Authors: Rebecca Tope
‘Fourteen.’
‘Bloody hell. Well, first thing, we tell her mother where she is. Then she’ll have to answer some
questions. Do you think she knows anything useful?’
Thea gave this a moment’s consideration. ‘I think she probably does – I get the impression she came back hoping to prevent some sort of violence.’
‘But she hasn’t told you anything specific?’
‘No.’
‘We’ll have to find somebody to watch out for her.’
‘You wouldn’t expect me…?’
There was a silence. Then, ‘I s’pose not,’ followed by more silence.
‘She has a real mother, in Liverpool,’ Thea offered. ‘She’s ill, apparently, but might be useful. And she says there’s a boyfriend she wants to speak to.’
‘Hmm. Well, I’ll send somebody round in a few minutes. It won’t be me. Try to hold on to her till then.’
Flora sulked and refused to eat, but she did not try to escape. She picked at her fingernails, brow furrowed in thought, her face still very pale. Thea had not told her the news that the police were on their way, despite a strong sense of treachery at having crept upstairs to use the phone in the master bedroom. Both Flora and Jocelyn seemed to be paralysed. Silence felt like the only option, when words only led to more lies and hurt feelings.
A car arrived containing two female uniformed
officers. Thea met them at the door and took them into the living room. Flora gave one startled look before lapsing back into her torpor. ‘We’ll look after you, pet,’ said a smiling black policewoman with a Yorkshire accent. ‘Give you somewhere comfy for the night, eh?’
Flora smiled briefly at a secret joke. ‘Taking me into care, are you?’ she said flatly. ‘I’ve always wanted to be taken into care.’
Thea was left with a sense of having dodged a responsibility and ducked a duty, and a realisation, an hour and a half too late, that she was meant to be watching the six o’clock television news.
Jocelyn shrugged wearily. ‘We’ll have to catch it at ten, instead.’
The news had them focused unwaveringly on the television screen. After the national stories of wars and politics and the latest medical miracle, came the regional headlines. The discovery of Nicholas James Franklyn hanging in a stable in a small Cotswold village not far from Stroud was the main item.
‘Mr Franklyn’s family have elected to make a public appeal less than twenty-four hours after learning of their son’s death. The police are treating his death as suspicious, and his parents have given the following news conference. This took place earlier today, in Cirencester.’
Then came a short video of a middle-aged man
and woman, flanked by people who must have been police officers.
‘Oh, my Lord!’ said Thea.
‘What?’
‘That man. The father. I’ve seen him before. He’s the one who came to the door here, on Sunday, when it was raining. The one who drove past again, the next morning.’
‘He can’t be,’ Jocelyn protested.
Thea’s gaze didn’t waver from the screen. ‘It is, it’s definitely him.’
‘You’ll have to tell the police,’ Jocelyn urged her.
‘Shh.’ The bereaved parents were talking, first one, then the other.
Nick was a wonderful son. He was doing well in
his studies, and was hoping for a place at
Nottingham University. He had all sorts of plans.
We just can’t believe he’s gone. Please, everyone,
help us find out what happened to him.
That was the mother, a crumpled woman with pale ash-blonde hair and a carefully-pressed blouse.
The father patted her arm, his eyes still on the camera.
A very fine boy. Strong social conscience.
Popular
. He seemed to utter the words by rote, their meaning blurred by the fixed blankness of his features.
Then the police took over, the camera shifting to a middle-aged man with clean reliable looks.
If
anybody can provide us with any information as
to why Nicholas was in that particular area, or
any unusual vehicles or movements, anything at
all, please call the Cirencester police on this
number.
‘Usual sort of stuff,’ Jocelyn commented cautiously, when she was sure it was finished.
‘Strong social conscience,’ Thea repeated. ‘That’s the bit about him being an environmental activist, I suppose.’
‘That father doesn’t like it. You could tell.’
‘Could you? He looked like a ventriloquist’s dummy to me, just saying stuff he’d rehearsed in advance.’
‘Most of it, yes, but not that part. And why mention it at all?’
Thea stared at the screen which had moved on to the weather forecast. ‘It’s extremely odd, though – him being here at the same time as the boy died. His own father.’
‘Does he know you saw him on Monday?’ Jocelyn looked worried.
‘I’m sure he did, even though he was wearing a pair of goggles.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Goggles. Like old-fashioned aeroplane pilots. He had the top of his car down.’
‘But he saw you? He saw you seeing him? In which case, you might have something to worry about.’
‘Only if he’s the murderer. Do you think he might be?’
‘Well, don’t ask me. Get on to your new boyfriend and chew it over with him.’
Thea knew she must do precisely that. Her reluctance stemmed mainly from the impression of hysteria given by two panicky phonecalls in one evening. And the man had sounded embroiled in work, in hard thinking and urgent claims on his time, when she’d called about Flora. Could it perhaps wait until morning? Hadn’t he said he wanted her kept at a distance from the whole murder enquiry? And hadn’t he also said she should watch the television news?
She picked up the phone.
But when she finally heard his voice, and gave him her news, he barely responded. ‘Oh yes, we know,’ was all he said.
‘And you never told me?’ The whining reproach was inexcusable, but unavoidable.
‘I wanted you to see for yourself. It’s better that way. I didn’t want to sow any seeds.’
‘How did you know?’
‘Your description of the car, mainly. We made the connection yesterday, but he hasn’t mentioned being at the scene. It’ll all come out in his questioning.’ Hollis spoke slowly, everything about him sluggish and drained.
‘You sound dreadfully tired,’ she said, realising
for the first time that she knew nothing of his home situation, what his bedroom looked like, whether anybody made him a hot chocolate when he finally crawled back from work. He existed in her mind as a free-standing figure, with no contextual clutter. Except, Thea remembered, with a thumping shock, three months ago she had been told by her brother-in-law James, who knew Hollis quite well, a piece of personal history so significant that Thea wondered at her own sanity when she realised she had forgotten all about it.
Hollis, according to James, had had a daughter, who died after taking Ecstasy at a rave, not so many years earlier. If she had got it right, that had been the reason for the failure of his marriage. The sudden knowledge made her feel self-absorbed and foolish. Did Hollis know that she knew? Was he waiting for her to mention it? Trawling back over the past three days, she thought with relief that there had been no conversation about daughters. Time enough, then, to confront the man’s family tragedy.
‘Yes, I’m tired,’ he was saying. ‘I’m in a tiring line of work.’
She brought her attention back with an effort. ‘Is this Franklyn man suspected of the murder?’
‘I can’t answer that. Now, goodnight, Thea. Sleep well, and keep the doors locked.’
She woke with a sensation of withdrawal, of
needing to stay under the duvet, keeping out of other people’s troubles. She and her dog would be fine if other people would only leave them alone. Then she woke up properly, opened her eyes, and saw her sister standing in the doorway, with a man’s arm tightly around her throat.
They had only been there a few seconds, she concluded. The dog hadn’t even noticed yet. Jocelyn’s eyes were bulging, and her fingers plucked feebly at the shirtsleeve clamped between her chin and chest. Her captor’s head was only half visible above and behind hers, his eyes on Thea, glittering with tension. He wore a hot-looking woollen balaclava.
‘Who are you? What do you think you’re doing?’ Thea sat up, acutely aware of her state of undress. She put a hand on the spaniel, pressing her into the bedclothes. ‘Stay, Hepzie. Stay there,’ she ordered.
‘We’ve told you to go,’ the man said, his voice rather high and clear. ‘What do we have to do to persuade you?’
‘We?’
‘You’re in the way here. We don’t want trouble. It’s nothing personal. Just pack your things and go, will you?’
‘No trouble?’ Thea laughed scornfully. ‘What about Nick Franklyn?’
‘Never mind Nick Franklyn.’
‘What about the pony and rabbits and guinea pigs? I’m being paid to look after them. I’m staying another week. Let Joss go, will you. Stop playing idiotic games.’ Joss’s eyes bulged even further, but Thea was into her stride. There was no discernible knife or gun, and the man’s voice did not suggest an intention to harm. He was tense but not psychotic. And he was young enough to be her son.
‘I’m telling you, you’ve got to leave this place. It’s not safe for you. Do yourselves a favour, you silly cows.’ His arm was loosening visibly. Thea tried to see his eyes more clearly, already aware that she would want to identify them again. They were brown, thickly-lashed and clear. And something familiar about his words snagged at her.
‘You’ve been talking to Flora, haven’t you?’ she said, out of the blue. ‘She called us silly cows as well. She daubed that writing on the wall. You must be her boyfriend.’ The sudden transparency came as a bracing wave of relief. ‘How did you get in?’
Jocelyn began to splutter. She, like Thea, seemed to be more indignant than frightened. ‘He climbed through my bedroom window,’ she said thickly. ‘Bloody cheek.’
‘Let her go!’ Thea ordered, in the voice every son would recognise. ‘Just do as you’re told, will you.’
It worked brilliantly. It was as if she’d activated some trigger that controlled him against his own
will. Or perhaps he had simply realised that he couldn’t go on standing there with his captive in an armlock for much longer. Jocelyn pulled free, and turned angrily to face him.
‘Why aren’t we safe here?’ Thea asked, staring intently at his face. ‘What are you planning to do?’
He averted his gaze, a failed attacker, an embarrassed intruder. Thea pressed her advantage. ‘What’s this all about anyway?’
‘Mind your own business,’ he growled. ‘You’re in the way, that’s all.’
‘Did you kill Nick Franklyn?’ Thea asked, almost casually. ‘Because I think Flora thinks you did. I think she was totally paralysed by that belief, when we told her Nick was dead.’
‘Me?’ The shock seemed genuine. ‘Of course I didn’t. He was on our side. Nick was everybody’s friend.’ His voice thickened and Thea heard tears lurking. ‘It’s all turned into a shitty mess, because of this place.’
‘Hang on.’ Thea was intent on grasping his meaning. ‘Are you against Julia and Desmond for some reason? Flora’s parents?’
‘Shut up about Flora. She’s got nothing to do with it.’
‘Hasn’t she? You know who she is, though, don’t you? You know she came back here by herself, a child of fourteen, and hid out in the barn for two nights. Did she phone you last night, from wherever
they took her? Is that why you’re here now?’
‘You’re guessing all wrong,’ he said with scorn. ‘I’m not Flora’s boyfriend.’
‘Then who is? Jeremy Innes? Simon?’
‘Simon’s a baby. And Jemmy’s not her type.’ His scorn had turned to sulks. Thea recalled her brother Damien at this age, tormented by the fickleness of girls. Flora, it seemed, was a pivotal figure in this tangled story.
Jocelyn was gently massaging her throat. ‘You assaulted me,’ she said, her voice still croaky. ‘You’re in big trouble, you know. What can be worth it? What’s so important that you need to frighten us into going away?’
Thea answered for him, convinced she was on the edge of an explanation. ‘They want to damage this house,’ she suggested. ‘Burn it down, or at least wreck it. They’ve got something against the family here. And they’re very decently warning us about it first. Isn’t that right?’ she asked the intruder.
‘We don’t want you hurt. Nor your dog. You’re a complication – that’s all I’m saying.’
‘Well, forget it,’ Thea advised him. ‘You can’t hope to get away with it. We know you’re linked with the Rural Warriors.’
Jocelyn turned to look into his eyes. ‘And I think I know exactly who you are.’
‘Go on then,’ he challenged. ‘Who am I?’
‘I think you’re the oldest Innes boy. You called
Jeremy by a pet name, you’re impatient of Simon. Believe me, I know about the way brothers and sisters are with each other. And, for the record, you have my sympathy over your stepmother. You might even use her as a mitigating circumstance when this all comes to court.’
‘Dominic,’ Thea remembered. ‘That’s it. Your name’s Dominic.’
As the man struggled to assimilate this abrupt change of direction, and Thea waited for his reaction, all three of them slowly noticed the reality of the situation. Nobody had physical hold of anybody else, and nobody seemed likely to achieve a firm control at that stage of the proceedings. ‘You can’t keep me here,’ said the intruder, in summary.
‘And you can’t make us leave,’ Thea flashed back at him. ‘You haven’t got what you came for, so just go, why don’t you. And behave yourself, you idiot. Don’t get involved in whatever it is.’
‘You’d better leave,’ he repeated. ‘You’ve got twenty-four hours, and then things are going to turn nasty.
Really
nasty.’
‘I hope not,’ said Thea. ‘Have some sense, for God’s sake. Now we know who you are, the police’ll be looking for you. You’re in trouble, Dominic, and you’d better face up to that.’
‘Stop calling me Dominic like that,’ he snarled. ‘You don’t know who I am.’ His baffled frustration increased, and Thea felt a flicker of sympathy for
him. In the books and films and video games, a woman with an arm around her throat became a passive yowling creature – unless she was Lara Croft and impossibly expert at martial arts. He had not reckoned on the instinctive authority that had taken hold of first Thea and then Jocelyn. Men were stronger, in the world he thought he’d entered when he laid violent hands on Jocelyn; they were a frightening element of the culture, and could do what they liked.
Next time
, she felt like advising him,
carry a really big sharp knife. That way, you
might get things to work out better
. Instantly appalled at herself, she looked into the brown eyes, that were, now she thought about it, very much like Jeremy Innes’s.
‘Thank you for the warning,’ she said. ‘But I’m afraid you’re too late. The police are too close now and you’ve been extremely stupid to come here like this. We’re not going to try and keep you here, because somebody might get hurt, but that’s what we ought to do. So just go, and let
me
warn
you
that if anything at all happens here, you’ll be the obvious suspect. You might run away and hide out in the back streets somewhere, but that’s no way to live. Go away and have a good think. And
never
never do anything like this again. It’s a very stupid game, and no campaign or protest group is worth it.’
She drew a deep breath, and suddenly saw
herself, hectoring a young delinquent in her nightwear, one arm around a bemused spaniel, and her sister slumped against the wall turning a nasty shade of pale green.
Fortunately, it worked. The man took one long backward stride, and then ran along the landing and down the stairs. They heard him scrabbling at the barricaded door and then slamming it behind him.
‘What time is it?’ asked Jocelyn feebly and inconsequentially, and then ‘Oohhh,’ before Thea could answer her, or leap from the bed to catch her as she fainted.
It lasted barely a minute, and when she revived she seemed more embarrassed than traumatised. ‘Fancy fainting!’ she chided herself. ‘What a wimp!’
The tension dissipated, and they spent half an hour on Thea’s bed, talking it all through repeatedly. ‘We should call the police,’ said Jocelyn. ‘We’ve had an intruder and he laid violent hands on me. They don’t take these things lightly, you know.’
Thea was mindful of Hollis’s exhaustion the night before, and never even considered speaking to a different officer. ‘We’ll call them at eight. It’s too early now.’
Jocelyn had clearly not kept up. ‘They don’t just work in office hours, you know.’
‘I know. But they’re busy with more important things.’
‘No, Thea, they aren’t. This is the important thing they’re busy with, remember? It’s obviously got a whole lot to do with the murder, and sitting here is just letting that bloody boy get away.’
‘I suppose you’re right,’ Thea said, aware of an odd paralysis when it came to using a phone, beyond her protective feelings towards the Superintendent. Once she’d made the call, there would be cars and men and questions and
effort
. ‘You can do it, if you like.’
‘Me? Why me?’
‘Because you’re the one he assaulted.’
‘I don’t want to.’
‘Neither do I. Useless pair, aren’t we?’
‘At least he isn’t likely to do it again,’ Jocelyn said. ‘Do you think?’
‘He seemed to have every intention of burning this house down,’ Thea reminded her.
‘It was Dominic, wasn’t it? Don’t you think?’
‘Yes, but we can’t prove it. There might be a dozen other lads like that intent on stopping progress. That barn conversion, as well as the canal. Any new building.’
‘I don’t get it,’ groaned Jocelyn. ‘What’s become of them? Where are their motorbikes and flick knives? Why don’t they move to the towns where they belong?’
Thea laughed weakly. ‘Maybe they’ve bred a mutant race down here,’ she suggested.
‘Although when you think about it, they’re just as bad. What they’re doing is a kind of terrorism.’ She frowned. ‘Like the animal rights people, intimidating and attacking anybody they think is involved in vivisection.’
Thea nodded. ‘That’s probably where they get their methods from. I expect they’re stalking the canal restoration people and sending them hate mail.’
‘We have to phone the police,’ Jocelyn repeated. ‘They’ll be furious with us as it is, for dithering all this time.’
‘We’ll tell them you fainted, and I had to administer first aid, before doing anything else,’ Thea suggested. ‘They’ll give you top marks for that. They like a girl to be properly overcome in a situation like this.’
‘I’m furious with myself. I don’t know what came over me. It was the sudden waking up, with his hand over my mouth, I suppose. It made my heart go funny.’
Thea made the call to Hollis’s personal number, and recounted the events briefly. ‘We’re perfectly all right,’ she insisted. ‘I know you’ll think we should have called you sooner, but there didn’t seem much point. I can give a fairly good description of him and his clothes. We think he must have been Dominic Innes. He wasn’t a very
competent criminal, I must say.’
‘I can’t come now, but I can send somebody. How about DC Herring? You know her.’
‘No, no. She must have better things to do. It isn’t really important. Except he said something’s going to happen within the next twenty-four hours. At least – they want us to leave by then. Listen, Phil. The Rural Warriors were followers of Nick Franklyn. That means it wouldn’t have been them who killed him. His death has made something more urgent for them – that’s the feeling I got.’
It was the first time she’d used his Christian name and they both knew it. But he was not put off his stride.
‘Why do you want to defend them? After what they’ve just done?’
‘Good question. We’ve been asking ourselves the same thing. I suppose it’s something to do with them being some mother’s sons. And – well, it’s a nice change to see young people feeling strongly about something.’ It sounded crass in her own ears, and Hollis’s scornful laugh made it clear that it sounded crass to him, as well.
‘These early mornings are getting to be a habit,’ said Jocelyn. ‘What are we going to do today, then?’
‘We could have lunch at Daneway with Cecilia Clifton,’ Thea suggested. ‘It’d be fun to see if she
remembers you. And I want to go there anyway, to see the tunnel entrance.’
‘Better than hanging around here waiting to see if we’re going to be burned in our beds,’ Jocelyn agreed.
‘I wonder what they’ve done with Flora. I still feel a bit responsible for her. I was a fool not to take a number for Julia, when she phoned. Maybe I could try Desmond’s mobile. Put his mind at rest, in case the police have upset him.’
‘Stop it,’ Jocelyn ordered. ‘None of this is your problem. Whatever mess they’re in, it’s up to them to sort it out. And Julia can phone you if she wants to. All you have to do is feed the pony.’
Thea phoned Cecilia, who agreed to meet them at the Daneway Inn at midday. ‘We had breakfast rather early,’ Thea explained. ‘So an early lunch would be nice.’ Then to Jocelyn she suggested they leave an hour or so beforehand and explore the tunnel first. Jocelyn shrugged accommodatingly, her mind evidently elsewhere.
‘We could walk from here,’ Thea said wistfully, knowing the response she’d get.
‘Not today,’ said Jocelyn firmly.
They parked on the patch below the Daneway pub, which had a sloping garden devoid of drinkers at ten forty-five on a Thursday morning. Thea’s map marked a footpath where the original towpath had
been, as well as showing the famous Daneway House, on rising ground behind the pub. Unfortunately, dense woodland rendered it invisible.
‘I definitely came here when I was a student,’ Jocelyn remembered. ‘We were shown around Daneway House, because William Morris used to live there.’ She was gazing around, as if trying to find something familiar. ‘I don’t remember all this, though. There’s no sign of the house now.’