Free A Matter for the Jury by Peter Murphy

back to the house about now.’
    They climbed out of the car and surveyed the house. DI Phillips, getting out of the back of the car, joined them.
    â€˜He wouldn’t spend all day at the lock then, in case there are boats wanting to use it?’ he asked.
    Willis shook his head. ‘There’s not the volume of traffic for that. He will have his regulars, and he will know roughly what time to expect them. A lot of the traffic depends on the tides, anyway, and he knows all about the tides. But if anyone else comes unannounced, a leisure boat, say, on no particular schedule, they just have to ring the bell and wait for him. They have no choice, really. He would get there quickly enough unless he’s upstream, doing maintenance.’
    â€˜Let’s see if there’s anyone at home,’ Arnold said. He approached the front door and knocked loudly three times. There was no response. Arnold knocked again. This time, he shouted out. ‘It’s the police. Is there anyone home?’
    Again, there was no response from the door. But a small, thin woman made her way cautiously around the side of the house from the rear. She wore a clean blue dress with a design of white leaves, and flat blue shoes. Over the dress she wore a white apron, tied at the back; and over the apron, hanging down between her small breasts, she wore a striking gold cross on a chain. She paused at the corner of the house, as if uncertain whether to approach any further.
    â€˜Can I help you?’ she asked timidly.
    Willis, the only one in uniform, walked over to her quietly. He had noticed her hesitancy, and had no wish to alarm her.
    â€˜I’m PC Willis, from St Ives, Miss Cottage,’ he said. ‘It’s Eve, isn’t it?’
    She nodded silently.
    â€˜These gentlemen with me are plain clothes officers from Cambridge, Detective Superintendent Arnold and Detective Inspector Phillips. We would like a word with your brother, Billy. Is he at home?’
    She shook her head, again silently.
    â€˜Are you expecting him back? Do you know where we might find him?’
    She seemed lost in thought for some seconds.
    â€˜He’s at the lock,’ she replied. ‘There was a long unpowered barge due in, mid-morning. He has to open the lock and walk the horse. They take some time to deal with, those long ones. Then he was due home for lunch. But those unpowered barges are often late. It can be the weather, the currents, you know, or some problem with the horse. You never know. He’s probably been held up. Would you like to come in and wait?’
    â€˜Thank you,’ Willis replied.
    She left her refuge by the wall and led the way slowly to the front door, which was unlocked. She pushed it open and walked into the living room. The officers followed. She stood still in front of the battered oak sideboard on the far side of the room, arms folded, looking down at the floor.
    â€˜Would you like some tea?’ she asked, mechanically, without looking up.
    â€˜No, thank you, Miss Cottage. Don’t let us stop you if you have things to do. We will be perfectly all right here until Billy gets back.’ Willis replied.
    He turned towards Arnold and Phillips, who were looking around the room. It was cluttered and untidy. A bottle of Dewars, half empty, stood on a small table at the side of the armchair, next to a single dirty glass. On the dining table were two white candles in cheap wooden candlesticks, the candles burned most of the way down, and around the bases of the candlesticks, pools of solid candle wax, attached like rough white limpets to the yellowing lace table cloth. Looking at Arnold, Willis diverted his gaze to the gold cross and back again, no more than a second or two. An almost imperceptible nod from Arnold told him he had not missed it.
    Eve raised her head slightly and smiled nervously. ‘I’m sorry the house is such a mess,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve been into town,