Darkness Falls (Kate Marshall, #3)(49)

“Tristan, that’s brilliant work! Bloody hell, this is all becoming quite incestuous,” said Kate.

“Yes, it will be interesting to ask Ashley about his links to Noah Huntley and Max Jesper.”

“I thought you were meant to be going to Sarah’s for lunch today?”

“She came down with a bug and canceled.”

“Sorry to hear that, but look what you did instead. Brilliant.”

“How did lunch go with Alan?” asked Tristan.

Kate went on to tell him about David’s and Gabe’s criminal records, her theory about searching for missing young men, and the discovery of the body in the fallen tree.

“That’s another step closer,” said Tristan.

“Yes. He took my theory seriously. I thought I was asking the impossible, but Alan thinks he’ll need to do a search on six or seven hundred unidentified deaths, which is still a lot, but not in the thousands.”

“How long do you think we’ll have to wait for him to come back to us?”

“It will involve a database search, so hopefully he’ll come back quite quickly if he finds anything.”





27


Kate and Tristan spent Monday in the office, prepping for their meeting with Ashley Maplethorpe. On Monday afternoon, a small article appeared on the BBC Devon and Cornwall website, saying that the body of a young man called Hayden Oakley had been found near the village of Buckfastleigh and that police were making inquiries. There was a picture of the huge fallen tree and a white forensics tent next to the roots at the base, but no other information was released.

On Tuesday morning, Kate and Tristan drove over to meet Ashley at his house, Thornbridge Hall in Yeovil, Somerset, fifty-five miles from Ashdean.

The house was gray stone, and they began to get glimpses of it when they came off the motorway. A mile-long tree-lined driveway wound through fields of sheep grazing, and then the drive opened out into a yard with stables where four big black SUVs were parked. Close up, the house was large with a pillared, grand entrance. The rows of windows looked rather sternly out on the countryside.

“Are we classed as tradespeople? Do we ring the bell or go around the back?” joked Tristan as they looked at a grand set of stone steps leading up to a front terrace and a huge wooden double door.

“We’re not going around the back,” said Kate. They climbed the steps and arrived a little breathless at the front door. A bell clanged from deep inside. They waited for a minute. Kate was about to ring again, when the door opened.

Ashley Maplethorpe wore denim shorts and a tight black AC/DC T-shirt. His feet were bare. He had short blond hair, was tall, and looked as if he kept himself in shape. Kate was surprised to see Juliet Maplethorpe with him. She was a head shorter, the same height as Kate, and she wore a beautiful aquamarine-colored caftan with a print of large red-and-yellow dragon flowers. Her hair was a rich henna red and was damp and a little wavy. Kate could see the straps of a swimming suit under the caftan. Juliet was also barefoot and had a gold ankle bracelet on her left leg.

“Hello! Do come in!” said Ashley cheerily, as if they were old friends popping over for Sunday lunch. He was very well spoken.

“Hello, welcome to Thornbridge Hall,” said Juliet. She spoke with a soft Geordie accent, but her green eyes were sharp and cautious. “Ashley should have told you to text when you got here. The house is so big, it takes a while to get to the front door.” Her green eyes ran over Kate and Tristan with precision. We’ll have to watch out for her, thought Kate.

They went through a long hallway and living room where french doors opened out onto the back garden. It was vast, with a tennis court to the left, a swimming pool with sun loungers and umbrellas, and beyond, at the end of their land, was an ornamental garden with a maze.

There was a green cloth gazebo set up in the center of the lawn, with a table and chairs underneath, and it provided good shade, but Kate could feel the morning heating up as the sun climbed in the sky.

Despite the Maplethorpes’ casual summer attire, they had a butler who wore a stiff suit and jacket with tails. Kate was able to watch his progress, laden down with a large tray, as he emerged from the french doors and made his way across the lawn.

“Do you mind if I make notes?” asked Tristan.

“Could we have a copy of your notes, afterward?” asked Juliet. She had produced a small fan and kept up a nervous, rapid fanning of her face. She looked less at ease than her husband.

“Yes, of course,” said Tristan.

“We’re not journalists,” said Kate. “I can assure you whatever you say will be dealt with in strictest confidence.”

“I’d still like to take copies of your notes,” she said. “My previous experiences of talking to journalists haven’t been good.” Kate wondered what that meant. Was she worried about incriminating herself?

“Of course,” said Kate. “We’ll let you have all notes from this meeting.”

The butler arrived at the table and placed before them a jug of iced tea, with matching glasses, four espressos with milk jugs, and a plate with delicate petits fours fanned into a circle. The poor guy was sweating in his double-breasted suit, waistcoat, and starched collar.

“Will there be anything else?” he asked. Juliet shook her head. He bowed and left with the huge tray under his arm.