‘Why are you asking me?’ His eyes narrowed and he looked down his hawkish nose at Karen. ‘You lot investigated. You’d know more than me.’
‘By “you lot” I take it you’re referring to Lincolnshire Police?’
‘Yes, they were swarming all over the place after the teacher died and now this . . .’ He flung up his hands.
‘And this is the first time a course for students has been held here?’ Morgan asked.
Doyle interrupted. ‘Yes, I told you that already.’
Morgan turned to face Doyle. ‘Thank you for your help, Mr Doyle. That will be all. We’ll talk to Lord Chidlow on his own.’
The little dark-haired man’s face flushed scarlet. He hesitated for a moment before spinning on his heel and stalking out of the room.
After the door slammed, Chidlow chuckled. ‘You’ve made an enemy for life there.’
‘Perhaps,’ Morgan said dryly.
Karen knew Morgan wasn’t in the business of trying to make friends during an investigation. He only wanted to get to the truth.
‘This is the first time we’ve had school students here, but there have been a few business courses held here over the past two years. The adults were far less trouble.’
Morgan asked for more details and made a note of the previous courses.
‘I hope you don’t mind me saying,’ Chidlow said, ‘but you seem to be taking this very seriously. They are seventeen years old, after all, and they’ve only been missing overnight.’
‘That’s true,’ Morgan said.
‘Do you suspect foul play?’
‘We’re keeping an open mind at the moment.’
‘I thought they’d probably gone off to a party somewhere last night, and they’ll turn up nursing hangovers later today.’ Chidlow shrugged.
‘I hope they do,’ Karen said.
Her first impression of Chidlow was that the man was arrogant and used to being surrounded by flatterers and sycophants like Doyle, but he was right about one thing. This investigation had been fast-tracked for some reason. There was no evidence that the young women had been abducted or were in danger.
‘Do you have any background details on the students?’ Karen asked.
Chidlow shook his head. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to ask Mr Doyle about that. I really don’t know. I don’t even know the number of students off the top of my head. I simply know that they’ve commandeered three of the big rooms downstairs – the old drawing room, the dining hall and the main library – leaving me crammed into this little room.’ He looked around his study, which in Karen’s opinion was actually rather large, with a sneer. ‘And they’ve booked out fifteen of the bedrooms, over two floors. I believe two of the rooms were occupied by staff, so by deduction there are probably thirteen students here.’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘An unlucky number if you believe that sort of thing.’
‘And how much are they charged for the course? Any scholarships?’ Karen asked, wondering if all the students were from privileged backgrounds.
‘Again, I don’t know the details. My accountant can tell you how much I’m getting paid by Doyle’s company to host the course here, but I couldn’t tell you what he charges.’
He was right. It was a question better suited for Doyle. This wasn’t the type of course an average comprehensive student would be attending to swat up for their A levels. This would be expensive, exclusive. Perhaps Chidlow moved in the same social circles as the students’ parents.
‘Do you know any of the students’ parents?’ Karen asked.
Chidlow shook his head. ‘No, and I have no interest in any of them. I’m afraid my involvement here is purely financial. Needs must. I wish I didn’t have to do it. I’d prefer to generate the money needed for the house in some other way, but . . .’ Chidlow seemed distracted. He trailed off, looking out of the window.
Karen leaned forward to get a better view. The rain was drumming against the French windows, trickling down the glass, which made it hard to see.
There was a figure walking on the lawn, heading to the terrace.
‘Who’s that?’ she asked.
‘Oh, that’s just the groundsman, Mike Harrington.’
As he got closer, Karen got a better look at him. She guessed he was about her age. He was wearing a long, dark coat, collar raised. He had a slight limp and leaned on a stick as he walked. Despite the limp, he looked strong and moved with purpose.
‘Has he worked here long?’
‘A few years. Quiet chap. Keeps to himself, but a good worker. I’ve had no complaints.’ Chidlow sounded bored. His well-groomed appearance was a contrast to the groundsman.
‘Does he live locally?’
‘He lives on the property, actually. There’s a cottage on the other side of the lake over there.’
Karen stood and peered out of the French windows. The rain was so heavy it obscured most of the view. ‘There’s a lake?’
‘Yes,’ Chidlow said. ‘It’s hard to see today but it’s not much further than that crop of trees just there.’
She would have to take Chidlow’s word on that. She could only just make out the trees.
‘Do you live alone here in the house?’ Morgan asked.
‘I don’t see what that has to do with anything.’
Morgan said nothing but watched him expectantly until Chidlow finally answered.
He huffed out a breath. ‘Yes.’
‘Not married?’ Karen asked.
‘No, not anymore. I’ve got a flat in London and spend most of my time there, but I do try to get back to Chidlow House regularly. I wanted to be here during the course to make sure they weren’t wrecking the place.’ He frowned. ‘I suspected it was a bad idea, and I’ve been proved right. Teenagers are more trouble than they’re worth.’
‘So you won’t be holding the course again?’
‘I doubt it. Maybe business conferences but no more kids.’
There was something shifty about Chidlow. He took his time answering their questions, carefully choosing his words. And he was very keen to distance himself from the course and the students.
‘Mr Doyle was kind enough to give us a list of students who were attending the study week,’ Morgan said. ‘If I run through their names, you can tell me if you recognise any of them.’
Chidlow frowned. ‘I assure you, Detective, I’m a man of my word. I told you I don’t know any of the students, and I didn’t meet either of the missing girls. I can’t help you.’ He turned his back on them as though the matter was ended.
Karen couldn’t help thinking that this was a strong reaction for an innocent man. It didn’t mean he had anything to do with the disappearances, but she suspected Edward Chidlow was a man with something to hide.
Chidlow sat back down at his desk and tapped his long, tapered fingers on the old-fashioned blotter. ‘Are we done?’
Karen was about to tell him that no, they weren’t done, and they would have more questions for him in due course, but there was a knock and Graham Doyle poked his head around the door.
He no longer looked angry, but nervous.
‘What is it?’ Chidlow snapped.