and she explained to Johnny that she intended to be back before the weekend. The Met’s SIO was essentially in charge of the case in London, with her as consort. George had been killed on her patch, but the fact that his whole lab had been wiped out moved the inquiry to a new level, and the SIO in London was a DCI. There was a potential foreign element to add to the mix, as the fourth member of the team was a Greek Cypriot national.

  In the background the TV blurted out the appeal for information about George Murphy and his colleagues. It was a small news segment, as murders in the capital were all too common; even double homicides. Some information had been kept from the press as a matter of strategy – such as the significance of Allerdale House, and the murder weapon – and the report concentrated on the fact that the scientists all worked for Ravensword.

  In Kelly’s absence, DS Kate Umshaw would be in charge, and Kelly had left clear instructions for her team to investigate the burglary and George’s last movements. Had anyone seen him fishing? Where had he bought his groceries? Who had he called? Had the phantom workmen turned up? None of their inquiries so far had picked up any of the items stolen from the sheds, so they were still chasing the vehicle tracks and CCTV on the roads out of Keswick. The burglars could have gone east to the M6, then to Scotland or south. Or they could have gone west to Workington and Whitehaven, then on to Barrow-in-Furness.

  Kelly’s brief from HQ was to work with the Met to gain an understanding of George Murphy’s life, but she was acutely aware of a growing tug of anxiety in her stomach. She hadn’t been back to London since she’d quit the Met, and from what she could gather, Matt still worked the murder squad in Hendon.

  ‘How long will you be?’ asked Johnny. She knew he’d sensed her anxiety; Johnny wasn’t stupid, and he’d often asked her if she missed the city. She looked at him and saw tension in him too. It softened her.

  ‘No longer than a week.’

  ‘I’ll miss you. This is weird.’

  ‘I know. I feel as though I’m wading into the unknown. I lived there, for Christ’s sake. I don’t know why I’m so worried.’

  ‘How do you feel about bumping into old colleagues?’

  Johnny didn’t know about Matt. She’d never felt the need to discuss the fact that she’d been shat on by a colleague who just happened to be her lover.

  ‘Mixed.’ She concentrated on what clothes to take. Work was easily covered by suits and jackets, but the city was almost ten degrees hotter than Cumbria this week, and she toyed with how many jumpers to pack, if any.

  ‘Where are you staying?’

  ‘Apparently we’ve got a Premier Inn near Hendon.’

  ‘At least you know the area.’

  Kelly nodded and fiddled with the ruby ring that Johnny had bought for her. She’d miss him too. He was the first man she’d found herself trusting. He hadn’t hurt her, he hadn’t taken anything from her, and he meant what he said. She’d miss her house too; she’d become used to living here, and her routines had grown out of the stillness of the lakes and mountains. The doors to the decking were open and the breeze blew in gently. She’d been back in the Lakes for three years, but it seemed like five minutes. The thrill of the city had left her long ago, and she dreaded the assault of traffic fumes, sirens, drunks, litter and stifling air, toxic with dirt.

  Johnny finished eating and placed his plate on the side, then propped himself up and watched her. He looked down at his hands and picked at his nails; it was out of character.

  ‘What if you need to stay longer?’

  She stopped what she was doing. ‘That won’t be necessary. I’m not going to solve the case, I’m just going to get to know my opposite number. It’s a joint inquiry now.’

  ‘I got a call yesterday from my mate at the hospice in Hertfordshire: they need guides to take groups up the Three Peaks for a fund-raising challenge.’

  Kelly smiled. She knew he’d do it. Not just because he loved it, but because he couldn’t say no. Just like she couldn’t.

  ‘Do it with me?’ he said. ‘I haven’t done all three in years. I’d only be a guide on Scafell Pike; you and I could go on and do Ben Nevis and Snowdon on our own.’

  ‘Why not? Getting away for a weekend doing that would be great. I’m in.’

  ‘You already packed that three times.’ He nodded at the green Jack Wolfskin fleece she wore for walking.

  ‘I’m not a city girl any more,’ she said.

  ‘I hope you don’t turn into one either. You might get the bug back and decide to stay.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid. I’ve got too much here to keep me. The only reason I’m going myself and not sending a junior is because I can’t get George Murphy out of my head.’

  ‘I know. You’re hooked, and until you find out what happened, you won’t let go.’

  ‘It sounds so dramatic when you say it like that. Why can’t I just let someone else have a go?’

  ‘You do. All the time. But this one’s complicated. I could tell that when you first told me about it.’

&n
bsp; ‘Look after Ted for me.’

  ‘I’ve arranged to take him for a pint, and I’m walking with him tomorrow. I’ve got something in mind that ends up at a pub.’ Johnny winked. ‘Anyway, why so maudlin? You’re talking as if you’re going to be away a lot longer than a week. Is there something you’re not telling me?’

  ‘No. Not at all. I just don’t like leaving. I didn’t think it would be this hard.’

  Johnny got up and took the fleece out of her hands. When he held her, her body went limp and she breathed deeply. She could smell the river and the mountain air and she sucked it in, storing it for the week ahead to keep her sane. He ran his fingers up her skull, gently but firmly, and she arched her back. What to pack for a trip to London became suddenly irrelevant as he undid her blouse and she pulled his T-shirt over his head. He didn’t have the body of a fifty-year-old. It was hard and smooth, and much younger. His face showed signs of wisdom that could be seen as age, but it was insignificant. He led her to the bed and she kicked off the clothes waiting to be packed. They landed on the floor, along with her bra and pants.

  It didn’t matter how many times Johnny took her to bed; each time she was surprised. She expected to grow bored, or at least crave some kind of new thrill, but it never happened. She was satisfied every time. The longer she knew him, the safer she felt, and the more natural it became to fall into bed on a midweek afternoon without worrying about who thought what or what might happen tomorrow. If she were ten years younger, she’d want to have babies with this man in her bed, making her laugh, making her gasp. But they were too old, and the world had enough kids.

  She didn’t want to get out of bed, and neither did he. Their bodies fitted together perfectly, and they lay like spoons listening to the steamer puffing in from Glenridding.

  ‘I’ll be here waiting.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘What time do you go?’