by Ann Purser
“Let me think,” replied Shorty. “Best to start from where they escaped, and then …” He tailed off, not having any real idea of where the men might have gone.
“Well, I know which way I’d go in their place,” Nelly said, setting off down the hill towards Farnden.
“So do I, then,” Shorty retorted, and the two set off in opposite directions.
After a few steps, Nelly stopped. “Hey!” he called. “Wait for me,” and he ran back, puffing and blowing, to catch up with the brains of the duo.
Reg followed soon after. He was in a hurry.
THE DILAPIDATED COTTAGE WAS COLD AND DAMP, BUT Herbert and William had found mouse-damaged blankets in a relatively dry cupboard. They had slept fitfully, like Goldilocks, on each sagging bed in turn, until they found the most comfortable. As dawn came up, grey and reluctant, Herbert surfaced and for a moment could not think where he was. This wasn’t the room where he had been confined for so long. Then he remembered, and sat up, looking round for his fellow refugee. The old man was hunched up under a dirty pink blanket which was riddled with holes, and for one horrible second Herbert thought he was dead. It had been touch and go whether William would make it on their slow progress towards the cottage. Then he saw a stirring, and William turned to face him.
“Where am I?” he said.
“With me,” said Herbert. He had decided not to explain their whereabouts to William, in case this should prove foolish. He did not entirely trust him, remembering stories about the Cox family when he first moved to Long Farnden. He’d been told to steer clear of Cox’s Farm and Woods, and had not done so. If Spot hadn’t taken off after a rabbit that evening …
“Can’t we go home now?” William was struggling to sit up, rubbing his eyes with a dirty hand.
Herbert shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. “Remember what I said about them coming after us? We’re a real threat to them now. We’ll lie low here until the law comes looking for us. Then we’ll get protection, and the whole thing will be sorted out.”
“Not with that lot. They’re slippery as snakes. There’s good money to be made from what they’re up to, and they’ve spent their lives evading the law. Like the fox, they vanish into the night.”
“So you know them?” Herbert looked at Cox in surprise. William said nothing, and Herbert continued, “I only saw them once, in the woods. My Spot heard their terriers barking, and wouldn’t come when I called. I followed him, and found that lot in the middle of torturing a badger. A big one, it was, and put up a good fight. I tried to run, but Spot’s blood was up, and he wouldn’t come. Then they saw us, and the rest you know.”
“You’re lucky they didn’t rub you out straight away. Wouldn’t be the first time with that lot.”
“Why did they kidnap you? If you knew they were in your woods, you must have decided to let them get on with—”
“I’m not a brave man, Bert, and I am an old man. The way they work is enough to persuade me to do anything, more or less. I’d seen people sniffing round in the woods, and thought they might be police, so I told them to get out. Then they threatened my old Rosie …” He turned away and coughed. “And then, after what they did to her, I went berserk. That tall one bashed me, and I didn’t come to until I was in that clinic, or whatever it was.” He pulled the blanket up around his neck, and said pathetically, “I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea. At least we were looked after back there. Food was good.”
“Freedom’s better,” snapped Herbert, “and my name is Herbert.” He stood up, rubbing his back. “I’ll go down and see if the owners left any supplies.”
“Won’t they be back?”
Herbert explained that this dump had been bought as a holiday cottage by some Londoners, and they had most of one summer living here, with big plans for restoration. But folk said they’d run out of money, and it had been empty and unvisited for two or three years, continuing to deteriorate and slowly retiring into the undergrowth that surrounded it.
To his surprise, Herbert found that the gas stove still worked, fed from a Calor cylinder under the sink. He filled a cheap tin kettle and turned on the gas. Matches. No matches anywhere. They’d probably have been damp and useless, anyway. He turned off the gas. “Got any matches?” he yelled up the stairs.
“No, don’t smoke,” was the reply.
He looked at the top of the stove. Among the buttons was a small one with a lightning sign by it. Ah! He turned on the gas again, and pressed the button firmly. It sparked, and the gas ring was alight. “Done it!” he yelled.
A growling voice came back, “Clever bugger. Where’s my tea, then?”
There were teabags in an airtight jar, and a tin of evaporated milk on a shelf. Herbert found a tin-opener and pierced a hole. He made the tea in two grimy mugs, and went slowly back up the stairs. His legs ached, and he had a blister on one heel. When he handed William his tea, the grey-faced old man took a sip. “No sugar,” he said.
“Downstairs,” Herbert suggested, “there is probably sugar in a jar. Why don’t you go and look?”
Cox shook his head. “I’ll go without,” he said, and made a face as he took another sip.
Silence fell between them, and Herbert tried to make some sense of the situation. He and this miserable old devil were condemned to each other’s company for maybe more than a few days. Nothing could be gained from getting on badly. He knew William Cox was not likely to change, so decided he would have to hold his tongue and keep the peace. Then there was a vital need for food. When he’d had a splash with cold water in what passed for a bathroom, he would investigate the rest of the kitchen cupboards. The fridge had been empty and turned off. Just as well, he thought, if they haven’t been back for years.
Suddenly William said, “Herbert … I’ve got an apology to make.”
“No need.”
“Yes, I’ve been stupid. You got us out of there, and found a hiding place, and thought it all out, while I just tagged along. Sorry, chum. I’ll do my best to help.”
Herbert’s smile was relieved as well as forgiving. It would certainly make life a lot easier. “Come on then,” he said. “Let’s go down and see if cook has made our breakfast. Kippers, scrambled eggs, bacon and mushrooms, and nice hot coffee and toast.”
“In your dreams,” said William, but he smiled and began to get off the bed.
As Herbert was opening cupboards in the kitchen, he heard a familiar sound. “Sshh!” he said to William, who’d appeared behind him. The sound came again, a whimpering and scratching at the door. Herbert rushed to open it, and said, “Spot! Little Spotty!” He picked up the terrier and buried his face in the mud-splashed fur.
William stared, and then saw tears rolling down Herbert’s stubbly cheeks. “Right,” he said, “I’ll make the next cup,” and began to fill the kettle.
OUTSIDE THE COTTAGE, HIDDEN IN THE THICKET, REG Abthorpe watched. He had used that wreck of a house himself once or twice. But it was too far off the beaten track to be useful, and there was no way of getting a car down there. But on foot—and he guessed the old men would be walking—it was still just about reachable. He had released the terrier, and seen him follow the scent to the door. He saw the door open, and Herbert Everitt take his dog in, and the door close again. Reg smiled. It had worked, and those two idiots were probably still searching and calling. As his mother would say, if you want a job done properly, do it yourself.
F
ORTY-T
WO
SHORTY AND NELLY CONSIDERED DOING A RUNNER. They had not found the two old men, and had no idea where to look next. They knew only Cox’s Wood and the farmhouse, and the rest was strange country to them. They’d worked for Reg on the baiting for a few years, and had taken on this kidnap job at his insistence. They weren’t particularly sorry for the old men, but were fed up with the daily caring for them, having to disguise themselves each time they went in. It was quite a lark at first, but now they felt uncomfortable and not safe. They wished desperately they could get out
of it and return to the straightforward sport of dogs and badgers. They knew all that inside out, but Reg and his plans were outside their experience. On top of that, he scared them witless.
“We could disappear,” Nelly said.
“He’d find us, and then it’d be worse.” Shorty squared his shoulders. “We’d better get back and tell him. He won’t kill us,” he added bravely. “Where would he put the bodies? Nah, he’s all piss and wind. Come on, let’s get it over.”
Whistling in the dark, thought Nelly, but he followed obediently.
Reg was back in the farmhouse by the time they shuffled in. They had no reason to think he had been anywhere whilst they were away. Probably planning what to do to them if they failed in the search.
“Now then,” he said to them, in that horrible whispery voice. “Where are they? Where the bloody hell are they?” His hand went into his pocket and produced the gun once more. “Couldn’t find them? Thought maybe they’d gone home and you felt sorry for them? Turn around. Both of you!” He waved the gun, and they both obediently faced the wall. A wet patch spread down the front of Nelly’s trousers.
Then suddenly Shorty turned back to Reg, and raised his fist. “If you pull that trigger, you’re done for, Reg Abthorpe. My missus knows where we are, and all about you, and she’s not frightened of nobody. She’d eat you for breakfast.” He laughed. It was a quavery laugh, but Reg slowly put the gun back in his pocket.
“Right,” he said, “here’s what I’ve decided. You two are such a valuable pair, I’ll keep you on, and give you more time to ferret about. But don’t waste time going to Everitt’s house. He’ll not go back there. He probably knows I’ve got a lookout over the road. So concentrate on outlying hiding places. Old barns, sheds, down in that quarry on the Waltonby road. Oh, and walk. That way you don’t miss anything. Go on, bugger off.”
Outside the farmhouse, Shorty looked Nelly up and down. “I’ve heard of shit-scared,” he said, “but grown men don’t pee themselves. For God’s sake, grow up, and we’ll get out of this somehow.”
“Couldn’t help it,” Nelly grunted. “Anyway,” he added, “I never heard you was married?”
“I’m not,” Shorty said, and led the way back to the road.
REG SAT FOR A LONG TIME, DEEP IN THOUGHT. THERE was no chance of Nelly and Shorty finding the cottage where the old men were holed up. The idiots were Londoners, and knew nothing about the countryside hereabouts. So what to do with Everitt and Cox? He considered leaving the old men until it was dark, and then getting them back. It had all been working out well, and he was near to success over the whole thing. He just needed some signatures on paper, witnessed by Nelly and Shorty, and that should be easy once the old parties were once more under his control. Then would come the tragic accident. He brooded on how they had escaped. They should have been too dozy even to think of it. The pills were strong. Pills … that was it! Somehow they’d stopped taking them. Trust those idiots not to notice!
His mind churned on, until he came to a decision. He saw again the cottage, derelict and uninhabitable. He knew now what to do. Nothing, that’s what he would do. Just leave them in a damp, cold place, with no food, fuel, and probably no water. Certainly no heating. And they’d be too weak to try to move on. Where could they go? No, they’d be hoping to be rescued. Some hopes! The cops were too busy looking for teenage louts who could have hung up those dead things. And that woman Meade had obviously taken the warning. On reflection, it was just as well he’d failed with the plan to get her in the house and frighten the knickers off her. No telling what her husband might have done.
So he’d leave the old blokes for as long as necessary. He and the two fools could take turns in keeping watch, in case Everitt decided to play hero. He and Cox would be only too pleased to sign anything by then. Perfect.
He locked up the farmhouse again, and walked to where he’d hidden his car. The actor playing estate agent in Tresham had said he was bored with the part, and anyway, had been offered a job in a theatre up north. Not worth paying the rent any longer. He’d wind that up, keep an eye on Mrs. New Brooms Meade, and make sure everything else went as smoothly and quickly as possible.
LOIS WAS VERY FAR FROM BEING WARNED OFF. Now she had straightened things out with Derek, she felt happier. He had certainly been warmer towards her after their night of passion—she chuckled—but the excitement had quickly worn off and now he was polite but disapproving. She hoped that this would wear off, too. She was sitting with Gran after lunch, drinking coffee and playing with Jeems. “She’s still, a puppy, isn’t she,” she said. “Do you think she’ll ever grow up?
Gran shrugged. “Some people don’t,” she said. “Don’t know about dogs.”
Lois recognized a snub when administered by her mother, and stood up. “I have to go to the shop,” she said. “I’ll take Jeems for a walk after that. Get a breath of fresh air before I tackle paperwork.” She also needed some thinking time, and planned a walk across the meadows so that Jeems could have a good run. She picked up a chewed rubber ball and put it in her pocket. “Bye then, see you later.”
Gran managed a grunt, and then rattled dishes as she began to clear the table.
Perhaps I should offer to help, thought Lois. But that would give Gran an opportunity to score another point. Still … “Do you need a hand with those?” she ventured.
“No more’n I ever do,” Gran said. “You go off and enjoy yourself. I know my place.”
“Oh, for God’s sake!” Lois fixed the dog’s lead and marched out, shutting the door firmly behind her.
The shop was busy, and Lois attached Jeems to a hook by the waste bin outside. A gang of small children, out early from school, were jostling by the sweets display, working out what they could get for coins clasped in hot hands. “Something you want, Mum?” Josie said over the tops of heads. “This lot’ll be ages.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll wait. Just wanted a word, that’s all.” Lois checked on Jeems through the shop window, and turned to inspect the greetings cards. Her eye was caught by “new baby” cards, and she selected one that would do for boy or girl. Always good to think ahead, she reckoned. Be prepared, as the scouts said. Thinking of scouts took her to speculating on Ben. So far, he had been fine, doing the work efficiently and upsetting none of his clients. Floss continued to be excellent. But this situation couldn’t last. Both of them would probably move on soon, and then she’d have to be thinking about recruiting again …
“Penny for ‘em, Mum.” Josie was smiling at her, and she realized the children had gone.
“Ah, yes. I’ll have this card for Rebecca. Nobody knows when that baby will arrive!” She paid, and then said, “I just wondered if I could ask you something. And no, don’t joke. This is deadly serious. I don’t mind what you answer, or even if you want to think about it. But here it is: you know I’m still feeding information to Cowgill. It’s to do with Herbert Everitt, though I’ve still got to convince Cowgill there’s anything wrong with the old boy disappearing. By the way, Dad knows all about it. The thing is, the meeting place Cowgill has used is lousy. I’m not going there any more. So I wondered if …?”
“If you could come here? Not bloody likely! I can’t think how you’ve got the nerve to ask,” Josie said. “Anyway, you know it’d soon get around. Lois Meade is having an affair an’ her daughter’s in a conspiracy to hide it from poor old Derek.”
Lois sighed. “I expected you’d say something like that,” she said, “but I’ve thought it out carefully. Nobody’d think anything of my coming round to the back of the shop out of hours to see you. And Cowgill could come that back way through the old passage nobody uses. You’re not overlooked at the back, so there’d be no danger of him being seen.”
“Did he suggest this?” Josie’s voice was hard and suspicious.
“No, it’s my idea, and I haven’t even told him. You can just say no, and we’ll forget the whole thing now.”
“Well,” Josie replied slowly, “for the momen
t I’ll say this. On condition that you tell Dad all about it, I’ll consider it. I’ll have to ask Rob, of course. You do your side of the bargain, and I’ll try to sell it to Rob. I can’t say it’s the best plan you’ve ever proposed, but I’d like to help old Everitt. I hope I can trust you, Mum.”
“Have I ever let you down?”
Josie shook her head. “No … Well,” she added briskly, “there’s sorting out to do in the stockroom, and that dog of yours is turning out the contents of the waste bin, so I’ll say cheerio.”
She went away, and Lois rushed out to repair the damage. She felt bad, and for two pins would have gone back to Josie and told her it was all off. She’d find somewhere else. Then she remembered the supermarket and her bladder weakness story. She couldn’t do that again. But she had to see Cowgill in person and convince him that something was badly wrong with Herbert’s prolonged absence. No one could contact the old boy, or even discover which nursing home he had been taken to. As for Cox, Lois didn’t much care about him. She knew too much about his past. But the fact that two well-off old gents, neither with family who cared about them, had disappeared in a short time couldn’t be dismissed. She unhooked Jeems, and headed towards the meadows.
THE PLEASURE OF THE WALK WAS NOT ENHANCED BY the smell of sewage borne on a warm wind, but Lois hurried past the gurgling mass and was soon out of range. Jeems was still on an extending lead, and Lois sat down on a tree stump by the old railway line, playing the little dog like a fish. She decided to sort out what she knew into a list, and prepare a case for police action next time she met Cowgill. She had only to telephone him, she knew, to fix the date.
First, Reg Abthorpe was the obvious central figure in what was going on—and what was going on? He came and went like the Red Shadow, and seemed to live nowhere. He had men working for him, and organized badger-baiting was one of his jolly games. But was this all? Lois suspected not. In fact, the baiting could be a cover for something else. Something connected with the two old men?