Walk a Narrow Mile

by Faith Martin

  The next day Hillary got up early, dressed and walked down the towpath to the pub car-park where her car waited for her. In passing, she nodded casually at one of Jimmy’s retired mates who was sitting in an old van, and drinking from a thermos. She gave him a cheerful wave and a toot as she passed, and watched in her rear view mirror just to make sure that he wasn’t going to shadow her all the way into HQ.

  He didn’t and, with a sigh of relief, she watched him turn off in the opposite direction to town. Once out of sight, she pulled over and called in sick, being careful not to speak to Steven directly, but leaving a message to be given to him by the main switchboard.

  That done, she turned off her mobile, which she knew would probably incense him, but which couldn’t be helped. She didn’t want him offering to come over and mop her fevered brow or anything.

  She smiled at the thought and set off for the Berkshire Downs, where Leyline Literati hung its hat. It was a nice enough day and the hour or so it took to drive down there passed pleasantly. The rolling green fields kept her company on either side, and the gradual proliferation of horses told her that she was definitely heading towards the muddy green wellington set.

  She found the village easily, an anachronism in this day and age, given that it still belonged to one titled individual. It meant that there were no out-of-keeping council houses, and the village pub and shop remained adamantly and defiantly open. Both, Hillary guessed, were run by a local village co-op.

  The vicarage where dedicated scribblers could pen their masterpieces turned out to be a gem of a Georgian building, exquisitely square and elegantly proportioned.

  Unfortuately, although the manager, when confronted by the constabulary in person, became far more helpful than he had been on the telephone, her journey turned out to be a waste of petrol. There were eight writers in residence, and none of them recognized either Gillian Tinkerton’s name or photograph.

  With a sigh, Hillary thanked her host and set off for the Wiltshire border.

  She was just passing the Uffington white horse, cut into the chalk over 3,000 or so years ago, and was glancing appreciatively out of her window at it, when she glanced at the clock and realized that she really should call in and talk to Steven, if only to reassure him that she wasn’t up to something or doing anything silly.

  Like wandering about on her own out in the wilds, chasing down elusive theories.

  She pulled over and rang his number, her heart beating just a little faster in anticipation of hearing his voice. She knew he was going to be mad, and that only made her blood tingle that little bit more. She looked at her reflection in the mirror, noted the brightly sparkling eyes, and gave herself a little warning shake of the head. ‘You’re riding for a fall, my girl,’ she told herself, then jumped as Steven’s voice sounded in her ear.

  ‘Hillary? What’s up? What’s wrong?’

  She felt a pleasant little warm wave wash over her that he sounded so concerned, then sighed.

  ‘Nothing. I’m just a bit under the weather that’s all,’ she said, banking on her guardian angel not having called in with the information that she should now be safely at work. ‘I’m just feeling a bit iffy, so I decided to stay on the boat. I think I might be coming down with a summer cold – and you know what a bugger they are. They say you’re most contagious in the first few days, so I don’t want to pass it on to everyone else.’

  ‘Oh, OK. Do you want me to come over tonight?’

  ‘What, and get the sniffles yourself? Don’t be daft. If it comes to anything I’ll let you know. If it turns out to be nothing, I’ll be back into the office tomorrow.’

  ‘OK sweetheart. See you soon.’

  Hillary agreed, and hung up, feeling guilty. Yep, feeling guilty about lying to a man was definitely the first step on a slippery slope all right.

  She wondered how long it would be before Steven or Jimmy thought to check in and see if her minder needed relieving, and thus realize that she’d gone AWOL. Probably not all that long, if she knew Steven.

  Hey-ho, she thought wearily, as she pulled away and continued past the ancient white horse deeper into Wiltshire, and on to Greensleeves Artisans. She’d just have to cross that bridge when she came to it.

  Which, as it turned out, was to be pretty damned soon.

  Greensleeves Artisans nestled in a truly lovely little valley, the converted barns now surrounded by both vegetable patches and flower gardens. As she parked beside a large open barn, the smell of sawdust hit her the moment she opened the car door.

  From another smaller brick building she could see some complicated chimneys, and guessed that it was the pottery kiln. A young man sat out on a bench in the sunshine, his shirt off, and assiduously chipping away at a sizeable chunk of wood with a chisel.

  As Hillary approached, she could see that he was carving a magnificent-looking eagle. It looked both ferocious and beautiful, and she wouldn’t have minded buying the finished article for herself. Except that it would probably be far too big and heavy to fit comfortably on a narrow boat.

  The young man looked up with a smile as she approached. He had buck teeth and freckles, but there was something so open and honestly friendly in his smile, that Hillary felt her belief in humanity briefly flare up.

  She quickly squashed it back down again, where it belonged.

  ‘Hello. I was wondering if you could help me out. I’m looking for this woman,’ Hillary said, handing over a picture of Gillian Tinkerton. ‘Her mother’s worried about her. She hasn’t called in for a while, and she just wants to know that she’s OK.’

  The man grinned and pointed wordlessly to the brick shed before turning back to his carving of a set of wickedly sharp-looking talons. Hillary blinked, then wondered if he was a deaf mute, or simply preferred not to speak much.

  She thanked him and walked to the pottery kilns, wondering why he thought that anyone inside might be more able to help her. Perhaps the boss was in here, or someone who dealt with the admin or members of the public.

  She pushed her way into the shed, and saw that it was occupied by a solitary figure, sitting at a potter’s wheel. The thick-set woman was bowed over a lump of clay, her feet pumping an old-fashioned treadle, and Hillary approached silently, watching as the woman wet her hands and seemed to miraculously shape the lump of grey clay up into an elegantly-shaped vase.

  Then the woman sensed her presence and looked up.

  Hillary felt her heart do a quick, confused but satisfied and joyous flip.

  Yes! She was right. She was not ready for the scrap heap just yet.

  Hillary Greene smiled and said softly, ‘Hello, Gilly. I’m really glad to see you.’

  Gillian Tinkerton looked up at her, and half-frowned in puzzlement. ‘Sorry, do I know you?’ she asked.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Hillary smiled somewhat ironically. ‘No, Gillian, you don’t know me, but I feel as if I’ve come to know you – quite well. My name’s Hillary Greene, I work for the Crime Review Team out of Thames Valley.’

  ‘Police?’ Gillian asked, wide eyed, then quickly looked down at the wet clay between her hands. ‘Just a mo, let me get this finished, and then we can chat.’

  Hillary watched, her mind racing, as the younger woman finished shaping the pot, then used what looked like a large cheese wire and scraped it across the base, to remove it from the wheel. ‘I just need to put this in the drying room,’ Gillian explained over her shoulder, as she transferred the still wet clay vessel onto a thin wooden platter. She then walked with it into a little room at the back of the shed, which radiated warmth when she opened the door.

  She came back a moment later and went to a sink where she thoroughly washed her hands. She had gained a lot of weight since she’d left home, and her hair was now much longer, and dyed a vivid black. She was wearing ragged jeans and a large, warm-looking sweatshirt with the name of a football team emblazoned across it. Or was it a rugby team? Hillary wasn’t much of a sports fan.

  Hillary felt as
if she had to keep watching her just to make sure that she was actually there. She was still feeling slightly shell-shocked by her discovery of the younger woman, even though she’d been half-expecting it.

  ‘OK, so what’s it all about?’ Gillian finally asked, and Hillary realized that all the activity Gillian had indulged in since Hillary had introduced herself had just been a way of putting off asking the question, and there was probably only one reason for that.

  ‘No, don’t worry – your mum and dad are fine. All your family are,’ Hillary was quick to reassure her. ‘I’m not here to deliver bad news.’

  Gillian slowly let out a long, relieved sigh. ‘Bloody hell, you had me worried.’

  Hillary, on hearing those words, snapped her fingers and reached for her phone. ‘That reminds me, before we do anything else.’ She called up the memory list and keyed up Deirdre Tinkerton’s home phone number. ‘Gillian, you really need to speak to your mother.’

  ‘It’s Gilly,’ Gilly corrected absently, then frowned. ‘Why? Is she in trouble? You haven’t arrested her for anything, have you?’ Her voice rose to a disconcerted, disbelieving squawk.

  ‘Of course not,’ Hillary said, beginning to feel faintly annoyed now. Things already seemed to be getting out of hand with this interview, and she wondered if Gilly’s scatterbrained approach to life could be catching. Right now she had a million and one questions for her and here she was, playing the role of fairy godmother. Then she heard the ring-tone on the other end, and said angrily, ‘When was the last time you called home, do you think?’

  Gilly blinked. ‘Er, I dunno. A couple of months ago.’

  Hillary glared at her.

  Gilly shuffled her large frame from one foot to the other. ‘Or maybe a bit longer,’ she admitted reluctantly. ‘It’s a funny thing, isn’t it. Time?’

  ‘Yeah, hilarious,’ Hillary said, then held up a finger as she heard another voice in her ear.

  ‘Hello?’ Deirdre Tinkerton said.

  ‘Mrs Tinkerton? This is Hillary Greene. I have someone here who wants to speak to you,’ and with that she thrust the mobile at Gilly, who had the grace to look shame-faced.

  ‘Hello, Mum?’ she said into it tentatively.

  Hillary distinctly heard the squeal of delight come from the other end of the line and with a smile, moved a little way away, to give the two women privacy. Even so, she could just picture Deirdre in her cheerful kitchen, sinking down on a chair with relief, whatever domestic chore she’d been doing now forgotten, washed away by joy and relief.

  Sometimes Hillary loved her job.

  Over by the open barn, the silent man was still carving his eagle. Hillary found herself grinning at him like an idiot. Because she’d been right. All along, she’d felt as if this pig’s ear of a case had been leading her up the garden path, and all around the mulberry bushes for good measure. And it had only been by taking a step back, and starting totally anew, and making no assumptions at all, and taking nothing for granted, that she’d finally been able to see some sort of path through the maze.

  Even so, the theory she’d been left with had seemed almost too bizarre to be real. Coincidences that defied logic, had mated with a sick mind to produce a case so convoluted that it became almost surreal. And yet….

  She turned around and watched Gilly Tinkerton talking to her mother, at first apologizing and then beginning to sob a little as she realized just how much her thoughtlessness had cost her family, and Hillary realized that, bizarre or not, she had got it right at last.

  Or maybe not quite all the way right, just yet. The thought of Judy Yelland still worried her. It was all well and good giving herself a massive pat on the back and for feeling chuffed to bits at herself for finding Gillian Tinkerton. But there was still a long way to go.

  ‘Here, she wants to speak to you.’ Gilly suddenly appearing at her side cut off her somewhat sombre train of thought and she took the phone back absently.

  ‘Hello? Mrs Tinkerton?’

  ‘Bless you. You found her. I was getting scared. I can’t thank you enough. What can I say?’ Hillary smiled as the breathless, delighted short sentences overflowed into her ear.

  ‘I’m just glad that you can stop worrying now,’ Hillary said, and finally began to put the case first, instead of getting caught up in the Tinkterton family saga. ‘I’m going to ask Gilly to come back to HQ with me. We’re going to need a statement from her, so I expect you’ll be seeing her later on today.’

  ‘That’s fine. Oh my, I’ve got to bake some coconut sponges. They’re her favourite. Would you like some too?’

  Hillary, smiling, agreed that she would, gently disengaged herself from Deirdre’s renewed and effusive thanks, and shut the mobile down.

  ‘OK, Gilly, you and I need to talk,’ she said determinedly.

  Gilly nodded. ‘OK. There’s a bench just over in the flower garden. Let’s sit there.’ She led Hillary past the woodcarver, who looked up and waved at them, but again never said a word, and on towards the flower garden. There they found an obviously hand-made bench made out of silvering beech, set amid a sea of lupins and peonies.

  ‘So, Mum tells me the police thought that I was a missing person,’ Gilly said, resting her considerable bulk on the far right side of the bench. ‘How come?’

  ‘Do you recall being stalked, Gilly?’ Hillary had had enough of indulging her, and ignored the irrelevant question.

  ‘What? Oh, you mean the cards and flowers and silly text messages,’ Gilly said, and shook her head. ‘Good grief, is that what this is all about? I never met the guy – he was all bark and no trousers.’

  ‘You never saw him?’

  ‘Nope. It was around then that I was beginning to get fed up with home, and wanted to try something different. I told Mum I was off to see what I could find. I don’t know why everyone’s making such a fuss now,’ she added, a shade petulantly.

  Hillary bit back a sharp retort and smiled instead. Instinct told her that she might as well bang her head against a wall as try to explain the realities of life to this self-obsessed young woman. ‘No, I can see that. When you left, you didn’t take your phone with you?’

  ‘Nah. Like I said, this bloke obviously knew the number, so I just tossed it and bought a pay-as-you-go.’

  ‘And money? According to our records, your bank account became dormant around then. Why was that?’

  ‘What? Oh, that’s just the set up here. When I found this place, it had a central banking account. All the bills are paid for out of it, and everyone puts a percentage of their income into it to pay for joint costs. At the time, I still had pieces of some stained-glass to sell, but then I really became interested in throwing pots. So I sold the glass and put the money in the pot. The pottery classes were free here, and when I got my first commission for one, that went into the central bank as well, and I realized I could live without touching my own capital. So I just let it sit and build up a little nest egg for myself.’

  Hillary listened to this somewhat rambling account with an ever-growing ironical smile.

  So it had been as simple as that. Gilly had bought a new phone, and found herself such a comfortable billet that she hadn’t even needed to spend any of her own cash to set herself up. Her mother had been so right when she said that her daughter had a knack of landing on her feet.

  As a result it had looked, to all intents and purposes as if she’d just fallen off the edge of the planet. Or, to be more precise, as if she’d been killed and her body buried in some secret, shallow grave somewhere, leaving the likes of silly sods such as herself, to presume the worst. It was just one more way this bloody case had tripped her up and wrong-footed her, right from the beginning.

  With a lot of help from a sick, twisted bastard, of course.

  ‘OK.’ She shook her head, trying to shake off the demoralizing feeling that she’d been played for a sucker, and concentrate on one thing at a time. ‘So, after you fetched up here, you never had contact with the stalker again?’ She needed
to get things perfectly clear now.

  ‘Well, no.’ Gilly frowned. ‘I mean, he wouldn’t have known where I’d gone, would he?’

  The simplicity of that made Hillary catch her breath for a moment, before she found herself unable to do anything but laugh. ‘No, I suppose not,’ she finally admitted. And the same would hold true if Meg Vickary had indeed run off to the Costa Del Sol with Hardwicke.

  Although there still remained some questions: such as why had Meg deliberately made it look so suspicious by not telling anyone her plans? And why hadn’t she accessed her accounts? True, there hadn’t been much money to leave behind, since she tended to live right up to her income, but even so. She seemed to have gone out of her way to make her disappearance look iffy. Why not hand in and work out her notice? Why not do things properly?

  But Hillary had a theory about that, too. But it could wait.

  ‘So, are we going back to Oxford then?’ Gilly again interrupted her train of thought. ‘Only I need to pack a few things if we are.’

  ‘Yes. You go and do that. I’ll wait by the car. It’s the disreputable Volkswagen Golf, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Oh, that’ s OK – I’ll drive my own, thanks. You can get going if you like, and I’ll meet you there.’

  Hillary was about to object to the two-car idea, but realized that she wasn’t being reasonable. Gilly would need her own transport to get back again once she’d been ticked off and treated to the fatted calf by her relieved family. Still, having gone to all this trouble of finding her, she was reluctant to let the young madam out of her sight.

  ‘I’ll wait. You can follow me back to Kidlington. I need you to make and sign a statement,’ she added firmly, as Gilly Tinkerton opened her mouth to object. ‘You have been officially on the Missing Persons List for sometime, and that means paperwork. Besides, is your car legal? We have no recent record of you applying for a driver’s licence.’

  Gillian flushed guiltily, and said that perhaps her friend Greg would drive her. ‘We won’t be long then,’ she said hastily.