The Bell Ringers by Henry Porter Read Free Book Online

Bailey Hotel, where their occupants were decanted into a room, which Kate learned had been laid on by Eyam’s stepmother for the mourners making the trip from London.
    She stopped at a stall selling wraps, shawls and scented candles to get a better look at her pursuer. The woman moved behind a stand of jams and pickles, then retreated to the line of market stalls at the top of the square. Why the hell was she being followed?
    Kate picked up a black and mauve scarf.
    â€˜It’s Nepalese – silk and cashmere,’ said the stallholder, placing a rolled cigarette on a battered tobacco tin. ‘They call that colour
damson
. A pal of mine imports them from the village in Nepal where they’re made. But I got to admit they’re dear.’
    The scarf went well with the short dark grey herringbone jacket and black trousers she’d chosen for the funeral. She put it on and looked at herself in a smudged mirror that hung from the front of the stall, angling it slightly to see over her shoulder. The watcher had moved behind her and glanced twice in her direction. ‘Screw this,’ she said softly and turned and eyeballed the woman, who looked away.
    â€˜The scarf?’ said the stallholder.
    â€˜I’ll take it,’ Kate said with a smile.
    â€˜Looks terrific on you: just right for your dark colouring, if you don’t mind me saying.’
    â€˜I don’t,’ she said and removed five twenties from her purse.
    â€˜What’s going on?’ he asked, wrapping the money carefully onto a fold of notes. ‘The place is crawling with filth.’
    â€˜Filth?’ she said, smiling. ‘The police are here for the funeral.’
    â€˜Who’s that for then?’
    â€˜A friend of mine: he lived near here.’
    â€˜I’m sorry.’ He paused. ‘Old, was he?’
    â€˜Early forties.’
    â€˜Life is short: art is long. Well known, was he?’
    â€˜Not really, but he had many admirers. He was killed while abroad.’
    The man slapped his forehead. ‘I know, it’s the fellow that got blown up – the prime minister’s man. He was on TV.’
    She smiled a full stop to the exchange and turned away.
    â€˜Would you credit that?’ he said to her back. ‘Look at the way they’re treating that woman. I told you they was filth.’
    Beyond the stalls on the north side of the square four uniformed police were crowding round a middle-aged woman. One had taken hold of her upper arm. She wore a large black hat that made her seem top heavy. Her voice rose and the words, ‘I will not stand here’ then, ‘I won’t be treated . . .’ carried on the wind across the square. The woman wrenched her arm down, causing her handbag to fall to the ground and spew its contents. A policeman bent down to help but she brushed his hand away and swept everything back into the bag herself. It was at that moment that her hat fell off and rolled between the policemen’s feet. She made an undignified lunge and seized it, stood up and hit the chest of one of the officers with it.
    â€˜That’s done it now,’ said the stallholder with a smirk. ‘Assault with a hat. I know that woman. She’s got something to do with the Assembly Rooms – arranges the programme and that. You can’t park there on market days. There’s a sign.’
    Kate recognised Diana Kidd from the inquest. Over the weekend she had toyed with the idea of calling the only Diana Kidd listed in the phone book to talk to her about Eyam, which was why she now returned her purse to the black shoulder bag, walked the thirty yards over to where Mrs Kidd was being questioned, and with a smile asked if there was anything she could do. When none of the officers replied she said, ‘Are you all right, Mrs Kidd? Perhaps these officers don’t knowthat you are attending David Eyam’s funeral.’ Then she turned to the policeman who had