by Rebecca Tope
‘But how does Declan’s death affect their inheriting the house?’ Simmy asked, still entirely bemused.
‘Because without him, Debbie and the girls would be sure to come to live with me. It’s only a little way away. We’d all have been a family together at last.’
‘In your dreams!’ said Barbara Percival. ‘You’ve gone totally mad if that’s what you think. And what about poor Matthew? The way you planned it, he’d have spent most of his life in prison. Is that really what you wanted?’
There was no response to this. Simmy, watching the woman closely, saw more deeply into the cornered killer, and was already moving towards the conservatory when the crisis peaked. ‘Megan!’ she shouted. ‘Call the police.’
Anita was at the mantelpiece, seizing the first of a row of china ornaments. Simmy recognised an identical jug to one broken by her father a few days ago, as it flew across the room, bounced off a low glass coffee table and landed miraculously intact on the thick carpet. ‘Stop it!’ she yelled. ‘Calm down.’
But Anita was mad. She must have been mad for years, Simmy concluded. Megan came to the door leading from the conservatory, phone in her hand. One glance was enough to get her thumb moving, and she was rapidly giving directions to a call-handler. More china began to fly, at least one piece crashing into a bookcase and shattering noisily.
‘Help me,’ Simmy ordered both Barbara and Megan. The three closed in warily, Megan still holding the phone. Not one of them had the courage to lay hands on the wild woman, until she grabbed a heavy ormolu clock. ‘No!’ shrieked Barbara. ‘That was my grandmother’s.’ And she seized Anita’s arm in both hands, and clung to it like a bull terrier.
It was Gillian who spoke into the oddly quiet struggle. ‘Put it down, Neet,’ she said. ‘You’re just making everything worse. Nobody’s going to let you make a plea of insanity, so stop playacting.’
It was spectacularly successful. Anita relinquished the clock into Simmy’s waiting hands and then stumbled back to her original seat. ‘You killed Declan because you didn’t want people to see what a hopelessly bad mother you are and always have been,’ Gillian went on. ‘You thought you’d finally force Debbie to turn to you, like a real daughter at last, if she didn’t have him always reminding her how much she dislikes you. That’s as loathsome a motive as I’ve ever heard. The jury’s going to hate you. The press will, too. You’re damned, my love, and it serves you right.’
‘But surely there must be more to it than that,’ said Simmy. ‘All that planning … and throwing the guilt onto Matthew … are you sure she isn’t mad?’
‘Not in a legal sense. Deluded, certainly, if she thought she’d ever get Debbie to live with her. She and her girls regarded me and my mother as much closer family than Anita. And we went along with it. Anita did her best not to see that, I realise now. And I can’t imagine how she could be so deliberate about it all.’ The pain washed through her again and she finished on a whimper that turned into a scream. ‘Oh, God! It’s on the sofa. Sorry, Mum.’ A sour smell filled the room, as Simmy realised with horror what had happened.
‘Darling!’ said Barbara. ‘We have to get you to hospital. You should have gone last night.’
‘In a minute. I don’t suppose Megan asked for an ambulance, did you?’
Megan had retreated again, looking earnestly out of the window, on the pretext of watching for the police. She shook her head.
‘But how did you do it?’ Simmy, mindful of the grilling she would undergo from Ben and Bonnie, was anxious to get the details. ‘The van, and everything. And when?’
Anita was turned away, as before. She showed no sign of having heard the question.
Gillian was writhing, trying to move away from the soiled part of the sofa, disgust at herself clear on her face. But she also looked slightly less sick. ‘She walked,’ she said. ‘As soon as you left us on that Friday, she walked across the fields to Crook, took the van, found Declan and killed him. Then she returned the van and walked home again.’
‘Okay,’ said Simmy slowly. ‘But how did she know where he’d be?’
‘She texted him,’ said Barbara. ‘Saying he was needed because Debbie or one of the children was ill – some such pretext as that. And then took his phone away after she’d run him down in her son’s van.’
Simmy was still struggling with feelings of disgust and disbelief. ‘Oh,’ she said.
Gillian made another determined effort. ‘That must have been it - so there’d be no evidence. She’ll have destroyed it, but of course the phone company will have a record. The police told Debbie they’d found a record of a text sent from Anita to Declan on Friday, but they couldn’t see the actual wording of it. They didn’t see it as relevant, especially when Anita gave them some explanation for it. Debbie thought it was suspicious from the start. She and Matthew between them can explain the whole picture. But of course nobody believed them.’ Her face was grey, her body rigid. ‘Least of all me,’ she whispered.
‘But Ben and Bonnie did,’ said Simmy. ‘And I think DI Moxon did as well.’
‘Here they are,’ said Megan. ‘The police are here.’
Simmy texted Ben when she got home.
Debbie was right in every detail. A tragic business. Don’t want to talk about it until tomorrow.
Then she went to bed, crashing into an exhausted traumatised sleep. Not until next morning did she phone Christopher and give him a summary of events.
‘I’m coming over this evening,’ he promised. ‘I can hear how much you need some TLC.’
At six o’clock he was at the door, and cuddling her against him as she talked, making murmured comments, but asking no questions. Finally, he said, ‘I’m glad Matt’s in the clear, anyway. He’s a good man.’
‘It’s sickening, though, don’t you think? That a woman could be so depraved and deluded and devious, for absolutely no good reason – it shakes your faith in the world.’
‘Sounds to me as if she did have her reasons, going back to when she first had a child. Some people just shouldn’t do it. It brings misery all round.’
‘You don’t mean us, do you? Are you thinking we shouldn’t have a child?’
He hugged her even closer. ‘No, I don’t mean us. We’re going to have at least two, starting today.’
She laughed. ‘We should have started months ago, if we’re to manage two.’
‘Twins. We’ll have twins.’
‘Good idea. And at least I can promise I’ll be a better mother than Anita Olsen was.’
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ALSO BY REBECCA TOPE
THE LAKE DISTRICT MYSTERIES
THE WINDERMERE WITNESS
THE AMBLESIDE ALIBI
THE CONISTON CASE
THE TROUTBECK TESTIMONY
THE HAWKSHEAD HOSTAGE
THE BOWNESS BEQUEST
THE COTSWOLD MYSTERIES
A COTSWOLD KILLING
A COTSWOLD ORDEAL
DEATH IN THE COTSWOLDS
A COTSWOLD MYSTERY
BLOOD IN THE COTSWOLDS
SLAUGHTER IN THE COTSWOLDS
FEAR IN THE COTSWOLDS
A GRAVE IN THE COTSWOLDS
DECEPTION IN THE COTSWOLDS
MALICE IN THE COTSWOLDS
SHADOWS IN THE COTSWOLDS
TROUBLE IN THE COTSWOLDS
REVENGE IN THE COTSWOLDS
GUILT IN THE COTSWOLDS
PERIL IN THE COTSWOLDS
♦
A COTSWOLD CASEBOOK
THE WEST COUNTRY MYSTERIES
A DIRTY DEATH
DARK UNDERTAKINGS
DEATH OF A FRIEND
GRAVE CONCERNS
A DEATH TO RECORD
THE STING OF DEATH
A MARKET FOR MURDER
About the Author
REBECCA TOPE is the author of three bestselling crime series, set in the stunning Cotswolds, Lake District and West Country. She lives on a smallholding in rural Herefordshire, where she enjoys the silence and plants a lot of trees, but also manages to travel the world and enjoy civilisation from time to time. Most of her varied experiences and activities find their way into her books, sooner or later.
rebeccatope.com
By Rebecca Tope
THE LAKE DISTRICT MYSTERIES
The Windermere Witness • The Ambleside Alibi
The Coniston Case • The Troutbeck Testimony
The Hawkshead Hostage • The Bowness Bequest
The Staveley Suspect
THE COTSWOLD MYSTERIES
A Cotswold Killing • A Cotswold Ordeal
Death in the Cotswolds • A Cotswold Mystery
Blood in the Cotswolds • Slaughter in the Cotswolds
Fear in the Cotswolds • A Grave in the Cotswolds
Deception in the Cotswolds • Malice in the Cotswolds
Shadows in the Cotswolds • Trouble in the Cotswolds
Revenge in the Cotswolds • Guilt in the Cotswolds
Peril in the Cotswolds • Crisis in the Cotswolds
♦
A Cotswold Casebook
THE WEST COUNTRY MYSTERIES
A Dirty Death • Dark Undertakings
Death of a Friend • Grave Concerns
A Death to Record • The Sting of Death
A Market for Murder
Copyright
Allison & Busby Limited
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London W1T 6DW
allisonandbusby.com
First published in Great Britain by Allison & Busby in 2018.
This ebook edition published in Great Britain by Allison & Busby in 2018.
Copyright © 2018 by REBECCA TOPE
The moral right of the author is hereby asserted
in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All characters and events in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent buyer.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from
the British Library.
ISBN 978–0–7490–2244–0