Narrow is the Way Read Online Free Page B

‘You’re asking me?’
    Hillary laughed. Doc Partridge was well known for his fussy and sartorial elegance.
    ‘Yeah, but let’s face it: it’s not the sort of place a pretty girl would agree to meet a lover, is it? And if she just wanted a breath of fresh air, this isn’t the place for it.’ she coughed, the pungent bovine perfume making her point for her. ‘And if she just wanted somewhere to have a quiet chat with someone, I’m sure the farmhouse had the odd quiet room — or even the garden, at a pinch. Could she have been kidnapped at the house and forced here?’
    Steven Partridge shrugged, and nodded at the long, tight-fitting satin sleeves. ‘Could be, but I’ll have to get her on the table before I can do even a preliminary search for any bruising on the arms.’
    ‘Ma’am?’ a diffident voice interrupted her musing, and she glanced up, expecting the police photographer or another SOCO to hoick her out of it, but it was a fresh-faced uniformed officer who nodded down at her.
    ‘Sorry, ma’am, I was told you wanted to speak to me.’
    Hillary thought, I did? Then nodded. Right. ‘You must be the local man I asked for.’
    ‘Yes, ma’am. Dennis Warner. I live at Duns Tew, just across the way.’
    Hillary nodded and stood up, trying to pretend her back didn’t ache as she did so, and slowly walked away from the body. Once outside in the dark, wet air, she took a deep breath, promptly wished she hadn’t, and nodded towards the lane. ‘Come on, let’s get out of here.’ The sweetly corrupt scent of cattle was beginning to make her feel sick.
    Dennis Warner grinned. ‘You get used to it. Living out here.’
    Hillary supposed you did.
    ‘So, what can you tell me about the farm?’ she asked.
    ‘Ma’am. It’s owned by a man called Owen Wallis. Local, born and bred. The Wallises have owned Three Oaks farm for yonks. Don’t quite go back to the Doomsday Book, but you get the picture. Back in the 1500s, the Wallises were “Sirs” and the like, but they lost the title somewhere down the line. They still own several small properties in Steeple Barton though. Used to be for the workers, now they rent them out to city folk for weekend places and such. Makes a tidy sum from rent alone, I reckon.’
    Hillary nodded. Most senior investigating officers would be chivvying him along by now, but she’d never found that having good background gen, even stuff that couldn’t possibly be relevant , had ever hurt an investigation.
    ‘Resented for it much in the village?’ she wondered aloud.
    Dennis shrugged. ‘Not so’s you’d notice. Nowadays, half the village is made up of strangers. It’s not as if the farm employs that many. And those they do don’t seem to complain. I reckon they’re as happy to buy a council house on a mortgage as the rest of us.’
    Hillary nodded. ‘Big family?’
    ‘Not any more. Just old man Wallis – well, not so old, he’s in his fifties, I suppose. Owen Wallis, his wife, Wendy, and the one lad, Michael. It’s their silver wedding anniversary – that’s what the shindig’s for.’
    Hillary nodded. It was unusual to have a big party on a week night; most people tended to opt for a Saturday. Any particular reason for the Wallises to do it this way round? ‘So, what do you know about the son Michael? He’s got a girlfriend?’
    ‘Yerse, local girl. Michael’s been away at agricultural college, only coming home during the holidays. Seems happy enough to do his bit and eventually take over the farm.’
    ‘It’s in good financial shape?’
    ‘Not as good as it was before the foot-and-mouth,’ Dennis said quickly.
    Obviously, Hillary thought, that particular disaster still cut deep. ‘Oh? Did the Wallises loose their herd?’
    ‘No. They were lucky. But still, the Wallises aren’t quite the force they used to be. Rumour has it Owen Wallis is coming up with some sort of scheme to refill the family coffers. Nobody quite knows what it is, but it is said that Theo