A Cotswold Killing

by Rebecca Tope

  ‘We’re being very poetic.’

  ‘Must be spring. Oh, here we are. It always catches me by surprise.’

  ‘Where? Where exactly are we?’

  ‘It’s called Oakridge Lynch, and its claim to fame is a pub called The Butcher’s Arms. Wait and see.’

  Thea gave up trying to visualise just where they were on the map, and followed Harry into the pub. It had a massive car park, to which it stood at right angles, the entrance approached down a path. Facing it, across the path, was a sheltered garden.

  ‘Can we sit outside?’ she asked. ‘It’s quite mild today.’

  ‘Of course. I always sit outside.’

  With some difficulty, and expectations of a long delay before the food arrived, they settled at a garden table, facing each other across the wooden slats. The spaniel lay quietly at Thea’s feet. She spoke idly. ‘I was planning to go and walk around Duntisbourne Abbots again today. It’s a week since I was there. It seems daft when I’m living less than a mile away.’

  ‘A mile’s a long way around here,’ Harry said, with a sententious note.

  ‘Harry, I seem to be getting more and more involved in Joel’s death. I can’t seem to help it. It keeps cropping up.’

  ‘Does that surprise you?’

  ‘I suppose not. But it’s all very odd. There’s no sign of any panic, the fields aren’t crawling with police. People don’t phone up or even visit me much. It’s all going on invisibly in Cirencester, I suppose. At least I was taken there on Friday for some questions – but since then I haven’t heard a thing.’

  ‘What did they ask you on Friday?’

  ‘They wanted to talk about the scream I heard in the night…’

  ‘What did you tell them?’

  Belatedly she wondered if it was wise to reveal the details. Harry was such a warm friendly man, it was hard to keep anything back from him. The calculations she might ordinarily make in this sort of conversation were mostly abandoned in the face of his interest. There were no jagged edges, no danger signals between them. She wanted to nestle up to him and lean her head on his chest. She wanted to tell him everything.

  ‘Only what I’d said already,’ she said. ‘I saw a man called Hollis. He seemed terribly focused on the job.’

  ‘I know him. He’s a cold fish.’

  Thea giggled. This was one of the phrases she and Carl had sometimes mocked. After all, there weren’t many warm fish. And Hollis had not seemed very fishlike to her. More a wolf or a snake.

  ‘You don’t like him?’

  ‘Not much. But I quite respect him. He’s a professional.’

  Thea was reminded of something. ‘I gather he’s had some sort of personal tragedy?’

  Harry took a long draught of his beer, and gazed around the garden as if expecting to see somebody he knew. ‘Yes. He had a daughter who died after taking Ecstasy at one of those dance things. She was fourteen.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘About three years ago. It’s made him touchy about drugs. Not sure he should be in the job, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘I don’t suppose there’s too much of that sort of thing out here?’

  ‘More than you might expect.’

  ‘Besides, most people cope perfectly well with Ecstasy. Surely more kids die from alcohol poisoning, and you never hear that making the headlines.’

  ‘I didn’t bring you here to discuss the pros and cons of drugs,’ he said, with a little shake, as if reminding himself of something. ‘Tell me more about yourself. What line of work were you in before you took up house-sitting?’

  ‘I was a part-time cataloguer at the Bodleian Library. It used to impress people, but it was never what I wanted to do. I just stuck it because I couldn’t see any good reason to quit. I used Carl’s death as an excuse to pack it in.’ She paused, hearing herself. ‘Gosh, yes. I’ve never said it like that before, but that’s exactly what I did.’

  Harry laughed, and encouraged her to share a few anecdotes. But before long, she’d returned to more pressing matters. ‘How old is Lindy exactly?’ she asked him.

  ‘Um – let me think. She must be fifteen. She had a birthday last month. March 22nd. Yes, she’s fifteen. Why?’

  ‘Her mum gives her a lot of freedom.’

  He lifted an eyebrow. ‘You don’t approve?’

  ‘Well – it’s unusual these days. How does she get about? She’s too young to drive.’

  ‘People give her lifts. I’m one of them. And she’s a very sensible girl. Just like her mother.’

  Thea thought back to the previous evening, and kept her counsel. ‘Well, I know the dangers are overstated. Even so…’

  ‘Don’t worry about Lindy. She’s got more friends than anyone else I know. Somebody’s always going to be there to make sure she’s safe.’

  Thea squashed the flash thought that there could be something unwholesome in the relationship between Harry and his great-niece. Such suspicions were a blight of the times, she was convinced, but no easier to avoid for that.

  The food arrived sooner than she’d have believed possible, giving rise to a flurry of activity centred on struggling with sachets of mayonnaise. ‘I loathe these things, don’t you,’ said Harry. ‘Even here – where the food isn’t at all bad, they can’t provide ordinary jars of Hellman’s.’

  ‘Something to do with EU regulations, I expect,’ Thea said, feeling young and placid. She could hardly remember a time before the small unopenable sachets.

  ‘You’re not afraid of anything, are you?’ he said, without looking at her. He thrust a forkful of ham into his mouth, and chewed deliberately. ‘I remember being like that, although it didn’t last for very long.’

  ‘I’m not terribly good with daddy longlegs.’

  He smiled a thin smile, not at all deflected. ‘It must worry your family. Did you say you had a daughter?’

  ‘She doesn’t worry. James does, a bit. Well, quite a lot, I suppose. But James worries about everything. He spends a fortune on insurance. He tries to anticipate everything that could go wrong years and years in the future. I don’t think he counts, being like that. And it’s ironic in a way. Carl died with an insurance policy we regarded as a sort of joke, and never really wanted.’

  ‘And now, without him, you don’t feel you’ve got much to lose.’

  ‘Obviously. Jessica and Hepzibah is about it. I’m afraid of losing either one of them.’

  Harry cocked his head to see the dog under the table. ‘Only a certain sort of person can abide living with a spaniel, you know. All that adoration and constancy can get on your nerves.’

  ‘It suits me very well.’

  ‘And yet dogs only live a dozen years or so. Doesn’t that worry you?’

  ‘Cockers go longer than that. I don’t have to think about it for ages yet.’

  ‘Thea – there have been two murders close to the house where you are now staying on your own. You could easily have seen or heard something that will help the police catch the killer. You must surely have some sense of danger?’ He spoke with an earnestness she found engaging, but also confusing. What did he want her to do?

  ‘The police haven’t said anything like that. They don’t appear to have any concerns for my welfare. I don’t go out in the field at night. I’ve got the dogs. Surely it’s far more likely that the person who killed Joel was waiting for Clive and Jennifer to go, and considered me to be no problem.’

  ‘So you don’t regard yourself as any sort of amateur detective, trying to work out who did it and why?’

  ‘If I did, I’d have to spend much more time and energy on it than I am doing. It would be hopeless. How could I ever work out all the relationships and histories of everybody involved?’

  ‘Sometimes a fresh eye can see through the superficial tangles and grasp just where the truth lies.’

  She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t feel remotely like that. I expect the police will work it out in their usual slow meticulous way. It’s probably somebody from outside
the area, poaching or something. They shot Paul, and then possibly got the idea that Joel knew who they were, so they came back that night and got him as well.’ The sheer feebleness of this scenario gave it a sort of reassurance.

  ‘They?’

  ‘I didn’t mean it as a plural. Just “he or she”.’

  ‘Shall I get you another drink?’

  She hesitated, more from a concern for her still slightly fragile head than any fear of getting drunk. ‘Just a lemonade and lime, thanks. I had too much last night.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yes, I told you. With June.’ And then she remembered she hadn’t actually told him about June’s visit. He could hardly have deduced it from her remarks about Lindy. Harry’s puzzled expression reinforced her sense of foolishness. ‘Sorry – I didn’t, did I. June came round last night and we had some wine.’

  ‘I see. Lemonade and lime, then.’

  While he was in the bar, Thea did some hasty thinking, despite the discomfort it brought her. Had Harry been warning her about something? If so, why not come right out and say it directly? Was she seeing conspiracy and subterfuge where there was nothing more than friendship? Something was making her uneasy, when all she wanted was a friendly lunch out with a man she found very appealing. A man who seemed to feel the same way about her. Perhaps that was it.

  She looked across at the pub, but the windows were too small and dark to see into the bar. The garden had a rather odd box hedge, four or five feet high, growing down the middle, effectively creating two distinct areas. It was impossible to look over at anybody the other side. Hepzie had got up when Harry did, and was pulling at her lead, tied around the leg of the table. Thea reached down to pat her. ‘Hey, you. What’s the matter?’

  The long tail wagged, and the tongue lolled from between the smiling jaws. Thea followed the animal’s gaze and focused on Helen Winstanley walking slowly across the path from the pub with a man, who was carrying a tray holding four pint glasses. Thea had not seen him before. Several thoughts struck her at once:

  Why was Hepzibah so enthusiastic, when this woman had been partly involved in the injury to her ear?

  Was this some sort of prearranged meeting between Helen and Harry?

  Had they been sitting the other side of the hedge and able to hear her conversation with Harry?

  Was the tray-carrying man James Winstanley, home from his business trip?

  Should she call out to them, or wait for them to see her?

  Who were the other two glasses for?

  Answers came quickly. Helen noticed the wagging dog, and Thea attached to it. With a show of delighted surprise, she diverted her route to Thea’s side of the hedge and identified the man as, indeed, her husband James. When Harry Richmond returned with two further drinks, Helen greeted him with more muted enthusiasm. ‘We’re sitting round the other side,’ she explained. ‘We’ve got Susanna and Lionel with us. Do you want to come and say hello?’

  Harry shook his head, but Thea got up, towed by Hepzibah. As soon as she was in sight of the other table, she wondered what on earth she was doing. But it was too late to go back.

  There was some turbulence as drinks were distributed, nods and smiles exchanged, connections made. Thea was hustled over to the table and after shaking hands with James, was reintroduced to Lionel and Susanna by Helen, in a manner that seemed deeply insensitive, given the link between them. ‘I think you two saw each other last weekend, at Brook View,’ she said, referring to Susanna. Thea gazed at the younger woman, struck by the vivid red hair, blatantly dyed as unnatural a colour as any purple or green. This, then, had been Joel’s girlfriend. Similar in age to him, at least. Relaxed in the company of people much older than herself, who she apparently knew well. And about to consume a chunky baguette oozing bright yellow egg mayonnaise. At least that probably boasted some Hellman’s, Thea thought.

  Susanna looked up and flipped a hand, with a brief smile. She was sitting beside the farmer, trying to interest him in a plate of Sunday roast. Thea remembered Mr Jennison’s rudeness and assumed he did too. He didn’t look up at her or acknowledge her in any way.

  ‘Well, it’s good to meet you all,’ said Thea, after a strained minute or two. ‘I’d better get back to my lunch before the girl takes it away. Nice to see you, Helen. Drop in any time. I’m usually there.’

  James Winstanley gave a loud guffaw at that. ‘Making free with the homestead, aren’t you?’ he said, in an accent Thea hadn’t heard anywhere but in old films and archive footage. Dumbfounded, she looked at him, wondering if he was play-acting. Surely nobody actually spoke like that any more?

  The red-haired girl giggled. ‘Come off it, Jim. Stop pretending to be the local squire.’ Her own accent was plain and classless, if on the squeaky end of the tonal scale, but her delivery was confident. She didn’t care whether or not Winstanley thought her rude.

  Thea felt torn. She couldn’t just abandon Harry, but she was beginning to wish she could stay and witness the crosscurrents at this crowded table. Dutifully she left the foursome and rejoined her escort.

  Having finished her lunch, Thea went to the Ladies in the pub, and lingered on the way back, examining again the people in the other part of the garden. It was a fascinating group: the old man sitting hunched and expressionless, sipping Coca Cola in a tall glass, but not eating anything; Helen very upright, leaning slightly away from her husband on the slatted seat beside her. The Susanna person kept up a constant chatter, scattered with shrill little laughs, encouraged to some extent by James. Thea couldn’t hear the words, but the impression was of inane superficial babble.

  ‘I didn’t know they’d be here,’ Harry said. He sounded almost sad, and Thea was instantly remorseful.

  ‘Rather a coincidence, then.’

  ‘Not really. There aren’t too many pubs that offer such a variety – food, garden, space. This one’s become a bit of a habit with several of us lately. I’ve been here with June a few times, and Joel. Surprising to see old Lionel, though. I’ve never known him to go to a pub.’

  ‘Trying to cheer him up, I suppose.’ Thea remembered some deeply unfortunate attempts to do the same for her, when Carl died. Her sisters had been the worst – they’d actually bought tickets for a Stratford performance of The Taming of the Shrew three weeks after Carl’s funeral, thinking, bizarrely, that it would improve her mood.

  Harry seemed to read her mind. ‘Poor chap,’ he murmured.

  She turned her attention fully onto him. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m being rude, aren’t I. It’s just so interesting, seeing them together. I mean – I’ve never seen James before. And Susanna! She’s unreal, isn’t she.’

  ‘The hair, you mean. Horrible.’ He shuddered, exaggerating the disgust for comic effect.

  ‘Not just the hair. It makes her skin look odd, as well. Like a doll. And her lips. Do you know what she’s really like?’

  He shrugged. ‘If I’m being unkind, I’d just say she was a typical girlfriend. That’s what Lindy called her, and it’s rather accurate. I don’t think we tried very hard to get to know her as a person in her own right.’

  ‘What does she do?’

  ‘Oh, heavens, now you’re asking. Something in an office, I think. In Gloucester. Possibly to do with a newspaper.’

  Thea couldn’t imagine the woman as a journalist. ‘Selling advertising space,’ she decided.

  ‘Very likely,’ Harry agreed.

  ‘And James Winstanley – she called him Jim just now. Very familiar. What’s their connection?’

  Harry drank an inch or more of his beer before replying. When he did, it was with another question. ‘Oh, Thea, give it a rest. Is this part of some amateur sleuthing, spying for your brother-in-law? You’re never going to see any of these people again, now are you? Why don’t you let it all go, and just enjoy the moment?’

  It gave her a jolt. ‘You make me feel like the flying Dutchman,’ she complained.

  ‘Well, isn’t that what you are?’


  She understood, then, what had made her uneasy earlier. It was to do with Harry Richmond’s attentions. As if he had dropped everything that was already going on in his life, at the appearance of a pretty woman, apparently unattached. It made her wonder what he’d been doing before – what he would be doing if she had never turned up. Why, in fact, he had so much time for her, was so eager to get to know her.

  People who latched onto newcomers with such enthusiasm often turned out to be social misfits, in her experience. They’d used up everyone locally, bored or frightened or embarrassed them all to the point where they no longer associated with him or her. Could this be true of Harry Richmond, with his open friendly twinkle? Or did he have a more sinister motivation?

  Neither possibility seemed to work. She looked into his face, noting the laughter lines, the direct gaze, and merely found her liking for him reinforced.

  They drove back another way, almost equally scenic. ‘Come back for a bit,’ he invited. ‘We could take the dog for a little walk.’

  That was another thing – he had been completely relaxed about taking Hepzie in his nice clean car, letting her sit on the back seat without fussing over hairs on the upholstery. Thea admitted to herself that this had been a small test for him, which a great many people would have failed. So what if she gave the message Love me, love my dog? She wasn’t so desperate for a new relationship that she’d give up the faithful company of the spaniel, anyway.

  He found a grass verge for the car, and took them on a walk through the middle of Duntisbourne Abbots, offering to show Thea its attributes from a more familiar perspective. He led her into the church, where she admired its unusual layout, and flipped incredulously through the visitors’ book.

  ‘My God! Look at this – New Zealand, Italy, Nottingham, Texas, Vancouver, Montrose, Ramsgate, Helsinki and Truro – all on one page! I have never seen such a cosmopolitan list. It’s amazing!’

  Her whole idea of the village changed, as she tried to visualise this stream of visitors from all corners of the globe. Suddenly it was the hub of something huge, a quiet centre into which everyone rushed, and wrote down their names and addresses to prove it. ‘I’m stunned,’ she said.