The Curse of the Cockers (Three Oaks Book 5)

by Gerald Hammond

  Our logistics would have been greatly simplified if Isobel had driven herself to and from field trials. This she was perfectly willing to do, but we conspired to prevent it just as the others conspired to keep me warm and dry. Isobel was an occasional drinker and in the letdown after the concentration of handling in competition it took only the euphoria of a good result or the despair of a bad one to set her off. Henry, as well as being past the age for driving long distances, was little better. Since Sam had appeared on the horizon, Beth was no longer available. Daffy had only passed her driving test a few weeks earlier. She managed well on the local roads; whether she was ready for a long drive on motorways was another matter. But when needs must, the devil, or somebody who looks remarkably like him, may drive . . .

  ‘You’ll have to go,’ I said.

  ‘All the way to North Wales? Don’t be daft. Who’d do the heavy work here? Anyway,’ Daffy said, ‘it’s all arranged. Mr Kitts is going along for the ride and Rex is going to drive them.’

  ‘Rex?’ I had not intended to sound so surprised, but I had never associated Rex with any useful activity.

  ‘He’s a good driver,’ Daffy said indignantly, ‘and at least he can stay sober when he wants to.’

  ‘But he hasn’t driven my car before.’

  ‘He has, you know,’ Daffy said and she went away, leaving me with another worry. Had Rex and Daffy been borrowing the car when my back was turned? What kind of antics had been performed in the spacious back of it? Well, I decided, I could overlook it just as long as they had parked with discretion. I would hate to think that the neighbours had recognized the car, seen a bobbing behind, and mistaken it for mine.

  Beth returned and paid me a visit, careful to hide her anxiety. (‘That girl,’ I said, ‘will have to go,’ but she only laughed.) The doctor came, examined me, and repeated all the advice, about putting on some weight and keeping warm, that I had already demonstrated to be impractical.

  Not long after the doctor’s departure, I heard a heavier vehicle arrive and Beth brought Angus Todd up to see me. He sat down nervously on the edge of the bedroom chair. To do him justice, he seemed more concerned on my behalf than his own.

  ‘It’s happened before,’ I said, ‘and I dare say it’ll happen again. It takes it out of me, but it’s only the aftermath of that bug I picked up in Central America. At least I get over it each time a little quicker than the time before. Do I gather that the police have let you have your Land-Rover back? Or is it a borrow?’

  ‘It’s mine,’ he said.

  ‘Did they make any comment when they returned it?’

  ‘Just that it seemed to be running rich. The bobby that brought it back didn’t know anything about the case, or said he didn’t, but he’s got it running better.’

  Angus spoke listlessly. Something was missing. Not just his usual aggressive humour but something deeper. My guess was that, confronted by proof of what he knew to be untrue, the reasoning part of his mind was stunned into inactivity. The best help that I could give him would be to get him thinking again.

  ‘You swear that you didn’t drive again at Hogmanay?’

  ‘On my mother’s grave,’ he said, without seeming to care. The fact that his mother was still alive and living in sheltered housing in Cupar robbed the oath of much of its value.

  ‘You weren’t so pissed that you could have driven and forgotten about it?’

  ‘I was fu’, but not that fu’.’

  ‘Then what do you think happened?’

  He shrugged and then made an effort. ‘I can’t believe someone else drove it. The best I can think is that somebody with another Land-Rover knocked the man down and then smeared blood and hair onto my bumper, but I’m damned if I see how he could do it so that it looked natural enough to fool the Forensic lads. They showed me the marks and they looked just the way they would.’

  ‘Do us both a favour,’ I said. ‘Go down and look at your Land-Rover. Take a good look at the front bumper. Then come back and tell me two things. One, is that the bumper that was on it last year? And, two, do the bolts show any sign of having been tampered with?’ He looked puzzled. I went on, ‘You must know what I mean. Nuts and washers never go back exactly in the same place and spanners leave marks in the paint. Take a look and see if there’s any undercoat or bright metal showing.’

  It was as though I had given him a start with jump-leads. I could almost see his mind spin, catch, and begin to tick over. He jumped to his feet. ‘By Christ!’ he said.

  In two minutes he was back. This time he sat comfortably in the chair, worried still but much less tense. His expression, partly obscured by whiskers, was difficult to read but I thought that I could detect the first faint dawning of hope. ‘I’m damned if I can be sure,’ he said. ‘The bumper’s like mine. Well, it would be. It’s about the same age with the right amount of dents and a wee bit of rust. But whether it’s the same one . . . I never really looked at the bloody thing. That vehicle’s just a gadget for hauling me from place to place. I keep it clean because I wouldn’t want folk to see it any other way – that’s your army bullshit coming out again,’ he added with a flash of his old spirit, ‘but as long as it goes, who needs to look at it? I have a feeling it’s not the same, or am I kidding myself? I mind one time in the old days when yon daft bugger McHenry swapped rifles with me. There was nothing different about his one, we had to check the numbers to be sure, but it just didn’t look right to me.’

  ‘And the bolts?’

  ‘Again, I couldn’t swear to it. There are marks – they’re a wee bit rusted, but the roads have been salted these last few days. It doesn’t take long for rust to form on bare metal when there’s salt around.’ He frowned. ‘Wouldn’t the Forensics lads have noticed anything unusual?’

  ‘I don’t suppose that many of the bolts are still exactly where Rover bolted them on, umpteen years ago. When was your bumper last taken off?’ I asked him.

  ‘I don’t know that it’s ever been off. Unless when they put in a new radiator three years back . . .’

  ‘Ask them. And what you’ve got to do, the minute you leave here, is take it to a mechanical engineer, somebody whose qualifications would impress a court. The main agent for Land-Rovers might do. Have him look at it first and then he must undo the bolts and give a written opinion as to whether the bumper had been off recently.’

  ‘I’ll do that, of course,’ Angus said. ‘If he says yes . . .’

  ‘You’ll still not be out of the wood as far as a court is concerned,’ I said. ‘You could have had time to take it off and put it back yourself, to mislead them – if they think you’re bright enough to have thought of that for yourself, which I doubt.’

  ‘At least I’m not so daft I’d sit around in a cold wind getting my bum frozen off when I’m not fit,’ he retorted.

  ‘Touché. But at least it would show that there is another possible explanation. If it comes to court, tell your lawyers that they must get the police to testify, before your witness is produced, that the bumper wasn’t removed for scientific testing.’

  Angus was nodding. ‘Got you,’ he said. ‘What else?’

  ‘And if you’ve any thought of helping the evidence along by freeing the bolts before you see the engineer, forget it,’ I told him. Angus was always prone to gild the lily. ‘But you could suddenly remember you left the keys in the dash.’

  ‘I already told them I didn’t.’

  ‘But you weren’t on oath. You were upset. They put pressure on you. They put words in your mouth.’ Angus still looked doubtful. ‘For God’s sake,’ I said, ‘you never had difficulty lying to me. I remember you looking me in the eye and telling me that Duggan had tripped and fallen on his face when I knew perfectly well that he’d tried to take on Big Jim Paterson in a fight for the favours of one of the NAAFI staff. Next, I want to know who you were meeting in the bar that night. And why you wouldn’t tell the police.’

  ‘You’ll keep it under your hat?’

  ‘I won’t
go rushing to the police with it,’ I said. ‘Beyond that, I can’t make any promises. I may want to talk with him.’

  ‘I promised him on the phone I wouldn’t tell about him. He doesn’t want to be fashed wi’ a lot of police about the place and hanging around a courtroom. And he’s a man wi’ a whole lot of clout around here. I want to keep in wi’ him.’

  ‘You’re not telling the police, you’re telling me. He may have seen the murderer.’

  ‘I ken that,’ he said. He stared at me gloomily. ‘He was Mr de Forgan, the owner of Foleyknowe House and Estate. I wanted to tie up some details of the agreement, so he said he’d look in on the way back from a business appointment.’

  ‘What sort of details?’

  ‘Well, f’r instance, as part of the deal he wants to retain the right to hold three shoots of his own each season, maximum a hundred and fifty birds each time.’

  ‘That’s fairly normal,’ I said.

  ‘Maybe.’ There was a self-satisfied glint in Angus’s eye. ‘I beat him down to two at a hundred and we shook hands on it. He only wants to entertain his business associates and show himself off as landed gentry, he doesn’t really give a damn. He’s a city man who happens to live in the country. His dad left him the place, including three farms, but he leaves the running of it to his wife. Between ourselves, I reckon she’s twice the countryman he is. Before he came into the place, he was already managing his uncle’s jute mill, and he inherited that in the end. It’s not jute now, of course. Polypropylene and the like. Diversified.’

  ‘A pub at Hogmanay was a funny time for a business discussion,’ I said.

  ‘Och, the man has his finger in a dozen other pies, always out and about all day and half the night. You have to catch him when you can. But it’s not him we should be discussing,’ Angus said with a touch of his old fire, ‘it’s the shoot. I need to know whether you’re in or not. Whatever you say, your women will go along with you.’

  I could hardly say that that might depend on whether he retained his liberty. ‘I may not be fit to hump bags of feed around the place,’ I said.

  He cast up his eyes to the ceiling. If his face was partly hidden by beard his receding hairline left the whole of his scowl on view. ‘No problem,’ he said impatiently. ‘For when I can’t get there, I’ve got one of those three-wheel ATVs you can use. You’ll be amazed what those little buggers can carry.’

  There was only one way to calm him down so that he could think rationally about his predicament. ‘I’ll go and take a look at the land as soon as I’m up and about,’ I said. ‘If it’s as good as you say, we’re in.’

  *

  If I had gone by the doctor’s advice, Beth’s wishes, and my own inclinations, I would have spent several days in bed, recovering my strength slowly and being waited on hand and foot.

  But the household would be hard pressed enough to cope short-handed without the added burden of trays to be carried up and down stairs. Besides, I knew from experience that the longer I lay still the greater would be the temptation to put off a return to real life. I accepted my lunch on a tray and then struggled into trousers and a sweater over my pyjamas and, with female protests buzzing round my ears, felt my way carefully down the banisters and into the kitchen.

  That was quite enough hard work for the moment. I lowered myself into one of the basket chairs.

  Daffy disappeared with a basin full of puppy-meal. Beth returned some of her attention to Sam’s bodily needs, but still had some to spare for my misdeeds. ‘You’ve got to be out of your mind,’ she said.

  ‘It’s warmer down here than up there,’ I pointed out. ‘Where’s Isobel?’

  ‘Gone to the Moss to give our two hopefuls a final orientation. Henry’s gone along to shoot for her. They’re setting off tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow?’ Time, as usual, had slipped away faster than I could register it.

  ‘The championships start the day after.’

  In the long term, success or failure in major competitions could have a substantial effect on our profits, but there was no point getting uptight about it just yet. ‘Have you tracked down any more of the cocker pups?’ I asked.

  Beth looked up from powdering Sam’s behind. ‘Of course, I’ve had all the time in the world for telephoning,’ she said bitterly.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said.

  ‘Don’t laugh at me. Besides, I knew you’d have kittens if I did the phoning during the expensive rate, but that’s finished now. While you’re sitting there, you may as well try the numbers again. It won’t cost anything if you don’t get an answer. You’ve met most of the professionals at one time or another, so they won’t mind talking to you.’

  ‘What line have you been taking?’ I asked her.

  ‘If we got through to a purchaser, we mostly said that we were calling up on behalf of the breeder to remind them to keep the pup away from other dogs until it’s been vaccinated. OK?’

  ‘I think that that’s within my powers,’ I said.

  ‘Would it also be within your powers to watch Sam? I must give Daffy a hand. It’s pissing wet out there, but life has to go on and dogs have to be dried.’

  As soon as Beth was out of the door Sam, who had been comatose during her administrations, chose to wake up and demand attention. He had already been fed and burped and he was clean and dry. I tried to explain that there was little more I could do for him, but he seemed unimpressed. So I picked him up and leaned back in the basket chair and he dozed off quite happily lying face down on my chest while I telephoned the outstanding breeders and purchasers. One breeder mentioned another and for a while it seemed that the list was becoming longer rather than shorter.

  By late afternoon I had eliminated them all except for one breeder who was said to have obtained a litter of six, all black, at about the right time.

  Beth returned and relieved me of Sam while I was verifying the number with Directory Enquiries. A few minutes later Isobel and Henry came in. Henry leaned his bagged gun in the corner.

  Isobel had her hands behind her back. ‘Which hand will you have?’ she asked.

  ‘Left,’ said Beth, without looking up from her preparations for dinner.

  Isobel gave a disappointed grunt and deposited a mallard drake on the table. ‘You may as well have these as well, for the dogs,’ she said, putting down a pair of rabbits from the other hand. ‘Henry had his eye in – for once.’

  ‘For three times,’ I said.

  ‘Should you be down here?’ Isobel asked. ‘The dogs were good,’ she added, without awaiting an answer. ‘As you said, Rowan’s still over-eager and needs to blow off steam before he settles down to work. Otherwise, we’re in with a chance.’

  It was time for our end of the day drinks. Henry had wandered through to the sitting room. He came back with the necessary bottles, trying to look as though he had gathered them up in an absent-minded moment.

  ‘When are you setting off?’ I asked.

  ‘First thing in the morning,’ Isobel said. ‘We’ll come here to collect the dogs, transfer to your car and leave ours with you. Daffy’s parcelling up the dogs’ meals. I suppose that old rattletrap of yours will get us there?’

  ‘There and back,’ I said, ‘if Rex doesn’t run out of road.’ My car might have seen better days but it was mechanically sound. Henry’s was a newer and smarter hatchback but space would have been very cramped and the car underpowered with passengers, luggage, and dogs aboard. ‘I suppose you’ve remembered to book a room for Rex?’

  ‘We were going to,’ Isobel said. ‘God knows I didn’t fancy being seen around a respectable hotel with somebody who looks as though he lives by mugging children for their sweetie-money. The Tourist Office got us the numbers of some bed and breakfast places although I wasn’t confident that they’d let him in the door. But he decided of his own accord to take along his sleeping-bag and sleep in the car, which at least relieves us of any worries about the dogs.’

  ‘He’ll have to eat,’ Beth pointed out.
r />   ‘We can smuggle him out a doggy-bag,’ Henry said.

  I was only half listening. ‘Which way are you going?’ I asked.

  Henry shrugged. ‘Perth and Stirling, probably,’ he said.

  ‘You could go by Kinross and the Kincardine Bridge.’

  ‘We could,’ Henry said. ‘But is there any reason why we should?’

  ‘Yes, I think there is.’ I took a drink. I prefer whisky to beer when I am low. The spirit relaxed me and brought on a yawn. ‘We’ve covered every likely litter of cocker pups between about Inverness and Lanark. Except one. There’s a lady on the outskirts of Kinross who keeps on not answering her phone. It wouldn’t add more than minutes to your journey to call in there and find out if she’s moved away.’

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ Beth said. ‘But I’ve been thinking. People do buy dogs sometimes from a long way off. We send pups all over the place.’

  ‘That’s on the basis of reputation,’ Isobel said. ‘There haven’t been many big names in the cocker world recently.’

  Beth was hardly listening. She was watching me closely. ‘You two finish your drinks and run along,’ she said. ‘I want to shoot some food into John and get him back to bed. If he flakes out in that chair, I’ll never get him up the stairs.’

  *

  Although my long-term recovery after my illness might have left me liable to sudden setbacks, at least, as I had told Angus, the speed of my recovery from those setbacks was improving. Next morning, I dressed myself and pottered downstairs entirely under my own steam.

  Beth questioned me severely and I managed to satisfy her that I was well on the mend, but she and Daffy formed the usual female alliance to forbid me from venturing outdoors. Isobel, Henry, Rowan, Lob and Rex had already left, taking with them our hopes and good wishes. Beth and Daffy seemed to be running hard to stay in one place, so they allowed me to lift some of the burden off them by taking over all the indoor duties. I spent the morning mixing puppy-food, cooking, dealing with the mail, answering the phone, and trying to keep Sam fed, clean, and amused. It was more tiring than a day spent out with the dogs, but warmer.