by Rebecca Tope
‘I’ve heard stories about you,’ said the girl. ‘You’re always in the news.’
‘Not lately,’ Thea defended herself. Not this time, she promised herself. Which led to a realisation that by now there would be quite a lot of coverage of the Northleach murder, with quite possibly a mention of Ms Thea Osborne, also known as Slocombe, who so often found herself involved in such episodes. To her knowledge, no journalistic person had observed her presence, but that was no guarantee. When this Vicky person had gone, she would have to check.
‘Look – I’ve been standing here long enough for the neighbours to notice me. That’s my car, which someone will probably recognise. I’m fairly well known around here, as it happens. If I meant to do anything illegal, I’d never get away with it, would I?’
‘Okay,’ said Thea, regretting that many of her thoughts must have been clear on her face. ‘Come on, then.’ After all, she had brought Faith from next door in already. Why not make it open house and stop fretting?
‘I suppose this is all very familiar to you,’ said the visitor when they were settled in the living room. ‘People trying to get to grips with a death, I mean. Your husband’s an undertaker, isn’t he?’
‘That’s right. Although—’
‘I know,’ Vicky interrupted. ‘I don’t seem very distraught. I can still string sentences together and drive a car.’
‘Except you haven’t brushed your hair,’ said Thea. ‘And those clothes look a bit grubby. And nearly every bereaved person can still drive – including Kevin Sinclair.’
Vicky emitted a great peal of laughter, close to hysteria. ‘Well said! I’m a lot more of a mess than I think, obviously. Can I talk about Ollie? Will you just listen for a bit?’
Thea wordlessly spread her hands and nodded. This was something she could do; a simple human response that ought not to be nearly as rare as it was. Drew had observed countless times that a very major part of his work was to just sit and listen to the story. Only by telling it repeatedly could the newly bereaved come to terms with the huge change in their lives.
‘So – we’d only been together a few months. Not even living together properly. He had a very complicated arrangement, being at the house here some days, but also in his own place in Minchinhampton.’
‘On his own?’ asked Thea, assuming there was no way the young man could be the owner of property in affluent Gloucestershire.
Vicky nodded. ‘Yes, actually. He had his own house there. He bought it when he was about twenty-two. With the money he was making then.’ She frowned at Thea. ‘You really don’t know much about him, do you?’
‘Hardly anything,’ Thea agreed. ‘Just bits and pieces.’
‘He’s an athlete. Was, I mean. Professional. He earned half a million in the four years from when he was nineteen to twenty-three. It’s been tailing off since then, though. More than tailing off, to be honest. More like falling off a cliff. He was going to concentrate on teaching from here on.’
‘What sort of an athlete?’ Thea’s thoughts were frantically reorganising themselves. ‘How is it possible to earn so much?’
‘It’s not in this country. He was in the Middle East with his mother for most of that time. Qatar, mainly. I didn’t know him then, so I’m hazy about the details, but he was a champion high jumper, in the top five ranking at one point. Lots of competitions with big prizes, all sorts of fabulous contracts. Anyway, he put all the money away and bought the house with it.’
‘Very sensible of him.’
Vicky shot her a suspicious look. ‘That sounds snarky,’ she said.
‘Sorry – it wasn’t meant to. Only none of this sounds like the same person I’ve been hearing about. I mean – what about the business with drugs? Maybe I can finally get to the truth about that, at least.’
She heard herself sounding like someone who had a right to know – which she was not. But it had to be asked. It was the single most burning aspect of the whole case. Now that this girlfriend had presented herself, apparently confirming all the accusations, the matter could not – nor should not – be avoided.
‘Drugs?’ Something like exasperation clouded Vicky’s face. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Ollie’s father, for one, insists that he was an addict. And you – this sounds rude, I know, but you look like one, as well. Why are you so thin?’
The same peal of laughter came again, followed by a collapse into sudden tears. ‘Is that what people are really saying about us?’ she managed to ask.
Thea handed her a crumpled tissue from her pocket, and Hepzie nudged at her knee. ‘So it would seem. The house in High Street was believed to be used by a group of men on drugs, according to a number of people I’ve been talking to.’ She stopped to think. ‘Although the police think it was all a misunderstanding. Local people jumping to the wrong conclusion on scarcely any evidence.’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s absolute nonsense. The house is an Airbnb property, if you must know. Ollie’s got two friends, and they all use it during the week for work. Somewhere they can get together in peace and quiet and do their thing. No girlfriends or anything are allowed. It’s very intense. Was,’ she finished miserably.
‘Their thing?’ Thea queried, dredging up something she’d heard about film-making but not getting very far.
‘Making films for YouTube. Sport-related. Exercises, fitness regimes. So people can work out on their own. Kids. It’s all very clever – they make a game of it, with incentives and rankings. It’s a bit difficult to explain.’ She blew her nose. ‘But it’s nothing to do with drugs.’
‘I see,’ said Thea, not entirely honestly. ‘So it was all a wicked slander. Or just narrow-minded neighbours getting suspicious over nothing. And these two friends – did one of them kill Ollie, by any chance?’
Vicky gave her an angry look. ‘Of course they didn’t. They couldn’t have done, even if they’d wanted to. They’re both in Poland. They’re Polish, see. Ollie’s been there in the house on his own since the weekend, designing the next series of films, and doing background stuff. Now do you get it?’
‘Sort of. More than before.’ She smiled. ‘If you came here to get information from me, it looks as if we’ve swopped places, doesn’t it? I told you I barely know anything at all. But I was told that there are quite a lot of Eastern Europeans working in the area and some of them were in the habit of dropping in at the house here. Is that right?’
‘Might be. They needed people to be in the films – to demonstrate the exercises. Fit. Young. They’d have been paid to do it. All totally straight. I mean – the films are there, on YouTube for anybody to see. There’s nothing secret or sinister about them. The people at the pub can tell you. I met them there sometimes. Why would people get hold of such awful ideas about them?’
Thea thought she could understand, to some extent. ‘There’s a man called Hunter Lanning, who seems to be a big cheese locally. When I spoke to him yesterday, he said very plainly that the place where Ollie died was a “druggie house”. I think those were his very words, or something like.’
Vicky put out a hand, waving it blindly to make Thea stop talking. ‘Wait,’ she begged. ‘This is making no sense. The police must know all about Jan and Nikola by now. They’ve probably sent Interpol to talk to them, if that’s what it’s called now. They can’t have found any drug paraphernalia in the house, just ordinary stuff for the films – laptops and cameras and a few lights.’
‘Okay. Don’t get in a state about it. I don’t know what’s true and what isn’t, do I? But Hunter Lanning seemed very sure.’
‘Who is he exactly?’
‘Oh – a local man who runs some weird sort of club where they talk about politics. Or at least things that are controversial. I got the impression nearly everyone in town belongs to it.’
‘He said Ollie and Jan and Nikola were druggies, did he?’
‘He certainly gave that impression. I couldn’t have got it wrong.’
‘
And does he know who killed Ollie as well?’ She was crying tears of anger now, her words pouring out as if making an accusation. Thea was very unsure as to what to make of this surge of explanations.
‘I don’t expect so,’ she said calmly. Then she changed tack. ‘I presume the police have interviewed you, and you told them everything you’ve just told me?’
‘Yes, and now I understand some of the things they asked me. It was all quite gentle, which was a bit surprising. And they can’t have taken the drug story very seriously, because they didn’t go on about it. I never dreamed they’d already been told the whole house was full of drugs. Somebody here in Northleach must have started the story on purpose, for some reason. And that’s not fair.’ She wept fresh tears. ‘And you think I’m an addict as well!’
‘And you’re not?’
‘Of course I’m not! I look like this because my boyfriend just died. And because I had leukaemia up to last Christmas. I might still have it. I’ve been having all sorts of ghastly treatments for it, and this is what’s left of me after all that. Now do you understand?’
‘Oh dear,’ said Thea weakly. ‘That’s awful.’
Vicky shrugged her words off and launched into further indignant explanations. ‘This story about drugs makes no sense, if you really think about it. Who would rent us the house, if they thought it would be full of drug addicts? How would we afford it? Ollie and the others were struggling to survive on the money they managed to make from the films. Nikola worked a few hours a week in a call centre to boost the income.’
Thea took her lead, and tried to focus. ‘So who does rent you – them – the house? Where do you fit in?’
‘Well, there it starts to get a bit more complicated,’ Vicky admitted. ‘The plan was for me to be in the videos, demonstrating the exercises – but I haven’t been well enough. And then there are Ollie’s parents …’ She heaved a profound sigh. ‘Not to mention Lucy.’
Lucy! Thea looked at the kitchen clock, which indicated an incredible twelve-thirty, and felt a sudden panic. The day was half over, and nothing had been settled. The opposite, in fact. The notion that this was to be Crunch Day, with answers to every question and justice prevailing now seemed insanely optimistic. ‘Where on earth is she?’ she said aloud.
‘Who? Lucy? Isn’t she in hospital?’
‘She must be, I suppose, but when I went to see her yesterday, she thought she’d be sent home by now. You heard what happened, I assume?’
The girl cocked her head and frowned. ‘No – did something happen? Wasn’t she expected to be in for a week or more? Was it a more minor operation than they thought?’ She snorted. ‘But when did that ever happen?’
‘She collapsed just before the operation was due, so they didn’t do it. They can’t work out what caused it – some sort of allergic reaction, they think. She was unconscious for a while, but by the time I saw her she seemed fairly normal. A bit confused, maybe. They were doing tests. Could be they’ve found something that means they need her to stay in for a while.’
‘But nobody’s told you? That must be awkward.’ Vicky regarded the dog, as if there might be enlightenment to be found in the soft spaniel head. ‘She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?’ she said. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Hezpibah,’ said Thea distractedly. The dog could not conceivably hold any relevance to the matter in hand.
‘Lucy told me about her old dog – Jimmy. Did you know him? He died before I ever met any of the Sinclairs. She cried whenever she talked about him.’
‘Did she?’ Thea felt a familiar pang of guilt at this reminder. Of all the careless and irresponsible things she had done with other people’s animals, her treatment of Jimmy was the worst. She could hardly bear to think about it, even now, years later.
‘That’s very weird about her collapsing. I had no idea. All anyone’s talked about is Ollie.’
‘That’s not surprising. Tell me about his mother,’ Thea invited. It seemed to her an encouraging sign that the girl was so willing to keep talking. The hope was that it was proving therapeutic. But it could not go on much longer. There was a dawning sense of urgency that meant she would soon have to take some sort of action. If she only knew what that action should be.
‘She’s very sweet. She comes from Qatar originally, with a rich father. She met Kevin when she was about sixteen and ran off with him. Luckily, it’s not a particularly devout family, but they are Muslims and it was still a scandal. More so when they separated, apparently. She’s been absolutely dedicated to Ollie and his career, since then. And it paid off. They’re both minor celebrities in the Middle East.’
‘How old was he when his parents split up?’
‘Four or five. There’s a sister as well. I’ve never met her. Kevin ignored them both for years. Nothing for birthdays or Christmas. Then when Ollie got so famous, he tried to come back.’
Thea was wondering why a well-to-do young Muslim girl should take up with Kevin Sinclair. From what she had seen of him, it seemed highly unlikely. ‘Wasn’t he much older than her?’
‘Who? Kevin? No, I don’t think so. It was years before they had the children. Everyone fought to stop them getting married, but they managed it eventually.’
‘But it didn’t last. That seems very sad. A waste of all that determination and effort. Wouldn’t you think they’d stay together because of all that, if nothing else?’
‘I guess the strain got to be too much. And Ollie wasn’t easy, by all accounts. There are some horrendous stories about him as a toddler. Hyperactive doesn’t come close.’ Her eyes filled as she remembered her boyfriend’s fate. ‘Poor Sayida! She’s utterly destroyed now, of course.’
‘So is Kevin.’
‘Serves him right,’ said Vicky darkly.
‘Well …’ Thea began. ‘I think we’ve put the picture straight between us, haven’t we? I need to get back home before much longer. I shouldn’t really have come at all, but they thought I might be useful.’
Vicky looked confused. ‘But surely you’ll be staying here until Lucy gets back? What if she needs help?’
For the first time, Thea gave some thought to the apparent existence of a relationship between this girl and Lucy Sinclair. Was it not slightly odd? ‘How well do you know her?’ she asked.
‘You mean Lucy? Very, as it happens. That’s how I met Ollie in the first place – through Lucy.’
‘But now you’re close to his mother, Sayida? Isn’t that a bit complicated?’
Vicky looked even more confused. ‘Why would it be? It’s not particularly unusual these days, is it? They’re all on amicable terms, even Tessa, who’s an idiot, obviously. But a nice idiot. Harmless.’
Thea remembered that a murder had been committed. Was it safe to think of anybody as ‘harmless’ in the light of that fact?
‘Well …’ she said again, in a firmer tone, ‘that’s enough for now. We can talk again if you like, but I don’t know when I’ll be here. It’s possible I won’t be coming down to Northleach again at all.’
‘Let me give you my phone number, then. And I’ll take yours. You’ve been brilliant to talk to.’ She took a deep breath as if testing her own condition. ‘I feel much better,’ she reported with a look of surprise. ‘All thanks to you.’
‘And I’ve been set straight about the drugs,’ said Thea. ‘That’s a relief. It was bothering me, to tell you the truth.’
‘Maybe you can straighten a few more people out about that, then.’
‘I doubt it.’ She thought about Hunter Lanning, and Kevin Sinclair and Faith-and-Livia. ‘They all seem totally convinced, even his father. That’s very peculiar, isn’t it?’
‘It suits their prejudices,’ said Vicky tightly. ‘You see, the fact is, nobody really likes Ollie. Nobody except Sayida and me, that is.’
When Vicky had gone, Thea found herself coming up with a long string of questions she wished she’d asked. The story that had felt so frank and convincing with the girl in front of her now began to develop
holes and leak much of its credibility. Something about Lucy nagged at her. If she and Vicky were such good friends, how come Lucy hadn’t heard about Ollie’s death by Thursday? Even if Kevin had not thought to tell her, it seemed odd that Vicky hadn’t. And precisely what was their original connection? Where was Vicky’s home, and who did she know, if anyone, in Northleach? And – she realised with a shock – Vicky had made no attempt to follow up on her initial question of what exactly had happened to Ollie. She had accepted Thea’s denial of any special knowledge, and willingly diverted into background information, which Thea had assumed to be what she most wanted to splurge. Thinking about it now, she wondered just how cathartic it could have been to explain such facts. Had there not been something strangely cool about it?
She had not made the wretched girl a drink, or offered her a biscuit, she reproached herself. They had launched into conversation with such intensity that there hadn’t been a moment in which to get up and put a kettle on. Lucy’s kettle was very slow, Thea had discovered, and her teabags very wishy-washy. There was no sign of any instant coffee and Thea disliked messing around with coffee machines. So far, she had managed to obtain more palatable beverages elsewhere.
It seemed wrong to just lock the house up again and head for home with Hepzie. She should at the very least call the hospital to see what the situation was regarding Lucy. Anything could have happened, after all. If the tests could not diagnose the reason for her collapse, there would be no way of preventing it happening again – which might mean keeping her in for further monitoring and supervision. The absence of so much as a text from her did suggest that she must be incapacitated again.
Instead of phoning the hospital, she called Lucy’s mobile number, feeling foolish not to have thought of doing so earlier in the day. Hospital patients were no different from everybody else in being glued to their phones, day and night. Charging points were automatically provided and nobody made the slightest objection to constant use, since it served to keep the patient quietly occupied. The days were long gone when hospital authorities had believed that mobiles interfered with vital equipment and should therefore be banned.
