Harry had no idea what Arthur was on about, then his tiredness shifted just enough for him to remember something from his visit to the house the night before, after Arthur had been taken to hospital, and Sowerby’s information from that morning.
‘You’re right,’ he said, thinking back, sifting through the memories and images of Arthur’s cottage. ‘There was a smell. I noticed it myself, couldn’t work out what it was at the time, what with everything else to take in.’
‘Can’t see how a smell’s useful though,’ said Arthur.
‘You’d be surprised,’ Harry said. ‘That description you’ve just given? I know what it was.’
‘Even this still works,’ he said, tapping his nose and winking at his daughter.
‘So, what was it, then?’ Grace asked.
Harry looked over.
‘Cannabis,’ he said. ‘I think that whoever attacked your dad, that’s what they smelled of. And forensics found a couple of spliffs, one in the house, the other on the road outside. For the smell to be strong enough to still be around when I was there says a lot.’
‘Really?’ Grace said. ‘Why? In what way?’
‘The stuff most people smoke, weed, well it has a smell, yes, but it doesn’t hang around a place in the same way as the stronger stuff, does.’
‘You mean skunk, right?’ Grace said. ‘That’s what you think the smell was?’
Harry frowned.
‘Don’t look at me like that!’ Grace said, raising an eyebrow. ‘I’ve smoked! Who hasn’t?’
‘Me for one,’ Harry said. ‘Never did as a kid. Wasn’t about to touch the stuff when I was in the Paras. And I can’t say I’ve ever been tempted to since, now that I’m doing this.’
‘That’s not really a surprise,’ said Grace, and Harry saw a sly smile spend the briefest of moments on her face.
It suited her, he thought. He’d certainly met people where a smile made them look like they were in pain. But a smile on Grace’s face just seemed to make sense, like it belonged there.
‘It’s only ever been weed, though,’ Grace continued. ‘That’s all I’ve ever had myself. Never tried anything stronger. Not sure I’d want to either.’
‘Skunk isn’t as easy to come by, not usually anyway,’ Harry explained.
‘None of this proves that it wasn’t Eric who did this.’
‘None of it proves that he did, either, which is what we have to bear in mind.’
‘So, how did Eric or whoever it was that did this to Dad get hold of it then?’
‘There’s always a way,’ Harry said. ‘Some grow it themselves. Usually in the loft or in a cellar. Hydroponics.’
‘Sounds technical.’ Arthur yawned.
‘Or you just find a dealer,’ said Harry, the scars on his face moving a little as he remembered something from a good few months ago now, when he’d bumped into a few teenagers down by Gayle Beck. He’d been walking along the path, from the church in Hawes, up to Gayle.
‘I’m assuming that’s a smile on your face,’ said Grace.
‘Oh, it is,’ Harry said, then stood up. ‘Excuse me for a moment, there’s a phone call or two I need to make.’
Chapter Twenty-Two
Leaving Grace with her dad and having made sure she was sorted for a lift back up the dale to home, Harry headed off. The phone call he’d made had been through to the office in Hawes and had been picked up by Jadyn.
‘Reedy?’ Jadyn said. ‘I’ve heard the name enough times, but never actually dealt with him.’
‘Oh, he’s a delight,’ Harry said. ‘You’re in for a treat.’
‘By treat, do you mean like when my mum would bring home a Viennetta Slice?’
‘A what now?’
Jadyn was silent for a moment and Harry could sense the constable’s disbelief down the line.
‘You know, ice cream, loads of thin layers of chocolate,’ Jadyn said. ‘Proper tasty. You can get a mint one, too. And salted caramel!’
‘If it’s all the same with you, I don’t think I will.’
‘You’re missing out,’ Jadyn said.
‘I’ll take the risk.’
The last time Harry had anything to do with Reedy was when he’d been trying to find one of his, for want of a better word, colleagues. Reedy had a reputation for dealing but was slimy and wily enough to never have anything actually traced back to him. Yet. Harry was keen to see that change. Whether this was the moment, Harry wasn’t sure, but it was a good place to start to try and find a lead on the smell both he and Arthur had noticed the night before.
‘Anyone there with you?’ Harry asked.
‘Jen,’ Jadyn replied. ‘Gordy’s away to some meeting or something. Not sure what it was about, but she says she’ll be over tomorrow.’
‘What about the others?’ Harry asked, deciding to give no time at all to wondering what Swift was up to.
‘Jim’s over in Hardraw,’ Jadyn explained.
‘Never been,’ Harry said, recognising the name from his chat with Grace. ‘Not as such anyway. I’ve driven through it. Blink and you miss it, right?’
‘There’s a famous waterfall,’ Jadyn said. ‘Up behind the Green Dragon Inn. Worth a trip, especially after a storm. And,’ he added, ‘it’s where Kevin Costner swam naked across a pool in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves.’
‘That’s really… fascinating,’ Harry said.
‘I know, right?’ Jadyn replied, not catching Harry’s sarcasm at all. ‘Anyway, Jim’s checking up on that other stolen dog. They’re dog breeders, it turns out.’
‘Indeed they are,’ said Harry. ‘That dog from the barn, the one that belonged to Arthur Black? It was one of theirs.’
‘Well, they had one of their dogs stolen a few months ago,’ said Jadyn. ‘Oh, and Matt and Liz are still trying to track down that Eric Haygarth bloke, as per your instruction. Though he seems to have disappeared, which is a bit odd.’
Harry was quietly reassured by Jadyn’s report, though not by Eric’s vanishing act since he was someone they really need to speak to. As for the brief discussion about ice cream desserts, he’d be forgetting that as quickly as possible.
‘I need you and Jen to find Reedy for me,’ Harry instructed. ‘Bring him in for a little chat.’
‘He a suspect?’
‘He’s someone of importance, that’s for sure,’ Harry said. ‘And when you’ve got a hold of him, let me know. I’ll meet you at the office.’
‘Sure thing, boss,’ Jadyn said before ending the call.
With Jadyn and Jen tasked with tracking down Reedy, Harry made another call, this time through to the veterinary surgery in Hawes.
‘I’d like to speak with Andrew Bell, please,’ Harry asked.
‘Can I ask who’s calling?’ the receptionist replied.
‘DCI Harry Grimm.’
‘He’s over at a farm West Burton way.’
‘Can you give me the address?’
Harry heard a faint rustling of paper.
‘Yes, here it is…’
Having taken the address, Harry then asked for a message to be given to Andrew.
‘He might not get it,’ the receptionist replied. ‘Doesn’t usually pick up when he’s out on a job, not until it’s finished anyway.’
‘Well, if you can just let him know that I’m on my way, that would be much appreciated.’
And with that, Harry made one final call through to Jim, to tell him what he’d learned about Arthur’s dog, Jack, and then he was on his way.
The journey was easy, the roads not too busy, and after passing the strange Temple Folly just a couple of miles on the other side of West Witton, he’d then hung a left towards his destination. The road was surprisingly flat for the dales, with lush green meadows on either side. Coming into West Burton, his satnav had directed him to take a hard left, up and over a bridge, to follow a lane that looked as though it was only ever used by the kind of transport which required either hooves or off-road tyres.
A couple of minu
tes later, he was at his destination, and he turned off the lane and into a farmyard, parking up in front of a house with brightly flowered window boxes. Further along from the house, Harry saw a large barn and various other outbuildings. In front of the house were parked a Land Rover, an estate car that looked like it was close to being scrapped, and a huge motorbike, the kind that gave the impression it would happily race up a mountain at a hundred miles an hour with no effort at all.
Harry climbed out of his own vehicle and went to knock at the farmhouse door. It was opened a couple of minutes later by a man wearing Wellington boots, green corduroy trousers with holes in the knees, and a chequered shirt, rolled up at the sleeves. He was a little shorter than Harry, barrel-chested, and had cheeks on him the colour of a ripe apple. In his hand was a tray laden with mugs of tea and a packet of chocolate digestives.
‘Now then,’ the man said, and handed Harry the tray. ‘Hold this, will you while I just fetch the rest.’
Harry had no chance to answer as the man turned around and walked back into the house, returning a moment later with a large plate piled high with sandwiches.
‘Away then,’ the man said, and pushed on past Harry and headed up to the barn.
Catching up, Harry introduced himself.
‘Oh, yes, I know who you are,’ the man said. ‘I’m Jeff.’
‘Good to meet you,’ Harry said. ‘The vet got my message, then?’
‘Message? What message?’
‘You said you know who I am.’
‘Of course, I do!’ Jeff said. ‘Seen you around, haven’t I? Nowt’s kept much of a secret around the dales. And a new face is always noticed.’
‘Mine more than most,’ Harry said.
‘You could say that,’ Jeff said. ‘So, it’s the vet you’re wanting to see, then? He’s up here. He’ll no doubt have his arm up past his elbow in a cow. Calving season, you see. Had a difficult one earlier, which was why he was called. Then another started getting awkward as well, so he’s on with that now. Busy time for us, as you can imagine.’
Harry listened, said nothing, and followed on behind Jeff into the large barn. Inside the air was ripe with the smell of manure, straw, animal feed, and the animals themselves. Harry was led to a stall inside which a man was, as Jeff had warned, up beyond his elbow inside a cow. The animal was moaning and the man, who Harry assumed to be the vet, Andrew Bell, was sweating and swearing.
‘You stay here,’ Jeff instructed, placing the plate of sandwiches on a weary-looking picnic table placed outside the stall.
The vet saw Harry.
‘What’ve you done now, Jeff?’ he asked, nodding over at Harry.
‘Nowt,’ Jeff replied. ‘He’s here for you. Probably caught you speeding on that idiotic bike of yours.’
‘It’s not idiotic.’
‘It bloody well is!’ Jeff replied. ‘Would you get on a horse with an engine?’
‘What?’
‘A horse, with an engine,’ Jeff said. ‘No, of course, you wouldn’t. Why? No brains and too fast, that’s why. And that’s what that thing is. Get rid. Sharpish.’
The vet strained again, clearly trying to heave something out from inside the cow, which Harry assumed to be a calf.
‘Your argument makes no sense at all,’ the vet said. ‘Horse with an engine? What are you on about?’
Jeff glanced back at Harry.
‘You agree with me, don’t you, Grimm?’
Jeff, Harry realised, wasn’t one for airs and graces, or for taking time to get to know someone, and was already speaking to him like he’d known him for years.
‘Well…’ Harry said.
‘See?’ Jeff said, turning back to the vet, giving Harry no chance to say anything more. ‘Everyone thinks that machine will kill you. Even the detective here!’
‘Here we go!’ the vet said, and Harry saw two legs appear as the vet pulled his arm out from inside the cow. ‘Come on, lass. Come on!’
A few moments and a lot of straining and swearing and mooing later, a calf flopped out onto the straw-covered floor.
‘Bloody hell,’ Harry said.
‘Quite a sight, isn’t it?’ Jeff said. ‘Big bugger as well, that one. No wonder it was a struggle. You okay, Andy?’
The vet walked over, one arm covered in all kinds of stuff Harry didn’t really want to think about. He then washed himself clean and held out the same hand to Harry.
‘Pleased to meet you,’ he said.
Harry shook the extended hand, doing his best to ignore where it had just been.
‘You mind if we have a quick chat when we’re done?’ Harry asked.
‘Not a problem at all,’ Andy replied. ‘First things first, though, eh?’
Then he reached over and with the hand that had, only minutes ago, been deep inside a cow, grabbed a sandwich.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Having headed out from Hawes, and now just rolling over the start of Hardraw, Jim had pulled through a gate and across a cattle grid, and rolled onto the grounds of a large house with impressive outbuildings. It was an expensive property, that much was clear, so breeding dogs was obviously good money. A large ‘Beware: Guard Dogs!’ sign stood as a welcome at the gate.
He was welcomed at the house by a woman with a blonde perm so huge it was as though a sun-drenched cloud had decided to take a holiday on her head. She was wearing jeans and a black long-sleeved top and was rubbing her right arm nervously, Jim noticed.
‘You must be the PCSO,’ she said, her accent hard to place, because it wasn’t really there at all. Sort of a general English accent, Jim thought, as though it wasn’t really from anywhere. Or, if it was, it was trying to disguise it. ‘PCSO Metcalf, yes?’
She was smiling, and Jim couldn’t help but notice that she seemed almost too pleased to see him. Relieved even, not that he could think of a reason as to why she should be. It unnerved him a little.
‘Mrs Peacock?’ Jim said. ‘Yes, that’s me, PCSO Metcalf. Call me James though. Much more friendly that way I think. I really appreciate you taking the time to see me.’
‘It’s not a problem at all,’ Mrs Peacock said, her smile still wide as she invited Jim inside. ‘And call me Jan.’
Inside, the hallway was decorated with numerous awards for breeding dogs, and even more photographs of said dogs. A wooden staircase swept upstairs. Jim was led through to a lounge on the right.
‘Can I get you anything?’
‘No, I’m fine, thanks,’ Jim said.
Jan looked at a clock above the fireplace.
‘It’s about time for afternoon tea, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Honestly, I’m fine.’
‘Well, I was just get something anyway,’ Jan said, and before Jim could protest, he was left alone in the lounge.
The room was, for want of a better word, polite, Jim thought. It had a white leather three-piece suite, a glass-topped coffee table, and a nice marble-effect fire surround, with a large mirror hung above. The walls were white and were decorated with a few photographs on canvas, the kind Jim had seen for sale in Darlington. There wasn’t much personality to the room. It gave nothing away about the owners. And maybe that was the point.
A few minutes later, Jim heard the sound of tinkling crockery and turned to see Jan enter the room pushing a trolley.
‘I was going to bring through just a pot of tea,’ Jan said, ‘but then I thought, why not have some nice cake, too? I baked it yesterday. I have to do something to keep busy, don’t I? I can’t just sit here reading all the time or staring at the wall or watching the television.’
Jim smiled, found himself looking for a television and not seeing one.
‘Oh, it’s up there,’ Jan said.
‘What is?’
‘The television. That mirror above the fire? It’s a television. Far too expensive if you ask me. Not my money though.’
On the trolley, Jim saw a large sponge cake with jam and butter icing in the middle. There was also a little plate of jam
tarts. A couple of minutes later, a large slice of it was on a plate and in his hand, a mug of tea on the coffee table in front of him.
‘So, how can I help?’ Jan asked, sitting down opposite. Again, she was rubbing her arm.
Jim couldn’t answer immediately as his mouth was full of cake.
‘Good, isn’t it?’ Jan said.
Jim gave a nod, swallowed.
‘Very,’ he said, reaching for his tea. ‘You’re a great baker.’
Jan beamed.
‘Thank you so much for saying so!’
‘I mean it,’ Jim said. ‘It’s delicious.’
Jim took another bite then noticed Jan was just watching him eat, but not taking anything herself. Suddenly feeling a little self-conscious, he said, ‘I just need to talk to you about the dog you reported stolen.’
‘That was months ago, now,’ Jan said. ‘Last October I think. My husband said I shouldn’t have bothered really. These things happen, don’t they?’
‘They do, but they shouldn’t,’ Jim said.
‘And nothing came of it in the end, did it? The dog was never found.’
‘What kind of dogs do you breed?’ Jim asked.
‘Springer Spaniels,’ Jan said. ‘Such a lovely breed. Lots of fun. Lots of energy. All pedigree, too. Sometimes I find it very difficult to let them go, but I have to. Can’t have a house filled with dogs, now, can I? But they are such good company.’
‘And the dog you reported stolen was an Alsatian, yes?’
‘We don’t breed those,’ Jan said. ‘He was a guard dog. We’ve always had them. Better than any burglar alarm, that’s for sure. Always had a couple of them around. Obviously, we’ve only got one now. But we’ll get another I think. Dogs need company.’
‘But this one was stolen, though,’ Jim said. ‘And it can’t be easy to steal a guard dog. Can you tell me anything about the night it happened?’
‘We were out,’ Jan said. ‘I was just down at the Green Dragon, you know? A quiet drink and a bite to eat, that kind of thing. A little treat for myself, really. And when I came back, he was gone.’
‘Any sign of a break-in?’
Blood Sport: A Yorkshire Murder Mystery (DCI Harry Grimm Crime Thrillers 7) Page 17