by Rebecca Tope
‘I don’t know,’ said Thea, glancing back towards the kitchen. ‘I’ll have to see.’
Caz gave her a knowing look, and grinned. ‘You’re not convincing me. All you wanted was to be asked.’ She started towards the lane, before pausing. ‘By the way, your house is a bit whiffy – did you know? Smells like dead bodies. Just saying.’
‘And good night to you too,’ muttered Thea before closing the door.
Chapter Ten
‘No new funerals for next week, then?’ Thea asked Drew, once the children had gone to bed. ‘From feast to famine, as they say.’
‘There’s sure to be something over the weekend. Or if there’s not, I won’t complain. It’ll give Andrew time to get right. He’s insisting on helping out tomorrow, which will probably set him back.’
‘Can I do anything?’ She knew she had to ask, just as she knew what the reply would be.
‘Well, if you’re here you could answer the phone. But it doesn’t matter – we’ll switch the calls through to the mobile if you’re going out.’
‘I feel horribly useless,’ she confessed. The next day loomed ahead like a brick wall, with poor Drew left to scale it as best he could, all by himself. Even if she stayed at home, she would not be of any real help.
‘Just useful in different ways,’ he said gallantly. ‘Don’t worry about me. What’s the worst that can happen?’
‘Don’t say that!’ She shivered at the possibilities. ‘People get murdered, you know.’
‘As if I could forget. So, you’d better bring me up to date on the Northleach business, hadn’t you? It’s obvious that your detective chums aren’t going to let you stay out of it – even if you wanted to.’
‘I’m not at all keen to be involved,’ she assured him. ‘I don’t even feel I owe Lucy anything. I think she’s being ridiculously paranoid about the neighbours, and never needed a house-sitter in the first place.’
‘Unless there’s things she’s not telling you.’
‘Well, yes. That’s possible, I suppose.’
‘Quite likely, it seems to me. And the police presumably think there’s a connection between you being in her house, and her stepson being killed just down the street. How could there not be?’
‘You don’t mean because it’s me, and murder always follows me around, do you?’
‘Sort of. The thing is, you’ve got a big reputation in the area now, more so since you married me. Neither of us can escape the associations with death of every hue. Violent, natural, accidental – the whole range, between us.’
‘Yes, but – where’s the logic in suggesting that somebody killed Ollie knowing I was going to be there? Surely that would be a deterrent, since I’m pretty good at fingering the killer. Any murderer with any sense would steer clear of a village I was scheduled to be staying in.’
‘Maybe he saw it as a challenge. An extra twist, or some sort of double bluff.’
She frowned doubtfully. ‘I’m not sure real people think like that,’ she objected. ‘Besides – hardly anybody knew I was going to be in Northleach.’
‘How do you know that?’
She faltered. ‘Okay. Bobby Latimer obviously knew, and probably her husband. Possibly the women next door, and they might have said something to the silly committee outfit. Oh dear.’
‘“Silly committee outfit”?’ he repeated. ‘What’s that, then?’
‘Some sort of debating society – Club for the Open-Minded, apparently. C-O-M. Lucy says they’re all bigots who want somewhere to air their racist views. Something like that.’
‘Gives open minds a bad name, then,’ smiled Drew.
‘That’s it.’ She smiled back. ‘In a nutshell.’
‘The victim’s name was Ollie, was it?’ Drew was evidently taking a genuine interest, which Thea was quick to prolong. It had been quite a while since he had initiated any conversations to do with her house-sitting adventures. Even when local friends had been closely involved in a killing, Drew had tried to remain detached. At some point over recent months he must have concluded that this was unwise.
‘Oliver Sinclair. Lucy’s stepson, as you’ve already noted – which is impressive, may I say? And appreciated. It’s nice to be able to talk it all through with you.’
‘You make it sound as if this is the first time. What about when you were in Cranham? I took enormous interest that time. There were those puppies …’ His eyes went misty with nostalgia.
‘You were trying to ingratiate yourself,’ she accused him.
‘Not at all. I enjoyed your company and wanted to be your friend.’
‘Pooh!’ she said.
‘So tell me more about the murdered man.’
‘Okay, then. He was said by everyone in town to be a drug addict, but actually appears not to have been. The pathologist couldn’t find any sign of anything you could call a drug. Which is strange.’
‘Rumours spread very easily in a place like Northleach. For better or for worse.’
Thea chewed her lip for a moment. ‘I never really thought that was true around here, though. So many people spend half their time, or more, somewhere else. They don’t know their neighbours, or care what they get up to.’ She remembered something Caz had told her. ‘Did you know there was a sitcom set in Northleach? Called “Our Country” or something. We should see if we can get it on Netflix or something.’
‘It’s This Country and yes, I’ve heard of it, as of this week. Penelope Allen’s people mentioned it when we were arranging her funeral.’
She blinked at him and laughed. ‘Is that where I went wrong, then, when I made such a mess of arranging that funeral last year? I didn’t get onto chat about television programmes.’
‘You didn’t make a mess of it. They didn’t like the field – that wasn’t your fault.’
‘They didn’t like me, either. I was too buttoned-up. Too scared of saying the wrong thing. You’re always so natural with them, as if the whole thing was just another predictable event in their lives, to be taken in their stride.’
‘Which it is,’ he said. ‘Very nicely put, if I may say so. I should make a note – it would go well in one of my Women’s Institute talks.’
‘Glad to help,’ she quipped, happily. Moments like this with Drew had become scarcer than either of them liked, especially during the previous spring and summer. Despite efforts to get closer, it had taken a long time for the situation to improve. When it became clear that Stephanie and Timmy were alarmed by the way things were going, the efforts had been increased, with modifications, so that now Thea felt there were definite results. She loved Drew, and felt obligated to him. He had taken a bigger risk than she had in setting up this new home together. The baggage they had both brought with them was heavier for him and he found the work of processing it harder than she did. Thea had a flippant streak in her character that her second husband lacked. ‘I mean it,’ she said for emphasis.
‘I know you do. That was obvious on Monday. You were a huge help. And look – here I am on Thursday, still standing. Just.’
‘You’ll be fine,’ she said. ‘Three funerals in one day sounds a lot, but think how fantastic you’re going to feel at the end of the day, when it’s all over and everybody loves you.’
‘Let’s hope so,’ he said.
Thea spent the next hour on her laptop exploring websites about Northleach. How she had ever managed to overlook the existence of This Country she could not imagine. She read the summaries of every episode and some of the reviews. It would appear that the sitcom had really put the little town on the map in a way it had not been since the turnpike had been abandoned and the bypass constructed. But far more interesting than that were the heady descriptions of the town’s past. There had been a dozen inns serving the constant stream of traffic passing through on the main route from Wales to London. In the Middle Ages it had been all about wool, but from then experienced a lengthy slump. It had been revived with the advent of the turnpike and the increased use of stagecoaches. Mo
re familiar to Thea were the accounts of drovers taking great herds of cattle and flocks of sheep to London – much of the Cotswolds had been traversed by them for centuries – the huge capital city sending demands for fresh meat all across the land.
What a fitting symbol of this current century then, that the place should become famous for a third time as a ‘picturesque but depressingly dull’ little place. A whole new kind of tourist would be putting Northleach on their itinerary now. No longer the ‘cathedral of the Cotswolds’ built by rich wool merchants, but the silent stone cottages and sheep-filled fields would attract people who only came to mock. They would find the allotments and the bus shelter and be somehow gratified. And now that there had been a murder, perhaps this would find itself woven into the imagined world of Kerry and Kurtan. Thea smiled to herself at the thought. Ollie Sinclair might find himself a lot more famous after death than he had ever been in life.
She knew she had to go back there, first thing next morning. Or at least after she’d taken Stephanie to school. Drew had stated flatly that he was not going to be available for any domestic tasks, which included ferrying his daughter. ‘If you’re going out, can you please make sure you’re back in time for the afternoon school run,’ he said.
‘Shouldn’t be a problem,’ Thea assured him, knowing that the coming day was impossible to predict, and therefore any promises were risky. ‘But if I get caught up somehow, I’ll phone Mandy and get her to do it.’
Mandy and her son Giles were part of a family that lived on the road to Blockley, one of very few in their immediate area with school-age children. Inevitably there were shared car journeys back and forth to school. Giles was fifteen, spotty and resentful. The school was barely two miles away and he knew he could easily walk there and back. And if he did that, Stephanie could sometimes walk with him. But they hated and despised each other, and the suggestion was forcefully and repeatedly rejected by both parties. ‘Two miles!’ one or both would exclaim, as if the walk were ten times as long. Giles would stand at the roadside thumbing a lift rather than use his own two legs. Which made him almost worse than useless where Stephanie was concerned. Mandy’s husband was a hard-working horticulturist, raising fuchsias or forsythias or something of the sort, and claiming to be utterly unable to take twenty minutes off occasionally to collect a son from school.
Drew demolished her easy assumption of backup. ‘She can’t. Don’t you remember she said she’s going to Cambridge today for a long weekend? She’s got her aunt’s funeral there tomorrow afternoon. That’s why she was happy to fetch Stephanie today. We’re supposed to get Giles from school tomorrow.’ He exhaled, exasperation unmistakable. ‘You can’t have forgotten.’
‘I did,’ she admitted meekly. ‘I’d better not be late, then. But you know how things happen. I might get a flat tyre.’ She knew better than to voice her true concern – that she would find herself immersed in murder business and forget all about her obligations at home. ‘What about Fiona? Can I ask her to do it?’
Fiona Emerson, wife of Andrew with the lumbago, was generally free on a Friday. Her work schedule was impenetrable to Thea, but she had been known to come over for tea and a chat on a Friday afternoon. Asking favours of her was, however, a breach of protocol in Drew’s eyes. He grimaced. ‘She won’t be able to say no, even if it’s a nuisance. She’s a bit feudal in that way. I’m the boss and you’re the boss’s wife.’
‘I’ll make it very clear that she can refuse. She’s not like that with me, anyway.’
‘I can’t stop you,’ he sighed. ‘But go carefully.’
‘You could stop me, but I hope you’re not going to.’
Fiona gave very convincing assurances that it was really no problem, and she felt bad about Andrew being so useless, and it would be a pleasure to help, and it was only five minutes’ drive and she liked Stephanie, and where should she park.
Thea texted her stepdaughter to tell her who was driving her home. The risk of security issues and objections from an overprotective school regime ought to be thereby allayed. She exhaled with relief and thought no more about domestic matters.
Despite having to deal with these complicated responsibilities, Thea – this time accompanied by her dog – was heading down the A44 yet again at twenty past nine on Friday morning. The absence of any word from Lucy implied that the woman was still in hospital, and her house standing empty. Rather to her surprise, Thea was glad about this. She joined the A429 with a sense of an adventure yet to reach its climax. ‘Here we go again,’ she sang to Hepzibah. ‘All good friends and jolly good company.’ It was childish and silly and feckless, but she felt ridiculously happy for no reason at all.
The road itself was much of the reason. All those places she had got to know, scattered across the landscape over to the west – Slaughters and Swells and Guitings – with their secrets and their burdensome histories, called to her. To the south was Chedworth, which had a character even more powerfully unique than the others. Chedworth was both Roman and thoroughly sylvan. There were gods and goblins in equal measure in Chedworth.
Even Lucy’s house had acquired a rosy aura in the past twenty-four hours. It was a haven that Thea could legitimately use while she tried her best to gain further insights into local networks. Sanctioned by Caz Barkley and armed with a wealth of fresh information, she was developing a glimmer of a Plan. Admittedly, the story as she currently understood it had several gaping holes – which only made the project more enticing. Kevin Sinclair intrigued her, giving an impression of rootlessness, living on the road, never in the same place for five minutes. Almost a goblin himself, in his way, she thought whimsically. And then to collapse into pieces at the news of his son’s death … a son he had not appeared to be remotely fond of. Feeling wise and insightful, Thea evolved a comprehensive theory about unfinished business and long-standing guilt. The relationship was sick, but the man no doubt believed it was salvageable. One day, he would have told himself, he would gather his courage and approach the son for a reconciliation. Perhaps a third party would come to their assistance. Perhaps Ollie would make the first move. However it was to be accomplished, the father must have cherished a belief that one day all would come right. Perhaps it was all about the putative drugs. If they could be transcended, then there would be ground for hope. And now, all hope was gone forever. All chance was lost. No wonder the poor man was in such a state.
Then there was Livia, the non-partner of Faith, who needed to be observed as an individual and not half of a non-couple. Had Faith made a special effort to present herself without Livia, the previous morning, to make the point that they were two separate people? Could one of them commit a murder without the other one knowing about it? It seemed highly unlikely.
And why would they? That nagging, insistent question of motive was sure to raise its annoying head before long. In order to get close to answering it, the people had to be understood, their stories checked for mendacity. That was what the police strove to achieve, against fearsome odds. That was where Thea Slocombe could contribute something – her own special brand of inquisitive ferreting away at the backgrounds and the connections so very often producing vital leads. To her great credit, Detective Superintendent Sonia Gladwin had grasped this from the first moments of meeting Thea, and had used her extensively ever since.
Hunter Lanning was another individual worthy of scrutiny. He gave the impression of arousing strong feeling in those who knew him. If he made a point of voicing his opinions regardless of the sensitivities of his listeners, this was sure to lead to aggravation of all kinds. Thea could imagine threats flying in all directions, but not to the point of murder. And if it did get that far, wouldn’t Hunter more probably be the victim than the perpetrator?
The police were almost certainly concentrating on discovering all they could about Ollie, and must have learnt considerably more than Thea had, as a result. His prowess as an athlete was an element of his life that might reward investigation. Even more productive would be a quest
to trace the origins of the story about him being an addict. Although it could have been unintentional, the likelihood was that it had been a deliberate slander, for a specific reason. If his murder had been carefully planned, then it made sense to blacken his character in advance. That would reduce the level of outrage at his death, as well as weakening the efforts of the police to find his killer. However earnestly they might believe themselves to be impartial and non-judgemental, they would be under less pressure to bring the killer of a druggie to justice than that of an upright and useful member of society. The media would reinforce this innate prejudice, too. And the wretched Ollie would go unmourned by all but his immediate family.
There was a definite pressure to achieve something useful while back in Northleach, as justification for abandoning Drew. She could hear the voices of her mother and sisters reproaching her for the lack of wifely support, despite the very reasonable argument that just because her husband worked from home did not mean that Thea ought to be actively at his side when things got busy. Drew himself would not expect it. Even Stephanie would agree that Thea had every right to do as she liked – within reason. Solving a murder, albeit it unofficially and without any payment, was a public good, after all.
So she wasted no time lingering in Lucy Sinclair’s house. Instead she took the dog and walked along to the town square. It looked very much the same as it had the previous day and the day before that. As she stood there, wondering where to go next, a minibus found a space at one side of the parking area and disgorged a group of five or six people clearly intent on exploring the church. One woman with long grey hair stopped and stared first at Hepzie then at Thea as she and her companions passed. ‘Good Lord – it is you?’ she asked foolishly. ‘You’ve still got the same dog.’
Thea looked closer, failing to recognise the face. There were so many candidates from so many villages, as well as further afield. Would someone from the local area be riding in a minibus to see a church she presumably already knew? Could it be a former schoolteacher, or somebody she had briefly worked with decades ago? This had happened a few times before, and it always turned out to be somebody quite peripheral to one of the house-sitting commissions, who had paid more attention to Thea than had been reciprocated.
