‘That’s where Tamsin found his dope, Merrily. In a jar conveniently marked herbs. I never asked, Tamsin, but what led you to it?’
‘Just the smell, sir. In his study… his library. Unmistakable, really.’
Merrily said, ‘He smoked dope?’
‘Or he entertained people who did,’ Bliss said. ‘Me first thought was who’s his dealer? Was he linked into the kind of people who wouldn’t think too hard about nudging an old feller into a pool and robbing his gaff? But there’s over six hundred quid in a wallet in his desk. You couldn’t easily miss that.’
‘So you’re thinking he had his cannabis or whatever delivered with the groceries?’
In a guilty way, she was starting to enjoy this. It was calming to be hanging out with working coppers. Their needs were so much simpler. She turned to Tamsin Winterson.
‘Tamsin, I’m still not getting this. Why exactly did kids think he was a wizard? Apart from the herbs and bone-setting.’
‘Well… they look through windows, kids, don’t they?’
Tamsin looking a little sheepish.
‘Was there anything particularly odd or unexpected about the way he died, Frannie?’
‘Not expecting much from the PM. He had a head wound, which might’ve been from a bump on one of those big shelves of rock at the bottom of the falls. Was he attacked here, then towed down the field and thrown in the pool? We don’t know. Nobody would think that was likely.’
‘So why are you convinced somebody killed him?’
‘I’m not convinced and I’m still looking for a reason. With all the fences and stiles involved, it wouldn’t be easy unless there was more than one person. Or did he go to the pool with someone who then pushed him in? Or clobbered him and then pushed the body in? We’ve done a little house-to-house, yielding no sightings. We’ve had a SOCO skim this place. Although there’s no obvious reason to regard it as a crime scene.’
‘You need witnesses.’
‘Dog walkers,’ Bliss said. ‘We need more dog walkers.’
Tamsin brought them tea in some rather classy stoneware mugs. Milk, sugar in a bowl.
‘Just the job,’ Bliss sipped. ‘Earl Grey, too. You’ve gorra big future, PC Winterson.’
‘In CID, sir?’
Bliss set his cup down on the worktop, tilted his head, exposing his spreading thin patch.
‘That’s the way you’re thinking?’
‘It is, actually.’
‘Well,’ Bliss said, ‘I’ll bear that in mind, Tamsin. Not that I get listened to much.’
‘Thank you, sir. Sir—’
‘Tamsin, how about you just call me boss? The usual mode of address in the casual, freewheeling world of CID. Also, I friggin’ hate sir.’
Tamsin nodded seriously.
‘Sir, I don’t— I don’t want to give the impression – boss – that Hambling had like a harem. Obviously, I’m not qualified to say. Sometimes, apparently, there’d be a few cars in quick succession, with both women and men in them?’
‘An orgy?’
‘His coven, they used to say. I’m told.’
‘Lovely. That’s a very evocative word.’
‘And there’s one other thing. I haven’t been able to check this out properly, I only got it this morning. Sometimes, people visiting Mr Hambling would park up at the church?’
‘Is that close?’
‘Just at the top, past the castle mound. Not far to walk, and there’s good, flat parking. The night before Mr Hambling was found, there were cars parked up there. More than usual.’
‘How late was this?’
‘Don’t know. I had it from an old lady, and she don’t stay up very late. There’s nothing to say… I mean, they could’ve parked there for any reason. But…’
‘But there could’ve been a gathering at his house in the hours before he died.’
‘It’s possible, isn’t it?’
‘Anything’s poss— What are you smiling at, Merrily?’
‘Nothing.’
What if the David Hambling affair was just a kite being flown by a young, rural copper looking for a step up? You noticed, over time, that Bliss tended to reserve his impressive range of sardonic put-downs for senior officers, was never patronizing to underlings. You could tell he liked this kid.
Bliss picked up his cup, made for the door next to the fridge/freezer.
‘You want to say a little prayer first, Merrily? Before we enter the inner temple?’
‘Not just now, thanks.’
‘Boss…’ Tamsin was blushing again. ‘This is just so I’ve told you everything, right?’