Page 45 of Worse Than Murder
‘But according to Alison, Matilda?—’
‘Matilda Darke is a grieving woman. Her family has been murdered and she’s struggling to come to terms with what’s happened to her. She’s found a registration plate. Of course she’s going to assume it’s come from a car in the lake.’
‘You think she’s lying?’
‘Not purposely, no.’
‘How do you explain the other items?’
She turns to look at him. Her expression is tense. ‘Just make the call to the underwater unit.’
Alan walks away, leaving Gill by herself. She looks over her shoulder to make sure nobody is close enough to hear her.
‘Fucking Matilda Darke,’ she seethes.
Reluctantly, I go below ground. I’ve been transfixed at the window of the restaurant, looking out at the car park as police officers gear up and head for the woods. It’s strange to see a police investigation get under way and for me not to be playing a huge part in it. I feel like I’m on the outside looking in, and I don’t like it. As relieved as I am not to have the weight of expectation and worry on my shoulders, I also feel sad about being a bystander. I have so much experience in this kind of work. I know exactly what to do when it comes to handing out tasks, putting a cordon in place, organising for a mobile incident room to be sent to the site, diving team, forensics on standby, neighbours to be talked to. I’m itching to get out there and take over. Yet, that part of my life is over with. I can’t go through all that again. I’ve moved on. It’s the sound of hammering from downstairs that drags me away from the window.
‘Basements freak me out,’ I say when I reach the bottom of the stone stairs and see Philip standing in the middle of the room, hands on hips, heavy frown on his forehead. There’s no natural lighting in the basement and the only light is coming from the open door at the top of the stairs. It’s dull and dank.
‘Really? Why?’
‘I’m not sure. It’s probably got something to do with being kidnapped and locked in one.’
‘That’ll do it,’ he says with a sparkle in his eyes.
‘Did it leak?’
‘Amazingly, no, it didn’t.’
‘That’s good. So you can get on with renovating it into a wine cellar, then?’
‘Hmm,’ he muses.
‘Problem?’
‘No. Well… have you seen Carl’s sketches on his tablet?’
‘No.’
‘When we first came down here months ago, I thought about this place just being a wine cellar, maybe have a few bistro tables down here for nibbles, things like that. Carl, and his creative mind, has drawn a picture of the restaurant, but he’s taken out the whole of the back wall and replaced it with a huge picture window. It would show the entire lake from here. Can you imagine sitting down here having a meal or a glass of wine of an evening and seeing the sun set over the lake?’
I look at the back wall. In the poor lighting, all I see is darkness. ‘That boy has quite the imagination.’
‘I think it could work. This whole space is an L-shaped room. We could have the far side as the wine cellar, out of direct sunlight from the window, then the rest of the space could be a small, intimate dining experience.’
I look around me. I try my hardest, but I can’t picture it. All I see is concrete and brick, and there’s a smell of damp in the air.
‘Wouldn’t knocking out the wall weaken the roof at that end?’
‘No. I’ve looked at the plans. There’s a steel girder along the top. We might not even have to take out the whole wall, just a large square to fit in a huge window with toughened glass, you know, the kind they put in floors that you can walk on?’
‘They’ve got a glass floor at the top of Blackpool Tower. James was jumping up and down on it. I wanted to vomit.’
‘Not a fan of heights?’
‘Not a fan of seeing all the way to the bottom.’
‘Would you have a meal down here?’
