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To be fair to Jen, it surprised him, too, that Nicole would do this. She didn’t present as someone difficult. She seemed placid and happy to let the police lead. He wonders if she was numbed by shock at first, and now that it’s wearing off, she’s coming to life. Whatever the reason, it’s a problem.
The phone on his desk lights up and he answers.
‘There’s an Anna Creed on the line. She wants to talk to you or Jen.’
He groans. ‘Can you take a message?’ In the corner of his eye, he sees a small disturbance. No, he thinks. Not now. When he’s under pressure, he’s susceptible to migraines. Visual disturbances are a precursor.
‘She’s very insistent and she sounds distressed.’
He weighs up whether ignoring the call will make things worse with Anna Creed and decides it might. ‘Put her through.’
Anna doesn’t introduce herself. She sounds breathless. ‘I know where they buried Kitty Ellis. It’s in the plague pit. You need to come.’
He sighs. ‘Who buried her and where?’ He feels his forehead wrinkle into a frown and smooths it out with his fingers. The corner of his vision distorts again and his heart sinks.
‘Five years ago, Olly and Sasha killed Kitty, our housekeeper, and buried her body in the plague pit at Lancaut. It’s within the Manor House grounds. It’s hard to find but I went there, and the ground was disturbed. They’ve dug her up and moved her remains, but I don’t know where to. You need to come.’
Hal swivels his chair to look out of the window. A seagull stalks the roof of a nearby building. The sun is falling, castinglong shadows. Golden light rims the rooftops. His vision warps. Plague pit, he thinks. Really? It sounds fantastical to him, much like the rest of what Anna Creed says, or writes. But then, Kitty has been untraceable so far.
‘Are you there?’ she asks. He doesn’t like her bossy tone. He wants her off the phone so he can concentrate on the job in hand. This is a distraction.
‘I’ll send an officer around to take a look,’ he says.
‘Today?’
‘Probably not. I have limited resources and Tom Booth’s death to investigate.’
‘What if their deaths are linked?’
He can’t get past the idea that she’s a delusional pest as he scrabbles through his desk drawer, looking for his migraine meds. He finds aspirin, drops three into a glass of water, waits for them to dissolve.
‘Olly and Sasha have an alibi for the period of Tom Booth’s death,’ he says.
‘But they’ve given each other an alibi. They could be covering up for each other.’
‘We’re aware of that, Mrs Creed. You need to let us do our job.’ He drinks down the aspirin. He’s starting to feel nauseous.
‘I’ll send an officer,’ he says. ‘We’ll be in touch.’
‘I don’t have a phone.’
‘Where are you calling from?’
‘The Barn.’
‘Landline?’ he asks.
‘No,’ she says. ‘I’m borrowing Nicole’s mobile. But she doesn’t know.’
‘Can we reach you on that number?’ His vision is getting worse. He looks at a piece of paper on his desk and finds it almost unreadable.
‘Yes,’ she says. ‘But don’t tell her that I called. I’m going to delete this from the call log.’
He realises she sounds breathless because she’s whispering. ‘Come today,’ she says. ‘I’m afraid of them.’
Hal’s patience snaps. ‘Mrs Creed, I’ll send men when I think it’s fit to. I’m in charge of this investigation. Not you. Not any of my junior officers. Thank you for the tip, it’s noted, but unless you have anything further to add, you are denting your own credibility and wasting my time and I don’t like time wasters.’
He hangs up. It was wrong to speak to her like that, he knows, and he’s been in trouble for this sort of thing before, but everybody’s patience has a limit. He has a thousand different demands on his time, a killer on the loose and the neighbours have an alibi, even if it’s not the most solid. Without evidence that they hurt Tom Booth or had intention to, he’s not inclined to prioritise her ramblings. If Kitty Ellis is found alive and well and playing bingo in Droitwich in the next few days, he’ll have egg all over his face and all over his career.
