Murder at Hilltop Manor

Sherry rubbed her eyes whilst leaning against the cold concrete wall of the interrogation room. After Michael’s arrest, she’d naturally taken on the role of his solicitor. She watched as Detective Chief Inspector Brown brought the plastic cup to his flabby mouth and took a sip of coffee.

‘I’m going to ask you one more time.’ His smug voice resonated through the room.

‘Where were you between the hours of 11.15 p.m. to 12.30 a.m.?’

Michael’s eyes were red and sunken in from exhaustion. ‘I keep telling you – I was walking near the beach. I came back to the house at one. That’s when I found her–’

Sherry stepped forward. ‘This has gone on long enough – there’s insufficient evidence. You’ve seen the CCTV footage of him coming through the door.’

‘As I pointed out earlier, he easily could’ve snuck in and out another way. That isn’t enough to clear his name.’

‘Well, until you prove that, you can’t keep him here. Legally.’

‘You’re right.’  Brown stood up and stretched his arms, making Sherry wrinkle her nose at the waft of BO that came towards her. ‘What we can do is monitor his movements with an electronic tag. Mr Oluwande, follow me.’

*

She pulled up outside the hotel. Michael didn’t want to go back to Hilltop Manor and Sherry couldn’t blame him. They both stared in silence at the sunrise. Pink and orange hues spilled in through the car windows and bathed everything in a golden glow. The wisteria on the cottage-like building in front of them seemed to gleam in the early morning sunlight. She glanced at her oldest friend and her heart shattered for him.

Gently, she placed a hand on his arm and he started to cry. Leaning against the dashboard, he howled like an animal. She had never seen him like this; in fact, she’d never seen him cry at all. Not since they were about five years old when he’d fallen off his bike and scraped his leg.

‘You’ve got to stay strong, Mike. We’re gonna figure this out.’

‘I don’t get it,’ he murmured, ‘who could’ve done this?’

‘I really don’t know, but I’m pretty sure everyone heard you guys argue last night…’

‘Yeah, we argued–’ Michael turned to face Sherry. ‘You believe me, right?’

She grabbed his hand. ‘Of course.’ She knew Michael didn’t have it in him. Besides, he had really loved Amy.

‘You’re the smartest person I know,’ he pleaded. ‘The police think it’s me. They won’t bother to investigate properly. Help me – find out who it was. You’re the only one I can trust.’

*

What was supposed to have been a relaxing retreat at Amy’s family estate had become a total nightmare. Sherry hardly registered the Cornish countryside scenery as she drove back to Hilltop Manor. Instead, her mind pondered the facts presented to her by the police.

Michael had found Amy deceased in their room at approximately 1.05 a.m. She had been stabbed twice in the chest, presumably whilst she had been asleep. The murder weapon had not yet been located. A silver cufflink was discovered by the bed. No fingerprints were found on the scene, meaning that the culprit had most likely worn gloves. Besides her and Michael, there were five other people staying in the vicinity. Five possible murderers.

She got out of her car and nodded at the police officers parked outside, before heading straight to her bed.

*

Sherry woke with a dry mouth. She threw open the window and let the afternoon light invade her stuffy room. Walking to the kitchen with her empty water bottle, her mind raced. How was she meant to find the murderer? She was a solicitor, not a detective…

Amy’s dad, Jeff, was sat on a bar stool in the kitchen, wearing yesterday’s clothes and with an empty whiskey glass in his hand. He looked small and defeated in front of his decadent marble countertops – an empty shell of himself. Sherry cleared her throat and he jumped, before giving her a stiff nod.

‘I don’t mean to intrude,’ Sherry said, ‘but perhaps you could do with some company?’

Jeff stared at her blankly, then replied, ‘Drink with me.’

She poured them both a drink from the nearly empty bottle. They sat in silence for a few minutes. Her gaze fell onto Jeff’s hands clutching his glass, then onto his sleeves and she narrowed her eyes. One silver cufflink was missing.

‘How’s Lorraine doing?’ she asked.

‘She’s still in shock. Can’t get out of bed. I mean so am I – can’t wrap my head around it. Our only daughter–’ He closed his eyes. ‘This all just feels like a bad dream. Like I’m going to wake up any second now and Amy will still be here.’

Sherry looked out the window and saw the sunlight bouncing off the large greenhouse in the garden. It was a gorgeous afternoon, and on any other day it would have been normal to appreciate the warmth of the greenery outside.

Instead, she said, ‘The police told me they found a cufflink by the bed…’

Jeff looked up sharply. ‘They’ve already spoken to me. I went to see her – make sure she was okay after that fight.’ He scowled, ‘She was upset because Michael wasn’t answering her calls. I gave her some sleeping tablets. Told her to sort it out tomorrow– if she hadn’t taken them, she wouldn’t have been in such a deep sleep. She might’ve been able to defend herself. I feel sick knowing that Lorraine and I were drinking wine on the patio, laughing the night away – completely oblivious.’ Closing his eyes, he downed the rest of his drink.

If they were on the patio at the time of the murder, the outdoor CCTV will prove it.

Sherry stood up. ‘It wasn’t your fault. The police are doing everything they can to catch the culprit. Try to get some rest.’

*

After a quick shower, Sherry drove to the hotel to check on Michael and bring him his bag. Luckily, the press hadn’t caught wind of where he was staying yet. Michael’s teammate Jack had driven back to London as soon as the police were done interviewing him. The penthouse he and Michael shared was already swarming with paparazzi asking him a million and one questions. A premier league footballer accused of murdering his socialite girlfriend – this was a goldmine for them.

She told Michael about the cufflink, and Jeff’s alibi.

He shook his head. ‘He wouldn’t have killed her. He loved Amy too much, more than he hated me. That’s why he swallowed his pride and started inviting me around. I bet he’s certain I did it.’

Sherry handed him an iPad which had been next to the bag.

‘That’s not mine,’ he said quietly. ‘Take it back. I can’t bear to see her things.’

*

Sat in her room, Sherry had guessed the password for the iPad in a matter of seconds – Michael’s birthday. She decided to look through it before handing it in to the police. Skimming through hundreds of mundane messages, she almost gave up on finding any clues until she reached Amy and Lila’s iMessage thread. The conversation followed the normal topics that best friends would talk about: inside jokes, making plans to go for Pilates and coffee, plans to go clubbing, sending funny photos to each other. But then Sherry read something which made her stop scrolling. She knew that Lila hadn’t left the manor yet – she’d stayed on to provide Amy’s parents with as much emotional support as she could muster.

*

Sherry raised her fist to knock on the wooden bedroom door, but before she could, Lila opened it and let out a piercing scream.

‘You scared me!’ Lila clutched her chest. ‘I was just going to the bathroom.’

‘Sorry… do you mind if I talk to you after?’

The two went to sit outside on the patio. The night was warm, but Lila still shivered and pulled her dressing gown closer to herself.

‘Look, I’ll get straight to the point,’ Sherry said. ‘I found Amy’s iPad in Michael’s car. He’s asked me to help clear his name so I thought it would be a good idea to go through it.’

Lila narrowed her eyes. ‘You think he’s innocent?’

Sherry ignored her and carried on. ‘You and Amy fell out recently?’

Lila’s face paled. ‘My best friend has just been murdered and you’re snooping around reading her private conversations? What’s wrong with you?’

‘I’m just trying to figure out who could have done this, Lila. I need to make sure I can rule you out…’

‘Jeez. Yes, we argued. Someone told me that a couple of years ago she’d slept with my ex, and we didn’t speak for a few months after that.  She kept asking to meet up and I could tell she was really sorry. I forgave her. Our friendship was worth more than a stupid man.’

‘Where were you, at the time of the murder?’

Lila stood up abruptly. ‘I was at the pub, not that it’s any of your business. Jack and I had gone out for drinks. Came back around half past twelve and sat with Jeff and Loraine for a bit. We have the Apple Pay receipts to prove it – matter of fact, where were you?’

Sherry replied, ‘I was on Facetime to my mum until one in the morning. The police already checked it out. Look, I didn’t mean to upset you–’

‘I think you should leave this to the police. It’s not your place.’

Lila went back inside the manor, slamming the French doors shut behind her. Sherry frowned. If Lila was telling the truth, that ruled her and Jack out. Sherry began to feel sick at the thought of the pressure resting on her shoulders – the police were conducting their investigation and had interviewed everyone already, including herself, but she knew that Detective Brown had marked Michael as guilty. The only black man – of course he was the prime suspect.

*

Sherry got up from her broken sleep when the early morning sunlight began to flood her room. She splashed cold water in her face and got dressed, before heading out to the garden. Breathing in the morning dew, she strolled along the path leading towards the groundskeeper’s lodge and admired the greenery surrounding her.  The gentle bird songs sounded angelic to her ears. Imagine being rich enough to have your own Kew Gardens as a backyard. Must be nice. She stopped in front of some red dahlia flowers and ran her hands over the small, delicate petals, watching them detach from the pistil and drop onto the ground, slowly, like droplets of blood.

Soon she reached a rustic wooden table and bench. On it was a flask, a notebook, and a digital camera. She looked around but saw no one. Hesitating, she picked up the camera and turned it on. Her heart began to pound as she flicked through the gallery. All the photos were candid closeups of Amy – playing tennis, laughing at the dinner table, in her bikini running into the sea, lying on the grass with a cigarette, making a cup of coffee – who’s camera is this? Sherry picked up the notebook when she heard a sudden footstep behind her. She jumped and turned to see Rory, the young groundskeeper, barely a few inches away from her. His eyes widened and he snatched the notebook from her hands.

‘Sorry, I didn’t know it was yours.’

Rory stepped back, and his shoulders relaxed. ‘You’re up awfully early.’

‘Yeah, I couldn’t sleep very well – look mate, I didn’t mean to snoop, but I went through your camera… what the hell is that all about?’

Rory sat on the bench with his head in his hands. ‘It does look a bit weird, doesn’t it. I wasn’t doing it in a creepy way, she was just so photogenic, and now I’m glad I took all those photos–’ His voice choked up and he held back his tears.

‘Did you love her?’ Sherry asked gently.

He looked up, his blue eyes still watering.  ‘More than anything – have done since we were kids.  Before Dad died and I took over as groundskeeper, we spent endless summers mucking around together.’ Rory stared into the distance, a shadow of a smile crossing his face.

‘If you don’t mind me asking, where were you the other night?’ Sherry felt her hands beginning to clam up.

‘I was chatting to Jeff until we overheard that terrible argument. I never liked Michael; I’ll be honest. And I’d had a couple of beers, so when I heard him storming off, I excused myself and went to follow him. Guess I was looking for a fight, but never found him, so I just walked around for a bit then went to bed.’ His face began to redden, and his fist clenched. ‘He better get locked up for life.’

‘He’s not guilty,’ Sherry said quietly, looking at the tall oak trees in front of them. Rory scoffed, before standing up and gathering his things.

‘Well, I’m off. I need to go into town.’ He nodded his goodbye and Sherry waved half-heartedly as she watched his tall, broad frame walk up towards his lodge.

About an hour later, Sherry hesitated before picking up her phone and calling Detective Brown.

‘Hiya, it’s Sherry Thompson. Michael’s solicitor? I found something this morning that you might want to check out…’

*

Sherry watched from the kitchen window as the police dragged a handcuffed Rory to the back of a car. Detective Brown stood to the side talking to Jeff, who seemed frozen in shock. When Sherry joined them, Brown explained that during the raid they had discovered some disturbing objects in Rory’s lodge – the camera and notebook, which had entries detailing his obsessive love for Amy, his intention to confess his love during the holiday, and his deep hatred of Michael. The most damning evidence of all was a steak-knife hidden behind the bed frame, which they were going to run forensics on.

‘Maybe he intended to kill Michael but because he couldn’t find him, he went to Amy and lost control when he was rejected?’ Detective Brown said. ‘He’s claiming he’s innocent, but we’re keeping him in custody until the trial. Your hunch turned out to be correct. Well done, Miss Thompson.’ Brown nodded at Sherry, who nodded back.

*

Before setting off on the long drive home, she called Michael, who had to wait for the police to remove the tag before he could leave. After driving for about thirty minutes, she stopped off at a secluded beach. The cliffs behind her gave the empty landscape a broody feel – they felt constricting and heavy in contrast to the freedom of the ocean in front.  It was sunset, and the waves reflected the deep hues of the sky. She placed a plastic bag on the sand. Inside it were a pair of blood-speckled pyjamas, some slippers she’d been wearing that night, and two pairs of plastic washing-up gloves. She sparked a match and dropped it on the bag, watching the small flame grow larger and melt into the plastic, eventually engulfing it all.

Sherry had told her mum she had heard something strange during the facetime call that night and excused herself to check it out, leaving the call running. Thankfully, her mum hadn’t questioned her when she’d asked her to keep this hidden from the police.

Before the murder, Michael had told her that he was going to propose to Amy. This made Sherry panic – she’d expected them to break up eventually. Michael was worth a lot of money now, and Sherry thought it was only right that he should share it with her, seeing as she had been there for him from the start. Amy already had her Daddy’s money; she didn’t need Michael’s. It wasn’t fair. Sherry worked her ass off as a community solicitor and could barely afford rent, whilst Michael got paid hundreds of thousands just for kicking a ball.

If she hadn’t set up Rory, Michael would have probably ended up in prison all too soon.  Everyone had thought him guilty, and with the pressure from the press, the police needed an arrest ASAP. She’d be there to comfort him through his grief, as she always was whenever he needed support. Maybe now he’d see that she was the best person for him. With a sigh, she turned away from the glowing ashes and the fiery sky and walked back to her car.