Black dog

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Beeley,’ said Cooper.

‘I suppose it has, lad. I suppose it has. But, like I told you, my memory’s not that good. I remember the war, but not much since, if you know what I mean.’

From the hut where Wilford and his visitor had disappeared, a great cacophony of cackling and screeching erupted, accompanied by the flapping of scores of wings.

‘What are they doing in there?’ asked shee.

J O -

‘That bloke with the van is buying some of Wilford’s birds, see,’ said Sam, as if it was perfectly obvious. ‘Wilford left them inside today, those young Marans. But they’re a bit active. It’s better if you can move them at night — they don’t give you as

J & > O J

much trouble then.’

‘It sounds horrendous.’

‘They’re good layers, them Marans,’ said Sam.

O ,

‘Mr Beelev, did you know Laura Vernon?’

j ‘ j

‘I know the family. Comcrs-in, aren’t they? Half the village

J ‘ ^ O

seem to be comers-in these davs. They’ve only been there a vear

141

or two, at the Mount. They walked in the pub one niaht, you

know, when they first arrived. Eh. you should have seen their

‘ ^ ‘ p>

faces. They never thought they’d be mixing with the hoi polloi like us. But they couldn’t walk straight out again, so they had to sit there and drink their gin and tonics like a right pair of southern pillocks.’

‘They’re from Nottingham, I believe.’

‘Aye.’

Sam shifted his feet in the dry earth. One of them seemed to stick and move suddenly sideways, as if he had lost control of it through cramp. His shoe clanged against the side of an enamel bowl half full of water, left there for the geese, presumably.

‘Mr Beeley, we’re asking everybody what they might have seen in the area of the Baulk at about the time Laura Vernon was killed,’ said Fry.

‘Oh, you want my alibi, eh?’

‘No, that wasn’t what I asked for, sir.’

Sam chuckled. ‘Only I don’t go in much for running after young girls these days. It’s my legs, you see. Got them both bust once, in the mine. They mended, but they were never right after that. Now that I’m getting older, they don’t work

O O O ‘ J

too well at all.’

‘Were you in the area on Saturday night?’ asked Fry. ‘Or Sunday morning?’

‘What’s that accent?’ asked Sam, cocking his head and

‘ O

scratching his ear with the knife. ‘You Welsh, or what?’

O

‘I’m from the Black Country.’

‘Eh?’

‘Birmingham,’ snapped Fry.

‘Ah. I’ve never been there. Wouldn’t want to, either.’

‘Saturday night, Mr Beeley?’

‘Saturday night? Well, I’d be in the Drover till about eleven o’clock, with Wilford. It was a bit busy that night. Tourists, you know, in the summer. B & B people. A lot of cars about too.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘I don’t live far from the pub. I can just about walk that far. And we do tend to have a few drinks on a Saturday. No driving to do, you know.’

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There were tourists in the pub. Strangers to the village, then.’

‘Full of them,’ said Sam.

Willord and the van driver emerged from the hut, tupping