by Graham Smith
The obvious answer was that it was someone with a grudge against the chef behind the new restaurant. Experience however, had taught him obvious answers were correct on very few occasions.
Trying to get his mind to work as laterally as the rain, Bhaki guessed at other possibilities.
Was the real target further downstream, intended as a victim of the dam breaking? If so who, a farmer or householder with property adjacent to the river? What about the chef, had he run into money problems and sabotaged his own restaurant for an insurance payout?
Reaching the edge of the bridge he looked down at the swirling orange maelstrom once more and saw the water roiling as it fought to find a way past the blockade. Peering at the tree around which the wire ropes were moored he saw no sign of the wires.
Bhaki was filled with a further sense of dread as he realised the water level was rising. The deeper the water got, the more pressure would be applied to the dam and the wire ropes which held the trees. Sooner or later the wires would snap or one of the trees would be uprooted. When that happened there would be nothing to stop the entire body of water hurtling downstream with a cargo of hefty trees ready to bulldoze any obstacle.
Sprinting the two hundred yards back to his car, Bhaki thumbed his phone and called Chisholm again. As he relayed his concerns, he saw a marked police car pull up behind his Astra. He didn’t recognise the face in the passenger seat but he could tell from the pips on the epaulettes that a Chief Inspector had arrived.
Ending his call with Chisholm, Bhaki approached the passenger side of the police car and showed his warrant card to the Chief Inspector.
Grateful for the thumb jerked towards the back seat, he got in, introducing himself as he did so.
‘I’m Chief Inspector Ingles. What do you make of it lad?’
Ingles had the slow drawl of East Cumbrians who’d grown up in the countryside. While the man may now be more familiar with the golf course than the fells, he still retained the look of a farmer.
‘It’s definitely been done on purpose. The biggest question as far as I’m concerned is who’s supposed to be the target. I’ve spoken with DS Chisholm, and he’s checked out what’s downstream. Thankfully there are no properties within a hundred yards of the river. He’s contacting the farmers below the bridge and advising them to stay away from low lying fields in case the dam breaks.’
Ingles looked at Bhaki with a steady gaze. ‘Well done lad. You’ve covered the main points. I’ll take over the situation here. You crack on with finding the toerag who did it.’
‘Yes sir. Thank you sir.’ Bhaki hesitated for a moment, unsure of just how much to tell the Chief Inspector. ‘I’ve asked DS Chisholm to start looking into any possible targets. If we’re lucky one of them will be able to point us towards the perpetrator.’
‘It’s a good plan, but be wary.’ A crease of authority etched itself onto Ingles’ face. ‘The public can be too quick to point the finger so they can settle their petty scores.’
‘Don’t worry sir. My DI has warned me all about that.’
‘Ah yes. You’re on Harry Evans’s team aren’t you?’ Ingles paused, compassion filling his eyes. ‘How’s he doing?’
‘He’s bearing up sir.’
‘Tell him I sent my best when you see him.’
Sensing he’d been dismissed, Bhaki walked back to his car with his thoughts centred on Harry Evans.
He’d gone round to see him with Lauren Phillips a couple of days ago. Evans had worn a brave face, but there was no disguising the pain he felt. He and Lauren had uttered meaningless platitudes while Evans had tried to be strong. Sensing the effort their presence was costing him, they’d made their excuses at the first opportunity and left him alone with his grief. They knew he appreciated their presence even if he wasn’t yet ready for it.
Returning his mind to the task at hand, Bhaki dug a pair of wellies from the back of his car and set off back to the bridge. He had a theory he wanted to check out and this was the only way to do it. Already soaked to the skin, he reckoned it was better to follow his instinct now, rather than waiting for the rains to stop. If he could confirm his suspicions, he’d be better placed when it came to drawing up a list of suspects.
The ground level was twenty feet above the river bank and the terrain was hard going until Bhaki found a worn path.
As he walked he kept his eyes on the track, making sure he didn’t catch a root or trip over a fallen bough. The last thing he wanted was to fall and roll into the river.
Stopping every fifty yards he surveyed the bank leading down to the river. When his eyes didn’t find what he was looking for he would move on.
Three hundred yards from the road he found what he was seeking. Right along the bank of the river was a row of tree stumps, each one bearing the reddish cream colour of freshly sawn wood.
Looking down to the river he could see no sign of the felled trees. Whoever had cut these trees down had dropped them into the waters below. Examining the ground he found no sign of foot prints or any other clue left by the malicious woodsman.
Counting twenty-three stumps he saw that each was a minimum of two feet in diameter with the largest over four feet wide.
The cuts appeared to be clean and even. To his mind the work of a professional forestry worker or at least someone who knew how to use a chainsaw properly.
* * * *
Bhaki walked into the office and picked up the information Chisholm had printed for him. On the typed sheets was a list of all those who owned property or livestock which may have been caught either by the rising floodwater or were at risk if the dam suffered a sudden breach.
‘Is this all there is, eight possible victims?’
Chisholm’s answer was cut short by Lauren’s flounced entrance.
‘Bloody Chief Super’s just had a right go at me.’ Her face was a mask of indignance as she stomped about the office. ‘Says my heels are too high and that I’d never be able to chase after anyone in them.’
‘He may have a point.’
‘I’ll say the same to you as I said to him.’ Lauren’s eyes burned as she rounded on Bhaki. ‘I’ll race you over a hundred yards for a hundred quid.’
‘In those heels you’d break an ankle after five.’ Bhaki couldn’t resist prodding the wasp’s nest that was Lauren’s commitment to high heels.
‘Anytime, anyplace.’
‘That’s enough.’ Chisholm’s voice may have been raised an octave or two, but an underlying fondness shone through. Being told off by him was like a favourite uncle admonishing a gentle reprimand. ‘Think yourself lucky Amir. Only eight people to investigate. Lauren, you’ve got a suspicious fire at the old bakery to look into. I’d rather you did that than waste your time challenging every male in the building to a race. We all know you can run like the wind, heels or no heels. If you’re not smart enough to realise the Chief Super has a problem with the way you dress, you’re shouldn’t be a detective.’
Bhaki settled himself into his usual chair, thankful for the set of clean dry clothes he kept in his locker for days like this.
Looking at the list of names gave him no inspiration. The DS had run a basic search on each name and none of the eight were in debt, involved in any legal disputes or had the slightest hint of money worries.
Due to the restaurant’s proximity to the bridge, the chef was the most probable target. Looking at the details Chisholm had provided, Bhaki found nothing in his past which would drive someone to such lengths. Besides if the chef was the target, a gallon of petrol and a box of matches would have achieved the same result with a lot less hassle.
One of the farmers listed was reputed to be one of the country’s top breeders of pedigree bulls. He may well have been targeted by a rival but the more he thought about it the less he liked the farmer as the target. While not a country person by any means he couldn’t recall seeing any cows or cattle in the fields for weeks. He guessed they must be kept in barns or sheds during the winter months. If this was true
, they wouldn’t be at risk from the floodwaters. Something a rival farmer would know. Again, a gallon of petrol and a box of matches would have garnered the same result.
Another factor praying on his mind was the apparent expertise the perpetrator had with a chainsaw. That pointed to a professional woodsman or forester, yet it begged the question, why would they do something which would so obviously implicate them?
Knowing he wasn’t going to find the answers from a sheet of paper, Bhaki made a couple of calls, picked up his jacket and prepared to get soaked again.
* * * *
Knocking on the door of the Giddy Goose, Bhaki was met by a worried looking man in chef’s whites.
‘You the detective who called?’ Ian Trent was a shadow of the person who often appeared on local news items. Without the make-up and lighting provided by TV he looked just like any other person would when confronted with bad news. The bubbly personality replaced by a matter of fact acceptance, the sparkle in his eye dulled by stress and the wild thoughts which accompanied setbacks.
Bhaki nodded. ‘I need to ask you a few questions.’
Trent gestured towards the nearest table. ‘Let’s have a seat yeah?’
Bhaki took a glance around as he pulled a notebook from his pocket on his way to the table. The décor of the room was ultra modern with clean lines and neutral tones. Splashes of colour were provided by examples of modern art hung on the walls.
‘How did you hear of the flood?’
‘Oliver Davies called me.’
Bhaki didn’t have to ask who Davies was. A sign for his construction company had been sited at the entrance of the road to the new restaurant.
‘We’re looking at everyone who has been or may be affected by the flood. Obviously as proprietor of the restaurant, your name is at the top of our list.’
Trent appeared to shrink in stature as he came to terms with the fact he may have been specifically targeted. ‘Why would someone do such a thing to me, I haven’t got any enemies, I’m fair in my business dealings and I pay my bills on time?’
‘We don’t know for certain who the intended target is. Can you think of anyone who may have a grudge against you?’
‘No.’ The answer was instinctive and delivered with conviction. ‘As I said, I pay my bills on time and play fair with suppliers and customers.’
‘What about professional rivals?’ Bhaki hesitated knowing his next sentence may not be well received. ‘Other chefs, local restaurant owners and so on?’
Trent’s head shook from side to side as he spoke. ‘I seriously doubt it. I have a good relationship with them all. Tell me, how much do you know about fine dining detective?’
‘Only that I can’t afford it.’
Trent’s frown deepened making Bhaki regret his flippant remark. ‘Perhaps not every week, but for a special occasion?’
‘I guess.’ Bhaki made the concession out of good manners rather than a sense of agreement. He’d never yet had a long term relationship and any family occasions were always hosted in his parent’s restaurant.
‘There you go. Besides, I did my research before even starting this project. What I’ll be offering at River View is going to be aimed at the more discerning customer. There’s no place within fifty miles which will be able to compete.’
‘Won’t that be the problem?’
‘Not at all. River View will provide a different level of food and service to anywhere in the region and will be priced accordingly.’ Trent gave a wry smile. ‘In short, I’m going after the posh pound and people celebrating special occasions.’
Trent’s insistence of not competing with local businesses made sense on some levels, but Bhaki doubted competing restaurateurs would see it the same way. There were only so many customers available and a new restaurant led by a chef who was fast become a national celebrity would impact on someone’s business.’
‘What about suppliers you’ve worked with or people from your personal life?’
‘I’ve used the same suppliers for the ten years I’ve had the lease on here and I married my school sweetheart.’ A fond smile twitched at Trent’s lips. ‘Fifteen years married and two kids and we still haven’t had a cross word.’
‘What about the people who work here with you? What will happen to them once you leave? Have you poached any staff from local restaurants?’ The questions tumbled from Bhaki’s mouth as fast as they entered his brain.
‘I’ve promoted staff here so I can concentrate on River View. The new staff haven’t been poached from anywhere, they’ve approached me personally or answered job ads I’ve put out. I look after my staff and they have all been very supportive and excited about the opening.’
‘Do you know anyone who is a woodsman or someone who is good with a chainsaw?’
Trent leaned back in his seat, his eyes raised to the ceiling. ‘Not that I can think of. My wife gets someone in to do our garden but I don’t know his name or if he even has a chainsaw. Why do you ask?’
When Bhaki told him the chef’s face paled to a milky white.
Bhaki stood to leave and held a card out. ‘If you think of anyone who may have a grudge against you or the builder, please don’t hesitate to contact me.’
As he left the restaurant, Bhaki thought about the suspicions he’d had. First of all, the restaurant was the most probable target in the area. So if Trent wasn’t the target who was?
The builder Oliver Davies may lose a few quid on materials lost, but he’d gain the extra work repairing the damage done by the flood. Davies himself may be responsible but it was a stretch that he was desperate enough to sabotage his own work. A call to DS Chisholm would soon establish the builder’s character and business dealings. After that he could look at a certain someone else and see what he could unearth there.
* * * *
Bhaki pulled into the farmyard and parked between a mud splattered pick-up and a tractor. Once out of the car he retrieved his wellies from the boot – he’d learned the hard way about the damage a farm could do to a pair of brogues.
Not getting an answer from the farmhouse door he started to walk through the outbuildings, the deep rumble of tractor guiding his footsteps like a homing beacon.
He found the farmer dispensing silage from a fancy trailer with a side chute. When the farmer saw him he stopped the tractor and opened the door.
‘Mr Foster?’
‘Aye that’s me lad. Who are you?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t see reps wi’out an appointment mind.’
Bhaki explained who he was and why he was there. He watched as Foster clambered out of the tractor, the old man slow and deliberate with his movements.
‘What is it you want to know lad, I’ve a lot to be doing?’
Bhaki could tell the farmer’s mind was a lot quicker than his aged limbs so he cut to the chase. ‘I don’t know how much you’ve heard about the flood down by the bridge, but the blockage was done on purpose. What I want to know is who could be harmed by it and who would want to harm them?’
‘There’s only me owns land as is flooded, other than that fancy new restaurant. I had no sheep or cattle down there so it’s no big deal for me. I guess there’ll be a few fence posts need replacing and a bit of stuff to lift off the field but it’s nowt I’ve not had to deal with in the past. Mind, it’s never been owt like as bad as it is today.’
‘So I’d be right in saying the flooded fields won’t harm your business?’
‘You would.’ Foster spat a gob of phlegm under the tractor. ‘Can’t say the same for thon chef and Oliver Davies, this could cost them a right packet.’
‘What about anyone downstream from the bridge, is there anyone there who would suffer if that dam broke?’
A toothless grin etched itself onto Foster’s face. ‘Nah. There’s no-one as would be affected by more than a few lost sheep or ruined fences.’
Bhaki called Chisholm as he returned to his car. Listening with care he got all the details he’d asked for. As ever Chisholm had unearthed
all the information requested and more besides.
Oliver Davies’s business was on a sure footing and his accounts showed a steady flow of work and profits which were in line with the size of his business. There was nothing about Davies on the PND other than a couple of speeding fines and a parking ticket.
* * * *
Bhaki hadn’t even got out of his car when he was confronted by a man wearing sodden work clothes and a desperate air.
‘If you’re another one from the press then you can bugger off.’
Bhaki flashed his warrant card and watched as the man’s expression went from anger to pleading in a heartbeat.
‘I’ve a few questions for you Mr Davies. Is there somewhere we can talk out of the rain?’
Davies walked towards his office by way of an answer. An open door to a shed in his yard showed a bunch of workmen half-heartedly sweeping and stacking various goods and tools.
Bhaki’s heart fluttered for a moment when a workman lifted a chainsaw and carried it towards a liveried van. As the man swung it round he saw its blade was too short to have felled the size of trees dropped into the river. Still, it showed Davies had the equipment and tools necessary.
Following Davies into the office, Bhaki saw a secretary with a phone wedged under one ear and a mass of papers stacked in neat piles on the two desks.
‘This is going to ruin me. Twenty-five years I’ve spent building up this business up and one flood is going to ruin me.’
Bhaki measured his words before speaking lest his racing pulse cause him to offend the distraught builder.
‘What do you mean Sir?’
‘I mean that I’ll never be able to pay the penalty clauses on late completion. I’ve got over fifty grand laid out for materials and the wage bill is touching twenty-five.’
