‘Actually, my daughter should be here soon. From Great Missenden.’ Mrs Leathers was quite used now to Evadne’s dogs being called the boys when one of them was a girl. Evadne had explained that Mazeppa was very sensitive and would hate to be singled out. ‘Pauline’s just sorting out someone to look after the children.’
There was a knock at the door and Mrs Leathers said, ‘That’ll be either her or the police.’
‘My dear.’ Evadne was entranced and intrigued. ‘Why on earth are they coming?’
‘They want me to show them exactly where I found Candy.’
‘Well, I must say,’ said Evadne, ‘that is encouraging. To show such concern over a little dog.’
‘Charlie’s missing too,’ explained Mrs Leathers, checking her tear-stained face in a small mirror before opening the door.
‘Oh, yes?’ Evadne had seen Mr Leathers dragging Candy furiously back and forth across the Green and sincerely hoped he stayed missing.
A uniformed sergeant and a young policewoman were on the step. Mrs Leathers asked them in to wait while she got her coat on. Evadne engaged them in conversation, putting them at their ease. When Mrs Leathers returned, the police woman seemed to be having some sort of coughing fit.
‘I will come with you,’ said Evadne firmly. Then, when Mrs Leathers hesitated, ‘Pauline would if she were here.’
Mrs Leathers had to admit this was true and that she would be glad of the company. The police car was parked at the top of the lane and a couple of women with pushchairs were already standing nearby staring curiously.
Mrs Leathers stumbled over a tussock of grass as the four of them emerged and the sergeant took her arm. Convinced everyone would think she was being arrested, she blushed scarlet. Evadne, on the other hand, stepped out with great panache, striding along and waving at any passerby. It was she who led the way to Carter’s Wood.
Once inside Mrs Leathers took over. But the closer she got to the spot where she found Candy the more reluctant her steps became. During the final moments she had to hold Evadne’s hand. To her surprise, once she had pointed the place out, the policewoman said she could go home.
Evadne was rather disappointed that the adventure seemed to be over almost before it had begun. A small crowd had gathered at the building site next to the pub, gazing around with the happy nosiness of the completely uninvolved. As Mrs Leathers pushed through, several people asked her questions.
Seeing her daughter’s car parked beside the Green, Mrs Leathers hurried home. Evadne did the same, making a pot of Lapsang Souchong as soon as she got in to wash away the extraordinary taste of her lunchtime snack. After this she took the Pekes out for a long run. Every few yards, remembering Candy, she would stop, pick one of them up and squeeze it to her relieved bosom. Though surprised, the dogs, courteous as always, did not protest.
On the way back she noticed several more police cars and one or two plain ones. The crowd was much larger now but was being compelled to keep its distance behind a barrier of fluttering blue-and-white tape.
Charlie Leathers lay in a leafy hollow about fifty yards from where Candy had been found. The video team and photographer had already left. And George Bullard, the Force Medical Examiner, had also almost finished doing what he had to do. Two mortuary attendants sat on a nearby log smoking, cracking jokes and guessing at the best way to pick a lottery winner.
Detective Chief Inspector Tom Barnaby, having taken one quick look at the corpse, did not feel inclined to take a second.
‘Sometimes, George, I don’t know how you keep your food down.’
‘It’s a knack.’
‘What happened to his face?’ asked Sergeant Troy, bag carrier and persistent gadfly to the DCI. ‘What’s left of it.’
‘Midnight feast in the dorm,’ said Dr Bullard. ‘Some sort of animal, I’d say.’
‘Christ, I hope it is a bloody animal.’ Barnaby sounded ready to explode. ‘Cannibalism we can well do without.’
‘OK, boys.’ Dr Bullard peeled off his gloves and stuffed them into a disposable bag. ‘You can cart him off.’
‘How long’s he been lying there, do you think?’ asked Barnaby.
‘Ohh . . . probably since last night. Certainly no longer than twenty-four hours. That’s the joy of the garrotte. Immediate asphyxiation helps pin the time down.’ He got up, brushing leaf mould off his trousers. ‘Well, I’m off. Give my best to Joyce. How’s the sprog?’
‘Thriving, thank you.’
‘Should have something on your desk by morning.’
Barnaby watched the doctor stride away, head back, gazing at the sky, inhaling the peaty autumn scents with every appearance of satisfaction.