Daisy in Chains (25 page)

‘A game lovers play with daisies. They count the petals, pulling them off one by one.’

‘If there’s an odd number, it’s good, an even number and he loves her not?’ he tries.

‘Exactly.’

‘When you had that break-in, did whoever it was have access to your phone?’

‘I sometimes leave it downstairs, but it’s passcode protected.’

She sees his raised eyebrows, his slightly pitying look. He got through her phone’s passcode in an instant. Someone else could have done exactly the same thing. ‘I’ve been an idiot,’ she says.

He doesn’t argue. ‘Please tell me you changed the locks,’ he says.

She nods. ‘And improved them. No one’s getting in here again.’

‘All the same, it might be time to bring that Sirocco Silverwood character in for a chat. If you still think she’s the most likely candidate?’

‘She’s the only one I’ve met who’s claimed undying love for Hamish.’

‘It does seem odd, though, that anyone from the Wolfe Pack would threaten you. They might all be an apple short of a barrel of scrumpy, but if they’re genuine, it’s very much in their interest to keep you on side.’

‘Maybe they aren’t all. Don’t killers like to stay close to the investigation? They enjoy being at the centre of things, all the time having a big secret.’

‘Anyone you suspect, apart from Sirocco?’

‘How can I say? I spent very little time with them. They all looked pretty weird to me.’

‘Says the lady with blue hair.’

Ping.

They both jump. He gets to the phone first. He looks at the screen and pulls a face. He hands it over.

‘Dental appointment reminder for tomorrow,’ he says. ‘Sorry.’

She’s had enough. She stands up. ‘I need to get out of here. You can stay and finish your dinner, or you can come with me. Your call.’

‘
THEY
’
RE NOT THERE
,’ Pete calls across Market Square as Maggie is getting out of her car. ‘Their stuff’s all there. They’re probably in a pub somewhere, although I don’t think they’re exactly welcome in most of them.’

Maggie looks round at the smart shops, the medieval buildings, the soft golden glow of the cathedral tower.

‘If you’re still determined to talk to them tonight,’ Pete says, ‘come inside and wait an hour or so. I can do coffee, or we can sit in the bar downstairs.’

‘I’m going to have a wander round,’ she tells him. ‘If I don’t find them, I’ll come and find you. Fair enough?’

‘I’ll come with you,’ he says.

So very gallant. Always determined to do the right thing. A born police officer.

‘Odi won’t talk to me if she sees me with the police. You know that. I’ll phone you in half an hour, I promise.’

He gives up and turns back to the pub. Ignoring the main entrance, he disappears around the side, into a private car park.

Maggie pulls the collar of her coat a little tighter and walks away from the main part of the town, towards the cathedral. The homeless are not welcome in pubs, there are no official shelters in the town, but the church will rarely turn away the needy.

She finds them in the nave, towards the rear, as far from the door as they can sit. To Maggie, it feels cold in the cathedral, but all things are relative and shelter of any kind must be welcome to those who have none they can call their own. Broon has removed his hat, out of respect to his surroundings, but his shabby red coat is as she remembers it. His hair is thick, salt-and-pepper grey, in need of washing. Odi’s multi-badged cap is still on her head. She sits close to Broon, the two of them sharing body warmth.

The cathedral will close in less than ten minutes. Already, its staff are asking people to leave, their tone low and regretful.
So sorry to lose you, but only for now. Do come back again soon.

Maggie sinks into the shadows outside the west door and waits, listening to the chatter as a group of Japanese visitors leave, followed by an American family, then a middle-aged couple from Yorkshire.

Broon and Odi are the last, as she knew they would be, and unlike all those who left before, there is no sense of purpose to their movements. They hover on the steps before descending carefully, like elderly people who have learned to fear stairs. Neither notice her as they step out of the lee of the building into the full force of the cold air. Odi is clutching a supermarket carrier bag.

Maggie expects them to make their way out into the main part of town, where lights offer a glimpse of cheerfulness and the narrow streets some shelter from the elements. Instead they go through the dark archway and Maggie slips along in their wake. They turn again immediately, away from the town, through a second dark tunnel towards the Bishop’s Palace and Maggie loses sight of them.

The square is almost empty now. No one wants to linger on such a night. Through the windows of the Crown she can see people who are warm and fed, among friends. She sends a smile up to the man she has no way of knowing is watching her, and follows Broon and Odi.

There is something portal-like about the tunnel, because to step through it is to leave the town behind and enter a medieval world of walled gardens, moated defences and impenetrable stone walls. The moon has risen and she can see its reflection in the gently rippling black waters of the moat.

A sudden flurry on the water catches her attention. The moat attracts water birds, gulls from the nearby coast and moorhens that fly in over the meadows. There is also a resident population of swans who are fed from the gatehouse daily, summoned by the ringing of a bell.

The homeless pair are feeding the swans from the contents of Odi’s carrier bag.

‘Hello, Odi. Good evening, Broon.’

They turn slowly, as though their reactions have been dulled by the cold. She steps closer, wanting to ask them how they can spare food to
feed animals, who are far from starving, but knows it will seem impertinent. She holds up a canvas shopping bag that she filled after persuading Pete to leave the house before her.

‘I brought you some food. I hope you don’t mind, but I cooked and I made too much for myself. It’s lamb stew and home-made bread. It’s still warm. I put it in a flask.’

Neither of them speaks.

‘Odi, I really need to talk to you. Just for a few minutes. Would that be all right?’

‘What about?’ It is Broon who answers, placing himself fractionally in front of his partner.

‘I want to suggest something. Odi, I know you say you remember very little about the person you saw going into the cave that night.’

Odi shuffles closer to Broon. ‘I don’t. It was too dark. I’m not even sure now that I saw anyone.’

Maggie is careful to keep her distance. ‘I understand that. But if you really want to help Hamish, then I know you’ll do your best to remember anything that could be useful to his case.’

She will have to take the absence of denial as all the encouragement she is going to get.

‘What I want to suggest, Odi, is that you and I, and Broon too if that will make you feel more comfortable, go to see a hypnotist. We’ll find a good one, someone highly recommended.’

‘Hypnotist?’ Odi says the word experimentally, stretching out the syllables, as though trying how the sound of it feels and tastes in her mouth.

‘Yes. They can be very good at helping people find lost memories. What she would do is put you in a sort of trance. You wouldn’t be asleep, exactly, just a bit detached from what’s going on, and she’d ask you questions about that night. It’s just possible that, in a state of trance, you would remember more than you’ve told us already.’

‘I don’t want you messing with my lady’s mind.’

‘Nobody wants to do that, Broon, of course not. Think of it this way. In everybody’s head, there are stacks of memories, most of them filed away so carefully that we can’t bring them to mind without some help. But they’re still there. Odi, you could be the only person who saw the real killer, who has a chance of telling us who he is.’

Odi seems to shrink further away from her. ‘I’ve told you everything already and I’m not seeing any hypnotist.’

‘Odi, I—’

‘No! Tell her, Broon. Tell her I won’t. I don’t know anything.’

Broon seems to swell, facing off against Maggie. ‘We’re leaving, Odi and me. First thing in the morning. We’ve said our goodbyes and we’re off.’

‘Where? Broon, this is really important, you can’t just leave.’

‘We haven’t told anyone where we’re going and we don’t intend to. We’ve got nothing more to say.’

‘She’s frightened, Pete. She knows more than she’s saying but I have no idea how to get it out of her. She completely freaked when I mentioned hypnosis.’

‘I don’t blame her.’

‘Oh, don’t be so ignorant. How can you live so close to Glastonbury and have such a closed mind?’

‘Are you coming up? I’ve got the kettle on.’

From the driver’s seat of her car, Maggie looks into the passenger-side wing mirror. ‘No, they’re watching me now. Waiting for me to leave. I think I’ve upset them enough for one night.’

‘I spoke to the landlord, by the way. They have a very nice double room on the second floor, a long way from mine, and the locks on the door are solid. You really should not be going back to that big spooky house on your own. Especially not tonight, not with all that palaver on Facebook.’

In the distance, Odi and Broon move out of sight. They are heading in the direction of the Town Hall portico.

‘Look, keep an eye on them, will you? It really is very cold.’

‘If you’re hinting I should offer them a bed for the night and buy them dinner, you can forget it.’

‘Oh, very compassionate. But they already have dinner. I put the stew you didn’t eat into a thermos flask.’

She cuts him off mid curse, starts the engine and drives home. If she feels a sliver of regret at leaving behind the promise of something new, she ignores it. The time for weakness has passed.

‘
MAGGIE, LOOK AT
me.’

‘I can’t. You don’t exist any more.’

‘I’ll exist as long as you do. Look at me.’

‘No.’

Ignoring the voice behind her, Maggie lets the bedroom curtain fall back into place. Since the central heating switched off five hours ago, the house has grown a mid-winter chill. She lifts her dressing gown from the back of the bedroom door and wraps it around herself as she goes downstairs. On the front door the chain is in place.

She can’t see the street from here. She doesn’t need to. She’s already seen the car in the road.

It has become instinctive to head to the kitchen on nights that she can’t sleep. Maybe it’s the last trace of warmth that clings to the Aga that she is seeking. She places her hands flat on its hob lids, and thinks of Broon and Odi in the icy chill of the Town Hall portico. When her hands have warmed a little, she picks up the phone.

An indrawn sigh answers. ‘Hi, Maggie.’

‘I told you I didn’t need protecting,’ she tells Pete.

‘I’ve had to send someone over. A female constable. She’ll sit in the car outside if she must, but since you’re awake, I’d really prefer it if you let her in, allow her to check your doors and windows, and then sit downstairs for the rest of the night.’

‘What’s going on?’

‘I’d come over myself but there’s no way I can get away right now. I’ll explain everything in the morning, OK?’

‘No, explain it now.’

‘Maggie, I really have to—’

‘Now, or I come to find you. I’m guessing that won’t be strictly convenient.’

She hears a sharp intake of breath. ‘I’m in Wells, just outside the Crown. I got a call-out forty minutes ago.’

She closes her eyes and can see him, seeking the pale light of a streetlamp to make his call. He isn’t outside the Crown, strictly, he’s outside the Town Hall. Behind him, she can see the dark arches of the portico, concealing something unspeakable.

‘Broon and Odi.’ She means it as a question, it doesn’t come out quite that way.

‘They’re both dead. Killed in their sleep, from what we can tell. Or possibly in a drunken stupor, they both reek of booze.’

She needs time, to let the words sink in, for them to become real. ‘Well, they would, wouldn’t they? It’s how they keep the cold out. What happened to them?’

‘I’m not at liberty to give out details. I’ll come and see you in the morning. As soon as I can get away.’

The doorbell ringing makes her jump. If it is meant to reassure her, it does the opposite.

‘I think your friend’s at the door.’

‘OK, listen to me. Stay on the line until you can see her. She’s in her early forties, heavy build, short brown hair. Her name is Janet Owen. Open the door on the chain. Maggie, are you listening to me? Do not open the door to anyone but a female police officer.’

‘I’m sorry, Pete. Sorry for what you have to go through right now.’

He doesn’t answer. He is already getting on with his job.

Daily Mail
Online, Tuesday, 22 December 2015

TWO SLAIN IN WELLS

A brutal double murder of two homeless people has thrown doubt on the conviction of one of Britain’s most notorious serial killers, according to the support group set up to clear his name.

The discovery, in the early hours of this morning, of two bodies in the medieval cathedral town of Wells in Somerset has led to calls for a fresh look at the evidence that convicted Hamish Wolfe, in 2014, of the abduction and murders of three women. Mike Shiven, 54, chairman of the so-called Wolfe Pack, said, ‘The savage slaying of two of our own members, people very close to the investigation, who had fresh information that could have been invaluable, proves what we’ve been arguing all along. The police took the easy way out with this case. The real killer is still out there and now two of our own have paid the ultimate price.’

At the time of going to press, police were refusing to comment on alleged similarities between the manner in which the two travellers, currently known only as Odi and Broon, were killed and the means used by the killer of Jessie Tout, Chloe Wood and Myrtle Reid in 2013. They refused to deny, however, that the combination of head injury and throat wound could have been the modus operandi used to kill the three young women.