by Dawn Brookes
Meg dutifully got up and made her way upstairs.
‘Will she be all right up there?’
‘I don’t think she remembers anything from last night. It’s as if she’s blanked it out. She asked about the police tape when I took her up to shower after we got home and I just told her that the police wanted to keep his bedroom sealed off. What’s this about his spade?’
‘The police wonder if he took his spade to the woods that afternoon. Apparently people go metal detecting, collect mushrooms and plant winter flowering plants. As your dad was a keen gardener, he may have had the spade with him.’
‘And someone attacked him with it?’
‘That’s one theory.’
‘Well it’s easy to check. You can look in the shed. I expect the key will be on the rack in the kitchen. Everything’s labelled.’
There are some pluses to being OCD, thought Carlos. ‘Thanks. I’ll take a look.’
‘If the police think that, why haven’t they asked my mother about this before now?’
‘I expect they were going to before we found Matthew’s remains.’
Tears threatened to spill from Caroline’s eyes. She blinked rapidly. Carlos gave her space and headed up the garden path after retrieving a key marked “shed”.
The lock was well-used and opened easily. Inside tools hung or were stored in labelled containers. Each tool was polished and oiled. A spade hung next to a garden fork, a hoe and a rake. The tools were spotless, well-maintained. There were no gaps on the labelled hooks.
It was not Harold’s spade that had killed him.
19
Carlos didn’t get any further by questioning Caroline, who insisted she didn’t know any more than he did. Once he informed her all was well in the shed, she became agitated and irritable. Deciding the stress was getting to her again, he returned next door.
He took Lady for a long walk in the woods and couldn’t resist having another quick recce of the crime scene, but there was nothing else to be found. When he arrived back at Sophie’s, he started cooking, changing Lady’s dressing while the ragu simmered. The wound looked clean and he repacked it, as instructed by Gary, before feeding her.
‘Good girl.’
The aroma of ragu permeated the kitchen as he sat down to eat at the table. The kitchen clock on the wall in front of him caught his attention as he cleared his plate. He leapt off the chair, ramming the remnants of the spaghetti in his mouth.
‘I almost forgot, Lady. I have to go to church.’
Lady sat up, her saucer eyes pleading with him not to take her out again.
‘You and Sophie have identical eyes, you know that? Speaking of which, notice how she neglected to say she wouldn’t be around for the carol service when I mentioned it on Friday. It’s all right, girl, you don’t have to come for this one. No bodies in the church.’
He laughed out loud and was still chuckling when he turned the corner to the village church. He stopped laughing when he spotted the graveyard enveloping the ancient building. The bells rang out a clarion call, letting villagers know it was time to attend the evening service, and it seemed they all obeyed.
Well, it is a carol service. Perhaps attendance is better than usual.
The gloomy darkness of the surrounding graveyard was dispelled by lights shining through ornate stained glass windows. Carlos followed a crowd of people along the meandering path and entered the church through towering oak doors. It had traditional high ceilings, stone walls and rows of pews. The warmth of people smiling and chattering enthusiastically pricked his heart.
Rachel would love this.
He missed her. He’d only called her once to let her know he’d arrived safely – he was avoiding disturbing her sleep during the day, as she was on night shift. They’d texted the morning after he found the body and she’d sent him a sarcastic message about her not being the only one to investigate murder when on holiday – Rachel had become quite the cruise ship sleuth, seeming to get involved in an investigation every time she cruised, often egged on by their mutual friend, the irrepressible octogenarian Lady Marjorie Snellthorpe.
A deep voice from behind pulled Carlos away from his reverie.
‘Didn’t we meet on Friday at the community centre?’ Carlos turned, recognising the neatly trimmed moustache and the curt tone, although the greeting was warm. Colonel Martin Webb shook his hand vigorously.
‘We did. How are you?’ Stupid question, thought Carlos.
‘Can’t complain. I hear you’re investigating the death of Harold Sissons. Got what he deserved, if you ask me. Nasty fellow if ever I met one.’
‘Now, now, Martin. We’re in church.’ The flirtatious woman named Clara was clinging to the colonel’s arm. Carlos remembered her from his visit to the community centre and her comments about Harold being controlling. He couldn’t avoid noticing the scarlet miniskirt that barely reached her thighs and a low-cut silk blouse leaving little to the imagination. She had a good figure for her age, the voluptuous breasts hitting Martin on the side almost deliberately. She giggled.
‘Looking at you, I thought we were in a brothel,’ Martin replied scornfully, disentangling her hand from his arm. Carlos didn’t get to hear her response as Doreen Milnthorpe, the vicar’s wife, tapped his elbow.
‘Pleased to see you made it. We’re packed tonight. Most people in the village come to the carol service. I don’t see Gary or Sophie. Are they here?’
‘They’ve driven up to Yorkshire to visit Gary’s parents. They’ll be back tomorrow. Sophie sends her apologies.’
‘It’s important to see family at Christmas time.’ The vicar’s wife sounded resentful. ‘Ours can’t make it this year, but they’ll all be here for New Year. I think they had enough of their father’s preaching growing up, if I’m honest.’
Carlos chuckled politely. ‘How many children do you have?’
‘Just the three. Barney Junior’s our oldest. He and his wife are spending Christmas with the in-laws. They’re expecting their first child. Priscilla’s our youngest, she’s recently got engaged, and Lorna’s a journalist. Works in London. She’s covering a story – so she says – but I think the nightlife is preferable to that of Derbyshire. I miss them at this time of year, but we can rarely holiday over the Christmas season.’
‘I understand. My girlfriend’s father’s a vicar.’
Doreen raised an eyebrow, but their conversation was interrupted by murmuring running through the assembled congregation. Carlos turned to see what had caused the stir and was surprised to spot Meg and Caroline making their way through an astonished crowd. Doreen left Carlos’s side immediately, but Martin beat her in the race to greet them.
‘Meg, how are you, my dear? What a pleasure to see you without that…’
A nudge from Doreen prevented him saying anything else. Meg smiled shyly as her eyes met his. They held each other’s gaze for longer than the usual customary greeting.
Caroline took her mother’s arm and barged past the gawping colonel while Doreen followed immediately behind, determined to add her welcome once Caroline stopped marching. The only person not happy to see Meg was Clara, who shot daggers at her back and pulled the colonel away from staring after her.
‘You’re making a fool of yourself,’ she snarled.
Regaining control, Martin shrugged and found a seat on the end of a pew. Clara tried to force herself in, but in the end gave up and sat on the opposite row, glaring first at Martin, then at Meg’s back. Carlos noticed the colonel whisper something to the woman next to him. The woman said something back, then stood and stormed out of the pew to another one on the opposite side of the church. It was the nurse, Josie, whom Carlos had also met on Friday.
Definitely some animosity between the two of them. He wasn’t surprised. The colonel was the sort of man who would think nothing of offending people, from what he’d witnessed so far.
He wondered if, on other occasions, the brusque colonel was more attentive to the effusive Clara. If not, the woman needed to tak
e the hint. He reflected on the greeting between Martin Webb and Meg.
Now that was interesting. He determined to chat with the colonel some more at the earliest opportunity.
Carlos tucked himself into a pew next to a young family. The man nodded to him, but said nothing as the organist stopped playing and the congregation hushed while the Reverend Barney Milnthorpe took to the lectern.
Carlos enjoyed himself. The service engaged the villagers, while a nativity play drew oohs and ahs from the assembled crowds and parents scrambled to take photos of their children. Carlos watched Meg and Caroline throughout the service, but they didn’t budge. When he glanced over to Martin, he realised that the colonel’s eyes were boring holes into the back of the head of one woman in particular – Meg Sissons.
Carlos’s thoughts returned to Rachel and how much she would have enjoyed this. He shot his own little prayer silently into the air that she would be kept safe from danger.
Barney concluded the service with a short sermon and then rattled off some local announcements. After the service was over, parishioners were invited to stay for mulled wine and mince pies. A scrum headed towards a side door, where Carlos assumed they could get their refreshments.
Barney had been dressed in traditional church regalia, but when he reappeared a few minutes later, just the black shirt and white collar remained. He greeted many of the parishioners as he made his way towards Carlos, who was waiting for the scramble to die down.
‘You’d better join the queue if you want to sample my best mulled wine. It goes down a treat at this time of year, and I’m afraid not all my congregation understand the word “moderation”.’ The friendly vicar’s shoulders shook as he laughed. ‘Look, that’s Billy Slade. Only comes in once a year and always joins the queue three times, pretending he’s not had a drink. Afterwards, he’ll be off to the local.’
‘Don’t you mind?’ asked Carlos.
‘Not at all. One day he might even take the message into his heart. The angels in heaven rejoice over one sinner who repents, you know.’
Carlos looked from Billy Slade to the optimistic vicar and couldn’t help but like this enthusiastic man.
‘Perhaps I’d better join the queue then,’ he replied.
‘Looks like you have no need.’ Barney grinned widely, showing off polished white teeth. Doreen appeared with a tray carrying two glasses of mulled wine and two mince pies.
‘I thought I’d better get these to you before we run out. I guessed my husband would want to speak to you. He’s got something to say.’
‘Oh?’ Carlos said as he helped himself to the heated wine. It was topped with cinnamon and cloves, and when he took a sip, he felt the warm liquid go straight down to his stomach and its effects straight to his head. ‘That packs a punch,’ he said to the vicar, who was waiting for his verdict.
‘Winemaking’s my hobby. I save my best for this service each year, and my wife does the rest.’
‘Including making these fine mince pies?’ Carlos tasted the succulent mincemeat and short crust pastry that melted in his mouth. ‘It’s delicious.’
‘Thank you,’ said Doreen. ‘Barney, I’d better get back to help the others. Clara’s being shirty with them. I don’t know what’s got into her.’
‘Mm,’ replied the vicar, casting his eyes towards Meg who was in conversation with Martin. ‘I do. Clara Fisher’s got a rival for the colonel’s affections.’
Doreen followed his gaze. ‘You can’t think there’s anything to those rumours? It’s just village gossip. I’m sure Martin is offering his condolences. Now, I really must go.’
Carlos watched the exchange between Martin Webb and Meg Sissons. Caroline was out of sight, so he assumed she was collecting mulled wine for her mother.
‘What rumours?’ he asked.
‘Do you think it will have any bearing on your investigation? I don’t like to gossip.’
‘It might. Everything matters at this stage in proceedings.’
‘In that case, I’ll tell you what I know. It’s rumoured that Martin had a thing for Meg when they were teenagers, but she was besotted with Harold, despite many feeling it was not a good match.’
‘Do you know why?’
‘Sorry, no. After so many years, it’s difficult to differentiate between fact and fiction. Anyway, soon after Meg married – I’m told – the colonel also married – a local girl – and soon afterwards he joined the army. Martin and Valerie travelled all over the world with his job. He retired when he was sixty, and he and Valerie returned to the village. I only got to know them then. They seemed happy to me, but you never know, do you?’ Barney sighed. ‘But Harold’s reaction to the colonel’s return caused a lot of friction. Valerie Webb died seven years later – cancer – that’s when the rumours started.’
‘And do you believe them?’
‘You’ve heard the saying – there’s no smoke without fire – but I would have said no until tonight.’ Barney’s eyes fixed on the couple again.
‘It could be as your wife said, he’s offering his condolences, particularly if they do go back a long way.’
‘You’re right. I almost hope there is something between them. Perhaps Meg can find happiness in her old age. I feel so guilty. I have to ask – are the rumours true about young Matthew being found buried in the house?’
‘I’m afraid so. Did you know the boy?’
‘A little. He came to Sunday school a couple of times. He was the same age as my Lorna. They were in the same class at school, and she swore he wouldn’t have run away, but there was nothing to suggest otherwise. I can’t help feeling I should have done something. How could we not have known this stuff was going on under our noses?’
‘You shouldn’t feel guilty. People are brilliant at putting on a show of being the perfect couple or family. We all have something to hide – but for most of us, it doesn’t involve murder or domestic abuse.’
‘Is that what was going on?’
‘Not physical abuse, from what I’ve gleaned, but yes – I would say that Meg was the victim of domestic abuse in every other way. Harold Sissons has caused that woman more harm than we may ever know. Like you, I hope for some form of recovery now the shackles are off.’
Carlos and Barney drank their wine, each lost in their own thoughts. The vicar blew out a huge breath.
‘As for not feeling guilty, I’m afraid this one will be hard to get through. Doreen visited Meg every week, but Meg never said a word about abuse. They were an odd couple, for sure, but we didn’t see it. I do regular training to spot signs of child abuse, but if Matthew was killed by his own father, it was well hidden.’
Carlos put his hand on the other man’s shoulder.
‘Don’t punish yourself. No-one knew.’
‘Except perhaps my Lorna.’ The vicar’s hand went to his head. ‘I hope this doesn’t hit the national headlines. She won’t let it go if she finds out. The story is personal to her. I hope you find out who killed Harold Sissons soon.’
Barney stood up and headed towards the mêlée to chat to his parishioners.
‘Me too,’ muttered Carlos.
20
Following the conversation with Carlos, Fiona mulled over what he’d told her. The mangled bike suggested an accident, but why hadn’t anyone mentioned it when interviewed? Admittedly, she’d not managed to interview Caroline yet thanks to her boss sending her on this unnecessary trip.
She’d been grateful at first. The opportunity to catch up with her wayward brother was a bonus, but now she wished she’d never come. Her suspicion antenna was on high alert having seen the luxury Steve and his new girlfriend were living in. Why hadn’t he mentioned it when she’d phoned him to arrange her stay? Because he knew she would quiz him on where the money was coming from.
Well he’s going to be quizzed, like it or not, once I get that woman out of the way.
Fiona wished she’d disturbed Aiden Winslow today rather than putting it off until tomorrow. Making polite conversati
on with Jen after dinner was wearing thin. The Chateau Musar at over £30 a bottle hadn’t escaped her notice either and worried her all the more. Jen was sticking to Steve like they were attached at the navel, not giving Fiona any opportunity to talk to him in private.
So be it.
Fiona drew in a deep breath, causing the couple to exchange “here we go” glances.
‘How did you two meet?’ The innocent question was loaded and they knew it.
‘Through my father’s work,’ answered Jen, a little too hastily. ‘Steve was doing odd jobs for him.’ Now Jen’s tone became condescending. Steve shot her a warning look. The wine was affecting Jen, who had been slurping it back much more quickly than Fiona or her brother. Fiona leaned forward and picked up the second bottle from the table.
‘Great wine. Here, let me pour you another.’
Jen held out her glass greedily. Steve covered his with his hand, glaring at Jen, trying to warn her, but she was too far gone.
The phone rang, but Jen made no effort to move.
‘Are you going to get that?’ Steve asked through gritted teeth.
Jen reached for the phone. ‘Hi, Dad. Yeah. He’s here. It’s Dad,’ she stated the obvious, handing the phone to Steve.
‘Hey. Oh, right. Hang on. My sister’s staying the night, can we talk about this in the morning?’
An angry response caused Steve to stiffen. He glanced at Fiona and Jen.
‘Don’t mind me,’ Fiona said, smirking. ‘You go ahead.’
Steve shrugged and headed into the hall, closing the door behind him. She couldn’t hear what he was saying so turned her attention back to Jen.
‘You said Steve was doing odd jobs for your father. What sort of jobs?’
‘Contacts, you know?’ The conspiratorial whisper caused Fiona’s ears to prick up.
‘You mean his criminal contacts?’
‘You know about them then?’
Fiona’s heart rate increased. ‘He might have mentioned doing some work with people he met inside. Which friends in particular?’