Harry’s mind was suddenly filled with the face of his new temporary boss, Detective Superintendent Graham Swift, and he quickly pulled Gordy and Jenny to one side. The man was already somehow convinced that Harry had brought with him an air of bad luck, seeing as there had been a murder within days of him arriving in Hawes. Another in less than a month would, Harry figured, have the man convinced he was the devil himself.
‘Liz, as you already know, is at the house. Jim’s on the gate working as Scene Guard, and Matt’s up where the body is, keeping an eye on things and hopefully out of the way.’
‘So what do you want us to do?’ Gordy asked. ‘Not that I’ve got long as I’m expected over in Harrogate on another case later on.’
‘We’ve probably got time to go grab some coffee if you want?’ Jenny added. ‘It’ll be cold by the time we get back, like, but it’s the thought that counts, isn’t it?’
‘You’re on door-to-door,’ Harry said. ‘I can’t be arsed with waiting for any uniform to turn up. It’s not like the dales is over run with available police staff, is it? And I’m not going to have us standing around for when Swift turns up to get in the way. It won’t take long. It’s not exactly a big place, but someone might have seen or heard something.’
‘What’ve we actually got?’ Gordy asked.
Harry gave them a quick run through of what was up in the field. Their expressions were enough to tell Harry that he’d laid it on just thick enough with his description to give them a fair idea of what had happened.
‘Hell of a way to go,’ Jenny said.
‘You could say that,’ said Harry. ‘What do you know of the deceased?’
Gordy said, ‘Not much, but then I’ve not been around here as long as everyone else. All I know is that he had a bit of a rum reputation. Wasn’t liked, that kind of thing.’
‘Jenny?’ Harry asked, knowing that, like Jim, she’d lived in the area her whole life, so perhaps had a little more to offer.
‘Let’s just put it this way,’ Jenny said. ‘The problem we’re going to have is finding someone who didn’t have a motive.’
‘You what?’ Harry asked, a little shocked to hear such a response. ‘There’s a big difference between being not liked and everyone wanting you dead!’
Jenny gave a shrug. ‘Look, I’m not saying that people actually wanted him dead.’
‘Well, you kind of just did,’ Gordy said. ‘Even used the word motive, if I’m recalling it right, which I am, seeing as it was, ooh, ten seconds ago at best?’
‘So what are you saying?’ Harry asked. ‘Be a bit more specific. People really had it in for him?’
Jenny was quiet for a moment, then looked over at Harry and said, ‘Let’s just say that come the funeral, the church will be pretty bloody empty, that’s for sure.’
‘That’s not exactly being specific, is it?’ Harry said. ‘And there’s an ocean of difference between not showing up to wave him off to whatever fate awaits him on the other side and crushing him with a tractor and trailer!’
‘Perhaps I spoke out of turn,’ Jenny said.
‘Aye, perhaps,’ Gordy said, an eyebrow raised just enough.
With nothing else to say, Harry quickly sent Jenny and Gordy off to go knocking on doors. It was the simplest of all police work, so he was rather pleased to see that Gordy was happy to head off and get cracking, but then she probably knew as well as he did that it usually brought something in. Not always evidence as such, but it often added colour to the setting of the crime, a local flavour. And getting that first hand was always an advantage.
The glinting which Harry had noticed from the field had gone by the time he got to where he had seen it come from, which was a large house set back from the road a little, behind a verge of grass. It was obviously a farm, judging by the stack of black-plastic covered bales in front of it on the grass.
Harry went up to the front door and gave a hard, sharp knock, then waited.
Nothing.
Harry looked around the door for sign of a bell, couldn’t see one, so knocked again.
Still nothing.
Harry, working to keep his frustration under control, not just from being spied on, but from now being ignored, raised his fist to knock again, when a voice called out from a driveway leading around to the right of the house. It was quickly followed by a deep, threatening growl, which had an almost prehistoric, flesh-eating monster echo to it.
Turning towards the sound, Harry was met with the sight of a man who seemed to be built entirely of rage, his face a thing of thunder. He was wearing the uniform of the dales farmer: wellington boots, scruffy denim trousers, and a shirt rolled up to just above the elbows. But what Harry’s eyes were drawn to more was the huge hound on the end of a thick leash clasped in the man’s meaty hands.
‘Who the bloody hell are you?’
Harry went to introduce himself, but the man got in first.
‘You the police? You don’t look like the police, but I bet that’s what you are, right? The police? Up here in t’ field with that lot, aren’t you? And what’s up with your face? Right bloody mess, that. What happened? Fall into a bailer or something?’
‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Grimm,’ Harry said, but declined to say anything to answer the man’s last question.
He didn’t move towards the man and his beast of a dog, but instead waited for them to approach him. It gave him time to assess the situation and be a little more in control of it. It was also a little more passive, because here in front of him was a man clearly looking for confrontation, and Harry figured striding
