Page 46 of The Girl in the Woods

Beth noticed Will’s finger was bandaged. ‘Well, he won’t be now. You’re the manager of a garage in Cowley, I understand?’

‘That’s right, and I’m running late.’

Beth fought back a sigh and tried not to let her irritation show. ‘Mr Moulson, may I remind you that you chose to come today.’

‘Yeah, I know.’

‘You’ve hurt your finger,’ Beth said lightly.

Will looked down at the bandage.

‘Yeah, that’s working in a garage for you.’

Or from smashing up bikes, thought Beth. ‘Another witness told us you chased the lad in your car.’

‘Yeah, but he sped down a narrow back lane and was aiming for the Ludbrook estate.’

Tom stood up. ‘Well, I don’t think we need to ask you any more questions.’

Beth raised her eyebrows. As far as she was concerned, there were plenty more questions.

Will also stood up, clearly relieved the interview was over. ‘Great, I’ll get off.’

‘Your wife said you’re a Chelsea supporter?’

‘Yeah, I am,’ said Will proudly.

‘Me too. Did you go to the game on Saturday?’

‘Sure did.’ Will smiled. ‘Great win.’

Beth opened the door for him and he hurried off to work.

Once Will Moulson was out of earshot, she turned to Tom. ‘There was plenty more we could have asked him. Like, was he on that coach returning from the match.’

‘Let’s just watch him,’ said Tom thoughtfully. ‘He’s anxious about something. I don’t want him to know we’re suspicious.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Jack, the landlord of The Bell, had three words for the likes of Rory Landon, and they were rich spoilt brats.

It was a Sunday afternoon, the day of the Wimbledon final. Jack had plenty of punters in to watch, and the beer was flowing.

In the village hall gardens, the yearly cream teas were happening. Only one thing spoiled the peace of the quintessential English village of Stonesend: the car rally a few miles away. Every fifteen minutes, a joyrider in his fancy sporty car would scream through the thirty-mile-per-hour village, screeching tyres as it took the bends.

‘Rich spoilt brats,’ spat Jack.

‘More money than sense,’ said another.

‘Wouldn’t surprise me if it weren’t one of them knocked down poor Vanessa.’

‘Nah, that was in Summertown,’ said Jack.

The car roared past again, and Jack popped his head outside the door to see a sporty Mercedes, smoke billowing from an open window, whizzing around the corner on its way to Longbridge.

‘Expensive car that,’ said Jack, who considered himself an expert on cars. ‘That’s what I mean, rich, spoiled brats.’

A roar went up as the British player scored a vital point.

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