the chapel to view remote acquaintances. This policeman seemed to think that Thea was there from morbid curiosity, or an inflated sense of her own usefulness. Her role as mother of a young police officer cut no ice with him at all.
‘Don’t wait for me,’ I told her. ‘I’m sure you’ve got things to do.’
She met my gaze for a second, and I understood what a stupid thing I had just said. She had nothing to do but mourn her dead husband, walk her dog, and sit in an abandoned house for no good reason at all. But neither did she have any reason to wait for me. I had to be somewhere else, the moment I was permitted to make my escape.
Before she could leave the hall, her mobile warbled. Stopping in her tracks, she extracted it from her bag and looked at the screen. With an apologetic glance around the room – which everybody ignored – she put it to her head.
‘Um…yes, hello,’ she said in response to an opening remark at the other end. ‘That’s right… I have no idea…well, possibly, I suppose… That’s entirely up to you, isn’t it?… What do you want me to do, then?’ This last after a lengthy silence, during which I shamelessly stood my ground and listened, instead of proceeding to my interview. ‘No, not really,’ she was saying reluctantly. ‘All right, then. I’ll see you later. Bye.’
She met my eyes again. ‘The sister,’ she told me. ‘Judith Talbot. She’s heard about the trouble over the grave and wants to come and see for herself. She wants me to be here to explain what’s been happening.’
‘Does she know about all this?’ I waved a hand at the police activity.
‘It seems not. She did say she was going to contact you as well.’
‘And you didn’t tell her I was here.’
‘No. I thought you might want to keep your head down.’
‘Thanks, but I can’t really leave it all to you, can I? What time’s she due to arrive?’
‘Eleven or a bit after.’
‘I might as well stay, then. I guess I sort of owe it to her.’
Thea smiled, a much happier smile than the conversation warranted, and a long-forgotten little imp inside my chest turned one of his somersaults – which I had no control over whatsoever.
My interview with DI Basildon was peculiar, to say the least. Conducted at a formica table in the middle of the room, with a detective constable as witness, it felt oddly informal. The young detective made notes on an electronic gadget, which I found disconcerting. The inspector began by clearly informing me that I had made myself freely available to assist with enquiries into the murder of a certain Mr Maynard, and that I was jeopardising none of my rights by giving this assistance. For the first time, I wondered whether I ought to have asked for a solicitor to be present.
‘Please tell me in your own words exactly what contact you had with the deceased before his death, from the beginning,’ came the first stilted question.
‘Well, I suppose you could say it all started when one of your officers came to my home yesterday morning and demanded that I return here to Broad Campden to face a council accusation that the grave I had arranged was a trespass.’ I found myself stumbling over the language, trying to maintain an equally formal delivery to that of my interviewer. He watched my face and said nothing. ‘I did as I was asked, and met Mr Maynard at the grave. He told me that Mrs Simmonds had not been the rightful owner of that field, and that the grave would have to be moved.’
‘And…?’ he prompted.
‘Well, I argued with him. I thought he was being unduly bureaucratic and unreasonable.’
‘Did you threaten him?’
‘Of course not. What possible threat could I make against him?’
‘How was the matter left?’
‘Inconclusive. I assumed I would receive a letter from the council, and we would have to take it from there. I had some idea of checking ownership of the land, and the possibility that Mrs Simmonds had squatters’ rights over it.
‘Don’t wait for me,’ I told her. ‘I’m sure you’ve got things to do.’
She met my gaze for a second, and I understood what a stupid thing I had just said. She had nothing to do but mourn her dead husband, walk her dog, and sit in an abandoned house for no good reason at all. But neither did she have any reason to wait for me. I had to be somewhere else, the moment I was permitted to make my escape.
Before she could leave the hall, her mobile warbled. Stopping in her tracks, she extracted it from her bag and looked at the screen. With an apologetic glance around the room – which everybody ignored – she put it to her head.
‘Um…yes, hello,’ she said in response to an opening remark at the other end. ‘That’s right… I have no idea…well, possibly, I suppose… That’s entirely up to you, isn’t it?… What do you want me to do, then?’ This last after a lengthy silence, during which I shamelessly stood my ground and listened, instead of proceeding to my interview. ‘No, not really,’ she was saying reluctantly. ‘All right, then. I’ll see you later. Bye.’
She met my eyes again. ‘The sister,’ she told me. ‘Judith Talbot. She’s heard about the trouble over the grave and wants to come and see for herself. She wants me to be here to explain what’s been happening.’
‘Does she know about all this?’ I waved a hand at the police activity.
‘It seems not. She did say she was going to contact you as well.’
‘And you didn’t tell her I was here.’
‘No. I thought you might want to keep your head down.’
‘Thanks, but I can’t really leave it all to you, can I? What time’s she due to arrive?’
‘Eleven or a bit after.’
‘I might as well stay, then. I guess I sort of owe it to her.’
Thea smiled, a much happier smile than the conversation warranted, and a long-forgotten little imp inside my chest turned one of his somersaults – which I had no control over whatsoever.
My interview with DI Basildon was peculiar, to say the least. Conducted at a formica table in the middle of the room, with a detective constable as witness, it felt oddly informal. The young detective made notes on an electronic gadget, which I found disconcerting. The inspector began by clearly informing me that I had made myself freely available to assist with enquiries into the murder of a certain Mr Maynard, and that I was jeopardising none of my rights by giving this assistance. For the first time, I wondered whether I ought to have asked for a solicitor to be present.
‘Please tell me in your own words exactly what contact you had with the deceased before his death, from the beginning,’ came the first stilted question.
‘Well, I suppose you could say it all started when one of your officers came to my home yesterday morning and demanded that I return here to Broad Campden to face a council accusation that the grave I had arranged was a trespass.’ I found myself stumbling over the language, trying to maintain an equally formal delivery to that of my interviewer. He watched my face and said nothing. ‘I did as I was asked, and met Mr Maynard at the grave. He told me that Mrs Simmonds had not been the rightful owner of that field, and that the grave would have to be moved.’
‘And…?’ he prompted.
‘Well, I argued with him. I thought he was being unduly bureaucratic and unreasonable.’
‘Did you threaten him?’
‘Of course not. What possible threat could I make against him?’
‘How was the matter left?’
‘Inconclusive. I assumed I would receive a letter from the council, and we would have to take it from there. I had some idea of checking ownership of the land, and the possibility that Mrs Simmonds had squatters’ rights over it.
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