Inspector Hobbes and the Curse - a fast-paced comedy crime fantasy (unhuman) by Wilkie Martin Read Free Book Online Page A

area; no one claimed to have seen any
big cats or, indeed, anything unusual at all, most regarding the suggestion
with amused scepticism. I, for one, didn’t feel in the least surprised.
    Then,
a couple of miles beyond Bob’s place, we visited a small farm bordering the
woods where he’d claimed his sighting. It was Loop’s Farm, according to a blue
enamelled sign by the entrance. Rattling over a cattle grid, we bumped along a
dusty drive towards the lichen-encrusted walls of an old stone farmhouse, where
two men were leaning against a gate into a field, dotted with Sorenchester Old
Spot pigs. We pulled up next to them.
    The
younger man nodded. ‘G’day.’ A length of orange twine substituted for a belt
round his mud-spattered moleskin trousers, his bare chest was nearly as hairy
as Hobbes’s and he was wearing a tatty, broad-brimmed straw hat.
    ‘Good
day,’ said Hobbes as he got out.
    The
older man smiled. He was dressed like the first one, except for a red-checked
shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He gave the impression of being even muddier,
as if he’d been rolling in muck with the pigs. ‘What can we do you for?’ he
asked.
    Hobbes
was introducing himself as I slithered from the car. Dregs, who had fallen
asleep with his bottom half on the front passenger seat, his top half in the
footwell, awoke with a resounding woof and bounded into the yard, upending me
as he sprang towards the farmers. I sprawled in the dust, fearing he was going
to attack, but his tail span like a propeller as he danced around them, as if
meeting old friends.
    ‘Nice
doggie,’ said the older man, patting him. He held out a big, grey-haired hand
towards Hobbes. ‘Bernie Bullimore and this is my son-in-law, Les – Les Bashem.
Now, how can we help you?’
    Hobbes
shook hands. ‘I have a few routine questions.’ He hauled me to my feet. ‘There
have been reports of pheasant poaching in these parts and I wondered if you’d
had any problems?’
    ‘No,
not really,’ said Les, ‘but, then, we’re not a shooting estate and there’s not
much for ’em to take. Bob Nibblet takes the odd rabbit now and again but we don’t
object to that.’
    ‘Does
he have permission to be on your land?’
    ‘Not
as such but we know he does it and he knows we know and we know he knows we
know, if you know what I mean. It’s an informal arrangement. Old Skelly Bob don’t
do much harm.’
    Hobbes
nodded and I brushed the dust and dung from my trousers. Dregs was rolling on
his back at Les’s feet, like an excited puppy.
    ‘Funny
you should mention Mr Nibblet,’ said Hobbes, ‘because he reported seeing what
might have been a big cat in Loop Woods. I don’t suppose you’ve seen anything
out of the ordinary?’
    ‘No,’
said Bernie, shaking his head so emphatically that his hat spun away like a
Frisbee. I thought he glanced at his son-in-law.
    ‘Mind
you,’ said Les, ‘we was wondering what’d killed that sheep, ’cos we ain’t seen
no stray dogs around here, not this year anyhow. And it was found on Henry
Bishop’s land and that’s right close to Loop Woods. Of course, Henry’s not the
sort to let dogs get at his beasts. He’s always ready with his shotgun – a bit
too ready if you ask me.’
    ‘That’s
right.’ Bernie nodded. ‘He damn near blew my head off once, when I was picking
nuts in the woods by his hedge.’
    ‘Why?’
asked Hobbes.
    ‘Because
I like nuts.’
    Hobbes
chuckled. ‘No, why did he shoot at you?’
    ‘He
said he mistook me for a stray dog.’
    ‘But
dogs don’t pick nuts.’
    ‘That’s
what I told him.’
    ‘How
did he respond?’
    ‘He
said, “Get off my land” and popped in another couple of shells. Of course, I wasn’t
actually on his land, but Henry’s not one to let facts get in the way of a good
catchphrase. He enjoys having something to moan about.’
    Hobbes
looked stern. ‘Did you report the incident to the police?’
    ‘No.
The way I saw it, there was no harm done, but I make sure