Ken McClure - Deception

Steven felt in no mood for humour. He asked, ‘What about the organic farm plan? Does he see himself fitting into that at all?’

‘I don’t think so. Gus didn’t understand Rafferty’s interest in organic farming any more than anyone else around here.’

‘So what’s bugging him about his work conditions?’ asked Steven.

‘He reckons that the condition of the machinery is much worse than it would be if it were housed properly. He’s fed up repairing damage caused by exposure to the elements. Most of the storage sheds have leaking roofs.’

‘Seems a reasonable complaint. Out of interest, did he ever talk to Childs and Leadbetter about the problem?’

‘He did,’ said Brown. ‘He says they just weren’t interested.’

‘Surprise, surprise,’ murmured Steven, pleased to get even more confirmation that Childs and Leadbetter had no real interest in the financial state of Crawhill Farm. ‘Did Gus have anything to say about our “venture capitalists”?’

‘Just that they’re no farmers. “Wouldn’t know a cow from a unicorn,” was what he said, so he couldn’t see where the expertise to run an organic farm was going to come from.’

‘I hear Trish Rafferty’s coming back to Crawhill tomorrow,’ said Steven. ‘We’ll see what develops then.’

‘That should be interesting,’ agreed Brown.

Steven sat in his car about fifty metres from the Blackbridge Hotel, waiting for Eve who was late — it had already gone quarter past ten and he was beginning wonder if anything was wrong when she finally appeared, looking harassed.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ she apologised. ‘We’ve been rushed off our feet this evening. One of the girls has gone down with flu and we’ve been really busy.’

‘No problem,’ said Steven. ‘What shall we do?’

‘I could do with a drink,’ said Eve. ‘We could drive over to Livingston?’

They drove the short distance to Livingston and found a hotel bar that wasn’t too crowded. ‘So what’s wrong?’ asked Eve, reading Steven’s general demeanour.

He told her what had happened to Jenny.

‘Childs and the other one were in the hotel bar tonight!’ said Eve. ‘The bastards! Have you told the police?’

Steven told her why not.

‘You must have been out of your mind with worry,’ said Eve.

‘I’ve had better days,’ agreed Steven with masterly understatement.

‘They really don’t want you snooping around, do they?’ said Eve in her attempt at matching it. ‘Are you any closer to knowing why?’

‘If anything, I’m further away,’ Steven confessed. He told Eve about the lab report on the chemicals and the rat.

‘But if it’s not the weed-killer and it’s not the GM crop itself, what else can it be?’ exclaimed Eve.

‘Trish Rafferty knows,’ said Steven.

‘I’ll have another go at her tomorrow when she comes home,’ promised Trish.

Early on Monday morning, Steven drove over to Livingston Police Headquarters to speak with Brewer. He was feeling uneasy about Trish Rafferty coming back to Crawhill and was concerned about how safe she would be in the circumstances. The bargain she’d struck with the powers-that-be had not done her husband much good in the end and he feared that she might be seen as a dangerous loose end to leave lying around, despite her role as informant in the first place. Childs’ abortive visit to her flat on Saturday night had just added to his unease. With her husband now dead, his immunity from retribution was no longer an influencing factor in how she would behave.

‘What would you like us to do?’ asked Brewer.

‘Establish a presence at Crawhill,’ said Steven. ‘Just let Childs and Leadbetter know that you are around. You could use their destruction of evidence as a pretext for having your forensic people go over Khan’s shed again, anything you like as long as there are officers on the premises for today at least.’

‘And then what?’

‘Let’s play it by ear.’

Steven drove over to Blackbridge, not that he had anything specific to do there this morning. He just wanted to be there and get a feel for things, as if doing so might encourage inspiration to strike. As he drove along Main Street he saw Ann Binnie coming out of the Post Office and stopped to speak to her.

‘James is being cremated tomorrow,’ she told him. ‘Perhaps you’d care to be there?’

‘Of course,’ said Steven. ‘I liked him a lot.’

‘Ten o’clock at Mortonhall in Edinburgh. Do you know it?’

‘I’ll find it,’ replied Steven.

‘James made me promise that I’d have him cremated if he was the first to go,’ said Ann. ‘He said that after a life spent in agricultural Scotland, he would have seen more than enough of cold, wet earth and a bit of heat would be very welcome.’ Ann smiled but her eyes didn’t. Steven sensed that, like Eleanor Rigby, she was wearing the face that she kept in a jar by the door. He wanted to comfort her but didn’t know how. He simply said that he’d see her tomorrow and said good-morning.

He stopped a little further along the street to read a notice, tied with string to a lamppost. It was an appeal for the return of a lost dog. ‘Patch’ was being sorely missed by his two young owners, Alan and Ailsa, aged three and five, and a reward was being offered for information leading to the dog’s return. A bad photocopy of a photograph of the two young children was incorporated. He silently wished them luck then walked on past the hotel where highly polished cars belonging to the warring factions of Whitehall and the Scottish Executive filled the car park and spilled out on to the road. The imagery in his head was of hot air and balloons.

At the top of the hill between Crawhill and Peat Ridge, he saw that the barriers across the towpath were still in place but from the bridge he could see no sign of the white-clad marksmen he’d seen last time. He decided that he would walk out along the path anyway and ducked under the tape to start heading east with a cool wind behind him. As he passed along the southern edge of Crawhill, he saw a white Volkswagen Polo drive into the yard in front of the house and a female figure get out. The distance was too great to see her features clearly but he felt fairly sure that it was Trish Rafferty arriving home. A man who had been working on a piece of machinery and whom he suspected must be standing in for Gus Watson, got up and went to greet her. They shook hands and spoke briefly before Trish disappeared inside the house and the man returned to lying under the machine. It was starting to rain and Steven did not envy him his job.

He was about to turn back when he thought he caught sight of a movement in the undergrowth on the other side of the canal. When he stopped and looked closely at the spot he couldn’t see anything, but he was sure enough to start feeling nervous. It happened again: the grass moved and Steven dropped to one knee, his hand moving to the holster under his left arm. The grass moved again and this time he heard a whimpering sound. He relaxed when he realised that no one was stalking him. The long grass was concealing an animal in trouble.

Steven went back to the bridge to gain access to the other bank. There was no towpath on that side of the canal and therefore no direct access to it from the bridge so he had to climb up on to the parapet and drop down the two metres or so into the long grass. He just had to hope that it wasn’t obscuring anything nasty like a rabbit hole or broken glass. He landed safely and started to make his way cautiously through the undergrowth to where he’d heard the noise coming from.

He had barely taken five steps before stopping in his tracks when he caught the glint of metal in the grass in front of him. He knelt down cautiously and found an animal trap lying directly in front of him. It was set and had a spring in it that could have made quite a mess of his foot had he strayed into it. He noted that it was of a type deemed illegal in the UK but had hardly time to ponder this when he caught sight of another one lying off to his right... and yet another behind him to the left. This one had a dead rabbit in it. He was walking through a veritable minefield of animal traps and snares. There were far too many to have been set by any poacher. It had to be part of the rat cull operation.