Death of a Friend by Rebecca Tope Read Free Book Online Page B

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    Given the task of going back to the scene to ask a whole tranche of new questions, Den rehearsed his enquiries as he drove south-westwards towards High Copse. He had lived in the area all his life, going to school with people from a range of outlying villages, but there were still isolated settlements that he had never visited, within the triangle formed by Okehampton, Tavistock and Launceston. There were perhaps fifty tiny communities, some of them nestling at the end of high-banked country lanes, others bordering the busier roads. High Copse was two miles from any of these; their closest neighbour was a white cob farmhouse almost half a mile away.
    The outline of Brentor seemed to follow him as he drove, a landmark visible across the whole area, with its almost comical little church perched crazily on the granite outcrop. Den found his gaze drifting towards it more than usual.
    Jane Nugent had spoken to him briefly about Hannah and Bill Grattan and their Quaker Meeting. ‘Doesn’t sound like any church I’ve ever come across,’ she said. ‘She never mentioned God or forgiveness or any of the usual religious stuff. And yet it sounded … nice , somehow.’ She laughed in embarrassment, hearing herself. Perhaps her words were still in Den’s mind as the church in the sky watched him drive through the narrow lanes. 
    The big house was a worthy partner for Brentor. Visible from a lesser, but still impressive, distance, nestled halfway up a steep hill, as many houses were in this uneven landscape, High Copse had definite presence.
    From the gravelled car-parking patch at the front of the house, Den could see the red mound of earth bordered by banks of vivid funeral flowers that was Nina’s grave. It was sheltered by a spreading oak tree, at least three hundred years old and not yet in leaf. The grave’s distance from the house was an unsettling forty or fifty yards, but it could only be seen from one or two windows. Perhaps they would grow a thick hedge around it. They must have stronger stomachs than his, though, to live with the knowledge of her lying there, decomposing year after year.
    Martha came to the door with young Clement at her side. She invited him in, and he wiped his feet before stepping into the long, dark corridor that ran through to the back of the house.
    ‘Alexis isn’t here,’ Martha told him, when they were once again in the warm kitchen. ‘She’s gone to see Charlie’s family. I don’t think she’ll be long. Clem …’ she put a hand out to the boy as he stood at the table flipping through a comic, ‘can you go somewhere else? I don’t think the policeman needs you to be here.’ She raised an eyebrow at Den, who shook his head. 
    Clement sighed and stayed where he was. ‘What’s he want, anyway?’ he demanded.
    ‘He’s come about Charlie. I told you.’
    Clem narrowed his eyes. ‘Everybody’s dying,’ he muttered. ‘I don’t like it.’
    ‘Me neither,’ Martha agreed. ‘It’s a bummer. But keep smiling, eh? Nev should be here tomorrow – that’s something to look forward to, isn’t it. And Hugh’s up there in the rumpus room, isn’t he?’
    The child shrugged. ‘He won’t let me do anything with him today. He says I’m a nuisance.’ The petulance was exaggerated, but even so he cut a pitiable little figure.
    ‘Oh, Clem.’ Martha tightened her lips, turning them inwards to be caught between her teeth. She averted her face from him, blindly holding his hand in a tight squeeze. ‘This won’t take very long, I promise. When Alexis gets back, I’ll do us some lunch. How about putting a video on in my room? You can choose anything you like.’
    With a show of reluctance Clem left the kitchen. Soon Martha and Den heard him going upstairs, his pace quickening as he climbed. She smiled. ‘Special treat, he’s got a thing about old musicals, but Hugh laughs at him about it. He’ll be all right for an hour or so now.’
    ‘Nice little kid,’ said Den.