by Jo Bannister
‘I think so too,’ she said softly.
‘You get your own room,’ he said proudly, showing her. ‘Twelve months ago you’d have got my room and I’d have got the sofa, but I had to rebuild after a fire and I got a couple more rooms out of what used to be the boathouse. A guest room and a study.’
She was looking round the odd building as if she’d never seen its like. ‘Daniel – what is it?’
‘It’s a netting-shed. The same as the other two’ – he pointed through the window – ‘except this was converted for living in and the others are just used for storage. They date back to when Dimmock had a fishing industry, with boats launching off the beach and cheery fisherfolk hanging their nets out to dry of an evening.’
‘Cheery fisherfolk?’ Ally echoed faintly.
‘Oh yes. It was stipulated on their licence. That, and singing jolly sea-shanties as they hauled the boats out at the end of the day.’
‘All this was a bit before your time, wasn’t it?’ she guessed.
‘Well, yes,’ admitted Daniel. ‘But I have it on good authority. I saw a Disney film once.’
She sat on his spare bed and kicked her shoes off. ‘I’m glad the cheery fisherfolk have gone. Those sea-shanties must wear thin after a time.’
‘Ah. Then you don’t want me waking you up in the morning with three brisk choruses of “Fiddler’s Green?”’
She pursed her lips. ‘Let’s say I’ll let you know if I do.’ Brodie hadn’t given a thought to Johnny Windham in three days when the phone rang and it was him. ‘Just to let you know, I’m putting together a lorry-load of horses in Germany. If you’re ready to go with the Exmoor pony I have a space for you.’
‘That’s very good of you, Mr Windham.’ She made polite noises while her brain worked overtime. ‘But don’t you need to do some paperwork first?’
‘Brussels requires an Animal Transport Certificate for any horse travelling further than fifty kilometres. But we get them by the bushel. If you’re ready, it’ll save you a bit of money.’
‘That’s very good of you,’ said Brodie, and if she’d had a pony to transport she’d have meant it. ‘I’m sorry to mess you around. My firm lead’s gone a bit soggy. Perhaps you should count us out of the equation until I give you a call.’
He sounded a little disappointed. ‘Yes, sure. I was just calling on spec. Get back to me when you’ve some news. Anywhere in Germany, France, the Low Countries – we’re always putting a load together, we’ll fit you in no trouble.’
‘You specialise in Europe, then,’ said Brodie, still only making conversation for long enough to be polite.
‘Based where we are it makes sense. There are guys in Wales and the Midlands who pick up most of the Irish trade, and Yorkshire on up is a whole other territory. I haven’t been north of Birmingham in years.’
‘Very sensible I’m sure,’ said Brodie, with the heartfelt little shudder of the born-and-bred Londoner; and with that and the promise to speak again they parted.
Deacon took her to his favourite French restaurant for supper. Friday evening was the nearest thing they had to a standing arrangement: neither of them broke it without good cause.
Although sometimes it would have been better if Deacon had admitted honestly that his head was too full of work to go on a date with anyone. Instead he talked to her as if she were Charlie Voss, there to act as a sounding board for his ideas. He talked about the brick wall he’d hit when he tried to find out who was manufacturing Scram and who was distributing it. About the people who should have known something but were saying nothing, even when he turned the pressure up. Even when he offered to show them his new monkey wrench.
‘I don’t think they know any more about it than I do,’ he grunted, frustrated and disconsolate. ‘Which means this isn’t the usual suspects. Maybe it’s organised from the German end and Dimmock’s just the final link in the chain.’
Brodie gave up trying to talk about something that interested her. ‘They must have some reason to be here. It would be safer to buy the common chemicals in Germany than to smuggle a restricted drug through British Customs.’
Deacon was nodding pensively. ‘The catalyst is the most important but actually the smallest part of the cocktail. If this thing takes off as they hope, they’re going to need big quantities of the other stuff. Big enough to attract attention. They’re doing it here because this is where they have contacts.’ He looked up. ‘This is where they live.’
‘Dimmock?’
‘Here or hereabouts.’
‘Then why does no one know about them? Not just you – the competition.’
‘It’s a new operation,’ he guessed. ‘Not just a new drug – the whole set-up. These aren’t drug-dealers playing with chemicals, they’re chemists playing at drugs. Or if not chemists, people who have access to chemicals – the German tranquillizer and what they need to turn it into tablets. That’s where they started – with the chemicals, and the idea. We don’t know about them because they have no track record. They’re two or three respectable professional people with access to chemicals, the knowledge of what to do with them and a lockup somewhere with a Bunsen burner and a sink. That’s all they need. How the hell am I ever going to find them?’
Brodie was surprised. He was often angry, not infrequently worried, but she didn’t remember hearing that note of despair in his voice before. ‘You’ll find them. It may take a little while, but you’ll find them.’
‘But while I’m looking, kids are dying. We know of six people who’ve overdosed on this stuff. Five of them were teenagers, two of them are now dead. That’s a thirty-three per cent mortality rate. What are we going to be dealing with when the production-line is running at capacity?’
‘OK,’ she said, moved to help him, ‘then let’s think about what you know about them. The catalyst comes from Germany but production takes place around here somewhere. You’re looking for professional people with a knowledge of chemistry and secure premises. It’s based on a veterinary drug. Maybe you should be looking for a vet.’
A generation raised on James Herriott stories finds it hard to see the saviour of the animal kingdom in a less flattering light, but it was a valid point. ‘Maybe I should. Or someone else involved with large animals. Like a horse dealer. Or a horse transporter.’
For a long minute Brodie didn’t answer. Then she said, ‘You mean, maybe there’s something in Alison Barker’s allegations after all?’
‘Those damn horses,’ Deacon growled into his wine. ‘You’re right, aren’t you? We keep coming back to the horses.’
‘Mm.’ There was nothing modest about Brodie Farrell: the only reason that she didn’t fire off a resounding “told you so” was that she too was thinking. ‘Jack – that argument that Stanley Barker and Johnny Windham had in the yard at Peyton Parvo five days before Barker was found in his water-jump. Is it on record anywhere what exactly they were arguing about?’
‘Sure. Windham bringing Barker sick and dead horses.’
‘Yes. But had these horses anything else in common? The same vendor, or the same buyer. Or maybe they all came from Germany?’
Deacon put his glass down and left his meal to go cold. ‘I don’t know. But we should be able to find out. Either from Alison Barker or Mary Walbrook.’
‘Let’s ask Mary,’ said Brodie, just a shade too quickly, leaving Deacon wondering why.
‘I’m not sure I have her number. But I can probably still catch Alison at the hospital.’
‘No, she was discharged this morning.’
‘Then I’ll call at the house in The Ginnell. Come with me, if you like.’
‘She isn’t there.’
It was like drawing teeth. Deacon hung onto his patience. ‘Then where is she?’
There comes a point in any game where trying to defend the indefensible involves more loss of dignity than conceding defeat. Brodie reached that point now. Her dark eyes crackled at him. ‘Where do you think? Where do all the crackpots end up? She’
s at Daniel’s.’
He didn’t understand her annoyance. ‘All right, then we’ll drop in on Daniel.’
‘Maybe you should phone first,’ she said nastily, ‘Lord knows what we’ll walk in on otherwise.’
He’d been ready to leave. Now he let his weight sink back into his chair. ‘Brodie,’ he said quietly, ‘what’s going on here? You know Daniel’s been worried about her. I’m not surprised she’s moved in with him, so why are you?’
‘I’m not surprised,’ she said shortly. ‘I just think he’s letting himself be used. Again.’
Deacon shrugged. ‘Does it matter?’
‘It might. If Alison Barker is lying, she’s conducting a hate campaign against a man she blames for everything that’s gone wrong with her life. What if Daniel doesn’t measure up to her expectations either?’
‘You think she might turn on him?’ Deacon wasn’t sure what he was hearing. It hadn’t occurred to him that Daniel was in any danger of being bitten by his lame dog. Thinking about it now he had to concede there was a chance, if only an outside one; but listening like a detective rather than someone who was involved it sounded more like an intelligent woman rationalising a quite primitive situation – two cats squabbling over a fish head. She sounded jealous.
‘She might. If Mary Walbrook’s right about her, Alison is a loose cannon. And Daniel … is Daniel. For a smart man he can be remarkably slow on the uptake sometimes. And this is an area he hasn’t had much experience of.’
‘What is?’ he asked softly. He felt it important that she say it.
She flicked him an irritated glance. ‘You know what I mean. The whole emotional thing. I’m not sure he’s ever had a serious girlfriend. It’s foreign territory to him, and I don’t trust him to pick up the warning signs if it starts going wrong.’
‘You think they’re involved emotionally?’
‘I don’t know.’ He didn’t think Brodie heard the note of anguish in her own voice. ‘I think they might be.’
‘You think they might or you’re afraid they might?’
‘I don’t want him to get hurt!’
‘Getting hurt goes with the territory.’ He was speaking from experience here. ‘The only way to avoid it is giving the whole damn business a miss. Is that what you want him to do?’
Brodie stared at him, detecting a moment too late the minefield she’d wandered into. ‘Of course not. I don’t mind if Daniel has a girlfriend. I think it would be a very good thing. But I’d sooner he didn’t take up with a bunny-boiler!’
For a moment Deacon came perilously close to confronting her. Just in time he pulled back. It would achieve nothing except animosity between them, and anyway he’d already said most of what he wanted to. She knew what he was saying. She’d come back to it when she was ready.
‘Maybe we should try to establish once and for all who’s actually telling the truth here,’ he said. ‘You thought there might be something between Alison and Windham that would explain her anger. We never got round to finding out. Maybe we should.’
She was mollified at being consulted on what was, after all, his job. ‘Apart from the two of them, who would know?’
‘Mary Walbrook,’ said Deacon. ‘But she might be too close to Alison to give us a straight answer.’
‘I could ask Dieter Townes,’ said Brodie. ‘He knows both of them and has done for years. As everyone keeps telling us, this is a small world. If there was a relationship between them before the problems started, I bet he’d know.’
‘Who’s Dieter Townes?’
Sometimes Brodie forgot that Deacon wasn’t actually part of her family. ‘He owns the riding school. Paddy’s going to marry him.’
Deacon grinned. Then the grin faded. ‘Dieter Townes?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘Dieter Townes?’
‘What?’
He breathed heavily at her. ‘Don’t you watch any war movies? It’s not exactly an English name, is it?’
It hadn’t even occurred to her. It did now. She said, very carefully, ‘It’s German, isn’t it?’
Chapter Twelve
Brodie wasn’t the only one who was unclear how things stood between Daniel and Alison Barker. Alison wasn’t sure either. At first it hardly seemed to matter. He’d been kind to her, and if he had reasons beyond the desire to do good he kept them to himself She noticed right away that the bed in the guest room was a single. Admittedly, there wasn’t room for anything bigger, but she still didn’t think she was suddenly going to be presented with the bill for his assistance.
But it’s human nature to look for the fly in the ointment. A man she didn’t know, who owed her nothing, probably not even an apology, had chanced upon her in straitened circumstances and took it on himself to help. At first, with the hospital psychiatrist wanting to know if she’d tried to kill herself and the police wanting to know where she got the drugs, she was just so grateful for the quiet, undemanding presence of Daniel Hood that she didn’t care if there were strings attached. She needed someone to believe her, or if he didn’t believe her at least not to call her a liar to her face, so desperately she’d probably have paid whatever he asked in return. But he asked nothing. Now she was living in his house and eating his food, and even getting the occasional privileged glimpse through his telescope, and still there was no hint of an accounting to come.
At some point, the selfless wish to help others without reward becomes downright sinister. For Alison, that point came on the Sunday. She almost wished he’d try to jump her bones. At least she’d know then why he was doing this.
All her instincts urged her to have it out with him. To ask him to his face what his agenda was, what he hoped to get from her. If the man was no more than he appeared to be – a decent, kind, possibly simple individual who thought people should try to help one another – it would be embarrassing. But even that would be better than being afraid to ask.
Twelve months ago she’d have said she wasn’t afraid of anyone. Subsequent events had made her revise that judgement, but the fact remained that she had, and knew she had, physical courage – what riders call nerve – to burn. It was the only way to get the job done. Only one thing persuades a horse, weighing in at maybe 500 kilos and capable of travelling at forty miles an hour, to do as it’s asked by a slip of a girl balanced on top, and that’s the belief that she’s stronger and smarter and braver than it is and will always win any battle between them. Riders learn to be good at tackling obstacles head on.
What stopped her from confronting Daniel was the knowledge that if she didn’t like what she heard her only option was to leave. And she really didn’t want to do that. She felt safe with him. She would rather take the risk he would betray that confidence than analyse it too deeply.
Instead she watched him covertly, waiting for a sign that he was about to make his move.
He was marking test-papers when he became aware of her observation. Without glancing up he said, ‘You’re making me nervous.’
‘Sorry,’ she said quickly, and looked away. Then she steeled herself and looked back. ‘I’m feeling a bit twitchy myself.’
Daniel stopped what he was doing and put his pen down. ‘Anything I can do?’
‘Actually, yes.’
She didn’t come straight out and say, ‘What are you expecting in exchange for what you’re doing for me?’ Nevertheless, he picked up the gist of it pretty quickly. She’d been afraid of making him angry, but Daniel was annoyed only with himself.
‘I’m sorry, Ally, I’m not very good at this. If I’ve made you feel uncomfortable I’m really sorry. I was trying to help. That’s all I want: to feel I’m helping. The last thing I meant to do was add to your problems. Maybe I should find you somewhere else to stay. I have friends, I can probably call in a favour. How do you feel about the piano? Marta Szarabeijka would put you up, but it has to be admitted she teaches some very untalented young musicians.’
The girl felt a sudden flood of shame at the way her mind had be
en running. She shook her head, the long brown hair curtaining her gaze. ‘No. Daniel, please … I didn’t mean … You’ve been a star. You saved me. I didn’t try to kill myself. I didn’t take drugs to make the world go away. But that doesn’t mean I’ve never wondered if suicide would be an easy way out of the mess my life has become.’
His eyes were shocked. He reached out a hand to her, then took it back for fear of crowding her. He didn’t know what to say for the best.
Alison saw his distress and tried to reassure him with a smile. ‘It’s all right, I’m not going to get blood on your carpet. I’m not ready to give up yet. It’s just, a year ago the thought would never have occurred to me. A year ago I thought I could deal with anything the world threw at me, and people who couldn’t were wimps and losers. Now I can imagine being desperate enough for suicide to start looking like an option. Until I met you I was getting more desperate every day. Now I’m not. Now I feel I’ve got something to hold onto.
‘I’ll understand if you think you’ve done enough and it’s someone else’s turn, but if you want to know what I want, I want to stay here. I won’t look at you when you’re marking any more,’ she offered hopefully.
Daniel laughed. ‘If you want to stay, Ally, you’re welcome. If I seem to be helping, use me; if I become part of the problem, we’ll make other arrangements. But talk to me. Tell me what you need. I’m not good at guessing. I’m not very good at people. I get on better with numbers.’
‘I don’t know,’ she said softly, ‘I think you’re pretty good with people too.’
‘You’ll stay?’
‘If you’ll have me.’
He nodded, relieved. ‘Do you want to bring some stuff down from The Ginnell? You’ve been living out of a carrier-bag since you left hospital. If you want to pack a suitcase I’ll help you carry it down.’
‘I can do better than that,’ said Ally. ‘I’ve got a car parked up at the house.’
She’d managed to surprise him. ‘I didn’t know that.’
‘It’s not much of a car. It goes, that’s about it. But it would make more sense to have it down here where I can keep an eye on it. I can park on the front?’