Chapter Eighteen
Day Six. Monday
On Monday morning the first thing Claudilia noticed was the sound of rain against her bedroom window. The good weather had broken and the view from her cottage look like a black and white photograph. She dressed in light layers that could be taken off if the day warmed up.
Claudilia had a quick breakfast listening to BBC Coventry and Warwickshire. There was no mention of a body in the river on the eight o’clock news, nor was it mentioned in the bulletin at half past the hour. “I wonder if bodies turn up so often they’re not considered newsworthy,” she asked Max as they walked to the farm office. Claudilia wasn’t worried, there was nothing to connect Gary Wood to her. He was just another unlucky angler who’d slipped and banged his head.
They passed Pumpkin’s field and Claudilia called him to the gate. She fitted a halter and walked the horse across to his stable where he could dry off. Pumpkin didn’t like the rain. “Sorry old feller,” said Claudilia, giving him a piece of the apple she had been saving for lunchtime. “The weather was so nice yesterday I left you out, I didn’t see this on the forecast.” Pumpkin put his head down and rubbed it against her arm. It was his way of asking for more apple and Claudilia passed it over at once. It was little consolation for leaving him out in the rain all night.
All Sally wanted to talk about that morning was the accident at the building site. According to Sally, and she had it on good authority, “Gus had been seeing a married lady and that woman’s husband was one of the chippies at the site. When he found out about Gus and his wife he went mad. He banged Gus over the head with a lump of wood and buried him head down in concrete, with his feet sticking up and tied to a post.”
“And who’s this good authority that knows so much,” asked Claudilia.
“My nan’s postman’s uncle,” said Sally. “and he heard it from a man who cleans the police station in Monkbridge.”
“Are the police from Monkbridge investigating,” asked Claudilia, “because I talked to a Detective Sergeant who seemed to be in charge. She was from Stratford, or was it Warwick? Anyway wherever she was from it wasn’t Monkbridge. That station’s closed most of the time, I’m surprised it needs a cleaner. You have to pick up a phone by the door and talk to a call centre in God knows where.”
“Okay, but Gus is dead isn’t he?” said Sally.
“Yes, but I don’t know how it happened. The police seemed to think it was an accident when he was cleaning a mixer,” said Claudilia. “I assume there’ll be an inquest and we’ll find out in the fullness of time.”
“You and Helen went up there on Saturday didn’t you?” asked Hubert.
“Yes, we went over to our field beside the building site. Your daughter wanted to see what was going on. We talked to the police, I told them I’d been there on Friday but hadn’t seen anyone upright or otherwise. I definitely didn’t see anyone head down in a vat of concreate, and certainly not with their ankles tied to a post. I might have remembered that, I’d have considered it a little odd. Now, if it’s not too much trouble, can we perhaps do some work!”
The morning rolled past with no great incidents. At midday Claudilia tidied her desk, checked her email for a final time and left the office. The rain had stopped but it was still overcast as she walked back to Pumpkin’s stable. The horse still looked miserable. ...He does a very good sulk for a horse. She got a towel and rubbed him down, she combed his mane and tail, then lifted each of his feet to check the shoes were all firmly attached. In the tack room Claudilia dug out some Neatsfoot oil. She painted each of Pumpkin’s hoofs until they shone like mahogany.
Having given him a thorough pampering she looked again at the weather, it was not a good day to go riding. She gave Pumpkin a final pat on his shoulder, snuggled into his neck and whispered that she was sorry for leaving him out in the rain, and that she still loved him. She walked home with Max and let herself in through the kitchen door. She put her lunch back in the fridge, it would do for the next day, and she heated a tin of soup.
When the phone rang it made Claudilia jump. She wasn’t asleep, just resting in her chair, eyes closed and resting. Marie was going shopping and wondered if Claudilia needed anything.
“I thought you were having your hair cut this afternoon?”
“I was, but flemmy Alison can’t come today. She’s got a tummy bug and daren’t leave the house. It’s coming out “like a shit filled fire hose,” she said, which is far more information than I needed. I thought I’d go to the supermarket instead. Anyway, after the job she did on you I’m not too upset she’s had to cancel.”
“I’ll never let that woman near me again,” said Claudilia. “Not if she’s the last hairdresser on earth. Get onto Tony and ask if he can do you instead. By the time she’s got over the squirts and caught up with her other victims you’ll have been done. You can tell her Hubert was taking you somewhere posh and you couldn’t wait.
“So do you need anything or not,” laughed Marie, her Australian accent becoming more pronounced. “Better still, why don’t you come with me, we can get a coffee, catch up and then do the shopping.”
“Okay, I’ll pick you up at three,” said Claudilia.
Claudilia got into her Volvo estate. It was only a little smaller than an aircraft carrier and useful if she wanted to fit a wardrobe in the back. She’d bought one on impulse at an antiques fair one day and been amazed when it went in with the seats folded down. There was just enough room for the boot to close and Max loved sitting in the front on the way home.
As Claudilia pulled off the driveway she stopped to look at her garden wall. Not actually at the wall, but at the hole where the wall should have been. Helen said that Tony the bee-man had knocked it down. Like Marie, he had a little Fiat but where hers was a sporty five hundred Abarth, his was a bottle green Panda, with sticking out bumpers and wide wheel arches. It was covered in dents where he had misjudged numerous gateways, and scratches from the local hedgerows. If you saw him coming and were a sensible person, you’d pull well over until he’d gone past. He was a rotten driver, his eyesight was poor, he had been working on the day of the accident and his tractor needed mending. But was that enough proof he’d knocked down her wall, or was it what they called on television circumstantial evidence?
When the car stopped outside the Belcher house Marie jumped in and buckled up. The local BBC station was playing and the first item on the news was about a body pulled from the Avon. “A man dressed in waders has been recovered from the river by police divers,” said a reporter “he was discovered trapped under a river boat by the couple holidaying onboard.” The studio presenter passed across to a reporter on the scene who was interviewing Mr and Mrs Emerson of Stevenage. They’d hired the boat for a romantic week on the water. Mr Emerson had thought there was some weed on the propeller so he’d tried to drive through it, “power on and clear it like,” said Mr Emerson who was more used to driving a Nissan Micra than a river cruiser. When the engine stopped and wouldn’t restart they looked over the side and could see the problem. It looked like a dressmakers doll or some sort of manikin was jammed under the hull. “Tracy tried to shove it out the way with the pole thing, the one with a hook on the end, but it wouldn’t budge, and the hands looked wrong for a window dummy,” said Mr Emerson. Back in the studio the presenter said, “The police have the dead man’s identity but are unsure how long he’s been in the water. They will be releasing more information once the next of kin have been informed.”
“That’s awful,” said Marie. “I wonder who he is? I hope it’s not someone from around here, two deaths in a week would be terrible.” Claudilia drove on in silence, two deaths this close together would be suspicious and was sure to attract attention, but the police hadn’t known much, and she was sure there was nothing to lead them to her, was there?
Marie and Claudilia got coffee before they started their shopping. “Come on then, out with it!” said Claudilia as they sat in a café on Castle street. “You didn�
�t just invite me to come shopping with you, there’s something on your mind.”
“Yes there is, but I don’t know where to start. Maybe I’m just being an over-sensitive mum.”
“So it’s one of the kids?”
“It’s Helen, She’s been acting a bit odd recently. Well not odd really, just coming into the kitchen and hanging around for no reason. She seems sort of awkward, as if she wants to talk about something but each time she’s about to she changes her mind or she’s interrupted. I know she’s at a funny age, I wondered if it’s a boy, or school, or something like that. I guess it could be hormones, and yes, I’ve tried to talk to her. I’ve asked about boyfriends but she says she doesn’t have one, and I believe her” … you’ve got that right honey, “I wondered if that’s what’s making her miserable. She only seems happy when she is out on her pony with you or messing around with her friend Emma.” Marie took a sip of her coffee. “Has she said anything to you. I know you two are quite close?”
“Marie, we are close and we talk about all sorts of things,” said Claudilia. “Helen’s told me that there’s no boyfriend at the moment …no lie there, and she’s not worried about it. I don’t think she’s looking for a boyfriend right now. There’s been a few young men showing an interest but it’s a one way thing. She just lets them down gently.”
Claudilia took a sip of her coffee. “I won’t lie to you but I won’t tell you everything we talk about either. She comes over and tells me if you’ve being a cow, but that’s not very often you’ll be pleased to hear, or if her brother’s annoying her more than usual. If she has a problem with Merry we talk it through, and she tells me what’s been going on at school. She tells me the gossip among the girls, what boy’s “hot” this week and who’s a “dork”, whatever that is. She trusts me and I’m sure she tells me things she would rather I didn’t repeat.”
“But you would tell me if it were something I needed to know, wouldn’t you,” said Marie.
“That depends,” said Claudilia. “If I was worried for her safety or wellbeing for a second then yes, I absolutely promise I’d tell you. But there are other things I’d have to think about before sharing. Obviously I’d rather Helen told you stuff herself. But if there’s ever anything I think you really must be aware of, then I’d tell you but only with her agreement first.”
“That’s a lot to take in.” said Marie with a serious look on her face. …If that knocks you off balance dear sister in-law, just wait till she tells you why there’s no boyfriend.
“Right now she’s thinking about her birthday and if she’s given you enough hints about a car, she also wants a new saddle, and the latest iPhone. If you take my advice, you’ll get her the phone and let me buy the saddle. Ignore the nagging for a car but tell her you’ll pay for a load of lessons. If she does well in her exams then you can get her a car, something nice and solid and a few years old. Something which will keep her safe if she bumps it once or twice.”
Marie smiled. “I can see she needs a confidant, and I’d rather it were you than some girl who’d post things on Facebook, when they’re meant to be a secret,” she sighed. “I guess she’ll find a nice boy when she’s ready.” …I wouldn’t hold your breath if I were you.
Claudilia finished her coffee and got up. “I’m sure she’s fine, and she’ll be happy, but don’t press her on this, if there is a “this” to press her on, which I am not saying there is or there isn’t. She’ll find the right person or she might be like me; a sour faced old crow, with a flatulent cat and a horse she prefers to be with than to most of the humans she knows. She could end up living alone in a crumbling cottage, relying on her brother and sister-in-law for entertainment, boozy nights and a decent meal.”
On the drive back to Wimplebridge the news reader gave the name of the unlucky angler as Gary Woods. An unmarried twenty nine year old forklift truck driver from Warwick, his next of kin had been informed and the police were treating it as an accident and winding down their investigation. Claudilia let out a breath that she didn’t realise she had been holding, …he must have been really mangled by that boat.
Marie was saying something but Claudilia hadn’t been listening. After a moment she realised that her sister-in-law was planning a party, a bar-b-que for her brother’s birthday next Saturday, after the feté. Marie wanted to know who to invite. “the kids can have a few friends stay over, I think Helen would like Emma to come and we’ll make up some camp beds in the summerhouse.” Now Marie was musing about who else she needed to tell. “We’d better ask the fete committee and the helpers as well as anyone who ran a stall. Hubert will want a few customers to come and I’ll open it to the W.I.”
“Do you really have to invite Maggie and Angus?” asked Claudilia. “Angus’s all right, he and Hubert can get drunk and talk about rubbish, or kitchen waste, but must we have Maggie there too?”
“If I ask him, I’ve got to ask her,” said Marie.
Claudilia sighed. “She’s a tight lipped sourpuss, one more face lift and I swear she’ll have a pubic beard.”
Marie laughed. “Stop being so mean. At least it won’t be a problem catering for her. We can put out an extra lettuce leaf and maybe a glass of tap water, but I know what you’re saying, she’s so up herself and she looks gaunt all the time.”
“I could break her over my knee like a piece of firewood.” said Claudilia …but first I’d give her a bloody good spanking for being such a snot nosed anorexic upstart, and she’d probably enjoy it. I know I’d like it, being the spanker not the spankee - what do you take me for? I always have the upper hand.
“Hang on a moment,” said Claudilia as she turned off the main road towards the village, “this bar-b-que. It sounds like your inviting quite a few people. It’s going to be a posh event isn’t it? Will I have to wear a dress?
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. But you could look really nice if you got something new and maybe had your hair done, and your nails, maybe even some new shoes. Come to think of it I’ll tell people you’re doing something else on that night, we don’t have time to get you ready. It’s only ten days away after all,” she laughed. “No, seriously dear, if you want to wear your old riding clothes that’s fine by me, I just want you to come and feel comfortable. But if you wanted to dress up, it’d give us the perfect excuse for a proper girl’s shopping trip, with lunch and everything. We could make a day of it and go into Warwick or Birmingham. I’m sure you’ll find something you like. We could get our hair and nails done too, but not by flemmy Alison, definitely not by flemmy Alison.
“I’ll think about it,” said Claudilia as they pulled into the farm’s driveway.
Chapter Nineteen
Day Seven. Tuesday
Claudilia was stood at the lounge window when DS Robinson stopped her car outside the cottage. Monday had been Josie’s day off. When she got to her desk on Tuesday morning she’ looked over the previous day’s incidents, she always did it to bring herself up to date with any activity in her area. She read the report about Gary Woods, the angler who’d been found the previous day and noted that his car was still missing.
Warwickshire Police had its fair share of crime to deal with, and as in other constabularies it seemed to rise year on year. They also had a number of unexpected deaths, which post Dr Shipman, had to be looked into. But this was an accident wasn’t it? It was just coincidence that it’d happened in the general vicinity of another death a few days earlier. Coincidence or not, something tickled her professional curiosity and made her copper’s nose twitch. She printed out the details of this latest incident, stuffed the four sheets in her shoulder bag and went looking for the officer in charge of the case.
She found DS Ian Hudson in the canteen. Hudson was a heavy man who enjoyed his food and was an enthusiastic drinker of real ales. He’d tried brewing his own beer for a while, and on the day he thought it was ready he’d offered “tasters” around Warwickshire’s CID.
To start with, Hudson’s bitter was well rec
eived. It had a sweet hoppy taste and slid down easily. The brew had none of the acidic aftertaste synonymous with amateur beer making and the first batch was considered a great success. DS Hudson was hailed a prince among men.
It was the day after the tasting that reports started coming in. Sickness absence reached an all-time high, and virtually every one of the station’s detectives sweated through forty-eight hours of stomach ache. The drains were revoltingly blocked and two of the pool cars developed uncleanable stains on their seats. Finally a Divisional Chief Inspector decreed, from behind a locked cubicle door, that if DS Hudson wanted to keep his job he’d better get rid of the rest.
With a steaming mug of tea in one hand and a thick bacon sandwich in the other, Ian Hudson was concentrating on The Daily Mail. The paper continued its coverage of Brexit. Today’s headline shouted how the country was going to hell in a handcart, and everyone would be worse off by the end of the process. Ian looked up when Josie sat opposite him and started to ask about the angler. In the last two years they’d worked together on several cases, they were the same rank and there was no animosity.
Ian said that Mr Woods had been found the previous afternoon, he was entangled underneath a hire boat.
“The numpty driving tried to clear the blockage by pushing it up to full throttle. He only looked over the side when the boat lurched forward and the engine stopped. The body was wedged between the prop and the hull.” Ian took a big bite of his sandwich and tore at the bacon. Most of it went into his mouth but some hung out to one side ‘till a greasy tongue gathered up the errant rasher. He chewed a bit and then, without swallowing continued. “The blades nearly sawed ‘im in ‘alf. Did a pretty clean job on his ribs then had a go at a frontal lobotomy.” He chewed a bit more then poured in some tea, Josie was reminded of the cement mixer she’d examined on Saturday.
The Village Fate Page 9
