Page 24 of Worse Than Murder (DCI Matilda Darke Thriller #13)

R eluctantly, I go below ground. I’ve been transfixed at the window of the restaurant, looking out at the car park as police officers gear up and head for the woods.

It’s strange to see a police investigation get under way and for me not to be playing a huge part in it.

I feel like I’m on the outside looking in, and I don’t like it.

As relieved as I am not to have the weight of expectation and worry on my shoulders, I also feel sad about being a bystander.

I have so much experience in this kind of work.

I know exactly what to do when it comes to handing out tasks, putting a cordon in place, organising for a mobile incident room to be sent to the site, diving team, forensics on standby, neighbours to be talked to.

I’m itching to get out there and take over.

Yet, that part of my life is over with. I can’t go through all that again.

I’ve moved on. It’s the sound of hammering from downstairs that drags me away from the window.

‘Basements freak me out,’ I say when I reach the bottom of the stone stairs and see Philip standing in the middle of the room, hands on hips, heavy frown on his forehead.

There’s no natural lighting in the basement and the only light is coming from the open door at the top of the stairs. It’s dull and dank.

‘Really? Why?’

‘I’m not sure. It’s probably got something to do with being kidnapped and locked in one.’

‘That’ll do it,’ he says with a sparkle in his eyes.

‘Did it leak?’

‘Amazingly, no, it didn’t.’

‘That’s good. So you can get on with renovating it into a wine cellar, then?’

‘Hmm,’ he muses.

‘Problem?’

‘No. Well… have you seen Carl’s sketches on his tablet?’

‘No.’

‘When we first came down here months ago, I thought about this place just being a wine cellar, maybe have a few bistro tables down here for nibbles, things like that. Carl, and his creative mind, has drawn a picture of the restaurant, but he’s taken out the whole of the back wall and replaced it with a huge picture window.

It would show the entire lake from here.

Can you imagine sitting down here having a meal or a glass of wine of an evening and seeing the sun set over the lake? ’

I look at the back wall. In the poor lighting, all I see is darkness. ‘That boy has quite the imagination.’

‘I think it could work. This whole space is an L-shaped room. We could have the far side as the wine cellar, out of direct sunlight from the window, then the rest of the space could be a small, intimate dining experience.’

I look around me. I try my hardest, but I can’t picture it. All I see is concrete and brick, and there’s a smell of damp in the air.

‘Wouldn’t knocking out the wall weaken the roof at that end?’

‘No. I’ve looked at the plans. There’s a steel girder along the top. We might not even have to take out the whole wall, just a large square to fit in a huge window with toughened glass, you know, the kind they put in floors that you can walk on?’

‘They’ve got a glass floor at the top of Blackpool Tower. James was jumping up and down on it. I wanted to vomit.’

‘Not a fan of heights?’

‘Not a fan of seeing all the way to the bottom.’

‘Would you have a meal down here?’

‘You might need to put in a few lights. I like to see what I’m eating.’

‘Use your imagination, Mat. It could be so romantic,’ he enthuses.

‘I’ll take your word for it.’

‘Matilda, are you down there?’ Sally shouts from above.

‘Yes.’

‘There’s someone here to see you.’

I roll my eyes. Who the bloody hell wants me now? I head for the stairs. ‘I’m coming up.’

I stop in my tracks when I see who my visitor is. The police inspector who, not half an hour ago, was shooting me a daggered look is standing in the doorway. Her face is unreadable, but her body language is oozing resentment.

‘DCI Darke,’ she says. It’s an attempt at a greeting, but she almost spits my own name at me.

‘Just Matilda,’ I correct her.

She nods. ‘Inspector Gillian Forsyth. Gill. Can we have a chat?’

I raise an eyebrow. A chat suggests a friendly exchange over a cup of tea and a Mr Kipling. Gill’s pursed white lips and intense stare suggest she’d like to be throttling me right now.

‘About?’

‘You came into my station this morning with a registration plate you found.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Yet you did a runner.’

‘Again, correct.’ I see no reason why I should lie.

‘Any reason why?’

‘Shall we sit down?’ I point to the tables and chairs.

We head for the same table I had been sat at with Lynne, pull out the chairs and sit. I make a point of not looking out of the window at the police activity still going on in the car park.

‘Judging by the daggered look you gave me when you first came in, I’m guessing you’ve looked me up.

’ Gill is about to say something, but I continue talking.

‘I’m not here to take over. I’m not here to tread on any toes.

I’m here simply because Sally and Philip invited me.

I’ve been…’ I pause and compose myself. ‘I’ve suffered a family bereavement and I’m here to recover. It’s as simple as that.’

Gill nods. Her face has softened. ‘You’re right.

I have looked you up. I’ve read about what’s happened to you over in Sheffield.

I’m incredibly sorry for your loss. We got off to a bad start without even meeting each other, didn’t we?

’ She tries to smile but it doesn’t quite work.

‘I heard about you coming here a couple of weeks ago. I’m afraid I let the gossip and mystery surrounding you cloud my judgment. ’

‘Mystery?’

‘The infamous DCI Darke in the middle of a serial killer investigation suddenly ups and leaves her post to visit the Lake District. I understand you’re grieving, but something was eating away at the back of my mind that you might be here to take over.

We’ve had the threat of station closures and restructuring over our heads since before the pandemic. ’

‘I see. I’m here because I need a break. I’ve handled some disturbing cases in recent years, and it’s taken its toll on me.’

‘I understand. I’m sorry.’

‘That’s okay. So…?’ I leave the question hanging. I want to know why Gill is here.

Gill clears her throat. ‘I’ve been in the job for fifteen years and I’ve never left Cumbria apart from when I’ve gone on holiday.

The most difficult case I’ve handled is when a child went missing three years ago and he turned up four hours later.

Right now, I have a car at the bottom of the lake whose owner left here almost thirty years ago.

Without my imagination running away from me, the only significant case going back that far is the disappearance of Celia and Jennifer Pemberton.

If I call up Kendal and tell them I’ve no idea what to do, I’ll be adding fuel to the fire that High Chapel can be closed down. ’

‘So, you want my help?’

Gill looks uncomfortable. ‘I cannot begin to imagine what’s going through your head right now.

The last thing I want to do is upset you or interfere with you trying to come to terms with everything, but the people of High Chapel need this station to remain open.

All I’m asking is for you to point me in the right direction. ’

‘I had a similar conversation with my chief constable back in Sheffield. We were facing huge budget cuts. I was asked to choose who on my team I should make redundant. Solving crimes shouldn’t be about money.

We’re told throughout our training that, when we’re the first on the scene of a crime, the number one priority is to preserve life.

How can we continue to do that when we’re told not to investigate certain crimes because they’re not feasible? ’

‘You’ll help me?’

I take a deep breath. I look out of the window. I watch as several uniformed police officers stand about waiting for… I have no idea what.

‘Who did the car belong to?’ I ask, reluctantly.

‘Travis Montgomery. He lived here, briefly, in the early nineties.’

I nod. ‘He was close to the Pemberton family, I believe.’

‘You’ve heard about him, then. He worked with Iain and Jack when they were converting the farm into stables.’

‘Does he have a criminal record?’

‘No. There’s nothing on the PNC, and he’s not on the electoral register, either. It’s like he doesn’t exist. We’ve also found two items floating in the water. One is a child’s shoe. The other is a necklace which looks like something a child might wear.’

‘The Pemberton twins.’

‘Possibly. I’m guessing when one of the trees crashed into the lake during the storm it disturbed something down there.’

‘Maybe. Do you have an underwater unit?’

‘Yes. The North West Underwater Search and Marine Unit. They cover a huge area stretching from Lancashire to North Wales. It’ll be a couple of hours before they get here.’

‘There’s a search and rescue team called SRUK.

It stands for Specialised Rescue UK. It’s a private company.

They’re based in Birmingham. They help police forces all over the country when it comes to entering confined spaces.

They have all the equipment and gear, and they’ll know about protecting potential evidence.

They run a twenty-four-hour service and can be here within hours.

They’ll bring the car up and take it to the nearest forensic-testing site for you. ’

‘Thank you,’ Gill says. A look of genuine appreciation appears on her face.

‘Just don’t mention South Yorkshire Police to them when you call. I believe there was a bit of a hoo-hah when it came to paying their last bill.’

She sniggers. ‘That sounds familiar.’

‘Did Travis report his car stolen?’

‘No.’

‘Strange. There is one thing you might have to consider.’

‘Go on.’