Cath Staincliffe - Bleed Like Me

‘Yes.’ Janet nodded, waiting for the rest of the story.

‘So, erm, Pamela and Owen said they’d have her, till we knew what was what with Billy.’ She stopped and looked at Janet, bewildered.

‘So this morning?’ Janet prompted.

‘I was coming back from work, night shift, Oldham Royal, I’m a nurse. And, erm, Pepper, the dog, she was on the road.’

‘Whereabouts?’

‘The other side of the hill, about quarter of a mile beyond the pub. I stopped and fetched her – took her up round the back. Owen answered the door.’

Janet gave a small nod, not betraying the flush of adrenalin that increased her heartbeat. They would have to establish the time and all the other hard details but now she just needed Tessa to finish the story, to let it flow as much as possible, while it was still clear in her mind, unmuddied by the fallout of shock and speculation.

‘He said she must have got out,’ Tessa said.

‘They kept her in the house?’ Janet checked.

‘Yes, they have to. The gate on the drive’s never shut. And I said, she’d better not have got in with Grainger’s sheep or he’d be up there with a shotgun. Or get the police round.’ A look of alarm bloomed across her face. ‘They weren’t…?’

Shot . ‘No,’ said Janet.

Tessa swallowed, her hands clenched tight in her lap. ‘The boys, they came downstairs while we were talking.’

‘Theo and Harry?’

‘They’re all right?’ Tessa said.

‘We believe Mr Cottam has taken them with him.’

‘Oh.’ She gave a little gasp.

‘You saw the boys, and then?’

‘That was it. I came home.’

‘Tell me more about Grainger?’

‘He owns a lot of the land beyond the pub. The farmhouse is further down the valley, going away from town. There’ve been a few problems: kids from the estate on those mini motorbikes, and dogs worrying the sheep. That’s why I said that to Owen about Pepper. She’s been in there before and Billy managed to get her back before she did any damage, but Grainger, he always calls the police.’

‘That’s very helpful,’ Janet said. ‘We’re going to need a full witness statement from you and it would be very useful to do that at the police station. I realize this is a lot to take in. Can I make you a cup of tea?’

‘No, I’m fine, thanks. I’ll just get dressed,’ Tessa said.

‘Of course. I’ll come back in half an hour and we’ll get you down to the station then,’ Janet said.

Tessa stood up but paused at the door. ‘How could he do that?’ she asked.

‘We don’t know,’ Janet said. ‘We only have a limited amount of information at the moment.’

‘He wouldn’t do that,’ she said, ‘he just wouldn’t.’ She bit her lips together and shook her head, looking up at the ceiling. ‘The boys – do you think they’re going to be all right?’

Janet didn’t reply. What answer could she possibly give?

Rachel could see that what Janet had found out from Tessa Bowen was crucial to the inquiry, giving them a possible last sighting of Owen Cottam, and she radioed through the information immediately. She was keen to get her to the station and take a written statement.

‘I’ve left her getting ready,’ Janet told Rachel, ‘said we’d call back for her. Do you think we’d better check out this Grainger fella, just in case he went ballistic, saw the dog worrying his sheep and decided to teach Cottam a lesson he’d never forget?’

‘Thought farmers did it with shotguns?’ Rachel said. Not that they came across many on their patch as a rule; not a lot of call for farmers in North Manchester, not unless it was a cannabis farm. Fair few shotguns though. Sawn off, usually.

‘Oh, yes, invariably,’ Janet said.

‘Besides, what’s he done with his nibs and the nippers? Fed ’em to his pigs?’

Janet closed her eyes, a pose of martyrdom.

‘What?’ Rachel said.

‘Your turn of phrase leaves a lot to be desired.’

‘Tell your mum was a schoolteacher,’ Rachel said.

‘What was yours?’

A failure . ‘Housewife,’ Rachel invented. ‘Wait!’

‘What?’

Rachel scrabbled through her pockets. ‘Okay. Thought I’d lost the keys for a minute.’ She hadn’t but it served to derail the conversation well enough; now she could shift it to safer ground.

The track to Grainger’s farm was halfway down the hillside, a turning to the right, tarmac part of the way then given over to dirt and stones. The gate into the farmyard was shut and various warning signs plastered about made it plain that no one was welcome. An impression reinforced by the broken stile just at the side of the gate and the rotting public footpath sign half hidden by brambles.

In the farmyard there were some geese, big brutes, and Rachel was glad they were the other side of the barrier. A dog, out of sight, was barking its balls off, which brought a man from one of the outbuildings.

Rat-faced, Rachel thought, no chin, spike of a nose, daft-looking moustache, like something you’d buy on a sheet of cardboard from the toy stall on the market.

‘Mr Grainger?’ Janet said.

‘Who’s asking?’

Always a good start . Rachel and Janet flashed their warrant cards. ‘We’re investigating a serious incident at Journeys Inn,’ Janet said. ‘Have you been aware of any disturbances, anyone entering your property, any unusual traffic in the area?’

Rachel briefly imagined catamarans, penny-farthings, air balloons. Should have eaten, her mind jittery because she’d not.

‘No,’ he said and turned to spit.

Fuck’s sake, Rachel thought. Wild west. Just need the chaps and spurs. ‘What can you tell us about Mr Cottam?’ she said.

Grainger pursed his lips, gave a shrug. Bored, indifferent. Rachel wondered if he’d change his tune once he heard the story. Would that get his tongue wagging.

‘You know him?’ Janet said.

‘By sight.’

‘Neighbours though,’ Janet pointed out. Grainger said nothing.

‘You seen him recently?’ Rachel said.

A cat stalked across between the barn and the farmhouse, tail held high, ignoring the geese, though the birds moved and grouped as if they’d attack.

Grainger shook his head. ‘Saw his car, this morning,’ he said, ‘early.’

Rachel felt a prick of interest. ‘What time?’ she said.

‘Quarter to seven, ten to.’ Minutes after Tessa had returned the dog at six thirty .

‘Was he driving?’ Rachel said.

‘Wasn’t near enough to see.’

They didn’t get much more from Grainger. He’d not seen the dog, Pepper, and claimed to know little about his closest neighbours. But curiosity finally overcame his mealy-mouthed act and he said, ‘What’s this incident then?’

‘Suspected murder,’ Janet said. And Rachel saw the blink signalling his surprise. Quick recovery though.

‘The wife?’ he said.

‘Why d’you say that?’ Rachel asked him.

‘Usually is. Wife or husband, and if you thought he was in the car…’

Columbo .

Janet did the formal spiel. ‘We have three victims, identities are not as yet confirmed.’

He didn’t speak. Just gave a nod.

‘We’d like you to call into the station as soon as possible, make a witness statement.’ Janet handed him a card. His hand shook as he took it. His age? Or does he actually give a fuck? He tipped his head again.

Janet phoned through to the incident room, then and there, told them they’d a key witness sighting of Cottam’s car from the farmer and that he’d be in to make a formal statement.

‘Central casting,’ Rachel muttered as they retraced their steps to the car.

‘They’re not all like that,’ Janet said. ‘I met a very nice farmer once, literate, witty, sociable – friend of Gill’s.’