by Rebecca Tope
‘Jonah,’ she cried, throwing the car door open. ‘This is so good of you. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it. I don’t know what we’d have done without you.’
‘Think nothing of it,’ he shrugged. ‘No skin off my nose.’
‘I hope not. You realise what’ll happen, don’t you? It’s a big thing you’re doing, and don’t you pretend otherwise. There’s going to be uniforms crawling all over this place, if you and I have got this right.’ She swept the yard with a sharp eye. ‘You’ll need to give those dogs a brush, for one thing.’
‘Why – you think they’ll call the RSPCA onto us?’ For the first time, he fixed Simmy with an enquiring look, as if suspecting that she might be an inspector of some sort.
‘Not if I can stop them,’ said Gillian. ‘This is Mrs Brown. She’s just come along for the ride. Don’t worry about her. Where’s Dorcas?’
‘Indoors. The pig’s farrowed and there’s one not doing too well. She’s bottling it. She’s always one for the pigs.’
Simmy had a wild image of a baby pig being forced into a pickling jar, until she realised he meant bottle feeding. She smiled at her own foolishness.
‘Come on, then,’ said the man. ‘Can’t hang about like this all day.’
His accent was local, but far less thick than his appearance might suggest. Simmy wished Ben could be there, to share his impressions with her. He might well already know that Jonah was a graduate in Medieval History or have a PhD in Spanish revolutionary film. Although such information would also be known by Gillian Townsend, of course. Farmers came in a host of different guises these days – city dropouts, as well as individuals who would have been on familiar terms with William Wordsworth. This man was surely at the latter end of that spectrum.
‘Come on,’ Gillian repeated his words to Simmy. ‘Let’s see what’s what.’
Jonah led them back along the track a short way, and through a gap in a wall to a rickety shed. There were ruts, showing signs of tyre treads. ‘Gets used a fair bit,’ Jonah said. ‘Not too boggy, considering.’
Boggy enough to cause problems for her shoes, Simmy noted ruefully. Gillian might have warned her about that. She had a pair of boots in the back room of the shop, which she could easily have changed into.
‘There!’ he said, with a dramatic wave. ‘Is that what you were looking for?’
A white van was tucked inside the shed, nose first. Gillian almost ran to it, circling it eagerly. She had to squeeze past the passenger side, and then stopped a few inches from the front. ‘Bumper’s bent,’ she said, addressing Simmy. ‘Come and see.’
Simmy took a different route, arriving at Gillian’s side having already observed a deep scratch on the driver’s door and a broken wing mirror. ‘It’s been in an accident,’ she said carefully.
Gillian nodded, pointing out the various cuts and bruises the vehicle had sustained. Jonah stood back, taking much less notice than seemed normal to Simmy.
‘He uses it a lot, does he?’ Gillian asked. ‘And keeps it here between times?’
The man nodded. ‘Said he’d not got space for it at home. Neighbours didn’t like it, or some such rubbish. Been a year or so now, on and off. Pays me a quid or two when he thinks of it.’
‘Where does he leave his car?’
Jonah looked blank. ‘Pardon?’
‘Doesn’t he bring it here and swop it for the van? How else would he get here?’
On a bike, thought Simmy, without having any idea who they might be referring to.
‘Oh, ah, that’s right,’ said Jonah. ‘Bit far to walk. Must be seven miles or so. But he leaves it down at the pub. Doesn’t like to risk the suspension on my track, see. Even the van gets a few knocks to the exhaust if he steers it a bit crooked.’
Gillian returned her focus to the van. ‘Did you see this damage before now? Any idea when it happened?’
He gave her a reproachful look. ‘You oughtn’t to ask me that. All I’m saying is that Jack Taylor was in the bar of The Watermill a few days ago, asking around, on your behalf, whether anyone knew of a vehicle kept round Crook way, that might have reason to stay out of sight. Old Bob Corden was there, and he comes up here of a Thursday, most weeks, and passed the word along, on account of this van. No great mystery to it. Bob had his own ideas already, but didn’t like to get onto you about it. That’s all I’m saying,’ he finished, folding his arms.
‘That’s more than enough.’ Gillian trotted back to the front of the shed. ‘You won’t touch it, will you? There’ll be people up here before you know it. You did right, my friend. You’ve done a good deed.’
‘You think it was him, then? Done it deliberately, you reckon?’
‘We shouldn’t get into that yet. You’ll be asked a lot about when you last saw him, when the van was last used, where the keys are kept – all that. If you want to tell me anything that goes against what I’m thinking, then I’d appreciate it. Otherwise, we can let the arm of the law do our work for us.’
He rubbed his forehead with a stiff finger, and stared thoughtfully at the van for a long moment. ‘Didn’t see a thing, other than the headlights, might have been last Friday evening. Don’t know what time it would have been. Now we’re not milking any more, there’s no strict routine. Lambing’s just got started, and there’s always some crisis going on. Spare key always hangs on that nail, look, so’s I can move the van if need be.’ He pointed it out. ‘And might have been Friday when Dorcas cut her hand. But the days get mixed up, after a week or so.’ He smiled. ‘I’d best go and have a think. And Dorcas can see if she can clean the dogs up a bit.’
The two collies had followed proceedings from a safe distance, their gaze on their master. To Simmy’s inexpert eye, they looked healthy and happy enough. She rather wished she could have been invited to view the baby pigs, instead of staring at a supposed murder weapon. Her role as observer was decidedly unfulfilling, at least thus far.
‘We’ll go, then,’ said Gillian. ‘Thanks again, and good luck.’
Jonah waved them off, with no sign of anxiety.
The drive back took just over ten minutes. ‘As promised,’ said Gillian, delivering her at the shop well within the hour. ‘I am immensely grateful to you for coming. And for not bombarding me with questions. I don’t know for sure what happens next, but you can expect the police to want to interview you. I’m sure you’re bright enough to work out the implications for yourself, and wise enough to know you shouldn’t speak of what just happened until you’ve been debriefed. You’ll understand that this is the culmination of a lot of work on my part. I called in all sorts of favours. I must say, there’s a huge sense of satisfaction in the way it all worked out, thanks to a lot of networking.’
‘It helps to have been here a long time, I suppose.’
‘It does indeed. And if that stupid man thought he could get away with it, he deserves everything that’s coming to him.’
Simmy said nothing, fully aware that she still had very little idea of who the stupid man, owner of the white van, actually was.
Chapter Nineteen
Bonnie was not the slightest bit reluctant to ask questions. ‘Where did she take you? What happened? What’s going on?’ and more.
‘I’m not telling you anything at the moment,’ said Simmy firmly. ‘Gillian has been very persistent and clever, and it looks as if she’s accomplished her mission. That’s as much as you need to know. It’s good news for everybody,’ she added optimistically.
‘Huh! I don’t know how you can say that. Think of poor Debbie. What possible good news can there be for her?’
‘I’m not talking about it,’ Simmy repeated. ‘We’re all behind now. Aren’t there some orders for this afternoon?’
‘Only one. There’s a couple at Troutbeck Bridge having an anniversary, remember? Her mother wants us to deliver flowers no earlier than half past two, because they’ll be out until then.’
‘That’s the one that came in last week? She’s very organised, isn’t
she?’
‘Scarily so. She must be a terrible mother-in-law.’
‘Oh, Bonnie – you can’t know that. She might be absolutely lovely.’
‘She’s got control freak written all over her,’ Bonnie insisted. ‘“Not before two-thirty. Shades of yellow, gold and crimson. Buds not too tight, but not fully open. Foliage feathery and not too dominant.” Come on!’
‘Okay. You win. I guess I should get cracking on following her instructions, then.’
She spent fifteen minutes in the back room, then emerged to find Bonnie intently tapping and swiping her phone. There were no customers, visitors or inquisitors, for which Simmy was grateful. Bonnie looked up, finally. ‘Ben says we have to go and see Debbie again. What time are you closing up? He’s free all afternoon, so if you can do without me, we can go right away.’
‘How? Where are your bikes?’
‘He’s calling Debbie, to see if she’ll meet us somewhere.’ The phone pinged. ‘Yes, it’s all fixed,’ Bonnie reported.
‘But … what are you going to say to her? You can’t tell her about me and Gillian and what we did today. Don’t you dare.’
Bonnie was defiant. ‘I don’t know what you did, do I?’
‘Just don’t say anything, okay? It’s all terribly delicate. Gillian has to do everything by the rules, one step at a time. She’s only interested in the truth, don’t you see? She’s being very professional about it. If you go charging in with half-baked bits of theory, you might cause all kinds of trouble.’
Bonnie shook her head. ‘That’s not the way we see it, so I’m not going to make any promises. Ben says Gillian has an unfair advantage, and besides that, she’s determined to save her friend, regardless of what the woman’s done. He says we owe it to justice to add some weight to the other side.’
‘But that’s what the courts are for. You’re acting out the whole trial in advance, and that can’t be right, can it?’
‘What’s wrong with it? I don’t see that we can do any harm.’
The persistent haunting memory of Debbie Kennedy swayed Simmy’s judgement. Bonnie was right – there was no possibility of a happy outcome for Debbie and her daughters. They could never have Declan back, whether or not Debbie’s mother caused his death. If Anita was innocent, there was still the corrosive hatred and suspicion keeping them apart. Yet again, Simmy wondered what in the world Anita could have done to alienate her daughter so totally. ‘Oh, go on, then,’ she said. ‘Make sure you eat something, though,’ she could not resist adding. Bonnie’s relation to food was far less dysfunctional than it had been, but she was still apt to skip meals at the slightest provocation.
‘Yes, Mum,’ said Bonnie, with a look that told Simmy the girl knew just how much impact those little words would carry.
Ben and Bonnie stood conspicuously on the pavement outside the Elleray public house, where so many people arranged meetings. It was easy to find, with available parking and relatively little traffic. Drawing up to collect or deposit a passenger was simple. Even Debbie Kennedy, still giddy and distracted with grief and rage, managed it effortlessly.
‘Aren’t we stopping here, then?’ said Ben.
‘Certainly not. Far too public. We’re going to Troutbeck, if you must know.’
The youngsters exchanged reassuring looks, banishing any notion of coercion or abduction. Between them they could overcome Debbie if they had to. But neither one had any real concern that it would come to that. Debbie was slight, and sad, and she clearly needed them very badly.
‘What’s in Troutbeck?’ asked Ben, in a relaxed tone.
‘My brother Matthew. Didn’t we tell you he lives there?’
‘You did,’ said Bonnie. ‘We forgot.’
‘He wants to be in on whatever it is you have to tell us. We both want to thank you for this. Without you two, we’d have no idea what was going on.’
‘We don’t know anything much. We just thought it only fair to keep in touch,’ said Bonnie.
‘Surely the police are updating you as well?’ said Ben. ‘Haven’t you got a FLO?’
‘Pardon?’ Debbie looked at him and almost hit a car in front, waiting at the roundabout near Hodgehowe Wood. ‘Oops!’
‘Careful,’ said Bonnie, belatedly.
‘Family liaison officer,’ Ben explained. ‘They usually have someone staying with the family while the investigation’s going on.’
‘They said something about that, but I told them not to bother. It made me think they must have me down as a suspect, as well. They tried to insist, but my father-in-law had a little word and they backed off.’
‘Useful man.’
‘He’s been wonderful. Ever so kind and thoughtful, when he’s so absolutely devastated himself. I mean – losing his only son is so terrible. His wife died as well, you know, not so long ago. She was only fifty-nine.’
‘I suppose Matthew must know Simmy if he lives in Troutbeck,’ said Bonnie.
‘By sight,’ said Debbie vaguely.
They were driving up the steady incline to the fellside village that marked the first point beyond Windermere where the classic atmosphere of the Lakes could be felt. From there the views were all of bare slopes and rocky outcrops, rising to Kirkstone and Kentmere and the northerly sweep devoid of human settlement. ‘Troutbeck – Gateway to the Wilderness,’ Ben had once christened it.
Matthew Olsen turned out to live in a stone cottage right on the road at its narrowest point. A small space at the side was the only place where a car could sit and it was already occupied. ‘We have to park further on and walk back,’ said Debbie. ‘Parking’s always a pain in Troutbeck.’
‘And Ambleside, Grasmere, Hawkshead, Rydal,’ said Ben. ‘I could go on.’
‘Not Staveley,’ said Debbie with a girlish touch of pride. ‘It’s never a problem in Staveley.’
‘That’s because the tourists never go there,’ said Bonnie. ‘There’s nothing interesting in Staveley.’
‘That’s why we like it,’ said Debbie, choking slightly on the last word, as she heard herself saying we.
They were rescued from the painful moment by Debbie’s brother coming out of his front door and watching them walk back from the place where they had parked rather untidily. ‘You’re not meant to leave it there,’ he called.
Debbie shrugged. ‘We’re not going to be long, are we? These two can’t stay very long, apparently. Can you find them some food, do you think?’
‘Probably. I’ve got some nice ham, and the bread’s not quite stale. I’ll make sandwiches, shall I?’
‘Go on, then. Hurry up.’
As before, at Debbie’s house, Matthew obeyed with an exaggerated meekness. He came back barely five minutes later with a tray holding a plate of sandwiches, a dish of tomatoes and a jug of something that looked like orange squash. ‘I’ll just get some tumblers,’ he said, and was back again in seconds.
‘Well, are we all right now?’ he asked. ‘We must say thanks for coming – again. We very much appreciate it. We really do need you, you know.’
‘No problem,’ said Bonnie.
Debbie interrupted any further remarks by handing out food and drink as they all sat around the kitchen table. Then, without any further preliminaries she asked Bonnie and Ben to please tell her and Matthew everything that had happened since they last met. Ben waved at his girlfriend to convey the news.
Bonnie grimaced and looked at Ben. ‘I feel bad, after Simmy told me not to say anything.’
‘Did you promise her anything?’ Ben asked.
‘No. I really don’t know very much, anyway. But it still feels awkward.’ She sat hunched, both hands braced on the seat beneath her.
‘You’re not betraying Simmy,’ he assured her. ‘Just tell us whatever you gleaned. It’s going to help everybody if we can get at the truth.’
Bonnie still wasn’t happy, but she did as asked. ‘Okay. So – Gillian Townsend turned up today at the shop and took Simmy off with her for an hour, saying she wanted a ne
utral witness to something. I got the impression she thinks she’s found evidence to prove that Mrs Olsen didn’t kill your husband. I mean – what else could it be? But I don’t know any more than that.’
‘That’s a bit thin,’ said Matthew. ‘What are we supposed to do with a something and nothing like that?’
‘Let’s think,’ said Ben. He turned to Bonnie. ‘There must be a few more clues. Did you see which direction they went in, for example?’
Bonnie shook her head. ‘Oh – but her shoes were mucky when she got back.’
‘Mucky or muddy?’
‘Um … muddy, I think. But maybe there was a touch of sheep in it as well. I could smell it. She’d obviously forgotten, because she didn’t wipe them or anything. A bit fell off inside the door when she got back.’
‘So, she went to a farm. That’s a huge clue, Bon.’ The boy was suddenly excited. He looked at the brother and sister. ‘Does that mean anything to you?’
‘Not really,’ said Debbie. ‘There’s loads of farms around here. And maybe they were just standing in the road, where someone had been moving sheep. The place is awash with muck at this time of year.’
Matthew rubbed the back of his neck. ‘The only farm I ever go to is the one where I keep my van, in Crook. That can’t be it. There’s no reason why Gillian should go there.’
‘Why do you keep your van in Crook? That’s miles away,’ said Ben.
‘It’s just the way things worked out. I help the people once in a while, when they need an extra pair of hands. I’ve known them forever. They’ve got an old shed they don’t use, and Crook’s quite handy, really. I can be there in ten minutes from here.’