Death in the English Countryside Page 16
My phone buzzed with a text. It was from Inspector Quimby. Can you meet me at the inn?
Chapter Sixteen
I hurried back along the path to the village as fast as I could. Sir Harold’s prediction held true. Except for those few drops at the bridge, the rain held off. Quimby was waiting for me in the inn’s entrance hall. Today he had again gone with the monochromatic look, but instead of brown, his color choice for his suit and tie was a light gray.
“Would you mind walking a bit with me, Ms. Sharp? Rather cloudy today, but I’m not able to get out much and enjoy the countryside.”
“No, that would be fine.” I had my peacoat halfway off, but I shrugged into it again and pushed out through the door.
We crossed the courtyard and moved to the edge of the parking area. “Perhaps the green?” he asked, gesturing toward the path that led to the village.
“Sure.” We made the short trek into town silently, passing the church, then the shops and restaurants. The streets were more crowded than I’d seen them. People moved in and out of shops, hurrying along the sidewalk, causing us to weave around them.
“Market Day,” Quimby explained. “Farmers bring in fresh produce, cheese, bread, that sort of thing. They set up in the car park by the Town Hall, if you want to take a look later.” The bus stop just short of the green was especially congested with a throng queuing up to board a double-decker bus.
We came to the green and turned in under the arbor that marked the entrance. The wide lawns lined with flowerbeds were deserted except for a couple with a stroller. The area seemed especially quiet and peaceful after the bustle of the street.
Quimby gestured toward one of the park benches. “Not too wet.” He swiped his hand along the seat to make sure, and then we sat. I had a million questions in my mind, but made myself be patient. He waited until the couple with a stroller meandered by, then with his gaze on the church tower said, “We received the autopsy report on Mr. Dunn.” He swiveled toward me, studying me with his intense green gaze. Somehow, the gray palette of his clothes made his eyes seem more green, at least more intensely green than I remembered.
“It was difficult to pinpoint Mr. Dunn’s time of death. The time in the water complicates these things, but they were able to narrow it down to Friday between three and midnight.”
“Oh.” I’d been tensed, ready for more questions—about the camera memory card or about Becca. I hadn’t expected Quimby to give me information from the investigation. I leaned back against the bench and looked out over the swath of grass to a mass of yellow daffodils. “Then that means he was…dead even before I left L.A.”
“Yes.” Quimby’s voice was quiet.
“He was in the water all that time?” My throat felt dry and my vision went a little blurry as I thought of how I’d moved through my weekend, picking up take-out on Saturday, hiking in the San Jacinto Mountains on Sunday afternoon, and heading to Temecula to take pictures on Monday, all without the slightest idea of what had happened to Kevin. It seemed wrong and…almost disrespectful somehow.
“Yes, we think so. Maybe not at the exact location where he was found, but in the water, yes. The report was quite clear on that. There’s a significant amount of debris in the water—branches, tree trunks, rocks. His body may have been caught in another location upstream until at some point it broke free and traveled further downstream.”
I blinked, and Quimby patted his pockets, then pulled out a small plastic envelope of tissues, which he handed to me.
“Thanks.” I wiped my eyes and nose.
“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you, but I thought you’d want to know. The questions about the time of death seemed to trouble you.”
“They did.” I crumpled the tissue and reached out to return the packet of unused tissues.
“Keep it. I’ve got more,” he said, making me wonder fleetingly what it would be like to have a job where you routinely carried packets of tissues to hand out to grieving people.
“It’s awful to know that it was so long before he was found, but at least now I know that my delay—” I raised my gaze to the clouds. “God, it sounds so silly now, Marci and me, plotting how to keep everything hidden and quiet. And the whole time, he was already gone.” I sniffed and turned back to him. “Were they able to figure out how he died?”
“It’s tricky there as well. He had an injury, a blow to the back of the head. It appears he was unconscious when he went in the water. He had some other injuries that we haven’t been able to determine the cause of, but they weren’t fatal.” He paused a moment, then continued, “I’ve given our liaison officer your contact information. He will help you arrange for the body to be transported back to the States. Normally, we’d work with the family, the next-of-kin, but you are here, and…well,” he stopped.
I cleared my throat. “Kevin didn’t have much family. In fact, I don’t know that he had any relatives at all that he kept in touch with. He used to say we were his family.” I felt my throat going prickly, but swallowed and turned to Quimby. His face was so sympathetic that it surprised me, and for a moment I forgot what I was going to say. I cleared my throat. “The…transport of his body will be next week?”
“Yes, I believe so as it’s already Friday afternoon.”
I nodded and leaned back against the bench, absorbing the quiet peacefulness of the scene in front of me: the stretch of grass, the daffodils bobbing in the slight breeze, and the rise of the solid church steeple, its angular lines standing out sharply against the gray sky. I balled the tissue and stuck it in my pocket along with the packet of unused tissues.
“Do you have any other news about the investigation?” I asked. “That you can share?” I added quickly. This meeting was obviously informational, not interrogatory, and I didn’t want him to switch back to asking pointed questions, but I had to see if he’d tell me anything.
“Generally, our liaison officer keeps the family up-to-date on the investigation,” he said, and I thought that was his answer, but after a moment he added, “However, this is a special circumstance. You are essentially functioning as next-of-kin, and the time of death information takes you off the suspect list.”
“That’s good to know. Now that you’ve marked me off the list, you can focus on some really viable suspects.”
The corner of his mouth turned up. “Did anyone ever tell you, you can be quite bossy?”
“Oh, I’ve been called worse. Much worse. But I prefer single-minded and persistent. I’m sure you’re familiar with those qualities?”
He sent me a sideways look as he pulled his phone from his pocket. He flicked through a few screens, then said, “What I can tell you is that we are pursuing several leads in the case. Several good leads.”
I waited. He put his phone away.
“That’s it?”
“No, of course there’s more. I just wanted to see if you’d push for more. Some families don’t want the details…”
“I think I’ve established that I’m interested in the details. I’m a detail person, Inspector Quimby.”
“Yes. The Burberry button connection proves that. As far as that goes, Becca Ford’s vehicle is under examination, and we’ve confirmed that she did go to London after she met with Mr. Dunn at the river. We haven’t been able to eliminate her as a suspect.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Is that police-speak, meaning that you think she did it but can’t prove it?”
“As I told you earlier, I suspect everyone. And that is all I can tell you about Mrs. Ford.”
“What about Frank Revel?” I asked.
“He was on his way to the airport when he met with Mr. Dunn. We have confirmed that after their argument, he drove to the airport in Manchester and left on a business trip. Conference in Ireland. He returned Monday afternoon.”
“So he’s off the list,” I said. Quimby didn’t reply. “Is there anyone else on this list of yours besides Becca?”
“That information, I can’t share with you.”
&n
bsp; “What about Kevin’s camera? Were there any fingerprints on it?”
Quimby shook his head. “You don’t forget much, do you?”
“Part of my job. Scouting and managing locations requires lots of detail work.”
“Hmm. No, no fingerprints.”
“None?”
“No. Interesting, that.”
“I’d also wondered why you asked me if I smoked?”
“Oh, that. We found cigarette butts at the clearing where Mr. Dunn’s car went in the water. We have to check everything. They were unrelated to the case and had probably been there for weeks.” Before I could ask another question, Quimby changed the subject. “Now, about the inquest, you received word that it will be next week?”
“Yes, Tuesday. And I’ll have to answer questions?”
“That’s right. It’s nothing to worry about. It’s not a trial like you’re familiar with in the States. The inquest determines the cause of death. You’ll only be asked about the discovery of the car and possibly about Mr. Dunn’s business since you were an employee.” He stood. “As I said, it’s nothing to worry about.”
I stood as well. “Easy, peasy. Right. I’ll try to remember that.”
“Exactly.” He flashed a smile at me that transformed his face, making him look almost handsome. “Can I walk you back to the inn?”
“Thanks, but I’d like to see the church. I haven’t been inside.”
“Then I’ll see you next week.”
I nodded. “Thank you for telling me about Kevin.” It had been kind of him to personally give me the news rather than telling me over the phone. “I appreciate it.”
He nodded and left. I made my way around the green, walking beside the nodding daffodils until I reached the church. I climbed the shallow steps, which were slightly grooved toward the center—from so many feet treading in and out of the church for hundreds of years, I supposed. The heavy studded wooden door was unlocked. I opened it a few inches, slipped inside, and took a seat in one of the back pews. Sturdy columns marched down each side of the church, supporting gothic arches. The pointed arches were echoed everywhere in the design, from the interior doorways to the mullioned windows. I gazed around the interior with its coved recesses and intricate detailing. I loved the way the pale light filtered through the ornate windows. I wanted to get some pictures—I had my camera in my tote bag, but I didn’t know if photography was allowed, and it might seem disrespectful, so I left it where it was.
I don’t know how long I sat there, thinking about Kevin and how good he’d been to me. My family had been occasional churchgoers when I was little, but then we’d tapered off to only attend on the major holidays. I sent up a prayer for Kevin and any of his long-lost family that might be out there, then stood to leave.
A figure on the other side of the aisle mirrored my actions and moved toward me, meeting me at the back of the church near the door where I’d entered.
“Hey,” Alex said in a hushed tone. “I saw you come in, but I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“I wanted to see inside. It’s beautiful and very grand.”
“Bit surprising to find such an edifice in tiny little Nether Woodsmoor, yes.”
We moved through the door and paused on the steps outside. Alex said, “I was passing through town. I have some work to get back to, but wanted to make sure you knew about the open house at Parkview Hall tomorrow. Have you heard about it?” There was something in his manner, a hesitancy, that wasn’t like his usual easy-going personality.
“Yes. Beatrice invited me. I’m going early in the morning to help her.”
“Oh. Excellent.” He was suddenly busy with the scarf at his neck, retucking it into the collar of his leather jacket. “Well. I won’t be there until late morning. Another appointment. Perhaps I will see you there.” He moved down the steps before I could answer.
I stood there with the distinct feeling that he’d intended to ask me out on a date, and I’d managed to give the impression that I would have turned him down, all without being quick enough to realize what he was about.
I followed him down the steps more slowly. His pace was quicker than mine, and the next time I spotted him, he was across the street. Not that I wanted to catch up with him or anything. It would just be nice to make sure there wasn’t a misunderstanding. We were working together. It was important to stay on good terms. But he was too far away. I’d have to look for him tomorrow.
I moved down the street and passed the bus stop where two buses waited and a mass of people milled around on the sidewalk. I shuffled and edged my way through the crowd. At the crosswalk, as I reached to push the button to activate the light, something pressed against my ankle. At the same moment, a solid shove between my shoulder blades propelled me off the sidewalk.
I fell into the street, landing hard on the one hand that I managed to get out to break my fall. Pain shot up through my arm to my shoulder, and my focus narrowed to the gritty asphalt of the street, which was only an inch from my face. Far away, it seemed, I heard a commotion of raised voices, the skidding sound of brakes on wet pavement, then voices and words flowing around me.
People closed around me. Legs and shoes came into view, blocking out the car bumper a few feet from the crosswalk as I rolled onto my knees and pressed my palms onto the mud and damp of the street to push myself up.
“Are you all right, luv?”
“These Americans, they never look the right way, do they?”
“So impatient. Couldn’t even wait for the light.”
“I’m okay.”
One strong hand fastened under my uninjured arm, all but levitating me to a standing position. I looked up into Quimby’s green eyes and his worried face. “Are you injured?” he asked.
“No, I think…I’m okay.” I moved my right arm, stretching it and flexing my hand experimentally. All my fingers worked, but I had an ugly red graze on my palm.
“Here you are, luv,” said the woman who’d been the first one to check on me. She handed me my tote bag. “I gathered up your things. They are all in there. A bit dirty, but nothing broken or lost, I think.”
“Oh, thank you.” I spotted my camera still snuggled into the bottom corner of the bag. At least it hadn’t been broken.
The woman ran an assessing glance over Quimby and seemed to decide he had everything in hand. She patted my shoulder. I tried to hide my wince. “Next time wait for the signal and look to the right. So important, not to forget. To your right.” She departed, and the rest of the people who’d been lingering dispersed.
“Do you need to sit down?”
“No. I’m okay, but I didn’t forget to look. I wasn’t trying to cross the street at all. I was reaching for the crosswalk button when something tangled in my feet, and then someone pushed me.”
Chapter Seventeen
Quimby escorted me back to the inn, careful to avoid touching my right arm and shoulder. At the inn, a woman with wispy brown hair and delicate features at the front desk turned out to be Tara, who efficiently cleaned and bandaged my hand, then brought Quimby and me plates of scones and a pot of tea. For some reason, I expected Quimby to turn down the food, but he inhaled it, drank his tea, and waited until I’d eaten as well before he said, “Did you see anyone you recognized around you before you were pushed?”
“So you believe me?”
“Yes. I don’t think you’re the type of person to exaggerate, and you were very definite that you felt a push on your back.”
“A shove, yes. Between my shoulder blades.”
“It is hard to mistake a shove for an accidental brush against someone. So did you see anyone you recognized?”
“No, I wasn’t paying attention. I moved through the group around the bus stop, but I didn’t see any familiar faces there. At the crosswalk, I was only looking at the button to set off the light. I didn’t look around to see who was near me.”
“And what did you do between the time we talked and you approached the crosswalk?”
“Alex Norcutt?”
“Yes, but he was already gone by the time I got to the crosswalk. I saw him on the other side of the street. He was there before I even reached the bus stop.”
“He could have doubled back.”
“But he doesn’t have a reason to hurt me.” I didn’t mention the possible quasi-date turn down. I wasn’t even sure if he’d meant to ask me out. And people didn’t normally go around shoving people in the street, even if they’d been turned down. Quimby took his time pouring himself another cup of tea. He raised his eyebrows in a question and gestured with the teapot to my cup. I shook my head. He put down the teapot, added sugar to his tea, and stirred. “You asked me quite a few questions earlier, but you didn’t ask about Alex Norcutt. You aren’t curious about him?”
“Curious?”
“About his alibi.”
“No, I just thought that…” I trailed off remembering the conversation Alex and I had coming down from Strange Hill when I’d asked him, almost flippantly, if he’d hurt Kevin. He’d said no. I’d believed him.
“You trust him. The two of you may not be in a relationship, but I can see there is a rapport between you.”
“I didn’t lie to you earlier. I’d never met Alex before I arrived here.”
“Yes. I know. I’m not accusing you of lying. I’m simply pointing out that there is an affinity. It’s obvious. Just remember that you don’t know him.”
“Are you saying I shouldn’t trust him?”
“He has no alibi from Friday afternoon until Saturday night. He says he was home alone Friday, then drove to Manchester and back on Saturday, looking for new locations.”
“That’s routine in our line of work.”
“But he has no photographs to show for it. Says his camera malfunctioned, and he has sent it off for repairs. He says he’s currently using a spare camera.”