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Her eyebrows rise. She’s as surprised as him. ‘Thank you. So, are we still interviewing?’
‘No.’
‘You agreed to let that go?’ She knows him better than he thought.
‘I’m going to have to.’
Jen waits by the office door, while he over-explains his interview notes to their colleague. ‘Hal!’ she says after a while. ‘Let’s go.’
They pick up a pool car and Jen drives, taking them through Chepstow, its town centre dominated by the ancient castle. It towers over the River Wye which snakes along one side of the town, forming a natural boundary. There are plans to close the Criminal Investigations Department here and move their team to a featureless office block beside the motorway. Hal will miss it if they do. He likes the history, and the border-town mentality. Chepstow is in England, but Wales is on the opposite bank of the River Wye.
A few minutes and a few sets of lights and they’re free of the outskirts of town and heading into the countryside. Hal feels his allergies come to life. He blows his nose and gazes out of the window. Poppies flare red at the base of the hedgerows. They drive past stubbled, golden fields then scruffier, grassy meadows occupied by Holstein-Friesian cattle, standing in the shade of oak trees, dirt dried on their flanks, their ears and tails twitching in the heat. Soon they reach a village, houses and bungalows scattered alongside the road, a post office and small convenience store amongst them. They see a church set back behind its graveyard, where a mass of stones tilt and list, undermined by centuries of gentle subsidence.
Jen takes a sharp left turn at a sign indicating Lancaut Nature Reserve and she slows the car, avoiding potholes. Within seconds they’re enclosed by dense native forest. The tyres spit up small stones. Just as suddenly the landscape opens up to the right of the lane.
‘We’re here,’ Jen says. She pulls into the gated entrance to a driveway, where a brand-new sign saying ‘The Glass Barn’ is mounted prominently. The gates stand open, and the driveway stretches out ahead of them, long, perfectly straight and newly made, its surface a fresh, tarry black. There’s no planting to soften it. It seems to cleave the undulating landscape rather than sit within it.
‘Wow,’ Hal says. The Glass Barn is visible at the end of the drive, dominant and uncompromising. His first impression is that it’s an uneasy mix of ultra-modern architecture and over-restored ruins. The glass structure grows out of what he assumes are the remains of old agricultural barns, but the juxtaposition makes them look as if they’ve been built in a Disney park. They’ve lost any charm they might have once had.
‘That’s a house,’ Jen says.
‘You like it?’
‘Hell, yes.’
He shakes his head, says, ‘No taste,’ and she laughs, but reapplies her poker face before they get out of the car. A uniformed officer is standing in the shade at the front of the house. His shirt is damp under the armpits. He shows them around the side of the Barn to the pool.
The body is lying by the pool, the face covered with a blanket that the paramedics must have put there. The deck is dampbeneath it, soaked by the wet clothing, though everything is drying out fast in the sun. He puts on a glove, squats beside the body and gently lifts the towel. The victim’s eyes are shut. Hal notes a small bump on his hairline. It seems to be a recent injury. The expression on his still face is benign. He looks relaxed, like a nice guy.
‘Poor man,’ Jen says, and he knows she’s thinking the same as him, even though experience has told them that a lot of people aren’t nice, even when they look it.
‘His wife spotted him face down in the pool from up there,’ the uniformed officer says. He points to a balcony on the first floor of the house. ‘It’s the master bedroom.’ Hal notes that the balcony is too far from the pool for the victim to have fallen directly from there into the water. He scans the rest of the scene. The poolside area is decked and the planting is lush. The pool has been made to look as if it’s a natural feature. Beyond it, on one side there are tall grasses. On the other, the land slopes steeply down towards the river. Hal can’t see it from here but he knows it’s there, and he can see the far bank, where limestone cliffs overhang the water, rising tall and straight, pockmarked with birds’ nests and clutches of foliage.
It’s a beautiful spot to die in, he thinks, but he doesn’t say it out loud.
The pool area is tidy. Six sunbeds are arranged in a neat row beside a couple of parasols, which haven’t been opened. There’s no sign of a towel or any other personal effects. It doesn’t look as if the victim was intending to swim. But it’s too early to say anything for sure. There’s no obvious indicator as to whetherthis was an accident or the result of foul play. But he wasn’t really expecting anything. That would be too easy.
‘Where’s his wife?’ he asks. He’s not looking forward to meeting her. Other people’s sorrow weighs heavily on him. It creeps beneath his skin and burrows deep. He feels like he can never get rid of it. But it’s why he does his job. It’s the reason he’s tenacious.
‘She’s still at the neighbours’ house,’ the uniformed officer says.
Hal stands up. The heat is intense, beating down. That body needs to be moved. Jen has stepped into the shade. She’s looking at the scene, absorbing the detail. She’ll take care of the widow, he thinks. She’ll make an excellent Family Liaison Officer. He intends to ask her to assume that role.
They walk back to the car. Hal gets a text from the forensics lead. She’s young, but meticulous. He respects her.Almost there, the text says.I need to speak to the wife now, he replies.She’s with neighbours. Let’s talk at the scene afterwards.
He looks around. There’s no other property in sight. The sky is almost white, the sun burning a hole in it. He squints at Jen. ‘Shall we drive next door?’ She nods. They get into the car.
‘Right.’ Hal settles back in his seat. The heat in here is worse than outside. ‘Let’s see what the wife has to say.’
‘The widow,’ Jen corrects him as she turns on the ignition.
He consults his notes to remind himself of her name. ‘Nicole Booth,’ he says.
Of course, the widow might not need looking after. She might be delighted her husband is dead. At this stage she’s undoubtedly their prime suspect. Jen isn’t just the right person to comfort her,but also to observe Nicole Booth closely, to see whether there are any fractures in her widow’s mask.
Jen rolls down the window. ‘Where’s the neighbours’ house?’ she asks the uniformed officer.
‘Turn right out of the driveway and it’s almost immediately on your left. You can’t miss it. The Manor House.’
