The Games Keeper

by Jack Benton

  ‘I’ll ask.’

  ‘I want everything he has. I know he killed a man, Croad. What could be worse? I need to know what Dennis Sharp is threatening to reveal.’

  At the mention of the murder, Croad’s eyes had lifted, flicking around the room as though looking for cameras or microphones.

  ‘You’ve been warned to watch what you say,’ he said slowly, a hint of menace creeping into his voice.

  ‘I can’t hunt for a dead man if I’m barred from all the best leads,’ Slim said.

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Croad said. He went out without another word. The front door slammed, then a moment later Croad’s car started up, the engine squealing as he drove quickly away.

  Slim had the urge to walk out of the door and never come back, to leave Ollie Ozgood and his troubles behind. But it was too late. Withdrawing with the secrets he already knew would never be allowed.

  He went back out on foot, this time working himself up into a light jog as he headed through the tangle of lanes in the direction of Dennis Sharp’s wrecked car. It felt strange to jog after so many years. Something he had once taken as a daily given felt cumbersome and unfamiliar, and before long he was sweating profusely, breathing hard even at the earliest sign of an incline. Long before he reached the top of the first hill he had given in, leaning on a gate nearly buried by the hedgerows either side, looking up at the steep slope of a field rising in furrows to the grey sky overheard.

  And from nearby came voices.

  ‘I’m not sure, Jim. I mean, I don’t know—’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. Just close your eyes and breathe. It’ll relax you.’

  ‘Jim, I’m not sure—’

  ‘Would I even ask if I didn’t know it was safe? Would I? Come on, I’ve done it loads of times.’

  ‘I don’t know….’

  ‘Come on … hey!’

  Slim realised the gate had creaked beneath his weight. He stepped back, but too late.

  ‘Who’s there?’

  A rustle of undergrowth came from inside the hedgerow. They were just out of sight. Too late to hide himself, Slim decided to show his face. He climbed onto the gate’s lowest slat but it splintered and broke. His foot splashed down in a muddy puddle.

  ‘Who’s that? You some perv? I’ll have you if you are.’

  Slim leaned forward, but it didn’t seem like anyone was planning to “have” him. The rustling was moving further away, the voices whispered, muffled. A commotion came from the hedgerow further up the road, something squeezing through branches. Two young people climbed down, ran across the road and disappeared into the woods on the other side. The taller of the two had worn greys and blacks, and a beanie hat had hidden much of his head from view, but the smaller person had been a girl with vividly dyed shoulder-length hair and a green parka Slim was sure he had seen somewhere before.

  He walked across the road but they were long gone. He returned to the gate and climbed over. A short way inside the hedge, on a flat patch of ground, a couple of aerosol cans lay on a dirty blanket. A single condom packet in the grass at one end told him all he needed to know about the boy’s intentions.

  Teenagers, having a sniff then a tumble, if the boy had got his way. Slim wrinkled his nose, then picked up one of the cans. He turned it over, reading the small-print.

  Non-toxic. Either the boy was sensitive to a bit of plain carbon, or as Slim thought more likely, he was an idiot.

  And it said little for the girl who had chosen him as a companion.

  Slim carried on up the hill until he reached the corner where Croad had climbed into the undergrowth to look for Dennis Sharp’s old car. At least he thought it was the same corner, but as he pushed deeper and deeper into the woods, he saw no sign of it. By the time he stopped, certain he had walked far enough, he could no longer be sure which way he had come. With the undergrowth thinner heading downslope, he decided to continue on rather than climb back up to the road, curious as to where he would emerge.

  Soon he was so deep into the woods that he could no longer even hear the distant rumble of an occasional car engine. The forest had flattened out, the undergrowth thinner, allowing him to move quickly, keeping the sun’s occasional glimmer to one side to act as a rough direction marker.

  From up ahead came the sound of water, and Slim stepped out of the trees to find himself beside a quiet stream trickling down through the woods. On the other side, the ground began to rise again. Further up the slope, the trees gave way to the overgrown corner of a field. The remains of a wire fence lay among brambles, its long-ago broken posts lying like unnaturally angular branches as they rotted amongst the rest of the fallen tree limbs.

  Halfway to the crest of the hill, the stooped figure of a man was dragging something through the grass, down towards the trees.

  Slim instinctively squatted low, easing himself down into a thicket from where he had cover but could still observe. His old military senses told him to perceive this newcomer as a threat.

  The man wore a grey jacket over a white overall, and a baseball cap turned inside out. Wellington boots squelched through the field’s boggy corner, white gloves holding on to something wrapped in clear plastic that Slim couldn’t at first identify.

  He shuffled closer, squinting through the undergrowth.

  The skinned corpse of an animal. By its size and shape, most likely a young sheep.

  The man’s eyes darted back and forth as he dragged the corpse towards the river. Several times he stopped, crouched low and peered back over his shoulder as though anticipating pursuit.

  A tramp? A stolen carcass he perhaps meant to cook or even sell on a local black-market? Slim crept closer, wanting to remember the face should he see it again.

  The man was around Slim’s age, mid-forties, clean shaven, his skin without blemish.

  He didn’t look like a tramp.

  He reached the stream and began to pull the carcass upriver. Slim crept after him, wondering whether to reveal himself. Then the man slipped, his jacket catching on a twig as he stumbled, lifting long enough to reveal a logo printed on the overalls hidden beneath.

  Slim froze.

  Vincent’s.

  The man had come from the abattoir, but was concealing his identity. He had to be sneaking out from work or he wouldn’t be wearing the uniform under his coat.

  Slim continued his pursuit. A little further along, a mound of earth rose from the ground, the stream undercutting it. The man stepped into the water, hauling the carcass with him. He hefted it in his arms, tossing it ungainly back into a hollow carved out of the soft earth where the stream had created an undercut.

  The man stepped back, nodded to himself, then climbed out of the river, and this time headed straight up the slope through the trees. Just before the woods gave way to the field, he pulled off the cap and turned it right way out, then slipped off the coat, rolled it up and tucked it under his overalls.

  Slim watched the man until he had gone, then approached the undercut stream bank.

  He stared.

  The glint of other bags, partly covered with earth, came from underneath. Slim reached up and touched one. From the way the grain of the earth on the plastic felt under his fingers, he could tell it had been there for some time, months, possibly even years.

  Slim, climbing up into the hollow, hauled one of the lower bags out until a glimmer of sunlight caught on the plastic.

  Fearing what he might find, he pressed down until he saw the outline of what lay inside.

  Not human, thank god. The putrid, rotting flesh of a sheep’s foreleg.

  Slim pushed it back into the hollow and stepped back across the stream, quickly retracing his steps until the hollow was out of sight.

  He needed a drink.

  What he had seen made no sense. Why would anyone steal sheep carcasses and leave them hidden until they rotted away? Was the man an opportunist, or an idiot?

  His routes back were through the woods the way he had come or up through the
field. He chose to follow the route the man had taken, climbing up the steep field slope until the back of a squat, grey warehouse came into view.

  Slim paused, staying close to the hedgerow.

  Vincent’s.

  He found himself drawn to the place. Not just because the elusive Ellie worked there, or because of the mysterious hider of sheep carcasses, or even because of the hellhole of suffering and death it contained.

  But because it sat like a central hub around which this mysterious community and its secrets revolved.

  15

  ‘So this is him?’

  Slim flicked through the handful of photographs he had taken from the envelope Croad had brought. Some were grainy scans from newspaper cuttings, others were copies from group photographs. One was a clear portrait picture and a few others were snapshots of various angles of a forestry man at work.

  Dennis Sharp had been fair-haired, bearded, tall and muscular. Attractive but for a slight sloping of the eyebrows which made him look suspicious. Even in school photographs he didn’t smile, but there was no malice to his expression, only a guarded skepticism.

  ‘Yeah, that’s him. What I could find.’ Croad grinned. ‘Seen him wandering about the village? Perhaps wearing fake glasses and a wig?’

  Slim was starting to tire of Croad’s reluctance to offer much assistance, but the man was his only way into the background of Ozgood’s life, so he just smiled.

  ‘Not yet, but I’m still looking.’

  ‘Not long til that next deadline. Mr. Ozgood wants this cleared up by then, you know that.’

  ‘Mr. Ozgood has a lot more faith in my ability than I have, considering how little I have to go on.’

  ‘I gave you that list.’

  ‘I’m working through it. Three of the people on that list no longer live in the area. Three others told me they’d met Sharp no more than once or twice. And two of them are dead.’

  Croad shrugged. ‘My directory’s out of date.’

  ‘The person I’d most like to speak to is Ellie Ozgood, but she’s off-limits.’

  Croad shifted. ‘Mr. Ozgood said—’

  Slim lifted a hand. ‘It doesn’t have to be with your blessing. Tell me how she gets home from Vincent’s and say nothing more about it.’

  Croad winced, revealing his crooked line of teeth. Glancing around as though looking for the bugs he thought were still in place, he said, ‘Stay away from her or I’ll sort you before Ozgood ever gets near.’

  Slim opened his mouth to respond but Croad had turned away, leaning over a work surface. His shoulders moved and then he was gone, out into the hall and through the front door without another word.

  Slim looked down at the work surface. A small chalk board for reminders sat by an empty phone socket. Croad had scrawled “taxi, 5.35pm” in blue chalk.

  Slim gave a slow nod, and then wiped the words away with a corner of his shirt.

  16

  Neither the shop owner Cathy nor the boy looked pleased to see him, but Slim gave them a cheerful smile as he set a can of spaghetti down on the counter.

  ‘A shame half term is just a week,’ he said. ‘It must be nice having extra help around.’

  Cathy flapped a hand at the boy. ‘Nathan does nothing. Just sits around here causing trouble.’

  ‘That’s a shame. I guess you don’t have the business here to need someone full time.’

  Cathy lifted an eyebrow. ‘Why, are you looking?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘A shame, because I could probably find some use for you.’

  ‘Don’t flirt with him, Mum,’ Nathan said. ‘Dad won’t like it.’

  Cathy clipped him around the ear. ‘Watch your language. I wasn’t flirting with him.’

  ‘Yeah, you were. Think I’m stupid?’

  Cathy scowled. ‘You’re half your father. Answer that yourself.’

  ‘I’m telling Dad.’

  ‘Think he’d care?’

  ‘Give it a rest, won’t you?’

  This new voice came from an older girl. Slim looked up as she pushed through the curtain. He immediately recognised her, even though he had only seen her from behind as she fled through the trees. Plump around the waist, she wore her hair in three colours—a main dish of light brown bookended with curtains of rooty blond and speckled with highlights of pink that made Slim think of a cat with glitter caught in its fur. She looked Slim up and down with watery eyes out of a face too made-up to offer an idea of its base attractiveness, and smiled.

  ‘You ain’t from round here.’

  Slim returned her smile. ‘You’re an astute one.’

  ‘Name’s Mandy,’ the girl said, adopting a pout that left Slim expecting her to raise a smartphone in the air and click off a quick selfie.

  ‘Do you go to the local school?’ Slim said.

  ‘What? I ain’t that young. College. Study fashion design.’

  ‘You have an eye for it,’ Slim said, trying to sound sincere.

  The girl pouted again. ‘Thanks. Could give you a makeover if you like.’

  ‘I appreciate the offer but I’m good with sweaters and jeans,’ Slim said. ‘And any colour other than black makes me look more cheerful than I am.’

  The girl’s reaction was masked by the mother stepping forward. ‘So, just this then?’ She held up the can of spaghetti, shaking it for emphasis.

  Slim nodded. ‘Though is there any chance I might speak to your husband? I’m something of a fan of local history, and I heard he was a good man to talk to.’

  ‘Who told you that?’ Cathy asked as the two children sniggered.

  ‘Oh, a man I met in the pub.’

  ‘I bet it was Thomas,’ the girl said.

  ‘Thomas?’ Slim asked.

  ‘Old Croad. Seen these two hanging around, my mate has. You’re the one looking for Den, aren’t you?’

  Slim nodded. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘No one told you yet he’s dead?’ The girl winked. ‘If you like, I’ll show you were he got smacked up. Bit dark up there. You’ll have to hold me hand.’

  This time it was the girl who took a clip round the ear. ‘You two get back there,’ Cathy said. ‘And you, sir, should leave. We’re past closing.’

  Slim nodded. Arguing, the two kids went back through the curtain. The mother folded her arms in defiance.

  ‘Not sure what you heard, but my husband knows little of what goes on outside a pint glass,’ she said. ‘And you want to watch yourself with old Thomas Croad. He’s in Mr. Ozgood’s pocket and that’s not a place I’d wish on anyone.’

  ‘I’ll be careful.’

  ‘You should. There’s some that say Den’s death wasn’t an accident, but that’s not something you’d hear from me. Understand?’

  Slim smiled, paid up and left. His attempt to get a contact inside Vincent’s had failed, but as he turned a corner outside the shop he saw another chance. The girl, Mandy, was leaning up against a stone wall, one foot lifted behind her. Except for a light jacket she looked the same. Slim hesitated, but he had picked his path; he had no choice but to pass her or make an abrupt U-turn that would make his attempt to avoid her known.

  ‘So is it true you’ve got money for Dennis Sharp’s family?’ Mandy said, stepping forward. She fiddled in her pocket as she looked up at him, withdrawing a packet of cigarettes. ‘You smoke?’

  ‘No.’

  Mandy shrugged, lighting up. ‘Don’t tell me Mum.’

  ‘She’d be angry?’

  ‘She’d steal them. So what is it with Dennis Sharp? How much money?’

  Slim held her gaze. The rumour he had planted had made its rounds. He saw an opportunity to plant another.

  ‘There’s no money,’ he said. ‘I’m a private investigator. I heard a rumour Dennis Sharp was still alive. I’m investigating an insurance fraud. He had a life insurance policy which paid out. If it’s true he’s alive then he’s looking at a decent prison term.’ He smiled. ‘And I’m looking at a solid payday.’

&n
bsp; Mandy shook her head. ‘No, you’re wasting your time. Den’s definitely dead. Went to his funeral, just to make sure.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  She patted her stomach, and Slim realised that what he had assumed was an indulgence belly was in fact a slight bulge suggesting pregnancy.

  ‘You don’t know anything, do you?’

  ‘About what?’

  Mandy suddenly pouted and tossed her cigarette aside. ‘Trying to stop, you know? I’m not really taking it all down. Just getting a little taste. Gonna be a good mummy, me.’

  ‘You’re pregnant?’

  Mandy shrugged, pouting again. ‘Yeah. Missed your chance, didn’t you? Don’t tell me Mum.’

  Slim couldn’t help but smile. ‘We’re not yet on first name terms so I’m sure that won’t be a problem. What does your baby have to do with Dennis Sharp?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Slim suppressed a sigh.

  ‘Just glad he won’t get her, that’s all.’ Mandy smiled. ‘Definitely a girl, I just know it.’

  ‘Get her?’

  ‘Yeah. I mean, they never caught him, but we all knew he did it.’

  Despite the cold, Slim felt a trickle of sweat run down his neck. ‘Did what?’

  ‘Killed them two kids.’

  17

  Slim stared at the pub across the road, set back behind its own car park and surrounded by a neatly manicured lawn. Two empty picnic tables stood outside. The car park was empty, but a single pint glass sat uncollected on the right-side table.

  It was calling him.

  Why hadn’t Croad said anything about two dead kids? Mandy hadn’t had time to elaborate, her mother calling her in. Slim hadn’t wanted to show too much interest, but it had occupied his thoughts all night. Now, with grey dawn creeping over the village, he sat alone on a bench on the edge of the unkempt village green, wondering if he ought to start walking away before the pub opened.

  From his position, Scuttleworth’s single through-street angled by on his left, meandering past the church and the two shops, disappearing into farmland before it skirted Vincent’s. A man was standing outside a house, sweeping. A lone crow cawed from atop the pub roof.