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

by Clare Chase

  And besides, it made sense to leave any intense discussions until they were in a larger group. Heat rushed over her at the thought of how frank she’d been about her feelings when she’d fallen against Blake on the steps. It was the first time she’d put anything into words.

  At last, she and her DI withdrew from the scene to avoid disturbing things further. Neither of them spoke. At the door of the mill, they came face to face with Max and Megan. Tara’s mind was still full of what she’d just seen, her stomach turning at the mental snapshot of Luke Cope’s pecked eye, which she’d now hold in her memory forever.

  And yet Megan’s look, which took in both her and Blake, distracted her. What was on her mind?

  ‘You went ahead without us then,’ she said, unnecessarily.

  Tara saw Max give the woman a sharp glance as Blake replied. ‘We did, though as it turned out, there was no urgency after all.’ Tara saw his shoulders twitch for a second. He was probably reliving the scene on the dust floor too. ‘Luke Cope isn’t going anywhere.’

  Twenty-Four

  Tara drove back to Cambridge along grey lanes, past the saturated peat-black fields, through a landscape that was even more waterlogged than usual. She skirted round the edge of the city to reach the firm where Matthew Cope worked. According to the card he’d given her he was responsible for ‘New Business’. So, an expert in sales and promotion, she guessed, able to influence the thinking of prospective customers. It fitted with the market-savvy way he’d talked about his brother’s paintings.

  She swung her car into a wide driveway that led up to a large old manor house that had been converted into offices. The company specialised in medical devices and from what she understood, their software, sales, marketing, design and admin teams were all based here. The pale stone façade of the building was impressive. Elegant pillars rose up to a portico jutting out above the wide main entrance.

  Her stomach clenched as she exited the car and locked up. Better get it over with. She needed to ask Matthew Cope more questions, too. Time mattered, after so much enforced delay.

  She pressed the intercom and was admitted to a spacious reception area, modern-looking with a sweeping glass-fronted desk. She wouldn’t have fancied sitting there. There was no privacy at all. The only part of the receptionist that wasn’t visible was the bit hidden behind her computer. Tara showed her ID. ‘I’d like to speak to Matthew Cope please. Is it possible you could find us somewhere private?’

  The receptionist nodded, her eyes were full of questions and speculation. Understandable, but unbecoming all the same…

  As the woman dialled a number on her desk phone, Tara realised there was someone standing next to her.

  ‘Excuse me.’ It was a middle-aged man with tanned skin and a perfectly cut charcoal-grey suit. He’d had some winter sun by the look of it. All right for some. ‘Did I hear you ask for Matthew, Detective…?’

  He must have seen her warrant card. ‘Detective Constable Thorpe,’ Tara said, taking the hand the man proffered.

  ‘I’m Edward Armstrong, CEO of this place.’ He gestured round the reception area. ‘This is about Luke, I suppose.’ He must have seen her face and held up a hand before she spoke. ‘I understand. You can’t comment – of course you can’t. But the Copes are old family friends. My father was at boarding school with their father. Luke and Matthew are products of their father’s second marriage, so they’re somewhat younger than I am.’

  Tara pieced it all together in her mind. And now Matthew was working for Edward. Was this the old-boy network coming into play, then? ‘How long has Matthew been with you?’

  ‘Oh, since a few years after he graduated from university. He spent a little while working out what he wanted to do, and I offered him a place here.’

  ‘I see. And he’s in charge of new business, I gather.’ Tara was determined to keep the conversation on neutral territory.

  Edward Armstrong’s features moved into an easy smile, but there was something emotional in his eyes. ‘That’s his role. One of the new business team.’ He put his shoulders back. ‘He’s an excellent salesman. If I needed to offload oranges onto the people of Valencia, it’s him I’d send. He ought to run his own business really. And then Luke is a first-rate artist too.’ There was something paternal about the way he referred to the two men, in spite of them being the same generation. Perhaps it was the age gap.

  Armstrong sighed. ‘Luke never has been an easy person, Detective, for all his talent. Just recently I noticed Matthew was trying to build bridges with his brother, but Luke didn’t want anyone’s help, least of all Matthew’s. That said, they’d become better friends of late and that was down to Matthew’s efforts. Matthew confided in me, to a degree. I’m devastated to think that Luke has somehow gone off on the wrong path.’

  ‘Detective Constable.’ It was the receptionist who’d interrupted them. ‘I’ve asked Matthew Cope to meet you in the Peterson Room. If you’d like to come with me…’

  ‘I will show Constable Thorpe the way, Fiona,’ Edward Armstrong said, and ushered Tara through some glass double doors.

  Matthew Cope was already sitting at a highly polished table when Mr Armstrong opened the meeting room door for her. He looked up, his eyes hollow, cheeks pale. She could see the tension in his expression. There was a very slight delay before the CEO left them alone. Tara wasn’t sure if he was desperate to know what had happened, or just anxious for his employee.

  At last he retreated, and they had some privacy.

  ‘Matthew,’ she said, walking over quickly to take a seat alongside him. ‘I’m so sorry.’ He knew the moment she said that, of course – she could see from his face – but she was obliged to spell it out. ‘DI Blake and I found your brother’s body earlier this afternoon. We’re not sure how he died yet – we’ll need to wait for the pathologist’s report – but there are signs it might have been an overdose.’

  Matthew Cope’s voice was tight and controlled. ‘I felt in my gut that he’d done something terrible.’ His eyes met Tara’s. ‘We knew each other so well, you see. Not because we were especially close in adulthood, but because we spent our entire childhood together. We could often predict each other’s behaviour.’

  She nodded.

  ‘Where did you find him?’ Matthew asked, his tone still wooden. It was as though shock had stiffened his features. ‘I can’t believe no one had stumbled across his body before.’

  ‘He wasn’t out in the open,’ Tara said. Though immediately she thought of the open window and the crow that had flown in from the Fens.

  ‘What are you trying to tell me?’ Matthew’s eyes were on hers.

  ‘It seems he’d rented a property to the north of Cambridge, out in the Fens.’

  The man’s brother shook his head. ‘Why would he do that, in secret? Why wouldn’t he have told me?’

  ‘Maybe he just wanted a bolthole where he could go for complete solitude,’ she said. That was one bit of Luke Cope’s behaviour that she could understand.

  Matthew was facing the table again. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘You never got any hint that he had somewhere regular to stay overnight? Perhaps he had an extra set of keys on him that you couldn’t identify?’

  ‘I never noticed any – and if I had, I suppose I’d have assumed they were simply a spare lot, and not paid any attention.’

  ‘What will happen to Luke’s house now, Matthew? We’ll need to talk to his solicitors anyway, given we’ve got an ongoing presence there, but it would be useful to know.’

  Matthew blinked. ‘Yes, yes. It’s a good point. If Luke died before he came into full possession of the house it was to go to Vicky – Vicky Cope that is, my father’s daughter by his first marriage. She’s around seven years older than us.’

  Tara remembered he’d mentioned her, that day when she’d visited him at his home and he’d explained his family background.

  Matthew gave her a look. ‘My father and his first wife weren’t together for that long. He moved on
quite quickly from Vicky’s mother to mine. Vicky lived in the house off Trumpington Road when she was a small child. She might have missed it, I suppose, after her mother took her off to Suffolk – it’s odd to think of her moving back in after all these years.’

  ‘Had your father provided for her in any other way?’

  Matthew nodded. ‘Oh yes. She inherited his business. Vicky will be able to sell the house if she likes and plough the proceeds back into the family firm. I think they imagined she’d make sensible use of any inheritance – and she had that old connection with the house. But of course, my parents could never have anticipated the situation we’re currently in.’

  ‘No, no – of course not. Do you know Vicky well?’

  ‘Not terribly.’ His eyes met hers for a moment. ‘Her mother allowed us to be introduced, but I’m sure she never forgave my father for being unfaithful. Maybe it was guilt that made him put the clause in his will that would allow the central Cambridge home to go straight to Vicky if Luke predeceased her.’

  Tara would be curious to meet the woman; she hoped she’d be the one who got to interview her. ‘Is she local still?’ Suffolk wasn’t any great distance away.

  Matthew nodded. ‘My father ran a patent law firm; it fed off the new innovations that come out of the university spin-out companies here, so he set it up in the city centre. Vicky’s in and out of Cambridge all the time.’

  A potentially resentful sibling who’d been pushed out of her home and was on the spot. Right… She switched topic. ‘Matthew, I’m afraid I need to ask you about some more paintings we found at your brother’s house, too. Are you up to it now?’

  He gave a quick nod. ‘Of course. I won’t get any peace until I understand how all this could have happened.’

  Tara took out her phone. ‘You alerted us to the painting your brother had done of Freya Cross,’ she said. ‘Were you also aware that he’d painted other scenes showing people who were dead or near death?’

  Matthew opened his eyes wider. ‘You’ve got photographs?’ he said, glancing at her phone. ‘Show me. I’d rather know.’

  She scrolled between the images of the two paintings Megan Maloney had found in Luke Cope’s studio.

  Matthew went completely still, and it was a moment before he spoke. ‘I believe’ – he paused again and closed his eyes – ‘I believe the man who is dead at the foot of the stairs is meant to be my father.’ His eyes met Tara’s. ‘Luke wasn’t in the house when my father fell. There’s no question of him being involved.’ The words came quickly. ‘The second picture is of Dr Imogen Field.’

  The name brought back a memory. Luke Cope’s ex; the one he’d seemingly abandoned for Freya Cross, judging by the timing.

  Matthew’s eyes were on hers. ‘You already know about her?’

  She nodded. He didn’t miss anything.

  ‘Imogen’s very much alive. I saw her at a gathering in town only two weeks ago.’

  Freya Cross had been alive back then, too. But Megan had spoken to Dr Field more recently, when she was running through Luke’s contacts. A chill ran down Tara’s spine; what part might she have played in recent events? A woman who’d been painted dead in Luke Cope’s imagination, and seemingly superseded by Freya Cross in the artist’s affections.

  Twenty-Five

  Shona Kennedy had agreed to meet Patrick Wilkins for a drink at the Grain and Hop Store. Patrick had had to accept Shona’s choice of venue, which overlooked Parker’s Piece, the large square green in front of Parkside police station. He couldn’t quell his irritation when she kept glancing over his shoulder at his place of work and squinting.

  ‘I’m glad the view’s so fascinating,’ he said at last, when he realised she was still concentrating on the comings and goings of his erstwhile colleagues rather than his account of his most recent disciplinary meeting. ‘Is anything actually happening?’ He and Shona had been sleeping together for over a year, but he was starting to wonder if their relationship would last, now that he was no longer in a position to share the titbits of privileged police information that he used to put her way. Was the woman really that shallow?

  ‘Nothing much,’ Shona said, sighing.

  He’d intended his words to make her remember herself and focus on him. Clearly, the subtle approach hadn’t worked.

  ‘I’m worried I’ve missed something,’ his girlfriend said, picking up her glass of chilled Sauvignon Blanc and taking a sip, her eyes still fixed on the station. ‘After we got the tip-off about the police going after Luke Cope for Freya Cross’s murder, I was sure things were about to kick off.’

  ‘Who gave you the information? One of us?’ Had she already managed to sweet talk someone at the station into handing over the secrets he’d once shared with her?

  Now Shona faced him properly. ‘Not as far as I know. Your lot didn’t believe me when I told them, but it genuinely was an anonymous tip-off. I was curious, so I checked the caller number and it turns out someone used one of the phone boxes next to Great St Mary’s in town. I can’t imagine who would have made the call.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘Giles says maybe I’ve got a secret admirer, intent on helping me out.’

  Patrick decided not to feed her ego by replying.

  ‘Anyway,’ Shona went on, ‘as soon as I got the tip-off I went straight round to that gorgeous townhouse Luke Cope owns and the information was clearly true. I saw DI Blake go into the house himself. But after a while he went off again and eventually the rest of the team did too. No one seemed in a major hurry, but now, I don’t know…’

  ‘Was Blake with Tara Thorpe?’

  ‘What?’ Shona frowned.

  ‘When he left this Luke Cope’s house, was Blake with Tara?’ Shona disliked their mutual former colleague almost as much as he did. Patrick just needed to get her mind on the right train of thought. Currently, he was more interested in bringing his old adversary down than who had killed some Newnham housewife. Bloody artists. Unstable lot. The Luke guy was probably guilty.

  ‘Oh.’ Shona nodded, tucking her sleek, golden-brown hair behind one ear with a well-manicured hand. ‘Yes, he was. I’d say she’ll step right into your shoes before long, Patrick.’

  He shook his head. ‘Hasn’t got enough experience to go for DS yet. Dim Dimity and Moany Maloney have a lot more under their belts.’

  ‘I’m not sure she’ll be held back by her rank. Your DI already treats her as an equal. How long before you get back to work and remind her who’s boss?’

  Her words made his stomach knot. She might be on his side, but she knew just how to twist the knife in his wound. He could well believe Blake preferred having Tara at his side and Wilkins himself out of the picture. He didn’t want to make it easy for the man, and yet…

  ‘I’m thinking of resigning, Shona.’ That would be a true test of his girlfriend’s affections. Had she just been hanging onto the relationship in the hope that one day soon she’d be able to go back to getting inside information from him?

  Shona put her head on one side. ‘Really?’ She leant in close and reached one red-nailed hand up to his cheek. ‘It’s not like you to give up, Patrick. Don’t let the bastards get you down, remember?’

  ‘Sad to be losing your source?’ He looked for the self-interest in her eyes. It would take her a while to find another informant. Or so he hoped. But did she seriously imagine that he, Patrick, was still a viable option? That he’d be allowed back into a position where he had access to information that really mattered? Whatever poxy job they graciously allowed him to perform, it would be away from case-critical material and inside knowledge.

  Her smile only took a moment to arrive, as sweet as syrup. ‘Of course not. But you’re such a great detective; it would be an awful waste if you resigned.’

  ‘I’ve got my pride. If I go back I want to go back on my terms, and that’s not going to happen.’

  Shona raised her glass to him. ‘I admire your spirit.’ Then she lowered her voice and her tone became husky. ‘But darling, how will y
ou get even with the golden girl Tara if you’re stuck on the outside?’

  Patrick gave her a lazy smile. ‘As a matter of fact, I’ve got a strategy on that front.’

  ‘Sugar!’ Shona laughed and moved her head closer to his. He had her full attention now, he could see. Good. ‘You intrigue me! Do tell me what you’ve got planned. Does it have anything to do with Giles, and Not Now?’

  She’d seen him come out of a meeting with the magazine’s editor a couple of days before and had been probing ever since.

  Patrick took great delight in tapping the side of his nose with his finger. ‘My lips are sealed,’ he said.

  Shona giggled. ‘Oh, is that so? We’ll see about that later this evening, shall we? Your place?’

  Patrick lifted his glass. ‘My place.’

  Perhaps their relationship had a bit more shelf life after all, but he wasn’t going to tell her what he and Giles had got planned. Not before the time was right, anyway.

  Twenty-Six

  Blake watched Agneta Larsson remove her gloves and walk towards him, away from Luke Cope’s body, which lay in the centre of her room at Addenbrooke’s mortuary.

  ‘Thanks for getting on to him so quickly.’

  She smiled, her silvery blonde hair falling over one eye for a second. ‘Hey, no problem, Blake. Frans is already home with Elise, so that’s all sorted.’

  Frans’ work as a freelance web designer gave him the flexibility to pick up the slack when Agneta couldn’t be around.

  ‘As for the other subjects on my list,’ the pathologist said, ‘this takes priority given it’s related to the Freya Cross case. And I know you,’ she gave Blake a look, her blue eyes on his, ‘you think there’s more to this than murder–suicide, right?’