Fear in the Cotswolds by Rebecca Tope Read Free Book Online Page A

boots at times. As she got closer, the dark patch resembled a heap of abandoned clothes, with a smaller item close by. A scatter of snow formed odd patches on the heap, which remained stubbornly shapeless and impossible to identify.
    But Thea had little doubt as to what she was going to find, from a distance of thirty yards. She approached steadily, her head thumping, her teeth clenched tightly together. As she came closer, she focused on the incongruity of a glass bottle standing upright in the snow, only the neck and shoulders visible. She barely glanced at it, only taking the time to recognise it as having heldalcohol of some kind. Infinitely more significant was the person who had drunk its contents, and then removed his coat and waited for the painless oblivion of death by hypothermia. He was lying on his side, his back to her, his bare head half buried in the snow.

CHAPTER FIVE
    It took an impossibly long time to flounder back to the house, call 999, and try to explain that it would be a major operation to get any sort of vehicle to the spot in question. ‘Even a tractor would have difficulty,’ she said. ‘I don’t know what you’re going to do.’ As if to add emphasis, snow had begun to fall again – fat, fluffy flakes that settled comfortably on top of their fellows. The gentle soundless stuff made everything seem less urgent, as if rush and trouble were examples of human folly and nothing more.
    The girl at the end of the phone was clearly unfamiliar with rural realities. ‘I’m sure they’ll cope,’ she said dismissively. ‘What’s the postcode?’
    Thea opened her mouth to reply with her own home address, before remembering where she was. ‘I have no idea,’ she said. ‘It’s called Lucy’s Barn, to the south-west of Hampnett. It’s not very easy to find.’
    ‘Could you stand somewhere they can see you, then, and wave when they arrive?’
    ‘Not really. It’s at least a quarter of a mile from here to the road, in snow a foot deep. I can’t even see where the track runs. I don’t think you’re quite getting the picture. Even if I did struggle up there, it isn’t possible for anything to drive back to the Barn – and even less feasible to get to where the body is.’
    ‘Oh.’ The thread of panic in the girl’s voice found an answer in Thea’s insides. She was trapped here until the snow cleared. Nobody could get in or out, without an industrial-scale snowplough. There was a dead man two fields away and nothing anybody could do about it.
    ‘You are sure he’s dead, aren’t you?’ the girl asked, having exchanged some muttering with another person.
    ‘I think so,’ said Thea, suddenly not sure at all. ‘He was very cold and stiff. I tried to shake him, but he didn’t respond at all. Oh yes, he must be dead. It looks as if he committed suicide.’
    ‘Helicopter,’ said the girl. ‘Is there somewhere we could land an air ambulance?’
    ‘I doubt it. Can they manage snow? The field isn’t very level.’
    A defeated silence rebounded between the two women. It appeared that there was no script for such a situation, as all the modern means of transport were found wanting. Thea found herself wanting to say, ‘A horse could manage it,’ but bit it back. You’d need two horses and a cart, at least. Or a team of huskies and a nice big sledge. Or a couple of woolly yaks, accustomed to slogging up and down snowy slopes dragging dead meat and heaps of felt and wood which would transform into a cosy ger.
    ‘I’ll pass you to my superior,’ said the girl wearily. ‘I’m sure she’ll think of something.’
        
    In the end, a group of well-clad police personnel arrived on foot, an hour and a half after the phone call. Four of them came clumping down the track, in single file, one of them with a phone clamped to his ear, with which Thea had directed them to the Barn. They introduced themselves as a sergeant, a constable, the police doctor and a photographer. The last two