She could see Lockyer was wrong-footed. He hadn’t expected to be challenged. ‘You were saying people had a good idea it was Ashworth, Barney?’ she said, hoping to break the tension. She knew what her mother would have said: Rutting males. You can’t have two stags on the same turf.
Barney seemed to hold Lockyer’s gaze for a few more beats before he said, ‘It was expected . . . not that he’d kill her, I mean, but they were a disaster right from the off. Chloe wasn’t up to much herself, poor girl. Her folks did their best, but she just wouldn’t be told. She took teenage rebellion to another level. She was trying to get clean, to get back on track when she met Ashworth, and then, well, that was it for her. He had her over a barrel. He helped pay for her kids with the money he got from drugs. At the same time he got her hooked on the hard stuff and there was nothing her mum or dad could do about it. Ashworth treated her like she was nothing. He used to beat her something awful.’
‘How do you know?’ Jane asked.
‘I saw the bruises,’ he said, ‘but she never would do nothing about it. She loved him.’ He shook his head. ‘She came in here a fair bit . . . and I’d see her at the Carew Arms and the Hood Arms over Kilve way. She was a regular all over the place. Rumour went round that the kid she was carrying wasn’t Ashworth’s. So when she turned up dead, well . . . it didn’t take a brain of Britain to figure that one out.’
‘Who said the baby wasn’t Ashworth’s?’ Lockyer asked.
Barney shook his head. ‘I don’t know. ’Twas just a rumour. A place like this lives and dies on rumours.’ His face fell. ‘Sorry . . . I didn’t mean that like it sounded.’
‘It’s fine, Barney,’ she said.
‘Did the police ever talk to you?’ Lockyer asked. Jane noticed his pint remained untouched. She was surprised he had ordered it in the first place.
‘Not about her murder, no,’ Barney said. ‘A couple of officers came round the pubs once or twice, a bit like you are, I guess, but they never spoke to me about Chloe. I wish they had done. I’d have told the guy in charge what was what.’
‘Who?’ Jane asked, knowing the answer she would get.
‘Townsend,’ he said. ‘Same guy from Pip’s accident. You’ll pardon me for saying, but he doesn’t seem too . . . switched on, if you ask me.’ Jane resisted the urge to look at Lockyer.
‘What about this lot?’ she said, nodding at the crowd behind them. ‘Did Townsend talk to them?’
‘Enough to piss ’em off, yes,’ Barney said, draining the rest of his pint. ‘He’s lucky they didn’t lynch ’im. I was half tempted meself.’
‘Piss them off how?’ Lockyer asked.
Barney shrugged. ‘The way Chloe died . . . the fact she was pregnant and that she had two little ’uns at home. It really shook everyone up, and . . .’ He looked at Lockyer. ‘You obviously don’t wanna hear about Walford and what happened there, but after Chloe you’d have been hard pushed to find someone who wasn’t . . . thinking about it.’
Lockyer pushed his pint away from him. ‘You’ll pardon me for saying,’ he said, using Barney’s words, ‘but you can’t have it both ways. Either it’s Walford or it’s Ashworth. Stands to reason it can’t be both.’
‘I’m not sure this is constructive,’ she said, feeling like she was in the middle of a pissing contest, although Lockyer was the only one taking part.
‘It doesn’t have to be Walford,’ Barney said. ‘But that doesn’t mean it’s not still about ’im.’
‘Because Chloe was found in . . . Dead Woman’s Ditch?’ Lockyer asked. Jane could see his mind was working on something, but she was damned if she knew what it was.
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Stands to reason, given what happened. People stopped driving over the Common for a good couple of months after Chloe . . . same as now.’
Jane saw Lockyer open his mouth to argue. ‘You were talking about Ashworth,’ she said, catching Barney’s eye, determined to stop the conversation going any further off track.
Barney looked down into his empty glass. ‘The whole place was devastated,’ he said, his voice quiet. ‘I think people felt guilty. Guilty they hadn’t helped Chloe before . . . you know, stopped her hooking up with Ashworth. I know I did.’
‘That’s understandable,’ she said. ‘Someone well known being murdered in circumstances like that – it’s bound to affect everyone who knew her, whether they had a close association or not.’ She took a sip of her tea while deciding how to phrase her next question. ‘Barney, while I understand how upset people must have been, and I definitely see the similarities in location with Walford, et cetera, I’m afraid I don’t get why Townsend’s investigation would have got them so riled up?’
Barney sighed. ‘Because,’ he said, stretching out the word, ‘Townsend came in here like some copper off the telly. He was trying to be all good-cop-bad-cop – ’cept he was doing both. He was nice to folk one minute, then the next he was accusing them of knowing more than they were saying. He was the one that asked about Dead Woman’s Ditch and all about local legends, Walford, Gurt Wurm and all that . . .’ He stopped, turned in his seat and held his empty pint glass in the air until the landlord caught sight of him and nodded. ‘He even called me,’ he said without missing a step. ‘Didn’t realize it was him at the time, but he wanted all the lowdown on what went on back in the day, or whatever. So he comes up here asking folk about it and then turns on a halfpenny and says people are . . . I don’t know, saying about the legends to cause trouble . . . to waste time and muck up his investigation into Chloe’s murder.’ Barney raised his eyebrows. ‘Seems to me that guy could fuck up a salad. S’cuse the language,’ he said to Jane. She couldn’t help smiling. It had been a while since someone had apologized to her for swearing. ‘He basically made out like we was protecting Ashworth. Folk were furious. No one here would ever, then or now, dream of protecting a piece of shit like Ashworth.’ He looked at Jane and shrugged another apology. ‘Folk were frightened – genuinely frightened.’
‘At least the looks we’re getting are starting to make sense,’ Lockyer muttered. ‘Can you give me a quick run-down on who’s here?’ he asked, as if dismissing everything Barney had just said. Jane felt her cheeks heat. ‘If you can start with those who might have known Pippa Jones or her family best, and work your way out from there.’ He was talking to him like an employee. It was mortifying.
‘If you’ve got time?’ Jane added.
‘Sure,’ Barney said. ‘That’s why I’m here.’ He smiled at her and rolled his lips in as he had before, his beard standing up around his mouth. A girl arrived with his second pint. He thanked her and took a big gulp the foam, wetting his whiskers. Lockyer had yet to start his own pint. Jane looked at him. She had spent the time they had been sitting here taking in their surroundings; looking at everyone in the pub in turn. But it seemed Lockyer had eyes for only one person, and that person was Barney.
‘You don’t like him, then,’ Jane said, as soon as the BFG was out of earshot.
‘Whereas you do,’ Lockyer said, disturbed to hear a childish whine in his voice. It had been his idea to speak to the locals, to find out more about Chloe Evans and Ashworth and whether there was any real connection with the Jones case, but so far it just felt like a distraction. For all the time he was here getting the three-line whip from the BFG, he wasn’t out following up on actual leads, tangible evidence that could lead them to Pippa’s killer. He already had the team cross-referencing the make and model of the vehicle, traffic were keeping an eye out for any and all white Land Rovers and Crossley, who was fast becoming his favourite, was trawling through hours of traffic-camera footage. Lockyer wanted to be with them, to be chasing down this bastard, not stuck here in la-la land.
‘He’s an asset, Mike,’ she said, frowning. ‘He just saved us about four days’ background work.’
‘If he’s telling the truth, yes.’ Again Lockyer’s tone was more infantile that he would have liked. ‘So, are we going to do this together or split up?’ he as
ked. ‘I want to get back.’
She looked at him for a second, her eyes searching, but then her face cleared. ‘Let’s split up,’ she said. ‘You take the skittles team and I’ll take the lot over by the dart board.’
‘Don’t trust me to talk to Chloe’s dad?’ he asked, looking over at a guy in his sixties wearing a faded yellow jumper, dark green trousers and wellies. He was one of the first people Barney had pointed out.
‘If we end up looking more into Chloe’s murder, then we might need him. I figured a softly-softly approach would be best at this stage,’ she said.
‘I can do soft,’ he said, knowing he couldn’t.
She waved away his comment. ‘What level of official do you want to go?’
He gestured to his pint. ‘Friendly,’ he said.
‘I’d better get a drink, then,’ she said, standing and side-stepping out of the bench.
‘You’re driving,’ he said.
‘So are you,’ she said, giving him a look that said she had picked up on his tone and wasn’t impressed.
Jane put her cup and saucer on the bar. The young girl who had brought her tea over was serving. ‘Could I get a lime and soda?’ Barney was at the other end of the bar. He raised his glass in her direction. She smiled. If Lockyer’s attitude had bothered him, the feeling had been short-lived.
‘Sure,’ the girl said, reaching for a glass and a bottle of lime cordial in one smooth motion. When she added the soda she swore under her breath. ‘Sorry, I just need to change over the pump. This stuff is flat.’ She showed Jane the glass.
‘Thank you,’ Jane said, glad of the extra time. She needed to prepare. From what Barney had told them, they had one chance to get this right.
She looked over her shoulder at Lockyer. He was sitting down at a table with two men, both in flat caps. They looked guarded, but they appeared to be talking, so to give Lockyer his due, he hadn’t pissed them off – yet. If they thought Townsend pushed hard when he interviewed, they were in for a shock.
‘Hello.’
Jane turned to her right. A small man wearing a tweed jacket, white shirt and green corduroys was standing next to her. He was halfway through a pint of Guinness. ‘Hello,’ she said.
‘You’re from London, I hear,’ he said.
‘News travels fast.’
‘Always.’
‘I’m Jane,’ she said. ‘DS Jane Bennett.’
‘Simon. Simon Jenkins.’ He shook her hand. ‘It’s nice to meet a lady detective.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Are you from around here?’
‘Crowcombe. Just up the road.’
She nodded. ‘I know the place. What’s the pub there . . . the Carey Arms?’
‘Carew Arms,’ he said.
‘Not your kind of place?’
‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘I just prefer it here nowadays. I don’t know as many folk.’
‘Looking for some peace and quiet?’ she asked.
‘Something like that,’ he said, picking up his pint and downing the remaining half in one. He waved the glass at the girl, who was now serving at the other end of the bar. She tipped her chin. He set down his glass. ‘How are Pippa’s folks doing?’
‘They’re doing OK,’ she said, thinking he had just made her job a whole lot easier. ‘Do you know the Joneses well?’
‘Used to,’ he said. ‘Used to know the reverend before the family moved up your way.’
‘Did you know Pippa?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I mean, knew her when she was little. Her and Andrea went to Sunday school together. We had Pip over to play sometimes after church. She was such a sweet girl.’
‘Andrea is your daughter?’
‘That’s right. They could be little buggers when they got together,’ he said, smiling. ‘My wife had a devil of a time keeping them in the house.’
‘Is your wife at home?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘She passed on fifteen years ago now. She had cancer . . . breast cancer.’ He whispered the word breast.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
‘That’s all right,’ he said. ‘I don’t mind talking about her.’
‘Did you speak to Pippa much when she was working here?’ she asked, feeling a tug of guilt at changing the subject from his dead wife.
‘A bit,’ he said. ‘I don’t think she really remembered me – or if she did, she didn’t know what to say.’ He shook his head whilst fiddling with his glass. ‘I know how her folks must be feeling, the reverend especially. After all he’s done – all he’s given to the church.’
‘He’s dedicated,’ Jane said, more as a statement than a question.
‘Always was,’ he said. ‘How does a man of God make sense of this kind of thing?’
‘The same as anyone, I guess,’ she said.
‘You’d think he’d get a . . . I don’t know, a pass or something,’ he said. ‘That all his good would be repaid to him somehow, but . . . having his daughter taken away. He must feel betrayed . . . I know I do.’
Her drink had arrived without her noticing. She swilled her glass, dispersing the lime cordial. ‘It must be very hard,’ she said.
‘I haven’t been to church in years,’ he said.
‘I can understand that,’ she said, picking up her drink. ‘You must miss her.’
‘Every day. After my wife passed it was just the two of us. Andrea was all I had in the world.’ His eyes filled with tears. He swallowed, turning away from her, and sniffed.
‘That must be . . .’ She stopped. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. You’ve lost your daughter too?’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It’ll be two years tomorrow.’
‘Gosh, I am sorry,’ she said, feeling like she had really put her foot in it. She turned, looking for Barney. A heads-up on this guy might have been a good idea. ‘How did she die? If you don’t mind me asking?’ She whispered the question.
Simon pushed a tear away with the back of his hand. ‘Doctor said it was from being outside,’ he said. ‘He put something like “exposure” on her certificate.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. He seemed to get smaller the longer she talked to him. He had lost his wife and his daughter. He was alone in a bar avoiding talking about any of it, and here she was, ripping open all his wounds.
‘We usually walked home together,’ he said. ‘She would sit at one end of the pub with her friends and I’d be t’other end with mine, and when we were done we’d walk home arm in arm. She’d sing.’ Jane pressed her lips together and nodded in sympathy. What could she say? ‘But I’d done my back in over at the stables. I was laid up for a week. Andrea took care of me. She was off work making sure I was all right – bringing me my tea and supper in bed.’
‘She sounds like a good daughter,’ she said.
‘Oh, she was, she was,’ he said. ‘Don’t get me wrong, she had her troubles, we fought like mad when she was a teenager; but she’d changed. She’d grown up – she wanted more from her life, but then . . . then it was all taken away.’ He sighed. ‘We live up Crowcombe Hill,’ he said. ‘She was walking back from the Carew. It must have been gone midnight and whoever . . . well, I guess they didn’t see her.’
Jane’s mind had been wandering as she tried to think of a way to extricate herself without offending the poor guy, but his words stopped her, made her focus. ‘Sorry, who didn’t see her?’
‘Whoever hit her,’ he said. ‘The police reckoned someone clipped her with their car . . . didn’t realize and drove off.’
‘And this was two years ago?’ she asked, looking around for Lockyer but catching Barney’s eye instead. Why the hell hadn’t he mentioned Andrea Jenkins?
Lockyer nodded, tapping his fingers on the side of his glass. Jane had been throwing him looks for the past twenty minutes. It wasn’t clear what she wanted but he wasn’t about to cut his conversations short to run over to join her, the BFG and some bloke who appeared to be weeping into his pint. ‘You were saying you lost some livestock?’ h
e said with a feeling of déjà vu. First Robert Goodland and his stories of sheep’s heads and cursed lands, and now these guys.
‘That’s right,’ Harry Garfield said. ‘I kept my ewes on the Quarry side in the main but the same six or so kept wandering. God knows why, the grass is much better where I put ’em, but I kept finding them in Shervage. I found six first time, then five, then three – then none.’
‘They couldn’t have gone elsewhere on the hills?’
‘If there’s one thing you can’t keep in, ’tis sheep,’ Norman Grace said. ‘They might be thick as pig swill but when it comes to get’in out they’s like Houdini.’
Lockyer had taken to saying their full names in his head every time they spoke in order to commit them to memory. He didn’t think this lot would respond well to a notepad and direct questions. Mind you, he didn’t really need to ask questions. They seemed to move from one topic to the next without his help. All he had to do was put them on the path. He had mentioned Pippa’s crash and Dead Woman’s Ditch, and there hadn’t been a break in their conversation yet.
‘I’d have found ’em,’ Harry said. Harry Garfield, Lockyer repeated in his mind. ‘I know my animals and I’m tellin’ you, something or someone took ’em.’
‘Great Worm?’ Lockyer said.
‘It’s Gurt Wurm,’ both men corrected him at the same time.
‘Gurt as in hurt,’ Norman said, ‘and Wurm as in worm, but with a u.’
‘The dragon?’ Lockyer said, trying hard not to smile. He had received quite the history lesson already, but while he didn’t believe in dragons or tales of missing animals and bloodshed in the woods, he was prepared to concede that the legends must have come from somewhere.
‘Who’s to say what’s up in them hills?’ Harry said, opening his hands.
‘Or who,’ Norman added. He pulled on the loose skin under his chin.
‘I was up at Wayland’s Pool yesterday,’ Lockyer said. ‘Although I couldn’t find a pool per se.’ He shivered at the memory. One of his little toes was still recovering from his sub-zero hike into the woods with Jane. She had tried to hide it, but it was obvious the place gave her the creeps. He supposed it made sense given the history and the landscape; tall bare trees, creaking branches, the ground beneath their feet hidden by leaves and snow. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. They had him at it now.
The Night Stalker (Detective Jane Bennett and Mike Lockyer series Book 4) Page 20