A Finer End (21 page)

“A lack I’m sure you’ll make up, Doc.” Greely gave a pointed glance at the doctor’s paunch, visible evidence of a weakness for good living.

“Too true. I shall have to take up slimming one of these days, if I can just convince Carole to give up cooking. What have we got here, Alf?”

“Woman found this morning locked in her van, keys
missing. We were hoping you could tell us a bit more. This is Superintendent Kincaid,
visiting
from London.” Greely’s ironic emphasis on the verb was unmistakable.

Meeting the doctor’s eyes as they shook hands, Kincaid saw that, despite the jolly-elf exterior, it wouldn’t do to underestimate the man.

“All right, let’s have a look.” Lamb took off his jacket, handing it to Greely, then pulled a pair of gloves from his trouser pocket and slipped them on.

Greely stepped away and Kincaid followed suit as the doctor climbed into the van. “Sharp old bugger,” Greely said. “But he gets tetchy if you get in his way. Not that I’ve ever much enjoyed watching the poking and prodding part.”

They waited in silence while the doctor made his examination. Kincaid gradually became aware of the bustle of activity taking place in the hedgerow as the birds searched for tasty berries and insects, and of the inappropriate rumbling of his own stomach. He had forgotten all about lunch.

“One odd thing,” Greely offered meditatively, providing Kincaid a welcome distraction from his hunger. “The walker who discovered the body this morning was a bloke called Bram Allen—the husband of the lady who discovered Winifred Catesby in the lane.”

Kincaid raised an eyebrow. “Coincidence?”

“He said he walks round the Tor every day—could be his wife’s experience made him nervy—that, and the flies buzzing round the van.”

“Did he know the victim?”

“According to Mr. Allen, everyone in Glastonbury knew Garnet Todd. Seems the woman was a genuine eccentric.”

Dr. Lamb reappeared, rear end first as he backed out of the van. He removed his gloves, brushed off his knees, and rolled down his shirtsleeves before accepting his jacket from Greely.

“All right, Doc, you’ve kept us in suspense long enough,” Greely said, and Kincaid suspected the pair had a well-developed routine.

“Well.” Lamb brushed a twig from his lapel. “I’d say she’s been dead at least twelve hours, maybe a good bit longer with last night’s drop in temperature. Lividity is well established, but there’s some slight staining in other areas that indicates she may have been moved after death. There’s no sign of sexual interference that I can see.”

Grudgingly, as if he knew it was expected of him, Greely asked, “Cause of death?”

“Well, now, that’s the most interesting thing. There are indications of asphyxiation, but no ligature marks or bruising on the throat or neck area. I have my suspicions, but I’m not going to say any more. You’ll have to wait for the autopsy.”

Greely groaned. “I can’t see that we’re much further along. Can we move the body, then?”

“Mmm.” The doctor nodded. “Ask the pathologist to give me a ring when he’s finished, would you? Satisfy my curiosity.” He turned to Kincaid. “Staying long, Superintendent? You might find this one interesting.”

“Just the weekend,” Kincaid answered. He shook the doctor’s hand and watched as he climbed back into his decrepit Morris and chugged down the hill.

Greely signaled to the mortuary attendants. They transferred the corpse onto a white sheet to preserve any trace evidence, then moved it from one van to the other. The doors clanged shut with metallic finality and the van pulled away. The crime-scene technicians were still busy at Garnet Todd’s vehicle, while two uniformed constables painstakingly searched the surrounding area.

Casually, Kincaid asked, “Any leads?”

“Absolutely sod all—except for the young lady your cousin, Mr. Montfort, seems to have taken in. We’ll have to interview her, you know, and the sooner, the better.”

“Did you find any evidence that Garnet Todd’s van was involved in Miss Catesby’s accident?”

“A few smudges on the front fender. Could have been caused by a close encounter with a hedge. There was not
much vehicular damage to Miss Catesby’s bicycle, mostly scrapes and dings from the pavement. And there was no bleeding from Miss Catesby’s injuries—”

“So no hope of blood on the vehicle,” Kincaid said grimly. “What about fibers?”

“We’re checking now. But”—Greely shrugged—“it’s a snowball’s chance in hell, if you ask me, and we’ve nothing to link the two incidents other than the girl’s story.”

As he wondered if Gemma had managed to coax anything more from Faith, Kincaid realized how easily they, too, had fallen into their old routine.

As anxious as he was about Winnie, Jack felt he must take the time to let Simon Fitzstephen know about Garnet’s death—and not by telephone. Simon and Garnet had been friends too long for an impersonal notice.

At least he could feel sure that he’d left Faith in good hands. Duncan’s Gemma had a quiet authority that inspired confidence, and she had succeeded in calming Faith where he had failed.

So they were colleagues as well as lovers, he thought, wondering how long they’d been together, and if Duncan had finally managed to lay his troubled marriage to rest. Jack had been sorry to hear of Vic’s death the previous spring, but had done nothing more than send Duncan a brief note—such things still struck too close to home.

And now he found himself the apparent custodian of a pregnant young woman who might deliver her child at any moment. The prospect terrified him.

He found Simon on his knees in front of his perennial border, snipping the dead stalks from bloomed-out plants. “Dreary time of year, isn’t it?” Simon rose, wincing, and as he came across the lawn Jack saw that he was limping. “And digging in the dirt may be good for the soul, but it plays hell with my bad knee.”

“Old injury?” Jack asked.

“Climbing accident. Slipped in the scree years ago and tore a few ligaments. Just let me wash up and I’ll put the kettle on.”

“No, really, I can’t stay. I just came—Simon, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

Simon went very still. “Not Winifred?”

“No. It’s Garnet Todd. She’s dead. I thought you should know.”

“Dead?” Simon groped for the weathered wooden bench beside his front door and sank onto it. “But she can’t—I don’t understand.… Was there an accident?”

“No. The police seem to think she was murdered.”

“But—but that’s absurd! Surely there’s some mistake. Why would anyone want to kill Garnet?” There was a quaver to Simon’s voice, and his skin had taken on an unhealthy hue. “Did someone break into the house?”

“No. She was found in her van, round the other side of the Tor. I’m afraid that’s all the information I have. I am sorry. I know you were old friends.”

“Friends … yes. Lovers, once. An odd woman, Garnet. I never understood how she became who she was, after such an ordinary beginning.… And now she’s gone. I can’t quite believe it.” Simon gazed into the garden as if he had forgotten Jack’s presence.

“Simon, I’m sorry, I’m afraid I’ll have to go—but there was something I wanted to show you if you feel up to it.” Jack pulled the pages he’d scribbled that morning from his pocket.

Simon took them abstractedly, but once he began to read, Jack could see his interest quickening. “So that’s the connection. An illegitimate child. We should have guessed.”

“Is there any possibility we could trace the woman—the daughter of a stonemason who worked on the cathedral at the time Edmund gives?”

“That would be a tall order. But I’ve some resources that might be helpful.… I’ll see what I can do.” Simon’s voice was stronger, and it seemed to Jack that his color had improved.
“Do you mind if I keep these? It would help me to have the details.”

“Of course you may. But I hate to leave you—”

“Don’t be daft, man. I’ll be fine. It’s Winifred who needs your attention. But these”—he tapped the papers in his hand—“we mustn’t let things go too long. There seems to be an urgency to this, a reason Edmund wants us to recover this chant now. We mustn’t risk losing the energy, breaking the connection—and without Garnet … things may be more difficult. She was a strong force.” He stopped and cleared his throat.

“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll ring you, then.” Jack turned away, but stopped and looked back when he reached the gate. Simon still sat on the bench, his eyes closed.

“Simon,” Jack called out. “Thanks for going to see Winnie yesterday. It was kind of you.”

Simon opened his eyes and smiled. “She’ll be all right, you know. She’s a fighter, that young woman.”

She had tucked Faith back into bed and sat with her until the tears stopped. Examining the bedroom, Gemma saw that someone had made an effort to counteract the darkness of the northern exposure and the heavy furniture. The walls were papered in a springlike yellow-and-green sprigged pattern, and the coverlet on the fruitwood bed picked up the same pale yellow. But the landscape over the chest of drawers was dominated by the brooding presence of the Tor, and through the window, she could see its rock-strewn slope beyond the neglected back garden.

Faith blew her nose, then eyed Gemma over the wad of tissues. “What are you doing here? Did you come to arrest Garnet?”

“We came because Jack was worried about Winnie, and Duncan wanted to help. That’s all.”

“They’re cousins?”

“Their mums were sisters.” Gemma surveyed Faith critically. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”

“I don’t remember.” Faith’s hands, still clasping the tissues, were trembling. “Yesterday morning at the café, I think. Before I heard about Winnie—” Her eyes filled again.

“Lunch, then,” Gemma said briskly. “You stay right where you are and I’ll bring it to you.”

Downstairs in the kitchen, she eyed the contents of fridge and cupboard with dismay. Eggs, a bit of cheese, a half loaf of slightly stale bread. A typical man’s kitchen, but she could put together cheese omelets and toast. That and a pot of tea would do.

Once the omelets were done to perfection and the tea and toast ready, Gemma assembled a tray and carried the simple feast upstairs. Perhaps, she thought, some of Hazel’s domestic skills were rubbing off on her.

She found Faith sitting up a bit straighter in the bed, dry-eyed, watching her with alert curiosity. The girl tucked into the food with concentration, and Gemma wondered if a portion of her emotional fragility had been due to simple hunger.

When they had both finished, Gemma asked, “Better?”

Faith smiled. “Yes. I didn’t realize how hungry I was.”

“Good. Now we need to talk. I want you to tell me about your friend Garnet.”

Faith pinched her lips together. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Start from the beginning. How did you meet her?”

“She came in the café—Oh, my God. I’ve got to go to work. I never even thought. And Buddy won’t know about Garnet—”

Gemma eased her back down. “I’ll ring him—Buddy, is it? Is that your boss?”

“Yes. They were friends. That’s how Garnet knew about me.”

“So Garnet had heard about you before she ever met you?”

“I was sleeping in the boxroom above the café. I thought Buddy didn’t know. Garnet offered me a place to live for just a bit of rent. And she knew about babies. I was so scared then—there hadn’t been anyone to ask. She … I’d never met anyone like her. She seemed so free. Not like my parents at all. And she knew about magic. Women’s magic …”

“That must have been fascinating—and just frightening enough to be irresistible.”

“That’s exactly how it was.” Faith sounded surprised, and Gemma gave herself a point for hitting the right note. “But I didn’t know, then …”

“Know what, Faith?” Gemma prompted.

“Old stuff. Dark stuff.” Faith shook her head. “After a while it wasn’t fun. Garnet said I had to learn, that ignorance wouldn’t protect me. And she worried about me.”

“How could you tell?”

“The last couple of months, she didn’t want me to go anywhere, or see anyone. Especially Nick.”

The classic signs of an abusive relationship, Gemma thought, and Faith would have been such a vulnerable target. Pregnant, homeless, friendless.

“Did Garnet have something in particular against him?”

“She and Nick rubbed each other the wrong way from the very beginning. She thought he meant to turn me against her.”

“Garnet didn’t like that.” Gemma made it a statement.

“No. But there was more to it, her worrying, I mean. It was like she knew something she wasn’t telling me. And all the time the pull got stronger.…”

“What pull?”

“Can’t you feel it?” Faith shuddered. “I did, even before I met Garnet. The Tor …”

Gemma thought of the odd feeling she’d had that morning
when the Tor had first come into view. “What about the Tor?”

“Last night … it was so strong. I couldn’t stop. Then the pain came. I had to rest, and when I woke up it was gone.” Faith seemed to read Gemma’s confusion. “The force. The pull.”

“What does it want you to do, this force?”

“It’s not like that. There aren’t any words. I just have to climb.” She plucked at the sheets again and said, almost querulously, “Where’s Nick? Jack said Nick was coming.”

“It’s only just lunchtime. Don’t worry,” Gemma soothed her, wondering just exactly how Nick fit into the equation. Was he the baby’s father, perhaps?

She poured Faith another cup of tea from the old brown teapot, much loved by someone, if the chips and crazing in the glaze were any evidence. It occurred to her that she’d given up tea entirely when she was pregnant with Toby, and that she wasn’t at all sure she’d have the discipline to do it again.

“Tell me what happened yesterday,” she said. “Why were you so worried about Garnet?”

“Nick said … When I told him Garnet had gone out after we saw Winnie pushing her bike up the hill, he said he thought Garnet had hit Winnie with the van. I was so angry … but when I went home I looked at the van and I saw a smudge … I was afraid.”

“Then what happened?” Gemma asked it gently.

“I—I couldn’t face her. I was so ashamed for even thinking such a thing. I climbed the Tor. When I came back, she was gone. I never saw her again. If I’d only gone into the house—”