A Finer End

“No evidence of an assault or an abduction in the house, and although they did find a few of Nick’s prints, they can all be accounted for by his story. The only other identifiable prints are Faith’s and Garnet’s, and there’s nothing to indicate that prints were wiped, as they were on Garnet’s van.”

“Not Jack’s?” Gemma asked.

“Not a smudge,” he said with relief.

“Garnet Todd led a remarkably isolated life,” Gemma mused. “Most of us have an accumulation of flotsam from our connections, our relationships. Faith told me that Garnet had been a midwife, so she gave up a job where she had regular, intimate contact with people for tile making, a solitary occupation.”

“She did have a few close friends. Buddy Barnes, for one.”

“Faith’s boss?”

“I had a chat with him yesterday. It occurred to me afterwards that he’s extremely fond of Faith, and that if there should be anything to Nick Carlisle’s theories about Garnet preparing Faith for some sort of bloody ritual on the Tor, and Buddy found out about it—”

“You think Buddy might have murdered Garnet?”

“I’ve asked DCI Greely to run a check on him, at least.”

“Then what about Winnie? What reason could Buddy have possibly had for hurting Winnie?”

“I haven’t got that far. Did you realize they all knew each other, years ago? Garnet and Buddy, Bram and Fiona Allen. Buddy and Fiona were an item, apparently.”

“Well, perhaps it would all make sense if Buddy had murdered Fiona—”

“A long-simmering unrequited love?” Kincaid raised an eyebrow. “At this point I’m open for anything.”

“What if”—Gemma gave him a sly glance—“what if Garnet found out something about Nick that would ruin his chances with Faith for good?”

“Do I see cream on your whiskers? You’ve found something. Out with it,” Kincaid demanded.

“I told you I discovered that Nick’s mum is the novelist Elizabeth Carlisle. This morning the constable in her Northumbrian village rang me back. It seems that our Nick left behind a baby he refused to acknowledge or support. His mum has done right by the girl, apparently, but Nick’s name is mud.”

“And then he came to Glastonbury and fell in love with a girl pregnant with another man’s child?” Kincaid snorted. “Sounds like someone’s idea of a cosmic joke. But I doubt Faith would find it amusing.”

“That might explain why Nick would kill Garnet, but not why he would have struck Winnie. Unless”—Gemma frowned—“unless we’ve got it the wrong way round. What if it was Winnie who found out about Nick—isn’t that more likely, with her connections?—then Garnet saw Nick hit Winnie. So he was forced to silence her.”

“You’re leaving out one thing,” Kincaid objected. “Nick doesn’t have a car. His bike could not have caused Winnie’s injuries.”

“Perhaps he borrowed a car—or stole one.”

“That’s a possibility we should check.”

The rain fell in sheets now, and the traffic ground to a halt behind a long tailback. Kincaid glanced uneasily at his watch.

“What is it?” Gemma asked.

“We’re not going to make Glastonbury by five, in this downpour. But I asked Jack to pick Faith up at the cafe, if we weren’t in time.”

“But she was expecting you—”

“Jack promised he’d be there at the stroke of five. She’ll be fine.”

But as the minutes passed, Kincaid could sense Gemma’s growing tension. She sat quietly, eyes fixed on the road, as if she could hurry the car. As they neared Glastonbury, the rain fell even more heavily and the sky grew black. He drummed his fingers on the wheel as they crawled behind a lorry.

But at last they zigzagged their way through the village of Pilton, and the final clear stretch of road lay before them.

Then his cell phone rang.

It was Jack on the line, sounding frantic. “She’s gone. Faith’s gone. She told Buddy she didn’t feel well earlier this afternoon, that she was coming home. Then he began to worry about her, and rang me. No one’s seen her since she left the cafe.”

“Where are you?”

“At the house. I rang Nick at the bookshop, but he hasn’t heard from her either.”

“Wait there. She may ring you, or show up at the house any minute. And you don’t want to leave Winnie alone. We’re almost in Glastonbury—we’ll find her.”

“It’s Faith, isn’t it?” Gemma said as he disconnected.

“Missing since midafternoon. Told Buddy she was going home.” He swore under his breath, but he knew it was his own lack of foresight he was cursing. Why the hell hadn’t he been more careful? “Where could she have got to?”

“The farmhouse.” Gemma said with certainty. “Duncan, she’s gone to Garnet’s farmhouse.”

As Kincaid pulled the car over, Gemma grabbed her torch from the door pocket and jumped out. Fumbling open