by Peter Boon
‘Then what happened?’ Noah asked, speaking for the first time in a while, now up to date with his previous notes and fingers on his phone at the ready for a set of new ones.
‘She asked Reverend Flowers if she could speak to him in private, but he told her it would have to wait until we’d all left.’
This was interesting. It also fitted into how Flowers invited all the ladies back for tea ‘to get over the shock’ of the confrontation, but excluded his own wife, who looked most shocked of all. He seemed to be actively avoiding her after Pedro’s accusation; did this mean it was true?
I decided to see what Gloria thought of this. ‘Why do you think the Reverend was avoiding speaking to her, if he wasn’t having an affair?’
‘I guess you don’t know Reverend Flowers very well,’ she sneered. ‘He’s a very private man and he didn’t want a scene. He was embarrassed enough as it was, he didn’t want to add to it by having a public argument with his wife.’
‘But she asked to speak to him in private,’ Noah pointed out, earning himself a deathly look from Gloria.
‘Yes, but it doesn’t take a genius to work out what about. He just wanted to get back to normal and act like it hadn’t happened.’ She tutted and rolled her eyes, but I wasn’t sure who exactly in regard to: Noah, Reverend Flowers or Frances. I was still fairly new to questioning people about a murder, but she was certainly more difficult to read than anyone I’d questioned before.
‘He didn’t discuss the incident with you all then?’ I asked.
‘Not directly. He just kept checking we were okay, apologising for the upset, then went off to make tea. But we could tell he was unhappy.’ She paused and I could see she was considering what she would say next. ‘Reverend Flowers is very proud, and he doesn’t like situations he’s not in control of.’
‘Reverend Flowers… likes to be in control…’ Noah murmured aloud to himself as he frantically typed away. ‘So he didn’t go and speak to Mrs Flowers then?’
‘He did, actually. She insisted that it was important and she wasn’t moving without him coming with her. Which was quite out of character for her.’
On the surface, it really was. But public and private lives are two very different things, often even to our close friends and family. We knew nothing of France’s character or the Flowers’ marriage: only other people’s interpretations of it. What I wanted to do to finish this conversation was establish some facts.
‘Did they come back to join you after they spoke privately?’ I asked.
‘No, we waited about fifteen minutes then we decided it was best to leave them to it. So we left.’
‘We – that’s you, Kimmy and Claire?’
‘Yes, officer,’ she remarked back. Maybe I was laying it on thick but I wanted to find out what I needed to, and she hadn’t been the easiest person to speak to.
‘Did you overhear any of their conversation before you left?’ I only vaguely remembered the layout of the Vicarage – I’d been in a few times as a child when the old Vicar used to live there – but I knew it wasn’t very big inside, so there was a chance the conversation didn’t stay completely private.
‘Edward, what do you take me for?’ She said in mock innocence, putting her hand on her chest. ‘No we didn’t overhear anything. We could hear their voices but that’s it. Kimmy and Claire will tell you the same. If Reverend Flowers wanted the conversation to stay private, it would have stayed private.’
‘And did you go out the front or the back of the Vicarage?’
‘The front.’ Her face changed again as she rounded on me. ‘Wait, the back was where she was found, wasn’t it? I hope you’re not suggesting the Reverend was out there murdering his wife while we sat in his front room drinking tea.’
I assured her I wasn’t thinking that, but was I? The Vicar would seem to be the prime suspect, with a motive and opportunity. Or it could have been a marital dispute gone wrong; it wasn’t too far fetched. There could have been a history of domestic violence in the marriage and today things got out of hand. I was starting to feel out of my depth again, and secretly hoped that Appleby would make his way through the snow and take over the investigation.
I tried to breathe and think things through, before I let Gloria Hernandez on her way. On sheer logistics, Reverend Flowers was looking like a possibility; he was on the scene at the time, having a private conversation with his wife shortly before the murder. Pedro Hernandez or Cherry McDonald (wherever she was) probably wouldn’t have time to wade through the snow to get to the Vicarage, Jacob Flowers and Everest Brown were both on the market (I needed to check if they were there the whole time), and the three women had left together. But this was about twenty-five minutes into the forty-five minute window; did they stay together? If Gloria left the Atkinsons once she left the Vicarage, she still would have had time to return to kill Frances.
I had my next question. ‘Did you three go your separate ways once you left the Vicarage?’
‘Actually, not quite. Claire went back to the B&B to check on their guests, but Kimmy stayed with me to see how we could help elsewhere. She was with me another half hour at least.’
That would put the two of them out of the frame if Kimmy backed this up later. Either that or co-murderers. ‘Where did you go, into the pub to Kat?’
‘Oh no, I don’t need that Head Teacher woman allocating jobs to me. We had a wander round the square and around the bottom of each cliff, we were mainly seeing if anyone needed any sweets to cheer them up.’
A sales drive for her sweet shop, then. After the last half hour spent with Gloria, I wasn’t particularly surprised to hear this. I thanked her and she went on her way, reminding me one more time to make sure the police look at her ex-husband as a suspect.
14
Thankfully, my experience speaking to Kimmy and Claire Atkinson couldn’t have been more different from my one with Gloria. Alfie, being friends with them (which was actually news to me), had managed to arrange for the two of us to go and see them at the B&B. He’d swapped out his crime scene duty with Noah for half an hour, and we were due for early afternoon tea with the couple. I wondered if my bladder would cope with all the refreshments involved in this investigation so far.
Their B&B was just off the square on the corner of the high street, so we only had a couple of minutes trudge through the snow to get there. It was still falling rapidly and although the half dozen or so volunteers had manage to clear the first few yards of road, I could see that it wouldn’t be too long until it was covered again. I wondered if the police were any closer to finding a way through. I hadn’t heard from DI Appleby or PC Wood since before I spoke to Gloria, and I resolved to make contact once I’d finished with Kimmy and Claire. My feet were painfully cold already and I was keen to get into the warmth of the B&B.
On the way over, I asked Alfie how his friendship with Kimmy and Claire had come about. I was a little surprised to hear about it, as it seemed a little stereotypical for the two gay couples in our village to suddenly be friends (especially as my brother and Dylan hadn’t even been a couple that long), and Alfie wasn’t stereotypically gay (though I knew Dylan had been trying to convert him to Rupaul’s Drag Race) and had always shied away from the gay scene, even with us having Brighton down the road.
‘They’re a lovely couple, but yeah, it was a strange one. It was a few months ago, a couple of weeks after me and Dylan had gone public. I noticed they’d suddenly started coming in the pub for a drink a few times, always making small talk with me when they got served. Well, Kimmy more so. She’s the more outgoing one of the two, you’ll see when you meet her.’
This tied in with what I knew of her already and I told him so before he continued.
‘Anyway, this one evening, Dylan was sat at the bar keeping me company when they came in. Instead of going to sit down like they had been doing, they asked if they could join us at the bar. Dylan and Kimmy especially got on really well, they ended up getting drunk together. Next thing I knew
, we’d been asked round to theirs for dinner that weekend.’
‘How did you feel about that?’ Alfie had never been a big socialiser (despite running a pub) and had only started spending time with our group of friends since Dylan’s arrival.
‘I wasn’t keen at first, I thought Dylan would have more in common with them than I do. But I enjoyed it actually, we’ve done it a few more times since. We love seeing you guys, but it’s nice to have another couple to spend time with, and I can talk about business stuff with them as well.’ Of course. The B&B and pub were both at the heart of Chalk Gap hospitality, so it made sense for their respective proprietors to support each other. Although I wondered Mum’s views on this.
‘But you said it was a strange one? Do you think they were deliberately trying to befriend you guys? And that’s why they were going in the pub all of a sudden?’
He laughed and turned to face me as we reached the gate of the B&B. ‘Oh Edward, I love the way your mind works. Always trying to tie up every loose end and tick every box. No wonder you keep getting roped into these murder cases.’
I smiled back at him. ‘You thought the same too though, I could tell by the way you told me.’
‘Yep, yes I did. It did seem like they were trying to befriend us especially, but it’s turned out well in the end.’ He shivered through the fashionable but light jacket he wore, folding his arms and rubbing his shoulders to keep warm.
‘You don’t think either of them are potential murderers then?’
He laughed again. ‘Not as far as I know! Though I suppose we’ve all learned that you never know.’ His tone was more serious now as his teeth chattered in the cold. ‘They’re really nice ladies, but I know you’re gonna tell me it has to be someone. I suppose everyone under suspicion is nice.’
I thought of my dreadful half hour or so with Gloria, and also what I’d seen and heard about Reverend Flowers. ‘Not necessarily.’
‘Edward, why is this happening in our village again?’ There was anger in his voice now and I could see his gloved hands clenching into fists. ‘Frances Flowers wouldn’t hurt a fly, and yet she’s been murdered on our doorstep. I just don’t understand it. We’ve grown up here and nothing has barely happened in all that time. What’s happening to our quiet little Chalk Gap?’
I didn’t know it as we had that conversation, but Frances’ murder was only the half of it.
15
‘Are you sure you don’t want another cupcake, Edward?’
‘No, thank you, Kimmy, I honestly couldn’t eat anything else.’ It was true. Kimmy and Claire had pulled out all the stops for our early afternoon tea, which we hadn’t asked for and I didn’t even really have time for. But it was impressive. Especially impressive when we’d arranged our visit in less than an hour. The cynical part of me thought of Frances Flowers lying dead and wondered what other plans they could pull off in the same timeframe.
I’d learned two things about Kimmy and Claire fairly early into us arriving: that they were very happy together, and that they knew how to run a successful business. The B&B was a large cottage which they’d converted into a guest house, and the building itself had all the charms of rural village life. I’m not very good at describing interior design (apart from bookshelves), as it’s not something that really takes my interest, but the rustic wooden floors and pastel colours of the walls and furnishings made it seem homely and cared for; I could see why tourists loved it (Mum had previously read out some of their Trip Advisor reviews to me, when she was wondering why they scored higher than the pub).
But the real appeal of the B&B was the two people who ran and lived in it. They frequently referred to it as ‘our home’ and it was clear they loved it and each other. They frequently finished each other’s sentences, agreed with each other’s points and backed each other up.
They’d made the afternoon tea together, as they did every day for their guests, and I could see every effort had been made in preparing our feast: delicious sandwiches with homemade bread; a range of mouth-watering meats and cheeses from a deli in Eastbourne (presumably before the snow storm but tasting as fresh as if bought that day); a selection of homemade jams and marmalades; freshly baked scones and beautiful, bright hand-decorated cupcakes.
As I’d finished the little taste of heaven that was my last cupcake, I remember thinking that I’d be heartbroken if either of these two ended up being the murderer. I was glad that it was Alfie who was here with me, as I knew Noah would be trying (and failing) to whisper in my ear not to trust the nicest suspects, and repeating the Poirot quote where he said ‘every murderer is probably somebody’s old friend.’
The first half hour passed with general chit-chat and pleasantries, with Frances’ death only being mentioned in a general way about how shocking it was. But I knew I had a purpose in being there, and I had to get to it. I didn’t have to wait long after we’d eaten, however, as Claire beat me to it.
‘So, Edward, it’s really nice to have you over, but should we talk about what you want to know from us? We know that’s why you’re here.’
To be fair, she said it in a friendly enough way and smiled gently as she spoke, but the dismay on my face must have shown. ‘Why I’m here?’
‘Yes, everyone knows you’re helping the police until they can get through the snow,’ Kimmy added as she helped herself to another cupcake. ‘We were pleased when Alfie called us to bring you round, we want to help.’
Alfie had the good grace to look embarrassed at being caught out but Claire reassured him. ‘Honestly, don’t worry. We’ve heard all about Edward’s detective work and we’re glad he’s looking into it. We want Frances’ killer found.’ That pronoun ‘we’ had now been used multiple times in about 30 seconds, and I wondered where the ‘we’ ended and how much they were two individuals.
‘Yes, we’ll tell you everything you want to know,’ Kimmy added, through a mouthful of cupcake.
‘Thank you both, I just want to establish whatever facts I can until the police get here. You won’t know yet, but they’ve confirmed that it’s a 45 minute window between Frances leaving Mum at the pub and Reverend Flowers finding the body.’
A few seconds after I said that last word, I heard a long, low pitched wail and it took me a few seconds to realise that Kimmy had started crying.
Claire was straight to her feet and went behind Kimmy’s chair, cradling her gently as she sobbed. ‘It’s okay, baby, it’s okay,’ she whispered in soothing tones.
‘I’m sorry,’ Kimmy said through sniffles as she wiped her eyes. ‘It’s just when you said “body,” it really got to me.
‘It’s understandable,’ Alfie said, looking a little embarrassed once again.
‘I’m sorry,’ I muttered at pretty much the same time, my words overlapping with my brother’s. From Gloria Hernandez’ antics to this, I realised the difference from my last investigation. Even if it was difficult questioning my friends and colleagues last time, at least I had an idea of how they would act while we spoke. This time round, I had no clue how they’d behave because I didn’t really know the suspects, which made them unpredictable. I hated unpredictable.
‘It’s not your fault, Edward,’ Claire said as she continued to comfort her wife. ‘It’s just such a huge shock. I know there was that business with the Head Teacher last year, but things like this don’t happen to people like us. Who could want Frances dead?’
‘Exactly,’ I said firmly, my confidence coming back. ‘That’s all I want to know too. Just whatever you can tell me about Frances. Talk me through the incident this morning, and help me establish where everyone was in that 45 minutes when she was killed. Does that sound alright?’
‘Yes, of course, anything you need,’ Claire said as she returned to her seat. Kimmy made a sniffle noise again, and continued to wipe her eyes with her jumper sleeve.
‘Actually, I will have another of those cupcakes,’ I said as I reached across the table. ‘They’re delicious.’
I’d hoped this w
ould cheer Kimmy up and it seemed to work. ‘Thank you, Edward, we made them together this morning.’ She paused for a second and reached for another cupcake herself. ‘I’m sorry about getting upset. I just can’t believe someone murdered Frances. She was the nicest… the nicest of all of them.’
‘What do you mean, all of them?’ Alfie asked before I could.
‘Nothing,’ Claire intercepted quickly. ‘She just means the nicest of all the people we know.’ I considered the way Kimmy said “all of them” and thought of the way they’d made a play to be friends with my brother and Dylan. Was it because they were trying to get out of Reverend Flowers’ close-knit friend group? I kept quiet for the time being, but this was something to keep my eye on.
‘Not to worry,’ I said as brightly as I could. ‘Do you just want to tell me about this morning after the confrontation in the square?’
Kimmy was about to speak, but Claire cut in and started to tell the story instead. Her account of what happened inside the vicarage matched Gloria’s completely, which I’d guessed it would; Gloria seemed too smart to say something that couldn’t be backed up by others.
‘When you decided to leave and give them privacy, that was out the main front door to the vicarage?’
‘Oh I wish we’d gone out of the back door,’ Kimmy wailed. ‘We might have prevented it.’
‘The front door, yes,’ Claire confirmed with a nod of her head and a smile. ‘Kimmy’s right. I wish we’d checked on them before we left.’
I’d told them I wanted to know more about Frances and this was my chance. ‘Have you seen them argue like that before?’
They both looked at each other, as if waiting for the other one to answer. ‘Not really,’ Claire finally answered before both looked down, avoiding all eye contact.