Chapter 4 of 5·5 min read·The hour after Merrit’s emergency call
The Road It Never Took
The first police car arrived while Merrit was still on the phone with the operator. It slowed beside her on the narrow road, blue lights off, and stopped with its front wheels on the verge.
Merrit gave her name again. She told the officer she had escaped Greenvale through a service gate, and that a worker named Jory had helped her. She described Dr. Pell’s questions about her skin and repeated what Jory had said about the previous applicant being loaded into a van while alive.
The officer wrote it down without looking up. His name badge said Hales. He asked for the applicant’s name.
“I don’t know it.” Merrit pressed her phone against her palm. “The estate had her on the temporary assistant list. I saw the entry, but I didn’t get a photograph.”
“Did you see her in the van?”
“No. Jory did.”
Hales looked at her then. Merrit could tell he was weighing the difference between what she knew and what she had been told. She had no way to make that distinction disappear. She gave him the estate’s address and described the register entry bearing her own name, with a departure time written before she had left.
“Can you show me that?”
“No. It’s inside.”
He finished his notes and spoke briefly into his radio. Another car arrived a few minutes later. Hales said they would make a welfare check and take a statement from the person responsible for the property. Merrit climbed into the back seat, where the door shut with a heavy click.
At Greenvale’s main entrance, a guard came out to meet them. He checked the police identification, then looked at Merrit as if she were a guest who had missed her carriage. The gate slid open.
Maudren waited just inside, wearing a pale blue cardigan over a neat blouse. She greeted the officers by their titles and thanked them for coming so promptly. Her attention touched on Merrit only after she had offered them tea.
“Miss Shaw left yesterday evening,” she said. “There has been some confusion about her arrangements.”
Hales asked to see the visitor register. Maudren led them into the entrance hall and brought the book from a desk. The page lay open to Merrit’s name. The departure time had been entered in the same steady hand as the rest of the page.
Merrit leaned in. The ink was dark and even. It looked ordinary. That was the point.
“That time was before I reached the service gate,” she said.
Maudren’s face stayed composed. “Our staff recorded the time you were expected to leave. The entry should have been corrected.”
Next
Jory has told police the van went beneath Greenvale and returned without Bethan, and they must decide whether his account is enough to search the estate.
Hales turned the page slightly toward himself. “Who entered it?”
“I couldn’t say. Several people maintain the register.”
“You told me she left,” Merrit said. “Now you’re saying you only wrote down when you expected me to leave.”
Maudren paused, the small space of a careful breath. “I’m saying the record is inaccurate. We’ll correct it.”
The officer made a note. Merrit watched his pen move, trying not to crowd him. She had wanted to hear him call the book evidence. Instead, he asked Maudren whether anyone else was currently unaccounted for.
“No,” Maudren said. “All our staff are present or have signed out.”
A side door opened behind them. Jory came through carrying a plastic crate of folded cloths. He saw the uniforms and stopped. The crate tipped in his hands. A stack of cloths slid toward the floor.
“Jory,” Merrit said.
He set the crate down before anything fell. For one brief moment, he looked at her as if he wanted her to be quiet. Then he glanced at the open register.
Hales stepped toward him. “Are you Jory Fen?”
“Yes.” His voice was rough from the cold air outside, or from holding it in. “I work grounds and cleaning.”
“Did you help Miss Shaw leave the estate?”
Maudren took a half-step forward. “Mr. Fen has been on shift. He may not understand what you’re asking.”
Jory looked at the crate. “I understand.” He rubbed the heel of one hand against his trouser seam. “I opened the service gate for her.”
Merrit had expected the admission to come with an excuse, or a hurried explanation. Jory offered neither. His gaze stayed low, fixed on the cloths he had nearly dropped.
Hales asked if Jory had seen the previous applicant being taken away. Jory said he had. He named her: Bethan Pike. He had been working near the kitchen entrance when two men carried her into a van. She had been breathing. He had watched the van cross the estate grounds afterward.
“Which way did it leave?” Hales asked.
Jory looked up. “It didn’t leave.”
No one moved for a moment. Merrit heard a clock ticking somewhere past the entrance hall.
“Explain,” Hales said.
“The van went down the old service ramp behind the stable block. It went under the ground.” Jory swallowed. “The ramp’s covered. From the road, you’d think it was a loading bay.”
Maudren’s voice remained soft. “That area has been closed for years. Mr. Fen is mistaken.”
Jory looked at her now. The crate sat between his shoes. He did not try to pick it up. “I clear leaves from the drain at the bottom. The ramp still opens.”
Hales asked Maudren to take them there. She said the lower service areas were private and unsafe, then offered to arrange access in the morning. Hales repeated that he was conducting a welfare check. Maudren’s smile held, though her hands had folded tightly together.
Merrit watched Jory’s shoulders. He had spoken plainly, but she could see the effort it cost him to stay in the room. She wanted to tell him to leave with the officers. She also wanted him to say more, while he still could.
“Did you see Bethan after the van went down?” she asked.
“No.” His eyes flicked to her and away. “I saw it come back up without her.”
Hales turned toward him. “When?”
“About an hour later. I thought it was the same van. It came out empty.”
Merrit’s mouth went dry. She had imagined a road leading away from Greenvale, another place beyond the walls. Jory had watched the van go underneath them and return without its passenger. He didn’t know where Bethan was now. Neither did she.
Hales asked Jory to come with them to make a formal statement. Maudren did not try to stop him. She only said that he was free to leave, as anyone was, and that his wages could be settled later.
Jory bent to pick up the crate. He stared at it for a second, then left it where it was. When he walked toward the entrance, Merrit moved aside to give him room. He came close enough for her to see a green smear on one cuff, the kind of stain left by wet leaves.
“You’re all right?” she asked.
“I’m out now.” He kept walking.
That was not an answer, but she let him keep moving.
At the car, Hales asked Jory to repeat what he had said about the ramp. Jory did. The officer wrote it down and asked whether the van was still on the grounds. Jory said he didn’t know. Hales radioed for a supervisor and stayed by the gate while he waited for instructions.
Maudren stood several paces behind them. The staff door had closed. The open register remained inside, with Merrit’s departure already written as fact.
Jory sat on the low wall beside the police car, hands between his knees. Merrit stood near him without touching him. Neither of them looked back toward the house.
When the radio crackled, Hales listened, then asked Jory to mark the ramp’s location on a rough map. Jory drew the stable block, a service yard, and a short line beneath them.
“That’s where the van went?” Merrit asked.
“That’s where the road went.” Jory tapped the pencil at the end of the line. “I never saw what was below it.”