by Faith Martin
‘Oh that. Look, it wasn’t my fault what happened to old Joe. The poor old beggar had a heart attack. It could have happened to anyone, although I’d always thought that Joe was the sort who’d go on forever, you know. A stringy, tough little ferret of a man, he was the sort you thought would live to be a hundred and still bike to work. So no one was more surprised than me when he died the way he did. And contrary to what Sylvia said, we weren’t overworking him or asking him to do the heavy stuff.’
‘When he died he was haymaking, wasn’t he?’
‘Sitting in a baler, yes,’ Randy Gibson snapped. ‘We don’t use pitchforks and shire horses anymore, you know. And the baler was air-conditioned, and had bloody good suspension. The cost of farm machinery nowadays, he might as well have been sitting in the cockpit of a luxury jet!’
‘But Sylvia didn’t let it go, did she?’
Randy Gibson turned and glowered at the ewe. The ewe, perhaps not surprisingly, limped over to one corner and turned her back on them all.
The farmer waved a hand vaguely in the air. ‘Oh, I took no notice of her. And it wasn’t as if anybody else took her seriously, either. And no, I didn’t visit her that day. And no, I didn’t hit the old lady over the head. All right?’
Hillary sighed. He was probably telling the truth. In fact, she was only going through the motions and she knew it. She now had a good idea who had killed Sylvia Perkins and why: she was just putting off the inevitable. Time, she thought, to get on with it.
‘All right, Mr Gibson, thank you for your time,’ she said, and nodding to Wendy, turned and headed for the barn door.
Randy Gibson watched them leave, in silence, but couldn’t quite manage to keep it up. ‘Were you serious? About my Van thinking I killed the old bird?’
‘Oh yes,’ Hillary called over her shoulder. ‘You really should put her mind at rest, Mr Gibson. You can tell her, if you like, that we’ll soon be making an arrest in the case, and that we won’t be calling on you with the handcuffs.’
Beside her, Wendy trod in something black and slippery because she wasn’t looking where she was going and said something distinctly unladylike under her breath.
Back in the car, Hillary watched, highly amused, as Wendy very fastidiously tried to rub her boots clean on the grass verge before slipping in behind the Mini’s wheel.
‘Guv, were you serious? About making an arrest soon?’ she squeaked.
‘You think I was bluffing?’ Hillary asked, punching in buttons on her mobile phone.
‘What? No,’ Wendy said, then repeated more thoughtfully, ‘No, I don’t think that. But … who are we going to arrest?’
Hillary held up one finger as the phone was answered. ‘Hello. Yes, can you put me through to Dr Partridge please,’ Hillary said.
Wendy knew that Dr Steven Partridge was one of the pathologists called in by the police and that he and Hillary had worked together on many of her previous cases, when she’d still been a full DI.
And her heart began to race.
Bloody hell, the case really was breaking! But what had she missed? She’d read every word in the murder book, and so presumably, knew everything that Hillary did. So what had she not seen? She quickly ran the list of suspects and witnesses through her mind, but couldn’t begin to guess which one was in the frame.
Her only consolation was that she was pretty sure that the Boy Wonder didn’t know either. He was probably back at the office right now, totally out of the loop and not realizing what was going on out here.
‘Hello, Doc. Long time no see.’ Hillary smiled at something the pathologist said, then laughed. ‘Good grief, no. I just wanted to pick your brains on a medical issue. Don’t worry, it’s nothing I’ll ask you to back up in a court of law. I just need some basic information.’
But even after listening to Hillary Greene’s end of the conversation, Wendy still had no idea which way the wind was blowing.
‘OK. Got it. And would something like that affect a person’s personality?’ Hillary was asking now. And Wendy’s mind raced.
This was sounding more and more as if there was some sort of psychological aspect to the case, but Partridge wasn’t a shrink. Then she wondered which one of their suspects had come across as the most crazy. Robbie Grant was surely a budding sociopath in the making, wasn’t he?
Or maybe she’d spotted something off in one of Sylvia’s daughters?
‘OK. Yes, that’s pretty much what I thought. Yes, OK. No, don’t worry, like I said, I’m not going to put you up as an expert witness. I’m just about to break a case, and I wanted a bit of ammo to work with,’ Hillary said now. ‘Thanks a lot, Doc. I owe you a drink sometime.’
She listened, laughed, then hung up.
‘So, guv, who is it?’ Wendy asked eagerly.
‘Who do you think?’ Hillary asked, reaching for her seat belt.
‘Guv!’ Wendy wailed.
Hillary Greene smiled. ‘Drive to Freda’s place,’ she said quietly. ‘We’re going to tell her exactly what we’ve just told Randy Gibson.’
Wendy blinked, but automatically turned the ignition. ‘And what’s that, guv?’
‘That we’re about to make an arrest in the Sylvia Perkins case, of course. I dare say Vanessa Gibson will have spread the word before the day is out, but Freda might take the rumour with a pinch of salt. But if she’s got it straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak, she won’t be able to ignore it.’
Wendy pulled away and drove towards the artist’s cottage. ‘So she did it? She’s the killer?’ she asked.
‘What do you think?’ Hillary could not help but tease.
‘Guv!’
CHAPTER TWELVE
Freda de la Mare had probably been upstairs painting when they rang her doorbell, for they could distinctly hear her coming down the stairs as they stood in front of the door. When she opened it to them, she had on an outsized dress that was paint smeared and obviously stood in for an artist’s smock.
‘Oh, hello. Come on in,’ she offered.
Hillary surprised the other two women by shaking her head. ‘No need, Freda. We’ve just come to tell you that we’ll soon be making an arrest in the Sylvia Perkins case. We’ve just finished talking to Randy Gibson, and I’m about to phone my superiors to ask them to get an arrest warrant. I just thought, since you were such a close friend of Sylvia’s, that you’d like to know. I would appreciate it, though, if you didn’t tell anyone just yet. We need some time to apprise the family members, and cross the Ts and dot the Is – that kind of thing.’
Freda de la Mare held on tightly to the doorframe and stared at her. ‘Oh. OK,’ she said uncertainly.
Hillary smiled and nodded, and then turned and walked back to the car. Beside her, Wendy was nearly doing a hop, skip and a jump in her excitement and bewilderment. But she knew better than to show her confusion when there was a witness or suspect watching; Hillary’s training was beginning to show dividends.
Once in the car however, she was about to erupt, when Hillary again forestalled her by holding up a warning finger to be quiet. She got out her mobile.
‘Sir, it’s me,’ Hillary said. Back in HQ, Steven Crayle sat up a shade straighter in his chair. Hillary only called him ‘Sir’ when she meant business. He glanced up and looked across at Rollo Sale at his temporary desk and beckoned him over.
‘Just a moment, Hillary, Superintendent Sale is with me. I’m going to put you on speakerphone. OK, go on.’
‘Sir, I hope to be bringing in a suspect in the Sylvia Perkins case very soon. I want you to be ready to interview and arrest Freda de la Mare. Can you obtain a warrant, in the first case for attempting to pervert the course of justice? The CPS might also want to add aiding and abetting, or accessory after the fact as well, I’m not sure yet. It will depend on how things go in interview. But I’m not really expecting too much trouble, to be honest.’
‘OK,’ Steven said, jotting down notes. ‘I know just the judge. With a bit of luck I’ll have it within the h
our. Do you need me to come out and make the arrest?’
‘I don’t know yet, sir. I’ve just lit a fuse which, I think, may very well do most of our job for us. I just need a little time to see how it pans out.’
‘You have Jake with you?’ Steven asked abruptly. ‘You’re in Caulcott I take it?’
‘Yes, sir, and I have Wendy with me.’
‘I’d be happier if I could send out Jimmy to back you up,’ Steven said.
‘Sir, Freda de la Mare is an old lady,’ Hillary said gently. ‘I’m pretty sure that Wendy and I are the best ones to see this through.’
Steven didn’t need much time to see the sense in that. Not only was she probably not much of a threat, but the police service also had a duty of care to the people in their custody. Going in mob-handed and causing a frightened old woman to have a heart attack would have the PR department pulling out their hair.
‘All right. But I want to be kept apprised of developments.’
‘Yes, sir. It may take Ms de la Mare a little time to ponder her options, but either way, we’ll be bringing her in some time within the next few hours.’
‘OK. I’ll speak to you soon.’
He hung up and glanced across at the man who would soon be replacing him, and raised a dark brow. ‘Well, she’s had the case less than a week.’
‘She clearly didn’t want to say much over the phone,’ Rollo Sale said thoughtfully. ‘I can’t say as I blame her. What with journalists hacking phones, and so many electronic listening devices out there, it’s a wonder we’re able to keep anything under our hats for long.’
Steven nodded. ‘I’ll get going on the warrants.’ He picked up the phone. ‘Do you want me to sit shotgun with Hillary whilst you and the youngsters watch from the viewing room? Or do you want to take the plunge and oversee the interview yourself?’
Roland Sale thought about it for a moment, then shook his head. ‘I’ve heard a lot about Hillary’s interview technique, and I can best see it for myself as an observer. Besides, this is probably your last cold case – you’ll want to see it through to the end, right?’
Steven smiled. ‘Thanks. Perhaps you can round up Jake Barnes and tell him what’s going on – what little we know, that is, and— Yes,’ he said into the phone. ‘Can I speak to Judge Martin Combs, please….’
‘Guv, that’s her!’ Wendy hissed. They’d been sitting in her Mini for less than half an hour when Freda de la Mare came out of her front door. In her hand she had a large bunch of mixed evergreens, with several plumes of creamy-white flowers. They looked a bit like laurel flowers to Hillary, but she wouldn’t have bet money on it. The artist walked down the road just a little way, and then climbed in behind the wheel of a green hatchback and pulled away.
‘OK, Wendy. You’ve always wanted to tail someone just like they do on the telly,’ Hillary said with a small smile. ‘Here’s your chance.’
‘Wicked!’
‘Let her pull around the bend. This is a single-track road, don’t forget, so there’s only one way she can go.’
‘The pub at the end of the road, I know. But then she can turn either left or right guv,’ Wendy said urgently, revving the engine a little too hard.
‘Calm down. Put your seat belt on. OK, now, off you go. Speed limit,’ Hillary said sharply.
Less than a minute later, they could see Freda’s car up ahead, the brake lights coming on. ‘She’s indicating right, guv.’
‘I can see that. Let her pull away before speeding up. OK, off you go.’
Wendy was tense behind the wheel, but Freda de la Mare was going less than a mile or so away, to the next village along. Middleton Stoney was bisected by a busy road, and just before the set of traffic lights that filtered traffic across, Freda indicated right again, turning down a narrow lane.
‘Drive on past,’ Hillary said urgently. ‘Don’t try and follow her down there, she’ll spot us in an instant. Here, pull over into the car-park of that pub,’ she said, pointing out the Jersey Arms on their left.
‘Come on,’ Hillary said, amused by the way the girl shot out of the car as if rocket propelled. Thankfully, today, she was dressed in a fairly simple outfit consisting of black jeans with a feather decorated black T-shirt and a black and red leather jacket.
‘That lane she went down, I think it probably leads to the church. Just nip down there and see,’ Hillary ordered her.
‘You’re not coming as well?’ Wendy asked, a shade nervously now.
Hillary smiled. ‘I think Freda might spot two women following her, don’t you?’
‘Do you want me to find out where she’s gone, guv?’
‘No!’ Hillary said quickly. ‘I’ve got a fair idea already and if you just stopped and thought about it for a moment, so would you,’ Hillary informed her.
Wendy danced about, thinking about how much time was passing. ‘Guv, she might be getting into her car and driving off! We could lose her.’
‘Think, Wendy,’ Hillary said, ignoring her impatience. ‘You’ve got to learn to be observant, and think about what you see. What was she carrying when she got in the car?’
‘A bunch of greenery and flowers,’ Wendy said obligingly.
‘And if that lane does lead to the church…?’
The Goth thought about it for a moment, then her face lit up. ‘Oh. Right, you think she’s gone to visit someone’s grave. You want me to sneak around the wall and see which one?’
Hillary again sighed. ‘I don’t think that’ll be necessary.’
‘But it might be important, guv.’
‘Oh I’m sure it is,’ Hillary Greene said softly. ‘Wendy, start using your noggin. How many graves in a small rural churchyard do you think will have a bunch of evergreen foliage with pale cream flowers on them?’
‘Oh.’
‘If we need to, we can wait and then check it out without danger of being seen. Go on, off you go. Make sure she can get to the churchyard from down there, and then come back. Don’t let her see you if you can avoid it.’
‘Where will you be?’ Wendy asked, both pleased and a little in awe to be given such an important task.
Hillary raised one chestnut-coloured eyebrow and indicated the Jersey Arms. ‘In the pub having a drink, of course,’ she said, surprised the Goth had to ask. ‘Where else?’
In the bar of the pub Hillary sipped her orange and lemonade and eyed the old photographs lining the wall. A football team, dressed in the comical, knee-length shorts of the 1930s showed a fine-looking bunch of men from a nearby village being awarded the Jersey Cup. The caption at the bottom informed them that the well-dressed and elegant woman doing the awarding was none other than Lady Jersey herself.
Hillary had nearly finished her drink when Wendy came in, looking red-cheeked and bright-eyed. ‘You were right, it does lead to the churchyard, guv,’ Wendy whispered, eyeing the bartender warily. ‘But I didn’t go inside, like you said, and I couldn’t see the suspect.’
‘Her name’s Freda,’ Hillary said, much amused. ‘What’ll you have? My treat. But bear in mind you’re driving.’
‘A Coke, ta, guv. But aren’t we going to go back to the car and see where she goes from here?’
‘Don’t you think that she’ll eventually notice that she’s being followed by a Mini? A car that she’ll have seen you driving around in on a number of occasions?’ Hillary asked. ‘Besides, I have a feeling that the only place Freda’s going to go now is back home. So come on, sup up, and I’ll treat you to a pub sandwich.’
At HQ, Jake Barnes took the news that the case was apparently going to break with a blink of surprise and a slightly worried glance at his watch. Over by his desk, Jimmy noticed the tell-tale movement and began to look very interested.
‘I hope you don’t have somewhere else to be, Mr Barnes?’ Roland Sale said gently, also having caught the direction of the younger man’s glance.
In truth, Jake Barnes was worried that the day might run over into the evening, because he had just made plans –
very important plans indeed. But he flushed under the implied rebuke of his new superintendent, and smiled diffidently.
‘Of course not, sir,’ he lied crisply.
Sale nodded. ‘Good. I take it you’ve been doing some research into Freda de la Mare for Hillary?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘In that case, perhaps you can come and brief myself and Superintendent Crayle on what you’ve learned so far?’
‘Of course, sir.’
After disposing of a prawn and salad baguette apiece, Hillary and Wendy got back in the car. As Hillary had expected, Freda’s green hatchback was no longer parked in the narrow lane, and she experienced just a little pang of worry as she ordered Wendy to drive back to Caulcott. What if she’d got it all wrong?
But when they turned down the old Roman road, they saw almost at once that the little green car was back in its usual place.
‘Pull in just behind it,’ Hillary ordered.
‘But that’s right outside her house, guv. She’s bound to see us,’ Wendy objected.
‘Yes,’ Hillary said. And looked at her. For a moment, Wendy looked confused, then smiled cautiously.
‘Oh I get it. You want her to know we’re here, right? You’re applying a bit of the old psychological pressure.’
‘Something like that,’ Hillary agreed, lips twitching. ‘Also, it’s to let her know that we’re available to give her a ride, whenever she’s ready. It’ll save her having to take her own car to Kidlington.’
Wendy ruminated on that for a moment, but then gave up. Besides, she had something else on her mind. ‘Why didn’t you ask me to go and find the grave she’d just visited, guv?’ she asked instead.
‘Because I didn’t need to,’ Hillary said simply. ‘I already know whose grave it must have been.’
‘Oh,’ Wendy said. ‘But it can’t be Sylvia’s grave, guv. She was cremated, and her ashes were scattered.’
‘I know,’ Hillary said drily. ‘I have read the reports.’
