Buried With Honours: A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crime Thriller Page 13

  “Ma’am,” I greeted her.

  “How d’you get on then?”

  “Pretty good, all told. Not that we can make much sense of it. But we found a blood sample to analyse.”

  “Better than nothing,” she said, walking over to my desk and sticking a post-it note to my computer. “Details of the expert I’ve called. Just in case you need it.”

  “Much obliged,” I sat up, looking at the name. “Dr Kadim Azoulay.”

  “I’ve worked with him before,” Sharp told me. “And he’s coming from Lancaster, so the pair of you will be very nice to him.”

  Mills looked offended, but Sharp’s gaze was centred on me as she spoke.

  “If you recall correctly, ma’am, I got on very well with the last expert you put us in touch with.”

  “Azoulay’s a charming man, but I don’t see you putting Liene aside for him,” Sharp droned. “But you might surprise me.” She grinned, nodding to Mills as she turned and left us.

  “He’s coming tomorrow?” Mills checked.

  “So, I’m told. At least that means we won’t be trudging around the village in the freezing cold for a whole morning again. I say next time we take those little hand warmers that go in your pocket.”

  “My brother had one of those pop in his pocket once,” Mills said wistfully, turning slowly in his chair.

  “Thanks for sharing. Lunch?”

  “God yeah.”

  I grinned and pushed myself to my feet and was reaching for my coat when the phone on my desk rang. I groaned, debating leaving it there, but my better half walked over, picked it up and held it out to me.

  “DCI Thatcher,” I answered.

  “Inspector Thatcher,” a man’s voice greeted me faintly. “This is Teddy Flitting.”

  “Mr Flitting,” I said surprised, putting the phone on speaker for Mills, who quietly pushed our door closed, shutting out the noise of the station outside. “Or is it Lord?”

  “Mr is fine, I assure you. I’ve just had my mother here, explaining to me what’s happened in the village, and I was wondering if I’d be of any use to you? In any case, I’d love to understand more about what’s happening.”

  I looked over at Mills, who offered a shrug.

  “Would it be easier for us to come to you rather than speaking over the phone?”

  “I’d say no to be polite, but truthfully it would.”

  “We’ll head over now. Can I have your location?”

  He rattled off the address of a private hospital that Mills quickly copied down. I’d heard of the place; it wasn’t far from us.

  “See you soon, Mr Flitting.”

  “Thank you, Inspector.”

  I hung up and looked at Mills’s disgruntled face.

  “We can get lunch on the way back,” I told him, grabbing my coat and slinging it over my arms. Mills just grabbed his coat and followed me from the office. He snatched some biscuits from the kitchen as we passed, chomping down on them on our way outside, back into the car. I knew vaguely where the hospital was, so we set off, making the short drive across the city. We probably could have walked, but I think that Mills might have killed me if I so much as suggested it. I wasn’t much in the mood for it either, and five minutes later, we were pulling into the carpark of the modern building on the outskirts of the city, the countryside unfurling on the other side. The stone walls surrounding the hospital were covered with ivy, the gravel car park wrapping around one side of the building.

  I found a parking spot, and we climbed out, managing to navigate our way to the front door and wandered into the crisp white building, lined with vibrant green plants and long windows. It was peaceful inside, a stark contrast to the normal hospitals we usually ended up in, where making heads or tails of the building’s layout was half the trouble.

  I strolled over to the front desk, and the woman there stood up to meet me, smiling pleasantly.

  “Detective Chief Inspector Thatcher and Detective Sergeant Mills,” I introduced us as we each held out our IDs. “We’re here to see Teddy Flitting.”

  The woman nodded and picked up two visitors passed from the desk, handing them over.

  “Lord Flitting told me that you would be stopping by. If you take the lift to the third floor, he’s in room 302, just on the left.”

  “Thank you.” I smiled, slipping the pass over my head and walking over to where the lifts were concealed in the plain white panels of the wall. I hit the button, and the doors opened straight away. We stepped in, hitting the third floor, and they shut again, surprisingly quiet.

  “This is very swish,” Mills remarked. “Though I am curious as to what exactly Lord Flitting will be able to tell us about all this.”

  “Me neither, but you never know, and far be it from me to deny a man’s request when he’s ill in hospital.”

  In the mirrored walls of the lift, I could see Mills send me a curious look, nodding to himself as he pieced something together mentally. I’d not bothered to consider my swift agreement to Flitting’s request, just acting on the premise that this was his mother and wife and his village, so if he wanted to meet, we would meet.

  The lift rose quickly and quietly, and we were out on the third floor in what felt like a matter of seconds, strolling onto the quiet corridor to room 302. I knocked on the door, waiting until I heard a faint, “Come in,” from inside. I pushed the handle down and walked slowly into the room.

  It was a big room, the same gleaming white as downstairs, but there were a few personal touches scattered around. Framed photographs on the desk and bedside table, colourful blankets folded over the bed and the armchair in the corner. It was clear that he’d been here for a while, and it didn’t seem as if he would be leaving anytime soon.

  Lord Teddy Flitting sat in a chair by the window, wrapped in a dressing gown and looking thin and weak, but he sat up straight and smiled at us as we walked in, Mills shutting the door quietly behind us.

  “Detective Chief Inspector Thatcher,” he greeted me as I walked over, shaking his hand.

  “Lord Flitting.”

  “Please,” he indicated the two chairs that had been placed before him, and we sat down, side by side.

  “This is Detective Sergeant Mills,” I introduced him, and they leant forward, shaking hands.

  I sat back, studying the young man. I could see his resemblance to his mother. They had the same long nose and structured face. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and he looked pale and thin, but there was a brightness and intelligence in his gaze that refused to be too weak and sickly. He reminded me faintly of someone else, though I couldn’t quite pin him down. Maybe it was his uncle, in the picture I had seen in the pub. I left it, for now, crossing one leg over the other and hoping that my stomach wouldn’t rumble too loudly whilst we spoke. He wasn’t the first Lord I had ever met, but he was the first one to actually sit like one and the first to invite us to talk, rather than us wading in to try to solve a case.

  “I appreciate this very much,” he told us, folding his hands together over his knees. “I understand you must be very busy with this. I feel quite useless in here, unable to help.”

  “The more we can know, the better. Your mother was here earlier?”

  “She was,” he rolled his eyes fondly. “She seemed quite shaken by the whole thing. Said that my wife mentioned closing down the inn,” he reached up, scratching his ear. “I’ll call her later.”

  “We’ve just come from the village,” I told him. “We spoke to your wife before we left.”

  “How did she seem?” He asked quickly.

  “I don’t think we know her well enough to say, to be honest.”

  “No, of course not. Was she able to help?”

  “She was, rather. She stayed in the inn on Saturday night.”

  Teddy nodded. “She does from time to time, bless her. Is that important to the case?”

  “Given that Major Riggs was staying in the inn, we’re treating the location as connected, so we’re interested in
anyone who was there that weekend.”

  He nodded. “That the chap’s name? Riggs?”

  “Alexander Riggs. Familiar?” I asked hopefully.

  Teddy thought for a moment but shook his head. “Sadly not. And it is a homicide?”

  “It is,” I confirmed.

  He blew out a long breath, looking thoroughly irritated at not being there. “I think Sara’s right then, closing down the inn whilst you chaps crack on with the investigation might be prudent. Would it make a difference to you?”

  “If we need to bring in a forensics team, then yes, it would be easier, but in the meantime, we don’t want to deprive anyone of their work.”

  “Quite right,” he muttered. “My mother told me that the man, Riggs, that he was found by the river?”

  “He was. A mile or so downstream from the village.”

  Teddy nodded. “The river can be quite strong, especially when the wind picks up. I’ve been knocked in once or twice fishing before. How did he end up there?”

  “We’re having a little trouble figuring that out ourselves,” I admitted. “Nobody saw him leave the inn, so we don’t know for sure.”

  “Blimey,” he muttered. “I wish I could help. I’ve been telling them to get some better CCTV around that place. I think I might have to overrule my mother and put my foot down now.”

  “Can’t hurt to have a little extra security,” Mills piped up.

  “No, I don’t think so. There are a few old tracks,” he told us. “Around the village, that lead down to the river. Most of them are a little overgrown now, but if you know where they are, then they’re easy enough to navigate.”

  “Any around the inn?”

  “One or two, if memory serves. One goes around the woods through the back and down, the other goes down to what is now the Wheeler’s farm. Well, it’s been their farm for the better part of a century, but still.”

  “That’s the farm to the left of the inn?” Mills asked. “Down the slope?”

  Teddy shook his head. “Not that one, no. There’s a little passage on the side of the building. If you go down from the front, the path goes over some fields and down. Wheeler’s farm is right on the river, one of the smaller ones.”

  “Close to Jim Pinnick’s farm?” I asked.

  “In between the two. I used to walk that path as a lad when I could.”

  “How many people would know that it’s there?” Mills inquired.

  “All the locals, I’d imagine. But if Riggs had asked, they’d have pointed it out. It’s one of the few places with signal down by the Wheeler’s, so most people know vaguely how to get to it.”

  I’d managed to get a signal outside the inn, but it hadn’t been very strong. All of these alone made sense, and I could see how a case might be built around them. But what I still couldn’t understand was why Riggs had been killed. Unless it was a brash, senseless attack, there was no reason for it that I could see. Who had done it, and why had they? All this talk of riverbanks and hidden paths and bloodstains could only do so much. There had to be a reason for it all.

  “I take it that this sort of thing hasn’t happened in the village before?” I asked.

  “Not to my knowledge, certainly,” Teddy answered. “It’ll be a challenge for them to overcome, I’m sure. I don’t quite know how well my mother will handle it.”

  “We sensed,” I began carefully, “a little discord between your mother and wife.”

  Teddy sighed. “God, I know. They were alright at the start; mother was getting used to having her around the house. Things went south when I got ill and updated the will.”

  “So that the estate goes to Sara,” Mills said.

  Teddy nodded. “Which logically, makes a lot of sense. I might not have long, and, much as I love her, neither will mother. I’d hoped that they’d work together, but apparently, that’s not happened yet.”

  “There’s time still,” I said hopefully.

  Teddy just smiled.

  “How do the villages feel about that? About Sara inheriting the land?”

  Teddy shrugged. “I’ve not been there to talk to them about it. I know that they can be a little rigid when it comes to change, but they’ve always been very loyal to us, so I can’t see why they’d be too unhappy with it.” He breathed in heavily, suddenly looking very tired.

  “We’ll leave you to it,” I told him, rising from the chair and pulling a card from my pocket. “But if you need to get in touch with us again, feel free.”

  “Much obliged, Inspector. I don’t know if I can, but if I can help, let me know.”

  “We will, thank you, Lord Flitting.”

  He gave us a polite smile and a little bow of the head, and Mills and I left the room, wandering back to the lift. Thoughts ran around my head, difficult to keep tabs on.

  “Lunch?” Mills said hopefully. I nodded, hoping that a little bit of food would help to make sense of all of this.

  Sixteen

  Mills

  I could tell that Thatcher was troubled as we left the hospital. Meeting with Teddy Flitting was never bound to offer us much more than his perspective on a situation we’d already seen, but both of us were secretly hoping that he’d have something useful. Some hidden link or connection that we were still blind to. He’d never heard of Major Riggs, which crossed off that possible theory—of there being an old acquaintance there that went wrong. There was always the possibility that he’d lied, but the man didn’t strike me as the sort too, and since Thatcher pushed it no further, I knew that he agreed. I also knew that he was hungry, mostly because I always was, but he started gloomily forward, responding to any attempt at conversation with a grunt. We both needed something to eat, pronto.

  Normally we’d go the café and see Billie, but either he was just too hungry, or he didn’t want to deal with Billie’s questions today, so instead, we just nipped to the pub at the end of the road, mercifully quiet at this time of day, and found ourselves a table by the window, looking out onto the street. Thatcher strode over to the bar to order our food, and I leant back in my chair, looking outside at the few people darting up and down the road. It was a nice area, with wide streets lined with old trees and old houses. Exactly the sort of place you’d expect to find a private hospital. It reminded me of a town down in Gloucestershire that Suzanne and I had gone to in the summer, but I quickly shoved those memories down bitterly, thankfully at the same moment that Thatcher returned, sliding a glass of coke my way. I picked up with a muttered, “thanks,” and chugged half of it.

  “You alright?” Thatcher asked as he sat down, those grey eyes appraising me cleverly.

  He’d not asked about Suzanne for a while, most likely because he knew I wouldn’t really answer, but I could tell that he was worried, or at the very least, interested. Occasionally, I caught him studying me with a faint crease between his brows or casting me a look anytime anyone brought up something that might remind me of her. His concern was appreciated but unnecessary. It was all for the best. Suzanne needed to take this job, and I needed to get over it and support her, let her go. Easier said than done.

  “I’m just a bit fed up, is all,” I told him. It wasn’t a complete lie. I was very fed up. This whole situation was a confusing, slow mess. We had a dead soldier in a river with no idea who killed him or why in God’s name they would want to. Somehow it seemed to link to the Flitting family estate but finding out how would be a pig’s ear of a job.

  Thatcher kept his gaze on me, weighing my words. He probably knew that it wasn’t fully what was bothering me, but he let it go with a nod.

  “Me too. I can’t make heads or tails of this nonsense, Isaac.”

  That wasn’t good. He called me by my first name when he was either very happy or very annoyed.

  “I suppose Sharp’s expert should be able to turn the tide, as it were,” I said hopefully. “If we can figure out what Riggs had to write down that was so important, it might join a few dots.”

  “Here’s hoping,” Thatcher
agreed, taking a large swig of his drink. “It’s not like we really have anything else to go on, is it? Not until we get the code translated or the blood samples confirmed. Just a waiting game now.”

  “I hate this part,” I muttered.

  “We all do, but it’s a priority case, so we’ll be getting answers sooner rather than later. Let that be a comfort.”

  I nodded, running my finger around the rim of my glass.

  “They are connected, aren’t they?” I asked him. “Riggs and the estate. Somehow?”

  “I very much believe so, but I couldn’t tell you how,” Thatcher replied gloomily. “He must have known something or been there to do something.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe Sara Graham called him out for something,” I suggested. “Just because Teddy didn’t know him doesn’t mean she didn’t.”

  “Or even the baroness,” Thatcher countered. “I’m sure she knows all sorts of people from all over the place. He could have been there as a favour to her. Needed to be in York, why not stay in the inn owned by a friend?”

  “But not so friendly to be invited to stay in the house?”

  “If you wanted to make sure that his presence there was not connected to you.”

  “Or to keep your mother-in-law from seeing him,” I added.

  Thatcher hummed, sitting upright as the waitress came over and slid two plates and a massive bowl of chips onto the table between us. I looked down at the pie I’d ordered, mouth watering, and tucked right in. My plate was about halfway cleared when we started talking again.

  “Sara told us that she kept her trips to the inn secret to make sure that the baroness didn’t catch wind of them, and no nasty stories started to be spread,” Thatcher said, placing his knife and fork down for a bit. “But odds are she knew about her going here, anyway.”

  I nodded. “I imagine it would be hard to keep that a real secret in a village so small.”

  Thatcher rolled his eyes. “Can’t have any secrets in a village that small,” he told me knowingly. “The only secrets they do have, they all have. Village secrets. Anyway, the baroness would most likely already know that Sara goes to the inn, but she’s never said anything about it.”