explain why the leaves of the docks disturbed him so much more than the other plants. When he pulled at them, they stretched and wrinkled in his hands, like aged skin. They might be warm on the surface, where they had been touched by the sun. But underneath, they were always cold and damp, like the grave.
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Philip Granger mounted his motorbike and put on his helmet. He looked across the bridge at Withens. He had one more job he wanted to do, one more person to see. Then, perhaps, he could get on with his life and pretend that everything was OK. Then he could leave it to others to sort out the mess.
As he rode north through the village, he looked for his uncle and cousins near Waterloo Terrace, but could see no signs of them. Philip smiled. He knew that the Reverend Alton would be able to tell where he was heading by the sound of his bike engine, but he didn’t care. There was, after all, only one place he could be going once he had passed through Withens in this direction.
When Michael Dearden had finishing inspecting the locks and bolts on the doors of the house, he went around all the windows. There were a lot of windows in Shepley Head Lodge, some of them in out of the way corners that could be reached unobserved from outside. He might have to block a few of them up some time.
Gail said it wasn’t logical to check the security of the house in the morning when he got up, as well as at night before he went to bed. She said it was obsessive. But Gail knew nothing. If their security had been breached during the night, it was vital to be aware of it straight away. There would be evidence to be gathered, a crime scene to be preserved intact for the arrival of the police. Not that the police would come, of course. But at least they wouldn’t be able to blame him for not having followed the proper procedures.
So Dearden made it a regular routine to carry out his inspection first thing every morning before he did anything else, particularly before Gail started drifting around the house, disturbing evidence without even noticing anything was wrong. When he was finally satisfied that the lodge hadn’t been ransacked during the night, Dearden looked outside. Because of the elevated position of the house, he had a good view of the frontal approach, where the drive swung up off the road. There was no sign of anyone out there this morning. The postman might be along later on, if he came at all. Dearden had once investigated the possibility of buying the last hundred yards of the road from Withens and closing it off. The road wasn’t adopted by the highways authority beyond the village, so it wasn’t an official highway. But it had turned out that this section belonged to the farmer who
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owned the land on either side, and the farmer wouldn’t listen to reason when Dearden raised the idea.
The hack of the house was the big problem. The yard and the huddle of outbuildings backed into the hillside. He was sure this was the way they had come in when they raided his property before. There were walls built against the hill, but they were bulging and slipping under the pressure and were no barrier to anyone determined enough.
Dearden walked out into the yard and knew immediately that something was wrong. He saw that somebody had knocked over the dustbin. They had strewn rubbish all across his yard.
‘Mr Dearden?’
Dearden jumped in alarm. How could he not have noticed the person standing near his side gate?
‘How did you get here?’
‘On my motorbike.’
‘What motorbike?’
‘It’s here, behind the wall.’
The motorbike was invisible on the other side of the stone wall. Dearden realized he might be making a mistake by only keeping an eye out for cars on the road.
‘What are you doing here?’ said Dearden.
‘Do you know who I am? I’m Philip Granger.’
‘Yes. It was your brother who was killed. Alex knew him.’
‘That’s right.’
Dearden struggled for a moment over what to say. Then he looked at the young man’s motorcycle leathers and black hair.
‘You’re related to the Oxleys, aren’t you?’
‘Lucas is my uncle,’ said Philip.
‘I’ll give you two minutes to get off my property.’
‘Sorry?’
Dearden gestured at the tipped-over dustbin. ‘Do you know anything about this? Were you here last night with some of your cousins?’
‘No. I ‘
‘I don’t want you here. Your family is nothing but trouble.’
‘All I wanted to say was ‘
‘Now you’ve got one minute.’
‘OK, OK, I’m going.’
With narrowed eyes, Dearden watched Philip Granger start up his bike and leave. Those people from Withens were getting even
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more brazen if they were wandering on to his property in broad daylight. Serious action would have to be taken.
-BPB-I
Derek Alton picked up the stick that Lucas Oxley had given him. $j
He bounced it in his palm a few times, enjoying the feel of the 1f
wood. He liked its solidity, and the smoothness of its grain. It had a satisfying weight and balance, as if it were a natural extension of his arm. When he held the stick up to the light, he could see the bruises and scarring along
