by Rachel Ward
‘That’s it.’
‘I’ll be listening out for it now. Honestly, that was brilliant.’
‘New, is she? The dog. Haven’t seen you out and about before.’
‘Yeah. She’s not mine. I’m just looking after her for a while. I quite like this, though, being out in the morning. Never thought I’d say that. Not in a million years. Do you come here often?’ Bea winced internally at the corny question, no flirtation intended, but it seemed to have passed unnoticed.
‘This is my patch. I’m here four or five days a week. I record the species I see.’
‘Birds?’
‘Birds, mostly. Insects, mammals as well. Foxes. Badgers. I’ve seen otters here.’
‘No way.’
‘Only a couple of times.’
Bea’s mind was reeling. Otters? Badgers? Then she had another thought. ‘People?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Do you see many people out here?’
‘Not many out and about this early. Just a few dog-walkers like you.’
‘Do you ever see people at that farm?’
‘There was a lad this morning, big fella. Every now and again there are a lot of people there in the evenings, Saturdays mostly. The last time was New Year’s Eve. I wondered if it was some sort of rave, but there was nothing in the news.’
‘Hmm, not my idea of a fun place for an evening out,’ said Bea.
‘Me neither.’ He smiled, but there was a wintriness in his face. She sensed he’d rather be on his own.
‘Well,’ said Bea. ‘Nice to meet you. I’m Bea, by the way.’
‘Cliff,’ he said in return.
‘Thanks again, for the kingfisher.’
She checked her watch. She should be getting back really, but she was tempted to walk a little further, maybe catch sight of the kingfisher again. She followed the path for another five minutes or so. It wound pleasantly through the valley. She got to a place where she had a good view back to the farm buildings. A lot of people? What was that all about?
Another path lead away from the river here. It was shaded, north-facing, and the snow was still quite thick. She reckoned she could follow this one and then loop round the farm.
‘Come on, Goldie. This way.’
About a hundred metres along, she realised Goldie wasn’t keeping up with her. She stopped and turned round. The dog was snuffling around in the bushes some way behind.
‘Goldie, come on!’ Bea called.
Goldie was unusually animated. She seemed to be digging her nose into the ground, eating something.
‘Oh, crap, what have you got?’
Bea started back along the path, shouting to the dog as she ran. Goldie ignored her. The ground she was standing on was churned up, mottled with red. She was licking and chomping at something.
‘God! What have you done! Get away! Come here!’
Bea grabbed her collar and pulled. The dog dug her feet in. Bea leaned back and hauled at her, and eventually she managed to drag her back to the path, feet sliding on the mud and slush.
Bea bent down and looked at the dog’s face. Her muzzle was stained red and she kept licking at the fur around her mouth.
‘Oh my God.’ Bea took her a few metres away and found a sturdy trunk to tie her to. ‘Wait there,’ she said, and walked back to the stirred up, bloody area at the bottom of the hedge.
Now that she looked, this whole section of path and its surroundings were disturbed, like it had been trampled by a crowd of people or animals. There was something at the centre of it, a few mangled remains. Scraps of dark wet fur clinging to bits of bone, but there wasn’t enough there to tell what it was. There were only fragments left. Parts of a corpse.
Bea took some photographs on her phone. She checked them on her screen, and they were just an indistinct mess. You couldn’t tell what they were showing. She was going to leave it and move on when she thought of Anna, how worried she had been when Joan had gone missing, how devastated when her body was found. Chances were, there was someone else worrying and waiting now. This time Bea couldn’t return a body to them, but she could perhaps provide evidence that their pet was no more.
Steeling her nerve, she took a poop scoop bag out of her pocket and delicately picked up one of the fragments. Flesh, fur, bone. She quickly tied the handles of the bag and put it in her pocket.
She fetched Goldie and decided to walk back the way they had come, after all. Cliff had gone from his post by the river, and they plodded towards home. Halfway across the large field, Goldie lay down. This time Bea barked, ‘No you don’t!’ and gave a firm tug on the lead, and something about her tone prompted the dog to stand up and start walking. When they were nearly back to the allotments, Bea’s phone rang.
Nobody rang this early, unless someone had died. Her heart missed a beat, thinking Queenie must be in trouble, but when she fished the phone of her pocket, the display said ‘Ant Home’. She answered,
‘Ant? What’s up?’
‘I’m going to be late for work, Bea. Can you cover for me?’
She checked the time. ‘It’s only quarter to eight. You’ve got ages.’
‘Something’s happened. I’ve gotta sort it out.’
‘What is it?’
‘It’s just a mess here, Bea. I’ll be in when I’ve cleaned it up. Don’t want my mum to see it. I’ve gotta go, Bea.’
‘Mess, what sort of—?’ But he’d cut the call.
Bea found the answer back home, when she was scrolling through Twitter as she ate her Coco Pops. Someone had posted a photo of the front of an ordinary 1970s terraced house on the Kingsleigh South estate. Scrawled across it in angry red paint, spanning brickwork and the ground-floor window, was one word, repeated over and over, ‘SCUM’.
15
‘Sorry about your house, Ant.’
‘I needn’t have bothered cleaning it up this morning,’ Ant said, glumly. ‘It’s all over Facebook and Twitter and everywhere. Stupid to think I could keep it from Mum and the girls.’
‘How is your mum?’
He sighed, and took another long draw from his cigarette. ‘She’s taking it hard. She’s pretty tough, my mum. I’ve never seen her like this before. The fight’s gone out of her.’
Bea had seen Ant’s mum in fighting mode, when she’d had a go at Dot in Costsave at Halloween, and she was pretty scary. She was a small, wiry, scrappy sort of woman. It was difficult to imagine her without the fire.
‘We’ve lived in that house for eleven years. It’s gotta be someone local that did that, hasn’t it? Not nice to think that’s one of your neighbours.’
‘They’re just cowards, Ant. Lowlifes.’
‘Yeah. Seems like my dad crossed a line this time. A lot of people kind of knew what he did before, but now they’ve all turned against us.’
He was inside today, manning the cleaning trolley. After the break Bea kept an eye on him. He drifted around, mopping up spills and picking up cardboard in a lacklustre way. In truth his work rate was not much different from normal, although to Bea’s eyes he looked as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. In between customers, she wondered what she could do to cheer him up. Perhaps the latest news on their investigation would take his mind off things. What with Barbour Jacket Man and the mysterious stranger in the pub, and the poor dead animal on this morning’s walk, she had plenty to tell him.
The store was busier today. The snow had brought panic buyers out in numbers, but had undoubtedly put some of her regular customers off. Now the pavements were clear the very old and those with the very young were back to stock up their supplies.
While her customer was paying, Bea noticed a woman walking into the store. Her hair was scraped back as usual, but even at this distance Bea could tell it needed a wash. And although she was wearing a thick, padded jacket, her shoulders were hunched and she was scuttling more than walking.
From the fresh veg area where he was tidying up apple boxes, Ant had spotted her too. He left his trolley and hurried ov
er to her. They met near the checkouts. ‘Mum, what are you doing here?’
She didn’t have any make-up on and there were dark circles under her eyes. ‘I just came to tell you that I’m taking Dani and Britney to my Linzi’s.’
‘What? Cardiff? There’s no need to go that far, Mum.’
‘It’s not the end of the earth. Just till it all settles down.’
‘What about school?’
‘I’ve rung the girls’ school up. They threatened me too, bastards, told me I couldn’t take them out, it was an unauthorised absence, but I told them – we’re not safe. Family comes first. Steve’s staying and Ken wanted to as well. So you’ll be all right. You’re flavour of the month anyway, local hero, nothing’ll happen to you.’
‘Mum, if you go, then they’ve won.’
She considered that for a while, blinking hard. ‘I’ll be back. I just need some time.’
‘Mum, please don’t.’
‘What if it wasn’t paint, love? What if it was a brick through the window? If something happened to the girls, I’d never forgive myself.’ She wiped her hand wearily across her brow.
‘Let’s report it to the cops, then. Get some protection.’
She almost laughed. ‘They won’t do nothing. They hate us too. We’re going on the bus to Bristol and then a megabus to Cardiff. We’ll be fine. Linzi’s expecting us. Will you keep an eye on Ken? Make sure he eats something and keeps going to school?’
‘Oh crikey, Mum. Can’t you take him with you?’
‘Says he doesn’t want to miss his studies. It is his GCSE year, after all.’
Ant wrinkled his nose. ‘Are you sure he said that?’
‘Yeah. Surprised me too. Perhaps he’s turned over a new leaf. Anyway, keep him on the straight and narrow, won’t you?’
‘I suppose . . . Well, keep in touch, yeah? Have a couple of days and then come home. I’ll try and keep it nice for you.’
‘You’re a good boy, Anthony. Stephen’s home too, so it’ll be all boys together. I’ll see you soon, yeah?’
Bea thought she caught a little wobble in Ant’s mum’s voice as she threaded her thin arms round his waist and gave him a big squeeze. Ant hugged her back.
He shambled over to Bea after his mum had peeled herself away, and they both watched her leave the store.
‘Hounded out of her own home,’ said Ant. ‘Fucking disgrace.’
Bea pulled a sympathetic face. ‘Do you still want to go and see Charles in hospital this afternoon?’
‘Might as well. I’ve got nothing to get home for.’
‘What about Ken?’
Ant snorted. ‘Ha! I won’t see him until at least ten. Lying little toerag. Didn’t want to miss his studies, my arse.’
Charles was propped up in bed, looking out of the window, when Bea and Ant found him. He waved Bea towards the plastic chair by his bed, while Ant hovered in the background.
‘I wanted to see how you were, tell you how Goldie’s getting on,’ said Bea.
Charles’ eyes lit up. ‘How is she?’
‘She’s fine. My mum’s with her all day and I walk her in the morning and evening. She’s a very good dog. I think she’s missing you, though.’
‘Well, I’m still here. My ticker is still ticking.’ Charles tapped his chest with the hand that didn’t have a drip attached. ‘I had an operation, you know. Couple of stents.’
‘That should help, then,’ said Bea.
‘Yes. I broke my collarbone when I fell too. I don’t know when I’ll be allowed home. Old bones take longer to heal. They’re talking about a care home until I can cope.’
‘Sounds like a good idea, just till you’re strong enough to be at home. Goldie’s fine with us, unless you’d rather she was with a neighbour.’
‘Oh, my neighbours won’t have her. Next door is very anti-pet, always has been. He’s been acting a bit oddly recently too. I wondered if it was dementia. The lady next to him has a cat. No, she’s best off with you and I feel better knowing she’s all right.’
‘She’s happy. It’s lovely having her around actually.’
‘Ah,’ he said, ‘once you’ve had a dog, there’s no going back. A home’s not a home without one.’
‘I don’t know about that, but she’s a good house guest.’ Bea turned towards Ant, and stood up.
‘Do you remember Ant, Charles? He’s the one who helped you in Costsave, kept you going until the ambulance got there.’
‘It was you. Come here, then,’ Charles’ eyes filled with tears as he beckoned Ant forward. ‘Thank you, young man. Thank you.’
Ant’s eyes were brimming too. He sat in the chair vacated by Bea. ‘That’s okay. It was just lucky. I’d been on the training two days before.’
‘You saved my life.’
Ant couldn’t speak for a while. Charles’ hands were lying on top of the crisp white sheets. His right hand had a cannula in, and a tube snaking to a bag of fluid on a stand. The other one was nearer to Ant and he reached forward and gently put his hand on top. Charles, also silent now, turned his hand over so that their palms met and their fingers were able to clasp each other. Bea felt a surge of emotion, and she realised she was in danger of succumbing to some very ugly crying indeed.
‘I’ll just get a coffee,’ she muttered and fled before either of them could see her making a show of herself. By the time she came back, with three coffees in a cardboard cup holder, Charles and Ant were chatting away about football and the chances of Kingsleigh Football Club making it into the league above.
Ant and Bea sat on the top deck of the bus home, but there wasn’t much to see. It was dark. The roads were wet, car headlights and tail lights reflecting on the surface. Every now and again, roadside branches whipped at the windows.
‘Do you feel any better for seeing him?’ said Bea.
‘Yeah. I reckon. He’s a nice man, isn’t he? Old school.’
‘Yeah.’
‘I feel . . .I dunno . . .I feel fucking knackered. Like if I shut my eyes, I’d sleep until the weekend.’ He rubbed at his eyes and Bea was worried he might start crying again. On close inspection, his hoodie was quite stained and more than a little pongy. The smell seemed to have been following them around since they left work. He yawned loudly, then leaned his head on her shoulder and pretended to snore.
‘Give over,’ said Bea, but when he didn’t move, she softened. ‘It’s been a bit of a day for you, hasn’t it? Well, all of us.’
‘Why? What’s up with you?’ Ant said, his head still comfortably using her shoulder as a pillow, his eyes starting to close. ‘Can’t hack it at work? I thought you loved it.’
‘Work’s fine. I just . . .I found something this morning when I was out with the dog.’
‘Mm?’
She wasn’t sure he was really listening now, but it would only be five or six minutes until they were back in Kingsleigh. If he fell asleep now, she’d have a hell of a job waking him up. ‘There was something dead near the path. An animal.’
‘Hh?’ His eyes were closed now.
‘Actually, I’ve just remembered. I picked some of it up, as, you know, evidence. I was going to leave it outside the back door, but it’s still in my pocket.’ She felt a flush of embarrassment. Maybe that explained the smell.
‘What?’ Ant’s eyes were open again now. ‘You’ve got what in your pocket?’
‘A bit of dead animal.’
‘Which pocket?’
‘The one you’re leaning on.’
‘Eurgh!’ He sat bolt upright and shuffled to the edge of the seat away from her. ‘What are you like?’
‘I just forgot.’ She reached into her pocket and brought out the black plastic bag.
‘No! Don’t open it in here!’
But she was already undoing the handles. She flinched a bit as the ripe smell was released and hit her nose. Ant scooted over to the seat on the other side of the aisle, flapping at his nose and mouth. Bea put the bag on the seat beside her and peered in. She c
ouldn’t see a great deal, so she tentatively peeled the edges down to reveal the contents at the bottom. It was all a bit sticky and wet, but the top had started to dry out a bit.
She ran through the list of missing cats that she knew about – two tabbies, a ginger one and the white one she’d seen with Tank and Dean. ‘Oh Jesus, Ant. Look at this.’
‘No, you’re all right,’ he said, holding the neck of his hoodie up to cover his nose and mouth. ‘I’ll stay over here. Weirdo.’
‘No, really. You need to see this.’
‘What?’
‘This fur, Ant. It was all dark and wet when I picked it up, but look now. Look at the colour.’
Holding his breath, he leaned over the aisle. ‘Oh no. Is that . . .blood?’
‘I don’t think so. The bloody bit is underneath.’
They both stared into the bag and then looked at each other with horror. The fur attached to the scraps of tissue and bone was unmistakeably ginger.
16
‘What are we going to do with it?’
The bus had reached the outskirts of town now. It was only a minute or two until they needed to get off.
‘There’s a bin near your bus stop, isn’t there?’ said Ant. ‘Chuck it in there. It stinks.’
‘It’s evidence, Ant.’
‘Okay, Miss Marple, take some pictures on your phone and then chuck it in the bin. You can’t walk around with that in your pocket. Even if you get it home, what are you gonna do?’
‘Take it to someone? Get it tested for DNA?’
Ant snorted. ‘You’ve been watching too much telly. Who the hell is going to DNA test a bit of animal you found under a hedge?’
‘The RSPCA? The police?’
‘Actually, that’s not a bad idea, give it to that tosser Tom. Put it in an envelope and post it to him. It’ll be even riper by the time it reaches him.’
At the mention of Tom’s name, Bea went quiet.
‘What?’ said Ant.
‘Nothing.’
‘Yeah, there’s something.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it.’
He looked about to say something else, press her on what the matter was, but she was saved by the bell. Someone had pinged the ‘bus stopping’ button and it was slowing down as it approached the next stop.
