Village Affairs (28 page)

He turned off the television and went to bed, where he lay awake in the darkness, ferociously trying to think of ways in which to further their investigation. As he finally began to drift toward sleep, his subconscious took over and suggested a solution that, while not practical, at least enabled him to drop off. It had to do with finding a bloodstained knife in Joan Bonnar’s town house.

Chief Inspector Carmichael, being unconcerned with promotion— in fact, retirement was not so very far down the road these days—and being much more accustomed to difficult cases, spent a pleasant evening with his wife. He had missed her while he was in Chipping Chedding; he found he missed her more of late when he had to go away. Still, there was no denying that she was fast asleep by his side long before he himself succeeded in turning his mind off and settling down for the night.

Bethancourt, having thoroughly muddied the water in the Stutely Manor fountain in the process of cleaning his dog’s paws, ate a substantial English meal with Astley-Cooper and discussed the wool market. After supper, they ventured out to the Sheep’s Head pub, where they continued their discussion, now joined by various worthies, and Bethancourt, in a leisurely way, began to pick the burrs out of Cerberus’s coat. All in all, Bethancourt enjoyed the evening very much, and was understandably reluctant to break his mood when Gibbons rang to fill him in on the lack of progress in the case. He sought his bed early afterward, taking a book to read himself to sleep, which he did quite shortly in a very contented frame of mind. It is always nice to have various interests and to be able to keep them separate in one’s mind.

CHAPTER
13

A
t 10:15 the next morning Constable Stikes was sorting through the messages on her desk in the Stow-on-the-Wold police station, trying to pick up the threads of her usual routine, which the Bingham murder had thrown into chaos. She had been somewhat miffed at the revelation of Joan Bonnar as Bingham’s girlfriend after she had put in so much work on compiling a reasonable list of tourists whom Bingham might have been dating. It was also annoying that the idea of Joan Bonnar had never once occurred to her, even though she had been well aware of the fact that the star had been spending more time than usual in Chipping Chedding over the past few months.

The investigation apparently having been shifted firmly to London, Stikes had dealt as best she could with the chaos of the funeral yesterday and with the rash of petty thievery which broke out in its aftermath, and had earmarked today for a return to normal. She was a bit late starting, owing to a broken alarm clock, but she felt all the better for the extra hour’s sleep and there was, as it turned out, nothing urgent awaiting her.

She was just deciding on a schedule for the day when she was interrupted by a call from James Benson up at the old farmhouse. He sounded quite distracted, but Stikes put that down to the fact that his sister was probably standing at his shoulder, putting in her own ideas every time he paused for breath. Everyone in Chipping Chedding knew who wore the trousers at the old farmhouse.

Gradually, however, Benson’s message become clear. His mother was missing—they had searched everywhere and couldn’t find her, and her car was still there. Stikes said she would come at once and rang off, all thoughts of a normal day fleeing from her mind. As she ran for her car, she pulled out the number for Detective Chief Inspector Carmichael and punched it into her mobile phone.

At 10:25, Gibbons was cooling his heels in Emily Redston’s office. The secretary had been very apologetic—Mrs. Redston had missed her train, but would take the next one and be in the office by eleven, probably a little sooner. Gibbons had decided to wait. He was making small talk with the secretary when his mobile rang, and he excused himself to answer it.

“I’m glad I caught you,” said Carmichael. “Have you finished with the Redston woman?”

“No, sir,” replied Gibbons. “She’s running late. She should be in by eleven, though, and I thought I’d wait.”

“We can send O’Leary to see her,” said Carmichael gruffly. “I’ve had a call from Chipping Chedding. Joan Bonnar’s gone missing. No, you stay there. I’ll get the Rover out and pick you up on the way. Meet me in the street in fifteen minutes.”

Carmichael rang off.

“Something up?” asked the secretary brightly.

“Yes,” answered Gibbons. “I’m afraid I’ll have to go. Someone else will be along to see Mrs. Redston later.”

He was already dialing Stutely Manor as he made his way out the door.

Bethancourt was sitting in the dining room, sipping his second cup of black coffee and reading the paper. Astley-Cooper looked as if he had a bit of a hangover, but had eaten a prodigious portion of bacon and eggs nonetheless, and some color was returning to his face. Bethancourt, who never ate breakfast, was toying with the idea of a slice of toast when the telephone rang. Astley-Cooper went to answer it, returning in a moment to say it was Gibbons.

“I don’t know what this country is coming to,” said Bethancourt, setting aside the paper. “Anybody would think that policemen should be hard at work by half ten in the morning, not making personal phone calls.”

Astley-Cooper giggled. “Maybe he has news,” he said hopefully and Bethancourt went out to the phone.

Gibbons did not reply to his inquiry after his welfare.

“Joan Bonnar’s disappeared,” he announced.

“Really?” said Bethancourt, startled. “When?”

“This morning, presumably,” said Gibbons. “I don’t know anything about it yet, but I thought I’d let you know. Carmichael and I are starting down at once.”

“All right,” said Bethancourt. “I’ll go over and see you there, if she hasn’t turned up before then.”

Once he had heard the news, Astley-Cooper insisted on accompanying his guest to the old farmhouse, an idea which Bethancourt embraced as guaranteeing his entrance to the house. After all, there was no very good reason for Martha Potts or the Bensons to welcome his presence, but they could hardly turn away Astley-Cooper.

Mrs. Potts opened the door to them.

“Hello, Martha,” said Astley-Cooper. “We heard you were having a spot of trouble and thought we’d pop ’round to see if there was anything we could do. You remember Phillip, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course, come in. Is it all over the village, then? Constable Stikes only just arrived herself.”

“No,” answered Bethancourt, “I don’t imagine everyone will have heard yet. Sergeant Gibbons rang me—he and the chief inspector are on their way from London.”

“Well, come on through—though I don’t know as there’s anything to be done. We’re waiting for the police at the moment.”

“Have you looked for her?” asked Astley-Cooper. “If her car’s here, she can’t have gone far.”

“We’ve been searching since breakfast,” said Mrs. Potts, leading them down the hall toward the sitting room. “That’s when we missed her. She was drinking last night, so I wasn’t surprised when she wasn’t down to breakfast, but once we’d finished, I thought I’d better see if she wanted coffee in her room. Only the room was empty when I went up.” She spread her hands, pausing in the hall outside the sitting room door. “I wasn’t alarmed at first. I told the twins and they went out to see if she was at her car or had gone to the stables. When we couldn’t find her in any of the obvious places, Julie thought perhaps she’d gone down to Charlie’s cottage. So I rang Peg Eberhart, but she hadn’t seen her and said the cottage was still locked up. That was when we began to worry. We looked all over the house, and then rang Constable Stikes.” She turned and opened the door. “Julie and James are in here.”

The twins were perched on a windowsill, looking out, while the constable stood in a corner, talking on the phone. She raised a brow at them, while the twins turned to see who had come.

“Oh,” said Julie, “I thought you were more police.”

“No, it’s only us,” said Astley-Cooper.

“Clarence and Phillip have come along to help,” said Mrs. Potts.

James scowled. “I don’t know what anybody can do,” he said gloomily.

“She’s just disappeared,” said Julie. “Her car’s here and so are all of ours, and none of the horses are out, yet she’s nowhere to be found. Something must have happened to her, although I can’t think what.”

Bethancourt privately thought it more likely that Miss Bonnar had fled, though he was surprised. He had really not thought her guilty.

“When did you last see her?” he asked.

“Last night after supper,” said Julie. “At about nine o’clock or so.”

“Mrs. Potts said she had been drinking?”

“Oh, yes,” said James. “She took the bottle up with her—we all saw her—and most of it’s gone this morning.”

“Then,” said Astley-Cooper, “she might have disappeared at any time during the night.”

“Did she take a coat or anything?” asked Bethancourt. “It was chilly last night.”

“Yes, her coat’s gone,” replied Julie. “And a pair of flat shoes. I’m not sure what else she was wearing—she always brought a lot of clothes.”

“Well,” said Bethancourt, “if she was a bit tipsy and went for a walk at night, she may easily have fallen and broken a leg or something.” He had no faith at all in this theory, but he could hardly tell them he thought their mother was a murderer. And however bad it looked, it was entirely possible that an accident had occurred.

“We thought of that,” said Julie impatiently. “James walked down to Charlie’s cottage earlier—it seemed the most likely place for her to have gone on foot.”

“I kept a sharp lookout,” said James, “but there was no sign of her.”

Constable Stikes had rung off, and now walked over to join them.

“Cheltenham are sending a search team,” she said. “I’m going to go down to the road to be sure they don’t miss the turn. I’ve been explaining the lay of the land to the sergeant in charge, and he’s already organizing his men as they come. We’ll find her, never worry.”

“Thanks so much,” said Julie. “We appreciate all you’re doing. Look here, do you think the police could leave a man at the road to prevent the press coming up? They’ll be swarming all over, otherwise.”

Stikes nodded. “I’d already mentioned it to the sergeant,” she answered. “Let me go down and meet them now.”

They were all silent once she had left them.

“Well,” said Astley-Cooper in a moment, “you know, she mightn’t have gone anywhere in particular.”

Everyone looked at him, confused.

“I mean,” he said, “she could have just taken a walk. You know, when you can’t sleep at night and think a breath of fresh air might help.”

“Yes,” said Julie thoughtfully, “I suppose that’s possible.” She looked at her brother. “I would have thought, if that were the case, she’d just take a turn around the garden, and we’ve checked there. But she might have gone along the path instead.”

“The path?” asked Bethancourt.

“It leads out to the lake—it’s a favorite walk of all of ours,” explained James.

“It’s also how one walks to the cottages,” said Mrs. Potts, frowning, “and James has already been along there.”

“But I didn’t look around the lake itself,” said James. “It didn’t occur to me. I had my eyes on the path, thinking if she had fallen, she would be somewhere along it.”

“It’s a chance,” said Julie, standing up. “I’ll go look myself. I’ll take one of the horses—I shall go quicker that way. Do you want to come, James?”

Her brother shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’ll wait here with Marty for the police.”

“You’ll want someone along,” said Bethancourt. “In case you find her, I mean. I could go with you, if you like.”

Julie shot him a suspicious look. “I don’t know,” she answered. “Can you ride? Really ride, I mean. My horses are tender-mouthed and I intend they should stay that way.”

“I can ride, actually,” said Bethancourt.

“Phillip plays polo,” said Astley-Cooper helpfully.

This seemed to mollify her, and she led Bethancourt out to the back door, where she paused to don a jacket and a pair of Wellingtons, glancing at his trousers as she did so.

“You’re going to ruin those flannels,” she remarked.

“That’s all right,” he replied, smiling at her. “All in a good cause.”

Like many women before her, she melted beneath that smile and looked away. “Well, it’s very good of you,” she said. “Let’s get on then.”

The stable lay beyond the kitchen garden, a desolate place at this time of year. Julie walked briskly through it, and entered the stable through a door into the tack room. She paused here, biting her lip anxiously for a moment, and then said, “I suppose you can ride Storm. That’s his gear there.”

Bethancourt gathered up the saddle and bridle from their hooks and followed her into the stable proper.

“Storm’s the gray there,” she said, pointing with her chin. “He’s the steadiest of the lot.”

“Right,” said Bethancourt, hanging the saddle over the half-door and reaching out to make friends with the horse. He was aware, as he tacked up, of Julie’s critical eye on him, but she made no objections and appeared to be somewhat reassured by his practiced movements. Still, she watched him carefully as he mounted and gathered up his reins. Apparently he passed inspection on this score, for she turned her own mount and pointed.

“The lake’s that way,” she said.

“May I suggest,” said Bethancourt, bringing Storm up beside her, “that we ride several yards to one side of the path?”

“Why?”

“If we don’t find her, the police may want to look for footprints.”

“Oh,” she said, biting her lip again. “I hadn’t thought of that. Very well.”

On horseback, the lake was only a few minutes away. After the first few yards, Julie ceased to watch Bethancourt’s every move, having evidently made up her mind that Storm was safe in his hands. Bethancourt was very glad he had not been bluffing when he said he could ride; he could hardly imagine her reaction had his abilities been found wanting.

They rode at a brisk trot, topping the little hill that lay between the house and the lake. The well-worn track of the path led down the hill and straight to the water’s edge. At the shore, it forked, leading along the bank in either direction and at last into the trees, which crowded along the lake’s farther shore.