Abattoir Blues (38 page)

‘Funny, that,’ said Banks. ‘He didn’t appear to remember you at all until I jogged his memory.’

‘Well, as I said, we weren’t that close.’

Banks sat back in his chair and made a note in his notebook. Beddoes didn’t seem to like the look of that. ‘When he did remember, he said he used to call you “Bedder” Beddoes. Is that right?’

Beddoes blushed and coughed. ‘Please, Chief Inspector.’

‘It’s all right,’ said Patricia, in a voice like tempered steel. ‘That was long before John and I met. I never imagined he was a monk. I’m sure he had many romantic exploits.’ She paused. ‘I know I did.’

‘Look,’ said Beddoes. ‘What does this have to do with anything? You come here making remarks about my personal life, raking up the past. I haven’t seen or heard from Malcolm Hackett in years.’

‘Are you sure about that?’

‘Of course I am. Do you think I’m lying?’

‘I’m not sure,’ said Banks. ‘There are too many coincidences, and we detectives don’t like coincidences.’

‘Then you’ll just have to learn to live with them like the rest of us.’ Beddoes stood up. ‘And now, if you don’t mind, it’s late. I think it’s time you left.’

‘Of course.’ Banks got out of his armchair. ‘Do you know Caleb Ross?’’

‘Know him, no. But I know who he is. Was. You already know that. All the local farmers were acquainted with him. Look, you said leaving aside the thefts, threats and murder. A while ago, you said that. What do you mean? What has any of it got to do with me?’

‘Nothing, I shouldn’t think,’ said Banks. ‘Has it?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Just a few more names to conjure with before I go, Mr Beddoes. Kieran Welles, Ronald Tanner and Carl Utley. Ring any bells?’

‘None at all.’

‘Thought not. But if you should suddenly remember that you did know one of them, no matter how long ago, or how well, do let me know. Thanks for your time, Mr Beddoes, and thanks for the coffee, Mrs Beddoes. Good evening.’

And Banks left, smiling. That cat was well and truly among the pigeons now. As he turned out of sight of the farm, he pulled up next to a car parked in a lay-by and rolled down his window. ‘Keep an eye on them, Doug,’ he said, to DC Doug Wilson, who was sitting behind the wheel. ‘But don’t get too close.’

‘No problem, guv,’ said Wilson, and wound up his window. Banks drove off.

Alex’s heart leaped into her throat and waves of panic swept through her. She was in a brightly lit supermarket, for crying out loud. There were people around. Why did no one come to her aid? This couldn’t be happening. And where were the police? She tried to bite down on the hand over her mouth but she couldn’t open it wide enough to engage her teeth. Finally he let go slowly, grasped her shoulder so hard it hurt and turned her round to face him. The hoodie confused her at first, but the eyes gave him away. It was Michael. She was looking at Michael. Her immediate desire was to hold him to her and never let him go, but her survival instinct took over. The young couple reached the end of the aisle and passed by them on the way to the next, hardly giving them a passing glance. She rubbed her shoulder. ‘That hurt.’

‘I’m sorry for the drama, love,’ Michael said in a quiet voice. ‘You never know how someone’s going to react to a shock.’

‘Michael, you have to go. Right now. It’s not safe.’

‘They can’t look everywhere for me. And this is probably the last place they’d expect to find me. I’ve been careful. I’ve been watching, just waiting for a moment like this.’ They moved to the far back corner, by a rack of crisps. ‘I had to see you. I’ve missed you so much.’

Alex ran her hands over his cheeks, tears in her eyes, and kissed him hard on the lips. ‘And I’ve missed you, too. More than I can say. I love you, Michael. But you really must hurry. You don’t understand.’

Michael smiled that heart-melting smile of his, but Alex noticed the hint of puzzlement and fear in his eyes. ‘I don’t understand what?’

‘It’s not
you
they’re watching.’

The smile disappeared. ‘I don’t—’

It all seemed to happen at once. A loud voice shouted for everyone to leave the shop as two armed police officers in protective gear appeared round the end of the nearest aisle. ‘Armed police!’ a stern voice shouted. ‘Don’t move. Stay where you are.’

Alex cowered in the corner, knocking over the rack of crisps. It acted as a signal for Michael to dash off down the aisle past the checkout. Alex couldn’t move; her muscles were locked with fear. She wanted to shout after him, but she couldn’t find her voice. The police officers didn’t seem overly concerned about Michael running off. They put away their guns. One of them approached Alex and took her arm firmly, saying in a gentle voice, ‘Come on, love. Come with us. You’ll be all right now.’

She wanted to tell them she was already all right. That all she wanted to do was stay with Michael and go back to Ian, and the rest of the world could leave them alone. Slowly, she let herself be led, surprised that she could even walk. She heard a commotion at the front of the store, more racks being knocked over, crashes, loud voices.

When she got to the checkout area she could see flashing lights outside, through the windows. Then she saw Michael, his hands cuffed behind his back, being shoved into the back of a police car, one of the officers pushing his head down, just like they do on television. The supermarket doors slid open. She called his name, and he looked over his shoulder at her, such a desolate, lost expression, she thought. She just wanted to take him in her arms again, but the next moment he was gone, and the stern young policeman who had her in his grasp was talking about taking her home. She realised as she walked limply by his side, still in his friendly but firm grip, that she hadn’t even had a chance to buy anything. She had no milk, no bread, no wine, and she hadn’t the heart to go back. Next to Michael and Ian, she realised, she wanted to see Annie Cabbot. Wanted to rage at her, blame her, and to ask her for comfort and help, ask her to explain what was happening.

Chapter 14

Winsome and Gerry Masterson were the only ones left in the squad room that Saturday morning. Annie Cabbot was with Alex Preston and her son, and Doug Wilson was back watching the Beddoes’ farm after being relieved by a PC overnight. Gerry had her hair tied back in a ponytail, her neck craned towards the computer screen and her fingers on the keyboard. Whatever it was she was up to, Winsome thought, it was certainly engaging her attention

Winsome looked again at Caleb Ross’s delivery schedule spread out on her desk, along with her notes from her visits to the farms where he had collected on the morning of his death. She couldn’t come up with any point at which a substitution could have easily been made or an extra load added. All the farmers had stood in the yard with Caleb and chatted and had helped him load the bags in the van. The bags themselves had been locked overnight, or longer, in secure buildings. There was nothing extra, nothing last moment, nothing suspicious, nothing that appeared to have been tampered with.

So where had Ross picked up his load of human remains?

Winsome knew she was missing something, and it irked her. Ross had started his round at nine o’clock and had visited ten farms before his crash at five past two in the afternoon. The distances between the farms accounted for most of the time, except that, however often she added it up, Winsome was left with about one hour unaccounted for. She had assumed that Caleb must have stopped for lunch at one of the many watering holes along the way, whether it was discouraged or not, but enquiries at all the pubs he could possibly have called at for his giant Yorkshire puddings yielded not one positive response. They knew him, but they hadn’t seen him that day.

Then she remembered as her finger touched the last name on the list. Mr Wythers, of Garsley Farm, the last place Ross had called at before his accident, had let drop in passing that Ross had refused a cup of tea and a biscuit because he said he had just eaten his lunch. Winsome had checked all the places on his route, and he hadn’t eaten in a pub, so he must have taken a sandwich and flask with him, as Vaughn said he often did. Assuming that Ross had already eaten before he arrived at Wythers’ farm, which he left just after one o’clock, what was he doing between one and two? Garsley was the end of the road, as Winsome had seen for herself. ‘Beyond this point be monsters,’ she thought, remembering the old maps on the classroom walls at school. Well, perhaps there were. Or perhaps there was at least one monster who shot a young man with a bolt pistol and skinned and dressed him like a slaughtered lamb.

She headed for the station library, where they kept the Ordnance Survey maps of the county.

Alex: You’ve got to talk to them, Michael, tell them everything. A clean slate, it’s the only way.

Michael: I can’t. Don’t you see? Whatever I say, they’re bound to pin something on me. I’ve got a record. I’d be a perfect fit-up. Case closed.

A: Not if you tell the truth. I’ve spent a bit of time with one of them. Annie Cabbot. She was looking after me when you were away and . . . you know . . . that man came. She’s not bad. She helped me. Talk to her. You’ll get a fair deal.

M: (Snorts.) That’s what I love about you, Al. All the knocks life’s given you, and you’re still the eternal optimist. Pollyanna.

A: Don’t, Michael. You know I don’t like it when you call me that. And I’m not. I’m being realistic. If you’ve done nothing wrong, you’ve got nothing to fear from them. It’s the others they’re after, the ones that killed Morgan, that stole Beddoes’ tractor. Not you. You were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. You saw something you shouldn’t have.

M: You can say that again. And heard. But try and get them to believe that. Especially after I ran. (He reaches out and takes her hand. No physical object passes between them.) I’m sorry. It’s my fault that man came and hurt you. I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.

A: (Smiles.) Nothing’s going to happen, silly. Not if you tell them the truth. They already got the man who came to the flat. You can help them catch the others.

M: But they had to let him go, didn’t they? I mean, he’s still out there, on the streets. Maybe there is a court order against him coming anywhere near the flat again, I don’t know, and maybe he is on bail until his trial, but that doesn’t stop people like him, people like them. He’ll be back.

A: And a fat lot of use you’ll be if you’re still in here. Besides, the police will get them.

M: And let them go, and lock up people like me. (Shakes his head.) No, love. My best chance is to keep shtum. Say nothing. Get a good brief. If I do that, they’ve got nothing on me.

A: Don’t be childish. You’re acting like a fool. You can’t keep silent for ever.

M: It’s my right.

A: But they hold it against you now. I’ve heard that. And you know we can’t afford a good lawyer. If you don’t explain yourself and then you try to get out of it later, it looks bad in court.

M: It doesn’t matter.

A: Don’t be so negative. (She squeezes his hand.) Look, let’s put all this behind us. A brand-new start. Me, you and Ian. We can go on a holiday or something first. I’m sure Mr Evans at the agency will give us a deal on something. Then we can move if you want, a new life. Somewhere else. By the sea.

M: But we’re just getting started on this life.

A: (Snatches back her hand.) Oh, for God’s sake, Michael. Anyone would think you didn’t want us to be together again, that you didn’t want things to be right again. Sometimes I even wonder whether you
weren’t
up to something, whether you
don’t
have something to hide. Is that why you don’t want to talk to them? Afraid they’ll find out your secret?

M: I don’t have any secrets. I just think they’ll do me for it anyway. That’s what they’re like. People like me, we’re scum to them.

A: You’re doing it again, behaving like a child.

M: And you’re being all Pollyanna.

A: Pollyanna didn’t get such a great deal, you know.

M: Whatever.

A: Stop sulking. Do you want to get out of here and be with us again? Wherever we are, it doesn’t matter to me, as long as the three of us are together.

M: I . . .

A: Do you?

M: Of course I do. You know I do.

A: Then act like it. Talk to them.

M: (Hangs head. Seconds pass. Finally he looks up again, into Alex’s eyes.) All right. (Resignedly.) All right, I’ll talk to them. I’ll tell them what I know.

A: (She takes his hand.) I’ll stand by you, Michael. Whatever happens, we’ll stand by you, Ian and me.

M: (Nods) I said I’ll talk to them.

END

Banks turned off the computer display. After letting Michael Lane stew in a holding cell overnight, he and Annie had granted his request that he be allowed to talk to Alex and had listened to their conversation. Now they wanted to review the video recording for body language before starting the interview.

‘Well,’ said Banks, leaning back in his office chair. ‘If they’ve got some kind of secret code, I’d have to say it’s a damn good one. I didn’t see anything in there that struck me as suspicious.’

‘Me, neither,’ said Annie. ‘Though I should imagine they knew we’d be listening, if not watching, too. It’s hardly a hidden camera.’

‘True. But it didn’t look like acting to me. He’s obviously terrified. For himself, of course, but for her and the kid, too.’

‘Alex and Ian.’

‘What I meant. Sometimes he seems more afraid of us than of them.’

‘Seems reasonable for him to be,’ said Annie. ‘We can be scary. Everyone knows we’re evil bastards who go around fitting up innocent people to fudge the crime statistics.’

Banks smiled. ‘Of course. I’d forgotten.’

‘Alex already knows what to be afraid of. I’ll bet her finger still hurts.’

‘He knows what they’re capable of, too, if he witnessed Morgan Spencer’s murder.’

‘Terry Gilchrist saw a car matching the description of Michael Lane’s Peugeot driving away from the scene.’

‘Which also means he could have done it.’

‘Oh, come on, Alan. You’re playing devil’s advocate for the hell of it. Where’s that famous gut instinct of yours? That kid’s no killer.’