Mr Johnston eyes Edward, mistrust once again appearing in his gaze. “Why would they take your word for it?”
“I apologise, I failed to introduce myself properly. I’m Dr Edward Thomas, a senior fellow at St Margaret and Professor of Criminology and Behavioural Analysis at Oxford. I have a longstanding relationship with the lead investigator, there’s no doubt that he’d accept my word as sufficient.”
Mrs Johnston gently nudges her husband forward. “I imagine they want to know where you were the other night. Tell them, hun. We’ve got nothing to hide.”
Mr Johnston scuffs his feet, “My wife was here the whole night. She sent me off to the pub to blow off some steam. Our eldest had come home for the evening and she and I were butting heads at every turn.”
I ask the next question, keeping Edward’s role to a minimum. “What time did you return home, Mr Johnston?”
Looking over at his wife, Mr Johnston estimates, “Must have been close to midnight. I don’t normally stay out so late, but I wanted to make sure they’d all be in bed. Thought that was the best way to avoid any further arguments. The pub manager should be able to confirm my departure time. Martin at the Red Lion, up at the roundabout. I was at home until I went to work the next morning.”
Excellent, Edward and I have accomplished our task. Now we can pass it over to the inspectors to check his statement. If he’s telling the truth, there’s no reason to keep them away from the college. If he’s not, as long as they are supplying our fruit and veg, we’ll know where to find them.
Decision made, I flash a smile at Mr and Mrs Johnston. “We’ve got that sorted. While we’re here, might I make one small suggestion?”
“Certainly you can,” replies Mrs Johnston.
“They’re having a right time of it trying to find a reliable replacement for your services. If you go over there with a ready delivery, I suspect they’ll welcome you back with open arms.”
“That’s great, Ms Payne. We’ll do just that.” Mrs Johnston looks over at her husband for confirmation. At his nod, she says, “If there’s nothing else you need, we had better get to work preparing that order.”
❖
As soon as we’re seated in the car, Edward starts in. “Are ornithology lessons not part of the Event Planning degree programme, Ms Payne?”
I knew I’d regret pulling that chicken stunt, but it was better than the alternative. I couldn’t imagine having to explain to Dr Radcliffe why Edward had a blackened eye and scraped knuckles. “I had to save you from a round of fisticuffs. Anyway, could you at least let me get out of the carpark before you make fun of me?”
Holding up his hands, Edward says, “Apologies, I would not want to stress you out. You might imagine I lay an egg next.”
Grrr. I count to ten as I turn the car around and point it towards the exit. By the time I reach the exit onto the road, I am calm. I will not be baited by the man sitting next to me.
I slam on the gas and fishtail onto the gravelled road, barely missing a passing Mini. Edward grabs a hold of the bar above his window and hangs on for dear life. I look over at him, and an actual snort comes out of my nose. Now I really do feel better.
I slow the car to a more sedate pace as we continue our journey through the Oxfordshire countryside. It really is beautiful out here; the cooling temps have done little to erase the patchwork quilt design of interwoven fields and meadows. I lower my window down to allow a cool breeze to caress my face and turn the radio up when my favourite song comes on. This is the life.
I blank out the existence of the left side of the vehicle. I hum merrily along as I navigate my way from one single track road to another. Everything is blissful and calm.
<KTHUNK>
Edward turns down the radio, glaring in my direction. “I believe we have a flat tyre. Might you want to endeavour to find a safe place to pull to the side?”
Does he always have to sound so condescending? I swerve across both lanes and come to a screeching halt halfway into a ditch. “Is this what you had in mind, Dr Edward Thomas?”
Looking somewhat stunned by my manoeuvres, he fends off further argument. “I think it’s best for both of us if I keep my thoughts to myself. Shall I check the glove box to see if Harry has a roadside recovery policy?”
I look at him in disbelief. It’s a simple flat tyre, and I spotted a spare in the boot when I was loading my shopping yesterday. “No need to phone in help, I’m perfectly capable of changing a tyre.”
I unlock my seatbelt, open my door, and nearly tumble down into the ditch. I wedge my foot into the sideboard at the last minute and avoid another embarrassing moment. “I wouldn’t want you to get your cardigan dirty. I’ll take care of everything.”
Edward glare sharpens as he waves me on my way. “I bow to your superior skill set, Ms Payne. Carry on, shout if you need anything.”
I march around to the boot, digging into its depths until I find everything I need. No surprise that Harry is fully prepared for any hazard. There are the caution signs, a yellow Hi Viz vest, jumper cables and a tyre change set. I wedge the jack near the back flat tyre and hope that the car doesn’t tumble further into the ditch when
