It struck me as unusual that a policeman involved in a serious case should be at leisure during the working week. ‘You’re taking your day off, I suppose,’ I said.
‘That’s right. I’m back on routine duties now.’
In my experience, officers on a major enquiry usually stayed with it. I must have shown some surprise because he said, ‘There were reasons.’
‘Angus Todd being your cousin?’
It was his turn to show surprise. ‘You know that, do you?’
‘He asked me for help.’
‘I can understand that, you having been his officer in the Falklands. He often talks about those days. Army life must have suited him. He says that he’s getting soft now.’
The dogs were hunting in vain, pausing hopefully to bring us a piece of broken clay pigeon now and again. I hoped that none of the championship ground had ever been used for clay pigeon shooting – Isobel’s face would be red if she sent one of the dogs for a game bird and it came back with an orange midi. Peel swung the trap onto his shoulder and picked up the bag of clay pigeons.
‘At least it’s lighter going back,’ he said. I took his gun and we set off. ‘As soon as the big bugs saw that Angus was going to come under suspicion and when it dawned on them that I was related to him, I was off the case in two minutes flat,’ he said. ‘They told me not to go near him again.’
‘Did anybody tell you not to go near me?’
‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘They didn’t.’
We came to a favourite resting place of mine, a fallen tree beside the small pond. Lob went for a quick paddle, to cool off after the hard work. By tacit agreement, we settled there. I had been glad to move but now I was glad to rest again. Waxproofed cotton makes an excellent waterproof coat but it does tend to keep the sweat in while letting the body’s warmth escape. Peel gave a grunt of relief.
‘Do you think your cousin’s guilty?’ I asked.
He made a noise that could have passed for a laugh but was utterly without amusement. ‘Guilty of what? He’s only charged with hit-and-run at the moment. I think he’s capable of knocking down a pedestrian and driving off in a moment of panic. That’s probably true of most of us, given the right circumstances. The cases I’ve seen . . . The very last people you’d expect. The evidence on his Land-Rover seems cast iron.’
‘They’ve matched the hairs to the dead man?’
He nodded soberly. ‘But to make it into murder they have to link it with one or both of the Dundee killings, and that I could not believe. Angus has a temper but there’s no cruelty in him. More than once I’ve seen him stop the car to knock an injured rabbit on the head. When we were boys, he found some stranded tadpoles after a tank was emptied. He tried to give them the kiss of life. You don’t get more compassionate than that.’
That agreed with my own opinion. Angus had fought with dedication and cunning but I had seen him use his field dressing on his wounded prisoner while his own wound was dripping blood. ‘Let’s stay with the evidence,’ I said. ‘Were there no traces on the bonnet of the Land-Rover?’
He glanced at me and then looked away, across the pond to the low hills in the distance. ‘You’ll never let on that I told you anything?’
‘Definitely not,’ I said.
‘I shouldn’t be talking. But I can’t think of any other way to help Angus. I don’t know it all, of course. I was a pair of feet, a mouth and ears, fit to ask a hundred people the same questions but not to think about the answers, just to bring them back and deliver to hand, just like those spaniels of yours. But inevitably I was sometimes around when the brains discussed the case between them.
‘The Land-Rover’s bonnet was clean and undamaged. That worries them. The damage to the dead man suggested that his head and hands must have come down on the bonnet and there was green cellulose paint impacted on them. Of course, Angus admits he washed the vehicle.’
‘And missed the bumper? That seems unlikely?’
‘He was still half-cut. All the same, Angus has one of those power hoses. Damn nearly rolls a car over. I was wondering myself how he could soap and hose the Land-Rover, leaving hairs as well as blood on the bumper. And a Land-Rover’s bodywork may be solid but you’d expect more than the bumper to show signs of a smack like that.’
‘Did they send the bumper away for testing?’ I asked. ‘Or did they examine the whole vehicle in one piece? Or don’t you know?’
Constable Peel blinked at me for some seconds before I saw the penny drop. ‘Oho! So that’s the way your mind’s working! No, there was a forensic science team of three men borrowed from Edinburgh. It was my job to fetch them from the station, and later to show them the Land-Rover in the police garage and to stand around in case they wanted their noses wiped or coffee fetched. They lifted the hairs and then took away swabs from all over the vehicle. You reckon somebody might have swapped bumpers?’
‘It crossed my mind,’ I said.
He thought about it and then shook his head doubtfully. ‘Not an easy job. It was dark where the Land-Rover was parked.’
‘Suppose he drove on after the accident,’ I said.
‘Accident?’
‘Fatality, then. Suppose he slacked off the bolts on his own bumper somewhere near a lamp, or even took it right off. And then came back just before dawn, while the rest of us were all sleeping it off. He’d have it fresh in his mind just where the bolts were placed and what tools he needed.’
‘That still wouldn’t explain how Angus came to miss the bumper when he washed the rest of it,’ he said, frowning.
‘No. But it’s a start. Leave it for now. What about the coat the dead man was wearing? Would it have fitted Angus?’
He shrugged. ‘It was an M size. I wasn’t there when they questioned him, but I know for a fact that Angus has half a dozen coats, waxproof and Goretex and I don’t know what-all. Mr Crae was always buying them, looking for the perfect shooting coat, something dry and windproof that wouldn’t hinder his arms when he was swinging a gun, and he used to pass on to Angus the ones he didn’t like.’
‘But there was nothing to link it positively with Angus?’
‘Not that I know of. But I do know that they found black dog-hairs in the right-hand pocket. From a small dog, and probably a young one they thought, but they couldn’t say for sure.’ He turned his head to look around, as though he suspected listening ears among the straggling trees. ‘My guess is that if Angus was brought to trial now, they could get convictions for dangerous driving, manslaughter, leaving the scene, I don’t know what-all. But not murder. Not yet. If they spend the next few weeks looking for evidence that will count against him and not looking for anything that goes in his favour, who knows?’
The digression had given me time to begin sorting my still disordered thoughts. A breeze had sprung up and I was feeling the cold, but I might never find Peel in such a confiding mood again. ‘What did you find out about the people in the bar that night?’
‘Not a damn thing of any use. They came and went. Some of them noticed others, most didn’t. One couple had a Land-Rover registered to them, but they came in the family car and their son was in Dundee with the Land-Rover.’
‘And in the car park?’
‘A slow build-up to a peak about ten p.m. and then thinning out again. One man, just one, thought that he remembered another Land-Rover parked near the back door late on, but it could have been a Shogun, a Nissan Patrol, Dacia Duster, or a Fourtrack. Any damn jeep, in fact, from a Suzuki to a Range Rover.’
I was getting answers without getting anything else. Except cold. The light was beginning to go and the dogs were restless. But there was one more urgent question. ‘Was Angus asked who he was meeting? I forgot to ask him.’
‘He was asked all right,’ Peel said grimly. ‘But not a word would he say. When he was pressed, that’s when he blew up and refused to say any more about anything. Two of the bar staff saw him speaking with a man when it was nearly midnight, about the time Dinnet left, but t
heir descriptions only fit where they touch. They could be describing two different men.’ He peered at his watch in the fading light. ‘It’s time I was moving. We can talk again.’
We got to our feet and shouldered our burdens.
*
The prolonged infection which had (as I could now admit to myself) nearly carried me off had left me seriously underweight and very vulnerable to chills. But I never learned. Sitting with Constable Peel on the fallen tree in deepening dusk, I had felt and ignored the warning signs.
The two spaniels had been away from home at the routine time for the evening meal. I kennelled them, reminded Daffy to dry and feed them, and found Henry, Isobel, and Beth already embarked on the customary winding-down session in the sitting room. Sam was also present in body but soundly asleep in his Carricot. I could feel the deep shivers, the crawling skin and the imminence of cold sweats which meant that I had overtaxed myself again, but I was determined not to let the others see that I was off colour. Perhaps this time the symptoms might not progress. I took a whisky instead of my usual beer and moved one of the wing-chairs closer to the fire.
Scribbled papers were scattered among the glasses on the low table. This was a normal state for the room, but it was too early to be discussing next season’s competition entries and the notes looked too random to be Isobel’s proposals for breeding policy. They seemed to be lists of names and phone numbers, in several handwritings, most of them followed by ticks or short comments.
Beth saw me craning my neck. ‘We’ve been tracking down cocker pups,’ she said.
The cheap rate had not started – but our drinks, I reminded myself, would have cost more than the phone-calls. ‘Any luck?’ I asked.
‘Not a lot,’ said Isobel.
‘It’s too soon to try Kennel Club registrations,’ Beth said, ‘even if we could be sure that they were all going to be registered. We tried known breeders and the gun dog clubs and carried on from there, working outwards from the nearest ones. Of course, we couldn’t be sure about amateur breeders with a family bitch, but Isobel’s been calling her fellow vets and getting one or two names.’
‘We’ve covered most of Central Scotland,’ Henry said, ‘and found five litters so far born around the right time, but most of the black pups are accounted for. Several numbers aren’t answering.’
‘I’ll try them again this evening,’ Beth said. ‘How did you get on?’
‘They’re both as ready as they ever will be.’ I looked at Isobel. We tried to be as flexible as we could be, exchanging jobs to suit circumstances; but, in general, the rough work was left to Daffy, Beth could do any job around the place, I was the trainer while Isobel kept the books and records and looked after the dogs’ health. But, in addition, Isobel had surprised all of us including herself by turning into a great handler in competitions. She had an unflappable temperament and an uncanny instinct for whatever a dog or a bird would do next.
‘Rowan’s still inclined to be impetuous,’ I told her. ‘We’d better find somewhere near the ground and get him out there really early to blow off steam on the first morning. And the second, if he’s still in the running. He usually settles down after a few minutes. Be ready with the stop whistle and give a quick peep if he looks in the least like running in. The judge may dock you a mark, but that’s better than being put out for unsteadiness.’
Isobel nodded and I could see that she was filing away the information and the suggestion somewhere in the intricate philosophy that lay behind her success. ‘It’s something from his early training,’ she said. ‘Thank God he never passes it on genetically!’
‘You were late coming back,’ Beth said. She was watching me closely, sensing something wrong. As much to distract her as for any other reason, I told them in detail of what I had learned from Constable Peel. I made the story as short as I could. My voice was becoming hoarse.
Henry got up and refilled glasses. My job usually, but my legs were trembling. ‘Interesting,’ Henry said. ‘From the rather obscured viewpoint that we had at the time, I thought that the vehicle caught him on the legs and lower body, as you’d expect. It threw him forward and hit him again as he went down. The Constable was right in what he said – you’d expect plenty of signs on the bonnet. Not just blood and hair but dents. Land-Rovers are solidly built, but not . . .’ He glanced in Beth’s direction and came to a halt.
‘Not to take a skull coming down hard,’ Beth said. ‘It’s all right, Henry, I’d already thought of that for myself. I shan’t get the collywobbles if we talk about it.’
‘Most middle-aged Land-Rovers are all over dents anyway,’ Isobel said.
‘Not Angus’s,’ said Beth. ‘He kept his like new.’
She was still watching me. With the Spaniel Championships almost upon us, the last thing I wanted was to be laid up with Beth as my nurse-cum-warder. I tried to hide the signs but when I relaxed my jaw my teeth chattered audibly.
‘That does it,’ Beth said. She jumped up and felt my forehead. ‘You’ve been out in the cold too long again. Hot bath and into bed for you.’
‘Not yet,’ I protested. ‘I’ve got to see Angus again. There are more questions—’
Beth stood up, got hold of my arm and pulled with surprising strength. ‘Definitely not!’ she said.
‘You’re on a loser, John.’ Isobel was looking anxious but at the same time amused. ‘Give in, or you won’t be fit for the championship.’
I would have put up more resistance but my head was beginning to swim. I let Beth drag me to my feet. ‘Somebody fetch Angus over to see me tomorrow,’ I croaked.
Beth hauled me upstairs and ran a hot bath for me. The delicious heat seeped into me and yet I was still cold. As I knew from experience, it was possible to be hot on the outside and remain chilled deep within, like a badly thawed joint of beef. While I soaked, Beth fed me with the various pills that the doctor had left for such contingencies – an antibiotic to keep infection off my lungs, something to take the fever down, and God knows what else.
Beth had a hot towel and warm pyjamas ready and the electric blanket was on. There must have been a sleeping pill somewhere among the others. I was hardly between the sheets before the world faded away.
Chapter Five
I woke slowly. My pyjamas were moist with sweat, but the fever had abated and although I was light-headed my mind was clear. I could hear the usual noises of the house and kennels. They were not early morning noises. About nine thirty, I guessed, and when I opened my eyes and looked at the clock I was only a few minutes out.
Somebody opened the door, looked in, and went away again. I was too late to see who it was but they must have seen that I was surfacing because a few minutes later the door was bumped open and Daffy came in with a tray. She was wearing Wellingtons and jeans, but the work-manlike effect was spoiled by a frilly blouse which might once have been the top section of a ball-gown. Her hair had reverted to what I thought was probably its natural colour but stood up in spikes and her lipstick was orange with green eyeshadow.
‘Sit up for a moment,’ she said, ‘while I rearrange the pillows.’
‘Damn that for a lark,’ I retorted. ‘I’m getting up. Find me some clothes.’
Her hair had given her a look of terror until she laughed at me. ‘Not a hope,’ she said, setting down the tray. ‘Put it out of your mind.’
‘Who’s the boss around here?’
‘That’s a moot point.’ She snickered suddenly. ‘If you have to ask the question, who am I to answer it? I’ve seen you before, remember, after one of your bouts.’ She looked at me consideringly, enjoying her moment of power. ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do. If you can get out of bed on your own and stand still with your eyes closed for ten seconds, I’ll fetch your clothes.’
When I tried to sit up my head began to swim again. Daffy propped me up and put the tray on my knees. Cereal, toast, a boiled egg and tea. ‘Where’s Beth?’ I asked.
‘Out. Taking Sam and some pups up the fields. If yo
u’ve had breakfast before she gets back I’m to hump you through to the bathroom. Your clean pyjamas are on the towel rail.’
‘You’re both dreaming,’ I said with my mouth full. I had missed my evening meal and the food tasted marvellous.
‘Otherwise, I’m to give you a blanket bath.’
The idea of being given a blanket bath by somebody who looked like Daffy was daunting. I finished my breakfast while she ran a bath and then leaned on her as far as the bathroom. My muscles seemed to have turned into spaghetti.
At the bathroom door, I stopped. ‘This is as far as you come.’
‘You’ll never make it on your own.’
‘Go away,’ I said.
‘I don’t know what you’re worrying about,’ she said. ‘If you’ve got something I haven’t seen ten of before, don’t be a spoilsport.’
I shut the door against her and managed to strip without falling over. I heard her start down the stairs, singing to the tune of ‘The green, green grass of home’. ‘I open the door,’ she sang, ‘and here comes Mary, teeth of gold and lips all hairy . . .’
I lowered myself carefully into the hot water. My mind, still erratic, teased at the words. Lips of gold and . . . No, that still wasn’t right. Hair of gold and teeth . . . No. Lips like cherries. That was it. Now I could relax.
Ten minutes later, clean and refreshed and feeling a little steadier, I tottered back to the bedroom. Daffy had just finished making up the bed with clean sheets.
‘I am going downstairs,’ I said.
‘Mrs Cunningham said that you’d say that. She told me to push you into the bed and sit on you until she gets back. She says she’s spoken to Mr Todd and he’s coming to see you. Until then, you can twiddle your thumbs or anything else you want to twiddle.’
I flopped down on the bed. ‘Did Beth really say that last bit?’ I asked.
Daffy grinned. ‘Twiddling? No, that was all my own.’
I lay back and she tucked me in, quite gently by her standards. ‘All the same,’ I said, ‘I’ll have to get up and about soon if I’m going to drive Mrs Kitts to the championships.’
The Curse of the Cockers Page 7
