The House in the Woods (Atticus Priest Book 1) Read online

  “But they’ve closed ranks,” she said. “You won’t get anywhere.”

  “Maybe. But it’s worth a try.”

  Atticus tried to sound optimistic for her benefit, but he suspected that she was right. The police would be very reluctant to talk to someone from the defence. He knew, from experience, that they tended to divide people into two classes: members of the public and villains. Once the decision had been made that someone was a villain, they could be very awkward indeed.

  “Anything else?”

  “I’d like to see whether Ralph could even have fit through the coal hole at the house. Did you know about it before all this happened?”

  She nodded. “Ralph told me ages ago.”

  “It’s pretty small,” he said.

  “You’ve been to the house?”

  “This morning, before I came here. I should probably have asked.”

  “It’s fine—but it’s locked.” She looked at him questioningly.

  Atticus shrugged. “I picked the lock,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

  She shook her head. “Of course not.”

  “Did Cadogan look at whether Ralph would fit?”

  “Sort of. Ralph said he thinks he can probably still get through it, but that it’s tight.”

  “Did he actually try?”

  “He’s been remanded in custody the whole time. He hasn’t had a chance.”

  “That might be worth doing. I think it’d be difficult for him to get out.”

  “I’ll speak to Cadogan.”

  “What about the shoes that Ralph was wearing?”

  “I think the police have them—why?”

  “There’s a thin layer of soot on the floor of the coal hole. If he went out that way, I’d expect to see traces of it in the soles. I’d also like to check to see whether the police were able to match prints from the shoes he was wearing to the ground around the coal hole. The ground was damp and muddy that night. I didn’t see anything in the file to suggest that they paid much attention to that, but if Ralph did come out that way, then I’d expect to see prints in the coal dust and in the dirt around the hatch.”

  “And they could tell it was him?”

  “You look for matching patterns or brand or logo marks. You can analyse wear patterns so that you have an idea about the angle of footfall and weight distribution. You’d be surprised how much you can tell—it can prove to be as specific as a fingerprint. I’ve studied it extensively.”

  She finished her coffee.

  “Do I need to do anything?”

  “No,” he said. “I’ll look through the evidence again. I’m interested in Cameron. The police thought it was him. They fixated on him for the first few days.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you and Ralph think he did it.”

  She sucked her lip. “I think it’s possible.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s all in the papers,” she said. “Haven’t you—”

  “I haven’t read them all yet,” Atticus said, cutting across her. “I’ll finish tonight. But it would be helpful to hear it from you—why you think he might have done it.”

  She paused a moment, evidently thinking about the best way to start. “Cameron had serious issues,” she said. “Their father—Hugo—he had this reputation in Wilton for being the nicest man. He was generous, friendly, the kind of person who would do anything for you. He fooled me, originally. I thought the same as everybody else. It was only later that I found out what he was really like.” She took a sip of her tea and looked away; when she returned her gaze to him, Atticus saw that her eyes were flinty with anger. “He used to beat them when they were children. Not just slap them—I mean really beat them. His fists. Belts. Anything that was to hand. Ralph told me about it eventually. And there was always such a bad atmosphere in the house. There were arguments and fights; most of the time I just couldn’t wait to get away again. There was this one time, last summer, when there was a big fight at the family barbecue they held in the garden every year. Cameron was so angry. I’ve never seen anyone as angry as that before. Hugo said something and Cameron just went for him.”

  “‘Went for him’?”

  “Tried to hit him. Ralph tried to hold him back, and Cameron elbowed him in the face; he said that it was accidental. Ralph’s nose was broken—we had to go to Accident and Emergency. Ralph told me everything while we were waiting to see the nurse.”

  A member of staff came to collect their empty cups. Allegra paused until they were alone again.

  “It seemed to get worse,” she said. “We found out that Cameron was having trouble at university. Ralph would get phone calls from him late at night. I don’t exactly know what they said, but the gist of it was that Cameron was having nightmares. And he had this terrible temper. Terrible. Ralph said it had always been there, but that recently it had seemed to get completely out of control. He was arrested for brawling in the street last year. Something happened in a bar that he was in, and he ended up headbutting a student in the face. The police got involved—Ralph drove to Bath at one in the morning to get him out of the police station. There was talk that he was going to be asked to leave the university, but they managed to talk them around.” She shook her head. “There were other times, too. We went out for a drink on Cameron’s birthday, and he ended up having a big go at Ralph. Hugo came up in the conversation and he just lost it. There were other arguments in the house, too. It had got to the point where I used to dread going there for anything.”

  Atticus drew a line under his notes.

  “Anything else?” she asked him.

  “Cassandra?” Atticus said.

  She nodded. “What do you want to know?”

  “The police didn’t find anything out about her.”

  “There wasn’t much to find.”

  Atticus looked back at his notes. “She was at Bath, like Cameron. Some suggestion that she had trouble settling in, but then she got on top of it. She was religious.”

  “That was a recent thing.”

  “How recent?”

  “The last year.”

  “She was a hard worker.”

  Allegra nodded.

  “No boyfriend,” Atticus added. “No reason to think that she had any reason to hurt her family.”

  Allegra nodded again. “I don’t think it was her. She wasn’t… like that. Not like Cameron.”

  “All right,” Atticus said. “A couple of other things. The first is awkward.”

  “You want to ask me about Freddie Lamza?”

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “But I do.”

  27

  Atticus would have preferred not to bring Lamza up, but there was nothing else for it. His testimony was crucial. The prosecution’s case rested upon what he would say. In the absence of strong forensic evidence that could be used to convict Ralph, the Crown had fallen back upon establishing a case based upon circumstantial evidence, all of it underpinned by Lamza’s testimony that Ralph had evinced a desire to see his family killed. It was the fulcrum upon which everything else turned.

  “Freddie Lamza,” Allegra said, sighing. “What a mess that is.”

  “I’m sorry,” Atticus said. “But we can’t really ignore him.”

  She sighed. “I know we can’t,” she said. She folded her hands on the table in front of her and took a moment to compose herself.

  “Is he gay?” Atticus said. “Ralph, I mean.”

  “No. I know what Lamza says, that he is, but it isn’t true. I’ve spoken to him about it, of course.” She laughed, humourlessly, once more. “Jesus, we’ve spoken about it for hours. Ralph says that he’s wondered for years about whether he might be bisexual. He was in London on business a year ago, and he said he saw one of those cards in a phone box. You know…” She trailed off.

  “The ones left by prostitutes,” Atticus finished.

  “Yes. Those. He saw one that Lamza had left there and called him. He says he doesn’t know why he did it. We’d
been going through a rough patch—caused by his family, of course, and the way they treated me—and he says something just clicked in him. He called the number, Lamza gave him an address and explained what would happen, and then Ralph went and visited him.”

  “Lamza says that they started to have an affair.”

  “He can say what he wants,” Allegra snapped, “but it wasn’t like that. Ralph isn’t gay. I’m sure about that.”

  “Ralph’s sexuality doesn’t make any difference either way. Not to anything. It wouldn’t matter if Lamza was a woman. It’s what he will say that Ralph said to him. That he hated his family and was going to kill them. That’s what’s important.”

  “I know,” she said. “Ralph says he didn’t say it.”

  “So why did Lamza say that he did?”

  She snorted. “Isn’t it obvious? He’s a jilted lover. Ralph said he wouldn’t see him again, and Lamza’s feelings were hurt. That’s it. He saw Ralph on the news and he saw a chance to put the boot in. That’s all it is—as simple as that. Revenge. The whole thing is a pack of lies.” She looked away. “I’m sorry for snapping at you. This is unbelievably stressful.”

  “It’s fine,” Atticus said with a smile. “I understand.”

  “What can you do about him?”

  “I’ll see what I can find.”

  She looked at her watch. “I need to be getting on—there’s a conference with Crow at nine thirty. Is there anything else?”

  “One more thing,” Atticus said. “I need to talk to Ralph. I’ve read most of his evidence, but that’s no substitute for speaking to him. There might be something that he says that gives me another angle to investigate.”

  “He’s not in a good way,” she warned. “This whole thing—he’s not handling it well.”

  “I’d be worried if he was. You don’t need to worry about that. I’ve interviewed people in the same situation before.”

  “I’ll need to be there, too,” she said.

  Atticus bit down on his lip, wondering about the good sense of that. He would have preferred to speak to Ralph on his own. Allegra had a powerful personality, and, from the brief recollection that Atticus had of her husband in court, he suspected that she would be the dominant party in their relationship. On the other hand, Atticus needed Ralph to open up to him. Perhaps a compromise would be a first meeting with the two of them, and then a second meeting could take place with Ralph alone. Atticus put that to one side for now; the details could be worked out later.

  “Of course,” he said. “Could you ask Cadogan to take care of that? I’d like to see him as soon as possible. After court today would be ideal.”

  28

  The kitchen was a scene of barely controlled chaos.

  “Get your clothes on!” Mack said as she flew around trying to prepare her bag for the day ahead.

  “Sebastian put his tongue out at me!” Daisy complained.

  “No, I didn’t!” Sebastian protested.

  “Yes, you did!”

  Mack turned her back as she took a ballpoint pen out of the drawer and was only dimly aware of the shape of her son as he barrelled across the room towards her daughter.

  “He hit me!” Daisy exclaimed. “Oh my God, Mum! Sebastian hit me!”

  “Sebastian, get your uniform on. You need to leave for school in”—she checked her watch—“shit, two minutes.”

  “You swore, Mummy,” Daisy said. “You said ‘shit.’”

  “Shut up, Daisy. Brush your teeth and brush your hair and get your shoes on now.”

  Mack tried to put the folder of evidence into her bag, found that it didn’t fit, took it out and tried to make space for it. She was exhausted. Sebastian had suffered from a nightmare that night, and she had stayed with him for an hour until he had stopped crying and settled back into sleep. She had hugged him against her own body, inhaling the smell of him, her mind drifting back to the first few months of his life when he had slept so badly. She remembered it as a surreal time, an almost hallucinatory blending of night into day, marked by a bone-deep fatigue and eyes that scratched and itched from lack of sleep. She had breastfed him for three months before she had returned to work, afraid that a longer absence would be held against her. Andy had taken over, feeding their son from a bottle and sacrificing his own sleep so that she was able to function.

  “Mum!” Daisy wailed. “I can’t find my shoes.”

  She wanted to swear, but bit her lip.

  “I’ve got them,” Andy said, sweeping into the kitchen with Sebastian’s PE kit, Daisy’s spellings and the shoes for both children. He had polished both pairs, and, after depositing the duffel bag and folder on the counter, he knelt down between the two children and helped them to put them on.

  “Thanks,” Mack said.

  “I’ll take them,” he said.

  “It’s my turn,” she said, grateful and guilty at the same time.

  “You’ve got to get to court. I know it’s important—just go. I’ll take care of them and we can see you tonight. Okay?”

  “You’re a lifesaver,” she said, bending down to kiss him on the top of the head. “What would I do without you?”

  “Let’s not find out,” he said, looking up with a smile.

  Mack kissed the children, told them to behave, gathered up her bag and the folder, and made her way out to the car on the drive. She opened the boot, dumped her stuff inside, and got in. It was late. Lennox was due to give his evidence first thing once proceedings resumed; she was going to need a clear run if she was going to get there in time.

  She reversed out just as Andy shepherded the kids to his car. He held up his hand as she shoved the car into first and pulled away.

  Mack parked the car in the Waitrose car park and then struggled to the court, balancing the trial bundle in her arms while her bag swung from her shoulder. She arrived in front of the building at the same time as Allegra Mallender was braving the phalanx of reporters waiting outside. She reached the door first, nodding her thanks to the member of staff who held it open for her and then stopping it with her foot as Allegra finally cleared the scrum and came inside.

  “Thank you,” Allegra said, but then she recognised Mack, and her expression changed to one of sour dislike. She bustled by her and joined the queue for security without saying another word.

  Mack took her foot from the door and turned away so that she could follow Allegra inside.

  “Charming!”

  She turned back. Atticus was making his way inside and the door had closed onto him.

  “Sorry. In a rush.”

  They joined the queue for security together.

  “You okay?” Atticus asked her.

  “I’m fine,” she said.

  “Still confident?”

  “Come on. I’m not going to talk to you about the case.”

  She dumped her things on the belt and stepped through the arch. Atticus followed her. She hoped that it might bleep so that he could be detained for a moment to allow her a chance to get away, but it did not. He intercepted her as she scooped up the trial bundle, and snagged the strap of her handbag for her.

  “Thanks,” she said, shrugging it onto her shoulder.

  “I’ve been to the house.”

  That brought her to a halt. “What?”

  “The Mallenders’ place. I visited it this morning. I wanted to see it for myself,” he said.

  “And? Find anything to make my life difficult?”

  “I don’t know. Have you looked at whether Ralph would fit through the coal hole?”

  The details came to her easily. “It has a diameter of twenty-five inches. Ralph’s slim. He can get through it.”

  “Might be a tight squeeze.”

  The glossy folders slipped against each other; she clamped her hand down to secure them. “So tell the defence to raise it. We can take him out there and drop him through it, see what happens.”

  She set off again.

  Atticus followed. “What about his shoes?”
r />   “What about them?”

  “Did they have coal dust on them?”

  “They had all kinds of shit on them.”

  “Because there would have had to be coal dust. The floor down there was covered in it. Still is.”

  Mack remembered the shoes. They had been sent for analysis, and the report had found trace evidence from a number of different sources: there was skin, body hair, fibres from the carpets used in the house, and soil particles from a number of distinct locations. There were also traces of coal dust that had been matched with the samples found in the cellar.

  “Read the forensic report,” she said. “He’s been down there.” She reached the door to the prosecution’s conference room and stopped. “I don’t have time to talk now.”

  “Maybe later, then?”

  She smiled thinly at him, but didn’t reply. He turned and continued down the corridor to the room that the defence was using. Mack watched him go, realising that her confidence in a case that had appeared solid was just a little less certain now. Atticus hadn’t found anything yet, but the very thought of his involvement had her questioning herself. She knew why: he was brilliant, incisive, not bound by convention or rules or anything else, and, if there was anything amiss with the investigation—if she had erred in any way—then he would find it.

  She took a breath. There was no need to panic. There was nothing wrong with the investigation, and nothing for him to find. They had done a good, thorough job.

  She pushed the door and went inside.

  29

  The others were already sat around the conference table when Mack came inside.

  Abernathy stood. “Good morning, Detective Chief Inspector.”

  “Morning,” Mack replied.

  Abernathy was dressed in a suit and tie. His wig and robes would be in the robing room, waiting for him to put them on prior to the start of the morning’s proceedings. His junior, Suzanne Masters, was seated at the table. Harry Probert—the solicitor from the Crown Prosecution Service—was alongside her, flicking through two open ring binders that were set out on the table before him. Tristan Lennox was on the other side of the table and, judging by his demeanour, Mack could tell that he was nervous.