Secrets in the Cotswolds

by Rebecca Tope

  Numbly she went downstairs for her phone and keyed in Gladwin’s number. But her call went straight to voicemail, which Thea supposed was meant to convey that this was Sunday, a day of rest, and even detective superintendents did take time off from work now and then. But hadn’t Drew said Gladwin was fully occupied with two separate investigations? That she was too busy to enquire after Thea’s welfare? So, didn’t that mean she ought to answer her phone? She left a brief message, saying somebody had died, and she was expecting trouble.

  The prospect of dialling 999 and having strange uncomprehending police officers turn up was grim, but there was no alternative. She resisted the powerful urge to call Drew for advice. What could the poor man say? Far kinder to leave that until the worst was over and she could report it all in relative tranquillity. She had brought this disaster entirely onto herself, and she ought to deal with it on her own, if that was what it came to.

  So she made the call and forced herself to explain patiently to the woman, who asked a long list of questions that felt entirely irrelevant. There was a predictable moment when it was assumed she was speaking from Yorkshire. ‘No, it’s a small village in Gloucestershire,’ Thea insisted. ‘A few miles east of Cirencester.’

  ‘Do you know the postcode?’

  ‘No. Sorry. I only got here yesterday. It’s not my house.’

  Thea could visualise the woman scanning her crib sheet for this eventuality. Was it acceptable to take a call about a dead body from somebody other than the official resident of the property? Had anybody foreseen this particular scenario, and if so, what had they decided to do about it? ‘Can I give you directions? It’s not very difficult,’ said Thea.

  Apparently this old-fashioned idea was no longer tenable. Without precise programmable digits and letters, the responders would be lost. ‘Well, it’s all the same to me,’ said Thea impatiently. ‘I’ve done my duty in calling you. If you can’t process the information I’ve given you, that’s your problem, not mine.’ It gave her immense satisfaction, she discovered, to turn everything around like this.

  ‘Thank you, madam,’ said the woman stiffly. ‘Someone will be with you from Cirencester in a few minutes.’

  ‘So I should hope,’ said Thea.

  And they were. It had to be less than ten minutes later that a car pulled up outside the house and two women got out. Two women was a first, and Thea savoured the moment. It was obviously ridiculous to suppose that they would be any more intelligent or patient than men, but there was at least a glimmer of hope that they might be slightly more human.

  The hope was in vain. Something about the uniform, perhaps, rendered them every bit as robotic and cautious as all the other uniformed officers Thea had encountered. Nearly all, she corrected herself. There had been one or two honourable exceptions over the years. She led them up to the attic, where they stared at Grace for a minute or less, then called in the team that would deal with a sudden and suspicious death. They asked Thea for a name, time last seen alive, and brief explanation of her relationship to the deceased. Her answers were obviously unsatisfactory. ‘I know it sounds strange,’ she said with a deep sigh. ‘It makes hardly any sense to me, either. I don’t even know for sure that her name really is Grace. She hasn’t got anything with her to say who she is—was.’ Thea had not even tried to tell the whole story, as Grace had told it. The escape from nameless and numberless individuals; the Manchester mention; the wrenched shoulder; the hint at her own guilt. ‘She didn’t seem ill at all – just tired and scared.’

  ‘Human trafficking?’ muttered one officer.

  ‘Seems a bit old for that,’ judged the other. ‘Can’t see any signs of violence. Could be natural causes. Heart or something.’

  They all knew the procedure: wait for a police doctor, photographer, somebody from CID. Don’t touch anything. Keep the witnesses calm and the bystanders at a distance. But Thea knew better than to reveal just how accurately she could predict what happened next. She wanted Gladwin, more than she wanted Drew or Hepzie or any member of her family. This house belonged to Gladwin’s friend, after all. She would be forced to show up at some stage.

  But it was another two hours before that happened. Late in the morning, when the small village had become invaded by a convoy of official vehicles, which came and went with no attempt at discretion. Local people came for a look – more inquisitively than Thea could recall from any other Cotswold incident. Perhaps they were more concerned for appearances here in Barnsley, so close to Bibury, where everyone seemed rich and important and flocks of tourists came every day to admire the old houses there. In Blockley, they had taken a murder very calmly, barely breaking a step to find out what was going on. In Snowshill and Stanton and Winchcombe, they’d been almost as uninvolved. But this one was different. Three separate people came right up to the front door, eyeing the police tape with horror, shouting for information.

  ‘Sorry, sir. There’s nothing to worry about. Everything’s under control. There’ll be a statement in due course.’

  Gladwin, when she came, was impatient to the point of meltdown. The body was still in the attic and the detective superintendent went to see. When she came down, she was pale and angry. ‘I haven’t got time for this,’ she snarled at Thea. ‘What on earth happened? Who is this person? What’s wrong with you, that this always seems to happen?’

  ‘Nothing’s wrong with me,’ said Thea with a rigid dignity that was the only way she could stave off sudden tears. If Gladwin was going to be furious with her, what hope was there for Drew’s response? ‘I think I was set up, if you want to know the truth.’

  ‘Of course I want to know the truth. But I’m in the middle of something else, and it won’t wait. There’s a ghastly media circus, because some pest found pangolin scales in a lock-up in Cheltenham, and it’s all leave cancelled, all hands to the pump.’ She slumped against the banisters at the bottom of the stairs. ‘And now you’ve got some illegal migrant that’s gone and died on you.’

  ‘Who said she’s an illegal migrant?’

  ‘I don’t know. Isn’t it obvious? No papers. Foreign-looking. Unwashed as well, I suppose. I didn’t look that closely.’

  Thea smiled wanly. ‘She’s perfectly clean, as it happens. And I think she could just as easily have been some high-powered businesswoman from Greater London. More likely, actually, the way she came across.’

  ‘Well, I hope there’s still a shadow of a chance that it was natural causes, but I have to say it looks highly unlikely. Luckily the uniforms are going by the book, just in case.’

  Thea gave a tentative shrug. ‘I don’t think it can have been natural. She was pretty healthy last night, apart from a sore shoulder. Why would she just die like that?’

  ‘People do,’ said Gladwin impatiently. ‘She could have had a thrombosis. What if she’d just come off a long-haul flight? Or there might have been all kinds of underlying conditions that didn’t show – heart problems or something. She’s not that young, is she?’

  ‘She’s not old, either. Don’t get me wrong – I’d be extremely relieved if it was something like that, the same as you. But I just can’t believe it. Except I can’t believe somebody just walked calmly in and went upstairs and murdered her, either. I mean, I was only out for twenty minutes – that’s insane. Isn’t it?’

  Gladwin merely groaned. Then she slapped a hand to her cheek. ‘What’m I going to tell Tabitha? She’ll be furious if the kitchen isn’t done by next week. Everything with her is always on a ruthlessly tight schedule.’

  ‘You too, from the sound of it. What changed since Friday?’

  ‘I told you – pangolin scales. It’s the most endangered animal on the planet, apparently. Chinese medicine uses it, so there’s big money to be had from buying and selling the poor things. They bring them here in cars across the Channel and then sell them on. It’s a huge network – almost impossible to track their movements.’

  ‘Chinese …?’ said Thea thoughtfully.

  ‘So? What d
o you mean?’

  ‘The dead woman – didn’t they tell you? She’s half-Chinese. Didn’t you notice just now?’

  Gladwin stared at her, then huffed a sceptical laugh. ‘Come on! That would be too much of a coincidence. Bibury’s full of Chinese this time of year, for a start. Coachloads of them, looking at that row of old houses. She’s most likely one of them. Running away from a husband, or defecting or something. Do they still defect from China?’

  ‘I don’t know. Probably.’

  ‘Listen, Thea. I really can’t stop. There’s still a chance it’ll turn out to be heart failure or something, and there’ll be no more to be said. Except we’ll have to try and identify her, of course. Let’s hope she’s been reported missing. Oh – and phone your husband. He sounded very low when I spoke to him yesterday. It made me think this whole exercise was a bad idea. He’s trying to be brave about it, but I could tell he really hates you going off like this. And he’s much too nice to blame me for it, even if it was my fault.’

  ‘I’ll phone him,’ said Thea distractedly. ‘When all these people have gone. Will Tabitha want me to stay here, do you think?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t she? The builders will be back again tomorrow, and she’s desperate for that kitchen to be finished. Plus, you’ll be handy for the bods from Cirencester. They’ll have a whole lot of questions for you. Obviously.’

  ‘Even if she died of heart failure?’

  ‘’Fraid so. It’s a bit unusual, picking up stray Chinese people and shutting them in an attic room with no bed. She was sleeping on the floor, for God’s sake. What was that all about?’ Then the detective put up a hand. ‘No, don’t tell me. I haven’t got time. But if it was murder, you’ll have to show somebody where you found her yesterday – the exact spot. Can you find it again?’

  ‘Yes. Easily. So you’re not going to be around, then?’

  ‘That’s right – I’m not. It’s not just the rare species business. There’s been some trouble in a farmhouse, this side of Northleach. Why in the world did I ever sign up for a job in such a place? I spend half my life driving from one remote little village to another.’

  Thea knew Northleach, with its big old church and unusually useful shops. If she had been staying there, she’d be able to buy all the bread and milk she wanted, she reflected gloomily. ‘It’s not very nice here without a car,’ she said. ‘We didn’t think that through very well, did we? There aren’t even any buses on a Sunday.’

  ‘Why? Where do you want to go? Is this some kind of displacement activity, to take your mind off what’s happened here?’

  ‘Not really. I need to get to a shop. I didn’t bring enough food with me. And don’t tell me to order it online, because that’s even more hassle than getting to a shop.’

  ‘Only you would think that,’ Gladwin sighed. ‘Well, I suppose I can drive you to the supermarket in Cirencester, if you come now. But you’ll have to get a taxi or something back again. Although …’ She eyed one of the uniformed policewomen, who had still not left the house. ‘Hi!’ she called. ‘Sorry – I don’t know your name. Do you think you could drive Mrs Slocombe back from Waitrose in about half an hour’s time? She’s got to get some urgent shopping.’

  The officer looked pained, but compliant. ‘Okay,’ she said.

  ‘There you are. Sorted. Come on then, if you’re coming.’

  Thea threw a few words at the reluctant chauffeur, as to where she could be found with her shopping, and scrambled after Gladwin.

  Chapter Six

  It was a ten-minute drive at most. On the way, Thea was treated to a monologue about the ease with which a person could order up a selection of unlimited diversity from any one of three or four supermarkets without leaving the house. ‘Even on a Sunday,’ the detective added.

  ‘So they tell me,’ said Thea. ‘But this is still going to be quicker.’

  ‘Hasn’t hit you yet, has it? Someone dying in the house while you were asleep. That’s quite a thing, you know, even if it wasn’t murder.’

  ‘Yes. No. I mean – I do feel rather numb about it. She was so mysterious. I’ve got a hundred questions I still want to ask her. It’s like running into a brick wall, to think she’s never going to answer them now. And it’s so weird to think she was right to be scared. Somebody really was after her. We both thought she’d be safe in the attic – that nobody would ever find her. It’s terribly sad. And everyone’s going to think I was a total idiot to leave her there with the door unlocked.’

  ‘They might well think that,’ said Gladwin with scant sympathy. ‘Although I realise there’s a lot more to the story than you’ve told me.’

  The supermarket was only moderately busy and Thea was amused that the detective had assumed they should go to Waitrose, as opposed to Tesco or the Co-op. Gladwin was evidently mutating steadily from a Geordie to a proper middle-class Cotswold resident.

  Then the illusion was shattered. ‘I hope this is all right. It’s the only one I know around here. I don’t suppose it matters if you only want some basics. I wouldn’t be seen dead here as a rule.’

  ‘You’re an inverted snob,’ Thea told her.

  They returned to the subject of Grace’s death, Gladwin repeating that it looked ominously like foul play to her, and if so, she would not be the investigating officer. ‘Apart from anything else, I’m personally involved,’ she said. ‘It would be a conflict of interest. If it turns out that you killed the woman, I’d be seriously compromised. Not to mention that it happened in a house belonging to a friend of mine.’

  Thea’s attempt at a laugh fell sadly flat. ‘I didn’t kill her,’ she said weakly.

  ‘Well, I certainly hope you didn’t. We’ll know the cause before long, at least. From the bits I’ve gleaned, it sounds like strangulation to me. Pressure on the carotid. It causes heart failure, if you get the right spot. The face goes very pale.’

  ‘Could it be self-inflicted?’

  ‘Easily – but there’d be a ligature still in place. I didn’t observe anything like that.’

  ‘No,’ said Thea. ‘There was nothing like that.’

  ‘Well, here we are. Don’t rely on me, okay? I know it’s bad of me, but it’s beyond my control. The job has to come first – which I realise is not ideal. It’s not just you – I was supposed to take my boys out today. To be fair, I haven’t let them down too often this year, so far. But they only remember the disappointments, don’t they?’ She was speaking in agitated jerky sentences, waving at Thea to hurry. ‘I’ll call you,’ she said. ‘Sometime. Keep your phone on.’ And she drove off like a pig escaping from the slaughterhouse.

  The shopping took less than twenty minutes. She snatched at packets of instant soup, ready-made microwavable meals, milk, bread, squash, biscuits, fruit, cheese and a few salad ingredients. Her thoughts were only sporadically on the food. Grace’s dead face insistently imposed itself on the tomatoes and apples. A sense of guilt at her own folly weighed heavily on her chest. Why was she stocking up so lavishly when she was surely not expected to stay in Barnsley all week? Tabitha would be summoned, the builders put on hold, questions endlessly asked. Not least, of course, by Drew, who had yet to be told what had happened.

  It was half past twelve when the police car came into view, stopping when she waved at it. She pulled open the passenger door, sitting with her shopping arranged around her feet. ‘This is very nice of you,’ she said, despite knowing the woman had no choice but to do as the superintendent commanded.

  ‘Makes a change,’ she said briefly. ‘I gather you’ve got a special pass with Superintendent Gladwin. We’d heard about you, even over here in Cirencester.’ She deftly manoeuvred the car and was soon on the road back to Barnsley. Thea did not recognise the road, feeling alien and vulnerable. Rather like Grace, in fact. This part of the Cotswolds was unfamiliar to her, with Bibury almost entirely unknown. She was even more helpless without a car than she had first thought. Now it seemed vital that she should be able to get away from Barnsley at a moment
’s notice. Without Gladwin’s stalwart support, she was alarmingly alone. The closer they came to the house, the more she panicked. ‘Will there be police people here all day, do you think?’ She wasn’t sure what she hoped the answer would be.

  ‘I doubt it. Once they’ve removed the body, that might be it.’

  ‘Oh. Don’t you think it was suspicious, then? The death, I mean?’

  ‘Not for me to say. No signs of disturbance, though. Or resistance. Just lying there – but they’ll not waste any time in finding out.’

  ‘Even on a Sunday?’

  ‘That could be an issue, maybe.’ The woman shrugged. Thea gave her a closer look, for want of anything else to divert her. Aged about thirty, with the rank of sergeant, she was not so different from where Thea’s own daughter was likely to be in six or seven years’ time. Ready for anything; trained to manage a host of difficult situations; bound by the shackles of inclusivity, tolerance, rigid politeness, so that any self-proclaimed victim must be taken seriously, and any leaping to conclusions firmly suppressed. All good in theory, but often leading to inefficiencies in practice. Gladwin’s scant respect even for some of the more exigent and insistent rules was the main source of Thea’s liking and admiration.

  ‘I think somebody killed her,’ she said boldly. ‘I think it’s a bit slack of the police doctor not to flag it up right away as a murder, in fact. So there should be a SOCO team, and photographer and the whole works. Even on a Sunday,’ she added crossly.

  The policewoman did not take umbrage. ‘We’ll seal off that room until we know. Normally we probably would have got the whole team in, just in case, but they’ve all gone off to some farm in the wilds up near Northleach or somewhere. They can’t be everywhere at once, and I gather there might be two fatalities up there. It all kicked off at the same time as your woman.’