of fictional detectives notwithstanding, we're not paying you to have feelings. This is a criminal investigation. Investigate.'
Yes, Ma'am.
'Ma'am? If I wanted to look at a file from years ago, the mid-eighties, where would I look?'
'Why would you want to do that?'
'Just something that caught my attention.' He had learned by now that she didn't always push it if he refused to answer. She gave him a slightly exasperated look. 'You look it up in the computer, like you would a recent file, note down the number and ask the desk sergeant for the keys to the cellar.'
Walter and Dasgupta were questioning the people on Jim's list, to see if any of them were connected to the victim. Sergeant Pardoe was interviewing neighbours. Holmes was in the Hollow Crown, talking to Whiteside's colleagues. Collins spent the entire afternoon going through the events of last Sunday with the boy's parents, hoping to find a clue, a chink in the story, something that did not fit. They returned to the station one by one, filed their statements, filled in reports.
'The landlord nearly socked me one, when I suggested Sean might have been on the bend,' Sally said.
'He gets violent, does he?' Dasgupta asked.
'I said 'nearly'. Anyway, he didn't pull a gun on me.'
'And was he on the bend?'
'I don't think so. He seems to have been a pretty straight bloke.'
'Apart from the drugs.'
'Yeah, but if we locked up every student who got some pills for himself and his friends, we might as well merge the prisons and the universities. Right, that's it for today, I think.' She pushed back her chair and stretched. 'I'm going to catch some sun while it's here. Anyone coming for a drink?'
'Can't,' Pardoe said glumly, 'We're having my sister-in-law over for dinner.' It was clear he would have preferred a pint in a pub.
Sally and Chandra were already on their feet. 'Sir?' she said, 'Are you coming? I think we'd better not make it the Hollow Crown, though.'
'Just a moment, Sally. You grew up here, didn't you? Does the name Danvers mean anything to you?' Collins asked her.
'I've read Rebecca, sir.'
'We had a teacher at the comp called Danvers,' Chandra recalled, 'Took me years to figure out why everyone called her 'Mrs' even though she wasn't married.'
'Why do you ask?' Sally wanted to know.
'Oh, just something that came up today. It was a long shot anyway. Enjoy your drinks.'
'You're not joining us?'
It was tempting, but Owen had looked up the number of the Skinner file, and had asked the desk sergeant for the keys to the cellar. 'Some other time,' he said regretfully, 'Got some things to do first.'
The look DC Holmes gave him had a lot in common with that of Bridget Flynn earlier in the day.
What's got into me? he asked himself as he carried the buff-coloured folder up to his desk. Sally was right, he should be out in the sunshine. But he had promised Mr Walsingham he'd have a look at the file, and here it was. He had promised only because there was nothing else he could do - even if there was something in it, it struck him as too outré and nebulous a matter ever to bring to court. No use wasting his time on, so why? Maybe because his detective's mind had noticed just enough oddities to command his attention. It seemed to him absurdly convenient, for example, that they had Barry Skinner's file in the archives here. Alice Wright was killed in nearby Oxford. Danvers was a local name. And the site of the medieval priory of St Bernard, which Mr Walsingham assured him had belonged to the chapter in a way he couldn't quite follow, lay just west of town. It seemed to be a local matter. On the other hand - how many hands did he need for this case? - he had very little experience of murdering monks, so perhaps it was best to keep an open mind. He started reading the file from the top and soon forgot all about sunshine in a familiar routine.
14
Simon was still asleep. He looked like a movie-still, all youthful glow and tangled sheets. Claire had woken early, moved quietly to open the curtains and let the early sunlight in. It looked set to be perfect. She leant against the windowsill, enjoying the sun on her naked shoulders, and looked at Simon. He really could sleep like the dead. Was that something only men did? She would definitely have woken up if someone walked around her bedroom opening windows, not to mention pulling the chain of the noisy lav next-door. And the birds were staging a riot out there. Claire felt like going out. Should she wake him, wait for him? She quickly pulled on a skirt and top, still undecided. Simon made a small snorting sound and turned over, rolling onto his stomach and taking the sheets with him, as if determined even in sleep to give her the best view. She smiled at his unconscious boyishness and went out, closing the door firmly behind her.
She ran lightly down the stairs. There were voices coming from the kitchen, but she ignored them. She wanted to get outside while there was still dew on the grass.
'Also going for a walk?'
She looked around to find Anna, in a summer dress and sandals, selecting a straw boater from the hat stand in the hallway.
'That was the idea. It's such a lovely day.'
'Shall we walk together? Or would you rather be alone? - I shan't mind either way.'
'Oh, let's walk together. You can point out the interesting bits for me. It's just that I didn't want to wake Simon, anyway.'
'Is he still like that? When he was a teenager he sometimes couldn't be roused till after midday.'
They went out by the garden doors of what was grandly called the morning room.
'What was he like, as a child?' Claire asked curiously. Surprisingly, with so many female relatives around, she had as yet been spared the family album.
'Oh, very much like Titus is now. You think they're just boys, doing the things boys do, and then suddenly they come out with something clever and you know they're just adults waiting to happen.'
What an odd way to put it, Claire thought. Did Anna regret having children so young? Were her books a way of living a lost youth? One of her novels was called Two Is Company - but she lived in a crowd.
'It goes so fast,' Anna continued, 'Remember that Claire, when you have children of your own. Enjoy every moment. They are gone before you know it.'
She must be thinking of her other son, Claire thought. No one had told her yet what had happened to him.
A set of steps led down from the formal garden into an unexpected multitude of rose bushes. Claire lingered by a Hybrid Tea, wondering if she could ask.
'Anna, why did you marry so young? Don't get me wrong, I'm glad you did, or there would be no Simon for me. But all my friends' parents are older.'
'Because my Simon ever so charmingly insisted we should. And we were very much in love. It wasn't as if I had to either. Young Simon was born a whole decorous year after the wedding.'
Claire laughed. 'I understand. And they can be charming, can't they, those Simons?'
'Oh yes. They all have it, this way with people. Even Titus, he's everyone's pet. And Judith has got boys coming out her ears.'
'I can imagine that.'
It occurred to Claire that within the larger family, Simon's parents actually led entirely separate lives. His father had returned from France two days ago, but she had not seen him and Anna together even at dinner. They might have been very much in love twenty-five or more years ago, but she doubted they were still. They walked in silence for a bit. The rose garden smelt wet and sweet now, but there was a hint of something else in the air, something that would turn heavy and rotten in the sunlight. Claire was glad they had come here in the early morning, or she would have found it oppressive.
'Wasn't it strange, becoming part of this family?'
Anna