Dora, wearing a pair of yellow rubber gloves passed Keya carrying a plastic bucket of foaming water. She said to the woman behind the counter, “I’ve had another go at the stain from last week. It’s still a dull orange, but hopefully it’ll fade.”
“Ash had to drop that bottle,” the woman replied.
Approaching the counter, Keya observed a shelf containing an interesting selection of local honey, homemade chutney, and a tall bottle with a bright orange label with Rollright Hot Sauce printed on it.
Beside the till, Ryan was staring at a counter of ready-made sandwiches and a few lifeless looking salads in plastic containers.
There was also a self-service coffee machine. Not ideal. But it would have to do. She took a paper cup, placed it under the coffee machine’s spout and pressed the button for a latte. She didn’t usually drink coffee at this time, but she didn’t fancy the machine’s version of tea, and besides, she needed the extra caffeine.
She also picked up a packet of uninspiring looking egg mayonnaise sandwiches in plain white bread and, as a treat, a bar of chocolate.
As she approached the counter, a woman with a round face and short grey hair with blue undertones spotted her and enquired, with a note of reverence, “Are you investigating Daisy’s death?”
“We are,” Keya replied. “Did you know Daisy well?”
“Ever since we moved to the village fifteen years ago. Silas loves all things old, and he was drawn here by the standing stones. Daisy was just a girl back then, and the family seemed … happy enough.”
“When did Daisy’s mother leave?”
“It must have been five years ago, maybe six. And it was quite a shock. To run off with another man and leave her children … but I’m not sure I can blame her. Dennis isn’t a pleasant man, especially with a drink inside him.”
“Daisy’s father, Dennis Bentham, has a problem with alcohol?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t go as far as that, but he does spend a considerable amount of time in the Malt Shovel. And people say he’s liable to raise his voice, if not his hand, when he gets home. I think Daisy could manage him, but her poor sister can’t. I’ve considered calling social services, but I don’t like to interfere,” the woman said as she ran Keya’s purchases across the till. “That’ll be £7.89.”
Keya handed over a £10 note and said, “Mrs ?”
“Reid. Silas is my husband.”
Keya presumed she meant Dr Reid. “Mrs Reid, when did you last see Daisy?”
“I saw her van pass yesterday, but in person? Probably last week when I popped into the bakery to buy a loaf of her stoneground bread. It’s so much nicer than the sliced stuff.”
It was, Keya thought, picking up her sliced bread sandwiches and thinking of the far more appetising sandwich Daisy had made for her the week before.
“And did Daisy have any enemies in the village?”
“Enemies?” questioned Mrs Reid. “Everyone loved Daisy.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was nearly midday by the time Keya and Ryan arrived at Cirencester Police Station. Keya’s egg mayonnaise sandwich had been as disappointing as it looked, but the chocolate bar she’d eaten afterwards had almost made up for it.
She still felt alert, but that might have been from the caffeine in her latte. What she really wanted was a cup of normal tea, so she was relieved when Stan followed her into the team room and placed a mug on her desk.
“Thanks, that’s exactly what I need. It’s been a long morning already. Is the inspector interviewing Theo, the dead girl’s boyfriend?”
“No. A lawyer arrived soon after Constable Sparrow brought him in, and they’ve been in discussions ever since. And so have the inspector and Chief Inspector Greg.”
Keya sat down at her desk and turned on her computer. She found the case file Inspector Evans had opened and started writing up her notes from the morning. She found it a therapeutic exercise which, with the aid of her cup of tea, helped her process all that she’d seen and heard.
While there had been a lot of people up at the standing stones, they’d all said the same thing. Daisy had appeared happy, even joyful, and had laughed and danced next to the fire while someone played the flute, but as it started to grow dark, she’d complained that she felt tired, and Theo had helped her sit down beside one of the stones.
Someone thought they saw her smoking, but whether it was a cigarette or drugs, they weren’t sure, and several people witnessed her drinking from a can.
As Aunt Beanie had said, it had been hard to tell what was happening once it grew dark, as the main light came from the fire and the glow sticks some of the revellers had been carrying.
Nobody had remembered seeing Daisy until it had started to get light. As the sun rose, a few people had spotted Theo trying to wake her. It was only when he’d started to panic, and become louder and more agitated, that people had taken notice. But by then, Daisy was probably already dead.
“Sergeant, you’re back,” said Inspector Evans, standing in the doorway of the team room. “I’d like you to interview Theo Watson with me, but I warn you, he’s lawyered up.”
“Do you think he has something to hide?” Keya asked in a thoughtful tone.
“I’ve no idea. But that’s what we need to find out.”
When Keya entered the stark interview room, she thought Theo still looked to be in shock, but the grey walls didn’t help. Unlike when she had seen him earlier at the standing stones, he was sitting up so Keya could now see his whole face. He was handsome, in a roguish sort of way, with a heart-shaped face, chubby cheeks and his fair hair was short on the sides but longer on top.
His white collared shirt was crumpled after spending the night outdoors.
Inspector Evans programmed the recording equipment and then said, “Present are myself, Inspector Dai Evans.”
“Sergeant Keya Varma.”
When Theo didn’t speak, his lawyer, a hawkish looking man with round wire-rimmed glasses balanced on his prominent nose, said, “Rupert Sanderson and my client, Theodore Watson.”
“Thank you, Mr Sanderson,” uttered Inspector Evans. “And for the record, your client is not under arrest. We are trying to establish how Daisy Bentham died and what events led up to her death. We understand your client was with her at the Rollright Standing Stones all last night.”
