Chapter Sixteen

Destroying Angel.

Beatrice slipped a shawl over her shoulders and continued scribbling at the kitchen table. If Hannah Gwynne knew poisonous mushrooms, so did her daughter. Susie may have become a respectable landlady, but for many years, she had been an unmarried mother, living on the charity of her surviving parent. Until she met Gordon Hancock.

Gordon Hancock. Like Matthew, he was eleven years older than his partner. Unlike Matthew, he was married and had a stepchild. He and Susie seemed happy enough, even if they argued about money. Their daughter Francesca couldn’t wait to get away from the village and ran off to college the minute she finished school. Nothing unusual there; bright lights attract country kids.

Susie had means and opportunity. Gordon had motive. Yet the idea of the pair working together to snuff out Vaughan Mason didn’t sit right. She, weary and hopeless; he, drunk and hopelessly optimistic. This was as far from Bonnie and Clyde as one could imagine. But if not a partnership, could either have acted alone?

Gabriel Shaw. Beatrice went through the motions, elbowing aside her gut feeling that anyone Huggy Bear adored could never be a killer. He admitted his hatred of Vaughan. He knew the exact time frame of the poison and the habits of the victim. His mother had been repeatedly humiliated by the man and his anti-cruelty statement could have been nothing more than an attempt to impress his old crush.

Heather Shaw. She knew Vaughan better than most and had an axe to grind. Motive, means and opportunity were obviously a given but what did she have to gain? If she was to be believed, she had expected him to come back.

Mungo Digby. Innocence claimed by best friends’ status. He’d lived in the region for his entire life so might have some knowledge of local flora. The thought of Mungo poisoning Midge for fear of some hypothetical book was ridiculous to Beatrice. But academic reputations were delicate creatures and...

The shrill ring of the telephone woke Huggy Bear, who sat up with a startled bark.

“Hello?”

“Beatrice. Gordon here, from The Angel. Susie suggested you might be up for a chat.”

“Hello, Gordon. Yes, happy to oblige. Shall I come to the pub?”

“Not much privacy here. What do you say to a quick snifter at The Star?”

“Suits me. What time?”

“How’s half six?”

“See you then. Thanks, Gordon.”

“Thank you.”

The car park of The Star, surprisingly busy for early doors on a Thursday, was riddled with potholes. Easy enough to avoid unless the ground was covered in four inches of snow. Beatrice chose one of the three spaces in the lane, in front of a mud-spattered Land Rover Defender she recognised as belonging to Gabriel Shaw. She sat in the car, wondering if she should call Gordon and relocate their meeting. She’d really rather not encounter anyone they knew, but that was close to impossible round here. Having their conversation in one of their vehicles was inappropriate, going for a walk would be unpleasantly cold, so she would simply have to acknowledge Gabriel and continue with her purpose.

A car pulled up outside the pub and Gordon Hancock emerged from the passenger seat. He leaned back in to speak to the driver, then slammed the door with a laugh and thumped on the roof. The driver gave a pip-pip of the horn and drove off into the night.

Beatrice opened her door to accost Gordon before he made for the pub. “Gordon? I’ve just this minute arrived. You are punctual.”

“Can’t keep a lady waiting,” he said, with an awkward bow. With a public bar between them, there had never previously been any kind of physical greeting.

She pulled on her gloves and locked the car. “Let’s go inside. Just a word of warning, I think that’s Gabriel Shaw’s Land Rover. Best we say hello to him then retreat to a corner.”

Gordon looked over his shoulder at the dirty vehicle, still warm enough to melt the snowflakes landing on its bonnet. “Nah, that’s not Gabriel’s. Not a local number plate. Hey, Beatrice, you all right to give me a lift home? One of the punters dropped me off, see, and Susie’s behind the bar on her own so she can’t fetch me. Is that OK?”

They began walking up the path to the pub. “Of course I can give you a lift. It’s a detour of no more than five minutes. But if Susie’s behind the bar, why didn’t you drive?”

“Can’t risk the breathalyser.” He opened the door. “After you.”

They entered the pub, its ambience full of warmth and voices, and made for the bar. Gordon held up a hand. “I’ll get the drinks. My way of saying thank you for a bit of inside knowledge. What’s your poison?”

She froze for a moment then her thoughts caught up. “A white wine spritzer with soda and ice. Thank you.” She looked around the room for a spare table and saw the party in the bay window. Adrian, Will, Matthew, Tanya, Marianne, Maggie and Rose all leaning in to listen to a silver-haired female in fancy dress. Not one of them saw her, so intent was their concentration, so Beatrice melted away to a corner table at the opposite end of the bar. She reached up to the sunken spotlights and twisted one from its socket. Good job she’d kept her gloves on. She sat with her back to the wall in the shadows, watching the group with a cynical eye. Gordon loomed over her, drinks in hand.

“You chose the darkest corner there is! Hope folk don’t get suspicious. People might think we’re...”

“Thank you for the drink. What other people think is their business. Now, let’s talk about Vaughan Mason. I’m going to ask you questions as if I were the investigating officer and you tell me the truth. If I think you’re incriminating yourself in any way, I may suggest rephrasing your response.”

Gordon took a large pull from his pint and licked his lips. “Ready when you are, Inspector Stubbs.”

“You may refer to me as DI Stubbs, just for the duration of this exercise. Mr Hancock, how long had you known Mr Mason?”

“Twenty-five years? Can’t recall exactly, but he’s been a regular at The Angel since we took over the licence. That was twenty-five years back.”

“Would you consider him a friend?” asked Beatrice, with a glance over his shoulder at the group in the bay window.

“Acquaintance, more like. He drank in the bar most weekends, we played cards occasionally, and moved in similar circles. You know the score.”

“Gordon, you’re not talking to me but a police detective investigating a suspicious death, remember? What are you prepared to say about the card games? And please don’t lie, they already know about the gambling. Be as honest as you can.”

Gordon drank deeply from his pint glass, his eyes downcast. Across the room, Beatrice saw the silvery goddess rise from the table and make for the toilets. The Converse trainers gave her away. Catinca. So the whole wedding party was present and she had been deliberately excluded.

“This is confidential, right?” Gordon asked, licking his lips.

“Gordon, please. I want to offer my experience as a police officer, not dig about for gossip. Whatever you tell me is in total confidence.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Right then. We played poker. Table of six, high stakes and Vaughan made a lot of money out of all of us. Everyone thought we could beat him but that sly old git never – not once – ended up on the losing end. Susie thinks I lost over a grand to those games, but she could add a nought and get closer to the truth.” He pressed his finger to beer-moistened lips.

Adrian approached the bar and looked around the room as the server prepared his order. Beatrice elbowed her notebook to the floor and ducked to retrieve it. She spent so long digging about, Gordon bent down to offer assistance.

“Got it, thank you.” She sat up in time to see Adrian returning to his table. “Now, to return to my questions. When did you last see Mr Mason?”

“The Friday before he died. As usual, he was one of the last to leave, hoping for a lock-in. I kicked him out at half eleven because it was Francesca’s birthday and they were waiting for me upstairs. She wouldn’t come down to the bar. The old drunks get on her nerves, she says. All I wanted was to go upstairs and have a birthday drink with Frankie. Vaughan must have had four or five pints and at least two whiskies. His speech was just starting to slur, so I told him to go home. Sometimes, Suze will give him a lift if she’s in a good mood, but that’s not very often these days. Anyway I just wanted him out so I could lock up and spend some time with my girls. I thought a brisk walk in the cold was exactly what he needed.”

“Francesca was home that weekend? I thought she was busy with her gallery.”

Gordon drained his beer. “She is, but she always comes home for her birthday, even if it is just overnight. I got staff to cover the bar so they could have some mother and daughter time. She misses her little girl more than she lets on. So do I, if I’m honest.” His eyes grew soft and misty. “I’m so proud of her, you know.”

“So you should be. You raised a lovely young woman. Who do you think...”

Gordon hadn’t finished. “Never wanted kids, you know. But when I met Susie, Francesca was part of the package. I fell in love with her mum but that little angel also captured my heart.” He sighed.

Beatrice wondered how many the man had already drunk if he was getting sentimental at seven o’clock in the evening.

As if he’d heard her thoughts, Gordon picked up his glass. “Ready for another?”

Beatrice panicked. If Gordon went to the bar, he may well spot the party in the bay window or they see him and the ensuing awkwardness would be unbearable. She couldn’t propose leaving just yet as she’d only scratched the surface of his knowledge. Another pint or two would loosen his tongue but how to achieve that when they couldn’t risk going to the bar? She sipped at her wine, playing for time. A noisy party entered the pub, baying and shrieking with laughter. They were all gussied up and well-oiled, presumably post-Christmas lunch, judging by the synthetic Santa hats and cardboard reindeer antlers. Time to make their exit.

“Yes, I am ready for another, but not here. Let’s find somewhere more conducive to conversation. Come on now, quick!” She grabbed her coat, bag and gloves, left the light bulb on the table and scurried towards the door. Gordon obediently followed at her heels.

Weaving her way through the drunken throng, she excused herself politely at first, until the complete indifference of the people began to inflame her temper. She elbowed and shoved and barged people out of her path, arriving at the doorway to find another group blocking her exit.

Will saw her first. “Beatrice! What are you doing here?”

They all turned to her, every single face a mask of guilt and embarrassment. Matthew reached out a hand.

“Listen, Old Thing, we just...”

“Hello, everyone. Fancy seeing you! Sorry, can’t stop. Promised Gordon a lift home. See you all later.” She barrelled her way through them and headed out into the snow.

Her enthusiasm for interrogation had faded away entirely. When Gordon opened the passenger door, she gave him a tight smile. “Would you mind if we called it a night? I’ll drop you off and if you have any other questions, you can give me a ring in the morning.”

He fastened his seatbelt. “Um, yeah, sure. Is everything all right?”

Beatrice started the car and flicked on the wipers to clear the screen of its gauzy white veil. “I’m sure it will be. There must be an innocent explanation of why I’ve been excluded from the family meeting with the wedding party. No need to take it personally. Maybe I was just surplus to requirements.”

They drove in silence back towards the village, snowflakes coming out of the navy-blue night like a cloud of moths, the countryside softening to a festive fairyland.

Gordon cleared his throat. “No one can make you feel inferior without your permission.”

“Sorry?”

“I meant that it’s up to you. You can choose your own reaction.” Gordon inhaled and released a huge beer-scented breath. “I don’t really know what I’m talking about, Beatrice. Just one of those phrases that hit me in the right place. Vaughan, Mungo and, sorry, even Matthew make me feel insecure, you know, unsophisticated and a bit of a peasant. Them being such intellectuals and all I do is pull pints. Thing is, Francesca saw a therapist for a while, when she was having a few teenage problems, and that was one of her, what would you call them? Mantras?”

“Yes, mantras or affirmations.”

“You know about this stuff?”

“A little. Go on.” She drove slowly through the lanes, alert to reflective blue eyes of foxes or cats and the subtext of Gordon’s ruminations.

“Inferiority is a state of mind. Depends on your measurement of people’s worth. I don’t pretend to get all of it, but Francesca came back from every session with live ammo. You know, stuff she could use immediately. I admit to being a bit sceptical at first but anyone could see it made a massive difference. That counsellor made her look at things with a new perspective. She changed Francesca’s life. Which in turn had an effect on me and Suze. You know, I’ve completely revised my opinion on therapy and I’ve got a lot of time for that woman.”

“She sounds quite wonderful. Is she local?” asked Beatrice, indicating left to the village green and the lights of The Angel.

“Hellfire, the pub’s packed already. I’d better get in and give Suze a hand. Yeah, Gaia’s sort of local. She lives in the back of beyond round Appleford way. Thanks for the pep talk, Beatrice. I’ll let you know how it goes. G’night and don’t fret too much. It’ll all come out in the wash.”