by Rebecca Tope
‘But why?’ Thea burst out. ‘If she killed him – and I still don’t see how she’d have the strength, or how she’d get in and out of his house unseen – what was her reason?’
‘I’ve said enough.’ Gussie squared her shoulders, and hefted the bulging shopping bag on her arm. ‘There are still a few ewes to lamb, and they always get into trouble if I turn my back, stupid things.’
‘Just a minute,’ Jessica stopped her. ‘Can I ask you something? Is it true that Mrs Gardner helps with the lambing, even now, at her age?’
Gussie snorted again. ‘She’d like to, I know that. I can’t understand the way some people find the messy business of birth so fascinating. But yes, if she can talk someone into letting her into the lambing shed, and if she can escape Yvette’s eagle eye, she’ll be there, even now. And she’s good. You hear men talking about needing strength to haul the wretched creatures out – but that’s rubbish. All you need is a feel for the right angle, and the nerve to follow it through. Men are much more likely to panic and gum up the whole works. I once saw Gladys deliver a perfectly enormous lamb, just using the tips of her fingers, pushing the skin back over its head, letting the mother do all the work. It was extraordinary. We couldn’t believe it afterwards.’
‘Yuk!’ said Jessica faintly.
‘Well, you did ask,’ said Gussie, and trotted off down the hill towards the Post Office.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Thea and Jessica strolled the short distance along the High Street and past The Crown, in no rush to get back to the house. Hepzie had been left alone – something that Thea always hated doing. ‘She yaps when I’m not there,’ she said. ‘Why is everywhere in this country so anti-dog? In a normal society, I could take her with me anywhere I went.’
‘Hygiene, I guess,’ said Jessica. ‘Animals carry germs, or so everybody thinks.’
Thea sighed. ‘Why does everything make me feel so old?’
‘Not old, just middle-aged,’ Jessica assured her. ‘By Granny’s standards, you’re not even halfway yet.’
‘Well I’m going to have to emigrate, rather than spend another fifty years in a country where I feel so alienated. All of a sudden I feel out of step with just about everybody.’
‘It’s probably only temporary,’ Jessica comforted her. ‘You need a fix of history, or nature study or something. We could go for a bit of a ramble this afternoon if you like.’
Thea frowned. ‘I can’t leave Granny for long,’ she worried.
‘Oh, forget her for a bit. She’s obviously managing perfectly well.’
‘I’m not sure managing is quite the word. I’m beginning to think I’m being paid to make sure she doesn’t kill anybody – and I failed in that on the first day.’
‘Don’t joke about it,’ Jessica turned serious on an instant. ‘That woman was right, you know. If the police think it was Granny who killed Julian, they’ll be in a right old panic, wondering what to do about it. Not just because she’s old, but because her mind doesn’t work properly. It’d be a nightmare trying to figure out what to do with her. Worse than if it was a child who’d done it, and that’s bad enough.’
‘She didn’t do it. Of course she didn’t.’ Thea became serious in her turn. ‘The idea is ridiculous. I’d be more inclined to suspect that grandson, if I had to finger somebody.’
‘What, nice Nick? Surely not.’
‘Was he nice? I thought you didn’t like him.’
‘He was annoying, I admit. But we were both nasty to him.’
‘We were in a state.’
Jessica nodded. ‘That’s true.’
‘But I’m not sure he’s nice. He didn’t seem very upset about his grandad being slaughtered. And where is he now? Why isn’t he arranging the funeral and all that stuff?’
‘He probably is. He doesn’t have to be here on the spot to do all that. And it’s a bit soon to start clearing the house.’
‘You’re right, of course. Well, here we are then. And I forgot to set the burglar alarm again. It always seems such a nuisance.’
‘Can you still remember the number?’
‘Barely. They wouldn’t let me write it down. What would Granny do if it went off, do you think?’
‘Oh!’ Jessica exclaimed suddenly. ‘I wanted to look round the church. That woman made me forget all about it. Should I go back now, do you think?’
Thea shrugged. ‘Why bother? Since when were you interested in churches?’ She could hear the sudden escalation of yaps from her dog, who had heard them on the doorstep. ‘I don’t expect dogs are allowed in there, either,’ she added. ‘You go if you like, but I’m not coming. If there’s anything amazing, let me know and I’ll pop over later on.’
Jessica seemed to be in two minds about whether or not to go. ‘I don’t know why I think I’m interested,’ she said. ‘Why do people persist in looking around churches when they have no interest in religion?’
‘Lots of reasons,’ said Thea, inattentively. She was feeling agitated, impatient with her daughter’s vacillations.
‘Like what?’
Thea drew breath, and burst out with a list she would have thought was obvious. ‘For one, it’s likely to be the oldest building in town. For another, there’s some sort of appeal about the atmosphere of a church. Makes you go quiet and thoughtful. For another, they sometimes have very beautiful artwork – carving, painting, glass, whatever. Aesthetically pleasing. Is that enough for you?’
‘I’m not going,’ Jessica decided.
‘What a waste of breath, then,’ Thea snapped.
The exchange had taken place through the opening of the front door, the delighted greeting from the dog, the automatic scanning of the hallway for anything unusual or disarrayed. All seemed undisturbed, and they went into the living room with little sense of purpose.
‘Now what?’ asked Jessica. ‘I expect you to entertain me, you know.’
As a joke it misfired badly.
‘Well, you’re going to be disappointed, then. It’s all I can do to entertain myself. I had hoped you’d provide me with some distraction.’
‘What’s the problem, Mum?’ Jessica had plainly had enough. ‘You’re very bad tempered all of a sudden.’
Thea sighed, sinking into one of the big armchairs. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. It must be that Gussie woman. Does everybody really think Granny killed Julian? Don’t they see how bizarre that is? I’m convinced she wouldn’t have had the strength, for one thing.’
‘It does fit, though,’ said Jessica gently.
‘No better than the theory that he disturbed a burglar. Or that Fat Thomas did it in a final irresistible burst of jealousy. Or Nice Nick, wanting his inheritance. Granny was Julian’s friend. Nobody’s said anything to suggest she wanted him dead.’
Jessica seemed to grow in maturity as Thea watched. ‘Perhaps it was a pact of some sort between them. Perhaps he wanted to die and she was the only person who’d do it for him.’
‘You mean she just held the knife and he threw himself onto it, backwards?’ Thea’s brow wrinkled sceptically. ‘I think even Granny would remember if that happened.’
‘Who says she doesn’t remember?’ Jessica stared into the fireplace. ‘We haven’t done anything about psychology on the course, but I did it at A-level, remember. I’ve read all sorts of books about the way the mind works. People are incredibly good at burying nasty facts, denying them even to themselves. It’s a defence mechanism.’
‘Yes, yes.’ Thea was impatient. ‘I know all that. Even so – it flies in the face of reason and logic and ordinary common sense to accuse such an old woman of murder.’
Jessica sighed. ‘That’s the trouble, isn’t it. Nobody’s going to accuse her, unless there’s overwhelming evidence. The police can be very sensitive to ridicule. You can see it now, can’t you – the news footage. Even if they used WPCs, gently ushering her into the back of a car, it would still look bad.’
‘Assuming she’d go gently. I bet she’d kick and scream and have t
o be carried.’
‘See what I mean,’ said Jessica.
The afternoon grew increasingly cloudy, with drizzle setting in by teatime. The view from the house shrank to that of the neighbouring houses and no further. Thea switched on the main light in the living room. ‘Dear Diary,’ she intoned, ‘This is Day Four in Blockley and already it feels like home. Thea and Jessica have made friends with several local people and have solved the vicious murder of a harmless old man. Hepzibah grows fat on the sofa. In India, Yvette and Ron have enjoyed their first elephant ride, and Ron’s stomach is expressing its outrage at the food.’
‘You don’t know that,’ giggled Jessica.
‘Yes I do. You haven’t seen him. Besides, all English men react badly to foreign food. It’s a universal truth.’
‘And we haven’t solved the murder, either,’ Jessica pointed out.
‘So we haven’t. It was nothing but wishful thinking. Let’s go and look at the silk mills.’
‘Do we have to? We’re sure to bump into one of your new friends.’
‘That was rather the idea.’
‘No need, look.’ Jessica pointed to the window, where a man was peering in at them. ‘I think we’ve got a visitor.’
It was James Osborne, Thea’s brother-in-law and Jessica’s uncle. He was dressed in a denim outfit that looked much too young for him. Thea still thought of him wearing police uniform, despite it being twelve years or more since he’d moved to CID and ceased to wear the crisp garments of his office.
James had a big heavy head, set squarely on wide shoulders. His colouring tended towards ginger, but he did not have the thin pale skin that often went with that. As he came in and enfolded Jessica in a hug, it was obvious that they were related. ‘You two have got the same neck,’ Thea said suddenly. ‘I never noticed that before.’
Hepzie had once adored James, flinging herself unwelcomely at his legs whenever she saw him. But now she gave him a far more restrained greeting, which he barely even acknowledged. James was not a dog person.
Phil Hollis, however, was. Thea found herself almost resenting the arrival of the wrong detective. James was a poor substitute, as far as she was concerned. Hepzie’s lukewarm response eerily echoed her own.
‘And what can we do for you?’ she asked primly.
‘Cup of tea?’ he said, with a smile she perceived as ingratiating. ‘And some cake would be nice.’
‘Sorry – cake’s off today. There might be a packet of biscuits, though.’
As she went into the kitchen, Thea was in no doubt that she was not the main object of the visit. James had come to the aid of his suffering niece, having heard all about her difficulties the previous week. The killing of Julian Jolly was secondary to the need to assuage the girl’s jangled confidence.
‘I’ll go and walk the dog for a bit,’ she announced five minutes later. ‘You two can have a good debriefing session without me. I’ll stroll down to the shop and get some more provisions.’
‘They sell cake at the place where we had lunch,’ Jessica pointed out. ‘You could bring some back with you.’
Thea nodded, thinking she had intended to stay out for an hour or so, in the hope that James would have gone by then.
She thought about this as she walked along the High Street with the spaniel pulling ahead. What was going on, that she felt so hostile towards the man who had been a pillar when her husband had died, a warm rock against which she had often beaten herself in her grief.
That, she suspected, might be part of the answer. James was forever associated with the first black weeks of her loss, and now she was recovering and attempting to construct a new relationship, he took her back to that dark place that she never wanted to experience again. Plus, he was Carl’s brother. However much he might wish her well and approve of Phil, there were bound to be reservations. In any case, Thea wasn’t sure that he did approve. She had never directly asked him, and he had been careful not to pass judgement, but she was not easy about it.
So she left him to her daughter. They were good for each other, and always had been. James and Rosie never had any children of their own, thanks to a defect in Rosie’s back which was currently getting worse. The once brave and serene woman had grown taut with the pain in recent months, the fear for her own future clear in her eyes. It was tragic, everybody agreed. The condition did not respond to treatment, and was never going to. The increasing levels of analgesia were affecting her mind, and she was visibly retreating into her own tiny world. James carried this burden valiantly, as people carried their brain-damaged children or their impossible runs of bad fortune, but it was changing him, too. Jessica alone seemed immune to the aura around him. She remembered the loving laughing uncle of her childhood and could still find him beneath the distraction of his martyrdom.
There was no sense of resentment that Jessica was pouring out her professional problems to her uncle. Rather it came as a relief to Thea that there was someone who would know what to say. All she could think of was platitudes about being new to the work and Jessica probably over-reacting. Speaking from a position of ignorance, she was quite likely to make the whole thing worse. All she had been able to do was offer some diversion, and since that took the form of another police investigation – at least to a large extent – she wasn’t confident that it was going to work.
The killing of Julian Jolly was a very peculiar business, she concluded, as she walked down through a curving row of modern houses towards the large converted silk mill at the bottom of the hill. Although the police presence was muted, most of the neighbouring residents must surely have been questioned, and yet there was no sense of a community stirred up by a crisis in their midst. No gatherings on street corners or inquisitive peerings through Julian’s front window. Nobody had accosted Thea or Jessica to demand details of Julian’s discovery. Perhaps the Gussie woman had got it right – that everyone believed Granny Gardner to be the killer, and were all too shocked or embarrassed or sensitive to make a major issue of it. Perhaps Julian had been universally disliked and the prevailing feeling was one of relief.
Or perhaps – and this seemed by far the most likely explanation to Thea – they were all too busy rushing off to their city jobs to worry about a dead old man. Even those who were retired seemed to have very full lives, to judge from the quantity of notices pinned to wooden doors all around the town. Clubs, talks, quizzes, outings – it would be a full-time job to keep up with it all. And then there were all the other obligations – to keep the garden tidy, and to monitor the intriguing details of the lives of celebrities such as Icarus Whatsisname. Both more compelling than a quiet little murder.
The silk mill that confronted Thea was an enormous edifice, rising to three storeys at the front, and four at the back. At least, the ground floor was invisible from the front. Rows and rows of identical windows looked out onto neat gardens, with spiral fire escapes attached to the façade, and she found herself wondering what kind of person would move into a sub-division of such a building. How many rooms did each resident have, and was there a waiting list to live there? Feeling like an intruder, she let the dog tow her down the road to the back of the building, where it was easier to imagine it as a working factory. In deep shadow from another large block beyond it, there was a row of doors, and not a flicker of life. She found herself thinking about the silk that had come from the place, earning fortunes for the mill owners and clothing the upper classes. And now, rather like the villages of Upton and Ditchford, it was all abandoned and forgotten.
The old ways were lost almost without trace. Only in the uncompromising hulk of the building’s shell could the history be discerned, just as the lost villages were betrayed by the bumps and troughs in the land.
The connection with Julian was obvious. His death might not be making many ripples on the surface, but somebody somewhere had murdered him, and Thea knew quite well that any sudden death brought rifts and ructions that lasted down the decades, however hard everyone tried to forget.
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br /> But still she found it hard to care. A man she had never met, in a small town she might never visit again after next week – why should she bother about it when nobody else seemed to? Because Jessica was with her, came the answer. Jessica the police probationer who needed her principles reinforced, to judge by the things she had said during their walk to the Upton remains. Jessica had to know that every crime was important, that even a small matter of cheating undermined something vital about society. Carl’s voice rang in Thea’s ears, his rigorous ethics sometimes tedious or irritating, but always appreciated, deep down. Never particularly sociable herself, Thea nonetheless understood the fragility of human institutions and the disastrous consequences of social breakdown.
She began to walk back up the curving hill towards the centre of town. Hepzie still pulled ahead, as she always did when on the lead. Thea often found herself wishing she had a labrador, or some other obedient breed that hung back against your leg and would never dream of breaking the rhythm of your footsteps. But Hepzie was charming and endearing in most ways. What was one small defect set against all that, Thea thought fondly.
The sound of a throaty car engine caught her attention, as it came up the hill behind her in low gear. Cautiously, she pulled the dog closer, despite their being on a perfectly safe pavement. Where, she wondered, had it come from? Where, in fact, did the silk mill people keep their cars? Presumably a section of the building had been allocated to cars, but she had not noticed any garages.
The car drew level with her, and slowed to a standstill. ‘Hiya, spaniel lady,’ came a familiar voice. ‘You doing OK? And the Granny? Still feisty and funny with her wits?’
He was almost shouting to compete with the rumble of the over-powerful engine. Thea just nodded and flapped her hand in a semi-wave. Then she noticed another familiar face in the passenger seat, as its owner leant towards Icarus Binns and said something to him.
