No Holds Barred (10 page)

As another flash illuminated the clearing, followed swiftly by yet another, the heavens opened and rain began to drive to earth in long shining silver rods, stinging Daniel's face and body and bringing him back to full consciousness in seconds. Continuing to roll away from the boot, he found himself close to the cottage wall and managed to get one knee under him and then pull himself upright with the aid of the bench that stood there.

Blinking through the rain, he saw his first attacker – now, encouragingly, minus the weapon – and, beside him, the bulky outline of another man, presumably his erstwhile captor. He also wore a balaclava, but into Daniel's mind flitted an image of his Summer Haulage colleague, Terry MacAllister, flexing his powerful arm muscles as he stretched at the end of a long day's driving. Macca would certainly be strong enough, but what had Daniel ever done to him?

Daniel slitted his eyes against the rain and waited with waning optimism for hostilities to recommence, his bruised ribs protesting with each indrawn breath. Two against one was no fun at the best of times, even though he had learned self-defence from a fellow officer in the dog unit. What wouldn't he give to have Jo-Ji Matsuki beside him now?

Another slashing flash, an instantaneous crack of thunder, and the rain turned to hail, drumming down so hard and fast that it bounced off the long-parched earth, puddling and beginning to flow like a river on the surface of the lane.

The icy water was running through Daniel's hair and down his face and body, soaking his Levis so they clung heavily to his legs, and all at once he just wanted to get it over with. He waited, feeling slightly dizzy and wanting more than anything to sit down.

‘Come on, then! What are you waiting for?' he yelled suddenly, surprising even himself.

There was another brilliant searing flash, another brief blaze in the treetops across the lane, and suddenly a dark streak entered on to the stage, coming to a halt between Daniel and the two men facing him.

As the echoes of the thunder rolled away across the forest, Taz's deep bark cut through the noise of the deluge, and Daniel's heart sang.

SEVEN

W
ith the advent of the German shepherd, apparently fit and spoiling for action, both men took a rapid step backwards.

The bigger of the two glanced nervously from the dog to the man beside him, as if for guidance, and his partner prudently decided to call it a day, gesturing over his shoulder towards the waiting vehicle.

Holding his hands out, palms forward, the man then began to back slowly away, with his burly sidekick keeping pace. Their eyes never left the dog, who matched each of their steps with a menacing forward step of his own.

In the lane, someone gunned the engine of the vehicle with the spotlights and, hearing the sound, the two men began to hurry – stumbling, with curses, over the broken fence in their efforts to beat a hasty retreat.

Daniel commanded Taz to stand, to stop him following the men out into the lane and possible danger. Moments later, he heard the vehicle's doors slam shut, and with a roar and a scream of tyres, the pick-up accelerated past the cottage and away down the road. There was another squeal of tyres as it took the corner where the roads joined, and gradually the sound of its engine faded into the night. In the absence of the spotlights, darkness descended, broken only by the sporadic flickering of the waning storm.

Taz stood barking at the departing vehicle until he could no longer hear it, then turned and began to cast around the trampled garden, snuffling excitedly at the multitude of smells.

‘Hey, fella,' Daniel said gruffly. ‘Come 'ere.'

His eyes were adjusting to the gloom now and he could just make out the gleam of Taz's eyes as the shepherd turned towards him. The next moment, the dog was beside him, flattening his ears with delight and butting Daniel gently with his shoulder as he fawned around his legs.

Daniel took a step backwards and sat down heavily on the bench. Throwing his arms round the dog's neck, he buried his face in the sodden fur.

‘Don't you ever do that to me again, you hear? Thought I'd lost you, you old bugger!'

The dog twisted in his grasp, trying to lick his face, and suddenly Daniel found himself overbalancing sideways. He put out a hand to save himself and ended up half sitting and half lying on the cinder walk in front of the cottage. Rivulets of rainwater were streaming along the path, but Daniel's jeans couldn't get any wetter and the effort to move was all at once too great. As the adrenalin in his system ebbed away, it felt as though there wasn't an inch of his body that wasn't bruised. He leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes and listened to the steady downpour, Taz's panting and the gurgle of water bubbling into overfull drains.

‘Best get inside, I reckon,' a voice suggested in a broad Wiltshire accent.

Daniel started, eyes snapping open. Not six feet away stood the shadowy figure of a shortish man wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a long, bulky coat.

His first thought was to curse his own stupidity for forgetting the man who'd wielded the net – but then logic cut in. Surely they wouldn't have left one of their number behind, and, anyway, Taz wasn't making a sound. Was it likely that he'd calmly accept the proximity of someone who had attacked him just minutes before?

‘Need a hand?' The shadow moved a step or two closer, and this time Taz did growl protectively.

‘I'm fine,' Daniel said with doubtful veracity. ‘I can manage, thanks.'

With the aid of the bench, he made it to his knees and from there to his feet, where he stood swaying gently with one hand on the wall.

‘Did you see another man around?' he asked, straining to see into the darkness. ‘Round the side there?'

‘Reckon I did. Took this offen 'im,' the man said, holding up what looked like a swathe of material.

The net.

Even as recognition dawned, Taz backed away with a frenzy of barking, and the man prudently tossed the mesh to one side.

‘Reckon he's learned his lesson,' he observed. ‘Won't get caught like that again.'

‘I hope not. And thank you. Let's go in.' Daniel moved stiffly towards the door, the wet cinders squidging between his bare toes, but when he looked back, the man in the hat hadn't moved.

‘Won't you come inside? Until the rain stops, at least.' In spite of the warmth of the night, Daniel had started to shiver violently and he longed to get inside and dry off.

‘Reckon I don't mind the rain,' the man said, but he followed Daniel as far as the doorway nevertheless, where the light fell on gaunt, weathered features and brown eyes in the shade of the hat brim. He could have been anything from fifty to seventy years old, and was no more than five foot six tall, wearing a long stockman's coat that reached to ankles encased in worn leather walking boots.

Daniel's practised eye noted the coat's suspiciously bulging inner pockets – poachers' pockets, and never more aptly named, he suspected. He was almost certain he was looking at the locally famous Woodsmoke, of whom Jenny had spoken.

‘I can do coffee,' he offered. ‘But I'm afraid I haven't anything stronger.'

The wizened face split into a grin that would have had any self-respecting dentist recoiling in horror, and he patted his breast. ‘I allus come prepared,' he said.

Daniel stood back and beckoned him through to the kitchen, and after a moment's hesitation, Woodsmoke stepped inside.

‘Have a seat. I'll put the kettle on and then change these jeans  . . .' Daniel's voice trailed away as a small, grey, lurchery face peered through the front opening of the poacher's long coat at knee level. ‘Hello, little one.'

‘Thass Gypsy,' Woodsmoke said with no hint of apology. ‘She goes everywhere.' Carefully arranging the heavy pockets of his coat to each side, he sat himself on one of the wooden chairs and the whippet-sized bitch crept out and curled up on his feet.

Minutes later, when Daniel came back downstairs in clean jeans and a T-shirt, his hair towelled dry, the kitchen bore an aroma like a bonfire on an autumn day – an earthy mixture of leaf mould and smoke. Woodsmoke had made two mugs of coffee, and a flat-sided, green glass bottle stood on the table between them.

‘Didn't put it in yourn, lessen you was one of them teetotallers.' His tone and the curl of his lip left Daniel in no doubt as to his opinion of such people.

Daniel shook his head, thanked him and, without peering too closely at the bottle, the label of which had long since disintegrated, tipped a couple of glugs into his coffee. The resulting brew made its way down his throat with a comforting burn, and for the first time since waking to hear the stones against his window, Daniel began to relax. He wished he could give Taz something similar but he guessed it was all in a night's work for the dog, who had followed him upstairs and back down, and now lay on the floor half under the table, busily washing his front paws. He and Gypsy were studiously ignoring one another.

‘Reckon you need to get some ice on that.' Woodsmoke gestured at Daniel's right wrist, which was badly bruised and swollen from the forearm to the fingers.

Daniel retrieved a bag of frozen peas from the icebox of the fridge and wrapped it round his injured arm in a dishcloth.

‘I can't thank you enough for what you did for Taz,' he said then, taking a seat across from Woodsmoke. ‘I thought they were going to kill him.'

‘If t'ad been Boyd, he would 'ave,' the poacher grunted. ‘Evil that one. Pure evil.'

‘Ricky, you mean?'

‘No. T'other un. Taylor. You knew t'was him, spite of the masks, didn't you?'

‘I guessed,' Daniel confirmed.

‘Ar. They're a bad lot, the whole crowd of 'em, but Taylor's the worst. Jenny's man should never 'ave got mixed up with he.'

‘Jenny says Gavin isn't from round here and didn't know the family.'

Another grunt. ‘Soon learned. What's his beef with you, then?'

‘He thinks I've been asking questions about him.'

‘An 'ave you?'

Daniel sighed. ‘One or two, maybe, on the quiet.'

Woodsmoke harrumphed. ‘Not quiet enough, seemingly. Got eyes and ears everywhere, that fambly. There's not much goes on they don't hear about.'

‘So it seems. So, what happened back there – with Taz, I mean?'

‘Matey was gonna haul him into the tree. Didn't 'spect ter find me there, did he? Reckon I give 'im the fright of his life!' Woodsmoke chuckled appreciatively at the memory.

‘Into a tree? Are you sure?'

‘'S'what it looked like.'

‘Did you see who it was?'

‘Reckon not. Come up behind 'im and put my hand on his shoulder, I did. He didn't hang around fer no introductions.'

‘I don't suppose he did,' Daniel said with a slight smile.

‘Reckon his heart weren't in it.'

‘What makes you say that?'

‘Well, Boyd, see, he woulda told 'im ter clobber the dog, not string 'im in a bloody tree! Lucky he was more interested in you, I reckon.'

‘Lucky for who?' Daniel enquired morosely. Now that the sustaining effect of the adrenalin had cleared his system, a grinding discomfort was taking over, reminding him, with each movement, of the efficacy with which Boyd, if Boyd it had been, had wielded his baseball bat.

Woodsmoke grunted again. ‘Woulda killed the dog, Boyd would. Seen 'im do it afore.'

‘You've seen him kill a dog?' Daniel's ears pricked up. ‘Whose?'

Suddenly, it seemed as if the poacher regretted having said so much. He shrugged and took a long swig of his coffee.

‘Reckon I disremember.'

‘I'd really like to know  . . .'

‘Wouldn't do yer no good, I reckon. 'S'all over an' done with.'

Sensing that the older man had said all he was going to, Daniel changed the subject, careful not to let his frustration show.

‘Was it you the other day? Watching me from the wood?'

‘Mighta bin.'

‘Why didn't you come over?'

‘Not in general sociable,' Woodsmoke said. ‘Juss wanted to see what manner of man you wuz. Heard you sent the Boyd nipper packing.'

‘With a little help from Taz,' Daniel admitted, adding casually, ‘The Boyds have got dogs at the scrapyard, I gather. Rottweilers, aren't they?'

‘The girl tell you that, did she? Sue? Never could keep her mouth shut. Bet she didn't tell you about the others though, did she? The ones you can't see.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Nuthin.' All at once, Woodsmoke wouldn't meet Daniel's eyes, and this time Daniel let his exasperation show.

‘But you must have meant something, else why say it?'

The older man finished his coffee in one long swallow and stood up.

‘Didn't mean nuthin'. Juss ramblin'. Folks'll tell you I'm daft in the head, an' maybe they're right. Reckon you don't wanna take no notice of what I say.' He stood up and headed for the door, the little lurcher once again hidden under his coat.

Daniel followed him. ‘You're no more mad than I am. What are you scared of ?
Who
are you scared of ? Is it Taylor Boyd?'

Woodsmoke turned sharply.

‘Iss not just him! You don't know what you're messing with. There's dozens of 'em – hundreds. People you don't expect. They come from all over. There's nuthin' you can do 'cept keep your head down and pretend you don't see nor hear nuthin.'

He made to move away again, but Daniel caught hold of his coat sleeve.

‘What are you talking about? What people?'

Woodsmoke paused and, without turning, said reluctantly, ‘Reckon there's plenty others, but Boyd's lot calls theirselves the Butcher Boys. But I never told you that and no one can prove I did.'

As the little woodsman disappeared into the darkness, Daniel locked the front door of the cottage and returned to the kitchen. A glance at the clock told him it was a quarter to four. Hard to believe that so much had happened in such a short time.