Стивен Бут - Blind to the Bones

‘It’s not me that wants to talk to you,’ said Lucas Oxley. ‘I hope you understand that.’

Ben Cooper had turned the radio down and invited him to sit in the car, but Oxley hadn’t even condescended to acknowledge that foolish idea, and Cooper had immediately regretted it. He was on new ground here, and he had to tread carefully, take it step by step.

‘Fair enough, sir.’

‘It’s our Ryan,’ said Oxley. ‘He says he wants to tell you something.’

‘Sensible lad.’

‘But I’ve got to be there when he does.’

‘Certainly, sir. I would have insisted on it anyway. Ryan is a juvenile.’

‘He’s fifteen.’

‘Yes.’

‘I’ve tried to talk him out of it, of course,’ said Oxley. ‘I don’t even know what it is he wants to tell you — he won’t say. And God knows we’ve got enough on just now. But the lad’s stubborn. Stubborn like—’

‘His dad?’

Cooper was rewarded with something that was almost a smile. Oxley’s mouth slipped out of shape, but he sniffed and managed to correct himself.

‘Our Ryan’s not a bad lad,’ he said. ‘But he’s not like the others. He does have this stubborn streak.’

‘I understand.’

Oxley peered at Cooper a bit more closely. ‘None of my sons are bad lads, you know. There are some kids you see who spend their whole lives indoors with their computer games and the internet. They grow up as fat as slugs and as pale as tripe. But these here are good lads. Despite what folks round here might have told you.’

Cooper kept silent. Also what the police and court records might tell him, he thought. Not to mention the schools and social services. But no kids were ever bad, as far as their parents were concerned. They were all little misunderstood angels. Their parents shouted their love for them in court, even as they were taken down from the dock on a life sentence for murdering an old lady and cutting out her heart to eat it and drink her blood.

But the Oxleys weren’t exactly vampire killers. They were just kids who didn’t fit in.

Cooper was vaguely aware that a voice on his radio was muttering about a major incident, but it seemed to involve the neighbouring South Yorkshire force, and he filtered it out.

‘Where would you like to do this, Mr Oxley?’ he said.

Oxley thought about it for a few moments. Cooper could see that an inner struggle was taking place. It had cost the man quite an effort to walk over the road and approach Cooper’s car. But this was crossing a boundary. It was a big decision for him to make.

‘I suppose,’ he said, ‘you’d better come into the house.’

Ben Cooper had followed Lucas Oxley as far as the entrance to Waterloo Terrace before he began to have doubts. The noise of heavy machinery hadn’t been coming from the farm, but had gradually grown louder as they approached the terraces. Above the rumble of diesel engines, he could hear the whine of chainsaws. But they seemed to be operating in the sycamores and chestnuts nearer the road.

‘What’s going on?’ said Cooper.

Lucas stopped. ‘They came,’ he said. ‘That’s all.’

‘Who?’

Cooper peered downhill through the tree screen. Now he could make out bright yellow machinery — a bulldozer and a JCB excavator with huge steel jaws. There were other vehicles, too, gathering in the field adjacent to Trafalgar Terrace — the same field he and Fry had walked through the previous day.

‘Our landlords are moving in to start demolition,’ said Lucas. ‘Don’t tell me you’re surprised.’

‘Surprised? I can’t believe it.’

Cooper pulled out his mobile phone and dialled the number for Peak Water in Glossop, then remembered it was a Sunday. There was no way J. P. Venables would be working on his day off. But he had Mr Venables’ home number, too.

‘Mr Venables, why didn’t you tell me it was today you were moving into Withens to start demolishing the empty houses?’

‘Ah, well, we have to be circumspect about these things,’ said Venables.

‘Damn circumspect,’ said Cooper.

‘Really. It wouldn’t have helped the situation if the residents of Waterloo Terrace had been given too much prior warning. We couldn’t predict what attitude they might take.’

‘You could have told me . We might have had time to organize a proper search.’

‘You?’ said Venables, with an audible smirk. ‘The friend of the Oxleys?’

Lucas Oxley had been waiting patiently while Cooper made the call. His expression was sardonic, a tilt of an eyebrow that said a lot.

‘Search?’ he said.

‘Routine,’ said Cooper. ‘But, well... It’s too late now.’

Lucas walked slowly towards the gateway. The houses of Waterloo Terrace looked blacker than ever beyond the trees. For now, the sound of the chainsaws had stopped. He tried to make out the figures that he knew must be somewhere in the undergrowth around the trees. But all he could see was little Jake, lurking behind the wall of one of the outside privies.

For a moment, Cooper considered the possibility that the Oxleys might take the opportunity to hold him hostage. He had no idea what they might be planning, or how they would behave when they were driven into a corner.

‘Are you coming, or not?’ said Lucas.

‘Yes.’

As he came nearer, Cooper could smell the wet leaves of the sycamores and the sharp scent of the sap leaking from their flesh where the chainsaws had ripped into them. Beyond that, from the houses, he could smell cooking. Onions were frying, despite the time of day. But even that was obscured by the stronger, more incongruous aroma of sun-dried tomatoes. Cooper guessed the Oxleys must be burning some of the old car tyres in their yard. Smouldering tyres released similar sulphur-containing chemicals, which produced that distinctive smell.

For many weeks afterwards, whenever he thought of Withens, Cooper would still smell the wet sycamores and the sun-dried tomatoes, and still hear the roar of the chainsaws.

He took the last few steps towards the terrace of houses, passing under the trees. Then a petrol motor roared, and a branch cracked. There was a shout from somewhere above him, in the branches. And a fine rain fell on his face, warm as blood.

Gail Dearden stared at her husband, trembling at the sight of the shotgun still in his hands. He was dirty and dishevelled, and had a distracted look in his eyes. Michael was frightened. And she knew frightened men were dangerous.

‘Who did I shoot?’ said Dearden.

‘You don’t know ?’

‘One of the Oxleys. Which one was it? They were coming to see what else they could find. Did I injure one of them?’

‘The police are out there,’ said Gail.

‘Who called the police? The Oxleys?’

‘No, Michael. I did.’

Dearden finally put the shotgun down. He laughed quietly, but seemed to be on the verge of tears, too, when he looked at his wife.

‘They came, then?’ he said. ‘For once, they actually came.’

Lucas Oxley stood throughout Cooper’s visit. In fact, he stood near the door, which Cooper wasn’t terribly comfortable with. It meant he had already broken the first rule and lost control of his immediate environment, if a threat to his safety should develop. But Lucas didn’t look threatening, not at the moment. He had his back to the door, but more as if to stop anyone else entering than to prevent Cooper leaving. His manner was defensive, not aggressive.

‘Is Scott all right?’ said Cooper.

‘He’ll be fine. Daft bugger. I’ve told him to be more careful with that thing.’

‘No harm done.’

Cooper wiped a hand across his face and looked at the streaks of oil on his palm. The spray had hit his face from the spinning blade of the chainsaw just before it fell towards him from the tree. Scott Oxley’s face had stared down at him, shocked and white, as the branch he’d been working on snapped unexpectedly, loosening his grip on the handles. A few feet in front of Cooper, the chainsaw had dug itself into the dirt track in a spurt of mud.