‘So, he wasn’t shot and he wasn’t run over, but it wasn’t an accident? You’re making no sense! What does that leave us with, then? Random attack by low flying military aircraft? What else could’ve happened to him?’
Harry went to say something but decided it was best to just leave Arthur to burn himself out.
‘And, while we’re on the matter of things that don’t make any bloody sense at all,’ Arthur continued, ‘just how the hell did he end up all the way up that end of the dale in Snaizeholme in the first place? I need to know! He was my bloody dog, lad! My Jack!’
Harry rested his mug on a small coffee table in front of him, then leaned back on the sofa, in an attempt to make himself seem as unthreatening as possible and hopefully have Arthur follow suit and sit back down in his own chair as well.
After a moment or two of silence, Arthur eventually retreated back to his chair, falling back into it wearily. As he lowered himself down into it, Harry saw the old man visibly age in front of him, his movements slow and sore, not just with age, but with the feelings clearly churning around inside him at the loss of his dog.
‘We checked our files this morning,’ Harry said. ‘You reported Jack missing back in March, yes?’
‘That’s right, I did,’ Arthur said. ‘I was out checking some squirrel traps on a local farm. I mean, I know I’m retired, but I still help out a friend here and there, you see? And those blasted little grey tree rats don’t half make a mess.’
‘Trapping them?’ Harry said.
‘Numbers have to be kept down,’ Arthur said. ‘They’re not a native species, you see. And they carry the squirrel pox virus. Doesn’t harm them at all, but it’s the reason we’ve got hardly any red squirrels left, because it’ll go through a dray of those reds like a scythe and wipe them out.’
Harry remembered then about the red squirrel sanctuary up in Snaizeholme and mentioned it to Arthur.
‘And that’s what makes it even more important to keep those grey numbers down,’ Arthur said. ‘Now, what were we talking about again? Oh, that’s right, Jack, that was it. He was with me. Left him in the old Land Rover. He usually just sleeps you see, but then when I came back, the door was open and he was…’
Arthur’s voice cracked then, but Harry stayed quiet, allowing the man time to gather himself.
‘Anyway, he was gone,’ Arthur said, rubbing his scalp, his face lined with confusion about what had happened to his precious dog. ‘I always just thought he’d somehow managed to get out, you know, and then just buggered off on some damn fool dog adventure. The doors on that Landy have a habit of just popping open now and again, so he could easily have gotten out. And he did have a habit of buggering off now and again. But he’d always come back, or we’d get a phone call. Though if Eric had found him, there’s no way he’d call. Jack’s not the first dog he’s taken, you know. I mean, there’s no proof, but everyone suspects.’
Harry made a note of this Eric fellow, but continued with his questions for now.
‘So, where were you, exactly?’ he asked. ‘When Jack went missing?’
‘Over at a mate’s, like I said,’ Arthur replied. ‘Well, not at his house. I mean, I was on his land, down in one of the woods. Just a couple of miles away from here.’
‘Would you be able to give me the location? And your friend’s address?’
‘Of course,’ Arthur said. ‘You want that now? What about Eric, though? If you’re heading round to his, I’ll come with you, have it out with him right away, just you watch me!’
‘I’ll have the details before I leave,’ Harry said. ‘And any questioning and visiting, well, that’ll be down to myself and the rest of the team. Now, did anyone know where you were at that time? Did you see anything suspicious?’
‘How do you mean, suspicious?’ Arthur asked. ‘And yes, of course, someone knew where I was. Grace for a start, because she doesn’t half keep a beady eye on me now. And Phil, the farmer whose land I was on. Went to school together, we did. Bloody hell, we’re a proper pair of right old buggers now, the two of us, that’s for sure. Makes his own pies, does Phil. Pork pies, like. You’ve not tasted anything like it, trust me.’
‘They’re that good?’ Harry said.
‘Good?’ Arthur laughed. ‘Of course, they’re not good! They’re absolutely bloody awful is what they are! Don’t go near them, whatever you do. And he’ll try and force one on you, I promise you that.’
Harry laughed, couldn’t help himself.
Arthur lifted a hand and started to count through all the things wrong with Phil’s pies.
‘Too much pastry, the filling’s more gristle and fat than actual meat, soggy bottoms, the jelly in them is like biting into ballistic gel, but does that stop him making them? Like hell it does! So, if he ever offers you one—and like I said, he will, you mark my words—accept it graciously, then bin it hastily. Muck, they are. The worst!’
Harry was warming to Arthur. It was impossible not to. One moment he was all thoughtful and full of grief, the next he was raging about his old friend’s terrible pork pies.
‘So, both Phil and Grace knew where you were,’ Harry said, working to get the chat back on track. ‘No one else? You’ve mentioned this Eric…’
Arthur shook his head. ‘There’s no reason for him to know what I was doing,’ he said. ‘But he’s got a knack for making everyone’s business his own. Nasty piece of work, he is.’
‘You’ve had run-ins with him before, then?’
‘Who hasn’t?’ Arthur said. ‘He’ll do anything he can to make sure the pens he looks after, the birds on the shoots he’s responsible for, grow up fat and safe, ready for the shooting season. And by that I mean, illegal traps, taking eggs from the nests of hawks and killing the parents, you name it, he’s done it.’
Harry didn’t like the sound of Eric at all.
‘And he’s never been caught?’
‘No evidence,’ Arthur said. ‘He’s not a fool, old Eric.’
‘Why take eggs?’
‘They’re worth a bob or two on the black market,’ Arthur said.
‘But he didn’t know where you were that day?’ Harry asked.
‘Can’t see why he would. I’m not one for announcing my every move to all and sundry, if you know what I mean. Eric, least of all. I was on my own, Grace was away meeting with one of the shoots she runs, Phil was busy on his farm.’
Harry saw then a flicker of realisation catch the corner of Arthur’s eye while he rambled on.
‘You think someone stole Jack, don’t you? That’s what you’re getting at, isn’t it?’
‘All I know,’ Harry said, ‘is that he was in your vehicle, that he was gone when you got back, and somehow, between that moment and last night, he ended up at the other end of the dale, dead in a barn.’
‘But there’s no way someone took him, if that’s what you’re suggesting,’ Arthur said. ‘It’s, well, it’s just impossible, that’s what it is. Couldn’t happen!’
‘Why’s that?’ Harry asked. ‘Couldn’t this Eric have taken him?’
Arthur leaned forward and stared at Harry, then pointed at him with a gnarly, stubby finger with skin like tree bark.
‘That dog had a bark and snarl on him that’d make Satan crap himself,’ he said. ‘Any stranger reaching into that old Land Rover to grab him? Anyone he didn’t like, such as Eric, for example? Well, good luck to them, because they’d be losing a limb, I’d put money on that.’
Thinking about what Arthur had just said, Harry asked, ‘What if he’d known them? Would it be easy to take Jack then?’
‘You mean someone I know did this? Someone I know took Jack? A friend? You’re having a laugh, aren’t you?’
Harry said nothing, instead, letting Arthur think for a moment.
‘I guess that could be it,’ he said eventually. ‘But that doesn’t make sense either, does it? Someone I know taking Jack? No, that can’t be it! It’s impossible. Why would anyone I know, a friend, take Jack?’
/> Harry waited as Arthur wrestled with everything Harry had told him.
‘You know, it just didn’t seem to sit right with me,’ Arthur finally said, ‘someone taking Jack.’
‘You’d considered it, then?’ Harry asked.
Arthur nodded and sighed.
‘Young Jack wandering off on his own, having a little adventure, roaming the fells? Now, that I could handle. He’d have been fine, too, I’ve no doubt about that. Young he may have been, but he was a resourceful beast. And I always hoped he’d just wander back one day, like he’d done nowt wrong. It’s nicer thinking that, isn’t it? Than any of this, right? Someone just grabbing him and doing a runner? I mean, why, Detective? What the hell for?’
‘I’m afraid I can’t answer that yet,’ Harry said. ‘But my team and I will do everything we can to find out and arrest whoever’s responsible.’
‘Arrest? And what use will that be?’ Arthur said, voice sharp with indignation. ‘Jack was just a dog! Whatever happened to him, whoever did it, they’ll get off with a slapped wrist, won’t they? That’s all. Nowt but a telling off, really, and that won’t do, you know? It won’t!’
‘Everything we can do, we will,’ Harry said.
‘It could still be Eric, you know,’ Arthur said. ‘Jack could’ve got out and Eric, if he’d found him, well, he wouldn’t have brought him back, that’s for damned sure.’
‘I’ll be asking questions of anyone I think is relevant,’ Harry said.
‘And so will I!’ Arthur said, rising to his feet.
For a moment it seemed to Harry that as Arthur stood he somehow darkened the room as though sucking in all the light from the very day itself.
‘No, you won’t,’ Harry said. ‘You’ll leave the police to do our job because that’s what we’re paid to do.’
Arthur said nothing.
‘You need to listen to me, Arthur,’ Harry said, emphasising the point. ‘We’ll handle this.’
‘Then let’s just hope what you do is enough then, shall we?’
With little left to say, Harry concluded the conversation, finished his tea, then made his way out of the lounge. Having given Harry the address of the farm where Jack had last been seen, and that of the clearly nefarious gamekeeper, Eric Haygarth, Arthur reached past and opened the door for him, letting in the grey light of the day.
Stepping out of the house, Harry turned around to say goodbye. His eyes were drawn to the fox head and how it stared and snarled.
‘Clouding over, I see,’ Arthur said.
‘Looks that way,’ Harry agreed.
‘Off to see Phil now, I suppose?’
‘I’ll give him a ring first.’
‘Remember what I said about those pies, now. Ghastly, they are.’
‘Not sure I’ll ever forget.’
‘And be careful with Eric.’
‘I’m never anything else.’
Farewells said and sensing the distant tang of rain in the air, Harry made his way back over to his Rav4.
‘Excuse me…’
The voice was a woman’s, and it seemed to catch the end of each word with a gentle rasp as it drifted past Harry. He assumed that whatever the enquiry was, that it was directed at someone else and kept walking.
‘Hello? Can you just… Look, wait a moment, will you?’
Harry stopped and turned around to find himself face-to-face with someone he recognised immediately but had never actually met.
‘Ms Black?’
‘Yes?’
‘You’re Arthur’s daughter, yes?’
‘Of the two of us, you’re at a clear advantage, here,’ the woman said. ‘Because I’ve no idea who you are at all. But I’ve just seen you coming out of my dad’s place, and I’d like to know why, please!’
Grace was wearing a green waxed waistcoat, a red shirt rolled up to the elbows, jeans, Wellington Boots, and slung over her shoulder were a couple of worn, leather gun cases. Her black hair was curly and cut fairly short and raggedy. If Harry was going to hazard a guess, he’d have put her in her mid-thirties, and judging by the lines at the corners of her eyes, she’d spent a good many of those years laughing.
‘DCI Harry Grimm,’ Harry said. ‘I’ve just been to speak to your dad about his dog, Jack.’
‘You found him? Where is he then, the little sod? What happened? He’s buggered off before, you know, longest time was nigh on a week! We got him back because he just wandered into a house over in Grinton! It’s been a month, I think, since he went. To be honest, I thought he was gone for good this time.’
‘Ms Black…’ Harry began.
‘What?’
Harry took a deep breath then told Grace everything he’d just told Arthur. When he finished, Grace was quiet and she unslung the gun cases and leant them against the wing of Harry’s vehicle.
‘Dad’s going to be heartbroken,’ Grace eventually said.
‘He seemed okay,’ said Harry.
‘King of the brave face,’ said Grace. ‘Not one for showing true emotion at the best of times.’
‘He does angry well enough.’
‘Indignation,’ said Grace. ‘Dad’s rarely angry unless there’s something unfair going on. He’s like a soft, Yorkshire version of Charles Bronson in Death Wish.’
Harry smiled. Having met Arthur only briefly, he could see exactly what Grace was getting at.
‘So, what now?’ Grace asked. ‘Do you know what happened, who took Jack?’
‘The investigation is very early stages right now,’ Harry said.
‘But you’ve got a few leads, right? That’s what they’re called, aren’t they? Or is that just what we see on the telly?’
‘Like I said, early stages,’ said Harry, then made to open the driver’s door to the Rav4.
Grace stepped closer.
‘Did dad mention Eric by any chance?’
Harry gave a nod.
‘They hate each other,’ Grace said. ‘And with good reason.’
‘And that would be?’
‘They do the same job, but the way they do it? Poles apart,’ Grace said.
‘Explain.’
‘Dad’s a man of field and fell, I guess,’ Grace said. ‘Sees himself as a custodian, as much as anything. Really cares, you know? And I know some folk can’t see how that’s a thing, a gamekeeper caring about nature, but that’s how it is, how it should be.’
‘And this Eric, then?’
Grace was silent for a moment and Harry saw then the same look in her eyes that he’d seen in Arthur’s. A small family they may be, he thought, but there was something formidable about them both. Together, he had a feeling they’d be unstoppable.
‘You know, I think it’s probably best if you judge for yourself, assuming of course that you’ll be paying him a visit.’
‘I will be, yes,’ Harry said.
‘Though, if there’s anything I can do to help?’
‘We’ve got everything in hand,’ Harry said, ‘but if we do need to talk to you, do you have a number I can get you on?’
‘Bit forward, isn’t it?’ Grace said. ‘We’ve only just met.’
‘What?’
‘You, asking for my number.’
‘But I need it,’ Harry said. ‘In case I need to talk to you about something to do with the investigation. It’s just police procedure, that’s all.’
Grace grinned then, her smile broad and honest and open.
‘Got a pen?’
Harry took out his notebook and wrote down Grace’s number as she called it out.
‘Thanks for that.’
‘No problem,’ Grace said. ‘But if you call me over the next two or three days, I might be difficult to get hold of, on account of Jess.’
‘Jess?’ Harry said. ‘Who’s Jess?’
‘Jess is my dog. Well, one of them,’ Grace said. ‘She’s pregnant. Due to pop any day now.’
‘Puppies?’
‘Cockers,’ said Grace. ‘The dad’s a champion gun dog. Jess is no slouch,
either, like.’
‘Well, it was good to meet you,’ Harry said, climbing into his vehicle. ‘And can you pass on my thanks again to your dad for his time. It’s much appreciated. And we really will do all that we can to find out what happened to Jack.’
‘Well, just make sure that you do,’ Grace said. ‘Otherwise, you’ll have Dad to deal with. And me.’
And with that, she turned and strode off back towards Arthur’s house, leaving Harry to wonder just what on earth he was getting dragged into now.
Chapter Ten
Jim arrived at Neil’s parents’ house half an hour after leaving the community centre in Hawes. Their house sat up in Gayle, just past the old Methodist chapel, the pristine front lawn cut in two by a flagstone path leading down to a garage, in front of which was parked a large black BMW 4x4.
Behind the garage loomed an enormous horse chestnut tree, shadows hanging from it to drape across the grass. Up in the branches, a little too high really, an old treehouse remained. With the leaves coming back after the winter, it was hard to make out, but it was there right enough, and the little boy that Jim used to be wished he could climb up there again.
Having walked from the community centre, Jim had headed down to the cobbled lane that rode past Cockett’s, but had almost immediately taken a right up a steep hill to head past St Margaret’s Church on his right. From there, he headed onto the footpath that crossed a collection of ancient meadows, enclosed by drystone walls, their edges dipping down into Gayle Beck as though cooling their feet.
That path formed a very small part of the Pennine Way, a walk Jim had often found himself wondering about doing, not least because it was something that had often been discussed in his youth when he was in the Scouts. But life on a farm, later combined with his current police role, meant that he just didn’t have the time. But this small bit was still beautiful and he’d always loved walking the flagstone path, which connected Hawes and Gayle like an artery.
Arriving at Neil’s parents’ house, not really sure what he was going to say, and very aware that he had nothing else to offer them about what had happened to their son, Jim steeled himself as he rapped his knuckles sharp against the large, green door, then stepped back onto the path.
Blood Sport: A Yorkshire Murder Mystery (DCI Harry Grimm Crime Thrillers 7) Page 7
