Hallowdene

by George Mann

  “That’s why I’m here,” said Peter. “I just need to ask you a few questions.”

  Daisy looked a little deflated. “No problem. Shall we have a cup of tea?”

  “That would be nice. Thank you.”

  They returned to the kitchen, and Daisy set about making the drinks. “So, what do you want to know?”

  “Firstly, I’m interested in how well you knew Lee Stroud.”

  “I didn’t,” said Daisy. “Not beyond what I saw of him in Richmond’s, or occasionally around the village. He never really spoke to me, unless it was to ask after Sally. Christian always said that he had a thing for her, but I don’t think Lee was really wired that way.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t really think he was that bothered about love, or sex. That’s how he came across. I’d just never thought of him in that way. He always seemed more interested in his history and genealogy. I never saw him troubled by a pretty girl. Or a pretty man, for that matter.”

  “We’ve certainly found no evidence that he shared his life with anyone,” said Peter.

  Daisy nodded. “That’s sad. Everyone deserves someone, don’t you think?”

  “I suppose I do,” said Peter. He accepted the mug of tea she’d been making. It was hot, and he put it straight back down on the work surface. “So you’d never had a run-in with Stroud?”

  “Not like I had with Nicholas Abbott, if that’s what you mean. Lee just wanted to be heard, I think, and he’d fixated on Sally as someone he thought should be listening. I always tried to dissuade him when he started making a scene, and sometimes he’d listen to me and leave quietly. Other times he’d just keep shouting for Sally until she put in an appearance and tried to placate him.”

  “What about Christian? I’ve heard he took umbrage at Stroud’s regular visits.”

  “That was only recently, really, since they’d started work on the dig. Christian was just trying to protect his mum, I think, and the business, too – we’d had a few customers complain about Lee’s behaviour,” she said.

  “Anyone I should know about?”

  “Nicholas Abbott for one,” said Daisy, “but he’d complain about anything if he thought it might get a rise out of someone. Other than that, just the odd comment, really. A few of the older customers who like a bit of peace and quiet with their teacakes. And maybe Carl Hardwick, too. I seem to remember him saying something about the noise. Nothing untoward, though. They’re generally a very friendly bunch.”

  It certainly didn’t sound as if Daisy had any reason to go after Stroud.

  “Can you tell me your whereabouts the night before last? Did you happen to go up to the manor?”

  She frowned. “No. I’ve no reason to go up there,” she said.

  Peter nodded. It sounded like a practised response. She’d been expecting that question. “I noticed your boots in the hall,” he said. “It was muddy up at the dig site, that’s all.”

  “I like to go walking in the woods, sometimes. I just haven’t got round to cleaning them yet. Sometimes I don’t even bother, to be honest, as they’ll only get muddy again.”

  “Raisonby Wood?”

  “Yeah. There’s something about that place. It’s almost like stepping back in time.”

  “So that’s where you were the night before last, walking in Raisonby Wood?” he asked.

  “What? No. I was here, painting. That’s what I’m usually doing when I’m not at Richmond’s. I don’t have that much of a social life, out here in Hallowdene. Sometimes I head over to Oxford for a night out with old friends, but really, my life’s here, with these people, and apart from the odd drink in the Rowan Tree, there’s not a great deal to do.” She sipped her tea. “I guess that’s why I had such fun with Ellie last night.”

  “She did look a bit worse for wear this morning.”

  “Didn’t she just!” Daisy laughed.

  “So, just to confirm, you were here alone, and you saw no one between the hours of 9 pm and 2 am?”

  “I suppose when you put it like that, I don’t have much of an alibi. But when you live alone, and you have a solitary hobby…” She shrugged. “I’m sorry I can’t be more help. And I’m sorry about what happened to Lee. I had no fondness for Nicholas Abbott, but I suspect he brought it on himself – and that’s not an admission – but Lee seemed like a harmless soul. I can’t imagine who’d want to hurt him.”

  Peter took a couple of gulps of his tea, then made his excuses and left. On the way out, he couldn’t help but notice the flaking mud in the hallway, and remembered Daisy’s jacket from the previous evening, with the muddy cuff. Had she done that in Raisonby Wood, too?

  He walked slowly back to the car, if anything feeling increasingly uneasy about Daisy Heddle. To him, it was almost as if there were two Daisys – the artist and waitress who’d made such an impression on Elspeth, and the quieter, scared young woman who bristled at his innocuous questions and obfuscated when she had to explain herself.

  There was something there, bubbling under the bright, cheerful surface, and whatever it was, she was deeply reluctant to reveal it.

  Back in the car, he wondered how Elspeth was getting on. He pulled out his phone, but the only message was from PC Chambers, saying that Griffiths wanted to see him back at the station. He considered giving her a call, and then thought better of it, and tossed his phone onto the passenger seat as he drove off.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  For a moment when Ellie walked into the bar, dressed in a smart little cocktail dress, she remembered what it was she loved about London – the fact she could go anywhere, at any time, find bars that weren’t just another rustic country pub, stay out late and feel like she was at the beating heart of the world, where everything was happening, and everything was possible.

  Of course she had missed it. How could she have forgotten this?

  And then she stood at the bar for a moment and watched the people fawning over one another, the men in their Savile Row suits and the women in their designer dresses, and she remembered exactly why she’d left. None of this was real. Nobody really existed in this world. It looked glamorous enough, tricked you into falling for its illusion, but ultimately, that lifestyle of endless parties and empty shags amounted to nothing. Not to Elspeth. She’d never been interested in that.

  Andrew had been a part of that world, and she was certain he’d been taken in by it. That’s probably why he did what he did – because, fired up on booze and parties, he’d felt as if he could do anything he wanted, and there was no one in the world who could stop him. That life – it chewed people up and spat them out, and she didn’t think she wanted anything to do with it.

  Of course, she knew full well that not all of London was like this, that this was only a small slice of what life here was like. But it was how Elspeth had come to see it and tonight, at a place like this, surrounded by people she didn’t know and didn’t want to know, it only reinforced her fears.

  Move back to London and lose yourself. Take a new job, put on a party frock, and become someone else.

  The thought of it left her feeling utterly exhausted.

  She leaned against the bar, trying to catch the barman’s eye. Perhaps she was still hungover from the night before. She wasn’t as young as she’d once been. She’d had fun with Abigail, back at her apartment, chatting about men, trying on some of Abi’s outfits, choosing what she was going to wear for the party. For a while she’d even started to think that perhaps it wouldn’t be such a bad thing to come back, and that if this editorial position worked out it might be another step towards getting back on her feet.

  That’s when it had hit her. She already was back on her feet. She had been for months. She was making a go of her freelance career, she had a flat that she loved, she had family and friends, and she had Peter.

  That’s what this was really about, she realised. She was building contingency plans. She was scared he was going to go, and that they’d never really li
ve up to their potential. They’d been too coy, too reserved, too caught up in what was going on around them to notice that they’d not really talked, not made any plans. She’d have to do something about that, just as soon as she made it home.

  She almost laughed at the irony. Home. Of course that’s how she felt about it. Oxfordshire was her home, now, and she wasn’t about to give it up. Still, it didn’t stop her from having fun with her friend.

  Abigail suddenly appeared by her side, pushing a drink into her hand. Elspeth took a sip, and shuddered at the hit of almost neat vodka.

  “I know the barman,” said Abigail, leaning in and raising her voice to be heard. “He’ll see us right.”

  “He’ll see us drunk and disorderly,” said Elspeth, taking another sip. At least, she supposed, it might blow away the last of the previous night’s cobwebs. “I thought we were going to a launch party?”

  “Oh, yeah. This is just an aperitif,” said Abigail. She clinked her glass against Elspeth’s. “We’ll have a couple here to loosen us up before we head to the party. It’s just down the street.”

  “I don’t know about loosen us up,” said Elspeth, “so much as wipe us out.” She put the drink on the bar. She’d better take it steady – she didn’t want to be all over the place when Abigail introduced her to Simon.

  Abigail seemed to notice her mood. “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Of course. It’s just a bit loud in here, that’s all.”

  Abigail laughed. “You’re getting too used to life in the country. Come on, then. Finish your drink and we’ll head off.”

  * * *

  The party was a relatively low-key affair in a hired room beneath a swanky bar, which was decorated with old distilling paraphernalia and towering brass vats, set amongst metal gantries and mezzanines. Thankfully the music was relatively low-key, too, and after all the speeches were done and everyone had congratulated the author on the book – a grisly thriller about people-trafficking from Eastern Europe – Abigail had walked her around, introducing her to everyone.

  At least here she felt more at home amongst the crowd, surrounded by fellow book lovers. The publicity team were friendly, and asked her lots of questions, and the other editors seemed genuinely interested in her work. Simon, however, seemed more concerned with the length of her skirt.

  “So, Abi tells me you’re interested in applying for our new editorial position,” he said, knocking back a small glass of red wine as if it were a shot of tequila. He looked her up and down. He was a handsome, smartly dressed man in his fifties, with a style that seemed a little anachronistic, evidenced by both his waistcoat and pocket watch and his apparent attitudes towards women. “I’d certainly be interested to hear more. We’ve been looking to extend our non-fiction range, and Abi tells me you’re something of a hot property at the moment. Broke a big story about a murder, didn’t you?”

  Elspeth wasn’t sure she liked being considered a ‘hot property’, particularly by a man who had so far been unable to make any form of eye contact. “You could say that, yes. I formed part of the investigative team working on the Carrion King case.”

  “Ah, right, of course,” he said. “Well, there’s a book in that, of course. Have you considered that? Writing a book?”

  “I’ve thought about it,” said Elspeth.

  “You have?” said Abigail.

  Elspeth nodded. “It’s something I’d like to do, one day.”

  “You should,” said Simon, fiddling with one of his cufflinks. “And when you’re ready, talk to Abi. She’s one of our star editors. I’m sure she’d be delighted to have you on her list.” He made it sound as if he were introducing the two of them for the first time.

  “Thanks,” said Elspeth. “I’m sorry, you’ll have to excuse me for a moment.” She handed Abigail her glass, ignoring the woman’s urgent eye-rolling, and ducked off in the direction of the loo.

  At the last minute she veered left, slipping behind one of the tall brass vats, out of view of the rest of the party. She heaved a sigh of relief.

  She pulled out a chair by a little round table and sat down, taking out her phone. She thumbed through her list of recent contacts and found Peter’s name. She hit dial.

  He answered almost immediately. “Ellie? Is everything okay?”

  “Of course it is,” she said, laughing. “I don’t only phone in emergencies, you know.”

  “I know, but aren’t you supposed to be down in London, attending some swanky party?”

  “I’m here now, and it’s deathly,” she said. “I’d much rather be with you, having a drink in the Old Dun Cow.” The pub had become her Heighton local, and she often went for a drink there on a Thursday evening with Meredith and the gang from the Heighton Observer.

  “The feeling’s mutual. I’m still at the station.”

  “Any developments?”

  She heard him swap his phone to the other hand. “Only that Thomas Abbott has a cast-iron alibi for the night of Lee Stroud’s murder,” he said. “He was at the theatre in Oxford. Plenty of witnesses.”

  “So we’re back to square one,” she said.

  “We?”

  “Of course. We’re in this together, aren’t we?”

  “Always. But I’m pleased to hear you say it.” She had the sense that they were talking about more than just the investigation.

  A pause.

  “I spoke to Daisy again.”

  “And?”

  “There’s no obvious connection to Stroud, but I don’t know… I still think she’s hiding something, Ellie.”

  “I know. Perhaps she’ll open up a bit, now she knows she can trust me. But I don’t want to betray that trust. Like I said, she needs a friend,” said Elspeth.

  “I just want you to be careful. That’s all. I couldn’t bear it if you got hurt.”

  “I know. Goes both ways, you know.”

  She heard another voice in the background, and thought she recognised DS Patel.

  “All right, you’d better get back to the party,” said Peter.

  “Do I have to?”

  “Yes, you do. Your friend is waiting for you. Go. You’ll be home tomorrow, and we’ll try to make a night of it. There’s some grand unveiling of the witch’s bones at the Hallowdene village hall, and then we could head back to my place?” he said.

  “You’re on.” She looked up and saw Abigail heading for her table. “I’d better go. See you.”

  She cut the connection.

  Abigail pulled out a chair and sat down. “All right, missus, are you going to tell me what’s going on with you?” She pushed Elspeth’s drink across the table.

  “I just wanted to speak to Peter, that’s all,” she said. “Sorry to dash off like that.” She put her phone back in the little clutch bag she’d been carrying around all night.

  Abigail sighed. “Look, I was wrong, Ellie. Things have changed for you. This isn’t your scene, not any more. I’m sorry – I thought I was doing the right thing, but I can see that all you want to do is go home.” She looked a little crestfallen, but she reached out and put her hand on Elspeth’s arm.

  “I’m sorry,” said Elspeth. “I really do appreciate it. It’s not that I don’t want to see you. It’s just all of this,” she waved her arm, encompassing the venue, the party. “I’m standing there talking to people and all I can think about is the story I’m supposed to be working on, and getting back to Peter.”

  “Love can do that to a girl,” said Abigail.

  “Love?”

  “I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

  Elspeth shook her head. It was too early for talk like that. And besides, she still didn’t know if he was planning to stick around. There’d be no talk of love. Not yet. “Look, I’m going to cut and run. You stay. I can make my own way back to your place, see you later when you’re done here.”

  “Don’t be daft. I’m coming with you.”

  “I don’t want to spoil your evening,” said Elspeth. “I feel bad enough as it is.”r />
  “You think I want to hang around here and get ogled by Simon any more than I need to? I can do that any day at the office. Let’s head back to mine, crack open a bottle of wine and watch a crappy movie.”

  “Now you’re talking,” said Elspeth. They stood, looping arms. “Thanks, Abi.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The headstone felt cold against the backs of her legs.

  Daisy shifted position, glancing at her phone screen. The light from the device was the only source of illumination for miles around, encasing her in its warm orange glow – a protective shield, holding back the darkness.

  In the distance, down the hill, she could see a few pinpricks of light in the village; the sodium glare of the street lamps and the occasional burst of a security light flickering on to snapshot the sudden movement of a bird or cat.

  Behind her, the old church loomed, shrouded in shadow and surrounded by the looming headstones of its silent congregation, now resting here in permanent, rapt attention. The place gave Daisy the creeps. Why she’d want to meet here was beyond her.

  She checked her phone again. It was nearly 1 am.

  She heard the scuff of a boot on the wall, and looked up to see Lucy jumping down into the graveyard, running towards her, a beaming smile on her face. She was wearing a jumper dress and black leggings, with purple boots and a short denim jacket. She grabbed Daisy by the lapels, pushed her back against the headstone and kissed her deeply.

  “Hi,” she said, when she finally came up for air. “I’ve been waiting all day to do that.”

  “Trouble in paradise?” said Daisy.

  “Petra caught me sneaking back in the other night and went apoplectic. Caused a right barney. Dad stood up for me, of course, but then backtracked a bit when Petra pointed out there was a murderer on the loose. Said he wanted a running commentary of my comings and goings until it was all over.”

  Daisy sighed. “You’re going to have to tell them about us, Lucy. I’d never pressure you, you know that, but I worry about you too. And we can’t keep doing this, skulking around graveyards and meeting in the dead of night. Can’t you just stay over at mine?”