Ken McClure - Deception

‘I bet you and your sister spoiled him rotten,’ said Steven.

‘Of course,’ said Eve, smiling for the first time. ‘We used to use him as a doll!’

‘Your sister’s not with you?’

‘She got married last year. She moved away from here. Mum phoned her this morning. She’ll be here for the funeral. God knows how we’re all going to get through it.’

‘You will,’ said Steven. ‘And then things can start to get better.’

Eve looked at him out of the corner of her eye and said, ‘You sound as if you know all about that.’

‘My wife,’ said Steven. ‘Nine months ago.’

‘I’m sorry.’

They started to walk back along the towpath together and Steven paused again to look at the loading activity outside the barn on Crawhill.

‘You’ll be here about this GM crop business?’ said Eve.

‘Sort of,’ replied Steven. ‘This is the organic farm to be, isn’t it?’

‘So I’m told,’ replied Eve. ‘But it can’t be Tom Rafferty that’s behind that.’

‘Why not?’

‘He’s just not the sort,’ replied Eve. ‘Apart from that he hasn’t cared about anything that didn’t come out a bottle for years. I think that’s why Trish left him.’

‘His wife?’

‘Yes.’

‘So who do you think is behind the organic farm idea?’

‘I’ve no idea. It really doesn’t make much sense but everyone in Blackbridge seems paranoid about something these days. People just don’t know what the hell’s going on. They’re afraid of the day they’ve never seen.’

‘And quite understandable if all they have to go on is rumour and fear of the unknown. I take it you’re not overly impressed with the authorities right now?’

‘Don’t talk to me about “authorities”,’ said Eve with feeling. ‘They’re tripping over each other and the more bodies they send in the less it is that gets done. We’ve got people from the Department of Health, the Ministry of Agriculture, Fisheries and Food, the Ministry of Health and Community Care and the Ministry of Rural Affairs. Sometimes it seems that all that’s missing is PooBah and the Lord High Executioner!’

Steven smiled and asked, ‘What were these last two ministries again?’

‘They’re new Scottish ones,’ said Eve dismissively.

‘You’re not a big fan?’

‘Of Mel Gibson, you mean?’

Steven laughed and said, ‘I can see how he might have had something to do with it all.’

‘I’ll say! People were seduced by the film, Braveheart and all that talk of freedom and self-determination. Rise up and be a nation again! Heady stuff. If Mel’s speech had gone, “I will never give up my... partially devolved freedom with limited tax raising powers,” it might have been closer to the mark. What we’ve finished up with is 129 self-seeking numpties, duplicating what we already had and at much greater expense. I’m not entirely convinced that all of them can read and write. From what I’ve seen down at the hotel, all they can really do really well is squabble.’

‘I’m sorry?’ said Steven, failing to pick up the last bit of what Eve had said about the hotel.

‘I’ve been working at The Blackbridge Arms during the summer vacation,’ she explained. ‘I can’t help but hear what’s going on. The civil servants have sort of made it their unofficial headquarters.’

‘So you’ve had a first hand view of democracy in action and government inter-departmental co-operation?’

‘Is that what they call it? If one lot says black, the others will say white on principle so in the end nothing gets done. On top of that McKay and Smith are always at each other’s throats over executive responsibility.’

‘Who?’ asked Steven, secretly delighted at all the information he was getting.

‘McKay is from Rural Affairs, the Scottish lot; Smith is from MAFF in London. When Smith suggests something, McKay automatically insists that it should be the province of his department, then that balloon, Barclay pops up...’

‘Who?’

‘Cyril Barclay. He’s something to do with Health and Safety. He pops up and says that matters concerning health have priority over them both so any decision should be his. McKay and Smith naturally disagree about this and they start arguing all over again.’

‘Meanwhile Rome burns.’

‘Quite so. What exactly is your “sort of” involvement in the affair?’ asked Eve.

‘I’m just an observer of the situation,’ replied Steven. Coming as close to the truth as he could. ‘My boss asked me to get a feel for what was going on up here. You’ve been a tremendous help.’

‘Maybe I’ve said too much but then again, no one told me not to. To the briefcases I’m just a waitress.’

‘And what else are you?’ asked Steven.

‘I’m doing a masters degree in Food Science at Heriot Watt University.’

Steven smiled and said, ‘You probably know more about GM crops than anyone else down there!’

‘All they want from me is gin and tonic, so that’s what they get,’ replied Eve. ‘Oh my God...’

Steven looked at her to see what had alarmed her. He followed her line of vision to a rat that was swimming across the canal. It disappeared into the undergrowth on the far bank but the look of fear and revulsion stayed on Eve’s face as she obviously relived her brother’s death.

‘Let’s go,’ said Steven, putting a comforting arm around her and leading her away from the spot.

They walked back down the hill together to where Steven had left his car. ‘It was nice meeting you, Eve,’ he said as they stopped beside it. ‘I’m sorry it wasn’t under better circumstances.’

‘Yes, I would probably have preferred a moonlit beach in Hawaii to the Blackbridge Canal too,’ said Eve with a smile. ‘But it was nice meeting you too. Take care.’

‘Do you think I could contact you if I have any more questions about local matters?’

Eve looked thoughtful for a moment then she replied, ‘Wait until after Ian’s funeral.’

‘Fair enough.’

Steven drove into Edinburgh and booked into the first large anonymous hotel he came to on the western outskirts. He was hungry; he hadn’t eaten since breakfast time so he ordered chicken sandwiches from room service and a bottle of Stella Artois . He set up his laptop computer while he waited and made a modem connection to Sci-Med in London. The only incoming message said that Sci-Med had as yet failed to discover who was paying Thomas Rafferty’s legal bills but they would keep working on it. Steven in turn asked them to find out what they could about the current state of Thomas Rafferty’s business. He also asked them to find out if any attempt had been made to sell Crawhill Farm and finally he made a general enquiry about, Sector One Security, the firm that Lane had brought in to provide protection at Peat Ridge Farm. Reputable or not?

By the time Steven had eaten his sandwiches and drank his beer, he had his reply from London. Rafferty’s plant hire business was still solvent but profits had been declining over the last two years. There had been no investment in new machinery at all thanks to a reluctance in the banks to lend to Rafferty whom they saw as a bad risk because of his drinking. As a result of this, many of his machines were getting a reputation for being unreliable through age and lack of proper maintenance. He was still managing to find customers but he’d had to drop the hire price considerably in order to persuade them to take the risk and it was a considerable risk. Farmers often depended on being able to take advantage of windows in the weather. One or two days delay because of mechanical breakdown could have serious consequences.

Crawhill Farm was not currently on the market nor had it been in the recent or even distant past. Lastly, Sector One Security was a reputable firm. It employed the usual motley crew that low wages inevitably decreed but management was good and the guards were subject to competent supervision. There had been no complaints about the firm.