Secrets in the Cotswolds

by Rebecca Tope

  The list of other people she ought to be worrying about had not got any shorter, either. Drew, Grace, Gladwin, the people of Venezuela and whatever population was currently experiencing floods or fires or earthquakes. Caz had seemed to imply that a good person should at least accord a degree of unselfish concern for anybody they knew to be suffering.

  Thea chose Grace to take the place at the top of the list. Admittedly, the woman was beyond suffering now – but perhaps she was being missed by a frantic husband or mother somewhere. The mystery of her death must have left a void, a hole in the complex tapestry of life that needed to be filled. Not only should the killer be brought to justice, but an explanation for the act was urgently required. Thea was angry with the unknown person, who could so easily have bumped her off as well, if she’d got in the way.

  And Drew – what about Drew? He seemed so reluctant to talk to her; every time she phoned he was distracted somehow. He showed very little real interest in what she was doing and told her virtually nothing about life without her in the Slocombe household. Something was obviously wrong, and Caz Barkley doubtless believed that it was wanton neglect on Thea’s part to sit idly by in Barnsley, without going home to see what was going on. Now she had a car, she could easily pop back for an hour, and find out how things were. But what good would that do? She had to see things through for Tabitha Ibbotson, at least until the end of Friday. The bathroom pipes might leak; the builders might stop working; deliveries might go to the wrong house. And Grace’s killer might not be caught. And if she went home, to be greeted deliriously by her dog, how cruel to then go away again without her. Similarly, the children would be unsettled. And Drew – she tried to guess at his reaction. ‘Checking up on me?’ he might say. Or, ‘We weren’t expecting you for another two days or so.’ There could be no satisfactory excuse for a flying visit, and every reason why it was a bad idea.

  So, she wasn’t going to do that, then.

  She would, however, go out again. The house was noisy and dusty and boring. Barnsley was also quite boring, but the air was fresh and there was always a chance of meeting someone. She’d have a quick walk around the triangular block, before perhaps going into Cirencester for a look at the shops and museum. The exercise would be beneficial, if nothing else.

  She walked briskly along the main street, past the back-to-front Barnsley House (Hotel and Spa, as it said in large letters), as well as the church and the pub and the village hall, and then turned right, into the country lane that led northwards in a Roman-straight trajectory. There were no other pedestrians in sight.

  As she approached the next junction, where a second right turn would take her back to the Corner House, she was strongly reminded of her walk with Grace. They had been coming the other way, but once into the next road, it was the exact same route as the two of them had taken. Thea recalled the painful shoulder, the naked fear every time a car went past, the total lack of any personal effects. Whatever the truth of the matter, those details were indisputable. If the post-mortem showed no significant damage to Grace’s shoulder, that didn’t prove that she was pretending. A wrench or strain would be difficult to detect without a far closer examination than the average pathologist had time for these days. If it bore no relation to the cause of death, then it was hardly significant anyway.

  She kept walking briskly, her thoughts working in pace with her steps. But they merely went around in the same old circuit as before, the scraps of information refusing to fit together in anything like a coherent picture.

  It was only twenty minutes later that she arrived back at the house, having learnt nothing new, and failing to make any further deductions. It was still well short of midday and she had no desire for any more coffee. She was on the brink of deciding to do a second loop around the village when she noticed someone standing just inside the Corner House gateway.

  ‘Are you waiting for me?’ she asked, hurrying forward. The woman was familiar, but it took a moment to place her.

  ‘I am, actually. Remember we met on Monday?’

  It was the friendly person with the camera, who had been recording wording from the headstones. ‘Oh – yes. In the churchyard. What can I do for you?’

  ‘Nothing. I just thought you might like to go for lunch or something. You seemed interesting, and when I realised you were still here, even after that awful business, it occurred to me you might like some company.’

  Thea had learnt from hard experience that human motives were seldom as pure and straightforward as this sounded. But that was no reason to repel this cordial advance. If anything, it gave the whole encounter added spice. ‘How nice of you,’ she gushed. ‘I was just wondering how to pass the afternoon. My name’s Thea Slocombe, by the way.’ She held out her hand.

  The woman took it in a firm grip. ‘Norma Chadwick. Pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Oh – not Jackson?’ said Thea. ‘I thought you were Richard’s wife.’

  ‘Whatever gave you that idea?’

  Thea reran the scene from Monday morning. ‘I don’t know. You looked like a team, I suppose. How embarrassing – especially these days. Just a quick assumption, on the basis of almost nothing.’

  ‘Well, we have known each other all our lives. I suppose there’s some sort of chemistry between us – body language. That kind of thing. But I have a husband called Bernie, and Richard’s got a disabled wife. We do a lot of family history together. Actually, we’re cousins, after a fashion. We share an ancestor – beyond that it all gets very complicated. But it’s not unusual, even now. There’s still a lot of old families here, and they’re all connected.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Thea. ‘You told me.’

  ‘Did we?’

  Thea realised she’d made a second blunder in two minutes. She was conflating the information she’d found on the computer with what had been said face-to-face. ‘I think you did,’ she said. ‘At least I got that impression, the way you were all so knowledgeable about the names on the headstones.’

  ‘Mm.’ Norma Chadwick was eyeing the house behind them with considerable interest. ‘How can you stay here after what happened?’ she burst out. ‘Aren’t you absolutely terrified?’

  ‘Not really. There’s no reason why they should come back for me, as far as I can see. And I can lock the doors now. Whoever it was must be long gone by this time, anyway.’

  ‘Mm,’ said the woman again. Then she turned to look over her shoulder. ‘You’ve got more visitors,’ she remarked.

  Two men were walking along the road towards the house. Thea and Norma were standing just inside the gateway, on the small area of gravel left unoccupied. The builders’ van and Thea’s borrowed car took almost all the parking space – which had been reduced by the cement mixer and skip that were part of the building work. The men were fifty or sixty yards away, their faces quite easy to recognise. But Thea was sure she had only seen one of them before. And he was smiling broadly.

  ‘Clovis,’ murmured Thea.

  Chapter Twenty

  ‘Glad we caught you. This is Ben. He’s from Cumbria or somewhere,’ Clovis introduced his companion. ‘We got chatting up by the village hall. I could see there was no hope of parking here, with all this lot in the way.’

  Thea merely blinked and waited for enlightenment. Norma Chadwick bounced slightly on the balls of her feet, like a teenager.

  ‘I’m Norma,’ she said. ‘Hello, Ben. Come to see what you can find out about the murder, have you? We were thinking you might not be able to resist.’

  ‘Auntie,’ said the young man, who appeared to be little more than a boy, when Thea gave him a closer look. ‘You don’t mind, do you?’

  ‘It’s not up to me. You’ve come all this way again because you heard there was a murder, so it wouldn’t be very kind to try to stop you, would it?’ She turned to Thea. ‘He’s a very keen amateur detective, I’m afraid. Where he lives, there’ve been quite a few nasty crimes, which he’s been involved in. He actually witnessed one death, if you can believe that.’r />
  ‘Oh?’ Thea tried to decide whether she felt intrigued or hassled. Another amateur detective probably wasn’t going to be very good news, she concluded. If you counted Clovis, that made quite a little gang.

  ‘I did,’ the youth assured her. ‘And I’ve got some free time before going up to uni. I’m doing forensic archaeology, you see. Any experience I can get will be hugely useful. This man’ – he indicated Clovis – ‘has been telling me a bit about what happened here. Sounds as if there’s a real mystery.’ His eyes were shining. ‘Poor old Uncle Dick didn’t really want me to come back – it’s a bit crowded at his house at the moment – but I’ve promised not to be a nuisance.’

  Thea nodded absently, working out the relationships and still wondering what the appearance of this Ben implied for her personally. If nothing else, it looked as if he’d be getting between her and Clovis. ‘How can she be your aunt?’ she demanded. ‘She’s just told me she’s not married to either of the Jackson brothers.’

  ‘Oh – she’s not exactly an aunt. Dick’s not altogether my uncle either, come to that. But we are all related. I’ve been coming down here since I was a baby, and I’ve always known Auntie Norma. She was the first person to show me how to do a spreadsheet, when I was about six.’

  ‘And he’s always been a very rewarding pupil,’ the woman said fondly. ‘I’ve taken a lot of interest in his progress over the years.’ She addressed the young man. ‘I came here to suggest lunch, as it happens. I thought this lady might be feeling a bit lonely.’

  ‘Thea. She’s called Thea,’ said Clovis, with a proprietorial air. ‘And I think I’ve got a prior claim in that respect.’

  There followed a comical interlude in which everyone looked at everyone else, trying to assess the underlying realities. Thea felt a mild embarrassment, combined with a girlish glow at Clovis’s claim on her. ‘Well …’ she said. ‘We could probably all go somewhere.’

  ‘No, no.’ Norma backed off, her hands held up vertically. ‘I can see I’d be surplus to requirements. And if you’re all going to talk about gruesome murder details, I’d rather not be there, anyway.’

  ‘It was very nice of you to think of me,’ said Thea. ‘Honestly, I wasn’t expecting anyone to turn up.’ Hearing herself contradicting Clovis, she added quickly, ‘At least, I wasn’t sure we’d made a firm arrangement.’

  ‘No problem. If you do need somebody to talk to, here’s my number.’ She proffered a small business card, which Thea glanced at before putting it in her pocket. ‘You’re welcome to come over and have a drink with me and Bernie one evening.’

  ‘That’s very kind,’ said Thea, wishing this had all happened three days ago.

  ‘There’s a pub in Ampney Crucis,’ said Clovis. ‘Do you know it?’

  ‘No, but I’m more than happy to give it a try. That whole area’s still a mystery to me. Have you got time for us to do a bit of exploring?’

  ‘All day,’ he said airily. ‘There’s a church that’s worth a look, and we could even walk along to Poulton or somewhere. You know it, do you, Ben? The Crown of Crucis, they call it.’

  ‘Not very well. I do know that my grandfather was born in Poulton, unlike all his brothers, because Great-Grandma had gone for a ride when she was eight months pregnant, and went into labour before she could get home. It’s a family legend. He was her sixth child, and she dropped him right by Betty’s Grave. Luckily it was a June afternoon, and there were haymakers close by. Mother and baby were both perfectly well within an hour or so. Oh – and Great-Granddad is buried in Ampney Crucis. He’s the one we’re all descended from.’

  ‘Betty’s Grave?’ echoed Thea, in complete bewilderment.

  ‘It’s a local point of interest. I’ve always wanted to know the truth of it, but there are so many different theories, it would be impossible to find the true one now. It goes back centuries.’

  ‘Hey – another mystery,’ said Clovis inanely.

  ‘Well, let’s hope we solve this one before the century’s out,’ said Thea, feeling slightly sour. ‘Because there’s nothing happening as far as the murder is concerned. The whole business is absolutely stuck.’

  ‘Great!’ Ben was practically rubbing his hands in anticipation. ‘You’ll have to tell me every single detail.’ He looked from one to the other. ‘And I need you to explain the situation with you two, as well. If you see what I mean.’

  Thea felt her hackles rise. Such impertinence! ‘“Need to explain”?’ she repeated. ‘Who says we need to do anything?’

  ‘Sorry.’ He put up his hands. ‘That came out wrong. I meant—’

  ‘We know what you meant,’ said Clovis kindly. ‘And it’s a fair question. I’m sure Thea’s been wondering the same thing, in fact, about my reasons for getting involved. All I can say is that I might have found a connection with the woman who was killed, and I want to see if I can check it out before saying anything to the cops.’

  ‘No progress since Tuesday, then?’ said Thea.

  ‘Nothing concrete. Jennifer should be here – she’s the one with the ideas. But she had to be at a meeting this morning. I’ve barely even spoken to her today.’

  ‘Jennifer?’ queried Ben.

  ‘My fiancée. She’s marginally linked to the pangolin business, and is convinced the murder has to do with that. But she’s too busy to do much about it.’

  ‘So she’s sent you,’ Ben nodded. ‘I get it. At least – pangolins? Those funny Asian things that people use in Chinese medicine?’

  ‘Haven’t you been following the news?’ Thea demanded. ‘Even I haven’t been able to miss it.’

  The boy shrugged. ‘Can’t say I’ve taken much notice. Are you telling me this murdered woman was in a gang of smugglers?’

  ‘It’s one theory, yes. It fits some of what we know.’ Thea turned to Clovis. ‘So you really don’t have to be anywhere else?’

  He gave a self-consciously Gallic gesture. ‘My time is my own,’ he said. ‘I could make two or three phone calls, if I get a moment. Otherwise, I’m all yours.’

  Except he’d be sharing her with this Ben person, who showed every sign of sticking with them for the rest of the day. He carried a backpack over one shoulder, and wore sturdy-looking trainers. As if reading her mind, he said, ‘And I don’t have to be anywhere, either.’

  ‘Okay, then,’ said Thea. ‘Thanks, both of you.’

  ‘Don’t thank us,’ said Clovis. ‘You’re the one doing the favour. We’re both intent on hearing the latest about the murder, and any thoughts you’ve got on the matter. We’re nothing more than bloodsuckers.’

  ‘Leeches,’ confirmed Ben with a cheerful grin.

  ‘Whose car are we taking?’ Thea asked. ‘I should pop in and tell the builders I’ll be out. And I need to get my phone. What else? Money, I suppose.’

  ‘We’ll go in mine,’ said Clovis firmly. ‘It’s up at the village hall.’

  Everything was quickly accomplished, and they set off down a minor road that took them southwards out of Barnsley. Thea found the geography confusing, as they passed through two Ampneys in rapid succession, with a third only half a mile distant. The distraction of the undulating landscape, old stone walls, sudden beauties in the shape of houses, churches and gardens, only muddled her more. ‘I lied,’ said Clovis gaily. ‘It’s Ampney St Peter that’s closest to Poulton. I do tend to get them confused.’

  ‘Let’s start with the pub. Where did you say that was?’ said Thea.

  ‘Ampney Crucis.’

  ‘Betty’s Grave’s a bit past Poulton,’ said Ben. ‘Do you want to go and see that as well?’

  ‘After lunch,’ decreed Clovis. ‘If we leave it any later, all the best food will have gone. We could leave the car and walk there and back. It’ll take forty minutes or so.’

  ‘I won’t walk for forty minutes,’ said Thea mulishly, suspecting that she had lost the thread at some point. ‘And I still don’t really understand who you are, Ben. Are you the young relative that Richard Jackson was talking
about on Monday?’

  ‘Er … probably. There’s Edward as well. We’re connected through my mother.’

  ‘Lunch!’ said Clovis loudly. ‘We’re almost there now. We can get all the family history out of the way once we’ve ordered some food. Although I was rather hoping we might stick to the subject of the murder.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Ben. ‘I’m with you. Murder, not ancestors. Definitely.’

  They settled at an outside table and waited for food to arrive. Clovis effortlessly took the role of Chair, showing no sign of wanting to be alone with Thea. That, she realised, was the source of her bewilderment. He had apparently deliberately recruited this young Ben, after a random encounter in Barnsley’s car park. That also puzzled her. ‘Exactly how did you two find each other?’ she asked.

  Between them, the two men delivered an account in which Ben had asked Clovis if he knew which house was the scene of a recent killing. Clovis had laughingly offered to walk him there, since it was his own precise destination. ‘Pure luck,’ said Ben, with a small frown. ‘There was absolutely nobody else in sight to ask. I saw him parking his car and coming down the steps into the street, and waited for him.’

  ‘We swopped names, and that was about all we had time for, before we got to the Corner House. We saw you standing there with that woman, and you know the rest,’ Clovis explained.

  ‘Hm,’ said Thea, turning to Ben. ‘So why were you so interested, anyway? Had you heard of me before?’

  ‘What? Haven’t we said all that? I’m always keen to follow murder investigations, because of my studies. And no, I hadn’t heard of you. Why? Should I have?’

  ‘She’s quite famous around here,’ said Clovis. ‘The house-sitter who stumbles over bodies and somehow manages to find the killer, nine times out of ten. Only a few months ago, she fingered the person who—’ He stopped, the details of that recent homicide still rather too sensitive for a careless summary. ‘Well, that’s not relevant now.’