CHAPTER 9
Anna, once more accompanied by Gordon, drove her own car to Oxfordshire. They had a good clear run on the motorway with little traffic, and even less conversation. Gordon had tried to discuss the case, but Anna didn't want to get into it, partly because the drive reminded her of all the times she had driven to Oxford to the Met's rehabilitation home. This was to visit DCI Langton, after he had been in such an horrific knife attack he had almost died. His recovery had been long and he had been a nightmare patient. Like everyone else, she had doubted that he would ever return to work. She wondered if he was still suffering and how he was coping; then got cross with herself for caring. At that point, Gordon tapped on her arm to say she was hitting over ninety miles an hour. She slowed down. "Sorry.""I love Oxford," Gordon enthused. "There are some beautiful villages, especially the ones outside. You drive through the main town, past all the colleges, and then about twenty miles on is a fantastic restaurant.""Really," she said flatly."I also love going to Stratford. When I was a kid, my father took me regularly every season. The best production I ever saw was Richard the Third, with Anthony Sher; he was brilliant! He had these walking sticks and this hump on his back, and he moved like a spider." "Really.""Do you know that the swans around the Avon are constantly found wounded and tortured?" "No.""I always think it's strange. You have all that classic theater, all that beauty—and obviously the Shakespearean history—yet someone attacks these innocent creatures.""Yes.""Mind you, they can be quite vicious. I never go near them. The way they can run at you, with their wings flapping and their feet paddling— they can take a slice out of you.""Is this the turnoff" for Honington?""Sorry? No, it's the next one on our right, I think."She continued driving. While she had been a student at Oxford she had never had the luxury of a car, and had rarely if ever left the city center. She had been a very diligent and dedicated student, and her weekends were spent with her parents in London. Her father had been so proud of her and had never ceased to praise and congratulate her on gaining a place at the prestigious university. In reality, she had often been quite lonely. Many of her fellow students were far more affluent and she was not the type of girl who enjoyed drinking in one of the many wine bars and pubs the undergraduates frequented. In fact, she had disliked the drunken antics they got up to and couldn't even recall ever mentioning that her father was a police officer."Nice village, isn't it?" Gordon said, and Anna was jolted back into concentrating on the route.The village was straight from a picture postcard. There were white picket fences and velvet lawns, with tubs of flowers dotted around. Anna felt it was a trifle manicured, but nevertheless very lovely."I doubt they ever allow any dog-walkers around here; there's not a turd in sight," Gordon commented. "Even the pub looks as if Emily Bronte is about to emerge and wait for her carriage.""This isn't right," Anna said. She did a tour of the village and then saw a small sign leading to Lower Honington. They followed the road until they came to another sign that directed them toward a narrow lane, which soon turned into a dirt track. They passed a cottage draped in ivy, with a garden in flower, lattice windows and trailing roses over the door. Beside the cottage, set back, was a large garage, with its own small drive and gate."Go and see if we're heading in the right direction," Anna said to Gordon. As she waited for him to return, she checked the map and the address: Honey Farm, Honington, was all they had written down. The map didn't even show the dirt track. Anna looked impatiently up the garden path to see Gordon having a conversation with an elderly woman who was gesturing with her arms, pointing to farther along the track.