A Grave in the Cotswolds Read Online Free PDF Page A

What do you want to do?’
    ‘Go swimming!’ shouted Timmy.
    Stephanie and I both groaned theatrically. Timmy’s passion for water was inexplicable to us both. Trips to the local swimming pool were strictly limited to times when it was inescapably Timmy’s turn to choose what we did. Karen carefully monitored the fairness of such decisions.
    ‘Not your turn,’ said Stephanie emphatically.
    ‘Yes it is.’
    ‘We went swimming last weekend,’ I said. ‘And you lost your rucksack – remember?’
    It was chastening to see how his face fell. ‘Oh, Tim,’ I said. ‘Don’t worry. It’s the holidays next week – we’ll go swimming three times , I promise.’
    ‘Daddy!’ protested Stephanie. ‘That’s too much.’
    ‘Maggs can take me,’ my little boy suggested. ‘She likes swimming.’
    It wasn’t true. Maggs had no more fondness for the noisy, chlorine-imbued atmosphere of the local baths than I did. But she liked Timmy, and put herself out for him as she had never done for his sister. Maggs, more than anybody, had noticed how badly Timmy had been cheated by the injury to his mother, and had swiftly, unobtrusively, done her best to fill the gap. The bond between them was seldom openly acknowledged by any of us. It was simply taken for granted as one element in our lives.
    ‘Don’t bank on it, Tim,’ I cautioned. ‘She’s only just got back from holiday, and she’ll have a lot to do. I think we’ll just have a lazy weekend. We could go for a walk and see if we can find catkins and sticky buds.’
    Neither child manifested any enthusiasm for my suggestion.

Chapter Three
    It was nine-thirty on Saturday morning when a sharp rap sounded on the front door. We almost didn’t hear it because Timothy was shouting and Stephanie had the TV on far too loud.
    A policeman stood there, and I sighed impatiently. ‘For heaven’s sake,’ I snapped. ‘Give me a chance.’
    ‘Mr Slocombe?’ he asked calmly.
    ‘Yes, yes. Look, I’ll get the tyres replaced today, OK? There’s no need for all this harassment.’
    ‘Sir, this is not about tyres. It concerns a burial in Gloucestershire yesterday. I understand that you were responsible for it.’
    ‘What? Yes. Mrs Simmonds. So what?’
    ‘There has been a complaint, sir. From the council. They contacted the police with a view to pressing charges.’
    My impatience escalated. This was familiar territory. ‘The burial was entirely legal,’ I told him. ‘The council has no jurisdiction over what was done. Believe me, I know my rights on this. It’s my business, after all.’
    ‘The council owns the land, sir. You have committed a trespass.’ His face relaxed a little as he heard his own words. ‘Quite an unusual trespass at that,’ he added.
    My mind was racing. ‘But it’s too late,’ I protested. ‘You can’t just move a grave once it’s been established. There’s nothing to be done now.’ I suspected that I knew the law on this matter better than this officer did. ‘There’d have to be an application to the Home Office for exhumation. Nobody does that lightly.’ Indeed, such a procedure was the stuff of nightmares – literally. It was one of my greatest dreads.
    ‘We need you to explain that to the man from the council,’ he agreed. ‘He might listen to you.’ His expression suggested that this was unlikely, and I sighed.
    ‘So I’m not under arrest, then?’
    ‘Trespass is not a criminal offence, sir. But the…well, delicate nature of this case means we would prefer for you to come and talk it through with Mr Maynard, face-to-face. Get the whole matter settled quietly.’
    A suspicion struck me. ‘He wants us to pay for it – is that what you’re saying? He’ll leave the grave undisturbed if we pay some sort of rent for the land?’
    ‘Not for me to say, sir.’
    I was inwardly cursing myself from the moment of the revelation that the land had not belonged to Mrs Simmonds. It had not occurred to me to ask for proof of ownership,