by Ewart Hutton
He looked at them appraisingly. ‘Blackie Collins might. He used to work at Pentre Isaf. It’s way over on the other side of the hill, though.’
I had heard the story. Blackie had worked man and boy as a labourer and shepherd for the Haymer family at Pentre Isaf farm. The sons who had inherited the place had decided that life had to be about more than sheep ticks, deflated livestock prices and splashing around in organophosphate dips, and had sold it off as a riding school. Not surprisingly the new owners hadn’t seen Blackie as an asset that would work in harmony with prepubescent girls fixated on horses. So Blackie was now living with his sister in Dinas.
I walked down to the far end of the bar. ‘Blackie, can I buy you a beer? Can I buy all you boys a beer?’ I offered expansively. There were only three of them, so it wasn’t going to break the bank.
They looked startled. I had obviously crossed a line. It was okay to throw a greeting over, but intruding into home space was something different.
I moved Blackie off to the side. He had lank grey hair, watery brown eyes, and hadn’t shaved for days. There was a light brown staining on the whiskers at the corners of his mouth. He didn’t smoke, so I hoped that it was only tea.
He looked at me mutely. He knew I was a cop. He was wondering if a new and incomprehensible change in the rules of life had caught up with him.
‘You’ve heard about the body that was found over at the place where they’re building the new wind farm?’
He nodded cagily. ‘Cwm Cesty Nant. But I don’t know anything about a body.’ It came out as a croaked whisper.
‘I know you don’t. I just want the benefit of your local knowledge.’
He digested that warily. ‘We were only over there when we were taking the sheep off the hill.’
‘There was nothing unusual about that place? Nothing that makes it stick in your mind? Nothing to do with it that you’ve ever heard people talking about?’
He shook his head. He was staring at me, his eyes round, more confident now that I hadn’t arrested him, or turned him into a frog. ‘You don’t know who it is?’ he asked tremulously.
‘It would have been a while ago. You don’t remember hearing anything about anyone disappearing?’
‘I wouldn’t be the person to ask.’
‘Who would?’
He looked around furtively. His voice dropped. ‘Gerald Evans.’
I smiled inwardly. It was always a good feeling to sense the spheres sliding into conjunction. A couple of them anyway. ‘What makes you mention him?’
He leaned forward. ‘He used to steal our ewes,’ he whispered, ‘take them off the hill and change the marks to his own.’
A rustler? Is that why the Joneses at Cogfryn had it in for him?
‘And he’s filthy,’ he added quickly, picking up on the downshift in my interest.
‘Can you explain what you mean by filthy?’
‘There was a bit of snow on the ground a few years back. The postman couldn’t get up to Pentre Fawr, so he left a parcel for him with us. This was before he got married. From Holland, it said on the front. I don’t know how it managed to get opened, but . . .’ He shook his head. ‘It was terrible stuff, Sergeant. And poor Mrs Haymer seeing it and all.’
I suppressed my smile. Dutch pornography. Nosiness rewarded. I had an image of the huddled bunch of them, sheepdogs included, all agog and aghast, the world of dildos, butt plugs and bondage gear having just been revealed to them.
He took a deep breath. ‘But that’s not the worst.’
‘Go on,’ I prompted
‘He shot my dog.’
I pulled an appropriate face, grunted sympathetic noises and retreated to my end of the bar. ‘What do you know about Gerald Evans from Pentre Fawr?’ I asked David as I climbed onto a stool.
‘I’ve barred him from here.’
I looked at him with surprise. ‘Why?’
‘He shot Blackie’s dog.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ve got to show solidarity with my regulars.’
I was almost taken in. ‘Come on, David,’ I protested, ‘that’s too altruistic for you.’
‘The bastard cheated me once. He sold me a Land Rover that had sawdust in the sump to stop it knocking.’
‘Couldn’t you take it back?’
‘I couldn’t afford the stress of the ensuing vendetta.’
‘He’s like that?’
‘He’s a mean fucker, Glyn, amoral and totally ruthless.’
‘Sergeant . . .’
We both looked round. Jeff Talbot was standing in the archway between the two bars with Tessa MacLean.
How long had they been in here? An irrational surge of social panic gripped me. Had they seen me hunkered over there with Blackie? Thinking that he was my buddy? Maybe even my only buddy?
Jeff held up his mobile phone. He looked wearily grim. ‘Sergeant, I don’t know whether this is going to involve you, but I’ve just had a call from Donnie at the site. He’s scared someone off who was messing around with our machinery.’
‘Any damage?’ I asked.
‘He’s still checking, but it looks like they’ve managed to screw-up the hydraulics on one of the diggers.’
I thought quickly. It could be saboteurs. The wind-farm protestors that Mrs Jones had mentioned. Or it could be something richer. I pushed my beer away virtually untouched. ‘I’ll follow you up there.’
I caught David smiling at me as I got into my coat. ‘My hero,’ he pouted mockingly.
I shot him the finger, and followed Jeff and Tessa to the door. Then I realized why them thinking that I might be associated with Blackie had stung so much. I was jealous. And it was only partially sexual. The rest of it was to do with the company they had found with one another. They were outsiders in Dinas, they had bonded together to share a common experience. But I was an outsider here too, and it rankled that they hadn’t thought to include me in the party.
They hadn’t recognized my kindred spark. It was more than depressing, it was a shock to my system. Was I now beginning to be mistaken for a local in the eyes of the outside world?
It was going to be a cold night. The light cloud cover was fragmenting, there was already a light dusting of stars, Venus low and bright in the west, and the fluorescent promise, behind a far ridge, of a rising moon.
The construction site was lit up. As we drove closer I saw that it was one of the company pickups, its headlights full-on, illuminating a parked row of assorted earth-moving machinery.
I parked behind Jeff. Tessa didn’t get out. I followed Jeff to the pickup. Donnie Raikes got out as we approached.
‘What happened?’ Jeff asked.
‘Someone’s had a go at one of the diggers.’ Donnie led us towards the line of machinery.
‘What kind of a go?’ I asked.
‘Watch your feet there,’ Donnie said, taking my arm as we stopped beside a mechanical digger, nodding at the ground. A thick, viscous liquid that, in the dark, looked like treacle, was pooling in a rut in the mud. ‘Hydraulic fluid. Someone’s cut the hoses,’ he explained.
Jeff bent down to inspect the damage.
‘Did you see anyone?’ I asked Donnie.
‘I heard him, that’s what brought me out of the hut. I think he must have accidentally banged the side of the machine. By the time I was outside he was storming off down the gully.’
‘Him?’ I asked.
He smiled indulgently. ‘It’s usually blokes.’
‘You’ve checked the rest of the plant?’ Jeff asked.
‘Yes. It looked like he was starting with this one, but got careless.’
‘Has it happened before?’ I asked them.
‘Not here,’ Jeff said.
‘And it’s not usually damage,’ Donnie explained, ‘its usually shunted onto a low-loader and then off on a long haul to Romania or other such points.’
‘Could this be the work of protestors?’ I asked.
They exchanged glances. Donnie shrugged. ‘I don’t know,’ Jeff said, ‘but
why bother, the site’s already shut down.’
‘Is the damage fixable?’ I asked.
‘New hydraulic hoses. It’s a question of waiting for parts and a fitter. Which will not be a company priority up here at the moment,’ Jeff said, smiling wryly.
I turned to Donnie. ‘Can you show me which way he ran off ?’
He looked surprised. ‘It’s night, Sergeant.’
‘Humour me.’
We walked to the edge of the light-spill and Donnie pointed out the direction the figure had taken. He had kept off the track, knowing that a vehicle could have outrun him, and instead used the gully that the stream ran down.
I walked forward slowly, shining my torch ahead. It was rough, shelving terrain with irregular banks and terraces.
‘You looking for footprints?’ Donnie shouted after me.
‘No, the shape of the ground. You say he just kept on running?’
‘Yes, as much as I could see.’
The guy had known what he was doing. Keeping up a pace in the dark over rough terrain like this. He knew this place, exactly where he was, and how to get out.
I felt it then. A prickle at the back of my neck. Someone watching?
I turned around and quartered the side of the hill slowly. But it was useless. Too many vast patches of dense shadow. He went down the hill, I reminded myself. No one could be watching me from up there.
Unless there was more than one of them?
Jeff banged on the side of the pickup to catch our attention. ‘I’m going to take Tessa back up the hill now,’ he shouted.
‘Wait for me, I’m coming with you,’ I called up. I saw him flash a look at Tessa, still inside the car.
‘I’m just taking Dr MacLean back to her camp,’ he explained as I approached, not doing too much to disguise his annoyance. ‘I’ll be back soon.’
‘Good, I’ll tag along for the ride.’ I grabbed my binoculars from my car, and got into the back seat of the crew cab before he could launch another objection.
‘It’s dark, Sergeant, you won’t be able to see anything.’ Tessa spoke from the front seat without turning round. I wondered if I had just imagined a touch of intentional ambiguity in her voice.
‘It’s the company I crave, Dr MacLean,’ I announced cheerfully.
I was conscious of her eyes on me in the rear-view mirror. I was probably not making the best impression. The rumpled creep on the back seat. Outside, by contrast, we heard Jeff, manly and incisive, instructing Donnie to jury-rig a set of lights over the earth-moving machinery.
He got into the pickup, and we set off. Lurching and swaying on the rough track. No one speaking. One of those ramrod silences. I watched the track unrolling in the headlights, waiting for the moment to break it.
I saw the ground rise ahead and leaned forward into the gap between the front seats. ‘After we go over that rise we’ll be out of sight of your camp.’
‘So?’ he asked, puzzled.
‘When you’ve gone over the top, slow right down, as if you’re negotiating a deep puddle or something, but don’t stop.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t want them to know that I’m getting out.’
‘What the hell do you want to get out for?’ Jeff protested.
‘Who’s “them”, Sergeant?’ Tessa asked, picking up on the important question.
‘I don’t know, Doctor, it’s just a hunch that I want to run with.’
‘This is crazy.’ Jeff shook his head despairingly.
‘Be careful,’ Tessa said, turning round. This time, as she looked at me, I hoped that she was seeing a little bit of the Apache in my soul.
4
I paused, crouched down, with the door open to get the feel for the car’s motion, and then tumbled myself out of the cab, and rolled a couple of times with the momentum. And stayed down, flat on the ground, still and quiet. Which was not Apache training, but more to do with the fact that I had winded myself.
I sucked in air, and watched Jeff’s brake lights flicker like an overworked Aldis lamp as he continued up the track. If there were anyone out there watching, hopefully they would assume that I was still in the car.
Or was I just being crazy? Allowing a spook impulse to drive me to mad and essentially pointless acts? I suppressed the thought. Just as I had already buried the one that told me I was showing off for Tessa’s benefit.
I kept low and worked myself up along the hidden side of the rise to the top of the saddle. At that point I dropped to the ground and crawled over, keeping my head below the skyline, until I could see down into the construction camp.
Donnie was working on setting up the lighting. Standing on top of the machines, moving over them like stepping stones, stringing lamps onto an invisible wire. As I adjusted to the soft swish of the wind and the backdrop of the night, I started to hear the sounds of the generator and a radio playing rock music coming up from the camp.
I started to get really cold. The chill in the wind pressing in on my head, the damp cold clutch of the bare ground working its way in through my clothes. Instinct told me to move, to jump-start my circulation, but I knew that if I really wanted to find out if there was anyone else out there, I was going to have to stay totally still.
I heard the sound of the engine announcing Jeff’s return. I smiled childishly to myself. He hadn’t stayed very long. It didn’t look like an invitation for coffee and comfort had been forthcoming.
The sound drew closer. Donnie had almost finished setting up the line of lights, and nothing else moved down on the site. It looked like I had been wrong. Then Jeff’s engine note changed. Out of gear. He had stopped.
The sound of his horn was an auditory shock that broke the night up.
And it confused me. I only realized that it was a signal when I saw Donnie jump down off the top of the last earthmover in the line and trot towards a parked pickup. What had Jeff found? I tried the binoculars on him, but he was too deep in shadow.
I was about to stand up and run down the hillside to find out when I saw him. A fragmentary movement in my peripheral vision. I swung the binoculars, and when I managed to focus I picked out a dark, crouched figure slipping in and out of the shadows formed by the lights over the line of machines. Unseen by Donnie, who had now left the camp, and was driving towards Jeff’s pickup.
I got up and started running down the hill, keeping low, hoping that the figure would be too intent on his purpose to look my way. I measured out the imaginary parabola in front of me that would intersect with the line of machines.
I was back to being Geronimo until something hard, at ankle level, took my feet out from under me. I was catapulted into sudden bad momentum on a steep, stone-pocked hillside.
Which reached terminal velocity with my face in a puddle, and my mouth chewing on gravel, while I tried to pinpoint what, precisely, was wrong with my head.
I stood up. The dizziness flared up behind my eyes like the collision instant in a particle accelerator. The pain localized and seared, as if a hot poker was being thrust into my ear. I buckled, drooped onto my knees, and tensed against a spasm of nausea.
This Apache needed help.
Everything had shifted into a fuzzy state. But I could still make out Jeff and Donnie’s headlights off to the side and below me. I stood up again, slowly and carefully this time, intending to call out and attract their attention. But I soon realized that that process involved too many complex actions. Instead, I decided to keep it simple and utilize gravity. I stumbled down the slope in a series of wide, wandering lurches.
They were changing the front wheel on Jeff’s truck. I staggered into their light, feeling like a demented old hermit who has just spent the last forty days fasting on locusts and thorns.
‘There’s someone in the camp . . .’ I gasped, my tongue working like an unfamiliar reptile.
They leaped into Donnie’s truck and drove off with the rear cab door flapping open. It was only later that I discovered that I had been expected to get into it.
Some hope.
I was still sitting on the running board of Jeff’s truck, my head in my hands, waiting for my world to come back into some sort of order, when they returned for me. ‘Are you all right?’ Jeff asked, and I heard the concern in his voice. ‘What happened?’
I knew better than to shake my head. ‘I don’t know.’ Did I have a memory of something that had suddenly appeared out of the darkness to run for a moment beside me? Or had that happened in a parallel universe? ‘I think I tripped. But I might have been nobbled.’
I heard his breath draw in. ‘God, you look terrible . . .’
‘What’s happened with the machinery?’
‘Don’t worry about that now. I’m going to get you into the truck. I’m going to get you to a hospital.’
I didn’t argue. I saved that for the duty nurse at the Dinas Cottage Hospital who confronted us. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m afraid we don’t have an A & E department here.’
‘He’s had an accident,’ Jeff protested.
‘Which is why you’ll need to carry on to either Newtown or Aberystwyth, where they have the proper facilities.’
I didn’t want to go to Newtown or Aberystwyth. They were too far away. I could wake up there to find an officer who outranked me telling me that I was off this case and back on the trail of mutilated sheep.
‘I want to stay here,’ I said feebly, letting go of Jeff and grabbing at one of the tubular metal wheelchairs that were lined up by the entrance desk.
‘You can’t,’ she stated officiously, trying to block me.
‘I can,’ I returned defiantly, wriggling into possession of the chair.
‘You can’t use that,’ she squealed, ‘those are for the use of our patients.’ She appealed to Jeff. ‘You’ll have to take him out of here, or I’ll have to call the police.’
‘I am the fucking police!’ I yelled at her, holding my warrant card out in front of me like a silver cross against a vampire. ‘I have been injured in the line of duty, and I expect some care in my fucking community.’
They got their own back in the amount of hair they shaved off above my right temple to clean the abrasions. Also in the scrubbing brush they used, which looked more suited to removing heavy-duty stains on the urinals than to the healing arts. But I took it all without complaint. I was their damaged goods now, and I had no intention of going anywhere else tonight.
