Water's Edge

Chapter IV

There is a House in Thorngumbald

We wound as far away from the river as we could whilst remaining within Thorngumbald, up to the second home of Barnaby Wharton. His prerogative, I suppose, to live somewhere quite as large as this.

We pulled up to the gravel driveway before the front doors, clunking off the tape player. I left the Glock in the glove compartment, but I felt like I needed it. Always did when the heavies opened my car door for me. I needed a smoke. Imagined I'd get told off for that.

I sniffed, a light drizzle in my hair, pulling my leather jacket around me tighter against the wind chill. The heavy took me to the front door.

He rang the doorbell, which surprised me.

"Thank you Evgeny." Edith stepped to one side and invited me in. I gave Evgeny a look, pretence that he had to give me permission to enter. I couldn't help myself. He couldn't smile, just nodded once that my joke had parsed.

The interior of the property is exactly as expected, that minimalist Scandinavian vibe that all Conservatives seemed to like to copy nowadays, that Kirsty Allsop aesthetic, the kind of house you'd expect to find Nigella Lawson baking in. But there was no smell of baking, just the scent of soap; I found parents often developed an obsessive compulsion for cleaning after the loss of a child, especially if they had no factual evidence for their kids demise, just the hollow feeling it had definitely happened somewhere out of sight.

Edith walked ahead with the proud steps of a woman keeping herself together with gaffer tape. It seemed I would not be allowed further than the drawing room, the old manners prevalent. I didn't mind, knowing one's station comes with a price. I fiddled with the clasp on my cigarette tin in my pocket, wishing I had brought my gun.

"Harry Jake Fields." Said the silhouette by the bay windows. Somehow, he had retained a sense of dignity even in these times. Usually MPs lost their gusto for speech during a bereavement, "You come highly recommended."

"First time for anything."

"Are you going to joke through all of this?" He finally turned to face me, a tall slender man with a mop of blond hair folded and cut into neatness, like topiary. He had no chin to speak of.

"Barnaby!" Edith hushly snapped as she approached her husband, "We are all grieving terrible, Detective Fields," She remembered this time then, "Please excuse my husbands impoliteness."

"It's fine." It was. I took this to mean I could get away with a cig, lit up there and then with the tiny black lighter I had purchased from The Fisherman's Arms a few weeks back. Good lighter this. They paused in defiance to the smoke flung from the corner of my mouth, and I found somewhere to sit, retrieving a notebook. They had hired me, this is what they had hired, "So, can you tell me exactly what has happened?" I shook my head, raised a finger, "Actually, first, whose Evgeny?"

The couple found a sofa opposite to sit on, Edith nursing her husband's hand with both of hers tightly around it. Her bracelet glittered. His eyes were dim, "Evgeny? He's a Polish National. Refugee. We saved him." She seemed honestly proud about that. People need jobs, I guess.

"Yes." Barnaby crossed his legs; he wore a Ted Baker suit in light blues, dark greys, "Evgeny Shvets. Escaped Russia during all that terrible nonsense with the votes. Came over by The Channel. We picked him up from Ascension and he's been our dogsbody ever since."

"He loyal?"

"Of course!" Barnaby frowned, "What does this have to do with my son?" He felt angrier than Edith, Edith just wanted to sob. They held themselves together with grace.

"So, Hector was it?" They nodded, held each other tighter, picture perfect, "Tell me, where did you see him last?"

They told an expected story, but I was more concerned with how they told it. Hector, precocious thirteen years young, had done what all boys do when there are abandoned areas. The edgelands thrive on the souls of young lads going exploring. Most make it back, but occasionally a quarry or embankment takes them away. But now I knew why the Wharton's wanted everything to be hush-hush. Hector hadn't gone missing at any old liminal place—Hector had been exploring past the chainlink of his own father's latest exploit: The Humber Dam. I could tell both knew he had been swallowed by the waters already. I just had to confirm it. I hated this kind of case, everything tied up before it even starts, but just as sad. Sadder even.

"Who's the officer in charge here?" I asked. Barnaby rose to his feet in a flurry and stormed to the window.

"No police. This is why we invited you here, Mr. Fields."

"I understand. But I am a licensed P.I. Part of my prerogative is I have to keep the local police informed of my presence, even if I can skirt around the edges a bit. Also, it's just good to know who I may have to lie to." I hate lying to skippers, but it has to happen. Customer is always right and all that. The client's secrets always take precedence to the law. Seemed counterintuitive to my line of work, but everything was a bit backwards nowadays.

Edith rustled in a handbag and offered me a card: Chief Constable Elle Thompson, "You'll also probably need to speak to a Yazmin Womack... she's been sniffing around."

"DCI?"

"I'm sorry, I don't follow."

Barnaby turned from the window, "He means Detective Chief Inspector."

"I do." I looked around for an ashtray, and I realised Barnaby had gone to the bay window to fetch me one. The remains of a cigar laid in the bottom, and I couldn't help but see the difference between my own stub and the MP's.

I was guided back out after I collected as much information as I could, pocketing the notepad, pulling the collar high around my throat, "Are you sure you won't stay with us, Detective Fields? We have such a good room upstairs, and your car will be safe in our garage."

I honestly felt she had not invited me to stay out of a need for keep an eye on me; there was a sincerity to her, that she honestly felt safer with me around, and that I deserved a room in their house. I politely declined, and got back into my Zodiac. If I am to investigate a place, better to stay on the ground. I'd find a guest house, lay out my wares, pray the hub caps would stay on, and begin in the morning.