A Body in the Borderlands

Book 8: The Kitt Hartley Yorkshire Mysteries

by Helen Cox

Genres: Cozy Mystery

Synopsis

Former investment banker Johan Golding - Joe - is the newest member of the Hartley and Edwards Investigations team. He's thrilled to be shadowing Kitt Hartley and her right-hand woman Grace Edwards, soon adjusting to the low-level madness of the Hartley and Edwards offices. But Joe is thrown in at the deep end when a man known as Ralph Holmes goes missing. Police refuse to investigate, as his disappearance seems voluntary, but his niece, Carly, is determined to discover the truth. As the team begin to investigate, they deduce there's more to this disappearance than meets the eye. Drawn into a web of international conspiracies and possible murder, they must determine who Ralph Holmes really was - and who he was working for. In their most dangerous case yet, the team are in a race against time to uncover the truth, before anyone else gets hurt. . .

Release date: June 8, 2023

Publisher: Quercus Publishing

Print pages: 336

Sample

Chapter One

Joe Golding was just starting to wonder if he’d made a terrible mistake in seeking work experience at Hartley and Edwards Investigations when a blonde woman walked through the door of their offices on Walmgate. Something about her, though he couldn’t quite say what, made him sit up straighter in his seat. The long, crimson coat she was wearing to ward off the October chill was finely tailored, judging by the lines. But no. That wasn’t what had caught his attention. Perhaps it was her walk? The way in which she almost seemed to tiptoe towards his makeshift desk, which stood between those of Kitt Hartley and Grace Edwards. The pair ran their small investigative agency in the historic city of York and the cases they had worked on in the past seemed to have spanned everything from infidelity to serial murder. After Joe had approached Kitt, and she’d learned about the recent difficult turns in his life, she had kindly agreed to let him shadow her and Grace for a couple of months to see if he had a future in the business.

Although life at the agency was certainly different to the years he’d spent in investment banking in Manchester, he privately admitted it hadn’t been quite what he’d imagined. For one thing it wasn’t as busy as he’d expected. The enquiries that had come through had all been by phone or email and had seemed quite petty in nature. The boss of a local delicatessen who wanted proof one of his employees was pilfering from the cash register had been the most dramatic situation Joe had dealt with so far.

Why did he have the strange feeling that things were about to change gear?

Perhaps it was because the woman who had just entered the building was the first face-­to-­face prospective client the company had had in the two weeks Joe had worked with them. The only other visitations had been from Kitt’s best friend Evie, Kitt’s partner – a local detective inspector by the name of Malcolm Halloran – and an older woman called Ruby Barnett who seemed to think she had psychic powers. From what he could tell, Ruby was a friend to Kitt. Even if she struggled to keep her patience with the rather bizarre prophetic predictions Ruby was prone to making.

On one of her many unannounced calls, Ruby had told Joe that he was about to meet somebody who would bring new excitement into his life. He had tried to pretend that such a prediction was of little to no interest to him. But after everything that had happened over the last year, he knew a consuming distraction was what he needed more than anything. And perhaps the woman who had just walked in, the woman who was so timid she had even yet to say hello, was the spectre Ruby had been referring to.

She wasn’t quite a damsel from a Raymond Chandler or Dashiell Hammett novel, which is how Joe had pictured the private investigation game before he had spent the last fortnight processing forms and trawling through credit reports. At least Kitt, who worked as a librarian as well as an investigator, had the decency to commiserate with him over that. She was as big a fan of Chandler and Hammett as Joe was. In fact, there seemed to be almost no book in material existence that Kitt wasn’t interested in. The agency walls were lined with books on profiling and forensics and chatting about their mutual love of mystery novels had taken the edge off some pretty dull administrative tasks.

In all of Joe’s years working in a grey office behind a beige desk, reading a good mystery had been a way of escaping the spreadsheets and the drudgery of meetings. After reading an article online about the sleuthing success of Hartley and Edwards Investigations, an idea had formed in his mind. He had been made redundant not long after the death of his wife, Sarah. The promise of bringing some of the intrigue and excitement into his life that he had merely read about all these years was a tempting one when he didn’t know which way to turn. After his initial anticipation and squaring all the details of his work experience away with Kitt, returning to similar menial office work as before had been something of an anticlimax.

But now, this woman . . . she had an expression on her face that at once suggested some drama might be afoot. She may not quite have been Anne Riordan incarnate but she still had the air of a character Raymond Chandler might write about. She was tall, Joe guessed five foot eight easily, and yet she seemed strangely small in stature. Almost as though she was willing the ground to swallow her up and it was, slowly, millimetre by millimetre, granting her wish. Joe also noticed her hand tremble as it clutched at the strap of her black leather handbag. Quickly, he ran his hands through his dark brown hair in a bid to vaguely neaten it up. He was about to open his mouth to greet her, and hopefully set her at ease, but Kitt beat him to it.

‘Can I help you?’ she said, fixing her frost-­blue eyes on the woman. Kitt was much shorter than their walk-­in and yet somehow commanded a more formidable presence. Perhaps it was the combination of her fiery red hair and poker-­straight posture, but anyone who came into contact with Kitt Hartley knew within the minute that she didn’t suffer fools gladly. Likely, this was an incredible asset when dealing with some of the less desirable people she might meet in her line of work.

‘Yes . . . I . . . I would like to speak to Kitt Hartley directly if you don’t mind. It’s a – a very difficult matter.’

The woman’s voice was surprisingly plummy to Joe’s ears. She wouldn’t have sounded the least bit out of place in a 1940s radio broadcast. She was definitely from somewhere a lot further south than York.

‘I am Kitt Hartley,’ Kitt clarified.

‘Oh . . . you’re . . .’ The woman looked between Kitt and Joe. ‘I’m terribly sorry, I don’t know why, I thought Kitt was a man. How embarrassing.’

Grace, who revelled in any misfortune at all that might befall Kitt, no matter how minor, started to giggle at the mix-­up. Whenever she laughed, her brown curls bounced as though they were somehow in on the joke too. Although of Indian heritage, Grace had lived in Leeds all her life and Joe had found, given that they both came from places a little bit further west, she had a similar sense of humour to him. When it came to Kitt, however, Grace seemed to take her fun to the extreme and Joe had been left at a bit of a loss over how to respond to it. Kitt was a North Yorkshire lass, and they were, in general terms, quite notorious for giving little of themselves away and making jokes so dry they were arid. As such, Joe found it difficult to know whether Kitt found Grace’s pranks funny or downright annoying. Important intel when a person was trying to ingratiate themselves with a new boss – even if the arrangement was only temporary.

Kitt shook her head at her assistant. ‘Thank you, Grace. No need to be ordering me a fake moustache off Amazon just yet.’

‘Would I?’ Grace said, barely keeping a straight face as she uttered the words.

Kitt glared for a moment, unwilling to credit Grace’s innocent act with a verbal response, and then turned back to the woman who had mistaken her for a man.

Joe braced himself. It had come up, more than once, that during her shifts at the Vale of York University Library Kitt specialized in the Women’s Studies area. A thoroughly researched mini-­lecture on gender expectations could well have been in the offing but it seemed, on this occasion, Kitt was more interested in what brought the woman to their door. Likely, she too could see just how nervous the woman was.

‘No need to worry about it in the least. Quite a common mistake, actually,’ Kitt said. ‘It is sometimes used to shorten Christopher, as in Marlowe, you know, but in my case it’s a childhood nickname, short for Katherine. And you are?’

‘Oh.’ The woman pushed a hand to her temple and shook her head. ‘I am sorry, I don’t know what I could’ve been thinking. Walking in and not introducing myself. My name is Caroline. Caroline Lewis, if you need the full details. Which you probably do. I’m sorry to be in such a state. I . . . I can’t think straight at the minute. That’s what I’ve come to see you about.’

‘Do take a seat, Caroline,’ said Kitt, gently. She had taken the same tone when Joe had told her about his wife’s death. There was something warm and golden about the note in her voice. It brimmed with kindness and couldn’t fail to set a person at ease. ‘These are my associates, Grace Edwards and Johan Golding.’

‘But you can call me Joe,’ Joe quickly corrected.

Kitt shot him a knowing look but didn’t comment on his rather blatant attempt to cosy up to their new prospective client.

‘And you can all call me Carly, everyone does,’ she said, tucking a strand of her bobbed blonde hair behind her ear as she spoke.

‘Well, Carly, whatever you have to say, this all sounds very serious,’ said Grace. ‘As is tradition under such grave circumstances, I’ll put the kettle on.’

‘Lady Grey for me, if you’re making,’ Kitt called after her. In Joe’s limited experience, Kitt was never one to miss an opportunity for a cup of tea.

‘What else?’ Grace called back with a smile.

‘And as this tea run is for a client, bring the good biscuits,’ Kitt added.

Grace made a little fist punch that she just about managed to conceal from Carly, but not from Joe.

Once the tea had been made and the good biscuits had been handed around, Kitt opened a notebook and offered their visitor a tender smile.

‘Thank you for the tea,’ Carly said, after a few sips. ‘Always calms your nerves.’

‘That’s why we make a point of never being without it,’ Grace said. Her broad West Yorkshire vowels somehow sounded more pronounced when discussing the topic of tea.

‘Now that you’re a little calmer, do you think you can tell us about why you’ve come to see us?’ said Kitt. ‘If it’s a difficult subject, just take it one step at a time. There’s no rush and best you make it as easy on yourself as possible.’

Carly looked down into her drink and nodded. Her hair fell into her face as she did so, and again she scraped it back behind her ears. ‘Yes, of course. You’ve all been very patient with me. A lot of people would have just demanded I came out with it. But it’s quite hard to talk about. It’s . . . it’s my uncle, you see.’ At this point, Carly’s voice broke and she seemed close to tears. She apologized and swallowed them back.

‘No need for sorrys,’ said Kitt. ‘Just take your time.’

After a few deep breaths, Carly felt able to continue.

‘My uncle, his name is Ralph Holmes. He was away on holiday on the outskirts of Carlisle. Just near the Solway Firth from what he said when I saw him before he left. And, well, he’s . . . he’s gone missing, I think.’

Kitt gave the smallest of nods and waited a good few moments before speaking, giving Carly time to add anything else she wanted to. When it became clear she was waiting for Kitt to prompt her, only then did she ask her next question. ‘I’m so sorry to hear about this. Let’s break the information down into small chunks to make it a bit more manageable for you to talk about. Best thing we can start with is building a timeline. When was the last time you had contact with your uncle?’

‘Three days ago,’ said Carly. ‘Well, not exactly contact in the strictest sense of the word. He left a voicemail on my mobile.’

‘Do you still have it saved?’ said Kitt. Joe could hear the hope in her voice. He was still learning a lot of the trade basics but Kitt had, on one of their many tea breaks, talked to him at length about how useful recordings were – video and audio – to their work.

Without another word, Carly reached into her handbag, pulled out her phone and dialled voicemail. She hit the speakerphone button so that Kitt, Grace and Joe could all hear what was about to come.

‘Message received on Friday sixth of October at ten ­twenty-­six p.m.,’ said an automated voice. The next voice they heard was that of Holmes. Joe could tell from the deep, almost gravelly nature of it that it definitely belonged to an older man.

‘Carly, it’s Ralph. I’m sorry not to be able to tell you this in person, that would have been much better. But I’ve had time to think while I’ve been out here. The scenery is so . . . well, it’s difficult to describe the effect it has on you. It’s probably lost on a young person like you but to an oldie like me . . . The way the firth borders the marshland. It almost feels like you’re standing at the end of the earth. And it . . . it gets you thinking. About your life and, well, everything. So, I just wanted to tell you . . . I won’t be going back to that old rented dump in Bethnal Green. I know that’ll be a bit of a shock to you, but I just can’t face it any more. My life, it wasn’t supposed to turn out this way. Lonely old man. No wife. No kids. No connections or prospects. In the last few days, I’ve come to realize what nobody ever wants to realize. I prefer my life when I’m away from it. So, I’ve decided I’m going to stay away . . . for good. Go somewhere and start afresh. Don’t know where yet. I might let you know when I’m settled but if you don’t hear from me again, know that the odds are I’m a lot happier in my new life than I was in the old one. I love you very much, and even though I may never see you again, I always will. Take care of yourself.’

A beep sounded out. Joe, Kitt and Grace exchanged a look with each other, but after what they had just heard not one of them knew quite what to say.

Chapter Two

Carly was the first one to break the silence.

‘I know what you’re all thinking,’ she said, looking between Kitt, Joe and Grace in turn. ‘You’re thinking, what is this mad woman talking about? Her uncle hasn’t disappeared. He’s gone off somewhere of his own accord. Started a fresh life, just like he said.’

Carly paused then, letting those words settle. Joe had to admit, he didn’t quite think Carly was mad but he wondered why, based on a message like that, she’d jumped to the conclusion that her uncle could be classed as a missing person. He tried not to let the confusion show in his face but had no idea if he was succeeding on that score.

‘The thing is,’ Carly said, when nobody else spoke, ‘I know my uncle and he just simply wouldn’t do such a thing. What he says in that voicemail, well, it doesn’t make any sense. Not one bit.’

‘You will know your uncle better than we do. But what do you mean by that, exactly?’ said Kitt. She was doing a good job of keeping her voice level. Not betraying any feeling, one way or another, as to whether she thought Carly’s initial claims about her uncle going missing were true or erroneous.

‘Well, he doesn’t hate the place he has in Bethnal Green for starters. I’ve never once heard him speak that way about it. He loves it. He said often how he wished he could afford to buy it. He’s never been short of money but London house prices, you know what they’re like. Even as someone quite prosperous he couldn’t afford to buy the place on his own. I’ve heard about it countless times so him referring to it suddenly as a “dump” is totally out of character. I can’t make any sense of it whatsoever.’

‘He did say that the scenery up there near the firth had given him a bit of a change of perspective,’ said Kitt. ‘There’s a chance he thought he was living where he wanted to be all that time and has only now had a change of heart . . . but I’m just playing devil’s advocate there. What other inconsistencies are there in the message he left?’

Carly paused before continuing, seemingly a little taken aback by Kitt’s ability to immediately provide a rational explanation for her uncle’s behaviour. ‘It doesn’t sound like him, is all,’ she said. ‘He’s never been a lonely man. He comes from a good background and had plenty of opportunities to marry, settle down, but he didn’t take any of them. He always said he preferred his own company. That married life wasn’t for him. So, all this talk about no wife, no prospects, et cetera . . . it doesn’t ring true, not to the man I know at least. It’s like he’s had a personality transplant or something.’

‘Without wishing any offence, are you sure that’s how he really felt deep down?’ Joe said, not sure what kind of reaction he might get for asking such a question. But even he understood enough about private investigation to know it was one that needed to be asked. ‘Sometimes people put a brave face on things, perhaps particularly men, because they feel like they can’t tell people what’s really going on. Maybe he was too afraid to seize the opportunity of ­marrying someone in case they left him or died . . .’

Joe trailed off then and momentarily met Kitt’s eyes. They were full of unmissable sympathy for him. For the fact that even when he was trying to focus on somebody else’s problems, he was still somehow drawn back to the death of his beloved Sarah.

Carly shook her head. ‘The police said the same thing when I went to them. It was obvious they weren’t going to do a thing. That’s what made me desperately google Private Investigation North England. And then I found you and . . . I had hoped you’d have more of an open mind.’

‘I assure you,’ Kitt said, ‘all minds in this room are open.’

‘According to Kitt, my mind, and my mouth, are always a bit too open,’ said Grace. A cheeky comment that drew a grudging, momentary smile from Carly.

‘But we do need to ask lots of questions at the outset of a case,’ said Kitt. ‘Even the uncomfortable ones, I’m afraid.’

‘And in defence of my open mind, and mouth, to help you as much as we can, we have to be open to all of the possibilities,’ said Grace. ‘All of them. Including that this situation is what it looks like on the surface. That your uncle really has just decided it’s time for a fresh start. We have to be sure when we take on a case that we’re not wasting the client’s money.’

‘I see,’ Carly said, raising her eyebrows. She clearly wasn’t thrilled that the team hadn’t launched into action, but Grace was right. If Carly’s uncle had taken off of his own accord, it would be exploitation to charge her, knowing that in all likelihood he was safe and sound. Joe hadn’t known Kitt long but a person needn’t know her for any time at all to understand she’d have no hand in any kind of exploitative business.

‘You must have been very close to your uncle, for him to ring you directly about this,’ Kitt said.

‘I thought I was.’ Carly offered Kitt a half-­smile. ‘It’s just me and him in the family, you see. He is my mother’s brother. I don’t have any siblings and my parents are already . . . gone. So, there’s only us two left really.’

‘I’m sorry you’ve had so much loss in your life,’ Kitt said, with a sad shake of her head. ‘Given the work I do, I’m no stranger to the fact that there is so much pain and grief in this world.’

‘My mum died when I was very small so I’ve sort of come to terms with that one,’ Carly said. ‘Though I do sometimes wonder what would have happened if she hadn’t been in that traffic accident. My father I only lost a year ago to illness.’

Joe did what he could not to wince at this revelation. The notion of losing a loved one to illness hit a little too close to home just then.

‘Me and Ralph had always been on good terms,’ Carly continued, ‘but after Dad died, that’s when we got a lot closer.’

‘The prospect of losing your only remaining family member must be difficult beyond words,’ Kitt said.

Carly paused, digesting this comment. ‘Well, yes, but . . . I mean, that’s not . . . that is not why I want to go after him. If I genuinely thought he was going off to some new and wonderful life, I’d let him go. However . . .’

Carly trailed off. Kitt offered her a polite nod but Joe could tell she wasn’t that convinced by what she had heard. And in Kitt’s defence, she had a voicemail from a man claiming he was going to start a new life. And only the word of Carly that this was out of character. Carly may have another motive for wanting to get in touch with her lost uncle, and it may not be a pleasant one.

Carly sighed and for a moment looked very close to tears. ‘Nobody’s going to believe me, are they? I’m telling you, my uncle wouldn’t leave a message like that. He must have been put up to it.’

‘By who?’ said Grace.

‘I . . . I have no idea,’ said Carly. ‘I’ve just got this idea in my head that won’t go away. That someone’s done something to him. Something bad. Perhaps they – whoe. . .