She had no evidence, no proof that Daisy’s death was due to anything other than natural causes. But it was as if a voice had whispered to her, shouted even, while she stood inside the standing stones, and it was too insistent for her to ignore.
But she could hardly return to the station and announce that spirits at the standing stones had told her Daisy’s death was suspicious. As always, she needed to undertake this investigation as she would any other and, by doing so, discover the truth.
“Where did you say Daisy’s mother, Mrs Skinner, lived?” Keya asked Constable Sparrow.
“In a property provided by the mill, where she works,” answered the young, curly-haired constable.
“That’ll be Stone Circle Flour. I haven’t been there yet, but I think it’s on the other side of the stream, across the bridge.”
Keya passed Mrs Reid’s Rollright Stores and slowed as she approached the narrow stone bridge. She wasn’t certain there was room for two vehicles, so she waited patiently as a white van took the bridge too fast and swerved to avoid her.
“Idiot,” she muttered as she drove over the bridge.
“Aren’t you going to stop him for driving dangerously?” asked Constable Sparrow.
“I doubt he was exceeding the speed limit, and I’m not sure that chasing him across the Cotswolds to give him a warning is the best use of my time. I doubt he’d take much notice, anyway.”
They approached the entrance to the mill with a large cream sign informing them they had arrived at Stone Circle Flour.
The original three-storey, Cotswold stone mill building had been incorporated into a larger complex. The first building they passed was a large open-fronted shed with wooden pallets stacked up at one end. Between it and the old stone building was a cylindrical metal tower and a tall metal building with rows of slats instead of windows.
After the mill complex, the paved road turned into a narrow track and Keya drove for another hundred metres until they arrived at two tall stone buildings, each with four cream-painted front doors.
“I think these must be the mill workers’ accommodation,” Keya said, peering through the windscreen.
“There’s another property further along,” Constable Sparrow pointed out.
“That might be the manager’s house.” Keya wondered if she should request a warrant to search through Daisy’s possessions. Now Theo had a lawyer, he might not let her inside, but she might still try. “Do we know which one is Mrs Skinner’s?”
“Her address is 1 Mill Cottage.”
Keya, accompanied by a nervous Constable Sparrow, rang the doorbell beside the first cream door. A floral curtain in the downstairs window twitched and less than a minute later the door opened, and a gaunt, blotchy red face peered out at them.
“If you’re looking for your colleague, she left half an hour ago,” Doreen Skinner said.
“Actually, we’d like to speak to you, and ask you some questions,” Keya said, trying to sound both professional and empathetic.
“Sue said you would. Come in,” Doreen invited, submissively.
Doreen led them into a narrow corridor and through into a small high-ceilinged living room with a stained, green, two-seater sofa and a matching armchair. A lingering smell of vinegar hung in the air.
Doreen sat in the armchair and Keya sat at right angles to her on one half of the sofa.
Constable Sparrow hovered.
“Sit down, Constable,” Keya instructed before she opened her notepad. Since Inspector Sue had already visited Doreen in her role as the family liaison officer, Keya decided to skip the part about being sorry for Doreen’s loss.
“We’re sorry to intrude, but we do need more details about your daughter and your relationship with her for our investigation.”
Keya noticed Doreen wince when she mentioned relationship, but she’d come back to that. First, she wanted her interviewee to feel comfortable so she could build a rapport with her.
“This is a lovely village to grow up in. From everything I’ve heard, I presume Daisy was a happy child.”
Doreen smiled and relaxed into the armchair. “Oh, she was.”
For the next ten minutes, Keya let Doreen tell her stories of Daisy’s happy childhood in the area and at school in nearby Chipping Norton.
“I thought Daisy would be a nurse, or work with animals. She was always so kind and thoughtful, but after school she got stuck here. It was Dennis’ fault. He wouldn’t let her go. When I came back four years ago, Daisy was working in the pub and helping Dennis with his accounts and running his business. He’s a plumber, you see.”
Doreen looked down at her hands. “I tried to persuade her to leave. If not to study, at least to work somewhere else, even if it was just Oxford or Cheltenham. But she said she wouldn’t leave Dennis and Zoe.”
Doreen slowly shook her head. “I should have offered to have Zoe live with me, but I doubt she would have done. She blamed me for leaving them. She didn’t understand what I went through married to Dennis.”
“When did you leave?” Keya asked.
“Eight years ago. I met a salesman at one of the holiday cottages I cleaned. I thought I was escaping my life here but, in reality, it was just another abusive relationship and when he hit me, well, that was the final straw. I walked out. But I had nowhere to go.”
Doreen smiled sadly at Keya. “I thought Dennis would have me back, but he’s a stubborn one. After a couple of weeks at the pub, I was running out of money. That’s when Sir Anthony offered me a job at the mill, and as it came with this pokey cottage, I agreed.”
Keya glanced around. She actually thought there was more room here than in the cottage where Dennis and Zoe lived.
“And you returned?” Keya enquired, her pen poised over her notebook.
“As I said, four years ago. I thought I’d sort things out with Dennis, but here I am, still packing flour at the mill and seeing less and less of my girls. And Daisy …”
Doreen caught herself before continuing in a stiff voice, “She did well for herself and moved into Mill House when Dennis chucked her out. And last year she opened the bakery. She was going places.”
Keya couldn’t decide if Doreen was happy or resentful of Daisy’s success. She remembered how Doreen had flinched when she’d said the word ‘relationship’.
