Free Classic in the Barn by Amy Myers Page A

exterior self was coping, that was all. She was dry-eyed, though her voice was wobbly, but her comparative composure put me on the right track.
    â€˜What can I do?’ I asked gently and, remembering my situation, added, ‘You heard it was me who found her.’
    â€˜Yes. The police told me. They fetched me from Canterbury. That’s where I work. Guy told me about you too.’
    He would. ‘I just barged in at the wrong time. I had nothing to do with this—’ I stopped. No words could sum up Polly’s death for me.
    â€˜I wouldn’t be here if I believed you did.’
    â€˜Then back to my first question. What can I do?’
    She looked so young, with her white T-shirt and skirt, and her hands clasped round her knees. Younger than Cara, and I felt as fatherly towards her as if Polly and I had created her. Stupid though it might seem, I felt I had a duty of care.
    She and Cara were both robust and normally able to cope, but when the unexpected strikes, hand in hand with tragedy, it could be a different matter.
    Bea’s words shot out like bullets: ‘Find out who did it.’
    I’d half expected this, as why else would she have come to see me? The word ‘detective’ was obviously a rock for her to cling to, no matter that a car detective like me might not have the same powers in a situation such as this. Half forewarned and half prepared, I switched gears as smoothly as an automatic.
    â€˜So the police do think suicide is ruled out. They wouldn’t come clean with me. I’m glad about that, Bea. How could she have been so unhappy, with you at her side?’
    She winced. ‘I made them tell me the truth. They tried the usual stuff. Awaiting the path report, but –’ she gulped – ‘the blood and angle of the . . .’
    I jumped in to help her. ‘Had her body been moved?’
    â€˜They don’t think so. Not even by you.’ Brave Bea managed to summon up a smile. ‘Or so I gathered.’
    â€˜You really think I can help? It’s cars I specialize in.’
    â€˜Same stuff needed,’ Zoe said firmly with one of her looks which dared me to let Bea down.
    Was it? I thought about the qualities that made me useful to Dave Jennings’ crime unit. It’s hard to be objective about one’s own attributes, but I suppose mine might include obstinacy, devotion to the hunt, eye for detail, an ability to see the whole picture and instinct. The mere whiff of a recent paint job can set me off on the right (or sometimes the wrong) track. And last of all, though it should perhaps have been top of the list, comes knowledge. Knowledge of past, and present and possibly future cars, together with the experience of mankind’s spectrum of attitudes to them and consequent behaviour. Nevertheless, knowledge of relationships between human beings was what was needed in this case, and much as I would be flooring the accelerator to put Polly’s killer behind bars, I was a relative amateur in this field. For my car detective work, I have a link to the crime world through a chap called Brian Woollerton, who runs a team of informants, but for human relationships I’ve only myself and bruising experience.
    â€˜I don’t know enough about Polly,’ I said simply. ‘I’d need help.’
    Bea understood. ‘Nobody ever knows more than a part of someone else. I reckon that’s true of mother and daughter as well as you and Mum.’
    I was taken aback. ‘Did I make it that obvious?’
    â€˜We’re not babes and sucklings, Jack,’ Zoe said gently for her.
    â€˜Suckers though,’ Bea commented ruefully. ‘The police are after Tomas, as suspect number one. They were asking me just what our relationship was, and when I told them the truth, I could hear their little brains clicking away: Tomas thought he was on to a good thing in me and decided to hurry along the day when he’d