‘So, this all happened … Neville Hilton died on’ – again Bun looked at her iPad – ‘Friday June the 13th?’
Thelma nodded. ‘He did.’
The contralto voice sharpened with excitement and interest. ‘And does anyone know about what time exactly he was reckoned to have died?’
‘About seven o’clock,’ supplied Liz.
Bun nodded. She almost looked relieved.
‘I just wanted to be sure,’ she said. ‘I think I might be able to help you there. You heard there was a memorial service that day for Davey Fletcher?’
The three nodded.
‘You spoke at the memorial,’ said Thelma.
Now Bun nodded. ‘I did,’ she said. ‘I knew Davey Fletcher quite well. As I said just now, I’ve done a fair bit of work with the school over the years. Not that I could tell them anything.’ There was a sudden bleak sorrow haunting those features and despite the halo of sun and the vibrant colours of the drapes, it was as if a frost had fallen. ‘Annie was –is– a phenomenal leader. It was more a case of me saying “here’s somewhere that’s getting it right!” As my old tutor at Bretton used to say, “Good news needs to be shared!” And she was dead right. Pity Me was a school people needed to see. But I digress.’ Her voice regained its customary crisp energy. ‘You say Mr Hilton died around 7 p.m.?’
The three nodded.
‘And this was in—?’
‘A place called Hollinby Quernhow,’ said Liz. ‘It’s about nine miles from Thirsk.’
The woman on the screen bowed her head in affirmation and touched her keyboard.
‘I’m going,’ Bun Widdup said, ‘to share a couple of pictures.’ All at once the screen was filled with two images, obviously the screenshot from a Zoom call. One of the images was Bun Widdup as Thelma had seen her on Chloe’s phone, earrings afire and vibrantly red against the backdrop of the African print. The other larger one showed the room Thelma remembered from her visit to Pity Me, the school library. It was full of assembled staff. At the front were Annie, Chloe, Caro Miranda; at the back of the room was Son Masters. All four of them were sporting bright yellow paper flowers.
‘Davey Fletcher’s memorial service,’ said Bun. ‘Friday June 13th. As you already know, I Zoomed in; it was way too far for meto come, as at this time of year it takes me a good hour plus to get anywhere, pretty much. But anyway – I want you tohave a look at the clock on the wall.’
Pat, Liz and Thelma squinted at the clock visible on the back wall of the library. It was showing a little before six thirty.
‘About half an hour before Mr Hilton died,’ said Bun. ‘So, you see there’s no way it could have been anyone in that picture who shouted at him. At six thirty they were all listening to me – and I’d say it’s impossible to get from Pity Me to Thirsk in half an hour.’
‘I feel,’ said Pat, ‘like we’ve been ticked off, in the nicest possible way.’
Her friends didn’t immediately respond. There was something about Bun Widdup’s energy, even over Zoom, which left them all feeling slightly subdued.
‘What she told us,’ said Thelma eventually, ‘it changes things.’
Liz nodded. ‘With the clockandthe time stamp,’ she said, ‘There’s no getting away from it.Noneof them could have driven over to Hollinby in the time after the service.’
‘Unless one of them has a TARDIS,’ agreed Pat. ‘Which means they’re allruled out – Son, Caro, Chloe, Annie—’
Thelma nodded. ‘It seems to me,’ she said, ‘we’ve taken six almighty steps back.’ She stood up and opened the door. Immediately Snaffles shot in and leapt territorially onto the keyboard. Absently Thelma scooped him up and deposited him onto the floor, where he stalked over to the curtains, which he clawed in an affronted manner admitting a chink of light as strong as a spotlight.
Thelma frowned.
‘What?’ said Pat.
She shook her head as if trying to clear her ears. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘There was something – just for a second – but it’s gone.’
‘What?’ echoed Liz.
‘I don’t know,’ said Thelma again.
Chapter Twenty-three
Friday 25th July
