Crisis in the Cotswolds

by Rebecca Tope

  ‘Drew won’t want you here,’ she said. ‘There are more funerals this week. He’ll get the police to move you.’

  In a mutual accord, they all turned to look at the new grave, dug that afternoon by Andrew, waiting for Stephen Biddulph. ‘Will they fill it in again or use it for someone else?’ asked Clovis.

  ‘Use it, I guess.’ Miss Cotton would no doubt lie there instead. It felt wrong, unlucky, as if a cosmic plan had been overturned. ‘Although I’m not at all sure.’

  ‘We can’t go while there’s a risk that the burial will go ahead tomorrow,’ said Kate. ‘Not after all this.’

  All this echoed in Thea’s head. ‘I must say, I still don’t properly get why it matters so much to you,’ she admitted. ‘That sounds bad, I know. I can sort of see your point, obviously. But if Linda doesn’t want you, don’t you think you should respect her wishes, even if they offend you? It’s all rather horrible, fighting over a dead man like this.’ She was looking at Clovis, recalling his fury when he first telephoned, and noting how much he’d mellowed since then. ‘She is wrong, I know. I said so to Drew last week. But she’s lost her husband, and she knows she’ll have to come clean to Lawrence about you three. Can’t you give her some space – cut her some slack, as they say? It would be so much more dignified.’

  ‘Which is what your precious husband values most of all, isn’t it? Dignity and decorum.’ Clovis was actually sneering at her, with his beautiful features.

  ‘It is, actually. That’s his job. That’s what he does. It’s extremely important, whether you realise it or not.’ She met his eyes, and her heart fluttered. Fighting with him was insanely exhilarating. It made her feel alive and full of energy. Across the field she could see her dog racing after a squirrel, ears flying like wings. That’s how I feel, she thought.

  He looked down from his five foot eleven, and exhaled loudly. Now he was scoffing. ‘Come on, Clo,’ said his brother worriedly. ‘Don’t start on her. She’s just the messenger.’

  ‘We said all along we wouldn’t cause any trouble,’ said Kate. ‘Maybe we should just pack up and go first thing tomorrow, after all.’

  Clovis and Thea both looked at the waverers, something akin to disappointment in the air between them. He was relishing the spat as much as she was, Thea realised. There was no mistaking that look, as his eyes locked onto hers again. The wonder was that the others couldn’t see it just as clearly.

  ‘Definitely not,’ he said. ‘We’re going to see it through to the end, now we’ve got this far.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  ‘I didn’t get very far with them,’ Thea reported back to Drew. ‘It was pretty much as you said. They think Linda’s bluffing.’

  ‘What a mess,’ he moaned. ‘I’m not even sure what the right procedure is.’

  ‘You mean, can you use that grave for somebody else?’

  ‘What? Oh, no. That’s not the issue at all. It’s money, basically.’

  ‘Right. Of course.’ She was putting all her energy into appearing normal, getting the right level of concern for the business. He would expect her to have a reaction to the Biddulphs beyond ordinary interest, but not to an excessive degree. ‘But will you use the same grave?’

  ‘Why not?’ He frowned at her. ‘That’s a minor point, surely?’

  ‘Probably. I don’t really know what to say. Kate’s a perfectly pleasant person, and both her sons seem very fond of her. There’s a nice atmosphere, anyway. In fact, they’re a lot nicer than Linda and Lawrence. You appear to be on the wrong side.’

  ‘As if I had any choice. I’m not required to like all my families, am I? I still owe Linda a duty of care – and she’s been very clear about what she wants me to do. I’ve failed her, basically.’

  ‘You had no choice there, either. You didn’t tell Clovis when the funeral was. Nobody did. Not until today, anyway.’

  The children were upstairs, not quite in bed, and expecting stories. Yet again, Thea wondered at her own failure to anticipate the relentless evening routine of ensuring adequately brushed teeth and proper debriefing of the day’s events, as well as a nightly story. With a bedroom each, this meant two different stories. Drew did his share, but there was no dodging it for Thea, who had bagged Timmy as the recipient of her readings. Surely, they were almost old enough for that particular ritual to stop? They could both read perfectly well enough to acquire the stories for themselves. But Drew was adamant. ‘It’s not just the story – it’s the closeness. The attention. The relaxing conclusion to the day.’

  ‘Of course it is,’ Thea had sighed. When she agreed to marry Drew, so many of these domestic duties had failed to impinge on her imagination of how life would be. She loved him very much. She wanted to be married to him. She was well disposed towards his children, pitying them for the loss of their mother, and eager to earn their affection. The details would sort themselves out, she had supposed. And they had, with much less trouble than might have been expected. But there was a price to pay, which seemed to mount up with every passing week.

  Now she set aside all thoughts of Clovis Biddulph and Juliet Wilson and Caz Barkley, and went upstairs to read another chapter of Saddlebottom by Dick King-Smith. They had bought a boxful of his books at a car boot sale, and Timmy loved them. Fortunately, Thea rather liked them as well.

  She was just settled comfortably on the edge of the child’s bed when the phone rang. ‘I’ll go,’ shouted Drew, already halfway down the stairs. A minute later he was calling up, ‘It’s for you.’

  ‘Ohhh,’ whined Tim.

  ‘Who is it?’ Thea yelled.

  ‘Gladwin.’

  ‘Tell her to call back in fifteen minutes. She won’t mind.’ And evidently she didn’t, because Drew was soon back in Stephanie’s room, immersing them both in a story about Tracy Beaker.

  Gladwin was punctual to the second, greeting Thea with a slightly snappy, ‘Not used to being fobbed off, in my line of work.’

  ‘Sorry. It was story time.’

  ‘So I gather. Luckily, things have gone a bit quiet for the moment. We’re all taking the night off, fingers crossed.’

  ‘So you’re at home?’

  ‘Right. Barkley filled me in on your little chat, by the way. That’s why I’m phoning.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘She thinks you’re a creature from another planet. In her world, able-bodied women in their forties all have demanding full-time jobs. At first, she assumed you work with Drew, taking on a proper share of the funeral business. Then she thought you must have some sort of disability – or one of the kids did. I had to spell it out to her in short sentences. Now she doesn’t know what to think.’

  Thea winced at this perception of herself as an idle parasite. ‘So, what about the murder? I don’t think I was very helpful, was I?’

  ‘That was my fault. I didn’t brief her very well. It wasn’t until she came back that I realised how unorthodox your position is. I’d forgotten, I guess.’

  ‘You take me for granted.’

  ‘Something like that. But she’s keen to have a closer look at the Spillers. Seems he wasn’t entirely straight with us, giving the Broadway address when he’s not living there any more. It took us an hour to track him down in Chipping Campden. We’ll be having another talk with him in the morning.’

  ‘Oh dear,’ said Thea. ‘You can’t really think he did it – can you?’

  ‘That’s not the point, as you very well know,’ said Gladwin severely. ‘What I think – in the way you mean – has nothing to do with anything.’

  ‘I see.’ And she did. Gladwin’s tendency to let female intuitions and hunches direct her quest for evidence had been noted and criticised by someone above her in the police hierarchy. By employing Thea as an unofficial assistant, she was only increasing this deplorable habit. ‘Well, I trust you to get to the truth of it all, eventually. You won’t be charging an innocent man.’

  ‘I’ll do my best not to.’

  ‘Is there anythi
ng else you want me to do, then?’

  ‘Well … there’s still Adam Rogers. Caz was supposed to talk to you about him, but I gather it got forgotten.’

  ‘I’m not sure …’ Thea began.

  ‘No, I realise it’s a lot to ask. He does need careful handling. What I thought was – maybe you could go to Blockley and have a look at Juliet’s housemates at the same time? Adam’s staying there for the time being, as well, for complicated reasons. He wants to be near her things, and the people who knew her. He’s doing a kind of “grieving by numbers” exercise.’

  ‘Say that again.’

  ‘It’s not as daft as it sounds. If you bear in mind he’s stuck at the age of about six, it makes more sense. He understands what’s happened, more or less, but isn’t sure what he’s meant to do about it. Somebody suggested he should find people to talk to about Juliet, and it all went from there.’

  ‘He’s not in her actual room, is he? Wouldn’t that be rather too much?’

  ‘I’m not actually sure. It could look a bit pervy, if so, if your mind worked in that sort of way.’

  ‘You haven’t closed it off, then? With police tape and all that?’

  ‘Of course we haven’t. Why would we? She wasn’t killed there. We obviously searched it for anything that might give us some leads, but there wasn’t anything. We couldn’t find her phone, and she didn’t keep a diary. Listen – Adam Rogers does look interesting on paper – if you just stick to the basic facts. But it’s almost impossible to imagine him killing anybody. Plus, if that tracker he wears can be trusted, he was nowhere near the woods on Friday night or Saturday morning. Nor all that day. The thing isn’t totally reliable, of course, but it would take more planning than he appears to be capable of.’

  ‘So why do you want me to go and see him?’

  ‘He might know something. He might have heard Juliet talking about somebody she was nervous about – or even throw more light on why the hell she was in those woods for three days in the first place.’

  Something felt wrong in this. ‘That sounds rather official,’ she ventured. ‘I’m not really sure I should be doing it. I mean – what if he suddenly bursts out with a confession? What do I do then?’

  Gladwin was quiet for a moment. ‘You’re quite right. It is too much to ask of you.’

  ‘The other thing is – who do I tell them I am, if I go to the house? They don’t know me at all, and I can’t pretend to be with the police, can I?’

  ‘I’m not asking you to do that. But it wouldn’t be entirely unorthodox. Civilians work for the police in all sorts of capacities these days.’

  ‘Without any training? Or support? Isn’t it more admin and filing and that sort of stuff?’

  ‘You’re welcome to come and do some filing, if that’s what you prefer.’

  ‘No, thanks.’

  ‘Sorry. It’s me. It’s all getting a bit desperate, to be honest with you. And there’s this other name Caz came back with. Biddulph? Is this something I need to know about, because if so, you can at least explain why. All Caz had grasped was that one of your funeral people turns out to have known Juliet in the Paxford place.’

  Thea was strongly tempted by this opportunity to dismiss the whole Biddulph family as irrelevant to the police investigation. She had been hoping throughout the conversation that Caz had forgotten to pass on the name, or that Gladwin had deemed it of no interest. ‘Oh, that’s a bit of a red herring,’ she said airily. ‘There’s been a glitch with the funeral, which has got Drew in a tizzy. Family feuds and all that.’

  ‘But one of them did know Juliet? Luc with a “c” – is that right?’

  ‘Yes. He’s in a wheelchair, though – so he can hardly go onto your list of suspects. Even if he got Juliet to push him across two fields, so he could kill her, he’d never have got out again by himself.’

  ‘He might have been with someone else,’ murmured Gladwin. ‘And this other person? Nancy Spiller? What about her?’

  ‘Well, she’s quite big and strong-looking. She had CBT at Paxford. Your Barkley girl had to remind me what that stood for – I got marked down for my ignorance. But Nancy didn’t seem to know Juliet. She didn’t react when I said the name, at least.’

  ‘They called her “Big J” most of the time, not Juliet. We’ll have to go and see her – the Spiller lady.’ She sighed. ‘I’m not happy about the Spillers, I must admit.’

  They were back to where the conversation had started. ‘So you said,’ Thea remarked. ‘Isn’t “Big J” a bit rude?’

  ‘Not really. Affectionate, as I understand it. Haven’t we long since established that everybody loved the wretched woman?’

  ‘So – I still don’t know how I can best be useful to you. I will go to Blockley if you really want me to, but I don’t much want to.’

  ‘And I certainly can’t order you to, can I? No, you’re absolutely right. It looks as if your work is done for the time being. Go and help Drew with his glitch, and I’ll keep you in mind. Okay?’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Look, Thea, you’ve given me new things to think about. New names and connections. That’s great. And I shouldn’t have asked you to see Adam Rogers. That was wrong of me. Well done for putting me right.’

  Gladwin sounded tired, almost defeated. The murder of Juliet Wilson had been even more shocking than murder always is. People who might have looked the other way when a much less popular person got himself killed, had rallied in horrified outrage at the attack on Juliet. They probably phoned the police constantly, and tweeted about incompetence and lack of progress. The list of suspects comprised a thin unlikely set of avenues of enquiry. Nobody on it had any persuasive reason for wanting Juliet dead.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Thea said. ‘It’ll come right in the end.’

  ‘Maybe. It doesn’t always, you know. There are plenty of unsolved murders in the files.’

  ‘Get an early night, anyway. It’ll look different in the morning.’ Not just for Gladwin, but herself and Drew and the Biddulphs, and perhaps even poor Rosa Wilson.

  ‘Yeah, it will. It’s going to rain, according to the forecast.’

  Thea laughed and put the phone down.

  It rang again almost immediately. Assuming it was Gladwin with another question, Thea said, ‘Now what?’

  ‘It’s me. Maggs,’ came the voice. ‘Can I talk to Drew?’

  ‘Oh, sorry. I thought you were someone else.’

  ‘Obviously. Is he there?’

  ‘Upstairs, I think.’

  ‘No, I’m in here,’ interrupted a voice on the line. There was an extension to the landline in the office at the back of the house, and Drew had picked it up. ‘Hi, Maggs.’

  Thea put her receiver down for the second time in two minutes, and drifted into the kitchen to make some coffee. She had almost forgotten Drew’s crisis over Maggs, probably because it made her feel so helpless. ‘Wherever thou goest, I will follow,’ she muttered to herself, wondering whether it was true in her case. She had no special love for the Cotswolds in general. It had, after all, been the scene of so many horrible episodes. But in every case she had come through a shade stronger, braver and more confident in her own abilities. It had helped her over the loss of Carl, and shown her a part of England that was both separate and typical. It was a microcosm of the class system, the layers of history, the ebb and flow of human settlement. It was beautiful and quiet and sometimes quite friendly. She could not think of anywhere she would rather be. Which, she knew, was not the same as wanting passionately to stay there.

  And where was that passion, she asked herself. Even her feelings for Drew had settled into a calm that made her restless at times. He was good and sweet and easy to be with. She had never doubted her good fortune in meeting him. He had a core of steel that gave her a focus and anchor that she had badly needed. She was glad to measure herself against him, knowing he was always going to be better than her. It was, she was discovering, oddly liberating. He could live with her restlessne
ss, within certain limits. He was grateful for her domestic services most of the time. He found her intensely interesting. What did it matter if her family and small group of friends all thought he was too good for her? She and he knew better.

  But she did not relish the prospect of the marriage being tested. Her lunatic response to Clovis Biddulph was terrifying enough. If Drew now decided to change course, thanks to Maggs, that would add pressure of a different kind. Then there was Gladwin’s tepid offer of some sort of employment, which had been so exciting only a day or two before. Now it seemed there had been second thoughts – perhaps because those senior to the detective superintendent had other ideas.

  Outside, clouds were rolling in, closing down the evening an hour earlier than usual. Rain tomorrow, Gladwin had said. Would that impel the Biddulphs to go home as requested? Would the empty grave, just dug by Andrew, fill with water? Would that mean Miss Cotton couldn’t have it, after all? Was that why they were traditionally dug only hours before the interment was scheduled?

  As if conjured by her thoughts, someone was heard coming through their front gate, and ringing the doorbell. She thought she knew who it would be and, when she opened the door, she found she’d been right.

  ‘Mr Biddulph,’ she said formally. ‘My husband’s on the phone, but please come in. He won’t be long.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Lawrence Biddulph was even more tousled and blotchy than before. The past two days had not been kind to him, as anyone could see. He stumbled into the hallway, eyeing Hepzie nastily and waiting to be escorted into one of the rooms.

  ‘I’ll just tell him you’re here,’ said Thea. ‘Hang on there a minute.’

  Drew was still talking to Maggs, his hand flat against his brow, his head bent forward over his desk. ‘You said that already,’ he was saying. ‘It doesn’t help.’

  Thea waved at him, mouthing Visitor for you.