‘Yeh, well,’ Bliss said. ‘We both know that’s not satisfactory, and if I was Chief Constable I might well talk to the Home Office about things being done a bit differently. But I’m just a lowly foot soldier. What exactly did your brother see?’
‘Is he still there? Still lying out there in his yard?’
‘When I left, but probably not now. There’ll be a post-mortem in the morning.’
There was a bottle of single malt on the table. Sollers Bull pushed it at Bliss. Bliss shook his head. Not falling into that trap.
‘Tell me about the vehicle.’
‘Pickup truck. White or light blue. Mansel saw it on the track two nights together. Raced away when they saw him. I’ve told all this to your sergeant-’
‘Which is why the whole area’s taped off. In case there are tyre tracks and footprints.’
‘We’ve both been over it several times since then. And delivery vehicles.’
‘We can eliminate them. It’s still worth it.’
Sollers Bull eyed him over his glass.
‘Wasn’t worth it when we had a quad bike stolen last year, was it? Or when Gerry Morgan’s chain-harrow took a walk the week after Christmas. I bet you don’t even know what a chain-harrow is, do you, Inspector?’
Bliss moved on. Might know what it was, but he was buggered if he knew what it looked like.
‘Mr Bull, you said you didn’t know who they were but you knew what they were…’
‘Did I?’ Sollers poured himself a drink. ‘Probably because I’d been reading in the local rag how the Hereford murder rate’s doubled the past year or so.’
‘Still means a lot less in Hereford than it does in New York. Or Birmingham, even. And if you’re pointing out that the last two killers were East European… well, so were the victims. And both were urban. Aren’t even any migrants round here, yet. Are there?’
It had been too dark on the way here to see the fruit fields, the frames for the polytunnels where the seasonal workers were employed, the caravans and dorm blocks where they lived. But they wouldn’t even have started planting yet.
‘A percentage of migrants are career criminals, we all know that,’ Sollers Bull said. ‘Easy pickings over here. Organized credit-card theft, fiddling cash machines. Driving through a farm and lifting anything not nailed down.’
‘Did you see any signs of a break-in?’
‘Inspector Bliss…’ Sollers Bull regarding him with scorn. ‘We en’t yet been able to count the livestock.’
Bliss was silent. Sollers sipped his whisky.
‘Don’t the police have two men of East European origin awaiting trial for rustling?’
‘Yeh, but I think that’s in Evesham, Mr Bull.’
‘Not all that far away.’
‘It’s a fair way from small-time rustling to taking a man’s life.’
Bliss was recalling another case, unsolved, where sheep had been slaughtered in a field and then butchered on the spot. Somebody’s idea of a takeaway. Bliss thought of butcher’s knives. Check it out.
He said, ‘You think your brother came back earlier than expected after his council meeting was abandoned… and walked in on a robbery in progress?’
‘Nothing else makes sense to me.’
‘Seems odd he should be all alone in that big house.’
‘His marriage ended.’
‘No kids?’
‘No children from either of his marriages.’
‘Housekeeper… cleaner?’
‘A local woman comes in most days. I’ve given your sergeant her details.’
Bliss said, ‘We do need to know if he had enemies.’
‘He was well liked and well respected by everyone who knew him. A traditional farmer. An old-fashioned farmer. A man of the land – this land. Bred to it.’ Sollers looked down at the tabletop as if the contours of the land were marked out on its surface. ‘We both were.’
‘Bridge Sollers,’ Bliss said.
At least he knew his place names.
‘And Mansel Lacey,’ Sollers said.
Both villages – hamlets – within a few miles of here.
‘Something to live up to, Mr Bull.’
‘That sarcasm?’
‘No,’ Bliss said, surprised. ‘No, it wasn’t.’
Sollers Bull lowered his head to his hands, massaging the edge of his eyes with the knuckles of his thumbs.
‘Let’s talk again tomorrow, shall we?’ Bliss said.
He drove up to the fork, parked with his engine running, headlights on dipped, and got out his mobile. Signal was a bit wonky.
‘Mansel Bull,’ he said. ‘Farmer. Machete job, Billy Grace reckons.’
‘I know,’ the DCI said. ‘I’ve just talked at length to Stagg.’
Addressing his superior, Bliss felt acutely strange. Up to a few months ago, he was routinely editing his thoughts before opening his mouth.
‘Sollers Bull,’ Annie Howe said. ‘That would be…?’
‘Gobby hunt supporter nicked by the Met for pouring red paint on John Prescott’s second-best Jag.’
‘Fighting for his heritage. A hero.’
‘Malicious damage is malicious damage, Annie. And still a cocky twat. Who, as you can imagine, doesn’t like the police much. Especially me.’
‘Stagg said.’
They’d been in the remains of Bliss’s sitting room when the first call came through. Kirsty’s old man had been in with Kirsty’s key while Bliss was at work and had nicked the flame-effect fire. Bliss had been filling a paraffin stove when Terry Stagg had come through on Annie’s mobile.
Be more convenient for DI Bliss.
True enough, in that Bliss was nearer the door. Whenever Annie came round she’d arrive just after dusk, leaving her car in a cul-de-sac two streets away. Strategic. Kirsty was right. If it came out, one of them could end up behind a desk in Carlisle.
No guesses which.
‘We need to watch Stagg,’ Bliss said. ‘Ma’am.’
Hadn’t yet said a word to her about Kirsty’s suspicions. Best to keep quiet until he knew for sure that the bitch wasn’t flying a kite.
‘What else did Sollers Bull say, Francis?’
‘Reckons it was a robbery gone wrong. All but accusing migrant workers from the fruit farm across the road.’
Figuring this might rattle Annie’s PC cage a little.
‘That would be Magnis Berries?’
‘That what it’s called?’
‘Named after what was a Roman town,’ Annie said, ‘which used to stand somewhere round there. How close is it to Oldcastle?’
‘Half a mile? I doubt there are many people employed there now. Probably not even got the polytunnels up yet. You think we should go in, see what vehicles they’ve got?’
‘Check it out discreetly tomorrow. Maybe find out if anyone’s in charge. During the season, it could be the biggest centre of population between there and Leominster.’
‘Yeh, OK.’ Bliss sat watching the bare brown hedge, like a complex circuit board in his headlights. ‘What time will you get back tomorrow?’
She was in court at Worcester: three brothers accused over the near-fatal stabbing of a father-in-law.
‘Verdict early next week. I might look in on you tomorrow, but no point in me getting involved if I’m back in court on Monday. You pleased?’
‘Made-up, Annie. Where are you now?’
‘Home. Thought it was best.’
‘What about tomorrow night?’ he said.
‘I’m not sure.’
See, that was what he was scared of, too. The idea that something which neither of them had expected to last… really wouldn’t last.
‘Didn’t catch that, Annie,’ Bliss said. ‘I keep losing the signal.’
9
Syd S Picer had the fire going nicely in the parlour.
‘This looks like sycamore,’ he said to Huw. ‘Good burner, easy ignition. And a bit of oak to keep it going all night. Well-dry, too.’
‘Stored for three years, the oak,’ Huw said with disinterest.
Merrily was observing Syd. Hyper. Striding around Huw’s Victorian parlour then diving at the fireplace and rearranging a log to funnel the flames. The pensive figure in the darkest part of the chapel – that had been the Syd Spicer she knew: this was not. Same voice, though, flat as old lino.