Under a Silent Moon Read online

  “Actually, since the reorganization there are in fact only thirty-two analysts and they are all assigned to other duties. I’m the only senior here, and—”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Jason Mercer.”

  “Jason, please, find me someone in time for the briefing at four, and someone else who’s prepared to do the late shift.”

  A heavy sigh. “For sure.”

  Definitely Canadian, Lou decided.

  13:15

  After.

  Flora had spoken to her father and at the time she’d been calm, almost serene. She’d asked the right questions: When? How? And then she had put down the brush that was still in her hand, stared at the canvas that she knew already she would now never complete, and left.

  When she drove past Yonder Cottage there were police cars blocking the drive, an ambulance on the gravel outside the house. The PC who was standing beside the fluttering tape in his fluorescent jacket regarded her closely.

  She went on to the next turn, the main entrance to the farm. She drove up the driveway, which, at the top, curved round through the yard and back down toward the cottage. She parked outside the farmhouse.

  Flora’s mother, Felicity Maitland, was sliding into comfortable oblivion. Nigel Maitland had poured her a tumbler of brandy in the hope of calming her down before she made it into a full-on panic attack.

  Following her call to the police, Felicity had been looked after by the ambulance crew, and the police had taken an initial statement from her at the cottage. Then she’d been walked back to the farmhouse by someone in a uniform.

  Now, hours later, Felicity was still in a state, vacillating between shuddering sobs and unnatural, staring stillness.

  “It was so utterly horrible,” she said now. “Blood all over the walls, everywhere! The whole place will have to be redecorated, and we only did it last summer.”

  There were times Flora wanted to slap her mother, hard. She went to make toast for everyone, not least to soak up the brandy. The plainclothes police officer who’d been assigned to them was leaning against the breakfast bar, fiddling with her mobile phone.

  “Would you like me to do that?” she asked, when Flora came in.

  “No, it’s fine, thanks. Do you want some tea?”

  And at that moment Felicity’s voice rose again in a wail: “Oh God! Who’s going to do the horses?”

  “I’ll do them,” said Nigel.

  “Oh God! I’ll have to put an advert in the paper, then it will be interviews! I can’t bear it, I can’t!”

  “What about Connor, Dad?” Flora shouted. “I thought he was supposed to be a groom?”

  Nigel didn’t reply. Other than the phone call, he had not spoken directly to Flora.

  “He can’t be trusted,” Felicity wailed. “Polly said he was always slacking off. I don’t know why you insist on having him here, Nigel, he’s more trouble than he’s worth, and—”

  “Oh for God’s sake!” Flora called sharply. “I’ll do the bloody horses.”

  The toaster popped up and Flora applied herself to the task of buttering, slicing into halves. Tea. Must make the tea. What had the police officer said to her offer, yes or no? She couldn’t remember. She would make one anyway, not wanting to ask again, aware of the way the woman was watching her. Pretending to be here to help, but they were being watched, that was the truth of it. And right now the policewoman was watching her.

  Flora could remember the exact moment of the exact day when she fell in love with Polly Leuchars. It was on the fifteenth of December, almost a year ago. Half past ten in the morning and Polly was sitting at the kitchen table in the farmhouse, her long blond hair pulled back in a tight ponytail, wearing a sweater, jeans, and thick socks. Her boots were on the mat.

  “Where’s my mum?” Flora asked, wondering who this was.

  “Are you Flora? My, you’ve grown up since I last saw you,” the person said, with a beautiful smile. “I’m Polly. You probably don’t remember me. I’ve come to work.”

  It turned out that Felicity had known Polly was coming but had neglected to tell anyone else. Polly was the daughter of Cassandra Leuchars, an old school friend of Felicity’s. Polly needed a job for a year or so before she went traveling. And when she was reminded, Flora remembered her from years ago, from family holidays when Cassandra had been abroad and had left Polly with them.

  She was twenty-six, and the most beautiful thing Flora had ever seen. It was hard to believe that the thin, quiet blond girl who lurked on the fringes of her childhood memories could have turned into this lithe, confident, always-smiling young woman.

  Who on earth would want to hurt Poll? Who could do it?

  15:37

  Nearly time for the briefing. Lou had asked Barry Holloway to do most of the talking for the first one. Not, strictly speaking, the way it was usually done, but to his credit he didn’t argue or ask her to explain. She wanted to watch the room, keep an eye on them all, see their reactions—gauge from it who she could use, who she would need to keep an eye on.

  The room was almost ready—it had previously been the central ticketing office, but they’d been moved to the new Traffic Unit two weeks ago. Fortunately, as it turned out, because the room usually reserved for MIRs was already in use. There had been three armed robberies in the space of a month, a bank manager and a member of the public shot dead, and the investigation for that was well under way.

  In a way this room was better, Lou realized; the area briefing room was right next door, which meant they could use it without having to lug all the equipment back and forth, and the canteen was just up the corridor. The only downside was that the only windows looked out onto a brick wall. And the nearest custody suite was a few miles away in Briarstone nick, which wasn’t ideal, but no one asked anyone who was ever actually affected by these management decisions what they thought.

  A knock on the door of her goldfish-bowl office, which was right in the corner; Mandy, one of the HOLMES inputters. “More for you,” she said, handing over another pile of papers to add to the collection.

  “Thanks. How’s it looking out there?”

  “Well,” Mandy said, with a discreet cough, “were you expecting DI Hamilton?”

  “Oh shit.” Lou felt the blood drain from her cheeks. “What’s he doing here? I asked for Rob Jefferson.”

  “Apparently DI Jefferson’s done his back in. Sorry. Thought you should know.”

  Lou pulled herself together and managed a smile. “Thanks. All the photos ready?”

  Mandy nodded, and left her to it.

  Fucking Andy Hamilton—that was all she needed. Another knock at the door, and Lou looked up to see Andy’s bulky frame filling the glass window. She took a deep breath and beckoned him in.

  “Guv,” Andy acknowledged, giving her his best charming smile.

  She regarded him steadily. He’d put on weight since she’d last seen him, but he was still attractive, that dark hair and dark, neatly trimmed goatee. Eyes that were wicked, that suggested imminent misbehavior.

  “Andy. How are you?”

  “Great, thanks. You’re looking . . . well.” His eyes had managed to travel from her new shoes, up her legs, to her face, within a fraction of a second.

  She gave him a smile so tight it pinched. “We’ve got a briefing in twenty minutes. Have you got a desk?”

  “I’ll find one. It’s going to be great working with you again, Lou.” He was disarmingly relaxed. Not fair.

  “How’s Karen? And the kids?”

  Andy’s expression tensed, but only slightly. “They’re all fine.”

  “Is Leah sleeping through yet?”

  “Not quite. We have the odd good night here and there.”

  “This is going to be a tough case, Andy. If you’re finding it difficult fitting it around home, I want to know about it, okay? I can’t have you not with us a hundred percent on this.”

  “You know me, Boss. Loads of energy and up for anything.” He finished with
his cheekiest grin, and a wink.

  Lou felt something twist inside her. She looked up at him. “Strictly work, Andy, okay?”

  “Sure thing.” And he was gone.

  But he had always had trouble taking no for an answer.

  15:40

  Flora pulled her cold Wellington boots on over her thick socks in the mudroom at the back door.

  “Can I come with you?” the policewoman asked, appearing in the doorway.

  “Sure,” Flora said, her tone unnaturally bright. “You’ll need boots. Here, try these.”

  The woman slipped off her shoes and pulled Felicity’s old boots up over the cuffs of her smart gray trousers. “They’ll do,” she said.

  “What’s your name?” Flora asked, giving in at last.

  “Miranda Gregson,” came the reply.

  As soon as she heard the name Flora remembered it. “Of course. Sorry.”

  “That’s okay. It’s a difficult time.”

  She gave Miranda one of her father’s jackets to wear and they set off toward the stables. It was already starting to get dark, a wind blustering and swirling around the farm buildings, tugging at their clothes.

  “I used to go riding when I was younger,” Miranda said. “I helped out at some stables on weekends. Loved it.”

  Flora didn’t answer. Given a choice, she would much prefer to work with this woman over Connor Petrie. Nigel had phoned him twenty minutes ago and told him to get his arse down to the stables. He’d been somewhere else, clearly, even though he was supposed to be working.

  Petrie, leaning against the horsebox, gave them a wave as they approached. “Who’s this, then?”

  “This is one of the police officers,” Flora said quickly. “Miranda.”

  “You here about Polly?” he asked. “Boss told me. Lots of blood everywhere, right?”

  “Shut up!” Flora snapped at him. “Have some bloody respect. You’re here to work.”

  “I’m the family liaison officer,” Miranda said, her tone even. “Here to help, if I can.” She offered her hand, and after some shuffling and wiping, Connor gave it a brief shake.

  Oh God, this was no good. The ugly little bastard was going to have her crying in a minute. She had come out here to try and take her mind off the subject of Polly’s death, lose herself in mindless physical activity. She walked away from them to the hayloft. Connor could talk to the police all he wanted, she wouldn’t be there to listen. Didn’t care anymore, in any case.

  * * *

  MG11 WITNESS STATEMENT

  Section 1—Witness Details

  NAME: Felicity Jane Elizabeth MAITLAND

  DOB (if under 18; if over 18 state “Over 18”) Over 18

  ADDRESS: Hermitage Farm

  Cemetery Lane

  Morden

  Briarstone

  OCCUPATION: Farm manager/housewife

  Section 2—Investigating Officer

  DATE: Thursday 1 November

  OIC: DS 10194 Samantha HOLLANDS

  Section 3—Text of Statement

  My name is Felicity Maitland and I own and run Hermitage Farm, together with my husband Nigel. My main role is running the stables. We have five horses, three of which are liveries, the remaining two belong to us.

  Polly Leuchars is a family friend and has been working with us since December last year, looking after the horses. As part of the arrangement we allowed Polly to live at Yonder Cottage, which is part of the farm estate. She was expected to be working with us for another few months, after which she was planning on going abroad. I do not know where to.

  On Wednesday 31 October Polly came to work as normal. She asked if she could go into town at lunchtime, and I agreed. She offered to do some shopping for me as well. She left in her car at about 12.30. I did not see her again until 3, when I saw her riding out in the top field.

  I saw her return a couple of hours later through my kitchen window and I went to the stables to talk to her. She said she had been unable to get the things I wanted. I was very disappointed, as I could have gone into town myself if she had told me sooner. We had a bit of an argument about it. She left without finishing off the work in the stables, claiming she had a headache. The last time I saw her alive was around 5.30.

  The next morning Polly was due to start work at 7 but at about 9 I noticed that the horses weren’t out in the back field, so I went down to see what was happening. Polly wasn’t there. The horses were quite agitated as they usually have breakfast by 8. I fed them and let them out into the field. After that I went to Yonder Cottage to see where she was. By the time I got there it was probably gone 9.30.

  I noticed Polly’s car was in its usual place and the back door to the cottage, which we use as the main entrance since it is nearer the road, was wide open. It opens into the kitchen and I could see blood there. I called out several times but there was no response. I was very frightened. I went to go through to the stairs. The door to the hallway was not completely shut, but I needed to push it open in order to go through.

  I could see a body on the floor, right by the door, and a lot of blood everywhere. I almost fell over the body, which I recognized as that of Polly Leuchars by the color of her hair and her build.

  I went back into the kitchen and used the phone there to dial 999.

  I did not notice if anything was missing from the house and I do not know why anyone would want to kill Polly.

  Section 4—Signatures

  __________________________

  __________________________

  WITNESS: (Felicity Maitland)

  OIC: (S Hollands DS 10194)

  * * *

  15:57

  “Right, let’s have some hush, please,” Lou said, hoping her voice sounded more commanding than she felt. The briefing room was packed. Andy Hamilton was sitting right at the front; next to him was Barry Holloway. Her detective sergeant, Sam Hollands, was right at the back, her mouth set in a determined line. Lou knew she would probably never have so many people at a briefing again; by the time the first week was over, she would start to lose people to other duties and would have to beg, borrow, or steal to get them back. If, heaven forbid, the case was to drag on into months, she would end up with only a couple of the people here now.

  She needed a quick arrest.

  A few moments before her mobile had rung. The display said it was the superintendent, probably calling for a prebriefing update, or maybe to wish her luck with it. Whatever it was, she would have to ring him afterward. Being late for the briefing would not be a promising start.

  She was quietly relieved at how quickly silence had descended on the room. She wasn’t going to get too many chances to find her place at the head of this team.

  “For those of you I’ve not met, I am DCI Louisa Smith. I’m going to give you some background, and then I’ll hand over to Barry, who will get us all up to speed on where we are now. Firstly, let me say that if you have any problems here I want you to feel you can come and see me or call me at any time. We all need a swift result with this one. And, as you’re aware, this is a murder inquiry, and anything you hear in this briefing may be of a sensitive nature, so please keep it to yourselves.” The standard warning.

  Clicking the down arrow on her laptop, the first slide:

  OP NETTLE

  Murder of Polly LEUCHARS

  With a picture of Polly herself, taken earlier in the year; it was a poignant photograph because she looked so young, so alive, beautiful, in a fresh, carefree sort of way, with long white-blond hair and tanned skin from spending the summer outdoors.

  “This morning at just after nine-forty, Polly Leuchars’s body was found by her employer at her home, Yonder Cottage, Cemetery Lane, Morden. Polly worked as a groom at Hermitage Farm and lived in the cottage because she was a family friend of the Maitlands, who, as we all know, own and run Hermitage Farm.”

  A few murmurs.

  “Polly was on the floor in the downstairs hallway and had been severely beaten. She was wearing pajamas
and her bed had been slept in. Early estimates from the pathologist put the time of death as between midnight and four, although this needs to be confirmed.”

  Lou looked at the sea of faces. She still had their undivided attention and some of the late shift were busy making notes. “Right. Over to you, Barry. For those of you who don’t know, Barry Holloway is our reader-receiver.”

  “Guv.”

  Lou stepped to one side of the projection screen, watching the room.

  Barry fiddled with the laptop. “Anyone not happy with scene photos, look away now, folks. Otherwise I’ll warn you when we get to the really grim ones.”

  The first slide came up, a picture of the kitchen of Yonder Cottage. Blood on the floor, on the work surfaces.

  “Good news and bad news so far. The good news: we’ve probably got forensics all over the place. Nothing confirmed until we get the CSI report back, but for now spatter marks indicate the main attack took place downstairs in the hallway. No sign of forced entry but apparently the back door wasn’t routinely locked. No sign of the murder weapon, and we’re waiting for confirmation of what that could be. Something solid and heavy, in any case.”

  The slides clicked over to the stairs. “We’ve got some good shoe marks, and a smeared handprint. Likelihood of fingerprints is pretty good. Brace yourselves for the next few, if you’re squeamish.”

  Next slide, the hallway, stairway to the rear. Body in situ.

  Click. Close-up on what remained of Polly Leuchars. She was facedown, one arm up near her head, the other by her side, one knee brought up, wearing cotton pajamas, patches of pink still visible in all the dark brown and red; flashes of still-blond hair; white bone showing through.

  Click. The side of Polly’s face, swollen purple skin in the places where you could actually see the skin. What could have been bruising under a still perfect shell-like ear.

  Someone in the room let out a long breath; otherwise there was silence.

  “As you can see, this is a nasty one. There’s not a lot of Polly’s head left. We had to get initial identification from the Maitlands via some jewelry, although Felicity Maitland assumed it was Polly from her size and her hair. Extensive blood loss here, here, and over here.”