Barking Mad E-Book

Leigh Russell

• Herausgeber: Crime & Mystery Club
• Serie: A Poppy Mystery Tale
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2023

Seitenzahl: 352

Beschreibung

The NEW cosy crime novel from million-copy-selling author Leigh Russell!

Emily has settled in the picturesque village of Ashton Mead, where she lives with her puppy, Poppy. Life is finally going well for Emily. She has a cottage of her own, a job she likes and friends. Then she stumbles on the body of a woman who apparently drowned in the river.

The other villagers suspect foul play and are quick to blame Richard, Emily's next-door neighbour and a newcomer to the village. Emily finds it hard to believe her friendly neighbour could be a cold-hearted murderer. When she meets his attractive son, Adam, her feelings become more complicated. Determined to find out the truth behind the death in the village, Emily travels to London to track down the man with whom Richard's wife was having an affair.

Unfortunately for Emily, her visit does not go as planned. Instead of helping clear Richard's name, she finds her own life is in danger...

Page-turning and heart-warming, The Poppy Mystery Tales are perfect for fans of Richard Coles' Murder Before Evensong, Richard Osman's The Thursday Murder Club, Ian Moore's Death and Croissants and SJ Bennett's The Queen Investigates series.

Leseprobe

Critical Acclaim for Leigh Russell

‘A million readers can’t be wrong! Clear some time in your day, sit back and enjoy a bloody good read’ – Howard Linskey

‘Taut and compelling’ – Peter James

‘Leigh Russell is one to watch’ – Lee Child

‘A brilliant talent in the thriller field’ – Jeffery Deaver

‘Brilliant and chilling, Leigh Russell delivers a cracker of a read!’ – Martina Cole

‘Leigh Russell has become one of the most impressively dependable purveyors of the English police procedural’ –Times

‘DI Geraldine Steel is one of the most authoritative female coppers in a crowded field’ – Financial Times

‘The latest police procedural from prolific novelist Leigh Russell is as good and gripping as anything she has published’ – Times & Sunday Times Crime Club

‘Another corker of a book from Leigh Russell… Russell’s talent for writing top-quality crime fiction just keeps on growing…’ – Euro Crime

‘Good, old-fashioned, heart-hammering police thriller… a no-frills delivery of pure excitement’ – SAGA Magazine

‘A gritty and totally addictive novel’ – New York Journal of Books

This story is for Poppy.

It is also dedicated to Michael, Jo, Phillipa, Phil, Rian and Kezia.

1

We were out on our first walk of the day. Poppy trotted along beside me, pausing to sniff the air. It was chilly, but the worst of the cold weather was behind us and everywhere I looked there were signs of spring. The grass that led down towards the river was sparkling with dew. Dotted with daisies and a few wild crocuses that showed purple and yellow against the greensward, it was bordered by bright daffodils that quivered in a slight breeze. From time to time, Poppy launched an attack on some creature invisible to me, or stopped and began digging furiously in the ground. When that happened, I had to pull on her lead, calling to her to walk on; she could be very single-minded when burrowing for worms and beetles. She was so keen to dig up earth that it seemed unkind to thwart her instincts altogether and, as a consequence, she was allowed to dig holes in the grass in my back garden, where it couldn’t affect anyone else. My garden was a mess, but Poppy always seemed happy when the white fur around her shiny black nose was speckled with mud.

Returning home from our early morning walk, I saw a removal van turning off the main road some way ahead of us. Even from a distance, its destination was clear. There were only two houses in the lane where I had been living since inheriting a cottage in the picturesque village of Ashton Mead. Still only in my mid-twenties, and on a relatively low income, there was no way I would have been able to put down a deposit on a home of my own. I had been fortunate enough to inherit my beautiful cottage. Yet my ownership of Rosecroft had not been straightforward, but contingent on my taking care of my great aunt’s pet. To begin with, I had experienced serious reservations about accepting the bequest, never having owned a dog before. But it hadn’t taken Poppy long to convince me that she was exactly what I needed in my life. So the decision to move to the village of Ashton Mead was effectively made for me, by a small brown and white puppy who stole my heart.

Poppy was a Jack Tzu puppy, a cross between a Jack Russell Terrier and a Shih Tzu. Playful and mischievous, she proved to be far more intelligent than I would have believed possible. As well as being clever, she was adorable. Her fur was soft and white, with brown patches on her back, and she had bright black eyes to match her shiny black nose. Sometimes she gazed at me quizzically, her head tilted to one side, as though she was trying to figure out what I was talking about, and it was uncanny how well she seemed to understand everything I said. We had been together now for less than a year, yet I could hardly remember a time before Poppy came to live with me, and I had become as devoted to my unlooked-for companion as she was to me.

Walking along the lane, I watched as a couple of men in blue overalls climbed out of the van, which had pulled up outside my next-door neighbour’s house. Laurel Cottage had stood empty over the winter. From time to time I had seen cars draw up, with potential purchasers arriving to view the property, but not until recently had the ‘For Sale’ notice finally been taken down. It had probably only been a matter of time before someone bought the house, which was on at below the market price, for a quick sale. Even so, I was pleased, and also a little anxious, on seeing it had been sold. I hoped the new owners would be friendly. As a young woman living on her own, thoughts for my own safety flashed through my mind. Rosecroft was located in a quiet lane on the outskirts of Ashton Mead, with only one other property nearby and that stood between my cottage and the road into the village.

I led Poppy across the road, so she wouldn’t pester the removal men for attention. Walking on the opposite side of the lane also afforded me a clearer view of what was being taken from the van, but all I managed to see was a wooden table and several chairs moving in next door. With the only other house in Mill Lane unoccupied over the winter, I had been feeling rather isolated, even though I had friends in the village and Ashton Mead had a reputation as a safe place to live, with a very low crime rate, despite there being no permanent police presence. Of course, I had my dog for protection as well as for company. Admittedly, Poppy was more likely to pester strangers to play with her than to attack them, but she had a loud bark for such a small dog, which was likely to scare intruders away. Nevertheless, overall I was pleased that I would no longer be alone in Mill Lane, and hoped to make friends with my new neighbours.

When I left for work the following morning, there was no sign of the people who had moved in next door. They were probably inside familiarising themselves with their new home, or else still on the way to their new house. Wondering who they were, and what they were like, I made my way to the end of the lane and along to the High Street. Poppy trotted happily beside me, stopping every now and then to sniff at a hedge or a lamp post, and pee on it. We passed the grocery store and the owner waved at me as I went by. I had learned to be circumspect when talking to Maud, who was well-meaning but an inveterate gossip. She was a diminutive woman, with thick grey hair that dwarfed her narrow face. I paused briefly to quiz her about the new residents in the lane.

‘What have you heard about them?’ I enquired.

Maud prided herself on her detailed knowledge of everyone living in Ashton Mead, and was the main source of gossip in the village. But she knew nothing about my new next-door neighbours, a fact that appeared to gall her even more than it disappointed me. Having promised to share anything I learned about the newcomers with Maud, who was clearly frantic for information, Poppy and I continued on our way. By the time we arrived at the Sunshine Tea Shoppe where I worked, my friend Hannah was already opening up. She owned the café, where she worked in the kitchen, preparing breakfasts and baking all day. Thanks to her skill in the kitchen, the tea shop was popular, and we were kept busy, especially during the summer months when people stopped off as they passed through the village. While it had never been my dream to work as a waitress, I had been pleased to accept the job as a temporary measure when I first arrived in Ashton Mead. That was nearly a year ago, and I was still working in the café. Hannah and I had quickly become firm friends, and besides, the job suited Poppy. Hannah’s mother, Jane, was happy to look after her during the day, and when she wasn’t available, I was able to leave Poppy in the yard at the back of the tea shop where she could be safely left to wander around a fenced-in grassy plot covered by an old awning.

‘Where else will you find a job with a safe outside space for her?’ Hannah had asked me.

On my return from work that afternoon, instead of the removal men and their van, I saw a small red Citroën parked on the drive next door. With some trepidation, I approached the front door, clutching a small camellia bush in a blue and white ceramic pot. Feeling slightly nervous, I told Poppy to sit quietly and behave herself. We wanted to create a positive first impression. She lowered herself to the ground and lay there submissively, watching me keenly. Satisfied that she was settled, I rang the bell. The door was opened by a short rotund man with fluffy white hair who looked at me with inquisitive dark eyes that reminded me of my little dog. I knew that wasn’t a sensible reason to trust him, but he had a warm smile. Not only that, but Poppy wagged her tail when she saw him. In the year I had known her, time and again she had proved herself to be a good judge of character.

‘I live next door and wanted to say hello,’ I gabbled, thrusting the plant towards him with what I hoped was a friendly smile.

The man’s round face creased in an answering smile. ‘Is that a gift for us?’

‘Oh yes, yes,’ I stammered, still holding out the camellia.

He took it and thanked me, introducing himself as Richard. ‘And who is this?’ he went on, turning to Poppy. ‘Hello. Are we going to be friends as well as neighbours? As long as you don’t bark all night then I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.’

‘She doesn’t bark much,’ I hastened to assure him, already liking him.

‘What’s her name?’ he asked, seemingly more interested in my dog than in me, which I took as a very positive sign.

He crouched down and held his hand out for Poppy to sniff, before patting the top of her head. At once Poppy rolled over onto her back in a submissive gesture, allowing him to stroke her belly.

‘She likes you,’ I said. There was no need to add that she was equally friendly to just about everyone she met.

‘She’s a cutie all right,’ Richard said. ‘What kind of dog is she?’

‘She’s a Jack Tzu, a cross between a Jack Russell terrier and a Shih Tzu.’

‘We talked about getting a dog,’ he said wistfully. ‘That is, I’ve always wanted one, but my wife was never keen. She thought it wouldn’t be fair, what with us living in the city, and being out at work all day. But living here, it makes a lot more sense.’

We chatted for a few minutes about the benefits of owning a dog, before moving on to talk about life in the village. Although limited in scope, I told him the shops in the High Street offered almost every daily necessity, and the food in the pub was plain and old fashioned, but good quality and reasonably priced. He didn’t invite me in and since there was no sign of the wife he had mentioned, I was happy to be neighbourly without becoming too friendly. But my conclusion as I walked away was that I liked Richard and was pleased to have such a congenial neighbour living next door. I had yet to meet his wife, and hoped she would be just as pleasant.

That evening I met Hannah at the pub. Having worked together throughout the day, we had exhausted most of our usual gossip, so I was pleased to have some news to share with her, for once. She was interested to hear everything I could tell her about my new neighbours. The village was small, and any arrival inevitably caused a flurry of interest behind closed doors and twitching curtains.

‘What do you know about him?’ she asked me, leaning forward eagerly until her blonde curls were almost touching my unruly red hair.

‘He’s called Richard, and he’s married,’ I said.

‘That’s a pity,’ Hannah replied, her plump face twisted in a disappointed grimace.

We both laughed but, even if he had been available, I told her Richard was unlikely to interest her.

‘Why?’ she asked.

‘For a start, he’s old enough to be your father.’

‘So was my ex-husband.’

‘Ex-husband,’ I repeated, emphasising the ‘ex’.

‘Our age difference had nothing to do with us splitting up. It had everything to do with him chasing other women.’

She pulled a face, but I knew her divorce had been amicable, and her ex-husband had given her a very generous settlement which had enabled her to buy her café. She harboured no resentment towards him. Her empathy was one of the things I admired about her. I didn’t think I would ever forgive my ex-boyfriend. To be fair, he had treated me abominably, whereas Hannah seemed to think her ex-husband genuinely hadn’t been able to help himself. But that in itself was a magnanimous attitude.

‘What else have you found out about them?’ she asked me, still curious about my new next-door neighbours.

I shrugged. ‘Nothing, really. I only met him for a few seconds, on his doorstep. And there was no sign of his wife.’

‘Well, you’re not much use as a sleuth, are you?’ she replied.

‘He got on well with Poppy,’ I added.

‘I’d better ask her then,’ Hannah said, smiling. ‘She’s probably a lot more observant than you anyway. You’re useless. Well, Poppy,’ she looked down at my dog who was dozing at my feet. ‘What do you make of your new neighbour?’

Hearing her name, Poppy opened her eyes and wagged her tail. As Hannah and I were laughing together, one of our friends entered the bar and came over to join us. Brushing his black hair out of his eyes, Toby lowered his lean frame into a chair.

‘What are you two nattering about?’ he asked, his blue eyes alight with interest.

As soon as he sat down, Poppy trotted around the table to say hello to him. He stroked the curly fur on her head and she immediately rolled over, her paws waving in the air, her tail beating on the ground as it wagged eagerly. Hannah explained that I had been telling her about my new next-door neighbour.

‘He seems very nice,’ I said.

‘Don’t worry,’ Hannah added. ‘He’s not about to steal Emily away from you. He’s married.’

Muttering that he didn’t know what Hannah was talking about, Toby leaned down to tickle Poppy.

2

Early the following morning, I took Poppy for her first walk of the day. Having burnt off the early morning mist, the sun shone over an idyllic scene under a clear blue sky. Instead of scampering around on the grass, as she usually did, Poppy started pulling me in the direction of the red brick bridge across the river. I had been warned that Jack Tzus, like all long-eared breeds, were prone to ear infections, and Poppy seemed instinctively averse to submersion in water. She hated it when I bathed her, and would struggle and splash until I was as wet as she was. Given her propensity to dig, this had resulted in quite a few muddy confrontations. But this morning my little dog seemed determined to drag me down to the river.

‘No, Poppy, no. You know we don’t go down there,’ I told her. ‘It’s dangerous to go too close to the water’s edge. It would be all too easy to trip and fall in.’

Instead of listening to reason, she whimpered and continued trying to pull me towards the bridge.

‘Poppy, what’s wrong with you this morning?’

She began barking, and seemed so agitated, that in the end I let her lead the way down to the river bank. Even when we were standing right at the water’s edge, I almost missed it. And then something moved very slowly in the water. I stared at it, unable to believe what was just a few inches away from me, close enough for me to reach out and touch. I shut my eyes tightly, but when I opened them again a woman’s body was still there, lying face down in the water. Strands of long dark hair floated on the surface, like fine tendrils of river weed. Bobbing gently on the current, she seemed to be trapped in the weeds by the bank. Now that she had drawn my attention to this unusual phenomenon, Poppy evidently considered she had carried out her duty and it was over to me to deal with the situation. Stretching out on the grass, she closed her eyes and promptly fell asleep in the sun.

My mobile shook in my hand as I phoned the police and reported having discovered a dead body in the river. The woman who took my call asked for my name. In a tremulous voice I told her that a woman had drowned by the bridge over the river in Ashton Mead.

‘Wait there, madam,’ she said. ‘A patrol car will be with you as soon as possible. Is the person in the water breathing?’

‘I don’t think so,’ I stammered. ‘I don’t know. That is, I don’t think she can be, because she’s lying face down in the water and she’s not moving.’

As I was answering the question, it occurred to me that I should have checked whether the woman was actually dead. I was trying hard not to panic, although I had no idea what to do next. Yelling at Poppy to stay where she was, I lay down and reached out to grasp the back of the woman’s shirt. The cold water hurt my fingers but I clung on and tugged, succeeding only in lifting a fistful of sodden fabric up above the surface of the water. Abandoning my efforts to pull the woman out of the water, I grabbed hold of her hair and attempted to at least yank her head up above the surface. It wasn’t easy because my fingers were stiff with cold. At last I succeeded in lifting the woman’s nose and mouth above the surface, but her hair slithered through my stiff fingers and she fell back in the water with a loud splash. I didn’t attempt to pull her head up again. One glimpse of her grey skin and sightless eyes had been enough to convince me that the woman was dead.

Sitting back on my heels on the damp grass, I shuddered to think that I had just stared into the eyes of a corpse. In that moment it made no difference to me that she was a stranger. All that mattered was that she had once been a human being, and now she was dead. I heard a faint sob, and realised I was crying. Poppy came and lay beside me with her head on my leg, as though she understood I was upset. Thrusting my icy fingers into her fur, I was comforted by her warmth. We seemed to be sitting there for a very long time, unable to move, just waiting. I wasn’t even aware that a police car had drawn up, until Poppy began barking at a tall woman striding across the grass towards us.

‘Are you Emily Wilson?’ she called out to me in a deep voice of command.

With a shudder of relief, I clambered to my feet and snapped at Poppy to be quiet. Fussing and grumbling, as if to say she deserved some credit for finding a drowned woman, Poppy lay back down, with her chin on her paws, staring at me. Meanwhile, the policewoman glanced about, before her piercing black eyes came to rest on me again. There was no need for her to ask me where the body was. She spotted it straight away and ran to check whether there was anything that could be done to save the woman. Feeling stunned, I scarcely registered that a man had joined her. Together they pulled the body out of the water and had her lying on her front by the time another officer joined them. One of them began checking the body while the tall woman talked briskly on her phone. By now several police cars had driven up and parked on the road close to the bridge. They were followed by a couple of police vans. Time seemed to speed up and it seemed that within minutes the peaceful riverside was overrun with strangers in white suits. As if they had been rehearsing for this event for months, the grassy area was rapidly cordoned off on both sides of the bridge.

Dazed and shaking, I watched all the bustle around me. Someone put a glistening silver sheet around me murmuring about delayed shock, and a plastic cup of sweetened tea was thrust in my hand. The tall female officer was barking instructions. Overwhelmed, I picked Poppy up and buried the side of my face in her fur. Meanwhile, a small crowd of onlookers began to gather as a large white tent was erected to hide the body from view. I wasn’t sorry not to see it any longer. One look had been enough for me. A young policewoman joined me and questioned me gently about how I had found the body. She wanted to know whether I recognised the dead woman, and what I was doing down by the river so early. I explained about taking my dog for a walk.

‘We don’t usually go down as far as the river bank, but this morning she kept dragging me down here. She knew something was wrong.’

‘What could have given your dog that idea?’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps she picked up the woman’s scent.’

I explained how, prompted by the emergency services, I had pulled the woman’s head up by her hair, and had seen straight away that she was dead.

‘Her lips were dark blue,’ I said, shivering at the memory. ‘She was just staring without seeing anything. There was nothing I could do so I – I dropped her head back in the water.’

Horror at what I had done overwhelmed me, and I began to cry.

‘Is this your dog?’

I nodded and the policewoman smiled. ‘She’s a beauty. Why don’t you take her home now? We have your details and will be in touch if we need to speak to you again.’

Back home, I had just put the kettle on when there was a ring on the bell. Expecting a police officer, I was surprised to see my friend, Hannah, standing on the doorstep, her chubby face contorted with worry.

‘I wanted to check you’re all right,’ she said, gazing at me anxiously.

‘How do you know what happened?’ I answered, startled that she seemed to know about my discovery of a drowned woman.

Hannah continued to scrutinise me. ‘It’s all over the village. Everyone knows about it.’

‘But – how did they find out?’

She smiled at the question. ‘Well, let’s see. There’s a bloody big white tent down by the river which isn’t a circus, the road’s closed, and there’s a host of police cars parked near the bridge. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to work out something serious has happened. The police don’t turn out in force like that for nothing. It’s a fatal accident, isn’t it?’

I nodded helplessly. ‘You’d better come in. I was there, you know,’ I told her when we were both seated in my living room. ‘That is, I found a body floating in the river, and called the police. I’m sorry about letting you down. I should have called you to say I wasn’t coming to work, but it just went out of my head. Tell me, what made you think I had anything to do with what happened?’

‘When you didn’t turn up for work this morning, and didn’t call to let me know, I thought something must be wrong. Then I heard that someone with a dog had found a dead body floating in the river, and I put two and two together and guessed it might be you.’

I was puzzled. ‘How did you know the body was found by someone with a dog?’

‘Maud told me. Don’t ask me how she found out.’

We both smiled. The local shopkeeper seemed to absorb rumour and gossip from the air.

‘Well, I’m really sorry. I feel awful. I should have called you. I was going to call…’

‘Don’t worry about the café. Seriously, it doesn’t matter. One day isn’t going to make any difference to anything. It’s completely understandable you’d be feeling confused after what you’ve just been through. These are exceptional circumstances. Now,’ Hannah went on, with characteristic practicality, ‘have you had breakfast? I know you’ve had a shock, but you still have to eat.’

Poppy jumped up, wagging her tail eagerly. She clearly thought that was an excellent idea. Hannah flatly refused to open the Sunshine Tea Shoppe that day, so there was no question of my going to work, even if I had wanted to. Instead, my friend insisted that I take it easy and do nothing for a few days, until the shock of my horrible discovery had worn off. After staying to supervise my lunch, she finally left, claiming it was a good opportunity to give the café a thorough clean, although I suspected she was going to open up for the afternoon tea trade. Before she left, she promised to call for me that evening so we could go to the village pub together.

‘Toby has arranged to meet us there,’ she added, with a sly smile.

Hannah knew that I had fallen for our friend Toby. I sometimes glimpsed his piercing blue eyes gazing at me through the dark hair that flopped down over his eyes but, despite Hannah’s assurances that he reciprocated my feelings, so far he only appeared to be interested in being friends with me.

‘So I’ll see you later,’ she said. ‘And if you sniff out any more stiffs, look the other way,’ she added, turning to Poppy. ‘One dead body is quite enough for one day.’

Poppy rolled over for Hannah to tickle her and Hannah grinned.

3

The house felt empty after Hannah left, but I refused to dwell on the morbid feelings that had been lurking in the back of my mind ever since I had seen the drowned woman. Taking Poppy for a long walk lifted my spirits. The sun was shining and there was a hint of summer in the air. Instead of following our usual route across the grassy slopes leading down to the river, we walked around the village, passing front gardens displaying clusters of daffodils, crocuses and delicate snowdrops. A few hyacinths were in flower, and I paused to admire a camellia covered in massive crimson blooms, while overhead the sky formed a bright blue backdrop against the pink blossom of a hawthorn tree. We reached our destination, a small green near the bus stop, where Poppy spent a happy half hour exploring the moss and insect life that proliferated in the grass.

Poppy was clearly having a good time and it was difficult to witness her exuberance and remain dejected. I was just beginning to relax and forget all about my disturbing discovery, when I heard someone calling out. A stocky man was heading in our direction. He seemed to be in a hurry, with his sturdy legs working like pistons, and although it was difficult to make out exactly what he was saying, it was clear that he was angry. He was brandishing a walking stick in the air and, as he drew nearer, I realised that he was shouting at me. His large square face was red with exertion or fury, and he was yelling at me to remove my dog from the green. I stood still, doing my best to conceal my fear. If the man had been directing his ire against me, I would most likely have fled, but he was directing his aggression at Poppy, who had done nothing wrong. There was no sign to prohibit dogs from walking on the green, where she had every right to snuffle around freely. If I conceded this once, we might never be able to return to the green. I stood my ground, refusing to be cowed.

Poppy strained at her lead as the man drew near, and her growls gave way to a low-throated barking. I had never heard her sounding quite so aggressive. Had she been twice her size I suspected the angry man might not have dared come so close, even with the stout stick he was now wielding like a weapon. But he came near enough for me to see the spittle on his fleshy lips, and notice how his nostrils flared in his flat nose, while his tiny eyes glared out at me between slits in his baggy eyelids. He reminded me of a picture of an ogre in one of the books I had read as a child. Reaching us, he raised his stick above his bald head and Poppy jumped up eagerly, hoping he was offering to play with her. She retreated, growling, when he bellowed at me.

‘Get that brute off this grass!’

‘No,’ I replied, shaking and very surprised by my own temerity. ‘This is common land and anyone is permitted to walk here.’

‘We don’t want filthy animals soiling the grass,’ he replied.

I was on the point of retorting that Poppy wasn’t filthy, when she crouched down and deposited a little parcel at my feet. Muttering under my breath, I lunged at it with a dog poop bag, after which I straightened up to confront the dog hater. But my confidence was dented. It was enough. Sensing his advantage, the man waved his stick in the air, repeating that the green was no place for animals.

‘If I catch that animal here again, you’ll be sorry,’ he shouted. ‘Now get lost, the pair of you!’

With that, he turned and stalked away, leaving me shaking and relieved to be rid of him. We went straight home from there, as I didn’t want to face the questions Maud would inevitably put to me about my discovery of the dead woman if she caught sight of me in the village.

When my doorbell chimed, I was reluctant to open the door until I saw Hannah was outside. She had come to collect me, not trusting that I would go to the pub as we had arranged. I hadn’t intended to mention my unpleasant encounter with the angry villager to anyone, but somehow I found myself telling Hannah about it as we walked to the pub.

‘We weren’t doing anything wrong,’ I concluded. ‘I mean, Poppy did do a poo on the green, but that was after the man shouted at me for letting her walk on the grass, so that wasn’t what set him off. And it’s not as if we left her doings there. You know I always carry bags with me. She has to go somewhere.’

Hannah shrugged. ‘Was he bald?’ she asked. ‘And ugly as sin?’

‘He was bald,’ I replied. ‘And he was carrying a thick walking stick which he kept waving at us. I really thought he was going to hit me.’

Hannah nodded. ‘That was Silas Strang,’ she said. ‘Don’t take any notice of him. He’s like that with everyone. Just ignore him and avoid him when you can. He’s a nasty piece of work. And his mother’s worse. Don’t look so worried. You’re not alone. He’s made enemies with everyone in the village, for one reason or another.’

If Hannah had intended to comfort me, she hadn’t succeeded.

Far from proving a welcome distraction, at the pub that evening the talk was all about the body that had been pulled from the river. A hush fell when Hannah and I walked in; everyone there knew I had discovered the drowned woman floating in the river. Tess, who worked in the pub, usually treated me with a surly taciturnity, her beady black eyes scowling balefully at me. I had learned to ignore her barely veiled hostility, having been assured that she regarded anyone who had not been born in the village as an interloper. On this occasion she actually smiled at me as she handed me a pint, telling me it was on the house. I appreciated her sympathy, but it turned out she had been intent on making her way through the small crowd gathered around me only to ensure she could hear what had happened that morning. Before I could answer any questions, a stranger manoeuvred herself to the front of my audience. She was tall and thin, with piercing black eyes, short black hair and bright red lipstick. She thrust a dictaphone at me expectantly.

‘Get away from her,’ Tess snapped. ‘Who do you think you are, anyway?’ She looked around. ‘Does anyone recognise this woman?’

The stranger introduced herself as a reporter from My Swindon News, and Tess nodded at the landlord. Cliff was a burly man who rarely raised his voice. His powerful physical presence was usually enough to intimidate the most aggressive antagonist.

‘Come on now,’ he said to the reporter, his florid face nearly the colour of the tufts of ginger hair sticking out on either side of his bald pate. ‘Let’s give the poor girl some space. She’s had a nasty experience, and the last thing she needs right now is strangers hounding her.’

‘It’s all right,’ I said. ‘She might as well hear it from me, but there’s honestly nothing much to tell.’

The pub was absolutely silent as I described how my dog had insisted on dragging me down to the river. At my feet, I saw Poppy’s ears twitch when she heard me mention her name.

‘And that’s when I saw her,’ I said.

‘Can you describe what you saw?’ the reporter prompted me eagerly.

‘There was a body in the water. It was caught in the weeds by the bridge, lying face down and not moving. The police came very quickly and took my statement and that was it, as far as I was concerned. The police sent me home and after that, you know as much as I do. And that’s all there is to say. If you want to know anything else, you’ll have to ask the police.’

The reporter enquired where I lived, but at that point, Cliff stepped in front of her, blocking my view of her. My friend Toby rose to his feet and joined Cliff.

‘Are you going to leave quietly or does my mate here have to throw you out?’ Toby asked with uncharacteristic roughness.

‘You can see the girl’s had a shock and needs time to deal with it,’ Cliff said. ‘As for where she lives, that’s none of your business.’

‘She’s in the pub,’ the reporter retorted. ‘She doesn’t seem very shocked.’

‘She’s come to spend some quiet time with her friends,’ Toby repeated.

‘She’s got a lot of friends,’ the reporter said, glancing around at the assembled villagers.

‘She’s a popular girl,’ Toby replied tersely.

The reporter sniffed then turned and walked slowly to the door.

Hannah leapt to her feet. ‘If you print anything defamatory, we’ll make sure your paper is sued and you lose your job,’ she called out at the retreating figure. ‘The whole village witnessed what my friend told you, and you weren’t the only one recording it.’ She brandished her phone in the air. ‘You can’t trust these reporters,’ she added, resuming her seat.

‘Bloody parasites,’ someone else muttered.

‘Why did you talk to her?’ Hannah asked me irritably.

‘It’s hardly a secret that I discovered a dead body floating in the river, so thought I might as well tell the whole story. Once they know I’ve got nothing interesting to say, they’ll leave me alone.’

‘Let’s hope you’re right,’ Hannah said.

With the reporter gone, other people started chipping in and everyone seemed to voice a different opinion.

‘Well, if you ask me,’ an old man sitting in the corner piped up, although no one had asked for his opinion, ‘that poor woman were murdered.’

Under the table, Poppy growled in her sleep.

‘Stands to reason, don’t it?’ the old man went on, growing expansive as he realised he had an audience. ‘There’s more’n enough reeds and weeds along there for anyone to pull theirselves out of the water if they want to. It’s not like the river flows fast through the village. I sailed enough sticks under the bridge when I were a nipper to know it’s a lazy river.’ He shook his head. ‘It were murder all right.’

‘You can drown in a few inches of water,’ someone else pointed out and a few more voices joined in.

‘Yes, it could have been an accident.’

‘She could have fell in and hit her head.’

‘Or been pushed.’

‘Or hit on the head before she went into the river.’

It was fish and chips night in the pub. Cliff had underestimated the number of locals who would be there that evening. He complained that his freezer was almost empty by the time he closed his kitchen. But he was beaming. At least the discovery of a body in the village had proved good for business at the pub. The main topic of conversation was the identity of the drowned woman. No one seemed to have any inkling who she might be. The consensus arrived at was that she had fallen into the water further along the river and had floated down to Ashton Mead where she had become tangled in the weeds beside the bridge. It was true that she could have fallen in anywhere further upstream.

‘If she’d carried on down the river she could have ended up in the Thames,’ Cliff said.

‘She might not have been discovered until she reached London,’ Toby added thoughtfully. ‘Being discovered here means the police can narrow the search to Ashton Mead or anywhere further upstream. She might have fallen in anywhere between Wroughton and here.’

Tess scowled. ‘You’ve got to admit it’s odd, a corpse turning up here just when newcomers moved into Laurel Cottage.’

I listened, suddenly alert to what was being said. Laurel Cottage was the only other property in the lane where I lived.

‘Odd in what way?’ Cliff asked her.

‘They move in and next day there’s a dead body in the river. We’ve never had a stranger drown in our stretch of the river before.’

‘Are you suggesting the two are connected?’ Hannah asked.

‘I’m just saying it’s a coincidence, strangers arriving in the village at the exact time a corpse turns up,’ Tess insisted darkly. ‘If you ask me, the police should be investigating whoever’s moved into Laurel Cottage.’

‘There’s no evidence the two are connected. No one’s even said the woman was murdered,’ Toby protested.

‘He did,’ Tess countered, jerking her head in the direction of the old man in the corner.

‘It could have been a suicide,’ someone said.

‘It were murder,’ the old man in the corner repeated in his reedy voice.

‘Probably Silas Strang,’ someone said, and there was a murmur of agreement.

‘Or that mother of his,’ another voice chipped in.

‘She keeps a shotgun under her bed,’ the old man said thoughtfully.

‘That’s nonsense and you know it,’ Tess chided him.

‘It’s far more likely to have been an accident,’ Toby said firmly. ‘The woman probably slipped and fell in, and it was just a tragic accident.’

Tess grunted. ‘If that’s what you want to call it.’

‘What makes you suspect she was murdered?’ I asked.

Tess glared at me and I looked away uneasily. Remembering that she distrusted anyone who hadn’t lived in Ashton Mead all their lives, I wondered what stories she spread about me behind my back. In the meantime, the discussion continued. In the absence of any evidence, there was scope for endless speculation about the drowned woman. Instead of feeling more disturbed than before by this focus on the dead woman I had discovered, I found the conversation curiously comforting. Having gone to the pub to spend time with my friends, in the hopes they would distract me from my earlier shock, I no longer felt alone with my dreadful discovery, even if the general consensus in the pub seemed to be that I was now living next door to a man who had murdered his wife.

4

The next day I went to the rather grandly named Village Emporium, the local grocery store, for fresh milk and bread. The grey-haired shopkeeper, Maud, put down a glossy magazine she was reading and peered at me over her rimless glasses.

‘It was you discovered the body, wasn’t it?’

She nodded excitedly as she spoke, making her mass of tightly curled grey hair quiver. She was so inquisitive, it surprised me that she had been absent the previous evening, when the news had been discussed at length in the pub.