Rita Wilshire was greatly changed since the morning. She had shrunk in size, for one thing, hunched in her chair with bowed head. Mrs Goodison warned Thea that she would be shocked. ‘It happens like this sometimes,’ the matron said. ‘I’m not sure I should allow visitors, actually, but she did say she would see anybody who came. I think she had you in mind.’
‘Really?’
‘Just a hunch. I don’t mind telling you this has been a very distressing few days for us all. It isn’t often I have to deal with someone whose son has been murdered, as you might imagine.’
‘I don’t suppose it is,’ said Thea, heading down the corridor unescorted.
The old lady revived slightly when she realised who had come into her room. ‘You telephoned,’ she said.
‘I did. You told me the whole thing was your fault. I think I understand what you meant by that now.’
‘Clever girl.’ Her voice was weak, almost inaudible at times. But she put in a visible effort to speak her mind. ‘It’s strange, you know – I never felt a bit of guilt at the time. My husband was a useless creature, always depressed or distracted. Martin came to us when Dawn died, like a ready-made son. It all seemed to fit so neatly.’
‘Did you remain in touch with his father all along?’
‘Oh, no. He was in the Forces, you see. Burma. Prison camps, that awful railway and malaria and all that. He came back a wreck. It’s miraculous he’s lived so long, after all that damage.’
‘It’s all so long ago,’ murmured Thea, trying to grasp the fact that such ancient history was real personal experience for these old people.
‘It has come much closer in the past few weeks. As if it was all just gone a short while ago. The memories are as clear as crystal. It’s astonishing.’
‘So Martin grew up with you, just like your own son. Did he call you Mum or Auntie?’
‘I was always Auntie Rita. We made sure he knew who his mother had been. She was such a darling thing, you know. Everybody loved her. We kept her memory alive.’
‘You kept all her clothes, and linens and other things.’
‘There seemed to be no choice. In a way, the things were her, I suppose. I planned to hand them over to Martin’s wife when he married, but she never wanted them. Just laughed at them. Said they were moth-eaten rubbish. Nasty bitch, she was.’
The revival was slowly continuing, the voice growing stronger. Thea had pulled up the second chair and was sitting knee-to-knee with the old lady, bending forward to catch every word.
‘And then Richard was born,’ she prompted.
‘So he was. Martin’s cousin, officially. And actually, of course. But also his half-brother. They looked uncannily alike. Still do. I mean, did, until …’ She heaved a shuddering breath. ‘Those foolish boys! What can they have been thinking? I never dreamt one of them could end up dead.’
‘You had an affair with Martin’s father. Mr Teasdale. What’s his first name?’
‘Neville. He’s the younger son of an earl, you know. Well, a much younger son – three older brothers, poor chap. He never used his title. Could never see the point of it. But there’s family money.’
‘And he gave you some of it,’ Thea guessed. ‘Which you spent on ten years of exotic travels.’ It was remarkably gratifying to have that little secret revealed.
‘That’s right. I had to put some pressure on him, but he paid up handsomely in the end.’
‘But Martin’s a legitimate son, and Richard wasn’t – so he can’t have had any claim on money. Is that what he hoped to get from making contact the way he did?’
‘I told you about that, did I?’
Thea was focusing intently on the information flowing fitfully from the old lady. It was explaining a lot and yet still leaving a hundred questions to be answered. She also felt burdened by the knowledge that the ancient Neville Teasdale might be dying in an ambulance as they spoke. No way was she going to impart this news, but it felt wrong to withhold it. When the truth came out, Rita would feel manipulated and used. She was never going to want to see Thea Osborne again.
‘Did you love him?’ she asked.
The sigh was like a tiny puff of warm air. ‘I loved Martin. When he went away to school it was agony. I’m afraid I simply exploited Neville in the most outrageous fashion. I wanted another of his sons to love and raise, and it was easy enough to get him, as it turned out. Poor chap hardly knew what was happening. Of course everyone assumed it was John Wilshire’s child. Even John himself seemed willing to believe it. I told him some rubbish about a drunken night of passion that he’d forgotten.’
‘But Richard thought John was his father as well?’
‘Until he met Brendan, who showed him pictures of Neville. Brendan does family history, the fool. Came to the house asking to see old photos and bringing some of his own. I could hardly refuse him, could I? Martin was there, as it happened, and I could see Richard getting thoughtful. Next we knew he’d disappeared in a puff of smoke, and his wife went off her head with worry.’
‘But if he was simply getting to know his father, why did he keep it such a secret? Why would it matter?’
‘Neville would have denied the whole thing. He’s an old-fashioned Victorian, afraid for his reputation. He swore Richard to secrecy.’ She managed a breathy little laugh. ‘And yet he was so pleased about it, too. He and Richard formed a bond almost instantly. Richard was angry with me, of course, because it could all have been too late. There was this decrepit old man, deaf and rambling – they set about doing what they could to make up for lost time.’
‘Who else knew about it?’
‘Brendan guessed, but they would never confirm it to him. He talked about getting a DNA test done, but never did it, as far as I know. After all – it has nothing to do with him.’
Thea sat there, processing the story and following a number of implications, saying nothing. Eventually she asked, ‘Was there really an email from Richard, saying he feared he might be killed? How else would Brendan know to go up into your attic?’
‘You asked me that before.’
‘I know I did. And I’m not sure I believe your answer.’
Rita Wilshire looked up, attempting to straighten her neck and back. ‘My dear, look at it from my point of view. All I have now is Millie, and Martin. They’re the only two who are going to come and see me. And Millie’s liable to swan off to some foreign country at any time. Martin’s got himself a place in Gloucester, which is not so far away. He’s a cheering presence. And he emails me every day.’ She smiled wistfully. ‘I do love emails, always have. It felt as though they invented them just for me.’
‘And you’ve always loved him.’
‘More than Richard?’
‘You have a special place for the first one. To all intents and purposes, that’s what he was.’ A wash of sadness crossed the old woman’s face, turning it grey. ‘And now it’s all at an end, isn’t it. Richard has gone. Neville won’t survive for long, once he’s told the news. The family, such as it was, has all turned to ashes. And the whole thing is my fault.’ She kept her eyes on Thea’s face. ‘It’s a lesson that takes a lifetime to learn. Be sure your sins will find you out. A small selfish act, so very many years ago, will come back to bite you. But have mercy, my dear, if you can. I dare say quite a lot depends on you now.’
Thea drew in a deep breath, making calculations as she did so. What was the worst that could happen? What could she gain by doing what she planned? How was it her business, anyway?
Before she could say anything, the door of the room swung open and Millie burst in. ‘Gran! Oh, Gran! How are you? What’re you doing here?’ she demanded of Thea. ‘Aren’t you ever going to go away and leave us alone?’
‘Manners, dear’ reprimanded the old lady. ‘This lady has our best interests at heart.’
‘Does she? What makes you think that?’
‘Well …’
It wasn’t entirely true, thought Thea guiltily. It wasn’t thoughtfulness or altruism that motivated her so much as a need to see the story to its conclusion and find answers to the many questions that had arisen. But now she had the main answers hovering an inch away from her nose, but was prevented from verifying them by the intrusion of this annoying girl.
‘I’ve been at the police station for hours,’ said Millie angrily. ‘They’ve got a mad idea about Brendan and some stamps. What’s that about, anyway? They’ve arrested him by now, I expect. They didn’t explain it at all, but as far as I can work out, they seem to think Brendan killed Dad because of some valuable stamps that were in the attic at Chedworth. How can that be possible?’
‘It’s not,’ said Thea and Rita Wilshire in one breath.
Ten minutes later, Thea left the care home, having said little more to the old lady or her granddaughter. She suspected that Rita knew what she was thinking, and what she was going to have to do. She was cast in the role of Nemesis, which was far from comfortable. She could see no other course of action but to return to Cirencester and reveal her findings to DI Higgins. It felt slightly tame, and anticlimactic, but also inescapable.
And yet there were still unanswered questions. How much did Norah Cookham know? And Millie, who gave an impression of bewilderment, but always seemed to be on the spot when anything important was happening. And biggest question of them all – how had Richard actually been killed? She had a feeling she would be asking as much as answering, once she located Higgins.
Her phone trilled at her, just before she got to her car. Assuming it to be Drew, she did a double take when the screen said ‘Caller Unknown’. It could be anyone, of course. Probably nothing to do with the business in hand. She answered warily.
‘Mrs Osborne? Martin Teasdale here. Where are you?’
Her heart thumped. ‘How did you get my number?’
‘You gave it to Millie. She gave it to Brendan. We’ve all got it,’ he said carelessly. ‘Now please listen. Where are you?’
‘In Stratford.’
‘I see. Well, I’m in Oxford. My father died half an hour ago. I’m guessing you’re with my aunt. If that’s right, could you be kind enough to give her the news?’
‘What? Why me? Of course I won’t do that. It’s not my place. She’s lost everything, these past few days. I’ve no intention of adding to her distress.’
‘No problem,’ he said calmly. ‘I only thought it might be the easiest thing. I’m not going to insist.’
‘I’m leaving, anyway. Millie’s with your aunt. You could phone her and ask her to do it. Not that I understand why it’s so urgent. It was over twenty-four hours before anyone told her that her son had died.’
‘That’s why, of course. She’ll not forgive such a delay again.’
‘I think she’s gone beyond all that now,’ said Thea.
He was quiet for a few seconds. ‘What did you mean, she’s lost everything?’
Her heart thumped again. ‘Well …’ she said, ‘the dreadful way her son died.’ She emphasised the word son, from an obscure sense of wanting to keep Richard in the forefront.
‘Listen,’ he said. ‘You and I should meet. I understand that you’ve been a kindly presence these past few days, you and your partner. I’d like to express my gratitude. Perhaps we could meet in Chedworth – say in an hour’s time? At the house.’
‘What for? I don’t need any thanks. I wasn’t going back there again. I’ve done all I can.’ A thought struck her. Brendan could not have been arrested, as Millie supposed, because he had been in Chipping Norton with his father only ninety minutes earlier. ‘Is Brendan with you?’ she asked, without thinking.
‘Why?’
‘No reason. Just a thought.’
‘Well, he is, as it happens. But I was going to take him home to Cheltenham before meeting up with you. He has things to do.’
‘He stole your aunt’s stamps,’ she said. ‘She’s very upset about it.’
‘Bullshit,’ he said. ‘That’s just Auntie Rita’s paranoia. Forget about it. The stamps aren’t going anywhere.’
Thea said nothing. Martin Teasdale went on, ‘So you’ll meet me, will you?’
‘Only because it’s on my way,’ she said. ‘I can spare a few minutes, I suppose.’
‘Lovely. Make it five-thirty, then. At the house.’
She was mad to agree, she decided. Totally insane. Not only could there be no conceivable gain to be made, but she had no desire whatever to see Chedworth again. Her thoughts and guesses concerning Martin Teasdale made him the last man on earth she should meet alone in a deserted village. And yet, the old enemy – curiosity – was controlling her. Here was a chance to anticipate the laborious police investigation and get answers directly.
‘Sorry, Heps,’ she said. ‘But we’re not finished yet.’
She was five minutes late, because she’d stopped at the same garage shop that she and Drew had used to refuel, and bought a bag full of food. The dog would be hungry, too, so she got some Winalot biscuits to tide her over. They had eaten as she drove, which did at least make her feel more energetic, and clearer in her thinking.
She parked a little way past the house, and resolved to conduct the ensuing conversation in the open air. Letting Hepzie out, to run free in the quiet cul de sac, she walked up to a car containing a man in the driving seat. Behind him there was a bulky rectangular parcel wrapped in black plastic.
‘No Brendan, then?’ she said.
‘I told you I was dropping him off first.’
‘I heard that he’d been arrested on suspicion of murder.’
‘You heard wrong.’
‘Well, it doesn’t much matter. We can soon put them right, can’t we?’
Only then did he open the car door and climb out. He was a solid man, with a sheen of prosperity and confidence. His eyes were clear and his cheeks well shaven. Of all the people Thea had met in the last few days, this one carried the least hint of guilt. He moved easily, obviously free from any of the joint pains that so often afflicted men of his age. Even his knees seemed to work perfectly. His features were disconcertingly similar to those of the dead Richard, his cousin and half-brother.
‘Who would have guessed what a dangerous little thing you turned out to be?’ he said with a smile. ‘Brendan told me how you questioned him like any prosecution lawyer. All that stuff about our family, which is so very much not your business.’
‘Does Brendan know what you’ve done?’
‘Don’t beat about the bush, dear. Call a spade a spade, why don’t you?’
She was beginning to feel that this man was having no difficulty in disarming her. She was doubting some of her own perceptions and conclusions. But she wasn’t done yet. ‘That classwork book he found in the attic. It was yours, wasn’t it?’
‘Richard’s, actually. Full of doodles and scrappy ideas. Funny the way he left it up there. I think it was deliberate, don’t you?’
‘Did he really leave an email predicting that he would be killed? Your aunt won’t tell me.’ It was a niggling detail that kept distracting her.
‘Up to a point, yes. Brendan saw a printed-out email at Auntie Rita’s. Richard was eaten up with all kinds of worries. Not just family stuff, but all those farmers who hated his guts. But he didn’t expect to be murdered. He just hinted that there was something important in the attic that might explain a few things. Brendan always did overdramatise everything.’
‘He’s not the only one,’ said Thea, thinking of Millie, and even old Mrs Wilshire herself.
‘Well, they all got the family gene, I guess. It comes from my old grandma. Rita and Dawn’s mother. But let’s not get into that now.’
‘I think I understand quite a bit of it already.’
‘You do, do you?’
‘I know that your father is also Richard’s father. I imagine that had implications for inheritance of his estate. He’s from a rich family, with titles and stately homes and all that.’ She heard herself faltering. There was a glitch in her logic that she hadn’t noticed. But she pressed on. ‘And this house,’ she said, waving at Rita’s handsome Cotswold property. They were standing on the front path, neither showing any sign of wanting to go indoors. Thea had a feeling that Martin was deliberately remaining in the open as a gesture of reassurance. And for that, she found herself quite liking him.
‘The house goes to Millie. There’s no argument about that.’
‘But there was an argument?’
‘On a quite different level – yes, I’m afraid there was.’
She waited, aware that she had absolutely no claim to any knowledge of private family business, but equally aware that Martin had asked her to come and meet him. There must be something he wanted to say to her. He’d talked about gratitude for her kindness, on the phone. But he wasn’t carrying a bunch of flowers and he had called her a dangerous little thing. All of which led to a loss of balance.
‘We argued about our mothers, essentially. Neither of us knew Dawn; we both regarded Rita as central to our lives. Richard knew perfectly well that I would never have agreed to putting her in a home. He went ahead and did it without any consultation. But when I saw her there, I realised it was for the best. I made no objection. The same thing when I heard that he’d employed you to go through my mother’s possessions. I was forced to concede that it was well past the time when they should be opened up and disposed of. I was annoyed when I finally got hold of the fact that he had approached our father some time ago, and wheedled his way into his affections, in these final years of his life. Bit by bit, I found Richard a thorn in my side on just about every level. He did his best to obstruct my visits to Auntie, as well. He turned his girl against me. He read all the emails I sent to Auntie, and apparently came to the conclusion that I was stealing his mother from him. She always loved me more, you know. It was just a fact of our lives. I can’t see how it really changed anything for him. I was out of his way, first at school, then I left the country altogether. He was a dutiful son. Auntie was a perfectly good mother to him. And yet it seems he never felt he got his due. He could never please her to his own satisfaction.’
‘But they seemed so close,’ Thea interrupted. ‘My fiancé said that was obvious from seeing them together, last month.’
Martin nodded sadly. ‘He was always determined to be seen as the perfect son. It was almost an obsession. When he finally discovered who his father was, it was the same there, too. He had to win affection and approval from a deaf old man, who had never much cared about his offspring. He more or less abandoned me as a small child, and I’ve barely seen him twenty times in fifty years. But the fact remains that I’m his legitimate son, and nothing can change that.’
‘Is there a lot to inherit now?’
Martin puffed out his cheeks in amusement. ‘Barely a cent. He was the fourth son of a grand family. As a youngster, he had a reasonable income from all the various enterprises. His father was a remarkably clever businessman, unusually for the aristocracy. When he died, there was a pretty handsome share-out. But that was a long time ago. They’ve been a prolific family. There’s a dozen cousins at least all claiming their share. Besides, don’t you think there’s something very unsavoury about a man of seventy waiting for an inheritance from his father? If you can’t make your way in life by that time, then it’s a bit late to get started at my age. I don’t need any more money. I’ve done quite nicely for myself.’
‘So what happened with Richard, then?’ she blurted. ‘At the barn.’
‘You really think I know the answer to that?’
‘I really do.’ She fixed him with an uncompromising stare. ‘Who else?’ It sounded much bolder than she felt. There was still every chance that an angry farmer had killed Richard, she supposed. Perhaps all the things she had gleaned from members of the family had expanded into a conviction that was quite wrong. But no, she couldn’t believe that. It had gone too far for that.
‘I will tell you,’ he said, glancing up and down the little road. ‘Will you walk to the church with me? I think better when I’m walking, and your little dog seems eager for some exercise.’ Hepzie was mooching aimlessly close by.
‘Okay, then.’ The church was two minutes’ walk away, but the suggestion made a sort of sense. They were somewhat conspicuous, standing in an empty road. It was somehow the wrong setting for a confession to murder.
Because she felt certain that this was coming. Why in the world the man should freely make such an admission remained obscure. He had said on the phone that he owed her something, but she failed to understand what or why. Nevertheless, she was more than happy to let him speak.
‘Let me summarise,’ said Martin Teasdale. ‘Richard was always jealous of me, from the very start. Auntie talked about me all the time, rushed to open my letters as soon as they arrived, paid handsomely for my wedding and gave me lavish presents. It was foolish of her.’
‘Indeed,’ said Thea.
‘But not my fault. However, as I just said, in Richard’s mind there were countless reasons for hating me. And he acted on his hatred. He thwarted me in every way he could. He tried to poison Auntie’s mind against me. He labelled poor Brendan a criminal.’
‘Which made you hate him in return.’
‘Well, no, actually. I always felt sorry for him. I spent a large part of last Friday trying to put him straight. Trying to make him see that we were both too old for such foolishness. He came to my place in Gloucester, demanding that I stop emailing Auntie and showing her so much attention.’
‘All day Friday? So that’s where he was. He let people down. He didn’t answer his phone. He abandoned his dogs.’
‘He got very drunk on Thursday evening. He’d come to meet me to talk about the house here. We met in a pub near my home. He just lost it, I’m afraid.’
Thea thought back to the man she had seen on her arrival at Chedworth. How he had claimed to be consumed with guilt. It would make sense for him to try to drink the guilt away, she supposed.
‘So he stayed the night,’ Martin went on. ‘And in the morning he felt too ill for work. I took his phone away from him, because he would only make things worse for himself by trying to explain what was going on. And then we got into the most dreadful all-day conversation, going right back to the start, with Richard airing every grievance he’d ever had against me. He recounted his whole life. Then he drank more, and fell asleep at about seven in the evening. I didn’t know what to do with him, quite honestly. He woke up at six the next morning, insisting we settle it once and for all.’
‘Settle what, exactly?’
‘I wasn’t sure myself by that time. I was utterly sandbagged by the whole thing. But I knew we owed it to Auntie to try to clear the air. All that talk on Friday hadn’t resolved anything. It just made everything worse. Richard kept talking about a day we’d both gone to the barn.’
‘The barn where he died?’
Martin nodded. ‘It has a lot of history for us, that barn. When Richard was six and I was about seventeen, we went there together. We had a little terrier and wondered if we could get him to catch a rat. Rather nasty boy stuff, to be honest. We’d been before, and regarded it as our own personal playground. Anyway, it was August and the place was full of corn waiting for the thresher. Mountains of the stuff, fantastic for climbing on. We stayed all day, with the dog. Never caught a rat, and I remember getting bored with such a young kid in tow. I’d got my eye on a girl in Yanworth and wanted to get over there. But for Richard it was a magical day. He said it was the only day he could remember that we were real friends. We’d got some pop in a bottle and bits of food, so we had a little picnic, right up on top of all those sheaves. I told him some stories about school. All slow and sweet.’ His eyes grew moist at the memory. ‘So I stupidly reminded him of it, and said maybe we could try to recapture that friendship, by going back to the barn. It was mad, I know. But I couldn’t think of anything else to do, and it would at least get him out of my place. I was sick of the whole thing by then. I wanted to get on with my own business. Richard was maudlin, but not really drunk by that time. We took his car and decided to walk through the woods, just as the sun was rising.’
It fitted the facts thus far, thought Thea. Everything sounded genuine. Almost for the first time since Thursday, she felt she was being given unvarnished truth. ‘Then what?’ she prompted.
‘We climbed up to the platform, pretending we were boys again. But we’d got a lot bigger and heavier. Richard banged his head really hard on a beam. That made him bad-tempered, and he started all over again accusing me of wrecking his life. Then he tried to push me over the edge. I was terrified. It seems a hugely long way up, you know. And I’ve never liked heights. I clung to him, and scrabbled for a foothold. Then I realised we were close to an upright strut, and reached out for it with one arm. The sideways movement changed the centre of gravity and Richard just went over the edge, head first. I didn’t see him fall, but I heard him land. Just like a sack of potatoes. It never occurred to me it could kill him. But it did.’
‘But … the police have come to the conclusion it was murder.’
‘Must be because of the knock on his head. And that might have done more damage than it seemed at first. It was quite a clout.’
‘You didn’t finish him off? Did you rearrange the body or anything?’
‘I checked for a pulse, when I finally got down again. That took me several minutes. The ladder was wobbly and I was in a real panic. He was dead. I just left him. Nothing I could do would increase the impression that it was suicide.’
‘But there were no signs of a struggle on the platform.’
‘No. We didn’t struggle much.’ His voice grew softer. They were at the church door, the light rapidly fading. Ninety-six hours, almost exactly, since Thea had last seen Richard Wilshire. ‘You knew I was there,’ he went on with a little frown. ‘How did you?’
‘I don’t quite know,’ she faltered. ‘It just came together, somehow. But I thought perhaps it was Brendan and not you. I just got there by accident,’ she said with a quick laugh. ‘That’s often how it seems to happen.’
‘Well, you needn’t worry any more. I’m going to slip in here for a little while, and then I’ll phone the police. Nothing more for you to do, Mrs Osborne. Not a single thing.’
She gave him a searching look. ‘They won’t believe it was an accident,’ she said.
‘They won’t be able to prove otherwise. I’ll get a good defence barrister. And character witnesses. It won’t be so bad,’ he said with his customary smile. Then his face hardened. ‘You said Auntie Rita had lost everything. That isn’t true – yet. Only if I get sent to prison for the rest of my life will she lose both her boys. And that would hasten her death. If they do take Brendan in for questioning, there’s nothing he can tell them. Those ridiculous stamps might divert them.’
‘That might be what they want to talk to him about,’ said Thea.
‘Let’s hope so.’
‘What about Millie? And Judith? How did you get home again on Saturday? Did anybody see you?’
‘I walked back through the woods, thinking I’d drive Richard’s car back to Gloucester. Then I had second thoughts. It had to stay where it was. I put the key in its little magnetic box, because Millie knew that was his habit, and I figured she’d find it eventually. I kept on walking, all the way down to Fossebridge. Then I phoned Brendan and he drove me home. I told him some bullshit story about a business acquaintance who’d been called away, leaving me stranded.’
‘Did you take Richard’s car key out of his pocket?’
‘Of course not. I drove from Gloucester, so I had it already.’
‘You wanted everyone to think Richard killed himself,’ said Thea slowly. ‘Wasn’t that cruel?’
He shook his head impatiently. ‘Enough,’ he begged. ‘These questions could go on till Doomsday. You don’t need to know every little detail.’
Oh, but I do, thought Thea. Irritating, but true. ‘Sorry,’ she said, and then felt foolish.
She and the spaniel went slowly back to the car, wondering what came next. Was the case so easily solved, then? Richard’s death had been an accident, it seemed. All his own fault. What would his mother feel about that? Would she continue to blame herself? Was Martin an adequate replacement for her son? She’s lost everything, she thought unhappily. Unless I leave it all alone and just go away.
She looked around as she walked the few yards to her vehicle, at the house, and the thin scattering of cars parked along the road. One was Martin’s. And on the back seat, if she was not much mistaken, was the painting of the two young sisters. He had got it from Brendan, then. Was he planning to sell it, or what? Like everything else, it must belong to Rita Wilshire, who could leave it to anyone she liked. It wasn’t Martin’s to sell – or even to hang in his house in Gloucester. But it seemed a small detail now.
She let herself and Hepzie into the car, but sat motionless for another minute. She wanted very much to phone someone. Just to hear a voice and feel less alone with such a terrible burden of knowledge would be a great relief.
But then something better happened. A car appeared, and pulled up beside her. At the same moment, the door of the house opposite opened and Norah Cookham approached her. She wound her window down.
‘I called them,’ Norah said, nodding to where DI Higgins was getting out of the vehicle just arrived. ‘I didn’t want to, but I saw no alternative. I’ve had a long email from Rita, just now. And another from Brendan Teasdale. I saw you talking to his father. And then you came back, looking so downcast. I couldn’t just leave it all alone.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘I expect I did the wrong thing again.’
‘What did Rita say?’ Higgins was close by now, and Thea opened the car door.
‘She understands that the trouble is all her doing. She’s shouldering all the blame. She mentioned you. Said you’d been a very good listener and she was hoping you might be able to put a few things right.’ Norah looked at Higgins with exaggerated deference. ‘Inspector,’ she said. ‘I have a feeling this lady might want to talk to you. She’s carrying quite a load, I believe.’
Then she retreated to her house again, and nobody tried to stop her.
‘She called us, and I’ve dashed over here, and now she just leaves us to it,’ said Higgins, rubbing his head. ‘That’s not the way it’s meant to go.’
‘Were you at the barn?’
‘I was, as it happens. Wrapping it all up for the night. Nothing more to be gained there.’
‘Have you got any new evidence?’
He sighed, and gave her a schoolmasterly look. ‘You know I can’t answer that.’
‘I take that as a no,’ she said. ‘You haven’t arrested Brendan Teasdale, have you?’
‘We haven’t arrested anyone. I doubt if we’re going to. If we did, it might well be you, for wasting police time.’
She didn’t argue. ‘That’ll please Millie, at least. The thing is, Drew and I were wrong. That means you were right. Nobody murdered the wretched man. He brought it all on himself.’ She deliberately avoided looking at Martin’s car, hoping he wouldn’t come back from the church just yet.
‘And yet his head contained fragments of wood. How did that happen?’
‘Have a close look at a low beam up in the roof. I think perhaps he bumped his own head up there, and that made him wobbly. And then he fell off and died. Accidentally.’
Higgins scowled at her, more angry than she had ever seen him. ‘Which would have been our conclusion, if we had never listened to you.’
‘I know. I’m sorry,’ she said humbly. ‘I feel awful about it.’
‘Well, that’s the way it goes sometimes,’ he said reluctantly. ‘Nobody’s really guilty, after all.’
Nobody except Rita and Martin and me and Drew and Brendan and even Bloody Norah, thought Thea.