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SOPHIE STARED AT the bleak misty night over the moors to the north. This was why she didn’t want to call in the police. They had no idea and asked tiresome questions. Wasn’t it bad enough she was tagged like cattle?
“So, no one on the estate knows who this man is?” Detective Wood asked in her Scottish lilt.
“If that is what my head of staff has told you, then that is so, yes.” She tracked over the boggy patches closest to the house. She’d nearly been sucked under there once, barely ten. Hadn’t been the first time she’d found herself fighting for her life. The estate took no prisoners.
“No one seems to have seen anything,” Detective Wood said, her tone harder. “Not one person saw a dead body being placed not more than a few hundred yards from your house.”
“Seven hundred and twenty to be exact.” If Wood was going to be short about it, the least she could do was be accurate.
“And this is shortly after Rachel Salisbury was shot . . . on your property too if your head of security is anything to go by.” Wood was shifting in the visitor chair, rustling it. “Yet you remain silent.”
Sophie’s ears crackled with static and she rubbed the inserts behind each ear. “I have nothing to say on that matter without my lawyer.”
“Lady Haye, this is no trivial inconvenience.” Clunk, clatter, clunk. Wood was trying to chip her desk by the sound of it. “Isn’t being arrested for one murder enough?”
What would her grandfather have done to a police officer damaging his desk? No one touched the desk.
“I have nothing to say on that matter without my lawyer.” She kept her tone calm but fury bubbled and boiled inside. Her grandfather had loved the desk.
“Aye, but you didn’t say anything when your lawyer was present.” Wood tapped something again. Clunk, clatter. She’d chip the varnish. “It would be easy in this circumstance to have the terms of your bail reconsidered.”
Clunk, clatter. Wood must be set on engraving the desk. Why was she trying to damage the desk?
Fury simmered, Sophie snapped her hand back, and slammed the intercom button down. “Frank, call for Morgan.”
Better than snapping. Wood was looking for an opening.
“Yes, ma’am,” Frank squeaked liked she’d skew him. “Right away, ma’am.”
“I’m not done asking questions yet,” Wood said in a superior tone. Clatter, clunk.
A knock sounded and the door opened. Fast. Very fast. “You called for me, ma’am?”
Sophie smiled at the window. Morgan’s voice was delightful to hear: A neutral sound but with an undercurrent of a Welsh lilt.
“This is Detective Wood. She is suspicious as to why a body was placed in the grounds without anyone seeing.” Said in the best arrogant, patronizing tone she could muster.
“Detective inspector,” Wood muttered like that was relevant. She was just a more senior moron.
“Ma’am, I take full responsibility. I thought I’d posted enough patrols but I was wrong,” Morgan said. No excuses, no blame shifting, just accepting responsibility.
“Where was the nearest patrol when the body was found?” Sophie knew where Morgan had been: in the footlights, talking to herself, shifting under a gaze she couldn’t see but it was obvious she could feel.
“Driving back from the stables.” Morgan’s reflection appeared in the window as she stepped closer to the tall square lamp Sophie’s father had installed. Soft features, smooth. “I made it the top priority. We have a prize stud here from the royal stables and I wanted to make sure he was well protected.” She sighed and her shoulders slumped. “I hadn’t planned for someone planting a dead body.”
“I’m content with your priorities.” And she sounded supportive? Affectionate? She should cut Morgan down to size if only to show Wood she was incensed.
“Morgan,” Wood said, her tone far warmer. “Lady Haye seems to think being arrested for two unlawful deaths isn’t a big problem.”
Sophie narrowed her eyes. Now Wood was an annoyance.
Morgan widened her stance and leaned on her utility belt with her right hand. “Detective Inspector Wood—”
“Just call me Ruth, please,” Wood said with a warm undercurrent. There was a great deal of respect, affection . . . attraction in the tone. Interesting.
“Ruth, this is contravening the Police And Criminal Evidence Act. Lady Haye would be ill advised to answer any questions if you feel she is a suspect in this crime and I would strongly advise you to remember where questioning a suspect is permitted?” And Morgan had that pleasant unruffled tone on. “I have provided you with the evidence that accounts for Lady Haye’s DNA being present, along with a statement explaining the GSR on her hands and the cameras show that Sophie is not your suspect.” She smiled like she was paying lip-service. “I know that Lady Haye feels terrible that two people have lost their lives, not to mention the stress of being suspected of a crime. Her concern is the welfare of her staff and the safety of her estate right now. Lady Haye has been attentive to the staff member who found the body.” She nodded like that wasn’t a blatant lie. “And my concern is lessening the psychological damage here.”
Sophie raised an eyebrow. Why was Morgan defending her? What had she done to secure such loyalty? Morgan met her eyes in the reflection.
“Psychological damage?” Wood asked, with amusement in her voice. Could she see through Morgan?
“Yes. Especially as Lady Haye is someone who might file a case for recompense of those damages?” Morgan sounded like a lawyer, a good one. “In my experience, Lady Haye takes great care of her staff.” She stepped away from the lamp, reflection disappearing. “Frank, do you agree?”
Would he? Frank would more likely fill Wood with stories of her hunting the locals.
“Of course,” Frank said, sounding like he’d be fed to the moors. “Lady Haye has a very deep connection with us all.”
Wood let out a sigh. Clunk, clatter. “Are they right, Lady Haye?”
Sophie clenched her jaw but Morgan appeared in the reflection again. “It would be the height of narcissism to agree with such things.” She kept her gaze on Morgan, on her smile. “I fear that Morgan reads me too well.”
“Which means?” Wood wasn’t backing off.
Clunk, clatter.
What was she doing to the desk?
“She means we are right, Detective,” Frank mumbled as if he wanted to hide under his desk. “But Lady Haye has impeccable manners.”
Clunk, clatter.
The pistol tactic her grandfather used could solve a lot of problems. If she shot Wood, however, Morgan would want to call it in. Shame.
“There you go,” Morgan said, her gaze on Frank or Wood or whomever was directly behind Sophie. “If there are no more questions for the time being. I’d really like to get you back to your crime scenes and let Lady Haye rest.”
Frank appeared in the reflection beside Morgan, staring at her like she was crazy. He might not be wrong but if Morgan ushered Wood away then it would save bullets.
“That’s it for now. We’ll try to make the scene as discreet as we can.” Said like Wood was going to do no such thing. “You have my card.”
Which she would spear and slice into pieces, visualizing Wood the entire time.
The chair scraped against wooden floor; scuffled sounds, scratching, the door clicked shut.
Sophie turned to the desk and checked over the wood. She breathed out sheer relief and stroked the surface. No marks, but there was a chewing gum wrapper on the floor. She threw it into the bin and went back to the window.
Morgan had protected her? Why be loyal? Loyalty only made her more compelling.
She saw her own razor sharp smile reflected back and leaned her hands to the window. The lion inside stirred and its hunger grew.