Chapter Text
Ben Jones was wandering through Tescos, looking for inspiration, when his mobile rang. He sighed. It used to be that a phone call was something to look forward to – an invitation to an event or a catch-up with friends and family – but everything happened by email, text, or WhatsApp these days. Now, a phone call meant a sales pitch or robocall. Or someone had been murdered. At least when you were a detective inspector in the Serious Crimes division of Sussex Police.
He’d only just finished a 10-day stretch of 10-hour plus days, and he was looking forward to four full days off. He had big plans. Sleep, eat, binge watch Succession, repeat. If he got really ambitious, he might add in a run or a workout, but not until he was ready for season four.
So he very nearly let the call ring to voicemail, but at the last second, he glanced at the caller ID and saw it was Sarah Barnaby. Sarah occasionally called just to chat, but he thought she was in France on a half-term trip with her upper sixes. He tapped quickly to answer the call.
“Ben Jones,” he said, just in case someone else was using her phone.
“Oh, Ben, I’m so glad I caught you.” It was definitely Sarah, but something was off. She sounded as if her voice was breaking and it wasn’t because of the connection.
“Is everything all right?” Sarah Barnaby was one of the most capable and level-headed women he knew. Something must be terribly wrong for her to call in this state. And to be calling him, not her husband. Ben’s heart rate picked up.
“John’s had an accident,” she said. “He’s going to be okay,” she added quickly, when Ben sucked his breath in sharply. “But he’s broken his ankle and sprained his wrist, so he’s in a right state.”
Detective Chief Inspector John Barnaby had been his boss for three years, back when he was still a detective sergeant in Causton CID. They’d gone through some terrible times together, from near-death experiences to departmental retreats, and while John would always be his chief, they’d built a relationship on multiple levels: guvnor and bagman; mentor and mentee; and finally, friends. It had been one of the best moments of his life when John and Sarah had asked him to be godfather to their daughter, Betty.
“Are you still in France?” he asked. If Sarah were home, she’d have everything in hand, not sound as if she were on the verge of a panic attack. “Is Betty all right?”
“She’s fine. Jamie is looking after her. But I won’t be able to get back until Saturday, and he won’t be able to manage Betty, John, and their investigation. And I know you’re probably neck deep in your own cases, but I didn’t know who else to call.”
Jamie Winter was John’s current sergeant. He was a good detective and a favourite “uncle” to Betty Barnaby, but Ben knew that investigations could take them to all corners of Midsomer county. Winter would be run ragged on his own.
“You can call me any time,” he said firmly. “And as it happens, I’m off until Monday, so I can drive up tonight.” He started to put groceries back on the shelves. Even if he stopped at his flat to pack a bag, he could still be there at a reasonable hour.
He thought he heard a stifled sob on the other end of the line. “You’re my hero, Ben Jones,” she said, her voice cracking again.
Ben thought about all the times the Barnabys had been there for him. This didn’t even scratch the surface. “You’re the hero,” he joked. “Riding herd on a bunch of teenagers on a mini-break. Just worry about them, I’ll take care of things back home.”
“I know you will,” she said, sounding steadier. “But you don’t have to rush up tonight. They’re keeping John in hospital overnight, and Jamie can stay over and get Betty to school in the morning. If you can pick John up tomorrow and stay until I get back on Saturday that would be more than enough.”
“We’ll be fine,” Ben said. “He’ll be fine.”
“I know. It’s just hard not being there. I’ll see you on Saturday,” she said. “Thank you, Ben.”
He hung up and considered his options. He could go home, get a good night’s sleep, and drive up first thing in the morning, early enough to avoid the commuters on the motorway, or he could head north now and be there when Betty woke up. It was no contest. He went home, packed a bag, and hit the road.
He arrived in Causton just before ten. He’d made good time, pushing the speed limit as much as he could in the places where he knew the cameras weren’t turned on. The lights were off in the Barnaby house when he pulled into the drive and parked next to a non-descript hatchback. Winter’s car, he assumed.
He didn’t want to wake Betty, so he pulled out the spare keys. He had just unlocked the door, when it opened suddenly, and Jamie Winter stood in front of him, brandishing an umbrella.
Ben looked at the umbrella, then at Winter, and raised an eyebrow. “Assaulting a police officer, Sergeant Winter?”
Winter’s mouth opened and closed, but to his credit, he recovered rapidly. “Breaking and entering, Inspector Jones?”
“I have a key,” Ben replied, holding up his key ring. “And unless there’s a hidden sword in that umbrella, it’s way too flimsy to take me down.”
Winter lowered the umbrella. “First thing I grabbed,” he admitted. “But an umbrella sword would be wicked.” He stepped aside to let Ben in.
“Depends what end of it you’re on,” Ben replied, dropping his bag by the door. “I got nicked by a swordstick once.” He rubbed his arm, remembering. “Dipped in poison, or some weird drug. Fortunately, Mr. Bullard had something to counteract it, but it was nasty for a bit.” More than nasty, but his memory was vague on the details. Small blessings.
“This place,” Winter said. “Even the antiques are deadly.”
Ben thought about maces and iron maidens. Brighton city centre was a shitshow, especially on the weekends, but the offenders, for the most part, lacked imagination and mediaeval weapons. “Didn’t Sarah tell you I was coming up?” he asked, changing the subject.
“She said you were coming up tomorrow. I wasn’t expecting a home invasion tonight.”
Ben could see now that the younger man wasn’t just startled, he was shaken. He wondered if there was more that Sarah hadn’t told him – or that Winter hadn’t told her. “I thought you could probably use relief. Today must have been tough.” He’d gone through several near-death experiences with both John and Tom Barnaby, and he’d always been wrung out for days after. “Is John all right?”
Winter sighed. “He’s sore and grumpy, and it took a phone call from Sarah to convince him to stay overnight in hospital for observation, but he’ll be fine. Took a bad tumble, though. I thought he’d broken his neck or something. Scared the hell out of me.”
Ben could imagine. He remembered a suspect taking a pot shot at them not long before he left Midsomer. John dove out of the way and landed hard. He’d only been dazed, but for a few terrifying moments, Ben had thought he’d been hit. Even the memory made his heart pound.
He led Winter into the kitchen. There was a half-empty bottle of red wine on the counter, so he poured them both a glass. “How did it happen?”
Winter grimaced. “We were chasing a suspect through Monks Barton woods. He must have tripped over a root, or caught his foot in a hole. I was ahead, so I didn’t even notice until I caught the guy and realised Barnaby wasn’t behind me.”
Ben remembered the Monks Barton woods and shivered. The eerie sounds might have been man-made, but something had scared Cyrus LeVanu to death. And the woods were treacherous in a purely corporeal way – Ben had fallen himself in one of their headlong dashes after Stanley Goodfellow. And he’d nearly broken his own ankle dropping out of a tree awkwardly.
“At least you caught the guy,” he said sympathetically.
“For all the good it did,” Winter grumbled. “Turns out all he was guilty of was growing weed in his back garden. We’re still no closer to finding Reverend Stone.”
“Is that the fire and brimstone preacher at Bow Clayton?” Ben asked, casting his mind back. “His wife ran off with the postman a few years back. Have you spoken to her?”
“Not yet. We’re still tracing them. You’ll have your hands full with Betty and the boss, but if you need a break while Betty’s at school, I could use a sidekick.”
Ben fixed him with his best Barnaby stare. “You mean you could use the assistance of an experienced investigator with extensive local knowledge.”
“Isn’t that what I said?”
Ben tried to muster up indignation, but the truth was, it was something he might have said when he was as young and cocky as Winter. Ben was a lot of things, but he tried not to be actively hypocritical.
“Be careful what you wish for,” he warned Winter. “I learned to delegate from Tom Barnaby. He loved to give me tasks that patrol or tech would normally do. Claimed he only trusted me to do it right, but I think he just didn’t want to deal with anybody else.”
He’d loved it at first, being Tom’s go-to guy, but after a while the dogsbody jobs started to get a little wearing. Still, it might be fun to send Winter on a door to door or get him to take DNA samples from suspects. If he was really lucky, there might be a chimney he could have him search. He imagined Winter, his perfectly pressed suit covered with soot, and his chest loosened.
“Just one task before you leave,” he said. “Help me move the bed from the spare room down to the office. He’ll try to take the stairs and break his neck for real this time.”
They had brought the mattress downstairs and were moving the frame when Betty’s bedroom door opened. “Uncle Jamie?”
They put down the frame carefully. “Everything all right, BB?” Winter asked.
Betty looked over at them, then started to cry. “I heard voices and I thought Daddy was home.”
“I’m sorry, Betty Bee,” Ben said, taking a step towards her. “We didn’t mean to wake you.”
Betty backed away, crying harder. “Is Mommy dead?”
Ben looked at Winter, who looked back blankly. “Of course not,” he said soothingly. “She’s in France with the school.”
“We FaceTimed her before bedtime, remember?” Winter added. “She told you she’d be home on Saturday.”
“Then why is Uncle Ben here? Mommy said if something ever happened to her and Daddy, he would look after me.”
John and Sarah had drawn up legal papers a few years earlier, officially making him Betty’s guardian in case of their untimely deaths. He hadn’t taken it seriously at the time; John might be a full English away from a heart attack, but Sarah was fit and healthy. Except the pandemic had changed all that. He’d seen too many people die before their time, had lost friends and acquaintances who had been fit and healthy before the virus got hold of them.
He sat down on the edge of the frame and gestured for Betty to come to him. She hesitated, then climbed into his lap, the way she had when she was a toddler. She was growing like a weed, but not so big yet that he couldn’t envelop her in a hug. “I’m here because your Mommy can’t be here and your Daddy is getting lots of rest before he comes home tomorrow. And Uncle Jamie is an excellent babysitter, but it’s my job to be here when they can’t.”
Betty burrowed into him, her sobs slowing to hiccups. “And because Daddy needs you.”
Out of the mouths of babes, Ben thought. He’d do anything for the little girl in his arms, but her father only had to tell him to jump, and he’d ask how high.