Blood Ties (19 page)

Returning to the front of the house, he let himself in. Without the slight benefit of the hazy sunlight, the house was as chill and damp as he had expected. It didn't take long, he thought, for a home to feel just like another neglected space. He went upstairs, noting here and there the evidence of the CSI return but also the absence of any crime scene tape on the front door, just a sad streamer of blue and white tied to the foot-scraper outside, left when the rest had been removed.

The window at the end of the landing was closed and Alec noted the fresh traces of fingerprint powder on the sill. Gingerly, he lifted the latch, noting traces of grey here also.

‘Right, so there's where you came in.'

Looking down he could see the top of the water butt. The downpipe passed the window before continuing to the roof. Could you lift the latch from the outside? The windowsill was narrow on the outside, not much room for perching while you tried to open the latch, but what might be a footprint, smudged and muddy, marked the cracked paint. Alec photographed it with his mobile phone and made the assumption that the CSI would have done the same. He pulled the window closed, then opened it again. Tool marks on the wood, scraping marks, showed that something had been slid between latch and badly fitting frame and the latch had, in all probability, been lifted from its place.

Would you have heard that had you been sitting in the kitchen? Alec wondered. This was, after all, the external kitchen wall. Would you not have heard someone landing on the floor upstairs if you sat below?

The latch was an odd one: a little curl of wrought iron, with holes drilled along the length which fitted on to a small metal peg. There had once been a second catch, further up on the frame, but that was broken off and, Alec thought, had been long gone.

He dropped the catch back against the frame. It fell with a dull, metal on wood thunk and a little click where metal hit metal. Would you hear that in the kitchen? Maybe not that, but the getting through the window without making a noise would be far harder. Would you hear it in the hall?

He thought about it, wishing he had someone with him so he could try it out. Probably, he decided. Was that why Eddy had come upstairs?

Turning, Alec made his way back down the corridor, opening doors as he went, checking rooms for signs that someone else had been there.

Everywhere were the signs of the CSI presence, but Alec was certain that they hadn't been the only ones to search this house. It was just a feeling, but it wouldn't go away. He opened drawers and cupboard doors in the guest room, feeling beneath the stacks of towels and sheets in the big cupboard, searching beneath the mattress and under the bed. Then Eddy's room, noting that although the clothes were folded they were not stacked in the drawers but crammed inside as though someone had grabbed them out in handfuls and then crammed them back to establish the semblance of order. Nothing beneath the bed, not even much in the way of fluff. The wardrobe contained a couple of suits and three jackets. Shirts on hangers, jumpers in neat piles on the shelf above, and shoes in rows on the cupboard floor. Nothing had been moved here, Alec was sure of that. So, why look in the drawers but not bother with the wardrobe? Had they found what they were looking for?

Alec stood on the bright red rug in the middle of Eddy's room and looked around. Whoever had searched this room had been looking for something small. Something that could be fitted into a drawer, hidden beneath clothing. He thought about the diary and notebooks that Kevin had discovered in his pack. Had that been what they searched for? If so, why did he have this sense that they had stopped looking? Had they realized that whatever they wanted had already gone?

He crossed to Karen's room and slowly opened the door but nothing had changed. The room still nestled beneath the strata of dust and the soft toys still glared at him from the end of the bed. He closed the door again and returned to the foot of the stairs. Glancing at his watch he noted that he had been at the house for a little over an hour. It felt longer. A swift check of the kitchen confirmed that nothing seemed to have been disturbed there, and the living room looked the same, so far as he could recollect, as when he had examined it with Susan. A little bored now, and somewhat frustrated, he went back into the hall and into Eddy's office.

The mess was still there: boxes opened, papers scattered, files taken from the cabinet and emptied on to the floor. The computer was missing and Alec remembered that Sergeant Dean told him the police had taken it. He wondered if they had found anything. If Eddy had kept back-up files. A search of the desk drawers revealed nothing but pencils and printer paper.

What would the key fit? The desk drawer had the wrong kind of lock. The filing cabinet?

Feeling in his pocket for the key, he crossed the room and tried it in the lock but the lock was too large and the wrong shape. No, Naomi was right, this was more like the cheap keys issued with suitcases. Made of flat, stamped out metal, it was too thin and too flimsy to be for anything that required force or a strong mechanism.

Did the key even mean anything?

A small sofa occupied a corner of the room and Alec sat down, trying to see the office from Eddy's perspective. Eddy must have sat here, with his cup of tea and his notes or his research. A rickety little table had been placed at the end of the sofa. The surface was worn and covered in marks from hot mugs having been set there. ‘So, he sat this end of the sofa, and he read or thought or . . . looked at his maps.'

Where
were
Eddy's maps? And what about this Lorenz cache that had provided so much information for his book?

Alec sat back and tried to think. The last time he had seen him in the pub, Eddy's maps had been on the table in front of him. At the end of the evening, what had he done with them? Alec visualized the scene: Eddy at the end of the evening, draining his glass, picking up his maps and books and assorted bits and putting them into a document case. Not a proper briefcase, just a slim red folder. He opened his eyes, surveyed the room once more, stood up so he could see. Knowing what to look for now, Alec scoured the room, lifting stacks of paper and spilt filing and rummaging behind the cabinets that stood wonkily against one wall.

‘Got you.' On impulse he had tipped the furthest cabinet slightly to the side. It was heavy, but not impossibly so, and in the hollow beneath the plinth he glimpsed a red folder. Clinging to the cabinet, he kicked at the folder, dislodged it from its place, and then drew it out from beneath the cabinet with the toe of his shoe. Sitting atop the folder was a small tin box fastened with a tiny padlock. Alec laughed aloud.

A small sound attracted his attention and, frowning, he lowered the cabinet again, picked up the folder and box and peered out into the hall. Nothing, and yet he was sure that the sound had not been merely from the old house settling. It was unfamiliar, a difference in what Naomi would have called the natural soundscape of the place.

Not really understanding the impulse, but acting on it anyway, he shoved the box and folder out of sight beneath the sofa, then went out into the hall once more. ‘Who's there?'

He could see through the living-room door that the room appeared to be empty. The kitchen? A few steps down the hall and a quick glance through the door told him that this room had no occupant.

Upstairs?

Alec set a foot on the lowest step, looked up at the spot Eddy had fallen from and that was as far as he got. Pain, hard and heavy and acute, filled up and overwhelmed his senses and then the world went black.

NINETEEN

‘
W
hat time is it?' Naomi asked.

‘Just after four. Shouldn't Alec have got back by now?'

‘Depends what he found, but I'd have thought so. Is my bag over there?'

Kevin passed her the shoulder bag and went to get them both more tea. The Lamb was very quiet at this time in the afternoon, the lull between the lunchtime crowd and those in search of an evening meal. The chef went off home at two, picked his kids up from school an hour after and came back for the evening rush. His wife worked too and the flexible hours, though a bit frenetic, fitted them both. Evening staff started to arrive at five and for much of the afternoon Susan was alone with maybe just one other member of staff. She said she liked it that way. Naomi got the impression that she was trying to employ as many people as she could. even if that was only part-time.

She rummaged in the bag for her phone and then listened to the beep of the keystrokes as she found Alec's number. She was used to this phone now and knew what keys got her where. Alec had bought her a voice activated smartphone but she couldn't get along with it at all.

No reply. Voicemail cut in and she left a message. ‘Alec, is everything OK? Get back to me when you get this.' Frowning, she set the phone on the table.

Kevin returned with tea. ‘Problem?'

‘He's not answering. I left a message.'

‘Maybe he's busy, maybe he's driving.'

‘He's got a hands-free. He'd at least answer.'

‘Busy, then.'

Naomi shook her head. ‘Something's wrong.'

‘Try him again in a minute or two. You want me to drive you out to Eddy's place?'

‘I don't know. I'll try him again. It's possible he's gone somewhere else and we'd miss him. It must be getting dark?'

‘Um, yeah, pretty much, I think. Try him again.'

He watched as Naomi picked her way through menus and again received no response.

‘Isn't that hard? Why don't you have one of those you can talk to?'

‘I've got one. For some reason it doesn't understand me. I use voice activated input on the computer, but I've found it easier to just memorize how to do things on this phone. Where on earth has Alec got to? Why isn't he picking up?'

‘I sometimes ignore my phone,' Kevin said tentatively.

‘Most people do, but not Alec. It's like a habit you get into in the police: you take messages and you answer the phone. It gets to be a habit.' An annoying habit at times, but why wasn't he doing that now?

‘Look, give him fifteen more minutes and then we'll go out there. Oh, I wonder if Eddy's phone is still connected? You know, it's just possible he can't get a signal.'

Of course, why hadn't she thought of that? They'd noticed in their travels round the county, when they were still playing at being tourists, that Alec's phone tended to lose service more often than hers did.

‘I'll try phoning Eddy's place. If he's there he'll probably pick up.'

Naomi waited, listening hard as Kevin made the call. ‘It's ringing,' he said. They waited. Nothing happened. ‘Maybe he's already left. Give it a few minutes. He might be on his way.'

Naomi nodded, seeing the sense in that but not liking the nag at the back of her brain that told her something was definitely wrong.

Alec roused; he was hearing a phone ring. Stiff and cold and with a head that threatened to explode, he lifted himself gingerly from the cold tiles. A cautious exploration of the back of his head revealed the main source of pain: a lump the size of half an egg. When he looked at his hand it was black and he realized the sticky substance must be blood.

It was almost dark, faint light filtered in through the half glazed front door. He was lying pretty much where Eddy had been found, a sobering thought. What had happened? Muzzy headed and in considerable pain, he couldn't quite put it together. The floor was threatening to turn into the ceiling and Alec collapsed back on to the bottom step, listening for any sound that might announce his assailant's return. He'd suffered concussion before and was in no doubt that the next hours would be interesting ones. Already the nausea was almost overwhelming and he felt chilled to the bone from lying for however long it had been on the hard, cold floor. He blessed the fact that he was still wearing his winter coat. Hypothermia could well have been adding to his problems by now.

How long had he been out?

He tried to focus on his watch but the hands kept moving and finally he gave up, groped instead for his phone and wondered if he should call an ambulance or try and drive back to the farm. He attempted to get up. Nausea and dizziness intervened again and he sat back down, trying to control both. He must have passed out again because when he woke the phone was ringing once more and the hall was even darker. This time he made it to standing position, hauling himself up and clinging to the newel post. The ringing stopped.

Naomi would be worried. He had to try and call her.

Alec staggered over to the wall attempting to locate the light switch. He managed to find the one by the office door and the sudden brightness blinded him. Don't be sick, he told himself, not at a crime scene. That was a rookie's job, not that of an experienced policeman. Experienced! He laughed, then stopped. It hurt too much. What had he been doing when he was hit? That's right, about to go upstairs because he'd heard something, except, whoever it was, they hadn't been upstairs.

What had he been doing before that? He really did need to call Naomi.

He had found a box and that red file, that was it. Floor became ceiling again and he sank to what he hoped was ground, leaning against the door frame. The sound of a car engine caused panic. What if they, whoever they were, had come back? And then he heard Kevin's voice and a crash against the door and the frame splintering as he burst through.

‘He's here. I think he's hurt.'

Too right, Alec thought.

‘Alec, can you hear me?'

‘Under the sofa. A folder and a box, under the sofa.'

‘What?'

Oh God, he thinks I'm losing it, Alec thought. ‘See if they're still there. Please.'