Chapter Text
Joyce Barnaby was a happily married woman, something she knew was an anomaly in Midsomer County. Although they’d been married for more than 30 years, she loved her husband Tom as much as when they’d first met. More, perhaps, because back then it had been passion and hormones, which were fast to fade, and now it was companionship and comfort. That was for the long haul.
It wasn’t a perfect marriage, nothing was, but they’d learned to accept each other’s shortcomings.
Tom worked all hours when he was on an investigation. In the early days, she’d often felt abandoned, but she’d built her own life and interests over the years, and while it was frustrating when he dashed off in the middle of dinner, or disappeared without a word from a party, she’d grown used to it. And the parties, at least, were more enjoyable without Tom’s reluctant presence.
And while she might have wanted a partner who shared her interests, she knew Tom could have wished for a partner more competent in the kitchen. She’d taken courses, studied recipes, asked her friends for help, but there was some chemical - or alchemical - reaction she couldn’t master, some arcane secret that transformed raw ingredients into the perfect casserole that continued to elude her. Or perhaps - as she smelled toast burning behind her - she just didn’t have the right temperament or attention span.
She popped the toaster before it set off the smoke alarm, glancing into the hall where Tom was on the phone. She scraped off the charred edges and slathered the toast with butter, hoping Tom wouldn’t notice. But he was already scowling when he finished his call. “Everything all right?” she asked.
“Scott’s called in sick,” he grumbled. “I’m on my own today.”
“Oh, that’s too bad,” she said. “I hope he feels better soon.” Joyce had a soft spot for Tom’s sergeant, Daniel Scott. Possibly because Tom did not, and she was a little sorry for him. They seemed to be getting on better these days, but first impressions meant a lot to Tom, and Daniel had got off on the wrong foot from the start, arriving late on his first day, and then making it clear he considered everything about Midsomer to be backwards and beneath him. But he had charm, and Joyce was far from immune to the attentions of a handsome young man.
“He’s probably hung over,” Tom grumbled, somewhat unfairly, considering they’d opened a second bottle of wine at dinner the night before.
“His hay fever must be acting up,” Joyce replied. Someone needed to take Daniel’s side. “You know how miserable he was last summer.” Tom, of course, had been completely unsympathetic, complaining constantly about the sniffling and sneezing.
She would stop by his place on the way to meet Giles Cato, bring him some spicy soup to help clear his sinuses. “At least you’re between cases,” she pointed out. “Weren’t you complaining yesterday that things were quiet?” You would think that would be a good thing, but Tom was terrible with time on his hands. She was dreading his retirement.
“That just means I’m stuck with all the paperwork,” he retorted.
“You’re always saying you need a day of peace and quiet to get your desk sorted,” she said. “Here’s your chance.”
He smiled. “Always finding the positive,” he said fondly, then grimaced when he bit into the rock-hard toast. But as always, he gamely chewed through.
~~~
Joyce stopped at the Imperial Gardens on the way to Daniel’s flat and picked up a large order of hot and sour soup and some spring rolls for herself. A little treat before her meeting with Giles Cato.
She shifted the takeout container under her arm to knock on the door. Cully had told her the flat was a tip - pizza boxes and dirty dishes everywhere. A typical bachelor pad. But when Daniel opened the door, she saw two things immediately. One, that the place was spotless, and two, that he wasn’t ill at all. He was, in fact, dressed in a suit and tie.
They stared at each other in silence, then Daniel stepped aside to let her in. “I brought you soup,” she said, holding it out to him. “Tom said you called in sick.”
He flushed, but it wasn’t from a fever. “That was the story,” he said quietly. “I have a meeting in London this afternoon. About a transfer. If everything goes well, I’ll start on Monday.”
That explained the state of the flat, which looked less like a bachelor pad and more like a way station. Daniel was clearly ready to pick up and go at a moment’s notice. Joyce frowned. “And you told Tom you were sick? You’ll want to already be in London when he finds out you lied to him.”
Daniel managed a small smile at that. “He knows. But I asked him to keep it quiet until I was sure. I’ve talked about transferring too many times in the past. The boy who cried wolf.”
“But not this time,” she said.
“Not this time.” But he didn’t sound confident, and Joyce thought perhaps he’d been disappointed too many times in the past.
She thought he’d grown used to country life, even started to enjoy it, but he was a city boy at heart, and Causton couldn’t compare with London. “We’ll miss you,” she said. She smiled when Daniel looked doubtful. “Both of us,” she insisted. “Though don’t expect him to admit it.”
“He gave me a good reference,” Daniel said. “Even pulled some strings to help me mend some of those bridges I’d burned in London. Probably because he wanted rid of me.”
“Because you deserved it,” Joyce insisted. “I know you two haven’t had the smoothest working relationship, but he respects and trusts you. That’s no small thing with Tom.”
Daniel smirked, but for the first time Joyce saw it as a mask not a charm. It couldn’t have been easy for him, exiled to the country and partnered with a man who never tried to hide that he found his city style of policing distasteful. And yet he’d stuck it out for two years, and had even seemed happy at the end. But maybe that was a mask as well.
Then a genuine smile slipped past the smirk, and Joyce remembered why she liked Daniel so much.
“Tell your husband I learned a lot from him. He made me not just a better detective but a better person.”
“You can tell him yourself. Don’t think you can just leave town without saying a proper goodbye.” She thought he would if given half a chance, though. He would put Midsomer behind him before he crossed the county line.
~~~
Tom wasn’t home yet when Joyce got back from her meeting, which meant he must have picked up a case. There was no telling when he’d be back, so she made a salad and took a casserole out of the freezer to defrost. It was one of her mother’s, so Tom would have no cause to complain.
She poured herself a glass of wine and spread out some of the blueprints and renderings Giles Cato had given her. It was fascinating, really, the history behind ramshackle buildings that seemed destined for the developers. A bit like detecting, actually, finding the truth behind the facade.
And it would be a welcome distraction while Tom broke in a new junior. He might not be entirely sad to see Daniel go, but he wasn’t going to be happy about the disruption to his work life. Traipsing about Midsomer County, looking for hidden gems, was a wonderful way to get out of the house.
But when Tom came in with his customary shouted greeting, before the casserole had even defrosted, he was in a playful mood, making gentle fun of the conservation work. That was good. It meant he would be supportive, but at arm’s length, and she wouldn’t feel obligated to invite him along on an inspection.
“How was your day?” she asked, bringing the bottle of wine and two glasses into the sitting room.
“A double murder out by Midsomer Newton. Garrotting,” he said with a touch too much relish. Tom was a good and kind man, but he did like an interesting murder.
“How did you manage on your own?” Tom was in a suspiciously good mood. Not that she was complaining, but it was odd considering he’d been left short-handed on a murder investigation.
“Oh, I found a likely PC to help out. Very keen and very grateful for the opportunity.”
That explained the good mood. Those were qualities Daniel had sorely been lacking, though she’d believed him when he said he’d learned a lot from Tom. A PC was only a temporary solution, though, so she braced herself for a few rough days while Tom worked his way through the available detective sergeants on the roster.
“I’ve seconded him to CID for the case,” Tom continued.
Of course, he’d arranged things to suit himself, rather than follow procedure. It was a good thing he wasn’t ambitious; he’d never last as a superintendent or higher. And he’d drive her mad if he were stuck behind a desk. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? There isn’t anyone available in CID?”
“Not immediately,” Tom replied. “And no one that I care to work with.”
It had been the same after Gavin Troy left. None of the temporary assignments had lasted more than a week - at least Daniel had stuck it out for two years. “And you care to work with this one?”
Surprisingly, Tom smiled. “He’ll do. He’s a local lad. Understands the community. A little rough around the edges, but he’ll be a good detective given the right guidance.”
That meant he’d already decided the secondment would be permanent. And that he knew Daniel wasn’t coming back. “I take it Daniel’s meeting went well,” she said, pleased at the expression of surprise on his face. “I stopped by his apartment to bring him some soup. He told me about the transfer.”
Tom hummed. “I got the confirmation this afternoon and gave him the rest of the week off to get ready. No point in him starting an investigation he won’t be able to finish.”
She could tell that in his mind he’d already moved on. “We should have him over for dinner before he leaves. Give him one last proper meal.”
“I already asked him,” Tom replied, surprising her again. “He’s leaving for London on Friday night, but he’s promised to stop in before he goes. I said I’d give him a ride to the station.”
He looked almost regretful, Joyce thought. Perhaps Tom was mellowing with age. Or perhaps Daniel had managed to charm him in the end. Too late or maybe just in time.
~~~
Once she got over the shock of Tom bursting into her impromptu tea party with Jack Magwood and Philip Merrick, Joyce realised this was her opportunity to meet Tom’s pet PC.
Sure enough, the cavalry was just behind him, led by a young man in plainclothes. She only got a brief look at him before he took Jack away. Medium height and slender, with brown hair that could do with a trim, and light brown - or maybe hazel - eyes. Pleasant looking, but nondescript, and Joyce wondered what had caught Tom’s eye.
She took Philip outside, wondering if she should drive him home or leave that to one of the patrol units, but he broke away and ran over to the constable.
“What’s going to happen to Jack, sir?” the boy asked, looking like he was on the verge of tears.
Joyce didn’t blame him. Jack Magwood had seemed like a thoroughly decent man to her, and while she’d misjudged murderers before, she didn’t think she had this time.
The constable crouched down so he was eye level with Philip. “We’ll take him to the station to question him, and if there’s enough evidence he’ll be charged.” He had a pleasant tenor voice with a light lilt that wasn’t entirely local.
“But he didn’t kill anybody. I know it.”
“If that’s true, we’ll find the evidence. But you have to trust us.” He stood up. “And you have to promise to stay away from here. It’s not safe and interfering in the investigation won’t help Jack.” He fixed Philip with a stern stare, waiting until he nodded in agreement, and then patted him on the shoulder. “Go wait in my car. I’ll drive you home.”
He was firm without being intimidating, striking just the right balance between reassurance and reprimand. Tom would be pleased to have an assistant who was good with children.
As if summoned, Tom wandered over. “Ah, Jones. This is my wife, Joyce. Joyce, this is Acting Detective Constable Jones.”
Jones smiled and his face transformed from nondescript to disarming. He had a cleft chin, which Joyce had always found attractive, and his eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled. Laugh lines were a good sign; he’d need a sense of humour to work with Tom. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Barnaby,” he said. “I hope our arrival wasn’t too upsetting.”
She smiled back. “I’m quite used to Tom bursting in unannounced. Philip’s right, though. We were perfectly safe with Jack. I’m sure there must be some misunderstanding.”
“He killed a policeman and then escaped from prison,” Tom pointed out. He was more practised at the authoritative tone, but Joyce had been married to him far too long to be intimidated. She rather thought Acting Detective Constable Jones would leap to attention if Tom used that tone with him, though. But Tom was at his most genial when he turned to the young man. “Take Philip home and meet me at the hotel. We need to talk to Charlie Magwood again.”
“Yes, sir,” Jones said, bright and eager to please. Tom must think he’d struck gold. “Goodbye, Mrs. Barnaby. I hope we’ll meet again under better circumstances.”
“I’m sure we will,” she said, glancing at Tom for his reaction, but he made a point of looking away. “Thank you for looking after Philip.”
Jones nodded and smiled again. It was a good smile, the kind that made you want to see it again. She hoped she would.