Slaughter in the Cotswolds (14 page)

But he wasn’t going to be brushed off. ‘And they’ve behaved since then, have they? Henry Galton let them off, did he? Thanks to that police bloke, is the way I heard it. You were lucky there.’

It was like being poked in the ribs with a bony finger, over and over again. He was trying to get a response from her that she had no intention of giving. What was it with this man, anyway?

‘Can’t stop any longer,’ she said, engaging the car’s gears. ‘Sorry.’

The Rhodesian ridgebacks had ignored her throughout. Although they pulled restlessly at their leads, they had a cowed manner that suggested lives passed in unhappy conditions, without play or treats. It was wrong to keep animals like that – just as the Angells were wrong to make theirs spend all day attached to chains. Was there a brotherhood of unkindness to dogs around here, she wondered, giving Hepzie a quick close hug as she drove one-handed down to Hawkhill.

Any lingering hope she might have that Freddy and Basil would have miraculously returned was dashed. The yard was as silent as before. ‘What do we do now?’ she asked the spaniel, glumly. ‘Call the police,’ was the only answer that occurred to her own question.

From habit, and a feeling that this would be the least embarrassing of a range of unappealing options, she called Phil’s mobile. He did not answer it, so she left an incoherent message, trying to inject urgency without panic and probably failing utterly.

It was not yet four o’clock – too early to start the rounds of animal feeding, and a reasonably good time to take Hepzie for the walk she’d planned that morning. But she was not in the mood. The rain had stopped hours ago, but it was still a grey uninviting day, with an uncomfortable wind blowing. She went into the house, to be greeted by a sarcastic, ‘How many eggs make five
– huh? Five fours are twenty. See if I care.’

‘Shut up, Ignatius,’ she grumbled, while unable to resist a grin at this new piece of showing off.
See if I care
was rather good, in its way. She thought she could detect Cedric Angell’s intonation coming through in the mimicry. If not him, then his son Martin with the bizarre sense of humour sounded very like his dad. By the end of her stay, she suspected she’d be able to make a good stab at understanding whichever member of the Angell family had taught the parrot its repertoire. A film buff, given to issuing orders, it seemed. But where did the bit about eggs fit in? This way lies madness, Thea told herself with a shake. Perhaps that was the plan all along. Ignatius’s tutor had merely wanted to drive everybody in Hawkhill mad. Just the thing, in fact, that a clever teenage boy would enjoy.

So she made herself more tea, and sat down in the living room for a think. It had been an eventful day, by any standards, leaving her with plenty to worry about. Her sister’s decline into hysteria demanded some attention, and the missing dogs even more so. The latter emerged as clear favourite, if only because she was being paid to take care of them and her conspicuous failure was impossible to evade. Emily’s condition was too far beyond her power to address. There was nothing she could do
about it, other than perhaps make a supportive phonecall.

But the dogs! What on earth could have happened to them? Could she believe in the innocence of Galton, the blindingly obvious suspect in their abduction? If so, who had taken them?

She tried to trace a logical path through everything that had happened since Basil and Freddy ran off on Sunday. That man Lister had come into view less than five minutes later. She recalled his purposeful walk, his eyes on her face, narrowed in thought. She had supposed him to be wondering who she was, but on reflection he had seemed more as if concentrating on a plan. He had been pleased to see her – and almost gleeful in his prognostications as to what would happen to the runaways.

Now she knew he owned two large dogs, her view of him had changed. And cogs began to turn, meshing together with the smooth inevitability of a water tight theory. If Freddy and Basil had not killed the sheep, then something else had. Something big and fierce and canine. A pair of semi-trained Rhodesian ridgebacks, for example.

It made unnervingly good sense. Perhaps Lister’s dogs had somehow broken out, and he was anxiously searching for them when three other loose dogs surged past him after
a rabbit. Knowing the terrible possibilities of sheep worrying and the likely execution of his prize breeding stock, he immediately hatched the cunning plot of throwing suspicion elsewhere. It must have seemed like a godsend. Without any reference to his own beasts, he warned Thea of what would happen, sowing the seeds in her mind, before nipping briskly over to Galton’s and sowing the same seeds again.

Precisely when the slaughter happened, and how the ridgebacks were retrieved and washed clean of any evidence, was unclear. And why he so blatantly revealed their existence to Thea now, by walking them along the stretch of road almost outside Hawkhill, was equally incomprehensible. Unless – of course –
he
had got Freddy and Basil locked up somewhere, and wanted to give himself an alibi by appearing to have been calmly walking his own dogs at more or less the time they went missing. He would call Galton, tell him the murderers were safely behind bars, ready for execution at any time to suit his, Galton’s, convenience.

It looked perfect at first glance, but closer inspection revealed some holes. The timing would have to be extremely neat, not only on Sunday but today, with amazing luck at every turn to enable such a plan to work. The mere fact that Lister was not a likable person didn’t justify accusations of such iniquity as she had been contemplating.
On the other hand, was it so extraordinary for someone to try to save the reputation of their own dogs at the expense of a neighbour’s? Quite possibly there was a long history of antagonism between the Angells and the Listers which could account for the man’s behaviour. Perhaps he had been deliberately watching for a chance to get Cedric and his dogs into trouble.

The key lay with Galton, she realised. He must have believed Lister initially, and would be very likely to cooperate now, if indeed Lister had Freddy and Basil shut away somewhere. Or would he? Since their encounter that afternoon, the relationship had shifted. Each knew the other to be a real human being, with real feelings and preoccupations. She liked him more than she did before, and thought it was the same for him. He had ended by trying to recover his earlier prejudices, but she wasn’t sure it had been effective. Would he be even half so inclined to shoot the dogs now he knew more about the person who would carry the blame?

She should phone him and try to avert any action on Lister’s part. She should sow some counter propaganda against the ridgebacks.

And she would have done, if she hadn’t been interrupted before she could locate the man’s phone number.

It was Ariadne, her eyes staring, shoulders slumped, car slewed crookedly across the yard. She came into the house without knocking, and accosted Thea in the kitchen. ‘It’s Peter!’ she cried, without preamble. ‘They’ve arrested him.’

Thea saw the naked suffering, the desperate search for consolation and put her arms out to her friend. ‘Hey, hey,’ she crooned. ‘It doesn’t necessarily mean anything. When did it happen?’

Ariadne slumped into a kitchen chair, and held tightly to Thea’s hands. ‘Just now. They wouldn’t let me go with him. He hasn’t got a lawyer or anything – what’s he going to
do
?’

‘He’ll be fine, honestly. Come on, take a deep breath and we’ll talk it through.’ She thought of making some more tea, but Ariadne didn’t seem ready to release her grip. Confusedly, she understood that this was about more than the fact of the arrest. The fear was too acute. Ariadne was afraid of losing Peter on a more elemental level. Of finding him to be flawed, perhaps, or even of being guilty of some unforgiveable act – like murdering his own brother.

‘Oh, Thea. You can’t imagine how much I love him. It’s like an illness, almost. I can’t think about anything else. I just want him to be happy – and
with me
.’

‘I know,’ Thea murmured. ‘It’ll all be all right, you see.’

‘Yes. It
has
to be, hasn’t it. It isn’t as if he’s committed any crime. He hasn’t you know.’ She stared up at Thea’s face, her eyes blurred with panicky tears. ‘You believe that, don’t you?’

‘Of
course,’
said Thea stoutly. And she did. If Emily’s story was accurate, then nobody could place Peter Clarke as the uncontrolled attacker. ‘Of course he couldn’t have done such a thing.’

Ariadne’s grip loosened. ‘They said they wanted to check his alibi again,’ she reported. ‘We heard today that they’ve found a will where Sam left everything to Peter. Oh, Thea – what a horrible mess. This is much worse than last time. I think they’re convinced that he did it. How could he? His brother’s head was totally smashed, the brains all splurging out. It must have been a
maniac
to do that.’ A few more deep breaths had calmed her down to a point where she could speak coherently, and force her thoughts into some kind of order.

‘The alibi – what’s wrong with it?’

‘That’s really why I came to you. It’s all down to your sister. What time
exactly
did she leave here?’

Thea gritted her teeth. ‘I can’t say
exactly
. It was dark, because it was raining so heavily, so I thought it must be nearly nine. But actually it can’t have been as late as that. It might only have been eight. It never occurred to me to check a
clock, you see. And it sounds as if she might only have been driving for ten minutes or so before – well, before she saw what she did.’

Ariadne groaned. ‘So they think Peter could have had time to do the awful deed and still get to the vicarage in Cirencester for nine.’

‘Surely not.’ Thea’s mind struggled to function. ‘That’s stupid. He’d have had to wash the blood off, change his clothes – and act normally. Can anybody be that good at acting?’

‘Not him. He’s not a liar, Thea. I
know
he’s not.’

Thea was still lost in the same thoughts as before. ‘He’d also need to drive at a hundred miles an hour and have a clean suit lying on the bed ready. And he’d have had to get over his homicidal frenzy enough to fit into a room full of church bods.’

Ariadne giggled wildly. ‘Precisely,’ she said. ‘God, Thea, I’d forgotten how wonderful you are. I don’t know how you do it.’

‘Do what?’

‘Think so clearly, and put it all into words. You’re so
honest
, as well. No evasions or euphemisms.’

‘Oh, well,’ sighed Thea. ‘I suppose I’m used to it.’

‘So what should I do? I feel totally helpless.’

‘Not a lot you can do.’ Thea let an image of
Peter Clarke form in her mind, along with the unwelcome comments Phil had made about him on Monday. ‘Nobody’s going to take any notice of you, because they think you’re blinded by passion.’ She said the words ironically, but there was plainly a lot of truth behind them.

‘I am,’ said Ariadne mournfully. ‘My wits have all gone to jelly. It’s all the worse for knowing what a fool I’ve turned into, and not being able to help it.’

‘It sounds naïve, but I honestly think that if he’s innocent, they’ll let him go, no harm done.’

‘
If?
’

‘You know what I mean. In a way it’s turning out lucky that it was my sister who was first on the scene. At least it gives you direct access to the chief witness.’

‘Does it? Where is she then?’

‘Well, actually – um – she’s in a bit of a state, according to her husband. I guess it’s because our father died so recently. Everything happening at once. She’s overwhelmed.’

‘She should join the club, then,’ said Ariadne, and this time it was Thea who giggled.

‘No, no, it isn’t funny,’ she asserted, sobering quickly. ‘She’s my big sister, never had a day’s illness. It throws everybody if Emily falls apart. Now if it was
Jocelyn
, nobody would be surprised. She’s the baby of the family – we’re used to having
to mop her up. This is altogether different.’

Ariadne had no answer for that. Thea remembered that there were only brothers in her family, which would be a whole other dynamic.

By a silent agreement to revert to something closer to normality, Thea made a pot of tea, and carried it through to the living room, where Ariadne went to the window, first to inspect the parrot on his perch, and then to observe the view beyond.

‘Hawkhill used to be much bigger than this, didn’t it?’ Ariadne looked out of the window, as if scanning the invisible acres. ‘My dad had some kind of business dealings with them here at one time. They kept pigs, years ago, and he used their boar now and then. Looks as if most of the buildings have gone now.’

‘They sold off the bulk of the land, Cedric said. There’s some trouble over whether or not it can be built on.’

‘As usual,’ Ariadne nodded easily. ‘Every new brick is cause for a massive battle around here.’

‘Except it wouldn’t be bricks, would it? Perfectly matched Cotswold stone has to be the only material under consideration.’

‘Right. I keep waiting to be old enough to care about that sort of stuff. The campaigners are always over fifty – had you noticed? And most of them live in London from Monday to Friday. It
makes you wonder what it’s all about.’

‘Money, obviously. Property values. If Lower Slaughter agrees to a new estate, however tasteful and tucked away, it becomes a less desirable place, and the house prices slide. Even the most whispered suggestion of new houses will start a panic. It’s quite funny, really.’

‘I do hate the look of new houses, just because they seem so raw and bare and cold. But they soon start to blend in, I suppose. Everything was new once.’

‘It won’t happen,’ said Thea confidently. ‘Whatever Cedric might say.’

‘You’re probably right.’

The diversion had been deliberate, a breathing space in the maelstrom of police arrests and crazy sisters.

‘I have to feed the animals,’ Thea remembered. ‘At least the ones that are left.’

Ariadne gave no sign of hearing this leading remark. Thea sighed, and added, ‘Do you want to help? You can do the parrot.’

‘Wow – thanks. I
love
the parrot. Will he say something to me?’

‘Who knows? He has a mind of his own – full of some very strange material, I might add.’

‘Then can we go to the pub, and decide what to do about Peter? He must be in such a state, poor bloke.’

‘He has his God, hasn’t he?’ said Thea, knowing it was unworthy. ‘It worked for Terry Waite.’

‘Not enough,’ said Ariadne stoutly. ‘He needs us as well.’

They drove in Thea’s car down to the main road, and turned left to where Ariadne knew a pub on the edge of Bourton. The bar of the Coach and Horses contained some obvious holidaymakers, with young teenage children eating chips and lasagne. The two women ordered fish pie and wine from the Specials board, Thea pointing out that this was her second pub meal of the day. ‘And there was me thinking I wouldn’t find anybody to go out with while I was here.’

‘Can you ask Phil to keep you in the loop with what’s happening to Peter?’ Ariadne asked. ‘He usually tells you, doesn’t he?’

‘Things are a trifle cool between me and Phil,’ Thea reminded her. ‘It all came to a bit of a head yesterday. I’m still trying to adjust.’