Placing the newspapers on the table along with al the other cuttings and clippings I'd amassed over the weeks, I went to my poky bathroom and ran a sink ful of water. Cupping my hands, I splashed some of it onto my face, and wiped away the red streak that ran from the corner of my left eye and down my cheek. Some of it had splashed onto my top, and puling it off, I threw it into the wash basket.
The dizziness that I felt after these episodes had begun to fade, and I was left with a dul thud throbbing away behind my temple. Roling my head from side to side on my neck, I rubbed my forehead with the tips of my fingers and went to my bedroom. Puling a clean top from the wardrobe, I puled it on. Sitting in my favourite seat by the window, I eased myself into it and turned on the T.V. I would go through the newspapers once my head had cleared. It had become my nightly habit of sitting in my armchair, the news playing on the T.V in the background, and methodicaly going through every newspaper looking for stories, anything that might lead me to Luke, Potter, and Murphy. With scissors in hand, I would cut out anything of interest and pin them to the living room wal. There were so many cuttings now attached to the wals, that if you stepped back and at a glance, the room looked as if it had been decorated with newspaper. Faces of the missing and murder victims stared back at me. Sparky said that it freaked him out just a little and he once asked me why they were there. I told him that I was fascinated by serious crime, and that I was writing a study on offender profiling. If Doctor Keats had ever made a house cal, then my chances of ever returning back to the force would've been something close to zero. But I didn't have to worry about Keats anymore and she didn't have to worry about me - if she ever had.
The T.V. flashed images of the ocean. Rescue boats were racing towards what looked like the fragmented and broken pieces of an airliner. Cushion seats floated on the waves, along with yelow-coloured life jackets. The strap line running across the bottom of the screen read: Air Atlantis Flight 281 crashes into sea 80 miles off the coast of Ireland. All 232 passengers and 12 crew feared to be dead.
Leaning forward in my chair, I turned up the volume to hear the reporter speaking over the images being played out on the screen.
"The investigation is stil ongoing," the reporter said. "The cause of the crash is yet to be formaly determined. A statement by the BEA says that the last verbal contact was made with the aircraft at 11:52 hours BST. It is unclear what was said during that last transmission."
Slumping back into my chair, I could hear the sound of that voice inside my head. It wasn't like I was hearing with my ears, but like a distant radio signal hissing and spitting inside my mind. Over and over I could hear a voice screaming, "They've breached the cabin...they've breached the cabin!"
Was the voice I could hear that of the pilot from the plane that crashed into the sea? It couldn't be. Why would it be? And who had breached the cabin? But as I sat and tried to make sense of the changes that were taking hold of me, the buzzer on my door hummed, waking me from my thoughts. Placing the newspapers on the floor and turning down the volume on the T.V., I got up from my chair and peered out of the window and down at the street below. It was starting to get dark outside. The long shadow of someone standing at the door stretched up the street like a deep crack in the pavement. The buzzer sounded again.
Pressing the intercom button, I spoke into it.
"Helo?"
"Ms. Kiera Hudson?" the voice asked, and it was female.
"Yes," I said back, wondering who it could be.
"I was hoping I could speak with you," the voice crackled through the intercom.
Peering over my shoulder at my room, the piles of old newspapers scattered across the floor and stacked beside my chair, and the news cuttings covering the wals, I turned back and said, "This isn't a good time for me at the moment. Couldn't you come back -"
"You've been recommended to me," the voice cut in. "I've heard you're good at...how can I put it?
Solving little problems?"
"Erm," I stammered.
"Please, Ms. Hudson," the voice came again. "I've traveled a great distance to ask for your help."
Releasing the latch, I spoke into the intercom and said, "Okay, come on up."
Hurrying around the room, I kicked some of the scattered newspapers under the chair and sofa, and scraped my hair into a ponytail. Before I'd even had the chance of finishing my hair, there was a woman standing in my open doorway. Closing the door behind her, she stepped in.
Glancing at al the hundreds of newspaper cuttings, she said, "Thank you for seeing me, Ms. Hudson."
Knocking a pile of newspapers from an armchair, I ushered her towards it. "Please cal me Kiera," I smiled.
"Ms. Hudson makes me sound so old."
"Of course," the woman smiled back, not taking her eyes from me, "Someone so young and pretty but with a knowledge way past her years."
"I'm sorry?" I said sitting back in my chair.
'I've heard very good things about you, Kiera,"
she said, smoothing out her trousers with her hands and then puling down the cuffs of her suit jacket. The woman was dressed al in black, apart from the grey- coloured blouse that I could see beneath her jacket. But that was al I could see - I mean unlike Doctor Keats - this woman gave nothing away. I guessed she was in her early to mid-forties, her skin was pale and in great condition. She had thick auburn hair that flowed onto her shoulders. Her eyes were clear blue and she wore little-to-no make-up, apart from a crimson lipstick she had daubed her ful lips with. The woman wore no jewelery - no rings, necklaces, or bracelets.
"Can I get you something?" I asked her. "A cup of tea or..."
"No, thank you," the woman smiled. "Let me introduce myself. I am Lady Hunt - but I'm happy for you to cal me Elizabeth. I find titles so stuffy, don't you?"
"I guess," I said, wondering what it was that she could possibly want me to help her with.
"My husband, Lord Hunt, is the owner of Raven Industries. I don't know if you have ever heard of them?"
Shaking my head, I said, "I'm not sure that I have.
What's the purpose of his company?"
"It has something to do with renewable genetics,"
she said. "I don't claim to realy have understood what it was that Michael did, but maybe I should have taken more of an interest."
"Did?" I asked.
"Michael...how can I put this? Went missing a few months ago," she started to explain. "He had gone on a business trip to New York and hasn't been seen since."
"I'm sorry to hear that," I told her.
"That's very kind of you, but I have been left with somewhat of a dilemma," she said, and stared straight at me. "Since Michael's disappearance, I have been left to manage the business and as I've explained, I know very little about it. There is a meeting of shareholders in New York two days from now which I must attend."
"I'm sorry, but is it the disappearance of your husband you want me to investigate?" I asked, somewhat confused. "I know very little about business and even less about the complexities of renewable genetics."
Covering her mouth to stifle a giggle, Lady Hunt looked at me and said, "Oh no Kiera, I've employed someone else to investigate Michael's disappearance.
That's not the problem I require your services for."
"What then?" I asked her with a frown.
"My sixteen-year-old daughter, Kayla, she's the problem," the woman said.
"In what way?" I asked, wondering where this was heading.
Standing, the woman went to the window and looked out. Without looking at me she said, "How can I describe Kayla? Apart from being exceptionaly beautiful, she is also very bright," then turning to face me she said, "and also out of control."
"In what way?" I asked her, wondering if this wasn't going to be a my-daughter's-mixed-up-in- drugs-and-I-don't-like-the-guy-she-hangs-out-with kind of problem.
"You have to understand, Kiera, that my husband and I have always given our daughter the very best - the very best of everything," she said. "No money has been spared. She has gone to the best private schools; she's had the best of holidays, the best of everything."
What about attention and love? I wondered but didn't dare say this.
"But over the last few years, she has become wayward - rebeled against me and her father. Much to her father's shame, Kayla has been expeled from every school we have sent her to. Even when Michael offered to pay double the tuition fees to keep her at one school, the headmaster refused, stating that it wasn't the money - it was for the welbeing of the other students and the sanity of the staff, which was his main concern. The headmaster went on to explain that Kayla's behaviour had become so disruptive, that several parents had taken their child out of the school and he had a list of several other parents that were threatening to take their children elsewhere if Kayla was not removed. Finaly, Kayla had built such a reputation for herself that no school - however much money we offered - would take her. Eventualy, she became home-tutored and to my last count we have been through seven teachers in the last year."
Heading back towards the chair and ringing her pale hands together, Lady Hunt took her seat again. "I am at my wit's end."
"But how can I help?" I asked her.
"I heard that you were a police officer," Lady Hunt said.
"Still a police officer," I corrected her. "Let's just say I'm on an extended career break at the moment."
"Wel that's even better, don't you see?" the woman said, and I detected a note of desperation in her voice.
"For once in my life, I don't see," I told her.
"As I've said, I've got to go to New York tomorrow, and I need someone to keep an eye on -"
she started.
Guessing what was coming, I cut in and said, "Can't you take your daughter with you? She might like to..."
"You must be joking," she scoffed. "I couldn't possibly take Kayla with me - what would they think?"
"I don't know," I said. "But perhaps some time with just you - her mother - might be good for her."
"But I'l be so busy in meetings and conferences, I wouldn't be able to spend any time with her," she explained. "And I shudder to think of what she might get up to in New York while I was busy al day."
"So what is it you're asking me to do?" I said.
"Please come and stay at our home while I'm away and keep an eye on Kayla for me," she asked. "You're not too many years older than her and having a police officer around might be a stabling influence for her. You wil be wel looked after by my staff..."
"Can't they keep an eye on her?" I asked, not wanting to take up the job of babysitting some spoilt brat.
"The Housekeeper has enough to do keeping the house running without having to concern herself with Kayla. Then there is Marshal, the grounds man, he is quiet and aloof - not the slightest bit interested in some teenager's rebelion. If left to her devices, Kayla would escape."
"Escape?" I said, imagining a house with bars on the windows.
"Escape is probably too strong a word," Lady Hunt said. "But Kayla has run away from home on several occasions. She traveled to London. We spent hundreds - no thousands of pounds in private detective fees in tracing her. The last time she was discovered living like a homeless person by the Embankment Tube Station. It was al very stressful and upsetting for us."
Then puling a handkerchief from her suit pocket she dabbed the corner of her eyes. "No wonder Michael vanished - maybe he just had enough and couldn't face coming home anymore. I don't blame Kayla, but she has caused so much stress over the last few years."
"Why do you think she behaves like this?" I asked her.
"I don't know," she groaned. "Like I said, we've given her everything."
And that's the problem, I thought to myself.
"I'd love to help, but...'" I started to make my excuses. "Please Kiera," she said, moving to the edge of her seat. "I'l pay you wel..." "It's not the money," I started to assure her. "Please, al I ask is for you to come to my home for a week and keep an eye on my daughter..." "It's not realy my idea of problem- solving," I explained. "And besides, there must be someone else, some family member better suited to watch over your daughter. Somebody she knows and trusts, unless..."
"Unless what?" Lady Hunt asked me.
"Unless your concerns run deeper than just your daughter's delinquent behaviour," I said, eyeing her.
"Perhaps you haven't told me everything."
"Your reputation does you justice," she said, placing her hanky back into her pocket. "It seems that it is very difficult to get anything past you."
"To fool me, Lady Hunt?" I said, feeling resentful that she hadn't told me everything from the start.
"The problem is a little more complex than I first suggested," Lady Hunt said, her skin so pale that she looked as if she might just faint.
"How complex?" I said, my interest in this case suddenly heightening. "There is someone watching my daughter," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"Who?" I asked her. "That, I do not know," she said.
"But I have seen him, at night, beyond the grounds of our home. He lurks in the dark at night, spying up at my daughter's room."
"Grounds?" I asked.
"Yes, we live in a Manor House," she explained.
"It's a wretched place, realy. It's far too big for us and terribly hard to heat in the winter. Half of it is unused and has been for years, but it has been in my husband's family for generations and it was his wish to reside in the home of his forefathers. The grounds are surrounded by a moat and there is a drawbridge - this is the only way in and out of the grounds."
"A moat?" I gasped. "Sounds more like a castle!"
"I've probably talked it up far too much," she said.
"It's not as grand as I've portrayed it to be. In fact, much of the manor is in disrepair and the whole place could do with tidying up. But Michael is a traditionalist and wants the manor to stay in the style that it had originaly been built. He is very fussy about who he gets to work on the place. If it were going to be renovated, he was insistent that it be done just right. I lost count on how many builders we had visit the place and give quotes on the cost - but he never hired any of them.
The whole place needs to be rewired and the plumbing - wel don't get me started on that. The noise those pipes make is just deafening at times. But even in the short time since my husband has vanished, I have taken steps to have the work done. There are currently some workmen up at the manor carrying out some work for me."
"How do you know it's a man?" I asked her.
"Sorry?" she said, almost as if my question had surprised her. "You said that the person watching your daughter is a man," I reminded her. "Marshal, the grounds man, disturbed him one night as he stood hidden in the undergrowth and bushes on the other side of the moat," she said.
"Could Marshal give a description of this man?" I asked.
"No, it was dark. We live miles from anywhere, deep on the Welsh Moors. Save for the moonlight, the area is in complete darkness come nightfal. Marshal didn't get a good look at him and he was quick on his feet - disappearing over the rugged landscape and into the night."
"Do you have any idea who this person might be and why he would want to watch your daughter?" I asked her.
"I suspect that it's someone she has met on one of her many escapades to London," she said. "It scares me half to death, the thought of who she may have associated with while she was there. Perhaps she told him of her privileged upbringing and he has come to rob our home. Or maybe he has come to entice her back to London - for what reason I dare not wonder. But whatever the reason, Kiera, I feel that Kayla is at risk of much harm from him."
"Have you spoken to Kayla and asked her if she knows the identity of this stranger?" I asked.
"Yes, but she becomes evasive and then angry, throwing the most violent of tantrums," she said. "With the help of Marshal, we have had to lock her in her room until she calms herself."
"Tel me, did this stranger appear before or after your husband's sudden disappearance?" I asked her.
"Just after," she said, eyeing me. "Why do you ask?"
"No real reason," I said trying to brush off her question. Changing the subject, I said, "Why haven't you caled the police to investigate this male?"
"As of yet, he has done nothing wrong," she said.
"He has been seen loitering around at night, but as I've said, I wouldn't even be able to describe him. He hasn't committed burglary or harmed me, my daughter, or my staff. But you have to believe me, Kiera, there is something very wrong and although Kayla seems fearless, my heart is ful of dread. We live miles from the nearest town, the manor is remote, and should this man gain access to our home in my absence, I'm terrified at the thought of what might happen to my daughter. So I beg you, Kiera Hudson, please accept my offer and come to my home and protect my dear Kayla- it wil be a week at the most."
I looked into her eyes, and I could see the fear in them. What else did I have planned? Nights sitting in front of the T.V. cutting out news articles and tacking them to wals of my flat? A trip into the country would probably do me some good; take my mind off Luke, Potter, and Murphy and the search for my mother. But more than that, this was the most interesting case to come along since...since I was posted to The Ragged Cove.
"Okay, I'l come," I told her, and for the briefest of moments I thought she was going to faint to the floor with relief. "Oh thank you! Thank you!" she gasped, clutching her hands together as if in prayer. "You'l have to give me your address, so I can drive down tomorrow," I said. Then springing to her feet, Lady Hunt said, "You must come tonight, Kiera, as I leave for America first thing tomorrow morning." "But I'l need to pack some stuff together -" I started. "My driver is waiting outside," she said, her voice sounding urgent. "We must leave now!"
