Blood in the Cotswolds (20 page)

Thea’s account of her brief visit to Linda and the dogs was less than enthusiastic. ‘She seemed to wonder what I wanted,’ she reported. ‘As if she thought I was spying on her.’

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Phil reassured her. ‘Linda’s always a bit funny with people.’

‘The dogs weren’t much better,’ Thea said. ‘They weren’t at all pleased to see Hepzie. You know how she gets – all waggy and ingratiating. They just
sneered
at her, the beastly things.’

‘At least you tried,’ said Phil, watching the road ahead with some nervousness. Gradually he relaxed, having persuaded himself that there was no chance of a repeat of the accident the previous evening.

For somebody so woefully lacking in historical knowledge, he often surprised himself by his liking for the Roman roads in the area. The Fosse Way, striking north-east from Cirencester, was his favourite. ‘I love this road,’ he told Thea, as they sped along the straight miles. ‘It feels so
determined
.’

‘I hate it,’ she said calmly. ‘The traffic goes much too fast, and there aren’t any interesting views from it. I can’t wait to get off it and into the winding narrow lanes. The Romans had no souls.’

‘Hmm,’ was all he said to that. Then, in an effort to engage her again, he went on, ‘I suppose Janey’s saints would have known these roads. The Dark Ages came after the Romans were here – even I know that. Maybe St Kenelm walked along this very stretch.’

‘Maybe he did,’ she nodded. ‘That’s if he existed at all, of course.’

‘Oh? Is there some doubt?’

‘Very much so. Janey showed me his entry in that set of Baring-Gould books at her house. He’s another one who’s really just a legend. She prefers them to authenticated ones, I think. Easier to draw symbolic meaning from them, I suppose.’

‘But he was killed by his sister? Did I get that right?’

‘Yes. In fact she had several goes at it, but got there in the end. But he had magical powers and she was soon found out.’

‘I still think it’s uncomfortably close to things we’ve been hearing about the locals in Temple Guiting. And this St Melor, whoever he was. We should be researching him a bit more. Except I get the feeling Gladwin’s got one of the girls onto that by now.’

Thea laughed. ‘Gladwin’s looking quite efficient, wouldn’t you say? Considering this is only her first week, she’s obviously got things under control.’

‘Oh, yes,’ Phil agreed as heartily as he could. ‘She’s very impressive, given how little there is to go on.’

‘Did she say anything else about St Melor this afternoon?’

He shook his head. ‘I suppose she’s wondering how it could possibly fit the facts.’

Thea tapped a finger on the steering wheel. ‘It must implicate Janey and her Saints and Martyrs.’

‘Indeed,’ he assented. ‘Which neither of us can
pretend would come as such a major surprise, now can we?’

Thea sighed and said nothing. He knew she was thinking that Janey Holmes would make a tragic murderer. Better, almost, to bury the whole idea and let the anonymous victim drift peacefully into forgetfulness.

As they approached Guiting Power, Thea threw Phil a quick look, and asked whether he felt equal to a bit of a detour. ‘We could go and have a look at Hailes Abbey,’ she suggested. ‘Just from the car – see what it has to offer. Have you ever been there?’

He shook his head and valiantly agreed to her idea. She turned left and slowed to fish behind her seat for the map. ‘You’ll have to navigate,’ she told him. ‘I can’t remember exactly where it is.’

The tortuous route lay through Guiting Wood, and then across a sweep of open farmland that felt like a private road. ‘Must have been the farm’s approach drive once,’ he observed. ‘It’s called Salt Way.’ There was something alien about the landscape, and the way the few vehicles they met seemed to slow for a good stare at them. Thea drove sedately, giving herself
time to look around. ‘St Kenelm’s Well is just over there,’ Phil told her. ‘Feel free to park me and hike up for a look.’ But they had already passed the steep hill with the well at the top.

‘Another time,’ she said.

Hailes Abbey turned out to be unimpressive, involving a walk that Phil felt unequal to and a fee to go in. ‘I get the picture,’ he said, peering at the row of stone arches which was all that was visible from the car. It was close to five o’clock, but the sun was still high, throwing dark shadows from the stonework and surrounding trees. ‘But I’ll wait if you want a better look,’ he said again, feeling increasingly noble. All he wanted was to get back to his comfortably angled lounger. It was hot in the car, and his head was aching. The dog on the back seat was panting, too, obviously wanting to go home to some shade and a drink of water.

‘Oh!’ said Thea suddenly. ‘Look!’

He followed her gaze and focused on a couple walking towards them, having just emerged from the abbey ruins. ‘Um…’ he said blearily. ‘That’s that girl from the other night – Soraya. Isn’t it?’

‘And she’s with Rupert Temple-Pritchett,’ Thea hissed dramatically. ‘Holding hands, look.
Good Lord, what an unlikely couple. He’s twice her age.’

‘Probably her uncle or cousin or something,’ said Phil, trying to concentrate. ‘And he’s
more
than twice her age. We know he’s early forties and she’s twenty.’

‘Don’t let them see us,’ Thea whispered, sinking down in her seat.

‘Difficult to avoid. She’ll recognise the car. Why does it matter, anyway?’ He wanted to point out that kneeling on the floor of a small Fiesta was well beyond his capabilities even without a prolapsed disc, but he held his tongue. Instead, he watched the couple closely, trying to assess the nature of their relationship. The girl looked fit and well, for a start, which was a relief. Being knocked into a hedge by this very car could have led to quite severe injuries. As it was, Soraya was swinging the arm that was joined to Temple-Pritchett like a young child. She kept looking up into his face with the unmistakable glow of young love.

‘They’re in love,’ said Thea, her voice full of astonishment.

Phil turned his attention to the man. His face was open and soft and somehow more
genuine than during previous encounters. He smiled happily at the girl, and let her swing his arm as unresistingly as a doll. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I think they are.’

The pair walked right past Thea’s car without even seeing it. ‘They’re not interested in us, or anybody else,’ said Phil. ‘I haven’t seen anything like that since – since – I don’t know when.’

‘It’s rarer than you think,’ murmured Thea. ‘He looks so different, doesn’t he? Do you think all that foppish stuff was just a stupid act?’

Phil flapped a hand to indicate his ignorance. ‘Possibly,’ he said.

‘Like Lord Peter Wimsey,’ Thea mused. ‘Hiding his scheming mind behind a dim-witted manner, to put people off the scent.’

Phil recalled other references to this Wimsey person, where his abysmal failure to respond had given rise to disappointment. He still knew nothing whatever about the chap, but made a careful sound of accord.

‘But – what about her father?’ Thea continued. ‘He can’t be very happy about it. Rupert’s probably older than him. How long has it been going on? Do people
know
about it?’ She watched the retreating backs of the girl and her escort with a stare intense
enough to bore holes. ‘They’re not trying very hard to avoid observation, are they?’

‘I doubt if the locals ever come here. It’ll all be tourists from other places, won’t it?’

‘Oh, well,’ Thea sighed. ‘I don’t suppose it’s important. And they do look terribly happy, don’t they? That girl deserves some pleasure.’

Phil did a double take. ‘How do you work that out?’

‘Oh – she just seems the sort of person who always gets a raw deal. Ordered about by her father, getting knocked down right outside her own fields. I just see her as a victim, somehow.’

‘But she’s in love, and everything’s all right.’ He had a thought. ‘She was probably mooning along in the lane the other night, never even hearing us coming, and not getting out of the way. All her own fault, you see.’

Thea laughed. ‘That’s right,’ she agreed, and started the car engine.

As Phil navigated them back to Hector’s Nook from the unfamiliar direction, his mobile went off. Fumblingly, he answered it, to find Gladwin full of eager information. ‘We’ve matched the
DNA,’ she said, with scant preamble. ‘But it’s thrown up rather a contradiction.’

‘Go on,’ said Phil.

‘Well, according to the lab analysis, the dead man is Rupert Temple-Pritchett. The sample matches the one we requisitioned from his mother’s legal people.’

Phil grunted. ‘Well, that can’t be right. We saw him ten minutes ago, large as life.’

‘Exactly. So we’re wondering whether it might be his father, a man called Graham Bligh, according to our investigations. I’m not exactly clear on the science, but it seems a fair guess that they’d be very similar.’

‘Hmm,’ said Phil. ‘Or maybe the labelling got mixed up – that’s more likely, don’t you think? Happens all the time. Though on second thoughts, it can’t be the father, can it? The age doesn’t match. Rupert’s father—’ he registered the jerk of surprise from Thea beside him, ‘must be well into his sixties. I thought these bones came from somebody much younger than that.’

‘Rupert is forty-one now. His father – wait for it – was only sixteen when seduced by the lady in question. Take five from forty-one – thirty-six – add sixteen – fifty-two. Deduct a little bit for
the pathologist’s margin of error, and it works perfectly well.’

‘OK,’ said Phil slowly. ‘Well, I promise you, he’s very much alive, which can only mean there’s been some kind of mix-up at the lab.’

Gladwin made a tapping noise for a few moments. ‘If so, that’s going to make a mess of the legal proceedings. Although nobody seems to be in any great hurry to get it settled. Nothing’s progressed for the past two years or more.’

‘Well, the important point is that the dead man is part of that family,’ Phil insisted. ‘As we thought. That in itself gives you the green light to bring them all in for formal questioning.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Gladwin glumly. ‘Plus we’d better look for Graham Bligh, I suppose.’

‘Cheer up,’ he adjured her. ‘This is what you’ve been waiting for. And thanks for telling me – it’s nice to be in the loop again.’

Despite these words, Phil felt irrelevant and superfluous, contributing nothing to the enquiry, a helpless onlooker, fit for nothing. All he’d accomplished during the past week was to thwart Thea in her planned explorations of the area and annoy various local people.

At the house, he almost rolled out of the car, stumbling painfully to the front door, the spaniel threatening to trip him up in her own dash for sanctuary. ‘Honestly, you two,’ mocked Thea. ‘That’s gratitude for the lovely drive I’ve just given you.’

Hector’s Nook stood cool and inviting, the wood-panelled rooms suggestive of earlier times when the sun was so much less intrusive and the outdoors something to be avoided. Thea gave first priority to checking that the snake was still in its rightful place, and the horses well provided with water. ‘Only one more day,’ she announced, coming back from her chores. ‘And all’s well. I might as well keep quiet about the escapes, when Archie comes, don’t you think? He doesn’t need to know. I can write to Miss Deacon later on, and tell her a bit more. Of course, by then DS Gladwin might have solved the murder as well, and everything will have settled down again.’

Thea had been eager to hear the latest news as soon as Gladwin’s phone call had ended. ‘What was that about Rupert?’ she demanded, and Phil had conscientiously repeated every detail.

‘Well, that’s that, then,’ Thea had said blithely. ‘Case closed. It was obviously Janey’s father who did it – killing his wife’s young lover in a fit of jealous rage.’

‘Thirty-five years after the event?’ Phil queried.

‘Well he didn’t know about it before, did he? According to Rupert, it was just vague suspicions until they had the DNA test done.’

‘And cutting off a hand and foot for good measure?’

‘That will have been to please Janey somehow,’ she said confidently. ‘Something to do with one of her saints. Once they’d got a dead body, it could come in handy for one of the Saint ceremonies.’

‘Thea, you’re being ridiculous. None of that makes the slightest sense. Apart from anything else, it would implicate Janey.’

‘Well, Fiona, then. We both thought she was too normal to be true.’

‘Did we? I just thought we found her refreshingly ordinary after all the other weirdos we’ve come across.’ He heard himself revising his previous reservations about Fiona, presuming that by comparison with most of the other
people they’d met, she was indeed a beacon of sanity.

‘But Rupert and Soraya,’ Thea said wonderingly. ‘Was it
really
how it looked? Could he be an uncle, or even her real father, do you think? Would that explain her adoration? It just seems so
unlikely
otherwise.’

‘You know the answer to that as well as I do. Nobody looks at uncles or fathers like that. And it isn’t so unlikely. It happens all the time.’

‘Maybe you’re right. I remember my sister Emily had a thing with a man twice her age, when she was twenty. He was a secondhand furniture dealer and had a glass eye. My father went ballistic about it when he found out.’

‘Not because of the glass eye?’

‘More because of the terrible old van he drove, I think,’ she giggled. ‘The point is – it does happen.’

‘Of course it happens,’ said Phil impatiently. ‘But for me the point is that fathers almost always go ballistic about older men seducing their daughters. It offends their sense of what’s right, somehow.’

‘That’s interesting, isn’t it,’ she agreed, clearly quite ready to discuss the socio-psycho-sexual
implications if that’s what he wanted.

But Phil had had enough. ‘What’s for supper?’ he asked shamelessly.

The pieces of evidence, the stories and connections swirling around the village and the people he had met all combined to make Phil mentally restless but physically exhausted, even before factoring in his traumatic experience of that morning. ‘I feel as if I’ve been sandbagged,’ he said, as he sat in Miss Deacon’s small courtyard, catching the westerly rays of the sun full on his face.