Where There's A Will

Chapter Eighteen

Stone turned away from the gate, glad that Louisa Orchard was still the only reporter he had to deal with, and made his way up the drive. He could only wonder how much longer it would be before more reporters, perhaps even some from the national newspapers, and representatives of the news networks, arrived to report on the kidnapping of Alice Keating – he hoped it would be a while, but he suspected that sooner than any of them would like, it wouldn't be possible to leave the property without being bombarded by questions and having dozens of photographs taken.

"Okay," he said briskly as he entered the library, where the staff had assembled at his instruction. "I'm sure by now you are all aware of what has happened." He had said nothing to the staff himself, and he had instructed his officers not to say anything, but he didn't doubt that the news of Alice Keating's kidnapping had reached them anyway.

There was a chorus of nods from the staff, revealing that he had been right. To a person, they wore shocked expressions, with the housekeeper and the butler, whom Stone presumed were the longest-serving of the Keatings' servants, seeming almost grief-stricken.

"I want it understood that none of you are to speak to the press, or any news reporters, or indeed anyone, about this without my permission, is that clear?" Another bout of synchronised nodding answered him. "Good. Now, I will be speaking to each of you in turn about this."

"Why? Do you think one of us was involved?" A concerned voice asked.

Stone identified the speaker as Ken Williams, one of the two junior gardeners – he had been introduced to all the staff as they were assembled, but he knew nothing about them yet beyond their names, and their positions within the household. "Not at all," he said, making a mental note to have the young man checked out.

He had no idea if Williams had anything to do with Alice Keatings' kidnapping, but the concern in his voice suggested he wasn't happy at the thought of being questioned by the police. Not only that, but the way he glanced at Stone and then quickly looked away, without being able to take his eyes off him completely, indicated he had something to hide. "But it's possible you know something that will help us find Miss Keating and catch the people who have taken her.

"I gather from Mr Keating that there are some staff members not here at present," Stone said, looking around the assembled group.

"Yes, that's right," Vincent Chambers, the house-manager, said with a nod of his head. "It's Hamish Gordon's half day, he's the senior gardener, and Katya Bilinski, the second maid, is on holiday – she's gone home to visit her family, in Poland I believe." He looked to the housekeeper, who doubled as cook, for confirmation.

"That's right, she's due back on Monday," Mrs Wembley – the moment he was told her name Stone had thought of the old sitcom 'On The Up' and its catchphrase 'Just the one, Mrs Wembley' – said, her face the most troubled of all the staff.

"Then of course there's Brian, who's in hospital," Chambers continued.

Stone waited until the house-manager, a position he still thought of as butler, whom he had questioned last, left the library, only then did he turn to Burke. "What do you think?" he asked.

Burke allowed himself some time to consider the question before he answered. "That gardener, the young one, Williams, is hiding something," he said. "If I had to guess, I'd say it's drugs, or something like that, rather than anything to do with the kidnapping, but we'll have to check him out."

Stone nodded.

"That maid, Gabby, could do with being checked out as well; there was something about her. I'm not sure what, but I'm positive she's hiding something."

Mentally, Stone reviewed the interview with the maid; he hadn't picked up on anything at the time, and still couldn't on reflection, but he trusted his partner's instincts. Over the years they had worked together he had learned that if one of them missed something, the other was almost guaranteed to pick up on it; between them, suspects and witnesses were rarely able to get away with anything.

"I think we should have them all checked out," he said, "just to be on the safe side."

There was a knock on the library door and Burke crossed to find out who was there – it was Owen Keating.

"Did you find out anything?" Keating asked, his face drawn. He bore only a vague resemblance to the bright and animated games developer who had talked to them about the games his company was preparing to release.

Stone didn't answer straight away, instead he asked a question of his own, "How's your wife? What did the doctor say?"

Keating moved into the room and settled into one of the comfortable armchairs near the windows that looked out on the colourful grounds at the rear of the house. "She's in shock, it's hit her very hard. I don't think she ever expected anything like this to happen – neither did I, if I'm honest." He was silent for a moment. "The doctor's given her something to calm her down and help her sleep; hopefully she'll feel better when she wakes." His tone was positive, but his body language reflected what he really thought.

It was no surprise to Stone that Owen Keating had the air of a man who found himself in the midst of the worst nightmare he could imagine. As a father of two, the possibility of losing one of his children was something that preyed on his mind; to lose one would be bad enough, but to have one taken away – he was sure that must be a thousand times more terrible. His job as a detective made it all the worse because he too frequently saw the evils that men, and women, inflicted on each other and on children.

"Hopefully, by the time your wife wakes, we'll have some good news. Were you able to get in touch with your son?"

Keating shook his head. "He's not answering his phone. He's probably off somewhere being an idiot," he said disapprovingly.

Stone couldn't disagree with him – Ryan Keating was a regular at one or other of Branton's police stations, most often the central station where Stone worked, for he had a propensity for getting into trouble, whether it was for being drunk and disorderly, dangerous driving, or for even more serious matters. The elder Keating child featured in the local papers with greater frequency than the rest of his family combined, and never for a good reason.

"Did you learn anything from the staff?" Keating asked.

"Nothing useful at present, but we haven't finished with them yet, it's possible we might still learn something from them. We have leads to be followed up on from the witnesses at the scene as well."

"So, what happens now?"

"Now, Sergeant Burke and I need to go to the station to get the rest of our team working on their assignments; there's a lot that needs to be done, and the quicker the better. Once we've finished at the station, we need to find your gardener to see if he knows anything." Stone straightened his jacket inpreparation to leave. "Detective Constable Laughton," he introduced the other man in the library, who had been so silent up to then that he had gone unnoticed, both by Keating and by the servants being questioned, "will remain here as your liaison officer; if you have any questions, or you need anything, before I get back, just ask him."