A Bitter Feast(64)

“Um, I’m not sure . . .”

“Please try. Your dad’s coming with DI Booth, and she doesn’t need to be here.”

“Oh, yeah, sure, that’ll be fun,” Kit said with studied casualness, and she knew he’d understood. No one knew better than Kit that bad news should be broken gently to a fragile eleven-year-old.





Chapter Seventeen

Ignoring the CLOSED sign, Kincaid and Booth let themselves into the pub by the main door. In a small dining room off the lounge they found Gemma, Viv Holland, and two people Kincaid hadn’t met, a thin man with a forbidding expression, and a slightly stocky, pink-cheeked woman. Kincaid put both in their midthirties, and from what he’d heard from Gemma and Melody, he guessed they were the other cooks, although they were still in street clothes. From the expressions of all three he could tell that they were shocked and upset, but Gemma’s slight shake of the head indicated that she had not told them the worst news.

Gemma stood to greet them. “Inspector Booth. Duncan, you’ve met Viv. This is Ibby, and Angelica. They work in the kitchen.” She touched Kincaid’s arm. “This is my husband, Duncan Kincaid.” Angelica stood to shake his hand, while Ibby gave him only the barest of nods.

Taking a chair, Booth said, “Miss Holland. I think you’ve all heard that Jack Doyle died last night, struck by a vehicle as he walked home.”

Nodding, Viv pressed her lips together tightly in an obvious effort to contain their trembling. “I can’t believe—”

“Some bastard,” broke in Ibby. “Some bastard just knocked him down and drove on? How could anyone do that? How could—” He stopped, blinking.

“Miss Holland,” said Booth, “is the rest of your staff not in yet?”

“No,” she whispered, then cleared her throat and said more strongly, “No. Most of them come from Moreton or Stow by the back road. I suspect they’re held up by—by—” She couldn’t finish.

Kincaid had not sat when Booth did, but had instead stepped back a pace. He stood where he could see them all, cradling his injured hand with the good one. Although the day had been warming nicely, it was cold inside the pub, and he suspected Viv had forgotten to switch on the central heating. From his vantage point, he could glimpse the hearth in the lounge bar’s great fireplace, cold, and still clogged with yesterday’s ash. He could see, though, that under other circumstances the pub would be a cheerful and welcoming place.

“And Bea,” Viv went on, “Bea goes to church in Cheltenham. I haven’t told her yet . . .”

“Yes, I can understand that,” Booth told her, with a gentleness Kincaid hadn’t seen before. “But I’m afraid that when she does arrive, you’re going to have even worse news for her. We believe that Mr. Doyle was run down deliberately.”

“What?” Viv just stared at him, her face blank.

Ibby sat forward in his chair, his fists clenched. “What do you mean, ‘Run down deliberately’? That’s bollocks.”

“I mean that the scene of the accident and Mr. Doyle’s injuries are consistent with a deliberate assault by a vehicle.” Booth left out, Kincaid noted, the blow to the head.

“But you must be mistaken,” whispered Angelica. “No one would want to hurt Jack.”

“It’s highly unlikely that a deliberate hit-and-run was random, I’m afraid, Miss Lockhart. Do any of you know why someone would have reason to harm Jack Doyle?”

All three chefs shook their heads, but Kincaid thought he saw a slight hesitation in Viv’s face.

“He was working here at the pub last night?” Booth asked.

Viv found her voice. “Yes. Yes, it must have been close to midnight when he finished up in the bar. I told Gemma, I offered to drive him home but he insisted on walking even though it was coming on to rain. He always walked.”

“Did he say or do anything unusual before that?”

Glancing at Gemma again, Viv said, “He was—he was drinking, which wasn’t like him. But he didn’t say anything. I just assumed he was upset about Nell Greene.”

“Were they friends?” Kincaid asked, wondering if they had missed something here. The bartender and Nell Greene would have been about the same age, both single, both apparently divorced.

Frowning, Viv said, “Well, not outside the bar, I don’t think. But he always made a special effort to chat with her when she came in. Maybe he would have liked . . .” She trailed off, as if processing the idea that Jack’s attention to Nell might have been more than professional. “Bea would know better than me, since she’s front of house.”

“Who would have known that Jack walked home after closing?” Booth asked.

“Everyone who came in regularly,” Viv answered. “He liked to tell people that it stretched out the kinks from standing all day.”

“Were you the last to see him, Miss Holland?”

Viv nodded, tearing up again. “We closed up together.” Gemma, who was sitting beside her, gave her arm a comforting squeeze.

Booth took a notebook out of his jacket pocket and Kincaid sensed the atmosphere in the room change. Everyone sat up a little straighter, their eyes fixed on Booth.

“I’m going to have to ask you all where you were last night,” Booth said, pen now poised over an open page.