Chapter Twenty Nine

Dusk drew long, wavering shadows across the road by the time Rachel and Tim reached the house. It sat on the edge of town, in huge, sprawling grounds. A tall stone wall ran around the outside, keeping the world at bay.

Tim parked the car on the other side of the street, turning his head to look at the property. The setting sun gave the pristine white paint an eerie pink glow.

"What does our boy do again?" Tim asked.

Rachel turned in her seat to grab a folder from the back seat, flicking through it until she found the sheet of paper she wanted. She angled it towards the sun to catch the last of the light.

"No current job listed," she said, and turned the page. "Last job was listed as a 'Wilderness Survival Instructor."

Tim raised his eyebrows. "How does someone with no job afford a house like this?"

A gleaming black Audi drove along the street, pulling up at the wrought iron gates. Rachel nodded towards it.

"Maybe he doesn't," she said and copied the car's number plate down before it vanished behind the high walls.

Tim pulled out his cell phone and hit the speed dial button for the office.

"Eastern Kentucky Marshal department, Ellie speaking. How may I direct your call?" A perky female voice asked.

"Ellie, it's Tim." He glanced at the scrap of paper. "I need you to run a plate for me."

The faint clatter of keystrokes reached him through the phone. "Okay."

"Car is a black Audi Q7," he said, and recited the plate number.

"Got it," she said.

More keystrokes clattered through the phone line as she typed in the information into the system.

Tim looked around, studying the area as he waited for the results. Tall, old trees grew along the side of the road, bare branches reaching towards the indigo sky. The grass in the few yards not hidden behind walls was well trimmed and bordered by flowering shrubs, sleeping for the winter.

"Got a match, Tim." Ellie said.

"Go on." Tim tapped his cell to activate the speakerphone. "You're on speaker."

She cleared her throat nervously. "Okay. The car is registered to a Mister Hart. He owns a chain of hardware stores across the state."

Tim and Rachel exchanged confused glances. "Ellie, does he have a record?" Rachel asked.

"No," Ellie answered. "Not even a parking ticket."

"Thanks, Ellie," Tim said.

"I'll keep digging," she offered. "I'll send what I find to your phone."

"Can't wait to see what turns up," Tim said dryly, and ended the call.

Rachel and Tim exchanged another look and got out of the car. They slammed the doors at almost the same time.

The night air had turned cold and crisp. Far above their heads, the stars had started to peek though the sky.

Their footsteps broke the silence as they walked towards the gates. Tim reached out and pressed the buzzer. It was made from copper, finely polished so that it shone even in the dim light. The inlay around it was some kind of glittery black stone.

"Hart residence. How may I help you?" A crisp male voice asked.

"Sir, we're with the Marshal's service. We need to speak to Mr. Hart."

Silence echoed down the line for a beat. "I'll inform Mr. Hart that you wish to speak to him," the voice said stiffly.

They waited in silence, breath steaming in the cold air until the gate buzzed open a few minutes later. The intercom crackled again.

"Please come in. Just follow the driveway up to the house."

They stepped through the gate together and crunched up the gravel drive. Bare trees stretched their branches towards the sky like skeletal fingers. Water tinkled gently in the distance. A glint of silver in the darkness of the lawn hinted at a pond or a swimming pool.

"Nice place. Little big," Tim muttered as they rounded the last gently curve and reached the house.

It sat at a right angle to the street, so the rear windows overlooked the sprawling grounds. The hardwood doors held a brightly coloured stained glass window. Rachel rang the doorbell, tucked discretly to one side, and studied the window, trying to figure out the pattern.

The mass of swirling blues and twisting yellows suddenly made sense to her. She smiled, finding the stylised image oddly pleasing.

She shivered as the wind picked up. Tim reached past her and rang the bell again. The door opened a bare second later.

A tall, dark haired woman stood in the hallway. She frowned at them. "It's a big house, Marshal. It takes time to reach the front door."

Rachel smiled, stepping in between them. "I love your stained glass."

The dark haired woman smiled, just a little. "Thank you. It's my design. A sunrise over the water... Wait, where are my manners? " She shook her head, stepping back to let them enter the hallway. "I'm sorry, I was up all night with the baby. I didn't want the bell to wake him again." She held out her hand. "I'm Emory Hart. Jonathan is my husband."

"Nice to meet you, Ms. Hart," Rachel said, and shook her hand. Tim smiled and took her hand, shaking it briefly.

"Please, follow me," Emory said. She led them down a hallway and into a small, cosy sitting room. It was decorated in shades of yellow and cream, with rich fabrics and supple leather furniture. "Sit, please. Would you like anything to drink? Tea, coffee?"

"Coffee would be great," Tim said, and took a seat on a butter soft leather couch.

Emory nodded. "John won't be long. He'd been to see his horses." She smiled wryly. "I sent him to change. I'll be back shortly with your coffee."

She ducked back into the hallway.

"Well, she's worried about something," Tim muttered.

"Maybe she's just nice," Rachel countered.

The sound of approaching footsteps drew their attention to the doorway. A tall, grey haired man walked into the room, shirt cuffs undone and pushed halfway up his arms. He folded the back as they watched.

"I'm Jonathan Hart. I understand that you want to speak to me," he said quietly and took a seat.

Tim clasped his hands together and leaned forward a little. "We're looking for a man called Mr Leroy Higgs. His records indicate that he lives at this address."

John frowned. "Ah, yes. Mr Higgs." His face twisted with distaste for a second before he won back control. "Yes, he lives here. I'd much rather that he didn't, to be honest." He shrugged.

"Why does Mr Higgs live here?" Rachel asked.

The rattle of china broke into the conversation. Emory walked through the door carrying a loaded tray. John stood and took it from her, setting it down on a low table.

"Thanks, hon," she murmured. She passed coffee cups around, gesturing at the cream and sugar. "I'll let you add your own. I don't drink coffee, and John is always telling me that I add too much."

She glanced at her husband, a small smile playing about her lips. He picked up her hand and pressed a quick kiss against her palm.

"What were we talking about?" John asked, "Oh, why Higgs lives here."

Emory blinked, smile fading from her lips. "He's the father of our grandson."

"Did he force your daughter into a relationship? Is he ever violent with her?" Rachel asked softly.

The couple exchanged a shocked glance. "Goodness, no. They are very much in love," Emory said. "May I ask what this is about?"

"We had evidence connecting Higgs to a prostitution ring," Tim said. "We'd like to speak to him about some property he owns."

John nodded. "I'll see if he's in." He left the room.

The ear splitting wail of a baby in distress tore through the house. Emory sighed and stood up. "My daughter is working away. I'm left looking after the baby, and of course, he has colic this week."

Un-ease nagged at Tim. "Can we come with you?"

Emory frowned, then shrugged. "Of course. Maybe you can get the baby to sleep."

They followed her down a short hallway and up a flight of stairs.

"I'm surprised you don't have any staff," Rachel commented. "Most houses of this size depend on them."

Emory pushed a door open. "We've always managed with just..." the sentence trailed off as she stared at something in shock.

"They're not taking my baby away from me!" A short, stocky man screamed, pointing a gun towards the door. "Both of you, leave now or I'll blow your fucking heads off!"