Healers by Ann Cleeves Page B

start a tea fund. By the end of the investigation there’d probably be potted plants on the windowsills and posters on the walls. If there ever was a successful end.
    Hunter bounced in, full of himself and his news.
    “There’s been a development.” he said. “We know where Bowles was on Saturday night.” He paused. Ramsay waited patiently. Hunter would make the most of the drama. “He met a woman, in the Ship in Otterbridge. She saw the report of his death on the teatime news and she got in touch.”
    “Who is she?”
    “Name of Jane Symons,” Hunter said. “A divorcee.” He made the word sound almost pornographic.
    “Were they having an affair?” Because that was what Hunter was suggesting.
    “I haven’t got the details,” Hunter admitted. “The lads at Otterbridge took a statement. They’d have sent it by fax but there’s no machine here yet. I’ve got her address, though, if you want to see her.”
    He certainly wanted to see her. His imagination was working overtime.
    “Where does she live?”
    “Otterbridge. The Orchard Park estate. You never know what goes on behind those net curtains, do you?” The Orchard Park was a respectable, middle-class development on the edge of the town.
    Ramsay looked at his watch. It was six-thirty. He still hadn’t phoned Prue to cancel their evening out. He realized suddenly that he hadn’t eaten all day. He found this new development frustrating. He felt that it was a distraction and that the root of the evidence against Ernie Bowles lay here, in the hills. He hesitated, wondering if he could send Hunter on his own, came to the conclusion that that would be a mistake.
    “Give me half an hour,” he said. “You can confirm the arrangements at the pub if you like. We’ll come back here tonight so we can make an early start in the morning.” And get a feel for the place, he thought. Listen to the gossip. Find out who else hated Ernie Bowles.
    When he phoned Prue she was disappointed but understanding, which was more than he could have hoped for.
    “I expect I’ll be here for a few days,” he said. At least. I’ll phone you.”
    “I suppose I’ll get used to your sudden disappearances,” she said and he experienced the warmth he always felt when she spoke of them having a future together. He never took that for granted. “But don’t think I like it.”
    He told her that he didn’t like it either.
    DC Sally Wedderburn decided that Gordon Hunter got right up her nose. Dishing out the orders as if he was the boss. Arrogant sod. He was good looking, she supposed, if you liked that rather greasy Mediterranean type, and she had to admit he had a nice arse, but it was about time someone put him in his place.
    In contrast Daniel Abbot was charming. When she arrived at the Old Chapel he had just finished with his last patient. He took her into his room and asked his receptionist to make them tea. He was still wearing his white coat and she realized she’d always fancied medical men.
    “I’ll need a statement,” she said. “Just a formality. You had heard about Mr. Bowles?”
    “Yes. One of my patients told me …”
    “Miss Jackman and Mr. Slater have told us that they spent Sunday with you.”
    “Well, not all Sunday. They arrived in time for lunch. Later Lily went to Magda’s group. I
    suppose Sean went straight home.”
    “Magda’s group?”
    “Magda Pocock. My mother-in-law. You may have heard of her.”
    Sally shook her head and he seemed disappointed by her ignorance.
    “She’s a great practitioner. A wonderful woman.”
    Sally had the impression the epitaphs came automatically.
    “She runs a workshop for some of her clients here at the Centre on Sunday afternoons. Lily was definitely at that. Magda mentioned it later.”
    Sally prepared a short statement, which he signed a little impatiently. “I’m sorry to hurry you,” he said, ‘but I’ve an appointment tonight. I have to be in Otterbridge by seven-thirty. There’s a lecture by an