by Ted Tayler
“Hurley’s legal counsel reckoned that back in 1841 the commissioners only had the power to create private, rather than public, rights of way,” said Don. “He said they had misinterpreted the wording of the original Act of Parliament from 1801.”
“Couldn’t they have argued that even though the decision was a technical error, the passage of time and long-established practice of using the footpath should get taken into consideration?”
“Oh, they did, but it didn’t make a scrap of difference.”
“It seems complicated to me,” said Lydia. “Isn’t it a case of ‘Not In My Back Yard’ with people like Ursula wanting her remote bungalow to stay as it had been for generations?”
“When did this kerfuffle take place, Don?” asked Gus.
“I was still working back then. Let me think. Hurley bought his place in the early 1990s. Bendick wasn’t far behind him. You need to check when it was exactly, but Hurley purchased the land within a year or two of moving into the district.”
“Before or after Ursula’s mother died?” asked Gus.
“I’m not sure,” said Don, “But Bendick made his move five years later. Everything’s gone quiet since Ursula’s murder. She’s not around to stir things up, but there’s been less talk of housing development, and that footpath is still in use. The Ramblers’ Association makes sure of that.”
“Many thanks, Don,” said Gus. “We’ll let you get on.
“You know where I am if you need me. I’ll have my torch back if you please, I’ll likely need it before you.”
“I hadn’t forgotten,” said Gus, handing it over.
Don Hillier walked up the pathway to his house. Lydia returned to the Mini.
“We’d better get back to the office,” said Gus, “Neil and Blessing will wonder what’s taken us so long.”
While Gus and Lydia were carrying out their interviews with the Arthur and Glenda Wakeley and Don Hillier, Neil Davis, and Blessing Umeh had visited the town and its library. Neil parked the car in Castle Street, and they walked around the centre for a few minutes.
“How are you settling in with Suzie Ferris’s parents?” asked Neil.
“They are very kind,” said Blessing, “I’ve not seen Suzie much yet. She wasn’t at home when I arrived on Sunday.”
“Suzie would have been in Urchfont with Gus,” said Neil.
“Did they meet about work?” asked Blessing.
“How well do you know our team members, Blessing?”
“Very little. I realise you are a close unit. Even though you’ve only worked together for a few months there a lot of moments you have shared.”
“Well, Gus has been seeing Suzie for several weeks. I’m not sure how far the relationship had progressed before she got kidnapped, but it ratcheted up several notches after that. Luke reckons you couldn’t have got a cigarette paper between them in the car on the way home from Leek Wotton.”
“That’s close, isn’t it? I don’t know what a cigarette paper is, but it sounds as though they are lovers.”
“Oh, they’re close, alright,” said Neil. “You won’t see much of Suzie at the weekend, except for when she goes riding. She stables her horse at the farm. Do you ride, Blessing?”
“No, I don’t think big animals like me. I love cats, though.”
“As for the others, you know about Luke and Nicky. They got engaged while we had a few days holiday.”
“They are lucky to live in this country,” said Blessing. “My father has views on people like Luke and Nicky that are not the same as mine. I shall have to watch every word I say when I’m with my parents. I must convince them that Nicky is a girl.”
“Your father is strict with you, I imagine?”
“My father gives the impression that he is more liberal than many of his fellow-countrymen and in some areas he is, but with me, he always wants to check that I’m mixing with the right people. He doesn’t want me to disgrace the family.”
“My parents were never strict with me,” said Neil. “I could twist my Mum around my little finger. Dad, on the other hand, was always working, so my mother raised me.”
“Your father died, didn’t he?” asked Blessing.
“Not long before Suzie got kidnapped, yes. It was a terrible time. Melody told me she was pregnant, and then everything went pear-shaped. The stress of it brought on her miscarriage. We’ve struggled to get over it, but we’re getting there now.”
“That must have been a horrid time for you both.”
“That just leaves Lydia and Alex, who gelled as soon as they met. Looking at Alex this week, he’s close to recovering from his motorcycle injuries. That accident was two years ago now. Alex was lucky to survive. This last month has been a setback, but Lydia and Alex’s family have got him through.”
“When I first met Lydia, she impressed me with the way she handled herself. She’s so confident and knowledgeable. It was her who inspired me to ask for a move south. I thought if I could work with the Crime Review Team and become as confident as Lydia, then I would make my father proud.”
“What do you make of the town of Mere?” asked Neil.
“It’s little more than a large village,” said Blessing. “The people are well-off, everyone drives a car, and there are more senior citizens than where I lived.”
“I wasn’t thinking of the demographics. What about the beauty of the place? See that sign over there?”
“The one with the arrow that’s pointing towards the Monarch’s Way. Is that a bar?”
“No, Blessing, it’s another small part of this country’s history. There’s a footpath that runs for over six-hundred miles, tracing the escape route taken by King Charles II after his defeat at the Battle of Worcester in 1651. He travelled to Bristol, then to Yeovil and across the country to Shoreham in West Sussex. After crossing the river Stour, he reached Zeals, two-and-a-half miles away. He passed through Mere on his way to Cleeve Hill.”
“It was a very winding route to take,” said Blessing.
“Everywhere he turned, King Charles found his path blocked by his enemies. It took another month after he came here before he got a boat to carry him to France and safety.”
“I have so much to learn,” said Blessing, “and I was born here.”
“They don’t teach History like they used to,” said Neil. “But I told you that story about a convoluted trip to explain what can happen on a cold case. When we heard the bare bones of this murder, Gus told us the original investigation concentrated on the burglary aspect. Now we’re visiting the library. We could have several more twists and turns before we know we’re on the right road.”
When they reached the door, Blessing pointed to an advert.
“I can’t imagine our victim being in favour of that,” she said.
“A toddler bounce and rhymes session? No, she believed it was time for quiet libraries to make a comeback. Mere is a town where the library is another facility that’s very much a community hub. It’s the modern way, I suppose.”
“I think you need to have balance in everything,” said Blessing. “If this building is to be useful to everyone in society, it needs rules to limit noise levels and the use of mobile phones and ban the consumption of food and drink. There’s a time and place.”
“Let’s limit our noise levels, seek out Monica Butterworth and ask her to find a place where we can talk freely.”
Several heads turned as they entered. Neil had no idea whether this was a good crowd or not. A white-haired lady approached them wearing a quizzical expression.
“Are you lost, dears?” she asked.
Neil thought that was rich. Her accent came from north of the borders. How did she get here in the depths of the Wiltshire countryside?
“My name is Detective Sergeant Davis. My colleague is Detective Constable Umeh. We’re with the Crime Review Team from Wiltshire Police. I’m sure you remember the murder of your colleague five years ago. We’re taking a fresh look for Ursula Wakeley’s killer.”
“Oh, my word, what do you want to know?”
“Can we go somewhere we won’t disturb your customers?”
“There’s a room at the back, dear. We won’t disturb anyone there.”
Neil and Blessing followed Monica Butterworth to a glorified storeroom at the back of the building.
“It’s not ideal,” she said, “but we’re outgrowing the space available. People value libraries; they’re an asset to communities. A calm, neutral space where anyone can access information for work or leisure.”
“I thought fewer people used libraries than in the past,” said Blessing. “So much is available online these days.”
“Despite that, a third of the adult population visits a library every year. That’s worth protecting. We’re not just for the printed word; our telecentre is next door.”
“What’s that when it’s at home?” asked Neil, looking puzzled.
“A room filled with computer equipment, usually in rural areas,” said Blessing, “for the shared use of the local population.”
“When was that installed?” asked Neil.
“In the early Nineties,” replied Monica, “we’ve had several upgrades since, although our wi-fi signal can be troublesome. Download speeds are too slow for many of our more ardent members.”
“How did Ursula Wakeley respond to the significant changes she found when she returned to work?” asked Neil.
“Detective, it devastated us to hear of Ursula’s death, but she could be a trial at times.”
Neil realised that this would not be a straightforward conversation.
“When did you start work here, Mrs Butterworth,” asked Blessing.
“Monday, the first of August, in 1988,” Monica replied. “Ursula came here within an hour of the library opening that morning. She came every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning. I longed for Tuesday and Thursday to arrive. I only worked one Saturday in four, but Ursula never missed a Saturday afternoon until the day she died. She still visited three times in the week and on Saturday afternoon, after she stopped working here in 2010.”
“What was she like as a colleague?” asked Neil.
“Ursula was particular about behaviour. She believed that children should be seen and not heard. Ursula wanted the library to turn the clock back forty years to the sterile environment that existed here when she left school. There were things at which she excelled. Ursula knew where every book was, and when it was out on loan, she could tell someone exactly when it should return. We have systems to do that for us. It’s unnecessary to carry such detail in your head. But Ursula didn’t change her ways. We only needed to have one mistake where the digital record was wrong because of a clerical error, and I could hear the ‘tut’ from the other side of the library. It would never have happened in my day; she used to say.”
“What possessed you to take her back after her mother died?” asked Neil.
“Ursula would continue coming here whatever we did. When a member of staff left to have a baby and decided not to return to work, we thought it was a case of better the devil you know. Ursula knew her stuff; there was little need for a tuition period.”
“Surely, Ursula wasn’t in favour of computers in the library?” asked Blessing.
Monica Butterworth giggled. It caught Neil by surprise. The Scottish lady in front of him was seventy if she was a day, but the giggle made her sound like a sixteen-year-old schoolgirl.
“I thought we’d have the devil of a job with her,” she said, “but I found her next door on many an occasion.”
“There was nothing in the files we received to suggest Ursula ever attended any computer courses,” said Neil, “was she self-taught?”
“I don’t know, and what was it to do with me? She handled a different section of the library and left the younger staff members to answer any computer queries people might have had.”
“How did Ursula get on with the wide age-range of users you get here?” asked Neil.
Monica Butterworth sat back in her chair. Neil had seen this look before.
Monica was debating whether to reveal something damaging concerning Ursula. He’d often experienced witnesses battling with their conscience.
“It’s always best, to tell the truth,” said Blessing. “We’ll find out in the end.”
Blimey, thought Neil. She’s a quick learner. Well played, Blessing.
Monica came to a decision. She stood up and went to a cupboard.
“I put this away as soon as we heard the news of her death,” she said. “Perhaps I should have told the police back then, but what happened to Ursula was awful. I thought it would be cruel to add this into the mix.”
Neil and Blessing stared at the steel ruler Monica laid on the table.
“This belonged to Ursula?” asked Neil.
“It did when she first worked here. She had a habit of rapping the knuckles of people she caught doing something which in her eyes was inexcusable.”
“How did she get away with it? You can’t do that now,” said Blessing.
“Her managers challenged her, of course, but she shrugged her shoulders and said that just because they permitted unacceptable behaviour, it didn’t mean that she should. We told her things had altered drastically in that regard when she returned to work. No wonder that standards have dropped, Ursula would say. She said that discipline didn’t do her any harm. Spare the rod and spoil the child.”
“How did it work out then, when Ursula came back?” asked Neil.
“Ursula carried the ruler with her if children were getting restless and the noise levels rose. If it continued, she hit the table beside the prime culprit—just one sharp whack. After the first couple of occasions, the message sunk in. Either the kids stopped coming in when Ursula was working, or they toed the line. We thought because she was a spinster, she wasn’t used to being around children, so we kept her out of their way wherever possible. In the afternoons, there were fresh problems. We get the unemployed who drift indoors to keep warm during the winter. They’ve been in town for a lunchtime drink or two. If Ursula caught them nodding off, she’d smack the table to wake them up and tell them they should get home to their beds. The library was a place of learning, not a doss house.”
“Did Ursula threaten other adults?” asked Blessing.
“There was one occasion,” said Monica, who looked uncomfortable. “Ursula was patrolling a quiet corner where a man was reading a book. I imagine it was, shall we say, stimulating? She caught him masturbating and used the steel ruler. From the noise he made, it wasn’t his knuckles she struck. We never received a complaint that time though.”
“Any more instances you can recall?” asked Neil.
“The teenagers got the most attention,” said Monica, “both in the main reading area and in the computer room. We discourage mobile phone use, but kids today can’t function without them. It wasn’t an issue when Ursula started back with us in 1996, but as time went on, there were more and more kids with phones. It was only a matter of time before Ursula lost her temper with someone.”
“Anyone in particular?” asked Blessing.
Monica gave a wry smile.
“Anyone between the age of thirteen and eighteen. Ursula wasn’t fussy. Her tongue-lashings were legendary. I lost count of the children who suffered.”
“Were there many complaints?” asked Neil. “Did any parents come here looking for blood?”
“Can you remember when you were that age, Detective Davis? Did you run home and tell your parents someone told you off for doing something wrong? Even if it wasn’t against the law, it was liable to ruin the enjoyment of others who visited the library?”
“I can imagine the older teenagers gave as good as they got,” said Neil. “Did anyone threaten Ursula?”
“You must remember that we cover opening hours in shifts, Detective. I couldn’t be here all day, every day. I heard that there were stand-up rows with youngsters and the language was colourful. People can be cruel. Ursula got called name
s because she wasn’t married, didn’t have children, and lived alone. She got called a dried-up, lonely old witch at least once a week, and that was one of the less cutting comments. You need to talk to more people in town if you want to understand Ursula better. She had plenty to say about everyone she met, and often it wasn’t complimentary.”
“Is it fair to say you didn’t like her?” asked Blessing.
“I got on with Ursula as well as anyone could in the circumstances,” said Monica. “I appreciated that her life had been tough. She was a highly intelligent woman, her knowledge of certain writers was greater than mine, and we had lively discussions that I enjoyed. If only her parents had allowed her to blossom, Ursula would have made a wonderful English teacher. It was her religious upbringing that made her difficult to like. As soon as someone did something she disapproved of out came a passage from the Bible. You know how cruel and hurtful those Old Testament prophets were.”
Neil struggled to remember the names of any he read when he was at school.
Blessing held her tongue.
“What information do people need to provide when they join the library?” asked Neil.
“We have names and addresses for everyone who has a library card,” said Monica. “If people want us to advise them when a book they’ve ordered is available, we can use a phone number or email to contact them if they provide it. We don’t use the data they supply for any other purpose if that’s what you’re asking.”
“So, could I use the library without a card?” asked Neil.
“You can sign in as a day visitor,” said Monica. “No matter what you access, whether it’s a book you borrow or something you download online, that information is sacrosanct. No library ever reveals that information.”
“I wasn’t concerned with what people read,” said Neil. “I wondered whether Ursula’s killer sat in the library, or next door in the computer room and something happened that led to her murder.”
“Surely not?” said Monica. “Ursula was an awkward customer who upset people, but even the youngsters she chastised wouldn’t want to kill her.”
“Who else should we interview?” asked Blessing.
