Three Mile Drove, Chapter Fifteen

Three Mile Drove
Chapter Fifteen

‘Well Tim, this is a surprise,’ Claire’s voice was as steady as ever, but her look was decidedly frosty. ‘What happened? What’s so pressing that it couldn’t have waited until morning?’
‘Perhaps if we go inside,’ McPherson said brusquely, uncharacteristically hunching his shoulders, ‘it’s bloody freezing out here.’
‘Right.’ Her eyes flashed annoyance as she jabbed the key in the lock as though it was a lethal weapon, ‘You’ll understand if I don’t offer you a drink, it’s a little on the late side,’ she crossed into the hallway and turned to face him as he closed the door behind them, ‘now what is it, it can hardly be a social call close on midnight.’
He took a step towards her, his hands shoved inside the deep pockets of his trench coat, ‘I went back to the derelict house in Three Mile Drove this morning,’ he said coolly.
‘And?’ she asked equally coolly, becoming impatient at his delaying tactics.
‘I found something interesting,’ he said, selecting a cigarette from a pack of twenty, placing it in his mouth then withdrawing it as he noticed her displeasure. ‘In the attic I found documents relating to the owner of the place…’ he paused, watching, searching her face for the slightest change in her expression, for the slightest change in her expression, for the slightest weakening in the firm countenance, but the strong face was unyielding; there wasn’t the faintest change in the way her eyes were set challengingly upon him. He lowered his gaze briefly and when it returned to her, he thought that if anything her look had become fierce.
‘Why didn’t you tell me the place belonged to you? I’m disappointed Claire, we’ve known each other for a long time, it seems that you’ve been its owner for the past twenty odd years and you’ve never once given the place a single mention. Knowing how I feel about developments there and how I reckon it might hold the clue to the missing kid why have you kept it quiet?’ He paused, his words had been quickly spoken, as if they’d been rattled from some sort of verbal machine gun, and laced with bitterness. He needed to catch his breath. ‘I confided in you, and you kept silent.’
What I need to know is why?’
She stared him out, ‘I don’t see that’s any concern of yours Tim, I don’t feel I need to explain my reasons to you, and particularly not at this time of night.’ She turned away, placing her coat on the rack, and when she turned back to him, he could see there were dark shadows beneath her eyes. It was as if they’d just manifest themselves in the instant her back was turned, ‘All you need to know is that I can’t help you in any way with happenings in Three Mile Drove. I finished with the place years ago. What goes on there now is beyond me.’
‘Except that I don’t think it is Claire.’
McPherson ignored the glare in her eyes, usually warm brown eyes, which now seemed red hot with anger, he sensed too, the anger in her voice. He’d never seen this kind of anger from her before, though he’d never doubted she was capable of it. But in his mind a show of anger often concealed guilt, and he was certain she was holding back.
‘I think that you’re hiding something Claire,’ he said. He saw her eyes narrow and her teeth clench, and pressed quickly on, ‘I disturbed an intruder this morning at your place, he’d either been into the attic or was interrupted in the process of entering it, by my intervention. He got away, though only because I fell, but you see, when I eventually got into the attic I didn’t just discover the documents, I found an old scrapbook amongst the odds and ends. I found a newspaper cutting about the missing kid.’
‘I don’t know anything about a missing child Tim,’ she said, and he sensed her growing angrier by the second, her voice might have been as carefully controlled as ever but the expression said it all. ‘Hey hold on, just hold on, I haven’t come here accusing you of anything.’ He sighed, wishing for all the world he could light the cigarette he knew she would vehemently object to. ‘I think I know you well enough to discount you on that score, I’m just trying to persuade you to tell me all you know, to emphasise the importance of it all. You see they won’t take me seriously enough at headquarters to warrant a full-scale search of the area. They’re obsessed with budgets these new chiefs, and to them the wilderness of the fens doesn’t warrant taking a quart from a ten gallon tank. Can you see what I’m getting at? I need to prove to them…’
‘Listen to me Tim,’ she said, a noticeable impatience in her voice now, ‘if the police won’t take you seriously then why should I. I think it’s getting late, don’t you?’
McPherson felt as angry as he could ever recall, if he’d thought there would be any point in trying to drag the information out of her, at this point in time he would be sorely tempted to do so.
Claire was concealing something, why the hell wouldn’t she open up? Besides, it didn’t add up, she was a strong woman, he could rule out fear being the cause of her reticence. And yet her stubbornness might be holding the case back, holding him back.
McPherson glared at her in stony silence before turning away, hurling the door open and sweeping down the drive.

*
She stood motionless on the step, relieved to see him go, his whole stance had become one of aggression, she’d seen a side of him in those last few minutes that she never would have believed had she not witnessed his outrage first hand. He’d been visibly trembling with anger, she’d thought for a moment he’d been within an inch of going for her, but whether or not she’d have been able to fight him off it wouldn’t have changed anything – not a thing.
She slammed the door shut a lot more firmly than was her norm, but then, despite her own anger with McPherson she felt her thoughts switching quickly to Darren. She’d seen his mood change the moment he’d spotted McPherson on the doorstep. In a single second he’d seemed to change from a friendly, amiable man, into a jealous, resentful suitor. She liked Darren Goldwater, in truth she liked him a lot, and she’d liked to think that such, childish, brainless reaction was beneath him. But was it? Had she just witnessed the male “thing” raising its ugly, jealous head again, because if she had, then that would be a crying shame.

She abhorred the concept. The possessive entity. Darren, she had been sure, did not have that weakness in him. Had she been wrong?

* Darren couldn’t remember much about the drive back to his hotel. If there had been any close call, any serious demands upon his driving skills along the way, his reacts would have been unable to cope.
He was gutted. It was as though emotional steel, the size of a sabre, had pierced clean through his mind. He wasn’t just unable to think straight, to concentrate on his driving for a few simple, bone-headed moments until he reached the hotel, and then let his mind return to its pointless, image-ridden swirl, he wasn’t able to think at all.
He’d suspected there was more between McPherson and Claire than met the eye, and the sight of McPherson standing on the front porch like a worried father had made his blood boil. He’d struggled to control his emotions but in the end he’d failed.
Why hadn’t she told him they were more than just friends? Now, as he sat glassy eyed in his room, the whirlwind of useless thought that swept around his head cleared for a moment, and he could see the reason why she shouldn’t have to reveal anything to him. She shouldn’t have to, because in any case what were he and Claire? Nothing other than friends.
What had made it unacceptable to him was the realisation that she was the single, decent woman he’d ever known. She’d impressed him so much and he’d fallen for her totally.
He felt sick. And right now he felt sick to death of the whole desolate place.
What had it brought him other than trouble?