o oo o
at several bulging sacks, A cloud of dark feathers drifted out of the hut behind them, settling on their shoulders and sticking in
‘ o o
their hair. From the sacks came a steady complaint of trapped birds and an occasional rustle of feathers. The two men were sweating and dishevelled and breathing hard. Wilford was very red in the face and giving a series of faint, gasping laughs. The
O O ‘ O 1 O O
little man from the van looked wild-eyed, even frightened by his experience in the hut.
‘Sunday morning,’ said Sam. ‘Well, I don’t get up too early these days. But I was dressed by about half past ten, when my son came to collect me. That’s Davey. Him and his wife always take me for Sunday dinner at their place in Edendale.’
‘Do you come up here much to help Mr Cutts?’ asked Cooper.
‘I’m not much use to him really. But I have to find something
to fill my time.’
j
‘Does he have any other help?’
‘A lad or two, that he pays a few bob for the heavy work. And Harry comes up here too, to help.’
‘Harry Dickinson again?’
‘Yes, that Harry. You’ll know him,’ he said to Cooper.
The sacks thudded one after another into the back of the Transit, and the driver clambered in and began to coast back down the track. No money seemed to have changed hands between the two men.
‘Give us a hand here, Sam,’ called Wilford. ‘We’ve got one that’s badly. Broke its legs on the wire, I reckon.’
‘Goat’s out again, Wilford.’
‘She’ll wait.’
Sam limped over towards the hut, and Wilford tossed him a hen that had been hanging upside down from his hand, its wings
oof ‘ o
outspread, its beak gaping and panting. Fry had never seen a hen so close before, and was startled to see the thin red sliver of flesh that protruded from its beak, like the darting tongue of a snake.
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The bird had soiled itself, and the soft feathers round its anus were stained yellow. Fry swallowed, swearing never to eat an egg again.
‘Sam’s a dab hand at this,’ said Wilford cheerfully. ‘He doesn’t look to have much strength in his wrists, does he? But it’s all in
o
the technique, see.’
‘It’s just practice and a bit of a knack,’ said Sam, taking a firm grip on the bird. He tucked its body under his armpit, folding its wings closed and pressing it tight against his side. Then he closed the fingers of his right hand around the hen’s scrawny neck and pushed his thumb hard into its throat. He twisted and pulled suddenly. There was a faint crack and the bird’s eyes went dull. The wings beat desperately, their dying strength defeating Sam Beeley’s efforts to hold it still as they flapped wildly, releasing a spray of pinion feathers that drifted on to his trousers and boots. The bird’s legs kicked frantically and its tail lifted to eject another spurt of yellow. Then its claws relaxed and hung downwards, pointing limply at the ground with pitiful finality.
‘You’ve killed it,’ said Fry, astonished.
The two old men laughed, and she was amazed to see Cooper smiling too.
‘It’s called putting them out of their misery,’ said Sam. ‘If you do it right, and do it quick, they feel no pain.’
‘It’s disgusting,’ said Fry. ‘It’s revolting.’
‘I suppose,’ said Sam, holding out the limp bird towards her, ‘that you won’t want to take it home for your tea then.’
Fry took a step back as a dribble of saliva ran out of the bird’s gaping beak and dripped into the dust. Its scaly legs looked cold and reptilian where they were gripped in Sam’s bony fingers.
‘No?’
‘Never mind. I’ll take it in for Connie,’ said Wilford.
Cooper and Fry got back into the car. Fry wound up her window to keep out the musty smell of dried poultry droppings
drifting from the door of the shed. The two old men stood Watch fe
ing them turn round, and Sam gave them a small, cheerful wave. When they reached the bottom of the track, another van was turning in.
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12
A.nd now the good news,’ said DC1 Tailby.
Tired heads perked up all around the incident room. Most of the officers were finishing the daytime shift,
