“Do you want a lift back later, Davey?”
“No—unless it’s in Gordon’s Bentley.”
Child snorted with laughter. “You and your cars.”
“I know, I know. Thou shalt not cover thy neighbour’s ox or donkey, or anything else that belongs to thy neighbour. James 14.”
Child looked impressed. “Very good.”
It would have been even better if Dylan could have remembered the whole quote, and it sure as hell didn’t come from James 14. He didn’t know where it came from. And neither did Child.
“For your information though, Davey, Gordon’s staying in a hotel and travelling back in the morning. I’ll get a taxi and drop him off.” Child looked across to where Riley and Anna were dancing. “And don’t worry about Anna. I’ll make sure she shares that taxi.”
“Good idea. I’ll wander off in a minute. If I’m stuck for a lift, I’ll call back here and see if you’re still around.”
“Suit yourself.”
They were joined by a red-faced Anna and an extremely satisfied-looking Riley. Dylan supposed any bloke’s ego would be given a stroke if they had an eighteen—or sixteen—year-old fawning over them. Sadly, Dylan’s bank balance never ran to such luxuries.
Talk was general, and boring, so Dylan said his good-nights and left them to it.
The temperature had dropped dramatically and a stiff wind swirled snowflakes around his face. He walked quickly, hands deep in his pockets, and was grateful to push open the door of the Rising Sun.
This pub was slightly more appealing than the Jolly Sailor. Slightly. There were six customers inside, but unfortunately, Doll was nowhere in sight. Sod it, he should have gone with his instincts and followed her.
The young barmaid looked bored as she stared at a silent TV. Adverts for wash powder clearly didn’t interest her. She looked as if she didn’t even have the energy to chew her gum.
“A double whisky, please.” He might as well make the most of his visit.
She didn’t answer, but she did slowly reach for a glass and put it to the optic. “Anything in it?”
“No, thanks. As it comes.” He handed her a ten-pound note. “It’s quiet in here tonight.”
“It’s quiet every night.”
“I was hoping some friends of mine might have called in.”
“Oh? Who might they be?”
“Joe Child. Do you know him? Or his wife, Doll.”
“She’s been in.” Her expression said she wasn’t Doll’s number-one fan. “She met up with Maggie Cummings. They had a gin and tonic each and then left.”
“Ah, right. Oh, well, never mind.” He felt deflated. He’d been sure she was meeting Taylor. “I’m only stopping for a quick one myself. It’s not much fun drinking alone, is it?”
She shrugged and returned her gaze to the TV.
He wished now that he’d stayed at Tempo. Not that he expected to learn much from anyone there. If there was one thing Child was good at, it was keeping up appearances. Whatever he was up to, everything on the outside would be squeaky-clean.
He soon left the Rising Sun and made his way to the Jolly Sailor. There was no sign of Doll or Taylor in there either, but Malcolm Brindle was at the bar. Judging by his bleary-eyed expression, he’d been propping it up for a while.
“Oh, hello there, David. Good to see you. Did you ask around? Did you ask people at the refuge if they’d seen or heard from Farrah?” Brindle was an image of despair. His hair was sticking up as if he’d tried to pull it from his head.
“I did. Sorry. Here, let me get you a drink.”
“Thanks.”
The barmaid was her usual unfriendly self, but she soon had their drinks in front of them and was handing Dylan his change.
“I even asked Walter Topham,” Dylan said. “I thought—well, I thought that if she didn’t feel able to contact you for some reason, she might have spoken to him. I expect they were quite close, given that he helped her with her dog, I mean.”
“He’s a miserable so-and-so.”
Dylan couldn’t argue with that. “I heard his daughter had been killed in a car accident, so I suppose he has good reason to be.”
“Yes, she was. I don’t think he ever got over it. No one would, would they?”
“Unlikely. Did Farrah go to his farm often?”
“More often than I liked,” Brindle said. “She thinks he’s wonderful. It always amused her that dogs and chickens were free to roam the kitchen together. He lives in a pigsty but he doesn’t mind, and Farrah didn’t either. Sometimes, she’d be there all weekend. Not overnight, of course, but she’d get to his place around seven and help him around the farm, with the sheep, you know, until seven at night. Then, the next day, she’d be there again.”
“Do the police know that?”
“Yes. We gave them a list of names and addresses of people she spent time with. I know they spoke to him. Why do you ask?”
“No reason. I just wondered if they were checking everyone she might get in touch with. Your wife thought she might have been meeting up with a boyfriend that she hadn’t mentioned. Is that likely?”
“That’s all we can think,” Brindle said. “We never knew. She said she was meeting up with friends, but they knew nothing about it. We think there was a boyfriend. To be honest, we thought there must be something wrong—we thought he might be married or something.” He was silent for long moments. “If she’s dead—” He broke off, unable to continue.
Dylan wanted to offer a few platitudes but could force none through his lips. If Child was involved in her disappearance, she probably was. If not, she’d probably be wishing she were.
“I’ll keep asking around,” Dylan said. “People come and go at the refuge. You never know.”
Brindle nodded his thanks, but there was no hope left inside him. “That woman from your refuge was in earlier.”
“Which one?”
“The cheap-looking one. Married to the chap who owns the place, I think.”
“Doll? Black hair, long fingernails, short skirt?”
“That’s her. She came in, had a quick drink, took a phone call, met up with another woman and then left.”
“What about that chap you saw in here? Taylor, is it? Has he been in again?”
“Yes, he’s here most nights. That’s why I’ve taken to calling in. He left about two minutes after that woman from your refuge.”
Interesting.
“I was going to have a word with him,” Brindle said, “but he was gone so fast.”
“I don’t suppose he knows anything,” Dylan said. “If he did, I’m sure he’d tell the police. After all, his stepdaughter is missing too.”
“He’s not worrying about that. He’s always laughing with his chums. He plays darts as if it’s the most important thing in the world. I don’t know what I was going to say to him, but I know he’s involved, I just know it. I’ll get the truth out of him though, you can be sure of that.”
“And how do you intend to do that?” It was probably a waste of breath talking to Brindle because he’d clearly been drowning his sorrows for a few hours. “The police couldn’t get anything out of him, so why do you think you’ll succeed?”
Brindle leaned in close, so close that Dylan almost choked on whisky fumes. “Can I trust you?”
Trust me, I’m a private investigator. “Of course.”
“I’m going to get something to put in his drink. At first, I thought I’d get hold of chloroform, but it’s not easy to find—not without raising suspicions.”
Dylan felt his eyebrows shoot up. “Chloroform?”
“I dismissed that. Instead, I’m going to put some Valium or flunitrazepam in his drink. That’s the stuff they use—this date-rape thing.”
Dylan nodded slowly
. “I know what it is.”
“I’ll see him here, slip something in his drink, then make some excuse to get him to come outside with me.” His voice dropped so low that Dylan struggled to hear him. “I’ve got a gun. An Asian chap that I’d heard about sold it to me. I’ll threaten him with that. I’ll make him talk.”
Holy crap. Dylan sucked in a breath. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m sure he’s innocent, but even if he isn’t, he’s not the sort of bloke to argue with. He’s a hard case. He’s been in trouble with the police for domestic violence and ABH—actual bodily harm. At least, that’s what I heard.”
“He won’t argue with a gun held to his head.”
Give me strength! Dylan had heard it all now. The mouse that was Malcolm Brindle wouldn’t stand a chance against a thug like Taylor.
“Tell you what, Malcolm. You’ve got my phone number, right? You tell me when you’re going to confront Taylor and I’ll come along. You’ll be safer that way. He’ll think twice about taking on two of us. Besides, one can hold him and the other can do what’s necessary.”
Brindle leaned back on his stool. “Would you? Would you do that?”
“Why not? If he is hiding something, you need to know. I won’t do anything bad. I certainly won’t hurt him—”
“Oh, no. I only want him to talk.”
“Then I’m with you. Just let me know when and where, okay? And try to give me a couple of hours’ notice.”
“I will.” Brindle reached for Dylan’s hand and clasped it tight. “Thank you so much. That means a lot to me.”
“I still say it’s a crazy thing to do. But if you’re determined, it will be easier with two.”
“Thank you. Truly, I mean it.” He looked slightly more hopeful now, as if there was something he could do to find his daughter. “It’s time I went home. Clare, you know. I don’t like to think of her being alone. Good to see you again, David. And thank you.”
“If I hear anything, I’ll be in touch.”
“Thank you.”
Brindle drained his glass, pushed himself away from the bar, staggered for a couple of paces, got his bearings and walked out.
Brindle was a ticking time bomb but Dylan felt sure Taylor could take care of himself. Not that anyone could argue with a bullet. Jeez.
Dylan ordered another drink. He needed something to cheer himself up.
He’d only been in Dawson’s Clough a short time though, so it was madness to despair. A week ago tonight, he’d met up with Child and spent the night in a police cell. A week was nothing. It wasn’t too surprising that he’d made no progress. He would find Farrah Brindle and Caroline Aldridge, come hell or high water he’d find them, but he had to remember that Rome hadn’t been built in a day.
“You’d better make it a double,” he told the barmaid.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Dylan left the Jolly Sailor and went back to Tempo for a quick drink. There was no sign of Child and he soon left the still-rowdy club.
The taxi rank was deserted. It was cold but at least it wasn’t snowing, so he hung around for a few minutes before deciding the walk would do him good. Given that it was all uphill, he’d stand half a chance of being warm when he fell into his makeshift bed.
A half-moon was shedding a little light, and his eyes soon adjusted to the darkness. Car headlights dazzled him occasionally.
When he was a mile from town, he leaned against a precarious stone wall and swapped his phone’s sim cards. He hit the button for Bev.
“Hi!” She sounded sleepy, but pleased to hear from him.
“Sorry. Did I wake you?”
“No. I couldn’t sleep. How’s it going up there? And why are you out of breath?”
“Uphill. And slowly,” he said. “But never mind that, tell me in words of one syllable what’s going on with you.”
“Okay. I’m sorry I panicked but—” She took a breath. “I had that blood test to see if I had raised levels of CA-125, right? If levels are normal, you can more or less rule out ovarian cancer. Well, the health centre phoned me this morning. I had to see the doctor and she told me my levels aren’t normal. They’re unusually high.”
“Right. So what are they going to do about it?”
“They’d already booked me in for a scan, but unless it’s an emergency, appointments for those usually take about six weeks to come through. As I have these high levels of CA-125, they’ve rushed it through and I’m going for a scan on Monday.”
“That’s good then.” It was frighteningly efficient for the NHS. “You’ll hopefully know more then.”
“Yes.” She was silent for a moment. “What if it’s cancer, Dylan?”
“It won’t be. You’re far too young for that.”
“I don’t think cancer has much respect for age.”
“It could be one of a hundred things. They always start by ruling out the bad stuff. You’ll be fine. You’re healthy enough—you’ve had a bit of pain, Bev, but you can’t say you’ve felt ill. If it was cancer, you’d be feeling terrible.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself.”
“And even if the worst came to the worst, they can sort stuff like that so long as they find it early enough. You’ll be fine.”
“I hope so.”
He could hear the tremor in her voice and wished he were with her. “You will. Trust me, I’m a private investigator.”
“Oh, yeah. For a minute there, I’d forgotten.” Her voice was lighter. “So how’s it going with you? Have you any idea where those girls are yet?”
“Not yet, but when I have, you’ll be the first to know. You can have the honour of shaving off this sodding beard. It’s driving me mad.”
They chatted about the kids and life in general for a couple of minutes and then Dylan had to go. “I’ll call you tomorrow, sweetheart. Try not to worry, okay?”
“I’ll try.”
As Dylan swapped sim cards again, a sudden gust of icy wind made him shiver. He’d had an uneasy feeling since arriving in the godforsaken north, and worrying about Bev wasn’t helping matters. Not that he was planning to worry too much. Even if she was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, it wasn’t the end of the world. A quick operation would soon remove her ovaries. It wasn’t as if they were needed.
They were fortunate in that his mother was fit and healthy, so if Bev did need treatment, the doting grandmother would be more than happy to take charge of the kids.
He’d soon get to the bottom of whatever it was Child was up to, he’d soon find the missing girls, and then he could go home and be there for his family.
He carried on walking and managed to reach the turnoff for the refuge without falling in a ditch and breaking an ankle. All he had to do now was negotiate the potholes in the lane. That would be easier if the moon didn’t insist on disappearing behind clouds every few seconds.
He’d almost reached his shed when he heard a sound. It could have been anything, a fox out hunting or a cat on the prowl. He stood still. There was nothing to be seen or heard.
A distant owl hooted and then he heard that sound again. Had someone stood on a dry twig?
He moved slowly and quietly to where he thought the noise had come from. He had the distinct feeling he wasn’t alone.
Kennedy emerged from the shadows and Dylan’s heart skipped a shocked beat.
“Well, well. It’s a bit late for planting potatoes.” Dylan spoke in a whisper so as not to alert anyone else to their presence. “A perfect night for spying on the residents though.”
“Indeed.”
“So what are you up to?” Dylan asked. “What exactly are you doing here?”
“The same as you, I imagine. What exactly are you doing here?”
Dylan hated these cat-and-mouse games, but he wasn’t i
nclined to tell Kennedy anything. At least nothing he didn’t already know. “Staying with an old friend—temporarily,” he replied.
It was impossible to read the expression on Kennedy’s face in the near-total darkness, but a soft snort told him the chap wasn’t impressed with his answer.
“What about you?” Dylan asked. “And who are you?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“What are you doing here at this time of night?”
“Spying on the residents. Trying to find out what’s going on. As I said, the same as you.”
“What have you found out then?”
Kennedy tapped his foot silently on the ground for a moment. Then, surprisingly, he spoke. “Joe Child is as Christian as Satan himself. One of the sons is on drugs and fancies himself as a ladies’ man. The other is gambling heavily. Gordon Riley turns up at all hours. He arrives in style, driving his Bentley when his visits are official, and he gets a taxi to drop him off halfway between here and town when his visits are—what shall we say?—unofficial.”
“Does he indeed? How often does he visit?”
“Twice this week. Three times last week.”
Interesting. “When you say Child is as Christian as Satan himself, what do you mean? What’s he doing that’s so bad?”
“He’s getting money out of people by threatening them. I’ve overheard two phone conversations he’s had. In both, he told the person on the other end that they had no choice but to pay up. In one, he said, ‘Pay up or wind up dead, it’s your choice.’ I don’t know who he was speaking to. It could have been the same person or two people. Even around me, dumb half-wit that I am, he was trying not to be overheard.”
A car’s headlights lit up the sky as a vehicle turned onto the lane.
“Get back,” Dylan said, urging Kennedy into the dark safety of the bushes.
Deadly Shadows (A Dylan Scott Mystery) Page 17
