A Grave in the Cotswolds Read Free Page A

a wish, two for a kiss. Three for a letter, four better.” I always thought that meant a parcel.’
    I smiled at her naïvety. Magpies were scavengers, and already they had detected the presence of decomposing flesh. I tried to catch the eye of the gravedigger, who would be well aware of the need to proceed quickly with his duties. ‘Maybe somebody’s going to win the lottery,’ I said carelessly.
    I walked to the gate, where my vehicle was parked on a wide grass verge. I still sometimes called it a hearse in my own mind, but in reality it was a large estate car, with the rear seats removable to leave space for a coffin. Standing beside it was the young couple who had been chatting to the gravedigger, the woman sideways to me, the man behind her with a hand resting on her shoulder. She was light-skinned, in her early twenties. He was tall and black and a few years older. They were talking about my car.
    ‘Is this your motor?’ asked the man, unsmilingly.
    I admitted ownership readily enough.
    ‘Are you aware that three of the tyres are illegal, and the road tax expired over two weeks ago?’ asked the girl.
    They weren’t in uniform. It did not occur to me that they were police officers, so I laughed. ‘The disc’s in the post,’ I said easily. ‘And the MOT is due next week. I’ll sort it all out then.’
    ‘Not good enough, I’m afraid, sir,’ said the man. ‘Might I see your licence and insurance documents?’
    The penny dropped. ‘Good Lord, are you police?’ I asked.
    ‘That’s right, sir. PC Jessica Osborne, and Detective Sergeant Paul Middleman.’
    ‘Osborne?’ I had automatically filed away the name of the small woman I had been chatting to at the graveside. It’s a habit with undertakers – people’s names acquire considerable importance in my line of work.
    ‘Right.’ The girl gave me no encouragement.
    ‘There’s a lady called Osborne over there,’ I continued, pointing into the field.
    ‘She’s my mother,’ said PC Jessica.

Chapter Two
    Thea Osborne argued strenuously on my behalf, but her daughter stood her ground. ‘I do not believe the law says he can’t drive home,’ said Thea. ‘That’s idiotic.’
    The girl sighed melodramatically. ‘If he lived just a few miles away, it would be different. But no way can I let him go sixty miles on those tyres. They’re bald , Mum. They could cause a serious accident.’
    Both women looked at me, with very different expressions: the mother with exasperated sympathy, and the daughter with officious scorn. There was little similarity between them anyway – Jessica stood three or four inches above Thea, and was nowhere near as pretty. I was still wrestling with the fact that Thea was old enough to be the mother of this strapping PC – she must have been twelve when she had her, I thought. Or maybe she was a stepmother, or adopted the girl as an older child, when she was still in her twenties.
    I repeated my feeble defence. ‘I knew they were a bit dodgy, but I was waiting for the MOT. I haven’t had them all that long. I thought they must have a bit of life left in them.’
    ‘And the tax?’ queried Jessica.
    ‘I applied for it on the computer, four days ago. It’ll arrive on Monday, I expect.’
    ‘You were two weeks late applying, then?’
    ‘I suppose so. They give you a fortnight’s leeway, don’t they?’
    She rolled her eyes. ‘Mr Slocombe, sir, that is a complete myth. Besides, today is the sixteenth of March. Your tax ran out on the twenty-eighth of February. By any reckoning, you are overdue. As well as that, the usual procedure is to have the MOT test before renewing the tax.’
    ‘Yes, yes, I admit everything,’ I pleaded. ‘But please let me go home. My wife’s not well. She’ll need me to be there this evening.’ I was over-egging it, almost starting to enjoy the whole episode. There was something pleasingly ludicrous about an undertaker being given a rap for an illegal motor. I could see that Thea was