by Rebecca Tope
Somewhere inside, Thea felt a faint glow of satisfaction that other people got into horrible pickles besides her. She imagined a farmer shooting his overworked wife, and then himself, because the crops had failed or the bank had cancelled their loan, or their EU subsidy had evaporated. Then she chastised herself for such an unworthy feeling. ‘Sounds pretty awful,’ she said. ‘Poor people.’
‘Yeah.’
There didn’t seem to be much more to say. They were almost back at the Barnsley house, where Thea would have to get through the rest of the day somehow. She would be told which rooms she could use, and be interrupted at unpredictable intervals by various branches of the police. Already she had been told to stay where she could be easily found, and to call a specific number if she thought of any more useful information.
‘Who is the SIO, then?’ she asked the officer as they got out of the car.
The woman sighed. ‘There isn’t one, is there, until we know if there’s been a crime. Everything hinges on that. You brought a strange woman back here – she might have been seriously ill all along, for all you know. That sore shoulder you talked about – that might have been a symptom of something really bad – a blockage or something. It’s not fair to accuse the doctor of incompetence. If he’s not sure, then he has to say so. Actually,’ she went on with heavy emphasis, ‘all he has to do is declare life extinct. It’s not his job to say what caused the death.’
‘Oh,’ said Thea. ‘I don’t think I knew that.’
‘Look – you’re going to be needed. Someone will phone you later today or tomorrow with an update, and probably a summons to be properly and comprehensively questioned − okay? You’ll be all right now, won’t you? Make sure all the doors and windows are securely locked before you go to bed. You’ve got a good friend in DS Gladwin. Pity she’s so busy, but she won’t forget about you. Just … sit out in the garden or something. Have an early night.’
‘Right. Thanks. You’ve been great,’ said Thea sincerely. ‘And yes, I’ll be fine. The first thing I’m going to do is make myself some lunch.’
Which is what she did, because she suddenly remembered that she hadn’t eaten anything all day.
All the police people had gone, and the house was eerily quiet. Grace had been taken away and the locals had drifted back to their own concerns. Nobody had spoken directly to Thea, but there had been several very curious glances. ‘But this is Mrs Ibbotson’s house,’ one woman had said loudly. ‘Who’s that woman, then?’ But nobody had provided an answer. The house itself, with the piles of building materials and overflowing skip, was apparently viewed by the villagers with a degree of distaste.
Would she be all right, she asked herself. A lot of people wouldn’t, given the circumstances. If Grace had been murdered by a stealthy intruder who came and went in the short time Thea was strolling around the village, that had the most alarming implications. Somebody watching for an opportunity, perhaps waiting all night just a few yards away. A figure from a fairy tale, a bogeyman with evil intent.
Such thoughts were best banished quickly. A good way to do that might be to phone her husband, and tell the story as lightly and humorously as possible. He might express mild concern, but he wouldn’t overdo it. He’d offer to come and see her, perhaps, and accuse Gladwin of recklessness in landing Thea in such a situation.
She called him on his mobile, and was surprised when a little voice breathed ‘Hello?’ into it. ‘Is that Thea?’
‘Stephanie? Why’ve you got Dad’s phone?’
‘It was on the bed.’
‘What? Which bed? Where are you? Where’s Dad?’
‘Your bed. He’s here as well. He’s feeling a bit—’
The phone suddenly went silent for a few seconds, and then Drew’s voice replaced Stephanie’s. ‘Hey, Thea! You’re phoning early. We were just having a little Sunday zizz.’
‘Wasting the sunshine? Surely not? I thought you’d be going out somewhere. That’s why I called the mobile.’
‘We decided to just stay at home, after all. We’re reading, actually.’
‘Even you?’
‘Why is that so surprising?’
His voice sounded strained, as if every word was an effort. At the same time there was an underlying urgency, a need to keep talking at all costs. ‘You sound funny,’ she said. ‘Has something happened?’
‘No, no. Absolutely nothing. What about you? I spoke to Gladwin yesterday – did I tell you? She’s ridiculously busy.’
‘Yes, you told me. I saw her today, actually. Busy isn’t really the word. She’s like a whirling dervish.’
‘So why did you see her? Where was she?’
Thea took a deep breath. ‘Listen, Drew. It’s all gone a bit crazy here. Can I tell you a long story without you interrupting?’
‘Try me.’
She imagined him lying back on the bed, having his lazy Sunday zizz like someone from an earlier age. Even the word zizz came from many decades ago. Thea’s grandmother had used it. ‘Here goes, then,’ she said, and launched into an account of the past twenty-four hours.
At the conclusion, Drew’s tone was reproachful. ‘You never told me a word of this last night. I didn’t suspect a thing. You’re scarily good at keeping secrets, when you want to.’
‘I know. It’s a terrible fault. Not like you. You’re a hopeless liar.’
‘So what’s going to happen next? Are you staying there as planned, or what?’
‘I’ve no idea. It depends, I suppose, on what the post-mortem shows. If Grace was murdered, that has all sorts of implications. The police will be back with a thousand questions. I’ll have to go over every tiny detail about yesterday. But it won’t be Gladwin. I don’t expect I’ll see Caz Barkley, either. Pity – I like Caz.’
‘She scares me,’ said Drew.
Caz Barkley was a new member of the local CID team, a young woman thoroughly dedicated to her job, with sharp wits and extensive personal experience of the murkier depths of British society. Thea and Drew had met her once, a few months earlier, and seen her in action.
‘Anyway – everything’s up in the air at the moment. I’ll be sure to lock myself in tonight. Tomorrow the builders will show up – even if the police decide to send them away again.’
‘Why would they do that?’
‘Good question. They probably won’t. I’ll be glad of the company. You wouldn’t believe how much I miss Hepzibah. It’s pathetic, but I feel as if I’ve got a limb missing, here without her. I keep looking for her. Going for a walk without a dog seems utterly futile.’
‘And …?’ he prompted.
‘And I miss my beloved husband, of course.’ She used a gushing, over-sentimental tone that she hoped masked the slight exasperation she felt at his neediness.
‘And I miss you. So do the kids. But we’ll survive. Just make sure you do as well.’ Again he sounded strained, and slightly breathless.
‘Don’t worry about me,’ she breezed. ‘At least I’ve got some food now. And the weather’s really good.’
‘All of life’s needs satisfied, then,’ he said. If it had been anybody but Drew Slocombe speaking, she might have thought there was a hint of sarcasm in his words.
Chapter Seven
Sunday evening closed down early, with thick cloud rolling in from the west. Thea barred the door into the kitchen at seven o’clock, and yet again wished she’d insisted on bringing the spaniel with her, in spite of Tabitha Ibbotson’s refusal. For years she had taken the dog for granted, sometimes ignoring her for days at a time; but now she resolved never to be parted from her again. The mere fact of another living creature in the house with her would have made a tremendous difference. Instead there was the lingering presence of a dead woman, suddenly and violently gone with all her secrets unrevealed.
She sat in the living room with her needlework, silence all around her. There was no birdsong outside and very little passing traffic. She had tried the television, but found it didn’t work for some reason, w
hich meant she wouldn’t be able to watch DVDs either. Probably never been upgraded to digital, she thought crossly. She wanted to be quiet with her own thoughts, as well as able to hear any unusual sounds. What she felt was not exactly fear, but she was certainly on the alert for any threats. At some point since speaking to Drew she had become certain that Grace had been murdered. A person had come into the unguarded house, made his or her way up to the attic and somehow killed the sleeping woman. It was ludicrously unlikely, and yet far from impossible. Thea’s imagination had always been fertile. Now she played with notions of implanted tracker devices, enabling Grace’s enemies to find her with ease. Or perhaps Grace had come downstairs and used Thea’s phone, calling a trusted friend who promptly betrayed her. Perhaps the two women had been observed walking through the lanes the previous afternoon and entering Tabitha Ibbotson’s house. The front door was visible from at least one other property, and they had inescapably been seen by the occupants of two passing cars as they walked. If Grace’s story was even half true, there could have been a concentrated search under way for her, with watchers reporting every movement she made.
She went back over every detail of the previous day, preparing herself for an inevitable police interview when the cause of Grace’s death was eventually established. The strange lack of information, the obvious fear, the damaged shoulder – it was all clear in her mind, while at the same time not a very credible tale. Who else but Thea Slocombe would have so readily accepted the burden of an unknown fugitive and given her sanctuary in a house not her own? It was ridiculous to have done such a thing. And yet she could not see any moment when she had much of a choice. What else could she have done? She might, in fact, have done considerably more if she’d had a car at her disposal. She might have deposited Grace at an A&E somewhere, for a start. She might have driven them to a remote country pub and treated them both to a proper meal. And how odd that Grace had shown so little surprise at the absence of any such ordinary action.
Grace had known, of course, that there was no car available. Thea had told her that from the start. And she had been almost numb from fear or exhaustion or pain or trauma. The implication of her story seemed to be that she had flown in from some foreign place, landing at Manchester and being swiftly collected by people who turned out to be of malevolent intent. A simple story, if hard to credit in the smiling English countryside. While Thea knew there were people traffickers and drug smugglers and poachers of rare animal species – and many other extreme sorts of crime – all going on within a few miles of where she was sitting, she had very seldom been made directly aware of them. The many killings she had stumbled across since embarking on her role as a house-sitter had almost all had simple domestic explanations. Feuds, jealousies, old grievances and sudden flashes of rage had been more than enough to account for them. The idea that now there might be something much larger and nastier behind this particular sudden death was alarming. It felt fantastic, almost unreasonable – which she admitted to herself was foolish. But it took everything she knew about human behaviour to a different and much more threatening level. If there was some sort of ruthless gang operating from behind the bland facade of the Barnsley Business Park, then what hope did she have of evading them? If they thought Grace might have revealed a secret about them, they might well come after Thea herself.
With her mind full of unsettling thoughts, she firmly locked the front door and went up to bed. As on the previous night, she wedged the chair under the door handle before climbing into bed.
Monday morning was not only cloudy but damp. Light rain was falling, as it had done on and off for much of the summer. The weather had been a contributory factor to Thea’s sense of imprisonment at home and exacerbated her restless mood with every passing week. That was why she’d accepted this unappealing commission, she reminded herself. That, and the money she was being paid, and the rampant curiosity she always felt in a new place.
But she shook off the inclination to revisit reasons and excuses, and tried to brace herself for whatever events might be in store for her over the coming day. Whatever happened, there would be people, voices, activity. After the silence of the previous evening, that in itself would be welcome.
And so it turned out. At precisely nine o’clock, a truck drew up just inside the front gate, disgorging two men. Thea met them on the doorstep, rapidly ascertaining that they knew nothing about the ructions of the day before. ‘Hi – I’m Sid and this is Dave,’ said the older man. ‘You must be the house-sitter. Not very comfy for you, with no kitchen. How’ve you been coping? Mrs Ibbotson knew where her best interests lay, didn’t she? Soon as things got tricky, she found herself suddenly in great demand somewhere in Europe. Missed this weather, as well, lucky cow.’
‘Watch it, Sid,’ said Dave with an alarmed look. Then he smiled at Thea. ‘He don’t mean nothing by it. Mrs I’s a real star. Lovely lady. You’ll be a friend of hers?’
‘Friend of a friend, actually. The fact is, I’ve never met her. But listen – there’s something you should know about before you get started. Come in for a minute.’
She took them into the living room, and tried to give a brief account of the weekend. Sid interrupted every few seconds, horror ever more visible on his face. ‘Dead!’ he repeated, as if the whole idea was new to him. ‘Up there in the attic? Blimey!’
‘We should know today what she died of. If there’s a full-scale police investigation, that might affect where you can go in the house − for a day or two, anyway. But it should be okay to be in the kitchen. I know Tabitha’s got you on a deadline for that.’
‘End of the week, including the bathroom,’ nodded Dave. ‘Might need us to stay late once or twice, to get it all done. But we have to get into the roof, for the plumbing, see? The hot water tank’s up there.’
‘Yes, well – we’ll just have to take it a day at a time, and see what happens.’
Sid was still numb with amazement. ‘But she can’t have just died. People don’t just die like that. And who was she? That’s what I don’t get. Not somebody you knew, at all?’
‘No, I told you,’ said Thea, as patiently as she could. ‘She’d lost all her stuff and needed somewhere to sleep. I couldn’t put her in Tabitha’s room, because she’s locked it, so we made a sort of nest in the attic. It can’t have been very comfortable, but at least there was a rug on the floor. The other bedrooms are completely bare.’
‘Hot up there, as well,’ said Dave. ‘Maybe that’s what did her in.’
‘Maybe,’ said Thea, who had withheld quite a lot of the finer details. ‘It was all very unlucky, and I was probably an idiot to bring her here in the first place.’
‘What does your ’usband think about it, then?’ asked Sid with a glance at her wedding ring. ‘Must have something to say – nasty business like this.’
She hesitated, torn between an indignant reply that it was no concern of her husband’s, and an amused acknowledgement that men still believed that wives should remain under close scrutiny, and nothing but trouble came of letting them have too much independence. ‘He’s not too worried,’ she said lightly.
‘Hmm,’ said the man, clearly disapproving.
‘Come on, Sid. Best get started,’ urged Dave. He led the way through the hall to the barred door. ‘I see you’ve made good use of this,’ he said to Thea, who was trailing after them.
She forestalled the next inevitable question by saying, ‘That’s right. Very clever of you – although it’s going to leave holes in the door frame.’
‘It’s coming out anyhow,’ said Dave. ‘She wants an archway instead. Should look nice,’ he reflected, staring at an imagined remodelling of the imperturbable old house. ‘The trick is not to do too much, see, with a house like this. Everything’s all been thought out already, centuries past. All we’ve got to do is get it a bit more up to date, like. Can’t change the outside, of course. Not in these parts. Perish the thought!’
‘It’s not listed, is it?’
‘No, thank God. But there’s all sorts of by-laws and neighbourhood agreements and I don’t know what. Not that Mrs I would want to mess with any of that, anyhow. She just wants things to work a bit better, so it’s not so cold in winter and sweltering in summer. She thinks there’ll be better air flow without a door just here. And there was some damp needed fixing upstairs. We’ve got quite fond of the old place, eh, Sid?’
Sid nodded, still struggling with the morning’s news. ‘Right,’ he mumbled. ‘Tiling first, we said, didn’t we?’
‘Once we’ve got the new sink in. Shame about the weather. We’ll be out seeing to the drains later on.’
‘Drains?’ Thea had an instant vision of the garden being ripped up by a mechanical digger.
‘Nothing much. Just have to get the new pipes bedded in. Then we can start the new wall tomorrow. Got another couple of chaps coming out for that. Should go up in no time. Half of it’s window, anyhow.’
‘Then we’ll have a proper back door for you to lock,’ said Sid, reassuringly.
‘Not tomorrow, surely?’
‘Thursday morning, latest.’
‘Good, because that’s mainly why I’m here – to guard the house while there’s no proper security.’
Dave treated her to a long thoughtful gaze. ‘Sounds to me as if you’re not doing too great a job in that department, so far. Are you?’
She could do nothing but laugh ruefully and leave them to their work.
She sat in the living room again, with a mug of coffee and a portable radio she had found on a shelf. Assuming it to be defunct, she had been pleasantly surprised when it worked perfectly. Now she had it tuned to the blandness that was Radio Two, trying to adopt a matching mood. No sense in worrying, she told herself. Whatever happened next was out of her control. And even if she had felt able to do something, she would be wise to refrain. Gladwin and Drew would both agree on that point.
