Stephen Booth - Dancing With the Virgins

‘Yes, Fry? What have you got there?’

‘This is the latest surveillance report on Ringham Edge Farm.’

‘Have we still got that surveillance on?’

‘We have. This is the report from last night.’

‘Riveting stuff, is it?’ said Hitchens.

‘Well, judge for yourself. On Friday, the two boys left for school at the usual time in the morning. Their father saw them off. After that, Warren Leach went about his normal work on the farm, as far as could be ascertained by the officers on surveillance duty. Their reports are a bit lacking in technical detail, but some of Leach’s observed activities did involve cows and a tractor, so I suppose we have to take it on trust.’

Tailby didn’t seem interested. ‘We could get Ben Cooper to de-brief them, I suppose. He might spot some anomalies, if you think it’s worthwhile.’

‘Maybe. The report goes on to say that the only visitors to the farm were the postman and the milk tanker driver, both early in the morning. That was it until the boys came home from school, when they were dropped at the bottom of the lane by the school bus. There was nobody at all for seven hours, apart from Leach. Not even a feed sales rep. It must be a pretty quiet life at Ringham Edge.’

‘It sounds idyllic to me at this moment.’

‘I’d call it downright tedious,’ said Hitchens.

‘Saturday was even worse. The tanker driver came as usual, but not the postman. There was no school for the boys.’

‘We can’t justify continuing surveillance on the basis of that sort of report. Call the team off, Paul.’

‘There is one thing, though,’ said Fry.

‘Yes?’

‘DC Gardner was the last officer on surveillance duty. She has added a note on the report at the end of her shift yesterday.’

‘What did she see?’

‘It’s more a question of what she didn’t see.’

Tailby began to get irritated. ‘Don’t play Sherlock Holmes with me, Fry. That’s my role.’

‘Sorry, sir. Gardner says that she understood there were two adults and two children resident at Ringham Edge. She observed the movements of the boys and their father, but not their mother. She never saw any sign of the mother at all, on either of her shifts. DC Gardner queries the whereabouts of Mrs Yvonne Leach.’

Tailby sat up straight. ‘Damn.’

‘Do you think it might be important?’ said Hitchens.

‘It’s something we’ve overlooked. Check the rest of the surveillance reports, Paul. But I’m pretty sure that you’ll find she was never mentioned. Not in any of them. But nobody thought that was in the least remarkable, did they? Not until Toni Gardner.’

‘The others probably assumed Mrs Leach was slaving over the kitchen sink or something,’ said Fry.

‘Idiots.’

‘If she was there, she would have seen the boys off to school in the morning, at least. In fact, she would probably have walked them down the lane to the bus. There’s a killer about somewhere, after all. Any mother would do that. If she was there.’

‘Yes, you’re right, Fry. Let’s establish when she was last seen. We’ve all been going up and down that lane for a week, right past the gate. Somebody must have seen her.’

‘Can I take Ben Cooper with me?’ asked Fry.

Tailby nodded. ‘Good idea. Keep his head down and his mind focused.’ He looked at Hitchens. ‘I’ve got a bad feeling, Paul.’

‘There’s probably an innocent explanation. She may have gone away to stay with a relative or something for a while. She may be ill in bed. There’s a bit of flu about, they reckon.’

‘I’ve still got a bad feeling. Everything about this case gives me a bad feeling.’

When they finally let Mark Roper leave, he knew exactly where he had to go. Though Owen had said the local farmers were important, and that Rangers had a good relationship with them, Ringham Edge was one farm where Mark could see it wasn’t true. Warren Leach reminded him of the man his mother lived with, his so-called stepfather — a man who needed everyone to be submissive to his will to be at ease with himself.

Leach regarded the Ranger with unconcealed hostility when Mark found him in the tractor shed.

‘Well, if it isn’t Ranger Junior. What do you want?’

Mark tried to recall Owen’s advice about dealing with aggressive reactions. Sometimes you had to turn the other cheek, he said, to ignore rudeness and provocation. He had called it diplomacy.

‘I want to talk to you about Owen Fox, Mr Leach.’

‘Him? I heard he got a bit of a shock. Found out what he’s been up to, have they?’

‘Do you know anything about it?’

‘I know I’m not likely to shed any tears over him,’ said Leach. ‘I’ve got my sons to think of.’

Mark frowned. It wasn’t the response he had expected. ‘What about your sons?’

‘What about them?’ Leach looked suddenly even less friendly. ‘I hope you’re not interested in my lads, Ranger Junior. What’s your mate been teaching you?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Some folk took it out on those two youths in the quarry. But personally, I would have trusted those youths a damn sight more with my boys than I’d ever trust that friend of yours.’

Now Mark was confused. The conversation seemed to have drifted away from him to some other subject. ‘Who are you talking about?’

‘Who do you think?’ Leach laughed, without any humour. ‘I’m talking about the Lone Ranger. God in a red jacket. Your mate, Owen Fox. Do you know the kids round here call him Father Christmas? When he goes in the schools, they think Santa has arrived. I bet he likes to get the little boys on his knee and give them a nice present, all right.’

For a moment, Mark didn’t understand what the farmer was saying.

‘What’s up?’ said Leach. ‘Bounced you on his lap a time or two as well, has he? I’d have thought you were too old for him. I reckon he likes them a bit younger, the dirty bastard.’

Mark felt the anger rushing up through his body before he even understood the reason for it. It was a physical response, visceral and frightening, a great flood of rage burning through his veins and overwhelming his judgement. Before he knew what was happening, he had hurled himself at the farmer, lashing out wildly with his fists.

Leach spread his shoulders, drew back a meaty hand and punched Mark in the mouth, knocking him down. The farmer laughed, thrilled at the chance to hit somebody. Mark got back up, flushed and furious, but his blows were uncontrolled and fell harmlessly against Leach’s chest and shoulders. The farmer knocked him to the floor twice more with blows to the face, until the Ranger was bloodied and crying.

Mark wiped the blood from his mouth and touched a loose tooth. He knew he was helpless. But the only thing he could think of was that he wanted to tell Leach that he wasn’t crying because of the pain.

Then Leach noticed his sons watching, wide-eyed, from the corner of the shippon. He looked at Mark on the floor and saw that he was only a boy, too, beaten and humiliated.

‘Go on, clear off,’ he said.

As soon as the Ranger had gone, Warren Leach felt a black depression descend on him. The boys had vanished somewhere. They didn’t even have the excuse of the calf needing attention now. The animal had brought in a bit of money at market. Not much, but enough to pay a fraction of the bills. They had food on the table for a day or two, and a cupboard full of bottles of whisky, which was one of the necessities these days, Leach was discovering.

The boys had gone somewhere they didn’t think he would find them. They didn’t want to be near their father any more, he realized that. Why should his own sons avoid him? He was sure it was because of their mother. After all these years, she seemed to have become his enemy. He was convinced she was in touch with the boys somehow, turning them against him. He didn’t know how she was doing it, but she was poisoning their brains. They had always been such good lads before.