‘You find anything?’ the doctor asked.
Harry shook his head. ‘No, not really. Someone obviously left in a hurry. I could see that from the stuff knocked onto the floor in the kitchen. Not a trace of them outside though. How are you doing?’
The doctor winced. ‘I’m okay, honestly. It’s just a knock.’
‘A knock?’ Harry exclaimed. ‘You were twatted on the bonce with a log! You’re lucky that your skull isn’t cracked!’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ the doctor agreed. ‘Sorry I didn’t get out here quicker. I can’t believe someone would do . . . what they did. Poor Jack.’
Harry moved to stand beside the doctor. ‘Can you remember what happened?’ he asked, taking out his little notebook.
‘My head’s a little fuzzy,’ the doctor said.
‘I’m sure it is,’ Harry replied, ‘but if we can get the details down now, that stops you forgetting anything.’
‘Right, yes,’ the doctor said. ‘So, what happened . . .’
Harry watched as the doctor stood up and moved away from the vehicle. When he turned to face Harry, there was more than a hint of determination in his eyes. ‘In your own time.’
‘I was talking with Jack,’ the doctor explained. ‘Just going through his drugs, asking how he’d been keeping, if he’d been doing as I’d requested and moved more, that kind of thing. Then he sort of just fell silent, I looked up to see him staring over my head, and then I think that was when I must have been struck, but the next thing I remember is coming to, blood everywhere, seeing Jack, checking him, realising he was gone, then running out here to get you.’
‘Where were you in the room?’ Harry asked.
‘On the sofa,’ the doctor answered.
Harry closed his eyes for a moment, picturing the lounge. He could see the sofa, that it was pushed up close to the wall.
‘But you just said that Jack stared over your head. The sofa is up against the wall.’
The doctor rubbed his eyes and let out a moan.
‘Ah, yes, sorry, memory is fuzzy. I was on the sofa to begin with, then I was down on the floor, to check Jack’s legs.’
‘That makes sense,’ Harry said. ‘And you saw nothing of the person who hit you?’
‘Not a thing,’ the doctor replied. ‘And whatever they hit me with, it certainly put me down quick.’
Harry thought about what he’d seen, what he’d just been told. If he was looking for the case to get any easier, then what had just happened was only going to do the opposite.
‘Something bothering you?’ the doctor asked.
‘Yes, I mean, I don’t know,’ Harry said. ‘It’s just that I can’t see why the suspect would sneak up and hit you on the head? Why risk being seen at all? Why not wait until you’d left?’
‘Don’t ask me,’ the doctor said. ‘Maybe I disturbed them or something. All I know is that my head hurts like hell and this shirt will need to be dry cleaned.’
‘You’re not wrong there,’ Harry said, slipping his notebook back into his pocket. ‘Now, are you sure you’re alright?’
The doctor nodded. ‘I’m fine, honestly.’
‘You don’t look fine.’
‘The head always bleeds a lot,’ the doctor said. ‘You must remember splitting your head open as a kid, then just carrying on with the day as though nothing had happened, the only evidence of it being a plaster on your forehead?’
Harry laughed. He had many such memories, and not just from being a kid.
‘So what now?’ the doctor asked.
‘The circus comes to town,’ Harry said. ‘Only it’s not as much fun and the ring keeper is a very serious pathologist who would probably take the easy way out and eat the lions rather than tame them.’
‘Oh dear,’ said the doctor.
‘Exactly,’ agreed Harry.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Harry was back at the Community Office, his hands clasped around the pint mug of tea Matt had bought for him. The day had rolled on with no consideration for lunch time, and having seen the Scene of Crime team turn up, and heard the grumbles about being called out for the third time in three days to the arse end of nowhere, Harry had watched the comings and goings just long enough to be polite, before heading back to Hawes. Doctor Smith had made the sensible choice of leaving before any of them arrived, having given his statement to Harry. And in front of him now was a plate of sliced cake from Cockett’s and another plate with some crumbly Wensleydale cheese, and standing in front of him was a dapperly dressed man with the build of an ex-rugby player and a smile on him as warm and welcome as a fire on a winter’s day.
‘You didn’t have to, Dave,’ Harry said, reaching for a piece of the cake. ‘But it’s very much appreciated.’
And Harry meant it, about the cake at any rate. The cheese he still wasn’t so sure about, particularly the eating of it with cake.
Harry had met Dave Calvert on his first day in Hawes. He’d been good enough to give him a lift through town and up to meet Jim at the auction mart. And over the past few weeks, he’d often popped in to see how things were going and how Harry was getting on. He usually brought food with him as well.
‘Oh, it’s no bother,’ Dave said. ‘From what I’ve been hearing, it’s pretty tough for you lot here right now. And I’m heading off tomorrow, so thought I’d just pop in and wish you well.’
‘Very kind,’ Harry said. ‘So you’re on the rigs, then?’
‘Aye, back in a few weeks, mind.’
Harry sipped his tea. The only other person in the room with them was Jenny, who was taking
