Thea’s first instinct was to call Gladwin, and save her team the bother of tracing the connection through online databases. But then she paused. Chances were that some diligent constable had already worked it out, sending someone to the door to tell Theresa and her husband the terrible news. They would tell the rest of the family – Imogen, Penny, Umberto. The news would fly around the world – to Vienna and Berlin. What had at first glance appeared to be a tightly clustered group of siblings, now felt looser. The younger generation had at least partially spread their wings. Attendance at Gabriella’s funeral might well involve long flights and complicated arrangements.
The immediate effect of her discovery was to banish the worst symptoms of her trauma. Already she was experiencing a glow of embarrassment at her reaction. That, she suspected, would get worse before it got better. Other people had far greater reason to collapse into shock and despair.
The victim now had an identity and the glimmerings of a story. Her photo was there on the wall of Umberto’s living room. She had surely been coming to visit her uncle, perhaps after work, not knowing he’d gone away. Some enemy had followed her, intent on homicide. Perhaps she had been sleeping with somebody’s husband, or cheated them in some way. Perhaps repeated itself in all kinds of hypotheses. A stalker, driven crazy by rejection. A driver, full of rage at the way she had just overtaken him on the road out of Stow, following her in an insane fit of male pride. The owner of a dog she had carelessly killed the previous day. The exercise was therapeutic, if nothing else.
Outside it was at last fading into darkness. She could see the sky at the back of the house, through the kitchen window. The salukis were quiet in their bedroom, and Hepzie nestled comfortably in one corner of the couch. Umberto had left written instructions for setting the night-time burglar alarm and locking all the doors. With very deliberate care, the paper in her hand, Thea went around the house doing as bidden. Where she would usually feel a kick of irritation at such paranoid behaviour, this evening was different. It was comforting, and even rather sensible, to erect defences and bar the house against crazy stalkers or ferocious jealous wives. Granted that their victim was well and truly destroyed, there could still just possibly be a residual malice, an urge to slaughter poor Gabriella’s entire family for good measure. And Thea might be mistaken for a cousin fully deserving of attack, given that she was in the uncle’s house.
She and the spaniel retired to bed at half past ten, unsure about the prospects of sleep. The night was cool and evidently the exercise with the salukis had been beneficial, because they both sank into oblivion two minutes after switching off the light.
Tuesday morning started early. Umberto had mumbled something about letting the dogs out ‘first thing’, which in June could easily mean 5 a.m. In fact, it was six-fifteen and there was no sound of life from downstairs. The sky was pale grey. A bird was singing somewhere.
Memories and images came back in clumps. The two policemen in a car outside; the emptiness of Oddington; the long day stretching unpredictably before her – and only then the violent shock of the main event. Cautiously, she inspected her own inner workings. The shock was definitely fading, with no more shakes or tears. If anything, she felt rather brisk and business-like. Gladwin – or perhaps Detective Sergeant Caz Barkley in her place – would show up and share confidential police findings with her, as they regularly did. Thea would perhaps share some of her less fantastic speculations and together they would tease out connections and histories and probabilities.
Getting dressed took very little time, even on a cool June day, and then she and Hepzie went down the wide staircase that ended in the generous hall. Space had never been in short supply when this house had been built, she concluded. The ceilings were high, the walls thick. Some rich wool merchant had done his best to vaunt his success. Or had she got the dates wrong? The house was a lot later than the seventeenth century, when it was easy to make a fortune from your sheep. Perhaps its first occupant had owned cloth mills or needle factories. Most of the industry of the time would concern the basic necessities – clothes or food, horses or houses.
The salukis greeted her with a well-bred nonchalance, before trooping outside to assess the weather. Hepzie followed them slowly, unsure of her status in this sudden pack. Her normal routine of walks along country lanes and footpaths had apparently been abandoned, and running about in a field was a peculiar substitute. Admittedly there was a field at home in Broad Campden, but she mostly ran straight across it, to get to the other side, not foolishly round and round it for no reason.
Thea threw some toys and noted the use of the toilet area and found herself relentlessly haunted by the events of the previous day, despite the initial effects having worn off. It felt somehow risky to be here at the back, instead of keeping the village street under observation. She might be securely locked in, but somebody could come to the gate and want her. There might be an overlooked clue to the crime somehow lodged in Umberto’s hedge. There might even be a distressed ghost hovering in the air just outside, desperate to convey something to Thea, as the only witness to her slaughter.
Umberto’s instructions gave details of the dogs’ breakfasts, which she followed with care. Then she went into the kitchen to make herself coffee and give Hepzie a handful of biscuit. It was only a few minutes past seven o’clock. Nobody was going to come for hours yet. The day became suddenly ominous, with acres of empty time and hardly anything to do. She could not expect Gladwin or Barkley to divert their attention away from such a high-profile murder investigation just to keep a house-sitter company, however traumatised she might be. And the honest truth was that she now found herself very much less traumatised than people might think.
But she had reckoned without her husband. At twenty past seven there was a phone call from him, much to her surprise. ‘Hit-and-run killing in Oddington,’ he said without preamble. ‘Is that what you call a nasty accident in the street? How far was it from the house you’re in?’
‘Why are you checking news headlines at this time in the morning?’ she countered without answering his question.
‘I’m not, but Stephanie is. She found it five minutes ago.’
‘But why?’
‘Why do you think? She’s taking an interest, trying to visualise where you are, hoping you’re all right.’
‘I am all right.’
‘But it was no accident, according to the news. The police are looking for a large silver or metallic car with broken headlights and probably other damage. A woman died. If I remember rightly, Oddington is extremely small. If I know you, you’ll already be involved.’
‘Yes, but I am all right,’ she admitted. ‘Gladwin’s the SIO and she left two uniformed officers here all night, just in case.’
‘Just in case what?’ His voice rose with concern.
‘Nothing specific. Tell Stephanie it’s nothing to worry about. The dogs here are lovely and it’s a very nice house. And it’s only till Friday.’
‘Thus speaks my eternally over-optimistic wife,’ he said. ‘I suppose I should be used to it by now.’
‘Yes, you should. And honestly, Drew, think of what he’s paying me. My whole focus has got to be on these dogs. I’m not even supposed to leave the house in case somebody steals them.’ An alarming thought entered her head as she spoke, but she had the sense to keep it back. ‘I won’t be able to get involved at all this time. I’ll be more likely to die of boredom than anything else.’
‘Very funny,’ he said with a sigh.
Thea changed the subject to the children’s school day, the midday funeral that Drew was conducting, and the options she’d left him for that evening’s meal, in the absence of Fiona Emerson’s assistance. Thea had provided one or two ready-cooked meals, to cover sudden emergencies, although Stephanie had protested that she could easily do any cooking that might be required. But the girl was very young and had year-end exams, and no way of doing any shopping. ‘This will be easier, and you still have to peel potatoes, and get everything coordinated, even if you use my casseroles,’ Thea had assured her. ‘You’ll be sick of even that much by Friday.’
The girl had shrugged. ‘I can do potatoes and defrosting isn’t very difficult,’ she said.
‘You might be surprised,’ said Thea with a laugh.
Drew ended the call with a reluctant agreement that he would refrain from worrying. He was well aware that Thea would go her own way, do her own thing, whatever he might be feeling. He accepted that this was better than if she let him control her with his own anxieties and weaknesses. That would be unhealthy and destructive – or so she assured him. ‘You knew what I was like when you married me,’ was often her finishing thrust, and he had to concede that it was true. He had seen quite a lot of her house-sitting at close quarters, and even shared a few of her adventures in their early days together.
Afterwards, Thea found herself annoyed with Stephanie for checking up on her. She acknowledged that it was well-meant, and the child was a born diplomat in most ways. But telling Drew about events in Oddington felt like an act of mild treachery. Stephanie would know perfectly well what the result would be, and that it could do no good. Surely it would have been wiser and kinder to simply leave Thea to herself for a week, and get on with their own interests?
The next hour trickled by with more coffee, a check on the weather forecast, straightening her bed and thinking. It was interesting the way thinking could pass the time. There were plenty of things to speculate about, after all. Did Umberto know by now what had happened to his niece outside his house? Would he be desperately upset? Would there be a gathering of his sisters and their offspring before he came home, and would Thea have to make tea for them? Would she get to meet some neighbours?
It was still early when at least a few of her questions were answered. Her phone warbled and proclaimed ‘Umberto Kingly’ as the caller. Thea was still not convinced that this piece of cleverness was to her liking. It removed any little thrill there had once been at not knowing who was phoning.
‘I’ve had the police onto me,’ he began. ‘Are the dogs all right?’
‘They’re fine,’ she said stiffly. Never mind how I might be, she thought crossly.
‘It’s completely beyond belief,’ he went on. ‘Literally impossible to accept as real. It must have been an accident, whatever the police might think. Nobody would deliberately kill Gabriella. She’s a fine girl. Not a nasty bone in her body. She had everything going for her.’ His voice was thick and quiet. She could tell how stunned he was. She was also beginning to notice the way he appeared to think well of almost everybody in his family. Whatever mild criticisms he had made were well seasoned with affection. Both Kirsty and Gabriella had been given a good character by him.
‘I know,’ said Thea meaninglessly.
‘Well, listen. You will stay on, won’t you? For the dogs. There’s nobody else. I’ve been trying to get hold of Imogen, but her phone’s off. God knows where she is. And Theresa must be so completely shattered, I don’t like to bother her. She’s Gabriella’s mother,’ he added helpfully.
‘Yes. I found them in that book you gave me.’
‘Oh – Vic’s book, yes. So you know about Penny as well, then.’
‘Um…?’
‘My other sister, married to Victor Rider. She’s a civil servant and thinks family history is bunkum.’
‘Right. Yes – she’s there as well. I mean, in the book. And on the wall, I suppose.’
‘Pardon?’
‘The photos. Dozens of them, all family portraits,’ she prompted.
‘Oh – right. I barely even notice them any more. Well, maybe you’ll get to meet some of them. It’s possible. My money’s on Penny. She’s the eldest, you see.’
Thea did see, even if her own eldest sibling was male.
‘Can’t ignore Penny,’ Umberto said, as if to himself. He sounded remote, detached. Thea felt she had raised a completely irrelevant topic when referring to the photos. Which was a shame, because she found herself suddenly wanting to know a lot more about the family and its own special dynamic. Everything would shift with the violent death of one of its number, in ways that were impossible to predict.
‘I’m just glad my mother’s not here to see it,’ said Umberto, in a stronger voice. ‘That’s one thing to be thankful for.’
‘Mm.’
‘But – oh Lord, I still can’t believe it. I had no idea Gabriella would seriously take it into her head to come and see you. When I told her I was going away she said something vague about coming round, but I never thought she’d do it. She’s got a demanding job and a splendid boyfriend. She’s been all wrapped up in him for a year or more now. Nice chap …’ Again he seemed to be drifting away.
Thea’s close encounters with police murder investigations meant that bells inevitably rang. The nice chap would already be near the top of any preliminary list of potential killers.
‘I see there’s a lot about your mother in the book,’ she offered, thinking the woman was looming quite large in Umberto’s mind.
His laugh was bitter. ‘You could say that. My mother was a woman about whom there was always a great deal to say.’ The formal syntax did nothing to conceal the feeling behind it. Without even thinking about it, Thea had learnt that Mr Kingly had not always felt kindly towards his maternal parent.
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘She must have been still alive when the book was published.’
‘She died a week or two after it was printed.’
‘Did she get to read it?’
‘Oh yes. Some of us even think it might have been what killed her. Splurging family secrets and all that. It’s really just Imogen who got herself in a tizzy about it. She never did like poor Victor much, anyway. Mama had a catastrophic stroke – it could happen to anybody at any time. She would never go to a doctor, so nobody knew her blood pressure was through the roof.’
‘Oh dear,’ said Thea, feeling inadequate.
‘Well, no need to go into that now. I’ll have to go. I’m already late. I’ll see you on Friday.’
The call was concluded with Thea’s assurances that the dogs would remain her highest priority, that nothing would be allowed to threaten them. Visitors would only be admitted once they were securely shut outside or in their living quarters. ‘I need your absolute commitment to that,’ he insisted. ‘They’ve been known to make a dash for it if they see an open door.’
Hard experience had taught Thea that where dogs were concerned, a careless moment could spell disaster. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘The dogs will definitely come first.’ And she meant it.
All of which quickly led to another prolonged session outside playing with the salukis, devising variations with a deliberate concentration that blanked out everything else. She experimented with the orders they did or did not understand. ‘Stay!’ worked perfectly, and ‘Fetch!’, but very little else. Even that was enough for some enjoyable games. Each dog answered unhesitatingly to her own name, which meant they could be despatched individually to different corners of the field by means of throwing a toy and then ordering the animal to stay. Then Thea stood in the middle and called each one to her. It was ridiculously satisfying when it worked. Hepzie added an unpredictable element by randomly allying herself to one saluki after another, and staging competitive races, which only she found interesting. Salukis, it turned out, could run very much faster than spaniels.
By ten o’clock everyone was comprehensively exercised, and it was raining. ‘Now what?’ said Thea, anticipating by about three minutes the next visitor, buzzing to be admitted through the inhospitable gates.
‘It’s me again,’ said Gladwin. ‘Let me in.’
After a careful check of the doors, Thea opened up. Tired and contented as the dogs might be, she was still mindful of her responsibilities and the need to be alert. Her own behaviour, so different from earlier occasions, gave her a little glow of self-satisfaction. This time she was really going to get it right.
She led the way into the kitchen and made two mugs of instant coffee. They did not sit down, but began a somewhat purposeless ramble around the ground floor of the house, carrying the drinks.
Gladwin had, as expected, found the link between the murdered Gabriella and Thea’s employer. ‘He phoned me just now,’ Thea said. ‘He’s stunned, poor man.’
‘Did he tell you she was his niece?’
‘Well, actually, I knew already. It’s in the family history book. I only found it late last night, so didn’t phone you about it. I assumed you’d figure it out soon enough.’
‘I’m not sure how to take that. People’s family trees aren’t posted on the Internet as a matter of course, you know.’
‘Okay, but once you knew her name and address, you’d find her parents, and they’d fill you in. There’s a whole lot I don’t know, if that’s any consolation. What was her job? What about her life? Friends, hobbies, qualifications … Umberto says she didn’t have a nasty bone in her body. Those were his actual words. And he said she had a boyfriend.’
‘Yes. She was living with him. He’s called Ramon Rodriguez. He’s Spanish, but has lived here since he was about three. He’s a teacher. She worked as a freelance interpreter and translator. Fluent in French, Spanish and Italian, clever thing. Does that fill out the picture for you?’
‘Very much so,’ Thea said.
As before, Gladwin was giving the room a close inspection. ‘There’s something a bit sad about this house, don’t you think? It feels neglected and unloved.’
‘I know. It’s typical Cotswolds in that way, even if it’s much more shabby. I mean – they all have a kind of temporary feel to them. With the others it’s the value of the property itself that matters. Here, it’s the dogs. It’s not so different, really.’
Gladwin frowned. ‘He is unusual, though. We’ve had a quick look at him, given that the incident happened outside his house. His activities in Germany came up on his website, and it really isn’t anything to get excited about. All rather small-scale, in fact. Just a lot of stuff about old cameras.’
‘I think he’s pretty keen on the cameras in a geeky sort of way – lenses and film sizes and all that. Although he doesn’t seem to care much about the end product.’
‘Sorry?’
‘The photos. You’d think he’d want to show off what the cameras can do. It seems a bit lacking to just bother with the contraption and not the photos it can take,’ she finished vaguely.
‘It probably isn’t unusual. Those old cameras are lovely in their own right. Precision tooling and perfect lenses – that sort of thing.’
Thea was reminded of her neighbour in Broad Campden, who collected old glass, just because he loved it. Umberto didn’t seem to be that sort of enthusiast. ‘I think it’s more dogs than cameras that gets him going,’ she said. ‘But he’s probably got lots of contacts, and collectors who’ll pay through the nose for an original 1924 Leica, or whatever. I dare say you can still find them in house clearances and so forth. Car boot sales. Auctions. I don’t know,’ she finished irritably. She sighed, her attention lapsing. Gladwin gave a little cough.
‘Sorry,’ said Thea. ‘I lost it for a minute. So why are we talking about Umberto? He’s got a very good alibi.’
‘Because it happened here,’ said Gladwin, insistently. ‘I said that already.’ She tapped an impatient finger on the window sill, where they had automatically gone to stand and look out on the street. ‘So tell me about the dogs.’
‘What about them?’
‘If he breeds them, every puppy can sell for thousands. Although there are laws to limit how many litters he can produce each year.’
‘He hasn’t bred any yet. It’s all part of a plan for the future. And he said he’d only have one lot a year, with the girls taking it in turn.’
‘How would that work financially? I bet he’ll give in to temptation and go in for a lot more than that.’
‘It’s probably not a very reliable market. And he does love them for themselves, not just as breeding machines.’
‘Okay, so he makes a fairly basic living with buying and selling antique cameras. I can see there’s a bit of profit to be made if he’s canny, but it won’t be many millions, will it? How does he pay his council tax, for a start?’
‘Maybe his mother left a handsome bank balance for them all to share.’
Gladwin’s attention was wandering. ‘I expect you’re right that it’s not important, anyway,’ she said. ‘He was definitely out of the country when it happened, so unless he paid a hit man, he’s in the clear.’
‘Gosh! I never thought of that,’ grinned Thea. ‘What if he did? That would make pretty good sense.’
The detective closed her eyes for a moment, as if recalibrating something. ‘Would that fit with what you saw last night? Just a gut feeling, a subliminal impression – anything?’
Thea leaned back, trying to clear her mind. ‘For a start it doesn’t fit with Umberto. He really seems to like all his relations. He says nice things about his nieces and gets along with his sisters.’
‘So let’s go over what you saw yesterday, one more time,’ Gladwin urged.
‘All right. You saw for yourself from upstairs – it’s all at a funny angle. I saw the car roof, and the way the wing mirror scraped the little car, which must have taken about half a second before it hit the girl and the door, all in one ghastly crash. It was going terribly fast.’ She shuddered. ‘It must take enormous force to wrench a door right off like that.’
‘Apparently not as much as you might think. Cars are pretty flimsy these days.’
‘Does that mean the killer’s car will be badly damaged?’
‘Not necessarily. Once it had bashed the door off there was nothing to get in its way – not like running into a brick wall, or even an oncoming vehicle. We’ve been running simulations,’ she explained, with a rueful expression. ‘Which isn’t too good for a person’s peace of mind when you know there was a real victim caught up in it.’
Thea merely shook her head sympathetically.
Gladwin persisted with her questions. ‘You didn’t see the driver at all? Not a tiny glimpse? No reflections?’
‘There’s no way I could have done. I was watching the girl.’ Again she tried to clear her mind. ‘She saw the car coming, I think. She was turned a bit sideways, maybe because she heard the engine. She might have been worried about the door of her car being open and getting in its way.’ She paused. ‘But she didn’t look worried. I’m not sure, but I even think she might have been smiling.’
‘As if it was someone she knew; somebody she was glad to see?’
‘That’s possible,’ said Thea.
‘Which would mean it wasn’t a hit man,’ said Gladwin.