(2011) Only the Innocent (45 page)

‘Of course,’ she replied. ‘I’m quite a tough old bird, you know. And I’m intrigued. I’ve no doubt my brother was a nasty bastard given his parentage, but I’d love to be proved wrong. For his daughter’s sake if nothing else.’

Tom glanced at Laura, to see how Beatrice’s words had affected her. It was one thing knowing that your husband was a bastard, but it was very different to hear it voiced by somebody else.

‘Don’t look so worried, Tom.’ Laura said. ‘I think we all know what Hugo was, and there’s a sort of morbid fascination about it, isn’t there? It’s the same when people drive past a terrible car accident and feel compelled to look. I’m probably the only person in the room who hopes that Mirela turns up in a bar in Brighton, and there’s nothing to find at the farm other than a secret haven that Hugo escaped to when life became too hectic.’ Laura paused. ‘Although I’m honestly not stupid enough to believe that.’

Everybody was silent for a moment, each recognising a twinge of guilt at the frisson of excitement they were feeling. Tom turned to Laura.

‘Becky will keep you up to date, Laura, and I’m sure your family will offer you all the support and comfort you need in what must be a dreadful time for you.’ Tom spoke the last sentence quite forcefully, as if instructing Laura’s family to look after her, and desist from speculation and conjecture.

‘Let’s go, Beatrice,’ he said. ‘Becky, call us when you have any information.’

Helping Beatrice back on with her anorak, he gave a last sympathetic glance at Laura and a curt nod to the rest of the assembled family, and made his way out to the car.

‘Shit, Becky. That’s not very helpful is it? Is that all they had to say?’ Tom paused, holding his earpiece firmly against his head to cut out the sound of traffic on the busy A34.

‘Buggeration. Right, leave it with me and I’ll get back to you.’

Tom switched off the phone, and tutted. He sensed, rather than saw, that Beatrice was turned towards him with curiosity.

‘I’m sorry, Beatrice. That was very rude of me.’

‘If you’re apologising for your language, Tom, I wouldn’t bother. I myself have a fairly comprehensive range of expletives at my disposal, and I don’t hesitate to use them as you’ve probably gathered. What’s the problem?’

‘There’s no trace of a property owned by anybody with the surname Fletcher, or Hugo’s company. Nothing in your mother’s maiden name, and we even tracked down your uncle’s name. Absolutely nothing. The only good thing is that Lytchett Minster isn’t a big place, so we’ll just have to drive around until we see something you recognise.’

‘That might not be so easy,’ Beatrice said. She frowned. ‘We always called it Lytchett Minster Farm because that’s the last village that we passed through before
getting
to the farm. It was a few miles from there, and I’ve no idea in which direction. I suspect there’s more than one road in and out.’

Both were lost in their own thoughts for a few moments. Beatrice broke the silence.

‘Hugo was a famous man, and easily recognised, so if he had a property that was close to others, he would have been seen. If he had neighbours, they would have come round to say hello and invite him to some tedious drinks party. You should assume that the farm - and it certainly originally was a farm - is secluded, and to all intents and purposes people probably think that it’s either unused or a holiday place. It used to be down an unmade road, more of a dirt track really. I’d ask the local plod to let you know which places are rarely used and very secluded. They’re bound to know.’

Tom had already started to phone Becky before Beatrice had finished - grasping her train of thought immediately.

*

Due entirely to Tom’s flagrant disregard for speed restrictions, they reached the turning to Lytchett Minster in record time. He had arranged to meet the local force in a pub car park to discuss the possible properties.

‘Beatrice, as soon as we reach the farm and you’ve identified it, one of the local women police officers will join you in my car, so you don’t have to be subjected to anything unpleasant. And for safety, although there’s no reason to suspect that there is any danger at all.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Tom. I’m coming in with you. I’ll know the house better than you, and I’ll be useful. Don’t worry - I won’t touch anything. I’ll follow at an appropriate distance, and I have nerves of steel. I think you need me.’

Tom could just make out a look of grim determination on Beatrice’s face. Neither of them knew what they were going to find, but Tom was hoping and praying that it would be Mirela Tinescy, safe and well. He had no time to argue with Beatrice as the car park was just ahead, with two police cars and an unmarked car waiting patiently for their arrival. They’d come out in force, so perhaps it was a quiet night in Poole.

Following swift introductions, and a few looks of bemusement at Beatrice - who had declared that she had expert knowledge and was vital to the investigation - the locals described the three properties as concisely as possible.

‘The first one’s set back from the road by about fifty metres. It’s not been inhabited for about five years. It’s in a bit of a state and there’s no roof in a couple of places - but there’s a new housing estate across the road, and we’ve had reports of lights in the house a few times in the last six months or so.’

‘It’s not that one.’

‘Why not, Beatrice?’ Tom wanted to hurry, but he didn’t want to overlook something and waste even more time.

‘Because it’s unlikely to be ‘in a state’. Much as I deplore the decor at Ashbury Park, Hugo will have liked his creature comforts. And fifty metres from the road doesn’t sound far enough. Not enough privacy. Next.’

Looking at Tom for approval, and getting a curt nod, the policeman moved on to the next property.

‘If the fence is anything to go by, this next one is in a good state of repair, but it’s a long way from the road. It doesn’t look as if it’s inhabited, but the fence goes all around it, and it’s got an electric gate. You can’t see the house from the road, and none of us has had any reason to go there, so we don’t know if it’s used at all.’

‘Sounds possible. Next.’

The policeman quickly gave details of the last house.

‘This one’s quite grand. We know that it’s used occasionally, because we’ve seen cars going in and out of the gates. It’s just on the edge of the village, but down a lane. The local kids used to go in the gardens to steal the fruit from the trees, but when the owners come down they bring a dog - and it frightened the children so they don’t go there anymore.’

‘It won’t be that one. If children can get in, Hugo wouldn’t like that. And he always hated dogs. Said they were dirty things that ate their own faeces. He got that from my mother. She always said…’

Tom interrupted her. He had no time to listen to tales of woe from Beatrice’s childhood.

‘So you think it’s property number two, Beatrice?’

‘Yes. Well hidden, fence, electric gate. Of the three, it’s the best option.’

‘Right. This is what I suggest. Given the number of us, I suggest that you Sergeant, together with your female officer, lead us to house number two, and you, detective constable, follow behind.’ He turned to the remaining two policemen. ‘Perhaps you two could go in the other car to house number three - just check it out from the outside. If we’re unlucky with number two, we’ll meet you there. Everybody okay with that?’

Nobody argued. Although out of his jurisdiction, his seniority and the importance of this case left them all more than willing to follow his orders.

Ten minutes later, Tom’s car was bumping down an unmade road in the middle of nowhere. There were no other houses within sight, and since leaving the main road they hadn’t passed another vehicle. The leading police car finally pulled up by a sliding metal electric gate. Tom pulled up on the lane behind. The sergeant walked over to the car, and Tom wound down his window. The lane was dark, and other than the wind swishing in the tall trees, blowing the autumn leaves from their boughs, there wasn’t a sound.

‘We need to get the gate open, sir. You can’t see the house from here, and it might be useful to get as close as we can in case we need any equipment. I’ll hop over the gate and open up. I just need a few minutes.’

‘How does he propose doing that?’ Beatrice asked. ‘It’s electric.’

‘He’ll have an alun key in his kit. A lot of the older electric gates can be opened with one, just in case of a power cut. You need to be able to get out somehow.’

‘Hah! Not as secure as you might think, then. I bet Hugo didn’t know that.’

Within moments, the sergeant was pushing the gate open, having disengaged the motor that was holding it closed. Tom began slowly steering the car up the winding drive, avoiding potholes and overhanging branches. The place had an air of desertion about it. Weeds grew high on either side of the drive and between the established trees there were a myriad of saplings, fighting for space and for light.

‘Does it look familiar yet, Beatrice?’

‘Not yet. I do get the sense that I’ve been here before, but that could just be wishful thinking.’ Beatrice peered eagerly through the windscreen. ‘Wait a minute. See that ramshackle building over there? That used to be a summerhouse. This is it.’

Tom felt a rush of adrenaline. He put his foot down. Bugger the potholes.

They rounded the bend in the drive, and ahead of them they saw the house, eerily quiet and dark against the night sky. As they pulled up close to the front door, Tom looked up at the building. The three storeys seemed to rear up menacingly, and the gothic arched windows were lifeless. The only light came from a weak moon, which was momentarily revealed, by the fast scudding clouds.

Tom turned to Beatrice.

‘Wait in the car, please Beatrice.’

‘No.’

Beatrice made to open her door. Tom turned to her in frustration, and could see the stubborn set of her jaw.

‘Beatrice, would you wait in the car, please?’

‘I heard you the first time, and I said no.’

Beatrice got out of the car and slammed the door decisively.

‘I know the layout of the house. I won’t get in the way.’

Tom hadn’t got time for this. He realised that short of handcuffing her to the steering wheel, this was one battle he wasn’t going to win. The other policemen were standing looking at the front door. One of them walked up and rang the bell. They could hear it echo ominously around the seemingly abandoned building. Nobody was expecting a response. They turned to look at Tom as he spoke. His voice was tight with tension, and he felt a creeping dread as he gave his instructions. If Mirela was here, she wasn’t able to get to the door.

‘Okay guys. We have grounds to believe that a young girl has been abducted, and our evidence to date suggests that she may well be inside this house. There is no reason to wait for a warrant, as she may be in danger. Everybody happy with that?’ There were nods all round.

‘We need to get in. Suggestions?’

‘The front door is solid hardwood, sir, five lever locks top and bottom. What about the windows?’

The detective was trying to peer through into the downstairs rooms.

‘All of these at the front seem to be very thick glass, and there are metal grills of some type on the inside. We’d need equipment.’

Tom could feel his blood racing. He was impatient, and apprehensive. The amount of security suggested that this was not a house used for idle pleasures. It was a fortress. Tom felt a tap on his shoulder.

‘Would an old coal chute be any use?’ Bless you, Beatrice, he thought.

‘It could well be. Where is it?’

‘I used to slide down it when I was a child. When I needed to hide. It’s probably filthy, but it comes into the cellar under the kitchen. There are some stairs that lead to a door into the rear hall. It might be locked, but unless it’s been replaced it was pretty flimsy. The chute’s just round this corner, I think.’

Tom felt hope stirring. Hugo probably was only concerned about people getting out of the house, and climbing up a steep smooth coal chute would be impossible. Perhaps he hadn’t bothered to secure it.

The chute was covered with wooden shutters set into the ground. They were very overgrown, indicating that they hadn’t been used in years, and they creaked and groaned as he pulled them back. Tom peered into the opening, and even with the aid of the light from his torch, it wasn’t possible to see how far down the chute went, and how dangerous it was. And there could be anything waiting at the bottom. The chute was narrow, though, and filthy. There was no way that Tom would fit down there.

Tom heard a quiet voice behind him.

‘I can get down there, sir.’ The woman officer was very slight, and Tom was sure the chute would be wide enough for her. The door at the other end, however, might be more difficult.

‘Bruce has got a jemmy in the boot, sir, and I know how to use it.’

The young sergeant was already running back to his vehicle, and the woman officer was slipping off her jacket and hat. Deciding that shoes might be vital for landing on a mountain of old coal, or whatever else lay at the bottom, she kept them on. She sat on the edge of the chute, clutched a torch and the jemmy that an out of breath Bruce had just delivered, and without hesitation pushed herself down the chute as if she were setting off on a helter-skelter ride.

They heard a clatter as she hit whatever was at the bottom, then silence. The policemen at the top of the chute held their breath, not daring to look at each other. Then an echoing voice came from the black depths below. Sounding a little less confident now that she was alone in the house, the police officer shouted up to them.

‘I’m okay, sir. Sorry for the delay. I dropped the torch when I landed, so I needed to just grope around a bit before I moved. I’ve got it now. I can see the stairs. I’ll see if I can find a way to let you in. I’ll start in the kitchen.’

Following Beatrice who had set off with a purpose, the officers made their way towards the shadowy and silent back of the house, stepping through the weeds that were growing over the disused gravel paths.