Good People. Ewart Hutton

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СКАЧАТЬ appraisal. ‘You won’t get up there in that.’

      ‘I could walk.’ She looked askance at my shoes. ‘It’s all right, I keep some boots in the car,’ I told her. She sucked in her cheeks, her face tightening into mean little lines as she suppressed her natural inclination to tell me to get off their land. I was glad that she wasn’t my mother.

      Following her instructions, I took a diagonal line across the contours, steadily rising towards the open hill, making a point of shutting all the gates behind me. I came to a collapsed stone field shelter with an ash tree growing through the middle of it. According to the woman’s directions I was spot on track.

      And I would have kept on going like a naïve and trusting pilgrim, onwards and upwards to the open moor, if a fluke of the wind hadn’t brought the sound of sheep to me. From the wrong direction. I followed the sound to the crest of a rise. The ground dropped into a cwm, and, where it levelled out, I saw a Land Rover in a field beside a pen of sheep. The old crone had deliberately misdirected me.

      The dogs were the first to see me traversing down the steep side of the cwm. Two of them. Black-and-white sheepdogs circling out at a scuttling run to flank me, practising dropping to their bellies, preparing to effect optimum ankle damage. The sheep, sensing the dogs on the move, started to make a racket.

      Trevor Vaughan, in the pen, looked up from the ewe he was inspecting. He raised his voice and called the dogs in. I waved. He watched me descending for a moment, and then waved back, any welcome in the gesture held in reserve.

      He was wearing a grey tweed flat cap, an old waxed jacket worn through at the creases, and green waterproof overtrousers. I had checked, he was twenty-four, but he looked older. A mournful, triangular-shaped face, which, for a man who spent his life outdoors, was remarkably pale.

      ‘Mr Vaughan,’ I shouted, as I got closer, ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Capaldi.’

      ‘I know who you are, Sergeant. Emrys Hughes told us.’

      The dogs, sensing a distraction, made a move towards me again. He checked them with a series of short whistles, and with a couple of clucks and a gesture he got them on to the open tailgate and into the back of the Land Rover. I was impressed.

      ‘I have nothing more to say about Saturday night.’

      ‘I’m not here to ask about that.’

      He looked surprised. ‘You aren’t?’

      ‘No, I want to know where – what’s her name? Magda? – where is she now?’

      He wasn’t a good actor. He shook his head and feigned surprise, but he wasn’t used to it. ‘I don’t know anyone called Magda. I don’t know who you’re talking about.’

      I gave him a con cop smile. ‘Who decided to call her Miss Danielle?’

      ‘That’s what she called herself.’

      ‘You’re lying, Mr Vaughan.’

      He didn’t protest. He looked away from me. I thought I had him. And then I heard it too. I followed his line of sight. A late model, grey Land Rover Discovery was coming up the cwm towards us. I stuck myself in front of him. ‘I need to know, Trevor. Has anything happened to that woman?’

      He shook his head. Almost imperceptibly. It was aimed at me. As if he didn’t want whoever was driving the Discovery to see that he had communicated.

      ‘Trevor …’ The yell came out of the open window as the Discovery pulled up. The driver pretended to only then recognize me. ‘What are you doing here?’ his voice registering surprise. Ken McGuire was a better actor than Trevor Vaughan. The old crone had not just misdirected me, she had call in reinforcements.

      ‘Afternoon, Mr McGuire,’ I said cheerily. I sensed that I had got close to something with Trevor Vaughan, but instinct warned me not to let Ken McGuire suspect it.

      He got out of the Discovery playing it puzzled, looking between the both of us. ‘I came over to borrow a raddle harness, Trevor. You’re Sergeant Capaldi, aren’t you? I’ve seen you in The Fleece.’

      ‘I was out for a walk, Mr McGuire.’

      ‘He was asking about Miss Danielle, Ken,’ Trevor volunteered.

      I pulled a weak grin and resisted shooting a reproving glance at Trevor.

      Ken winced theatrically. ‘Please, Sergeant, we’re trying to forget that episode.’

      I couldn’t resist it. ‘Like you’ve forgotten her telephone number?’

      He didn’t break a sweat. ‘That’s right. And just as well, eh?’ He chuckled. ‘No more temptation down that road. We’ve learned a hard lesson. That right, Trevor?’

      ‘That’s right.’

      ‘You didn’t mention that she was foreign.’

      ‘What makes you say that, Sergeant?’ Ken came back just a bit too quickly.

      I shrugged. ‘A rumour I picked up. That the girl was from Eastern Europe. Trying to hitchhike to Ireland.’

      ‘She didn’t try that story on us, did she, Trevor?’

      Trevor shook his head.

      ‘And as for her being foreign – who knows? We’re hicks up here, Sergeant. Ladies of the night from Cardiff are as exotic as the label gets. We’re not good with accents.’

      ‘Where is she now, Mr McGuire?’ It was a long shot, but I was up close to him, and I wanted to see if anything flecked his composure.

      ‘In Cardiff, I imagine,’ he replied without hesitating, without a flicker. He grinned at me wickedly. ‘I’m just sorry I can’t pass on her telephone number, Sergeant – you seem so interested.’

      The patronizing bastard actually winked at me.

      Emrys Hughes and a uniformed sidekick flagged me down before I got back to Dinas.

      I was impressed. It had happened quicker than I had expected. Someone was carrying more clout than I had realized.

      ‘Afternoon, Sergeant Hughes,’ I said pleasantly, lowering the window.

      He gave me a measured dose of silence before he slowly leaned down towards me. ‘Your own boss warned you, Sergeant.’

      ‘And what would that warning have been about?’

      ‘Harassing my people.’

      I played perplexed. ‘Harassing … ?’

      ‘Don’t get cute,’ he growled. ‘You know exactly what I mean. You were specifically told to lay off the men from the minibus.’

      ‘Questions, Sergeant. That wasn’t harassment. I was only following up on some discrepancies in their testimony.’

      ‘There is no case. This has nothing to do with you. You were told not to contact them.’

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