She stood in the middle of the wide, flat area they called the yard, listening to the bleats, squeaks, quacks, barks and miaows around her and thought it would be a wonderful place to volunteer when she could finally quit work. The sound of traffic on the motorway above and behind her was a constant background rumble down in the little sanctuary, but it didn’t interfere with the overall sense of quiet purpose there. She turned in a circle and took in the well-kept animal enclosures. Hard to think Annie Garrett might be harbouring a drug dealer. It didn’t seem to fit with the atmosphere at all. The cottage where the family lived was idyllic, all thatched roof and mellow plasterwork. Maybe Annie and Merlin had no idea how Moss made a living. She stayed a little longer, leaning against the cracked wooden post displaying the names and directions for the animal enclosures, looking for any sign of Moss Garrett. If he was full-time on the books, then she would expect to see him somewhere about the place.
Annie Garrett strode past her, beefy arms carrying two buckets of food. She was heading for duck feeding. Another family consisting of a mother and a small child and two older people joined Joyce and the girls to help feed the ducks. Sally moved to the side of the yard, in the shelter of the cattery, and watched.
A round, grey-haired woman came out of the empty café and swept the paving slabs. Optimistically, she put out a few plastic chairs and a table, but Sally thought the threat of more showers later would drive most folk inside. Others, volunteers she assumed, walked dogs, fed cats and swept floors. It was quietly busy, and felt well-run and somehow right.
Finally, after she had watched her family visit each enclosure, and listened to her mother refusing, for the umpteenth time to get the girls a dog, or a cat, or a duck, or… she spotted a figure that had to be Moss Garrett. He came out of the barn, one place Sally hadn’t looked into. He had a bale of hay balanced on one shoulder as he swaggered across to feed the donkeys. He was big. Not comfortably large, like his brother, but hard, like a man who spent a lot of time in the gym; and with bulging muscles, like a man who spent a lot of money on steroids. Sally grimaced. He was grotesque. Red hair shorn close to the scalp, tattoos visible above the collar of his jacket, which strained against his body. Moss Garrett dropped the bale of hay into a feeder, cut the string with a knife he took from his pocket and cast a quick glance around. Sally stepped back until she was hidden in the doorway to the cattery.
Satisfied no-one was watching, Moss Garrett slipped back into the barn and left a few minutes later carrying a sports bag. He hurried to a Jeep parked next to the house and loaded it onto the back seat, locked the vehicle and disappeared round the back of the house.
Sally itched to see what was in the bag. She strolled past the Jeep, but of course it looked like a bag of sports clothes. She took a picture of the bag and its logo on her phone. It was a well-known local gym, not far from where she was.
Moss emerged from the house with a different sports’ bag, nodded in her direction, got into the vehicle and drove off down the track.
Sally watched him go, changed direction and slipped through a gate that said No Entry into the barn. She didn’t feel scared once Moss was out of the way. The air in the barn was warmer than outside. It was quiet and dusty, with shafts of sunlight penetrating the high windows and making yellow pools on the dirt floor. Sally stood in the middle of the central space and stared around. She couldn’t see anywhere that would be an obvious hiding place for drugs, and she couldn’t see anywhere that wouldn’t be a completely perfect one. If Moss Garrett was dealing from home, this could well be the best place to stash his stock. She rang Sam and told him to get down to the gym, asap. Garrett could well be on his way there. She couldn’t do any more here without a search warrant.
Frustrated, she joined her family and treated them to lunch in the café before she went back to the station to write up her report.
25
Sam Knowles dusted off his old sports bag and stuffed in trainers, tracksuit bottoms that had seen better days, and a Meatloaf tee-shirt he hoped people would realise was meant to be ironic. He sighed. Why him? Everyone knew he hated exercise. And bloody Lizzie hadn’t helped when Sarge had a go at him. So much for solidarity in the lower ranks. He gathered shower gel and a towel from the bathroom. He sniffed the towel. It didn’t smell too bad. The last time he’d been in a gym, it was his last-ditch attempt to pass the physical when he joined up. That was six years ago. Six years! He’d nurtured his reputation as a computer geek since then, and apart from the excitement with the Latvian paedophiles, he hadn’t ever been called upon to do more. He preferred fishing if he had to choose an outdoor hobby. At least he was good at it.
He picked up his keys, locked the door to his flat and set off to walk to the gym. At least he wouldn’t have to go as far as taking up membership. The instructor had sounded nice on the phone but when she saw his skinny white frame, she’d laugh. He knew she would. Everybody had a comment, ha ha. It was why he hadn’t had a girlfriend since uni; he was too tall and too thin. And, of course, he never went anywhere that girls might frequent. That hadn’t helped. And there was Lizzie, if only she’d look at him properly.
The gym that Moss Garrett belonged to was part of a hotel chain a mile or so from The Retreat, and a few hundred yards from Sam’s flat. Sam stood in front of the reception desk and waited while the instructor finished her phone call. He recognised her voice. She was called Stacey, had long, dark hair tied back in a ponytail, warm brown eyes and a tan that must have been fake but looked great. She was at least a foot shorter than him. But then, so were most people. He sighed again. Undercover work: he just wasn’t cut out for it.
He almost jumped when Moss Garrett slammed the door open and dropped his bag next to where Sam was standing. He nodded at Sam, signed his name in the members’ book and swaggered off to the changing room. Sam caught the girl’s expression. Her top lip curled in contempt as she watched his back disappear along the corridor.
She put the phone down and gave Sam a brilliant smile. ‘Hi, you must be Sam Knowles?’
He nodded. ‘Hi,’ was all he could manage.
‘Could you fill in this form for me, and then we’ll plan a routine for today so we can assess your general levels of fitness?’ She paused and gave him a professional once-over. ‘What would you like to achieve during your membership?’
Sam was tempted to say ‘a successful arrest and a very long prison sentence’, but he managed, ‘I just need to up my fitness levels.’ He looked down at himself. ‘As you can tell, I’m no Arnold Schwarzenegger.’
She smiled up at him. ‘Everyone has to start somewhere, Sam, and I’ve seen plenty worse than you. Don’t worry, I can sort you out a routine that will have you building muscle and stamina in no time.’ She scanned his health form and filed it into a drawer. ‘Come on then, changing rooms first.’
Sam followed her Lycra-clad bottom down a narrow corridor and grinned. Maybe this wouldn’t be too bad an assignment after all. She’d smiled at him. She hadn’t laughed. She was gorgeous. Maybe…
‘Here you go. Change in here, I’ll meet you in the main gym in, say, five minutes?’ She flashed a smile at him again, and Sam pulled in stomach muscles he hadn’t been aware of possessing in some years.
The changing rooms brought him down with a bump. They smelt of sweaty socks, testosterone and shower gel. All the things that had given him so much misery at school. He unzipped his bag and got changed, his brighter mood evaporating at the thought of what lay ahead.
Moss Garrett had already changed and was stuffing a bag into a locker. Sam waited until he’d gone into the gym and took a photo of the number on the door. People like routines, he thought. Maybe he always uses that locker. The lock looked easy to pick. He packed his own things away, and surrendered himself to the introductory session’s tortures.
On the running machine, Sam felt fairly safe to watch Garrett at work. There was no sign of any funny business. He focussed on the weights, and called one of the other gym instructors, Ba
z, another big bloke with gleaming muscles, across to spot him on the bench press. Garrett’s tattoos seemed to move of their own accord as his muscles clenched and stretched.
Stacey upped the speed on his machine from fast walk to jog. Sam’s breathing came a little faster, but he was okay. So far so good. Ten minutes later he was wheezing like a caught carp and staggered off the machine to bend over his knees and suck air.
Stacey wrote something on a little card. Sam was glad he couldn’t see what it was. She took him through a weights routine that was actually okay, and put him closer to Garrett.
Garrett smelt odd. His sweat was sweet, almost. Nothing Sam could identify, but he didn’t think it was deodorant. Close up, the guy was huge. As tall as Sam, but wide. He perched on one end of a bench and lifted a weight with one hand, curling it in towards his bicep. Veins stood up on the arm. Garrett was totally focussed on what he was doing. There was none of the banter and chat Sam had noticed amongst the staff and the three other customers.
Sam completed his set of weights and wiped his face with his towel. He sat, elbows on knees, hands dangling, and thought about how much he would ache in the morning, and how little he had discovered. Which meant he would have to come back again. Stacey would be here, though. That would make it worthwhile. And he did have to remember that he was being paid to swan about in the gym. With that firmly in mind, he made his way to the steam room. Ten minutes in there would ease his stiff muscles before he went in to work and admitted he hadn’t learnt much.
He was alone in the steam room, and the steam was still building. First one in that day, obviously. The growing warmth felt great on his stiff muscles. He relaxed back on the wooden seat and half-closed his eyes. He’d forgotten about this part of going to the gym. It was bliss. He could have a swim, too, if he came back after work one day. He drifted into a rewarding fantasy that featured Stacey in a Lycra bikini and some of Oily Baz’s oils…
He became aware of movement outside, through the steamy glass of the door. He assumed it was one of the other customers getting ready to come in, but it wasn’t. Moss Garrett’s bulky outline was clear through the mist. He had a bag in his hand that Sam didn’t recognise. It wasn’t the one Garrett had used that morning in the changing room. Sam squinted and leaned closer. Garrett passed the bag over to the gleaming Baz he’d been chatting to earlier, and received another one back. He could hear no talk, and the two parted immediately.
Sam wrapped his towel more securely round his middle and opened the steam room door. The corridor was empty. He headed back to the changing room, heart pounding. Garrett was already in a shower cubicle, whistling. Sam looked at the locker. Garrett had left it open. Presumably the goods had been delivered. Quietly Sam took a photo of the sports bag sitting on the bench. It was different from the one Garrett had brought in, of that he was sure. He put the phone away and took a shower.
Garrett was even more intimidating naked as he dried himself in full view. Preening, Sam would have called it, showing off a full-back tattoo of a German Shepherd dog’s face. Weird. Sam kept his damp towel firmly wrapped round his middle and got dressed as quickly as he could. He could feel Garrett’s eyes on him.
‘First time?’ Garrett said.
‘Is it that obvious?’ Sam chuckled.
‘You have to start somewhere. I was like you a few years ago.’ Garrett flexed a bicep. ‘You have to work hard, and have the right diet,’ he said.
‘Crisps and beer have worked hard to get me into the shape I’m in,’ laughed Sam, patting his rounded stomach. ‘Do you, err… take any supplements?’ he asked. He watched Garrett’s face close against him and gabbled on, ‘Vitamins, protein powder. All that stuff?’
‘Oh, yeah, right. High protein diet, low carbs. Soon get you in shape.’ Garrett turned and dressed, stuffing his work-out vest and shorts into the bag.
Sam zipped up his own bag and said, ‘I’ll probably see you again, if I can still walk, that is.’
Garrett half-waved. ‘Yeah, see you, mate,’ he said.
Sam waited by the reception desk to say goodbye to Stacey, but only Oily Baz was there. He tried to sign Sam up for a year’s membership, but Sam declined. He knew he’d have signed for Stacey. He got out his phone and took a profile shot of Baz whilst pretending to answer a call. Not the best photo, but it would help to identify him.
He slipped out through the glass door and looked at the cars in the car park. Best guess was that Garrett owned the poncy Jeep. Not a cheap car for someone who worked in an animal rescue centre. The pay wouldn’t be that good. Sam set off walking towards The Retreat and sure enough, a few minutes later Garrett passed him in the Jeep, on his way home. Sam turned around, went home, got changed and headed back into the station.
26
Dan read the reports from his team as they arrived. He agreed with Sally that they needed to search The Retreat as soon as possible, but he was terrified by the prospect of messing it up, and allowing Garrett to kill another kid with poorly made drugs. The timing had to be right. Warrant in place. He would stick with his gut this time, and not be led where he didn’t want to go by anyone else. He hadn’t received an update from the Flowerpot Men, so he had nothing else on the Bog Bodies yet.
He closed down his computer. Claire had texted him to say she would be waiting for him at the flat. He’d given her a key and this was the first time she would use it. That felt good. Tonight he was going to tell her about Alison, big sister from hell. He had to; he was going to have to cancel Saturday’s cat-finding mission in order to take his mother to visit her in prison.
Dan parked his Audi next to Claire’s blue Fiat 500 and jogged up the stairs and into the flat. She was sprawled on the sofa, asleep. He smiled and sat down next to her, pushing her hair away from her eyes. Claire sat up, startled by the touch.
‘Wha..?’
‘You’re at my place, sleepyhead.’
‘Oh, yeah, I know. I must have nodded off for a few minutes.’ She ran her hands through blonde curls and yawned. ‘Long day. Two GCSE groups and a meeting after school about exams. Wahey. The joys of teaching.’
‘I’ll make us a coffee, shall I?’ said Dan, and headed for the small kitchen. ‘You still thinking of getting a cat?’ he asked over his shoulder.
Claire leaned against the door jamb. ‘Definitely. Why? You gone off the idea?’
‘No, your decision.’ He switched on the Gaggia, measured his best coffee into the basket and waited for the water to heat. ‘It’s just that… have you heard of a place called The Retreat? It’s some kind of animal rescue centre that Sally was talking about today.’
‘I’ve seen it, it’s on the way to Topsham, but I’ve never been. Why? D’you want to go?’
‘Well, they have cats that need adopting, and it’s open on Sundays.’
‘Sunday? I thought we were going to look on Saturday?’
Dan filled her mug with coffee and steamed some milk, then did his own. ‘Here you go, that’ll wake you up,’ he said, passing her the mug. ‘Shall we sit down?’
Claire took her mug to the sofa, sat down and looked up at him. ‘Well?’
‘I’m not changing the plan to be awkward, it’s just…’ Dan placed his mug on the coffee table, then took Claire’s mug from her and placed it next to his. He twisted round to face her and took her hands in his.
‘What’s the matter? Has something bad happened?’ Worry crinkled the skin on her forehead.
‘No, there’s nothing to worry about. It’s just that I need to tell you something, and I need to tell you before Saturday.’
Claire’s eyes dissected his face, looking for what? Rejection? He jumped in before she could ask any questions, and told her about Alison, about his childhood, about the terrible life they all had when she was out of prison and the shame of the times when she was in.
‘Oh my God, Dan, it’s awful, and so sad,’ she said when he had finished.
‘Can you understand why I didn’t mention her before, and my parents
didn’t mention her to you?’
She nodded. ‘I think so, especially as you all thought she had moved away a couple of years ago, or even died. That’s so sad. So why tell me now?’
He smiled grimly. ‘On Saturday I’m taking mum to visit her in Bristol Women’s Prison.’
Claire stared at the coffee table for a moment. ‘Right. Did your dad not want to go?’
‘No. She’s destroyed them, Claire, torn out their hearts with her lies and her stealing. But mum, well, she won’t give up on her, and it kills dad to see her getting her hopes up time after time. I know mum will give in and let her stay with them until she finds a place. The worst thing is that she’s served over half her sentence so she’ll be out in a few weeks. I couldn’t not tell you when you’ll be bound to meet her.’
Claire walked over to the window and looked down onto the river water, whipped and choppy in a northerly wind. She watched a few people heading home, dog walkers, joggers, mad people on bikes careering along the towpath in horizontal rain. ‘I… Well, I’d never have guessed this about you in a million years. You and your family seem so, well, normal.’
‘One thing you learn in my job is that none of us really knows what is happening in the house next door.’ He got up and stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and snuggling into her hair. ‘So, that’s why I thought we could go cat bothering on Sunday, instead.’ He kissed her neck, and her ear.
Claire turned round and kissed him back. ‘Okay, I think I can live with that,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you told me.’
He was giddy with relief. ‘Chinese takeaway, or pop down to the Italian?’
‘It’s a filthy night; let’s order a Chinese and see if there’s anything on Netflix to download. What happened to summer?’
Death on Dartmoor Page 13
