No Holds Barred (3 page)

‘Do you really think he'd leave if you stood up to him?'

She shrugged. ‘I don't know. You think I'm being weak, but, to be honest, it's only lately he's got so bad. I wonder if he thinks  . . . well, that Gavin  . . .'

‘That he's not coming home?'

‘Well, yes.'

‘I assume he didn't behave like that with your husband?'

‘I shouldn't think so.' Jenny poured hot water into the pot and began to stir it with a long-handled spoon. ‘But it was Gavin's business, so I don't really know. Taylor's only been working for us for about eight months. He's from a local family that have lived round here for ever – as long as my family. His father owns the scrapyard next door to the garage. They've got a bit of a reputation. I tried to warn Gavin but he said Taylor was OK. Gavin isn't from round here,' she added, as if to excuse his misjudgement.

‘How is your husband now? I mean, any change?'

Jenny bowed her head and turned away, busying herself with rummaging in a cupboard.

‘No. No change. The hospital can't tell me if he'll ever regain consciousness. We just have to wait.'

‘That's tough.' Daniel hesitated to question her any further but he was intrigued. ‘So, are the police any further forward with what happened? Fred didn't seem to think they'd got much to go on.'

‘No.' Jenny poured tea and then milk into the mugs. ‘It's been over two months now, and they say they're still working on it, but if they've made any progress, they certainly haven't told me.'

Daniel accepted his tea gratefully. His last stop for refreshment was a distant memory.

‘I know it must be hard for you, but can you bear to tell me what happened?' he asked, sitting at the big table and reaching for the packet of biscuits.

Jenny took a chair opposite him.

‘Freddy Bowden says you used to be a policeman.'

‘That's right.'

‘Why did you stop?'

‘I trod on some high-ranking toes over an internal matter and it all got a bit messy. Basically, they made it impossible for me to stay.'

‘Do you mind? I mean, still?' Jenny was watching him closely.

He shook his head.

‘It's history now. You either move on or waste your life being bitter.' He felt a bit of a fraud making it sound so easy. God knows, it hadn't been – still wasn't, to be honest. But they weren't here to discuss his problems. ‘So, your husband  . . . Fred said something about poachers.'

‘Yes, well, we don't know it was anything to do with poachers. Gavin just said he'd seen some lights across the fields when he was checking on the lorries, and he was going out to investigate. I didn't think much of it at first. I mean, he was always going off in the evenings. Sometimes he'd take a gun and shoot rabbits, sometimes he'd go looking for poachers. He had a bit of a thing about them. My Dad never bothered that much when he was here. “So what if they take a few rabbits or fish,” he used to say. “There's plenty to go around.”

‘There's one old guy the locals call Woodsmoke – you'll know why if you ever get downwind of him. Anyway, he's been around since I was a kid and he's never done any harm, but Gavin couldn't stand him. He was determined to keep him off the farm, though how he thought he'd do it I can't imagine. Woodsmoke could run rings round him in the woods if he felt like it. I think, deep down, Gavin knew that and it made him even madder.'

‘Did Gavin take the gun the night he was attacked?'

‘No. He said he was just going for a look round. Like I said, I didn't think twice about it, until it started to get late. He'd sometimes go down to the village for a pint before closing and get chatting to his mates, but when it got to past midnight, I did start to worry a bit. We're early risers – have to be – and we normally go to bed quite early, too.'

‘Who were his mates, particularly?'

Jenny looked a little discomfited.

‘I don't really know.'

‘Did you never go to the pub with him?'

‘Well, when we first met, of course, but it was never easy for us both to go out, with the kids. Then when Izzy came along  . . . Isobel, my youngest,' she explained. ‘When she was born, it became even more difficult. I don't mind, really. I'm usually tired by the end of the day, and I'm not really a pub sort of person.'

With a decade of experience behind him when it came to hearing what people weren't actually saying, Daniel drew from her words and body language an attempt to hide the hurt of a marriage gone a little stale.

When he didn't respond immediately, Jenny tried again.

‘I could have gone with him, if I'd wanted to, but, like I said, I wasn't really bothered. And, anyway, men need their “man time”, don't they? They don't always want their wives and kids hanging around.'

Daniel had his own views on that but he reverted to her original tale.

‘So, when it got late, what happened then? What did you do?'

‘I didn't know what to do. I'd tried calling him on his mobile, but the reception is very variable round here. There's lots of places on the farm where you can't get a signal at all, so I wasn't surprised that I couldn't get him. All I could do was wait. It's daft, but I kept wishing he'd taken the dog with him, though what Monty could have done I don't know. He wasn't exactly a guarding breed, just a soft old Labrador, but you never know – if someone threatened Gavin, he might have reacted. But that night he left him behind.'

‘Did he usually take him?'

Jenny shrugged. ‘Sometimes. Not always.'

Daniel glanced round the kitchen, but there was no dog's bed, no bowl or toys.

‘So, where's the dog now?'

‘We lost him. He, um  . . . wandered off.'

‘When?'

‘A couple of weeks ago.'

‘And  . . . ?' Daniel waited.

‘He, um  . . .' Jenny looked at the ceiling and bit her lip to stop it quivering. ‘I haven't told the kids this, but they found his body a couple of days later. It looked like he'd been in a fight. They didn't want me to see, but I insisted because I couldn't believe it was really him, and it was horrible!' Tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks, and she dragged a handkerchief from the pocket of her jeans.

‘You said “they”. Who found him?'

She mopped at her eyes and sniffed.

‘Actually, it was Liam Sellyoak's groundsman that found him. Liam lives next door, at the manor, though he's not often there.'

‘Liam Sellyoak the footballer?'

‘That's right. Then Taylor went round to identify Monty before telling me. He brought the body home.' Her voice cracked and she covered her eyes with her hand. ‘I still don't understand why it happened. I mean, he never normally strayed far and he wasn't a fighter. He was done – you know, neutered – so it wasn't as though he was out after a bitch on heat, or something. Anyway, I couldn't tell the kids. Not after Gavin and everything. It was just too much. I didn't want them having nightmares. I told them he'd been knocked down by a car. They were devastated. They still are.'

‘They'll get over it, given time. Kids are tougher than you think.'

‘I know. The trouble is they keep asking when we're going to have another dog – Harry, especially. He keeps on and on about getting a puppy, but I'm scared in case something happens to that, too. I feel like nothing's safe any more. I worry about the kids all the time, too.'

‘That's only natural, considering what's happened, but it will get better. Trust me.'

‘You're probably right.' She sniffed and wiped her eyes. ‘Sorry. Have you got kids?'

‘Just one. Drew. He's nine. He lives with his mother most of the time.'

‘Do you see much of him?'

‘Not as much as I'd like. Amanda and I are getting a divorce, and things are difficult at the moment.' Once again, Daniel steered the conversation back to the story of her husband's attack, and, with a tenuous control on her tears, Jenny recounted the manner in which his body had been found lying on the driveway.

‘Sue – she's my stable manager – found him on her way in to work and called me. I thought he was dead. There was blood coming from his nose and one ear, and he was so cold. There was a frost on the ground, but the doctors say that although he was suffering from hypothermia, the cold might actually have saved his life, stopped him bleeding to death.'

‘And the police haven't any idea what happened?'

‘Not really. He still had his mobile phone and wallet, so it wasn't a mugging. He had head injuries, but there was no sign that he'd been hit by a car or anything. They did say they thought he'd been moved – something to do with the grit found in the wound – but who would do that?'

‘It's certainly odd. And he hasn't said anything at all since it happened?'

She shook her head. ‘He's been unconscious the whole time. It's awful. He just lies there so still, and I talk to him, about the kids and the business and such, but I don't know if he can even hear me.' She fell silent, staring at the tabletop, a crease between her brows. ‘I feel so guilty.'

‘What have you got to feel guilty about?'

She shrugged again.

‘Nothing. Everything. Things I said, things I didn't say. That sounds stupid, but things could have been better, you know? We had a few problems, a few rows, and now I might not get the chance to try and put it right.'

‘You know, it's normal to feel like that,' Daniel said. ‘But you have to let it go. Nobody's life or relationship is perfect all the time.'

‘I suppose so.' She sighed. ‘And now I don't know what to do about Taylor.'

‘What were you arguing about?'

‘Oh, he wants me to get rid of one of the other drivers – says he's not pulling his weight and makes mistakes.'

‘And you don't agree.'

‘I don't know. It's true he has made a couple of mistakes lately, but he's worked for us for ages. He used to work on the farm with Colin. The trouble is, he's sixty-two, and Taylor says he's not up to the job and it's time he retired.'

‘And what do you think?'

Jenny frowned.

‘I think he's probably slowed down a bit lately, but he's a good steady worker and I trust him. He's the only one of the original crew left.' She looked across at Daniel. ‘I've answered my own question, haven't I?'

‘Sounds like it. I think you have to do what's right for you. Follow your instincts.'

‘I know you're right, but sometimes it's really hard. Things have been going wrong lately. I'm losing stock and the figures aren't adding up properly.' She hesitated. ‘I suppose you wouldn't  . . . ? I mean, Fred said you'd help me out. Will you take over as manager for me?'

Daniel shook his head.

‘No, I don't think that would be a good idea. Not yet, anyway. I'll just drive for you and get the lie of the land. Then if anything's going on, maybe I'll be able to see what it is.'

The grandfather clock across the room whirred and chimed the hour, prompting Jenny to look at her watch and jump to her feet.

‘Oh my God! I'm supposed to be at the hospital because I've got to pick the kids up from Mum's by six, and I haven't shown you the cottage yet.'

‘Well, if you give me directions, I'm sure I can find the cottage,' Daniel told her. ‘In fact, I might even have seen it on my way here.'

‘You could have. You can see it from the fork. It's been empty since George and Marian left, but I opened it all up yesterday and gave it a quick once-over with a duster,' Jenny said, gathering up mugs and biscuits. ‘And there's milk and bread and bacon and stuff in the fridge  . . .'

‘It'll be fine,' he assured her. ‘You go.'

Seen at closer quarters, the cottage Daniel was to stay in while he worked at Maidstone Farm was a typical Victorian red-brick worker's cottage, a fact borne out by the name ‘Forester's Cottage', carved into a cement square above the green painted front door.

From the outside it looked a little grim, with dingy, pale green curtains at the windows and a border of lavender and weeds between the picket fence and the building. The narrow lane carried on past it, over a cattle grid and away into the trees.

Daniel regarded the cottage with equanimity. If anything, it was a stage more welcoming than the bedsit he'd called home for the past few months.

With Taz at his heels, he let himself in with what was probably the original key. No Yale locks here.

Inside, he was faced with a tiled narrow hallway and a steep flight of stairs, carpeted in a busy pattern of brown and amber, but the thing that immediately forced itself upon his senses was an almost overpowering reek of creosote. Two doors led off immediately to his left and right, and, wrinkling his nose, he turned left into what was the cottage's sitting room. At this point, however, his complacency suffered a check.

Inside the room, the stench of wood preservative was choking and he didn't have to look far for the reason. The sage-green three-piece suite, which had doubtless served its previous owners for many years, was now upended and piled in the centre of the carpet, along with the shattered remains of what had probably been a coffee table and the broken stand of a standard lamp, its fringed shade crowning the whole like a cherry on a cupcake.

A bookcase, whose previous position was outlined in a brighter patch of the yellowing wallpaper, had been tipped over and lay atop its erstwhile contents against the Hessian-covered underside of the sofa, and everything appeared to have been liberally doused in the pungent brown liquid. The accumulated fumes, in the closed room, made the air unbreathable.

Beside him, Taz sneezed, and he pushed the dog back into the hall and shut the door. Holding his breath, he opened the window as wide as it would go, although the situation would plainly improve little until the contaminated furniture was removed. He knew from experience how the smell of creosote lingered. Unless the floorboards were replaced, it would be many weeks, if not months, before the room was inhabitable once more.