Rough And Deadly (A Much Winchmoor Mystery Book 2)

by Paula Williams

  “No, she’s not at the moment. Can I give her a message?”

  The pause went on for so long I thought he’d ended the call.

  “Uncle Richard? Are you still there?”

  “Sorry, Katie. The signal keeps going. And no, there’s no message. I might…”

  But I never found out what he might, or might not, do because there were three beeps and a ‘call failed’ message appeared. I tried to call him back but it kept going to voice mail, so in the end I gave up.

  “Who was that?” Dad asked as I went back into the sitting room.

  “Uncle Richard. He was calling Mum. So, you see, she can’t be with him. Otherwise he wouldn’t be calling her, would he? She must be at Grandma’s. Shall I call her? Just to be sure?”

  Dad’s eyes hardened. “Don’t bother. What was Richard phoning for? Did he say?”

  “No. But it was a very bad line. It sounded as if he was in his car. Or something like that.”

  “No doubt he was calling to fix a time and place for them to meet up,” he said. “Now, I really am off to bed. I’ve got work in the morning. And please, promise me you won’t phone your Grandma. I don’t want your mother to think I’m chasing after her. I have my pride, you know.”

  I promised, reluctantly. I knew from long experience there was no point trying to get my dad to change his mind once he’d made it up. So I finished off the last of the double chocolate chip ice cream, then headed off to bed myself.

  ***

  I woke early next morning. I could hear Dad moving around downstairs, getting ready for work. He wasn’t doing very well because, when I went down to the kitchen, he was sitting at the table, staring down at a piece of burnt toast on the plate in front of him. He looked like he – and the toast – had been sitting there for some time.

  “Do you want some more toast?” I asked.

  “No thanks. I’m not hungry.”

  “Shall I make you up some sandwiches, or something for your lunch box?” I asked. “There’s still some of that mac and cheese.”

  “No there isn’t,” Dad said. “It’s in the bin. Best place for it. And I’ll grab myself something for lunch at work.”

  “Dad? I don’t suppose…?”

  He shook his head. “She didn’t come back, if that’s what you were going to ask.”

  “Well, at least it’s Monday so I don’t have to worry about the salon. But I’m telling you now, Dad, I’m phoning Grandma, whether you want me to or not.”

  “She won’t thank you for phoning at this time of the morning.”

  “I don’t mean now. I mean later.”

  He shrugged. “You must do what you like. I’m going to—”

  He never got to finish his sentence. There was a sharp rap at the door. We both looked at each other.

  Who the hell would be calling at this time of the morning?

  Unless, I thought with a flicker of hope, it was Mum. Maybe she’d forgotten her key as well as her phone. But then I remembered that her house keys would have been with her car keys.

  Not Mum then.

  There came another rap, a little sharper this time. Whoever it was, they weren’t going away.

  “I’ll go,” I said, when it looked as if Dad had been turned to the very stone he spent his working hours chiselling away at.

  “Ben!” I opened the door and gave a huge sigh of relief, as I recognised one of my old school friends standing there. “It’s a bit early. But come on in. Do you want a coffee? I’m just making some.”

  Ben Watkins shook his head. “No thanks. I’m afraid this isn’t a social call, Katie,” he said.

  “Kat,” I said automatically.

  “Sorry, Kat. Like I said, this isn’t a social call. I’m on duty.”

  “Really?” I took in his fancy leather coat, his chinos, his smart linen shirt. “You don’t look much like you’re on duty to me.”

  “I’m CID now.”

  “Oh, wow! That’s brilliant,” I forced a smile. “You’ll end up Chief Constable at this rate. Are you sure you won’t have that coffee? I make a really good one, you know.”

  I was babbling. I knew I was, but I couldn’t stop myself, as all my previous anxiety about Mum came rushing back, brought on by the sombre expression on Ben’s face.

  “Katie – Kat. I’m afraid there’s been an incident. On Long Moor Drove. A car was found in the rhine and…” He looked across the road, where Doris Yarcombe was casting curious glances in our direction as she took forever to put something in her bin. “Look, I think it would be better if I came in.”

  I staggered back as if he’d punched me. But I held firmly to the door. In fact, I really, really wanted to close it in his face.

  “Incident? You mean – an accident?” I clung to the door as if it was a life raft and I’d just jumped off the Titanic. “When? When did it happen?”

  Because, of course, it couldn’t be Mum. He was going to tell us the accident happened yesterday morning, when she was still here. And then that would be fine. And I could start breathing again.

  “We’re pretty sure it happened about four o’clock yesterday afternoon,” he said, and I remembered the siren I’d heard as I was settling down to work.

  “Is she…?” My mouth had gone dry. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. I couldn’t believe what I’d been about to ask. And I sure as hell didn’t want to hear the answer.

  “Dad!” I called as I hurried back into the kitchen. Ben followed.

  Dad was sitting at the kitchen table, still staring at the same piece of toast. But judging from the expression on his face, he’d heard everything Ben had said.

  Ben cleared his throat. “I’m afraid there’s been an incident, Mr Latcham. Out on Long Moor Drove. A car was found in the rhine.”

  “Is she…?” I tried again.

  Ben nodded. “Yes. I’m very sorry. I’m afraid she was dead long before the paramedics arrived on the scene. There was nothing they could do for her.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  There was a stunned silence. At least I think there was. There was certainly a stunned silence inside my head as my brain struggled to take in what Ben was saying.

  Accident… Car in rhine… Dead…

  But it was like a cold, grey fog had swirled into our kitchen and flooded my brain. Dense. Dark. Disorientating.

  No. No. Noooooo. It was a mistake.

  I don’t exactly remember but I think I looked at Dad. And I think he looked at me. Maybe we said something. Or maybe not. Maybe we just stood and stared at Ben while he took his notebook from the pocket of his cool leather jacket and clicked his pen.

  “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news,” he said when it became obvious that both Dad and I had been robbed of the power of speech. “Is your wife here?”

  Dad looked blankly at him. “My… wife?”

  I, too, was staring at him, while my heart crashed and banged in my chest like a canary having a panic attack.

  “You mean, the woman in the car? It’s not…? She didn’t…?” I was having trouble getting my tongue to work, let alone my brain. “Who – who was it?”

  “We don’t want her name released yet because we haven’t traced her next of kin. But we believe it to be a Mrs Tanya Latcham. Although that has yet to be confirmed officially.”

  I sat down with a thump. Dad looked like someone had just cut him off at the knees.

  “Aunty Tanya? Dead?” I was still trying to get my head around the fact that it had been Tanya and not my mum in that car in the rhine. Trying, also, to suppress the urge to punch the air and shout alleluia. Not alleluia that Tanya was dead, of course. But that my mother – my infuriating, bossy, worst cook in the world mother – was alive. And I vowed that, from this day on, I would eat and pretend to enjoy every single thing she dished up.

  “She is related to you, then?” Ben asked. “I thought she might be, which is why I'm here. Yours is a fairly unusual surname.”

  “Yes, she’s my aunt,” I said as it w
as beginning to look as if Dad would never speak again. “Married to Dad’s brother, Richard. She’d – she’d been staying with us for a few days.”

  “And do you know where Richard Latcham is?” Ben asked. “Only he’s not at the family home in Bristol. Neighbours say they haven’t seen him since yesterday morning.”

  “He came down here yesterday morning. Oh, poor Uncle Richard,” I said as the reality of the tragedy began to sink in, now the first surge of relief that it wasn’t Mum had passed. “I don’t know where he is, but he phoned last night.”

  I figured Ben didn’t need to know that Richard had actually called to speak to Mum and went on: “It sounded like he was calling from his car. But he didn’t say where he was or where he was going.”

  Ben didn't comment as he wrote in his notebook.

  “He’s going to be devastated,” I added. “What happened, do you know? That road across Long Moor can be treacherous, especially if you don’t know it.”

  I didn’t want to add that Tanya had been drinking in the pub, which may well have contributed to the accident. The police would find that out soon enough, no doubt.

  Ben hesitated. “Look, maybe I shouldn’t be saying this. But we have reason to believe that Mrs Latcham’s death was not an accident.”

  “What?” Dad jerked back to life as if someone had kicked him hard.

  “What do you mean?” I said. “If it wasn’t an accident, then…?”

  “We are treating her death as suspicious.”

  “Suspicious? Do you mean she was murdered?” I gasped “But how?”

  “I can’t disclose that at the moment,” Ben said. “I’m afraid I am having to question anyone who was in contact with her in the last twenty-four hours. When did you last see her?”

  “Oh, right. I see,” I said. “Well, she stayed here for a few days, then moved into the pub on Friday. Mary will be able to show you her room and all that.”

  He wrote something in his notebook then looked at Dad. “And your wife, Mr Latcham? Do you think I could speak to her?”

  Dad and I exchanged worried glances.

  “She’s…” I began.

  “The thing is…” Dad cut in. “She’s popped out. Early.”

  One of Ben’s eyebrows lifted. “Really? Popped out where, exactly?”

  “Do you know, I’m not absolutely sure,” Dad answered. “She does a few home visits, you know. Every now and again. People who can’t get in to the salon. Why don’t you call back later, when she’ll be back?”

  “I’ll do that. The thing is, I have to ask you all this question. Just so we can get a picture of who was where and when. So, Mr Latcham? Where were you at four o’clock yesterday afternoon?”

  “Four o’clock, you say?” His glance darted around the room as if searching for an escape hatch. “Was that the time of the… of the… um… the accident?”

  “So where were you?” Ben stood there, notebook open, pen poised.

  “I was at my allotment. Over by the old railway embankment. Well, you’ll know where I mean, being a local lad.”

  “I do. And did anyone see you?”

  Dad’s hand went up to smooth his non-existent hair. “I’m not sure. It was Sunday afternoon and there was football on the telly. I was the only person up there.”

  Ben turned to me. “And you, Katie?”

  “Kat.” The response was automatic. I was still trying to figure out what the hell Dad was thinking about by lying to the police about Mum’s whereabouts. “I was here, working. I write for The Chronicle and was doing a piece about Margot and I…” I broke off as something occurred to me. “Margot! That makes two murders in the village within a few days. First Margot, and now Tanya. You don’t think the two are connected, do you?”

  “It’s not my place to speculate,” Ben said. “And were you home alone?”

  “Yes,” I said quickly, before Dad could jump in with another lie. “Mum had gone out. I’m not sure where. You’ll have to ask her.”

  “I will,” he said. “So, when was the last time you saw your aunt?”

  “That would be yesterday afternoon. Just a little before three o’clock. I was passing the pub when she came out, got into her car and drove off.”

  “Did you talk to her?”

  “No. I don’t even think she saw me. She was too busy chattering away on her phone.”

  “She had a phone?”

  “Of course. Who doesn’t these days? Why do you ask?”

  He didn’t answer but gave me a look that implied that he was the one who got to ask the questions, not me. Then he snapped his notebook shut, put away his pen and turned to go.

  “I’ll be back later to speak to your wife, Mr Latcham. In the meantime, if either of you think of anything else, or if Mr Richard Latcham gets in touch, I’d be grateful if you’d call me at this number.”

  He took out a card and laid it on the table. Dad stared at it as if he feared it was about to spontaneously combust.

  The card might not. But I was in danger of doing so. I saw Ben to the door then came back and rounded on Dad.

  “What the hell did you do that for?” I demanded furiously.

  “Do what?” His look of studied innocence didn’t fool me for a nanosecond.

  “You know what. Why did you lie to Ben about where Mum was? You’ll be in all sorts of trouble if he finds out the truth. Lying to the police at any time is serious, but during a murder enquiry it’s absolutely…”

  I stopped before I called him something I’d regret.

  “I didn’t want to make things worse for her,” he muttered. He picked up Ben’s card and pretended to read it.

  “Worse for her?” For a moment I stared at him, bewildered. Then I got it. “For pity’s sake, Dad, you don’t think Mum had anything to do with it?”

  “No, of course I don’t. But that doesn’t mean the police won’t. Not after that row they had.”

  “How did you know about that? You weren’t here at the time.”

  “I know, but Tanya told me. Said she’d never seen your mum so wound up. Didn’t know she had it in her. She said she’d actually threatened her and told her to get out while she still could. Tanya said she was afraid your mum was going to do something terrible to her if she stayed.”

  I glared at him. “And you believed her? Mum said nothing of the sort. You know what Aunty Tanya’s like…” I paused, a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as I corrected myself. “What she was like. You know how she loved to exaggerate. Yes, Mum was pretty mad with her, but at no time did she threaten her with violence. And I’m shocked that you could think that.”

  “Well, I didn’t really. But you’ve got to admit, your mother hasn’t exactly been herself lately.”

  “True,” I admitted. “But anyway, we should call Grandma right away, see if Mum’s there, and tell her to come back pronto.”

  Dad nodded. “You’d better do it, though. If your grandmother hears me on the line she’ll put the phone down.”

  I called Grandma’s number. It rang for so long I began to think she was out. Eventually, though, she answered. As always, she sounded cross, as if she’d been interrupted doing something incredibly important, like completing the Daily Telegraph crossword or counting the silver teaspoons after her cleaning lady had been.

  “Kathryn.” She was the only person on the planet who called me Kathryn. Even though I was christened Katie, Grandma had wanted me to be called Kathryn after a great-aunt. But although Mum had stood firm (Katie had been Dad’s choice) Grandma Kingham always insisted on calling me Kathryn. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this singularly unusual occurrence?”

  “I just wondered if Mum was with you?”

  “And that’s it? No how are you this morning, Grandma? And is your arthritis better today?”

  “Sorry.” I controlled my impatience with difficulty. “How are you this morning, Grandma? And is your arthritis better this morning?”

  “The answers to which are: mustn’t complain;
no, and no she is not.”

  “Mum’s not with you? Are you sure?”

  She tutted. Grandma Kingham’s tuts were legendary. One tut from her and Grandpa Kingham would shrivel like a leaking balloon. Or stand smartly to attention, depending on the nature of the tut and the amount of trouble he was in at the time.

  “It’s really important,” I went on. “Please, let me speak to her.”

  The little pause on the other end of the line told me what I needed to know. Mum was there.

  “This isn’t a trick to get her to speak to your father, is it?” Grandma said. “Because I can tell you this for nothing – she doesn’t want to speak to him.”

  “No. I promise it’s not. I really, really need to talk to her.”

  “What about?” Grandma asked.

  “I – I’ve just had some bad news. Mum will want to know.”

  That was the clincher. The only thing Grandma liked better than a bit of bad news was a lot of bad news. There was the sound of a chair being pushed back, some low muttering and, a few minutes later, Mum came on the phone.

  “Katie?” She sounded worried. “What’s wrong?”

  Just the sound of her voice made me weak with relief. And it brought back the memory of the overwhelming fear I’d felt when Ben had first told us of the body in the rhine and we’d thought it was Mum. My throat tightened and my eyelids prickled.

  “Aunty Tanya’s dead,” I blurted out. The exchange with Grandma had wiped all the carefully worded phrases I’d planned on using clean out of my head. “The police think she’s been murdered.”

  There was a long silence.

  “Mum? Hello? Are you still there?”

  “I’m still here,” she said faintly. “When did this happen? And where? Does Richard know?”

  “It happened on Long Moor Drove. Her car was found in the rhine yesterday afternoon. And as far as I know, Uncle Richard doesn’t know yet, as he’s not at home and the police haven’t been able to trace him. Do you know where he is?”

  “Me?” She sounded surprised. “No, of course I don’t. Why would you think that?”

  “Because he called you last night. You left your phone on the dresser in the kitchen, did you know that?”