Staverton (17 page)

As the constable turned his back, Lawrence shot past him, running to the front door. The constable ran after him.

I heard shouting and what sounded like a fight breaking out, bangs, thuds, furniture shifting. I followed Michael toward the source of the noise.

There, in the middle of the hallway, stood Malcolm.

His hair, normally neatly combed over to hide his bald patch, was messed up. Long, grey, dishevelled strands hung at the side of his face and failed to hide the shiny spot on his head. His usually plump, cheerful face looked haggard.

Malcolm held up a finger, pointing it at Lawrence first, then turning slowly to include us all. “It was you. You killed her.”

“Come along now, sir,” the police constable said, walking slowly towards Malcolm, with his hands stretched out as if trying to coax a bird to land on his hand.

Tense, we all stood still, waiting to see what Malcolm would do. Then I became aware of noise behind me. The detective was shouting orders.

“Get back you fools, not now. Take her back.”

I turned and saw two men bearing a trolley with a white sheet draped over it. I knew Gwen was underneath that sheet.

So did Malcolm.

The noise that came from deep in his throat didn’t quite sound human, and his face contorted in rage. He charged towards the trolley.

The two paramedics tried to retreat, to push the trolley back, but the hallway was narrow, and they couldn’t move quickly enough. They looked terrified as Malcolm ran towards them.

Before Malcolm reached the trolley, the Detective stepped into his path. He lowered his shoulder so it hit Malcolm at stomach level. I heard Malcolm’s sharp expelled breath. Then he fell, crumpled to the floor and began to sob.

The detective bent down and yanked him up by the elbow. He nodded to the male constable who took Malcolm’s other arm, and they cuffed him. Malcolm didn’t even seem to notice.

As they led him out, past everyone, Michael moved over to me and put his arm around me and squeezed. It was because I was crying, I realised, but I couldn’t help it. I wiped the tears away.

“It’s okay,” he said.

Of course, it wasn’t okay. It was just something people said when they couldn’t find the right words.

Chapter 22

The female constable, who introduced herself as PC Rosen, interviewed me. The detective had left, intent on interviewing Malcolm at the station. She seemed young and inexperienced, but excited, which put my back up. I got through the questions easily, mainly by telling the police woman I had absolutely no idea what happened as I’d been asleep.

Angela told me Gwen had been murdered, killed by a blow to the head with a blunt object.

The police found a large, glass ash-tray, covered in blood, near Gwen’s body, but PC Rosen wouldn’t say whether that was the murder weapon. She did tell me evidence had been collected from the scene, but she couldn’t comment until it had been processed.

As soon as the interview was over, I telephoned Freddie. It was only six o’clock in the morning, but I couldn’t wait any longer.

When he answered, his voice was thick with sleep. “Lucy, what’s the matter?”

I blurted it all out over the phone: seeing the body, Malcolm getting arrested and the fact the police had said I couldn’t leave.

“Nonsense. You let me talk to them. Put them on.”

I handed the phone to PC Rosen, who began to explain to Freddie why they couldn’t let me leave. From the look on the woman’s face, though, it seemed Freddie was giving her a piece of his mind. She said, “Yes, sir, but...” roughly ten times, before she handed the phone back to me.

“Now you listen to me, Lucy,” Freddie said. “If they won’t let you leave, then I’ll come to you. You’ve got nothing to worry about. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Maybe I should have told him not to make the long journey, told him I would be fine, but I didn’t. I was glad he was coming.

***

As the police sealed off most of the house for forensic investigations, the Harringtons relocated to the guest house. It only had three bedrooms and an open plan kitchen and living area. It hadn’t been used for a while, the musty smell and dusty surfaces were evidence of that.

Angela walked around the room, wiping a finger over shelves and tables. “Honestly, Magdalena can’t have cleaned it for ages.” Angela stopped, struck by a fresh thought. “I’ll have to phone her, tell her not to come to work this morning.”

No one replied.

With everyone crammed into the small living area, it felt cramped and claustrophobic. I longed to open a window, despite the chill in the early morning air.

“We need to sleep. Where the hell are the sheets?” Lawrence yanked open a cupboard in the kitchen and then banged it shut.

“I’ll get them,” Angela said, rushing out of the room. Lawrence stalked after her.

Once the beds were made up, everyone wandered off to their respective rooms. Angela and Lawrence took the largest room, Caroline and I the second bedroom, and Jake had the third, which only had a single bed. Michael said he didn’t mind sleeping on the sofa.

In our room, Caroline shut the curtains. They were made of a heavy, thick fabric, which blocked out the sun and made the room very dark. I would have preferred to keep them open, I didn’t want to sleep.

We kept our clothes on, only pausing to kick off our shoes before getting into bed. It was so dark I couldn’t see Caroline’s face properly.

“Caroline?”

“Yes.”

“What did the detective say?”

Caroline paused, then said, “He wanted to know when I found her, and if I’d touched her.”

“Did you?”

“Look, I don’t really want to talk about it now. Can we get some sleep?”

“Sorry. Of course.”

I lay there, looking up at the dark ceiling, as Caroline’s breathing grew deep and regular.

I dozed off with my mind full of images of Gwen, alive and dead. When I woke, my mouth tasted dry and bitter and my head ached. Caroline was still sleeping, and I considered getting up and going for a walk. It would be better than staying in this dark room, it wasn’t even light enough to see the time on my watch.

I heard the door open.

I shrank back against the bed covers. A sliver of light penetrated the gloom. At first, all I could see was a silhouette of a man in the doorway. He didn’t move and neither did I.

After a few moments, I shifted slightly to get a better look at him, hoping it looked like I was simply turning in my sleep.

It was Lawrence.

Chapter 23

He didn’t approach the bed, but just stared into the bedroom. I could feel my heart beating, my muscles tensed, and I struggled to keep my breathing steady.

Then he turned and left.

I tried to make myself relax, but I couldn’t.

It was natural for him to be worried for his daughter and want to check on her. If it was anyone except Lawrence, I might have found that reassuring, but when he did it, I found it creepy. Menacing.

I couldn’t stay still any longer. I needed to get up and do something.

I rummaged through my hold-all, looking for fresh clothes, trying not to wake Caroline. I pulled on my clothes, tied my hair back in a ponytail, slipped on my tennis shoes and headed down the hall, to the bathroom.

It was quiet and didn’t seem like anyone else was up yet. But I knew Lawrence was awake, walking around. Somewhere.

I cleaned my teeth, splashed water on my face and started to feel a little better. On my way out, I crept past Michael. He was asleep, one arm flung back over the arm rest and his neck tilted at an uncomfortable angle. I considered waking him, sitting beside him on the sofa and touching his cheek, then decided against it.

Outside, the air was fresh and clean, invigorating. I followed the trail down the cliff path. Instead of walking down to the beach, I sat on the grass, near the cliff’s edge, and stared out at the sea. The sunlight hit the waves as they rolled in to the beach.

The sea was calm today. I had expected turmoil, a cauldron of foam, a reflection of what happened last night, or at least a reflection of how I felt, but the gentle waves, barely rippled against the rocks. The sea could be deceptive, perhaps there was a riptide under that calm surface.

It was beautiful here, but I was looking forward to going home to Scotland. I smiled as it struck me this was the first time I’d thought of Freddie’s place as home. Home, where I felt safe and secure.

I plucked a blade of grass and ran it through my fingers. I remembered meeting Gwen on the beach and how encouraging she’d been when I told her my plans to set up my own gallery. I tried to forget how annoyed I’d been with Gwen’s flirting. It seemed wrong to think about that now. But her role as a femme fatale had killed her. Crime of passion, that’s what I’d overheard one of the police officers say.

I tightened the band around my ponytail and wondered how much evidence they had against Malcolm. If the evidence was overwhelming, I’d be able to leave here sooner because the police probably wouldn’t need to talk to me again. But I couldn’t help remembering how nice Malcolm had been to me. How he’d tried to cheer me up when I’d been seasick, and how he’d tried to warn me off that sleazebag, Dean.

I touched the bump on my head, winced. If there was any justice, Dean would have crashed and wrecked his car last night. It was the least he deserved after attacking me then speeding away when he was drunk.

The breeze picked up, I shivered and decided to walk along the trail a bit further, to warm myself. I walked for five minutes, following the path to the woodland area at the edge of the property.

I hesitated for a moment, weighing up the options. It was out of the sun, but it was also out of the freezing wind, which was cutting through my jumper. I’d go into the woods, but just a little way in. I walked on, entering the woods, crunching along the trail.

It was perfectly safe, and I’d walked here before, even jogged the whole length of the trail, but today I felt on edge, which wasn’t much of a surprise. I pushed my hands deep into my pockets and quickened my pace.

It smelled damp and musty. As I walked deeper into the woods, rotting leaves made the trail slippery, and the trees thickened blocking out the light. I stepped over a thick branch that had fallen across the trail. Funny, I thought, I was pretty sure that wasn’t there the last time I walked through the woods.

I stopped. Had I taken a wrong turn? I turned to face the way I had come and saw a reassuring crescent of sunlight in the distance. I’d better go back. I didn’t want to get lost, especially not today.

As I turned, a small brownish creature crashed out of the ferns. I staggered back, tripping on the root of a tree. I landed on my backside with a thud.

It was only a pheasant, wings flapping and making a racket.

I shooed it away, clapping my hands, “Go on, clear off. You almost gave me a heart attack.”

The bird disappeared into the undergrowth.

It could have been worse. At least there hadn’t been any witnesses. I tried to wipe the dirt from the back of my jeans. If my nerves were so on edge that even birds made me jump, I’d be better off back at the summerhouse. Even being stuck indoors with Lawrence was better than that.

I jogged all the way back. My mind and ears played tricks on me. Convinced I could hear footsteps other than my own, twice I turned to make sure no one was running after me.

When I reached the edge of the woods, I paused and bent double, to catch my breath. I started to walk back towards the house and caught sight of a group of people near the entrance of the summerhouse. Probably more police, with more questions.

I considered heading back to the cliff path to avoid them. I was warm enough now, after my run. I could sit there for another half an hour or so, enough time for them to ask their questions and leave. I’d almost turned when I glimpsed a familiar figure.

I smiled, ran along the path and flung myself into Freddie’s arms.

“You came.” That was all I could say.

“Of course I did. I told you I would.” He held my shoulders at arms length, then drew me in for a long hug. “I’ve just been speaking to Detective Alcott. He says you can come back with me now.”

I pulled away from Freddie, turned and noticed the people standing around us. Detective Inspector Alcott stood there scowling.

“So I can go? No more questions? I can go back to Scotland, today?”

Detective Inspector Alcott sniffed. “We’ve got your statement, and I’ve got your address. We know where you are if we have questions.” He made it sound like a threat.

Michael stood there too, with his arms folded. “You’d better come in, Lucy, and get packed. Can I offer you a drink, Freddie?”

“That’s good of you.”

Michael led the way into the summerhouse. Freddie looked out of place. It wasn’t only his size – Michael was almost as tall as Freddie. Everything in the summerhouse looked delicate and fragile and emphasised Freddie’s bulk. He dwarfed the ornate chair he sat on, the chair’s spindly legs looked as if they might not hold out. He held his teacup by wrapping his hand around it, ignoring the heat, because his fingers were too thick to use the handle.

Angela told Freddie what a wonderful guest I had been and how sorry she was my visit ended in such a tragedy. She never actually used the word murder. She said tragedy, unfortunate occurrence, sad event, but never murder.

I excused myself from the room to go and get my things together. Despite the horrible morning, I felt laughter bubble up in my chest when Freddie shot me a panicked look. Angela clearly petrified him.

Michael caught up with me before I entered the bedroom.

“You’re leaving?”

I nodded.

“I don’t blame you.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then exhaled, and gave me a half smile.

I wanted to say so many things, but it wasn’t the right time or the right place. “I better go and pack.”

As I moved towards the bedroom I had shared with Caroline, Michael put a hand on my arm. “After he left last night, Dean crashed on the cliff road.”

“Is he...”

“He’ll live, but he’s got a broken leg, and he’ll be charged with driving under the influence.”