“Not even for DCI James?”

“Not even for DCI James.”

James was clearly trying to suppress a look of fury, and DS Southern one of distinct amusement. Taylor smiled as blandly as she could.

The questions moved on to the other details of the case. Taylor was exhausted by the end of it. At least Killian had been spared the press conference, and James’ barely-disguised hints at his incompetence. Taylor hoped the journalists would leave that part out of their stories.

“That went well,” James told his team before being dragged off for the cameras.

“You can keep the glory,” Taylor said. “As far as I’m concerned we were just doing what they pay us to do.”

“Come on, you need to be able to maximise an opportunity like this! How do you think I worked my way up?”

Narcissistic tendencies? Taylor thought to herself. “I have to go,” she announced. “As of now, I’m officially on leave for two weeks. It was interesting working with you.”

She walked away before they said anything.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

Harriet Taylor woke up from a dreamless sleep to the sound of rain beating down on the roof. Something was bothering her. DCI James and his team would no doubt be back in Exeter by now, wallowing in the glory of a successful investigation and spreading stories about the incompetence of the Trotterdown police department. The case was closed and it was all over.

But Dennis Albarn hadn’t killed Milly Lancaster and Stanley Green.

She went down and made coffee, enjoying the luxury of a late morning in her dressing-gown. Rain lashed against the window and she found she was rather enjoying that too. Tomorrow morning she’d be on a flight, and then onto the boat that would take her up the Nile. Ten days discovering a new place was exactly what she needed. For now, she had a couple of hours to kill before the lunch with Alice Green and nobody to tell her what to do. She went upstairs to run a bath.

* * *

A couple of hours later, she knocked on Alice’s door. The rain had cleared and she felt distinctly cheerful. They might not have cleared up the case to her complete satisfaction, but she was determined to put it behind her. Perhaps they’d been right after all.

Alice called her through to the back garden, where the bees were buzzing back and forth from the hollyhock bushes to the hives. They looked extremely busy.

“They’re back to normal,” Alice said. “They had me worried for a while when they were making that honey that wasn’t quite right.”

“Is there much to beekeeping? It looks quite complicated.”

“There’s nothing to it. The bees do most of the work for me. My bees are Italian and rather slothful but I like them that way. I’ll show you.”

She approached the hives and lifted off the first frame. Taylor stood back cautiously.

“They won’t hurt you. They die if they sting and they know it.”

Taylor moved a step closer and watched the beekeeper slide a sheet of honeycomb out of the frame.

“That’s better. I’ll have plenty for market at this rate.” She slid the honeycomb back and then suddenly winced.

“Are you all right?” Taylor asked.

“Little bugger stung me. It happens sometimes. It’s not serious. I have some bicarb solution in the drawer in the kitchen. Would you be a love and fetch it for me? There’s some cotton wool in there too. It’s starting to throb now.”

Taylor went inside and opened the drawer in the kitchen. She rummaged around and found the bicarb solution. It was in a small, clearly labelled bottle. The cotton wool was harder to track down. She opened the drawer wider and finally found it underneath a packet of plasters. She was about to close the drawer when something caught her eye. It was a gold wedding ring and it looked like a man’s one.

Taylor picked it up and took a closer look. The initials S. and A. and the numbers 14-6-75 were etched on the inside.

Stanley and Alice, Taylor thought. This is Stanley Green’s wedding ring. What’s her husband’s wedding ring doing in the drawer?

She suddenly felt sick. Stanley Green’s ring finger had been missing when they found his body.

Think fast. What’s going on here?

She put the ring back in the drawer and was about to close it when she got the feeling that somebody was watching her.

“Did you find it, love?” Alice stood in the doorway.

“I’ve got it here.” Taylor closed the door. Had Alice seen her find the ring? She handed Alice the bee-sting solution and the cotton wool.

“Are you all right, Harriet?” Alice asked. “You look a bit pale. I’m the one who was stung.”

“I’m fine,” Taylor said. “It must be the past few weeks catching up with me. The cruise will do me good.”

“I’m sure it will.” Alice looked at Taylor and then at the kitchen drawer. She dabbed some bicarbonate of soda on the sting and put the bottle on the kitchen counter. “The food’s ready.”

“It smells delicious.”

It did, but Taylor felt quite sick at the prospect of eating anything. “Could I just use your bathroom first?”

“First door on the right.” Alice pointed towards the corridor.

Taylor locked the door, sat on the edge of the bath and took a deep breath. She tried to think of a reasonable explanation why Alice might have the ring in her kitchen drawer. Perhaps Stanley had merely given it back to her, but then what about the missing ring finger? Perhaps it was Alice’s, but it looked too big, and Alice wore a similar gold band on her ring finger. She flushed the toilet and took out her phone. She brought up Killian’s number and paused, thinking hard.

What am I doing? This is ridiculous. Alice Green is an elderly beekeeper. She wouldn’t hurt a fly. She put the phone back in her pocket and went back to the table.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Alice told her. “I thought seeing as though you’re not going to be at work for two weeks, you might join me in a glass of port. I know you don’t usually drink but this is a special occasion, isn’t it?”

“One glass won’t hurt me. Thank you. This looks delicious.”

“Take a seat. I’ll carve the beef.”

She slid out a chair and Taylor sat down. She watched as Alice carefully sliced into the meat. The knife looked extremely sharp. She put three slices on Taylor’s plate.

“Help yourself to some vegetables. I’ve got some gravy on the boil too.”

She tore off a piece of fat and slid it into the bottom of the jackdaw’s cage. The bird eyed it suspiciously, pecked at it and gobbled it up in one go.

“Easy, boy, you don’t want to choke yourself.”

“Morning,” the jackdaw replied.

Alice put the gravy boat on the table and sat down.

“Cheers.” She raised the port to her lips and took a sip. “This is the bottle you bought me,” Alice told her. “It’s a very nice one.”

“Happy birthday for yesterday.” Taylor took a sip of her own. She wasn’t used to port, and it had a rather odd taste, but it was quite pleasant. “Here’s to many more.”

“Thank you, dear. Now tuck in.”

The port had gone straight to Taylor’s head. She needed to eat something, pretty quickly, to neutralise the alcohol. She ate some beef. “This is delicious.”

“It’s a rare treat for me to have you here. I don’t often have guests. I say you have to make the most of the company you can get at my age.”

“You’re not that old.” Taylor’s head was starting to spin. She had almost finished the port.

“I’m old enough. Old enough to know what’s important.”

“And what’s that?” Taylor was feeling quite drunk now. Her own voice sounded slurred.

“The status quo. Keeping things normal. That’s what’s important. As you get older and you start to count the days you have left and you do what you can to make sure you keep things the same.”