Fear in the Cotswolds (20 page)

‘Can I have supper in there?’

‘I expect so.’

Ben looked at Thea. ‘Can I really come and see Jimmy again?’

‘Of course you can. And the donkey, if you want.
And
…’ she held up a finger, insisting on his attention ‘…there are baby rabbits in the shed outside. They’re absolutely gorgeous.’

He clasped the lurcher closer. ‘I only want to see Jimmy,’ he said.

‘Oh, well,’ Thea shrugged. ‘That’s fine.’

The shift in atmosphere seemed to leave all three of them limp and inert. ‘Home,’ said Janina. ‘Come on home now, Ben.’ There was just enough authority in her voice to penetrate the child’s defences. Or perhaps it gave him the courage to trust her and do as she said. Thea had often thought that modern children were cruelly denied the discipline and authority their elders owed them. It was pleasant to be told what to do, at least some of the time.

The visitors departed, leaving a miasma of sadness and fear. The real reason for Ben’s distress remained obscure, as was frequently the case with children, Thea recalled. There had been episodes when Jessica had been discovered crying
in a corner, quite unable to explain why. ‘Cosmic misery,’ Carl had called it. ‘She’s weeping for the woes of the world.’

It was less than ten minutes before another car arrived at the barn. Thea sighed, as she heard the slamming door. ‘What now?’ she muttered to the dogs, both of whom were settled on the sofa, woven together like conjoined twins. They ignored her.

She opened the door to Gladwin, feeling no surprise. ‘I got your message,’ said the detective. ‘Are you OK?’

Thea went blank, forgetting entirely what she had wanted to impart. ‘Um, yes,’ she said. ‘Come in. I’m fine. It’s Tony. I went to see Tony Newby this morning. Then Janina turned up with Ben. It’s all a bit of a muddle, actually.’

‘So it sounds. Well, if it’s any help, we’re more or less straight at our end.’

‘What? What does that mean?’

‘It must have been the husband. It’s always the husband. We’ve got ten officers trawling through Mrs Newby’s computer and papers, looking for a motive. But it has to have been him. Everybody’s been telling us what a cow she was. He’ll have lost it, last week. Probably something snapped over Christmas – that’s usually it.’ She had moved into the main room, and stood gazing at
the tangled dogs, as she spoke. There was an air to her that Thea hadn’t seen before. A tension that contradicted the confidence in her words.

‘Simon did it? You really think so? I can’t believe that. Have you got any evidence?’

‘Nothing concrete. I was kinda hoping that’s what you were offering. If I know you, you’ll have picked up a whole bagful of important clues since I last saw you.’

‘Well, no, not really. I don’t feel very clued up at all, quite honestly. For instance, was Bunny hit from the back or front?’

‘Back.’

‘Without any warning? So she wouldn’t have had time to scratch or hit her attacker?’

‘That sort of thing, yes.’

‘Do you think somebody lured her down a snowy lane, to a ditch beside a field, coshed her from behind and left her there? Is that the picture?’

Gladwin was restless, walking around the back of the sofa and leaning over it, then jerking upright, swinging her arms. ‘Oh, shit, it isn’t very convincing, is it? There’s some massive factor we haven’t got hold of yet. I always want to go for the simplest answer, but it’s not working this time.’

‘Maybe it is. You might be right. Except, I just can’t see Simon doing anything so violent. Not
to the mother of his children. I know lots of men do it, but he seems so
docile
.’

Gladwin huffed a small laugh at that. ‘Docile? The man manages a busy upmarket hotel. He keeps a staff of twenty or more under control. I don’t think either of us has seen what he’s capable of.’

Thea pondered for a moment. ‘It’s no good – I honestly don’t think Simon Newby could do such a thing. He’s not passionate enough. There’s no hint of temper in him. And what about
George
? Everybody keeps talking about him as a bigger loss than Bunny. Tony loved him. The boys loved him. Janina hatched a conspiracy with him – and the people on the farm. He’s at the centre of everything. It’s as if Bunny was just some kind of distraction. I swear Nicky and Ben are more upset about him than their own mother.’

Gladwin held up a hand. ‘Stop, stop. You’ve left me way behind here. Who’s Tony, for a start?’

Thea gave vent to a delighted little snort of laughter. ‘Your own police photographer, as it happens. Tony Newby, Simon’s brother.’

‘Uh-huh,’ said Gladwin doubtfully. ‘I’m not sure I’ve met him. He’ll have been interviewed, of course, and I must have seen the report, but…’ She frowned and scratched at a rough patch of skin on her chin. Looking at her more closely, Thea observed signs that the senior detective had
been out in the cold and got herself chapped. Thin and bony, Gladwin carried little natural protection against extreme winter weather.

‘He’s gay, and he had a thing for George Jewell – which I gather was not reciprocated. He seems rather a pathetic figure, especially at the moment. He’s caught a chill and is working from home in a dressing gown.’

‘You’re saying he might have killed George in some sort of jealous fit? And Bunny as well, for reasons that escape me?’

‘Not at all,’ Thea almost shouted. ‘I’m saying he knew both of them very well, lives a couple of miles away and was here on the morning I found George’s body.’

‘And he’s Simon’s brother? Are they alike?’

‘Fairly. I think Simon’s older, but Tony took charge when the news came about Bunny. I met them both in Northleach soon after. Simon was more or less useless with shock, and Tony was shepherding him about – seeing the people at the boys’ school, for one thing.’

‘Useless with shock? You thought that was genuine, did you?’

‘Very much so.’

‘He has to present a front as a matter of course, you know, at his hotel. Probably very good at hiding his feelings.’

‘I know, but even so…’ Why am I defending
him, she asked herself? ‘I just don’t want it to be him,’ she admitted miserably.

‘Nor me,’ Gladwin agreed. ‘I hate to think what it’d mean for those kids.’

‘Right,’ said Thea. ‘The kids. It all comes down to them, in the end.’

‘I’m still not entirely sure why you called me,’ Gladwin resumed after a short silence.

‘Nor me,’ smiled Thea. ‘I think I just wanted somebody sensible to talk to. It used to be Phil, you see…’ she tailed off helplessly, resisting the slide into self-pity. ‘I used to be much more
included
. I suppose I miss it.’

‘You could still sign up for the force, you know. Even if you don’t qualify as a uniformed, you could be a special, or admin, or clerical. There’s loads of openings.’

For a moment, Thea considered the prospect of such a life change. A real job, with regular income, with all the paperwork and commitment and a desk and colleagues. Things she had never in her life experienced. She’d worked at a succession of indifferent jobs after graduating and before Jessica was born, but that period of her life had been very short and inconsequential, overshadowed by Carl and the thrill of being married. ‘I doubt if they’d have me,’ she said. ‘I haven’t got anything you could call a CV, for a start.’

‘Phil’s not on this case, anyway,’ Gladwin went on, dismissing Thea’s objections with a flip of her hand. ‘There’s something up in Broadway that he’s focusing on.’

‘Anyway…you think you’ve cracked this one, then? Done and dusted?’

‘I wouldn’t go as far as that. Very strong suspicions, yes. Evidence, motive, means – no. And about a dozen loose ends.’

‘Such as George.’

‘Exactly.’

Gladwin stayed for a mug of tea, and then went with Thea to feed the donkey. ‘I’m intrigued by this animal,’ she admitted. ‘What does it
do
all day?’

‘Not a lot in this weather. Dreams dreams, I guess. Lets the time pass. What do most animals do?’

‘Work. Breed. Socialise. This poor fellow gets none of that. It’s cruel, if you think about it. Has he ever worked in his life?’

‘I have no idea,’ Thea shrugged. ‘I can’t imagine there’s much call for donkey work any more. It’s a surprise, really, that there are any left. Don’t they say that once we all turn vegetarian, that’ll
be the end of sheep and cows and pigs? Donkeys are obsolete already.’

‘And I’d say their days are numbered, at least in this country.’

‘Pity. He’s an inoffensive creature. They deserve to exist for their own sake, same as everything else.’

‘Of course he does, in theory. But it depends on rich philanthropists like your Lucy. She’s got all this land just for one useless animal.’

Thea sighed at the familiar turn of conversation. The donkey tore at his fresh hay, nodding his head up and down as if agreeing with the sentiments being expressed. ‘He goes for regular little walks as well, though I haven’t seen him down by the big gate since last week. He definitely went down there in the snow, because I saw his tracks.’

‘Ah yes. Tracks.’ It was as if she had been summoned back to work after a break. ‘I knew there was a good reason why I came out here with you. I wanted to check all that again. We need to draw diagrams, to get it all straight. It might be needed as evidence, if this business ever comes to trial.’ She spoke distractedly, her eyes flickering from one corner of the paddock to another. ‘It would be great to have a complete picture of what must have happened. I hope you can still remember it all?’

‘I expect I can,’ said Thea, mentally running through the events of the previous week. Seven days ago, the whole area had been blanketed with snow, pristine on its first day. ‘Though I’m slightly hazy about what happened on which day, now. Let me think. It was Friday morning I saw the footprints, wasn’t it?’ she asked herself. ‘So it was Friday when I called the police about the body in the field?’

Gladwin said nothing, just giving a slight nod. Thea continued, ‘Saturday I went to Nicky’s party. Sunday I found George and you found Bunny on Monday night. Then you identified her and I met the Newbys in Northleach. It was still snowy then.’ She looked up in triumph. ‘That’s right, isn’t it?’

‘As far as I know, yes. Does it suggest anything to you, timing-wise?’

‘Not really. Do you mean that Simon might have been acting innocent all the time we were playing games and eating ice cream for Nicky’s birthday? That Bunny was already dead then, and he knew it? When did anybody last see her alive?’

‘Thursday. She was in Bristol at a meeting, that morning. Said she was going straight home afterwards.’

‘But she couldn’t because of the snow.’ The effort of keeping it all in her head was starting
to cause Thea some trouble. There was definitely something amiss with the story, where Bunny’s movements were concerned.

‘Maybe,’ Gladwin agreed. ‘The roads were cleared by the middle of that day. The motorways were never really affected, anyway. She could have got to within a few miles of here, with no trouble.’

‘But instead she phoned them and said she couldn’t manage it.’

‘She didn’t phone. She texted. We saw the messages on Simon’s mobile.’

‘So?’

‘So he could easily have sent it himself from her phone, to cover himself.’

‘She didn’t call Nicky about his party?’

‘Nope. Nobody spoke to her after Thursday morning, so far as we can gather. We’ve been trying the number of her phone every now and then, just to see if someone finds it and picks it up.’

Thea was still focusing on the timing. ‘But she
did
come home, because she died here. When?’

Gladwin shrugged. ‘That’s the big question which we can’t answer precisely. From the amount of snow on top of her, and the state of her insides, it looks like Friday, but we can’t be certain.’

They were walking back to the barn, the light
fading rapidly. Thea wondered at the apparent lack of urgency in the detective’s demeanour. Was this, then, a crucial interview – something she had planned to conduct in any case, regardless of Thea’s earlier phone call? ‘Do you want to see the baby rabbits?’ she asked. ‘They’re so sweet.’

‘OK,’ said Gladwin with a girlish grin, and Thea found herself rejoicing in the femaleness of her companion. Gladwin had twin boys of her own. She understood baby things and the minor miracles of motherhood. If it had been Phil, she’d have felt foolish in doting over such unimportant scraps of life.

The babies were growing fast, their eyes open and tiny ears just starting to lift from their early flat position. Thea fished one out and handed it to the detective superintendent. ‘Aaahh!’ she sighed.

‘Lucy was amazed when I told her about them.’

‘Why? Was it an immaculate conception?’

‘Not at all. She’s a bit naive about it, if you ask me. She left the buck with all the does while she mucked them out. She’s lucky they didn’t all have babies.’

‘Do you think I could have a couple of them for my boys? They’re old enough now to do some of the cleaning and feeding.’

Thea hesitated. ‘Not for me to say,’ was her
reply, covering herself. It was true, of course, but her resistance was much more due to the idea of the vulnerable little rabbits being consigned to the care of two growing boys. ‘Would they treat them properly?’ she couldn’t refrain from asking.

Gladwin gave her a look. ‘Of course. They’re as soft as anything, real cissies. We’ve deliberately gone that way with them – which shouldn’t surprise you, if you think about it.’

Thea thought. ‘You’ve seen too much of feral urban youth, knifing each other for no good reason,’ she summarised. ‘So yours resolve any arguments by rational discussion and a warm hug.’

Gladwin laughed delightedly. ‘That’s the idea,’ she confirmed. ‘And being in charge of two adorable little bunnies is just the thing to cement that approach.’

‘You’ll have to ask Lucy, then. I expect she’ll be more than happy to find a home for them so easily.’

It was a stolen interlude from the serious business of investigating murder, and they both knew it couldn’t last. The detective was skilfully concealing the stress of her work, showing no overt sign of urgency or anxiety. Her skinny figure suggested a busy life with little time for food or idleness. Her dark eyes habitually darted
from point to point, suggesting constant thought, her brain never resting. But she seemed to have a fair balance in her life, as far as Thea could ascertain. She was a good listener, and in Temple Guiting had shown herself capable of taking short cuts in her work which ran counter to the official regulations. She trusted her own judgement, and thereby earned the trust of others. Her parting remark accurately acknowledged Thea’s feelings. ‘Don’t worry about not being involved in this one,’ she advised. ‘You don’t want to get yourself murdered, now do you?’

‘Not really,’ Thea muttered, to the detective’s departing back.

But it was too late, of course. She was involved, like it or not. She had heard disclosures from people close to a murdered woman, and in so doing had quickly come to care about them. She had let Janina and Ben leave without knowing what happened next – would Simon be at home to watch over Ben while Nicky was collected from nursery? Such minutiae of family life acquired great importance, essential for a sense of normality and security on the part of the children. She wished she had told Janina to call on her if help was needed, as she was increasingly convinced it would be.

If evidence was found against Simon, he
would be arrested and kept in custody for the lengthy period before the trial.
If.
Thea tried to assemble everything she knew of the case, searching for possible indicators that Simon had in fact murdered his wife, only to find herself hampered by the many gaps in her knowledge. Nobody had told her where Simon was on Thursday or Friday or Saturday, nor how he felt about Bunny. She knew nothing of his feelings towards George – or George’s towards him, or Bunny’s towards anybody. Janina was hypercritical of both the boys’ parents, but seemed well disposed towards George, and very good with Nicky and Ben. Other people such as Tony, Kate and Granfer Jack appeared to have a part in the picture, none of them with a good word to say about Bunny.

The phone rang, and again her instant thought was of Lucy. It was time for another check-in from her employer, but this was somewhat earlier than her usual calls. And she was wrong again. At first she did not recognise the voice, which began hesitantly. ‘Yes, hello? I’m sorry, but I forgot your name. This is Kate, down the track.’

‘Oh! My name’s Thea. What can I do for you?’ Why were telephone conversations still so stilted, after all these years? There were times when it felt like a frightening new invention,
even to someone whose great-grandmother had used it. Perhaps because it continued to carry associations of bad news or intrusive attempts to sell you something.

‘We thought you might like to come and eat with us. You must be lonely, up there by yourself.’

‘How kind of you. When?’

‘Well, we generally start about six, if that’s all right.’

Six! It was already five-fifteen. No time for a bath and a hair wash, then. ‘Today?’

‘That’s right. Do you like liver?’

Did
anybody
like liver? ‘Um…’ she said. ‘I don’t think I’ve had it since I was little.’

‘You’ll like it the way I do it,’ she was assured. ‘With bacon and onions and thick gravy. Just the thing for a cold winter evening.’

‘I’ll walk down, then, shall I?’ The track would be slippery and dark, and coming back would be even worse. But you couldn’t drive such a short distance – that would be stupid.

‘Granfer can come and fetch you. He knows every inch of the way. That barn was ours, you realise. Used to keep the big implements in it, when I was a girl. There were owls roosting in the beams.’

The nostalgia was palpable, the usual sweet mixture of regret and rose-coloured memories.
‘I’d love to hear more about that,’ she said, stilted again. ‘I’ll wait for your father to get here, then, shall I?’

‘He’ll be half an hour or so. I told him he has to shave first.’