Snow Angel Read online

  “Can I ask why you chose to stop taking the mood stabilisers?”

  Gaia’s voice was gentle but Beatrice grew defensive against any kind of judgement.

  “It wasn’t a choice. I just forget sometimes, particularly when all’s going well and I’m excited about things. I don’t do it on purpose.”

  “I see. You’ve described your down-cycling frame of mind very eloquently. Could I ask you to do the same about your up-cycles?” Her enquiry was innocent enough but Beatrice spotted the trap.

  Beatrice turned to face her. “I don’t need to describe my up-cycling because you already know after reading my files and you’re going to tell me that’s exactly when I’m most vulnerable and that’s why I need to keep a mood diary and ensure I take my tablets because up-cycles are followed by down-cycles and being in a good mood does not mean I’m ‘cured’ and all the rest of it. You’re just like James.”

  Gaia let the heated words hang in the pastry-scented air for a moment then gave a faint smile. “Thank you.”

  Beatrice rested her cheek on her fist and watched the fluttering around the bird table. This wasn’t going the way she’d planned. She was here under false pretences and had to remember her intention.

  Again, Gaia tuned into her train of thought. “Why did you call me, Beatrice?”

  An opportunity opened up and Beatrice took it. “If you want me to be honest,” she said, being precisely the opposite, “I resented James dumping me. I didn’t want to change counsellor and decided I could do without. Then out of the flue, your name came up in conversation as being highly recommended. So I thought I might as well give it a shot. Especially after the last few days I’ve had.”

  Her conscience was shaking its head in disgust at her underhand tactics.

  Gaia didn’t bite. “I’m glad you did. I think we could be pretty effective at working together. James probably told you that I have a particular interest in complementary medicine.”

  “Homeopathy and that sort of thing?” said Beatrice, with no attempt to disguise her cynicism.

  “Not exactly. More a holistic approach to your life and health, working with organic ingredients to maintain your natural balance. I’ll need to know a lot more about you, behavioural patterns, diet, relationships and medical history in order to suggest how we achieve stability. I understand you’re rushed off your feet at present but what do you think about scheduling an official session between Christmas and New Year?”

  “Perhaps. Let me have a look at the calendar when I get home. I can’t even see past the next few days at the moment. In the meantime, I’ll take my stabilisers and keep a diary. That’s always helped before.” She hesitated. If she couldn’t fish for information as a side issue, perhaps she could try the direct route. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “Go ahead.” Gaia’s eyes, shaded by long lashes, were so dark one could barely distinguish pupil from iris. Her strong eyebrows lifted in enquiry.

  “It’s not about my mental health. I’m following a line of enquiry, on an informal basis, into the death of Vaughan Mason.”

  For the first time, Gaia’s forehead creased just a fraction. “I see.”

  “Did you know him?”

  Gaia shook her head. “Only by reputation. I read his book when I was at university. Didn’t everyone?”

  “Mason had two reputations – literary and predatory. Gordon Hancock, landlord of The Angel, mentioned you counselled his daughter, Francesca. Can I ask you if Mason’s reputation ever came up?”

  The head-shaking went on longer this time. “Mr Hancock really should not share that kind of information without his daughter’s permission. I cannot discuss any of my other clients with you. How trusting would you feel if I blurted out what other people say in confidence? I understand as an ex-detective you want to pursue every lead but I could only break client confidentiality if instructed to do so by a serving police officer.” Her eyes did not leave Beatrice’s and something crackled in the air between them.

  “Even for a murder enquiry?”

  Her brow creased again. “I have the greatest respect for all you achieved as a detective for Scotland Yard, Beatrice. But the reality here is that you are not a police officer, there is no murder enquiry and I believe you might be testing my confidentiality.”

  Beatrice took a moment to consider. “That’s very professional of you. Thanks for the coffee and the pie. You know, I think we could have a go at working together. I’ll send you some dates and see if you’re free. Thanks for making time for me, and happy Christmas!”

  Before she even started the ignition, Beatrice tried to dial Will. There was no signal so she drove back towards Thoverton, occasionally stopping to check the bars on her phone. Finally, she pulled over and called him again.

  “Beatrice? You OK?”

  “Fine. I know you’re busy, but I need your help. Can you spare me an hour or two?”

  “Hang on. I’ll just go outside.”

  She waited till he’d found a quiet place to talk.

  “Beatrice, you still there? I’m driving Adrian and Catinca over to Silverwood Manor this morning. They need a couple of hours to decorate, so I’m free until they need to be picked up. Where do you want to meet?”

  “That hairdresser’s in Crediton. Get the name and number from Catinca. I know Tanya has an appointment there at midday and she can give us the information we need.”

  The Saturday before Christmas was ridiculous. More people than actually lived in the whole of Devon were invading shops, parking spaces and streets. Beatrice drove around the town three times before spotting a couple loading boxes and bags into the back of a Volvo. She indicated and sat there stubbornly until they finally vacated her spot.

  Herr Kutz was on a back street, yet had the typical large windows of any hairdresser, exposing the poor creatures therein to gawping passers-by. Beatrice scanned every one of the dozen seats and spotted Tanya’s patchwork holdall beside one of the indistinguishable figures. She shoved open the door, dismissing the receptionist and marched over to Tanya’s chair.

  “Beatrice! You having yours done here as well?”

  “No. I need to ask you a few questions. In private.”

  Tanya’s expression of pleasant surprise turned to puzzlement. “OK, just let Nadine finish my highlights and then we can talk while my head bakes. Why don’t you get us both a coffee and come back in five?”

  By the time Beatrice came back from the coffee shop with three lattes and a doughnut, Will had arrived. Tanya sat under some kind of heat helmet and her interrogators drew up two stools to sit either side. Will took out his notebook.

  Tanya in her tinfoil helmet looked at them in the mirror, laughing. “Come on then, Hot Fuzz, what do you want to know?”

  “Can we record this? Just to save me taking notes?” asked Beatrice.

  “Sure you don’t want to take me down the station, guvnor?”

  Beatrice set her phone to Voice Memo. “Nothing formal, just getting a bit of background. Recording the conversation just makes things easier. Tell us a bit about Frankie,” said Beatrice.

  “What? Why? You know who Frankie is.”

  “Will doesn’t. In a nutshell, who is Frankie Hancock?”

  Tanya tilted her head, her curiosity evident. “Well, for a start she’s not called Frankie Hancock. Her name is Francesca Gwynne. She took Susie’s maiden name as she was born years before Susie met Gordon. She doesn’t know her father. Susie used to be a backing singer in a band and had a fling with the Japanese keyboard player in the 90s. Frankie was the result.”

  This much Beatrice knew, if not in quite as much detail, but chose not to hurry the girl for two reasons. One, she needed Will to have the full picture before proceeding. Two, if equal time and attention were given to all answers, Tanya would not guess which ones mattered most.

  “Would you say she has a good relationship with her stepfather?”

  “Yeah, most definitely. To all intents and purposes, he’s her dad. She’s go
t a great relationship with both her parents. Susie dashes off to visit her in Bath every chance she gets.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Beatrice lied. “When was the last time she went?”

  Tanya boggled her eyes. “No idea! Ask Susie.”

  “Sorry, can’t expect you to know all the details. I’ll check with Susie and ask her the date of Frankie’s birthday at the same time.”

  “That one I do know. Seventh of December, same day as Glynis Knox. I always send them both a card.”

  Beatrice did not answer, her mind scrolling Vaughan’s diary. Lil S. nowhere to be seen and I find out from Grimace she’s gone to Bath to visit her dyke of a daughter.

  Will filled the gap. “Who’s Glynis Knox and can you spell her name?”

  A woman came over to check Tanya’s hair and they all smiled politely while the woman peeled back a piece of foil, scraped it and put it back.

  After she’d gone, Tanya resumed. “G-L-Y-N-I-S and Knox as in Fort. We were in the same class at school. She owns Dust Demons, you know, the cleaning company. They do most of the local businesses, including The Angel. Glynis often says she never built a career, just hoovered it up.”

  “Do you know if one of their clients was Vaughan Mason?” asked Beatrice.

  “Oh yeah. Not one of their favourites, from what I heard. I couldn’t swear to the details, but some of her staff complained about him wandering about in a bathrobe, making innuendoes and other randy old goat behaviour. Glynis used to pop in for a spot check every now and then. She said it was to keep the girls on their toes, but I think we all know who was under surveillance.”

  The corners of Will’s mouth dropped in disgust.

  Beatrice changed tack but kept her tone light. “Gordon mentioned that Frankie had seen a counsellor when she was a bit younger. Do you know anything about that?”

  “Not much. She told me she went through a tough time in her teens and sought help, that’s all. In those days, she was all grunge and attitude, spending every weekend and holiday with her grandmother. As soon as she left for art college in Exeter, all that fell away and she seemed to grow into herself. She still lived at the pub but had a whole new life and it suited her. That’s when she started baby-sitting for Luke. We became friends even though she’s a decade younger than me. She’s one of those people I’d describe as a good soul.”

  “Any relationships?” asked Will.

  “She brought some boyfriends back now and then, but I couldn’t tell you their names. I know she had the hots for Gabriel Shaw and practically offered herself to him on a plate. He wasn’t interested. I asked him once why not. Beautiful, young, smart and smitten with him, where’s the problem? He just said she’s too young. Whether she has anyone in Bath, I don’t know. But you’ve seen her. I’d say she’s beating them away with a stick.”

  “Time you were rinsed off.” The hairdresser stood with her hands on her hips.

  Will and Beatrice did not stay for the unveiling of the highlights but said their goodbyes and went outside into the cold. The snow fell in fat flakes like communion wafers, the pavements were soggy and slippery and the walk back to Will’s Audi was treacherous. Once in the car, they brushed themselves off and Beatrice explained what she wanted him to do.

  Will listened, gnawing on his knuckle. Finally he spoke. “Why don’t we share our theory with the local force and let them handle it? They have the authority to get this therapist woman to share what she knows.”

  “But they won’t. They’ve already dismissed me once. If some old biddy brought you a diary and a bunch of gossip, how seriously would you take it? I think Gaia has something to say but wants to follow protocol. You don’t need to lie, just omit the fact you’re not part of the investigation.”

  Will chewed his lip. “The DI in charge could make the same enquiries which would be admissible as evidence in court.”

  “She could, I suppose, but I’m not sure these country forces have the same investigative rigour we do. My feeling is they’re doing a half-hearted look around and then will record it as accidental death. It’s up to us to find the truth, Will. Once we have evidence, they can’t ignore us and will have to verify our findings. Then they can prepare a case for the CPS.” She was pressing his buttons and she knew it.

  He released a sigh. “All right. Here’s the deal. If she answers my questions and we turn up anything useful, do you promise we hand everything over to the police? You and I have got to focus on the wedding. I’ve still got to collect Catinca and Adrian then drive down to Exeter for his wedding present this afternoon.”

  “Yes. Cross my heart. I just need some concrete evidence and all I’ve got so far is a rough suspicion. Just ask Gaia about the issues between Vaughan Mason and Frankie Gwynne, because I believe we’re close to finding out why the man was poisoned. Motive is everything. Know why, know who.”

  Will raised his eyes to the roof. “Do I look like I just got out of training? Give me a break, I said I’ll do it. Where did you park?”

  Beatrice thought about that. “I have absolutely no idea. I’ll get out and retrace my steps. Best you set off now, so you’ll be all done and busted by two o’clock.”

  “Beatrice, please be careful,” Will said.

  She got out into the snowstorm once again. “You too. Take care and good luck!”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “The person you are calling is not available. Please try later.”

  Adrian slammed his phone onto the table, attracting the attention of two lunching ladies. Again. They’d done nothing but gawp at Catinca since she’d entered the restaurant and something told him they were not in awe of her style. To be fair, she was wearing painter’s overalls and a headscarf knotted at her forehead like a woman from a World War II motivational poster.

  “Where the hell has he got to? We agreed we’d call him to get picked up after lunch and it’s now half past two!”

  “Is after lunch. Stop stressing. You don’t want them chips?”

  “Crisps, not chips, we’re not in America. No, I don’t want them. Why would an upper-class restaurant such as this serve crisps with a gourmet sandwich?”

  Catinca reached over and grabbed a handful from his plate. “People like ’em, is why. Chips go with everything. Look, we can’t reach Will, so call someone else. Beatrice or Matthew or Marianne. They won’t mind to collect us. We gotta get on, mate.”

  Just to be sure, Adrian rang Will again. Same message. He dialled Matthew’s number, reluctant to add to Beatrice’s stresses. Matthew was sympathetic but had no transport.

  “I’d love to help but Beatrice has taken the Volkswagen. She’s running a few errands. Why not give Rose a ring? Her Land Rover is the best thing for this weather. Tell the truth, I’ll be relieved when Beatrice gets back in one piece. Those smallish cars are not the best in the snow.”

  Once Adrian rang off, a whole new scenario entered his head. Will’s Audi, upturned in a gully, his husband freezing to death in a silent shroud of white.

  Catinca kicked him under the table with some savagery. “Oi! Call someone else and stop the dramatics, I’m warning you!”

  As it turned out, Rose and Maggie were just up the road at a garden centre. They rolled onto the forecourt fifteen minutes later, twittery and cheerful and glad to make themselves useful. Catinca and Adrian got in the back and sat beside something large wrapped in sacking. There was still no reply from Will.

  Back at The Angel, Rose dropped them off at the door and drove her four-wheel drive round the back to the guests’ car park. Catinca spotted Tanya and Marianne chatting to Frankie at the bar and went over to squeak about someone’s hair. Adrian waved but continued upstairs, a genuine fear gripping him. What if Will had cut and run? What if he’d dropped them at the Manor, come back, packed his stuff and left? Running from all the ceremony and commitment, free in his Audi with the roof down and his future wide open, leaving Adrian jilted at the altar. He should have seen this coming. Will had always wanted a quiet private cer
emony, not the three-ring circus of Adrian’s dreams. His fingers were clumsy as he turned the key in the brass lock, already envisaging a bare room apart from a note on the pillowcase.

  The room was exactly as they’d left it, apart from an absence of Will. He took off his jacket and sat on the bed, a sense of isolation and loneliness creeping over him like mist. There was so much to do! How come everyone always left him alone? Why was he the only person to worry about all the things that could go wrong? His cycle of self-pity was interrupted by a knock at the door.

  He leapt to his feet and fumbled with the lock. “Will?”

  “Ah, no, sorry. It’s Matthew here.”

  Adrian wrenched open the door. “What is it? Where’s Will?”

  “I don’t know his precise location but I do know he’s with Beatrice. May I come in?”

  A mixture of relief and fury exploded in Adrian’s chest. He stood back, inhaling deeply in an effort to keep calm. It didn’t work.

  Matthew closed the door and sat on the small armchair, his hands dangling between his knees. “Tanya and Marianne called round about an hour ago. Beatrice left her phone in a Crediton hairdresser’s earlier today. Apparently, she and Will arrived while Tanya was having her hair done and asked some questions. Beatrice recorded the answers but forgot to collect her phone when the conversation was over. Marianne drove Tanya over to our cottage to hand it back, but Beatrice is still not home. So I asked the girls to give me a lift over here, wondering if she and Will had turned up yet. I know you are worried and I cannot exactly offer reassurance, but wherever they are, they are together.”

  Adrian rubbed his face, pressing on his eye sockets. So Will had not got cold feet or been killed on black ice, but was detecting with Beatrice Stubbs, the day before his wedding.

  “This is never going to stop, is it?” he asked, staring at his feet.

  Matthew took a long time to reply. “Adrian, why do you love Will? Tell me his top five qualities, the ones that make you feel you can be together for the rest of your lives.”