No Holds Barred (8 page)

‘Actually, I've just had a cup,' he said as she closed the door behind him.

Jenny made no move to put the kettle on. She turned to face him, and he thought she looked tired and stressed.

‘You were right – about Taylor, I mean. He
is
up to something,' she said.

‘How do you know?'

‘I had to get something from the office earlier, and I remembered how you reacted when I said about him doing overtime. So I looked and there's no record of his trip last night.'

‘Well, he might have forgotten to log it. Especially if he got back late,' Daniel pointed out reasonably.

‘And another thing,' she went on, as if she hadn't heard. ‘The fuel bills have gone through the roof – yes, I know diesel has gone up a lot lately, but this is something else. It's almost thirty per cent up on the last month Gavin was here. That can't be right, can it?'

‘It does sound a bit excessive,' Daniel agreed. ‘Have you said anything to Boyd?'

‘Not yet. After what you said, I didn't know what to do  . . .'

Daniel rubbed a hand over his tired eyes and gave it some thought.

‘I reckon, mention it to him but in a non-confrontational way. Act puzzled and see what he says. If he makes some excuse, pretend to believe him. We don't want to put the wind up him at this stage.'

‘Don't we?' Jenny looked unsettled.

‘No, we don't,' Daniel said firmly. ‘I think there might be more to this than a little low-level embezzlement, and I'd like to find out what. Let me know what he says. And, meantime, can you let me have a couple of addresses?'

Jenny didn't have a current address for the departed Mal Fletcher but suggested he ask the people who were now renting the cottage he'd vacated.

Daniel had little more luck regarding her ex-employee's reasons for leaving.

‘He said he'd had a better offer and I didn't question him. I was too caught up in what was happening to Gavin,' she confessed. ‘It was early days then, you see, and we didn't know if he might come round at any moment. I was at the hospital every spare moment I had.'

‘That's understandable. Were you surprised Fletcher left?'

‘Well, it
was
a bit sudden, but staff come and go. There's no loyalty these days. I think he knocked heads with Taylor once or twice, but he didn't seem particularly unhappy. I didn't really know him, but he seemed a nice enough guy.'

Mal Fletcher's new address, furnished in due course by the cottage's current occupant, was in Ditton Cheney, a village not five miles away, and, tucking the sheet of notepaper in his pocket, Daniel drove straight there.

A young, dark-haired woman opened the door to the brick-built terraced cottage, with a baby perched on one hip. She looked Daniel up and down and a guarded look came into her eyes. Belatedly, he remembered he was still wearing his polo shirt with the Summer Haulage logo.

‘Yes?' The enquiry was abrupt.

‘Is Mal around?'

‘Who's asking?'

‘Daniel Whelan. I work for Jenny Summers.'

‘I can see that. What do you want him for?'

‘Just wanted to ask him something.'

‘Did Boyd send you?'

‘No. He doesn't know I'm here.'

‘What do you want to know?'

Daniel hesitated, but it was clear that the woman had no intention of summoning her partner. He decided to take a chance. After all, if Fletcher had knocked heads with Taylor in the past, as Jenny had suggested, he was hardly likely to go telling tales to him now. ‘I want to know why Mal left Summer Haulage,' he asked.

The woman regarded him coldly. ‘That's none of your business. Just go away and leave us alone.'

She started to shut the door, but Daniel put out a hand to stop it.

‘I'm not here to make trouble, I promise you,' he said quickly.

‘You just being here is making trouble.'

‘How?'

‘You obviously don't know who you're dealing with.'

‘So tell me.'

‘Please, go away.' Her tone had changed to pleading now. ‘There's nothing more to say; it's over. We just want to be left in peace.'

‘Sally?' Footsteps approached, and in a moment a burly man of around Daniel's own age appeared beside her. ‘Who are you?'

Daniel started to explain, but the woman cut across him.

‘He's from your old place – asking questions.'

Fletcher's eyes narrowed and he put a protective arm round her shoulders.

‘About what?'

Sally stared boldly at Daniel, confident with her husband at her side. And well she might be, Daniel thought, noticing how an impressive set of biceps stretched the sleeves of the man's T-shirt.

He paused, debating his best approach, and Sally spoke for him.

‘He was asking why you left.'

Immediately, Mal Fletcher's face darkened and he stabbed the air in front of Daniel's face with an angry forefinger.

‘That's none of your fucking business!'

‘Where are you working now?'

‘That's none of your business, either.'

‘Did you leave because of Boyd?'

‘Get off my property.'

‘I know he's up to something and I want to know what.'

‘Leave us alone.'

‘Wouldn't you like to get your own back?' Daniel persisted. ‘If you would just tell me what happened, I might be able to help you.'

Fletcher was becoming increasingly agitated, and Sally hugged the baby close to her. ‘What? Are you deaf or just stupid? What part of
leave us alone
aren't you getting?'

Daniel sighed and pulled his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. He took out a slip of paper on which he'd written his mobile number. ‘OK. Look, here's my number. If you change your mind, give me a call.'

‘It won't happen.' Fletcher ignored the paper and, stepping back, pulled Sally after him and shut the door in Daniel's face.

Daniel stared at the uncompromising red paint and mentally kicked himself for mishandling the situation so badly. His visit to the former Summer Haulage employee had, in truth, been something of a long shot. He'd hoped for some kind of a reaction but he hadn't been prepared for such a violent one.

Returning to the car, he sat for a while, thinking. He'd drop his number in the post to them with a note stressing that he was on their side, and maybe when they'd had a chance to cool down, they'd think again.

He wouldn't hold his breath.

The other address Jenny had given him was that of George and Marian Coombes, who'd lived at Forester's Cottage before him.

Now, as he drew up alongside the curb outside a modern square bungalow in Lower Ditton, he checked the details again. The property was situated in a cul-de-sac containing five clones of the one he'd come to visit. Three had handrails from pavement to door, indicating elderly residents, one had a child's bicycle tumbled on the front lawn and all had brown wheelie bins parked ready for collection. A dog-waste bin adorned the nearest lamppost, and above it was pinned a notice of a fundraising coffee morning and a plea for information on a missing cat.

Jenny had said the Coombes' new home was modern, but for some reason Daniel hadn't pictured anything quite as suburban as this. He wondered how a couple who'd lived for thirty years in glorious isolation in the cottage in the woods could bear to settle in such a place.

Treading up the concrete garden path between beds of annuals that would have made the collective chests of any parks authority swell with righteous pride, Daniel pressed his finger to the doorbell button.

In due course, a chain rattled, a Yale lock clicked open and a dumpy woman stood in front of him in a shapeless, flowery dress, her plain face made all the more so by wispy grey hair pulled into an unimaginative bun. She looked him up and down and then peered past him as if expecting something or somebody else.

‘Marian Coombes?'

‘Have you brought the cooker?' she asked, peering at him under untidy brows. A pair of spectacles hung on a cord about her neck and Daniel thought she would do better to put them on.

‘No, I'm not delivering anything, I'm from Maidstone Farm. I work for Jenny Summers.' He pointed to the logo on his shirt to back up his statement.

Marian Coombes' expression softened.

‘Oh, the poor girl! How is she?'

This was a more encouraging start.

‘She's coping remarkably well,' Daniel said. ‘She's very brave.'

‘She's a good girl. We've known her since she was a wee thing. And Mr Summers? Any change?'

‘Not as far as I'm aware.'

‘What's the world coming to when you're not even safe on your own land?' she asked, shaking her head and pursing her lips. ‘It's frightening. Anyway, what can I do for you, Mr  . . . er?'

‘Daniel. I'm a friend of Jenny's, and I'm here helping out with the driving. Actually, I'm staying in your old cottage.'

‘Oh, I see.' She plainly didn't.

‘I wondered if I could ask you and your husband a couple of questions.'

‘What about?' There again was the guarded look Daniel had seen on Sally Fletcher's face.

‘Is George in?'

‘He won't want to see you. He doesn't see anyone much,' she said uncompromisingly.

‘Could you at least ask?'

Marian gave him a long hard look and then stood back a little.

‘You'd better come in, I suppose, as you're a friend of Jenny's.'

Daniel took her up on the offer with alacrity, in case she thought better of it, and followed her down a short, carpeted hallway to a surprisingly spacious lounge, decorated and furnished with more enthusiasm than taste.

In one, pink velour-covered armchair, a small, wiry man sat staring out of the plate-glass French windows. Outside was an area of pink and grey paved patio on which stood a bird table hung with more feeders than Daniel thought he'd ever seen in one place. Beyond it a neat square of emerald lawn was bordered by brightly flowering annuals, the whole surrounded by a recently treated wooden fence.

The man looked round as they entered and regarded Daniel with a slightly puzzled expression, as if trying to place him in his memory. Above a wrinkled, weather-beaten face on which the tan was fading, a few wisps of white hair decorated an otherwise bald pate.

‘Hello, Mr Coombes. We haven't met. My name's Daniel Whelan. I work for Jenny Summers,' Daniel said, going towards the man.

George Coombes ignored his outstretched hand.

‘Why are you here?' he asked bitterly. ‘He said he'd leave us alone if we did as he said.'

‘Who did?'

‘You know who. Don't act stupid! He got what he wanted and now I'm stuck in this Godforsaken place – this – this bloody concrete box with its postage stamp of a garden – until I die, which won't be long if God has any mercy!'

‘Oh, George!' Tears shone in Marian's eyes.

He tossed her an impatient glance.

‘Well, it's true. You know it is. Why did you let him in?'

‘Taylor Boyd didn't send me,' Daniel said. ‘It
is
Boyd you're talking about, isn't it?'

‘Who else?'

‘He forced you to leave the cottage? Tell me how? Did he threaten you?'

George shook his head.

‘He said if we ever told anyone, he'd know about it and  . . .'

‘And?'

‘Well, he'd be back, wouldn't he?'

‘He'll never find out from me, I promise you,' Daniel said.

George's hooded eyes regarded him without faith. ‘I don't know who you are. Why should I trust you?'

Looking at it from the old man's point of view, Daniel couldn't think of a single reason.

‘Just go,' George said then. ‘I don't want to talk to you. You'll just make everything worse. Please leave us alone.'

‘I want to help. But I have to know what he did.'

‘Please leave,' the old man repeated, returning his attention to the bird feeders once more.

Daniel had to admit defeat.

Marian showed him to the front door and opened it. ‘I'm sorry, but I did warn you.'

Stepping out on to the concrete path, Daniel tried one last time.

‘I wish you'd believe I only want to help,' he said, turning.

There was no reply.

He sighed. ‘Well, goodbye, Mrs Coombes. Can I at least give you my number, in case you change your mind?'

‘It was what he did to our cat,' she said suddenly. ‘Poor little Minnie. Anyone who could do that to one of God's creatures  . . .'

‘What did he do?' Daniel asked gently. ‘Can you tell me?'

‘He left her hanging in the shed,' she said, her face crumpling with distress at the memory. ‘And George found her. What was left of her.'

SIX

T
he night was sultry. Daniel opened his eyes in the darkness of his bedroom and wondered what had woken him.

Gradually, his night sight improved and he could make out the shapes of the wardrobe and the chair over which he had draped his clothes. There was no sound from Taz, who had taken to sleeping out on the tiny landing, no doubt getting the most from the through-draught generated by the open windows in the upstairs rooms.

In the heavy silence, Daniel could hear the ticking of his watch on the bedside chest. At some point in his short sleep, he had thrown the sheets off. Perhaps it was the heat that had made him wakeful.

Suddenly a flicker of blue light illuminated the window, outlining the frame for a fraction of a second and leaving its imprint on his retinas. He waited, listening, and presently a deep booming rumble echoed across the forest. The storm was a couple of miles away, he calculated, but no doubt that solved the mystery of what had disturbed him.

A glance at the fluorescent hands of his alarm clock told him that it was three o'clock in the morning. Turning over, Daniel closed his eyes once more, hoping the storm wouldn't come any closer. It had taken him the best part of an hour to get to sleep in the first place, the events of the day playing on his mind.