by Fay Sampson
Hilary’s mind flew back to that very first afternoon in Glastonbury. Climbing Wearyall Hill and seeing the Thorn tree desecrated by vandals. They had never discovered who did it, had they? Could it have anything to do with the bomb at the Chalice Well, the explosion in the High Street and Amina’s murder? The improbable connection of these things whirled through her brain.
She was no nearer to finding a solution when the interrogation was over and they had told DI Fellows all they knew about Amina.
TWENTY-ONE
As they approached the exit, they heard the sound of a woman’s voice from a group of people by the ticket desk.
‘You poor things! What a terrible thing to happen! A death in the abbey, and so soon after the bomb. I came as soon as I heard.’
‘Do you suppose the police will want to keep the abbey closed for the whole day?’ came a man’s voice.
The two employees on the desk had been joined by another pair. One was a tall, worried-looking man, his bespectacled head stooped forward. The other, a short, dark-haired woman with a severe haircut, wearing a green raincoat.
The woman laid her hand on the arm of the man beside her. ‘Paul, I know this is shocking, but we must let the police do what they must. They’ll want to examine the body before they remove it for the post-mortem, and then they’ll have to comb the site for evidence. It’s bound to take some time.’
‘We’ve a school party booked in for eleven. Do you think it’s too late to put them off?’
The man ran his hand through his thinning hair. He was quite formally dressed in a pale grey suit. Pink-rimmed glasses balanced uncertainly on his nose. These two must, thought Hilary, represent a more senior level of management than the unhappy pair on the ticket desk.
‘Ring them anyway. We must give the police all the help we can. Apart from that, all we can do is pray for the poor woman, and the person who did this.’
She turned her head as she heard Hilary and Veronica approach.
Hilary was startled to see that under the open raincoat, the woman wore a black dress with a familiar-looking silver cross interlaced with a Celtic pattern. She heard Veronica gasp beside her.
‘Sonia Marsden!’
Hilary stared. She had last seen Sonia Marsden outside the memorial service at St John’s, remonstrating with her angry husband, and before that, at the Archive of Avalon bookshop seconds before the bomb went off, and again at the Chalice Well bookshop. To her relief, the loud-mouthed George was not with Sonia this morning. For the first time, Hilary found herself looking at his wife as a person in her own right, and not merely someone trying to tone down his decibels.
Hearing her authoritative tones now, she realized that this was a woman whose real existence she had not guessed. One whose life was devoted to Glastonbury Abbey. Someone who cared about her employees and the woman whose corpse lay in the Galilee.
All four faces had swung to survey Hilary and Veronica as they approached from the abbey grounds.
‘You don’t look like CID,’ Sonia Marsden said. ‘The abbey’s closed. How did you get in?’
‘Through the front entrance,’ Veronica answered. ‘The constable let us through. As did your colleagues here. We had evidence to give to the investigating officer.’
Sonia Marsden’s dark eyebrows rose. ‘What evidence?’
Hilary intervened. ‘I’m afraid that’s a matter between us and the police. We’ve done our duty. Now we’re on our way back to our hotel.’
‘Not locals, then?’ asked the man Sonia had called Paul.
‘No.’
‘But you know something about the murder?’
‘If it is murder,’ put in Sonia. ‘Don’t you think it’s too much of a coincidence? Two acts of violence in as many days. What if this is the High Street bomber and the poor woman had a crisis of conscience? She might have come to the abbey to repent, but taken her own life. If only we could have got here earlier, to tell her there is forgiveness.’
Hilary felt a sudden cold hand descend on her heart. She had never truly allowed herself to believe that Amina could be the bomber. But she had only a fleeting knowledge of the woman beneath the burka. What if Sonia Marsden was right?
But why would a Muslim choose Glastonbury Abbey?
Sonia was looking at them curiously. ‘Now that I come to think of it, I’ve seen you two before. In the gift shop of the Chalice Well when someone discovered that bomb in a knapsack. And in the High Street on Wednesday. I ran into you on the pavement at the very moment the second bomb went off. It was you, wasn’t it?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact, it was.’
‘And now here you are on the morning of another death.’
Hilary found herself unaccountably guilty before that dark level stare.
‘I told you, they let us in after the body was found. We had some relevant information.’
‘We helped them identify the body,’ Veronica said, her voice still shocked and quiet.
Hilary wished she could have prevented her friend from saying that.
‘Identify her? And you’ve only just arrived in Glastonbury! Who is she?’
All four of them were staring in avid curiosity.
Hilary gripped Veronica’s elbow and urged her forward. ‘I’m sure the police will reveal her name when there’s been a formal identification. We didn’t know her well enough to do that. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I think the police would like us to leave. We’ve no further business here.’
They walked past Sonia’s questioning gaze to the gateway. Hilary still felt more shaken than she cared to admit.
‘Fancy that being Sonia Marsden, of all people,’ Veronica said. ‘It looks as if she’s fairly senior Abbey staff.’
‘I’m kicking myself now. Here was I, assuming she’d be just another bigot like her husband. But the way she looked at me, I felt that I was the guilty party. She sounded quite caring. Shocked, but wanting to pray for the victim. Even if Amina …’
‘I never thought it might be suicide.’
‘But why would she come to the abbey? No, don’t let’s think about that.’
They smiled their thanks at the policeman who raised the tape to let them out. Most of the crowd outside had gone.
‘Where are all the visitors you threw out? Have they drafted in more officers to interview them, or did you simply let them go?’
The young policeman shrugged unhelpfully.
‘It seems unlikely that any early visitors would have had much to report,’ Veronica said as they walked up the street, ‘except for the ones who actually found the body. But then, what do we know? If it is a murder and Amina had been recently killed, they might have seen someone coming away from the Galilee.’ She shuddered.
‘Somehow, that seems improbable. If you’re going to kill someone at the abbey, would you wait until after opening time? Amina’s been missing for more than twenty-four hours. She could have died any time.’
‘But why the abbey? Did someone meet her here after hours? Or transport her body under cover of darkness? How did they get in? And why?’
‘And that macabre detail of the Glastonbury Thorn in her hand.’ Hilary frowned. ‘There hasn’t been a Thorn tree at the abbey for some time.’
‘Does this really have anything to do with the bombs? Or is it just a coincidence?’
‘Maybe somebody thought that killing her so soon after would conveniently link her death to the bomber. A golden opportunity to send the police down the wrong track.’
‘But why would anyone want to kill the poor girl?’
‘You were the one who was worried about her. Your three endangered girls. You thought she might have angered Rupert Honeydew.’
‘Oh dear. That’s an even more upsetting thought. That scary figure in the rags and the top hat, grinning as he suffocated her, or hit her over the head.’
‘Steady on.’
But Hilary no longer knew what was believable and what was not.
‘I suppose they’ll get on to
her family – if she has any. Break the news and get someone to formally identify the body. And they’ll want to search her belongings at her digs and tell her landlady she won’t be coming back. But I’m afraid it’s down to me to tell her professor. Poor man. He’ll be upset. I think he had a high opinion of her as a student.’
Hilary sat down on her bed and looked at her phone reluctantly.
‘That’s a whole other side of her life we know little about,’ Veronica said. ‘The reason for her death could just as well lie there as with anything that happened here in Glastonbury.’
‘You mean, someone else may be playing tricks with disguise? Kill her and dump her body where there have already been other violent deaths. Drag in the Glastonbury Thorn as another red herring. And the real cause could be miles away in Bristol University.’
‘The Thorn on Wearyall Hill looked pretty dead. It certainly didn’t have blossoms. But it’s not the only one, is it? There are others in the town. Like the one in St John’s churchyard.’
‘What would Amina have been doing in the churchyard at night? Or in the abbey, for that matter?’
‘Assuming she was at the abbey when she was killed. She could have been murdered somewhere else and the body put there to be found in more dramatic and misleading circumstances.’
‘Don’t you think Glastonbury is just a bit too full of colourful stories for the credulous to grab hold of?’
‘Some of the colourful stories are all too credible. Did you know that the last Abbot of Glastonbury, Richard Whiting, was hung, drawn and quartered on Glastonbury Tor?’
‘Don’t!’
‘Sorry. I don’t want you fainting as well. I could have kicked myself for keeling over like that.’
‘You’re not the hardbitten pedagogue you like to pretend you are. Talking of which, don’t you think you ought to phone David this time? I know the murder of one young woman doesn’t make the same headlines as a terrorist bomb, but you really don’t want him to hear about this from anyone else. I’m going to phone my own kids, before it hits the headlines.’
Hilary made the difficult call to Professor Hadley first.
‘I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this. But I expect the police will be wanting to talk to you before long. I wanted you to be prepared. You know I rang you because I was concerned about Amina Haddad …’
Her hand was trembling slightly as she laid the phone down on the duvet. Professor Hadley had seemed genuinely shocked and grieved.
She looked at her watch. It would still be the working day in Gaza. All the same, she ought not to delay.
It was a reassuring joy to hear David’s voice.
She drew a deep breath and poured out her story, trying to keep it as factual as she could.
‘But there was one strange thing this detective inspector let slip – at least, his sergeant did. When they found the body she was clutching a sprig of the Glastonbury Thorn.’
‘Hilary. I don’t like the sound of this. You’re getting too close to too many bad events. I want you to leave Glastonbury immediately. Promise me.’
‘I’ll talk to Veronica. You’re right. We’ve been here four days, anyway. There’s nothing to keep us now.’
Veronica was busy making her peace with her three children. Hilary left messages for Bridget and Oliver.
‘Right. Duty done. We can pack up our bags and go. All we have to decide is where. Home, or somewhere else?’
‘I keep thinking of Joan. I rather wish we hadn’t promised the inspector we’d keep quiet about the Glastonbury Thorn. Think how thrilled she’d be if we fed her a detail like that.’
‘Veronica!’
‘Yes, I know. We can’t tell her.’
Hilary stomped her way back upstairs from the hotel reception desk.
‘They’re not playing ball, I’m afraid. They say we’re supposed to give twenty-four hours notice of cancellation, and we’ve already outstayed the time for clearing our room. I don’t suppose you can blame them, really. They’ve had quite a few people cancel since the bomb went off.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Veronica said. ‘It will hardly break the bank if we have to pay them for one more night, even though we go somewhere else.’
Hilary’s phone rang. She gave a startled twitch. ‘I hate it when it does that. It’s all very well leaving it on to please the children. But then I have to remember what I’m supposed to do to take the call.’
‘Hilary! Don’t pretend to be such a dinosaur.’
She fished out the offending mobile and found the right key to press. ‘Hello,’ she barked.
‘Mrs Masters? Detective Inspector Fellows. I’m sorry to bother you again, but there’s something I forgot to say. You and Mrs Taylor have been very helpful with your information, but I wonder if I can ask if you are planning to stay around in Glastonbury? You seem to have picked up some remarkably pertinent facts in the short time you’ve been here. It’s asking a lot, I know, and I can’t keep you if you want to leave, but I’d be grateful if you stayed within reach for another day or two. We can’t be sure where this investigation is heading yet. You’ve already given us some interesting ideas. It’s just possible you may have something more to contribute which you haven’t told us yet.’
‘We gave you everything we could remember.’
‘I’m sure you did. But I don’t yet know if we’ve asked you the right questions. You’re not planning to leave today, are you?’
‘As it happens,’ a grim smile twisted Hilary’s lips, ‘no. It looks as though we’re staying one more night.’
Veronica’s face registered surprise.
Hilary put the phone away. ‘DI Fellows. He’d like us to stay around. If David or the children complain, I shall say we’re co-operating with the police.’
TWENTY-TWO
‘If we’re not leaving straight away, there’s one thing I’d like to do.’
‘Which is?’
‘Mel Fenwick.’
‘Hilary!’
‘I know, I know. But the more I think about it, the more sure I am she was frightened that day we saw her.’
‘Hardly surprising. We’d just found an unexploded bomb at the place where she worked.’
‘Yes, but I felt it was something more than that. We didn’t know anything about her at the time, but now we know she was one of Rupert Honeydew’s acolytes. Everything keeps coming back to him. And he was there at the Chalice Well that afternoon. He was in the shop. I mean, how often does he go there?’
‘Quite a lot, by the sound of it. He thinks the water has spiritual powers.’
‘Hmm, well. Still, I have a hunch that Mel knows more than she’s saying.’
‘Shouldn’t we leave it to DI Fellows? Or the Detective Chief Superintendent who’s investigating the big bomb.’
‘Ye-es. I admit that last one is a bit of a puzzle. Why would he do that?’
‘Why would he bomb the Chalice Well, for that matter?’
‘He didn’t. I found a bomb left in a knapsack. It didn’t go off.’
‘You think it wasn’t meant to?’
‘The police will know more about the answer to that.’
‘And Mel might know more about it than she should? Is that what you’re saying?’
‘If she does, then the bomb that went off two days later must have scared the daylights out of her.’
‘Hilary, you’re not CID. You can’t just go around interrogating people. We’ve already told DI Fellows we were worried about Mel. Leave him to follow it up.’
‘If she’s already frightened, then the sight of a police warrant card will be enough to terrify her. I rather fancied the soft touch.’
‘Soft touch? You?’
‘I’ve spent a lifetime dealing with recalcitrant schoolgirls. I can be a dragon when I need to be, but I can also show my softer side if I think it will get results.’
‘Very well, then.’ Veronica sighed and picked up her handbag. ‘Has the rain stopped?’
A fitful sun
glanced through the clouds and glistened on wet roofs and pavements. The two of them made their way in silence along the road to the Chalice Well. It was impossible not to be conscious of the bulk of Glastonbury Tor looming ahead of them. Its steep sides darkened as the sun went in.
Hilary made straight for the gift shop.
She halted in the doorway. It had been possible to stave off the horror of what had happened by focussing on her determination to clear up the puzzle which had dogged them since Monday. But the grey-haired woman chatting with Beth Harkness behind the counter was certainly not the young blonde Mel. Hilary felt a sinking of her spirits.
There was only one other couple in the shop, wandering along the display cases with little evident intention of buying anything. Hilary approached the counter and summoned a smile for the manageress.
‘Yes, it’s me again. Don’t worry. I haven’t found any more bombs in the garden.’
‘I should hope not! That was terrible, what happened in the High Street. I go cold when I think it might have been us. If you hadn’t found that knapsack …’
‘Yes, well, never mind that. I was wondering if I could have another word with Mel.’
‘Why? She didn’t know any more about it than I did. We were here in the shop the whole time. Well, bar the odd trip to the cloakroom, of course, and half an hour off for lunch.’
‘But she’s not here this morning. Is it her day off?’
‘No, that was Wednesday. Lucky she wasn’t caught out in the High Street.’
‘Hmm. So that’s why she was out dancing in the streets that afternoon.’
‘Only next day, that would be yesterday, she phoned in sick.’
‘Did she, indeed? And she’s not back today?’
‘No. I’ve had to get Caroline here to put in some extra time.’
‘Do you know when she’ll be back?’
‘She didn’t say.’
Hilary tapped a rhythm on the counter. Her keen determination to solve the questions buzzing in her mind collapsed in frustration. She had been so sure that Mel Fenwick held at least a part of the answer to the week’s events.