Ravens Gathering (13 page)

The gate clattered against the post.  The breeze had
developed into a strong wind, snatching the gate from his grip.  It wasn’t
like him to be caught out like that.  Further evidence that he was
distracted.  He cursed as he caught the gate in his hand - probably too
late.  Chances were that the noise would have been heard from within the
farmhouse.

Carefully, he eased the gate closed, and turned to face the
house.  A low light seeped out at the edges of the blind in the kitchen
window.  Too low to come from the kitchen itself.  He suspected it
came from one of the living rooms.  Moving with his usual stealth, he
crossed the yard, reaching the door in a few strides.  He rested his hand
on the knob for a moment, listening for any sound coming from inside.  If he
really strained his hearing, he could make out a low muttering. 
Definitely further into the house.  Perhaps they hadn’t heard the gate
after all.

Gripping the knob, he turned it and was surprised when the
door opened.  A cold gust blew past him, rattling pans that he knew were
hanging up from one of the beams in the kitchen.  The muttering
stopped.  He stepped inside quickly, closing the door behind him. 
The key was in the lock.  He turned it.

Tentative footsteps had replaced the low voices.  He
recognised the tread on the wooden floorboards in the hallway that lay beyond a
half open door on the other side of the room.  There was no point in using
stealth now, he realised.  He flipped the nearest light switch as he moved
swiftly across the kitchen.  They almost collided as they reached the
doorway at the same time.

“Why’s the door unlocked?” he demanded.  He should have
been angry, but he had found from experience that anger was very difficult to
maintain with the woman he was looking at.

Jennifer Hawthorn’s hair was light brown, almost to the
point of being blonde.  Her olive skin and bright blue eyes contrasted
with her hair to give her an exotic appearance.  Undoubtedly in
generations past there had been mixed parentage, but exactly what that mix was
would be impossible to establish.  She was five feet five and a half
inches in height.  She wouldn’t try to round up to five and a half feet,
but she wasn’t prepared to negotiate on that extra half inch.  From some
people, that pedantry would be irritating.  From Jennifer it was
endearing.

Inevitably, he found himself staring at her, drinking in her
beauty.  After so many years – decades even – of being together, he was
still very grateful to have her as his wife.  And even more grateful to
see his love for her reflected in her eyes.  How lucky was
he
to
have earned the love of this amazing woman?

She reached out and put both arms around him, pressing
herself against his body.  “I’m sorry,” she said.  And he knew she
understood that his concern was for her safety.  “We just thought it would
be easier for
you
.”  Then she pulled back and looked up at him, her
brow creased with worry.  “There isn’t any danger is there?”

As she said this, he was aware of movement to his
right.  Adam looked over at his sister, who had just come out of the
sitting room.  The pair of them had obviously been waiting for him in
there.  Her expression was very serious, questioning.

There was no easy way to break it to them.

“He’s here.”

Going with Martin for the walk in the woods had clearly
taken its toll.  Tanya wasn’t used to that amount of exercise or fresh
air, so she had fallen into a deep sleep almost as soon as her head hit the
pillow.  She had no idea what time Ian had come up and joined her. 
When she looked at the alarm clock after being woken up by the sound of him
opening the wardrobe, she was surprised to see that it wasn’t yet quarter past
seven.  And from the relative liveliness of his movements around the bedroom,
she guessed he’d already been up for a while.  She had pulled the duvet
over her head and pressed the right side of her head into the pillow, hoping
that with one ear incapacitated she would minimise the disturbance.

Inevitably, she couldn’t go back to sleep, but at least her
waking was a more gradual process.  And as she woke, she started to think.

Ian’s meeting with the bank was scheduled for ten
o’clock.  This meeting was only in Westfield, so he didn’t need to leave
until 9:15.  She knew plenty of people who would leave it until
9:30.  But she also knew that Ian would be ultra cautious.  He would
want to make a good impression, so he would give himself extra time, then wait
around outside the bank until a couple of minutes to ten.  That way he
would be confident of being punctual.  With any luck, that degree of
punctuality would catch the manager out.  He would expect his customers to
turn up early or late, and so assume that when Ian wasn’t early, there was only
one alternative.  And when the manager assumed that, he tended to get
involved in another job.  So when Ian’s arrival was announced, he would
either have to finish it quickly, or leave it to one side, and be distracted by
the unfinished work.  Whichever was the case, the outcome was the same. 
The manager was at a disadvantage, and Ian had control of the meeting.

 It was a ridiculous theory, but Ian had shown that it
worked so often she’d come to accept it as fact.

The question was: what was he doing up and about this
early?  He always showered and ate breakfast before dressing, so she knew
he must have been up no later than 6:30.  By the time she had reached this
point in her thinking, she could hear him gargling in the en-suite.  She
lifted the covers half-heartedly to look at the clock again.  It was still
not yet 7:30.  But gargling meant he was almost ready.  Which meant
he’d be leaving within the next five to ten minutes.

Whatever his reason for going this early – and she could
think of several – it began to dawn on her that this presented her with a
fantastic opportunity.  At the very least, the meeting with the bank would
last half an hour.  It could very well go on for a lot longer.  And
if it started late – which is what Ian would expect – it could be well past
eleven before he left.  But even if she assumed the worst-case scenario,
he wouldn’t be back at the farm before 11:00.  And if he was gone by
twenty to eight, that gave her over three hours in the house with Martin. 
Curled up under the duvet, she allowed her fingers to wander just as her mind
did.

Only to be interrupted by the mattress sinking at the side
of her.  Guiltily, she snatched her arm back, disguising the movement by
lifting the covers from her head.

“Sorry to disturb you.”  His voice was soft, little more
than a whisper.  “Just wanted to let you know I was going.”

She forced a smile.  “I’m sure it’ll go well,” she
said, and she meant it.  If anyone could handle the money side it was
Ian.  More importantly, if anyone could handle the
people
with the
money, he could.

He nodded an acknowledgement, though he didn’t look as
convinced as she thought he should.  “I’ll see you later.”  He didn’t
attempt to kiss her, for which she was grateful.  Instead, he just stood
up and left the room.  She heard him on the stairs, and for several
minutes there was some movement from – she thought – the kitchen. 
Eventually, she heard the kitchen door open and close.  All the time,
listening carefully, willing him on, and forcing herself to wait for him to
go.  Much as she wanted to jump out of bed, she knew she couldn’t be too
hasty.  Even after she’d heard the door close, she strained her hearing,
waiting for the sound of the Land Rover starting.

She didn’t like the vehicle at all.  Ian would argue
that it was practical for getting around on the land, and in the
countryside.  But Tanya wasn’t interested in practical.  She wanted
sleek lines, distinctive colours, and an engine that made heads turn.  The
engine was the only advantage the Land Rover had as far as she was concerned. 
Not because it sounded good, but because it was loud and distinctive.  It
acted as an early warning system if she was doing something she shouldn’t
be.  Fortunately, it had served this purpose on only one occasion so
far.  But equally, it clearly announced its departure so she knew when the
coast was clear.

Which it did for her thirty seconds after the kitchen door
closed.  She listened to the engine noise rise in volume as Ian warmed it
up, then the pitch changed as he set off, and moments later it was fading away
as he drove out of the yard and turned on to the track.

Less than a minute later, she was in the shower.

*   *   *

By ten to eight, she was at the bottom of the stairs. 
In spite of her experience at seducing men, she had hesitated over her
preparations.  Her entrance had to have an effect, and that meant getting
her appearance right.  Different men found different things
exciting.  Tanya was quite capable of catering to all tastes, from the
near-virginal look to the complete slut – and had the exciting memories to
prove it.  Working out what would do the trick was normally easy enough,
but Martin was difficult to read.  In the end, she had decided to keep
things relatively simple – a silk kimono-style dressing gown that came no lower
than mid-thigh.  It clung to her body, leaving any onlooker in no doubt
that she was naked beneath it.

The wooden floor of the hallway gave way to cold quarry
tiles in the kitchen.  A glance out the window and into the yard. 
Her caution was driven by the possibility that Ian might have returned while
she was in the shower and couldn’t hear anything above the water. 
Unlikely, but she didn’t want to take any chances.  As expected, the only
vehicle out there was her Mercedes.  Not wanting to let her feet get too
cold, she hurried to the other side of the room.  She didn’t mind the
cold, but was thinking ahead, and didn’t want to give Martin a shock when she
climbed into his bed – not that kind of a shock anyway.

Fortunately, the floor in the annexe hallway was carpeted. 
At the end of it, she could see the bedroom door was slightly ajar. 
Inviting, perhaps?  A part of her wanted to savour the anticipation, but
there was also some apprehension.  In spite of her previous successes with
members of the opposite sex, she still had some doubts as far as Martin was
concerned.  The lack of time was a bigger driver, though.  She might
have until eleven before Ian returned, but he would be expecting to find her
showered, dressed, breakfasted and the washing up all done.  If she was
going to make the most of this opportunity, she didn’t have time for
hesitation.

Pushing the door open, she stepped quietly over the
threshold.  It would be good to sneak into his bed while he slept. 
She had a whole range of ways she could gently – and erotically – wake him
up.  Even as this thought was filtering through her mind, she realised her
plans might be thwarted.

His bedclothes had been pushed back.  The sheets were
still rumpled from where he had lain, and the pillow showed the indent his head
had made.  She glanced towards the shower room.  The door there was
half open, the only light coming through was from the small window in there.

It crossed her mind to climb into the bed and wait for
him. 
That
would be a surprise for him.  But something didn’t
seem right.  There was no sound, not running water or even the splash of
urine flowing into the toilet bowl.

Crossing the room, she popped her head into the
en-suite.  It was empty.

A minute later, she’d established that he wasn’t in any of
the other rooms in the annexe.  Within five minutes, she knew he wasn’t
anywhere in the house.  Irritated and frustrated, she returned to her
bedroom.  She’d worked up an itch that needed scratching.  Lying back
on the bed, focusing on her own needs, she didn’t consider where Martin was or
what he was up to.

“We didn’t ’ear anything,” John Payne said, shaking his
head.  “Not that
we’d’ve
been listening out for
it...”  He tailed off, clearly at a loss for words.  It was obvious
the man was still in a state of shock.

He was standing behind the counter.  In front of him
was the tiered confectionary display, an array of chocolate bars and sweet
packets that reminded Brian Oakes of his schooldays.  Only six years ago,
yet a wholly different way of life.  Long gone were the visits to the
newsagents on his way home from school, a ritual that seemed as if it would
last forever.  A selection of goodies at least as wide-ranging as the one
Payne was resting his hands on the back of.  And yet he’d found himself still
buying the same things every day: Opal Fruits and a finger of Fudge. 
Sickly sweet and all the better for it.  These days he’d be more likely to
stop off at the pub on his way home.

Brian glanced around the shop.  It wasn’t a big
place.  Apart from the counter there was a single shelving rack in the
middle of the floor, as well as shelves on the walls either side of the
store.  The windows were directly opposite the counter, and stretched
floor to ceiling, giving a clear view of the row of houses on the other side of
the street.  The goods on offer were the usual
mish
-mash
of things you’d expect to buy in a village shop: magazines, tinned food,
breakfast cereals, bread, a limited supply of fresh vegetables.  He looked
again.  Well, maybe
fresh
was optimistic.  Without looking at
the price tags, he knew everything would be over-priced, but they were only
likely to be bought in an emergency anyway.  Under those circumstances, he
supposed you wouldn’t mind paying over the odds.  Brian had been born and
raised in a town south of the county.  In spite of his four years with the
police, he didn’t yet appreciate how important a shop like John Payne’s was to
a small community like this.  The presence of two customers filling
baskets did nothing to alter his thinking.  But it did make him realise
there was the potential for them to disturb him while he worked.

When he turned back to look at Payne, he was unsurprised to
see that the shopkeeper’s face gave no indication that he had been aware of the
young constable’s lack of attention.  Mrs Payne was another matter. 
She was standing in a boxed-off area to the right of the main counter. 
This was the official face of the Post Office.  The expression on
her
face made it clear that she was not suffering from any shock.  Instead, he
got the impression that she wanted the bastards who had stolen their van to be
strung up and left alone with her and a baseball bat for half an hour.

Nodding towards the two customers, Brian said: “It would be
helpful if we could talk about this without any interruptions.  Is there
anyone who could help out while I take all the details off you?”  He
pulled his notebook out as he spoke, hoping they would get the message that he
was taking their situation seriously – and so should they.

The chances were that they were probably impressed that he
was there at all.  They’d reported the van stolen at eight o’clock this
morning, and it was only ten-thirty now.  That was a fast response for a
case like this, especially with them being out in the sticks.  Not that he
was inclined to tell them, but the only reason they were seeing him this soon
was the fact that he’d already been due to visit Lodge Farm this morning. 
Although it wasn’t expected that the gruesome accident yesterday would lead to
any accusations of criminal action, the injuries had been sufficient to warrant
a referral by the hospital to the police.  Conscious of the need to stay
within budgets, the Desk Sergeant had told Brian he might as well pull this one
in while he was in the village.

Behind the counter, John Payne hadn’t budged or changed his
expression.  Mrs Payne, on the other hand, was leaning through an opening
at the back of her cubicle.  Brian realised he hadn’t noticed it
before.  It reminded him of a serving hatch his grandparents had between
their kitchen and dining room.  Watching the postmistress, he let his gaze
fall to her bottom, which was pushed out towards him. 
Nice arse
,
he thought.  She pulled her head back and turned towards him. 
Shame
about the face
.  He guessed she might have been attractive once. 
It was difficult to tell how old she was.  Whatever age, she hadn’t worn
well.  Her hair was blonde, but shot through with grey.  Face pasty
and creased with wrinkles.  He couldn’t even be generous and call them
laughter lines, because there was no sign of good humour.  There was just
a weariness that emanated from her.

Not that her husband looked much better.  His age was
easier to guess.  Brian would put him in his mid-fifties. 
Silver-grey hair, thick-set and thick-
jowled
, his
complexion ruddy in a manner that spoke more of a fondness for alcohol than the
great outdoors.  The large, dark-rimmed glasses served to make his eyes
look small and sunken in his fleshy face.

A door in the Post Office cubicle opened and Mrs Payne’s
head poked round the side of it.

“We can’t leave the shop unattended.  My
daughter’ll
be here in a moment to look after the till, but
we’ll need to stay close in case she needs any help.”

That seemed okay to Brian.  He just didn’t want interruptions
from the customers if they decided they wanted to pay for their shopping. 
A glance at their baskets did make him wonder how they’d managed to find so
much to buy in this place.  And they were still perusing the shelves.

 The sound of a door opening brought his attention back
to the counter area.  The door in question was behind the counter and on
the opposite side to the Post Office cubicle.  He watched as a young woman
emerged cautiously, her eyes cast down shyly.  If this was the daughter,
Brian could see why he’d thought Mrs Payne might have been attractive when she
was younger.  Her features, even from this awkward angle were clearly
those of her mother.  The rounded nose, the wide mouth, the pale skin with
freckles dusting her cheeks and nose.  Her hair was long and loose. 
As she moved, it was almost as if she used it to hide behind.

“Come on, Helen!” Mrs Payne said impatiently.  John
didn’t even seem to be aware she was there.  Apparently startled by the
sharpness of her mother’s voice, Helen jumped a little, her shoulders rising,
her right hand briefly coming into view.  Nodding, her lips moving in a
silent apology, she hurried past her father and into the cubicle.  A
moment later, he saw her settle on to the stool behind the desk.  Light reflected
off the glass screen, obscuring his view of her.  Still, there was
something...

“Right!”  It was Mrs Payne, closing the door behind
her.  “Let’s get on with this, shall we?”  Without the door or the
bandit screen in the way, he heard her voice for the first time and realised
she wasn’t a local.  He wasn’t very good with accents, but he knew a
strange one when he heard it.

Pushing her husband ahead of her, she moved out into the
shop.  John Payne was shaking his head in disbelief, though Brian was pretty
confident this wasn’t because he was being shoved around.  He guessed the
shopkeeper accepted that as a normal part of his life.

As they came to a stop in front of him, Brian could hear
John muttering: “Why would they do that?”

“What do you want to know?”  Although he suspected that
he would need to use kid gloves with John Payne, there was clearly no need for
that with his wife.

He fought back a sigh, and raised his pen.  “I know
your husband has already given some details to my colleagues at the station,
but I always think it’s best to hear it from the...”  He hesitated as he
glanced up to see Mrs Payne’s bared teeth.  Suddenly the words ‘horse’s
mouth’ didn’t seem terribly tactful.  “...source,” he finished. 
“Perhaps you could tell me everything from the beginning.”  He looked at
each of them in turn, though that was more on the off-chance that he might see
some reaction from John than any expectation that he might contribute anything
verbally.

“Just so unnecessary...”  His voice tailed off as his
eyes seemed to focus on a spot just over Brian’s shoulder.  The policeman
knew there was nothing there.

In contrast to her husband’s ramblings, Mrs Payne spoke
clearly and precisely.  Her tone gave him no cause to doubt her annoyance
at the theft of the van, but she was clearly not affected by it in the same way
as John.

“Something woke us up in the night.  There was a
scraping sound.”

“Like something being dragged?”  Brian suggested,
wanting to give his notes more clarity.

“No, like fingernails on a blackboard.”

He looked up sharply, but she ignored him.

“It actually sounded as if it was coming from the bedroom
window, though obviously it couldn’t have been as it’s upstairs and there’s no
way to get up to it.  Still, when it’s the middle of the night and it wakes
you up, you don’t think straight, do you?”  She didn’t wait for an
answer.  “It was scary, though.  Like something from a vampire film.”

Brian had a flashback to a film he’d seen: a deathly white
teenager with barely concealed fangs floated outside a bedroom window demanding
to be let in.  He had to make a conscious effort not to shiver. 
Fortunately, Mrs Payne was oblivious to this as she carried on.

“We were both frightened by it, though
he
probably
wouldn’t admit it.”  Brian couldn’t help thinking that John Payne looked
as if he’d be hard pressed to hide being frightened.  “So we did the only
thing we could.  We pulled the covers over our heads and tried to pretend
it wasn’t there.”  She spoke in a very matter of fact way, yet she was
talking about acting like a child who was afraid of the monster in the
cupboard.  “It must have worked eventually because the alarm woke
us.  Don’t remember falling asleep, but I do remember the bloody alarm
going off.”  She smiled at that.  It didn’t last long, but Brian
caught a glimpse of a different woman for a moment, a woman who
had
enjoyed a sense of humour once.  “Anyway, we came downstairs for
breakfast, and it was gone.”

“The van?”

“Well of course the van.  We haven’t reported anything
else stolen, have we?”  The sarcasm seemed to thicken her accent, and he
recognised it as Welsh, though identifying which part of Wales would always be
a gap in his skills.

“I’m sorry, Mrs Payne.  I just want to make sure I
don’t miss anything important.  It doesn’t pay to make too many
assumptions.”  Not sure she was convinced by his explanation, he went on:
“So how did you know it was gone?”

“Well, it wasn’t there,” she said, looking at him as if he
was a complete idiot.

“What I meant was, what were the circumstances in which you
discovered it wasn’t there?” 
Honestly, some people needed
spoon-feeding.

Not looking particularly satisfied, Mrs Payne said: “The
van’s always parked just outside the kitchen window.  When we came into
the kitchen, we could see it was missing.”

“And what did you do then?”

“John went outside and had a good look around.  There
was no sign of it.”  She gestured in the direction of the driveway that
ran alongside the shop.  “You can go and have a look yourself if you don’t
believe me.”

“I wasn’t suggesting that I didn’t believe you,” he assured
her, starting to wonder if both husband
and
wife were a bit light in the
marbles department.  Trying to keep her on track, he carried on with his
questions.  “Was there anything of value in the van itself?”

“No.  We use it for picking up stock from the
wholesalers, and the last time we were there was the end of last week. 
It’s been empty for days.”

Ordinarily, he would ask what type of van it was at this
point, but he didn’t want to be subjected to more sarcasm.  Instead he
checked his notes.  “I see it’s a navy blue Sherpa.  Nineteen
eighty-four model.”  As he confirmed the registration number with them, he
was aware of one of the shoppers heading for the counter.  Mrs Payne cast
an anxious glance in the direction of her daughter.

“No need...” John muttered.  “Evil...”  He shook
his head slowly, marvelling at something he didn’t seem likely to share with
them.

Choosing to ignore him for the moment, Brian asked Mrs
Payne: “Have you had any similar incidents in the past?”

“No.”

“Anything unusual happened recently?”

“No.”

From her attitude so far, he’d expected her to give him some
stick over this line of questioning, but she was distracted, her eyes
flickering rapidly back and forth between him and the counter.  The
customer, an old woman – Brian guessed she must be at least eighty – had lifted
her basket on to the counter top at the side of the cubicle.  Helen had
disappeared from view, and the door was opening.

“Do you count what happened to Peter as being
unusual?”  The question came from behind him, taking him by
surprise.  Turning, he saw the second customer.  She was a lot
younger than the first one, probably about the same age as his mum –
fiftyish.  Not bad looking if you liked the older woman.  Brian
didn’t particularly, but he was happy to look at times.  And she was
certainly easier on the eye than Mrs Payne.

“Peter who?” he asked.

“Peter Salthouse.  He was badly injured by a plough
yesterday.”

Oh,
that
Peter.  He should have realised.

“Well, I’ll grant you that was unusual,” he said, “but it
was an accident.”

“Are you sure it was an accident?”

That stopped him in his tracks.  No one at the station
had suggested there was anything more to the incident.  He made a mental
note to make sure he checked in with them before he paid a visit to the farm.