A Cotswold Killing

by Rebecca Tope

  Thea laughed. ‘I’m going to have to think about that one, but I dare say you’re right.’ Her sister Jocelyn came to mind, with her rowdy brood and incurious attitudes.

  After a pause, while he turned the car round outside an historic-looking pub by the name of The Bear, he said, ‘I think she rather liked you, believe it or not.’

  ‘How could you tell?’

  ‘She’s only unpleasant to people she likes.’

  Thea accorded him an appreciative look. ‘Does she know you’ve grasped that about her?’

  ‘I doubt it. She doesn’t waste much of her attention on me.’

  ‘She sounded lonely.’

  ‘Most people are lonely,’ he said, pushing down on the accelerator as they left the village.

  Back at Brook View before midday, as she was shoving dog blankets into the washing machine, the doorbell rang. Her initial feeling was of intrusion. She didn’t want to talk to anybody, to offer them lunch or answer questions. Whoever it was was bound to want some or all of the above.

  Her mood did not substantially change even when she discovered it was James and Rosie. James and Rosie, paying her a visit without prior notice. Highly unusual and more than a little sinister.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she demanded, before she’d even let them into the house.

  ‘Nothing,’ James replied with too much heartiness. ‘What would be the matter?’

  ‘Something to do with Jessica,’ Thea said, knowing as she spoke that this was a foolish anxiety.

  ‘Heavens, you’re in a state, aren’t you,’ said Rosie. ‘Not that I blame you, with murders going on all around you.’

  ‘One murder, actually,’ Thea said. ‘Or two if you go back a few months. I’m not really in a state. I’m just not very good at sudden surprises. Why didn’t you phone me?’

  ‘We didn’t have the number of this house, and you didn’t pick up the mobile. We left a message on it.’

  Thea remembered that the mobile was upstairs, in her bag. She also remembered, by instant association, that she had failed to keep her promise to phone Julia Phillips in Minchinhampton about house-sitting in July. The whole thing had gone out of her head. ‘I didn’t check for messages,’ she admitted.

  Rosie was giving the impression that she would do much of the talking, which must imply that they hadn’t come to discuss the Jennisons or the secret criminal activities in and around Duntisbourne Abbots. But she was wrong. These were just meaningless preliminaries.

  ‘We’re taking you out to lunch,’ James said. ‘Somewhere a few miles away. You could probably do with a change of scenery.’

  ‘This was intended as a change of scenery,’ she pointed out. ‘I’ve only been here a week. I’m not bored with it yet. I’ve still hardly seen the village itself. Things keep conspiring to deflect me from exploring it.’

  ‘I gather the church is worth a look,’ said Rosie. ‘Maybe we could pop in there after lunch. We’re not in any hurry.’

  ‘Can Hepzie come?’

  James glanced out of the window. ‘Only if we sit in the pub garden, and it’s a bit cool for that.’ Thea couldn’t tell from his tone or expression what he thought of the suggestion. She’d never been sure what he thought about her dog, in spite of the animal’s lavish affection towards him.

  ‘Better leave her here, love, if you think she’ll be all right,’ said Rosie. ‘Has she settled in OK? Do these big boys play with her? How’s her poorly ear?’

  Rosie was easier to read. She gave dogs her full attention, but would take no nonsense from them. Constantly heedful of her fragile back, the prospect of a large animal jumping at her and knocking her over was too dire to contemplate. She had therefore developed an authoritative voice which invariably worked. Most dogs liked and respected her, and Thea always felt that more or less summed it up from Rosie’s end, as well.

  ‘She’ll be fine here,’ she agreed. ‘I’ll take them all for a nice run when we get back.’

  ‘It’s a magnificent garden, isn’t it,’ Rosie approved. ‘Have you got to cut that grass?’

  ‘I think it’s on the list, yes. I wasn’t going to bother until a day or two before the people come back. I haven’t even found the mower yet.’

  ‘You’d think they’d have a gardener, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Oddly enough, I thought poor Joel Jennison was the gardener.’ Thea stopped, realising it was exactly a week ago that she’d met him. The poignancy affected her for a few seconds.

  ‘Come on then,’ urged James. ‘Before they get too full.’

  ‘You have somewhere in mind?’ It wasn’t really a question. James never left anything to chance. The idea of driving around in the aimless hope of lighting upon a likely pub was not his style at all.

  ‘Wait and see,’ he said, with a smile that struck Thea as a trifle forced.

  The pub was near Coates, no great distance away. The Tunnel House Inn was, apparently, a discovery that James had made a few years earlier. ‘He’ll make any excuse for another visit,’ Rosie teased. ‘He thinks it’s the most romantic pub in the world.’

  ‘You haven’t explained properly,’ James reproached her. Turning to Thea, he said, ‘It was burnt down in 1952 and not restored until fairly recently. But that isn’t really why I like it. You’ll understand what I mean when you see it.’

  ‘Well, it’s news to me,’ said Thea, wondering how the place could hope to live up to such a billing.

  As it turned out, she liked it a lot, at the same time as wondering why she’d never known about it. The tunnel it was named after was a canal running under the hill at Sapperton, which had a romance all of its own. A glorious stone façade marked the entrance to the tunnel, exuberantly decorated, for the sheer fun of it. The canal had barely a foot of water in it, and notices explained how the Canal Trust was painstakingly restoring the length of the Cotswold Canal, yard by yard, to include the full extent of this tunnel. ‘Hey!’ she cried with delight. ‘I’ve never seen this before. How on earth have I missed it?’

  ‘How indeed?’ smiled James. ‘And you an expert, too.’ The tease was justified. Thea could name every canal in Britain, with dates, traffic levels and primary purpose.

  ‘It’s the history of them I focused on,’ she defended. ‘Mostly, anyway.’

  ‘Well, there’s a lot of restoration work going on over here,’ he said. ‘Bringing the past into the present, or something.’

  It was deeply nostalgic. Thea and Carl had taken many a narrowboat holiday with Jessica and the dogs, in the early years of their marriage, before she did the history course.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she sighed. ‘You are clever, James.’

  James grinned his agreement. ‘What’ll you have to drink?’ he asked.

  They did sit outside, but Thea refrained from pointing out that Hepzie could have come after all. ‘So – what’s all this about?’ she asked, once they’d settled at a table with views over open fields. Rosie had lowered herself gingerly onto the wooden bench, automatically leaning her weight on her forearms, to avoid any strain on her back. Thea knew from past experience that any comment would be inappropriate. Rosie’s back was a given, and nothing could be gained by referring to it.

  ‘So, why are we here?’ Thea demanded. ‘What’s all this about?’

  ‘What do you think it’s about?’ James parried.

  ‘Murder, organised crime, screams in the night,’ Thea listed, with a hint of impatience. ‘All the things I hoped you’d fill me in on when you came over here on Wednesday.’

  ‘Yes – sorry about that,’ he blinked at her, in a boyish expression of humility. ‘My timing was off that morning.’

  ‘For God’s sake don’t tell me it was all very delicate,’ Thea warned him. ‘Delicacy doesn’t cut much ice with me. It just makes me feel left out and frustrated.’

  ‘And resentful, I should think,’ added Rosie.

  ‘It’s not delicate now, anyway,’ James cut in. ‘Just desperate. The investigation isn’t gettin
g anywhere, and everybody’s admitting it at last. I gather you made the acquaintance of DS Hollis?’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘And? What did you think of him?’

  ‘I was scared of him.’

  James jerked in a spasm of amazement. ‘Surely not?’ he said. ‘That’s the last thing I expected you to say.’

  ‘He struck me as a man with very little to lose. He showed me no human feeling, no hint that he even understood that I was an individual with my own life to live. I was just a receptacle of possibly useful information. I can’t imagine how he got so far up the ladder – aren’t police officers meant to have some sort of empathy these days?’

  ‘I don’t think he was always like that,’ James said softly, with a glance at Rosie.

  ‘He’s had a very unhappy life,’ Rosie said. ‘I knew his sister, years ago, funnily enough. It’s terrible how changed he is since, well—’

  ‘But not actually the point,’ said Thea firmly, not wanting to hear about the Hollis calamity, whatever it was. ‘What’s the problem with the investigation? The Hollis man sounded pretty confident yesterday.’

  ‘For one thing, they’re wishing they’d brought Clive and Jennifer back when they had the chance. The Chief isn’t too happy about them being out of the picture for so long.’

  ‘They can speak to them by phone, can’t they?’

  ‘It’s not the same.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘Somebody made an anonymous accusation, which has to be followed up. Forensics are complaining there’s practically nothing to go on. Old man Jennison won’t answer any more questions. And there’s still no hint of a motive.’

  ‘Why aren’t they back at Brook View, combing the place again for clues, then? Somewhere there’s a great pool of blood. Except it’ll all have soaked away by now, or been washed off by the rain.’

  ‘They assume they’d have found it on Sunday, if it was there to be found.’

  ‘Stop it!’ Rosie pleaded. ‘I’m not liking this.’

  James and Thea ignored her.

  ‘Poor man,’ Thea murmured. ‘If that was him screaming, he must have known something about it before they killed him. Isn’t that horrible?’ Rosie’s clear blue gaze flickered from her husband to her sister-in-law and back, distancing herself from their excessive interest in the details of murder. This wasn’t the first time she’d had to interrupt such conversations.

  Thea went on, ‘Which is all the more reason why we should be doing everything we can to find out who did it.’

  ‘And bring him to justice,’ supplied Rosie, parodying the official words. She made her mouth round, producing a sonorous tone that achieved its intended effect. James and Thea both laughed.

  ‘I knew I shouldn’t have come today,’ Rosie went on. ‘James talked me into it. I haven’t been anywhere for weeks, except the library.’

  ‘I did warn you,’ James said. ‘This isn’t just a social visit.’

  ‘Hmm,’ was all his wife replied.

  Thea leant towards him across the slatted table. ‘Who made the anonymous call?’ she asked, before realising the absurdity of the question. ‘I mean – what did they say?’

  ‘Something about old Jennison threatening his boys that if they didn’t stick to his rules, he’d make sure they never got the farm.’

  ‘What were the rules? Do we know?’

  ‘He was a stickler for decent behaviour. Clean living. But that was all years ago. It doesn’t seem like much of a lead.’

  ‘Joel had a girlfriend. Was the old man trying to prevent him from sleeping with her? Is anybody still as old-fashioned as that?’

  James laughed. ‘I’m not privy to that information,’ he said.

  ‘What else have you come to tell me, then?’ she asked. ‘Are you going to give me an assignment?’

  ‘Essentially I want to urge you to be careful. There’s a lot of hypothesising that Joel went to see you for a reason. If the killer thinks you know something, then – well, I don’t have to spell it out.’

  ‘Surely that particular danger’s past now?’ Thea said. ‘They’d have bumped me off by now if they were going to.’

  ‘Why would you think that? It’s barely a full week yet.’

  ‘Maybe, but if I’d had any vital information, I would already have passed it on to the police, so killing me now would be pointless.’

  James shook his head. ‘I thought you understood the law better than that. If you’re not there to give testimony, it’s hearsay evidence, and inadmissable. Unless it’s in a signed statement or on tape, of course.’

  ‘Which it would be, wouldn’t it? James, you’re being melodramatic, and frightening Rosie. What else am I supposed to know? Let’s get on with it, and have a nice lunch without upsetting our stomachs. For Rosie’s sake, at least.’

  James sighed. ‘You’re not being very cooperative, are you?’

  She narrowed her eyes at him, losing patience. ‘What?’

  ‘Look, having you here ought to be a big asset for the police, being connected to me the way you are. You could be getting to know the locals, listening to the gossip, all that. Instead you seem to be huddled in that house with those dogs, not doing a bloody thing to help.’

  Thea swallowed hard. ‘James – have I been set up here? Was something going on long before Joel got killed, and you planted me, without saying anything?’ She tried to remember the sequence of events leading up to her selection as house-sitter for the Reynoldses. She had discussed the idea with James, but no more than that. She’d advertised her services, and Clive Reynolds had answered the ad. But Clive had already known James. It was obvious. ‘You did, didn’t you?’

  Rosie chimed in. ‘Oh, James! Is she right? Why didn’t you tell her?’

  He shifted irritably. ‘All I did was mention to Clive that you’d be available for the job. I had no idea about any criminal activity here.’

  ‘Come off it, you liar. Am I supposed to believe you didn’t know about Paul being killed behind Brook View?’

  ‘I knew a man had been killed, probably by a poacher or gypsy. But I had no involvement in the case. It never entered my head that it would impinge on you if you took the job. Believe it or not, I was trying to help.’

  ‘You’re shifting your ground,’ she accused. ‘I don’t know what to believe. And I have no idea what more I can do for you than I’ve been doing. I’ve met the father, niece, ex-girlfriend, uncle, mother and sister-in-law of the dead brothers. I’ve also got friendly with a close neighbour, and gleaned a snippet or two about another neighbour. I think that’s damned good progress for an amateur, and a stranger in the area. When I tried to tell you how it all looked to me, you said you’d got to rush off, and barely gave me a minute to speak. Now you come down here again with no warning, and start talking about throat-cutting and pools of blood. Rosie wants to change the subject and I’m beginning to think this is the lunch outing from hell. Now I’m going back in there for another drink. Does anybody else want one?’

  James and Rosie both proffered empty glasses, with visible relief. Neither offered to go with her to help.

  When she got back with the drinks, James was some distance away, apparently admiring the view. Rosie took her glass, and cocked her head conspiratorially. ‘He’s working up to saying sorry,’ she explained.

  Thea rolled her eyes. ‘He doesn’t need to. I think I said a bit too much. After all, it is a good job. Money for old rope, as they say.’

  ‘And the rest,’ Rosie said, with a sigh. ‘Rather you than me.’

  ‘Is there anybody else you’ve met?’ James asked, when he came back to the table.

  Thea tried to think. ‘A girl called Monique. She’s staying at the Staceys’ farm. A student, I suppose.’

  ‘Student of what?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Because, as you must be aware, students are mostly at college at this time of year. Unless she’s doing an agricultural course, I’d want to confirm that she really is
a student.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake! Maybe she’s working there in a proper job, then. I’m only guessing. There’s somebody called Paolo with her, I think. It’s a herb farm, or something. There must be plenty of work.’ She knew she was babbling in order to drown out the inner voices that were clamouring Illegal immigrants, asylum seekers and similar alarming suggestions.

  ‘Thanks,’ James said calmly. ‘Now let’s change the subject.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  ‘The truth is, we haven’t got enough to do,’ Thea told Hepzie on Saturday evening. ‘Nothing on the telly, bored with Scrabble, everything fed and watered, and still only nine thirty.’ She didn’t often talk aloud to the dog, but there were times when it seemed to come naturally. Hepzibah responded with sympathetic spaniel glances and desultory tail-wagging. The labradors ignored her. She wondered if it was her imagination, or were they both gaining weight under her ministrations? Despite some energetic stick-chasing in the garden, she realised she hadn’t taken them for a single serious walk since her arrival. Clive had made so little of it that she felt she’d had permission to neglect this aspect of their care if she wanted to. She had the impression that neither Clive nor Jennifer routinely route-marched them over hill and dale. The warnings about letting them into the field had also been open to interpretation. The message seemed to be Take them in there at your own risk. More than once she’d been tempted to try it, only to lose confidence at the last minute. What if they ran off and never came back?

  She had tried to phone Jessica, forgetting it was a Saturday and her daughter was sure to be out with friends, the mobile switched off. Then she’d thought of Celia, who’d be wondering how she was getting on. She could be sure of catching her in, whatever day it was. Celia almost never went out in the evenings, unless it was high summer. She was afraid of the dark, and could not be convinced that it was safe to drive at night.

  But Celia would ask questions, and Thea would start the story of Joel Jennison and his family, and the odd silent village. It would all take hours, and leave her feeling unsettled. Better to postpone all that until she got home again, and could recount the whole episode with hindsight. By then, even if the police had made no progress, it would not be Thea’s business any more. It would just simmer quietly at the back of her mind, until eventually she forgot all about it. One day it might even qualify as an amusing tale for dinner parties – how I was house-sitting and guess what, a man got murdered the first night I was there, right in the next field! Well, no, that was never going to sound all right – but at least she wouldn’t be so worried and confused and curious about it as she was now.