Crisis in the Cotswolds

by Rebecca Tope

  ‘I keep telling you – I didn’t,’ shouted Izzy. ‘It was someone else, not me.’

  There was movement at the camper van, preparatory to Luc descending in his chair. He set off determinedly, rolling the wheels manually. Thea, watching him, was reminded of his claim that Juliet Wilson had been accustomed to pushing him around the grounds of the Paxford Centre. Had he needed pushing? Was there something more to that relationship than anybody had yet guessed?

  ‘Good God, look at him,’ said Izzy. ‘He’s the absolute image of you, Larry. You could be twins. Look at those eyebrows!’

  ‘He’s ten years older than me. He looks like Dad.’ Lawrence was staring so hard his eyes were bulging. ‘That’s the thing, you see. That’s what did it.’

  This remark was so obscure that nobody made any attempt to follow it. Gladwin and Barkley were tense, watching each individual for signs of violence. Thea was wrestling with a new set of notions that linked back to earlier in the day and involved Juliet to a startling degree. ‘This is going to be very interesting,’ she said quietly. ‘Pay close attention, you two.’

  ‘What the hell do you think we’re doing?’ snapped Gladwin. ‘I still don’t understand what’s going on.’

  ‘First wife, second wife, sons who’ve never met each other. Plus one son’s wife. Fight over the funeral of the father of all these men. Youngest son only just discovered he’s got brothers. What’s not to understand?’ It was Caz Barkley who gave this succinct summary of the situation, and again Thea was deeply impressed. ‘The question is – who spilt the beans and why? My money’s on the Izzy woman.’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said Thea slowly.

  Something in her voice alerted Gladwin. ‘Uh-oh,’ she said. ‘What’s this, then?’

  ‘Juliet,’ murmured Thea. ‘Don’t you think?’

  Luc was now close enough for normal conversation, with Clovis and Kate hanging back nervously. Where was Clovis Biddulph’s brave aggression now, wondered Thea. All that about not letting the funeral take place without him, and being so furious at the secrecy – all long since evaporated, it seemed. But then she realised that he had been nothing more than a mouthpiece for his brother all along. It was Luc’s injured feelings and profound need that had impelled Clovis and Kate into coming here. Luc had been desperate to see his father’s burial, as he had already explained. Luc, who resembled the man so closely, and had, like Lawrence, seen himself as a beloved son – until cruelly betrayed.

  ‘Hello, brother,’ he said now to Lawrence. ‘Seems you and I have a lot in common.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Let down by our old dad, basically. You got the best of him, by the sound of it. Saw you through the teenage years, anyhow. Me – I was left to sort it out by myself.’

  ‘Hang on.’ Clovis stepped forward. ‘What about me and Mama? We’ve always been there for you, haven’t we?’

  Luc turned awkwardly to look at his brother. ‘In the beginning you were. But later you were always out with girls, drinking, partying. Not much time for me, as I remember it. And Mama had her new fella, didn’t she? How old were we when she married again? Fifteen and seventeen? I’m not complaining about that, but I wouldn’t say I had very much of her attention.’

  Thea drank all this in, her mind still working overtime. Luc, of course, had been fully fit at the time he was talking about. His road accident was comparatively recent. But he had not forgotten or forgiven being abandoned by his father.

  Lawrence, by contrast, was barely listening at all. He was watching Gladwin, a puzzled frown adding new grooves to his face. ‘Who are you, anyway?’ he finally asked.

  ‘I thought you’d never ask. As it happens, I’m Detective Superintendent Sonia Gladwin, and this is Detective Sergeant Barkley. From the police,’ she elaborated, for good measure.

  ‘Why are you here?’ Lawrence showed signs of alarm, bordering on panic. ‘You finished with all the crime scene stuff days ago.’

  Thea could not help but look from one brother to the other – Lawrence and Luc. So alike in appearance, and, it seemed, in their emotional states. Both harboured rage against their father – Luc for decades, and Lawrence for what? Two days? Two hours? ‘Who told you?’ she asked, before she could stop herself. The question had become burningly urgent – perhaps the key to everything.

  ‘Who do you think?’ said Caz Barkley.

  Thea spun round and glared at her. ‘There’s such a thing as being too clever,’ she warned. ‘You can’t possibly be sure,’

  ‘Hey! Thea!’ Gladwin uncharacteristically was pulling rank. ‘You two – stop it. We’re already about a thousand miles from due process. Don’t make it any worse. And besides, I’m still not at all sure I know what anybody’s talking about.’

  ‘Are you police, then?’ Izzy belatedly asked.

  ‘Of course they are, you idiot,’ said Lawrence. ‘What did you think?’

  The only response he got was a toss of her head.

  ‘Police? Why?’ demanded Linda, who had taken several steps away from Izzy and was obviously at rather a loss.

  ‘Because a woman was murdered here three days ago,’ said Luc loudly. ‘A woman I knew personally, as it happens. The sweetest, kindest creature you could ever wish to meet.’ He stared hard at Lawrence as he spoke the final words. ‘Another loss, if anybody’s interested.’

  It was all swirling around, as Thea tried to monitor every exchange and shift in emphasis. Six people was too many for her to hope to catch everything, even though it was narrowing down to a confrontation between Luc and Lawrence. Clovis had become a mute observer, and Kate even more so. Her gaze was mainly fixed on Linda, her replacement in Stephen Biddulph’s life. Linda was rubbing her arm where Izzy had grabbed her, and making small soothing noises directed at her son. The persistent question currently occupying Thea was Who knows what?

  ‘What does that have to do with anything?’ Izzy wanted to know. ‘We’re not here because of a murder, are we? Nobody here did it, did they?’

  Barkley cleared her throat in an unmistakably meaningful manner. It spoke very much louder than words would have done. Almost everybody looked at her.

  ‘Well, they didn’t, did they?’ challenged Izzy.

  The comprehensive silence was unnerving. Thea found herself painstakingly following threads back to their sources. Who knew what? When nobody spoke, she felt emboldened to ask Kate a question. ‘How did you know that Stephen had died? You must have found out very quickly. It was only a week ago, after all.’

  ‘I want to know that too,’ said Linda. ‘We deliberately never put any notices anywhere.’

  ‘It’s a small world, pet,’ said Kate, outrageously patronising and apparently less worried about the fact of a murder than most of the others. ‘Your little granddaughter with the fatuous name has a best friend called Nevaeh – which I must say is even more fatuous. Anyway, be that as it may, the little friend has an older sister, who is a compulsive blogger with a particular interest in death and dying. By a series of minor coincidences, these blogs came to Luc’s attention. He can tell you precisely how it all happened, if you like.’

  ‘This is where Juliet comes in, isn’t it?’ Thea asked Luc.

  He nodded. ‘It was her friend Adam, initially. He loves reading blogs and getting involved in all kinds of forums, and so forth. He used to show them to Juliet, who always enjoyed that sort of thing as well. She recognised the name Biddulph and asked me all about it. She … well, you don’t want to hear all that. Let’s just say we talked about it for hours – that must have been last Monday.’

  ‘Do you know where she was from Wednesday to Friday last week?’ Gladwin asked this question before Thea could say anything more.

  ‘I don’t know for sure, but I think she was playing a sort of detective game, on my behalf. She was trying to find out where my father was going to be buried. We knew from the blogs that it was to be a natural burial, and this seemed the most likely place. She knew you, of course,’ he looked a
t Thea. ‘She was going to ask you outright, but she didn’t know where you lived.’

  ‘Yes, but where was she?’ Gladwin repeated.

  Luc shook his head. ‘I don’t know. I hope she wasn’t sleeping rough, but I can’t think of anywhere she’d go.’

  ‘Adam might know,’ suggested Kate. ‘Or maybe her mother.’

  ‘We’ve asked them,’ said Gladwin with a hint of indignation. ‘Obviously.’

  ‘She died here early on Saturday morning,’ said Thea. ‘Most likely about five in the morning. She could have been here all night.’ She was thinking aloud, groping for that final link in the chain of reasoning. Gladwin and Barkley looked as if they were doing the same. ‘Anthony Spiller was here by six, for the birdsong. He says he found her dead not long after that.’

  ‘Stop it!’ shouted Izzy. ‘This is nothing to do with me or Lawrence. If Modestine’s friend accidentally started it all off, well good for her, I say. It should never have been kept such a secret. It was a wicked thing to do.’ She pointed a finger at Linda. ‘You – you’re to blame for everything, right from the start. Selfish, stupid bitch that you are.’

  ‘Why did you come here now?’ Caz Barkley asked in a calm professional tone.

  ‘Because we were supposed to be having a funeral, in case you’ve forgotten. The man was going to be buried here in this nice quiet place. We came to see it on Saturday, and even with all you police people over there, it was still lovely. Lawrence and Modestine both thought so – didn’t you?’ She appealed to her husband. ‘You did, didn’t you? Even if you could scarcely bear to look at it, you know it’s perfect for him. And because of her, these others had to intrude and spoil it.’ She frowned, hearing herself. ‘Yes, that’s right. Because she kept it all a secret, and they were insulted by that. Who wouldn’t be?’ She looked at Clovis, her features softening. ‘And see what you’ve been missing all these years? They’re nice, your brothers. Look at them! Who can blame them for wanting to see Stephen buried?’

  It struck Thea that Izzy might have hidden virtues. She was certainly courageous, voicing feelings that were still reluctant to be drawn into the light. And she was genuinely concerned for those feelings to be recognised. And she had become aware of Clovis and his charms, which made her some sort of an ally.

  Kate Dalrymple appeared to be thinking along similar lines. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Thank you very much.’

  ‘It wasn’t me, it was Stephen,’ said Linda, chokingly. ‘I always wanted to tell Lawrence the truth.’

  ‘But it got to the stage where you didn’t dare,’ said Thea. ‘Because he was so totally convinced that Stephen had been the perfect father, absolutely committed to his son, responsible for getting him through a difficult childhood. The idea that he’d had two other sons who he just walked away from would unbearably undermine of all that. Shattering a myth. Rocking his whole world.’

  ‘So, when somebody told him he had a brother called Luc, who looked just like him, he lashed out because it was too much to bear,’ said Caz Barkley, as if stating the obvious, turning from Linda to Gladwin, and then to Lawrence. ‘He came here by himself very early that morning, and there was Juliet Wilson. They got talking and the name Biddulph perhaps came up, and she innocently chatted about Luc and his father dying, and this being the burial place – and you just couldn’t stand it, could you? What did you hit her with?’

  Afterwards, Thea wasn’t sure whether there really had been a collective gasp, followed by a pattern of exchanged glances and slow comprehension. Barkley’s unemotional accusation fitted so neatly with the previous revelations that not even Lawrence could argue with it. Linda and Izzy both went white as the truth sank in, Linda with a hand to her throat. Kate reached out for Clovis, who flew to her side and put an arm around her. Luc had a complacent expression, suggesting that he’d known the truth all along. Lawrence grew even more haggard, his whole body shaking.

  Gladwin squared her shoulders. ‘Lawrence Biddulph, I’m arresting you for the murder of Juliet Wilson.’ She issued the usual caution, and then looked at Barkley. ‘Well done,’ she said. ‘Very well done.’

  ‘She’s a genius,’ said Thea.

  And then Drew materialised, walking hesitantly into his field, gazing in bewilderment from face to face. ‘There’s a couple shown up for the funeral,’ he said. ‘They’re waiting up the road. Brenda and Gilbert, I think they said.’

  ‘Oh, God,’ said Linda, with a near-hysterical giggle. ‘Bloody Brenda and Gilbert, of all people.’

  ‘Serves you right,’ said Izzy faintly.

  Nobody asked who the disappointed mourners were. It was a detail too many, thought Thea. She had gone to Drew, and was holding his arm possessively. ‘Lawrence killed Juliet,’ she said briefly.

  ‘Surely not?’

  ‘Afraid so.’

  ‘Well you did say, right at the start, that he was going to be terribly angry.’

  ‘So I did. And he was. But oh – poor Juliet! Poor, poor Juliet!’

  ‘That’s right,’ came a voice. ‘Of all the people involved, she was the one who least deserved even a slap, let alone to be killed.’ He gazed up at his half-brother. ‘And by the hand of such a weakling as him.’

  ‘Enough,’ said Gladwin. ‘Come on – let’s get back to the station, and see if we can construct a proper case for the prosecution out of all this chaos.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Caz, waving her notebook. ‘I’m halfway there already.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Although Drew was suitably interested in Thea’s account of how the murder had been solved, he was clearly also thinking of other things. He asked very few questions, and only said ‘Poor Juliet,’ once or twice, and ‘What a miserable business.’

  Thea kept going over it, regardless. ‘Kate’s a really nice person,’ she said. ‘And very witty. What an idiot Stephen Biddulph must have been to leave her for Linda.’

  ‘He seems to have been rather an idiot altogether,’ said Drew. ‘And what’s going to happen about his funeral?’ he burst out. ‘I can’t keep him here indefinitely.’

  ‘No idea,’ said Thea.

  ‘Well, I need to know. I’ve got a new person coming today, and that’s going to be all I can take. Where am I going to put Mr Shipley’s sister? They’ll want her removed by tomorrow at the latest.’ Drew’s alternative operation was often an irritation to hospital mortuaries, with his dilatory habits. Space was so limited that he tended to collect bodies at the last possible moment.

  ‘I feel rather sorry for Linda, all the same,’ said Thea. ‘She can’t possibly have foreseen such terrible consequences when she seduced Stephen thirty years ago.’

  ‘Was she pregnant with Lawrence at the time, do you think?’

  ‘That never occurred to me.’ She gave it some thought. ‘It might explain a few things, if she was. The shame and secrecy, for a start. And the overcompensation towards Lawrence, as a result.’

  ‘Psychology,’ said Drew vaguely.

  ‘Right. That Caz Barkley’s a star, you know. She’s going to be after Gladwin’s job in a few years.’

  ‘Yes, you said.’ He was plainly running out of tolerance for any more debriefing. ‘Now, I’m making a sandwich, and then I’ll have to go and find Andrew to see if we can construct a proper schedule for the week. I’ve got to chase up a payment, as well.’ He sighed.

  Thea took her cue. ‘I should be doing that for you. Who didn’t pay?’

  ‘The Tucker family. The burial was six weeks ago now.’

  ‘Disgraceful! I’ll put a bomb under them, if you like.’

  ‘Don’t upset them. Say we can take it in instalments, if that helps.’

  ‘Mm. Phone or letter?’

  ‘Letter’s probably better. It can get awkward on the phone.’

  Two hours later, with no contact from the police or any Biddulphs, Thea went out to post her letter to the Tuckers. Having missed the collection in the village, she decided to drive to Chipping Campden and catch
up with some shopping at the same time. Her usual parking place was close to the church, where there was often enough space for one or two cars. While there was scant provision of ordinary food shops, it was still possible to buy vegetables and meat in the old-fashioned way – which she found infinitely preferable to the soulless supermarket routine.

  As always, she paused to admire the handsome church, built with wool money, as was Northleach and several others. Unlike some, it was almost hyperactive with events, clubs, services and community doings. A woman was standing on the flight of shallow steps leading to it, with a little white dog on a lead. It took Thea half a minute to identify Rosa Wilson. Before she could think, she had waved and called her name. Rosa was slow to respond, and seemed to be in a daze. Not surprising, Thea realised. But she was committed to approaching and conversing. It was not an unwelcome prospect, she realised.

  ‘Oh, Rosa. They’ll have told you what happened? They know who killed Juliet.’

  The woman nodded. ‘Makes no sense at all,’ she said. ‘They say somebody’s coming later on to explain it all.’

  ‘So why—?’ Thea nodded at the church.

  ‘Juliet was sleeping here. I found a message on my phone from her. She said she was all right, and needed to stay here because she had a mystery to solve.’

  This was too much to unpack in a hurry. ‘Sleeping here? You mean, in the church?’

  ‘Seemingly so.’

  ‘But when did you get the message?’

  ‘This morning. I’ve got two phones, you see, two different numbers. I only use this one for the car. Calling breakdown people, and so forth. I know, it’s dotty of me, but that’s how it is. One for the house and one for the car. Only little cheap things. Nothing fancy. So when the police asked to see my phone, I gave them the house one, and there was nothing from Juliet on it. I forgot all about this one.’ She was holding out a small Nokia that resembled the one Thea had owned about seven years ago. ‘Then today, I got it out to check the battery, and there was a voicemail from her.’ She turned a grim face to Thea. ‘If I’d had the sense to listen to it last week, she’d still be alive now.’