Guilt in the Cotswolds (18 page)

‘We should ask about the car,’ said Drew. ‘It must be somewhere.’

‘I think we should report that plank of wood, as well,’ said Thea.

‘Wood?’ Mrs Wilshire’s head lifted sharply.

‘That’s right. Last night we were looking for something that might have been used as a weapon. Something that was wider than a man’s head, so there’d be no marks left by an edge. We started with the theory that it was a deliberate attack, made to look as if he’d landed on the floor from a great height, but really he was hit.’

‘Yes, yes. I understand perfectly. What did you find?’

‘A wide piece of wood. It was propped up against the barn wall, quite inconspicuously. We couldn’t examine it properly in the dark, but it might have had a bloodstain on it.’

‘Where is it now?’

‘We left it where it was. Nobody’s going to touch it.’

The old woman gave her a scornful look. ‘Except perhaps the murderer, waiting for the police to get out of the way. He could easily go back and take it away and burn it.’

‘Why not do that on Friday, if they were going to? I think it’s safer just to leave it where it is.’

‘Why didn’t you tell the police about it right away?’

Thea sighed. ‘I suppose we’d just had enough for one day. And we didn’t think they’d take much notice, especially on a Sunday evening. They’d tell us off for going back there, probably.’ It sounded feeble, even to her own ears and she looked at Drew to see if he felt the same.

‘The police will take a lot of persuading, I expect. They’re going to look incompetent if it does turn out to be murder after all.’

The conversation was going round the same circle again, Thea realised. Try as they might, it was difficult to focus on a single point when there was so little hard fact available. ‘It would be nice to meet your nephew properly,’ she said. ‘We didn’t get a chance to talk to him yesterday.’

Mrs Wilshire grimaced. ‘He was relieved when he realised you were an undertaker. He thought you were a solicitor helping me to rewrite my will.’

‘Why would that worry him?’ Thea asked.

‘My dear, everyone is worried where their old relative’s will is concerned. The spectre of the cat’s home nags at them constantly.’

‘But a granddaughter trumps a nephew, surely?’ A barely audible sigh from Drew told her that yet again she had overstepped a mark.

The old lady showed no sign of offence, however. ‘I agree with you. Martin has had a good deal from me, all his life. Not so much money as time, attention, encouragement. I set him back on track when his mother died, and made sure he always did his homework. I was a darn good aunt, by any standards.’

‘I’m sure you were,’ said Drew.

‘I even delayed having a child of my own, thinking it would upset him to have a rival. He was twelve when Richard was born.’

Again the question of fathers arose in Thea’s mind. But she could see it was not the moment to introduce the subject. Before she could yield to the temptation, another tap came on the door. The man with the big oval head appeared, smiling like a frog. He approached his aunt with arms outspread. ‘Here I am again,’ he said, bending over his aunt for an affectionate kiss. ‘Did you miss me?’

Thea and Drew held their ground, although Drew had risen from his chair. Martin Teasdale seemed to notice them rather belatedly, doing a dramatic double take. ‘The undertaker and … friend,’ he said. ‘Again.’

‘I asked them to come,’ said Mrs Wilshire. ‘We’ve been having a very long chat.’

Long it had certainly been, thought Thea. The entire morning had got away from them as a result. The nephew raised his scanty eyebrows and pushed out his lips. ‘That’s nice,’ he said unconvincingly.

‘Brendan has stolen my stamps,’ said the old lady, as if this was the single most urgent detail in the whole mass of material they had talked about. ‘I want you to get them back from him. If I can’t trust any of my relatives, I shall have to ask Mr Slocombe to take custody of them for me.’

‘Er …’ said Drew worriedly. Nobody paid any attention to him.

‘Nonsense,’ scoffed Teasdale. ‘He hasn’t stolen them at all. He’s keeping them safe, because the house is standing empty and anything could happen. Fire. Flood. Theft – anything.’

‘The house,’ repeated his aunt, with a frown. She put a hand to her head. ‘The house. You know …’ she looked at Drew, her voice faint, ‘this is all a bit too much. I seem to have drained all my reserves. I’m sorry.’

Drew was at her side in an instant, reminding Thea that he had once been a nurse. ‘You should lie down,’ he said. ‘You’re giddy, aren’t you?’

Don’t die on us
, pleaded Thea silently. Martin Teasdale tried to interpose his bulky self between Drew and the old lady, claiming a familial authority. ‘Get away,’ Thea told him sharply. ‘Drew knows what to do.’

‘I think I need food, that’s all,’ said the patient. ‘I didn’t eat anything at breakfast. Please don’t worry yourself over me. Perhaps, some air – the room does seem rather
full
.’ Her voice had strengthened, and the look she gave Teasdale made Thea snort in amusement.

This did not sit well with the man, whose eyes bulged in indignation. He spluttered, but said nothing coherent. He was himself no chicken, of course. Over seventy, well fed and fond of a drink, by the look of him. Did that fit with living in the Middle East, Thea wondered idly. Presumably the ban on alcohol could be circumvented by Western businessmen who chose to ignore rules that didn’t suit them. Even to her non-medical eye, the man looked to have high blood
pressure. There were little veins visible on his nose and cheeks. His eyes were already protuberant, even before emotion enlarged them further. She watched him with interest, trying to recall all the information she had gleaned about him from his son. Father of three; successful in his career, whatever it was; recently returned to England in retirement – and cousin to the dead Richard. Cousin, yes, but more like a brother in fact, raised by the same woman.

Drew had taken charge, manifesting a natural authority that he normally kept concealed. First he opened the door and looked out. A faint clatter of crockery could be heard, suggesting that preparations for lunch might be under way. ‘Mr Teasdale,’ he said, with polite formality, ‘perhaps you could go and find a sandwich or something? You know your way around better than we do.’

‘A
sandwich
?’ The man stared as if he had been asked to locate a live lobster. ‘This isn’t a hospital with a canteen, you know. They don’t sell
sandwiches
.’

‘All right. Well, anything, then. Just to tide your aunt over until lunch. Surely that isn’t much to ask?’ With a toss of his head, the man went off down the corridor, muttering to himself.

‘I’m afraid it is a lot to ask,’ said Mrs Wilshire. ‘It’s a strange thing, when you can’t get hold of food when you feel like it.’

It made Thea question again the word ‘home’ for the establishment. So many daily necessities you just
took for granted in your own house were unavailable here. For anyone with their own habits and interests – probably including the collecting of stamps – there would be constant tidying up by staff, inadequate space to set everything out, interruptions and well-meant remarks of incomprehension. And all so very well intentioned. ‘Just ask,’ they would say. ‘This is Freedom Hall – just carry on the same as before.’ And they would mean it, not understanding how hollow and frustrating their words sounded to anyone with a strong character and active mind.

‘Don’t you keep a small stash of food in your room?’ she asked. ‘For when you want something between meals?’

‘I did at first,’ nodded Mrs Wilshire. ‘But when it was all gone, I couldn’t get any more. Shopping is a distant memory for me now.’ She smiled bravely. ‘Not that I ever enjoyed it very much.’

Fresh implications were flooding in. How did you get new clothes? Books? Birthday cards for friends and relations? Unless you had a willing son or daughter, with time to drive you into town and patience to go round shops with you, you were presumably stuffed. Or was there a faithful band of volunteers somewhere who performed this role for inmates of residential homes? Sporadically, was the most likely answer. Women with time on their hands, who might easily be distracted by events within their own family, or deterred by aching knees and backs as they crossed the line into old age themselves.

She came within a whisker of offering the service
herself, before remembering that she lived in Witney most of the time, and had no idea how busy or otherwise she was going to be in the coming months.

Perhaps Nephew Teasdale would do it from here on, anyway. Or one of his daughters. Perhaps he was genuinely devoted and conscientious and motivated by a wish to repay his aunt for her ministrations when he was a child.

Mrs Wilshire went on, ‘The thing I really miss is the travelling. I’ve been to every continent in the world, you know.’

‘Yes,’ said Thea. ‘I saw your brochures and leaflets. I was very impressed.’

‘It seems a long time ago now. I spent the whole of my sixties seeing the world.’ She giggled girlishly. ‘My husband died, you see, so I was free to do as I liked.’

‘Must have been expensive,’ said Thea.

‘Oh, that was all taken care of.’ She clamped her lips shut, in a parody of a child with a secret.

All three of them remained quiet until Teasdale came back, carrying a plate. It held a slice of ham and egg pie and a small pile of mashed potato. ‘Success!’ he crowed. ‘I barged into the kitchen and made our wishes known. They were actually thoroughly accommodating. Asked if you’d like a drink as well, and if so what.’

From his breast pocket he produced a fork, for good measure. ‘Enjoy, Auntie,’ he said.

Mrs Wilshire took the plate hesitantly, unsure how to balance it on her lap. Drew busied himself with
moving the bedside table to a point in front of her chair. To Thea, watching it all, there was an element of farce. The food was completely wrong for the situation; a Mars bar would have served the purpose far better. ‘Is this what we’re having for lunch, then?’ Mrs Wilshire asked.

‘Along with salad, pickles – all that sort of thing. And some rather attractive-looking bread. I saw two big soft brown loaves that made me feel quite peckish myself.’

By some unspoken consensus, Drew and Thea understood that the time for their departure had arrived. They were both standing already and it seemed as if a force was moving them towards the door. ‘We should go,’ said Drew.

Mrs Wilshire looked up. ‘Thank you so much for coming. I’m not quite sure what we’ve established, but I know I can trust you to take it further – on my behalf.’ She flicked an almost imperceptible glance towards Teasdale, with a tiny frown. ‘We will be in touch about Richard’s funeral, of course, as soon as we know something.’

Drew quickly took her lead. ‘Yes, of course. The Coroner’s officer will contact you when we’re free to proceed.’

The old lady sighed. ‘I imagine Mrs Goodison will pass any messages on to me, in her own good time.’

Her nephew tutted softly. ‘Now, Auntie, don’t be like that.’

‘I don’t expect you to understand, but I really do find it very offensive that I was kept in ignorance for almost a whole day. As if I am too unimportant to be told the news immediately.’

‘I would feel just the same,’ said Thea.

‘We had your best interests at heart,’ defended Martin. ‘Mrs G. thought there should be a supportive relative present when you heard the tragic news.’

His aunt thrust a forkful of pie into her mouth and was still chewing when Drew and Thea finally took their leave.

Hepzie was beyond reproachful when they finally let her out of the car. She squatted for a large wee inches from Thea’s feet, and then trotted off towards the well-kept lawn without looking back. ‘Come here!’ called her mistress. ‘We’ve got to go.’

‘Poor thing,’ Drew sympathised. ‘All day in the car isn’t much fun for her.’

‘I can’t remember when she last had anything resembling fun,’ Thea said guiltily. ‘There’s usually another dog for company, even if she doesn’t really play with them.’

‘Bring her back to mine tonight and the kids’ll cheer her up.’

‘We’re leaving now, are we?’

He gave her a startled look. ‘Not
yet
, no. We’ve got to go all the way back to Cirencester and tell Officer Higgins what we’ve discovered.’

‘Which is what, exactly?’

‘That piece of wood, mainly. And … um … the fact that his mother is in no doubt that he was deliberately killed. And to ask what they think happened to his car. We might persuade him to divulge some of the findings from the post mortem, as well.’

‘Funny the way Mrs Wilshire called it an autopsy. Isn’t that American?’

‘She probably watches
The Wire
or
Sopranos
. I told you, didn’t I, that she was a great character. I love old ladies like her.’ His face beamed approval and relish. ‘So honest and brave. It’s the best thing about my job, meeting people like that.’

‘I thought she was great,’ said Thea sincerely. ‘Although I did think she might have shown just a bit more grief over Richard. I mean – she’s had him for nearly sixty years. She’s bound to miss him.’

‘Oh, she will. It’s early days. But she’s chosen to focus on how he died, and until she’s satisfied about that, she’ll hold up very well. I must say she’s unusual in staying so single-minded. Everything else is pushed aside for the time being.’

‘Hepzie, we can’t hang about here,’ Thea shouted to her disobedient dog. ‘Come on.’

It was necessary to haul the animal back onto the back seat, where she slumped with a dramatic flourish and closed her eyes. ‘I really hate to say it,’ Thea told Drew, ‘but I’m hungry. It’s yesterday all over again.’

‘You never learn,’ he sighed. ‘Why didn’t you pack
some sandwiches or something, before we set out?’

‘Why didn’t
you
?’

‘I don’t have these sudden drastic urges to eat. I suppose we could pay a quick visit to the farm shop in Chedworth and buy another snack, the same as yesterday. It’s on the way.’

‘Perfect,’ she said meekly.

They proceeded to follow this plan, with Drew showing increasing signs of stress at any delay. ‘I can’t leave the kids for another night,’ he said more than once.

‘You’ll have to bring me back here,’ she reminded him. ‘I’ll have to clean up the kitchen and turn things off. Should I get my car and follow you down to Cirencester? Then you can go straight off from there. It’ll save you at least an hour.’

‘Seems a bit convoluted,’ he worried. ‘But quicker in the long run, I suppose.’

‘Much.’

They were waiting to pay for their sausage rolls and organic elderflower juice as they spoke. The shop was thinly occupied, with a handful of people sitting at tables in a separate section. As Drew fingered the sparse contents of his wallet, someone came through from the cafe and recognised him and Thea.

‘Hello!’ It was Millie. ‘Why are you here?’ she asked.

In some moods, Drew would have made some jokey reply about cosmic dust or reallocation of atoms, but on this occasion he simply sighed. Thea experienced
a painful inner conflict, whereby part of her simply wanted to shake off the whole matter of Richard Wilshire’s death and leave Chedworth, while another part noted immediately that his daughter was highly agitated and therefore interesting. It was not the shocked appearance of a newly bereaved person, but something more fearful or alarmed.

‘What’s happened?’ she asked.

‘They’ve taken Andrew Emerson in for questioning.’

Drew calmly paid for their purchases before saying anything. Thea led the girl outside, where she hoped the conversation might not be overheard. ‘Judith’s still in the cafe,’ said Millie. ‘I’ll have to go back to her in a minute.’

‘So the police do think it was murder, after all?’ said Thea, quickly. ‘Is that right?’

‘I suppose it must be.’

‘How do you know about Andrew?’ As always, Thea needed to establish the extent of the spread of information. Who knew what could very often provide a helpful chain of communication that solved many a tricky mystery. The fact of a person assumed to be unconnected knowing more than they should was often an important clue. She struggled to articulate this to herself, as she waited for Millie’s answer.

‘Brendan told me,’ came the gratifying revelation.

‘And how did
he
know?’

‘He was at the police station when they brought Andrew in.’

‘Did he know who he was? I mean – surely they’ve never met each other?’

Drew had joined them, but manifested much less curiosity than Thea did. In fact, his level of detachment was beginning to cause her some concern. At this rate, he might well change his mind about going to the Cirencester police station at all. When his phone began to demand attention in his pocket, this risk was only increased. Thea held her breath, ignoring Millie, while he answered it.

‘I can’t be back before three,’ he said. ‘Probably closer to four.’

The sense of abandonment caught Thea by surprise. The whole weekend had been a jumble of unresolved issues and uncertain priorities, none of which had become much clearer with the arrival of Monday. Every time she thought they had agreed on a plan, the whole thing changed. She had a picture in her head of a train falling off its track, and then running blindly across a landscape with no sense of direction. The tracks that led to a future with Drew and his children, pausing along the way to set up a new home and business in Broad Campden, had somehow come unbuckled, because there might or might not have been a murder of a man they barely knew in a village they need never visit again.