The Hiding Place(16)

She looks like she’s going to retort then bites back whatever comment she was about to make and simply says, “The note?”

I hand it to her. She studies it. “Not so hot on spelling.”

“Actually,” I say, “I don’t think that’s a mistake. I think it’s deliberate. To throw me off track.”

One thin eyebrow rises. “Go on.”

“I’m an English teacher,” I say patiently. “So I see bad spelling a lot. This isn’t one of those words that students get wrong, and if they do then they get the whole thing wrong. They don’t just miss a ‘p.’ ”

She considers this. “Okay. So can you think of anyone who would do something like this? Any enemies, people with a grudge.”

I almost laugh out loud. You have no idea, I think. Then I consider. I’m pretty sure Hurst or one of his mates is responsible. But I’ve no witnesses, no evidence and, bearing in mind the little chat I had with Harry this morning (Christ, was it only this morning?), I don’t want to put my job in jeopardy. Not yet, anyway.

“Mr. Thorne?”

“To be honest, I only moved in recently. I’ve not had time to piss too many people off yet.”

“But it seems you’re working on it.”

“Obviously.”

“Right, well, we’ll look into this, but it’s probably just kids. We’ve had some trouble with kids from your school before.”

“Really? What sort of trouble?”

“The usual. Vandalism. Trespass. Disorderly behavior.”

“Ah, takes me back.”

“If you want, an officer can come to the school, give them a bit of a talk on social responsibility, that type of thing.”

“Will that do any good?”

“Last time my sergeant did it he came back to find someone had let all the air out of his tires.”

“Maybe not then.”

“Okay. Well, here’s your crime number, for insurance purposes. Any more trouble, call us right away.”

“I will.”

She pauses at the door, seems to debate something. “Look. I don’t want to make your night even worse—”

I think about the skittering, scuttling beetles.

“It’d be hard.”

“But did anyone tell you about this place?”

“You mean, what happened here?”

“You know?”

“It came up.”

“And it doesn’t bother you?”

“I don’t believe in ghosts.”

She glances around and can’t quite disguise the shudder of distaste that scurries across her face. Something clicks.

“You found them, didn’t you?”

She hesitates before answering: “My sergeant and I were first on the scene, yes.”

“That must have been difficult?”

“It’s part of the job. You deal with it.”

“But you still wouldn’t want to live here?”

A small shrug. “You can never really clean away blood. Doesn’t matter how much bleach you use, how hard you scrub. It’s always there, even if you can’t see it.”

“Comforting. Thanks for that.”

“You asked.”

“Can I ask you something else?”

“I suppose,” she says cautiously.

“Could there be any other explanation, for what happened here?”

“No sign of a break-in, no evidence of a third party involved. Believe me, we looked.”

“What about Ben’s father?”

“At a client dinner that night.”

“So you think that Julia Morton just cracked, killed her son and herself?”

“I think you’re asking a lot of questions for someone not bothered by it.”

“Just curious.”

“Well, don’t be. It won’t do you any favors here.” She tucks her notebook into her pocket. “And I was only letting you know about the cottage in case the rental agent hadn’t informed you of all the facts.”

“Thanks…but I don’t think the cottage is a problem.”

“No.” She gives me another look, one I can’t quite read. “I think you’re probably right.”


—



The glazier arrives fifteen minutes later. He whacks up a board over the broken window, informs me, “Thar’ll b’fifty quid,” and that a new window will take “abarru week.”

I tell him that’s fine. I can live without the view of the road.

He also gives me an odd look. Not my audience.

After he’s gone I sink a couple more bourbons, smoke a cigarette leaning out of the back door then decide I’ve had enough, more than enough, for one day and head back upstairs to bed.

The cold has gone. It’s just the normal chill of the cottage. I approach the bathroom gingerly, but the toilet is still empty. I remove the toilet paper and relieve myself, wash and brush my teeth, flick the light switch and shut the door.

Then I have second thoughts. I walk back downstairs and pick up the house brick. I carry it back into the bathroom and place it on top of the toilet lid.

Just in case.


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