A Finer End

got a better look at the daunting task awaiting him. ‘I think a bulldozer might be more appropriate,’ he muttered, but bent to it.
    First he transferred the large items — a wooden child’s cradle; an ancient, rusted tricycle; a picnic hamper complete with dishes and accoutrements; a croquet set — to Jack’s segregated area. ‘All this stuff looks Victorian — it’s probably worth a fortune.’
    ‘I’ll have to go on Antiques Roadshow’, Jack joked, without looking up from the pile he was sorting.
    Kincaid moved a stack of framed pictures to one side and started on the boxes. To his delight, they held books. The volumes were dusty and musty, some with water stains or damaged covers, but nonetheless it was a treasure trove. After half an hour, he had come up with a handful of real finds.
    ‘I’m no expert, but I think you’d do well to let my dad have a look at these.’ He handed Jack copies of The Moonstone, The War of the Worlds, Mrs Dalloway, and The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. All were in good condition and, as far as he could tell, first editions.
    Jack accepted the books with a discouraged sigh. And I’ve found three hideous lamps, a recipe collection from the twenties, some moth-eaten flower, arrangements, and a box of ladies’ hats.’
    The first dozen of the framed pictures were obviously junk: cardboard reproductions of famous paintings in cheap frames. But there were three small landscape oils that Kincaid suspected might be valuable, as well as a nice watercolour of the Abbey ruins, and a larger oil portrait of a hunting spaniel that he thought Gemma might like, remembering her interest in Andrew Catesby’s dog.
    ‘Take it,’ Jack said of the spaniel portrait, when Kincaid presented his latest haul. ‘Give it to Gemma with my compliments.’ He sat back on his heels and groaned. ‘The light’s going. We’ll have to give it up for the day. I didn’t expect the thing to jump out and bite me, but this really is like looking for the proverbial needle in the haystack.’
    ‘What about Edmund?’ Kincaid asked, rubbing his dusty hands against his jeans.
    ‘No help there. I’ve tried.’
    ‘Then I suggest sherry in the drawing room, when I’ve collected Faith. Maybe among us we’ll come up with something.’
     
    Faith stood watching for him outside the café, hands deep in the pockets of her cardigan. She waited until they had almost reached Jack’s before she asked Kincaid, ‘Any luck?’
    ‘Some interesting things, but not what we’re looking for.’
    ‘No. I meant Nick. Did you find him?’
    ‘I tried the caravan, and the cafés you suggested. No joy, but the woman at the Assembly Rooms says he’d been in earlier. If he doesn’t show up this evening, I’ll run out to the—’ The sight of the car in Jack’s drive instantly derailed his train of thought. A slightly battered white Vauxhall, unmarked. DCI Greely’s.
    ‘Ah... perhaps we’d better see what’s up before we make plans. It looks as though Inspector Greely’s come to call.’
    ‘They won’t put me in jail, will they?’
    ‘Not if I can help it.’
     
    Greely stood in front of the cold fireplace, hands behind his back as if warming them. Nodding, he said, ‘Superintendent. Miss Wills.’
    Winnie was still ensconced on the sofa, with Jack standing protectively by her.
    ‘Inspector Greely,’ Kincaid replied pleasantly, but it occurred to him that he was getting a good taste of being on the receiving end of things. ‘What can we do for you today?’
    ‘I just wanted to clarify a few things with Mr Montfort here.’ Greely’s smile was not reassuring. Kincaid raised an eyebrow. ‘Such as?’
    Greely turned pointedly towards Jack, making it clear that he didn’t intend to let Kincaid serve as intermediary this time. ‘Mr Montfort, what time did you say you left the hospital last Thursday night?’
    ‘I think it was about half past ten, but I really wasn’t paying attention. Why?’
    ‘The ICU nursing staff put it closer to ten o’clock. And it seems you told me it was near midnight when you arrived home and found Miss Wills on your doorstep. Is that right?’
    ‘As far as I can remember. Look, what is all this about?’
    ‘Well,’ Greely drawled, ‘it occurred to me that two hours was a very generous amount of time to make the drive from Taunton to Glastonbury, late at night with no traffic. And it also occurred to me that it takes a very short amount of time to drown someone — say three