by Rebecca Tope
‘A lot, actually.’
‘Winchcombe’s a bit bigger than a village,’ said Gladwin. ‘And if Melissa just paid flying visits, it’s quite likely that nobody knew who she was. That’s what we’re picking up from our enquiries, anyway. Oliver was a recluse and his visitors were a complete mystery to everybody we’ve asked about it.’
‘Reuben knew who I was!’ Thea suddenly remembered. ‘In the pub. He was quite unpleasant about it, in fact, making innuendoes. That’s why I disliked him to start with. After that, he just seemed to dig himself deeper and deeper.’
‘But how—’ Gladwin began. ‘Do you mean he’d heard about your house-sitting exploits in other places?’
‘Apparently so, yes. Temple Guiting specifically. It is only a few miles from here, I suppose.’
‘Which implies that he knew Oliver had gone away and taken on a house-sitter.’
‘More than implies,’ said Maureen. ‘Proves, surely?’
‘Okay. And that suggests there was more than a casual connection between them, if Reuben was taking so much interest.’
‘It also suggests that Reuben knew about the Meadows trial, and that Oliver was going off to testify.’ Thea had a sense of threads coming together to form at least a faint picture. ‘He hinted he did know, when we were in the pub. There’s a key in here somewhere,’ she insisted.
Gladwin’s mobile interrupted them imperiously. She automatically moved to the door before answering it, walking restlessly down the hallway and back as she spoke. It seemed she was receiving significant information, to judge from the staccato responses she was making. Thea wondered whether to offer pencil and paper on which to take notes.
The detective was almost dancing by the time she rang off. ‘They’ve had another look at Melissa’s body,’ she reported. ‘There’s something written on the palm of her left hand. Would you believe they never noticed it before! It’s that dim-witted assistant, of course. She’s such a liability.’
‘So what does it say?’ Thea demanded, sharing the excitement. ‘Surely not the name of her killer?’
‘Sadly not. At least – it seems to predate her death by quite some time. They can’t read all of it. Looks a bit like B-E-N, apparently. And something else before that – possibly numbers.’
‘So if she was meeting a man called Ben, he could have killed her?’
‘It doesn’t say Reuben, does it?’ suggested Maureen. ‘Was he known as Ben for short?’
Gladwin spread her hands impatiently. ‘We don’t know,’ she said. ‘Everybody’s trying to answer those very questions. I’ll have to go. Thanks for the chat. Always a treat.’ She threw Thea a warm smile, and was gone in a flash.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It was only nine-thirty, and the damp day stretched uninvitingly. ‘I should try and get hold of Fraser,’ said Maureen half-heartedly. ‘And find out what all this business with Jason is about. I should have phoned him last night, really. He’ll think I don’t care.’
‘And do you?’
‘Yes, I do.’ The emphasis was surprising. ‘I really do. I’ve been worrying about him ever since I woke up. I don’t think he wanted to go back with Mo yesterday. She just bundled him off without giving him a chance to think.’
‘I should walk the dog.’ Thea peered out at the sky. ‘It’ll probably brighten up in a bit.’
‘I hate September. Always have. I hated you children going back to school, worried about new teachers and new timetables. It always seemed so cruel to me.’
‘You must be the only mother in the world who felt like that. Four kids under your feet all summer must have been dreadful.’
‘No, it was nice. And look at Jocelyn. She’s got five, and she says the same thing. She really finds the new term a pain. All those new shoes and packed lunches. It’s a nightmare.’
They contemplated the imagined chaos of Thea’s sister’s domestic arrangements. ‘It must be rather a scramble,’ Thea agreed.
‘And there’s always somebody in trouble, these days. Especially the boys. The poor little things can’t do anything right in the eyes of those silly, soft, female teachers. Did you hear about poor Noel, at the end of last term?’
‘Sort of.’ Thea wasn’t interested in an analysis of modern education. Her own child had sailed through the experience with very little difficulty. The only children she had spent time with recently were Drew’s, and that had been quite a brief acquaintance. She knew nothing about their attitude towards school.
‘You’ve got me terribly confused about Fraser,’ Maureen complained, changing the subject. ‘I just keep going round and round it, all the time.’
‘We’ve said everything there is to say about it, for now,’ Thea cut her off. ‘Just so long as he isn’t planning to kill you, I suppose there’s no great urgency about it.’
‘But what if he is?’
It was the sort of question that you either had to dismiss completely, or treat with utter seriousness. Thea hovered between the two. ‘I expect he would have done it by now, if that was the case. If he did intend to at first, it looks as if he’s grown to like you now. It’s very difficult to kill somebody you like.’
The words echoed around the room. Thea conjured the cheerful Melissa into her mind’s eye, and wondered who in the world could possibly have hated her enough to kill her. She herself had found her faintly irritating, she recalled, for no very good reason. But dislike was ten million miles from a murderous loathing. Reuben was different – she could already name three people who found him obnoxious. But that wasn’t good enough. A murderer needed to convince himself that his own happiness, reputation, prosperity or stark survival depended on this person being dead. Somewhere, somehow, Melissa Anderson had threatened another person’s well-being, and had been viciously punished for it. Thea felt a sharp pang of sympathetic pain for the elderly mother, hearing the annihilating news about her girl.
‘Let’s go out,’ her mother said. ‘We’re depressing ourselves in here. We might find a person called Ben and solve the whole case for your nice detective lady.’
‘Have you got a mac? It’s still quite wet.’
‘I can borrow Oliver’s. There’s one hanging on the back of the kitchen door.’
‘He’s at least eight inches taller than you. It’ll look silly.’
‘No, it’s a short one. And he’s so thin that I’ll fill it well enough. It hasn’t got a hood, though. I need something for my head.’
They found a somewhat greasy black scarf hanging with the coat, and Maureen wrapped it gingerly around her head. ‘It’s one thing to borrow someone’s coat and quite another to wear his scarf,’ she observed. Thea fetched her own waterproof anorak and they set out with the dog for a walk in the Sudeley grounds. Hepzie pulled annoyingly at her lead, so Thea released her before they reached the park. There was little enough traffic on the lower end of the street, and the dog was reasonably sensible with cars anyway.
The drizzle was invisibly fine, misting the trees and grass in a way that could only suggest autumn. In summer it would evaporate away; in winter it would turn to ice, or at least heavy droplets on the bare boughs. Swelling chestnuts still hung on the large handsome trees, reminding Thea of the words ‘mellow fruitfulness’ in a poem she had always loved. The flat grey light cast no shadows at all.
‘Pity we can’t go around the castle,’ said Maureen. ‘That would have been just the thing for a day like this.’
‘We wouldn’t be able to take the dog,’ said Thea automatically. She had been prevented from indoor exploring on more than one occasion by this difficulty. When necessary, she would leave Hepzie shut inside whatever house she was looking after, but she preferred not to do it. Idle sightseeing did not constitute necessity, to her mind.
‘It isn’t open to the public anyway.’
‘Right. Although they do tours now and then, at significant cost. I can’t say I’m tempted.’
There were very few people around, unsurprisingly. A play area for c
hildren stood deserted, and a handsome old bridge over a small lake, which had attracted people on Thea’s first excursion, was now unoccupied. ‘We’ll turn back at the bridge,’ Thea decreed. ‘I don’t think any of us are enjoying this very much.’
They stood gazing at the water below for a minute or two, trying to work out whether the lake was man-made or natural, and whether it was fed by a stream or simply by rainfall. They reached no conclusion, and turned to retrace their steps. ‘Oh, look,’ said Maureen. ‘There’s Priscilla.’ She spoke as if it was her best friend who had suddenly come into view.
‘So it is,’ said Thea, with considerably less enthusiasm. ‘She looks a bit cross.’
Hepzie bridged the substantial space between them and Priscilla by running up to the woman and jumping at her knees with wet paws. She was swiped away with scant ceremony – something she was quite accustomed to. ‘Sorry,’ said Thea insincerely, when they got close enough for conversation. ‘Don’t jump up, Heps. How many times have I told you?’
‘I’ve just had the police questioning me,’ Priscilla Heap burst out. ‘Was that your doing?’
Thea and her mother froze under this unexpected attack. ‘What? Of course not,’ said Thea, after a pause. ‘We haven’t even mentioned your name. Have we?’ she asked her mother to confirm.
‘Not that I can recall,’ said Maureen. ‘And what if we had? Why does it matter? I expect they want to speak to everybody.’
‘You do live near the Hardys,’ Thea remembered. ‘It must have been a routine house-to-house.’
‘No it wasn’t. It was because I was there yesterday when you found his body. I deliberately melted away before they could get my name. But somebody gave it to them anyway. Are you sure it wasn’t you?’
‘Why does it matter so much?’ Maureen asked again. ‘Do you have something to hide? Don’t you want them to find the murderer?’
‘I think you told them that I touched his face. They knew about that. They kept asking why I’d do such a thing, and did I have special feelings for him. It was most unpleasant.’ She shuddered. ‘They made me feel guilty, when I haven’t done anything against the law.’
‘It wasn’t us who told them. Perhaps it was Fraser or one of those people at the top of the alley. There were three or four watching, weren’t there? Someone amongst them must be more public-spirited than you.’ Thea spoke sharply, annoyed by the woman’s attitude.
‘Could be, I suppose. The town is full of busybodies.’
‘And I get the impression that you’re not very popular,’ Maureen observed. Then she addressed her daughter. ‘It wasn’t Fraser, though. We’d gone by then.’
‘What makes you think I’m unpopular?’ Priscilla demanded.
‘You came to us when you wanted someone to talk to, even though you’ve lived here for years. Why haven’t you got friends to turn to?’
‘Be quiet!’ Priscilla snarled. ‘How dare you?’
Thea felt a vague sadness that things were turning out so unpleasantly. For herself, she had rather liked the woman, and felt some sympathy for her apparent isolation. Not everybody wanted to be bosom pals with the people next door. ‘It wasn’t us,’ she said again. ‘And I know what you mean about being under suspicion. It happened to a friend of mine earlier this year, and I know it’s horrible.’
‘It is.’ Priscilla visibly mellowed. ‘And they’ve got it hopelessly wrong, of course. I didn’t care a fig for Reuben. I never could see what Jenny saw in him, to be honest. Oily little beast, he was.’
‘I hope you didn’t say that to the police?’ Thea smiled.
‘No, no. I’ve got more sense.’
Thea was burning to reveal the news that Reuben had apparently died of a drug overdose, and therefore probably had not been murdered after all. But she too had enough sense to remain silent. She cast a quick look at her mother to reassure herself that there would be no revelation from that quarter, either. Maureen showed little sign of wanting to divulge anything.
‘Nasty weather,’ she said, greatly to Thea’s amusement. The past few days had caused her to revise her assessment of her mother, based on a lifetime of family myths and assumptions. There was a lot more spirit inside her than Thea had ever discerned until now. To her credit, Priscilla Heap similarly appreciated the gesture, and gave a little smile.
‘And showing no sign of improving,’ Thea added. ‘I thought it would have done by now.’
‘Rain before seven, fine by eleven,’ quoted Maureen. ‘Your father always said that.’
‘So did Carl. It’s generally true.’
‘Well, it’s got another forty minutes,’ said Priscilla, having consulted her watch. Harmony having been restored, the three walked together, back towards Vineyard Street.
‘Funny how quickly a place becomes familiar,’ said Thea. ‘I feel I know Winchcombe rather well, already.’
‘You don’t, though,’ Priscilla argued. ‘You have no idea of how people are with each other, on a daily basis. It’s got its share of miscreants – some of them with very unpleasant dogs. Look what one of them did to me last year.’ She proffered her forearm, which sported a jagged red scar. ‘Twenty-seven stitches,’ she boasted. ‘Nearly bled to death. And I didn’t do a thing to provoke the bloody animal.’
Thus was her antipathy towards dogs explained, realised Thea. ‘It must have been dreadful,’ she said.
‘Did they put it down?’ asked Maureen.
‘They did – at my insistence.’
‘You can’t blame the dog,’ said Thea automatically. ‘I suppose it was a pit bull or something?’
‘Or something. Bull terrier of some sort. It was doing its best to kill me. The owner was pathetic. All he did was kick at it and shout.’
‘Well, Hepzie wouldn’t bite anybody,’ said Thea with perfect confidence. ‘It would never even cross her mind.’
‘That’s what Jenny says about that handsome puppy of hers. I quite liked dogs before that happened,’ said Priscilla wistfully. ‘Perhaps one day I’ll get over it.’
Again Thea felt the shadow of an unfocused sadness pass over her. Despite the effort to be brisk and witty the previous evening, this woman was leaking misery and anxiety. Lonely, antisocial, clumsy – whatever image she presented, these underlying traits would soon emerge. She had antagonised neighbours with her new house, favoured her horse above people, and very possibly let Reuben Hardy know what she thought of him. But she had been genuinely shocked by his death – Thea was sure of that. She had surreptitiously stroked his dead cheek, after all. Or perhaps it had been a gesture very far from affectionate. Perhaps she had simply needed to satisfy herself that he really was gone for ever. Perhaps she had hated or feared him, and could scarcely believe her luck when he’d died. Perhaps … perhaps … There was no real evidence for any of these suppositions – the only sure thing was that the death of a healthy young man was a sorrow that affected them all.
‘When did the police question you?’ she asked.
‘First thing this morning. Two of them, at half past eight. Made me late for poor old Sally-Girl.’
‘It wasn’t Gladwin then?’
‘Who?’
‘The detective superintendent. She came to see us at nine.’
‘No, it was two men. I don’t remember their names.’
‘You know the Hardys quite well, don’t you?’ Maureen accused. ‘Both of them. That must be why you were questioned.’
Priscilla flushed. ‘Not especially. What makes you think that?’
‘You use the wife’s name so casually. You know their routines. You were appalled by his death. It’s obvious.’
Again, Thea was impressed by her mother. ‘You like her, but not him – is that right?’ she asked Priscilla, starting to feel as if they were playing some sort of party game. At the end of all these questions there lay an answer that might be the key to all that had happened.
‘For heaven’s sake!’ the woman burst out. ‘This is exactly what they asked me this morning
, and I’m not going over it again. What business is it of yours, anyway? Can’t I have an opinion of people living across the street from me without being suspected of killing one of them? I don’t imagine I’m alone in finding Reuben Hardy difficult to like. He was too charming to be real. He was selfish, greedy, rich and insincere. Like a lot of men around here, in fact. He took what he wanted, with no concern for other people’s feelings. His wife had to make the best of it. She got her nice home and a lovely dog out of it, and seemed happy enough. I make no claims to understanding what happens in a marriage. That way is far too fraught with confusion for my simple mind. She’s going to have to start all over again without him. And I think there might be a baby on the way, as well. Her waistline has expanded over the summer.’
‘But she hasn’t said anything?’
‘Little hints, that’s all. Having the dog for practice, and thinking of moving to a larger place – that sort of thing.’
‘She talks to you, it seems.’
‘She talks to everybody.’
‘She even talked to me,’ Thea remembered. ‘In this very spot.’
‘Did you like her?’
‘I liked the dog,’ laughed Thea. ‘I didn’t take a lot of notice of the woman. When they came to the door on Sunday, it was mostly him I focused on. She seems pretty ordinary, at first glance, except for her hair. It’s a rather dramatic colour, isn’t it?’ And she screamed for ten minutes, ran the line in her head.
Priscilla showed no sign of wanting to accompany them back to Thistledown. ‘I’m going that way,’ she said firmly, tipping her chin towards the castle. ‘I need the exercise, and I like this weather, to be honest. I find it restful.’ Her colourless hair was frosted with drizzle, and there were damp patches on the shoulders of her jacket. ‘I can circle round along the footpath, and over to the bridge at the top of town.’
Thea was lost. ‘Oh?’ she said. ‘Another bridge?’
‘It’s the main one over the Isbourne. That’s the name of our esteemed waterway. The footpath, river and road all converge there, which is handy.’