The Food Detective

by Judith Cutler

  Not the sort of observation I’d have expected from Nick. He was more perceptive than I’d thought. Though if anyone was going to be aggressive I’d have expected it to be him, not Evans. Wrong, Josie: Nick was passive-aggressive, wasn’t he? The sort of man who wore people down by sheer inertia. The sort who was so afraid of doing something wrong he ended up doing nothing at all. And what had caused it? Something, I’d bet a week’s anti-ageing treatments, to do with that Kings Heath siege.

  ‘And, once you’d squared up to each other, did you have a useful conversation? About your altercation with Tregothnan?’

  ‘Altercation! That’s a very long word for a very short exchange of words.’

  This time I wasn’t drawn. ‘Which were about?’

  He sank the last of his whisky, all two drops of it, and pressed his hand to his stomach.

  ‘Something that puts you in the frame?’ I pursued. Perhaps lightening up would be more effective. ‘If I’ve got to make a file in a cake, I need to know in advance.’

  He responded blank-faced. ‘I don’t suppose you’d know a good solicitor in the area?’

  ‘Conveyancing? Or d’you want to make a Will?’ I eased into a more comfortable position. ‘Criminal? There’s a hotshot in Exeter Tony used to swear by when he was based in Brum.’

  He flinched. The thought of being on the same side of the law as a man he’d helped put away, no doubt.

  ‘And you’ll have to be a damned sight more open and frank with him than you have been with me,’ I said. ‘Or, presumably, with Evans. Oh, for God’s sake, man, I’m on your side. We’re in whatever it is together. Victims. Like young Robin could have been if you hadn’t spotted our intruder. If you’re going to be accused of anything, you’ve been set up. By the folk behind Chummie tonight. While you’re still at liberty to sniff around, start sniffing. Bring one of your FSA mates along …’

  ‘They’re all tied up with this contaminated meat scam. Where I should have been, but for your delicate, diplomatic phone messages.’

  ‘I’ll have to learn to text,’ I said affably. ‘OK. You have right of entry by virtue of your job. Enter. Tomorrow’s your day off – No?’

  ‘Very flexible hours in the FSA. I ought –’

  ‘You ought to check out that abattoir. You ought to check out that rending plant. And tell you what, just to make sure you do, as well as in the interests of safety, of course, I’ll come along as your driver.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The only way to get out bed was to tip the duvet and a couple of pillows on to the floor and roll on top of them. Not pleasant for the poor old body, which was in a miserable state. The hips and shoulders were the worst, bruises with colouring so dense and subtle it would have been wonderful on a scarf or top. The knees. Hmm. It looked like a trousers day today. And tomorrow. And the foreseeable future.

  Stiff wasn’t the word. Overnight, despite the daily stretches I always did my best with, I’d turned into a crippled old lady. I heaved myself upright and headed for the bathroom, catching sight of myself in the mirrors on the wardrobe. Hell! What on earth did I look like! Neanderthal woman! Reduce me to this sort of shuffle, would they? Not bloody likely. Or any other sort of rather more colourful likely. No, not so much as a wince or a sigh would I permit myself. A lot of swear words under my breath, and maybe a few scorchers out loud in private. But nothing to give the game away to bystanders interested or otherwise.

  So it was back on to the floor for stretches, which were hell. Showering afterwards was interesting because usually I liked to douse myself with the hottest water I could stand to ease the frame. Today I craved icy jets. In all, I treated myself to a sort of ice cream and hot chocolate sauce shower. I won’t begin to describe towelling dry and dressing. Suffice to say it would have been more sensible not to add to my general discomfort by biting my lips and raising blood blisters.

  Somewhere at the back of the medicine cupboard there should be some painkillers I’d been prescribed when my joints started to play up. They were as old as my diet, which I’d embarked on to save the joints another way, and I’d never taken more than half a dozen. My reasoning had been that if it was the weight causing the problem, than the constant reminder of exactly why I had to lose it wouldn’t be a bad thing. My only concession had been to take lots of Omega oils to protect the poor old cartilages while I was exercising the obesity away. However, I might just pop a couple of pills now.

  Warning. May cause drowsiness.

  If affected, do not DRIVE or OPERATE MACHINERY. AVOID ALCOHOL

  And this was the morning I was supposed to be Nick’s getaway driver. Hell several times over. Well, as Tony used to say, always to my great irritation, what can’t be cured must be endured. There was something else Tony used to say, too, that I also said now. Aloud. Bother that for a game of soldiers. One shouldn’t make me fall asleep at the wheel, and I never drank till I’d finished cooking.

  A sad little group inspected Robin’s bike. The brake hoses had been slackened, not fully removed, so, Robin said, you’d just notice gradual loss as the fluid oozed away.

  ‘That’s not so bad, then?’ I said hopefully.

  You could see me plummet in his estimation. ‘Hills like these round here?’ he snorted. ‘Blind corners?’

  ‘Plus you might simply have interrupted him,’ Nick put in.

  ‘Nah. If he’d emptied the system, I’d have noticed a great pool of fluid, wouldn’t I?’ He straightened, looking at his watch. ‘Did the copper give any idea what time he’d be round? ’Cos someone’s got to go to the shops.’

  A hundred Brownie points, Robin.

  To my amazement – and then suspicion – Nick offered, provided we equipped him with a complete and detailed list.

  ‘Brilliant!’ I began. ‘No. Hang on. They know you drive a gasguzzler. You ought to check that over too. They don’t know about my little hired roller skate – yet. I’ll go. It’ll be quicker. After all, you want to talk to the police about those photos in my camera.’

  Not to mention explain to them why he was the one behind the camera, and I was very much in front of it. That was one hook I didn’t mean to let him off, even if it did mean missing a bit of the action as I set off in the weak but welcome autumn sun.

  As it happened, all I’d missed, as I discovered when I tried to lug all my shopping bags from the tinny-mobile, was a long wait. Short, but not Evans, arrived almost as I did, with a young woman also in sad plain clothes whose haircut yelled grunge-dyke. It was she – DC Grace Wendover – who trotted over to help me unload the car.

  ‘That’s very kind of you.’

  ‘’S’all right. My gran’s got a bad back too.’

  Gran! So much for a helping hand. I might just deserve another pain pill, this one for my wounded ego.

  ‘No, you can’t take it away,’ Robin said flatly. ‘I need it. You can do your fingerprinting here.’

  ‘In any case,’ Nick added, ‘I’d be very surprised if you found prints. And if there are any, they almost certainly won’t be on file.’

  Short jumped as if the bike had spoken.

  So did I, I must admit. What had happened to make him suddenly assertive?

  ‘If my reading of the situation’s correct, we’re dealing with amateurs here. Small-time farmers driven to crimes they wouldn’t normally commit. Oh, you can throw any number of books at them when you catch them. But in a community like this, you’ll have trouble doing that.’

  ‘Though Reg Bulcombe’s no longer the flavour of the month he was,’ I observed. ‘Not since he put out the snug fire.’ I explained about the kidnapping of my car and his reaction to my unexpected return.

  Wendover cackled. ‘You walked all that way and still did your evening shift? That’s woman power for you. Was that when you hurt your back?’

  ‘It’s not my back that hurts. I sustained injuries –’ I widened my eyes to emphasise the jargon ‘– when the guy tampering with the brakes pulled the bike on top of me. I fell on m
y side, so what the bike didn’t do to my shoulders, hips and knee, the shed floor did. No, you can’t look. Not till I’ve worked out admission charges to the exhibition. Beats anything at St Ives Tate,’ I concluded.

  Short, no doubt fearing I had the same disregard for trousers as for stockings, spluttered something about an FME.

  ‘Police surgeon,’ Nick translated.

  Since he’d spoken, it was to him I addressed the next question – and yes, it was purely as a diversion. It would save me having to spell out my intentions about a medical examination, either in Taunton nick or in A and E somewhere. ‘Was your … vehicle … all right, Nick? Or had it had the treatment accorded to DCI Evans’ the other day?’

  ‘Looked all right,’ he declared.

  ‘I’d like to check it over,’ Short said, evidently deciding it was time to make his mark.

  We all looked. No. Perfect. So why did Robin yelp?

  Damn and blast the knees! The best I could do was lean slowly and ponderously from the hips, seeing little but a wall of other people’s bodies.

  I suddenly found Wendover’s hand on my elbow, heaving me skywards. ‘A home-made stinger. A stingers’s what –’

  ‘– you use to stop vehicles in car chases,’ I finished for her. ‘So Nick would drive over this device –’

  ‘Devices – there’s actually one in front of each wheel.’

  ‘– and drive – what? nails? – into each tyre? Clever.’

  ‘Pretty crude,’ Short corrected me.

  ‘But not immediately visible and very time-consuming. And ultimately expensive: tyres that size aren’t exactly bargain basement,’ Wendover observed, winking at me.

  He shut up.

  That was fine by me. A glance at my watch told me the morning was three-quarters gone, and it was time to adjourn to the kitchen. So much for my putative morning’s adventure with Nick.

  The improved weather had brought out even more walkers than usual, so the lunchtime stretched well into the afternoon. The evening promised to be busy too, if the bookings diary was to be believed – Caro Greville and her party were scheduled to descend into pleb-land, and four other tables for four had already been taken. Even with Lucy and Robin’s help, I’d have to spend the intervening time working flat out. Before I scrubbed and changed – getting into and out of trousers was a distinct white knuckle experience – I made a phone call. My hired tinny-mobile must disappear. Another hired vehicle must replace it.

  ‘No delivery service?’ I repeated incredulously. ‘I think you’ll find you’re mistaken, young man. I’m sure when I tell Mr Harkness at your Head Office there’s no delivery service, he’ll say you’re wrong. Now, what was your name? So I have all the details correct?’

  A replacement would be with me at about six: the young man would drop it off himself and pick up the other one. And since I’d no idea if he was supposed to do it, still less whether a Mr Harkness existed (would he be related to Ena Harkness, a rose in my garden?) I’d give him a meal voucher for two at the White Hart.

  All went very well till about eleven, when the last diners had left, mostly leaving the kids large tips, and I was ready to collapse with a mixture of pain and exhaustion. I’d eschewed the most recent dose of painkillers on the grounds I’d rather sink an extremely large malt. Nick had wandered into the kitchen with an offer of help, welcome because I’d got behind with the washing up and didn’t want to inflict any extra on poor Lucy and Robin, both asleep on their feet by the look of them. I’d hoped and indeed prayed that Lindi might make a welcome return, but there’d been no miracle. How we’d cope if this boom continued, goodness knew.

  The accident was my fault. No doubt about that. I’d left a couple of pans to soak on the top of the hob. Trouble is, I’d forgotten to turn off the gas under one of them. So the water Robin tipped into the sink was, if not boiling, hot enough to scald him when he plunged his hands into it.

  He screamed, dancing about the kitchen in pain. Lucy screamed too, shouting, ‘Do something, do something!’ to Nick, who was nearest.

  He did. He reached for his mobile phone.

  Elbowing him aside, I grabbed Robin and shoved his hands under the cold tap, turned on to its maximum. When he tried to pull away, howling that the cold was worse than the hot, I gripped all the harder, trying not to notice that we were both getting soaked in the process.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ I yelled at Nick over my shoulder, as soon as I had a moment.

  ‘Trying to raise an ambulance.’

  I think I shut the phone on his fingers. ‘At this time of night? On a boozy Saturday? It’ll take for ever. If he needs treatment, we take him to A and E. Why don’t you go and check that at least one of our vehicles is roadworthy? Take Lucy with you, for God’s sake. In fact, take her home. Robin, who told you to turn off that tap?’ Shaking Lucy gently, I said, right into her face, ‘He’s going to be fine. There won’t be so much as a blister. I promise. The best thing you can do is stop crying and go home to bed. The next best is try and roust Lindi out tomorrow so we’ve got an extra pair of hands for the lunchtime rush.’

  ‘It’s Evensong tomorrow,’ she said, accepting the jacket Nick was trying to slip over her shoulders. ‘So I can come early.’

  ‘Come early and bring Lindi. Here – don’t forget tonight’s earnings.’ I passed her her share of the tips, wrapped up in an extra fiver. ‘Say goodnight to Robin and be off with you. Nick’ll see you to your door. Won’t you?’

  Neither argued.

  I turned off the tap. The kitchen was suddenly and blessedly calm. I found a clean tea towel and patted Robin’s ice cold hands as tenderly as if they were a new born baby’s. The skin was just as undamaged.

  He spread the fingers, turning his hands front to back and front again. ‘Looks like I made a bit of a fuss about nothing,’ he said.

  ‘You had an accident – entirely my fault – that could have been very nasty. I remembered that dodge when a kettle of boiling water landed on my hand, not in the teapot.’

  ‘How on earth –?’

  ‘Because someone poured it there,’ I said flatly. Yes, back in the days when Tony thought it necessary to ask one of his lads to keep an eye on me. After that he thought it necessary to ask someone to keep an eye on that lad. He didn’t stay in the team long. ‘Now, do you think we should get you to casualty? Because your solicitor will want a medical report.’

  ‘Solicitor? Medical report? What are you on about, Mrs W?’

  ‘Compensation. Industrial injury. Health and safety at work.’

  ‘Like I shouldn’t check how hot water is before shoving both my mitts in it? Look. All I’ve got is a set of cleaner fingernails than I’ve had all day, and you’re telling me to sue you? Thanks but no thanks, Mrs W. If you’ve got some nice slathery hand cream, I might not say no, but otherwise I’ll finish off here and –’

  ‘Just leave it to me, Robin. And what I can’t do tonight, we’ll do tomorrow.’

  ‘With the delectable Lindi! Can’t wait.’ He rubbed his hands together with a vigour that did indeed suggest he’d come to no permanent harm. ‘How old did you say she was?’

  ‘Nineteen going on old as the hills. Here – don’t forget your share of the tips.’

  ‘Cheers. One thing, we’ve got an extra hour in bed tonight, haven’t we?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘Clocks going back and all that. Don’t forget to change your heater clocks and all that.’

  ‘Would have. Thanks, Robin. I owe you.’

  ‘But not for these.’ He flapped his hands.

  ‘OK. Let’s get you that hand cream…’

  I was giving the work surface a final swab when Nick bustled back in, twirling his car keys with an indefinable air of self-importance.

  ‘OK, let’s get moving then.’

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’

  ‘You told me to take Lucy home and check the car.’

  ‘And it’s taken you this long?’

&nbs
p; ‘I – er – We got talking.’

  I picked up a handy meat knife. ‘Copper, you touch one hair of that kid’s head and we’ll find a use for this. OK?’

  He raised his hands in surrender. ‘But where’s Robin?’

  ‘Tucked up with his teddy bear, I should imagine. It’s a good job he doesn’t need to go to A and E, isn’t it? Because he could have walked by now, the time it took you and Lucy to have your little talk. And, while we’re on the subject, what the hell d’you think you were doing, pithering with your mobile in a black spot when you should have been using your police first aid? Don’t kid me you’re not trained. You just can’t hack real life any more can you? Photos here, cameras there – you can do life at second hand. But something here –’ I placed a furious fingertip on his forehead ‘– means you’re as shackled as I was by that gin trap. And what are you doing to get out? Zilch, as far as I can see. Now, get out of my kitchen. I’ve work to do. And I don’t need someone reading from a textbook to tell me how to do it. Go on. Now. For once, man, just shift your Pygmalion arse.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I’d always wanted less flesh. Now I’d have been grateful for a bit more between the bruises so I could lie down in comfort. For the first part of the night the (large) tot of malt did indeed anaesthetise me, but later on I had to reach for more painkillers. They might have done their job, but it seemed their remit didn’t include returning me to sleep. There was no way I was going to be able to enjoy the extra hour.

  Not unless I got up and took advantage of everyone else’s lie-in. It was a double-edged sword, of course. If there weren’t many people around, they’d be all the more noticeable, and though the new hire car was as anonymous as I’d wished, the very fact that it was strange might attract attention. And I’d be going on my own, with not even the dubious comfort of Nick as back-up. To the abattoir, of course. Inside this time, now I hadn’t got Nick nannying round to prevent me.