Читаем A Finer End полностью

“Winnie was only a few hundred yards from our house, and I walk round the Tor every morning,” Allen said with the air of a man keeping his impatience in check. “Unfortunate, perhaps, but I wouldn’t say odd.”

“Did you recognize Ms. Todd’s van?”

“No. To be honest, I’d had a bit too much coffee.… I thought the van would make a good shield if anyone came along.… I suppose I assumed someone had had a breakdown and left it to be collected later—until I looked inside.”

“Did you recognize Ms. Todd, then?”

Allen paled. “No. I’m afraid I wasn’t … thinking very logically at that point.”

Kincaid remembered that they had found only Garnet Todd’s and Faith’s prints on the exterior of the van. “You didn’t try to get in? To see if she needed help?”

“It was obvious she was past that.” Again, Allen gave his wife a concerned glance. “I came home and rang the police.”

“But you knew Ms. Todd?” pressed Kincaid.

“She was unique … one of Glastonbury’s true eccentrics. The town won’t be the same without her. I—Fiona?”

Fiona Allen stood and moved towards her studio. “I’m sorry.” Feverish spots had appeared on her cheeks, and she seemed to have difficulty focusing on them. “I’m sorry—I have to paint now. It’s—”

“It’s all right, darling,” her husband soothed. “You go ahead. I’ll see Mr. Kincaid and Miss James out.”

With a last apologetic glance, Fiona disappeared into the corridor.

“Does it always happen like that?” asked Gemma as Bram walked them to the door. “It was almost as if she had no choice.”

“She doesn’t,” Bram answered curtly. “She becomes ill if she’s kept from painting. And now I’d better check on her, if you don’t mind.”

They said good-bye, and as they retraced their way through the garden, Gemma shivered. “Has it struck you? Jack can’t help writing; Fiona Allen can’t help painting; and Faith says she had no choice but to climb the Tor. What is it about this place?” She looked up. The Tor seemed to hang above the treetops, a massive presence that dwarfed all other elements in the landscape. “And what else might someone feel compelled to do?”

“You’re sure about this?” Kincaid asked as he took Gemma’s bag from the boot in front of Bath Railway Station.

“Positive.” She kissed him, adding, “You will talk to Faith about seeing her parents, won’t you? I’ll ring you tomorrow.” With a wave, she walked away.

He watched her until she disappeared into the interior of the station, then climbed back into the car and set about maneuvering his way out of the city. As a child, he had loved their summer visits to Bath, but these days it was so chockablock with tourists you could scarcely move.

Eventually, he found his way back to the A37 going south, towards Glastonbury. He took his time, enjoying the drive through the eastern edge of the Mendips. Gemma was right, it was lovely country, and he smiled, remembering how much she had disliked their trips out of London when they had first started working together.

Born and raised in busy North London, Gemma had been more than a bit agoraphobic. But she had changed, had adapted herself to new circumstances and surroundings. Her ability to do so was one of the things that made her a good copper, and would go a long way towards ensuring her success at her new job. Still, it was a hard transition, and he wished there were something he could do to make the process easier for her.

Of course, if he were totally honest, he’d have to admit he’d been more wrapped up in dealing with his own adjustment to working without her than with hers to her new posting. Even without the personal component of their relationship he’d have found replacing her difficult.

But he had been right to entice Gemma away for the weekend. She’d been more relaxed than he’d seen her in months, and he realized how much he missed that easiness between them. He would have to see what he could do to improve things in the future, but just now he had better turn his attention to Jack’s predicament.

They didn’t seem to be making much progress towards solving either Winnie’s accident or the Todd homicide. Not that he would expect such a quick resolution on an ordinary case, but he was frustrated both by his limited time and his lack of control over the investigation. Greely’s tactics were common enough—find the most likely suspect and bully him or her until you got a confession—but they certainly left much fertile ground unturned.

And to complicate matters further, Jack was bringing Winnie home from hospital today. If she were still in danger, how much more vulnerable would she be now?

He kept running aground on the same questions. Why had Andrew Catesby gone to see Garnet Todd? Why would someone other than Garnet have wanted to hurt—or kill—Winifred Catesby? If Garnet had not struck Winnie, where had she gone in the van that evening? And what had Winnie done in the hours she couldn’t remember?