Death Comes to Call: An absolutely unputdownable English cozy mystery novel (A Tara Thorpe Mystery Book 3)

by Clare Chase

  Jonny shook his head. What have you done, Luke? And who are you going to drag down with you? If only he hadn’t had a fussy brother to highlight his absence to the police.

  Peering out through the window he saw that Monique was out of sight now. He set the alarm system, then left the building and went to unlock his Range Rover. Within five minutes he was sitting in traffic on the ring road, bound for the A10. How long would it take him to reach his destination in the ludicrous Cambridge rush-hour? He was shaking now, his hands quivering on the wheel. But he needed to make the journey. He’d been texting and calling Luke all day, ever since that scruffy-smart policeman had been to visit. But he’d got no reply.

  Twelve

  Blake had been about to head home, but Fleming called him into her office. He’d had a feeling she would. He remembered the look in her eye as he’d entered the incident room.

  She nodded him into the seat opposite her desk. They’d already discussed the plan of campaign the following day, so it couldn’t be to do with that. Tara was going to get straight round to Luke Cope’s house with Megan and Max to gut the place and search for any possible lead on where the missing artist might have headed. Meanwhile, Blake was going to talk to Monique – the woman who’d worked as Freya Cross’s assistant – to see what secrets might have passed between them. And he wanted to talk to Zach Cross again too – to find out what he said under a bit of gentle pressure. So Fleming’s desire for an extra conversation was a mystery.

  ‘Ma’am?’

  ‘Megan’s promotion to DS is official.’ She smiled at him. They both approved of the move, Fleming especially so. She and Megan were on the same wavelength. Blake still missed his old DS, Emma, whom Megan would replace. She’d had a relaxed positivity that Megan lacked. But still, Maloney was efficient and had the right priorities – she was a world away from Patrick Wilkins.

  ‘I’m delighted for her, of course,’ Fleming said. She gave him a look. ‘I thought I’d let Patrick know about the move. As a courtesy, so that he’s in the picture when he returns to work.’

  Blake raised an eyebrow and his boss gave him an innocent smile. ‘He won’t like it, of course. If he comes back, I’ll be very careful to pick and choose the cases he can work on, and what information he has access to. Megan will have a far freer hand than he will. That and respect.’

  ‘You’re hoping the news of her promotion might put him off returning to work?’

  Fleming opened her eyes wide. ‘What an extraordinary thing to suggest, Blake!’

  He allowed a smile to surface.

  ‘Speaking of which, if Patrick doesn’t come back, we’ll have another vacancy at DS level,’ his boss added.

  ‘Max,’ Blake said. His DC had let his career stagnate since his wife was killed in a car accident. She’d been so young. Blake got the impression Max had clung to the job he knew because he couldn’t cope with anything more, emotionally. But in the last year he’d started to come back out of his shell. He’d already taken the necessary exams.

  ‘Max indeed.’ Fleming leant forward, her elbows on the desk, her new sleek hair gleaming darkly under the overhead lights. ‘You put him with Tara today, for the door to doors.’

  She made it sound like an accusation.

  ‘Tara’s excellent at interviews and observation. She complements Max. You know what he’s like; he’ll drink everything in without the interviewee even noticing. And then between the two of them they come up with some interesting ideas.’

  Fleming nodded. ‘All well and good. I’m aware worming information out of the unwary is Tara’s forte. But I feel it would be better to get her and Max working separately.’ She put her head on one side. ‘We still need to finish assessing him for the core competencies. At this stage, he needs someone who’ll nudge him onto centre stage. He’s a good copper, Blake.’

  He didn’t need Fleming to tell him that. Blake had been the one who’d championed Max’s cause when he’d been going through hell. He opened his mouth, but Fleming held up a hand.

  ‘I know I was tough on him in the early days, soon after his wife died. I sympathised with him, truly, but he was unreliable back then and jeopardising the team. That doesn’t mean I ever doubted his abilities; I just wanted him to take more compassionate leave if he wasn’t up to the job. He’s on top form now.

  ‘But I bet it was Tara who took the lead today when they went out together,’ Fleming went on. ‘She’s a huge asset to the team, but she’s not backward in coming forward. Max needs to be given the chance to develop. Meanwhile Megan, in her new role, needs experience of managing other staff. I’d like you to pair them together for now, and task Megan with giving Max the extra push he needs.

  ‘You can take Tara along with you instead. She’s interviewed Matthew Cope twice now, and quizzed the gallery manager over the phone. She’s ended up with a lot of background that you could make use of. And you’re well-matched personality-wise – you can wade in if Tara oversteps the mark, tell her to be a team player.’

  It was something Fleming had had to remind him of before and by the twinkle in her eye he could see she thought Tara would give him a run for his money.

  Blake sought a way to undermine her argument, but in about half a second he realised that she was right. Having Tara there to snoop round the gallery whilst he’d interviewed Jonny Trent, for instance – that would have worked. She could have intercepted Monique downstairs as soon as the gallery client had left too. He’d been unable to catch her alone himself; by the time he’d finished talking to Trent, the first potential buyer had left and been replaced by another. Damn. And he’d half thought of taking her with him too. But he’d held off. Deep down, he knew why that was. Too much time with Tara, day in, day out, was a problem. When they were together there was a spark.

  He glanced up at Fleming. Had she guessed the truth? Or did she just think he was being a control freak, heading out on his own? She’d had another one of Patrick Wilkins’ disciplinary meetings that morning and it had been Wilkins who’d spread rumours about him and Tara. It might have focused her mind on the possibility that Blake’s feelings for Tara could be affecting the way he ran his team.

  ‘You could pair Max with Megan tomorrow, for the search of Luke Cope’s house and interviewing the neighbours. Good plan?’

  Blake nodded. ‘Ma’am.’

  ‘Right,’ Fleming said, swiping her fringe to one side with her right hand. ‘You’d better get off.’

  He’d go out and talk to Tara; have a rethink about the plans for the following day and pull her out of the house search. He couldn’t run away from the situation he was in, and they were both quite capable of being professional. He wanted to talk to her about that car she’d seen too, making a dash away from Matthew Cope’s place.

  But when Blake left Fleming’s office, his DC was already gone.

  Thirteen

  Tara had sat in her car in the dark, outside Parkside police station, for some time, thinking about the Mercedes that had sped past her that morning when she’d been to visit Matthew Cope.

  Just because Luke drove a dark-red Volvo, didn’t mean it hadn’t been him. If he’d killed Freya Cross, he’d hardly take his own car if he needed to travel.

  Luke could have left the car out in the lane to avoid anyone associating the unfamiliar vehicle with his brother. Maybe he’d been after help; someone to support him in his attempts to get away. If so, had he already been in to talk to Matthew before she’d turned up? Or had he been forced to abandon the idea because she’d arrived? Matthew Cope had been on edge when he’d greeted her, but he’d naturally be a bundle of nerves under the circumstances. It didn’t tell her anything one way or the other.

  If the driver of the blue Mercedes hadn’t been Luke, then could it have been someone else connected with the case? Someone who had their own reasons for wanting to find the missing artist before the police?

  Either way, it made her want to talk to Matthew Cope again. He must be anxious – possibly close to br
eaking point. If he was protecting Luke, she reckoned she might be able to coax the information out of him: convince him that it was in his brother’s best interests to hand himself in – and make him see his own role clearly. She could ensure he’d sweat over his part in hiding the bastard who’d killed Freya Cross.

  She thought again of the text Luke had sent to Freya, the night she’d died. Please, Freya, meet me. Usual place. Nine tonight. Give me a chance and we can start again. She’d noted it down. The message fitted with the assertion that they’d been lovers. They’d quarrelled and Luke had painted the chilling scene of his hands around Freya’s neck. And then what had happened?

  There was still the possibility that someone else had found out about Freya and Luke’s planned meet-up and killed them both. Zach Cross could have seen the text on his wife’s phone.

  But if Luke was guilty the text could have been a callous bluff, to lure Freya out into the night. Or alternatively he could have meant what he’d said at the time he’d sent the message. Perhaps they’d argued again in the nature reserve and he’d lashed out.

  Freya had been struck with an object before she’d been strangled. Maybe that spoke of a spur of the moment act. And yet there weren’t many large stones in the nature reserve. If you were after a weapon, you’d have to search to find a suitable one.

  How had Freya felt when she’d got Luke’s text? Had her heart leapt at the thought of making up with her lover? Or had she been nervous and full of doubt as she’d headed off on the night of Friday twenty-third of February? Tara imagined her, waiting in the silent, frigid night air, listening for Luke, seeing him come closer, her anticipation mounting, then cowering in confusion and fear as he raised his hand, smashing down the rock he’d used to stun her.

  She rammed her key home and activated the ignition. She was going to go to talk to Matthew Cope again that night, before she went home. If he was hiding something, getting to him quickly was crucial. If Blake were there he’d probably decide to go instead of her. As she swung the car round in the car park she acknowledged that – officially – she ought to give him the chance. But her plans were the result of her own detective work. She’d been the one to notice that the Merc had been on a road to nowhere. And besides, there was no time. She reckoned Blake would be a while. DCI Fleming had had that look on her face – the one that spelled a heart to heart with her favourite employee.

  She wasn’t worried about going it alone. Thanks to Paul Kemp, the ex-police officer who’d taught her self-defence, she knew how to take care of herself. For a second, as she pulled out of the car park, she smiled into the darkness. Just before Christmas, Kemp had come to visit her unexpectedly – taken her by surprise, out on Stourbridge Common at night. He’d mock-attacked her as a joke (testing her skills, he’d said). And she’d had him on the ground, groaning, before she’d even realised who he was. He wouldn’t do that again in a hurry.

  Driving along Matthew Cope’s lane after dark was a different prospect to approaching his house during the day. Even that morning the area had put her on her guard. Now, she saw additional signs that made her watchful. A large fire, burning next to what looked like a derelict building on her left-hand side. It was raining hard, yet still they’d managed to keep it going, such was its size. Were there people sheltering inside the building? There must be. She heard dogs barking as she had earlier, and an angry shout. She’d reduced her speed to cope with the potholes – her Fiat wasn’t in its first flush of youth – but instinct made her want to put her foot down.

  She was just rounding a bend when something flew out of a hedge and hit the rear of her car. Hell. Someone had thrown a stone. Maybe people round here felt so disenfranchised they’d lash out at any stranger on their territory. Matthew Cope’s house might be large, with massive grounds, but it wasn’t in an area Tara would have chosen. Not that he’d chosen it, of course. Luke had certainly got the better deal when it came to the family houses they’d inherited.

  She was relieved that Matthew’s place was further out still; in this instance, leaving the populated areas felt like a plus. At last she turned into the man’s driveway, but the house was in darkness, and the BMW she’d seen earlier in the day was missing.

  She exited her car, closing its door as quietly as she could. Out there in the rain-washed night, in the countryside with no visible moon, it was hard to see much. She turned up her collar against the weather and surveyed her surroundings first, checking for any sign of movement amongst the dark holly bushes and shrubs that bordered the grounds. The place seemed quiet, but she rescanned everything in her line of sight as her eyes adjusted to the light levels.

  She went to knock on the door, just to be sure, but the missing car made her certain she’d had a wasted trip. There was no sign of life when she peered through one of the windows.

  Where had Matthew Cope gone? The state he’d been in that morning hadn’t led her to suppose he’d be up for an evening out. What if he was missing because he was already off somewhere, helping Luke?

  She put a hand in her bag and felt for her mobile but before she found it she registered a noise. There was a car approaching up the lane. She could hear its engine, and the sound of its wheels against the loose surface of the road. She was up by the house still, but her car was sitting there in the driveway for all to see. Was it Matthew Cope returning home? She glanced at her watch. It was early yet, if he’d gone out for the evening. She stood there, tensed. Even if it was Matthew, it wasn’t impossible that he was coming home with a killer in his passenger seat. How far would he go to protect his brother? They clearly had a close bond. Matthew had been desperate for the police to take Luke’s disappearance seriously. Tara remembered his irritation at his brother’s unworldliness but also his sense that he knew what was best for him. Maybe he was in the habit of taking charge…

  The sound of the engine was getting louder. She could shut herself in her own car, ready to make her escape – but if the incoming vehicle saw her and blocked the exit she’d be more vulnerable than if she stayed hidden. At least this way she could escape through a hedge into the neighbouring fields if she needed to. In theory… She didn’t like the look of that holly. Thank goodness for the thick winter coat she still wore.

  She could see the car’s lights now, at the head of the driveway. They swung round to face the house full on – the dual beams dazzling her.

  She stood absolutely still at the side of the building. She was half hidden, yet able to peer round to view who got out of the vehicle. But the driver left their headlights on. Although she could see a figure emerge from the car – on the driver’s side – she couldn’t tell if it was Matthew Cope. The person was a little shorter, she thought, and broader in the shoulders too. They moved behind their own car and towards hers, peering in at the windows, trying the door. Which she’d left unlocked…

  They’d taken out a phone to use as a torch. And now they shone it at the house, sweeping the beam over its frontage.

  Tara ducked back and held her breath as they walked towards the building.

  Damn the torch. If it wasn’t in her eyes she’d be able to see who was carrying it. Adrenaline coursed round her body. She was ready for them if she needed to put up a fight. At least it seemed they were alone.

  She was poised to spring, when the torchlight was suddenly switched off. ‘Come out, come out, wherever you are!’

  Right.

  She stepped forward. ‘Evening, boss. What brings you here?’

  She could just see Blake’s eyes glint. She knew that look. When he answered, his voice was calm, but that didn’t fool her. ‘Same as you, I imagine. Your observations earlier made me think it was worth coming to check that Matthew Cope was safely tucked up in bed. I was going to suggest we made the trip together, especially given it’s off the back of your intelligence. But by the time Fleming finally let me go you’d disappeared.’

  Tara was glad he’d acknowledged her work, but she could hear the edge to his voice.

  ‘W
hat the hell did you mean by coming over here on your own? Worse, without letting anyone at the station know what you were up to?’

  His sharp words were accentuated in the still, wet night, and were all the more annoying because he had a point. Trying to justify herself wasn’t a viable option. She stayed silent instead. She couldn’t bring herself to argue or explain.

  She heard him sigh; saw his breath in the cold night air. ‘You’re not a journalist any more, Tara. Policing means working as a team. If you put yourself and a case at risk everyone’s affected.’

  She knew this was where she should apologise. And that her anger was for a multitude of complicated reasons, mostly unrelated to why she’d been outside on her own, preparing to deal with a man who might be shielding a killer.

  At last she saw Blake’s shoulders go down. ‘What were you about to do, before I showed up?’ he asked, his voice quieter now.

  ‘Call Matthew Cope’s mobile. If there’s any chance he’s helping his brother that might be what he’s up to right now.’ Whilst we stand here, and you treat me like a schoolchild. And I behave like one…

  ‘Agreed.’ He nodded towards the phone she’d now dragged out of her trouser pocket. ‘Get on with it, then.’

  Tara dialled. It took Matthew Cope several rings to pick up. What are you up to?

  ‘Matthew Cope,’ the disembodied voice announced.