by Jack Benton
Or both?
Slim put the doll back in his pocket. Alone, it had no meaning, but if it had been part of a tableau of other dolls, Slim might be able to figure it out.
Shelly had thrown it at him. Did she have more?
The rain had stopped. Slim finished his lunch and ventured outside. In the overflow graveyard, Shelly’s tent glistened with fresh rain. Slim stopped far enough away that he could easily retreat if Shelly sent forth another projectile. He took out the doll and held it up.
‘Shelly,’ he called quietly. ‘Shelly, are you in there? I’m back. It’s Slim. Talk to me, please. I think Dennis is still alive. I saw him in the woods.’
At first nothing happened. Then, as though a calm day had decided to turn to storm, a rising shriek came from inside the tent. At first it sounded like a distant siren. Then it rose in pitch until it was unmistakable: the cry of a woman overcome with grief.
Slim took a step forward, then laid the doll down on the path and turned to walk away. He had nearly reached the gap in the hedge when the rustle of plastic made him turn. Shelly stood there, outside the tent flap, an elderly woman dressed in rags, her greying hair disheveled, small eyes darting around as though she’d just woken from a long sleep and was seeing the world for the first time.
‘Be leaving if I were you,’ she said, her voice a gravelly rustle that sent shivers down Slim’s back. ‘Poison in this village, poison in everything. Poison by the name of Ozgood.’
Then she was gone, back into the tent, the door flap billowing briefly in the wind then falling closed behind her.
39
Kenny Kent was just switching off the lights when Slim knocked on the door.
‘I came to apologise,’ Slim said. ‘I was out of order the other day.’
Kent frowned, as though apologies weren’t something he often heard. He pulled the door shut and locked it before turning to face Slim, who had retreated down the steps and out of punching range.
‘You went off the rails, there, didn’t you? Not seen the lad riled like that. I got him calmed down but he wouldn’t tell what had happened between you.’
‘It was nothing,’ Slim said.
‘He’s a bit wild at times, but it looked like you have a gob on you too.’
‘I was out of order. I’m sorry. I hoped we could finish our conversation.’
Kenny jangled his keys and slipped them into his pocket. ‘We’re closed. I wouldn’t say no to a pint, though.’
‘I’m an alcoholic.’
Kent began to laugh. Slim assumed the builder had thought him joking, but then Kent said, ‘That explains it. You didn’t like the sweetener I added, did you?’
‘It got in the way of my recovery a little.’
Kent slapped Slim on the shoulder. ‘Well, I’m sorry about that. I tend to self-medicate myself—have done for years. I keep my head when I need to use it, and the lad drives us everywhere. Losing my wife and kid so close together … screwed me up a little. I imagine you’ve heard by now that my wife died not long after Col?’
Slim considered feigning ignorance, but wasn’t sure he could pull it off. ‘People in backwaters like this like to talk,’ he said.
‘Figures,’ Kent said. ‘Not a lot else to do round here.’ He sighed. ‘Let’s just say that those few months after that fire were a bad, bad time.’ He looked up, his eyes suddenly sparkling. ‘But, what doesn’t break you and all that, right? And I had to stay strong for the boy. He’s not perfect, but I did my best. Did what I could on my own.’
While speaking, Kent had led Slim around the back of the work yard to a plain bungalow set at the back of the grounds. He unlocked a front door and led Slim down a hall into a kitchen, switching on lights as he went. Slim noticed the signs of a masculine life unintruded on by women: copies of The Sun lying open on the sofa, piles of unwashed plates in the sink, a sock hung over the back of a chair. It felt familiar; his own life had been much the same before he found himself homeless, with the minor exception that he didn’t read newspapers.
‘Excuse the mess,’ Kent said with a nonchalant flap of his hand and a tone that suggested he said it twenty times a day. ‘Find somewhere to sit down. I’ll make you a brew.’ Then with a grin, he added, ‘I’ll leave yours plain, although I’m not expecting Jimmy this evening so you’re probably safe. He lives over in Harton, raising hell over there, no doubt.’
‘I bumped into him earlier,’ Slim said. ‘He politely requested that I leave the area.’
Kent rolled his eyes. ‘I’ll have a word with him. He’s out of order saying things like that.’
‘He’s technically right. I’m an outsider. I’m on Ollie Ozgood’s payroll. That makes me the enemy, doesn’t it?’
‘A lot of us have been on that prick’s payroll at one point or other. It’s all very well having standards, but when someone has money and you don’t … so what is going on? I know you’re sworn to secrecy, I imagine, but….’
‘Someone claiming to be Dennis Sharp is blackmailing Ozgood, demanding large sums of cash to keep quiet about something I know nothing about.’ Slim took a deep breath. ‘Dennis is supposed to be dead. I’ve been given proof. But, there’s evidence to suggest otherwise. I … I even think I saw him.’
Kent had taken a seat across from Slim. He paused, frowning deeply. ‘I probably shouldn’t have asked.’
‘You don’t think it’s possible? Not at all?’
Kent didn’t smile. ‘No. No, I don’t.’
‘Because when the dead are dead, they stay dead? Because—’
Kent closed his eyes, lifting a hand at the same time to cut Slim off. ‘No, because if by some miracle Sharp wasn’t dead, Scuttleworth is the last place he would come.’
‘His family is here.’
‘What family? His brother is dead. His estranged mother is a raging lunatic. His father is long gone.’
‘What about Ellie?’
‘Ellie Ozgood?’ Kent gave a bitter laugh. ‘She might have been a worthy conquest, but a reason to come back?’ Kent shook his head. ‘Perhaps you should go and meet her then come back and tell me whether she was a woman worth returning from the dead for.’
‘What’s wrong with her?’
‘Money tends to ruin people. Ellie Ozgood is a perfect example. The girl has never done a day’s hard work in her life, yet she has everything she could ever want. You think she’s qualified to run Vincent’s? She’s twenty-two. She does nothing in there except sit in an office and boss people around.’
‘Doesn’t that describe most managers?’
Kent laughed. ‘Yeah, but usually they have to earn the right to be an arsehole with a few years company service. You know what they said about her, don’t you?’
‘What?’
‘That Ozgood only put her in there to stop her spending his money. Girl did her typical private school education then got shipped off to university where she blew a wad of money doing god knows what. Ozgood paid her way through a couple of years of failure but they threw her out in the end. He holed her up in Vincent’s as a way of trying to reform her.’
Slim gave a slow nod. ‘So if Dennis came back, you don’t think he’d contact her?’
Kent shook his head. ‘I think he’d run a mile in the opposite direction.’
40
Evan Ford didn’t look pleased to see Slim as he entered but he still stood up and shook Slim’s hand before waving him to a seat.
‘I wouldn’t normally be allowed to do this but Ollie Ozgood asked me personally,’ Ford said, sliding a folder across the table. ‘These are Dennis Sharp’s autopsy and notes on the investigation.’
Slim opened the file and slid out a number of printed photographs as well as a couple of stapled documents. The first few pictures showed Dennis Sharp’s crashed car from multiple angles. A couple of things immediately struck Slim as odd.
The first was snow on the ground surrounding the car. The second was the burned dash and scorched paintwork.
Slim
pointed both out to Ford. ‘The crash happened in late December,’ Ford said. ‘It was raining on the day but we had had some early snow a few days before. There had still been patches of ice under the trees and on the road down into the valley where Dennis was killed. Before you ask, yes, it was considered as the cause of the crash. However, far more likely is simply that Dennis was driving too fast. The car broke through a great deal of foliage on its way down into the woods, although the impact was what killed Dennis, when the car struck the rock.’
‘No airbag?’
‘The car was an old model.’
‘Head injuries?’
‘Extensive. Dennis wasn’t wearing a seatbelt and went through the windscreen. The fire from the engine igniting only caused problems with identification.’
Slim frowned. ‘No one told me he was burned.’
‘Excuse me, but why should they? You’re not police.’
Evan Ford’s tone was condescending, but Slim let it pass. Playing the bumbling supposed city lawyer might work to his advantage.
‘If he was burned, surely that would put a question mark over his identification?’
Ford rolled his eyes. ‘You watch too much television. Yes, he suffered some burns, but he wasn’t exactly chargrilled, for heaven’s sake,’ he said with a flippancy that made Slim wince. ‘And it was his mother who identified him.’
‘His mother, who’s half mad?’
‘She was a lot less that way before the death of her firstborn,’ Ford said, in the same school teacher’s tone that made Slim want to slap him. ‘His clothing was consistent, as were certain body markings. Birthmarks, moles, that kind of thing.’
‘But no DNA?’
‘It isn’t required when a body is positively identified by next-of-kin,’ Ford said. ‘I know you’d love for his death to have been faked, but this isn’t a television show.’
‘I don’t think his death was faked,’ Slim said, even though his mind had begun to whirl with fanciful ideas. He had learned from previous cases never to discount any possibility.
‘I won’t ask you what you do think,’ Ford said. ‘It wouldn’t matter anyway. The case is closed, a simple one of driving without due care or attention.’
‘A couple more questions, if you don’t mind,’ Slim said as Ford shifted in his seat and glanced towards the door. ‘And the car … it was checked?’
‘It was inspected for faults. An old car like that likely had a few, and that’s what was shown—soft brakes, a corroded transmission, two tires that would have failed an MOT, had Sharp done one—which, by the way, he hadn’t; his car had an-out-of-date certificate. All in all, there were lots of problems with that car, but nothing that didn’t agree with general wear and tear. It was a death trap waiting to happen, frankly.’
‘Anything else? Anything suspicious or unusual? What was in the car?’
Ford leaned forward. ‘Now, there’s an interesting question. You know, Mr. Hardy, for a bloodsucking lawyer it seems there’s a bit of detective in you after all.’
Slim was tiring of Ford’s tone. His head had begun to pound with another withdrawal headache, and his bowels were tightening up. He gave Ford his best smile then said, ‘I suppose just a bunch of gardening tools.’
Ford laughed. ‘Of course. A lawnmower, a set of pruning shears … and two skinned lamb carcasses.’
41
It had started to rain again, so Evan Ford reluctantly gave Slim a lift back to Scuttleworth. During the brief journey he told Slim how the police had spared Sharp’s family and friends any embarrassment by quietly having the carcasses disposed of with Ollie Ozgood’s agreement. To have Sharp—who had already been a polarising figure—posthumously charged with sheep rustling would have brought unnecessary shame on his grieving mother.
‘Ozgood at first wanted the man charged,’ Ford said. ‘He relented when we pointed out that his death had probably been punishment enough.’
He dropped Slim at the corner by the church and drove off with an unnecessary ‘Well, I hope this is the last I see of you.’ Slim stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets as the car headed up the street, to resist giving Ford a shaking middle finger. In truth, he would also be happy not to cross the old policeman’s path again, but he had even more questions now than when he’d set out for the meeting.
Had Sharp been involved in the theft and resale of sheep carcasses from Vincent’s? It seemed ridiculous, but unless meat theft was a common practice in Scuttleworth, Slim needed to identify and contact the man he had seen hiding in the forest as soon as possible. It seemed likely he had known Dennis Sharp, or even been in league with him.
Slim took shelter in the church doorway again, pulled out his phone and called Donald Lane.
‘Any luck?’
‘Nothing yet. I’m still trawling. Things going okay down there, Slim?’
‘I’m getting there. The usual way, getting into trouble angering people.’
‘Just be careful.’
‘I will. Can you do something else for me? I’d like you to investigate Oliver Ozgood directly. In particular, I’d like to know when he was in and out of the country over the last few years.’
Don laughed. ‘Would you like me to spy on your mother-in-law while I’m at it?’ Then, after a pause, ‘I’m just joking, Slim.’
Slim smiled. ‘Far as I recall she’s been in the same place for the last twenty-five years,’ he said. ‘Although I wouldn’t put it past her to come back from the dead. I owe you, Don. I owe you again.’
‘Ah well, I’m not exactly run off my feet these days. Take care, Slim. I’ll be in touch.’
The rain had eased, so Slim walked up the street to a phone box outside the pub. Inside, it still had a ragged phone book tied to a shelf by a piece of string, so Slim rifled through it until he found the name he had memorised from the top of the car mechanics report.
Joe Taber. A local mechanic from Harton who had inspected Dennis Sharp’s car. From the sanctuary of the phone box Slim tried to call on his mobile, but Joe didn’t answer. Slim saved the number to his phone’s contacts list and headed back outside. To his relief the rain had eased, reverting to a fine mist which left visibility down to a few metres.
Theories were beginning to swirl, and formerly safe places had begun to feel threatening, so Slim headed for Clora’s, where, as he had hoped, she welcomed him in on the condition he make the tea.
‘People are going to start to whisper about us,’ she said, the conspiracy in her words negated somewhat by her eyes not looking away from a TV quiz she had consented to turn to a lower volume. ‘Well, they would, if anyone around here was watching.’
As Slim passed Clora a mug and then sat down with his own, he said, ‘That’s something I wanted to ask you about. This might sound stupid, but how do you feel about the Ozgood’s?’
‘Useless wastes of space,’ she snapped.
Slim frowned. ‘Deeper than that. How do they make you feel? Are you afraid of them?’
Clora actually turned away from the TV to look at him. She cocked her head, wrinkling her nose. ‘That’s a strange question. There’s only the two of them left, Oliver and Ellie.’
‘As best as I can figure it out, they own more than half the total commercial land in the Scuttleworth area. Not so much the people themselves, but the Ozgood name. Its associations. How does it make you feel?’
Clora bit her lip. ‘Honestly?’
‘Honestly.’
Clora wrinkled her brow, considering. She squinted up at the ceiling, then turned to look at him.
‘Uncomfortable,’ she said.
42
Slim mused on Clora’s words as he walked back in the twilight to his cottage. She had tried to elaborate on her feelings without much success, but Slim had got the impression he expected. It was helping him build up a clearer picture of the Ozgood family’s influence on the local area, and tallied with the impressions he had picked up elsewhere.
The family was a looming presence, one that i
mposed influence in ways few could clearly define, like having a stain on the back of your shirt—there, even if you couldn’t see it, preying constantly on your mind. People acted accordingly, and over the years they had bent under the patriarchal pressure without even being aware of it.
On the way back, just before his phone signal cut out, he called Croad.
‘I need a list of employees at Vincent’s,’ he said. ‘Everything you can get me. Names, addresses, ID photos if you have them.’
Croad’s response was a low growl, followed by a single word. ‘Impossible.’
‘No, it’s not. You’re Ozgood’s right hand man. You’ve delivered so far. I think the blackmailer might be on the staff.’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘I’d rather not say until I’m sure,’ Slim said, stalling for time, fearing Croad would call his bluff. ‘I need a couple of days to figure things out.’
‘I’ll ask Ellie.’
‘No, don’t ask Ellie. Ellie is the last person I want you to ask.’
‘Why?’
‘I haven’t talked to her yet. I’d rather keep her out of everything if I can. Isn’t that what Ozgood wanted?’
Croad reluctantly agreed. He hung up, grumbling about doing what he could.
It was getting dark. With the forest closing in, Slim wanted nothing more than to lock all the doors, pull a duvet over his head, and forget about everything, but he sensed that as much happened in Scuttleworth at night as it did during the day, so he pulled his jacket on, ready to head back out.
He couldn’t do it alone, though, so he took one of the 35cl bottles of brandy he had bought from Cathy’s shop and slipped it into his pocket. He had chosen the smallest bottles on sale because he knew that once he broke the seal he would drink everything, but he could still function if he kept his intake to a sociable level, and it would give him just enough courage to do what needed to be done.