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Authors: Priscilla Masters
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his tractor over?’
Hesketh-Brown felt hot. There was no fooling this woman, was there?
He hid in the cloak of protocol. ‘I can’t tell you any more than that, Mrs Barnes. When did you last see Mr Grimshaw?’
Hilary Barnes thought for a minute. ‘Certainly not in the last week,’ she said. ‘Before that…’ Her face was taut in concentration. ‘I think probably about a fortnight ago. He was driving his tractor very slowly along the road. There were quite a few cars behind him getting very impatient.’ Again that touch of wry humour.
Hesketh-Brown gleaned nothing more from Mrs Hilary Barnes. He moved next door.
Korpanski had fiddled for a while with a phone. He was torn. Joanna wouldn’t want to come home and walk straight into a murder investigation but she would play merry hell with him if he didn’t tell her as soon as he could. Tomorrow, he argued, surely, would besoon enough, but he could picture her frown when she asked, sarcastically, when, exactly, had he planned on telling her. In the end he deferred the decision. Front desk had told him Grimshaw’s daughter was sitting outside, waiting to speak to him.
Joanna and Mike were stuck in a queue, fuming alongside a hundred other motorists. A lorry had shed its load on the M6 causing tailbacks, they heard, when they tuned in to the local radio station. Matthew came to a halt, put his hazard lights on and slid his hand into hers. ‘Back with a bump,’ he commented good-humouredly. Joanna nodded and put off switching her mobile back on, feeling that for now she, too, was still in holiday mode. The minute the phone was on she would be back in the swing of things. Work, her mother, her sister. She could almost hear their overexcited shrieks when she told them about the engagement. She eyed the phone in the bottom of her bag with malevolence and left it switched off.
Judy Grimshaw had changed beyond all recognition and yet the shell was the same – colourless, nondescript , thin rather than slim, shoulders hunched and rounded. Glasses that gave her a goggle-eyed look. But what Korpanski observed had changed most about her was an unattractive and cynical twist to her thin lips emphasised by a strange choice of deep orange lipstick, which made her mouth look like a garish gash. Korpanski surmised that life had not treated Judy Grimshaw as well as she had anticipated when theywere at school together. She had always worn the air of a woman who was going places . How often do these people lead ordinary lives, doing mundane jobs, living within a few miles of their birthplace? He glanced at her wedding-ring finger and noticed not only was it bare but there was no tan line or little bump where a wedding ring had been recently.
‘Hi, Judy,’ he said. ‘Remember me?’
‘Mike?’ Her expression moved swiftly through pleasure and embarrassment, settling into tight-lipped anger.
So she did.
‘What’s happened?’
‘Let’s go somewhere more private, shall we?’
She nodded and followed him down the corridor to an empty interview room, where they both sat down. ‘I’m sorry, Judy,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry to have to break it to you like this.’
She watched, curious, silent and unafraid, waiting for him to speak.
Korpanski swallowed. ‘I’m afraid it’s your dad. He’s met with an accident.’
Her pale eyes met his and her mouth twisted even more out of shape. ‘An accident? What sort of accident?’
‘It looks like murder. I’m sorry.’
She brushed the apologies aside. ‘Don’t keep saying you’re sorry, Mike. What’s happened? Tell me.’
‘He was found on the farm – near the wall that borders the estate.’
The mouth, which he now thought ugly, twitched but she stayed silent, leaving the entire burden of speech with him.
‘There isn’t a nice way to say this, Judy. He’s dead. His head had been smashed in.’
She was uncomprehending. ‘Who by?’
‘We don’t know yet.’
‘Of course,’ she said
Hesketh-Brown felt hot. There was no fooling this woman, was there?
He hid in the cloak of protocol. ‘I can’t tell you any more than that, Mrs Barnes. When did you last see Mr Grimshaw?’
Hilary Barnes thought for a minute. ‘Certainly not in the last week,’ she said. ‘Before that…’ Her face was taut in concentration. ‘I think probably about a fortnight ago. He was driving his tractor very slowly along the road. There were quite a few cars behind him getting very impatient.’ Again that touch of wry humour.
Hesketh-Brown gleaned nothing more from Mrs Hilary Barnes. He moved next door.
Korpanski had fiddled for a while with a phone. He was torn. Joanna wouldn’t want to come home and walk straight into a murder investigation but she would play merry hell with him if he didn’t tell her as soon as he could. Tomorrow, he argued, surely, would besoon enough, but he could picture her frown when she asked, sarcastically, when, exactly, had he planned on telling her. In the end he deferred the decision. Front desk had told him Grimshaw’s daughter was sitting outside, waiting to speak to him.
Joanna and Mike were stuck in a queue, fuming alongside a hundred other motorists. A lorry had shed its load on the M6 causing tailbacks, they heard, when they tuned in to the local radio station. Matthew came to a halt, put his hazard lights on and slid his hand into hers. ‘Back with a bump,’ he commented good-humouredly. Joanna nodded and put off switching her mobile back on, feeling that for now she, too, was still in holiday mode. The minute the phone was on she would be back in the swing of things. Work, her mother, her sister. She could almost hear their overexcited shrieks when she told them about the engagement. She eyed the phone in the bottom of her bag with malevolence and left it switched off.
Judy Grimshaw had changed beyond all recognition and yet the shell was the same – colourless, nondescript , thin rather than slim, shoulders hunched and rounded. Glasses that gave her a goggle-eyed look. But what Korpanski observed had changed most about her was an unattractive and cynical twist to her thin lips emphasised by a strange choice of deep orange lipstick, which made her mouth look like a garish gash. Korpanski surmised that life had not treated Judy Grimshaw as well as she had anticipated when theywere at school together. She had always worn the air of a woman who was going places . How often do these people lead ordinary lives, doing mundane jobs, living within a few miles of their birthplace? He glanced at her wedding-ring finger and noticed not only was it bare but there was no tan line or little bump where a wedding ring had been recently.
‘Hi, Judy,’ he said. ‘Remember me?’
‘Mike?’ Her expression moved swiftly through pleasure and embarrassment, settling into tight-lipped anger.
So she did.
‘What’s happened?’
‘Let’s go somewhere more private, shall we?’
She nodded and followed him down the corridor to an empty interview room, where they both sat down. ‘I’m sorry, Judy,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry to have to break it to you like this.’
She watched, curious, silent and unafraid, waiting for him to speak.
Korpanski swallowed. ‘I’m afraid it’s your dad. He’s met with an accident.’
Her pale eyes met his and her mouth twisted even more out of shape. ‘An accident? What sort of accident?’
‘It looks like murder. I’m sorry.’
She brushed the apologies aside. ‘Don’t keep saying you’re sorry, Mike. What’s happened? Tell me.’
‘He was found on the farm – near the wall that borders the estate.’
The mouth, which he now thought ugly, twitched but she stayed silent, leaving the entire burden of speech with him.
‘There isn’t a nice way to say this, Judy. He’s dead. His head had been smashed in.’
She was uncomprehending. ‘Who by?’
‘We don’t know yet.’
‘Of course,’ she said
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