Death in the English Countryside Page 8

  I looked to Alex, who nodded his head in confirmation. Beatrice stood, propped up against a wooden dresser with china and dishware ranged along the upper shelves, a sad expression on her face. “It’s true. I’ve lived here for over thirty years and the river does rise with the rains, sometimes in a rather frightening way. Quite dangerous.”

  Constable Albertson said to me, “If you could come with me, we need to take care of a few things at the station.”

  “Of course.” I pushed away from the table. The questions could wait. Certain things had to be done. All that really mattered now was that Kevin was dead.

  ***

  The next morning, I awoke after a restless night. There was no confusion about where I was this morning, and I had none of the lingering grogginess of jetlag, despite not having slept well. Thoughts of Kevin, questions about what had happened to him, the future of Premier Locations, and even how to handle getting Kevin’s body back to California had filled many hours of the night. I’d asked some of the questions yesterday, but hadn’t gotten any real answers about anything yet, not even when Kevin’s body would be released. At least I’d been able to get in touch with Marci and break the news to her myself. That had been the worst, telling her what had happened. I checked my phone, but didn’t have any messages. She had said she would get in touch with me after she told the girls at the office. She also had to talk to Mr. O’Leery as well as look for contact information for Kevin’s relatives.

  I stared at the ceiling, still feeling a bit numb, thinking how badly everything had turned out. I’d expected the trip to have some difficult points, but finding out your employer had died was so far from simply sobering someone up and getting them home.

  The events of yesterday had a momentum of their own. Once Kevin’s body had been discovered, I’d been swept up and was being pulled along in the wake created by the wave of activities around his death. Nothing to do now, but get through it. I pushed back the covers and dragged myself to the shower.

  Later, as I came down the stairs, Doug looked up from the front desk and tilted his head toward the breakfast area. “Someone waiting for you.”

  I turned the corner, expecting to see Alex, but the room was empty except for a slight man with a narrow face seated at a table with a to-go cup of coffee and a cell phone in front of him. Everything about him was brown from his wavy hair to his pale brown suit down to his polished dress shoes. He’d been absorbed in his phone, but when I entered, he put the phone down and stood. “Kate Sharp? Detective Inspector Quimby. Do you have a few moments?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  He gestured at the seat across from him, and I sat down with a bump. Detective Inspector? Quimby pressed his brown tie to his chest as he sat down.

  Henry arrived, pushing his swath of blond hair off his forehead. “Like to try the English breakfast today?” he asked.

  “Go ahead. I’ve already breakfasted,” Quimby said.

  “Just coffee for me now.” If I was going to be interviewed by a detective, there was no way I was doing it over greasy breakfast meat. “So you must be here about Kevin. Is this normal with an accident? That seems a little…” The word overkill came to mind, but I wasn’t about to say that word out loud.

  Henry returned with my mug of coffee, and Quimby waited until he left before saying, “Mr. Dunn’s death wasn’t an accident.”

  I was lifting my mug to my lips, but I put it back down. “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t go into specifics. All I can say is that he didn’t lose control and run off the road.” The only bit of color about Quimby was his pale green eyes, which stood out against the palette of brown. He narrowed his eyes as he studied me. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

  “No, I didn’t. Know it, I mean. It was only that there were some things that seemed odd—not right.”

  Quimby’s phone chimed. He glanced at it, then said, “What things?”

  “Well, when they towed the car out of the water, it was empty, but all the doors and windows were closed. If Kevin had driven off the road and managed to escape, wouldn’t there have to be an open door or window?”

  Quimby nodded. “Anything else?”

  I twisted my mug around, but didn’t pick it up. “And where had he been? Why hadn’t he checked in with us? He was here scouting locations for a new Pride and Prejudice film.”

  His phone chimed again, and after a quick check, he looked back to me. “Let’s rewind, go over a few things.” He tapped the screen on his phone. “The local constabulary has given me your details. You’ve been employed with Mr. Dunn’s company, Premier Locations, for three years?” I nodded, and he went on, reciting my résumé. “First as his assistant for a year and a half, then promoted to the position of location scout for his company for the last year and a half?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What did you do before that?” he asked, his tone indicating genuine curiosity. It was a question I got a lot—location scouting is an unusual job, and people are curious about how someone gets into the field.

  “I had a—um, I think over here you call it a gap year.” He nodded, and I went on. “It wasn’t planned. I was in grad school, getting my doctorate, but there were difficulties.” I paused. Odd, how a family falling apart could be described in a few words. “I wasn’t able to go back to grad school. I worked as a temp for about a year, then I heard about the opening for Kevin’s assistant.”

  “I see.” Quimby refocused on his phone. “And Mr. Dunn arrived here last week to look for locations for a new film, but he didn’t return to California on Friday. You arrived on Tuesday of this week.” I confirmed that he had the dates right. Quimby put his phone down, sat back, and crossed his arms. “I must ask, why didn’t you contact the police? By the time you arrived, he’d been missing four days.”

  I paused, blew out a breath. “Sorry. It’s just awful—the whole thing—knowing that Kevin was in the river…” I rubbed my forehead, deciding that complete honesty about my trip was the only way to go. Anything else would be foolish. They would find out the truth about Kevin soon enough. “Kevin was a recovering alcoholic. He’d had a few…incidents when he slipped up. We—the office manager and I—thought that was what had happened. We didn’t want to do anything to endanger the P & P film job. Rumors can be the death of you in the film business. If word got out that Kevin had bailed…well, it could mean we’d lose the project.”

  “Which, I presume, would be a good bit of income for your company.”

  “Yes.”

  “So keeping the job was critical.”

  I leaned back, glad he understood. “Yes. That’s it, exactly. I thought I’d find Kevin either drunk or sleeping it off somewhere around this village or in a pub not too far away.”

  “And when you didn’t find him right away, why didn’t you contact us?”

  “I had decided to do that when Alex and I spotted the car.”

  Quimby’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? You’d decided moments before?”

  “Well, not moments. It was after we talked to Frank Revel.”

  Quimby touched his phone screen again. “Ah, yes. His friend, the one he argued with at the pub.”

  “Yes, Frank was my last idea. Louise at the pub told us they’d met. I thought Frank Revel might know where Kevin was. Or Kevin might be at his house. He wasn’t. I didn’t know what else to do, and I was worried that something bad had happened.”

  He stared at me for a long moment, his face expressionless. My heart began to thud. He doesn’t believe me.

  Finally, he said, “When was the last time you were in contact with Mr. Dunn?” I realized I’d curled my hands into fists and relaxed my fingers.

  “Me, personally? Um, that would have been last week sometime. I’m not sure what day. Before he left, definitely. Monday, I guess. I think he—yes, he was in the office that day.” Suddenly my nervousness was obvious. I couldn’t put together a couple of coherent sentences.

  “And did y
ou have any contact with him once you arrived here?”

  “No—how could I? He was missing.”

  Quimby flared a single eyebrow, indicated his skepticism as clearly as if he’d spoken aloud. “You say you spent the day with Alex Norcutt. How long ago did you meet him?”

  “Yesterday.”

  “Hmm,” Quimby murmured, transmitting a we’ll-see-about-that vibe. “What will happen to Premier Locations?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. It depends on…well, many things. Worse case scenario would be that it will close.” Normally, the thought of losing my job would induce gnawing worry and cold sweats about bills and groceries, but it didn’t seem so important compared with the fact that Kevin was dead.

  “But you and your fellow employees could continue on? Perhaps under a new name? You have the experience, the contacts, to form your own company?”

  “Yes, I suppose that’s true, but I don’t know that will happen. I don’t really want to own a business, and I can’t imagine that either Marci or Zara would either.”

  “Nevertheless, it is a possibility. Do you have any idea about Mr. Dunn’s will?”

  “No, of course not. I don’t even know if he had one. Why would you think I’d know something like that?”

  Quimby shrugged. “Office relationships happen. You worked with Mr. Dunn. Were you ever involved with him?”

  “With Kevin? No…that’s…that’s—” I broke off. “He was over twenty years older than me.”

  “You find the idea distasteful?”

  “I find the question distasteful.” I was nervous about where his questions were going, but I couldn’t let the insinuation pass. “Kevin was like a dad to me. He taught me the business and helped me whenever he could. He did that for everyone in the office.”

  “So he had no enemies?”

  We’d switched tracks so quickly that I felt slightly thrown off. “What? No.”

  “No one who disliked him? What about Frank Revel?”

  I blew out a breath, thinking that if Quimby was trying to rattle me, he was very good at his job. “I don’t know what Kevin and Frank’s history was. As far as anyone else…well, the movie business is cutthroat, but isn’t that how it is in every business? Sure, there are people who aren’t—or weren’t—fans of Kevin, but can I think of anyone who’d want to hurt him? No.”

  Quimby flicked his thumb on the screen of his phone. “Do you smoke, Ms. Sharp?”

  “No.”

  “Do you own a brown Burberry trench coat?”

  “No. Burberry is a little beyond my reach.”

  He scrolled through more data on his phone.

  “What was your arrival flight number?”

  I found the info in my Moleskine notebook, and he tapped it into the phone. My palms felt sweaty. In fact, I felt clammy all over. Get a grip, I told myself. Just because he was checking my movements didn’t mean anything. It was probably standard procedure. He asked more about my activities, and I summarized what I’d done from the moment my plane landed until I returned to the inn last night after answering the constable’s questions.

  I pressed my hands down on my jeans and leaned forward over the table. “I’m trying to help you, but I get the feeling that I might need a lawyer. I wasn’t even in the country until two days ago. Surely I’m not a suspect.”

  Quimby pocketed his phone and stood, his smile bland. “Oh, I suspect everyone.”

  ***

  I sat there, stunned, after Quimby left, staring at the business card he’d placed on the table as he told me to get in touch if I thought of anything else that might be helpful to the investigation. I picked up my cell phone and swiped the card from the table. I’d been so thrown off by Quimby’s questions that I had completely forgotten to ask any questions of my own. I dialed and was surprised when Quimby answered immediately. I identified myself, and he said, “You thought of something else so soon?”

  “No, I realized I didn’t get the details from you—” my voice caught, and I had to clear my throat. “On when Kevin’s body would be released.”

  “It won’t be immediately. There are…examinations that have to be made. You’ll be informed when you can make arrangements. I’m sorry, but that’s the best answer I can give you now. Please keep me informed of your movements.”

  “Movements?”

  “Any travel plans you have outside our area. You’ll need to be at the inquest and give testimony.”

  “Inquest?” I said faintly.

  “Yes, the enquiry where cause of death is determined. I’ll make sure you’re informed of the date.” He said goodbye and ended the call.

  I carefully placed the phone on the table, a shaky, jittery feeling creeping over me. Quimby threw the words inquest and testimony around casually. I put my head in my hands. All in a day’s work for him, but it wasn’t normal for me. I didn’t want to think about giving testimony or about causes of death.

  “Excuse me, miss?”

  I raised my head and saw Henry standing beside the table. “I don’t know if you’re hungry, but me mum said you look like you could do with a good crumpet.” He set down a plate of warm rolls that looked a bit like English muffins. Dollops of melting butter oozed across the bumpy surfaces.

  “Looks marvelous.” I realized I was hungry, and the warm bread and melting butter looked so good. Carbs and fat—what better comfort food was there? I bit into the bread as Henry topped off my coffee.

  “Shame about Mr. Dunn,” Henry said.

  “I know. I still can’t quite believe it.”

  “Odd, too, about the spare tire.” The dining area was empty, and Henry seemed to be in no hurry to get back to the kitchen.

  “What do you mean?” I asked before popping another bite of crumpet in my mouth.

  “Me mate who works at the garage said Mr. Dunn had a flat. He must have stopped off by the bridge to change it himself, but if the car was a hire he probably had breakdown cover. He could have called for service.”

  “Not Kevin. Instead of waiting around for someone, he’d rather do it himself.” I brushed the crumbs from my fingers and sat back in my chair. “Well, that answers one of my questions—why he was stopped there by the bridge.” Henry reached for the plate to remove it, and I said, “Thank you, Henry, you’ve given me more information than the inspector.”

  “Oh, if you want to know what happened you should talk to Jeremy. His dad owns the garage. They towed the car out of the water. He stayed on and watched it all, the recovery of the body and everything.” A dismayed look came over his face, and he added hastily, “Sorry. Don’t know why I said that. Forgot there for a second that he was your boss and all.”

  “It’s okay, Henry. Don’t worry about it. If I can’t get any answers out of the inspector, I might want to talk to your friend.” I left the restaurant area, and as I crossed to the stairs, Doug looked up from some paperwork.

  “Oh, got a package here for you. Came late yesterday. Sorry to hear about Mr. Dunn.”

  “Thank you.” I took the cardboard box from him, wondering what Marci had sent me and how she’d gotten it here so fast.

  “He was a fine man, always a nice word for all the staff.” He shook his head and fussed with the papers. “I knew something wasn’t right when he didn’t come back that day. I should have called the constable.”

  “I wish I’d done the same thing.” Would things have turned out differently if Marci and I hadn’t concocted a plan to keep Kevin’s disappearance secret? If we’d called the police right away would it have made a difference? When had Kevin stopped by the bridge to change the tire? If it was Friday, then by the time we figured out he was missing on Monday…well, the time to help him would have been long past, but what if it was more recent than that? Kevin had a car. He could have driven to a completely different part of England on Friday and only recently returned. I thought of the suitcase left behind and the go-bag. He wouldn’t normally have gone off and left them, but if something came up—an emergency—he migh
t have gone without them.

  Kevin did go off-script occasionally. He could survive a day or two without his suitcase. He could pick up a toothbrush and change of clothes. I could picture him, grabbing what was most important, his camera and heading out on the spur-of-the-moment. What if he’d done that—gone somewhere outside of the immediate area around Nether Woodsmoor for a few days? If he had been on his way back via the road over the Parkview Hall bridge when he got a flat tire…

  What if Kevin had been struggling to get out of the water, fighting the current and the tangling roots while I was here in England, poking about looking for him in pubs? My stomach turned with the thought as I climbed the stairs.

  In my room, I dropped down onto the bed and fought down the nauseous feeling. If I had said something…if I had done things differently, would Kevin still be alive? I pulled Quimby’s card from my pocket and stared at it. I wanted to call him and demand details, but if he wouldn’t—or couldn’t—tell me when Kevin’s body would be released, then I doubted he’d tell me anything else. Maybe he wasn’t sure what happened yet. Maybe that was why he was so cagey. I’d probably get more answers from Henry’s buddy down at the local garage than from Quimby.

  I put the card down and looked at the box in my lap. About ten inches square, it didn’t have a return address or postmark on it. My name was printed in block letters above the name and address of the Old Nether Woodsmoor Inn. One long strip of clear packing tape held the box closed. I plucked at the edge of it until I had enough to grip it, then pulled it back and opened the flaps. My heartbeat did a little rumba. Inside, resting in a nest of crumpled newspaper, sat Kevin’s camera.

  Chapter Eight

  I recognized it immediately from the customized camera strap. Kevin had a personalized strap made with his name embroidered on it in red. The strap had been neatly accordion-folded and tucked into the space by the lens. The last few inches of the strap had been wrapped around the camera and held the folds in place. Even with only intermittent sections of the embroidery showing, I knew it was Kevin’s camera. When I’d moved up from his assistant to a full-fledged scout, he’d presented me with my own personalized strap, but the embroidery on my strap was royal blue. Zara had one, too. Hers was purple.