Heather Derwinter beat Tony in stirring up the police and local attention. He and Alex had just got into his car when she got a call from O’Reilly with the news that, at Heather’s insistence and with the backing of the mayor, there was about to be a police briefing in Folly-on-Weir.
‘I don’t want to go,’ Alex said after repeating O’Reilly’s message. She pushed the phone back into her pocket. ‘Do you?’
He had expected something like this. ‘Yes, I do. We need to know what’s being done and said publically.’
‘We already know.’
‘Nothing’s been said to the public until now. I haven’t heard or read a word about it.’ He drove to the church parking lot off Mallard Lane and got out.
Alex joined him. She wore no coat and looked shivery. ‘Look around. There are hardly any cars here. They didn’t get the word out so there’s no point in going.’
He wasn’t sure why she didn’t want to go to the meeting but would put money on her not wanting to admit how serious a threat she had to face. ‘Most people will come on foot. We already passed some. Just a minute.’ From his Land Rover he took a quilted vest and draped it around her shoulders. He knew she wouldn’t accept the coat he wore. ‘Wear it,’ he said when she opened her mouth to protest.
Quietly, but with a faint flush in her face, she put the vest all the way on and fastened the zip. Someone else could have worn it with her. ‘Thanks,’ she said, setting off to leave the parking lot without saying if she would go to the meeting or not.
Alex turned right. The meeting it would be.
As he’d predicted, more villagers were straggling along the little road and there were also vehicles, including a police car, parked on a verge.
Walking at her shoulder, Tony ducked his head going through the low entrance to the seventeenth-century parish hall on the far side of St Aldwyn’s. It was when he looked up again that he saw members of the press for the first time.
Alex backed up, trod on his foot and pressed against him. She’d seen the cameras and recorders, too. ‘I’m getting out of here,’ she whispered. ‘If my name is mentioned and they figure out which one I am, I’ll be asked stuff. I don’t want that. Most of all I don’t want my picture in the paper.’
‘We’ll cut up the gallery stairs,’ he said quietly in her ear and took hold of her elbow. ‘But they won’t say your name. And it’s probably only fairly local stuff.’
Her low boots scuffed on the stone stairs to the gallery. ‘The whole village knows I found the body. Anyone might talk about it if they were asked.’
She had a point.
‘Good thing we aren’t the only ones up here,’ he whispered. ‘We’d really be obvious if we were alone. I should have thought of that before we came up.’
As it was they sat immediately behind George from the bakery and his wife. The couple seemed half asleep and didn’t turn around. Bakers probably got up long before dawn, Tony thought. They had a right to nod off in the middle of the day.
‘We should have made sure Harriet and Mary knew,’ Tony said. ‘Doesn’t look as if anyone else did.’
Alex smiled at him. ‘They probably wouldn’t come anyway. They avoid meetings. Mary knows they’ll learn anything they want to know soon enough.’
‘And we wouldn’t change them, would we?’ He liked being with Alex, liked it a lot. Why hadn’t he taken notice of her before she met Michael Bailey-Jones? Because she’d made such a good friend and then you thought you’d already met the love of your life.
‘More people keep coming,’ Alex said. ‘Funny to see the mayor chin-wagging with the police.’
Joan Gimblet, Mayor of Folly-on-Weir, stood at the far end of the lower room with O’Reilly, Lamb and Constable Frye. Her mayoral chain glistened on her considerable bosom and her blonde hair looked freshly gussied up.
‘They’d have sent some honcho or other if this was really newsy stuff,’ he whispered to Alex. ‘O’Reilly’s boss, or his boss.’
She made a grumpy sound and said, ‘It’s a sad testimony to the state of things when murder isn’t newsy.’
Of course, she was right, but that discussion could wait for another time.
Dan O’Reilly walked to stand in front of the rows of chairs carrying the ancient microphone. ‘Good afternoon. I’m Detective Inspector O’Reilly and this is Detective Sergeant Lamb. Your own Constable Frye is here and you all know Madam Mayor.’
While a murmur of agreement went through the small throng, Tony saw Heather Derwinter take a seat near the front. Either Leonard was parking the car or she’d come alone. Tony would have expected her to take it easy for the rest of the day, but evidently she felt she couldn’t stay away when it had been she who’d raised the alarm with the police.
‘You all know a man met his death in the woods on the hill.’ With a nod, O’Reilly indicated the direction of the hill. ‘We felt there were a few things you should know and some safety issues to address.’
‘Did someone else get murdered?’ a male voice shouted. Tony couldn’t see who had spoken but assumed it was a reporter at work.
‘I’ll have a few minutes for questions when I’m finished,’ O’Reilly said neutrally. Apparently he wasn’t a novice at this sort of thing. ‘I’d like to ask anyone who thinks or knows they’ve seen someone who seemed out of place to contact Constable Frye or come directly to us. Please don’t hesitate to let us know even the smallest thing. If it isn’t relevant, you will still have done a service.’
‘He sounds so … I don’t know. In charge, I suppose.’
Tony noticed how intently she watched the detective, as if he really interested her. He shouldn’t find that remarkable, or get an uncomfortably sinking feeling.
‘I don’t want to alarm you, but basic safety precautions are important. You know what they are but village life is friendly and quiet and sometimes people forget that it’s wise to make sure all windows and doors are locked. Don’t go alone into isolated areas or be out after dark if you don’t have to be. We’re fully engaged in this investigation and we’ll make sure you’re kept informed. Don’t forget, if something concerns you, pick up the phone.’
‘He isn’t going to give any details,’ Alex said, and sounded relieved.
Another stranger’s voice rang out: ‘You said you’d tell us about someone else being murdered.’
His face calm, O’Reilly said, ‘There hasn’t been another death.’
‘Why are you avoiding talking about murder?’
‘I answered your question,’ O’Reilly said.
‘Is it true the dead man was a priest?’ A woman this time.
‘No.’ O’Reilly didn’t elaborate.
‘He’s being cagey,’ Tony said. ‘Not that I blame him.’
Alex kept watching the detective. ‘I hope he stays cagey,’ she mumbled.
‘Was he shot?’
‘I can’t discuss those details,’ O’Reilly said.
‘That isn’t something you normally keep mum about.’
‘This time it is.’ Now O’Reilly shifted as if he was getting ready to cut off questions.
But the woman wasn’t to be silenced. ‘So what’s the identity of the victim?’
‘The next of kin will be the first to hear that.’