Deception in the Cotswolds (25 page)

‘You murdered him,’ said Thea, with quiet clarity. ‘Because you didn’t want the burden of looking after him.’

‘I helped him to kill himself because he had nothing to look forward to. And that’s the way the law’s going to see it. I shaved him, and settled him into bed, and brought him the drink he asked for. I was gentle and kind and caring. He and I came through a lot together, with never a cross word between us. And nobody is ever going to prove otherwise.’

Thea felt breathless under this onslaught. Could he be right? Had things reached such a point where he just might be? She forced herself to think. ‘So why did you tell the police that Edwina killed him?’

His jaw, hitherto clamped tightly closed, fell open. ‘What do you mean? I never did that.’

‘Somebody did. A man called Gloucester police on Tuesday afternoon, only a few hours after we found Donny.’

He closed his eyes, and uttered a deep sigh. ‘Silas. It would have been Silas. He’s always had a down on Weena, because of his mum.’

‘But he’s in Africa.’

‘So? They have phones in Africa, don’t they?’

‘Toby!’ a man’s voice shouted. ‘Watch that ewe, will you?’ A sheep was baulking at being funnelled into the noisy barn, making a bid for freedom in a perceived gap between two hurdles. Toby turned and grabbed it by the long wool around its neck. ‘Go away,’ he
told Thea, over his shoulder. ‘Go away and leave us alone.’

She could see no option but to do as bidden, with a heavy sense of anticlimax hanging over her. Drew and the children were still reaching through the fencing to touch the sheep, and generally behaving as if at another farm park.

‘Come on,’ she called to them. ‘We’re finished here.’

They joined her with questioning expressions. ‘What happened?’ Drew asked her.

‘We can go, we’re done here,’ she repeated. ‘Is it too early for lunch?’

‘Ten forty-five,’ he said with a kink of an eyebrow. ‘You’ve got to tell me, Thea. Stop messing about.’

History repeated itself. Slowly, inexorably, she stepped towards him, rested her face on his chest and burst into tears. Once again he rubbed her shoulders and made no effort to push her away. As before, she pulled away with stammered words of apology.

‘Is she hurt?’ asked Timmy.

‘She’s sad,’ concluded Stephanie. ‘Big people cry when they’re sad, not when they’re hurt.’

Thea smiled weakly. ‘You’re right, Steph. Absolutely right.’

That afternoon, Thea was engaged in three telephone conversations, two long and one very short. The first she initiated, taking several minutes to catch up with DI Jeremy Higgins.

‘Toby Brent murdered Donny Davis,’ she said, without preamble. ‘But you’ll never be able to prove it.’

‘Explain.’

‘He admitted it to me this morning. He gave him the sedatives and then taped the bag over his head. Against Donny’s will. It was planned in advance and carried out without mercy.’

‘Why?’

‘Because he expected to have to care for the old man for the rest of his life, and he’d had enough of caring.’

‘He was probably wrong there.’

‘Pardon?’

‘There was almost nothing physically wrong with Mr Davis. He was in pretty good shape for his age. He could have lived independently for several more years.’

‘But the tremor! The constipation! The general feebleness.’

‘He’d had the tremor for ages, and there was never any pathological reason for it. Some people do it for psychological reasons. It seems he was one of them. And his bowels were fine, just a bit bunged up in recent days. Nothing at all to worry about.’

‘The deceitful old bugger! And everybody believed him.’

‘He believed himself, probably.’

‘Had a doctor ever suggested he might have hysterical symptoms?’

‘Years ago, yes. It’s in his notes. Could be that’s what set him against the whole medical profession – they told him stuff he didn’t want to hear.’

She digested this new light, and found her sympathies tending in a surprising direction. ‘Poor Toby, then. He need never have done it.’

‘Nobody heard him confess to you?’

‘Not really. Even if they did, it’s still hearsay, isn’t it?’

‘Probably. What else did he tell you?’

‘He shaved Donny before he killed him. That was
the final clue. I think he really did love him, you know. Maybe he even convinced himself that Donny was better off dead. That’s what he told me.’

‘But you don’t believe that. The old man wasn’t ready to die. I can’t just let it go, Thea.’

‘Of course not. No. But—’

‘A renewed surge of sadness was welling up, preventing any further talk.

The second call was from Harriet Young on Lindisfarne.

‘I’m coming back tomorrow evening,’ she said. ‘For Donny’s funeral.’

‘How did they get hold of you?’

‘Jemima knew where I was. She’s been keeping me updated on what’s happening.’

‘Oh. So I can go, can I? You won’t be wanting me any more.’

‘I’ll pay you the full amount, of course. You’ve probably had a much less peaceful time than you expected.’

‘You told me you couldn’t be contacted.’

‘I lied,’ said Harriet with a forced laugh. ‘Sorry.’

‘Oh well,’ said Thea weakly. ‘I suppose it doesn’t matter. Incidentally, I’ve been reading your book. Do you mind my asking whether Donny ever saw it?’

The reply was forceful. ‘Of course he didn’t. I was extremely careful to keep it out of his sight. He was already quite morbid enough without that.’

‘But wasn’t he exactly the sort of person it’s intended for?’

A sound like a stifled moan came down the line. ‘That’s very acute of you, I must say. And it’s precisely what a lot of people would think. Which meant I could have found myself in real trouble if anybody thought I’d been influencing him.’

‘But you
want
to influence people. Why else would you write a book like that?’

The moan came again, louder this time. ‘Good question,’ Harriet choked. ‘Which is why I’ve decided to withdraw it from sale. I’ve changed my mind, while I’ve been here. I’ve been terribly,
terribly
wrong.’

Thea heard an echo of her own inner conflicts of the past few days. ‘It’s not easy, is it – trying to estimate your effect on people?’

‘Right. And I don’t think I can carry the responsibility for what they might do to themselves. I mean – poor old Donny. I feel so
dreadful
.’

‘I know I shouldn’t tell you this. The police would be furious with me, but never mind. Harriet – Donny didn’t kill himself. He was murdered. I’m not sure whether it’ll ever come to court, but honestly, you don’t have to feel responsible.’

‘What?’

‘I can’t say any more. And please don’t talk about it when you get home. Just thank your stars you didn’t have anything to do with it.’ She let Harriet absorb
this, before adding, ‘Oh, and just one more thing,’ she added, ‘while I’ve got you.’

‘Yes?’

‘Those paintings in the gallery. The De Morgans. Are they authentic?’

Harriet snorted. ‘Of course not, you idiot. I got them for five hundred quid the lot in a flea market. Who did you think they were by?’

‘Evelyn De Morgan. I suggest you have them looked at. You might be surprised.’

Harriet said nothing for a moment. Then, ‘
You
surprise me, Thea Osborne. Indeed you do.’

Thirdly, at seven o’clock, Drew phoned. She had taken his children for a drive and a little walk while he sat in the public gallery and listened to Gloucester County Council give outline approval for a four-acre natural burial ground just to the south of Broad Camden. He emerged at three-thirty, thanked her profusely and hurried home, where his real responsibilities lay.

‘Is everything all right?’ she asked him now.

‘Not really,’ he said. ‘I can only stay a minute. Karen’s been taken into hospital.’

‘Good God! When?’

‘Lunchtime. Maggs thought she was out, but began to worry about it when she didn’t appear all morning, and went to look. It’s some sort of cerebral bleed, they think. She’s unconscious.’

‘Oh, Drew. How ghastly. Are the children OK?’

‘I haven’t told them properly yet. I’m hoping there’ll be some news this evening, after they’ve done the tests. Maggs is furious with me.’

‘Bother Maggs. It’s not your fault.’

‘If I’d been here, I would have seen something was wrong. We would have got her to hospital sooner.’

‘And then what?’

‘I don’t know. They think it’s too deep for surgery. It might have been there since she was shot, a bit of damage they never spotted.’

‘So it wouldn’t have made any difference if you’d been there, would it?’

‘Maybe not, but—’

‘Listen. I’m leaving here tomorrow. Harriet’s coming back for Donny’s funeral—’

‘Funeral?’

‘Right. It seems they organised it last week, without telling me. Anyway, if you like I can come and help out there. I can transport the children and answer the phone, and take some pressure off.’

He was silent for some seconds. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I can’t let you do that.’

‘Can’t you?’

‘You must see how it would look.’

‘I suppose so. But you shouldn’t waste a good friendship because of how it might look. Call me if there’s anything I can do. I can be your agent here, or something. There’s an idea! Don’t you think?’ She hoped she didn’t sound as if she was pleading. ‘I
haven’t got any work until the end of July, in Snowshill. I’ll just be going mad with nothing to do. And I hope that’s far enough off the beaten track for nobody to have heard of me.’

‘Don’t rely on it. It’s hardly any distance from Broad Campden, if my geography serves me.’

‘I’ll change my name,’ she threatened.

He laughed briefly, and then said, ‘I must go, Thea. But thanks. I’ll call again sometime.’

‘Use the mobile. I don’t know where I’ll be. And Drew …’

‘Yes?’

‘It
will
all be all right. I promise you. You know that, don’t you?’

She could hear the sigh down the line. ‘It’ll have to be, won’t it?’ he said.

Down in the cellar of Hollywell Manor, a little egg began to rock, and a small crack appeared. But by the time the new gecko emerged blinking into the light, Thea Osborne had left Cranham for good.

A Cotswold Killing

A Cotswold Ordeal

Death in the Cotswolds

A Cotswold Mystery

Blood in the Cotswolds

Slaughter in the Cotswolds

Fear in the Cotswolds

A Grave in the Cotswolds

Deception in the Cotswolds

Grave Concerns

The Sting of Death

A Market for Murder