We both stood in silence. I decided to change the subject. “How well do you know Suzy Rabbit? She and Riz were friends, yeah?”
“Yes. She’s … Riz was not exactly friends with her. He had—” Simon struggled for words. “There seemed to be something going on there that I didn’t understand.”
“Last night Errol threatened me.”
Simon’s head shot up.
“He was at the Lucky Feather. I went with Sonia.”
He stood.
“I was thinking about it properly when you were gone. If anyone knew who Riz’s killer was, then who really benefitted? Suzy.”
“Do you want to help me?” he asked.
“I …” Instead of answering, I pulled up Suzy’s website on my phone. It had a link to her Twitter. “She’s judging the Bogford Sheldon village fete at lunchtime according to this tweet from last night.” I looked at Simon. “Go home and get changed, and I’ll pick you up in an hour.”
Simon left without a word.
I showered, ate, and dressed quickly. I put Kennedy on his lead and at ten thirty made my way to the car and drove down to Simon’s house. Bogford Sheldon was about ten miles to the west of here. It was a smaller village than Lilbury but had a new housing development being built, so was key for younger voters who might be wooed away from the Tory replacement candidate.
Simon’s street was busy with the old dears going about their mornings. I pulled up outside his flat. I texted him instead of honking my horn, in case the shock killed half of the oldies. He emerged twenty seconds later in jeans and a white T-shirt.
“Ready?” I asked.
“Let’s go get some answers.”
Chapter 17
Of course, it isn’t quite that easy to run up to a prospective MP in a race when one of their fellow candidates has been killed.
But we gave it a shot. “Follow my lead,” Simon said as we parked up on a side street in Bogford twenty minutes later.
We made our way to the village green, where the fete had been set up. It was a fairly chintzy-looking state of affairs that reflected Bogford’s status as the rather déclassé incomer of the local villages.
Suzy was easy to spot. The Lib Dems had set up a booth with a table. There were around a dozen volunteers, all clad in various hues of orange and yellow. We began to make our way over. Halfway across, Simon tapped my arm and gave a tiny inclination of his head. Over to his left was a cop car, with two familiar police officers standing beside it, enjoying an ice cream in the sun. Ade and Lauren looked like friendly local coppers, but they’d probably be less than happy to see us.
“Let’s not let them know we’re here,” I said quietly. That plan had a good chance of lasting, oh, about forty-five seconds.
Because as we got closer to the stand, Errol Mottley turned from where he’d been barking orders at a volunteer, and his eyes found me. His face turned to thunder.
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah,” Simon said.
“You know what you said about taking the lead. Could you do that now, please?” I asked.
Errol made his way over and looked like he was about to punch me.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“We’re not here for you, Mottley; we want to speak to Suzy,” Simon said.
“She’s not available.” He was dripping with smarm.
Simon smiled politely. “Unfortunately, I’m not taking no for an answer.”
Errol’s eyes danced over to Ade and Lauren, but Simon shook his head. “Uh-uh-uh. Not unless you want to explain to them how you violently threatened Arden last night in the Lucky Feather and how he should have lied to cover up for you. Not sure your bosses would be glad to hear about that. So, why don’t you lead us over to Suzy so we can all have a nice chat?”
