The Eye in the Dark by Katherine Pathak

Author:Katherine Pathak [Pathak, Katherine]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Garansay Press
Published: 2019-03-11T22:00:00+00:00

*

On her way to Arthur Keating’s address, Dani passed the sign for Colville Airfield. With the windows down on the deserted country lane, she could hear the puttering of one of the small aircraft passing overhead.

The Sat Nav instructed her to turn off the road and onto a rough single track. Dani grimaced as the car bumped over the loose stones, she could only hope the silver paintwork didn’t end up chipped.

Eventually, the track halted at a substantial stone house. She parked up and approached the front door. Despite ringing the bell several times, there was no reply. A relatively new 4x4 sat in the driveway next to the house, so Dani was reasonably confident there was somebody on the property.

She trudged towards an outhouse connected to a set of garages. It had what looked like a newly installed chimney poking out of the corrugated roof. The door was open, but Dani knocked confidently on it before entering, calling out, “is anybody home?”

“Come in, I’m just working on a tricky section.” An elderly male voice floated out from somewhere inside.

Dani took a few steps forward. The interior of the outhouse had been converted into a large studio. A huge wood burning stove was positioned in the centre of the space. Canvases were propped up against every beam.

A tall, delicately built man in paint flecked shirt and jeans was standing with his back to Dani. He was applying brush strokes to a painting on an easel which was catching the light streaming through a Velux window.

“Mr Keating? My name is DCI Dani Bevan. I’m a detective with the Glasgow police.”

Keating instantly put down his brush and turned to face his visitor. Able to view his features, Dani placed him as in his mid-seventies.

“A Detective Chief Inspector from Scotland. Well, well, to what do I owe this honour?”

Dani felt a little awkward. Her jurisdiction in this area was disputable and her reasons for questioning this man were speculative at best. “I’m in London assisting the police with an investigation. A woman died in suspicious circumstances at her Hillingdon flat two weeks back. But before a few months ago, the lady had been a resident in Mitchling. She worked as a stewardess for BA. I believe she once bought a painting from you?”

Keating took a step forward. “Miss Carlisle?” His narrow mouth parted in shock. “She’s dead?”

“I’m afraid so. Did you know her well?”

Keating moved over to a bench which lined one wall of the studio. He lifted across a couple of mugs and filled them from a jug attached to a coffee machine. “Would you like a drink?”

“Yes please.”

“There’s milk in the jug,” the man stated absently, gesturing to a tray with various pieces of crockery on it. “I wouldn’t say I knew Autumn well. As you say, she bought a painting from me. Usually, I have nothing to do with the folk who buy my art from Glen’s café. But this lady had taken a card along with her purchase and she contacted me.

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