Blood in the Cotswolds (24 page)

Just one more day… He fished in his pocket for the Ibuprofen and swallowed two of them dry. Then he phoned for a taxi.

There were still so many questions he should have asked Giles while he had the chance: random mysteries that kept popping into his head with little or no logical thread to them. How completely had he actually disappeared – would a cursory search have located him, via credit cards or council tax payments? True disappearance took planning and persistent hard
work – even leaving the country was no guarantee of success. Money was the stumbling block – if you wanted to live anything resembling a normal life, you had to be in the system. And the system kept remarkably close tabs on people nowadays. Had his parents colluded in some way, slipping him cash and reassuring themselves that he was at least alive? Only when a dead body had materialised had they panicked, perhaps after a longer-than-usual silence, and approached Phil unofficially to ascertain that it was not their dead son.

The taxi took him to his flat, which was airless and smelly from the hot weather. He had fully intended to return on Monday morning at the latest, and here it was, Saturday, with milk standing sour in the fridge and the waste bin unemptied under the sink. Despite his conscientious brushing and grooming of the dogs, there was evidence of their presence in the air. An earthy scent from their muddy feet on the rugs and the rumpled dusty hairy bedding in their baskets struck his nostrils. It was a
male
environment. No flowers or chemical air fresheners mitigated the smells. He made a mental comparison with Hector’s Nook, which had bowls of pot pourri on the window sills, and
plants in every room. There was beeswax polish and open windows and real sheepskin to fill the place with echoes of fresh fields. Here in town, it was frowsty and stale and he didn’t like it.

He phoned Thea again. ‘Where are you?’ she said, a trifle breathlessly. ‘You’ve disappeared on me.’

‘I came back to the flat. I need some clothes.’

She accepted the mendacity without comment. ‘OK. So what next? Out here it feels as if a bomb’s about to go off. Everything’s gone quiet and tense and I have no idea what I ought to be doing.’

‘But why? What can possibly happen?’ It all seemed a long way away to him, as if Temple Guiting had shifted to a parallel universe that he could no longer reach.

‘Phil – somebody threw a dirty great stone at us, two hours ago. Remember? We could all have been badly hurt. Doesn’t that feel like a crisis to you? As if the person out there might try again?’

‘It was Janey’s house. She must have been the target, not us. Besides, it was a relatively harmless stone, not a bomb. Relax. I’m staying here tonight, and I’ll speak to you tomorrow. I
need to get my car back sometime.’ He didn’t care that he was failing her in a big way, that he had said no words of affection or concern. He was too drained, too befuddled to say the right things now.

‘All right,’ she said. ‘If that’s what you want.’

Then he did what his body had been urging him to do for some hours past. He arranged all the cushions he could find in one corner of his leather sofa, shook off his shoes, put his feet up, closed his eyes and sank instantly into a restful slumber.

The relentless ringing of his front doorbell roused him after what felt like seconds. When he realised what it was, and heard the associated shouts of his name, he tried to sit up and only succeeded in rolling off the unyielding leather onto the floor. Forcing his back into submission, he stood up and shuffled to the door.

Gladwin was standing there, with two uniformed officers. ‘For Christ’s sake, where have you been?’ she shouted at him. ‘We’ve been looking everywhere for you. Your phone’s not working. We thought you must be dead.’

He blinked stupidly at her. ‘The phone’s
fine,’ he said. ‘What do you want?’

‘There’s some sort of siege going on in Temple Guiting. You know the people – we want you there.’

‘Thea! Not Thea?’ He remembered other times, other crises where his beloved had got herself into danger.

‘Thea’s all right. She called us. She’s been trying to call you. She thought you must have gone out.’

‘But the phone’s fine,’ he repeated. ‘Let me go and see.’

Before they could stop him, he had gone to the small alcove where the landline phone sat on its own small shelf. The receiver was askew, where he had carelessly dropped it after Thea’s abrupt conclusion to their conversation. He nudged it back into place, feeling foolish and guilty.

‘What time is it?’ he asked.

He got no reply to that. Instead Gladwin had followed him and was staring angrily into his face, ‘Phil, we’ve wasted ten minutes or more already. If you don’t come right now, we’ll go without you.’

‘All right. I’m coming.’ He patted his pockets for wallet and mobile. With another pang of guilt,
he remembered switching it off before collapsing onto the sofa. How many more absolute rules had he managed to break that day? A glance at the clock on his mantelpiece told him it was a few minutes short of five in the afternoon.

In the car, Gladwin tried to bring him up to date. He listened with an effort. ‘The DNA was not wrong,’ she began. ‘The body isn’t Graham Bligh after all.’

‘No,’ Phil agreed. ‘I think I’d come to that conclusion. Is it Rupert then?’

‘Seems it must be. The man you’ve been thinking was him is an impostor. And he’s causing a whole lot of trouble up at Wheeler’s farm.’

‘Rupert’s dead,’ Phil repeated. ‘Does Janey know? What about his parents? And the Pritchetts?’ It was as if the whole house of cards had collapsed yet again. He could not shake off an image of the foppish visitor to Hector’s Nook lying under the roots of a tree, steadily decomposing. ‘He
said
he was Rupert. We believed him.’

‘As anybody would.’

‘Have you got it all straight now? Are we
going to arrest the person who killed him?’

Gladwin leant her head against the side window of the car. ‘I’m making no promises,’ she said.

But Phil was rapidly waking up. ‘Do you know who he really is?’

‘Not for sure. We’re going on the theory that it must be Graham Bligh, more by default than anything else. After all, the only motives that make any sense are to do with the paternity case and who inherits the estate. If Bligh never had any contact with his son, he might not have found it too hard to slaughter him. And he must have thought he’d have a claim on his share of the property.’

Phil gave this some serious thought. ‘But why impersonate him?’

‘No idea,’ she said. ‘Except there’s the other matter of the descent from the Templars. Young Jinnie at the station seems to think there’d be enough fame and glory for anybody able to prove they carried Templar blood to warrant committing murder. I can’t say I’m altogether convinced.’

‘Jinnie’s the one who tracked down St Melor as well, I suppose?’

‘That’s the girl. Special talents, you might say.’

‘So how would that fit? The hand and foot business?’

‘No idea again. That’s what we’re hoping to discover when we get to the farm. I warn you, I’m not going to take the orthodox route this time. I’m still facing investigation for what happened yesterday. This time there’ll be no guns or sudden rushes. I’m taking it very slowly and calmly – OK?’

He gave her an appraising look. ‘Why haven’t they taken you off the case? The IPCC oughtn’t have let you carry on.’

‘Because there isn’t anybody else,’ she said. ‘Other than you.’

He absorbed the barb and applied his mind yet again to their destination. ‘I really need to know what to expect. You said it was a siege.’

‘I exaggerated,’ she admitted. ‘Although—’ she looked away from him at the long stretch of the A429 ahead, ‘I
am
taking a bit of a gamble. If it goes wrong, I’ll have to kiss goodbye to a promising career.’

‘Then don’t involve me,’ he said angrily. ‘Stop playing games and let me have a proper briefing.’

She shook her head. ‘I can’t. If I tell you now,
you’ll have time to stop me. If you don’t know, they can’t blame you. I realise it’s a lot to ask on such a short acquaintance, but you’re going to have to trust me.’

Any man would be angry, he told himself, being sidelined by a woman in such a cavalier way. ‘So what’s my role? Why have you brought me here at all?’

‘You might come in useful,’ she said. ‘As a witness. Don’t get too close – with that back you’d only be a liability. But another pair of eyes and ears could be invaluable.’

And he had to be content with that.

When they arrived at the house he remained in the car, on Gladwin’s orders. ‘I’m sorry, but it’s for the best,’ she told him. ‘You’re here purely as a bystander. I want you because you’re known to these people and it helps to have a familiar face on the scene.’

‘All right,’ he said, forcing himself to relax on the back seat. For the third time that day he felt he’d been diminished. He was beginning to believe it himself – that he was ineffectual and slow-witted. ‘This is Wheeler’s farm, then, is it? I thought it was closer to the village.’ He had been surprised when they’d driven almost a mile beyond the spot where Thea had knocked Soraya into the hedge, until he realised that the road
had curved so sharply that the real distance was much less. ‘It must be milking time,’ he added inconsequentially, remembering the reference to a herd of shorthorns.

‘Looks as if the cows are having to wait.’ Gladwin tilted her chin at a yard full of brown and white speckled beasts, shifting restlessly, eyes fixed on a square building with a firmly closed door.

The new detective superintendent marched off across the yard to two unmarked cars, where she conversed inaudibly with a gaggle of men who had obviously been patiently waiting for her. Phil knew the procedures for a siege: the immense care to be taken to protect the lives of all officers, the triple-and quadruple-checking necessary before any action was taken. Gladwin had blithely asserted that there were no firearms involved, but after the incident the day before with Giles Pritchett, Phil was not inclined to take her word for it. Farmers had guns – everybody knew that.

Without being told, he assumed the man at the centre of the so-called siege had to be the one he and Thea knew as Rupert Temple-Pritchett. From the location and the restless cows, he
thought it safe to assume that Soraya or Robin or both were his captives. Just why this was happening remained entirely obscure. Phil had half-suspected Robin Wheeler of being capable of bad behaviour. He believed the man had deliberately loosed Miss Deacon’s horses, and equally deliberately told the story of a nameless vagrant being the body under the tree in the hope of diverting police attention from the truth. Janey had implicated him by her revelations in the ambulance. But surely Robin Wheeler was no murderer. Instead, it seemed he was currently in the role of victim.

As he watched, Gladwin left the knot of police people and began walking towards the house. Tension tightened every muscle, his fists clenched as his instincts screamed at him to stop her.

The farmhouse was constructed of the usual Cotswold stone, the mellow colour suggesting it must be at least two centuries old. The yard was weedy and there was no sign of a properly kept garden. The front door had a large thistle growing beside it, and a creeper straggled across the top, several tendrils bridging the join between doorframe and the actual door. It was obviously
very seldom used. Had Gladwin noticed this, Phil wondered?

She came to a halt some ten or twelve yards short of the door, and leant her head back to see the upper windows. ‘Hello?’ she called. ‘Will somebody please speak to me?’

Had they tried telephoning the house? That was the recommended practice these days – to attempt a rapport with the hostage-takers while maintaining a safe distance.

Nothing happened. In frustration, Phil wound down his window and called, ‘They’ll be at the back. Try the back.’ As soon as the words had flown, he wanted to recall them. The woman surely knew what she was doing. He had only betrayed his own presence by his noise.

But it seemed the order was a good one. Smoothly, Gladwin made a ninety-degree turn and marched off towards the side of the house. She gave a little flip with her hand to indicate she accepted his advice. She was far too relaxed, in Phil’s view. Was she wearing a protective vest? Didn’t she know she could be killed by other weapons than a gun? A crossbow bolt or even a well-aimed knife could come whistling down on her from an upstairs window as she stood there so defenceless.

She disappeared around the back of the house, and he heard her calling again. ‘Please will somebody come and speak to me? We’ve had a report of some trouble.’

Who had reported it? How much contact, if any, had she already had with the people inside the house? How come she was being so damned calm about the whole thing?

The other police officers were alert, but did not have the twitchy demeanour that was usual in such situations. They muttered quietly amongst themselves and one spoke into a radio inside his car. After three more minutes, Phil could endure no longer. Stiffly he got out and walked across the yard. Several backbones straightened as they realised he was approaching. Evidently they knew who he was.

‘Sir,’ said one of them. ‘DS Gladwin wanted you to stay in the car, sir.’

‘Maybe she did, but I’m tired of being kept in suspense like this. Exactly what’s going on? Is she safe, going in like that?’

‘We’ve been speaking to the young lady, sir – Miss Wheeler. She sounds quite relaxed, but simply claims that there’s a man keeping her and her father inside the house against their will.’

‘How? How’s he doing it?’

‘She says he’s got some powder that’s poisonous. If they make a move he doesn’t like, he’ll throw it in their faces. She’s not sure he’s serious, but is inclined to believe him.’

‘So how did she manage to call you, without him knowing?’

‘He did know, but he thought she was calling her friend, not us. He ordered her to do that, you see. He was listening in the whole time and prompting her as to what to say. He wants her to run away with him and leave her father, but she refuses. So he’s doing what he can to force her.’

Phil rubbed his aching spine thoughtfully. ‘I’ve never heard anything so bizarre,’ he said eventually.

‘Nor me, sir,’ agreed the officer. ‘She carried it all off brilliantly, though. You could tell she was upset. She pretended to be telling this Fiona the whole story, when really she was speaking to DS Gladwin. She kept warning her on no account to call the police, but just get here and deal with her dad.’

‘How long ago was all this?’

‘Must be an hour or more now. We’ve been
here since four-forty, and not seen any sign of life.’

‘So what if they’ve gone? What if he has already poisoned them and himself?’

‘That’s what the super’s gone to find out now, sir,’ said the man, with just enough forbearance to show Phil he was being annoyingly slow on the uptake.

Anger seized him. Why hadn’t the woman explained all this to him in the car? She had deliberately withheld important details – in particular the powder. ‘But it could be ricin,’ he exploded. ‘We need special biological suits, the hospitals alerted – what the hell is the woman playing at?’

‘Here she is now, sir,’ said the man, with obvious relief. ‘You’ll be able to ask her.’

Phil was aware of a certain delicacy in the situation. Gladwin was indisputably the SIO, with authority over the team working on the Temple Guiting case. But he, DS Hollis, was equal in rank to her and superior in experience. He could pull her up if he saw her making mistakes, and would, at the last resort, be expected to report her to the chief constable if she broke any rules. But senior CID officers did have considerable leeway.
The primary task was always to acquire solid evidence before charging anyone with a crime, and methods for doing this could sometimes be devious. Watching his colleague’s face now, he knew he had to trust her for a while longer.

‘They wouldn’t answer me,’ she said, matter-of-factly. ‘The door’s locked and I couldn’t see anybody through the windows.’

‘So how do you know they’re still in there?’ Phil demanded. ‘This chap tells me there was half an hour or more when nobody was watching the house.’

‘Not strictly true,’ smiled Gladwin. ‘I had somebody stationed at the road gate, who would have seen if anybody left. Besides, the vehicles are all still here.’ She waved a hand at a battered pick-up and a red Puma, both of which Phil recognised,

He shook his head helplessly. ‘So what now?’ he asked. ‘Am I right in thinking he’s using a biological substance to threaten the Wheelers?’

‘So he claims. I expect it’s just washing powder. Since all that ballyhoo last week, everybody’s thinking about ricin as a means of mass destruction. People really don’t have much imagination, do they? I mean – where would he get ricin from, anyway?’

‘There’s a plant at Hector’s Nook,’ Phil remembered. ‘For a start.’

‘What? A
ricin
plant? How did you recognise it?’

He explained about castor oil plants and the ease with which their seeds could be turned into toxic dust. ‘But it’s a bit early for seeds yet. They’d have to have been gathered last year, when nobody was talking about the stuff.’

‘So it’s washing powder, bet you a hundred pounds,’ said Gladwin.

‘But we can’t take the risk, can we?’ said Phil, feeling like a dull old uncle, hearing Thea’s voice in his ear chiding him for being so timid, while at the same time knowing it was the only professional stand he could take.

He changed the subject when Gladwin didn’t respond. ‘How did Soraya know your number? Did she call your mobile? It sounds very clever of her.’

‘One of my sergeants gave it to her. We realised this morning that she was associating with a man we had reason to mistrust. I sent Hilary over for a quiet word. All this isn’t entirely unexpected, you see.’

He stared at her. While he’d been stumbling
around the village, thinking he knew everything there was to know, Gladwin had been ahead of him. He remembered Giles’s anxiety for Soraya. He reran the complicated story about Graham Bligh and Rupert, his son.

‘So—’ he began, intending to ask once more just who the man with the suspicious powder was. But the sentence was never completed. Another car came hurtling into the yard, hooting its horn. Phil winced and cast a worried look at the farmhouse. The one thing you
never
did was startle a volatile criminal when he was holding people hostage.

‘Who on earth—?’

Two women scrambled out of the car and Phil wasn’t entirely surprised to see his girlfriend emerge from the passenger seat. The driver was just as unmistakable, festooned with a broad white bandage around her neck. Janey Holmes stood huge and determined, her gaze on the house.

‘Leave this to me,’ she said. ‘He isn’t going to do me any harm.’

Gladwin, to Phil’s relief, did her best to intercept the woman. ‘The doors are locked,’ she said. ‘You won’t be able to get in.’

Janey eyed the front door with its unused appearance. ‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘Have you actually tried it?’

Phil and Gladwin’s eyes met. He had diverted her before she’d tried the door. They had simply assumed that it was locked. Both shook their heads, Phil feeling yet more of a fool than on all the other occasions that day.

‘Right, then.’

Short of summoning two or three of the bystanding policemen to physically restrain her, there was little anyone could do to stop Janey Holmes. Even Phil was starting to believe that this was a very tame little siege, appropriate to the quiet country village. Almost as much urgency arose from the unmilked cows as from the goings-on in the house. Janey put her meaty shoulder to the door and easily heaved it open. There was a scraping noise, and a rustling from the disturbed creeper, but it made little genuine protest. Only when she disappeared inside did Phil turn to acknowledge Thea, standing at his side, watching Janey intently.

‘Hello,’ he said. ‘Fancy meeting you here.’

She didn’t smile. ‘Do you know who that is in there?’ she demanded.

‘Not Rupert,’ he said. ‘That’s as far as anybody will tell me.’

‘Rupert’s dead, you idiot,’ Thea said.

‘Right. Can I just say, in my own defence, that this is not my case, I am not the SIO and that I have hurt my back? In these circumstances, I think I can be excused from following the very strange behaviour of the people here.’

‘Shut up,’ she told him. ‘You were lucky I persuaded Gladwin to bring you along in the first place. She didn’t want to spare the time going to fetch you, but I said you’d be extremely useful back-up.’

‘And she believed you?’

‘Obviously.’

‘And now Janey Holmes has entered the dragon’s den, while a large bunch of police officers hangs back, scared of their own shadows. And I include myself in that.’

‘It makes very good sense. Janey knows him better than anybody, and is convinced he won’t hurt Soraya or Robin.’

‘But
he
– whoever he is, killed Rupert. Is that right?’

‘So it seems.’

‘Which in my book makes him dangerous
and desperate. He’s facing arrest and the most serious criminal charges.’ He smacked a fist into an open palm, in a parody of frustration. ‘This is the most ludicrous piece of police work I’ve ever seen.’

‘No, Phil, it isn’t.’ Thea spoke earnestly. ‘Gladwin’s really being very clever. She’s got all these men here for if things get nasty. But there’s no rush, is there? We’ve stirred things up a bit now, hooting the horn and sending Janey in. You’ll see – it’ll all be over in a minute.’

‘And why isn’t Janey still in hospital?’ he grumbled, knowing he’d been defeated yet again.

‘Because she’s only got a cut on her neck, for heaven’s sake. They’ve stitched it up and bandaged it, and let her go. Oh!’

Sounds of raised female voices were coming from the house. Everybody in the yard held their breaths and waited. There were no screams for help, but Phil noticed that two of the waiting policemen were calmly putting on face masks. So, he thought grimly, they were taking the ricin threat seriously after all.

‘Come down here
now
!’ he heard Janey shout. ‘There’s to be no more mucking about. As usual,
you haven’t thought anything through, have you?’

‘Dad!’ came a cry from Soraya. ‘What’s the matter?’

Evidently the whole group was coming down the stairs, their voices increasingly audible as they approached the front door. A new tension gripped the people outside, and the police officers stood straighter, some taking a few steps towards the house. Gladwin flapped a hand at them, her own gaze firmly on the open door.