“What she’d like is peace and quiet, Ivy. See to it, will you?”
Child stomped off, leaving Ivy red-faced with humiliation or anger. His footsteps were heard as he tramped up the stairs loudly enough to wake the dead. So much for peace and quiet.
“Men can be some miserable buggers,” Ivy said to no one in particular.
“Joe’s certainly not very happy,” Dylan said. “I hope everything’s okay. This business he has to deal with, I hope nothing’s wrong.”
“He does a lot of business,” Adrian said. “He has to keep bringing in the donations to keep this place going.”
“Of course,” Dylan agreed.
After he’d eaten breakfast and helped with the washing up, Dylan went out into the gardens. Kennedy was in the shed, oiling an ancient lawn mower.
“Everyone will be going into the town today,” Dylan said. “Everyone except Joe Child. He has business to attend to apparently.”
“Is that so?”
“It is.” Dylan stamped his feet to warm them. “You had a late night, didn’t you?”
“Sorry?”
“I saw you getting out of a car early this morning.”
Kennedy’s eyes narrowed. “So?”
“So you looked very smart. It looked as if you had business of your own.”
“No. I stayed with a relative and got back later than I thought. I do own a suit—not that it’s any of your business.”
He owned a suit and a very upper-class accent. Dylan would bet his life that Kennedy hadn’t attended the local comprehensive school.
“None at all. Ah well, I’ll catch you later.” Dylan walked back across the yard to the front of the house. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this tired. Years back, he’d been able to party all night and be fine the next day. These days, a missed night’s sleep had him feeling like death for a week. All he’d done was sit in a car and drive. He must be getting old.
The cold didn’t help. Temperatures had again fallen below freezing. It made for a charming frost-covered landscape, but it was hard work keeping warm.
He was about to go inside the house when Doll, dressed to kill in a grey woollen coat and matching knee-length boots, came out. He thought she must be feeling better, but looking closely, he wasn’t so sure.
“Hi, Doll. You okay? Joe said you weren’t feeling too good this morning?”
“I wasn’t. A funny thing happened, Davey, and it’s left me feeling—” she shuddered, “—unsettled.”
“What was that?”
“I had this—vision.” She put a hand up to stop him interrupting. “It was just after four o’clock this morning. I was wide awake and I hadn’t been drinking. It wasn’t a dream or anything. It was a real—well, it was a vision.”
“I thought you had visions all the time. It’s like dead people talking to you. It happens all the time, doesn’t it?”
She shook her head, annoyed. “This was for real. I saw a dead body. A faceless dead body.” Beneath the carefully applied makeup, she was a sickly colour. Her eyes were a little red and puffy.
“How do you mean? Come on, Doll. You don’t believe that crap, do you?”
“Usually, no.” She traced a circle in the frost with her booted foot. “It’s crap. The stuff I do, it’s all crap. It brings donations in—but this was for real and it was bloody scary, let me tell you. I saw the body as clearly as I can see you now.”
“What was the body like? Any clue who it was?”
“No. I saw it from a distance first. It was sitting, and it looked as if it was watching something. I went closer, walked in front of it, and it was a dead body. It had no face though.” She wrapped her arms around herself for extra warmth. “I’m wondering if it was—Anna Woodward. Or perhaps one of the other girls. Farrah Brindle or Caroline Aldridge.”
“What made you think that? Has something happened? Did someone mention the girls to you? Has something like that brought this on?”
“Nothing. No one’s mentioned them. Well, Hank’s annoyed because Anna walked out without a word to him, but other than that, no one’s said or done anything.” She rubbed her hands over her arms and took her car keys from her pocket. “You wouldn’t understand, Davey. Joe doesn’t either. He told me I needed to see a shrink. I told him that anyone married to him for this long would need to see a bleedin’ shrink.” She laughed at her own joke. “It’s left me shaken though, I can tell you that. I’m trying to forget about it. I’m off to town to have lunch with my mate. Be seeing you.”
Dylan watched her car until it vanished from his view. He had no doubt that Doll thought she’d seen something. He also had no doubt that something had put the idea in her head. Something she saw Child do perhaps? Something she overheard her husband discussing?
Or perhaps he was going as crazy as Doll.
He still couldn’t believe that Anna would have left without a word to anyone. Beneath the brash exterior, she was a good kid. Her grandmother, probably her best friend, had died and her parents were too busy to pay her the attention she needed. Loneliness, and the belief that she could find happiness in the company of strangers, had brought her to the refuge.
He hoped the realisation that life didn’t work like that had taken her home to her parents.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Dylan hung around in town, dishing out soup and leaflets and watching people throw donations in the baskets, until two o’clock. Then he wandered off and began the three-mile trek back to the refuge.
He paused for a moment when he drew level with Walter Topham’s farm. There was no sign offering Border collies for sale, so presumably they’d all gone to new homes. He was about to walk on when he realised the farm wasn’t as deserted as he’d thought. Dylan jogged down the lane to the farm. He was right. Malcolm Brindle was standing at the door. A sorrowful-looking dog stood next to him.
There was no knowing what Brindle had in mind. He’d wanted to kill John Taylor. Maybe he thought he’d be more successful at ridding the world of Topham.
“What are you doing here?” Dylan asked him.
“I—”
A loud bang, like a gun being fired, cut short Brindle’s reply. They both turned to see an ancient Land Rover bouncing down the lane toward them. The vehicle backfired again and spluttered to a stop a couple of yards from them.
Topham climbed out, stood to look at them both for a moment, then reached inside the Land Rover. He took out two carrier bags that held bread, yoghurts, a magazine, tins of soup and baked beans.
He looked at Brindle, he looked down at the dog and then his steely glance rested on Dylan. “It’s you, is it? I never did hear from your friend.” He sounded suspicious, as if he doubted the existence of Dylan’s puppy-hunting friend.
“No, that’s why I’m here. Sorry I haven’t been back sooner. The thing is, by the time I told my friend about your puppies, he’d found one somewhere else that same day. Sorry.”
“It’s no skin off my nose.” He looked at the collie and then up at Brindle. “What do you want?”
“It’s the dog,” Brindle said, and Dylan noticed how old and tired the man looked. Tired of life. “We can’t cope with her and I was wondering—” His voice cracked. “We’d pay you well, of course, but I wondered if you had room for her. She’ll work with your sheep, you know she will.”
“I’ve already got dogs that’ll work with sheep, but I suppose I can take her off your hands.”
Brindle fondled the dog’s ears. “She’s not to be sold or anything like that, just in case—If you can’t keep her here, and give her the exercise she needs, I’ll have to think of something else. She’s bored, you see.”
“Aye, she will be. Dogs like this need to work. They need a job to do. You can’t expect them to sit around the house all day.”
Brindle nodded like a man who’d heard the same thing too many times before. “Will you take her?”
“I’ll want money for her food.”
“Of course. A hundred pounds a month? Is that enough? Two hundred?”
“Aye, it’ll do.”
“You’ll take good care of her, won’t you?”
Topham took the lead from Brindle. “I’ve been around working collies since I was born. I’ve forgotten more about ’em than you’ll ever know.”
“I appreciate that. It’s just that—”
“The dog’ll be ready and waiting for her.”
“Thank you,” Brindle said.
“Is there anything else?” Topham asked.
“No.” Brindle shook his head.
“Then I’ll bid you both good day. Some of us have work to do.” With the dog’s lead in one hand and his groceries in the other, he went inside and shut the door behind him. A couple of bolts could be heard sliding into place.
Dylan and Brindle walked back up the lane to the main road.
“It’s for the best,” Brindle said, and his voice shook with emotion. “It’s not fair on the dog to keep her. She’s Farrah’s dog. Without Farrah, she’s got no interest in life.”
“He’ll take good care of her. She’ll get plenty of exercise, running around after sheep.”
“Yes.”
Brindle looked a different man today. Before, he’d been wild-eyed and desperate. Now, he looked old, tired and very sad.
“Did you walk here?” Dylan asked.
“Yes. One last walk with the dog.” He managed a weary smile that quickly vanished. “The police—they let you go okay? No charges or anything?”
“None,” Dylan said. “You?”
“They kept me there for a few hours but that was all.” He took a long shuddering breath. “It’s lucky they turned up, isn’t it? Like fate stepping in and bringing me to my senses. I don’t know what had come over me. I think, I really think, I would have killed Taylor.”
Dylan was fairly convinced of it too. “I’m sure he had nothing to do with Farrah’s disappearance.”
Brindle sighed. “You’re probably right. The police are convinced he’s innocent. I want—need—someone to blame. It’s the not knowing that’s the hardest part. I’ve reached the stage now when I need to know if she’s alive or—”
He couldn’t even whisper the word dead.
“I can understand that.” Dylan wished there was something he could say, but there was nothing. It was possible, even probable, that Brindle’s daughter was dead. Caroline Aldridge could have met the same fate. Dylan couldn’t fill the man with false hope. He couldn’t bring himself to utter the usual “I’m sure she’ll turn up” platitudes.
“Meanwhile,” Brindle said when they reached the main road, “I must try to get on with my life. Everything’s falling apart around me—my marriage, my career. I need to get it together again.”
“Yes.”
“I go this way,” Brindle said, pointing in the direction of the town.
“And I go to the refuge. You still have my number? If there’s anything I can do—”
“Thank you. And thank you for your help with—the other night. The police. That gun. I appreciate it more than I can say.”
“It was nothing. Be seeing you.”
Dylan tried to figure out the conundrum as he walked on. He knew Child had killed Barney Fraser and he’d stake his life on his having killed Christian Fraser, too. If Christian had confronted Child with the photographic evidence of his guilt, Child would have had no hesitation in silencing him. But what in hell’s name did any of that have to do with the girls’ disappearances? That Child knew what had happened to the girls, he had no doubt. Finding out, however, was proving a lot easier said than done.
It was no use getting angry, but the sight of Brindle handing over that sad dog had him longing to grab Child by the throat and beat the truth from him. There were a few flaws to that idea, of course. The main one being that Child would smash him to a pulp.
Thanks to his brisk pace, he was warm when he arrived at the refuge. There was no one around and he crept along the side of the wall toward the house where it was unlikely anyone would see him. All was deserted. Whatever business Child had to attend to was either done and dusted or could be done via phone or email. There were no visitors.
Or perhaps there never had been any business. If Bill Owen had told Child that Davey Young was a private investigator, Child would want to silence said PI. Knives and missing tongues would be involved. The best way to lure a private investigator to your den was to tell him you’d be alone.
He inched round the back of the building and had a look for Kennedy, but there was no sign of the gardener. No sign of anyone.
Child’s car was in the garage so he was presumably in the building. If they stumbled over each other, Dylan would feign illness and say he’d needed to get to his bed and rest.
It was odd that Kennedy wasn’t around though. Dylan had told him Child was staying behind on the assumption that Kennedy would watch for any comings and goings.
He walked into the house and to the kitchen. There wasn’t a sound. The old building was eerily quiet.
He made himself a coffee and grabbed a slab of cake. He’d think better with something inside his stomach. He ate his cake and carried his coffee to the main sitting room, where everyone usually gathered. Darkness was falling but the window still gave him a good view of the grounds. The only movement came from a blackbird pecking at the frozen ground.
The phone trilled out, startling him. It rang and rang before the answer machine kicked in. No message was left.
Dylan swallowed the last of his coffee and ventured along the hallway. Perhaps the business Child had was with another woman. Everyone was in town, Doll was at a friend’s—
No, Child wasn’t that stupid. If he was up to no good with another woman, he’d be a long way from the refuge. He knocked on the door to Child’s office. There was no response, so hoping he wasn’t walking into a trap, he pushed open the door.
Child was sitting behind his desk. His right hand rested on the desk, as if he were about to reach for the phone. His left arm hung loosely at his side.
His eyes were wide and staring and his mouth was slightly open, but he looked almost normal—except for the gaping hole in his forehead.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The refuge was crawling with coppers, and although it looked chaotic, Dylan supposed they knew what they were doing. He knew from experience how difficult it was when a crime scene was crammed with people. Forensics experts had taken over Child’s office where, as far as Dylan knew, Child’s body was still in that chair.
Doll, Hank and Gary were in an upstairs room and it sounded as if Doll had finally stopped screaming.
The rest of them were being questioned, or waiting to be questioned. Dylan was one of those waiting.
No one spoke. Two uniformed coppers were watching over them so perhaps people felt intimidated. Or perhaps they were simply too shocked to say anything. A few wondered aloud who could kill such a good man. Dylan could give them a list a yard long.
His initial shock was long gone. People like Child were sitting targets. When you tampered with people’s lives, and certainly when you took lives, there was only so long you could escape a bullet.
It was picking one from the list that bugged Dylan. Who the hell had come to this place and killed him?
Would Ricky have been able to find Child so quickly? He’d been terrified, and planning to go into hiding, but perhaps he’d decided to put a bullet through Child’s skull before Child had a chance to find him. If that were the case, Ricky might want to silence Dylan too.
Another question niggled away at him. Who was Kennedy?
/> He knew nothing about the bloke, only that he wasn’t what he seemed. He was well-spoken, well educated, and he appeared to have money. He spent his time pretending to work in the garden while watching and listening. So why, when Dylan had told him everyone but Child was going into town, hadn’t he stayed to watch for visitors Child might have?
There was an obvious answer to that, of course. Kennedy had made the most of the opportunity, put a bullet through Child’s skull and legged it. For all Dylan knew, by telling Kennedy that Child would be alone, he’d signed Child’s death warrant.
A female police officer came into the room. “David Young, please?”
At last.
He followed her out of the room, expecting to go to the library where he’d thought people were giving statements, but she looked at him with suspicion and said, “They want you in the dining room.”
“Wherever.”
She knocked on the door to the dining room and announced his arrival to the two men present.
When the door closed behind her, Detective Inspector Rhodes and Detective Sergeant Miller got to their feet. “What the hell happened?”
Rhodes looked as immaculately turned out as ever. His sidekick, Miller, looked his usual thuggish self.
“I’ve no idea.” Dylan told how he’d returned to Dawson’s Clough that morning, how Child had mentioned business he had to attend to, and how everyone had gone into town to dole out charity to the needy. “I planned to come back and watch the place,” he explained, “but I was delayed. I saw Malcolm Brindle at Topham’s Farm.”
“You’re kidding me,” Rhodes said. “Surely he doesn’t think—?”
“No. Apparently he’d gone to take Farrah’s dog for the farmer to look after. He looked beaten. He’s seen the error of his ways and is trying to get his life back on track. I wouldn’t say he’s accepted that Farrah could be dead, but he’s getting there.”
Rhodes and Miller both sat at the table again. Dylan preferred to stand.
“Who knew Child was going to be here alone all day?” Miller asked.
Deadly Shadows (A Dylan Scott Mystery) Page 25