CHAPTER TWO
Verity's friend Sally had found Oliver's body on a bend in the river, halfway between Marlow and the neighboring village of Bourne End. Judith knew that the quickest way to get there was along the river, so she helped Verity down through her garden, into the boathouse, and onto her punt. Verity didn't resist. It was as if she were sleepwalking, Judith thought, which was entirely understandable, considering the circumstances.
There'd been a storm earlier in the week, so the river was running high and fast, and Judith used her punting pole as a rudder, allowing the weight of the water to push them along. First, they passed the ancient tower of Bisham Abbey before Marlow revealed itself. All Saints' Church was the focal point for the town, its spire reaching high into the sky, and, this morning, the town was particularly full of life. A youth team were getting a rowing boat into the water by the suspension bridge, a group of young men and women were running to and from little cones in Higginson Park, and there were clutches of people strolling along the Thames Path, feeding the ducks, chatting, and letting their dogs run pell- mell. Judith couldn't help but contrast their joy with the grief that Verity was carrying. It felt almost mythic to Judith. All around her was vibrant life, but here she was, like Charon, piloting a lonely traveler toward death.
Once the town was behind them, they entered a landscape of fields on one side and, on the other, a wooded hill that was peppered with pretty houses. Verity remained oblivious, and Judith punted in silence.
About ten minutes later, as she steered around a wide bend, she could see a number of people in a clump by the riverbank. They were standing around a dark shape that could well have been a body. It looked as though it had washed up on one of the little beaches that were created by the cows in the fields coming down to the river to drink. As she got closer, Judith steered her punt into a bed of reeds just before the little beach and then thrust her pole deep into the mud to keep the boat from drifting off.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked Verity.
Verity looked up, still uncomprehending, but she nodded.
"OK," Judith said.
Judith stepped onto land and helped Verity up after her. As they approached the group of people, a friendly-faced middle- aged woman wearing a dark -blue waistcoat and polka-dotted wellies came over.
"I'm so sorry," the woman said.
This must be Sally Boulton, Judith guessed.
"It's definitely Oliver?" Verity asked.
"We've rung the police— and the ambulance— but I knew I had to call you. I had to be the first person to tell you."
Verity brushed past her friend and carried on toward the slope that led down to the body. Judith followed.
There was a man lying on his front, half in and half out of the water, his arms at his side, his head turned to face them. Judith could see that he had white hair, looked like he was in his sixties, and had a huge stomach that pushed his lower back and bottom into the air. Verity dropped to her knees by the body, and Judith went to her side and very carefully lowered herself to the mud so she could offer her some support and inspect the body more closely.
In the distance there was the sound of approaching sirens.
Judith could see that Oliver was wearing beige cotton trousers with a blue -and -white striped shirt that was stained a deep russet around the midriff. By putting her arm around Verity's shoulder, she was able to lean forward and take an even closer look. There was a hole in the cloth on the side of the body, and she could see that the skin under it was darker— bruised.
Oliver had been shot.
On closer inspection, Judith could make out a second bloom of washed-out blood that seemed to be centered in the middle of Oliver's shoulder blades. There was another hole in the fabric that looked like it might have come from a bullet. He'd been shot twice, she realized. Which rather ruled out the wounds being self-inflicted. After all, it was very unlikely that someone who'd just shot themselves would then be able to shoot themselves a second time.
Oliver hadn't done this to himself. He'd been murdered.
