A Cotswold Killing Page 8

  ‘What the hell is going on?’ came a voice from the direction of the house.

  Thea looked up to see Helen Winstanley striding towards her. She blinked, trying to work out what was incongruous in that.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ Helen said. ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘This bloody dog attacked Hepzie. It’s torn her ear. I thought it was going to kill her. I think I must have hurt it, making it let go.’

  Helen bent down to inspect the collie, and Thea was reminded of how she had bent over her own sore finger, two days before. There was something of the brisk unsqueamish nurse about Helen Winstanley.

  ‘Here, Binnie,’ she murmured. ‘Let’s see then. What’ve you been up to, you naughty girl?’

  ‘It’s her jaw. I had to wrench it open.’

  Helen laid firm hands on either side of the dog’s face, and lifted it slightly, feeling the joints with her fingers. The dog made an apologetic squeal.

  ‘She’s normally as gentle as a new lamb, but she’s got pups.’ There was no hint of reproach, which only made Thea feel a hundred times worse. She moaned slightly, and only then turned part of her attention to her own bleeding pet, sitting dazedly beside her. As she did so, she became belatedly aware of a wound on her own hand, caused by a collie tooth. She shook it quickly and then forgot all about it.

  ‘Dislocated, I think,’ said Helen. She made an abrupt pushing motion with two fingers, and Thea heard the faint click which she hoped was reversing the damage wrought by the earlier one. The dog squealed again. ‘It’ll probably be OK – just a bit sore. How’s the spaniel?’

  Thea took a careful look. The long black ear, normally thick and soft with curly hair, was matted and red with blood. Fingering it gently, Thea found a split almost three inches long. ‘Quite nasty,’ she said.

  ‘Well, these things happen. They’ll both survive, which is the main thing. I would offer to show you the pups, but Binnie might take offence. They’re not really old enough to be interesting yet, anyway.’

  ‘She’s not yours, is she?’ Thea looked around her, at the farmhouse, and beyond.

  ‘No. I’m just visiting. But she knows me pretty well.’

  Thea wanted to ask a dozen questions, most of them obvious, some of them impertinent. The answers were none of her business.

  ‘Should I speak to her owner? I mean, I have hurt her. There might be vet’s bills…’

  ‘Oh, he’s not here at the moment. I was round the other side, knocking, when I heard all the shemozzle with the dogs. Don’t worry about it – I’ll put it right for you.’

  ‘This is the Staceys’ place, right?’

  ‘Right. Fairweather Farm. Martin and Isabel are bound to come back soon.’

  ‘They won’t be very happy about their dog,’ said Thea. A whine from Hepzie stirred her to action. ‘I think I should find a vet for my own, don’t you? I gather the Reynoldses use one in Cirencester. This ear might need stitches or something.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be in too much hurry. You’ll probably find it’ll heal by itself, if you keep it clean. It’s already stopped bleeding, look. Has Binnie bitten your hand?’

  Thea held it out, and Helen took it in a gentle grip. ‘Not very deep. Does it hurt?’

  ‘Hardly at all,’ Thea lied. The wound was sending shooting pains up her arm, and her whole hand throbbed.

  ‘Wash it and let the air get to it. It’ll probably be all right in a day or two. What a lot of wounded females!’ Helen laughed. Thea thought she detected relief and perhaps impatience.

  ‘We’d better go home and patch ourselves up, then,’ she said. ‘Come on, Hepzie – you’ll have to walk. I’m not carrying you.’ She addressed Helen, ‘She’s such a funny shape, all top heavy.’

  ‘She can walk. Serves her right for invading Binnie’s territory.’ Helen bent down to stroke the spaniel, softening the words. ‘She’s a sweet thing, isn’t she.’

  ‘She’s wonderful,’ said Thea, aware suddenly of how terrified she’d been that her dog would be killed. She felt shaky and weak at the thought.

  Thea and Hepzibah dragged themselves back home, battered and hard done by. It had been a traumatic experience for them both, and Thea closed the front door with a sense of having escaped from something hostile.

  Most of the day from then on was spent indoors, despite a burst of warm sunshine at mid-day. Her hand settled down to a dull ache, enabling her to do a little light dusting, sweep the kitchen floor, shake the dogs’ bedding out in the back yard, and then turn to her laptop for company. As she’d hoped there was a message from James.

  Thanks for directions. Sounds cosy. Should be with you by 10.30am Wednesday. All news then. Have the coffee pot on. Love J. xx

  So the housework would not be in vain. Odd how quickly she’d come to feel proprietorial towards Brook View, its condition her responsibility, rather than that of the Reynoldses. She took the dogs out and walked them around the garden, snatching at an occasional weed and admiring the burgeoning clematis that had flung itself handsomely over the garage roof. Evidence of police trampling was plain, but not devastating.

  Most likely, the plants would have recovered before Clive and Jennifer got home. And besides, there were plenty of things that were undamaged – not just the clematis but roses, weigelia, great clumps of marguerites, and much more besides. Thea wondered why there’d been no mention of a gardener, nor any specific instructions to her as to weeding or pruning. Wasn’t spring a time of intense garden activity? Probably, she concluded, Clive or Jennifer, or even both, insisted on doing the whole thing unaided. And good luck to them, she thought, wondering just which sun-soaked Caribbean island they’d be docking at first.

  In the early evening, using her mobile, she telephoned the Stroud people, Julia and Desmond Phillips by name, who had e-mailed her about house-sitting. The woman who answered the phone sounded wildly eager to recruit her. ‘Oh, gosh, thanks for calling back. We never thought this would be so difficult. Everybody’s booked up for July. We’re going to Ireland for a fortnight, from the eleventh. Are you all right with ponies? He’s quite old, you see, and crochety with people he doesn’t know. My daughter says she won’t come if we can’t find somebody to look after Pallo.’

  Thea examined her conscience. ‘I can’t pretend to be an expert,’ she confessed. ‘But I’m sure I’d be able to manage.’ Only then did she ask herself if she actually wanted to. Was she yet in a position to assess just how competent and enthusiastic a house-sitter she was turning out to be?

  ‘Well, come and see us. Where are you?’

  ‘Actually, I’m not far from you. I’ve got a three-week house sit in the Duntisbournes. Where are you, exactly?’

  ‘We’re actually closer to Minchinhampton than Stroud. Do you know it?’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve ever been there, but I can probably come down and find it one day this week.’

  ‘Oh, yes! That would be perfect. Come one evening, or maybe at the weekend. We’re all out during the day.’

  ‘OK, then.’ A tremor of caution prevailed. ‘Let me get back to you when I’ve worked out when I can best get away from here. I’ll phone you back, probably in the next few days.’

  ‘Well, be sure you do,’ said the woman eagerly. ‘You sound just what we’re looking for.’

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  James was four minutes early. Thea had left the front door ajar, so that she would hear him arrive.

  Bonzo gave a single deep woof when he heard the car drive in. Thea got up quickly, putting aside the paperback she’d been trying to read. All the morning jobs had been finished before ten, and she hadn’t been able to think what else to do. The coffee machine was ready to be switched on, and James’s favourite custard creams laid out on a plate, thanks to a quick expedition to a petrol station with a shop attached. Petrol stations were the new village shop, she was beginning to understand. Milk, bread, dog food, biscuits, drinks and other basics were all readily to hand. Thea suspected that this would be her chief
source of groceries for the duration of her stay.

  The prospect of seeing somebody she knew well was ridiculously heartening. Being amongst strangers was supposed to be liberating; you could adopt any persona and nobody would spot the inconsistencies. And she hadn’t been conscious of it being hard work, exactly. It was simply that James was so wonderfully familiar. She knew what he liked, what he would say, how he felt. And he knew the same about her. That, she understood, was what mattered most of all.

  He almost rolled out of the car in his eagerness to hug her. In one swift catlike movement, he’d emerged from the vehicle and was standing with arms outstretched. Thea laughed, feeling tension drain out of her, and flew into the embrace.

  ‘For heaven’s sake,’ she gasped, pulling away again. ‘It hasn’t been that long.’

  ‘Seven weeks,’ he said. ‘If anybody’s counting.’

  ‘Oh, well, whatever it is, it’s really good to see you. I hadn’t realised I was going to want to see a familiar face after only a few days.’

  He turned his attention to the house, and the labradors standing in the front doorway. ‘It’s OK, then, is it?’

  She didn’t give a direct reply. ‘Come and see Hepzie. She’s in the kitchen.’ Hepzibah and James had a one-sided relationship which Thea wasn’t always quite happy about. Since the sudden disappearance of Carl, the dog seemed somehow to have guessed that James was the nearest she was ever again going to get to a proper master. Whilst clearly favouring Thea with Top Person status, she nevertheless lost all restraint when James came visiting. Because he hated dogs jumping up at him, Thea had shut the spaniel into the kitchen ten minutes previously.

  ‘Wait. Let me get my stuff.’ He raised a hand in a silent ‘Stay!’ gesture, and went back to the car. Moments later he emerged carrying a slim black briefcase that Thea thought looked incongruous in a policeman’s grasp, albeit a plain clothes policeman. He aimed the plastic rectangle that comprised the electronic key at the vehicle and it obediently clunked in response. Thea bit back the sarcastic remark about locking everything, even out here in rural Gloucestershire.

  ‘Go into the living room,’ she told him, ‘and I’ll put the coffee on and fetch Hepzie. She’s had a bit of an accident, so she’s not at her best, poor darling.’

  It was typical of James that he didn’t ask for further detail immediately. Instead he took the door indicated, and disappeared into the Reynoldses’ living room. It occurred to Thea at that moment, that he might have been in the house before. Clive had seemed to know the name, and James’s e-mail suggested a mutual acquaintance. It gave her a strange sensation, as if the grown-ups had been conferring behind her back, and there was some sort of conspiracy under way of which she had not been informed. At the same time, she knew herself well enough to accept that she was often inclined to a mild paranoia. She had always imagined that people were talking about her, with not-so-benign intentions. It came, she believed, from being born into the middle of a large family. The siblings had been rivals not just for affection, but approval and attention.

  ‘How’s Rosie?’ she asked, in an effort to recapture a note of realism.

  ‘Rosie is fairly fit,’ he replied with a promptness that suggested he’d prepared the words earlier. ‘Her back’s playing up a bit at the moment.’

  Rosie was a slender athletic-looking woman, of slightly less than average height and an almost incredibly sweet nature. Everybody loved her for her wide blue eyes, genuine smile and mischievous humour. She was the embodiment of the policeman’s patient wife, listening to James’s distressing stories, adapting to his unpredictable working hours, and pursuing her own career as a librarian. But Rosie had a Back. Her vertebrae did not conform properly to the recognised model, and she suffered crippling pain at times. The courage required simply to get dressed in the morning was sometimes too much for Thea, or even James, to think about. And because she hid it from other people and refused to let it dominate her, Rosie emerged as utterly loveable.

  Which was why Thea always made a point of bringing her into the conversation when things between her and James threatened to become overly intimate. Nobody, nobody, could ever contemplate doing anything that would hurt Rosie.

  Which was also, in a way, why James’s understated words – her back’s playing up a bit – actually meant that she was suffering horribly.

  ‘Oh, Lord,’ said Thea, with profound sympathy.

  ‘Well, that’s how it goes. Look, I’ll have to go before noon. Can we talk about this bloke you found in the field? Jennison. Weird that you’ve got yourself involved, isn’t it.’

  Thea had several objections to this phrasing. ‘I didn’t do it on purpose,’ she said.

  ‘No, I didn’t mean it like that. Just small world kind of stuff.’

  Thea moved to the door, already disliking the turn the conversation was taking. ‘Let me fetch Hepzie, first. She’ll be feeling neglected.’

  James’s sigh was inadequately concealed. ‘Go on, then.’

  ‘And coffee. I’ll do coffee.’

  She left him flicking the catch of his briefcase, impatience palpable in the air. Thea was aware of a wave of irritation towards him that came as a complete surprise. In this context, so different from usual, he was changed, and not for the better. It wasn’t clear just why he’d come, or what he wanted from her. It was an intrusion, with overtones of judgement, and not the simple brotherly visit she’d anticipated at all.

  Hepzie was still subdued, and reproachful about being shut in. ‘Come on, then,’ Thea invited. ‘But don’t jump up!’ She led the dog back to the living room, and watched as she trotted towards James, tail slowly wagging. This was not the usual joyous exuberant animal. ‘Be gentle with her,’ she told James. ‘She isn’t feeling her normal self at all.’ Then she returned to the coffee.

  James launched into business the moment she reappeared with the tray of mugs and biscuits. He didn’t appear to have much concern for Hepzie, who was crouched obsequiously at his feet. ‘Look, Thea – these murders. We’re really not at all sure what it’s about. Nothing seems to fit.’

  ‘You mean, is it a family thing or something more organised?’

  ‘More or less. There are whispers about this place, but we’ve got nothing concrete. I don’t suppose you’ve noticed anything?’

  If she hadn’t been so irritated with him, she might have given the matter some better quality thought.

  ‘What would I have noticed? People selling drugs outside the church? Small children being passed from car to car?’

  He looked at her. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘You, James. I don’t get what it is you want from me. Either you’ve got proper leads to something illegal going on in this area, or you haven’t. Don’t give me that vague stuff, and then expect me to understand what you’re talking about.’

  He shook his head slowly. ‘It doesn’t work like that, and you know it. We have to tread so carefully these days, getting all the evidence in place before showing our hand. Everything’s political – or at least politically correct. The only area where we have real freedom these days is child pornography – and I can promise you that isn’t what’s suspected here.’

  ‘I suppose that’s a blessing.’ She tried to see beyond his words, to get a feeling for what it must be like. ‘You mean, like drugs, for example? Nobody’s sure what’s worth proper investigating any more? Except, if people are getting murdered over it, then surely…?’

  ‘There might be a drugs element,’ he nodded. ‘There nearly always is. But we can’t see a link to the Jennisons. Nothing at all.’

  ‘Family stuff, then,’ she asserted. ‘Must be.’

  ‘Might be,’ he agreed.

  ‘And you want me to be your mole? Your ear to the ground?’

  James laughed. ‘No, no. Please, no. What I’d really like is for you to pack up and go home. Even you must see it’s dangerous, with two killings a few yards away.’

  ‘I can’t imagine why they’d go after m
e, though. There’s one theory, surely, that the killer waited for me to arrive, just because I wouldn’t be a threat or in their way. Honestly, James, I don’t feel the slightest bit bothered about it in that respect. I’ve met some of the family, and my main feeling is of concern and sympathy for them.’

  ‘Very commendable.’

  ‘So I’m staying. I told Clive I would. And that means you should tell me more about your view of the place, and what you see as the important things I should watch out for.’

  There was undisguised admiration in the look he gave her. She could see him take the decision to at least partly acquiesce to her demand.

  ‘Basically, the most significant element must be money. You’d think, driving through these villages, that it was just another agricultural region of England. There are farm buildings, barns, fields, cows, scattered about. But there’s not really much proper farming going on. Read the local papers – you don’t get columns about farming, no livestock sections in the classifieds, no fat lamb prices. Instead it’s all gardening, arguments about new buildings, home decorating. Property prices are obscene. It’s a prime tourist honeypot, too. The whole region screams Money. And where there’s money, there’s likely to be organised crime.’

  ‘I see,’ Thea said. And of course she did. She’d worked most of it out for herself, already. ‘Which makes the Jennisons rather unusual. And maybe the Staceys.’

  ‘Staceys?’

  ‘I was just coming to them,’ she said, and told him the minimal amount she knew.

  ‘They employ a lot of casual labour?’ he repeated. ‘Youngsters, students – that sort of thing?’