by Sarah Ward
‘You knew it already?’
‘Of course.’ Hilary twisted her face to Mina’s. ‘Because we killed her.’
9
Connie wished she’d had a cigarette that morning before coming into work rather than a few deep puffs on the new vape she’d treated herself to at the weekend. It was a super strong model but even the blast of nicotine had failed to quell her cravings for the real thing. Feeling jittery, she looked in dismay at the folder with Nell Colley’s name on it that had been put in the place for the most urgent of cases. Her chair.
‘Now what?’
No one else in the office raised their head, clearly occupied with their own bureaucratic workload. At the sound of Matthews opening her door, Connie picked up the file and sat down sharpish, trying to look busy. A man around Connie’s age wearing a mismatched jacket and trousers and thick black glasses followed her superior.
‘Connie, can I introduce you to your new colleague, DC Peter Dahl? He’s starting with us today.’
Connie stood up again and held out her hand. He towered over her. Another tall copper.
‘Dahl has transferred to us from the Glossop division. I’d like him to shadow you today, if that’s okay?’
‘Sure, I mean, of course, but there’s not much on at the moment.’
‘What about that sudden death I gave you? Nell Colley.’
So it was Matthews who had put the file back on her chair. ‘The correct procedure was followed. I’ve checked the report and the guidance for sudden deaths. Plus the flow chart. There’s nothing suspicious about the circumstances so I’ve labelled it as no further action.’
Matthews frowned. ‘Have you been to see the next of kin?’
‘No, but one of the officers attending the scene talked to a neighbour. We’re going to struggle for any close relatives as Nell Colley was an only child. The neighbour was very friendly with her, though, and thinks she’s the legatee of the deceased woman’s will. She’s prepared to organise the funeral.’
‘Go and see her, Connie, and take Dahl with you.’
Connie opened her mouth to protest but Matthews stopped her. ‘Got anything better to do?’
Connie glanced over at Dahl who was looking embarrassed. To her surprise, he mouthed ‘sorry’ over Matthews’s shoulder. Connie bent down to pick up her handbag so that neither would see her smile.
‘No problem. Shall we go?’
They walked in silence out of the Detective Room and down the long corridor.
‘Is it always this quiet?’ Dahl sounded relaxed.
‘Is that why you transferred? Fancy a bit of peace and quiet? Is it getting hairy up at Glossop?’
He laughed. ‘I was supposed to start next month. Due to report to DI Sadler but, because of staffing issues, they asked me to start earlier.’
‘Staffing issues?’ Connie stopped and stared at him. ‘What staffing issues? We don’t have a major investigation on at the moment. Unless you count the case of the non-suspicious death. You fancied a change from the Dark Peak?’
Connie took in his pressed jacket and trousers and noted his rumpled shirt. Posh but single, she decided. He’d had his jacket dry cleaned but he’d matched it with the wrong trousers and had no one to iron his shirt.
‘I transferred for personal reasons.’ He sounded unwilling to give any more information. ‘I have family commitments.’
Wrong again. Connie turned and led the way out of the station.
The High Oaks area of Bampton was one of its wealthiest neighbourhoods populated with tall, graceful Victorian houses that were still family homes and well looked after. The houses in Pullen Road were less impressive than those of neighbouring streets but still elegant. Derbyshire granite blending into the landscape and built to last for centuries. Connie drew up outside number 59 and looked over to the sash windows with the curtains neatly drawn and a bunch of flowers sitting inside a Portmeirion vase on the sill.
‘Do you think the neighbour put the flowers in afterwards?’ asked Dahl.
‘That would be an odd thing to do, putting flowers in a dead woman’s house. Nell probably bought them herself. The notes said she’d felt a bit better before she died. Let’s go inside.’
From an evidence wallet, Connie removed a single key that fitted the front door. The house had a slight antiseptic smell infused with pine, the aroma of cleaning fluids. Dahl sniffed the air. The hall was beautifully decorated but in a dated style, having floorboards of good quality laminate set against wallpaper with large bunches of blue flowers.
‘She was found on the sofa in the living room.’
Dahl pushed open a door on the right leading into a room that held a large maroon leather sofa and two armchairs. The antiseptic smell was stronger here. Connie looked around. A remote control was sitting on the coffee table next to the free local paper. The room was neat as a pin, only the scent of the roses trying to vie with that of the cleaning fluid. Connie fingered the petals.
‘They’re drying out. Not a recent buy then. Shall we have a quick look around the house?’
Dahl went into the kitchen while Connie made her way upstairs. Nell’s bedroom was easily identifiable as it was the only room with a bed made up. Connie lifted up the pillows and saw a nightdress folded under one of them. Nell Colley had expected to go to bed that evening. She rifled through the wardrobe and inspected the chest of drawers as she listened to Dahl moving around downstairs. The bedside cabinet was crammed full of medication. Connie picked up a few packets to read the labels: verapamil, atorvastatin. The names meant nothing to her.
‘Heart medication.’
The voice in her ear made Connie jump. ‘Jesus. Are you trying to give me a heart attack? Do you recognise the drugs?’
‘This one,’ Dahl took the packet out of her hand, ‘is a statin. It reduces cholesterol, which causes heart disease. I think the other is a calcium channel blocker. Used to treat high blood pressure.’ Dahl flicked through the other packets in the drawer. ‘I’m no expert but there doesn’t appear to be anything odd there. It looks like Nell Colley took aspirin regularly too, to thin her blood.’
‘No expert? You could have fooled me. Let me bag up the medicine so I can show it to Matthews. Anything downstairs?’
Dahl shook his head. ‘The doors are all secure. Everything looks fine. Someone has been cleaning, though. There’s no trash in the bin. The house has been tidied up after Nell’s death. Can I show you something?’
Connie looked up at him. ‘What have you found?’
‘Take a look at this.’ Connie followed Dahl out of the bedroom and down the stairs. In the hall there was an old-fashioned telephone table from the days before hands-free phones. The dark mahogany seat was covered in a regency stripe. Dahl pulled open the drawer and pulled out a black book. ‘It’s Nell’s address book.’
‘Anything of interest?’
‘A list of addresses, obviously. When someone died, she put a little cross by their name. Look.’
Connie looked to where he was pointing. Next to a name, a small cross.
‘You think that means she’s dead?’
‘Yes. My mother does the same thing.’
Connie picked up the book and leafed through it. ‘Quite a few names with crosses next to them. That’s not surprising for a woman in her seventies, is it?’
‘Did you look at what was on the coffee table?’
‘The local paper.’
‘It was dated the fifteenth of June.’
‘So? She read old copies of the paper. So do I. Well, I take them from the recycling bag into the bath with me to see if there’s anything remotely interesting happening in Bampton. There never is.’
‘Come and take a look. I flicked through it. See what happens when I get to page twenty.’ Dahl turned the pages until he reached one ringed with coffee cup marks. Death notices.
‘Oh great. I have an aunt like that. Not happy until she’s checked who’s died this week.’
‘I know people like that too
but they check and move on. Look at the ring marks. There are five of them. It’s as if she spent time reading them with a cup of tea or whatever. Look at the death notices. How many?’
‘Four.’
‘Right, and I’ve checked the names against Nell’s address book. Look at this one.’
In Memoriam. Ingrid Neale. Died 10 June 2017. Funeral at Cold Eaton Parish Church. Family flowers only.
‘Ingrid Neale. So someone she knew had died. That probably explains her interest.’
‘Yes.’
Connie stared at him. ‘It’s not very exciting, is it?’
He was grinning at her. ‘No, but I wanted to show you my investigative skills.’
‘I’m impressed, Dahl.’
He looked pleased. ‘Are you going to speak to the neighbour who found the body?’
‘Of course. I’m not going back to Matthews without examining everything. She’s going to triple-check we did this properly.’
Connie pulled the front door behind them and peered through the front window. ‘Funny, though, that the neighbour didn’t look through the window. I mean, even if you had a key, surely you’d have a look through the window before you let yourself in. According to the report, the neighbour, Janet Goodhew, when she got no answer, used her key to open the front door. She says she didn’t see anything until she got into the living room. Why didn’t she look through the window?’
Dahl glanced at the next door house where a woman, neatly dressed but shod in slippers, had opened the door and was watching them anxiously. ‘Let’s ask her, shall we?’
10
Sunday had been a bitter day. A strong wind began in the morning, sweeping over the canal, which ruled out even a short paddle and Mina had stayed on the boat, brooding and thinking. It was nearly two weeks since she’d slept in her own house, her childhood home, and for the first time, Mina could see why Hilary had chosen to live here. There was a comfort in having so few possessions around you. It gave you time to think and reflect. After a disturbed night, Mina woke with a headache, which was always a bad sign. Regular Nurofen could relieve headaches that came on during the day. If she woke up with one, it was impossible to shift.
She idled in bed, contemplating her plans for the morning, when the boat rocked. A motor cruiser was going too fast down the canal. She heard Charlie next door shouting something she couldn’t make out and a word beginning with ‘c’, which she could. She got up, reached for her diary and considered her next move.
She’d be visiting Hilary again this afternoon. The dreaded night-time phone call hadn’t come, and she had a good few hours to get some work in. She switched on the Tassimo machine. In the tiny shower, she washed as quickly as she could, eager to get away. While the coffee was brewing, she stepped off the boat to check the tools in the back of her small van.
Autumn was the time of clearing. Leaves falling from trees needed hoovering up and brown stalks of plants required hacking back ready for the new growth of the spring. Monotonous work but it kept Mina fitter than the summer months of deadheading and mowing lawns. Mina reckoned she’d got as much gardening work from the name of her business as she had from personal recommendation. The Land Girl gave you what it promised. For twenty pounds an hour, you got one girl, trained in horticulture and a willingness to tackle anything your garden threw at her. The name of her business also had a reassuring effect on her older clients who, even if they couldn’t remember land girls, certainly knew the reference.
She hadn’t a single client in the village of Cold Eaton but she had, she remembered, once been approached by the pub owner who wanted a gardener to mow the lawns and keep the window boxes full of blooms all year round. She’d turned down the job because the landlady had baulked at her charges.
‘I have to pay national insurance and tax out of that,’ she’d protested but Emily Fenn only wanted to pay the minimum wage and had probably found a local lad to do the work. It was, however, the only introduction into that village that she had.
She set off, waving at Charlie who was checking his boat for damage and muttering under his breath. As she drove down the Matlock road, the rain was pelting onto the windscreen and she nearly missed the sign directing her to Cold Eaton. She had to put her foot on the brake suddenly, causing the driver behind her to lean on his horn.
The road was long and narrow, pitted with potholes and with only a few passing places. Don’t let me meet anyone, she prayed. She climbed a steep hill and then sharply descended into a village with a sign at its entrance warning drivers to watch their speed. The place had a closed off feel to it. Façades of grey with small, mean windows looking out onto the road. A telephone box was painted not the usual red but a fern green to blend in with the landscape. Finally a sign adorned with a painting of a clipper ship indicated she’d arrived at The Nettle Inn.
Parking to one side, Mina noticed that the window boxes were empty and the gravel leading around the pub was strewn with weeds. The front door was shut and a sign taped onto the rotting wood warned it wouldn’t open until half twelve. Mina knocked anyway and a large woman with an old-fashioned pinafore tied around her waist opened the door. She looked too old to be running a pub but the proprietorial way in which she looked Mina up and down made it clear who was in charge.
‘We’re not open until later.’
‘I know. I don’t need a drink. I’ve come about the gardening email you sent me in the spring. I was wondering if you still need the work doing.’
‘The Land Girl?’
‘You remembered?’
‘It’s a nice name.’ The woman opened the door further. ‘You’d better come in. If I remember, we had a conversation and I couldn’t afford your rates.’
‘To be honest,’ Mina lowered her voice, ‘I drop my prices at this time of year. People are prepared to let their gardens lapse when they don’t have to sit out in them. So I thought I’d visit businesses where it’s important to maintain, well, a good impression. Kerb appeal and so on.’
Emily snorted. ‘You’ve seen the weeds then.’ She led Mina into the pub where a fat log glowed, spitting out sparks at a mangy dog that was lying on the hearth.
‘Your wood’s a bit green.’
The woman opened the hatch to the bar and looked over at the logs. ‘You’re right. Old Malcolm Cox has diddled me again. It happened last October too. He runs short for his orders so gives me wood not seasoned long enough. I’ve got a pile of the stuff out the back.’
‘If you pile them up in a round formation, like the old-style haystacks, it’ll speed up the drying process.’
Emily switched on the coffee machine but her stance suggested that she didn’t welcome the advice. Her face when she turned, however, was neutral.
‘What did you say your name was?’
‘I’m Mina. Mina Kemp.’
‘Kemp?’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re not from around here, though.’
‘Bampton. That’s around here, isn’t it? Why, does the name mean something to you?’
Emily turned back to the machine. ‘Would you like a coffee?’
‘I’ll have an espresso, if that’s okay.’ She watched as the woman competently made a coffee using the huge machine. She brought the steaming black liquid over to Mina.
‘I could do with a bit of help outside, getting it ready for the winter. What’s your minimum rate?’
Mina nearly spat her coffee back into the cup. ‘That’s certainly direct.’
Emily smiled slightly. ‘I can’t afford to be anything else. Would you take a tenner an hour?’
Half her usual rate. Mina made a show of considering the offer. ‘As long as you don’t mind me fitting the hours around my other work.’
‘I can only afford five hours a week. Can you make a difference for that?’
Mina caught the edge of a plea. ‘Of course. I can do a few hours today, if you like, and come back next week. I’ll have your grounds looking spick and span in a couple of weeks. You won’t need to keep me on ov
er the winter.’
Emily sipped her own heavily milked coffee. ‘I’ve never been much of a gardener. My grandfather was. I remember a greenhouse out the back groaning with tomatoes. It was a different world then. Shorter opening hours. You actually had a life.’
‘You own the pub?’
‘It’s been in my family for generations. I had aspirations away from this place. I wanted to become a teacher would you believe, but … anyway … here I am. Worked to death behind the bar with two grown-up children who have no interest in taking it over from me.’
‘What will happen, afterwards I mean?’
Emily grimaced. ‘That will be for them to decide. I’m staying here until I conk out. Then it’ll be their problem. It’s a good enough earner if one of them changes their mind and decides to take the pub on.’
‘It’s a small village. It seems quiet.’
‘Tiny but it’s just off the Topley Trail. We get walkers through here every day. It’s why I invested in the coffee machine. We make more serving coffee and cake than we do pulling the pints these days.’
‘Isn’t there a school here? That would bring new blood into the village.’
‘It closed a while back. They were warning us for years then one day it happened.’
‘Why did you change your mind about teaching?’
Emily stood and picked up Mina’s empty coffee cup. ‘No reason. I changed my mind, that’s all. Anyway, you want to start straight away then?’
Mina also stood up and adopted a casual tone. ‘I think my mother might have had a childhood friend here, though. She mentioned Cold Eaton. Her friend went by the name of Valerie. Do you know her?’
Emily stiffened and made a show of thinking. ‘Valerie? That’s a name you don’t hear very often. I can’t think of any Valerie ever living in the village.’
‘Perhaps my mother was mistaken. She seemed so sure too.’
Emily had disappeared into the kitchen. When she came back, she was wiping her hands on her apron. ‘What did you say your mother’s first name was?’