Death at Rainbow Cottage

by Jo Allen

  ‘Oh, no. Everyone’s different.’ Natalie chased a slice of tomato around the plate with her fork before forcing herself to eat it, chewing slowly and chasing it down with a mouthful of thin black coffee. ‘Claud always says. Tolerance and diversity extend to the little things in life. It isn’t just about colour or gender or sexuality or religion. It’s about everyone being allowed to do things their way. If we can’t be tolerant of other people’s choices, how can we be expected to be tolerant of the things they have no choice over?’ Her pale hair had escaped from the grips that held it and dropped around her face like a curtain as she stared at her plate.

  Running that over in her head a second time to try and make sense of it, Ashleigh gave it up, a debate for another time, preferably late at night in the pub when no-one would remember what they’d said the morning after. ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘So often, too, we resist things in others because we recognise them in ourselves.’ Natalie looked at the ham like someone who’d momentarily forgotten they were vegetarian. ‘That poor man they found.’

  The they was telling, a signal of denial and trauma. ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s obvious that whoever did it hates gay people.’

  It wasn’t obvious, but it was possible. It could have been random. It could have been personal. To date there was nothing to indicate which. ‘That’s an option.’

  ‘Whereas in fact being gay isn’t a binary thing. It’s a spectrum. Almost certainly people who hate gay people don’t hate them because they’re different. They hate them because they recognise the same thing in themselves but are afraid, for whatever reason, of admitting to it.’

  ‘That’s one theory.’ It fitted Giles Butler and his self-loathing too neatly. He’d seemed more uncomfortable about his sexuality than grief-stricken about the loss of the man he’d claimed to love.

  On the far side of the room Faye and Claud shuffled towards the door, still in conversation. Faye had a cardboard cup of coffee in her hand and Claud kept drifting away towards them and then heading back, as if whatever she had to say was too important to let go.

  ‘Oh, it’s more than just a theory. I saw it a lot when I was in acting. People assume the theatre attracts gay people but that’s wrong.’ Natalie, too, was watching Claud and Faye, her fork suspended halfway to her lips. ‘The culture is more open so they’re just less afraid of acknowledging it. I mean, let’s be honest. It’s a rare individual who’s never remotely attracted to someone of the same sex.’

  ‘But that can be to do with personality.’

  ‘Personality is only a part of it. I do believe that if one finds another person attractive there has to be a physical element to it.’ Natalie jabbed her fork into the chaos on her plate. ‘Many friendships are platonic but that’s because of the balance of the relationship. Obviously, heterosexual people don’t fancy every person of the opposite sex they meet. I believe every one of us is bisexual to a degree. Even if we haven’t had a relationship with someone of our own sex it’s usually because we don’t understand how we feel, because society has placed a false definition of sexual attraction upon us. We become defensive about it, but that doesn’t mean the sexual attraction doesn’t exist. And so we feel we’re attracted to the wrong people.’ She folded a scrap of lettuce into a parcel and popped it in her mouth.

  Jude should have been there, listening. There was something so dislocated in Natalie's argument it felt as if she was parroting the words of someone else, without quite remembering them or understanding them enough for them to make sense. In Ashleigh’s experience relationships were far more nuanced than that and she didn’t need to be reminded of it while Faye was standing in the room looking severe. That relationship had been an error of judgement, not gender — the wrong person at the wrong time. ‘What was it like, being an actress?’

  ‘Fairly grim, if I’m honest.’ Natalie considered the debris on her plate and laid her cutlery down. ‘Late nights. Hard work. I loved the job, of course. There’s something magical about going on stage and becoming someone else for an hour or two. It was all the other things that went with it. I’m not an itinerant. As I grew older I began to value the security of routine, and an actor’s life has none of that. The glamour only lasted for a month or so and then I struggled.’

  Police work combined the best and the worst of routine. Most of the time you never knew what you were doing other than that the greater part of it would be dull. ‘No.’

  ‘That’s why I started running. I can control that. I’ve suffered from depression since my late teens.’ Tilting her elegant head towards Ashleigh with a questioning look, Natalie dabbed her lips with a napkin as the few crumbs she’d eaten had filled her up. ‘Claud says I’m obsessed by it. I try and run a hundred miles a week.’

  A hundred miles a week and no carbs. It was enough to make anyone feel faint. ‘Does it work?’

  ‘Yes. Though actually it’s been difficult this week. It’s been so hard to run. I keep thinking about what happened last weekend, wondering what I’ll find every time I run round a corner. But I have to run. I’d run all day if I could. I made myself run past the place where I found that poor man, but only once. Since then I’ve run in the town.’ The sandwich defeated her. She pushed the plate aside and drained the last of her coffee. ‘Claud’s looking for me. I’d better go.’

  Over by the door, Faye and Claud had concluded their conversation and separated, he moving towards them. ‘Okay to go, Nat? Chris Dodd can give us ten minutes on what he thought of the workshop. I can manage without you, if you’re still eating.’

  ‘Just coming.’ Obedient to a summons he hadn’t issued, she jumped up. ‘I suppose I’ll see you again, Ashleigh.’

  The relationship between Natalie and her husband played out on their walk to the door, she gazing up at him and he guiding her with a hand on the small of her back, a one-way dependency he seemed to accept without question. Ashleigh finished her sandwich and finally turned without guilt to the slice of cake that had accompanied it, just as Jude slid round the door. She watched, with more satisfaction than she would have admitted to, as he headed towards her. ‘Sorry. Doddsy was hell bent on telling me everything he’s learned today about respecting other people’s differences.’ He grinned at her. ‘Did you find me a decent sandwich?’

  She stifled her amusement. ‘It’s chicken, all there was left. And thanks to you I’ve had to endure Natalie sitting opposite me, pretending not to judge me for having two lunches. It just about broke me.’

  ‘I have a stronger heart. Or a bigger hunger. It wouldn’t have broken me.’ He sat down, reached for the sandwich and ripped it free from its packaging. ‘Claud seems very taken with our Doddsy. I thought he’d find him a bit too introverted.’

  ‘They’re on first name terms already, by the sound of it.’

  ‘As long as he doesn’t seek my opinion.’ He paused. ‘I saw you talking to Mrs B. What do you make of her?’

  ‘I think there’s something very odd about her.’ Ashleigh lowered her voice to match his.

  ‘I thought that.’ He drained the cup of coffee, already cold, at one go.

  ‘She strikes me as one of those souls who struggles to find peace. You know the sort. Everything they try is the answer, but only for a short time. The only thing that seems to help her is running, or so she says.’

  ‘She runs to live. Some people are like that.’ Jude was a runner himself. ‘I can’t say it gets me that way. I do it to allow myself to think, and I’ve a suspicion she does it for exactly the opposite reason.’

  ‘You don’t go to pieces when you can’t do it, either.’

  ‘No. But she strikes me as having an obsessive personality. That’s what it’s all about. Claud’s a brave man, or a devoted one. I think she might be quite hard to live with.’

  ‘Everyone has their peculiarities.’ Scott had always left his shoes on exactly the same spot just inside the front door.

  ‘I have mine, too, but I don’t get stressed if something dist
urbs them.’ Jude was still staring in the direction in which the Blackwells had disappeared.

  ‘She adores Claud, I think. And depends on him.’

  ‘He certainly seems to have enormous influence on her.’ He looked down at his cup. ‘I’m going for another coffee. Do you want one?’

  If it wasn’t for the fact that Faye was lingering near the counter, making herself obvious and accessible as she’d promised she would, Ashleigh would have offered to go up and get it, but discretion was a virtue. It would be wise to keep a safe space between them. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

  Faye had other ideas. As Jude joined the short queue for a cup of coffee, she detached herself from her position and drifted over as if he was the one she was keen to avoid. ‘Ashleigh.’

  ‘Hi.’ Ashleigh waited for her to take a seat, but she stood a clear yard back.

  ‘I didn’t know you’d come here when you left Cheshire.’

  I’m not hard to find, Ashleigh raged inwardly, but the relationship was over and any leeway had evaporated with it. In work, Faye was a woman who professed informality but practised authority. It wasn’t worth taking liberties involved risk. She said nothing.

  ‘It goes without saying that anything that happened in the past…’ Faye licked her lips, the faintest, only sign of concern, ‘…stays there.’

  So why talk about it? Just say nothing. ‘Fine by me.’

  ‘Good. Because if there’s any gossip, I’ll know where it’s come from.’ Faye shuffled half a step away and raised her voice, for public consumption this time. ‘You’re busy on the Pierce murder, I understand?’

  ‘Among other things.’

  ‘And working closely with Jude Satterthwaite. A workplace romance, I understand. Is that correct?’

  ‘That’s correct.’ Jude put his coffee cup down on the table, pulled out the chair and sat down. His smile was bland, and the expression he turned on Faye gave no clue as to how much of their conversation he’d heard.

  ‘If you’d been able to stay for the rest of this morning’s workshop you’d have seen a very clear case study of the pitfalls of that kind of relationships and ways to avoid them. Among other things.’

  ‘No-one’s complained so far.’

  ‘Good. I take it there was a good reason for you leaving early?’

  ‘Yes. We had a new and important lead in the Pierce case.’ Quite deliberately, Jude helped himself to a corner of Ashleigh’s carrot cake and swapped it for a piece of his chocolate brownie.

  ‘Good news. But there are others this week and it’s important that you make an effort to attend the next one. I’m sure I can squeeze you into one tomorrow.’ And Faye, head held high, swung on her flat heel and stalked out of the canteen.

  Chapter 11

  ‘In a hurry, Jude?’

  He’d been looking at his watch as he strode down the corridor, already running late, and Faye had emerged from her office showing no signs of getting ready to leave. ‘Not particularly. Just off down to join a few guys in the pub. It’s Tammy’s birthday.’

  ‘I see. And you have to go along to pick up the tab. Very generous.’

  Jude enjoyed a drink with friends but he’d have skipped this particular outing if he’d dared. ‘Feel free to go along and relieve me,’ he said, and laughed. Since Tammy had approached him the previous week they’d brokered a delicate truce, as if having had her say she felt it easier to deal with her concerns, but you never knew what mood she’d be in.

  Rather to his surprise, she took it as the joke he’d intended. ‘Maybe another time.’ And then the smile disappeared and her business face was back. ‘Did you find the workshop productive?’

  The workshop was the reason he was running late. ‘Yes. An efficient use of my time.’

  ‘I don’t need the sarcasm. It’s a vital part of working with the community.’

  ‘Of course.’ He looked at his watch again, to telegraph the message. ‘If you don’t mind—’

  ‘Any progress on the Pierce case?’

  ‘I’ll do some more on it later on.’

  ‘After the works drinks?’

  ‘Yes, I imagine so.’

  ‘Then we can discuss it tomorrow.’

  He was due on a rest day the next day but he didn’t remind her in case she saw fit to go through the case on the spot, but if she thought of doing that she was distracted by Claud, backing out of one of the meeting rooms in a profusion of goodbyes.

  Jude sensed escape. ‘Are you heading down to reception, Mr Blackwell? I’ll walk down with you. See you out.’

  Faye shrugged that off. ‘Goodbye, Mr Blackwell. Thank you so much for the workshop. Fine stuff.’

  ‘I’ll email the debriefing notes over to you this evening.’ Claud bounced off down the corridor ahead of him, the jacket of his brown suit straining across his shoulders. ‘Working late to catch our neighbourhood murderer, are you, Chief Inspector?’ He fidgeted with the visitor’s badge clipped to his lapel, snapped it off the moment they reached reception and headed over to the front desk to sign himself out. ‘No nearer laying a hand on him, DI Dodd tells me.’

  ‘I’m doing my best.’ He might have been a bit closer if he hadn’t had to spend an afternoon in Claud’s workshop, but too bad.

  ‘A very fine man, Chris Dodd. And a very useful link on building bridges with the churchgoing community. The feedback on the workshop was excellent, too.’

  ‘Thanks for this afternoon’s session,’ the devil in Jude made him say, as if provoking Faye wasn’t bad enough. ‘It was most enlightening.’

  When Claud turned injured eyes on him, he knew he hadn’t hidden the sarcasm in his tone. ‘I know you people resent having to take the time to do these things. I appreciate you have more than enough to do already. But regular refreshment of attitudes and approaches is vital to public engagement and confidence. Superintendent Scanlon knows that. I’m sure your behaviour is impeccable at all times, but to educate people we need to walk a mile or more in their moccasins.’

  ‘Fair comment.’ Feeling he’d been too sharp, Jude sought to make amends. ‘Is Natalie not with you?’

  ‘She left straight after the workshop. She wanted to run back to Temple Sowerby, but I don’t encourage that on country roads when it’s dark. So she decided to go down into town, run around for a bit until she’s got however many miles she needs today, and catch up with me at the office.’

  ‘You’re based in town?’ A cold blast caught them as they headed out of the building.

  ‘Yeah. We’ve just taken on the lease to a new office up in the church close. It’s a nice enough place, central, and there’s a real community around there.’

  ‘And a great little baker’s in the arcade.’ Jude, who patronised the bakery on a regular basis whenever he had to buy off the team for some minor misdemeanour, was thankful for something other than murder or diversity to talk about as they headed to the car park,.

  ‘I’ll check it out. Nat turns her nose up at cake, of course, but I eat the carbs for her and she runs the calories off for me.’ A grin showed Claud’s face in a different light, a flash of humour underlying his usually fierce expression. ‘I’ll head down there and work until she sees fit to turn up.’

  ‘Do you need a lift? I’m heading down into town myself.’

  ‘A wild night out on a Tuesday, eh? You guys know how to live.’

  ‘It’s a birthday.’

  ‘Every day’s someone’s birthday.’ Claud laughed again. ‘No, I have the car. Nat may like to travel everywhere she can under her own steam, but I don’t have the time.’

  Jude checked his phone for messages for one last time once Claud had left. At least on a Tuesday he’d be unlikely to run into Becca, and he had the next day with Ashleigh to look forward to. In the meantime an uneasy hour trying to keep the peace between Tammy and Doddsy wasn’t something he was looking forward to, and the workshop hadn’t offered him any help in dealing with this particular problem. How would Claud have handled Tammy’s grievance
— as a straightforward case of homophobia or as a mother’s badly-expressed concern? And how would Giles Butler have reacted to the challenge that Claud had issued them with, to be true to themselves and honest with each other?

  *

  In Penrith’s Market Square, Gracie stopped for a moment to glance up at the clock. Twenty past six. Giles was due at seven. Perhaps, after all, she should have taken the car.

  Too late, now. She’d just have to hurry. The last thing she wanted was for him to turn up and find out she wasn’t there. Poor Giles – such a lovely man, such a fragile ego. And so reluctant to confront his problems. His wife wouldn’t mind, in the end, surely. Not after thirty years. Surely she’d be forgiving, because she loved him.

  She sighed as she stopped outside Barclays, fishing into her bag for her purse and sliding the card into the machine. She had no idea of the real state of Giles’s marriage, and what she heard was only one side. Problems, she said to herself fretfully. Other people’s problems. They were much easier to solve than your own.

  Giles had been put out with her on their trip to Temple Sowerby, but surely he’d be over it by now. He knew she’d been right. He’d had no option but to go to the police before they came to him.

  Well, soon enough she’d find out if he’d done it, and what they’d said. Taking the cash from the machine she folded the notes into her purse, slotted the purse into her bag and headed off.

  *

  Jude parked the car at his house in Wordsworth Street and walked the short distance to the pub. Recently Adam Fleetwood, no doubt in another attempt to be constantly in his face, had rented a ground floor flat at the bottom of Wordsworth Street, where he sat of an evening with the curtains open and the lights on. This evening Adam was standing with his back to the street, a can of Coke in one hand and the remote control for the telly in the other. At least Becca wasn’t there, though it was still early and there was plenty of time for her to head down from work and join him. If she’d been in Adam’s living room, or if he were to meet her on the way, he’d have shrugged her off just as he’d done the previous occasion. Jealousy wasn’t his besetting sin, and he was almost over her.