The policeman bent over his notebook and scribbled furiously for a few moments. When he’d finished, he read back what he’d written, pausing once or twice to make corrections. Satisfied at last, he continued with his questions.
“What time did you go to bed?”
“As I said, Tanya went to bed shortly after Martin came back. Martin and I went at the same time. I’d guess around twelve-thirty.”
“And you know that Mr Gates went straight to bed?”
Ian smiled his most disarming smile. “Short of following him into his room, how could I know that for sure?”
“Wouldn’t you have heard him?”
Realising that a demonstration might be more effective than words, Ian showed Oakes the layout of the house. When they returned to the kitchen table, there was a long silence as yet more laborious notes were made. Eventually, the policeman looked up again.
“Would it be possible for him to have left the house without disturbing you?”
“Probably. The kitchen door can usually be heard from our room, but I honestly don’t know whether we would hear it in the middle of the night. But he also has the door right next to his room.” Even as he said it, he realised it sounded as if he was making a case for Martin to be the culprit. That didn’t seem right, but the truth was that he could have gone out and come back and they would have been none the wiser.
“So he could come and go as he pleased?” Ian nodded his response. “But he was here first thing this morning?”
“Yes. I was up just after six, and I saw Martin for the first time about six-thirty.”
“And did he look as if he might have been up in the night?”
“He looked the way I would expect anyone to look first thing in the morning. Bleary-eyed and hair all over the place.”
“So if he did go out, he’d have had to do it between twelve-thirty and six-thirty?”
“I’d have definitely heard him if I’d been up, and if I was him I’d want to wait for me to settle down, so it’s more likely the window’s between one and six.”
“I’ll be the judge of that,” Oakes said, and made some more notes. He looked thoughtfully at them again. Ian looked over at Tanya, who rolled her eyes. For the first time in ages, he thought they might be sharing a joke.
“So he would have had to walk down to the village, kill the dog, steal the van and hide it somewhere, and get back here – all within five hours. It’s plenty of time, but where would he hide the van?”
“We’re in the country, officer. There are loads of places.” Ian smiled as he realised that maybe Oakes was not as stupid as he looked. He wanted Ian to come up with the answer himself. Obligingly, he did so. “He could even have hidden it in one of our old farm buildings. Do you think we should check?”
Tanya stayed in the house. The area around the outbuildings was muddy, and she didn’t see any need to go out there and spoil her shoes. Nor did she see any point in changing into wellies when there was no need for her to be involved anyway.
Having been dressed for a meeting with the bank manager, Ian did need to retrieve his boots from the Land Rover. The delay clearly left Oakes feeling impatient but, by the time they had walked up to the old barns and stores, it was clear that the policeman was wishing he’d had the foresight to bring some alternative footwear.
The buildings were set out in a square. The side that bordered the track was open, with the buildings forming the other sides. Facing them as they turned into the yard was an old hay barn. The supports held up a solid roof, and beneath that were the remnants of a few old hay bales that had been there since before Ian had bought the farm. Apart from that, the space was empty, unused, giving a clear view across a field beyond and then the inevitable tree line.
To the left and right were brick built structures that stretched back around fifty feet or so. The bricks on the left hand building were interrupted with several doors, mainly at ground level, but at either end there were stone steps leading up to doors on the first floor. Beyond the doors were the remains of workshops and store rooms. The timbers upstairs were rotten, making it almost treacherous to try to traverse any of the rooms up there. On the ground floor, although the rooms inside would be big enough to hide a vehicle, the doors weren’t large enough to allow access.
Which left the building on the right hand side. This was as long as the other one, but only had two sets of doors in it. The nearest was a standard size, large enough for a person to pass through, but certainly nothing bigger than that. Further along were the larger doors, tall enough and wide enough to allow a combine harvester to pass through. Most cars or vans would probably only need one of the doors open. Ian knew that the building was empty, which was why he never locked it. He reached for the handle of one of the doors and heaved back on it. In spite of it having been neglected for a few years, it swung open easily.
Side by side, the two men entered the building. There was no van. But it had been there. Even before he opened the door, Ian had known that. The tyre tracks in the mud outside had been fresh.
Six
It took a while for him to regain his bearings. Having stumbled into the Marie Celeste of farms, only to discover an empty building had somehow concealed at least three people, his focus had been purely about getting out of there. So as he did his best to remain undetected, his attention was on the exit rather than where that exit would take him. And where it had taken him was, perhaps inevitably, into fields that he did not recognise. Taking his cues from the position of the sun – which isn’t always ideal when you know it’s the middle of the day – he gradually made his way in the general direction of the village. Fortunately, the fields he traversed were filled with crops rather than cattle, so he didn’t have to deviate simply to bypass any herds of animals. Instead, he worked his way steadily away from the farm yard, keeping close to hedges so he could easily hide himself if the need arose.
Predictably, he encountered the woods again before he came across any more farm land. It was a fairly narrow strip, taking him only five minutes or so to pass through. Then he was out in the open again.
The layout of the fields had changed a little, but the land angled downwards in a way that was familiar to him. He recalled playing up here when he was a kid, during the long summer holidays with nothing to do. He hadn’t had many friends even when he was popular. It was a small village, and finding children his own age was a challenge in itself. But he hadn’t always been up here on his own. The memories were very clear. Wandering aimlessly, sometimes carrying a makeshift picnic (sandwiches in tin foil, an old squash bottle filled with a fifty-fifty mix of Kia-Ora and water, and – if you were lucky – a Kit Kat), sometimes with only the clawing hunger in your belly to tell you it was time to go home. Rolling down the sloping grass, and sometimes running down it – until your velocity was greater than your legs could cope with and you fell or sprawled, or even dived, the sudden pains from various parts of the body eclipsed by the hilarity of it all. Keeping yourself hidden if there was any sign of a farmer. The older lads talked about farmers carrying guns, and every now and then those rumours were borne out with the sharp cracks heard in the distance. Martin knew the sounds came from shotguns because his dad had told him. Of course, as a child, he didn’t realise that farmers only used the guns for shooting vermin. In a way, that was a good thing. It would have spoilt the adventure for him and any other kids who roamed across farm land.
As this particular stretch was so distinctive, he knew he was now on what he remembered as Wharton’s Farm. During his conversation with Ian last night, though, he had learnt that Lodge Farm had acquired that land as well as the land from the Sullivans. Bob Lambert was clearly focused on building up his farming empire.
With sufficient distance between himself and the unexpected farm yard, he was able to relax and go over his experience there in his mind. There had definitely been no one in the barn when he’d gone inside. As far as he could recall, there were no hidden doors or trapdoors. He was sure the tr
actor and farm equipment hadn’t concealed anything. The crates of vegetables were too heavy to be pushed casually to one side, so he couldn’t imagine there was a hideaway either behind or beneath them. So how had three people managed to come out of there?
No matter which way he looked at this puzzle, he could not find a solution. And for the next hour or so, as he worked his way across Lodge Farm and then back through the woods, he thought of little else. Even the temptation of a return to the clearing couldn’t take him away from those thoughts. Instead, he decided to get back to the McLean house. It was well after one o’clock and he was sure Ian would be home by now.
He pondered whether he should tell Ian about the empty barn. It might not be wise because it might mean explaining what he was up to. But Ian was clearly very intelligent and, he suspected, very insightful. It was possible he might be able to come up with an answer that had yet to occur to Martin. He was still considering this as he climbed over the stile and began to walk down the track from the wood. He ignored the old buildings on his left. Ahead of him, the track passed the gateway to the farm yard and about thirty yards beyond that it angled downwards as it took you to the village.
As he entered the yard, he saw a car approaching the gateway on the opposite side, coming up from the cottages his dad and brother were working on. He stopped for a moment, surprised to see the blue light on its roof. He had known it was a possibility the police would have to become involved, but he had thought it would take longer. Perhaps things were going to move faster than he expected.
Seven
Tanya had plenty of questions.
What the hell have you been doing in our barn? What the hell are you doing in the village? Where the hell were you this morning? Are you responsible for killing the bloody dog? Did you cause the fucking birds to come to the clearing? Who the bloody hell are you?
They lacked subtlety, but subtlety was never her strong suit. Even so, she kept the questions to herself. She might lack subtlety, but her survival instinct was full to the brim.
Once she’d been told about the tyre tracks, she’d assumed he wouldn’t be back. From what she’d learnt from Ian and PC Plod, it sounded as if Martin must have stolen the van last night, hidden it in the barn, then retrieved it after Ian had gone to the bank. She probably wouldn’t have noticed the sound of an engine on the track. Especially if it was covered by the sound of the shower, or – a guilty thought – a light buzzing noise.
So when Plod had asked Ian to take him to where Matt and Patrick were working, it hadn’t crossed her mind that being left on her own would be a problem. Until she saw Martin crossing the yard. Then her instincts told her to get out of there quickly. And she was already getting up from the table when the door opened. Fortunately, just as it did, she saw the police car roll into view.
“I see you’ve got visitors.”
His tone was casual. He’d left the door open behind him as he came close to her. She felt his palm briefly touch her shoulder, then he was past. Was he telling her to sit back down? Was it meant to reassure her? Yet again she was confused about the messages he was giving out. And his calmness was at odds with the evidence that seemed to point to his guilt. Her mind in turmoil, she only realised that she’d sat down again when her husband came into the room.
He gave her a concerned look, and she was surprised at how grateful she felt. It hadn’t occurred to her for a long time that he might care for her. Nor had it occurred to her that she might need that. She tried to convey with her eyes that she was all right. He seemed to get the message.
“Hi Martin.” He was looking past her as he spoke. His voice was steady, relaxed. Playing to his strengths again.
“I see you’ve brought company.” Martin’s response coinciding with Plod coming into view.
She’d taken an instant dislike to the copper when he’d arrived earlier. If she was honest with herself, in part it was because he was a singularly unattractive man. At the sight of the police car coming into the yard, instead of wondering what bad news this heralded, she’d immediately fantasised about a man in uniform. PC Oakes wasn’t great fantasy material. But she was also irritated by his lack of finesse. Ian was a people person. He handled his fellow humans with a care and tact and dexterity that she realised she’d taken for granted. Plod, as she’d begun to think of him within minutes of his arrival, struggled at times to find the words he wanted to say, and when they came to him, they were used like a blunt instrument. And then there were the surreptitious looks he kept giving her. At least, he clearly thought they were surreptitious. But he might as well have been wearing a T-shirt with the words “Get yer tits out!” emblazoned across it. A part of her recognised her double standards. She liked to know she was getting male attention: she just preferred it to be attention from attractive males.
In spite of the fact that they had a suspected thief and dog murderer in the kitchen, yet again his gaze fell on her cleavage. She regretted not taking the opportunity to go and change into something less obvious while the men were out. Fortunately, he remembered his reason for being there after a moment or so.
“Mr Martin Gates?” he asked formally. She half expected him to start reciting his arrest speech, rights and all.
Martin came back into her line of sight as he moved towards the officer, hand outstretched. “That’s right. And you are?”
Plod ignored the proffered hand, glancing down at his notebook as he volunteered his name, albeit reluctantly. Martin glanced at both Ian and Tanya as he took his hand back. He seemed to be amused by the officer’s attitude.
“Mr Gates, could you explain your whereabouts last night?”
“Any particular part of last night?”
“From the time you left Mr and Mrs Mclean at The Major Oak.”
As Plod was still concentrating on his notebook, Tanya guessed that Martin’s playful shrug was for their benefit.
“Well...” He looked thoughtful, as if he was dredging his memory. Somehow, Tanya didn’t think that was likely. “I don’t know what time I left, but I know I was late. I’d agreed to visit my family around eight o’clock, but it was nearer half past by the time I got there.”
“But you went there straight from the pub?” Plod’s eyes flicked briefly up to meet his.
“There aren’t many distractions in this village.” Surprising her, he flashed a flirtatious grin at Tanya.
“Shall I take that as a ‘yes’ then?”
“Yes.” His tone suggested that he was chastened by Plod, but his face told a different story.
“So you arrived at your parents’ house around eight-thirty?” Pedantry was clearly Plod’s forte.
“Around then, yes.”
“And how long did you stop for?” Plod’s eyes lifted again. This time they stayed there. It was clear that this question was more important than the others.
“I don’t know, officer.” Martin must have recognised the sudden interest. He sounded more serious himself. “I haven’t seen my parents, or my brothers and sister for nearly fifteen years. It was quite an emotional experience, and the time just passed.”
“Well, would you say you were there for twenty minutes, half an hour, an hour? Longer?”
“I really don’t know.”
Plod nodded, though Tanya got the impression it was to himself.
“What did you do when you’d finished visiting your family?”
While they’d been talking, Martin had moved over to the sink and was leaning back against it. Now he folded his arms across his chest. Classic defensive gesture. Tanya looked for Ian’s reaction. Although there was nothing overt, she could see he was watching Martin more closely.
“I came back here,” Martin said.
“And what time did you come in?”
He shook his head uncertainly. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t seem to know much, do you, Mr Gates?”
“As I said, I had a very emotional night. Keeping track of time wasn’t high on my list of priorit
ies.”
“What was high on your list of priorities?”
Martin stood upright at this, his arms slowly unfolding and dropping to his sides. At first glance, it seemed a fairly relaxed stance, but Tanya got the impression he could explode into action in a heartbeat. With his eyes back down at his notebook, it was unlikely that Plod was aware of this. At least not until Martin spoke, a hard edge to his voice that she hadn’t heard before.
“I think you need to tell me what all this is about.”
Looking up, Plod stared at him for a few moments. He didn’t seem to be intimidated, but there could be any number of reasons for that.
“I’ll come to that in a minute, Mr Gates. But first I’d like you to answer my questions.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll have to ask you to accompany me to the station.”
“Which is where?”
“Westfield.”
He pondered this, and clearly decided that wasn’t a route he wanted to go down just yet.
“Go on, then.”
A long look at the notebook to remind himself where he’d got to. Then: “Any idea when you arrived back here last night?”
“No. But I’m sure you’ve already checked this with my hosts, so perhaps you’d like to enlighten me.”
Ignoring Martin’s response, Plod asked another question: “So you don’t know what time you left your parents’ house, and you don’t know what time you got back here?” Realising it was almost rhetorical, he ploughed on. “As you’ve said, I have checked with Mr and Mrs McLean, and they tell me you returned here around quarter to eleven.”
“Well I’m glad that mystery’s solved.”
Plod bristled at the sarcasm. Tanya got the impression that he’d like to take Martin back to the station, get him in a cell and give him a good kicking. Instead, he made do with grinding his teeth.
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