by Rebecca Tope
‘It could very well have been natural causes,’ he added. ‘There’s no sign of violence.’ Then he looked closer. ‘Although I suspect I’m wrong about that. I neglected to mention that he’s wearing pyjamas and a dressing gown. And I repeat that there are signs that he’s been here for quite some time.’
That was half past nine. By half past ten a large turnout of police personnel had erected a tent over the body, taken numerous photographs and successfully identified the deceased as local magnate Rufus Blackwood. Two different officers recognised him. ‘He’s a Freemason,’ said one. ‘Mega-rich.’
William Turner was taken home by a needlessly solicitous female officer, where his wife told him off for being late and treated his discovery with hurtful indifference. ‘That damn dog, I suppose,’ she said.
‘Not at all. The daft thing never even noticed.’
‘Do they know who it is?’ she asked idly.
‘That Blackwood chap, lives up at Crossfield. I guessed it might be him, and I heard them saying his name just before they brought me home.’
Mrs Turner began to take more interest. ‘Good heavens! That’s going to make a good story, isn’t it! Especially if somebody deliberately killed him.’
Chapter Eight
Thea was not in the kitchen when the girls and spaniel got back, which Jessica appeared to think was a dereliction of duty. ‘Shouldn’t you be peeling chestnuts or something?’ she said.
‘Probably. But I’ve just had a phone call that made all that seem rather beside the point.’
Stephanie wasn’t sure what that meant, but it definitely had ominous implications for the lovely magical Christmas she was anticipating. Her stepmother was on the sofa, a weird blank look in her eyes.
‘So who phoned?’ asked Jessica impatiently. ‘It’s not Drew, is it?’
Stephanie could feel her insides go cold and her chest turned to iron. They had been talking about Thea’s first husband, who died in a car crash. Surely that couldn’t possibly happen to her second husband as well? Stephanie’s own beloved daddy.
‘Oh God, no.’ She met Stephanie’s gaze. ‘No, no. Nothing like that. Don’t panic, Steph. It’s nothing you need worry about.’ She turned to Jessica. ‘It was Gladwin who phoned. You know – the police detective. She’s been called out to Crossfield, and thought I might be able to help. She knows I’m friendly with the Frowses. There was a case last year … well, that’s not relevant now. The thing is …’ She paused and glanced at Stephanie. ‘The thing is, they’ve found a body over there.’
‘So?’ said Jessica, refusing to be drawn into feeling anything like excitement.
‘So Antares phoned me yesterday and said his mother had gone missing. This could be her. Gladwin didn’t say anything about an identity. It’s all just happened, half an hour ago. All hell’s breaking loose as we speak, I shouldn’t wonder. Everybody’s going to be hopelessly distracted with Christmas.’
‘Did you tell Gladwin about yesterday’s phone call? Does she want you to identify your friend’s mother – or what?’
Thea shook her head. ‘She was in a tearing hurry. Just said there was a body at Crossfield and I might turn out to be useful, because I know them there. Barely gave me time to say a word.’
‘Hasn’t this exact same thing happened before?’ asked Jessica suspiciously. ‘Probably more than once. Why does it have to be you and how does it make getting ready for tomorrow “beside the point” as you put it?’
‘Jessica – these people are my friends. Stephanie and I go there all the time. We were there last weekend, in fact. Ant’s got his hands full fending off an extremely unpleasant landlord and his wife. They harass and intimidate the Frowses constantly. I can’t just ignore them now there’s trouble. Especially not when Gladwin thinks I can be useful.’
Stephanie had heard it all, her eyes darting from face to face, trying to reconcile the two positions. ‘They’re really nice,’ she said now. ‘It’s not Ant’s mother who died, is it?’
‘I honestly don’t know, darling,’ said Thea. ‘Let’s hope not.’
‘From what you say, she’s more likely to be the killer,’ said Jessica with a little laugh. ‘In any case, it sounds as if the landlord needs to be interviewed pretty soon. Where does he live?’
‘Right there. It’s a big fancy estate with a fence all round it and electric gates and security lights. The Frowses have got a ramshackle tied cottage in the middle of the whole property and the landlord wants to get rid of them.’ Thea was pulling on her trainers and barely thinking of what she was saying. ‘We’ll have to go in your car. Steph – you’d better come as well.’
‘Hey – hang on!’ Jessica objected. ‘We can’t just barge into a crime scene, if that’s what it is. I can’t believe that’s what your detective person was suggesting.’
‘We can go to the cottage. They’ll be in a state. They’ll be glad to see us.’
‘Go by yourself. You can drive my car easily enough.’
Thea hesitated. ‘No,’ she decided. ‘I don’t want to leave you two without knowing how long I’ll be, or what exactly happened. If it’s bedlam over there, you can just drop me and come back again.’
Jessica stood with her back to the door, preventing her mother from leaving the house. ‘This is ridiculous,’ she said firmly. ‘You’ve got no idea what’s been found, or what possible part you might have to play. You can’t take a child into that. What’s the hurry, anyway? I don’t imagine anybody’s going anywhere. Let the dust settle a bit, and at least find out who’s dead. Even your precious Gladwin must realise that’s the least she should be telling you.’
Thea gave way with reasonable grace. ‘You’re probably right,’ she said. ‘Gladwin was a lot less coherent than usual, I must admit. She was banking on having the whole Christmas holiday off work, so this must have thrown her.’
‘Well don’t let her offload it all onto you,’ snapped Jessica. ‘Which I get the impression she’s rather inclined to do at times.’
‘I’m useful,’ said Thea, with a lift of her chin. ‘But she’s perfectly professional. She’s not going to duck out of anything important.’ She sighed. ‘Thank goodness Drew’s not here. He’d go mental.’
‘Which leaves me to take his part, then,’ said Jessica, throwing a smile at Stephanie. ‘I can see his problem now. You must be a nightmare to live with.’
‘It’s not that bad,’ said Stephanie. ‘And the Frowses really are our friends.’
‘So let’s sit down and talk it over for a bit. You can tell me all about them,’ Jessica suggested, moving cautiously away from the door. ‘And we can think it out sensibly before rushing off anywhere.’
They all moved into the kitchen, and Thea absently made a pot of tea. She repeated everything she could think of concerning the Frowse family. ‘The landlord really has been harassing them for ages,’ she insisted. ‘Beverley’s a bit of a character – called her children Antares and Aldebaran. They’re stars, apparently.’
‘They are,’ said Stephanie in a small voice. ‘They’re the fourteenth and fifteenth brightest stars, actually.’
‘Good Lord – how do you know that?’ demanded Jessica.
‘Tim likes stars, and makes me listen to him talking about them. Those are two of his favourites.’
‘And how did you meet these people?’ Jessica wondered.
‘It was a year or so ago. When we’d only been here a little while. When—’
‘When that woman was murdered,’ said Stephanie, matter-of-factly. ‘Ant talks about that sometimes.’
‘It was pretty awful.’
‘He likes us because we let him talk about dead people.’
‘His sister!’ Thea had obviously forgotten until then that Aldebaran had died at the hands of a murderer in Texas. ‘God – that must make it worse that his mother’s disappeared.’
‘Explain,’ said Jessica.
‘That’s it. That’s all we know. She was older than Ant, I think, and they never found
the man who did it. It must have been absolutely terrible for them.’
‘Awful,’ agreed Jessica, momentarily diverted by this tragic story. ‘So what exactly does your Gladwin friend want you to do? Given that it’s Christmas Eve and you don’t work for the police and you have a whole lot of people arriving – and your husband’s father has just died?’
‘Nothing in particular. She was simply telling me about it, because she knows they’re our friends. Haven’t I said that already?’
‘I’m still processing it, given that it’s massively unorthodox. She must have a reason for involving you so quickly.’
‘She might think I’d have some idea about Beverley.’ Thea hesitated, thinking this through. ‘Although I don’t expect she knows anything about that. Nobody’s likely to have told her. Nor about the lost piece of jewellery.’
‘You’re saying you’re ahead of her already.’
Thea nodded, her face rather pink. ‘You could say that, I suppose. Look, Jess – I really do want to be there, at least to see who it is that died. Everything’s under control here. Most of it can wait until this evening, if it has to. I could have a little look for Beverley, if it’s not her.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous!’ Jessica sounded really angry. ‘You can’t just wander around the countryside in the hope of finding this woman under a hedge somewhere. It doesn’t work like that. Either there’s a properly organised police search, or you just wait for her to turn up. You wouldn’t know where to start.’
Stephanie made a small sound. ‘You could start in our burial field – because that’s where dead bodies end up. Even when they’re not supposed to.’
Jessica stared at her. ‘You’re joking. You’ve got to be.’
Stephanie could not suppress a giggle. Not only were her words completely true, but it had happened before Drew had even met Thea, before Stephanie herself could remember. There had been a body unofficially buried in Drew’s first burial ground, right at the very start. It was a story he told often, along with a lot of boasting about how he had solved the murder almost by himself.
‘She won’t be dead,’ said Jessica with unwarranted certainty. ‘She’s probably just stressed. Is there a husband?’
‘Yes. Digby. He’s a bit of a wheeler-dealer, apparently. Involved in house clearances and car boots and all that. Puts his hand to anything. Mends stone walls, if I remember rightly.’
‘Metal detecting?’ asked Jessica, making a sudden connection.
‘Quite probably.’
‘Well, text her again now, and see if you can find out any more. But let’s forget about showing up for a bit, okay? You’d only add to the confusion. If it’s murder, they’ll want a clear field for the SOCOs, and lots of peace and quiet.’
‘I know,’ said Thea meekly. ‘I almost wish she’d never told me anything. Just when I was all set to do the perfect family Christmas. You’re right about Drew. He won’t like it one bit.’
‘No, he won’t,’ said Stephanie. ‘But he won’t blame you. He’ll say Mrs Gladwin should never have brought you into it.’
‘And he’ll be right,’ said Jessica.
There was no reply to Thea’s text for almost an hour. Then it came through with a ping. ‘Deceased is Rufus Blackwood. Not sure about cause of death. Family in meltdown. Happy Christmas!’
Sonia Gladwin’s approach to Christmas was very similar to Thea’s. The children’s expectations were impossibly high, despite being unable to rely on their mother’s presence throughout the holiday. Her husband was the constant parent, his work relatively undemanding and his hours reassuringly predictable. Sonia’s income was the higher by far (unlike that of Thea, which had dwindled to nothing) but there was still a sense that the overall household management was down to her. That included finding the ideal presents, sending out cards, ordering the turkey and ensuring there were dozens of mince pies available. This year, with the twins rapidly leaving childhood behind, she resolved to do everything properly, with the right festive spirit. It would be pure magic, she promised herself; a Christmas they would all remember for ever.
But now everything was under threat because a dead man had been found not far from Broad Campden. As she drove north to view the scene for herself, she was being regularly updated. A team had been summoned, including a doctor and enough officers to secure the site and repel sightseers. ‘Not that there’ll be many of those, this being Christmas Eve,’ said the girl who was relaying information. Phoning Thea Slocombe had been an act of sheer selfishness, she admitted to herself as soon as the call was concluded. She had wanted to share her frustration, to elicit support and even sympathy. In justification, she reminded herself that the death was close to Thea’s home, the people involved likely to be familiar. But it had been outrageously early, even before the body was officially identified. And she had managed to retain enough professionalism to withhold from Thea the name she’d been given. Already she had breached protocol – and doubtless interrupted Thea’s own family Christmas. All before she had any idea what had killed the man and whether there was any mystery attached to his death.
The body was stiff and apparently unmarked. The doctor was still there when Gladwin arrived, his hair tousled and his coat muddy. She knelt down beside him, to get a closer look at the body. ‘Please tell me it was a perfectly ordinary coronary,’ she begged.
He stirred his hair distractedly. ‘Doesn’t look like it to me. His colour isn’t right. And he’s in pyjamas. And I’m pretty sure he’s been moved – look.’ He pointed to a long, narrow groove in the fallen leaves. ‘That has every sign of something being dragged along it. It’s not a path.’
Gladwin looked around at the handful of officers awaiting her instructions. ‘Has anybody had a look to see where it goes?’ she asked.
A young constable raised his hand like a schoolboy. ‘It leads to the perimeter fence,’ he said.
‘What perimeter fence?’ Gladwin stared at him blankly. ‘What do you mean?’
‘The Crossfield Estate is just over there.’ He pointed to a low ridge only a few yards distant, which might once have been a hedgerow. It had a few straggly trees growing along it, and a stretch of dead bracken. ‘He’s only five minutes from home. Less, probably.’
She got to her feet. ‘Show me,’ she said.
The lad took her alongside the scraped track, over the ridge and then stopped. A fence, six feet high, was barely five feet in front of them. It comprised five strands of stout wire strung between metal posts that had been planted every twenty feet or so. ‘It’s electrified,’ said the constable.
‘What’s the voltage?’ asked Gladwin, with a vague sense that this was important.
‘Not sure, but the legal maximum is ten thousand.’
‘Is that enough to kill someone?’
‘Not really. It depends on a whole lot of things. And I would imagine the voltage here is a lot less than the maximum.’
‘I’m impressed,’ she told him.
‘Don’t be. I got it off Wikipedia ten minutes ago,’ he confessed.
‘That’s impressive in itself. You were thinking this might be what killed him, were you?’
‘I thought it might be. I haven’t said it to anybody, though.’
‘So let’s ask the doctor what he thinks,’ she said, turning back into the woods.
Chapter Nine
The path running alongside the woods in which Rufus Blackwood had been found was a popular spot with Ant and Percy. They would amble along it two or three times a week, avoiding going into the woods themselves, but defiantly using the path, making a point of following the perimeter fence as visibly as they could in the hope of irritating the people on the other side. The Crossfield Estate was almost six hundred acres in size, and the Frowses had been expressly forbidden from entering any of it. But the woodside path was an exception. Digby had performed one of his dramatic little scenes, begging for permission to use it as a shortcut to Chipping Campden, if going there on foot. Blackwood had grudgingly
acceded to the request.
The electric fence encircled the Frowse cottage, separating it unambiguously from the main house, but enclosing about an acre of ground, purely because the Blackwoods did not want it too close to their own gardens. Beverley had calculated its length and probable cost when it was first erected, using an arithmetical skill that her husband and son sorely lacked. ‘Many thousands of pounds,’ she concluded. ‘All to intimidate us. Who else do they think is going to invade them?’
‘It’s all down to Carla,’ said Digby. ‘Before she turned up, Rufus wasn’t really such a bad lad.’
That was true. Carla was fanatical about security. She had introduced the immoderately bright lights beaming down on the gates and yards all night. ‘All it does is draw attention to themselves,’ sighed Beverley. ‘It’s hard to credit that people can be so stupid.’
It was past midday before Ant and Digby were made aware of the demise of Rufus. The same police officers from the previous day came to the door with a serious expression. ‘Good God – she doesn’t still think we took that damned parcel, does she?’ Digby burst out, before they could speak.
‘This is concerning a different matter,’ said one of the men. ‘Could I ask you both about your movements over the past two days?’ he began.
Slowly the story emerged, albeit very vague and patchy. The policemen had clearly been trained in careful questioning, where the interviewee concerned was given no helpful clues as to why the questions were being asked. ‘Is this about my mother?’ wondered Ant in confusion.
‘Please just answer the question, sir.’ He looked first at Digby.
‘Well, I didn’t go anywhere on Friday. Last night I had a stall in the Christmas market at Blockley. Ant went out selling trees in Chipping Campden yesterday morning. You saw us here yesterday afternoon.’
‘Have you taken the dog for any walks?’
Ant snorted. ‘Yes, of course. I took him along the ridge today, early on. That was about three hours ago now.’