Fire in the Blood (16 page)

As they drove out of the car park the white van was still rocking rhythmically up and down on its suspension. Annie grinned and said,
‘
This
explains why you can never get a plumber when you want one
and
why they need all that sugar in their tea.’

Jack laughed out loud, and then added
,
‘I owe you yet another apology, Annie. You were dead right, you know, last week when you said that there’s a
lot
more goes on down here than most people imagine. It may look like sleepy hollow on the surface, but dig a little bit deeper and, my God, some of the stuff the locals get up to would make your hair stand on end.’

On the way back to their coastal base, the Land Rover crashed violently into a deep pothole on the poorly maintained B-road, and the ancient dashboard radio suddenly sprang to life for the first time.

‘Hallelujah, things are looking up. Maybe I can find some decent music.’ After twiddling with the tuning knob, Jack found a local country music station playing “Back Street Affair”
by Van Morrison and sat back, relaxing to the music.

Annie said,
‘You can show me how to do the report for the husband later, and I’ll sort out the pictures.’

‘Yeah, no problem, and
remind me to do the invoice as well.
That’s
the important bit for us.’

As they negotiated the track back to the beach hut, Jack turned up the volume just as the cheesy radio DJ started to read out a request.

‘Okay then folks, that was the one and only Van the Man and, let’s see if I can read the writing on this next request. It’s from somebody called Thomas up in Glasgow, for his good buddies Jack and Annie who are currently on holiday down here in the beautiful South West. If you’re listening guys, Thomas hopes that you’re both enjoying your short break and he says he’s looking forward to meeting up with you again
real
soon. So this one’s especially for you two …
enjoy
.’

Disbelieving, Annie stopped the Land Rover and stared at Jack, open-mouthed. ‘Wait a minute, there’s no way … it couldn’t be,
could
it?’

Johnny Cash then began to belt out “Ring of Fire”.

Jack shook his head and pointed at the radio. ‘Remember what I said about not believing in coincidences, Annie. I don’t know how the hell he did that, but it can only be Thomas Burke. I think we better get the tin hats out and start filling sandbags.’

Chapter 32

When they reached the beach cabin a few minutes later, they were both still seriously spooked by the radio request for “Ring of Fire”. Annie, in particular, felt as if their little safe haven by the sea had somehow now been violated.

‘We just have to try and think logically about this, Annie,’ Jack announced, trying to sound calmer than he actually felt. ‘Remember that Thomas Burke is just a man made of flesh and blood, who puts his pants on one leg at a time, and he doesn’t have any supernatural powers. So there has to be a completely rational explanation for what just happened. But I don’t have a clue what it is.’

Half an hour later, after a fast run along the beach to try and clear her head, Annie got out her MacBook and did an internet search to find the phone number of the local radio station. She drove back up to the main road, to get a network signal, dialled the number and then chatted up the young guy who answered, asking him about the person who made the request for “Ring of Fire”. When she returned to the cabin, she updated Jack.

‘Okay then, we’re getting somewhere. It turns out that the radio station is in the middle of its annual
Cash for Kids
, charity fund raising campaign, where they invite listeners to phone in requests and make a cash donation to get their favourite record played. The guy I spoke to clearly remembers Burke phoning up a couple of days ago and pledging £1000 if they would agree to play
“
Ring of Fire” every couple of hours for a whole week. They don’t usually get large pledges like that so they agreed like a shot, but they’re all getting pretty sick of the song by now.’

‘Good work, Annie. So what can we deduce from that information? What do you think it tells us about Mr Burke?’

‘Well I suppose it tells us that he has a pretty sick sense of humour, no surprise there.
And
he’s got plenty of money, if he’s prepared to spend a grand just on the off chance that we’ll be listening to that particular radio station, when his request is played. I mean, when you come to think about it, what are the odds on that?’

‘That’s true, although I suspect that he’s also splashed money on similar messages in the local papers and on requests to any other commercial radio stations that broadcast across this area. I think that it’s all part of the game he’s playing and getting the request played on the radio was just a shot in the dark, an attempt to try and flush us out from cover.’

‘But it’s pretty scary that he knows that we’re down here at all, isn’t it? I mean we were so careful on the way down. How on earth could he have found out where we are?’

‘I’ve been thinking about that a lot, Annie, and while you were away for your run, I did a bit of research on your laptop. I think he knows that we’re
somewhere
down around the Solway coast, but he doesn’t have the
exact
location. Remember back in Glasgow, when you asked me if I had a GPS vehicle tracker?’

‘Yeah, but you don’t.’

‘No I don’t, but I reckon Thomas Burke
does
. I’ve found out they only cost a couple of hundred quid and I’m betting that the bastard stuck one under Senga, back at the same car park where he gave her the paint stripper treatment. But these little gizmos are similar to mobile phones, so their usefulness is limited by the network coverage.’

‘And as we found out the other night when the Barlow boys were stealing the cattle, phone reception is really patchy in this area.’

‘Right, so the way it works is that when a GPS tracker pings off the mobile phone towers, which are mainly in towns and alongside main roads, Burke would be sent a location report each time. And with the software that comes with one of these things, he can then plot a route on a map and maybe even work out where we’re staying, if a cluster of pings showed up around the same spot over several days.’

‘You could be onto something here, boss.’

‘Yes and remember that we only used Senga for the first couple of days when we arrived down here, before switching over to the Land Rover. So, if I’m right, he would only have received an intermittent location signal at best from the tracker, as we were driving around the local area.’

Annie was starting to feel slightly less anxious as they logically thought things through. ‘Yeah, that does make sense, because remember that to get any kind of decent phone signal, you have to go back up to the main road and then head at least a mile West towards Sandhead before you get back on the network. So what do you reckon, boss, best guess. Do you think he knows about the beach cabin?’

‘No I don’t, but who knows anything for sure? Burke maybe even thinks that Senga is laid up in a garage somewhere getting repaired. Anyway this is all just speculation, so let’s head back over to the Kemp farm right now, and check out Senga to see if there is a tracker stuck somewhere on her. Then we’ll know one way or another where we stand.’

They got back into the Land Rover and Jack made a courtesy call to farmer Kemp to let him know that they were on their way over. The farmer was delighted to hear once again from the city slickers who had saved his herd of cattle, and he informed Jack that Senga was still safely tucked away in the byre. He also advised Jack that one of his neighbours, also a farmer, might have a job for them.

‘It would depend what it is,’ Jack replied in a noncommittal tone, thinking to himself that working again for a farmer would inevitably result in being covered in mud and cow shit from head to foot at some point, and also probably mean being placed in mortal danger for a pittance of a fee, which would hardly cover his dry cleaning bill. ‘You see, we’ve got a few other things on the go at the moment. I’ll speak to you about it when we arrive, in about twenty minutes.’

As Jack ended the phone call, Annie informed him, ‘By the way, while I was talking to the DJ at the radio station, I put in a request for you, boss. Cost me a tenner, but I think you’re worth it.’

‘Really, what is it?’

‘Well I asked if they have any old Hank Williams stuff in their record library and the guy said his all-time favourite track is “Last Night I Heard you Crying in your Sleep” so that’s what you’ll be getting played, sometime between nine and ten this evening. I did offer him twenty quid, if he would introduce it as “Last Night I Heard you Farting in your Sleep” which would be much more appropriate, believe me. But he said his boss would probably give him the sack if he did that.’

‘You really are a piece of work, Annie. I appreciate it, thanks.’

‘
And
I’ll lend you my iPhone so you can listen to your song, but don’t even
think
about sneaking off to the bog with it again. That was like,
so
gross.’

Jack smiled contentedly and then proudly announced, ‘Guess what? I didn’t have an alcoholic drink of any kind yesterday, Annie. No booze. None, zilch, de nada. How about that?’’

Annie looked pleased. ‘Really? That’s good …
very
good, boss. If you can keep it up, you might actually live to collect your old age pension. Of course, I’d give you even more Brownie points if there had been any booze left in the cabin to tempt you. You finished the last of it the day before.’

‘Christ, you don’t miss a thing, do you? Anyway, I was trying to work out the last time I went to bed completely sober and I reckon I was probably about fifteen years old. So I didn’t think I would sleep at all, but funnily enough I did. Slept like a log in fact, right through, although I did have a
really
vivid dream. Oh, and you were in it as well.’

Annie was slightly apprehensive and asked, ‘Should I really be hearing this? Dreams are kind of personal, especially
men’s
dreams.’

‘No it was nothing like
that
. I dreamt that we were both trapped in a great big room somewhere, surrounded by a pack of shuffling zombies who seemed to be going round and round in circles, endlessly muttering, ‘Nice,
really
nice.’

‘It’s probably just a memory of a scene in some mad sci-fi film, or a television advert that you’ve seen recently. But it is kind of weird, can you remember what happened?’

‘I felt really sweaty and agitated, and I just wanted to lash out at everyone around me and run for the door. But there was no door, no possible way to get out. How crazy is that? What do you think it could mean?’

Smiling Annie replied, ‘I’ve no idea, but it sounds like you’d made the big mistake of going into an Ikea store at the weekend. You know, all those young couples with their whiny little brats, running wild all over the place. And, of course, crucially in your case, Ikea
doesn’t
have a bar.’

Jack nodded in admiration and wagged a finger at his new colleague. ‘You’re good, Annie James …
really
good.’

Chapter 33

When they reached the Kemp farm, they drove straight into the old byre where Senga was parked, and as Jack kneeled down and peered underneath the rear of the car, Annie began to work her way round the vehicle, checking under the wheel arches with a torch.

‘You were right, boss,’ she exclaimed triumphantly, holding aloft a sinister little black box with a stubby antenna and a winking red LED. ‘This little bugger was stuck under the offside front wing. It’s got a really powerful magnet on the bottom, I could hardly release it. Should I switch it off?’

Jack inspected the device closely and muttered, ‘Yes, that’s probably best. Although, let’s take it with us. We might be able to think of some way to use it to our advantage.’

Farmer Kemp then appeared at the entrance to the byre, smiling broadly and thankfully stutter free. ‘You’ll be pleased to hear that I had a phone call from the police earlier this morning about the Barlows. They appeared at the Sheriff court in Kirkcudbright yesterday and plead guilty to all charges, which is the smartest thing they’ve done in a long time. So that was a definite result. All three of them were remanded in custody for background reports, pending sentencing, which the Sheriff warned would definitely be custodial. So you’re looking at a very happy man, I can’t thank you both enough on behalf of every single farmer in this area.’

‘Look, it’s no big deal, honestly. We were just doing our job, Mr Kemp,’ said Jack.

‘No, that’s not true. You’re being far too modest. Everybody was talking about it at Castle Douglas market on Monday, and I think the local paper’s going to run the whole story on the front page of the next edition. Anyway, to show our appreciation, we’ve all got together and I can tell you right now, speaking on behalf of every farmer within thirty miles, that …’

He then paused for effect, in the manner of the host addressing an audience of the great and the good at the annual Oscars ceremony in Hollywood. Unsure what to expect, Jack and Annie braced themselves, ready to be overwhelmed by the combined largesse of an entire farming community.

‘You’ll never need to buy an egg again, as long as you both stay here. Your money’s no good for eggs,’ said the farmer. Then he reached behind and, with a flourish, handed over a cardboard tray containing two dozen fresh eggs.

Jack took the gift and looked sideways at Annie, then rolled his eyes and said with as much sincerity as he could muster, ‘I really don’t know what to say. I’m overcome with … what’s the word I’m looking for, Annie?’

‘Em, I’m really not sure, boss.
Gratitude?
’

‘That’ll do, yes, gratitude. Thank you so much Mr Kemp, I do love a fresh egg with soldiers for breakfast. It’s one of life’s simple pleasures.’

‘I knew you’d be pleased, anyway come into the house for a minute and we can have a cup of coffee. By the way, did you find what you were looking for, you know, in the car?’

‘Yes we did, thanks. It was just where I thought it would be. Tell me, have there been any strangers around the farm in the last few days, anybody who looked suspicious or out of place?’

‘No, there’s only been a young bloke, from the local council Trading Standards department, who was doing a routine check on my stock movement records. But between you and me,
they
always look a bit strange and out of place. I reckon it must be a requirement of the job. Oh, and while I remember, my neighbour who farms over the hill asked me to pass on his business card and he said you should give him a bell, if you’re interested in more work.’

‘Do you know what the job is?’ Jack asked, as he slipped the card into his wallet.

‘I did ask him about it but, to tell you the truth, he was a bit vague about the details. But as far as I can gather, it’s about someone on his wife’s side of the family who’s in a bit of trouble. That’s all I know, Mr Davidson, but I can tell you this, though, he’s not short of a bob or two,
that
one.’

Jack immediately thought ruefully to himself that they’re
all
worth a bob or two, these farmers. However, the puzzle that no one alive has ever worked out, is how to get any of them to part with it.