The Wounded Thorn

by Fay Sampson

  ‘I have to confess, I’m feeling a bit uneasy. We don’t know why Amina died, but it’s a reasonable guess that she found out something which would identify the High Street bomber.’

  ‘But we know who it is now. Rupert Honeydew. And the police have got him behind bars, or at least in the interview room. For a minimum of twenty-four hours.’

  ‘But he may not be working alone,’ Veronica objected. ‘Think of all those people who follow him in his dances. From what Mel said, he has this power over them. I can believe it. Those eyes. They frightened me, but I imagine he can switch on the charm too. I keep remembering all that crew who were dancing in the streets at midnight. Especially the men in animal masks. There’s something scary about masks. Like the Venice carnival. It makes people feel they have a licence to behave transgressively because no one knows who they are.’

  ‘It’s the same in school,’ Hilary commented. ‘Kids can look really startled when you call them by name. If you don’t know who they are, they think they can get away with murder … Sorry!’

  ‘That’s exactly what I mean. And if they take those masks off, we’ve no idea who they are. They could come up to us and we’d never know we were in danger.’

  ‘Why should we be?’

  ‘You said yourself, DI Fellows still believes we have something more we could tell him. Something which could identify the murderer.’

  ‘You’re not making me feel any better about today.’

  ‘I’m just being realistic.’

  They crossed the market place.

  ‘It looks as if they’ve opened up the abbey again,’ Hilary said, looking down the street at the people going in and out of the gateway.

  ‘I dare say Sonia Marsden will be relieved.’

  Their hotel was only a short distance ahead. For a moment, Hilary thought of turning aside and paying another visit to the abbey. It might be better than sitting aimlessly in one of the hotel rooms. Then she thought of being shown Amina’s shrouded body in the Galilee and changed her mind.

  Glastonbury Abbey had suffered violence, fire and murder before now. She must believe that it would emerge, serene and holy, after this.

  They entered the hotel’s wide lobby and were heading for the stairs when a figure shot out of the lounge bar alongside them. A young woman with a swinging curtain of fair hair.

  ‘There you are, Mum! Where have you been?’

  Veronica turned with a startled gasp.

  ‘Morag! Whatever are you doing here?’

  ‘What am I doing here? That’s rich! You were supposed to be out of Glastonbury today, and what is it?’ She pointed to the clock over the reception desk. ‘Four o’clock!’

  ‘Keep your voice down, dear. You’re making a spectacle of us. Why don’t we just sit down in the bar? Would you like some tea?’

  ‘I’ve drunk enough tea to launch Noah’s Ark. I’d love something stronger, but I’ve got to drive back to London tonight.’

  Morag flung herself down on one of the settees. Hilary hesitated, then joined her. Veronica looked as if she could do with some support.

  ‘What brought you racing down here?’ she asked kindly. ‘The bomb was two days ago.’

  ‘And now I get this phone call from Mum telling me you’ve found another dead body. You two have got yourselves into this up to your necks. I made her promise you’d leave Glastonbury today. This morning. But I know what she’s like. Just because she doesn’t argue with me doesn’t mean she’s going to do what I say.’

  ‘Morag,’ said Veronica mildly, ‘I thought I was the parent.’

  ‘Then start acting responsibly for once. Anyway, round about lunch time I got this really bad feeling. So I rang this hotel. I asked if you’d checked out, and of course they said you hadn’t. I mean, Mum, really! So I phoned the others, and Bob’s in Spain, and Cathy hasn’t got wheels, so I’m the one who has to jump into the car and dash down here to sort things out. It’s not fair!’ She drew a shuddering gasp and collapsed into tears.

  Hilary placed a hand on her shoulder. ‘There! I think you need something a lot stronger than tea. It’s the weekend tomorrow, so you can stay the night. We’ll pay. And we really are leaving tomorrow.’

  ‘I know you think we’re being irresponsible,’ Veronica explained. ‘But there’s this rather nice Detective Inspector in charge of the Chalice Well bomb case and now Amina Haddad’s murder. Believe it or not, we really have been able to help him. He asked if we’d mind staying around a little longer.’ She held up her hand as Morag started to protest. ‘And if it makes you feel any better, the prime suspect for the Chalice Well bomb, and probably the High Street one too, is under arrest. And, if I say it myself, Hilary and I did have something to do with that.’ She smiled at Hilary for confirmation.

  ‘Hmm,’ was all that Hilary could say. It did not address the fears they had felt, coming back along the High Street past the bomb damage and the Thorn tree in St John’s churchyard, that Rupert Honeydew had followers who were not in custody. Privately, she was beginning to agree with Morag. She would be glad to be out of this town.

  ‘I’ve also done my bit for the cause.’ Veronica smiled. ‘Journalism. Hilary doesn’t approve of this, but we’ve met this rather sad little reporter who’d like to make the big time. I don’t know if you’ve seen it, but she did get an exclusive on this strange group who were doing a healing dance, or something, in the High Street at midnight.’

  Morag sat up, the tears on her cheeks forgotten. ‘Yes, I saw that! All those animal masks, and women with wreaths of flowers in their hair looking spaced out. Right in the street where the bomb went off. Do you think it’s really black magic? You said healing. Did you give her that story?’

  ‘Oh, no. That wasn’t us. I mean, we were there …’

  ‘They passed right under our bedroom window,’ Hilary put in. ‘It was hardly a secret.’

  ‘No. But this morning …’ Veronica shot an apologetic look at Hilary. ‘I’m afraid … After we came away from seeing the arrest … Yes, that’s a long story. I’ll explain later … I phoned Joan – that’s this journalist – and told her the name of the man they’d arrested. Hilary’s cross with me, but I thought the name would get out anyway. And if Joan could get her story in first, it would be another scoop for her.’

  Morag was leaning forward, her face shining now. ‘And nobody else knows this? No member of the public, I mean. Mum, you’ve got to tell me!’

  Hilary saw the expression of shock and dismay in Veronica’s face. Had she forgotten that her own daughter was studying journalism? Of course she hadn’t. That was why she had thought Morag would sympathize with Joan. But had it really not occurred to her that Morag, too, would want a major breakthrough to add to her portfolio when she came to look for a job?

  She held her breath, willing Veronica to say nothing. She watched her friend wrestling with the dilemma.

  ‘Well, I suppose it will be in the first edition of the papers on Newsnight this evening.’

  ‘Veronica!’

  The other woman turned pleading eyes up to her. ‘How do we know the police won’t release the name themselves?’ She turned to Morag. ‘If you must know, his name is Rupert Honeydew, and he’s the local eccentric who led that dance.’

  Morag was already reaching for her phone.

  Back in their room, Hilary rounded on Veronica. ‘Why did I let you do that? First you release information to Joan that the police may have wanted to keep to themselves. Then you go and break her exclusive by telling Morag as well. She’s not going to take kindly to that.’

  ‘But what was I to do? Give a young woman I’ve only met this week precedence over my own daughter? You heard her say how hard it is for youngsters to get jobs in journalism these days. This will be one foot on the ladder for her.’

  Hilary shook her head. ‘Inspector Fellows is not going to be pleased. To say nothing of his Chief Superintendent.’

  ‘Well, it’s done now.’ Veronica sank down on to her bed and picked
up her hairbrush. ‘I wish the whole thing would just go away.’

  ‘I think we should go away,’ Hilary said. ‘We’ve done all we can. I doubt very much whether we really have anything more we can tell Fellows.’

  She hung her jacket in the wardrobe and turned to comb her hair.

  ‘At least you had the sense not to tell Morag the identity of the body at the abbey. That’s really going to be a sensation when it gets out. Islamist Found Dead in Murder Abbey, or some such nonsense.’

  She heard Veronica’s hairbrush drop to the floor.

  ‘But somebody does know, besides us. Don’t you remember? Before she left, Joan said, “Is it true that the body they found in the abbey is that Muslim girl?” How did she know that?’

  TWENTY-SIX

  With only the briefest of taps to warn them, the bedroom door was flung open. Morag burst in. She was a slender girl, but the fury with which she was bristling seemed to fill the room.

  ‘That’s it! I’ve never been made to feel such a fool in all my life!’

  Veronica rose from the bed in alarm. ‘What’s up, dear? What’s happened?’

  Morag’s eyes glittered with angry tears. ‘You! Your supposedly exclusive information. I rang the Mail to tell them I’d got a big story. The identity of the Glastonbury bomber. And the woman actually laughed at me! She said, “Have you looked at your phone lately? It’s all over Facebook and it’s gone viral on Twitter.”’

  She flung the offending mobile down on Veronica’s bed. The brightly lit screen, four times as large as Hilary’s, was full of messages. Hilary looked at it doubtfully, but Veronica picked it up and scrolled down through more of them.

  ‘Oh, Morag! I’m so sorry. I thought I was helping you.’

  ‘I should have known there’s no such thing as a scoop nowadays. That kind of thing went out with black-and-white television. Who needs newspapers when you can tell the whole world in five minutes on social media? All I’ve done is make an absolute idiot of myself.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Hilary with gloomy emphasis. ‘You know what that means, Veronica? Poor old Joan won’t have scooped the pack with this one, either. She was on a high this afternoon. Now it’s all going to come crashing down around her ears. Just when she really believed she was getting somewhere. At least you won’t have to face her fury for telling Morag as well.’

  ‘But she said they paid her money. Lots of it. Will she have to give it back?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think so. They knew the risk. The police could have released the name to the press at any time. For all we know, they may have done so.’

  ‘Still, she was the only one to report on that midnight dance. The really creepy one. She’s still got that.’

  ‘And why do you think that is? Why wasn’t that all over Facebook and that Twitter thing? It was hardly a secret. I’ll tell you why. Or what I think. The good people of Glastonbury know better than to get on the wrong side of Rupert Honeydew. They’ll have decided to look the other way. Safer to pass him off as a harmless eccentric.’

  ‘Like the smugglers’ song?’ Veronica suggested. ‘Watch the wall, my darling, while the gentlemen go by.’

  ‘Something like that. But not Joan. Oh, no. She has to splash the story across the national newspapers. Well, one of the tabloids, at least. Salacious stuff about black magic. And you can bet the story she’s sold about Honeydew’s arrest is going to be linked to satanic practices, or some such nonsense.’

  ‘Do we know it’s nonsense?’ Veronica asked.

  Morag’s expression of indignation had faded. She was listening with avid interest.

  ‘Black arts or not, Rupert Honeydew is a dangerous man. Joan’s a local too. But she was the one to put her head above the parapet and write about it in the national press. I’d like to think it was bravery. Putting ethical journalism above her own self-interest. But I’m very much afraid the wretched girl is so insensitive to what’s going on around her that she can’t see that, by indulging her lurid imagination to further her career, she’s walking into a whole lot of danger.’

  ‘But the dance was two nights ago. And she’s not the one who’s dead.’

  ‘You’re forgetting. It was too late to make Thursday’s paper. That’s why they printed her story today.’

  Veronica’s eyes widened. ‘Is that really true? Is it only Friday? So much has happened today, it seems a lifetime ago.’

  ‘The girl exasperates me, I admit, but I had something of a change of heart when I thought she was dead in the abbey. Now I’m wondering whether we shouldn’t warn her.’

  ‘Would the police help? Probably not. They’d say Rupert Honeydew’s in custody.’

  ‘But that hasn’t made us feel completely safe ourselves.’

  Veronica shot her a warning look, and nodded meaningfully at Morag.

  ‘Don’t mind me!’ the girl protested. ‘I’ve driven all the way from London to tell you to clear out of here. Of course I think you’re involving yourself in something dangerous. It’s what all of us have been saying all along. Ever since that bomb went off.’ She swung round on Hilary. ‘Your children too. I’ve talked to Bridget. And that wasn’t the start of it, was it? Neither of you thought fit to tell us you’d found another bomb on Monday.’

  ‘Yes, dear, we understand,’ Veronica tried to soothe her. ‘We’ve agreed to stay here today, in case Inspector Fellows needs us, but we’re definitely checking out tomorrow. Of course, if you feel uncomfortable about staying the night here …’

  ‘Mum! Don’t patronise me. I’m trying to look after you.’

  Hilary saw the expression change on Veronica’s face. It should have been Andrew who was concerned for her safety, but now it had to be her teenage children.

  ‘Let’s go down to the bar,’ she said, ‘and relax over a glass of something before dinner.’

  The television was on in the bar. Normally Hilary would have ignored it, but the three of them turned their chairs to watch the news headlines.

  ‘The police have confirmed that they are holding a local man for questioning in connection with the terrorist bomb attack in Glastonbury. They have not released the name, but he is thought to be a folklore expert. His motive for the atrocity is not clear. Meanwhile, Basil Avropoulos, a student who was badly injured in the blast, has been moved to a hospital nearer his family home in Staines. It is understood that he is no longer a suspect for the bombing.’

  ‘Thank God for that!’ Hilary exclaimed. ‘I’ve been terrified all along it was him. I know David would tell me I had to save his life, anyway, but … well, it’s a relief. As for the real suspect, they didn’t actually give the name, but they might just as well have shouted “Rupert Honeydew” across the air waves.’

  ‘Ssh!’ Veronica ordered.

  The newscaster was still reporting.

  ‘There has been a further development. The body of a young woman was found in the ruins of Glastonbury Abbey this morning. It is not known whether her death is connected in any way to this week’s bombs. The police say they are treating the death as suspicious, but have not released any further details.’

  ‘That’s what you meant!’ Morag swung round on her mother. ‘You were talking about that journalist – Joan, was it? – and you said, “She’s not the one who’s dead.” You knew about this, didn’t you? You know who it is.’

  Veronica set her lips in a prim line. ‘I can’t discuss it, I’m afraid. I’ve already told you more than I should. But Rupert Honeydew is a very public character. This one … isn’t. I’m sorry, Morag.’

  The journalism undergraduate glared at her mother. ‘Does Joan know who she is?’

  Veronica hesitated. ‘I don’t know how she could do, but she said something that makes me believe she may have guessed.’

  Morag’s fork hovered over the last bit of lemon sole on her plate. ‘This body in the abbey. The one you won’t tell me about. How did it get there? You’ve said it was found almost as soon as the abbey opened. So we’re guessing it must hav
e been there before that. Sometime between closing time last night and … when do they let people in?’

  ‘Nine a.m.’

  ‘So what was she doing there at night?’

  ‘We have no idea.’

  ‘I’m sorry we can’t identify her for you,’ Hilary said. ‘But we do know she was missing from her digs since Wednesday evening.’

  ‘And today’s Friday. But she can’t have been in the abbey all that time, can she? I mean, somebody was bound to notice a dead body.’

  ‘Exactly. So was she killed elsewhere, and her body planted in the abbey last night? Or did she go into the abbey grounds to meet someone after dark?’

  ‘How would she get in?’

  ‘Good question. Along Magdalene Street – that’s where the entrance is – there’s a railing and a hedge in front of the Abbot’s Kitchen. After that, it’s a stone wall, the same as it is on the other side of the grounds. Elsewhere, I fancy there are houses backing on to it. At a pinch, she might have been able to climb over the wall … if she was still alive.’

  ‘But could you heave a dead body over it?’

  ‘Difficult, but in places not impossible. It depends how strong the killer was, or how tall,’ Hilary said.

  ‘Unless,’ Veronica suggested, ‘somebody had a key to get in.’

  The three of them looked at each other in conjecture.

  Hilary sighed. ‘That opens up a whole other can of worms. Who could that be?’

  ‘You’d have to start with the abbey staff, wouldn’t you? Some of them must have keys to open up in the morning,’ Morag said.

  ‘Sonia!’ Veronica cried. ‘Sonia Marsden! I don’t know what her job is at the abbey, but she looked to be pretty senior. She might have a key.’

  ‘I began to change my mind about her this morning,’ Hilary said slowly. ‘Seeing her on her own ground, she sounded – I don’t know – intelligent, compassionate. But this means we can’t rule George Marsden out after all. I’d got him down as a loud-mouthed fool, who ranted against anybody and everybody, but who was essentially harmless. But what if he’s not? What if he got hold of the keys and drove up to the entrance at night? In the small hours of the morning, when everything was quiet, and smuggled the body in that way?’