Midsomer Maiden |1| The Trials of Midsomer

1. The Killings At Badger's Drift

By the time he came to be called out to the quaint little village of Badger's Drift, Detective Chief Inspector Tom Barnaby had been a policeman for a very long time and, as a consequence, had worked alongside a great many young, eager, and often impressionable sergeants. None so far had had a penchant for stating the self-evident such as that of his current assistant DS Gavin Troy who, as they approached the cottage enclosed within the blue fluttering boundaries of police tape, nodded helpfully toward the building and said, "This is it here, sir."

Tom raised a mild eyebrow. "Really, Troy? I'd never have guessed."

With an embarrassed wince, Gavin lifted the tape so that Tom could step under, and followed him toward the cottage, past the rows of thrumming hives for which Beehive Cottage was named. Stood in the doorway ahead of them was a young woman in a black suit, dark chestnut curls reaching her shoulders. She was deep in conversation with two uniformed officers; as she turned slightly to gesture into the house, the sunlight reflected off her necklace, and Gavin, young and male as he was, found himself somewhat distracted.

This did not, of course, escape Tom's notice; he felt obliged to clear his throat and alert the young woman, whom he had recognised the moment he laid eyes on her, to the presence of her admirer. She turned at the sound, and he felt a momentary fondness as he watched her familiar smile blossom into life as they walked up the garden path.

Gavin swallowed, dragging his gaze with some effort from the crimson-jewelled angel that hung from the chain about her neck. "New detective, sir. A woman one."

"Yes, Troy," agreed Tom, and to Gavin's surprise, he was smiling. "I can see that." As they drew closer, he opened his arms to the beaming young woman. "Freddie, my dear."

Her tone was equally warm. "Tom." She kissed his cheek. "Two years, seven months, and twenty-eight days—I don't suppose you missed me at all, did you?"

"Oh, not a day has gone by," he assured her.

"I'm sure." Her gaze drifted across to the blinking young man beside him pointedly, and Tom remembered himself, clapping her on the shoulder.

"Forgive me. Freddie, this is Detective Sergeant Gavin Troy, one of Causton CID's finest. Troy, this is Ms. Winifred Bullard, esteemed daughter of our very own Georgie Bullard. She has just completed a university degree in Modern Languages at Magdalene College, Oxford."

Freddie rolled her eyes, giving Gavin a genuine smile as she shook his hand. "Freddie, please."

Gavin raised his eyebrows. "Oh, like Freddie Mercury?"

Her smile broadened, her eyes widening slightly in pleased surprise. "If you like. I am partial to a good song."

"Quite partial to a bad one, too, as I recall."

She shot Tom a mock stern look. "Yes, thank you, Tom. And it's Detective Constable, actually."

Tom feigned shock, only the twinkle in his eye giving him away. "Is it?"

"You know very well it is. I don't just show up at a crime scene for a social call, you know." She thought for a moment. "Well, I didn't this time."

"Ah, ah, ah." Tom raised a finger. "Potential crime scene, Winifred. Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"Of course, but that's one of the perks of getting here early, you see. I've already had Dad's verdict." She nodded her head into the house, lips twitching. "He's in the sitting room."

"Then let's not keep him waiting any longer." Tom followed her direction into the small, pleasantly furnished cottage and entered the sitting room where its owner, the elderly Ms. Emily Simpson, lay dead on the scuffed, rumpled rug. Bent over her, white-haired and yet retaining a clear resemblance to his daughter in the murky green eyes they had both been blessed with, was Dr. George Bullard. He looked up as they entered, a cheerful smile lighting up his face.