Chilling Out

by Andrew Puckett

  ‘That’s what she said.’

  ‘Did you see her while she was doing it?’

  ‘No, why should I have?’

  Tom paused, but couldn't think of anything else to ask. 'OK, thanks for your help, Craig.' He made to go past him but Craig moved in the way.

  'You said more after I told you, mister.'

  Tom shook his head. 'No, I didn't, I said that that was the lot.' He allowed his voice to harden. 'So if you'd be so kind…'

  As though on signal, two figures loomed in the doorway – the sinewy man and another, younger one, Craig's big brother, Tom assumed. He was holding a pitchfork.

  'You heard him, didn' you, Dad? He said more after I told him.'

  'I 'eard un,' said the sinewy one. 'Pay up, mister.'

  Tom knew he'd have to part with something, but didn't want his wallet completely emptied. He looked Dad in the eye.

  'I've already given him twenty, which is more than what he's told me's worth. I'll give him another five, but that's it.'

  'Ten,' said Craig.

  'Five,' said Tom.

  'Ten,' said Big Brother. The prongs of the pitchfork had somehow aligned themselves with Tom's belly.

  Tom pretended to consider, then shrugged. 'All right, ten,' he said to Dad, 'but that's an end to it, OK?'

  Dad gave a curt nod.

  Tom pushed the money at Craig, then, not hesitating, pushed his way through them to the cow stall. He heard one of them mutter something, followed by laughter. He walked steadily past the cows and out. He knew he daren't hurry. He crossed the yard in measured paces, feeling eyes on his back for every one of them…

  Round the side of the house and there was the Cooper facing him. He wished he'd turned it round now – Oh, shit! One of the front tyres was flat…

  Not a coincidence.

  He opened the door, felt under the steering wheel, brought out his gun and slipped it into his pocket. Not that it'll be much good against a twelve bore…

  He unlocked the boot, pulled out the jack and torch and unscrewed the spare wheel… took them to the front of the car, peering into the darkness ahead – nothing… Maybe they did it as insurance in case I wouldn't pay up – maybe…

  Forcing himself to be methodical, he prised off the hub cap and loosened the wheel nuts before jacking up the car. Spun off the nuts and dropped them into the hub cap with a muted clang. Dragged the wheel off.

  He aligned the spare in the weak light of the torch, then his head snapped up as he thought he heard a noise… Nothing, just the cows in the yard.

  He lifted the wheel again. One bolt scraped through… but not the others. He twisted the wheel a little and tried again… and again, but they wouldn't go through. He reached behind, felt for the bolt and tried to guide it through… Ah, got it!

  More noise: he looked up as a cow materialised, floating through the gloom towards him, followed by another, then another…

  He snatched up two of the nuts, fitted one and spun it as the cows parted in bovine streams around the front of the car, their hooves gently knocking the ground, their breath heavy on his neck, then a hoof sent the hub cap flying with its remaining nuts. He fitted the second and spun it, thinking, Two'll have to do… A flank nudged his shoulder and there was a thin pattering among the hooves…

  Oh no! He tried to shrink into his coat and squeeze himself against the car but felt his head and shoulders being gently spattered…

  He released the jack, snatched up the wheel brace and tightened the nuts so savagely they squealed, then opened the door, threw wheel, jack, torch and brace on to the passenger seat…

  As suddenly as it had begun, the bovine flood subsided and a voice, Big Brother's he thought, said, 'Got a problem then, mate?'

  'Nothing I can't handle,' Tom said between his teeth, realising at that moment that he'd panicked for nothing.

  With a low chuckle, BB followed the cows into the darkness. Tom glared after him, then, seeing a glint on the ground, picked up his hub cap and threw it after the wheel and jack.

  He got in, turned the car, and as he headed for the track his headlights picked out the last of the cows turning into a gateway. BB was nowhere in sight.

  He negotiated the track and, once on the road, drove back to Sticklepath, composing a letter in his head to Brussels arguing that British farmers were being treated far too leniently and should have all their subsidies withdrawn.

  Chapter Eighteen

  At Tamar gaol, Prisoner 017984 Bailey had become increasingly pissed off with Prisoner 013257 Harding's attitude, and during the evening recreation period his limited patience had finally snapped. He attacked Harding with the dinner knife he'd especially sharpened for the purpose and, in doing so, managed to slice through his liver.

  Ashley was called back to the centre not long after he arrived home. When he got there and was told the patient was a prisoner, he rang Dominic.

  'He's in a bad way and they want five units of red label now,' he said. 'Should I do the group in your lab?'

  'No,' said Dominic. 'Get some disposable gowns and do it in Maria's lab. I'll be along in ten minutes.' He phoned Medlar to let him know what was happening, then set off for the centre himself.

  Prisoners are susceptible to both hepatitis and HIV, and work on their blood was usually carried out in the Category 3 Containment lab in Microbiology. Harding, however, was in imminent danger of bleeding to death. He'd been given haemocell, a volume expander, to keep his blood pressure up, but he needed more red cells – fast; thus five units of 'red label' (blood of Harding's group, but not specifically cross matched for him) had been ordered, to be followed by a further ten units of cross matched blood. Grouping his sample would take only a few minutes, whereas cross matching takes an hour.

  'A Positive,' Ashley told Dominic when he arrived.

  'I'll issue the red label,' Dominic said. 'You get the cross match started.'

  He'd just issued it when Medlar arrived.

  'Thought I'd better come in for this one,' he said. 'How's it going?'

  'OK,' said Dominic, surprised to see him.

  'Can I do anything?'

  'I don't think so, thanks, doctor – although you could let the ward know we're going as fast as we can.'

  'Been on at you, have they?'

  'You could say that. I'll go and set up the hepatitis and HIV tests.'

  'Won't the hospital lab be doing that?'

  'They might,' Dominic said, 'but we do need to know, and it's frankly easier doing it ourselves than chasing after them.'

  'Fair enough,' Medlar said, smiling.

  Meanwhile, further indignities awaited the manure-speckled Tom when he arrived back at Sticklepath.

  'Oh, the Scratchleys,' Henry said, laughing. 'You shouldn't pay any heed to them. Bit rough and ready maybe, but they wouldn't do you any harm. Not real harm,' he added, looking Tom over.

  Ha bloody ha, Tom thought. 'How did the place get its name?' he asked. 'I can't believe any of them have ever heard of Cold Comfort Farm, let alone read it.'

  'Oh, one of the other farmers hereabouts called it Warm Welcome years ago as a joke, and it stuck. The Scratchleys went along with it without really understanding it.'

  Tom then phoned Bennett to tell him about Jessie's fibs, only to learn that she'd gone to the police station that afternoon to admit them herself and make a statement. Craig had been blackmailing her, she'd said. They'd also brought in Verity for questioning.

  'So she could have saved me the trip,' Tom said grimly. Not to mention thirty quid and a dry cleaning bill…

  'I don't think either of them are in the business of saving you anything, Mr Jones,' said Bennett. 'They've both complained about your aggressive questioning, as has Dr Medlar.'

  Tom groaned and said he'd come and see him first thing, then went to sulk in the bath.

  'Has it occurred to you,' he asked Bennett at nine the next morning, 'that those who complain so loudly about me might have motives other than outraged modesty?'


  Bennett snorted. 'Of course it's bloody occurred to me. Has it occurred to you that we've been looking at the whole thing the wrong way round?' He leaned forward. 'You asked me on Sunday how Pengellis could've persuaded Goring into the centre that night – the answer is, she didn't. Blane did, by telling him she'd got something on Pengellis. We know he was looking for evidence against her.'

  'And that evidence, of course, would've been in the freezer,' said Tom, forbearing to mention that he'd already suggested something of the kind on Sunday.

  'Exactly.'

  'Well, it fits… except that why did Jessie go back to her own house that night?'

  Bennett shrugged. 'One of those things we'll never know. It probably never occurred to her she'd been seen.'

  'And why did they later move the body?'

  'To confuse us over the place of death, make it look as though he'd drowned.'

  'But why take the risk?' persisted Tom. 'That body would not have been easy to move frozen, and they could so easily have been caught.'

  'But they weren't, were they?' Bennett said impatiently, 'Maybe when Pengellis realised on Saturday that it hadn't been found, she thought it was worth the risk.'

  'If you're that sure, why didn't you hang on to them?'

  'Because Stephanie Heath, their solicitor, is too bloody fly by half.' Bennett snarled, realising he'd sworn twice in the last few minutes. 'She's made trouble for us before.'

  'What exactly happened?' Tom asked.

  Bennett showed him their statements and, at Tom's request, played him some of the taped interviews. Hearing Jessie's voice was like having her in the room with him…

  'I was troubled about what had happened between us and couldn't sleep. I got up, at around nine, I think, and slipped out of the house without waking her. I drove home, only to find it wrecked – by Craig, I assumed.'

  'Did you see him?' (Bennett)

  'No, I didn't. I cleared up as much of the mess as I could, then had a large whisky and went to bed.'

  'What time would that have been?'

  'Ten thirty, eleven – I'm not sure…'

  Yes, it was true she'd been forced into admitting this because Craig was blackmailing her – first for the money she'd withheld because of the damage, and then for more – but she was now telling the truth…

  'I'd been put in a very difficult position, inspector.'

  'In what way?'

  'Verity phoned me at home on Tuesday. She told me what had happened, and that she'd told you I'd spent all Friday night with her. Just after that, the police car came to pick me up. I was confused, disorientated – at the time, it seemed easier to simply go along with it. I wish I hadn't, now.'

  Tom said to Bennett, 'It could be the truth.'

  Bennett snorted again.

  'Put it another way,' said Tom, 'it'll be next to impossible to disprove it.'

  Verity, after she'd been picked up at the centre, had confirmed all this. When first questioned by the police on Monday, she'd told them that Jessie had been with her all night without realising its importance.

  Why had she done this? Bennett wanted to know.

  'Partly out of pride, inspector – '

  'How d'you mean, pride?'

  'I didn't want to admit that she'd sneaked off like a thief in the night. Also…' she hesitated. 'I did it partly to put pressure on her, to make her admit her true sexual orientation.'

  She'd then phoned Jessie and they'd agreed they'd better stick to it.

  Stephanie Heath had forcibly pointed out that the case against them was as weak and circumstantial as ever, and that they would have told the truth earlier had it not been for the sexual harassment to which they'd been subjected. Bennett had reluctantly let them both go, Verity a short while after Jessie.

  'Harassment, always harassment,' he said now, wearily. 'I'd be interested to meet anybody who could sexually harass Blane.'

  'D'you still think they're lying?' Tom asked.

  'Course I do.' He didn't sound quite so sure, though.

  Tom leaned forward. 'It comes down to this – if Verity was at the centre shutting Goring in the freezer, why did Jessie go home and risk their alibi? Why didn't she stay at Verity's?'

  'I don't bloody know,' said Bennett.

  The first thing Tom saw when he got back to his temporary office in the centre was an envelope with his name on it on the desk. He opened it and extracted a single sheet of paper. The message on it was typed in capitals:

  ASK DOMINIC TUDOR WHO HAD THE BEST OPPORTUNITY TO

  SHIT ON JESSIE. ASK HIM HOW HE LIKED THE SMELL OF

  GORING'S BUM.

  He thought about it for a few minutes, then put it into a transparent plastic envelope to preserve any fingerprints. Then he asked Dominic to come down.

  As soon as he'd sat, Tom handed him the message. His eyes widened as he read it.

  'Where did this come from?' he said, looking up. He hadn't coloured or shown any sign of embarrassment.

  'I found it here on the desk when I arrived. The point is, is it true?'

  'It's absolutely ridiculous,' Dominic said after a moment's hesitation.

  'Is it, though? You see, it does make rather a good point about who had the best opportunity to pass Jessie's thoughts on to Goring – '

  'That's rubbish,' Dominic protested. 'We all had exactly the same opportunity to photocopy those files she left on her desk.'

  'You know, I never really believed in that,' Tom said conversationally. 'It was too short a time for Goring to prepare himself so thoroughly. No, it needed someone with access to her thoughts as well as her files, someone she trusted, someone who – '

  'That could be Verity as much as me.'

  'Someone who knew Goring from the past,' Tom continued, 'someone with – '

  'All right, all right,' Dominic capitulated suddenly. 'It was me.'

  'Why?'

  After a pause, not looking at Tom, he began haltingly, 'I – I came to realise about three months ago that Jessie couldn't possibly win, that the centre was going to close come what may – and that she was ruining all our chances of finding work elsewhere. She was dragging us down with her. I did my best to persuade her – '

  'Did you go to Goring, or did he come to you?'

  'Neither, really.' He swallowed, still not looking at Tom. 'You were right, I did get to know him when he was interim director here. We always got on. Then I met him at a one-day conference a couple of months or so ago and we got talking. He was interested in my research, said it was a shame if it was wasted. Then he invited me up to London for a chat about it. I went, and that's how it started.'

  'Do any of the others here know?'

  'Well, one of them does, obviously.' He sighed. 'I've no idea who, though.'

  'Didn't you ever find it difficult, maintaining the role of friend and adviser while kebabbing her at the same time? I'm just curious…'

  'Yes, yes, yes. I hated it, I – I hated myself sometimes.' His eyes flickered up again. 'But I really thought it was for the best, and I continually tried to persuade her to give it up and settle for what she could.'

  'Big of you.'

  Dominic looked up, met his eyes, said defiantly, 'Yes, it would have been big of me, if I'd succeeded. I'd have been doing her the best favour ever.'

  'I take it you didn't realise she was going to accuse Goring of nepotism in the interview?'

  'I had no idea. I'd have warned him if I had.'

  'Didn't he blame you, for not warning him?'

  'Probably, although I never got to find out. I kept out of his way after the interview.'

  'He didn't try to contact you?'

  'No, although I'm sure he'd have got round to it.' He continued: 'Do the others have to know about – '

  'You were saying just now about your research,' Tom interrupted, 'that Goring said it would be a shame if it was wasted. Was that by way of a bribe?'

  He hesitated again, said, 'I suppose it was. He told me he'd find me a job in another centre where I could
go on with it.' Another pause, then: 'They say every man has his price, and that was mine.' He sighed. 'Not that it'll do me any good now.' He looked up. 'Do the others have to know about this?'

  Tom didn't say anything and Dominic continued: 'Does Dr Medlar have to know? You see, I'm dependent on him now for a reference.'

  Tom felt no obligation whatever to protect him – Treacherous little turd – but couldn't see any direct need to expose him… and a hold on him might come in useful later…

  'I'll have to think about that,' he said at last, not minding at all if Dominic squirmed on a skewer himself for a while.

  Dominic compressed his lips, then said, 'Could you let me know tomorrow? The thing is – '

  'Can't, I'm afraid. I'm off to Poole for the day.'

  'Thursday, then? I'm applying for a job…'

  'All right. And now, you can trot off and find Adrian Hodges and send him along to me.'

  Chapter Nineteen

  It was a deeply preoccupied Dominic who walked slowly back up the corridor from Tom's office.

  How had it degenerated into this? he wondered. Will he go and tell Medlar anyway, just out of spite?

  Oh well, he told himself, he'd got out of scrapes before, hadn't he? And he would again…

  He went into Blood Issue where he found Adrian light-penning some units of blood into a box.

  Jones wants to see you,' he said without preamble, 'Now.'

  'Tell him I'm busy,' Adrian said without bothering to look up.

  Dominic grabbed his shoulder and swung him round: 'I don't care what you do when you get there,' he said through clenched teeth, 'you can kick his face in with my blessing, but I'm telling you to get down there – now.'

  'Oh, so this urgent order can wait, can it?' Adrian said, calmly removing his hand.

  Resisting with great difficulty the urge to strangle Adrian on the spot, Dominic said, 'All right, finish the order, then get down there.' He turned to go.

  Adrian said, 'Actually, the thing to do if you really wanted to get to him would be to chuck some blood over him.'

  Dominic, who was half-way to the door, stopped and looked back. 'What d'you mean?'