Blood in the Cotswolds

by Rebecca Tope

  It was obvious that he didn’t have a choice, but the floor still looked too great a challenge. ‘Could you find me a stick, do you think?’ he asked. ‘Something to take my weight.’

  ‘There’s one in the hall,’ she said. ‘Must be Miss Deacon’s.’ She was gone for a few seconds, then returned with a handsome old walking stick with a rubber shoe and a handle that followed the natural line of the wood – a right-angle that offered a comfortable niche for curved fingers. It was unpolished, with the bumps and knobs where there had been shoots growing in its original state. Phil ran an appreciative hand down its length. ‘Strong,’ he noted. ‘Should take my weight easily enough.’

  Thea didn’t stay to watch, but hurried out with her bowl, followed by the dog.

  Phil swung his legs slowly onto the floor and, grasping the stick, hoisted himself onto his feet. He felt about ninety-five, experiencing an unsettling flash of what it must be like to be permanently slow and stiff and sore like this. Nothing could be done quickly, and a lot of things couldn’t be done at all.

  Then the phone began to ring out in the hall, and the shock of the sudden noise jolted him, causing a flare of pain down to his coccyx and up to his shoulder blades. He tried to turn towards the door, but found himself paralysed. It seemed desperately urgent that the phone should be answered. Even when on leave from work, he could never ignore a telephone. ‘Thea!’ he shouted, aware that his voice was drowned by the ringing. There was a second bell attached to the front of the house, he realised, sending unmissable peals across the gravel to the paddock beyond. Thea could not fail to have heard it.

  But she had never shared his obedience to telephonic summons, and did not appear until some minutes after it had stopped. ‘Didn’t you answer it?’ she said innocently, when he expostulated.

  ‘I couldn’t move fast enough.’

  ‘Not even with the stick?’

  ‘Not even with the stick.’

  The atmosphere had soured, and although he tried his best to find something pleasant to say, he knew Thea perceived him as being in a sulk. He forced himself to move to the downstairs loo, and then out onto the lawn, where she brought the promised lunch on a tray.

  When the phone rang again, she got up deliberately slowly and calmly went to answer it. A moment later she was back. ‘It’s for you,’ she said.

  ‘Can’t you bring it out to me?’

  ‘Nope. It’s an old-fashioned, attached-to-the-wall model. You have to go to it.’

  Phil gave up. ‘I can’t,’ he said flatly. ‘Could you take a message, do you think? Or tell them to call me on my mobile. Do you know the number?’

  ‘Phil, if you can’t even get to a phone, then you really oughtn’t to be getting involved at all. Why on earth did you give them this number anyway? I’m going back to tell them to leave you alone for at least another three days.’

  ‘I didn’t,’ he said quietly.

  Thea paused, and tossed her head just enough to send the flicked-up hair flying. ‘What? You didn’t what?’

  ‘Give them this number. I have no idea what this number is. Who is it on the phone anyway?’

  ‘A man. I thought it must be one of your detectives. He asked for DS Hollis, as if he knew you.’ She frowned. ‘They could easily have looked it up. That must be it.’

  ‘Anyone from the station would have used my mobile.’

  Impatiently, Thea went back to the house and Phil heard her speak briefly and sharply. He couldn’t decide whether she was protecting his interests or merely expressing an irritation that had been slowly expanding since dawn. He was feeling more than a little irritated himself, with the sun too hot on his head and his back refusing to allow any easy movement.

  Thea came back holding a small square of paper. ‘A man called Stephen Pritchett wants to see you. He heard about finding the body and thinks it could be his son, Giles. He knew you were here because Janey Holmes told him on Sunday. He met you once, about twenty years ago at a Lodge Dinner, but doesn’t expect you’ll remember him. He left his number, and is sorry to hear about your back.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Phil gloomily. ‘I do remember him, as it happens. It wouldn’t be easy to forget Stephen Pritchett.’

  ‘And did you know his son had gone missing?’

  ‘No.’ Phil scanned his memory. ‘And I think I would have noticed the name if it had made any kind of splash at the nick. I wonder whether it was ever reported. How long ago was it?’

  Thea consulted her notes. ‘Two and a half years. Not very long.’

  ‘So, I have to call him back, do I?’

  ‘That’s the message,’ she said neutrally. ‘It’s entirely up to you. I warned him you were off sick. I was quite short with him, in fact.’

  ‘Yes, I heard you. I wonder how he knew about the body so quickly.’

  ‘I suspect that was Janey as well. She seems to know everything that goes on around here almost before it happens.’

  ‘Even when she’s off burning sacrifices to St Eye-vo?’

  ‘It’s Yvo,’ she reminded him patiently. ‘And nobody said anything about sacrifices.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Phil, who had hoped to raise a laugh.

  Chapter Six

  ‘Stephen Pritchett must be related to Rupert Temple-Pritchett, don’t you think?’ Thea remarked, an hour or so later. Phil had not made the return call, and the powerful solar rays had driven them to set up chairs under one of the willows, which gave a flickering shade. The garden was somewhat poorly provided with anything capable of giving full protection against the elements, in contrast to the generous number of trees elsewhere in the village.

  ‘Very likely.’

  ‘Are you going to phone him?’

  ‘I thought he might give up and transfer his efforts to DS Gladwin or one of her team, if I leave it a bit longer. It’s out of order for him to phone me privately, anyway. Who does he think he is?’

  ‘Another scion, I expect. Of the pure blood of the Pritchetts.’

  ‘Hmm. My hunch is that there’s more kudos in being a Temple, especially these days. Definite resonance there.’

  ‘He didn’t have the same way of speaking. Rupert positively drawled. Stephen was more normal. Besides, Rupert said there wasn’t much status in being descended through the female line, which I suppose means his mother’s a Temple and his father’s a Pritchett and they made the double-barrelled name when they got married.’

  ‘You sound uncomfortably interested in them,’ Phil chided. ‘I thought you wanted to stay out of anything unpleasant this time around.’

  ‘I do,’ she agreed. ‘But this doesn’t have to be unpleasant.’

  He widened his eyes at her. ‘It does if that skull I just found belongs to Pritchett’s missing boy. Very unpleasant indeed, I would say.’

  ‘I wasn’t talking about that. I only meant that this sounds like an intriguing family and I’m a sucker for complicated family connections. That Rupert man obviously wanted to explain it all to me. Maybe this one will as well.’

  ‘Lord save us,’ grunted Phil, eliciting a stony look from Thea.

  The silence between them was filled by nothing but the distant overhead drone of a plane. It was too hot for birdsong, and scarcely any traffic used the road through the village in early afternoon.

  ‘He isn’t normal, though,’ Phil said thoughtfully, after a few minutes. ‘You said he sounded normal, but he’s six foot three and has the broadest shoulders I can remember seeing in my life. Enormous hands and feet as well. The man’s a giant.’

  ‘Seems they breed them big around here then,’ said Thea.

  He was aware that she was restless, chafing at the enforced idleness. Hepzie lay panting on the grass close by, rolling her eyes every few minutes as if wondering when the next amusement might come her way. Thea had not enquired about the state of his back since…he realised he couldn’t actually remember any questions about it that day at all. And, although her very reasonable defence had been that she could see without askin
g, it would still have been nice to have evidence of concern. He regretted his recklessness of the early morning more than he cared to admit to himself. The resulting strain had set things into reverse, even without the added complications of the discovery of a decomposed corpse. It made him feel guilty towards his fellow police officers, as well as spoiling Thea’s week.

  ‘All right, I’ll phone him,’ he said, half an hour later. ‘Could you find my mobile for me, do you think? It’ll be in the pocket of my jacket.’

  She fetched it without a word, handing him the paper containing Stephen Pritchett’s phone number at the same time.

  The man answered on the first ring, his voice breathless with what had apparently been a desperate wait. ‘Oh, Hollis, at last!’ he wheezed. ‘Sorry to hear about your back, old man. Sounds grim. And look, I know this isn’t kosher – calling you in your hideaway – but I hadn’t any choice. You’ll understand when I explain. Could I come over, do you think? I’m only a few miles away.’

  ‘What, now?’

  ‘If you’re there. I won’t get in the way of your lady friend. I could tell she wasn’t too impressed, and who can blame her? But I want to just fill you in and help you see why it has to be like this. I remember you, you see. You always struck me as very straightforward. Not like some of the crooks we had on the square in those days…’ He chuckled briefly at some distant memory, before lowering his voice again. ‘Sorry. I’ve been knocking back the Old Peculiar a bit since I heard the news. Always makes me flippant.’

  Phil knew the drink in question was not ale, but the best imaginable Scotch. He wanted to make a remark about driving under the influence, but wasn’t given a chance. ‘I’ll be fifteen minutes,’ said the man, and rang off.

  ‘We’ve got a visitor,’ Phil told Thea. ‘He’ll be here in fifteen minutes. Sounds like a retired Army Colonel, but I don’t think he was in the military. I seem to remember there was something medical about him.’

  Thea’s mood was unusually hard to judge. She sighed minimally and made no move to leave her garden chair. An open book lay beside her on the grass, but she showed little interest in it. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’ he said.

  She sighed again, more loudly. ‘Not much use me minding anything, is it? I’m trying not to indulge in any expectations for this week, if you must know. So far, I’ve got the weather on my side, which is something to be thankful for.’

  ‘And me,’ he said childishly. ‘You’ve got me, when you thought you’d be here on your own.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve got you.’ She gave him an unsmiling gaze, and he remembered his joyful proclamation of love the previous day and her lack of response. He had assumed she was pleased, that the feelings were reciprocated, but now he was less sure. She seemed withdrawn – silent and serious. He felt judged by her, given marks out of ten several times a day for the way he handled his damaged back and the unwelcome intrusion of violence and local characters. Which, he couldn’t help thinking, was quite unfair of her. After all, hadn’t that Janey woman been in the house when he’d arrived on Sunday? Hadn’t Thea agreed to go on some crackpot outing to celebrate some unknown saint, without even telling him? Anxiously, he reached out and grasped her hand. ‘We’re all right, aren’t we?’ he asked. ‘Tell me everything’s all right.’

  But before she could respond, a large red Mitsubishi Warrior crunched down the track, and Hepzie gave an uncharacteristic volley of barking, and Phil never got his reassurances.

  * * *

  The massive body of Stephen Pritchett emerged briskly from the vehicle and looked around for someone to greet him. ‘Here!’ called Phil from behind the willows at the corner of the house. Thea had made no move.

  ‘Good Lord, poor old you,’ boomed the man when Phil apologised for not getting out of his chair. ‘Nothing worse than a bad back. Lucky for me I’ve got no first hand experience. Imagine trying to shift this carcase around on a board!’ He laughed shortly.

  He engulfed Thea’s hand in a careful shake, and returned his attention to Hollis. There was an implication that he expected Thea to disappear, which she ignored. ‘I gather a body’s been found,’ he began, once he’d settled himself in a canvas chair. His manner and appearance were transformed completely from one minute to the next. Folds of drooping flesh appeared beneath his eyes, and his cheeks grew mottled.

  ‘No use denying it,’ said Phil. ‘Although I’d like to know how you found out. The police haven’t issued a statement yet.’

  ‘You can’t close a road and erect police tape without word getting round. Besides, I’m known to have an interest. There was a conclusion drawn more or less instantly.’

  ‘Which was?’

  Pritchett sighed shakily. ‘Two and a half years ago my son, Giles, went missing. He was eighteen. Just vanished overnight, with no warning.’

  ‘Did you report it?’

  ‘No. We had our reasons not to, believe me.’

  ‘Wasn’t that very odd? If there was no prior behaviour to suggest he might be planning to go off – why in the world wouldn’t you report it?’

  Pritchett shook his big head and glanced fleetingly at Thea. ‘Not so simple. We assumed he was in trouble, you see. Drugs or something. We thought he’d gone into hiding, and if we sent out a search party for him, it could backfire – see him landed in gaol, even. His mother could never have dealt with that. We never seriously thought he might be dead – not until just a few months ago, that is.’

  ‘Did you know for sure he was involved in something illegal?’

  ‘We betrayed him,’ mumbled the man after a long pause. ‘We believed badly of him, when there wasn’t the slightest evidence. Just the word of a silly girl who didn’t know what she was talking about.’

  ‘I’m not sure I’m following this,’ Phil said impatiently. ‘If I didn’t know better I’d think there was some sort of hold over you. You sound like a parent whose kid’s been taken for ransom and they’re scared to involve the police.’

  Pritchett smiled tightly. ‘No, that wasn’t it. There was never any suggestion of a ransom. But we did get the idea that some shady characters might be after him.’

  Thea could not restrain a snort at this. Both men looked at her in outrage. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘But shady characters – isn’t that something you’ve read in a spy novel?’

  Pritchett’s tight smile flashed again. The fact that he said nothing revealed more of his mental state than anything he had told them. He was holding himself in, Hollis judged, keeping his temper and patience despite the provocation.

  ‘Thea – I’d go if I could move – but as it is, can I ask you to fetch us something to drink? Tea, lemonade, anything that comes to hand?’

  ‘This isn’t our house, you know,’ she said.

  ‘No, but just the same, I’m thirsty.’ Phil straightened his neck and gave her a look that he hoped said Stop behaving like a teenager and let me and this wretched man get on with it. Something of his meaning must have got across, because she went off without further argument.

  ‘Sorry,’ muttered Pritchett vaguely. ‘P’raps I shouldn’t have come.’

  ‘Well, now you’re here, why don’t you start again and tell me the real story this time?’ Phil said. ‘I think we’ve got ten minutes or so before Thea comes back.’

  ‘It was a family thing,’ the man muttered, almost in a whisper. ‘That’s the long and short of it. We couldn’t involve the police without exposing a lot of very dirty washing. My wife would have paid that price – but I wouldn’t allow it. I’ve suffered for it ever since. Don’t go thinking there’s anything criminal in the boy. It isn’t that at all. It’s his mind, you see. He was always very unpredictable. Probably attention deficit syndrome.’

  Phil narrowed his eyes. ‘You’re a doctor, aren’t you? You make it sound as if it’s something quite outside your area of expertise.’

  Pritchett puffed out his cheeks. ‘Believe me, my friend, it is. I’ve only ever been a sawbones. I can replace a hip joint before you c
an sing two verses of “Onward Christian Soldiers”, but when it comes to the psychological stuff, I’m completely at sea. Plus it’s different when it’s your own offspring.’

  Phil could think of nothing to say to that. He merely adopted an open expression, inviting further disclosures.

  ‘The boy – Giles – was very fond of his great-grandpa as a little chap. My grandfather, that is. Lived to be ninety-eight, as sharp as a scalpel to the end. Phenomenal memory and quite a scholar. He knew all there was to know about the Templars, when it wasn’t a bit fashionable. Anyhow, he fed Giles all this stuff when he was ten or eleven. You know how keen boys get on stories about battles and betrayal and blood feuds when they’re that sort of age. Grandpa had this idea that we’re direct descendants of one of the Knights – which he managed to prove to general satisfaction. Giles was delighted to have the same blood running through his veins, and got quite boastful about it.’ Pritchett sighed. ‘I could never see what the fuss was about, for myself.’

  ‘Harmless enough,’ Hollis suggested. ‘After all, everybody wants to know who their ancestors were, these days. Gives them roots, I imagine – that sort of thing.’

  Pritchett nodded. ‘Except it turned out the blood feuds had never really gone away. Your Miss Deacon comes into the story, too, silly old bat. You’ll have noticed her crazy collection of old magazines and so forth?’

  Hollis nodded.

  ‘Well, a lot of it has to do with the Templars through the ages. and she got our young Giles very much too interested for his own good.’

  Hollis thought of the stacks of Country Life magazines and other similar titles, and frowned. ‘I couldn’t see anything like that,’ he said. ‘Nothing going back further than about 1900.’

  ‘You didn’t look hard enough,’ Pritchett told him. ‘It’s all there, mark my words.’

  ‘But how does this lead to Giles going missing? Was that stuff about drugs just a smokescreen for Thea’s benefit?’ Phil frowned sternly. ‘If so, I should tell you off for wasting my time.’

  ‘The boy was eighteen,’ said Pritchett. ‘Of course he was taking drugs. But not enough to worry us. My wife was a child of the Sixties herself – rich and reckless, is how she describes herself as she was then.’ He heaved a deep sigh. ‘Not like that now, of course.’