The Distant Dead by Lesley Thomson (most difficult books to read .txt) 📗

been a second autopsy, someone like Bradman would have enjoyed destroying his rival’s reputation. This way he puts us off the scent.’

‘For God’s sake.’ Hackett dabbed the back of his neck with a hankie. ‘George, do you realize what you’re suggesting?’

‘I’m not suggesting anything, sir,’ Cotton said. ‘I am saying I have more than enough evidence to charge Aleck, Dr Northcote, with the murder of Maple Greenhill.’

Bob Hackett made his way around the desk; instinctively Cotton tensed, but Hackett was going to the washroom. He called out over his shoulder, ‘Detective Inspector Cotton, you are to take no action until I’ve informed Wolsey Banks of this very queer turn-up. It will be in his hands.’

‘Sir.’ The meeting had gone to plan. Cotton knew that lily-livered Bob Hackett hadn’t legged the greasy pole only to slide down with his pension in his sights. But Wolsey Banks was made of sterner stuff. He would not let a man, whoever he was, get away with murder.

Chapter Twenty

2019

Stella

When Stella returned to the flat, she was relieved to find Lucie in her cockpit transcribing the episode of Roddy’s podcast. Seeing Stella, she adopted a noble expression of self-sacrifice which meant she had kept her promise not to go to the police briefing. In case she let slip she’d been with Janet in the teashop that morning, Stella took Stanley for a walk.

Stella crossed the bridge over the Severn and went along the lane to Lower Lode. When she reached the river, she followed the bank past the boathouse, through churned-up mud at the start of the footpath to the meadow beyond.

Stanley badgered her for a ball but then, diverted by a myriad of smells, he abandoned it. Stella strolled to the lightning-struck tree. Stripped of leaves and smaller branches, the scorched oak emerged through the mizzle, angular branches stark against the white-grey sky.

Out of habit – Jack said never assume you are alone – Stella checked for anyone up ahead or behind her then clambered through a break in the undergrowth to a spot where she had spent many hours since coming to Tewkesbury. Although it faced the river and the opposite bank, the little clearing was screened by bushes from the path. It offered Stella the space she craved. Leaning against the trunk of a horse chestnut, she concentrated on leaves and twigs drifting by on the water and tried to relax. Stanley settled on her lap.

Her fragile calm was shattered as, barking, Stanley launched off her lap and tore back through the gap. Hearing a voice – annoyed tones – Stella scrambled up and returned to the path.

Stanley was dancing around a person standing by the lightning-struck tree. From his exuberance Stella imagined it was Jack, but then saw it was a woman.

‘You should watch your dog, cattle graze here.’ It was Andrea the abbey gardener.

‘There aren’t any today.’ Stella recalled how rude Andrea was at the Death Café. The solution was to demonstrate being nice. ‘How are you, after the…’

‘After the murder, is that what you’re pussy-footing with?’ Andrea said.

‘Yes. I mean it was pretty shocking for all of us.’

‘Not for me. I didn’t know him.’ Andrea nudged Stanley away with her foot. This only encouraged him to fuss around her more so Stella grabbed him and clipped on his lead.

‘Nor did I, but just the fact of a man dying,’ Stella said. ‘But don’t you live at the same lodging house, the one run by Gladys Wren? You didn’t see him there?’

‘Who told you that?’ Andrea looked distinctly unhappy. Stella couldn’t believe she’d asked the question; she’d hate someone asking her about her living arrangements.

‘I don’t know, maybe Roddy.’ Janet had told her, but she could hardly say she was as good as hand in glove with the police. Stella felt bad using Roddy. Lucie would applaud her quick thinking since, being dead, he wouldn’t deny it.

‘Roddy had no right to go blabbing to you,’ Andrea said.

‘I wouldn’t call it blabbing…’ Stella wished she herself had not blabbed.

Andrea appeared to be about to say something else, but abruptly with a noise of exasperation she stalked off toward the boathouse without saying goodbye.

All hope of calm having gone, Stella returned to her secret haven by the horse chestnut tree – not secret now – and collected her seating mat and rucksack. She gave the river one last look.

She hadn’t noticed the light begin to fail. The path in both directions was in shadow. She couldn’t see Andrea. The grey of the day was merging with approaching dusk.

From across the meadows, the abbey bell struck three thirty. Evensong was in half an hour. With what she’d been through in the last forty-eight hours, Stella absolutely didn’t want to miss it.

*

She reached the abbey at exactly four and hurried up the yew path. As she went through the great north door, Stella wondered if Janet would be there scanning the congregation for anyone suspicious. Janet would be suspicious of Stella, for a start. Stella hadn’t told her she’d taken to attending evensong. With Stanley on her shoulder, Stella slipped inside.

Organ notes ricocheted around the walls. The choir was singing the Magnificat. No Janet, no police tape or crime scene markers, the abbey was restored. Stella took a seat beyond the entrance where she could see, but was less likely to be seen. Craning up at the stained-glass window of Christ’s Journey she gave herself up to the atmosphere. Stanley was already dozing on her lap.

Perhaps Roddy’s murder had put off worshippers: there were only three. One woman with a Labrador at her feet and two elderly men huddled near the choir. Stella recognized the men from other evensongs. She wondered if it was Joy on the organ, or if she, like Stella since Roddy’s murder, had been stood down. Absently, Stella took up a prayer book and finding the Corinthians, followed the reading of the second lesson with a finger.

…He hath put down the mighty from their seats: and hath