The Price of Horses

by Ian Taylor

  "Keep away from here!" Luke yelled. "I see you here again I'll cut your goddamn head off!"

  Charlie got to his feet and shambled away, muttering furiously to himself. "Ain't

  no one does that to Charlie Gibb! Ain't no one! No one!"

  Luke and his companions spent the next hour milking and tethering the goats, feeding the pigs and collecting the eggs from the deep litter houses. The girls had worked on the farm picking fruit and knew their way around. They left the milk in the dairy and carried the eggs to the kitchen, as Luke had seen Cath do. Then he left the three of them on their own to guard the house.

  "Don't let anyone near the place on Cath Scaife's orders, unless they're making an official delivery. Any problems you ring me."

  He left them his mobile number. Then, just to be safe, he left Sy's as well.

  "What we gonna do if things get rough down here?" Kingsley asked. "There's not enough of us to fight back."

  "Lock the house and take cover in the orchard," Luke advised. "You can get out the

  front door that can't be seen from the yard. The key's in the lock. Then ring me and Sy. And keep out o' sight o' that loony in the sawmill!"

  He ran back to the Citroen and drove away. The unexpected had happened already, and he hadn't even begun to put his plan into action. He was beset by bad feelings about the day that lay ahead.

  One thing was certain: it was going to be all or nothing now.

  22

  Cath and Angie were tied to wall fittings in one of the outbuildings at Birch Hall. They were gagged, dehydrated and exhausted. They had no idea where they were and were unable to move or call for help. Angie had quickly realised that weeping caused frightening breathing problems. There was nothing they could do so they had no choice but resign themselves to their fate.

  After his usual visit to the gallops and a leisurely breakfast alone with Harry in the dining room, Phil decided it was time to pay the women a visit. He had them completely under his control and decided to have a bit of fun with them while he waited for Tam's hitman to make contact. When they had dealt with him he could decide what to do with the women.

  One thing had now become clear: Cath Scaife would have to transfer ownership of her farm to him if he cleared her debt to the bank. Once that had been done, despite whatever promises he made to them, the women had no further value. They would take them to the ravine and dispose of them, like they should have done with Tam.

  He entered the outbuilding and stood for a moment watching them. "Beautiful

  morning out there." He closed the door and switched on the light. "Pity you can't see it." He took his revolver from the shoulder holster he wore under his jacket. "I should have realised it was you who was watching that night, Cath Scaife. Can't think how it could have escaped me. Best not take any more chances, eh?"

  Before Cath had time to close her eyes, he put the gun to her head and pulled the trigger.

  Click.

  Cath started to shake uncontrollably. Angie struggled in vain against her bonds.

  Phil laughed. "Maybe next time it'll be loaded. Or we could play Russian roulette. We could start with two bullets in the chamber. Makes it more exciting, don't you think?"

  He turned to Angie. "Perhaps you could shoot your mam. Or she could shoot you. When there's only one of you left I s'pose I'll have to take over. Won't be so much fun then, will it? The excitement lasts while there's still the chance you could live another minute longer, maybe even two. But you'll be going into the unknown, the pair o' you, sooner or later."

  He stood for a few minutes watching them, enjoying the surge of power that filled him. Maybe he should film their game of Russian roulette and create his own live action snuff movie. He could put it on the Internet and charge one dollar a hit and make an easy million in only a few hours. Folk had become so bored and degenerate they would simply lap it up.

  But he'd need Harry's expertise to protect his online identity and to take the movie down before he was ratted out. And he didn't want to share this experience with him. Stealing Harry's wife was one thing. Giving him the power of blackmail so easily was another matter entirely. He put his gun back in the holster and turned off the light, then he went out and locked the door, leaving the women in darkness.

  * * *

  Brian watched the two Dobermans in the rear yard dog pen. The animals were restless, sniffing the air and whining. Their morning feed remained untouched.

  Steve ambled up. He glanced at the dogs. "What's wrong with them?"

  Brian shrugged. "Dunno. They've been like this for the last half hour."

  "Mebbe we've got an intruder. Could be that guy who shot up the statues."

  "I was thinking we should let 'em go. The guy would never be able to handle the dogs and us as well. If we caught him Phil would give us one helluva bonus. Whaddya think?"

  "You ready for a firefight?" Steve asked with a questioning smile.

  "I'm always ready."

  "Okay then. Let's do it."

  Brian opened the pen and the dogs raced away. He and Steve chased after them. The Dobermans careered across the front lawn, leaped the boundary fence and disappeared into the woodland beyond. Brian and Steve, two hundred yards behind,

  arrived at the fence, got their breath back and listened.

  "Hear anything?" Steve asked.

  Brian shook his head. "Not a damn thing. So there ain't a shooter out here. There'd have been one shot at least."

  "If he was using a silencer we wouldn't have heard it, " Steve reasoned. "He could be looking for us now."

  Brian objected. "He might've shot one, but the remaining dog would've barked. No one could shoot two Dobermans in total silence."

  "Mebbe the dogs were after something else," Steve suggested.

  "Like what?"

  "What would make you run that fast?"

  "Cops, mebbe. Money."

  "I mean, if you were a dog?"

  Brian laughed. "Only one answer to that, ain't there?"

  They whistled and shouted, but to no avail.

  "Damnit, we've lost 'em," Steve said. "Phil will go nuts."

  They wandered about half-heartedly in the woodland, calling and whistling, but eventually gave up.

  "They must've gone a fair distance," Steve decided. "I've been told dogs can smell a bitch in heat more'n a mile away."

  Brian pulled a reluctant face. "We'll have to get the motor and go looking."

  "We'll tell Phil they busted out," Steve said. "We'd better sabotage the pen as

  evidence."

  They retraced their steps to the pen at the back of the house. Royston and Bennett watched them from the nearby shrubbery.

  * * *

  The lurcher bitch was tied to a slender goat willow among briar-infested woodland to the south of the house. The tranquillized Dobermans lay nearby. Sy and Farley, invisible among the summer leaves, listened to the racket kicked up by the minders.

  Farley shook his head. "Gorgios, eh? They're all dinilo."

  "We're lucky those guys aren't Roms," Sy thought. "They would've dikked us. Then we'd have problems."

  They settled down to observe the solitary stranger, who was dressed in army camouflage and carried field glasses and a backpack. They watched him make his way silently through the woodland to the west.

  "That mush is dangerous," Farley concluded. "He's a gorgio, but he knows his

  woodcraft."

  "He must have been the shooter," Sy replied. "Someone's had a bit o' fun picking off those statues!"

  "He ain't got a rifle now," Farley observed. "But he's on the hunt. We'd best keep dikkerin him. Did Luke say anything about this mush?"

  Sy shook his head. "He mebbe don't know him. We better watch he don't spoil things for us."

  "Mebbe Kingsley can dikker him. When will he be joining us?"

  "Soon as he thinks it's safe to leave the raklies. Could be any time."

  "I don't like that mush," Farley admitted. "He's a killer."

 
; Sy agreed. "A killer he is for sure. Best not give him no space to breathe. If Kingsley don't come, I'll be dikkerin him. If I have to, I'll put him to sleep like those two jukels."

  Farley agreed. "You'll need double the dose. He'll sleep like the dead till we're outta here!"

  * * *

  The woodland near Birch Hall was a very different place compared with the day before. Today there were people about who looked to Malcolm like gypsies. He had watched the activity with the Dobermans in his field glasses and was impressed by the speed and efficiency with which the two dark-complexioned young men had dealt with the dogs. He realised these people, whoever they were, had some kind of plan and knew precisely what they were doing.

  He had no wish to get mixed up with them and decided to find a quiet part of the wood where he could lie low and observe events. It was obvious the gypsies were about to make moves against the occupants of the big house. That in itself was interesting. They may be about to make his own task a lot easier.

  He hadn't posted his third photograph, even though it was grotesquely comical, with the two guys chasing the dogs who were pursuing a gorilla with a bag marked SWAG on his back and an approximation of Phil Yates tucked under his arm. Perhaps the time for photographs had gone.

  The thought occurred to him that these gypsies might simply be staging a burglary, in which case he might have to step in and relieve them of the loot. But how many of them were there? Two or three might be manageable. Four or more might not. He was annoyed by the sudden intrusion, but somehow he had to turn it to his advantage. As far as he knew, no one was aware he was there. He had to keep it that way.

  He wondered if one of the gypsies was Luke Smith, the cat burglar his brother had mentioned, who wanted paying for the heist of T'ang horses. Fair enough, the guy should

  have his fifty large, but only if he behaved himself.

  * * *

  Royston and Bennett watched Brian and Steve as the minders loosened a section of the Dobermans' enclosure to create evidence of the dogs' escape. A movement caught

  Royston's attention and he looked up to the roof of the Hall, where Luke sat watching from among the chimney stacks. Luke gave them a signal to keep observing, then disappeared from view.

  Luke's climb on to the roof of Birch Hall had been easy, as the soft sandstone of the wall on the west elevation of the extension was riddled with weather-eroded hand and foot holds. Once on the roof he could keep an eye on arrivals and departures at the Hall and on his two mobile units to the south and north. But he found his feelings divided between his desire to get long-awaited justice and his urgent need to find Cath and Angie. He couldn't search for them openly. He just had to hope Phil or his heavies would give their location away.

  He had heard the story of the missing girls who were found by chance six months after their captor had been shot dead by police. They had drunk their own urine and blood, but had eventually died of starvation. Don't kill the messenger, he thought—at least not till you've checked out the message.

  * * *

  The afternoon light was slowly changing, replaced by the longer shadows of early evening. On all sides of the Hall the grounds lay apparently deserted. A light rain billowed across the house front, then cleared to leave the moon, like a lonely voyeur, perched on the eastern skyline.

  One by one, the first-floor lights in the Hall went off and the ground-floor lights came on. A taxi and a Range Rover arrived with the few select guests for Harry's birthday party and were greeted on the steps by Phil and Harry and escorted inside.

  Neither Phil nor Harry had desired an extended guest list, Harry because he despised the people who worked for him, Phil because he was paranoid about anyone he couldn't trust finding out details of his private home life.

  The ground-floor windows on the south side of the Hall were open to let in the mild evening air. The sounds of conversation and laughter drifted out. Nigel Hirst, Clive Fawcett and his wife Samantha, Freddie Parfitt, the jockey, and Julie, his girlfriend, left their birthday gifts in the panelled drawing room, where Harry dutifully opened them, trying to find a fresh comment to make for each unwanted gift.

  Phil had opened the bar, aware that drinks would quickly dispel any awkward atmosphere and loosen sluggish tongues. The talk picked up and naturally revolved around horses; Phil was relieved that Dot managed to appear interested without saying anything that would embarrass him. At least, not yet.

  Eventually the head of the hired catering team, engaged by Phil for the occasion, announced that the food was ready. The guests took their seats in the dining room, where an ornate antique oil lamp burned in the centre of the long table.

  The courses came and went, no one eating much, as Phil, Freddie and the ladies were watching their waistlines and neither Harry nor Clive wished to appear unduly gluttonous. As the remains of the fourth course disappeared into the kitchen Dot drained her wine glass and refilled it for the fifth time. Harry watched her across the table, wondering when her mask of sobriety would slip.

  Hirst, in a new uncreased suit, got to his feet. "Here's to you, Harry. And to the next forty. May we all still be sitting here!"

  Everyone raised their glasses and drank. Harry stood up and cleared his throat. "Thanks, Nige." He glanced around the room, noting the upturned self-indulgent faces, the quality decor and furnishings. "Guess things could be worse, 'ey?" He waited for the polite laughter to quieten. "Thanks to you all for coming today and for your gifts and good wishes."

  "It's my birthday next week," Samantha announced. "We should do this again at our

  place."

  Her attempt to hijack the occasion was promptly demolished by Dot.

  "What makes you think we'll have enough stamina? We haven't finished with this one yet!"

  The laughter was spontaneous but brief, as Samantha's discomfiture was quickly realised.

  "I tell you what," Dot continued with crushing brutality, "if we have any leftovers from tonight, we can bring them with us. Might save you a few quid!"

  The potential disaster was saved by the arrival of the fifth and final course, a spectacularly colourful "fresh fruit trifle, our chef's very own creation.” The tense atmosphere dissipated, much to everyone's relief except Dot's.

  "Ooo, Harry," Dot cooed, "you should take a photo of this, before we start slinging it into each other's faces!"

  Hirst ate a small amount then excused himself, whispering in Harry's ear. "I've a little rendezvous." He raised his eyes to the ceiling. "I thank you for that. I'll catch you later." He left the room.

  Phil pushed his empty bowl aside. "Okay, folks. It's party time!"

  Everyone followed Phil into the sitting room, which was yet another panelled reception room, where Brian and Steve had pushed the seating back against the walls. Phil played a compilation CD of All Time Favourite Hits. Harry danced with Freddie's girlfriend. Maureen danced with Freddie. Clive and Samantha danced with each other. Phil and Dot sat together on a sofa watching benignly. Phil took Dot's hand. She smiled at him blissfully, drunkenly.

  Brian arrived in the doorway in his outdoor jacket. Harry hurried him into an empty reception room.

  "Dogs back yet?" Harry asked impatiently.

  Brian shook his head. "Not a sign. Looks like they're having their own party."

  "You and Steve check round," Harry ordered. "And look in on those farm women. Phil wants to visit 'em later. Make sure they're conscious. Give 'em a drink of water."

  Under the reception room window, pressed flat against the wall, Royston and Bennett crouched, listening.

  23

  Handguns drawn, Brian and Steve patrolled the grounds in the moonlight. They followed the pathways around the eastern end of the house, then through the shrubberies at the back. They checked the outbuildings and garages. As they searched, a supple breeze blew in and filled their world with confusing movement.

  "I don't like this dog business," Steve complained. "We're blind as moles without 'em."

  Brian agreed
. "If it wasn't windy the moonlight would help, but it's all jumping

  shadows and wafting leaves. An entire SAS unit could hide out here and we wouldn't be any the wiser."

  "Best look in on those two females when we've walked round again," Steve decided.

  "We can have a bit o' fun, can't we?" Brian suggested. "I mean, who's gonna know?"

  Steve laughed. "Nice one, Bri! That'll wake 'em up!"

  "We'd best check the western extension first though, hadn't we?"

  "Guess we should. And round the back of the garages. We don't want an interruption when we're visiting the ladies!"

  Royston and Bennett tracked them from the shadows.

  * * *

  After the birthday celebrants had danced for an hour, they returned to the dining room, where the catering team had placed a large cake on the table. Phil opened champagne and filled their glasses while Harry cut the cake.

  "Drink up!" Phil beamed at his guests. "The night's still young!"

  Dot raised her glass. "Here's to Harry! Best big brother in the world!"

  They all clinked glasses and drank. Harry blew out the candles on his cake to a self-conscious ripple of applause.

  Dot lurched against the table. "Only forty once, ain'tcha?" Maureen had to steady her in case she fell into the cake.

  Phil paid off the caterers in cash. They left promptly, relieved to get away at a reasonable hour.

  The guests sang Happy Birthday, followed by For He's a Jolly Good Fellow. Harry did his best to maintain a smile.

  To Phil's disappointment, Clive and Samantha decided to leave.

  Clive was apologetic. "I can't do late nights and early mornings anymore these days, I'm afraid."

  The truth was a little different. Although Phil had put on a good show, Samantha was bored to the point of desperation, and her husband had decided to go in order to avoid another faux pas. He was aware she found Dot blindingly coarse and Maureen a vacuous mute, so a dignified but hasty exit had become expedient. Freddie and Julie had come with Hirst in a taxi, but they decided to leave too, rather than sink into a booze-filled morass and then have to phone for transport in the cold sad small hours.