opportunity this is for me to catch up on Helmthorpe gossip. But seriously, Alan, do you see what I mean? Take Weaver. He’s a pleasant enough lad. Trustworthy, competent, thorough. But as far as the villagers are concerned he’s a fixture, boring as a rainy day – though I shouldn’t make that comparison around these parts. See what I mean, though? Half the womenfolk in Helmthorpe probably changed his nappies when he was a nipper, and most of the menfolk’ve given him a clip around the ear once or twice. Nobody will tell Weaver anything. They won’t confide in him. There’s nothing in it for them. But you… You’re the exotic newcomer, the father confessor.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ Banks said, finishing his tea. ‘I was thinking of dropping in at the Bridge tonight; Weaver told me Steadman used to drink there regularly with a few friends.’
Gristhorpe scratched his pitted red chin, and his bushy eyebrows merged in a furrow of concentration. ‘Good idea,’ he said. ‘Imagine it’ll be a bit of a wake tonight. Good time to pick up stray words. They’ll all know who’s been killed, of course, and probably how. Would that chap Barker be one of Steadman’s cronies, by the way?’
‘Yes. Jack Barker, the writer.’
‘Writer be damned!’ Gristhorpe almost choked on a mouthful of scone. ‘Just because he makes money from the claptrap doesn’t mean he’s a writer. Anyway, it’s a good idea. You’ll get something out of them, however useless it might seem at first. What time is it now?’
‘Ten to six.’
‘Supper?’
‘Yes, any time you’re ready.’ Banks had almost forgotten how hungry he was.
‘It won’t be owt special, you know,’ Gristhorpe called out as he went to the kitchen. ‘Just salad and leftover roast beef.’
TWO
Sally and Kevin raced the last few yards and collapsed, panting, by Ross Ghyll. They were high up on Tetchley Fell, on the south side of the dale, having walked to the source of one of the numerous becks that meander their way down to the Swain.
When they had caught their breath, Kevin kissed her, thrusting his tongue deep into her mouth, and they lay down together on the pale springy grass. He touched her breasts, felt the nipples harden through thin cotton, and slowly let his hand slide down between her legs. She was wearing jeans, and the pressure of the thick seam against her sex made her tingle with excitement. But she broke free and sat up, distracted.
‘I’m going to tell the police, Kevin,’ she said.
‘B-but we-’
She laughed and hit him lightly on the arm. ‘Not about this, stupid. About last night.’
‘But then they’ll know about us,’ he protested. ‘They’ll be sure to tell.’
‘No, they won’t. Why should they? You can tell them things in confidence, you know, like Catholics and priests. Besides,’ she added, twirling a strand of hair between her slim fingers, ‘my mum and dad know we were together. I told them we were at your house and we forgot about the time.’
‘I just don’t think we should get involved, that’s all. It could be dangerous, being a witness.’
‘Oh, don’t be daft. I think it’s rather exciting, myself.’
‘You would. What if the killer thinks we really saw something?’
‘Nobody knew we were up there. Nobody saw us.’
‘How do you know?’
‘It was dark, and we were too far away.’
‘He might see you going to the police station.’
Sally laughed. ‘I’ll wear a disguise, then. Now you’re being really silly. There’s nothing to be afraid of.’
Kevin fell silent. Once again he felt he’d been outwitted and outreasoned by a mere girl.
‘I won’t tell them who you are if it bothers you so much,’ Sally went on, reassuring him. ‘I’ll just say that I was with a friend I’d rather not name. Talking.’
‘Talking!’ Kevin laughed and reached for her. ‘Is that what we were doing?’
Sally giggled. His hand was on her breast again, but she pushed him away and stood up, brushing the grass from her jeans.
‘Come on, Sally,’ he pleaded. ‘You know you want it as much as I do.’
‘Do I now?’
‘Yes.’ He made a grab for her ankle but she stepped nimbly aside.
‘Maybe,’ she said. ‘But not now. Especially with someone who’s ashamed to admit he was with me last night. Besides, I have to be home for tea or my dad’ll kill me.’ And she was off like the wind. Sighing, Kevin got to his feet and plodded along behind her.
THREE
‘When you hit someone over the head, Doc,’ Jack Barker asked, ‘does the blood gush, pour or just flow?’
‘That’s a pretty tasteless question at a time like this, isn’t it?’ Barnes said.
Barker reached for his pint. ‘It’s for my book.’
‘In that case, I shouldn’t think accuracy matters, then, does it? Use the most violent word you can think of. Your readers won’t know any more than you do.’
‘You’re wrong there, Doc. You should see some of the letters I get. There’s plenty of ghouls among the reading public. Do you know how many of those little old ladies are hooked on gruesome forensic details?’
‘No. And I don’t want to, either. I see enough blood in my line of work as it is. And I still think you’re showing poor taste talking like that before poor Harry’s even in the ground.’
It was early, and Barnes and Barker were the only members of the informal group sitting in the snug.
‘Death comes to us all in the end, Doc,’ Barker replied. ‘You ought to know that. You’ve helped enough people shuffle off their mortal coils.’
Barnes scowled at him. ‘How can you be so bloody flippant? For God’s sake, have a bit of decency, Jack. Even you’ve got to admit that his death was an untimely one.’
‘It must have been timely enough for the killer.’
‘I don’t understand you, Jack. Never in a million years…’ Barnes sighed over his beer. ‘Still, I have to keep reminding myself you write about this kind of thing all the time.’
‘It’s just shock,’ Barker said, reaching for a cigarette. ‘Believe it or not, I didn’t personally witness every murder I’ve written about. And as you well know, I’ve never set foot on American soil either.’ He ran a hand across his slicked-back hair. ‘It’s a bloody sad business, all right. I know we used to tease the poor bugger about his rusty nails and pigs of lead, but I’ll miss him a lot.’
Barnes acknowledged the eulogy with a curt nod.
‘Have the police been talking to you yet?’ Barker asked.
The doctor seemed surprised. ‘Me? Goodness, no. Why should they?’
‘Oh, come off it, Doc. I know you’re an eminent GP, pillar of the community and all that crap. But that kind of thing doesn’t cut much ice with the CID, old man. And it doesn’t alter the fact that you were here last night with the rest of us and you left quite a bit earlier than usual.’
‘You surely don’t think the police would…’ he began. Then he relaxed and mumbled almost to himself, ‘Of course, they’ll have to check every angle. Leave no stone unturned.’
‘Cut the cliches,’ Barker said. ‘They hurt.’
Barnes snorted. ‘I can’t see why; you write enough of them yourself.’
‘It’s one thing giving the public what it wants and the publishers what they pay for, but quite another to spout them out in intelligent company. Anyway, you look worried, Doc. What skeletons will they find in your cupboard?’
