Ravens Gathering (16 page)

It took a while for him to regain his bearings.  Having
stumbled into the
Marie Celeste
of farms, only to discover an empty
building had somehow concealed at least three people, his focus had been purely
about getting out of there.  So as he did his best to remain undetected,
his attention was on the exit rather than where that exit would take him. 
And where it had taken him was, perhaps inevitably, into fields that he did not
recognise.  Taking his cues from the position of the sun – which isn’t
always ideal when you know it’s the middle of the day – he gradually made his
way in the general direction of the village.  Fortunately, the fields he
traversed were filled with crops rather than cattle, so he didn’t have to
deviate simply to bypass any herds of animals.  Instead, he worked his way
steadily away from the farm yard, keeping close to hedges so he could easily
hide himself if the need arose.

Predictably, he encountered the woods again before he came
across any more farm land.  It was a fairly narrow strip, taking him only
five minutes or so to pass through.  Then he was out in the open again.

The layout of the fields had changed a little, but the land
angled downwards in a way that was familiar to him.  He recalled playing
up here when he was a kid, during the long summer holidays with nothing to
do.  He hadn’t had many friends even when he was popular.  It was a
small village, and finding children his own age was a challenge in
itself.  But he hadn’t always been up here on his own.  The memories
were very clear.  Wandering aimlessly, sometimes carrying a makeshift
picnic (sandwiches in tin foil, an old squash bottle filled with a fifty-fifty
mix of Kia-
Ora
and water, and – if you were lucky – a
Kit Kat), sometimes with only the clawing hunger in your belly to tell you it
was time to go home.  Rolling down the sloping grass, and sometimes
running down it – until your velocity was greater than your legs could cope
with and you fell or sprawled, or even dived, the sudden pains from various
parts of the body eclipsed by the hilarity of it all.  Keeping yourself
hidden if there was any sign of a farmer.  The older lads talked about
farmers carrying guns, and every now and then those rumours were borne out with
the sharp cracks heard in the distance.  Martin knew the sounds came from
shotguns because his dad had told him.  Of course, as a child, he didn’t
realise that farmers only used the guns for shooting vermin.  In a way,
that was a good thing.  It would have spoilt the adventure for him and any
other kids who roamed across farm land.

As this particular stretch was so distinctive, he knew he
was now on what he remembered as Wharton’s Farm.  During his conversation
with Ian last night, though, he had learnt that Lodge Farm had acquired that
land as well as the land from the
Sullivans
. 
Bob Lambert was clearly focused on building up his farming empire.

With sufficient distance between himself and the unexpected
farm yard, he was able to relax and go over his experience there in his
mind.  There had definitely been no one in the barn when he’d gone
inside.  As far as he could recall, there were no hidden doors or
trapdoors.  He was sure the tractor and farm equipment hadn’t concealed
anything.  The crates of vegetables were too heavy to be pushed casually
to one side, so he couldn’t imagine there was a hideaway either behind or
beneath them.  So how had three people managed to come out of there?

No matter which way he looked at this puzzle, he could not
find a solution.  And for the next hour or so, as he worked his way across
Lodge Farm and then back through the woods, he thought of little else. 
Even the temptation of a return to the clearing couldn’t take him away from
those thoughts.  Instead, he decided to get back to the McLean
house.  It was well after one o’clock and he was sure Ian would be home by
now.

He pondered whether he should tell Ian about the empty
barn.  It might not be wise because it might mean explaining what he was
up to.  But Ian was clearly very intelligent and, he suspected, very
insightful.  It was possible he might be able to come up with an answer
that had yet to occur to Martin.  He was still considering this as he
climbed over the stile and began to walk down the track from the wood.  He
ignored the old buildings on his left.  Ahead of him, the track passed the
gateway to the farm yard and about thirty yards beyond that it angled downwards
as it took you to the village.

As he entered the yard, he saw a car approaching the gateway
on the opposite side, coming up from the cottages his dad and brother were
working on.  He stopped for a moment, surprised to see the blue light on
its roof.  He had known it was a possibility the police would have to
become involved, but he had thought it would take longer.  Perhaps things
were going to move faster than he expected.

Tanya had plenty of questions.

What the hell have you been doing in our barn?  What
the hell are you doing in the village?  Where the hell were you this
morning?  Are you responsible for killing the bloody dog?  Did you
cause the fucking birds to come to the clearing?  Who the bloody hell are
you?

They lacked subtlety, but subtlety was never her strong
suit.  Even so, she kept the questions to herself.  She might lack
subtlety, but her survival instinct was full to the brim.

Once she’d been told about the tyre tracks, she’d assumed he
wouldn’t be back.  From what she’d learnt from Ian and PC Plod, it sounded
as if Martin must have stolen the van last night, hidden it in the barn, then
retrieved it after Ian had gone to the bank.  She probably wouldn’t have
noticed the sound of an engine on the track.  Especially if it was covered
by the sound of the shower, or – a guilty thought – a light buzzing noise.

So when Plod had asked Ian to take him to where Matt and
Patrick were working, it hadn’t crossed her mind that being left on her own
would be a problem.  Until she saw Martin crossing the yard.  Then
her instincts told her to get out of there quickly.  And she was already
getting up from the table when the door opened.  Fortunately, just as it
did, she saw the police car roll into view.

“I see you’ve got visitors.”

His tone was casual.  He’d left the door open behind
him as he came close to her.  She felt his palm briefly touch her
shoulder, then he was past.  Was he telling her to sit back down? 
Was it meant to reassure her?  Yet again she was confused about the
messages he was giving out.  And his calmness was at odds with the
evidence that seemed to point to his guilt.  Her mind in turmoil, she only
realised that she’d sat down again when her husband came into the room.

He gave her a concerned look, and she was surprised at how
grateful she felt.  It hadn’t occurred to her for a long time that he
might care for her.  Nor had it occurred to her that she might need
that.  She tried to convey with her eyes that she was all right.  He
seemed to get the message.

“Hi Martin.”  He was looking past her as he
spoke.  His voice was steady, relaxed.  Playing to his strengths
again.

“I see you’ve brought company.”  Martin’s response coinciding
with Plod coming into view.

She’d taken an instant dislike to the copper when he’d
arrived earlier.  If she was honest with herself, in part it was because
he was a singularly unattractive man.  At the sight of the police car
coming into the yard, instead of wondering what bad news this heralded, she’d
immediately fantasised about a man in uniform.  PC Oakes wasn’t great
fantasy material.  But she was also irritated by his lack of
finesse.  Ian was a people person.  He handled his fellow humans with
a care and tact and dexterity that she realised she’d taken for granted. 
Plod, as she’d begun to think of him within minutes of his arrival, struggled
at times to find the words he wanted to say, and when they came to him, they
were used like a blunt instrument.  And then there were the surreptitious
looks he kept giving her.  At least, he clearly thought they were
surreptitious.  But he might as well have been wearing a T-shirt with the
words “Get
yer
tits out!” emblazoned across it. 
A part of her recognised her double standards.  She liked to know she was
getting male attention: she just preferred it to be attention from attractive
males.

In spite of the fact that they had a suspected thief and dog
murderer in the kitchen, yet again his gaze fell on her cleavage.  She
regretted not taking the opportunity to go and change into something less
obvious while the men were out.  Fortunately, he remembered his reason for
being there after a moment or so.

“Mr Martin Gates?” he asked formally.  She half expected
him to start reciting his arrest speech, rights and all.

Martin came back into her line of sight as he moved towards
the officer, hand outstretched.  “That’s right.  And you are?”

Plod ignored the proffered hand, glancing down at his notebook
as he volunteered his name, albeit reluctantly.  Martin glanced at both
Ian and Tanya as he took his hand back.  He seemed to be amused by the
officer’s attitude.

“Mr Gates, could you explain your whereabouts last night?”

“Any particular part of last night?”

“From the time you left Mr and Mrs Mclean at
The Major
Oak
.”

As Plod was still concentrating on his notebook, Tanya
guessed that Martin’s playful shrug was for their benefit.

“Well...”  He looked thoughtful, as if he was dredging
his memory.  Somehow, Tanya didn’t think that was likely.  “I don’t
know what time I left, but I know I was late.  I’d agreed to visit my
family around eight o’clock, but it was nearer half past by the time I got
there.”

“But you went there straight from the pub?”  Plod’s
eyes flicked briefly up to meet his.

“There aren’t many distractions in this village.” 
Surprising her, he flashed a flirtatious grin at Tanya.

“Shall I take that as a ‘yes’ then?”

“Yes.”  His tone suggested that he was chastened by
Plod, but his face told a different story.

“So you arrived at your parents’ house around
eight-thirty?”  Pedantry was clearly Plod’s forte.

“Around then, yes.”

“And how long did you stop for?”  Plod’s eyes lifted
again.  This time they stayed there.  It was clear that this question
was more important than the others.

“I don’t know, officer.”  Martin must have recognised
the sudden interest.  He sounded more serious himself.  “I haven’t
seen my parents, or my brothers and sister for nearly fifteen years.  It
was quite an emotional experience, and the time just passed.”

“Well, would you say you were there for twenty minutes, half
an hour, an hour?  Longer?”

“I really don’t know.”

Plod nodded, though Tanya got the impression it was to
himself.

“What did you do when you’d finished visiting your family?”

While they’d been talking, Martin had moved over to the sink
and was leaning back against it.  Now he folded his arms across his
chest.  Classic defensive gesture.  Tanya looked for Ian’s
reaction.  Although there was nothing overt, she could see he was watching
Martin more closely.

“I came back here,” Martin said.

“And what time did you come in?”

He shook his head uncertainly.  “I don’t know.”

“You don’t seem to know much, do you, Mr Gates?”

“As I said, I had a very emotional night.  Keeping
track of time wasn’t high on my list of priorities.”

“What
was
high on your list of priorities?”

Martin stood upright at this, his arms slowly unfolding and
dropping to his sides.  At first glance, it seemed a fairly relaxed
stance, but Tanya got the impression he could explode into action in a
heartbeat.  With his eyes back down at his notebook, it was unlikely that
Plod was aware of this.  At least not until Martin spoke, a hard edge to
his voice that she hadn’t heard before.

“I think you need to tell me what all this is about.”

Looking up, Plod stared at him for a few moments.  He
didn’t seem to be intimidated, but there could be any number of reasons for
that.

“I’ll come to that in a minute, Mr Gates.  But first I’d
like you to answer my questions.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I’ll have to ask you to accompany me to the station.”

“Which is where?”

“Westfield.”

He pondered this, and clearly decided that wasn’t a route he
wanted to go down just yet.

“Go on, then.”

A long look at the notebook to remind himself where he’d got
to.  Then: “Any idea when you arrived back here last night?”

“No.  But I’m sure you’ve already checked this with my
hosts, so perhaps you’d like to enlighten me.”

Ignoring Martin’s response, Plod asked another question: “So
you don’t know what time you left your parents’ house, and you don’t know what
time you got back here?”  Realising it was almost rhetorical, he ploughed
on.  “As you’ve said, I have checked with Mr and Mrs McLean, and they tell
me you returned here around quarter to eleven.”

“Well I’m glad that mystery’s solved.”

Plod bristled at the sarcasm.  Tanya got the impression
that he’d like to take Martin back to the station, get him in a cell and give
him a good kicking.  Instead, he made do with grinding his teeth.

“The problem, Mr Gates, is that your father and brother tell
me you left their house around nine-thirty.  Now I haven’t tried walking
it, but I can’t see how getting from the main street to here can take more than
twenty minutes.  Which begs the question: what were you doing for that
hour and a quarter?”

“Walking.”

“Walking?”

“Walking.”

“It would be helpful, Mr Gates, if you were a bit more
cooperative.”  He’d dragged his eyes away from the notebook and was
staring fixedly at Martin.  Even so, Tanya had the impression that he was
uncomfortable with the eye contact.

“I found the meeting with my family upsetting,” Martin said
reluctantly.  “So I went for a walk.”

“Where?”

A shrug.  “I really couldn’t tell you.  I just
needed to clear my head, so I wandered around.”

“Aimlessly?”  The suggestion was almost derisive.

“You could say that.”

“Did you see anyone?”

“Not that I can remember.”

“So no one can vouch for you.”

Martin smiled, but Tanya couldn’t see any humour in
it.  “No.”  He hesitated, and Plod waited for him.  “Is this
where you tell me what it is I’ve done and arrest me for it because I haven’t
got an alibi?”

“No, sir.  This is where I ask you where you were at
lunch time yesterday.”

Ian had been watching Martin closely for the last few
minutes, but Tanya saw his head snap round to Plod when he heard this. 
All three of them were curious about this turn of events.

“I was at the pub.  Why?”

“What about before you went to the pub?”  He clearly had
no intention of answering any questions just yet.

“I was on the bus from Westfield.  When the bus dropped
me off, I went into the pub.”  The irritation Martin had been feeling was
growing now, and his voice reflected that.

“What time did you get off the bus?”

“At a guess, I’d say around twenty past twelve.”

A pause as notes were made.

“I take it you’ll be checking this with the driver, then?”

“Yes.”  Plod finished writing and looked up
again.  “So you didn’t get off the bus earlier?”

“No.”

“You didn’t come out to the village earlier and then catch
the bus at its previous stop?”

“Why the hell would I do that?”

“I thought this was about the incident at the Post
Office.”  Ian was looking concerned as he said this, though Tanya wasn’t
sure whether his concern was about Martin’s guilt or the apparent tangent the
line of questioning had taken.

Plod looked across at him.  “I’m involved in two
investigations.”

Tanya was only just behind Ian in understanding.  The
look on Martin’s face suggested he was with them too.

“Are you suggesting Martin was involved in the accident on
Lodge Farm?”

“It hasn’t been established yet whether it
was
an
accident.”

“Bloody hell!  Please tell me you’re just taking the
piss.”  This from Martin.

“Why would I do that, sir?”

“Honestly?  I haven’t got a fucking clue.  But are
you seriously suggesting that, in the twenty-four hours or so that I’ve been
back in the village, I’ve already seriously injured Peter Salthouse and carried
out some other crime at the Post Office?  And what am I supposed to have
done there?  Robbed it with a sawn-off shotgun?”

It was interesting to note that Martin was happy to show his
anger, and yet it still seemed to be restrained.

“I’m not suggesting anything, Mr Gates.  I’m just
trying to...”

“What?  Eliminate me from your enquiries?  What is
this?”

Ian stepped forward, putting himself between the two
men.  His whole demeanour emanated calm.  Tanya recognised the
approach.  She’d seen him handle tensions between employees in the same
way.  “There are reasons why you’re being asked these questions,
Martin.”  His hands remained at his sides.  Non-threatening. 
“Something’s been found on the farm.”

“What?”  Martin seemed genuinely perplexed, but she
could see that he was responding to Ian’s manner.

A glance back at Plod.  “Have you got any more
questions, or can we tell him?”

Reluctantly, the policeman shook his head.  “No more
questions.”

So Ian explained about the missing van and the tyre tracks
in the yard.  As he did, Martin bowed his head, listening intently. 
Because they were standing, Ian and Plod wouldn’t have been able to see his
face at all.  From her sitting position, Tanya could see it, and was
surprised at his expression.