Buried With Honours: A DCI Thatcher Yorkshire Crime Thriller Read online

  “And they know that Sara and Teddy would likely embrace new change for the sake of the business,” I muttered in agreement.

  “And Sara was at the inn that night,” Mills said.

  The three of us went still and solemn.

  “Plotting to kill your own mother-in-law seems a bit of a stretch,” Sharp said, drumming her fingers on the desk.

  “Her being at the inn so regularly would give her an alibi that nobody would really be able to argue with,” I pointed out. “Nor did she tell us that she was even staying at the inn that night, Daisy told us.”

  “Withholding that little snippet of information is a little odd,” Sharp nodded. “Especially since you told her that Riggs had been a guest.”

  “We did tell her, but if she already knew, she wouldn’t be that surprised.”

  “She walked in when we first met the baroness,” Mills reminded me.

  I resumed my pacing to the window, the whiteboard, and back again, hands tucked into my pockets. It was plausible, and it made sense. I struggled to imagine the woman we had met as the sort of person to plot to have her own mother-in-law killed, but from what I’d seen and heard over the years, it wasn’t unlikely. Sara clearly did struggle with her, clearly wanted to make some changes to the way things were run. How bad of a relationship would they have to have for that to be an option? Mills and I had suspected a link between Riggs and the Flitting family estate for a while now, and Sara having been in the inn that night was a link enough, I should imagine.

  “I think we should talk to the baroness,” I decided after Mills and Sharp let me pace around in silence for a few minutes. “And I think we should talk to her alone. No staff, no daughter-in-law, just us.”

  Mills nodded once, determined.

  “Want to come, ma’am?” I offered, reaching over to grab my coat.

  “Yes, but I shan’t. Best of luck, boys,” she said, clapping us both on the shoulders before walking out.

  “Back to the village then?” Mills asked, a little grumpily.

  “Back to the village,” I confirmed.

  Nineteen

  Thatcher

  At least on this particular trip to the village, we wouldn’t be traipsing around everywhere on foot. It would just be to the house and back again, hopefully. That thought seemed to ease some of Mills’s grumpiness as we set out, me driving again, especially since it was, if possible, colder today than it had been yesterday. Cold enough that I’d stashed some gloves and a hat in the car, just in case the need arose. I hoped not. I only had the one hat that Sally had knitted for me, taught by Elsie. It was one of her earlier attempts, and she’d yet to make me another, but as slightly ridiculous as the bright orange blob was, I did have to admit that it was bloody warm. Perhaps not best suited for meeting with a baroness to discuss the prospect of murder, specifically, her own. I imagine that she wouldn’t really be any the wiser if there was such a plot against her, but I did hope that she would be attuned to any unhappiness or discontent in the village. Though perhaps if she wasn’t, that itself might explain a little. I spent the drive contemplating how best to approach the topic with her. It wasn’t an everyday sort of conversation.

  “Isn’t the weather awful, and do you think anyone’s trying to kill you?”

  To the point but not exactly empathetic. We’d brought a copy of Riggs’s note with us to show her, and I wondered if that would be the easiest place to start. Let her see what we knew, and maybe that would knock a few things into place for her to talk about. We’d heard no complaints about her on our visit around the village. Though, to be fair, we’d only gone there with the mind to hear anything about Riggs. For the most part, the people we’d spoken to respected her, admired her perhaps. But there were many more tenants, as Mills has said, farmers especially, who we didn’t speak to, who might be very unsatisfied with things being run the same way they had a hundred or so years ago.

  I settled on giving her the note when we arrived and letting her piece something from it if she could, and after voicing this to Mills, he agreed with my plan. Though, to be honest, I think he would agree with anything I said so long it meant I didn’t make him trek along the riverbank or the countryside in the freezing cold again. Poor bloke, I’d be making this up to him for months. Knowing Mills, it was nothing that a few pints couldn’t solve, thankfully. He was a bit like me in that sense. Perhaps that’s why we worked so well together, why we’d become friends, as well as colleagues.

  We arrived at the house, looking especially ominous and gloomy with the grey clouds hanging around it like a shroud. I parked out in the front so that someone might see us arrive, and we jumped out, making our way over to the door. Sure enough, it was opened a second after I rang the bell, with Lady Flitting’s assistant, Una, smiling pleasantly at us.

  “Inspector Thatcher, Sergeant Mills, come in.” She stepped back, holding the door open for us.

  “Is this not Mr Brown’s usual job?” I asked, stepping into the house. Una shut the door behind us.

  “Usually, but I was passing through, anyway. Are you here to see her ladyship?”

  “We are if she’s free.”

  “Of course. She’s just through here.” Una started off, her shoes clicking pleasantly on the floor as she led us across the entrance hall and down a long corridor. I spotted Brown in the kitchens as we passed and gave him a nod which he returned before getting back to his work, whatever that entailed.

  “Is Miss Graham here today?” Mills called over my shoulder.

  “No,” Una replied. “She’s gone to see Lord Flitting again. He had some trouble in the night, so she went down to check on him. Her ladyship will go later after he’s had some rest.”

  “Is all well?” I asked.

  “I think so,” Una replied. “The doctor didn’t sound too worried on the phone. Did you want to see Miss Graham? Because I can let her know that you’re here if you’re happy to wait for her to come back.”

  “Not today, Una, but thank you,” I replied.

  She nodded, leading us to a small door set in the wall, knocking politely.

  “Come in,” the baroness’s voice called from within. Una opened the door, leading us into a small, warm room with blue wallpaper wrapping around the walls. It was a decidedly cosier room than the last one we had seen her in, with a bay window looking out into the garden, a crackling fireplace and a few well-worn sofas and chairs all facing the fire. Books were littered around, the shelves too full to hold any more, blankets and cushions propped and draped all over the place, framed photographs, much more recent, stacked on the few flat surfaces in the room.

  The baroness herself was sitting in a high-backed armchair by the fire, a blanket over her knees, a dog at her feet and some cross stitching in her hand. She looked like any other old woman in the country.

  “Oh, Inspector, hello.” She made to put her work away and stand up, but I hurried over and indicated for her to stay seated with a wave.

  “Baroness Flitting, I hope you don’t mind us intruding.”

  “Not at all, not at all. Have a seat, the pair of you. Any tea?”

  “Not for me, thank you,” I said. Mills also declined, sitting down beside me on the sofa. The baroness gave Una a nod, and the young woman smiled warmly before withdrawing from the room, shutting the door quietly.

  “I take it,” the baroness said, dropping her cross-stitching into a basket to her side. “That you have a development in the case? Word is the pair of you bounded around the village yesterday. I hope you weren’t too cold.”

  “Thankfully not,” I said, despite the look on Mills’s face. “Your pub is very welcoming.”

  She nodded. “Excellent chips. So How can I help, Inspector?”

  “We found something,” I told her, digging the copied note from my pocket. “In the room in the inn that Major Riggs was staying in. We wondered if it might mean anything to you.”

  “To me?” She asked, notably surprised. “Why me? Surely his family would know more
.”

  “We’ll be seeing his family later today,” I told her. “But given the connection to the inn itself, we’d value any insight you might have.”

  She squared her shoulders, pride coming in to play and held out her hand. I passed her the note, and she looked it over, frowning.

  “The English language wasn’t his foremost skill then?”

  “It was coded,” I told her. “And we believed he paraphrased the text a little.”

  She hummed, then sniffed and nodded. “There are gaps.”

  “There are.”

  “I’m sorry, Inspector.” She handed it back to me. “I can’t say that I do understand it, truth be told, but I wish I could. It doesn’t sound very friendly, does it? They don’t sound to be particularly fond of the woman in question.”

  “No, they don’t,” I agreed, folding the note up and putting it back in my pocket.

  “May I ask why you brought this to my attention, Inspector?” She asked politely, dropping a hand down to tickle the ear of the dog by her feet.

  “The note was found in his room in the inn, taken from the pad of paper supplied there. We believe that he overheard this conversation within the proximity of the inn. Are you aware of any discord in the village regarding any businesses?”

  The baroness thought for a moment, pursing her lips.

  “There are always some squabbles here and there, Inspector, of course, but none that have ever led to topics such as the one we are discussing. And Riggs was not a local man,” she added, “so I can’t see how he might tie into a local village feud.”

  “Because he knew about this,” I said, tapping my pocket where the note was. “Which to some people is more than enough reason.”

  She shuddered slightly and leant forward to throw another log onto the fire. Mills hopped up and quickly took over the job, making sure the log was securely placed on the pile.

  “Thank you, sergeant,” the baroness sighed. “The problem with old houses is that they really are a nightmare to keep warm,” she pulled her blanket further up herself.

  Mills finished sorting out the fire and retook his seat beside me.

  “We heard that your son had a complication last night,” he said, changing the tune of the conversation. Good lad. “Is he alright?”

  “The doctor told me not to worry too much, but of course, that’s a mother’s job to worry. I’ll pop down later and see him when he’s had some time to rest.”

  “Sara has gone down this morning?”

  “She has. Not much she can do, I imagine he’ll be asleep, really, but I think she’s gone more to reassure herself. Can’t blame her,” she sighed. “Nor can I fault her devotion to my boy.”

  I blinked, the change of tone since she last spoke about her daughter-in-law surprising me. I supposed, when they talked about matters of the estate, things would be more complicated. But they were allied, at least when it came to Teddy and his health.

  “It must be very difficult,” Mills said softly. “To have to deal with running the estate and worry over Teddy.”

  The baroness nodded, lifting a hand to push away a strand over silver hair. “Sara handles the books, and of course, I trust Brown with the house, and Una’s a star. I’m starting to feel my age, boys, which is never a nice prospect.”

  Elsie had said something similar to me recently. She’d also not long after whacked me with a tea towel, so I don’t think she was feeling it too badly.

  “We must step aside for the younger generation,” she said sagely, holding my gaze as she nodded towards Mills.

  “So, we must,” I agreed. “But not until we know they’re ready for it.”

  The baroness chuckled faintly. She looked less, I hated to say it but, less impressive than she had when we first met her. I supposed that then, she’d been told about our arrival in advance and had had time to prepare herself. Now, we’d caught her off guard. Now, she’d likely had a poor night’s sleep, and she looked like a powerful baroness ruling over the land so much as she did a tired, worried old woman on her own in a big house.

  The dog by her feet picked its head up and laid it on her lap. She stroked its nose good-naturedly and turned back to us.

  “You think that the good soldier was killed because he overheard that conversation?”

  “We do.”

  “And that, that conversation happened here in my village?”

  I nodded, and her mouth twisted with displeasure.

  “Well then, I shall keep my ear firmly to the ground and call the moment I hear of anything unusual.”

  “We very much appreciate that, baroness. Thank you.”

  She waved a hand. “It is the very least that I can do, Inspector, it really is.”

  I smiled and gave Mills a nudge, rising from the sofa.

  “We’ll leave you to it then, baroness. Thank you for your time, and I hope everything is alright with your son.”

  “Thank you, Inspector. Sergeant,” she nodded. “Best of luck.”

  We bid her farewell and made our way to the door, stepping outside. Una was out in the corridor, sitting in a chair a few feet away, typing on a laptop. She looked up as the door closed behind us and hopped to her feet, abandoning the machine.

  “Sorry to disturb you,” I said, “only I think we might get lost trying to find our way out of here alone.”

  Una laughed lightly. “I got lost in here so many times my first few weeks that the baroness drew me a map herself. I still have it,” she added, leading us down the corridor, away from the room. We took a slightly different route back, down more familial hallways with pictures on the walls. Mills hung back at one point, pointing blankly at a picture.

  “Mills,” I called him from a few steps away.

  He just kept pointing at the picture. “Princess Anne,” he said.

  “Come on.” I rolled my eyes, and he hurried after me, the pair of us catching up with Una.

  “The baroness knows Princess Anne.”

  “She’s a baroness. She’s bound to know a few royals.”

  Mills still looked faintly amazed by it, and I did have to admit that it was fairly impressive, but we didn’t have time to stand around and gawp at the photos on the walls.

  Una walked us back to the front door, standing there and seeing us off with a wave as we climbed into the car, and I drove off, leaving the house behind us.

  “Was that a wasted journey?” Mills asked, half-closing his eyes and resting his head back against the chair.

  “Yes and no, I think. What did you make of her this time around?” I asked, keen for his opinion.

  “I thought she looked tired,” he admitted. “And frailer than before. Not much of a reaction, though, so either she doesn’t think she’s the ‘she’ mentioned, or she’s not that bothered that someone might want to kill her.”

  “In the note, they say that she’s drunk. Do we think the baroness is?”

  “She’s old and upper-class, sir. I’d say that comes with a predisposition to be a fan of sherry and port and all that.”

  I chuckled quietly, scowling as rain started to patter down on the car. “She’s hardly a threat to the business, though, is she? And she seemed fonder of Sara today than she did the other day or more than Sara let us believe.”

  Mills opened his eyes fully. “I imagine that people like the baroness can be a bit standoffish, though. That British mentality, you know, stiff upper lip and all that. Maybe she does like Sara, only she’s not the warmest person, anyway.”

  “Quite possibly. Families like that are always different, stuck in a different class, in a different time.”

  Their opinions on things were always slightly skewered. On inheritance, on tradition, propriety and all those things. I wasn’t sure where murder would come into play with it all, but Mills had been right. The baroness hadn’t seemed particularly bothered by it.

  Twenty

  Thatcher

  On our way back to the station, my phone started to ring. I awkwardly fished it fro
m my pocket and tossed it over to Mills, trying to swerve us into a hedge at the same time. Mills held it up to me, a confused look on his face. I didn’t recognise the number either, but I shrugged and gave him a nod.

  “DCI Thatcher’s phone, Mills speaking,” he answered formally. “Oh, hello. It’s O’Flynn,” he told me.

  I frowned. “Why isn’t she calling from her phone?”

  “Why aren’t you calling from your phone?” He looked back at me. “She says it doesn’t matter, and where are we?”

  “Heading back now.”

  He relayed this to Cora, then turned to me again. “She said Sybil Riggs is nearly at the station. Do we want Cora to keep her there so we can speak to her?”

  “Yes, please. If she can.”

  “She says, of course, she can,” Mills replied. “Cheers, Cora, see you in a bit.” He hung up, placing my phone carefully in the cup holder by the dashboard.

  “Sounded echoey,” he told me. “Maybe she was downstairs, calling from one of the desk phones down there.”

  “Maybe. We don’t get many calls from forensics. Speaking off,” I added irritably. “Where the hell are we with that blood sample?”

  “I can head down there, sir. Let you meet Sybil,” Mills offered.

  “Cheers,” I muttered. “Why’s it taking so long? All they have to do is match it to the blood we already have!”

  “I don’t know, but I will give you five pounds if you go down there and tell them that to their faces.”

  “And receive a fifty-minute lecture on the complexity of DNA and blood cultures? I’d rather not, not for a fiver anyway.”

  Mills thought for a moment. “A tenner then, last offer.”

  “No chance. They should have an answer for you, though, little fresh-faced young Mills. They like you down there, more than me.”

  “Because you’re impatient. Crowe likes you, though, so that’s an achievement.”

  “The effects of working with a person for so long,” I reminded him. “Get another few years under your belt, and you’ll be in much the same position as I am.”