by Rebecca Tope
Thea noted the effort to avoid sounding so American, to adopt a more dignified diction. The British spoke so formally, with their clipped t’s and proper sentences, that any American living amongst them must hear himself as sloppy, if not downright slurred, by comparison. Artie Latimer might have a very British surname, and he must have some money to afford that nice house, but he was still an alien abroad.
The group dispersed and the quiet life of Northleach resumed without a ripple. The old man patted his dogs and drained his cup of tea. There was a faint misting on his shoulders, from sitting so long outside. Were his dogs not allowed into the café? It was the same one that had admitted Hepzie on Wednesday.
Caz went back to Lucy’s house with Thea. They had not discussed it first, but it was clearly inevitable. Thea accepted effusions from the briefly-abandoned dog and then made tea, prepared for a lengthy update on the murder investigation. It was close to three o’clock; Stephanie and Timmy would soon be home, and Drew would be finishing his third burial of the day. Thea calculated that she could justifiably give herself another hour in Northleach.
‘Well,’ she said. ‘That was exciting. Although I still don’t understand why you called it a development.’ She ran through the incident again. ‘Did you already know that Millie was crying about Ollie, when you came to get me?’
Caz shook her head. ‘Nope. The man had already told me to back off, that it was a private family matter, and he had it all under control. I had no grounds for interfering, so I came to get you. At least, I hoped you’d be here. I thought you might know them,’ she added with a grin.
‘But why give it any attention at all? A child bawling in the street is hardly unusual. None of the locals were taking any notice. There was no blood.’
‘I know. Just a gut reaction, I guess. I mean, she was so upset, I couldn’t just ignore it. But I had no authority to intervene, either. So—’
‘Yes, I see,’ said Thea, feeling rather smug at the obvious implication that she was regarded as a kind of all-purpose saviour when it came to distressed locals near the scene of a murder. ‘Well, we learnt something, which means you did the right thing. The Latimers knew Ollie, which for me anyway is fresh information. Although …’ She thought back to the encounter with Bobby and Buster the day before, ‘I suppose it was assumed that Bobby knew him when I was talking to her yesterday. She didn’t actually say so. She certainly didn’t seem very upset.’
‘The Latimers,’ said Caz heavily. ‘You know practically everything about them, don’t you? What they all do for a living and where they were born.’
‘Mostly, yes,’ Thea confirmed. ‘Don’t you? I talked about them yesterday, remember?’
‘Remind me,’ Caz invited. ‘Now we’ve got a firm link between Ollie and the child.’
Thea did her best to encapsulate everything she had learnt from her two meetings with Bobby, whilst trying to fill in some gaps. ‘She never said anything about Ollie working at the school. She must have known yesterday that he wouldn’t be coming back and that Millie would be upset about it. She sounded as if she disapproved of him and his friends – wouldn’t she object to letting him work with small children? What about the drugs? She must have known what everybody was saying about him and the others. It doesn’t fit.’
‘Maybe she knew better. Who runs this school? It hasn’t come up in any of our interviews as somewhere Ollie worked. They’ve got to have been satisfied that he was no risk to the kiddies. There are all those hoops to jump through.’
‘I know,’ said Thea. ‘Unless he just popped in on an informal basis. Artie seemed to be saying he did outdoor stuff with them once a week. Maybe he taught the older ones how to work a camera.’
‘Pardon?’
‘He made films. You obviously knew that. That’s what they were doing at that house. YouTube and all that sort of thing. About athletics. Oh – there it is!’ She held up a finger. ‘He’d have been getting the kids to exercise, to improve coordination or stretch their muscles. That sort of thing. He’d be ideally qualified for that.’
Caz had her phone in her hand, tapping and swiping and peering at the text that came up. ‘Okay,’ she said sheepishly. ‘I hadn’t caught up with that bit. It wasn’t in the briefing,’ she added defensively.
‘Oh?’ Thea was vague about police briefings, but had an idea that a senior officer would assemble the team each morning and bring them up to date with all information and avenues of investigation that had occurred the previous day. The day job of a murder victim surely had to be of considerable interest. ‘But you are on the team, aren’t you?’
Caz nodded. ‘They’ve got me looking into the father – Kevin Sinclair. That’s more than enough to keep me busy. That man’s life has been seriously messy, I can tell you.’
‘But he didn’t kill Ollie,’ said Thea, without pausing to think. She had already reached that conclusion, and now it was simply axiomatic. Whoever the killer might have been, it was not Kevin Sinclair.
‘He might have done,’ Caz argued. ‘They certainly didn’t get along very well.’
Again, Thea remembered what Vicky had said. Nobody really liked Ollie. ‘Lots of people disliked him,’ she said aloud. ‘According to his girlfriend.’
‘Vicky Upfield,’ Caz nodded with a look of relief. ‘She’s been interviewed.’
‘I know she has. And she didn’t say anything about Jan and Nikola, which was bad of her. But I expect you’ve located them by now, anyway. She came here this morning, by the way. You told me about the filming and the Polish friends and all that, didn’t you?’
‘Of course I did,’ said Detective Sergeant Caz Barkley wearily.
They talked for an hour, sharing ideas and making connections, with Caz repeatedly grimacing at Thea’s appeals for detail that were strictly meant to be kept confidential. How exactly had Ollie died? And when? Who were the main suspects? What exactly was so messy about Kevin’s life? They went around the same questions and guesses and contradictions three or four times, getting nowhere. As always happened when Thea was talking to a police detective, the professionalism fell away and they were just two people trying to solve a puzzle. It had been the same with Phil Hollis and Sonia Gladwin – both senior ranks and both putty in Thea Slocombe’s hands.
‘Where’s your friend?’ Caz asked at one point, quite out of the blue. ‘The owner of this house, I mean.’
‘Lucy? Good question. She left hospital this morning without telling me, and I’ve no idea where she’s gone. It’s quite weird, actually.’
‘Especially as she’s stepmother to the murder victim,’ said Caz meaningfully. ‘Could be she’s got reason to go into hiding.’
‘You think she knows who did it and is scared of them?’
‘It’s got to be possible.’
‘She’ll show up eventually,’ said Thea, feeling the same uncomfortable sense of offence as she had earlier. ‘It is quite rude of her, though,’ she added.
‘Yes.’ Caz was clearly pursuing the subject, thinking through some of the implications. ‘She might well be scared the killer’s after her as well. So she’s waiting until we’ve caught him before coming home.’
‘Have you heard anything that might even remotely suggest that?’
Caz worked her shoulders. ‘Not really – have you?’
‘Absolutely not. And after all this talk we’ve just had, it’s pretty obvious that neither of us has got close to the crucial facts. There’s a story hidden away that we’re a million miles from grasping.’
‘Where should we be looking?’ Caz asked, with a wild expression. ‘Nobody in this place will tell us anything. They all belong to that committee thing, which isn’t really a committee at all, but that doesn’t seem to have anything to do with anything.’
‘None of them seem to like each other much,’ Thea observed. ‘Vicky said Ollie was unpopular. Lucy couldn’t find anybody she trusted enough to watch out for her house. The Latimers are interlopers and Faith and Livia are just odd.�
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They had already gone over much of this ground. The police had seen no reason to interview Lucy’s neighbours, and Thea couldn’t supply one. Now she considered them again. ‘Could be they’re the reason Lucy hasn’t come home,’ she speculated. ‘She said something about them watching her all the time. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve made her jittery.’
‘So, are they a couple or not?’ Caz had asked at the start, with utter predictability. Thea had tried to explain, with scant success. ‘Sounds to me that there’s not much of a question about it,’ said the detective. ‘As if anybody cares.’
‘Exactly,’ said Thea. ‘Nobody cares except them – they apparently think it’s something awful. And the irony is the more they insist it’s not true, the more people assume it is.’
‘As you say – odd. But not really suspicious.’
Before they could go round it all again, Thea stood up. ‘I’ve got to go,’ she said. ‘And you’re probably meant to be somewhere, aren’t you?’
‘Duty calls for both of us,’ said Caz. ‘Are you coming back here at the weekend?’
Thea spread her hands in a gesture of ignorance. ‘Who knows? I did tell Stephanie I might bring her here so she can explore a bit. She might like to see the church. But I’m not staying overnight, whatever happens.’
‘Your dog looks hungry.’ Hepzie was pushing an empty water bowl across the floor and Thea realised she had not filled it even at the start when she and the dog had first arrived. Lucy must have put it out for her.
‘Thirsty more likely, poor thing. I can’t imagine when she last had a drink. Sorry, Heps.’ She filled the bowl at the sink and gave it to the spaniel. ‘Did I tell you about Lucy’s old dog, Jimmy?’ she began. ‘The one I had to look after in Hampnett when she lived in a converted barn?’
‘Another time,’ said Caz decisively. ‘Unless you think it’s evidence of something.’
‘It’s not,’ sighed Thea. ‘Only my own bad character, anyway. It amazes me that Lucy’s asked me to be a house-sitter for her again, after that.’
Caz cocked her head. ‘So why did she? Either you’re much more responsible than you think you are, or she really couldn’t find anybody else.’ She looked round the room, and out into the back garden. ‘And why have a sitter anyway? What’s so precious that it needs guarding?’
‘That’s exactly what I want to know,’ said Thea.
Chapter Fourteen
There was a strong sense of failure swirling through Thea as she drove home through the persistent mist. The day had cut itself short, any potential sunlight giving up all pretence that it might yet break through, and the still-bare trees glistening with damp. It would be close to five when she got back, walking into the family home and dealing with tired, hungry people all wanting to debrief at the end of their week.
Her own debriefing had already been provided by Barkley, rather to her relief. She was all talked out, dumping her observations without the slightest idea as to what they suggested about the people she’d met. Nobody seemed particularly likeable, but nor did they give any clue that they might be capable of murder. If she had been forced to lay a bet on any of them, she supposed it would be Hunter Lanning. He at least had said or done nothing to make her want to defend him, unlike poor Kevin Sinclair. The two Polish men had to be kept in mind too, she presumed. A fight over a piece of film editing could have ended tragically – the two foreigners dashing back to their motherland for fear of retribution. Hadn’t Caz admitted that the exact time of Ollie’s death was very uncertain? But Vicky had implied, if not said directly, that the two had been out of the UK for a while. She could have been lying, of course. There were plenty of wild scenarios that would make that perfectly likely.
And now she had met Artie Latimer, she cautiously put him on the list, as well. He wasn’t big, but he looked as if he might have lurking anger issues.
Plus, of course, there were all those women, any one of whom might have wielded a sharp instrument quite effectively, too.
Broad Campden was murky under its generous provision of trees, the track down to the Slocombe house close to night-time darkness. Thea let Hepzie out of the car before she reversed it into the opening at the side of the house, as she often did. The dog would run up to the front door and yap, to announce her presence. She noted that the hearse and van were both neatly in place behind the house. If her calculations were correct, there would be no bodies in the back room for the whole weekend. Unless, of course, something had happened during the day to change that. If so, she couldn’t think who would do the removal, or when.
Drew was waiting for her on the doorstep, unsmiling. ‘We’ve got a visitor,’ he said, without lowering his voice. ‘She’s been here for quite some time.’
Thea’s first thought was it must be Gladwin, the detective superintendent who had not so far put in an appearance in connection with the Northleach murder, but had perhaps zoomed back from her holiday in order to take over the investigation. Drew had never been entirely reconciled to the relationship between her and Thea. His glum expression strongly suggested Gladwin. ‘Who – Sonia?’ she asked him.
‘No. Lucy Sinclair,’ he said, still speaking loudly enough to be heard throughout the ground floor. ‘I’ve been trying to phone you.’
‘Have you? I should have heard it, then. It’s been switched on all day.’ But mostly out of earshot in her jacket pocket, she remembered. Not since about two o’clock had she given any thought to its existence. ‘Why is she here?’ she asked, in belated bewilderment. ‘I’ve been waiting for her all day in Northleach.’
All day echoed inside her head. What a very long day it had been, with so many conversations and ideas and questions that she knew she would never get it all straight, piled as it all was on top of similar encounters on Wednesday and Thursday.
‘Well, come on then and talk to her,’ Drew ordered impatiently. ‘It’s Friday evening and everybody’s exhausted. Stephanie’s in a state about something again, and I haven’t had a minute to find out what the matter is.’
‘How did the funerals go?’ Thea asked dutifully. If she didn’t say it now, she might not get another chance until it was too late. Better not to ask at all than to leave it to the next day, or even bedtime on this day.
‘Fine,’ he said as if that was the very least item to be considered.
Lucy was in the sitting room looking small but dogged, in one of the armchairs. Timmy and Stephanie were both on the sofa, looking very uncomfortable. The television was off and there was no sign that they’d been doing anything at all – just sitting there with this unknown woman. Had Drew ordered them to entertain her while he got on with something important? There was not the slightest hint of any preparations for an evening meal. Takeaway Chinese, Thea decided on the instant. That was one major item off the list, which came as a great relief.
‘Lucy,’ she said, trying not to sound too friendly. ‘What’s going on?’
‘I’m sorry.’ The voice was wobbly, but the expression behind it did not waver at all. ‘Your husband did try to phone you … and your children have been very hospitable.’
The only way any of this could make sense was if Thea had somehow missed a large and crucial part of the day’s story. Her thoughts were filled with questions about logistics as she tried to comprehend the mental map that included Oxford, Northleach and Broad Campden. ‘Where’s your car?’ she asked, idiotically, forgetting what the nurse had told her.
‘What? My car? It’s in Northleach, of course.’
‘Oh – yes, that’s right. Nursey’s uncle drove you, didn’t he? But surely you haven’t been here since then? That was hours ago. Five hours, at least,’ she calculated. ‘Drew’s been doing funerals all day.’
‘I was in Chipping Campden for most of the time. I had lunch there and looked round the shops. Then I came here.’
‘But why?’ Thea almost wailed. Protocol had been breached, lines crossed, rules ignored. It had been wrong when Lucy showed up on T
uesday – now it was unforgivable. The woman was turning into a stalker. And Drew was cross about it.
‘You’re the only person I can trust,’ came the manipulative reply. ‘I can’t go back to Northleach with things the way they are.’
‘Of course you can,’ said Thea, feeling ruthless. ‘I’ll drive you there myself, if I have to.’ And then she could go and collect a lavish Chinese dinner from Chipping Campden on the way home, she thought – which might go some way towards consoling her disgruntled family. If she went now, the meal would not be too drastically much later than usual. Stephanie could phone in the order … and Lucy Sinclair could just sort her own problems out as best she might.
‘I was hoping you’d let me stay the night,’ said Lucy, with another unwavering stare. Just how this battle of wits – or, more accurately, wills – had developed, Thea wasn’t sure. It was as if it had all been prepared in advance, ready for her to walk into.
‘Well, you hoped in vain,’ she said. ‘I’m not obligated to you, Lucy, not the least little bit. You’ve messed me about all week, one way or another, and wasted a lot of my time. Now the hospital have said you can go home, that’s where you should go.’
She had forgotten Drew’s children, sitting there so quietly. For a moment she saw herself through their eyes – unkind, unsympathetic, refusing to listen. It was not an image to be proud of. ‘Look,’ she started again. ‘I can see you’re nervous about something, but I can’t imagine what it might be. Your house is right there in the main street, with people on all sides. There’s even a police presence at the moment, after what happened. You can’t possibly be in any real danger. If I’m prepared to do another hour’s driving to take you back, I think that’s about as much as you can expect from me. Any reasonable person would think the same.’
‘She’s scared,’ Stephanie interrupted. ‘She thinks she might be murdered next.’
Thea hesitated, mainly in the hope that she could redeem herself. Then she took a deep breath. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I know the whole situation’s quite unsettling. Probably everyone in Northleach is feeling a bit paranoid at the moment. But life has to go on. I don’t suppose the person who killed Ollie is still in town, anyway. Most likely he’s in Poland or somewhere.’