Tainted Ground by Margaret Duffy Page B

just said. But I insist that she doesn’t get involved in any potentially nasty situations.’
    So he still needed me as a buffer but it would be difficult to explain to higher authority if I got the smallest bit dented.
    Patrick said, ‘I shall have to clear it with Brinkley. If it’s all right with you I’ll endeavour to do it now.’
    This he did and permission came with the same proviso; I was to learn, assist and advise where appropriate – something Brinkley assumed, wrongly, had been my only role with MI5 – and not on any account get mixed up in anything dangerous or in which firearms were involved.
    Patrick obviously had not told anyone that I was a real whizz with a sub-machine gun.
    â€˜You didn’t ask
me
if I was interested in helping you,’ I said to Patrick when we were alone.
    He feigned shock. ‘I thought you went and beat James to a pulp because he hadn’t called me out.’
    â€˜Thank you for the lovely things you said just now.’
    â€˜It’s true, though, isn’t it?’
    It looked as though I was in. Ye gods, what had I done?
    Patrick got out of the car and stretched luxuriously. We had left James at the nick and driven back to Hinton Littlemoor ostensibly on the case of thefts of horse tack and trailers but actually to talk to the residents about the Manleys and Keith Davies. I was quite surprised that Carrick himself had not suggested it, Patrick supposed to be off the case notwithstanding, as someone with family connections in the village was likely to get better results than an outsider.
    â€˜We know none of them were churchgoers so that rules out quite a few possible sources,’ I said. ‘They must have gone in the pub though surely.’
    â€˜Almost certainly. I suggest we leave that until later, concentrate on the village shop before it closes and then talk to people who don’t tend to go in pubs.’
    I already knew that the members of the walking group who had found the bodies were not from the immediate locality but from Bath U3A and had already been questioned. Nothing they had said had provided any leads. The shop cum post office might be more fruitful. It was run as a cooperative by volunteers, the result of a ‘buy-out’ by local people when it had looked as though the village would be left without a shop at all when the previous owners retired.
    It was to be expected though that recent events would have left everyone subdued and this was the impression I received after we had entered, the conversation among the three or four people present muted and strictly to do with the business in hand. There was a good range of health and organic foods but I have a notion that folk who have suffered personal trauma do not necessarily feel better for munching on pumpkin seeds. I chose some chocolate ginger for John and a box of crystallized fruit for Elspeth.
    There was no one being served at the post-office counter, behind which stood Norman, an employee of that organization and not part of the cooperative. He was one of the church wardens and although only in his early fifties possessed the gravitas of a much older man. It amuses Patrick that Norman and his wife Brenda always treat him as though he is still in short trousers.
    â€˜How is your father?’ Norman asked him. ‘Such a dreadful thing to happen.’
    â€˜Fine, thank you,’ Patrick answered. ‘No damage done at all.’
    â€˜I hear you’re a policeman now. No doubt you’re investigating the vandalism.’
    Perhaps it was not general knowledge yet that a coffin had been stolen.
    â€˜No, not really,’ Patrick told him. ‘I’m after information about the Manleys and Keith Davies – the murder victims.’
    I approached the shop counter to pay for the sweets but it was close to where the men were talking so I could hear what was being said.
    â€˜Outsiders,’ Norman said dismissively. ‘Brought