some grip for car tyres, Yewdall assumed, and possibly to give warning of approaching vehicles. The track led shortly to a collection of farm buildings — a house, a barn, outbuildings — which formed an L-shape around the courtyard. Parked on the courtyard was a collection of vehicles. Yewdall noted a Rolls-Royce, mud bespattered, a Ford Granada, a Land Rover and a transit van. The driver halted the Mercedes beside the van and the occupant of the passenger seat got out and opened the rear door. He knelt down, and quickly and efficiently pulled Yewdall’s shoes from her feet. Then he addressed Billy Kemp, saying brusquely, ‘Your shoes too, matey.’ Kemp obediently leaned forward and began to tug at his laces. Once the hard-faced man was in possession of both pairs of shoes he said, ‘You’ll get these back when you need them. Right, out. .’
Yewdall and Billy Kemp slid one by one out of the car and stepped gingerly on to the cold, rough surface of the courtyard. The man then tossed their shoes into the rear of the Mercedes and shut the door. ‘OK,’ he said, ‘this way.’ He led them across the courtyard, walking comfortably in heavy working shoes, accompanied by the man who had driven the Mercedes. Yewdall and Kemp followed, walking with difficulty. Yewdall had not realized until then how disabling it can be to be relieved of one’s footwear.
Upon reaching the barn, the driver of the car opened a small wooden door set in the larger barn door and entered. The second man stood to one side and indicated for Yewdall and Kemp to go through the entrance. Then he followed them and shut the door behind him. The interior of the barn was illuminated by a single bulb set on the wall by the door, which left the greater part of the interior of the barn in darkness, but what it did illuminate was a man and a woman standing together, a youth on the floor dressed only in his underpants and whimpering with fear, a domestic bath filled with water, and various items of machinery.
‘Nice one, Rusher.’ The man smiled at the driver’s companion who had occupied the passenger seat during the journey from Kilburn to the farm. ‘Any trouble?’
‘No, boss, they was as good as gold, they was.’
‘Let’s hope they stay like that.’ The man addressed Yewdall, ‘You know who I am?’
‘No. .’ Yewdall whispered. ‘Not your name, sir. . but I was in your house. .’
The man smiled. ‘Course you do, you’re just being cagey. You know, don’t you lad?’
‘Mr Yates.’
‘And the lady. .’
‘Miss Bowling.’
‘Yes. . course, we’ve all met before, ain’t we?’
‘Y-yes. .’
‘Yes, course we have. We want you to watch this. . this. . this little toerag — ’ Yates pointed to the whimpering youth — ‘this thing. He couldn’t pull a bird he couldn’t, so what does he do? He half-inches off me to buy himself a brass for the night. Went down King’s Cross with bundles of smackers — nothing wrong with that you might say — but the problem is those smackers were not his, were they?’
‘I was going to put it back,’ the youth wailed.
‘Course you were. . course you were. . but that’s not the point. Now I don’t mind a thief, not until he half- inches from me. . then that is like well out of order. . it is really well out of order, and the bottle it must have taken to believe he could get away with it.’ Yates took a running kick at the youth who doubled up under the impact to his stomach. ‘That is just so out of order. . so out of order. . it ain’t exactly what you’d call polite. . not polite at all. . not respectful like, not to a man who took him off the street and gave him a drum and a job. Alright, Rusher, make this one quick. . you too Henry.’
Rusher and Henry — who had driven Yewdall and Kemp to the farm — advanced on the helpless youth and proceeded to kick him about the head and body, but particularly about the head. The youth very quickly became lifeless but continued to emit gurgling sounds, which after a period of less then five minutes, Yewdall estimated, ceased.
‘That it?’ Yates asked when Rusher and Henry stopped kicking.
‘Yeah. .’ Rusher showed no sign of being out of breath. He and Henry both gave the impression that they could have carried on kicking the youth for a further half hour before showing any sign of fatigue. ‘It’s done.’
‘OK.’ Yates looked down at the bloody, pulped face of the youth. During the assault, neither he nor Bowling had made any movement or made any facial expression that Yewdall had noticed, but rather, both had stood as calmly as if waiting for a bus. Detachment, she thought, was just not the word. ‘Give him a bath.’
Rusher and Henry lifted up the body of the youth and placed it face down in the bath — immersing him so that just his calves and feet showed.
‘That’ll sort him if the kicking didn’t,’ Gail Bowling commented.
‘Oh, the kicking did it alright.’ Yates smiled. ‘They’re good boys but you can never be too sure. .’
‘Is he going to the building site?’ Bowling asked. ‘The old concrete coffin?’
‘No. . he’s staying here. . I’m going to have him planted out the back. I’ve got the hole dug.’ Yates advanced on Yewdall and, taking a length of chain from his coat pocket, he wrapped it tightly round one of her wrists and secured it with a small brass padlock, and then speedily and efficiently wound the other end of the chain equally tightly round her other wrist, and similarly secured it with a brass padlock, thus holding her wrists together, six inches apart. ‘I want to show you something, blossom,’ he said smiling. ‘Come with me.’ He put his arm in hers and led her gently out of the barn. Walking with discomfort Yewdall was led from the barn to the meadow behind the barn wherein stood a line of short trees. Close to where Yates and Yewdall stood were three large holes about five feet long, three feet wide and three feet deep. Beside each hole was a sapling wrapped in newspaper.
‘Flowering cherry,’ Yates announced with pride, ‘my favourite tree. . the blossom in spring time. . exquisite. They don’t bear fruit, so it will never be a cherry orchard, but it is a lovely old tree.’
‘So why bring me up here?’
‘Rare old treat, darlin’.’ Yates smiled. ‘You’re sort of a special customer. .’
‘Cust. .’ Yewdall stammered.
‘Yeah. . for want of a better way of putting it, here you go, girl, choose your hole.’
Yewdall pulled away from Yates but he held her close. ‘What’s the rush, darlin’? One for the youth we just chilled, one for Billy Kemp. . he’s getting to know what’s in store for him right now. .’ Just at that moment a high- pitched cry was heard from the barn. ‘Ah, reckon he’s just been told. No one will hear. We let dogs out at night, keeps the poachers off the land. You can scream your lungs out tonight. So, what do you think. . the middle one?’
‘Why?’
‘Why you? What have you done? Is that what you’re asking?’
‘Yes. .’
‘It’s because you’re the filth, ain’t you?’
Yewdall went cold, and a chill shot down her spine; she felt a hollowness in her stomach.
‘You came from nowhere, and you came right in the middle of the filth asking questions. Just a little grubby but not grubby enough. . it takes weeks. . not a day or two. . and you’re taller, fitter, more healthy looking than most street dwellers. . and you were careful not to ask questions.’
Yewdall looked around her, the winter landscape, the trees, the low sky, the cawing rooks all seemed so much more real, so much more immediate somehow.
‘And your old man in Stoke,’ Yates continued. ‘We paid him a visit. . cor blimey. . he had everything but “Police” stamped on his forehead. Full of confidence when two strange geezers knocked on his door. . no fear. . no concern for his safety, just full of anger towards you like he was reading from a script.’
Yates took a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and took two, lit them with a gold lighter, and pushed one between Yewdall’s lips. Yewdall surprised herself by accepting it, and inhaled the smoke.
‘It’s paranoia, darling,’ Yates explained as he turned Yewdall around and began walking her back to the barn, ‘paranoia. . that keeps us alive. Suspect everyone. . trust no one. . you need to believe that everyone is out to get you because they are. . cops, blaggers. . dog eat dog.’
Yewdall’s head sank, her feet were numb with cold.
‘Well, I got to say thanks for not claiming you’re not a cop — that would be really naughty of you, darling. I have more than two brain cells despite all that vodka I have thrown down my neck. Been doing that like there’s no tomorrow, but that’s my look out. I’ll be outliving you. How old are you darlin’?’
‘Twenty-five.’ Yewdall looked around her at the winter landscape.
‘Twenty-five,’ Yates repeated. ‘I could do with being that young, but with this loaf — ’ he tapped the side of
