Read Online Kissing the Gunner's Daughter by Ruth Rendell - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Ruth Rendell
Tags: Fiction, General, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Police, England, Police Procedural, Large Type Books, Inspector (Fictitious character), Sussex (England), Sussex, Wexford
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to side. "I saw it on telly. Couldn't believe it. They was all right yesterday."
As if, Wexford thought, the inhabitants of Tancred House had succumbed to a visitation of plague. He said, "What time did you leave for home?"
If the imparting of her own name had caused such inner searching, a question such as this
69
might be expected to give rise to whole minutes of pondering, but Bib answered fairly quickly. "They'd started on their meal."
"Air and Mrs Copeland and Mis Jones and Miss Jones had gone into the dining room, do you mean?"
"I heard them talking and the door shut. I put me bits back in the freezer and switched it on. My hands was froze, so I put them under the hot tap for a bit." The effort of saying so much silenced her for a moment. She seemed to be recouping unseen forces. "I got me coat and then I went to fetch me bike as was in that bit round the back with hedges like round."
Wexford wondered if she ever talked to the man next door, the American, and if she talked like this, would he understand a word? "Did you lock the back door after you?"
"Me? No. It's not my job to lock doors."
"So this would have been -- what? Ten to eight?"
A long hesitation. "I reckon."
"How did you get home?" said Vine.
"On my bike." She was made indignant by his stupidity. He should have known. Everyone knew.
"Which route did you take, Mrs Mew? Which road?"
"The byroad."
"I want you to think very carefully before you answer." But she always did. That was why this was taking so long. "Did you see a car on your way home? Did you meet one or did one overtake you? On the by-road." More
70
explanation was doubtless called for. "A car or a van or a -- a vehicle like the one next door."
For a moment Wexford feared he had made her think her American neighbour might be involved in this crime. She got up and looked out of the window in the direction of the Ford Transit. Her expression was confused and she bit her lip.
At last she said, "That one?"
"No, no. Any one. Any vehicle at all. Did you meet any vehicle on your way home last evening?"
She thought. She nodded, shook her head, finally said, "No."
"You're sure of that?"
"Yes."
"How long does it take to get home?"
"It's downhill going home."
"Yes. So how long did it take you last evening?"
"About twenty minutes."
"And, you met no one? Not even John Gabbitas in the Land Rover."
The first flash of any sort of animation showed. It came in her restless eyes. "Does he say I did?"
"No, no. It's unlikely you would have if you were home here by, say, eight fifteen. Thank you very much, Mrs Mew. Would you like to show us the road you take from here to the byroad?" * A long pause and then, "I don't mind."
The road where the cottages were fell steeply tiown the side of the little river valley. Bib
71
Mew pointed their way down this road and gave some vague instructions, her eyes straying to the Ford Transit. Wexford thought he must have ineradicably planted in her mind the notion that she should have met this van last night. As they drove off down the hill, she could be seen leaning over the gate, following their progress with those darting eyes.
At the foot of the hill the stream was not bridged but forded. A wooden footbridge spanned it for the use of foot passengers and cyclists. Vine drove through the water which was perhaps six inches deep and flowing very fast over flat brown stones. On the other side they came to what he insisted on calling a T-junction, though the extreme rusticity of the place, steep hedge banks, overhanging trees, deep meadows with cattle glimpsed beyond, made this a misnomer. Bib's instructions, if such they could be called, were to turn left here and then take the first right. This was the Pomfret Monachorum way in to the byroad.
There came a sudden sight of forest. The hedge trees parted and there it was, a dark, bluish canopy hanging high above them. Half a mile up the road it appeared again, was quickly all round them, as the deep tunnel
As if, Wexford thought, the inhabitants of Tancred House had succumbed to a visitation of plague. He said, "What time did you leave for home?"
If the imparting of her own name had caused such inner searching, a question such as this
69
might be expected to give rise to whole minutes of pondering, but Bib answered fairly quickly. "They'd started on their meal."
"Air and Mrs Copeland and Mis Jones and Miss Jones had gone into the dining room, do you mean?"
"I heard them talking and the door shut. I put me bits back in the freezer and switched it on. My hands was froze, so I put them under the hot tap for a bit." The effort of saying so much silenced her for a moment. She seemed to be recouping unseen forces. "I got me coat and then I went to fetch me bike as was in that bit round the back with hedges like round."
Wexford wondered if she ever talked to the man next door, the American, and if she talked like this, would he understand a word? "Did you lock the back door after you?"
"Me? No. It's not my job to lock doors."
"So this would have been -- what? Ten to eight?"
A long hesitation. "I reckon."
"How did you get home?" said Vine.
"On my bike." She was made indignant by his stupidity. He should have known. Everyone knew.
"Which route did you take, Mrs Mew? Which road?"
"The byroad."
"I want you to think very carefully before you answer." But she always did. That was why this was taking so long. "Did you see a car on your way home? Did you meet one or did one overtake you? On the by-road." More
70
explanation was doubtless called for. "A car or a van or a -- a vehicle like the one next door."
For a moment Wexford feared he had made her think her American neighbour might be involved in this crime. She got up and looked out of the window in the direction of the Ford Transit. Her expression was confused and she bit her lip.
At last she said, "That one?"
"No, no. Any one. Any vehicle at all. Did you meet any vehicle on your way home last evening?"
She thought. She nodded, shook her head, finally said, "No."
"You're sure of that?"
"Yes."
"How long does it take to get home?"
"It's downhill going home."
"Yes. So how long did it take you last evening?"
"About twenty minutes."
"And, you met no one? Not even John Gabbitas in the Land Rover."
The first flash of any sort of animation showed. It came in her restless eyes. "Does he say I did?"
"No, no. It's unlikely you would have if you were home here by, say, eight fifteen. Thank you very much, Mrs Mew. Would you like to show us the road you take from here to the byroad?" * A long pause and then, "I don't mind."
The road where the cottages were fell steeply tiown the side of the little river valley. Bib
71
Mew pointed their way down this road and gave some vague instructions, her eyes straying to the Ford Transit. Wexford thought he must have ineradicably planted in her mind the notion that she should have met this van last night. As they drove off down the hill, she could be seen leaning over the gate, following their progress with those darting eyes.
At the foot of the hill the stream was not bridged but forded. A wooden footbridge spanned it for the use of foot passengers and cyclists. Vine drove through the water which was perhaps six inches deep and flowing very fast over flat brown stones. On the other side they came to what he insisted on calling a T-junction, though the extreme rusticity of the place, steep hedge banks, overhanging trees, deep meadows with cattle glimpsed beyond, made this a misnomer. Bib's instructions, if such they could be called, were to turn left here and then take the first right. This was the Pomfret Monachorum way in to the byroad.
There came a sudden sight of forest. The hedge trees parted and there it was, a dark, bluish canopy hanging high above them. Half a mile up the road it appeared again, was quickly all round them, as the deep tunnel
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