Stephen Booth - Dancing With the Virgins

Leach was aware he hadn’t always been a perfect father. And he shouldn’t have let Will and Dougie see him hitting the young Ranger. At first, he had thought they would admire him, see him as the strong father he used to be, a man who was afraid of no one. But the feeling didn’t last long. It became mingled with a sense of shame. The boy he had beaten could just as easily have been one of his own sons, in a few years’ time.

When Leach tried to think about what had happened in his life over the last couple of months, his mind shied and balked at the enormity of it. It was a problem so huge that he couldn’t contemplate it, couldn’t even begin to consider how to cope with it. He could only follow helplessly the little trickles of thought that ran this way and that in his brain, seeking a way out of the nightmare.

And finally, Warren Leach faced the possibility that he might not be around to see his sons reach Mark Roper’s age.

When Ben Cooper and Diane Fry drove into the yard at Ringham Edge Farm early next morning, they had to swerve to avoid the front bumper of a milk tanker. When they got out, they could hear Warren Leach yelling at the driver.

‘What good is that to me?’ he was shouting. ‘How am I supposed to survive?’

‘It’s not my fault, mate. Your cell count is way up. You know the way it works as well as I do.’

‘They’re robbing me blind. I need that milk cheque to live on.’

Cooper saw Leach and the driver facing each other. They had their hands on their hips, and both looked angry and stubborn. Leach had been loading a stack of heavy fencing posts into a trailer attached to the back of his tractor.

‘I can’t help you,’ said the driver. ‘It’s nothing to do with me. Do you want me to take this milk or not?’

‘What’s the bloody point?’

The driver finally lost patience. ‘Suit yourself then. I can’t hang around any longer.’

He got back in his cab and the diesel engine rumbled. Leach grabbed a fencing post and hurled it like a javelin. It bounced off the back of the tanker, leaving a small dent in the paintwork above the rear number plate.

‘I wouldn’t do that, Mr Leach,’ said Cooper.

‘Piss off,’ said Leach.

‘Some trouble with your cell count, is it? That can be tricky to sort out. Not mastitis, I hope.’

‘They reckon I’m not cleaning the equipment properly. Not changing the filters. So they’ve docked my milk cheque. Now they’re threatening not to take my milk at all. Bastards.’

‘That would be pretty serious, I suppose.’

‘Serious?’ Leach went goggle-eyed with amazement at the understatement. ‘My cows give better milk than any in Derbyshire. What the hell did you want, anyway?’

‘We’re hoping to speak to Mrs Leach.’

‘You can hope, then.’

‘Where is she?’

‘She’s gone, that’s where.’

‘Left?’

‘Aye. So why don’t the rest of you bugger off and leave me alone as well? I’ve had enough.’

‘Can you tell me where she is, Mr Leach?’

‘No, I can’t.’

‘We’d like to speak to her.’

‘Well, you can do what I have to do — speak to her solicitor. That’s what the letter says that I got. If I want to communicate with her in the future, I have to do it through her solicitor. And I’m her husband! I didn’t even know she had a bloody solicitor.’

‘Perhaps you could give us the name of your wife’s solicitor then.’

‘Bloody hell. Will you go away and leave me alone, if I do?’

‘For the time being, sir.’

Leach turned and marched towards the house. They began to follow him, gradually closing the distance.

‘Stay here,’ snapped Leach, and slammed the door behind him.

They had no option but to wait until Leach came back. A ginger tom cat strolled across the yard and stared at them. The cat was scrawny, its ears bitten. But it was a farm cat, used to fending for itself and finding its own food in the dark corners of the buildings, used to fighting its own battles against rats, dogs and other cats. Cooper clicked his tongue at it and held out his hand in a friendly gesture. But the cat ignored him.

Fry walked over to look at the house. She found some black plastic bin liners by the back door that were split and bursting with rubbish. She looked at Cooper and screwed up her nose. There was a lace curtain across the window which prevented her from seeing in.

When Leach returned, he had a letter which he pushed in front of Cooper’s face.

‘Yes, divorce proceedings,’ said Leach. ‘What do you think of that?’

Fry found herself behind Leach, near the open door of the farmhouse. Out of the corner of his eye, Cooper saw her stand on the step and push the door open a bit more so that she could see inside, being careful not to enter.

Cooper wrote down the name and address of Mrs Leach’s solicitor in his notebook.

‘I’m sorry to hear that, Mr Leach. What about the boys? It’s always tough on the children.’

Leach stared at him suspiciously, but said nothing.

‘That’s all I need for now, sir, thank you,’ said Cooper.

Leach turned suddenly, moving quickly for a big man, and saw Fry standing in his doorway. The expression on her face seemed to infuriate him.

‘Bitch!’

Leach hurled himself across the few yards that separated him from Fry. He was like a charging bull, and looked likely to flatten her against the wall. Cooper reacted too slowly, reached out and tried to grab his belt, but missed. He saw Fry step away from the door, giving herself a bit of clear space, flexing her leg to test the strength of her injured knee. She put out her left hand, her palm facing out towards Leach like a traffic officer. It looked like an appeal, a feeble defensive gesture, but Cooper knew it was her weak hand that she was offering as she adjusted the balance of her body.

Leach threw a vicious punch. His fist whistled past Fry’s shoulder as she blocked his elbow with her right forearm. She jabbed her heel into the back of his knee and he hit the ground heavily, rolling on to his face in the muck left by the cows.

‘Ouch,’ said Fry, as she stumbled, rubbing her ankle. ‘That damn cattle market has something to answer for.’

Cooper finally caught up. He put his knee in the flat of Leach’s back and grabbed for one of his wrists with the intention of getting the kwik-cuffs on. But he hesitated. All the fight had gone out of the farmer suddenly. His body was slack and unresisting.

‘Going to be sensible, Mr Leach?’

The farmer grunted. The grunt didn’t seem to communicate much, but Cooper let go of his wrist and didn’t bother with the cuffs.

‘What are you doing, Ben?’ asked Fry.

‘It’s all right.’

Cooper checked Leach’s breathing, his pulse and his heart. The farmer still didn’t resist. In fact, with small movements of his arms and legs, he seemed to be trying to dig himself deeper into the mud. An indistinguishable mumble came from his mouth. Cooper turned the man’s head and looked at his face. Suddenly, he got up and dusted off his trousers. Leach still didn’t move, except to turn his face back into the muck as Fry came across to stand over him, limping slightly.

‘Is he all right?’

‘Let’s go,’ said Cooper.

‘Hold on. He might need medical attention. Let me take a look.’

‘No. Leave him.’

‘Ben?’

‘Let’s leave it. No harm done.’

Fry shrugged. ‘He didn’t touch me, anyway.’

‘I know he didn’t. No point in making a charge, is there?’

‘He’s not worth the paperwork. You sure he’s all right?

‘He’s all right, Diane. Trust me.’

‘OK. Let’s go.’ She hobbled back towards the car.