Cloven by Sally Spedding

Author:Sally Spedding [Spedding, Sally]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lume Books
Published: 2018-05-03T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Sixteen

Following a gloomy Wednesday worrying about Valerie and catching up with his ever-worsening account, Ivan felt this was personal Thanksgiving Day all right, for by 9.30 on Thursday morning, with white sun and black cloud in equal measure, he was £300 the richer, courtesy of Reedman Insurance Brokers. They’d enclosed a cheque for the replacement of missing goods, and again reassured him they were still awaiting news from Stoneshanger CID about locating his VW Golf.

He instantly thought of all the things this tidy sum could buy. Maybe some designer gear to impress the lovely but elusive Jo; then, ashamed of this infantile notion, he thought again. More coal for the fire, that was it, some decent grub from M&S – or – even those special lustre glazes he’d been promising himself for months. But these pipe dreams paled into insignificance after listening to an answerphone message from Pam Barker, apologizing for her absence on Tuesday evening following Tom Coles’s very private funeral at St Thomas’s. She explained she wouldn’t be attending the final session either as her son was coming back to Cold Firton after all to be with her.

There was shortly afterwards a call from Valerie Rook.

‘DC Marsh phoned yesterday to check if I was OK,’ she began. ‘He assured me that Michael wouldn’t know a thing, and that investigations would be stepped up but I must be vigilant.’

‘How decent of him. Did you tell him about the thermometer with blood on it?’

Valerie hesitated. ‘No. I’ve had a think about it all but I can’t.’

Ivan sighed his frustration as she went on. ‘I thought he was being surprisingly loose-mouthed but he did come out with something else which I thought you’d like to know.’

‘Amaze me . . .’

‘That the police are planning to strike at Ma Oakley’s funeral today.’

‘Funeral?’ That’s not what Jo implied. ‘Where’s it happening? What time?’ he asked.

‘St Thomas’s; three o’clock. The gist of it is they’ll take the opportunity to pull the whole tribe in for questioning.’

‘What about the Dawsons, their business associates? Did he mention them?’

‘No. But who knows, they might be there too – one big horrible party.’ Her sharp laugh had nothing to do with humour.

Meanwhile an uncomfortable thought was worming into Ivan’s brain.

‘Why would he want to spill such information to you of all people? I don’t get it.’

‘Neither do I, but I’m going along anyhow, just to see what happens. And thank you for Tuesday. I won’t forget it.’

Preoccupied, Ivan went towards his workshop with an uneaten sandwich. Was the copper losing it? No, impossible, for God’s sake. And why would Jo the attentive granddaughter lie about something like that? Nothing was making sense any more. He kicked the studio door open in frustration.

As he approached, he just knew something was wrong. For a start, there was that faint smoky smell again, strengthening the nearer he got. As he began to unscrew the heavy firebrick-lined door he felt strangely isolated – more alone than ever despite Valerie’s recent call.

Ivan coughed.

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