‘You reckon that’s him?’ Jack asked suddenly. ‘Young Dougal?’
‘It looked too small for him,’ Henry said.
‘They always do,’ I said. ‘Fat burns. They lose a lot of bulk in a fire and they curl up.’ Jack looked ready to be sick, so I hurried to find at least a partial change of subject. ‘It would be a bit of a coincidence, a man going missing and a different body turning up in strange circumstances. But coincidences do happen.’
‘I think you understated the case,’ Henry remarked. ‘What we have here is a man going missing and a murdered body turning up. And that is a little too much coincidence for anyone to swallow. Unless, of course, you can find a more innocent explanation for how it came to be where it is. You’re not going to suggest that a tramp crawled in there for shelter and was still asleep when they lit the bonfire?’
‘He could have passed out with hypothermia,’ I suggested doubtfully. ‘Or drink.’
‘Suicide,’ Jack said firmly. ‘That’ll be it. He could ha crawled in and takken poison, thinking to be wholly brunt.’ Like many others, when disturbed he was becoming broader in his speech. ‘They go to all kinds of lengths, whiles, to leave no trachle ahint. Or maybe it was for the insurance.’
I guessed that Jack was suggesting that there might have been an insurance policy with a suicide clause. But if the deceased had intended to do a favour for his nearest and dearest by concealing the fact of suicide he, or possibly she, would certainly have got it wrong if the body had indeed been wholly consumed. Insurance companies do not readily pay out on mysterious disappearances unless or until a court gives the family leave to presume death. Without mentioning blackmail I said as much and suggested, as being marginally more possible, such scenarios as somebody having had a heart attack in the wrong bed or else a hit-and-run accident, conceivably to Dougal Webb himself. In either case it might have seemed more convenient for the corpse to disappear for ever. This triggered a meandering argument which touched on various other explanations, of escalating improbability, and lasted until the first police car arrived on the road below us, disgorging no less than five officers.
That was the moment for all hell to break loose. Handling a number of leashes while carrying a gun and a game-bag comes close to my idea of hell. As each dog had done its working stint, blowing off steam and becoming more biddable, I had left it off the lead. While we sat and talked I had been vaguely conscious of a huddle of dogs around me without bothering to count them. I had not noticed Joshua, who had been brought to me for retraining, sneak away to begin an exploration of all the alluring scents around. At that critical moment he nosed a rabbit which had been sitting tight in the concealment of a drift of twigs, cones and coniferous needles. The rabbit did the sensible thing and bolted for the nearest holes, a course which took it close past our feet.
The result was inevitable. I had taken those dogs out just because they needed steadying to fur; but even a fully steadied spaniel may sometimes succumb to the temptation of a rabbit being hotly pursued by a rival. Joshua swept up the other three into a yelping pack which in turn bolted several more rabbits.
Any reader who thinks of the springer spaniel as a slow and lumbering dog has only seen an overweight, show-bred fireside pet. Instead, he should witness a fit young springer of working stock going flat out. It may not be a match for a greyhound but it can give a rabbit a good run for its money.
They knew that they had broken discipline. Guilt was written all over them. As each dog raced with ears flying, above its head there might well have been a little ‘thinks’ balloon, reading, I’m wicked but it’s worth it.
I was not altogether unsympathetic. To have four legs and hunt a rabbit must rank among the world’s most exhilarating sports. But to me as a trainer, this was disaster. Weeks of work were being undone in seconds. In theory I should have run after each dog in turn, catching it in full cry and administering a good shaking. The trouble was that, even if I had not been as stiff as a very old man from sitting uncomfortably in the cold wind, they could still have run much faster than I could. On the other hand, punishing a dog after it has returned to you conveys precisely the wrong message.
It was a time for compromise and for leaving the mess to be sorted out later. I tried to run and blow the stop whistle at the same time, never an easy combination. The first dog to pass close by expressed its sentiments in every frantic movement – Can’t stop now, busy, busy, busy! At the third try Jenny heeded the whistle and I managed to grab her and blow the whistle in her ear as a powerful reminder. Jack, who realized the seriousness of the situation, took her back to Henry on a lead while I went after the next. To the police it must have looked like a textbook example of what should never happen. To the sound of whistles, shrill yelps and much shouting, their death scene was being swept and trampled by dogs, rabbits and human feet. To make matters worse, Henry had collapsed into helpless laughter. ‘View hulloa!’ he shouted and ‘Tallyho!’ The last, stemming as it does from the French Il est hault (he is lame), probably applied more to me than to either the dogs or the rabbits.
The arrival of Detective Inspector Ewell in a shining but otherwise undistinguished Range Rover probably saved us from arrest or worse. Ewell knew at least something about gun dogs – indeed, during his time as our local sergeant he had occasionally whiled away part of a boring shift by helping me on the Moss, tirelessly throwing dummies or discharging the dummy launcher, and he recognized the disastrous nature, from my point of view, of the riot. As he hurried up the hill, a rabbit went to ground a few yards ahead of him. One of the dogs buried its head and shoulder in the hole so that its excited yelps came from all the neighbouring holes. Ewell pulled the culprit out and held her up by the scruff of the neck until Jack could collect her. At the same moment, my grab for another neck latched onto a tail. The last miscreant, realizing that the fun was over and that all odium was now focused on him, came to heel, trying to look hurt and surprised that I should think that he had been among the rioters. Who? Me? I was trying to catch those others for you . . .
We came together, puffing, and Henry, now serious again, took charge of the four leads.
‘Now that that’s sorted,’ Ewell said, ‘you can tell me what’s adae. Somebody reported a dead body, partly burned, so I came to see for mysel.’ He looked from one to the other of us, awaiting explanations.
‘I found it,’ Jack Gilchrist told him proudly.
‘And I phoned you,’ Henry added.
‘And it’s over there,’ I said, pointing. ‘We haven’t touched it and I don’t think we’ve seen anything helpful or caused any more disturbance than we could help, but we’ll stick around anyway.’
‘Aye. That you will,’ said Ewell.
‘I take it,’ said Henry, ‘that sport is over for the day. Is it all right if we load up our rabbits and wait in the car?’
‘No, it is definitely not.’ The Detective Inspector looked around him and decided not to make three usually responsible citizens stand around in the cold, for which I was thankful. During the chase, I had sweated under my waxed cotton coat and the chill breeze was beginning to bite. ‘You can wait in my Range Rover,’ Ewell said. ‘Take your guns and the dogs but leave the rabbits where they are.’ He nodded to a uniformed sergeant who had followed him up the hill.
‘Well, all right,’ Jack said. He glanced sideways at Ewell. ‘But, mind, the rabbits are counted.’
The sergeant preceded us down the hill. I hung back a few yards. ‘Sometimes I feel a bit Bolshy too,’ I told Jack softly. ‘Inspector Ewell isn’t a bad sort but he can be firm if he’s crossed. Better not to annoy him or we may never get home.’
‘That’s a very well,’ he grumbled, ‘but what for will he no let us clear up and go home?’
‘You don’t want to know,’ I said. Jack was obviously puzzled but Henry looked at me and nodded. I could see for myself what Inspector Ewell would be thinking, because I would have thought the same in his shoes. Dougal Webb was missing. Now there was
word of a dead body. If the body had not died on the spot, it would have had to be conveyed there. He knew that each of us had some connection with Dougal Webb. To cap it all, the finders of a body are usually suspect. Ewell would undoubtedly want our vehicles to be examined before he allowed us near them again.
We put the dogs into the rear of the Range Rover alongside a nest of traffic cones and then sat three abreast in the back seat. Jack nursed the ferret-box on his knees. Henry and I held our bagged guns. Jenny stood up against the back of the seat and panted in my ear.
The Sergeant was far from the conventional image of a police sergeant. She was a young woman, very smart and tidy in uniform. It was unusual, in my limited experience, for a sergeant who was driving and dogsbodying for a plain-clothes inspector to wear uniform. I decided that this departure must be to lend her the authority that her apparent youth would otherwise have denied her. Like Beth and other slim, long-legged ladies she looked very young – too young to be in the police at all, let alone have earned her sergeant’s stripes. On closer scrutiny of her hands and eyes and throat I decided that she was more mature than first impressions suggested but no less attractive. Even in uniform, her figure was temptation incarnate, her legs creations of beauty. Her dark eyes and full lips raised an otherwise modestly pretty face from the ordinary. Her skin was very good. In short, she was a walking mantrap and I suspected that she knew it, but her manner was perfectly neutral.
She took the front passenger seat, turning round towards us and, I supposed, tucking her legs under her in that loose-hipped way that women have. She rested a notebook on the back of the driver’s seat and began a series of questions. It was soon clear that she was well educated and no novice. Her questions were precise and to the point and she took down our answers in a neat shorthand.
When she was satisfied she had the bones of the story and that we were not withholding any startling revelations, she came back to the visit of Mrs Macevoy.
‘What did you think was behind her approach to you?’ The Sergeant looked at each of us in turn.
‘Behind it?’ Jack said.
‘Was she really disturbed by the sound of shots. Did she really have a fellow-feeling for the rabbits?’
Jack shrugged. The Sergeant switched her gaze to Henry. Henry sucked his stomach in. If he had had a moustache, he would have given it a twirl. ‘I was surprised by that attitude,’ he said. ‘The woman – I won’t call her a lady – has been living there for some years. From what I’ve seen, her garden is not in the class that gets opened to the public, but from a distance it looks cared for and there’s been some attempt to grow flowers and vegetables. It’s walled, but the gates are by no means rabbit-proof. There would be food there for rabbits and none in the forestry plantation. Overnight, they probably gorge themselves at her expense. I think that by now she must be totally fed up at the damage that rabbits do. In similar circumstances, most householders are begging for somebody, anybody, to come and reduce the numbers.’
The Sergeant turned her big brown eyes from Henry to me. I tried not to smirk. ‘Did she just want to make you go away?’ she asked.
‘It could have been that,’ I said. ‘At the time, I put her down as one of those people who have no importance of their own and who try to give themselves a little brief and synthetic importance by handing out a lot of aggravation. You know what I mean?’
‘I know exactly what you mean,’ the Sergeant said, nodding in spite of herself. ‘But, from what you remember of her manner at the time, what do you think now?’ When none of us hurried to answer she spoke again, slowly and clearly as if to children. ‘Could she have been trying to head you away from finding the body?’
I had disliked Mrs Macevoy intensely, but that was all the more reason to try to be fair to her. ‘Now,’ I said, ‘I’m not sure. She could. I can’t say that she gave that impression.’
‘But she used the words, “Get out of here you bloody men”?’
‘Yes,’ we said together. ‘Accent on bloody,’ Henry added.
‘And said that she was going to call the police?’
‘Yes.’
‘But she didn’t.’ The Sergeant was making a statement. She made a long note. ‘What about Mrs Dundee?’
‘All she was after was rabbits,’ Jack said. ‘I think,’ he added.
The Sergeant’s shorthand might be neat but it was not very speedy. This had all taken time, during which I had watched the comings and goings. It was soon evident that Ewell, as was to be expected, was treating the death as suspicious. I had recognized the police surgeon. A photographer arrived and then another car with men who I assumed to be Scene of Crime Officers.
The Sergeant looked at me again. ‘Your car key?’
I handed it over. Detective Inspector Ewell had descended to meet the newcomers. The Sergeant got out to join the throng. I saw her read from her notes. Ewell nodded. At a word from him, two of the newcomers went and fussed around my car.
I rapped on the window. The Sergeant came back and resumed her seat. ‘Yes?’
‘To save them a lot a wasted excitement,’ I said, ‘you may as well explain to them that I’m in the habit of carrying shot rabbits and game in the car. Any bloodstains, in the rear end or behind the driver’s seat, will be from that.’
She frowned. ‘You don’t stick to the one place?’
I suppressed a sigh. The most maddening aspect of a police inquiry, I had discovered in the past, was the need to verbalize explanations of the obvious. ‘Some dogs travel well in travelling boxes, where they can lie down and not be rolled around. That lets me put game in beside them. But if a dog is car sick, it travels better standing up and looking out. If there’s a dog loose in the back of the car I daren’t leave anything edible in with it, so shot game goes on the floor behind the driver. But that doesn’t mean that you won’t find bloodstains anywhere else.’
The Sergeant wrinkled her pretty nose. She made a final note and closed her book. ‘I’m glad that I don’t share a car with you,’ she said austerely.
‘I, on the other hand, am sorry,’ I replied without taking time to think. The Sergeant dithered for a moment, uncertain how to react. ‘It was a compliment,’ I added. ‘Just ignore it. But you might point out to Inspector Ewell that we’re getting hungry.’
Without comment, the Sergeant got out again. She slammed the door of the Range Rover more vigorously than before. We were left to stare through the windscreen. Mrs Dundee was at her gate, watching.
‘Even when I had my youth and vigour,’ Henry said, ‘I never made sexual advances to a policewoman on an empty stomach.’
‘Did they not have women constables in the Bow Street Runners?’ I asked him.
Soon after that, we were allowed to collect our rabbits and go. Jack offered us a share of the bag but we both declined. I never wanted to see those particular rabbits again. We told him to give our share to Mrs Dundee.
Chapter Six
When we got back to Three Oaks, Beth was pacing up and down outside the house. Her temper was conspicuously high, which for her was unusual. She was speaking, loudly so as to be heard through the glass, before the car had quite stopped. ‘Where have you been? I have been waiting and waiting for the car and there was no sign of you except for about three words from Henry on his mobile to say that you were held up and I’ve got to get to the shops before they close because Sam knocked over a whole jug of milk and we’re almost out. Have you had anything to eat?’ she asked on a second breath as I opened the door.
‘Nothing. I want a word with you.’
‘Later. There’s lunch for both of you in the oven, mostly, if it hasn’t burnt. Hannah and Sam are walking the last batch of dogs in the field. I’ve got to go.’
‘I have to talk with you now,’ I said, getting out of the car.
‘No time,’ Beth said, getting in and groping for the key which I had been careful to take with me. ‘What happened to the floor-mats?’
‘The shops won’t close for more t
han an hour and I’ll go and get milk before then. The police have the mats for examination. They’ll be looking for bloodstains.’
That stopped her. ‘What happened?’
‘That’s what he’s trying to tell you about,’ Henry explained.
As usual, Beth listened to Henry. ‘What is it, then?’
‘And I need Hannah,’ I said. ‘Help me with the dogs. They need their dinners too.’
Not even the usually overriding topic of the dogs’ dinners distracted Beth this time. She was looking dazed. ‘Why do you want Hannah?’
‘I’ll explain if I ever get a chance to talk to you calmly, with her and with Henry, indoors, fed and seated. I am not embarking on a lengthy subject standing out here, cold and hungry. And neither is Henry.’
Beth gave up fumbling for the key and got out of the car. Between us we fed, brushed and kennelled the four dogs. Henry cleaned both our guns and we managed to snatch a late and hasty lunch before the dog-walkers returned. Sam, luckily, was yawning after the dose of concentrated fresh air and was put down to rest. Beth had lit the fire in the sitting room and we others settled in front of the hearth. Hannah knew that something was coming and she was perched on the edge of her chair, her hands clasped together so tightly that I thought she would draw blood.
Without more delay I said, ‘Hannah, you’d better brace yourself for a shock. We don’t know anything for sure, but we found a body this morning. It had been inside a big bonfire of forestry waste so it may be some time before it’s identified, but there’s obviously a possibility, if not a probability, that it is or was Dougal Webb. As far as we know, he’s the only person to have gone missing.’
I had been looking into the fire as I spoke. Now I glanced back at Hannah and away again. She had turned very white and closed her eyes but her chin was still high. ‘Please tell me it all,’ she said in little more than a whisper.
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