Murder in the Cotswolds Read Free

hit-and-run incident she’d had to attend came as a brutal reminder of that summer afternoon fourteen years ago when a recklessly driven car had mounted a pavement and shattered Kate’s life, robbing her of the husband she loved dearly and their three-year-old daughter. That the car’s occupants had been three men escaping from a bank hold-up had added bitter anger to her grief. The bitterness remained; hit-and-run was a disgusting crime in any circumstances.
    Kate took deep, calming breaths as she walked towards the body. Accompanying her, PC Farrow raised an arm as if to shield her from the gruesome sight.
    “It’s a horrible mess, ma’am.”
    His intentions were good; but her male colleagues on the division would have to learn that Chief Inspector Maddox was ready to face up to whatever came her way.
    “It won’t be the first horrible mess I’ve seen,” she said crisply. “Nor will it be the last.”
    Mess was an understatement. Kate felt the inevitable upsurge of nausea. And compassion. And a fury that almost choked her. The body was hardly recognisable as human, just a mangled heap of flesh and bone lying in a pool of congealed blood. Poignantly, the body of a golden cocker spaniel lay with its muzzle resting on the woman’s grotesquely twisted arm. As if, before dying, it had been trying to lick the hand of its mistress.
    “Jesus bloody Christ!” muttered Sergeant Boulter, then shot Kate a sideways glance. “Oh ... sorry, ma’am.”
    “Is the doctor on his way?” She needed all her self-control to keep her voice steady.
    “He should be here any minute, ma’am,” PC Farrow told her.
    Kate nodded. “A cowman reported this, I gather?”
    “Terry Haynes, on his way to Reedbank Farm for the early milking,” said Farrow.
    She glanced around. “Where is he now?”
    “We let him go, ma’am. The cows couldn’t be left waiting, you see. He’ll be there now, or at his cottage later. Hope I did right?”
    “Yes, of course. What time was the message received?”
    The other constable stepped up importantly. “PC Robbins, ma’am. The message from the Information Room was received at five forty-seven. PC Farrow and I arrived on the scene at five fifty-six,” He was as precise in appearance as in manner. A lanky, sharp-featured young man, eager to impress. He might never be liked a lot, but he’d go far.
    Kate considered. “It’s clear she’s been dead for some hours. I noticed that the glass of her watch is broken and it’s stopped at one minute past ten. But can she have lain here all night without being found sooner?”
    “Could easily be,” said Boulter. “Some of these little by-lanes around here hardly see a vehicle from one week to the next.”
    Kate turned to Farrow. “I’m told you’re not happy about this being an accident. Why’s that?”
    “If you’ll step this way, Chief Inspector, I’ll show you.”
    In careful single file, they walked along the lane. They were all treading warily, knowing that Scenes of Crime wouldn’t thank them for trampling the evidence. At the spot where the constable halted, the spongy grass verge was churned up into mud. Kate saw his point immediately. From the tyre tracks it was possible to reconstruct the sequence of events. A car had driven off the roadway here, and waited; then suddenly accelerated fiercely, its driving wheels spinning for a grip and cutting deep grooves. Half-dried tracks of mud from the tyres were visible on the tarmac. About to turn away, Kate paused and took a second look.
    “These tread patterns don’t match. See?”
    “You’re right, ma’am.” Boulter looked impressed. “That’ll be a big help in tracing the car involved.”
    “Presumably,” Kate said thoughtfully, “it was someone who expected Mrs. Latimer to be on the spot just then—always assuming that she was the intended victim. The sooner we can check on the husband’s movements, the better.”
    “They say Mr. Latimer went to London yesterday morning and