The Forgotten Room: a gripping, chilling thriller that will have you hooked

While the workmen looked and laughed, I watched them. I saw nothing funny, no joke to be had. All I saw were thin, time-yellowed bones protruding from her grave and her head lying in the dirt, the grin on her face still as innocent as it had ever been. I had to turn away before memories added too much flesh to the dead girl’s bones. I had to turn away before I was seen and the ache in my heart made me scream.

Maura wasn’t entirely sure what had woken her. The strange hush that had fallen over the house, which it took her a few moments to recognise as the absence of noise from the building works, or the sound of the iron knocker being bashed against the front door. Either way, it was the noise of the knocking that forced her out of bed. It sounded like the iron ring had been lifted and slammed with a sense of determined urgency.

Her first instinct was to rush downstairs and check on Gordon. A man with his fixations would not react well to an unexpected intrusion. She should know – he’d spent most of the time since her arrival looking at her as if she were the spawn of the Devil, sent to try him. Well, when he was conscious anyway. He seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time sleeping, and was still dozing in his chair when she went to check on him. She had to speak to someone about his medication.

The snoozing Gordon was blithely oblivious to the voices that were coming from the drawing room. The room was a faded palace that had long ago lost its sheen, despite Cheryl’s best efforts with the beeswax polish, and it probably hadn’t seen company for years. The first surprise for Maura when she went in was the glimpse of a blue uniform through the window; the second and much more gut-wrenching one was that she recognised the detective who was perched on the edge of the ancient sofa. The last time she’d set eyes on Detective Sergeant Mike Poole she’d slapped him across the face and the memory of it made her feel sick with shame. It had been at Richard’s funeral, the last occasion on earth where she’d wanted to show herself up so badly.

Cheryl turned her head. ‘Oh, I was just going to come and fetch you. The police want to talk to us. This is Detective Sergeant Poole and this is Detective Constable Gallan.’ Cheryl pointed at the two officers with a hand that shook with nerves that were out of proportion to the casual introduction.

Maura was already aware that the colour had drained from her face when DS Poole spoke. ‘Hello, Miss Lyle. Take a seat – you’re looking a bit pale.’

Cheryl didn’t notice that he already knew Maura’s name and carried on regardless. ‘There’s been an awful discovery on the building site. They’ve dug up human remains!’

Maura looked at Poole. ‘I didn’t imagine for one minute that you’d come about the broken window.’ This place just got worse and worse, rocks through windows, dead bodies – the bloody place was a cornucopia of crap. At the realisation that her words were a mite callous, Maura had the grace to blush. Had she become that hard?

Poole frowned at her. ‘Indeed, though we do take all such incidents seriously, I don’t feel there’s a connection with our current enquiry.’

‘I don’t see that I can be of much help then. I only arrived yesterday and know absolutely nothing about anything to do with Essen Grange.’

Poole’s frown didn’t alter. ‘I don’t expect you do. However, I do need to talk to Mr Gordon Henderson and I’m led to believe he’s in a somewhat vulnerable state. Consequently, we will need you to be present.’

‘I said I’d do it, but they said I had to be interviewed too, so I can’t be the responsible adult for Mr Henderson,’ Cheryl said by way of explanation, as if not wanting anyone to think she might have been overlooked for the role. There was a thin sheen of sweat slicked across her brow. She looked profoundly nervous about the police presence and seemed to be silently pleading for something. Maura didn’t have a clue what, so turned her attention to Poole.

She could feel Poole’s gaze boring into her, going past her crumpled clothes and her tousled hair. It was as if he was trying to find out what made her tick just by staring and it made her feel brutally exposed. ‘Fair enough, but he’s asleep – I just checked so it might be better to talk to Cheryl first. I’ll try and wake him, though he might be a bit reluctant to talk to you if his routine has been disturbed.’

Poole nodded. ‘I understand he suffers from dementia.’

‘So I’m led to believe, yes.’

Maura noticed the slight rise of Poole’s eyebrows at that.

‘I’ll need to speak to the odd-job man too, and anyone else connected to the house and the land. I understand that Miss Estelle Hall is currently in hospital having suffered a serious fall, is that correct?’ He addressed his question to Cheryl, much to Maura’s relief. Just being in the same room as him was making her feel nauseous, and to think she had come here to escape reminders of the past.

‘Yes, she fell down the stairs and broke her hip. She also broke her jaw, like I said, so she won’t be able to talk to you.’ Cheryl’s voice was high and thin, a reedy note of panic wheezing through her words.

‘What happened? Which hospital?’ Poole was jotting things down.

Cheryl gave him an impatient look and spoke clearly, as if she was talking to someone who had a hard time understanding plain English. ‘She fell, down the stairs. I don’t know how it happened. I wasn’t here. You’ll have to talk to Dr Moss. I don’t know which hospital; the General, I assume.’

Poole peered at the woman, a quizzical look on his face. ‘Surely you know which hospital your employer was admitted to?’

Glad that the attention was momentarily off her, Maura fought to hide a smirk as Cheryl treated Poole to a dose of her customary charm. ‘Hardly. I’m their cleaner, not their confidante. You’d best speak to her doctor. I’m just here to keep my nose and the house clean and cook for the old man – what they get up to is none of my business. It’s an old house, they’re old people, shit happens.’

Poole’s eyebrows rose sharply this time, then he frowned and scribbled something further in his notebook. Maura would have loved to know what it said.

He snapped the book shut, a move that made his colleague start a little. Maura had suspected that Detective Constable Gallan wasn’t giving the meeting his full attention.

‘Ladies, human remains have been discovered on land that until very recently belonged to Mr Gordon Henderson. We need to know what happened and why the remains were placed there. I need to speak to people who know the area and the people, and I need to speak to the owner of this house, and anyone else who has long-standing connections with it. I would very much appreciate your help in giving me the name of anyone who fits that category.’

That he’d need to know that was patently obvious to anyone in the room with half a brain, or who had ever watched a police drama on TV. Although Maura felt that, after the previous night and just a few hours of snatched sleep, she might be functioning on less than a quarter of her own brain. ‘Isn’t it likely that the remains are old? I mean, this area is well-known as an ancient burial site. Surely the most likely explanation is that they’ve dug up some dead Roman or Anglo-Saxon or whatever.’

Poole sighed and shifted on the edge of the couch to turn towards her. ‘As an officer of the law, I assume nothing, but like you I would have preferred to think the remains were ancient. However, unless the likes of Boudicca were serving cans of coke with their spit-roast boar, I think what we can assume is that these particular remains are very modern indeed.’

Cheryl look entirely confounded. ‘Boudicca? Coke? You’ve lost me, Sergeant.’

‘It’s Detective Sergeant. A preliminary examination of the site revealed the pull-ring of a soft-drink can and a partially degraded crisp packet in a layer of soil beneath the body. It’s fair indicator that these particular remains have not been there for any significant length of time.’

Maura’s breath caught in her throat just as Cheryl allowed a horrified “Oh” to escape her thin lips.

Gordon was not happy and utterly refused to play ball with Poole. His only concern was that his lunch was due at one o’clock, it was Friday, and that it would therefore be tinned tomato soup and white bread with the crusts cut off and served in equally divided triangles. Poole shot a despairing glance at Maura, who shrugged and said, ‘Mr Henderson, would it be all right if we talked to you about this after your lunch? It is extremely important.’

‘I shall be taking my afternoon nap and will require my pills. You’ll have to come another time,’ he said, setting his mouth in a determined line while eyeing the clock. It was five to one and he was eager for his meal.

‘I’m not sure that’s going to be possible, Gordon. Is it OK if I call you Gordon?’ Maura said in a desperate effort to get the old man to comply. She wanted Poole out of the house and with no cause to return.

‘Young lady, you may not. You are expected to know your place.’ He pointed to the clock where the hands were creeping towards one.

‘Cheryl will bring it right on time, just as she always does. Mr Henderson, do you understand the seriousness of the situation? A body has been found on land that used to belong to you,’ Maura pleaded.

He looked away and a petulant, whining ring entered his voice. ‘I don’t deal with the estate. I don’t know anything about it. Talk to Estelle.’ At that point Cheryl backed through the door carrying a tray precisely as the clock struck one. There was no distracting him from it after that. Maura had seen people fixated like this before, but they hadn’t been suffering from dementia. Once Poole and his silent partner had gone, she was determined to ring Dr Moss and have a long conversation with him.

She turned to Poole. ‘I really don’t think you’re going to be able to get much from him.’

Poole frowned. ‘We’re going to have to talk to him at some point. I’ll leave it for now and maybe send a liaison officer in. It seems he might be more used to females, so maybe he’ll be more comfortable with that. In the meantime, I’ll need to see Estelle Hall, even if she’s unable to talk to me.’

Maura nodded. At least he was indicating that he wouldn’t be back. She was not a fan of the police and their tactics, but she’d rather deal with pretty much anyone than have to spend more time than was necessary with Mike Poole. ‘I’ll show you out.’ He was going to get nowhere with a woman who’d broken her jaw and more than likely listing in and out of a morphine fog.

Gallan went out first but Poole paused on the wide stone step and turned to Maura. ‘By the way, it’s nice to see you again. For what it’s worth, I really am sorry about what happened.’

It was Maura’s turn to pause, but only for a second while her better judgement vied with her more basic instincts. Instinct won. ‘What for? The fact that Richard died in a pool of his own vomit in one of your cells? Fuck you, Poole.’ She didn’t slam the door but shut it firmly in his face. Then she leaned against it, hoping he was walking away and wondering if he’d noticed how much she’d been shaking since clapping eyes on him that day. She hoped he hadn’t. It would be one humiliation too far if he had.

Gordon was already dozing in his chair, a dribble of tomato soup drying on his whiskered chin. According to the list, shaving day was Saturday and there was nothing Maura detested more than having to shave a man because he couldn’t do it for himself. Blood would be shed, albeit unintentionally. The soup sat there glistening like a little red portent, warning her of things to come.

With a stoical sigh she picked up the tray and made her way to the kitchen. Once in the passage she could hear Cheryl’s voice, high and angry.

‘As if I haven’t got enough on my plate without that filthy mutt undoing all my good work! No, Bob, I won’t have it. I don’t want that animal putting his nose around this house.’

‘Aww come on, Cheryl love, he’ll be company for her. He’s a good guard dog and after everything that’s happened you can’t expect the poor lass to sit here on her own at night, it wouldn’t be fair.’ Bob’s tone was wheedling.

‘Don’t you “love” me, Bob Silver. It won’t wash! And there’s no way her ladyship will tolerate him in the house.’

Maura was tempted to loiter in the passage until Cheryl had calmed down; the woman seemed to have a quicksilver temperament that was terrifyingly difficult to predict. The attempt at discreet avoidance was foiled by the sound of claws tapping on lino and the arrival of a wet nose followed by a furry body and a wagging tail. A dog – Maura didn’t “do” dogs but this one seemed friendly enough. At least he didn’t jump up at her like most did, but quietly followed her into the kitchen. Cheryl was on her before she could even put the tray down.

‘He,’ Cheryl said, pointing at Bob with her arm and index finger fully extended, ‘thinks you might want some protection, so he’s brought that filthy animal here. As if that fleabag could protect anyone.’ She eyed the dog with abject disdain.

Maura had to admit that the poor animal (some Heinz variety mongrel by the look of him) didn’t appear to possess the capacity to ravage anything more menacing than a tennis ball. However, if his presence would annoy Cheryl, a woman who was displaying controlling tendencies that would shame a Waffen SS officer, as far as Maura was concerned the dog could move in and sleep on the best bed. ‘Aww Bob, that’s so kind of you! What’s his name?’

‘Buster, but he’ll answer to most things, won’t you, boy?’ Bob said fondly, pointedly ignoring Cheryl’s look of utter disgust. At the sound of his name the dog began to wag his tail in a frenzy of ecstasy, a movement that set his whole body in motion and caused a large gobbet of drool to fall from his mouth onto Cheryl’s immaculate floor.