by Rebecca Tope
So she turned round and began to walk away again. Anybody watching would, with luck, conclude that she had come here in error, looking for a non-existent footpath, perhaps. Or seeking a lost dog. She began to mime behaviour that would fit such an explanation. Craning her neck to look over the hedges, turning round every few steps, and trying to maintain a worried expression. She hoped that her demeanour had not been too different as she’d walked up the driveway initially. There was something increasingly unsettling about the whole place, with nobody outside, no comings and goings, only a few faint voices that she suspected came from a radio somewhere. A summer weekday morning, with reasonable weather, should surely bring at least a few people outdoors. Could they not sit in the fresh air with their crafts or Dictaphones or laptops? She had read on the website that families lived in the ancient cottages – so where were the children on holiday from school? And didn’t anybody own a dog?
And still nobody accosted her. She knew she was being watched, but presumed that so long as she kept walking, causing no trouble, she would be left alone. It was a creepy sensation, like something from a horror film. Her vivid imagination flipped into notions of lurking monsters – huge slimy creatures that had disguised themselves as human beings. If she offended them, they would throw off their false skin and come slavering after her. There had always been this unsettling aspect to villages in the Cotswolds: the suspicion that hidden eyes were watching from the silent stone cottages. The loosening of the usual boundaries that kept you firmly in time and place. In a Cotswolds village you might carelessly step through a portal into an earlier century – or even perhaps a later one, which would be even more terrifying. They so often felt like a film set, or something fiercely preserved for the sake of permanence. Nothing was allowed to change – that was how the tourists liked it, and the tourist was king. Especially here, just down the road from historic Bibury. The beauty was so extreme that there was a wholesale fear that it might crumble and vanish if constant vigilance was relaxed. This had all become plain to Thea years ago, and had developed into an unexamined given now she lived here permanently. Only when forced to confront the paradoxical reality did she revert to thinking about it.
Feeling the eyes on her back as she returned down the driveway, she was slow to notice that a car was pulling up beside her and a surprising face was glaring at her from the open driver’s window.
Chapter Nineteen
It was Caz Barkley. ‘Here you are,’ she shouted. ‘The builders said you’d come up here, but I’ve driven up and down twice without seeing you.’
Thea frowned. ‘I should have been easy to spot. Why didn’t you phone me?’ She checked that she had her phone in her pocket. ‘Look – I’ve got my mobile, for a change.’
‘Yes, but it’s not switched on, is it?’ The tone was of an exasperated parent. Barkley was a good fifteen years younger than Thea, which made her flinch at the role reversal.
‘Ah,’ she said, with a sigh. ‘So why do you want me?’
‘I’ve been told to watch out for you. Make sure you’re okay. See if you’ve made any useful discoveries.’ Caz stared hard at Thea’s face. ‘But why? Why are you here? Didn’t it occur to you that it might not be safe, if anything that woman told you is true?’
Thea blinked. ‘What’s going to happen? It’s broad daylight. And I don’t see how anyone can see me as a threat. I don’t know anything, do I?’
Caz sighed. ‘I haven’t got time to explain it to you. Just get in and let’s get out of here.’
‘I’m not stupid, you know,’ Thea insisted. ‘It makes sense to have a better look around. Nobody here’s going to know who I am, are they?’
‘Get in,’ said Barkley again.
Thea got into the car, and Barkley turned it round, driving over an immaculate grass verge in the process. Thea had a question. ‘Just how closely involved are you in this investigation?’
‘I think they call it free-floating. I go where I’m needed. They seem to think there’s not a lot more they can follow up on where your woman is concerned. Until they get a firm identity for her, it’s all pretty much stuck. I haven’t even seen the whole file.’
‘That’s weird, when you’ve got the post-mortem report.’
‘They’d let me see it if I asked. But essentially, we’re leaving most of it to Cirencester. If there’s a link to the pangolins, then we’ll have to work more closely with them. So far, we can’t see that there is. Somebody’s meant to be trying to track down the K. A. W. person. Remember? The initials on the wedding ring?’
‘I remember,’ said Thea. She sighed. ‘Isn’t it obvious that somebody around here does know who she is – was? They didn’t just kill her at random, did they?’ She was musing aloud, going over old ground, not making much sense even to herself.
‘Jessica,’ said Caz sternly. ‘We need to talk about Jessica.’
‘What about her?’
‘Well, Gladwin thinks you ought to know they’ve got a few concerns about her, up there in Manchester.’
‘Is this about her drinking too much? My sister said the same thing. I don’t know what I can do about it. She’s old enough to be responsible for her own actions.’
‘You’re her mother,’ said Barkley mildly. ‘You’re supposed to worry.’
‘I know I am. I will if you think it’ll help. But I’ve never found that worry does much good. It might make the worrier feel virtuous, but beyond that, it seems rather futile to me.’
‘I’m not sure it’s possible to control it, is it? You’re either worried or you’re not. You can’t deliberately worry – can you?’
‘You can a bit. But worriers don’t seem capable of switching it off, so you got that part right. I’m just not a worrier. Jess knows that. She even claims to like it that way. It’s not very nice to be worried over, after all.’
‘Isn’t it?’ There was a distinct wistfulness in her voice. ‘Anyway, that’s not the point. The team are worried about her. They think somebody ought to be informed that she might need some help. She’s on her own up there – no family or boyfriend or anyone. She’s not very old, is she? When did you last see her?’
Thea felt rather as she had on Tuesday when Jocelyn had said the same things. ‘A while ago. Listen, I texted her and she called me yesterday, and she sounded fine. She doesn’t want me dashing up there to cross-examine her about drinking, or whatever it is. What good could I do? I know it sounds bad – but that’s the sort of family we are. We’re not very demonstrative. No gushing or sentimentality.’
Barkley was driving, and couldn’t give Thea the long questioning look she’d have liked to. But ten seconds later they were at the Corner House, and the car stopped. The younger woman turned sideways and said nothing for a moment. Then, ‘Don’t you understand about support? Just being there, ready to listen to her, taking an interest. Not just leaving her to sort herself out, and taking her word for it that she’s okay. You know quite well she’s not, because people have been telling you. You don’t have to solve anything, or tell her what to do. But she sounds to me to be struggling. I’ve never even met her, and I’m worried.’
Thea sat back in her seat, disliking herself with a vengeance. ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I’m such an awful person. Everything that happened this week just makes that more obvious. Forgetting the anniversary. Making Grace sleep on the floor. Agreeing to meet bloody Clovis—’
‘Who? Surely not that man whose dad died? The one with the fancy clothes and expensive scent?’
Thea nodded. ‘He’s got a girlfriend now. First really serious one ever, apparently.’
‘Bully for him. What’s that to do with you?’
‘Nothing. But he fancies himself as an amateur detective – probably after what happened when his dad died. I got the impression he’s trying to impress his woman – she works for conservation charities, apparently. I told him all about Grace being killed and he wants to help with the investigation. That’s okay, isn’t it?’ Belatedly, she rea
lised that it was generally frowned upon by the police for details of a case to be shared with members of the public. ‘I didn’t tell him anything sensitive.’ At least, she hoped she didn’t.
‘It’s not ideal. There are plenty of senior people who don’t like the way we tell you things. Any more rank amateurs will really annoy them.’
‘I don’t think he’s going to cause any trouble.’
‘You mean he’s going to get into a cosy huddle with you one evening and go through all the guesses and hunches and fantasy scenarios that the two of you can come up with?’
‘Probably.’
‘That’s another thing, then,’ said Barkley obscurely.
‘Pardon?’
‘You being a less-than-perfect wife to your really nice husband.’
‘Exactly. That’s what I said. I’m a horrible person.’
‘Shut up. That’s not the point.’
‘Isn’t it?’
‘Look – I’m not a couple counsellor. But even I know nobody’s perfect, and hardly anybody’s really horrible. Your girl’s opted not to tell you what’s happening with her, for whatever reason. So you weren’t to know until your sister told you. And then you agreed that it would be good if she could come down here, to help while we’re overstretched. If that hasn’t worked out, it’s not your fault. But now you’ve got a new situation. That’s why I was looking for you, to tell you about it. Her secret’s out now, and you know she’s got a problem. I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but if you care about her, I think you need to do something. Okay?’
‘She’s coming to see us for the Bank Holiday weekend. That’s not far off now. I’ll make sure I take her out, just us two, and see if she’ll talk. I don’t see how I can do more than that. I can’t leave Drew any longer, once I’m finished here. Stephanie says there’s something secret going on at home, and I have absolutely no idea what it can be.’
‘And meanwhile, you try to ignore all this family crap by seeing the most beautiful man in England.’
‘Right. And that makes me a horrible person.’
‘No it doesn’t. It makes you the envy of every woman who sees you – and possibly a bit of a fool. But we all give in to temptation from time to time.’
‘Right,’ said Thea again, feeling very slightly better. ‘So, can we just crack on with this murder case, so I can get back to being a halfway decent wife and mother?’
‘Feel free,’ invited Caz Barkley. ‘All contributions gratefully received.’
‘At least they let me get involved,’ said Thea.
‘No they don’t.’ Barkley was forceful. ‘They just haven’t worked out how to stop you.’
Thea laughed, but the other woman was clearly not amused. Thea defended herself. ‘I’ve been quite useful at times.’
‘Against everyone’s better judgement, believe me. But with everything stretched as it is, you’ve got to be a bit of an asset. We’re all having to be in three places at once – this month especially, with so many people on leave.’
Thea merely smiled forbearingly. She’d heard much the same before. Even Jessica had complained about depleted numbers.
‘Anyway,’ Barkley went on. ‘Just don’t get into trouble. Nothing that’s going to require a team of police rescuers, right?’
‘I promise,’ said Thea rashly.
‘Now please get out, so I can go back to work. We’re still searching lock-ups for animal parts, and logging hundreds of calls from the public, all sure they’ve seen suspicious Asians carrying bags of pangolin scales. The problem – one of many problems, actually – is that the trafficking has spread to Africa now, which makes it all much more complicated. And the wretched things are so easy to catch. They’re like hedgehogs – they just roll into a ball and sit there when anything scares them. Any ten-year-old can pick one up and sell it to a dealer. The whole thing’s hopeless, really. But now the media have got their teeth into it, we’ve got to be seen to be making an effort.’
‘Surely it won’t go on much longer? The story’s sure to die down, and you can get on with other cases.’
‘Eventually.’ Barkley sighed. ‘Of course, the best outcome would be if your woman turned out to be working with the traffickers. That would kill two birds with one stone, and get everybody a brownie point.’
‘And we do want them to stop killing pangolins,’ Thea said. ‘I really hope you can catch some of the ringleaders and make an example of them.’
Barkley sighed again. ‘We’re never going to get the top people – and even if we did, they’d get nowhere near what they deserve.’
‘Oh, well,’ said Thea helplessly. Then she straightened up. ‘I’ve got to find something to do for the rest of today, haven’t I? Any suggestions?’
‘I’d like to tell you to get yourself back home to that husband, but that would probably be a waste of breath. And there’s always the slight chance that you’ll turn something up here, most likely by accident. But it’s not for me to say. You’ll think of something.’
‘Right,’ said Thea, feeling small and silly. Other people always seemed so much more focused and purposeful than she ever did.
‘I’ve really got to go,’ the detective said. ‘I’ve been much longer than I should already. Have fun – and don’t get yourself killed, okay?’
Thea went back into the house in a chastened frame of mind. However you looked at it, she’d been rounded up and returned to base like a runaway sheep. Barkley hadn’t said anything of any significance to her – merely told her off for being a bad mother and worse wife. The whole day so far had been a complete waste, and there was little prospect of any improvement that she could see.
Dave and Sid were banging in the bathroom, taking out the old fittings. A dust sheet covered the floor from the foot of the stairs to the back door, but the stairs themselves were unprotected. Small grains of old plaster were scattered here and there. She decided to go up and have a look at it all.
The old bath was standing on end on the landing outside the bedrooms, looking pathetic. When she peered round the door, she saw Sid hacking off the tiles that had covered the wall beside the bath. ‘You’ll have to do a lot of retiling,’ she said, making him jump. ‘Have you got the new ones?’ She liked tiles, the more colourful the better. ‘What are they like?’
Dave was kneeling on the floor doing something with pipes. ‘They’re there, look.’ He ducked his chin at a pair of boxes standing in a corner. ‘Came yesterday.’
‘Can I look?’ Without waiting for permission, she tiptoed across the gritty floor and pulled open the upper box. The tiles were tightly packed, only their edges showing. She extracted one and examined it. ‘Bit boring,’ she judged. It was pale blue, with ripples of white and a darker blue. ‘Are there any jazzy ones to intersperse with these?’
‘Nope,’ said Dave. ‘They’ll look great when they’re up. Soothing. Who wants a jazzy bathroom?’
‘Me,’ said Thea. ‘I did our bathroom in red and black when we moved.’
‘Lovely,’ said Dave, with undisguised irony.
‘Well, it’s up to Tabitha, obviously,’ Thea conceded. ‘I’ll get out of your way now.’
‘Going out again?’ asked Sid. ‘That woman found you, I presume.’
‘She did, thanks. And she drove me back here. It’s at least half a mile to the entrance to the business park.’
‘So it is,’ said Sid, as if he’d already told her that.
‘I’m not going out again just yet. I might go for some shopping later on.’
She went downstairs, once again feeling disgusted with herself. What was the matter with her, that she was always so self-obsessed and judgemental? No wonder she had hardly any friends and that people kept secrets from her. She was in her mid-forties, and what did she have to show for her life? All she did was upset people and ignore their suffering. For the hundredth time, she yearned for her dog. Hepzie would cuddle up to her and reassure her that she was at least loved by one living creature. The unswerving loya
lty of a spaniel was cheaply won, she knew, but it felt no less wonderful for that. And Drew still loved her, she supposed. He’d known what she was like when he married her, and seemed to find it perfectly acceptable. They’d weathered a crisis a few months earlier, when it had seemed for a while that they might be irrevocably headed in different directions, and since then life had been quite calm – at least on the surface. Now he, like Jessica, had a secret from her. Something that Stephanie and Timmy knew about, which made it worse.
Detective Constable Caz Barkley was like an all-seeing recording angel, confronting Thea with her shortcomings. ‘You’re her mother,’ she had said, as if that spelt out every duty, every move and thought and feeling that Thea should be acting on. Simple, had been the implication. Just do what you know has to be done and stop being such a prat.
So she texted her daughter again, slowly formulating a message she hoped would sound concerned and supportive without overdoing it. ‘Good to talk yesterday. You seemed a bit stressed. I’m here if you want to chat.’ Was there anything more she could say or do? A direct phone call would obviously be better, but Jessica was a working police officer, apparently extremely busy, and would not welcome sentimental conversations with her mother in the middle of a working day. The media had given considerable coverage to the under-resourced state of the police force and the frustrations that resulted. Too many unsolved crimes, piling up case by case, with nobody available to give them due attention. One bold chief constable had complained that the media themselves made it a lot more difficult, by inciting public hysteria over a handful of prominent crimes, which then had to be given an unfair share of police time, to satisfy the baying mob. He didn’t say ‘baying mob’, but it was clear that that was what he meant. The current obsession with pangolins was a case in point, with Merseyside one of the hot spots. Shipping containers had to be searched for smuggled animal parts, in all the major ports.
