Secrets on Saturday (28 page)

“How the hell should I know? You’ll have to use whatever limited intelligence you can muster between you. But be back here within the hour … and I want those old buggers alive, so none of your usual tricks. Now, sod off.”

Nelly took a deep breath, and risked his life. “Boss, can I ask you something?”

“Oh, for God’s sake—what?”

“Supposing the agents bring somebody to look at this house? Wouldn’t we be better taking them to the usual …”

“What agents?” said Reg angrily. “Just mind your own bloody business and get on with it. You don’t need a bloodhound to find two old men in their eighties,”

Shorty and Nelly backed out of the room, and then ran. When they were safely away from the waving gun, they stopped. “Which way, then?” said Nelly.

“Let me think,” replied Shorty. “Best to start from
where they escaped, and then …” He tailed off, not having any real idea of where the men might have gone.

“Well, I know which way I’d go in their place,” Nelly said, setting off down the hill towards Farnden.

“So do I, then,” Shorty retorted, and the two set off in opposite directions.

After a few steps, Nelly stopped. “Hey!” he called. “Wait for me,” and he ran back, puffing and blowing, to catch up with the brains of the duo.

Reg followed soon after. He was in a hurry.

T
HE DILAPIDATED COTTAGE WAS COLD AND DAMP
,
BUT
Herbert and William had found mouse-damaged blankets in a relatively dry cupboard. They had slept fitfully, like Goldilocks, on each sagging bed in turn, until they found the most comfortable. As dawn came up, grey and reluctant, Herbert surfaced and for a moment could not think where he was. This wasn’t the room where he had been confined for so long. Then he remembered, and sat up, looking round for his fellow refugee. The old man was hunched up under a dirty pink blanket which was riddled with holes, and for one horrible second Herbert thought he was dead. It had been touch and go whether William would make it on their slow progress towards the cottage. Then he saw a stirring, and William turned to face him.

“Where am I?” he said.

“With me,” said Herbert. He had decided not to explain their whereabouts to William, in case this should prove foolish. He did not entirely trust him, remembering stories about the Cox family when he first moved to Long Farnden. He’d been told to steer clear of Cox’s Farm and Woods, and had not done so. If Spot hadn’t taken off after a rabbit that evening …

“Can’t we go home now?” William was struggling to sit up, rubbing his eyes with a dirty hand.

Herbert shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. “Remember what I said about them coming after us? We’re a real threat to them now. We’ll lie low here until
the law comes looking for us. Then we’ll get protection, and the whole thing will be sorted out.”

“Not with that lot. They’re slippery as snakes. There’s good money to be made from what they’re up to, and they’ve spent their lives evading the law. Like the fox, they vanish into the night.”

“So you know them?” Herbert looked at Cox in surprise. William said nothing, and Herbert continued, “I only saw them once, in the woods. My Spot heard their terriers barking, and wouldn’t come when I called. I followed him, and found that lot in the middle of torturing a badger. A big one, it was, and put up a good fight. I tried to run, but Spot’s blood was up, and he wouldn’t come. Then they saw us, and the rest you know.”

“You’re lucky they didn’t rub you out straight away. Wouldn’t be the first time with that lot.”

“Why did they kidnap you? If you knew they were in your woods, you must have decided to let them get on with—”

“I’m not a brave man, Bert, and I am an old man. The way they work is enough to persuade me to do anything, more or less. I’d seen people sniffing round in the woods, and thought they might be police, so I told them to get out. Then they threatened my old Rosie …” He turned away and coughed. “And then, after what they did to her, I went berserk. That tall one bashed me, and I didn’t come to until I was in that clinic, or whatever it was.” He pulled the blanket up around his neck, and said pathetically, “I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea. At least we were looked after back there. Food was good.”

“Freedom’s better,” snapped Herbert, “and my name is
Her
bert.” He stood up, rubbing his back. “I’ll go down and see if the owners left any supplies.”

“Won’t they be back?”

Herbert explained that this dump had been bought as a holiday cottage by some Londoners, and they had most of one summer living here, with big plans for restoration. But folk said they’d run out of money, and it had been empty and unvisited for two or three years, continuing to
deteriorate and slowly retiring into the undergrowth that surrounded it.

To his surprise, Herbert found that the gas stove still worked, fed from a Calor cylinder under the sink. He filled a cheap tin kettle and turned on the gas. Matches. No matches anywhere. They’d probably have been damp and useless, anyway. He turned off the gas. “Got any matches?” he yelled up the stairs.

“No, don’t smoke,” was the reply.

He looked at the top of the stove. Among the buttons was a small one with a lightning sign by it. Ah! He turned on the gas again, and pressed the button firmly. It sparked, and the gas ring was alight. “Done it!” he yelled.

A growling voice came back, “Clever bugger. Where’s my tea, then?”

There were teabags in an airtight jar, and a tin of evaporated milk on a shelf. Herbert found a tin-opener and pierced a hole. He made the tea in two grimy mugs, and went slowly back up the stairs. His legs ached, and he had a blister on one heel. When he handed William his tea, the grey-faced old man took a sip. “No sugar,” he said.

“Downstairs,” Herbert suggested, “there is probably sugar in a jar. Why don’t you go and look?”

Cox shook his head. “I’ll go without,” he said, and made a face as he took another sip.

Silence fell between them, and Herbert tried to make some sense of the situation. He and this miserable old devil were condemned to each other’s company for maybe more than a few days. Nothing could be gained from getting on badly. He knew William Cox was not likely to change, so decided he would have to hold his tongue and keep the peace. Then there was a vital need for food. When he’d had a splash with cold water in what passed for a bathroom, he would investigate the rest of the kitchen cupboards. The fridge had been empty and turned off. Just as well, he thought, if they haven’t been back for years.

Suddenly William said, “Herbert … I’ve got an apology to make.”

“No need.”

“Yes, I’ve been stupid. You got us out of there, and found a hiding place, and thought it all out, while I just tagged along. Sorry, chum. I’ll do my best to help.”

Herbert’s smile was relieved as well as forgiving. It would certainly make life a lot easier. “Come on then,” he said. “Let’s go down and see if cook has made our breakfast. Kippers, scrambled eggs, bacon and mushrooms, and nice hot coffee and toast.”

“In your dreams,” said William, but he smiled and began to get off the bed.

As Herbert was opening cupboards in the kitchen, he heard a familiar sound. “Sshh!” he said to William, who’d appeared behind him. The sound came again, a whimpering and scratching at the door. Herbert rushed to open it, and said, “Spot! Little Spotty!” He picked up the terrier and buried his face in the mud-splashed fur.

William stared, and then saw tears rolling down Herbert’s stubbly cheeks. “Right,” he said, “I’ll make the next cup,” and began to fill the kettle.

O
UTSIDE THE COTTAGE
,
HIDDEN IN THE THICKET
, R
EG
Abthorpe watched. He had used that wreck of a house himself once or twice. But it was too far off the beaten track to be useful, and there was no way of getting a car down there. But on foot—and he guessed the old men would be walking—it was still just about reachable. He had released the terrier, and seen him follow the scent to the door. He saw the door open, and Herbert Everitt take his dog in, and the door close again. Reg smiled. It had worked, and those two idiots were probably still searching and calling. As his mother would say, if you want a job done properly, do it yourself.

S
HORTY AND
N
ELLY CONSIDERED DOING A RUNNER
. They had not found the two old men, and had no idea where to look next. They knew only Cox’s Wood and the farmhouse, and the rest was strange country to them. They’d worked for Reg on the baiting for a few years, and had taken on this kidnap job at his insistence. They weren’t particularly sorry for the old men, but were fed up with the daily caring for them, having to disguise themselves each time they went in. It was quite a lark at first, but now they felt uncomfortable and not safe. They wished desperately they could get out of it and return to the straightforward sport of dogs and badgers. They knew all that inside out, but Reg and his plans were outside their experience. On top of that, he scared them witless.

“We could disappear,” Nelly said.

“He’d find us, and then it’d be worse.” Shorty squared his shoulders. “We’d better get back and tell him. He won’t kill us,” he added bravely. “Where would he put the bodies? Nah, he’s all piss and wind. Come on, let’s get it over.”

Whistling in the dark, thought Nelly, but he followed obediently.

Reg was back in the farmhouse by the time they shuffled in. They had no reason to think he had been anywhere whilst they were away. Probably planning what to do to them if they failed in the search.

“Now then,” he said to them, in that horrible whispery
voice. “Where are they?
Where the bloody hell are they?
” His hand went into his pocket and produced the gun once more. “Couldn’t find them? Thought maybe they’d gone home and you felt sorry for them?
Turn around. Both of you!
” He waved the gun, and they both obediently faced the wall. A wet patch spread down the front of Nelly’s trousers.

Then suddenly Shorty turned back to Reg, and raised his fist. “If you pull that trigger, you’re done for, Reg Abthorpe. My missus knows where we are, and all about you, and she’s not frightened of nobody. She’d eat you for breakfast.” He laughed. It was a quavery laugh, but Reg slowly put the gun back in his pocket.

“Right,” he said, “here’s what I’ve decided. You two are
such
a valuable pair, I’ll keep you on, and give you more time to ferret about. But don’t waste time going to Everitt’s house. He’ll not go back there. He probably knows I’ve got a lookout over the road. So concentrate on outlying hiding places. Old barns, sheds, down in that quarry on the Waltonby road. Oh, and walk. That way you don’t miss anything. Go on, bugger off.”

Outside the farmhouse, Shorty looked Nelly up and down. “I’ve heard of shit-scared,” he said, “but grown men don’t pee themselves. For God’s sake, grow up, and we’ll get out of this somehow.”

“Couldn’t help it,” Nelly grunted. “Anyway,” he added, “I never heard you was married?”

“I’m not,” Shorty said, and led the way back to the road.

R
EG SAT FOR A LONG TIME
,
DEEP IN THOUGHT
. T
HERE
was no chance of Nelly and Shorty finding the cottage where the old men were holed up. The idiots were Londoners, and knew nothing about the countryside hereabouts. So what to do with Everitt and Cox? He considered leaving the old men until it was dark, and then getting them back. It had all been working out well, and he was near to success over the whole thing. He just
needed some signatures on paper, witnessed by Nelly and Shorty, and that should be easy once the old parties were once more under his control. Then would come the tragic accident. He brooded on how they had escaped. They should have been too dozy even to think of it. The pills were strong. Pills … that was it! Somehow they’d stopped taking them. Trust those idiots not to notice!

His mind churned on, until he came to a decision. He saw again the cottage, derelict and uninhabitable. He knew now what to do. Nothing, that’s what he would do. Just leave them in a damp, cold place, with no food, fuel, and probably no water. Certainly no heating. And they’d be too weak to try to move on. Where could they go? No, they’d be hoping to be rescued. Some hopes! The cops were too busy looking for teenage louts who could have hung up those dead things. And that woman Meade had obviously taken the warning. On reflection, it was just as well he’d failed with the plan to get her in the house and frighten the knickers off her. No telling what her husband might have done.

So he’d leave the old blokes for as long as necessary. He and the two fools could take turns in keeping watch, in case Everitt decided to play hero. He and Cox would be only too pleased to sign anything by then. Perfect.

He locked up the farmhouse again, and walked to where he’d hidden his car. The actor playing estate agent in Tresham had said he was bored with the part, and anyway, had been offered a job in a theatre up north. Not worth paying the rent any longer. He’d wind that up, keep an eye on Mrs. New Brooms Meade, and make sure everything else went as smoothly and quickly as possible.