Dead People by Ewart Hutton Read Free Book Online Page B

beer? Can I buy all you boys a beer?’ I offered expansively. There were only three of them, so it wasn’t going to break the bank.
    They looked startled. I had obviously crossed a line. It was okay to throw a greeting over, but intruding into home space was something different.
    I moved Blackie off to the side. He had lank grey hair, watery brown eyes, and hadn’t shaved for days. There was a light brown staining on the whiskers at the corners of his mouth. He didn’t smoke, so I hoped that it was only tea.
    He looked at me mutely. He knew I was a cop. He was wondering if a new and incomprehensible change in the rules of life had caught up with him.
    ‘You’ve heard about the body that was found over at the place where they’re building the new wind farm?’
    He nodded cagily. ‘Cwm Cesty Nant. But I don’t know anything about a body.’ It came out as a croaked whisper.
    ‘I know you don’t. I just want the benefit of your local knowledge.’
    He digested that warily. ‘We were only over there when we were taking the sheep off the hill.’
    ‘There was nothing unusual about that place? Nothing that makes it stick in your mind? Nothing to do with it that you’ve ever heard people talking about?’
    He shook his head. He was staring at me, his eyes round, more confident now that I hadn’t arrested him, or turned him into a frog. ‘You don’t know who it is?’ he asked tremulously.
    ‘It would have been a while ago. You don’t remember hearing anything about anyone disappearing?’
    ‘I wouldn’t be the person to ask.’
    ‘Who would?’
    He looked around furtively. His voice dropped. ‘Gerald Evans.’
    I smiled inwardly. It was always a good feeling to sense the spheres sliding into conjunction. A couple of them anyway. ‘What makes you mention him?’
    He leaned forward. ‘He used to steal our ewes,’ he whispered, ‘take them off the hill and change the marks to his own.’
    A rustler? Is that why the Joneses at Cogfryn had it in for him?
    ‘And he’s filthy,’ he added quickly, picking up on the downshift in my interest.
    ‘Can you explain what you mean by filthy?’
    ‘There was a bit of snow on the ground a few years back. The postman couldn’t get up to Pentre Fawr, so he left a parcel for him with us. This was before he got married. From Holland, it said on the front. I don’t know how it managed to get opened, but . . .’ He shook his head. ‘It was terrible stuff, Sergeant. And poor Mrs Haymer seeing it and all.’
    I suppressed my smile. Dutch pornography. Nosiness rewarded. I had an image of the huddled bunch of them, sheepdogs included, all agog and aghast, the world of dildos, butt plugs and bondage gear having just been revealed to them.
    He took a deep breath. ‘But that’s not the worst.’
    ‘Go on,’ I prompted
    ‘He shot my dog.’
    I pulled an appropriate face, grunted sympathetic noises and retreated to my end of the bar. ‘What do you know about Gerald Evans from Pentre Fawr?’ I asked David as I climbed onto a stool.
    ‘I’ve barred him from here.’
    I looked at him with surprise. ‘Why?’
    ‘He shot Blackie’s dog.’ He shrugged. ‘I’ve got to show solidarity with my regulars.’
    I was almost taken in. ‘Come on, David,’ I protested, ‘that’s too altruistic for you.’
    ‘The bastard cheated me once. He sold me a Land Rover that had sawdust in the sump to stop it knocking.’
    ‘Couldn’t you take it back?’
    ‘I couldn’t afford the stress of the ensuing vendetta.’
    ‘He’s like that?’
    ‘He’s a mean fucker, Glyn, amoral and totally ruthless.’
    ‘Sergeant . . .’
    We both looked round. Jeff Talbot was standing in the archway between the two bars with Tessa MacLean.
    How long had they been in here? An irrational surge of social panic gripped me. Had they seen me hunkered over there with Blackie? Thinking that he was my buddy? Maybe even my only buddy?
    Jeff held up his mobile phone. He looked wearily grim. ‘Sergeant, I