Rather to Be Pitied

by Jan Newton

  ‘Burger and chips,’ the girl said, plonking down a plate in front of Julie, ‘and another burger and chips.’ She turned to walk away.

  ‘Thank you,’ Julie said. ‘The tent?’

  ‘Oh, yeah, he had a tent.’ The girl smiled. ‘Bright blue it was, just like his eyes.’

  *

  Swift listened carefully as Morgan described the man and his bright blue tent.

  ‘And there’s no sign of him or his tent in Rhayader now?’

  ‘No, Sir. He was at the campsite by the cycle path for a few days, then he paid up in cash and left.’ Morgan checked his notebook. ‘That was on Wednesday last week.’

  ‘And Mrs Wilkinson says she took the cake up to the men on the Friday,’ Julie said. ‘So that all fits if he stayed with the lads Wednesday and Thursday nights.’

  ‘So what happened to the tent?’ Swift asked. ‘Why did he need a proper roof over his head for those two nights?’

  Morgan shrugged. ‘No idea.’

  ‘How did he get to the campsite?’

  ‘The man at the campsite said he thought he’d hitched a lift.’

  ‘Do we know where from?’ Swift asked.

  Julie shook her head. ‘And why would he stay up in Rhayader if it was Rosa he was talking about? If he did know where she was, why wasn’t he staying in Llandrindod too?’

  ‘Of course it could be that he wasn’t looking for Rosa at all.’ Swift tugged his ear. ‘The tattoo could be a complete coincidence. He could have been looking for another woman entirely.’ He shook his head and ambled back to his office. Julie followed.

  ‘Sir, I think I might have forgotten to mention this.’ She handed him the sheet of paper she had grabbed from the photocopier on her way to his office. ‘Kay Greenhalgh has had the tox results back on the hair samples she sent in. They confirm there was no drug usage recently. Rosa’s hair was so short they can’t go back very far, but she definitely wasn’t using regularly.’

  Swift nodded. ‘You said she thought it wasn’t very likely.’

  ‘And they’ve come back with weed-killer and other stuff on her hair that she picked up from somewhere. The doc thinks probably post mortem, but in these amounts it was nothing to do with her actual death.’

  ‘What’s the weed-killer?’ Swift asked.

  Julie scanned the sheet. ‘Paraquat, according to the National Poisons Information Service.’

  ‘Dear God, that’s evil stuff. A woman in Essex poisoned her husband’s steak and kidney pie with it while I was still a probationer. They banned it about ten years ago.’ Swift whistled softly. ‘Is the doc sure this stuff didn’t kill Rosa?’

  ‘She said it’s more likely she came into contact with it after death.’

  ‘Well, let’s hope so. Apparently it’s not a good way to go.’ Swift sighed. ‘What was the other stuff?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘You said weed-killer and other stuff.’

  ‘Er, there were traces of red diesel.’ She scanned the e-mail again. ‘And creosote, Sir. Old creosote.’

  Swift bolted from his chair, straight past her and through the door. ‘With me, Sergeant!’

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Day Four

  They were both in the yard, Mal and Sarah. Mal was attempting to kick-start the quad and Sarah had an armful of washing and a peg bag. Julie thought they could have been subjects in an oil painting or one of those old black-and-white photographs of country folk in the 1930s. Sarah wore a wraparound floral pinny over beige slacks and a pale pink turtle neck. Mal wore oil-stained Fred Dibnah overalls, a flat cap, and boots that made his feet look far too big for his body. Behind them the hills soared skywards, dwarfing the two of them and the house and outbuildings.

  ‘Craig.’ Sarah tapped Mal on the arm and he looked up and smiled.

  ‘Well, we don’t see you for months and now here you are again.’ He held out an oily hand, which Swift shook. ‘Who’s this young lady?’

  Julie bristled but managed a smile.

  ‘This is my new sergeant, straight from the mean streets of Manchester she is.’ Swift grinned. ‘She’s getting used to us though.’

  ‘Well you’re very welcome, lovely.’ Sarah beamed at her. ‘It’s nice to see a new face up here. We rarely get any visitors at all nowadays. Come on in, I’ll put the kettle on.’

  Julie went to follow Sarah but Swift shook his head. ‘Let’s sort out the business side of things first.’ He turned to Mal. ‘Can you show me where you keep the old creosote you mentioned the other day? Is it in the shed?’

  Mal and Sarah exchanged a look. Sarah shook her head. ‘He’s an old hoarder he is. And he’s too tight to pay the council to dispose of it all. I told him I don’t like all that stuff in there. What if the sheep or the dogs got in?’ She winked at Julie. ‘But he’s a man, so he’s not likely to listen is he?’

  Julie laughed. ‘You’re right there.’

  The four of them went into the shed. The dog looked up as they passed, his chain rattling as he put his head back between his paws and closed his eyes.

  ‘The poor old thing’s worn out,’ Mal said. ‘A bit like me, he is.’

  ‘It’s that quad.’ Sarah still carried her armful of washing and she frowned into it. ‘He could keep up with the pony, but he can’t run as fast as that blasted bike.’

  Mal led them to a door in the furthest corner of the barn. When he pushed at it, it caught on the rough concrete of the barn floor, but it opened in stages, revealing banks of shelving along three sides of a sizeable store room. There were jam jars full of bolts, screws and nails, all neatly labelled with size and potential use. Large swirls of blue polythene piping were held onto the wall by bungee ropes and intricate knots. Ancient tools filled the shelves; an engraved ebony spirit level with metal corners, a wooden mallet, a brace and bit, all in dark brown wood, made long before the advent of colourful plastic tools.

  On the ground beneath the shelves were ranks of containers of all shapes and sizes. There were maybe half a dozen blue drums of creosote, which looked remarkably new.

  Swift kicked at a barrel of creosote. ‘I thought you couldn’t buy this stuff anymore?’

  ‘Ah well, you don’t know everything then.’ Mal chuckled. ‘You can still get it, but you have to be an official professional user.’

  Julie laughed. ‘So what’s a professional creosote user?’

  ‘Farmers, builders. But you wouldn’t be able to buy any, Sergeant.’ Mal twinkled back at her and Sarah shook her head.

  ‘But what about this then?’ Swift prodded a rusting metal container with his toe. ‘This definitely isn’t legal, even if you are a professional.’

  ‘Ah,’ Mal nodded thoughtfully. ‘I have been meaning to get rid of that.’ He pressed his lips into a thin line. ‘You’ve got me there, Craig. But I haven’t used it. Not for years, it’s lethal stuff.’

  ‘You did though, didn’t you?’ Sarah hitched up the washing basket on her hip. ‘He got the wrong tin didn’t he, won’t wear his specs out here.’

  ‘It only took me three fence posts to notice though.’ Mal grinned at her.

  ‘It didn’t do the sprayer any good though, did it?’ Sarah shook her head. ‘I’m going to put the kettle on. Follow me in.’

  Swift nodded and Julie followed her out of the barn and across the yard.

  ‘Do you need a hand? I’m a dab hand at folding sheets.’

  ‘Well you can’t be any worse than that one.’ Sarah’s head jerked in the direction of the barn. ‘All these years we’ve been doing it and he still goes the wrong way. I think he does it on purpose.’ Sarah smiled, but she was miles away, or maybe just a dozen yards away, thought Julie.

  Julie was encouraged by Swift’s ability to consume amazing quantities of baked goods. She managed two scones, still warm from the oven and dripping butter onto the tiny china plate.

  ‘Go on, have a piece of sponge cake.’ Sarah pushed the plate towards her. ‘It’s home-made jam.’

  ‘I won’t
need any tea,’ Julie said. ‘And that might actually be a blessing.’

  ‘Have you shown Sarah your picture?’ Swift asked, wiping his hands on his handkerchief and brushing crumbs from his lap.

  Julie fished out a photocopy of the blond man and showed it to Sarah. ‘Have you seen this chap up here in the last couple of weeks?’

  Sarah shook her head. ‘He looks like a film star. Who is it I’m thinking of, Mal?’ She shoved the picture across the table. ‘Lawrence of Arabia, that Irish chap who played him.’

  ‘He wasn’t Irish, he was from Leeds.’

  ‘That’s the one.’

  ‘Have you seen him?’ Julie asked.

  ‘No, love. I’ve not seen anyone like that up here, not for a long time.’ Sarah smiled at Mal and handed the picture back to Julie. ‘Has he got anything to do with that poor girl on the moor?’

  ‘We don’t know.’ Swift stood up. ‘Mal was telling me he’s missing a plastic sack from the quad bike. You haven’t had a tidy up have you, Sarah?’

  ‘What me, dare to fiddle with his stuff out there?’ Sarah wagged her finger at Mal. ‘He’s the untidiest person I’ve ever met. Last week he couldn’t even remember where he’d parked the quad, never mind where his ratty old plastic sack could be.’

  ‘What day would that have been?’ Julie asked ‘Can you remember?’

  ‘Of course I can remember. I wanted to use it to nip down to collect the post from the end of the lane. Save getting the truck out and I was waiting for a letter from my sister. It was last Friday morning.’

  ‘And the quad wasn’t where you’d left it?’ Swift asked Mal.

  ‘I’d left it where I always do, just inside the shed.’

  ‘So where was it?’

  ‘It was down the drive. At a really strange angle, almost in the ditch it was. Like it had rolled down there or something.’

  ‘Had it rolled?’ Julie asked. ‘Was the handbrake on?’

  Mal frowned, his head on one side. ‘It was. If it hadn’t been, it would have been in the ditch good and proper, but there was no way it rolled down there from the shed. The yard’s flat, see.’

  ‘And the plastic bag, could it have blown away?’

  ‘Well I looked everywhere for it. If it did blow away, it must have gone a long old way.’

  ‘He’s attached to that sack.’ Sarah laughed and refilled Swift’s cup from the large brown teapot. ‘Says it’s the only one that fits his sprayer in properly.’

  ‘Have you washed the quad since then?’ Swift asked.

  ‘Don’t be daft, Craig. Why would I do that?’ Mal chuckled. ‘The rain washes most of the muck off it, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Would you be able to live without it until I’ve sent a Scene of Crime Officer out to take some samples? I’ll get them to come as soon as they can.’

  ‘What do you think you’ll find?’ Sarah’s smile seemed to have deserted her.

  ‘I’ve absolutely no idea, Sarah. But it’s better that we check everything, just to make sure, isn’t it?’

  ‘I suppose you’re right. But the thought that someone might have used it for… to do something –.’

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s just routine. As you say, it’s only a thought I’ve had, it’s probably totally wide of the mark. But it’s my job to cover all the angles. I don’t want you to worry about it. Is that clear?’ He wagged a finger at Sarah and she laughed.

  ‘Yes officer,’ she said. ‘Have another scone.’

  *

  The phone was ringing when Julie walked through the kitchen door, and she heard Adam pick it up in the lounge. Sid chirruped a greeting and wound himself round her legs.

  ‘Evening, mog, don’t suppose you’ve been fed.’ She plonked her bag on the table. ‘But you wouldn’t admit it if you had, would you?’ She reached into the fridge for the remains of a tin of cat food, and the small ginger cat followed her every move. The fridge was stuffed with sweet potatoes, an enormous butternut squash, a marrow and various plastic pots of rice, beans and other unidentifiable and unappetising leftovers. She closed the door and forked the chunks of cat food into the cat bowl. ‘Save me a bit of yours, will you?’

  The door opened and Adam smiled through the gap. He seemed strangely reticent as he held out the phone. ‘You’re not to worry, everything’s under control. It’s your mum.’

  Julie took the phone from him and handed him the empty tin. ‘Mum, what’s happened?’

  Her mother’s words were calm, but she had never been one to shy away from saying what needed to be said. ‘You’re not to worry. Everything’s being done that needs doing.’

  ‘Just tell me what’s happened.’

  ‘I didn’t want to mither you with it, but your dad said you need to know.’

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘We’ve been burgled, love. But you’re really not to worry. They didn’t take much, not even the money I’d left on the hall table to give to the Christmas Club lady. It’s just…’

  ‘What? For God’s sake, Mum, just tell me.’

  Julie could hear her mother sigh. ‘I told him you’d get yourself in a state. Well, we were coming back from your Gran’s. She had a bit of a turn in the bread shop this morning. She’s fine, Dr Webb says it’s probably a reaction to her new tablets, and I’d just taken her a hotpot to warm through because she’d live on toast and sandwiches if you didn’t keep an eye on her.’

  ‘Mum, I know all about Gran’s bread fetish and I’m imagining all sorts now. Are you both OK?’

  ‘We’re fine. Well, we are now. It would have been better if your dad hadn’t tackled him, but they’ve put loads of stitches in and they’ve said he’ll be right as rain in a week or two.’

  Julie was more taken aback by her mother’s distracted state than the news itself. She was never like this. ‘So Dad tackled the burglar and he was hurt?’

  ‘Yes, but not badly. They said it had missed anything important, but he was lucky, and they were lovely at the hospital.’

  ‘I’ll come up now.’

  ‘You can’t do that, love. Your Adam’s just told me you’re in the middle of a murder.’

  ‘Give me a few minutes to get things sorted and I’ll phone you back.’

  ‘Honestly, love, he’s going to be fine and Mr Sanderson’s mended the window already.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mum, there’s something else I might be able to do while I’m up there.’ She smiled at Adam, who was still standing in the doorway with the cat food tin in his hand. ‘I’ll make a phone call and ring you back in a minute.’ She cut the connection and dialled Swift’s number.

  ‘Will you be able to get the time off to go up there?’ Adam asked.

  ‘If I can clear it with Craig Swift I can kill two birds with one stone.’

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Day Five

  It was barely light when Julie backed the Fiesta into the lane, but Joe was there, watching her. She wound her window down.’

  ‘Morning. Don’t you ever sleep?’ she asked him.

  ‘I don’t need much,’ he said. ‘You’re off on one of them dawn raids are you? Bashing someone’s door in on an estate somewhere?’ He chuckled. ‘Too much excitement for me, that would be.’

  ‘Actually, I’m going back to the big bad city. That would blow your mind, I’m sure.’

  ‘Ah, going for long is it?’ He peered into the car, checking the back seats.

  ‘You’re not getting rid of me that easily.’ She put the car into gear and smiled sweetly at him. ‘I’ll be back before you know I’ve even gone.’

  Why did she feel as though her every move was being scrutinised? Probably because it was. Whether it was Joe with his fascination for people ‘from off’ or Morgan Evans questioning her every comment. She sighed. Maybe the only way to solve the Morgan problem was to help him pass his Sergeants’ Exam and then he might stop feeling he had to prove himself to her every second of every day. Joe, she decided, was just Joe. He had left the gate open and it felt like a huge bonus,
not to have to get out and wrestle with the thing. She had been told more than once to leave gates as she found them, as though Joe thought she’d want to do the opposite, just to be difficult.

  There was barely any traffic at all for the first fifty miles of her journey. It still surprised her. Even in the middle of the day it was sometimes as though there had been a nuclear attack with barely a soul on the roads. She negotiated winding roads down into Newtown and on towards Welshpool where there were signs of life around the livestock market. Marchnad Da Byw y Trallwng it said on the sign at the gates. Where would you start with that one? Which bit was Welshpool? Was any of it Welshpool? She really ought to get round to learning Welsh, especially in her job. How many nuances and subtleties might she be missing that she didn’t even know were there?