Echoes in the Cotswolds Page 16

  Ten minutes later, once again in Lucy’s house, she reran her little speech. It had been masterly, she concluded. She would repeat it to Drew, and Barkley and anyone else who might be interested. Then by some association, she thought of a boy – young man – called Ben whom she had met the year before in Barnsley. He had shown her the importance of learning as much as possible about the victim in a murder investigation, and would not be at all impressed by her almost total ignorance concerning Ollie Sinclair. Intent on putting this right, she sat down with her phone and did some googling.

  Vicky had been right that Ollie had formerly been a very high-profile high jumper in Qatar. But he had not been included in the Olympic team, due to a very badly timed injury. The implication was that he had been slightly too young for the previous one, and too old for the next one, rendering his career ultimately disappointing. She found a picture of him, looking decidedly handsome, with black hair and big brown eyes. Beside him was his mother, older and stouter than Thea had imagined. The woman with a romantic story behind her, and now perhaps nothing to live for. Unless she and Vicky were so bonded that they continued to support each other.

  She could find nothing about the YouTube activity that Vicky had described, which seemed very strange. Ollie would surely retain his original name, since it must carry some clout in the sporting world, and yet nothing came up when she searched. It was of course possible that she was missing something, looking in the wrong places. Or perhaps the venture was a lot more embryonic than Vicky had implied. Various explanations came to mind – the Polish colleagues had taken it all to themselves and kept it under their names; the business was unlicensed and therefore only accessible by people in the know. Something underhand like that anyway, she thought vaguely. From there her thoughts strayed to the two Polish men who worked with Ollie and had conveniently left the country before he was killed. It added to the growing impression of a well-planned attack – Ollie alone in the house, nobody in the area especially fond of him, and some of them actively hostile. The way had been clear for the killer, who had been further assisted by the uncertainty over the time of death. The complicated account of how the body was found further strengthened the idea that all the ducks had been in a very neat row.

  She should have asked Vicky why she hadn’t missed her boyfriend sooner, she realised. Whoever it was who last saw him, it was not Vicky, nor was it his mother. Not unusual for a man in his late twenties, of course, but worthy of note, just the same. Thanks to the online information, Ollie was beginning to become more of a real person to her, which inevitably meant that she was ever more intent on discovering who had killed him. Even if he had lacked friends, nobody had said anything damning about him. The Poles evidently found him congenial, and there was something benevolent in his choice of career, once the high jumping had to stop.

  But it was mostly guesswork, she had to admit. There were stark anomalies and contradictions, largely centred on the assertion that he was addicted to drugs. His mother sounded fond of him, his father not so much. Would the loss bring the two together somehow? And what about the sister who nobody but Vicky had mentioned?

  It was now almost two o’clock, and she wondered idly whether Faith and Livia were annoyed at having their schedule spoilt by a visiting amateur detective. Having lunch so much earlier than usual would leave them with a long afternoon to fill. Serves them right, she thought. Even though they had welcomed her in and been entirely pleasant for the most part, she found herself disliking them. They had been difficult to assess on the first encounter, at Bobby’s, but the few conclusions she had reached on further acquaintance were consistent with early impressions. They were too pleased with themselves, for one thing. They seemed to float above common little human troubles like murder, or cancelled operations, putting all their attention into sterile discussions with people like Hunter Lanning. Did they continue the discussions between themselves every evening at home, Thea wondered It was only too easy to imagine that they did. It would come as no surprise to hear that one of them was writing a book about the importance of an open mind – although she fancied that if such were the case, they would not have desisted from telling her about it. There was something genderless and passionless about them – the word sterile recurred. They were both shaped more like young men than ageing women. Their active lives, if they’d ever had them, were over and now all they could do was talk.

  Ollie, she told herself sternly. Somebody killed him, and it could quite well be a person she had met here in Northleach. The list of suspects was sadly thin. Even if Vicky was right that nobody really liked him, that was nowhere near motive enough for killing him.

  The missing Poles had to be on the top of any list, surely, despite their apparent cast-iron alibi of being out of the country? Remembering the young Ben Harkness again, she found herself writing names on a sheet of paper, in the hope that a pattern might emerge. Jan and Nikola looked like female names; only when pronounced Yan and Nik-OH-la did they become male. Amusing glints of Twelfth Night went through her mind, with half the cast being a different gender from that believed to be the case. Did they have a bizarre system in Northleach where men were women and vice versa? ‘Of course not,’ she said aloud to herself. It would not help things at all to get as silly as that.

  Twiddling her pencil, she tried again. Where did Kevin Sinclair fit into the picture? Something was evidently very awry between him and his son – but if he was the killer, he would need to be a brilliant actor to have come over as he had that morning, persuading Thea that he might be feeling guilty and desperate, but not because he was a murderer. She had seen men with very much the same look coming in to talk to Drew about a funeral.

  She had no doubt that the police knew everything she had managed to discover, and probably a whole lot more. Her strengths lay elsewhere, despite what she had learnt from clever Ben and his logical processes. Thea was never going to match his skills and knowledge. Instead, she had always focused on networking, burrowing beneath local veneers of calm respectability. Had she not just found herself questioning Kevin’s state of mind – something that would never turn up on an Internet site? He would show up as a serial monogamist, on at least his third woman, an inattentive father but a consistent and reliable earner – probably. He did have that expensive car, which suggested a certain level of success. Driving a lorry could well be quite lucrative if he put in long hours or accepted unpopular routes that involved long waits for Channel crossings and took him down to Turkey or across Europe to Lithuania. All she could conclude was that Kevin was rather a stereotype of a man of his time, poor at commitment and not very emotionally mature. Even that much would require some guesses and dodgy interpretations. Having actually met him, Thea suspected that he was a frightened man, out of his depth and ready to blame himself for his son’s death. She also suspected that he knew almost nothing about Ollie’s life – his friends, work, opinions or skills. Someone had told him that Ollie was on drugs and he had abandoned him from that point on.

  All of which raised the issue of timing. For how long had the house been used by the three young men? How long ago had the drug story taken root? It all felt fairly recent. Wouldn’t the inaccuracy of the rumour quickly become apparent, in the absence of any evidence whatsoever? Assuming, of course, that it was inaccurate. So far there were the police findings – or lack of them – and Vicky’s assurances to outweigh the assertions of Hunter, Kevin, Faith-and-Livia and Lucy. It was not safe to give total credence to either camp, especially as ‘drugs’ covered such a multitude of sins.

  The light outside was fading, thanks to a mist that was gathering. There were hours to go before sunset, but visibility was not good. Northleach was on comparatively high ground, with no river close by, which Thea thought should ensure good light – but mist could descend anywhere, as she had learnt. This particular mist came from above, a cloud that had carelessly flopped itself down onto the little town and made everything blurry and damp. The morning had been fine, which was
no guarantee at all that the afternoon would not be unseasonably chilly. Had Drew not reported dour predictions for Friday’s weather, way back at the start of the week? Perhaps this mist was the vanguard of something particularly nasty.

  ‘Just the weather for a funeral. Melancholy without being too much of a nuisance,’ she muttered aloud, before recognising that this was her subconscious reminding her that she had a hard-working husband twenty miles away who would appreciate her presence. But, ‘He’ll have to wait,’ she went on, pretending to herself that she was talking to the dog. Hepzie knew better and took no notice of her.

  And yet – what was she meant to do here in Northleach? The total silence from Lucy was puzzling and annoying, to the extent that she felt justified in phoning the hospital to ask for the latest news. Which she did, to receive an even more puzzling and annoying response.

  ‘Mrs Sinclair was discharged this morning,’ she was told.

  ‘Really? What time?’ Perhaps, she thought, Lucy had taken a bus, which would meander across Middle England for hours before arriving at Northleach.

  ‘About eleven, I think. A hospital car took her home.’ The woman giggled. ‘And I should know, because my uncle was driving it.’

  The nurse’s uncle was of no interest to Thea. ‘Well, she’s not here,’ she said crossly. Then she revised her opinion of the uncle. ‘Do you know where he was taking her? Did you hear her give an address?’

  ‘No, I didn’t – not exactly. But he knew he’d have to go to Northleach, which is a lot further than he would have liked, to be honest. He’s seventy-six and prefers to stick to places he knows.’

  ‘I’m in Northleach and she’s not here,’ Thea repeated.

  ‘Oh God! What if there’s been an accident! Poor Uncle Roy. What’s the weather like over there?’ A very unprofessional panic filled the woman’s voice. Thea felt a pang of remorse at being the cause of it.

  ‘Don’t worry. It’s a little bit misty, that’s all. There’s sure to be a perfectly good explanation. I’ll try phoning her again – and you could call your uncle as well. Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry to have bothered you. Honestly, there’s really no reason to get in a state.’ I hope, she added silently.

  The nurse gave an inarticulate reply and the call was ended.

  Despite knowing full well that it was unworthy of her, and that Drew would not approve, Thea felt slighted. It was as if Lucy had forgotten all about her. How hard would it have been to send a quick text or even make a proper call? It made her think of Hunter Lanning and the implication that he thought it was fine to offend people. It was, sort of, but it did not help to oil the social wheels or maintain good relations. She did not think she would ever feel really warm towards Lucy Sinclair again. Even if she was upside down in a ditch beside an elderly volunteer who wasn’t safe to drive, she could still have made her intentions clear at the outset.

  All of which left her with no clearer idea of what to do next. Everyone seemed to have deserted her, which was quite a Fridayish feeling, she noticed. After the positive emotions around Thursdays, the next day was all too often a let-down, with grey realities intruding. The weekend was going to be wet, or too busy, or not busy enough. There would be annoying commitments, meetings with people one did not really like. Businesses were closed – though far less than they used to be – making it difficult to fix appointments or catch up with bureaucratic matters.

  ‘Oh, stop it!’ she told herself. ‘Just go home and forget Northleach completely.’

  That wasn’t going to happen, but it was a tempting idea. While she was savouring the temptation, the Gloucestershire police arrived to settle the matter. Caz Barkley was at the door, bright-eyed and excited. ‘Developments!’ she gasped. ‘You might want to come.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  ‘What about the dog?’ Thea asked, putting first things first.

  ‘Leave it. We won’t be long – probably.’

  Telling Hepzie to be good, Thea locked the street door and hoped for the best.

  Caz set off towards the town square with Thea a step or two behind. There was no chance of any sort of explanation, which Thea felt was putting her at a very real disadvantage. ‘This is very unusual,’ she protested. ‘What if somebody’s got a gun?’

  Caz slowed and turned round with a broad grin. ‘Don’t be daft,’ she said.

  ‘Okay. So – what?’

  ‘You’ll see. Don’t worry – it won’t be dangerous.’ She set off again and barely a minute later they were at the top end of the town square, where a child was squalling and two dogs were barking. It was still misty, but not enough to obscure the goings-on in the middle of quiet little Northleach.

  ‘That’s Millie,’ said Thea. ‘Where’s her mother?’

  ‘Good question. I believe the man with her is Dad, though.’

  ‘Artie? Albie?’ Thea wasn’t sure of his name. He was standing over the howling child, arms folded, head bent, making no attempt to console his daughter. ‘I don’t know him at all,’ Thea told Caz. ‘Why did you bring me here?’

  ‘I couldn’t think what else to do. It’s not exactly a police matter, but something’s obviously not right. I was supposed to be going over to Cirencester, when I saw all this carry-on. That’s my car.’ She pointed at an inconspicuous grey vehicle left crookedly across two parking bays in the square.

  ‘Nobody seems to want to interfere.’

  Several things struck Thea as being wrong. Millie had seemed a particularly sensible little girl, only two days earlier. The man was behaving strangely. The barking dogs were attached to an old man sitting at a table outside the café, with his back firmly turned. ‘Why did you say “developments”?’ she asked Caz. ‘What’s this got to do with anything? Isn’t it just a bigger-than-usual tantrum?’

  ‘It might be,’ said the young detective. ‘But that’s not what it looks like to me. All I know is that the man strongly objects to any interference from me – or probably from anyone. He says the kid isn’t hurt.’

  Thea had no patience with such hesitancy. ‘I still think it’s for you to sort out, not me, but we can’t just stand here wittering, can we?’ So saying, she walked up to the distraught Millie and bent over her. ‘Hey Millie – remember me? What’s all this about? Is this your dad? Did something happen?’

  ‘Ollie!’ she wailed. ‘I want Ollie!’ Tears and mucus flowed down her face. ‘Where is he?’ The words were screamed out in a helpless despair that went through Thea like a bayonet.

  ‘Oh, darling. Is that it? Ollie isn’t here, sweetheart. Hasn’t your daddy told you that?’ She gave the man a belligerent stare, to show him just what she felt about his performance as a parent.

  He met her gaze slowly. ‘I told her,’ he said. ‘Why do you think we’ve got all this ballyhoo?’

  ‘So take her home and tell her properly. You can’t just stand there. What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘We’ve been home and there’s nobody there. So we came to look for my wife and son. Millie wanted to go and see Ollie, so I had to tell her she wasn’t going to be seeing him any more, ever again. She’s been playing up like this for a good twenty minutes and I’ve had enough of it.’ He glared from Thea to Caz and back again. ‘Who are you, anyway?’ he demanded.

  Millie was clinging to Thea to the point of discomfort. The old man’s dogs were quieter, and Caz was regaining some much-needed authority. ‘You knew Ollie Sinclair, then?’ she said, clutching at the single pertinent fact to emerge.

  ‘Obviously,’ said Mr Latimer – Albie? Artie? – with no sign of deference to the representative of the law. Unless, of course, he had not been advised that here was a detective sergeant in plain clothes.

  Thea was preoccupied by the small Latimer’s devotion to Ollie. Here, then, was an exception to Vicky’s claim that ‘nobody liked Ollie’. ‘How?’ she asked. ‘How did you know Ollie?’

  ‘He does a bit of sport at her school, one day a week or so,’ said Albie/Artie carelessly. ‘Mill’s besotte
d with him. He’s used her in his little films a few times, as well. All perfectly kosher, of course.’ His accent was much more American than his wife’s. Thea wondered idly whether the children would grow up sounding transatlantic.

  ‘Perfectly kosher,’ Caz repeated thoughtfully. ‘Right.’

  Millie had grown quieter once her misery had been properly acknowledged and even discussed by no fewer than three adults. Thea disengaged herself and stood up. ‘Go to your father,’ she said, with a little wave. ‘He didn’t mean to make you so upset, I’m sure.’ She was asking herself a string of questions about this family, members of which kept popping up in the town square. Perhaps if you lived so close to shops and pubs and cafés, you treated it all as a kind of extended garden. Add in a private infant school and a murder scene, and there could well be plenty of reason for frequent sallies forth, with a child or two.

  ‘Artie,’ she said suddenly. ‘That’s it, isn’t it? Bobby mentioned you yesterday, when we were standing almost exactly here. She said you were a keen member of Hunter Lanning’s club. It’s all coming back to me now.’ She gave him the first proper look since joining in the whole episode. He was fairly short, wore a neat-looking suit and was only marginally younger than almost everybody else she’d met in Northleach. That was, he seemed to be at least in his mid fifties. Too old to be coping with a heartbroken child in a public place. Embarrassment came off him in waves.

  ‘Come on, Millie, we’re going home,’ he said, making it sound like the very last option available to him. ‘Mum and your brother will be back before long.’ He had ignored Thea’s words and barely even glanced at Caz. The child heaved a great sigh and nodded.

  ‘Will she be all right?’ Thea asked. ‘I mean—’

  ‘I’m her father, so yes, she will be quite all right, thank you. Won’t you?’ he demanded of the child. Again she nodded.