Darkmans (56 page)

‘Good for you,’ Beede said, ‘but I’m actually more concerned about your dog right now…’

‘I am the
Ears
of the Wood,’ he chanted, almost trance-like.

‘She seems in some discomfort,’ Beede persisted.

‘I am the
Heart
of the…’

He shot the dog a quick, sideways glance. The dog was panting quite loudly.

‘Stop that, Gringo,’ he said harshly. Then, ‘She’s
fine
,’ he insisted.

‘No. No she isn’t. There’s blood,’ Beede murmured, ‘there’s definitely blood…’

‘Don’t be a
fool.
’

‘It’s pretty bad,’ Beede said, drawing in closer. ‘I’m virtually blind without my glasses and even
I
…’

‘Where?’
he butted in.

‘Her hindquarters. At the back. It looks like a…a
haemorrhage
of some kind.’

The man crouched down. ‘Shine the torch on her,’ he instructed.

‘More closely. Up closer.’

Beede shone the torch. There was blood everywhere, but it appeared black in the torchlight. The man reached out his hand and lightly touched this dark stain, perhaps believing that it was just a shadow.

‘Oh
shit!
’ he exclaimed, feeling the warmth of it, seeing it leak on to his fingers. ‘What the hell’s
happening
here?’

‘Pass me my glasses,’ Beede instructed him, ‘so I can take a proper look.’

The man hesitated.

‘I
know
about dogs,’ Beede lied.

The man handed him his glasses. Beede put them on. He squatted down. ‘She’s whelping,’ he said, matter-of-factly.

‘What?’

‘She’s whelping. She’s pregnant. She’s giving birth.’

The man looked astonished, then appalled, then enraged, ‘Don’t be disgusting,’ he growled. ‘She’s ten years old. She’s
neutered.
’

‘Look at the size of her nipples,’ Beede insisted, ‘they’re all distended…’ His eyes widened. ‘Good
Lord.
I believe I can almost see a
head
– the crown of a head…’

The man sprang back, in horror, almost losing his balance. He held out his knife, as if to defend himself with it.

‘That’s a lie!’ he yelled.

‘It’s no such thing,’ Beede said calmly. ‘Whether you like it or not, she’s giving birth.’

‘She’s neutered,’ the man repeated, ‘she’s a virgin. She’s a good girl. She’s ten years old.’

Beede stretched out a hand to try and aid the poor creature.

‘Don’t
touch
her!’ he roared, brandishing the blade.

‘Calm down!’ Beede snapped. ‘You’re upsetting her. She’s stressed enough as it is. And she’s
old.
She’s probably as mystified by all of this as you are.’

Gringo had fallen on to her side and she was panting, heavily. ‘Who did this to her?’ the man yelled, brandishing the knife again
(as if Beede might’ve been responsible). ‘Which dirty, interfering
bastard
did this to my girl?’

‘That head looks rather large, ‘Beede observed. ‘It’s as much as she can do to squeeze it out…’ He grimaced. ‘She might need some help…’

Gringo’s breathing became more strained.

‘
Enough!
’ the man gasped, overwhelmed. ‘
Stop
this, Gringo! Get up.
Up. Up!
’

The dog tried to struggle to her feet and then collapsed back down.

‘You’re being ridiculous,’ Beede snapped, ‘and you’re confusing her.’

The man continued to hold out the knife, but his confidence was starting to waver.

‘Put that knife away,’ Beede instructed him. ‘I need you to hold the torch.’

The man stared at him, terrified. ‘What will you do?’ he asked. ‘Nothing. Not a damn thing until you calm down and put away your blade.’

He took off his rucksack and began unbuckling the main flap. The man slowly slid his knife into its holster.

‘Is she going to die?’ he asked.

‘Not if we keep our heads about us,’ Beede said, passing him the torch and then removing a clean shirt and a clean vest from inside.

‘We need to keep her warm…’ He wrapped the shirt around the dog, ‘and we need to stop her from going into shock…’

‘Gringo! WHY?!’
the man bellowed, starting to sob uncontrollably. ‘Hold the torch
properly
,’ Beede barked. ‘Control yourself. I need to see what I’m
doing
here.’

‘I don’t want her to die,’ the man whined, ‘don’t let her die. Please don’t let her die.’

‘Okay, Gringo,’ Beede whispered, pulling off his gloves, stroking the dog’s head, trying to reassure her. ‘You’re doing fine. Good girl. You’re doing fine.’

Gringo pushed.

‘That’s it, girl, a couple more of those and we’ll have it sorted.’

‘
Pull
it!’ the man yelled hysterically. ‘
Grab
it! Get it
out
of her!’

‘
Quiet!
’ Beede snarled. ‘If I pull too soon I could cause a rupture…’

The man squeaked.

Beede touched the pup’s head. ‘Come on, lad, you’re almost out, you’re nearly there…’

‘It’s HUGE,’ the man squealed.

‘It’s big,’ Beede confirmed, ‘but she’s doing a grand job. Good girl, Gringo, one more push. That’s it. One more push…’

Gringo pushed again. The pup was almost half-way out now. Beede slowly tried to ease its progress. Gringo pushed again. The pup plopped neatly into Beede’s hand followed by a quick mess of afterbirth. The man dropped the torch, in shock.

‘For God’s sake,’ Beede admonished him, ‘pull yourself together. We need some
light
here…’

‘Sorry.’

He picked up the torch and pointed it at Beede again.

‘Not in my
eyes
…’

He redirected its blaze.

The puppy was still neatly contained inside its shiny, amniotic membrane.

‘What’s wrong with it?’ the man asked, horrified. ‘It just looks like snot.’

Beede carefully held the pup up close to the bitch’s face. She sniffed at it, fascinated, then inspected the umbilical cord, opened her mouth and bit it cleanly in half.

‘Well done,’ Beede congratulated her. ‘Now you just need to tear the membrane…’

Instead of inspecting the pup, however, the bitch seemed far more interested in the afterbirth. She licked at it for a few moments and then took a furtive bite.

‘Leave that alone! Don’t be filthy!’ the man admonished her.

‘She’ll want to eat it,’ Beede muttered, still preoccupied by the tiny pup, ‘it’s only natural.
Instinctive.
She knows it’ll be full of vital nutrients…’

As he spoke he gently tore away the membrane then cleared any spare mucus from the pup’s face with his thumb. When this was done, he rubbed it, gently, with the vest. The pup opened its mouth and mewed.

‘Good,’ Beede said, ‘that’s the first one sorted. By rights I should let it suckle, but the conditions here are hardly conducive. I think you should probably just store this little fellow inside your shirt.’

The man stared at him, horrified.

‘It’ll die otherwise. It’s freezing cold out here. Take it. Put it inside your shirt, but make sure you don’t smother it…’

The man didn’t move.

‘
Take
it!’ Beede hissed.

The man reached out his hand. He took the pup. He stared at it, in wonder.

‘Inside your shirt,’ Beede repeated, returning to the mother. ‘Okay, Gringo, how’re we doing here?’

He rested a gentle hand on the dog’s womb. She’d given up on the afterbirth and was panting again. He wrapped the shirt closer around her.

‘Is there someone else inside there, girl? Have you got your breath back? Are you going to try and push again, eh?’

Gringo tried to push.

‘That’s it. That’s the way…’

Gringo pushed again. Then again. Another head began to crown. ‘That was quick,’ Beede said, glancing up, ‘usually the wait is longer. But the pup doesn’t look nearly so large this time…’

The man had now tucked the puppy inside his shirt. ‘Well done, Gringo,’ he said, moving forward slightly, his voice wavering with emotion. ‘That’s my girl.’

The dog pushed.

‘She’s responding positively to the sound of your voice,’ Beede encouraged him. ‘Keep on talking.’

‘Well done, Gringo,’ he repeated. ‘Clever Gringo.’

The dog pushed again.

‘Don’t
die
, Gringo…’ His voice cracked. Tears began rolling down his cheeks again.

‘Try and hold it together, will you?’ Beede said brusquely. He softly stroked the dog’s head. ‘Okay, girl,’ he murmured. ‘We’re gonna need one more big push. That’s it. One more. One more
big
push…’

Gringo pushed.

The second puppy plopped out into Beede’s hand, followed by its own sudden squelch of afterbirth. Once again Beede held the pup up close to the bitch’s face, but on this occasion she refused to pay it any heed.

‘We’re going to have to cut this ourselves,’ Beede said; ‘hand me your knife.’

‘What?’

‘Your knife. Pass it over.’

The man put his hand to his waist and fingered the handle, but he didn’t look happy.

‘Quick,’
Beede snapped.

‘But you
can’t
use my knife,’ he protested, ‘it’s brand-new. It’s a top-of-the-range Japanese
Warrior’s
knife.’

‘I don’t give a
damn
what kind of knife it is,’ Beede informed him, holding out his hand, refusing to be gainsaid.

The man slowly pulled out the knife. It was insanely sharp and at least 50 centimetres long. Beede lay out the pup on the vest, took a hold of the knife, held it an inch or so from the pup’s torso and cleanly sliced through the cord.

‘There.’

He passed the knife back and picked up the pup. The man almost gagged as he inspected the blade, then he grabbed the vest and polished the blade with it.

Beede tore away the anmiotic membrane and then closely inspected the second pup. It felt cold in his hand. ‘This fella doesn’t feel too smart,’ he said. ‘The bigger one was probably resting on top of it inside the womb…’

He cleared mucus from the tiny puppy’s airways.

‘
Vest
,’ he instructed brusquely. The man passed it over. Beede rubbed the body with the vest –

Nothing

He rubbed again and blew warm air into the puppy’s face. ‘Come on, little one,’ he murmured.

Gringo, meanwhile, had turned around and was sniffing at the second afterbirth. Beede blew into the tiny pup’s face again, then he tossed it, gently – like a bean-bag – from hand to hand. He massaged its little ribs. Then he held it upside down.

‘It moved its arm,’ the man said.

‘Did it?’

Beede wasn’t so confident. He cocooned the tiny pup in his hand. It still felt cold and lifeless. He blew on it, then he rubbed it, vigorously, with the vest again –

Nothing

He decided to try mouth-to-mouth. He inserted his little finger between the puppy’s tiny jaws.

‘What are you doing?’

‘Mouth-to-mouth.’

‘Is that safe?’

‘Safe? Who for?’

He painstakingly pushed down the puppy’s tiny tongue, then affixed his lips closely around the creature’s muzzle and exhaled. The puppy’s ribs rose. Beede sucked the air out. The puppy’s ribs fell. He exhaled again. Then he inhaled. Exhaled. Inhaled. At the close of the seventh cycle, he stopped. He inspected the pup. The puppy remained completely flaccid. It was inanimate. It was dead.

He closed his eyes for a moment, defeated, and then –

Pow!

– he suddenly sensed the stag – that grand, old stag; not as an actual entity, but as…as a
beat.
He
felt
the stag – its raw, untrammelled energy. He felt its pulse, in the ground, like a fast-approaching train. He felt the beat thundering towards him. And then –

Bang!

– it hit him. He rocked back. He felt it reverberating inside his eardrum, inside his head – his forehead – butting into him, like a hooligan – then travelling down, through his veins, his airways, into his throat, a
suffocating
pulse. He almost gagged, almost choked. Then on…into his shoulder –

Argh!

(He bit on his lip to stop himself from screaming)

– then down, still further, jerking and shuddering, into his arm, into his wrist…

Until –

Huh?

– it cut out. It was
gone.

Beede kept his eyes closed, barely even breathing. He focussed in on his hand. He
sensed
his hand; the cup of his hand, the sanctum…

Eh?

– the
goblet
 –

Eh?!

– the
Communion
, and there, in the centre of it, the tiny puppy suddenly jolted, then it coughed.

Beede opened his eyes.

‘It’s alive,’ he said, his voice devoid of emotion.

The puppy coughed again. Beede gently massaged its ribs for a minute and then handed it over. The man took the second pup and placed it, gently, inside his shirt. Gringo was still gnawing at the second afterbirth.

‘You’ll need to get everybody home,’ Beede said, ‘into the warm. Where’s your car?’

‘I have a Landrover…’

The man pointed. He seemed quiet now, almost deflated. His eyes looked strangely hollow.

Beede shoved away the vest, pulled on his gloves and threw his rucksack over his shoulders. ‘I’ll carry Gringo,’ he said, wincing. ‘You lead the way…’

He carefully wrapped Gringo in the shirt again, then picked her up.

She was heavy. She kicked out her legs, in protest.

‘Right. Good. Let’s go,’ Beede said, tightening his grip on her and starting to walk, sucking on his lip as he slowly moved forward, feeling the unexpectedly warm, metallic tang of blood on his tongue.

‘Dead?!’
Kane repeated, sounding perfectly astonished, ‘When?
How?
’

‘I don’t know. He just…’

Kelly began sobbing, violently, as he accelerated rapidly away from a set of traffic lights.

‘Did you speak to your mother?’

‘
’Course
I did,
Dumbo.
’

‘Is she okay?

‘
’Course
she’s okay.’

‘And your dad?’

‘He switched his phone off. He sent a text. He don’t wanna talk. He ain’t good wiv’ stuff like this.’

Kane opened his mouth to speak.

‘An’ don’t you
dare
say,’ she quickly interrupted him, ‘that it’s all for the best.’

‘Okay,’ Kane said gently, ‘I won’t.’

He paused.

‘But it is.’

‘We gotta fetch the body,’ she wailed. ‘We gotta sort out the fuckin’
funeral.
’

‘Good point.’

Kane pulled on to a roundabout and then turned right.

‘Mum ain’t up to it, Jase is in the clink, Linda don’t give a fuck, an’ I’m stuck in
this
shithole…’

‘Don’t worry,’ Kane murmured, ‘I’ll help you sort it out. I’ll get on to it first thing. That’s a promise.’

‘But who’s gonna sit with the body?’ she bellowed.

‘Sit with the body?’

Sit with the body?!

‘Sit with it while it’s still
warm
,’ she blubbered.

‘Sit with the body, Kell? Are you
sure
? D’you think that’s entirely necessary?’

‘Of
course
it is! Of
course
it’s necessary,’ she began to hiccough, hysterically (in the background Kane could hear somebody talking to her – a nurse,
two
nurses, both trying their level best to calm her down).

‘It’s lights out,’ she mewed, ‘an’ I’m keepin’ up the
WHOLE FUCKIN’ WARD!
’

‘Just hold on a second…’

Kane glanced into his rearview mirror, turned on his indicator and gently pulled off the road.

‘I
CAN’T
hold on, fuck-wit!’

He braked, drew to a halt, stuck on his hazard lights…

‘Are you still there, Kell?’

All he could hear now was a high, shrill squall.

‘Kelly?’

‘His body’s stuck in some
morgue
, an’ he’s all a-fuckin’
lone!
’

‘He’ll be in a chapel of rest,’ Kane lied. ‘They’ll have a priest sitting with him.’

‘He
came
to me!’ she bawled. ‘He came an’ snapped my
bra
strap, Kane!’

‘Pardon?’

‘I swear to God. They said he died at eight. At eight someone snapped my bra strap. I
felt
it. He always did that when we was kids. He snapped my bra strap. He
came
to me, Kane.’

‘You wore a bra when you were a kid?’ Kane said, struggling to get this all straight in his head.

‘When I was twelve,
thirteen
, stupid! My first bra. He used to love takin’ the piss.’

‘Right.’

‘An’ stop raisin’ your fuckin’
brows
like that!’

‘I wasn’t raising my brows, Kell…’ Kane lowered his brows. ‘You’re obviously very upset…’

‘I need someone to
sit
wiv’ him, Kane.’

‘I already said – they’ll probably have a priest…’

‘They
won’t
have no priest. They don’t give a
shit
!’

‘Or if not a priest, then one of the nurses who looked after him on the ward…’

‘
BALLS!
’

(More hushing.)

‘They keep tryin’a shove a load of
tablets
down my neck…’

‘Ask for a
Sinequan
…’

‘FUCK OFF, KANE!!!’

‘I’m just…’

He tried to think on his feet.’…I suppose I could get
Gaffar
…’ he murmured. ‘Uh…Did you speak to Gaffar yet?’

‘
What?!
Why the fuck would I wanna speak to
him
?!’ she yelled.

Kane smiled. ‘So you
did
speak to him?’

Pause

‘Yeah.’

‘Was he helpful?’

‘What does
he
know?! He’s just a little, Turkish
DICK.
’

‘A
Kurd.
A Kurdish dick.’

‘WHATEVER!’

(More hushing.)

‘Look. I’m in my car. I’m on the Romney Marsh Road. I’m right in the middle of something. D’you have the number of the hospital on you?’

Kelly blew her nose, noisily, then she cleared her throat. ‘I got it on my phone.’

‘Right. Find it – quick as you can – send it to me, and I’ll sort something out.’

‘I just don’t want him to be on his
own
, Kane…’

‘That’s fine. That’s fair enough. I’ll sort something out. I’ll go myself or I’ll get Gaffar…’

‘Whoever goes, I want them to light candles and say a little prayer. I want it like Paul Burrell did for Diana, yeah?’

‘Who?’

‘Paul Burrell. The butler. He went an’ he sat with her. An’ he lit
candles.
I want candles…’

‘Okay.’

‘You promise?’

‘Yes. It’ll be fine. I’ll ring Gaffar now. I’ll order a cab. He’ll be there in a couple of hours…’

‘Thanks…’

She sniffed, poignantly. ‘An’ I
mean
that.’

‘It’s nothing. It’s the very
least
I can do.’

Half-way through saying it, Kane realised that he
meant
it –

Huh?

‘I’m sorry,’ he added (quickly glancing over his shoulder – as if the truth was a cruel assassin which was slowly and methodically tracking him down).

‘Yeah, yeah,’ she sighed.

They both rang off.

He dialled Gaffar’s number. Gaffar answered immediately.

‘Yah?’

The line was terrible.

‘Gaffar?’ Kane shouted. ‘It’s Kane.’

‘So?’

‘Can you hear me?’

Kane winced as a large cargo of static came slamming into his ear.

‘Man
…’

He opened his car door and clambered out –

Holy Fuck
 –

It’s freezing out here

‘Gaffar?’ he grimaced against the cold.

‘Kane?’

His voice sounded clearer.

‘You spoke to Kelly?’

‘Sure.’

‘Her brother died.’

‘Sure. I speak Dina. Then I ring.’

‘How was she?’

‘Dina?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Is okay.’

‘Well I need you to do me a huge favour, man.’

‘Huh?’

‘I need you to go up to Reading. Reading, yeah? Where the brother
is? At the hospital? Call yourself a minicab. Call Simo. Ask for Simo. He’ll cut you a deal. The journey’ll take about an hour and a half. Be sure and get a quote up front, though…’

‘Sure.’

‘I need you to sit with the body tonight.’

Pause

‘Sure.’

‘Will you do that for me?’

Even longer pause

‘Sure.’

‘Okay. Call the cab now. Wrap up warm. It’s fuckin’
freezing
outside. Take plenty of cash. I’ll text you the address just as soon as I have it. You’re gonna have to bullshit the people at the morgue that you’re related. A step-brother or something. Paul Broad, his name was. Okay?’

‘Sure.’

‘You wanna write that down?

‘Sure.’

(No sound of any attempt being made to write it down.)

‘Or I can text that through if you prefer…’

Silence

‘And Kelly wants candles. Try and get candles.’

‘Sure.’

‘Thanks, man. You’re a brick.’

Kane hung up.

He stood in the darkness for a second, shivering slightly, staring at his phone, and then –

Thwack!

A large, frozen object plummeted down from the heavens and crashed into the roof of his car.

‘He has some kind of a feud under way with the local vet…’ Beede explained as Peta knelt over the bitch and gave her back-end a cursory inspection. ‘He doesn’t have the first idea how to cope. This whole situation has taken him totally by surprise. He’s a wreck – began shaking like a
leaf
when I threatened to leave…’

‘How mortifying,’ Peta drawled.

‘He’s just a little…
well
…’ Beede frowned and glanced nervously over his shoulder.

They were standing in a filthy, brightly lit double garage on the outskirts of Beckley.

‘And he
lives
in this place you say?’

Peta’s keen – somewhat mercenary – gaze slowly took in the single camp-bed, the Calor Gas heater, the ill-concealed, heavily stained chamber pot, the bizarre array of antique army boots, the ancient wardrobe with the badly hung door and broken mirror, the collection of magazines about oriental weaponry, the bales of hay, and the strange combination of furniture, old junk and animal cages lining the walls.

‘His mother owns the house, but they barely speak. He has a key. He comes and goes as he likes. Apparently the bitch belongs to her. She’s insanely protective of the animal. He said she’ll go crazy if she finds out what’s happened. And in the
wood
of all places.’

‘Well at least it’s warm in here,’ Peta muttered, straightening up and shoving her hands into her coat pockets.

‘Is the box a good size?’ Beede enquired.

She inspected the box. ‘It’s perfect. And there’s plenty of newspaper, which is ideal.’

‘She’s stopped bleeding now,’ Beede observed. ‘Do they usually lose that much blood when they whelp?’

‘Not that I’m aware of. Perhaps one of the pups was in breech…’

She peered over at him as she spoke, with a frown. ‘You’ve bitten your lip. Did you realise?’

‘Uh…Yes.’

He touched his lip, self-consciously.

‘Does it hurt?’

‘No.’

‘And your shoulder?’

Beede’s mouth twitched. ‘That’s nothing. It’s fine…’

He seemed embarrassed by her attention.

‘But you’re holding it differently – stiffly…’ she maintained, ignoring his pique. ‘Isn’t it bothering you?’

‘No. Not at all.’

She walked over and calmly placed her hands on to his shoulder. He flinched at her touch but she persisted. ‘Where’s the source of the discomfort? Is it the side of the neck?’

‘It’s honestly not…’

She pulled back the collar of his coat and loosened his scarf, then slipped her hand into the gap and applied a light pressure with her fingertips.

‘There?’

He grimaced. She’d hit the spot.

‘Is that
terribly
tender?’

‘No…’ he used the sudden, keening wail of a car-alarm outside as an excuse to move away and readjust his scarf. ‘Is that your car?’

‘My van isn’t alarmed.’

She remained exactly where she was, her hands still held aloft, staring at him, slightly hurt.

He cleared his throat. ‘I really didn’t expect you to come. I just rang because I wanted a quick word with Ann. I know she’s had a fair amount of experience in this area…’

Peta raised an imperious brow.

‘Not that you
haven’t
…’ he rapidly backtracked.

She crossed her arms and gazed around the room again. ‘You never cease to amaze me,’ she said. ‘I mean the
situations
you connive to get yourself into…’

He scowled.

‘There’s actually some good stuff in here,’ she murmured, ‘against all the odds.
Interesting
stuff…’

She walked over to inspect a large, ornately framed, deeply homoerotic print of a fifteenth-century Italian painting of Saint Sebastian, his lean, naked torso completely riddled with arrows. Close to that was a headless shop mannequin with two, small, individual dartboards clumsily etched on to each breast. A dart was still hanging from the left nipple (the right-hand one having been completely obliterated by overuse).

‘I could sell this for a fortune,’ she smiled. ‘There’s a greasy little misogynist I know who owns half of Aldgate – works in the city…He’d just
die
…’

Next to the dummy was a badly stuffed fox.

‘
Urgh.
D’you suppose he did this himself?’ she asked. Beede merely shrugged. Next to the fox was a brightly coloured 1950s roll-up, fabric St John’s Ambulance demonstration chart of the lower abdomen.

‘He’s one of those
wood
people, isn’t he?’ she sighed, trailing a bored finger around the kidney. ‘One of those strange, sexually repressed, borderline-deviant males who likes to make a habit of hanging around in the woods at night…’

‘Perhaps you should
collect
him,’ Beede opined, acerbically. ‘Do you
own
any sexual deviants yet?’

Her mouth tightened at its corners. ‘A few,’ she said, shooting him a dark look.

Beede crouched down and affixed a mewling puppy to a spare teat.

‘I spoke to Kane this afternoon,’ she said casually, walking over to one of several cages and peering inside.

‘Pardon?’

Beede glanced up.

‘Kane,’ she repeated. ‘Your son.’

‘Kane?’

Beede’s eyes flew wide behind his glasses.

‘Yes. It was
very
odd. He just rang me up, out of the blue. Said he’d found my business card in an old book…’

‘What did he want?’ Beede demanded.

‘I don’t know…’ she shrugged, pretending not to notice the urgent tone of his voice. ‘To talk, I guess. Just to chat…’

‘About
what
exactly?’

‘About you, mainly.’

‘About
me
?’

‘Yes.’

‘But why on
earth
…?’

She turned and gave him a scathing look. ‘Because the poor child doesn’t really have the first idea who you
are
, Beede.’

Beede’s jaw stiffened. He seemed stunned by her impertinence.

‘Did you get rid of him?’ he asked, roughly.

She shook her head, surprised. ‘Of course not. I invited him over. In fact I made him an offer on his car.’

Beede’s jaw tightened – if possible – still further.

‘He was sweet,’ she continued blithely, moving into a far corner and picking up an old, rather dusty policeman’s truncheon. ‘Quite charming. We shared lunch.’

‘
Charming
,’ Beede spat, standing and turning to face the garage doors (as if uncertain of being able to remain civil in front of her), ‘
that’d
be right.’