Fear in the Cotswolds

by Rebecca Tope

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  It was Friday evening, the weather looking ominous again, the thought of further snow a dread out of all proportion to the probable results. It was like a rollercoaster, where you survived the first appalling drop, only to find the prospect of a second one almost impossible to bear. She needed to talk to somebody, but had no idea who might fill that need.

  In the end it was resolved for her, not entirely satisfactorily, at least to start with. Gladwin phoned at nine. ‘Where were we?’ she asked, disarmingly.

  ‘I have no idea,’ Thea laughed. ‘It’s been a very busy day…again.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘Janina’s flown back to Bulgaria, leaving Simon not coping with his kids.’ The urge to reveal Ben’s testimony was massive, but still she kept her counsel. Once uttered, the story would be impossible to withdraw again.

  ‘Yes, I know. And we don’t have any good news for him, sad to say.’

  ‘That’s a shame. Is he still under suspicion?’

  ‘He’s in the frame, although we’ve got almost nothing on him.’

  ‘I saw the Philippa woman this morning. Bunny’s best friend. Have you met her?’

  ‘No, but I’ve read her statement.’ Something in Gladwin’s tone made Thea sit up. A picture was coming inexorably into focus, thanks to Ben’s story. Much of what Philippa had said was making more and more sense. From one moment to the next, it all seemed crystal clear, as if it had been sitting there all along, for anyone to see. And yet…

  ‘She thinks George killed Bunny,’ she said. ‘Doesn’t she?’

  ‘She’s got more sense than to say it outright, but yes, I think that’s what she believes.’

  ‘That would be very convenient, wouldn’t it,’ said Thea. ‘Neat and tidy.’

  Gladwin didn’t reply directly. ‘You know… it’s odd, in a way, the amount of time and effort we put into understanding a straightforward suicide. Do you remember that bloke in South Wales who killed his wife and kids and then himself, some years back?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Thea.

  ‘Well, the police spent months investigating his finances, love life, past history, just to find a reason. They already knew who’d killed them. It wasn’t necessary to get the whole story – but they felt they owed it, somehow, to the family. Well, it’s a bit like that here. We know George Jewell killed himself, but we’ve still been going through his house inch by inch.’

  ‘And have you found anything?’

  ‘Masses. Too much, if anything.’

  ‘Somebody moved his body,’ Thea reminded the detective. ‘Was that a crime?’

  ‘Technically, yes. Not reporting the discovery of a dead body is a crime. It usually implies something more serious, of course.’

  It all felt too sad and serious to continue. People were dead and nothing was going to change that. ‘Sonia…I think I have to ring off now. I’ve got some orphan rabbits to feed.’

  ‘Good God. What happened?’

  Thea told her.

  ‘Bottle feeding might work, I suppose. Have you got the gubbins?’

  ‘Sort of. I found an eye dropper thing in Lucy’s bathroom cupboard. I suppose I’ll have to use diluted cow’s milk. I never had a chance to get proper baby milk.’

  ‘You need a bottle and a teat. I’ve got one, and some milk powder. We had a litter of puppies a few years ago, and I got a kit for feeding newborns, just in case. We never had to use it, but I have some experience. Shall I bring it round to you?’

  ‘What…now?’

  ‘Absolutely. They won’t last all night, will they?’

  The detective superintendent arrived twenty-five minutes later, swinging a bulky carrier bag. ‘I brought everything I could think of,’ she laughed. ‘Cotton wool for their bottoms, a bit of natural fleece to lie on and all the feeding equipment.’

  It was not much of a partnership: Gladwin did all the work. With infinite care, she introduced a tiny rubber teat into the little creature’s mouth, and waited for it to get the idea. ‘They must have been hungry,’ she murmured, as the third one took to the artificial food with alacrity.

  ‘They’re so sweet,’ said Thea. ‘I couldn’t just let them die, could I?’

  ‘Of course not. A life is a life, as my father always said. Did I mention that I grew up on a hillside in Cumbria? We were always having to rescue dying lambs. Not that the farmer ever thanked us. He said a cade lamb was more trouble than it was worth.’

  ‘Cade?’

  ‘Orphan. Or rejected, more likely. Sheep don’t have a very long attention span. They forget they’re supposed to be taking care of their offspring.’

  ‘What did your father do?’

  ‘He was a baker. But we didn’t live over the shop. My mother said she needed a view. You could see about ten mountains and three lakes from our house.’

  As each little rabbit was finished, Thea was given the task of massaging its stomach, to aid digestion. ‘Actually, I think they’re old enough for it to work by itself, but it can’t do any harm, as long as you don’t press too hard.’

  ‘Will they survive, do you think?’

  ‘Most of them probably will. Mind you, they’ll be psychologically damaged.’

  Thea laughed at that. ‘It’ll make them better pets if they’re fixated on people.’ She had a thought. ‘Maybe we could give one to Benjamin. He likes animals.’

  Inevitably, this took them onto the subject of the murder. ‘Poor little mite,’ sighed Gladwin. ‘Makes you wonder whether people ever stop to think of the consequences of their actions.’

  ‘People? Murderers, do you mean?’

  ‘Among others.’

  ‘They don’t, of course. No more than Jimmy spared a thought for Jemima’s babies when he killed her.’

  Gladwin gave her a long severe look. ‘Animals are different, and you know it,’ she said.

  ‘Yes, they are…but I doubt if a person in the act of killing somebody has the slightest notion of the implications.’

  ‘Unless those implications are part of the motive for doing the killing.’

  ‘Phew…that’s a bit deep,’ Thea protested.

  ‘Think about it,’ Gladwin persisted.

  Thea thought, knowing she was being pushed into a corner, that she had very little choice left to her. ‘Um…’ she began. ‘I do have something I should tell you, but I’m worried about where it might lead. Something somebody told me.’

  ‘Hearsay,’ nodded Gladwin. ‘Where would we be without it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Come on. Half the crimes we solve are only brought to book because of something someone’s told us he overheard in the slammer. We have to wangle it so as to get the perpetrator to incriminate himself somehow. It’s a game, and if you’re holding a joker, or even a six of diamonds, I’d appreciate knowing about it.’

  ‘You already think George killed Bunny, don’t you? You know it fits. Well…apparently somebody actually saw him doing it.’

  Gladwin’s eyes narrowed, and her head tilted to one side. ‘Really?’

  ‘Somebody who wouldn’t make a very good witness in court.’

  The detective’s shoulders slumped. ‘Like a child, you mean?’

  ‘Precisely like a child.’ And Thea told her everything Ben had said that afternoon. The two women forgot their roles for a few minutes, as they considered the consequences for little Ben and his family.

  Then Gladwin straightened, and said, ‘It doesn’t fit, though, does it? Who moved his body? Who texted Simon after Bunny was dead?’

  ‘Kate?’ whispered Thea. ‘She could have seen George in the field, and moved him.’

  ‘That’s possible. It would be in character. But why?’

  ‘Oh, there are too many questions,’ Thea burst out. ‘They just go on and on until my head hurts. I don’t know how you can bear it, following all these futile clues, trying to work out who’s telling the truth – and never really completing the whole picture.’

&nbs
p; ‘It’s my job,’ said Gladwin simply. ‘And just for the record, I’m still not convinced it was George who killed Bunny. Maybe he just thought he had. I told you before – there are anomalies.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like timings and head injuries and the position of the body. It’s all there, somewhere, but we’ve still got to assemble the pieces.’

  ‘Well, it’s past eleven,’ Thea pointed out. ‘We’ll both have to sleep on it.’

  ‘I doubt you’ll get much sleep. You’ll have to do all this feeding again at about…’ she glanced at the clock on Lucy’s wall ‘…three a.m., or thereabouts.’

  ‘No! It’ll take me ages. Here, let me do the next one, while you supervise. I’m not at all sure I can manage it.’

  ‘Well, I’m not noble enough to come and do it again. I only saw my boys for ten minutes this evening as it is.’

  ‘Twins,’ nodded Thea. ‘I remember.’ What she could not remember was whether the father was still on the scene. It was hard to see how Sonia could hold down such a senior job without substantial back-up from a second parent, but she could make no assumptions. Why not ask? ‘Is their dad at home?’

  ‘Paolo? Oh yes. He thinks the rabbit story is hilarious.’

  ‘Is he Italian, with a name like that?’

  ‘His mother is. We were at school together – childhood sweethearts. Married for fourteen years. I realise it sounds dull.’

  ‘Not at all. It was much the same for me.’ She stopped herself from going any further. It would be presuming far too much on Gladwin’s good nature to dump all the persistent grief and fear on her now. Besides, she already knew the basics, from their previous encounter in Temple Guiting.

  She fed the last rabbit with embarrassing clumsiness, but at least she didn’t choke the poor thing. Finally they were all settled into their new nest, apparently satisfied. ‘I’m enormously grateful,’ she gushed. ‘Do you want something to drink before you go?’

  ‘Better not. It’s getting cold out there, and these little roads get very icy. Plus I have to be up at seven tomorrow.’ She gave Thea a very direct look. ‘I’ll phone you in the morning. We’re not finished with all this – you do understand that, don’t you?’

  All this did not mean the baby rabbits.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Hepzibah could not understand why her mistress switched on the light at three in the morning, went downstairs to warm some milk, and then spent over an hour with the little things in the box by the bed. She knew she was banned from going near them, and was quite happy to obey. They smelt of people, now, and a hint of sheep from the stuff they were lying on, and besides, she had never quite got the taste for killing things. Huffily, she turned her back on the proceedings, and curled up tightly on top of the bed.

  Thea dreamt of dogs with great sharp fangs, and a great herd of huge Hereford bullocks crowding around her as she tried to prevent them from trampling on an unruly collection of kittens. A child was being crushed amongst them, too, but Thea had no way of reaching him. She woke with a powerful sense of helpless panic.

  The rabbits had an early breakfast, at seven, the process taking a mere fifty minutes this time. All six were alive, but two seemed worryingly limp. The inexorable routine of feeds every four hours or so was already beginning to feel like an impossible burden. One website had suggested that solid food could be introduced at just over two weeks, which was a hopeful idea. There was nothing to be gathered outside in January, but lettuce, cabbage and carrot could be bought easily enough.

  But her thoughts were mainly on the Newby family. Simon had taken over the parental reins, at last, but nothing else was resolved. Benjamin had been emphatic that he could not reveal his secret to his father, but had seemed relieved when Thea told him that she might be able to make things all right, at least as far as weighty secrets were concerned. She had repeatedly assured him that nothing was his fault, that things would sort themselves out without him having to do anything. He had smiled bravely and returned his attention to the telly as if the exchange between them had never happened.

  Donkey, rabbits, Jimmy – they all had to be seen to. With no time for coffee, Thea was outside attending to her duties, trying not to feel resentful. Lucy had paid her well to act as substitute, and she had no grounds for failing. True, it had been Lucy’s carelessness that led to the birth of the baby rabbits; Lucy’s dog that had killed Lucy’s doe. But it had been Thea who let the dog see the rabbit – something everybody knew was liable to lead to tragedy.

  She was halfway across the donkey’s paddock before she saw him. A man was standing in the shadowy opening of the shed, his arm around the animal’s neck. A cold hand fingered Thea’s heart, her guts did their familiar spasmodic dance, and her throat went dry. There should not be anyone there. Childishly, she repeated this fact to herself, and remained on track to confront him. ‘Hey!’ she called, her voice much less strident than intended. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’

  He faced her with a slow melancholy smile. ‘Oh, hello. Sorry. I came with some carrots for him. We’re old friends. Lucy knows I visit sometimes.’ He indicated the camera hanging round his neck. ‘He’s very photogenic.’

  She let it go, reassured by his smile and the friendly attention he was giving the animal. ‘Did Simon ask you to help out with the boys?’ she asked him.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he said carelessly. ‘But I won’t be needed until lunchtime, when I’m to collect Nicky from nursery. I felt like a bit of fresh air, while it’s dry. They say it’ll rain later on.’ There was a flatness to him that reminded Thea of the woman, Philippa. The shock of a sudden death and its aftermath, that only seemed to escalate in the first few weeks.

  Her mind was mainly on the baby rabbits, and Jessica’s promised visit the next day, with a few spare thoughts for Janina, Gladwin and little Ben. Tony Newby wasn’t even on the list. ‘Well, let me give him some hay and get on with my other jobs,’ she said. Should she be offering him a mug of coffee? Somehow she thought not.

  ‘OK. I’ll be off in a minute.’

  She went back to the house, preparing herself for another bout of bunny feeding. Bunny – for the first time she made the meaningless link with the dead woman’s name. One of life’s small, silly coincidences that made you smile and wonder whether there might, after all, be some vast cosmic pattern to it all.

  With no prompting, Gladwin turned up at eleven, bouncing down the track too fast and slewing the car to a stop. ‘I absolutely should not be here,’ she panted, ‘but I couldn’t resist. After all, this is the centre of the investigation – I can swing it with my conscience, just.’

  ‘You’re the second visitor of the day,’ said Thea, and recounted the odd discovery of Tony Newby in the donkey shed.

  ‘What time was it?’

  ‘Just before nine, I suppose. I was a bit slow getting going, after being up in the night with these little scamps.’

  Gladwin went strangely still and thoughtful. ‘Seems peculiar,’ she said. ‘Do you mind if we go over there for a look?’

  ‘Of course not…but why?’

  ‘We need to find Mrs Newby’s mobile. It’s a key factor in the whole story. Of course, it’ll be in a skip or a river by now, but I suddenly got a bit of a hunch.’

  ‘You’ve been fixated on that donkey all along,’ Thea accused.

  ‘It’s not the donkey I’m thinking about,’ said the detective.

  In the shed, Gladwin began running her hands along the top beam of the walls, where there was a cobwebby ledge. Thea watched her with growing scepticism. In the corner of the area where the hay was kept, where the donkey was barred from going, a plastic bag slumped innocuously. What was in there? she found herself wondering. It looked empty, crumpled and abandoned. A blue and white sack, made of the sturdy plastic designed to keep rodents out. When full, it had apparently contained sheep nuts. She could just read the word ‘Ewe’ in black letters. ‘That wasn’t there before,’ she said.

  ‘What?’ Gl
adwin looked over her shoulder, her hand still reaching up to the ledge.

  ‘That feed bag. It wasn’t there before.’

  In one fluid leap, Gladwin pounced, dragging the bag from its corner, and shaking out the crumpled sides. Then she reached inside.

  She brought out a metal cylinder, which turned out to be a biscuit tin – one that had contained a stack of round cookies: the kind sold at Christmas by fancy food shops in Stow or Cirencester. She prised off the lid, and peered into the interior. With two fingers, she withdrew a rolled piece of paper.

  ‘It’s like a treasure hunt,’ said Thea daftly.

  ‘Listen to this,’ said Gladwin, in a small voice: ‘Dear Tony…by the time you read this I’ll be dead. You might guess the reason for it. That dreadful woman has been at me again, worse than ever, and I simply can’t take any more. I’m afraid I actually hit her earlier today – quite hard, as it happens. She’ll recover. People like her always do. But I’ve burnt my bridges now. She’ll raise hell when she comes round. So, Tony, I’m taking advantage of the snow. I’ll walk over to you, and pop this through your door. Then I’ll take some Scotch and finish myself off with hypothermia. It won’t take long. I’m rather looking forward to it. But I’m not too keen on the damage the crows might do to me, so would you be a sport and shift me home again, after the event? Leave it till nine or ten in the morning. Don’t try to save me, Tony. That would be cruel. I’ll give you a clue – start from Donk’s shed. Lucy’s dear Donk can be my last living contact. Romantic fool that I am.

  ‘Thank you, Tony, for your understanding and affection. I regret that I never responded. Damaged goods, me. Very damaged. But not in the way that vile woman said. They might believe her, though…

  ‘Goodbye, my friend. Have a good life.

  ‘George.’

  Thea said nothing, repeating the lines to herself, seeing the final scenes and her own part in them. How narrowly she had missed everything, how close she had come to saving George, and catching Tony as he moved the body.