The giant gasped and went pale. He bent over slightly, as if he was about to vomit. He looked at his tiny tormentor again, then turned, and without another word, got in and reversed tractor off the road.
As Arrow climbed into the back of the car, Mcllhenney drove through the green light.
'Thanks, Captain A,' said Mcllhenney, `You saved that boy a right good tankin' there. I'd never have let him off as easy as that.' He smiled at Arrow in the rearview mirror,
`Never shout, Neil,' the soldier replied in a quiet emotionless voice, which brought a sudden chill into the car. 'Just tell them what you want, and show them what'll happen if they don't do it. Like a girlfriend of mine used to say, and like that lad just found out, size doesn't mean a thing. Now let's get Ariadne.'
Ahead of them, the road forked, becoming to the left the A424 to Stow-on-the-Wold, and to the right, the A361 to Chipping Norton. The Mazda was nowhere to be seen.
`Take a right,' said Arrow.
`You know where she's going?' asked Donaldson.
I do now.'
From Burford, they had run straight into a village called Fulbrook. 'Right again,' said Arrow. Mcllhenney obeyed.
The road grew narrow as soon as they turned on to it, with barely room for two cars.
Mcllhenney drove slowly and carefully along its twists. High hedgerows loomed on either side, until after almost a mile, they began to widen out and the searchers came to a small church, set on sloping ground to their right with a small parking area facing it.
`Pull in there,' the soldier ordered.
`What is this place?' asked Donaldson.
`Remember I told you that Richards' father was a vicar? When he retired he bought a cottage here, and when he died, he left it to his son.
`You bugger,' said Mcllhenney. 'You knew that when you took that bet off us on the M40!'
'Aye, but I couldn't be certain! Right, I'm going to see what's what. I'll wander into the church like a tourist. I should be able to see the village from here.'
He stepped out of the car, crossed the narrow road, and trotted up the few stone steps which led to the churchyard. The building itself was tiny, a place of worship dating from baronial days, best known in modern times for the graves of a famous literary family which lay around it.
Arrow wandered idly among the famous headstones, pretending to make notes with a pencil in a little book which he had produced from a pocket of his Barbour jacket. But all the while he was looking across at the hamlet of Swinbrook. There were barely a dozen cottages there, gathered round a little pond, which the narrow road skirted.
Four cars were parked on the grass on the other side of the water. A Suzuki Vitara stood off to the right, not far from a battered Austin Maestro. Ariadne Tucker's Mazda sat away to the left against a fence, drawn up as if in a rank behind a silver Renault. Beyond the two vehicles was a wide thatched cottage, with two attic windows, built in yellow Cotswold stone. A vine grew around and over the door. Arrow guessed that in the summer, it might bear blue clematis flowers.
Two chimney stacks rose up from the roof, and from each one, thick black smoke spiralled, as if from fires newly lit in cold hearths. He smiled quietly to himself and made his way, slowly and idly, back to the Peugeot.
`They're here,' he said, as he climbed in. 'It looks as if he beat her to it, although not by much. Two fires kindled; that's their smoke climbing.' He pointed above the hedgerow which bounded the parking place. 'One in the living room, one in the bedroom, I'd guess.
His car's parked outside, and hers is behind it, jamming it in.'
`Should we do a DVLC check on the other car?' asked Donaldson.
I couldn't see the number. Anyway, what's the point?' He paused, and looked at his companions. 'Okay, policemen. What do we do? Go straight in, or give them half an hour, just for devilment, and catch them on the job?'
`We've done all we've been ordered to do so far, and it seems as if we've got a result,' said the DCI. 'Before we do anything else, I'd better call Andy Martin and take orders from him… But I'm like you. I can't wait to catch the Widow Noble sharing her grief!'
EIGHTY
The Lakeland mountains loomed high around Seatoller, as Andy Martin, Sammy Pye and John Swift sat in their car. Despite Arrow's assumption at the briefing the evening before, they were a long way from the seaside.
Sawyer's home was in a village in the heart of the Lake District, past the southern tip of Derwent Water, overlooked by Great Gable and Glaramara, and beyond by towering Scafell Pike. The house was built of dark stone, almost the colour of the slate which formed its roof. It was an unimpressive rectangular villa, with a large garage outbuilding set well back from the road.
Martin checked his watch, and looked behind him. In the back seat, beside Swift, sat a Superintendent from the Cumbrian Force. The very sight of his thick serge uniform made the Scot begin to itch. For a few months, earlier that year, he had worn something similar, and had hated every moment of it.
It's nine o'clock,' he said. 'Ready to go?'
Superintendent Hawes nodded. 'Yes.' He waved a piece of paper in the air. 'I've got the warrant.'
Okay, on you go, Sammy.'
Detective Constable Pye slipped the idling Mondeo into gear and drove straight into and up the broad driveway of the villa. He noticed as he passed the sign at the gate that it was named Aspatria. A second vehicle carrying five uniformed officers, a Sergeant and four Constables, followed behind him. The car wheels crunching through the grey gravel path announced their arrival.
Chief Superintendent Martin stepped out of the front seat, with his Cumbrian colleague by his side, and pulled the handle of what he took for the doorbell. A boom sounded inside the house.
The woman who opened the door was in her early thirties. She was wearing a white top and a red skirt, to which a small child clung. 'Mrs Sawyer?' enquired Superintendent Hawes. She nodded, her eyes widening with fear as she saw the uniform and the men beyond.
Is your husband at home?'
`Yes, he is!' The man's voice came from behind them, aggressively. They turned and saw him there, in the centre of the drive, wiping grubby hands on his overalls. He was of medium height, but strongly built, with greasy black hair. He looked to be around five years older than his wife. The gravel scrunched under his Timberland boots as he advanced towards them, purposefully.
`Mr Sawyer, I am Superintendent Hawes, from Carlisle,' began the uniformed officer. 'I have a warrant, granted by a magistrate, to search these premises. My colleagues here, Chief Superintendent Martin and DC Pye, are from Edinburgh and Mr Swift is from London. Mr Martin will explain the circumstances.'
`Search warrant?' Bryn Sawyer boomed. 'I thought you'd be here sooner or later, but to come ready armed with a search warrant, that's a bit heavy-handed. I think I'll call my lawyer.'
I've got no objection to that,' said Andy Martin. 'In fact, I'd advise it. So call him by all means. We'll proceed with our search right away, but if you wish, I'll hold my questions until he arrives.'
Sawyer shook his head. 'No, let's hear what you've got to say first. It isn't as if I've got anything to hide.'
'But you were expecting us?'
`Yes, after that letter of mine to Davey, I suppose I was. Look, come on in here. Marian, take the kid out of the way, for God's sake.' He led the way into the house, and into a study, off the hall. Martin and Swift followed, while Hawes instructed his officers on the procedure of the search.
`That letter,' said the Chief Superintendent. 'Just bloody stupid, or a genuine threat, warning of consequences for Davey: which was it?'