The Hanged Cow

By Milly Reynolds

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2011Milly Reynolds

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Prologue

Albert Fisher dropped his bike into the hedgerow and staggered into the undergrowth. Thankfully, the moon was hidden behind a cloud as he unzipped his trousers, and he relaxed. He should never have had that last pint with Fred; now Doris would be annoyed with him because he was late. As he zipped himself up again, the cloud moved aside to reveal a shimmering full moon; Albert gazed at it drunkenly, before turning to find his bike. A sudden movement caused him to turn around again and to look into the field, straight into the eyes of a large, silver cow hanging from a tree.

“Well, bugger me! They’ll never believe me in the pub.”

One

I stared at the calendar. It was nearly the end of October; I had been here nearly a year. It had been a good move for me, away from the city. For the first time in a long time, I was feeling as if my life was beginning to return to normal. I looked out of the window into a grey, cloud-filled sky. My first autumn in Lincolnshire, and although some found the vast expanses of grey, dull fenland skies oppressive, I didn’t. Lincolnshire was getting under my skin, and I couldn’t think of anywhere else that I would rather be.

Shepherd bounded into the office, scattering my rambling thoughts into various corners.

“Are you coming, Sir?”

“I’ll be right there, lad.”

He scampered out of the office again and I put my jacket on. Constable Brooks was celebrating his twenty-fifth birthday and we were all having a drink after work. Unfortunately, the chosen venue was The Cat and Fiddle which was not my favourite drinking establishment. The landlord, Bob Archer, was not the most genial of hosts, in fact he was totally obnoxious. Every time I saw him, I just wanted to slap handcuffs on his fat little wrists and drag him to the nearest cell.

The pub was surprisingly quite busy when we all arrived, and I took a great amount of satisfaction at seeing Bob’s face freeze in horror as a bunch of uniformed police officers arrived on his threshold. Although he relaxed somewhat when he saw the joviality of the young officers as they shook off their coats, I could still see some wariness remaining in the corner of his eye.

I looked around for the barmaid, wondering who Bob had persuaded to take on the job after Cat Browning had left several months previously. I was pleased that Cat and Alan Shepherd had now come to their senses and decided that they were, as I had known all along, ideal partners. They had become engaged on her twenty third birthday and were planning to get married next year. I had been the first person that they had told and when Cat had asked if I would give her away, I had felt as proud as if she had been my own daughter. However, there was a downside to this. When I had taken my morning suit out of its mothballs and tried it on, it didn’t fit! I couldn’t believe how much the suit had shrunk over the years! So, then and there, Fiona had decided that I could do with losing a few pounds. I was now on a diet!

“What can I get you?” A deep, rather sexy, voice pulled me away from thoughts of wedding cakes and food and I found myself gazing at a small silver pendant calmly sitting in rather nice cleavage. I raised my eyes quickly and was met by an attractive face framed by glossy brunette hair. Dark heavily made up eyes and an ample mouth completed the picture.

“Seven pints please, it looks as if the first round has fallen to me.” A cheer rose from the corner where Shepherd, Brooks and the others had pulled together two tables and I grinned. “Mike Malone. I haven’t seen you here before.”

“Gemma.”

No more was said and she concentrated upon pulling the pints. I smiled inwardly, it looked as if Bob had managed to find someone just as abrupt and unfriendly as himself.

As I was taking the last of the pints over to our corner, a conversation between Fred Greengrass and Albert Fisher not only caught my attention, it pulled me over to their end of the bar.

“Mr Malone, you can sort this out, can’t you?” Albert lunged towards me and threw his arm around my shoulder. I was surprised. It wasn’t even six o’clock and he was already well on the way to a hangover.

“I’ll do my best.” I removed his arm from my shoulder and moved closer to Fred Greengrass, who I hoped would be the calming influence on his friend.

“Mr Malone, do you believe in fairies?” Fred asked with a broad grin.

“I believe in what I can see, Fred.”

“Do you believe in ghosts?”

“Same answer as before.” I looked across at Albert who had a face that would sink a thousand ships. He had his arms folded and was not enjoying being the butt of Fred’s joke.

“I know what I saw.” Albert thumped his fist down on the bar and the glasses all jumped. Bob Archer waddled over to him instantly.

“Watch your temper, Albert,” he snarled, “or I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

Albert drew himself up to his full height and looked down on us all from above. “I’d like to see you try, Bob Archer.”

Bob scuttled off as fast as his stomach would allow and joined Gemma. After lots of gesticulation, Gemma came over to our end of the bar. One nil to Albert!

“Now this is the big one, Mr Malone,” Fred was jumping around like a schoolboy, eager to get one over on his mate. “Do you believe in silver cows?”

“Silver cows?”

“Aye! Albert said he saw a silver cow last night.”

“I did! I bloody did!” The fist came down on the bar again. It was down to me; all eyes in the bar were upon me. I felt sweat trickling down my back and I ran a finger round my collar as I looked up at Albert. I swallowed.

“There are more things in heaven and earth than we can understand.” It wasn’t quite Shakespeare, but it was near enough to get me out a hole and spare Albert from more teasing. “Gemma! Give them all a drink, on me.”

Throwing a wink across to Albert, who responded with a two-eyed wink, I went to rejoin the birthday party.

It was nice to open the front door to my cottage; after two hours in a noisy pub with one solitary pint because that was all I was allowed, I was looking forward to putting my feet up and unwinding with Shakespeare. Anyway, I knew that Shepherd, Brooks and the others would relax a lot better without the ‘boss’ being there.

Ophelia was asleep on her chair in the lounge and she opened an eye in greeting. Finally, she condescended to get up and greet me properly, although I knew that the real reason for her attention was that she was hungry. The answer phone light was flashing and I swore under my breath; it looked as if I had missed a call from Fiona who was spending a couple of weeks in Yorkshire with her mother before her next skin graft. Poor Fiona, she was anxious about having to undergo yet another operation. Even though I told her constantly that her scars were not an issue, she was convinced that she had to try and make herself perfect for me. I pressed the button.

“Sorry to bother you, Sir. It’s Grayson here.” I smiled. Poor Grayson! Once again my absence had forced him to speak to a machine. I waited for the rest of the message, and I waited. All I could hear was Grayson breathing. Note to self, send Grayson on a course for speaking into answer phones. I picked up the receiver and dialled the station, waiting to hear Grayson’s deep voice fill the silence of my cottage.

As Grayson recounted the details of Peter Dean’s irate phone call, I realised that Albert had been telling the truth after all. Mr Dean wanted the full weight of the law thrown at the mindless, idiotic vandals who had last night entered his field and attacked his cows; they had been sprayed silver and one had died. After listening, I looked at my watch. I didn’t want to go stomping across a field at this time of the evening, especially as it was now dark, and Shepherd would certainly be no good to me after two or three pints. I told Grayson to let Mr Dean know that we would be there first thing in the morning. I disconnected the call, then phoned and left a message for Shepherd to let him know that we would be going on a farm visit and to bring his wellies.

Two

That slut was pregnant! When she had overheard the gossip in the shop on the way to work, her heart had missed a beat. He had told her that she was the only one in his life. He had lied!

The alarm woke me with a start and I stretched out to switch it off. I groaned. Quarter to six! Still, I had promised Fiona that I would try to do something about my weight. As badminton had been an absolute disaster, I had come to the conclusion that jogging might be the answer. After all, I could easily get a couple of miles in before work in the mornings. As I swung my legs out of bed and did some mild stretches, I was amazed to find that my fingertips were a long way from my toes! Had it really been so long since I had tried to touch them? Still, after a couple of weeks of exercise I was sure that I would be back to my super-fit self.

Ten minutes later I was ready. Ophelia sat at the kitchen door, watching me as I twirled in front of the mirror. Not bad, Malone. Not bad at all. My grey tracksuit bottoms did have some paint stains on them and didn’t match my navy top, but apart from that, the whole ensemble hung together pretty well. I opened the front door and breathed in the cold morning air. It wasn’t quite light, but that didn’t worry me. After all, I didn’t really want a crowd of spectators to watch my maiden jog. The church bells started to chime six o’clock and as their melodious notes carried on the air, I decided to try to be back at the cottage by half-past six; I didn’t want to overdo it and injure myself on my first jaunt.

I turned left and headed down the lane, setting off at a nice gentle pace. The glistening puddles informed me that there had been a heavy shower overnight and I did my best to avoid stepping in them. I didn’t want my brilliant white trainers to get too wet and stained.

Before I got to the bottom of the lane I was struggling. It was hurting me to breathe, and my heart was racing; I could hear it echoing in my ears. The pain in my thighs was becoming unbearable and a stitch was developing in my side. I must have set off too quickly. Never mind, from little acorns and all that; at least I had made a start. I turned round and starting jogging back towards the cottage. The sound of an engine coming down the lane behind me caused me to start and I moved to the side just in time. Albert Fisher started at me in surprise as he drew alongside me in his tractor.

“Morning, Mr Malone.”

“Morning,” I gasped. Not wanting to embarrass myself, I tried to pick up my pace, even though it meant getting my brilliant white trainers wet. Stomping into a puddle, I realised too late that the puddle was in fact a pot-hole. My ankle twisted painfully as I plummeted to the ground.

“Mr Malone, are you OK?” As I heard the tractor engine quieten, another sound drifted towards me; the sound of Albert Fisher laughing heartily as he got down from his cab.

“Come on, man. I’ll help you to your house.”

Feeling once again like a five year old, I allowed Albert Fisher to manhandle me to my house. Once I was at the door, I watched him get back into his tractor and drive off. I could hear his laughter disappearing into the distance. Unlocking my door, I collapsed onto the bottom stair and untied my trainers. My ankle was starting to swell. Brilliant! Ophelia sauntered out of the kitchen and rubbed herself against my leg, her eyes shining, and I ruffled her fur.

“Out of my way, sweetheart. I need a shower.”

Pushing her out of the way, I limped up the stairs to the bathroom. As I threw my watch onto the bathroom floor I noticed the time. Seven minutes past six! What a waste of time!

When I arrived at the station, Shepherd was already there; he was sharing a coffee with WPC Porter whose arrival at the station a couple of months ago had caused quite a stir among the young constables. I could see why; she reminded me of Audrey Hepburn. However, if I had said that to the lads the answer would no doubt have been “who?” For the past month, she had been ‘seeing’ someone in the town and none of the lads could get out of her who it was. From the secrecy, I guessed that our Miss Porter had got herself involved with a married man, silly girl. It would only end in heartbreak.

“Morning, Porter. Morning, Shepherd.”

Shepherd raised his head and his eyes widened in surprise when he saw the crutch that I had dug out from the garage.

“Sir! What happened?”

“Just a sprain, lad. Nothing serious. I’ll let you do the driving today, it was bloody agony driving here. So, are you ready?”

“Yes, Sir.” He handed his mug to WPC Porter, picked up his wellingtons and together we went outside.

“You were deep in conversation with WPC Porter this morning,” I commented as Shepherd started the car and we glided out of the station yard. “Has she confessed yet?”

“Not yet, Sir,” he laughed. “Flowers is running a sweepstake to guess who it is? Fancy a flutter?”

“Well, my money would have to be on Bob Archer. He must be every girl’s dream.”

“Be serious, Sir.”

“I’ve no idea at all, lad. I don’t actually keep track of the eligible young men around. Who do you think it is?”

“Jim Driver.”

“I don’t know who that is?”

“He’s chief cashier at National Providence. He’s a nice lad even though he does still live at home with his mother. He’s a bit of a mummy’s boy in my opinion, but I think Diane would probably go for someone she could mother”

“Well, let’s see if your powers of detection are better at crime than romance shall we, lad?”

We pulled into Pete Dean’s yard where I could see him in a heated conversation with a young woman that I took to be his daughter. From the security of my car, I was able to avoid the harsh words and barbs that were being thrown. Anger was circling them, waiting for blood to be spilled in rage.

“Do you know Pete Dean’s daughter?” I asked Shepherd who was transfixed by the scene in front of him.

“A bit. Tracey was a couple of years below me at school, but I’ll tell you what, Sir, she has a hell of a temper on her. Wow! I once saw her tear chunks of hair from the head of a girl who had stolen her boyfriend.”

“Let’s hope she doesn’t do the same to her father. Come on, let’s break them up.”

We got out of the car and slowly approached the duelling duo. Just as we reached them, Tracey threw the spanner that she was holding across the yard and with a flick of her chestnut hair, she stormed off in the direction of the farmhouse.

“Morning, Mr Dean.”

He turned to us and I could see from the look on his face that the anger that was left over after his argument with his daughter was going to be directed at us. He glanced at my crutch and for a split second I even thought he might kick it away.

“About bloody time. Didn’t you want to get cold last night, Malone? Wasn’t my problem important enough for you?”

I took a deep breath.

“Perhaps, you would show us the field now, Mr Dean. After all, now that it is daylight, we will be able to have a good look around, won’t we?”

Pete Dean turned and led us out of the yard and down the lane towards his field of cows. I was in agony as I hobbled after him, trying to keep up. Shepherd took my arm to assist me, but I shook him away. I wasn’t a bloody invalid!

Pete Dean said nothing as we progressed; in fact he didn’t even turn and look in our direction once. At the gate to the field he stopped and waited, hand on the latch, for us to catch up. As we arrived to join him, he finally turned around. Looking over his shoulder, I saw Dan Marshall examining one of the cows under a tree on the other side of the field; I guessed that it was the cow that had died. He waved a greeting which I acknowledged before turning my attention back to Pete Dean.

“Can you tell us when you found the dead cow?”

“Ben did the milking yesterday morning but that dozy pillock wouldn’t have been awake enough to have spotted that one was missing. The bloody cows could have done a tango and he wouldn’t have noticed. I did evening milking and it was then that I saw that someone had sprayed them silver, and that Hilda was missing.”

“Where did you find Hilda?”

“I already told your chap at the station!” Pete was furious, furious and upset. “Why do I have to tell you lot everything twice? She was hanging from the tree at the bottom of the field.”

“Hanging?” I made a mental note to chastise Grayson for not giving me the whole picture.

“Yes! Hanging! The bastards had thrown a rope around her neck to bring her down; they then bound her feet and hanged her from the tree.”

I couldn’t think of anything to say. My mind was running around in circles. How many people does it take to hang a cow? Why didn’t the bough break and the baby fall? I called my thoughts to attention. “Wrong rhyme! No babies have died – pay attention.” They all hung their heads in shame and returned to duty.

Pete was glaring at me and I needed to at least give the impression that I was on the case. I took out my trusty notebook and scribbled away furiously.

“Which other cows were sprayed?” I was looking around the field trying to locate them, but all to no avail. Who would have thought that silver cows would have been so difficult to spot?

“They seem to have rubbed a lot of the paint off overnight. Some of them just have the odd silver spots now. If you had bothered to come out last night, you would have seen them in all their shining glory. Come on.”

He opened the gate and all three of us entered the field which was pretty churned up as it had rained heavily overnight. My crutch immediately sank and as I pulled it out with a smile, I remembered a time in the past when I had to pull an oar out of the River Cam when I had been punting. As I turned to meet Pete’s gaze, which was becoming more dangerous, I realised that I still had a stupid grin on my face and I wiped it off quickly. With a snort of disapproval, Pete led us over to where a group of cows were sitting, quietly chewing. At the edge of the group, I could see a beautiful chocolate brown cow that did indeed have several silver spots hanging on bravely to her skin. I ran my hand across her side and found that specks of silver leapt onto my fingertips.

“What do you think, lad?”

Shepherd examined the cow. “Looks like the sort of silver hairspray that you can buy at this time of year for Halloween. It usually washes out quite easily.”

“I agree. It looks as if the rain and the cows’ concerted efforts to rub themselves clean have removed the majority of it.”

Before he had the chance to reply, Dan Marshall joined us.

“Morning, Mike. Well, Pete, there doesn’t appear to be any damage to the herd but let me know straight away if you notice any of them developing sore eyes.”

“Sore eyes, Dan?” I was going to expand on my question but at the risk of embarrassing myself, I said no more.

“Yes, if the spray gets into the eyes it could be serious. This stuff is pretty toxic.”

“What about Hilda?” I looked at the large brown and white cow lying peacefully on the ground over by the tree. “Pete said she had been hanged. Is that right?”

“Strangled. They tied a rope around her neck, using the noose knot, and bound her feet. Then they dragged her slowly to the tree. You can see the drag marks.” He pointed towards the tree and I could see brown scars in the green pasture. “As they dragged her, the noose would have been tightening all of the time, slowly strangling her. Poor girl. She would have suffered dreadfully. When they reached the tree, they threw the rope over a branch and pulled it tight so that her neck was stretched upwards.”

“So she could have been dead before they got to the tree?”

“We’ll never know, but I do hope so. She would have been terrified. Catch them, Mike. No animal should suffer like this.” He slapped me on the back, shook Pete’s hand and marched sadly towards the gate. Dan was a vet who cared passionately about his job and whenever an animal died he felt it personally, as if it was his own pet that had been lost.

“Well, lad?” I turned to Shepherd. “What do you think?”

Shepherd surveyed the field and sighed. “There will be nothing here, Sir. After all of the rain, the mud is pretty awful. I’ll scout around the edges and the gate to try to see where they got into the field.”

I watched him walking away to the other end of the field and turned back to Pete Dean.

“Well, the other cows seem ok now. Shepherd will have a look around to see if he can find any clues. Otherwise, there doesn’t seem to be a lot more to do.”

“So you’re not going to do anything?”

“What do you want me to do, Mr Dean? As I said, we are looking for clues. If we can find something that might help to identify who did this, then we will take it further. But, Mr Dean, we need some evidence.”

“Bloody useless! I knew it was a waste of time calling you. Bloody useless!” He turned and marched back down the lane to the farm. With nothing else to do, I leaned on the gate and watched the cows.

I contemplated the pile of dull, plain brown envelopes in front of me. Why was this policeman’s lot full of paperwork? Shepherd knocked on the door and came in with a mug of tea and no custard creams.

“Thanks, lad. Just what I needed. What about a biscuit?”

“Sorry, Sir. I promised Dr Davies that I would keep you on the straight and narrow while she was away.” He grinned sheepishly, “Are we putting the cows down as a Halloween prank that went wrong, Sir?”

“No. Pete Dean wants blood and, to be honest, I can’t blame him. It’s not good to lose an animal, but to lose one in such horrific circumstances! However, with no evidence at the moment, what can we do? The other cows weren’t hurt and the silver spray seems to have rubbed off quite well. I’ve logged it and I’ve asked the lads to ask around to see if anyone heard or saw anything.”

“Did you want me to do anything, Sir?”

“I would like you to bring me a custard cream.”

“Dr Davies would kill me!”

“In that case, go and chase up the reports from the lads.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He left the office and I picked the first brown envelope off the pile.

Three

The King’s Head was quiet when I entered and I chose a table in the corner. I was the first of the non-badminton club to arrive for our monthly get-together. Richard Austin and I had now been joined by Simon Leavesly who had finally decided that maybe badminton was not the sport to take up at his time of life. I limped over to the bar to buy a drink. Frank Bassett was busy wiping glasses and he looked up with a beaming smile as I approached. He always made his customers feel as though they were the most important people in the world. Pity supermarkets couldn’t adopt the same policy.

“Evening, Mike.” He looked at my crutch. “Not another badminton injury?”

“Jogging.”

Frank smiled sympathetically. “You and sport are not easy bed-fellows, Mike. I think I advised you to stick to darts, didn’t I?”

“You did, Frank and I did, if I remember correctly, make a comment at the time about dangerous sharp points.”

“That you did, Mike. That you did. I’ll put my thinking cap on and come up with the ideal sport for you. Now, what’ll you have?”

“Just a mineral water, Frank.” Frank raised his eyebrows but didn’t say a word about my choice of beverage. “I seem to be first here tonight. I’ll take three menus as well, please.”

“Have you found out who killed Pete’s cow yet?”

I smiled. This town had to be a world leader for spreading gossip.

“You heard about that, did you?”

“Sure did. Pete was pretty angry about it.”

“I know he was. I did, initially, think that the silver paint was just a Halloween prank but why kill the cow? The answer to your question is that we’re still investigating.”

I handed my money over and went back to my seat. Looking around, I caught sight of Tracey Dean at the far end of the bar. I didn’t recognise the chap that she was with, but I could tell that he was considerably older than she was; they also seemed to be a lot more that just good friends. I wondered whether that was what the argument at the farm that morning had been about. Before I had chance to have any more thoughts, Richard appeared at the table.

“Mike! See we’ve both beaten Simon again?”

“Don’t we always?”

It was a standing joke between us that to date, Simon had been late every time that we had arranged to meet.

“Wonder what the excuse will be tonight?” Richard hung his jacket over his chair and went off to get his drink, leaving me to continue my observation of Tracey Dean and her admirer.

Richard returned and after taking a menu, he settled down to decide which dish he was going to favour with his attention this evening.

“What’s with the crutch, Mike? A new police deterrent?”

“I twisted my ankle when I went out jogging.”

Richard snorted into his beer. “Jogging! I thought you had done with exercise.”

“Fiona wants me to lose a bit of weight before Cat’s wedding.”

“Women, eh? What would we do without them?” He returned to studying his menu.

“Do you happen to know who the chap is with Tracey Dean?” I nodded in the direction of the lovebirds. Richard threw down his menu.

“Well, blow me! The cheating bastard!”

“I take it that you know him then?”

“I’ll say I do. That’s Felix Vine – you know, the manager of The Vinery Off-Licence. His wife is my bloody secretary. Poor Helen. She doesn’t deserve this. Wait here.”

Before I could stop him, Richard had pushed his chair back against the wall and was marching determinedly in the direction of the courting couple. I put my head in my hands in despair and peeped through my fingers as Richard tapped Felix Vine on the shoulder.

“Felix, old chap! Nice to see you. Can I get you and your friend a drink?”

Felix Vine’s face lost every little bit of colour that it had; I could see it gathering in a pool at his feet. He opened his mouth and closed it. I almost laughed aloud; he looked like a startled goldfish. All the time, Richard just stood there with his hand on Vine’s shoulder. Although I couldn’t see Richard’s face, I was pretty sure that he would have been smiling broadly. Finally, Felix Vine appeared to mutter something, then grabbing Tracey’s hand, he pulled her from her seat and ushered her very quickly from the pub. Richard returned to the table.

“That certainly gave the bastard a fright, didn’t it? Poor Helen. Should I tell her? What do you think, Mike?”

“I think that after tonight, there probably won’t be anything to tell her. Say nothing, but be ready with the tissues. That’s my advice.”

“Good man.”

Before we had chance to discuss poor Helen Vine further, Simon rushed in.

“Sorry, I’m late, chaps. Another drink?”

Like a mini whirlwind, he dropped his jacket and went to the bar to get two beers and another mineral water.

“Fifty pence says that he had an urgent letter to get in the post.” Richard put a silver coin on the table in front of him.

“Fifty pence says it was a woman.” I fished deep in my pocket and found a matching coin.

“A woman? Simon? You certainly like to lose with style, Malone.”

“We’ll see.” I sat back with a sly grin on my face, trying to convince Richard that I knew more than I actually did.

“Right, have you chaps ordered yet?” Simon deposited our drinks, sat down and swept up a menu. He studied it carefully while Richard and I exchanged a glance.

“So do we get a reason why you are – once again – late, Leavesly?” Richard prodded Simon playfully.

“Well, I’ve got a bit of news for you two actually.” Simon put the menu down and folded his hands in front of him. We were all ears.

“Baker Goddard has, from five-thirty today, become Baker Sinclair.”

“So old Baker found someone to buy Martin’s share of the firm, did he? What’s he like, the new chap?”

“She is a very attractive young woman called Eleanor. She was working for a firm in Coventry, but has now decided to move here. The paper work took a bit longer than I thought, that’s why I’m late.”

“Married?” Richard asked.

“Divorced. We’re having lunch together tomorrow to discuss the firm taking on my business. I need a change of accountant; old Warren is getting a bit long in the tooth.”

“Of course, good idea,” I agreed sagely, at the same time winking at Richard as I swept up the two silver coins and dropped them in my pocket.

Four

The evening was clear and still. As she climbed over the gate, she pulled her scarf tighter. The others followed her silently. The cows were quietly sitting, huddled up together as if for warmth. She shivered. The sight of these stupid animals made her so angry; how dare he think that he could cheat on her. Approaching the herd, she chose a dark cow on the edge and started shaking her aerosols vigorously. The sound caused the cow to raise its head and look straight at her so she stopped, put the cans in her pocket and continued more cautiously; she didn’t want to spook it. It watched her approach. When she was close enough, she stretched out a hand and patted it. It watched her. Then, with a can in each hand she sprayed, and silver dust fell upon the dark coat of the cow. The cow watched her, bemused as she turned its coat a gleaming silver. The others silently appeared at her side with the rope and carefully put it over the cow’s head. It just watched them as it carried on chewing. One of them knelt and took hold of one of the cow’s legs, pulling it to encourage her to get up. But then everything went wrong.

In the distance, she heard a shout and a dog barking. She saw Harold Chambers clambering over the gate with his dog in hot pursuit. As she turned to look behind her, she lost control of the cans; a fine silver mist fell into the cow’s eyes and it scrambled to its feet in panic. The dog was getting closer, barking constantly. Harold Chambers was getting closer, shouting loudly. The cows were all getting to their feet, panicking wildly. She dropped the cans and ran. The others ran beside her, excited by the chase. The cows ran. The dog barked. Harold Chambers fell. The stampeding cows had knocked him over as if he were an insignificant twig. As he fell under their feet a single hoof caught his temple and he felt no more.

When she reached the gate, she looked back while the others ran on ahead. She saw that the cows were now standing calmly. She saw that the dog had stopped barking and was lying on the ground in front of something. She looked for Harold Chambers. Where was he? As the moon moved slowly from behind its cloud curtain, she found him. Protected by his dog, Harold Chambers was lying on the grass, motionless. She ran.

The ringing of the telephone dragged me back from St Mark’s Square and I glanced at my watch. Twenty-past two! This had better be good.

“Malone.”

“Sorry to wake you, Sir. It’s Grayson.”

“What is it?”

I pulled myself up into a sitting position, rubbing my eyes and yawning.

“Two things, Sir. Not sure if they are connected.”

“Grayson! Spit it out, man.”

“Firstly, Albert Fisher has been on the phone to say that he has seen a silver cow in Harold Chambers’ field. Secondly, May Chambers has phoned in a right old state because Harold never came home after going for a drink with the boys.”

I sighed. “Ring, Shepherd. Tell him I’ll pick him up in fifteen minutes.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I swung my legs out of bed. This was going to be a long day!

We pulled into Harold Chamber’s farmyard and May came running out of the house to meet us, her pink candlewick dressing gown flapping behind her like a sail.

“Have you found him?”

I got out of the car, and took her arm gently. Watery eyes looked up at me.

“I just wanted to check if he had made it home.”

“Where is he, Mr Malone? He’s never late. Never!”

“Who was he drinking with?”

“Fred Greengrass and Albert Fisher. They go to The Cat and Fiddle.”

“Alright, you go back inside and we’ll have a drive around.”

I steered her back towards her door and then got back into the car.

“We’ll try the pub, first.”

“What about the silver cow, Sir? We can go past Harold’s field if we go the back way to the pub rather than through town.”

I followed his directions and within ten minutes we were at the gate to the field. However, neither of us could get out of the car, so shocked were we by what we saw. In the centre of the field, with the moonlight reflecting off her back was a shimmering silver cow. I had never seen anything like it. It was truly magical. As I looked more closely, I could make out a rope hanging from its neck. My blood froze. They had been planning to hang this creature as well. Why?

“Sir, what’s that?”

Dragging my eyes away from the silver cow, I looked over to where Shepherd was pointing.

“Harold! Bloody fool has passed out. Come on. Let’s get him to his feet.”

Getting out of the car, we both put our wellingtons on and climbed over the gate. Thankfully, my ankle was not so painful today and I had been able to leave the crutch at home. Harold was lying in the middle of the cows. His dog was lying at his feet and the silver cow had now moved to protect his head. Both animals watched us as we approached.

“Harold, get up!” I shouted as we got closer; his dog raised its head and whined.

While I shooed the cow away, Shepherd knelt down to shake Harold awake.

“Sir! He’s dead!”

“Dead drunk more like. Shake him again.”

“Seriously, Sir. He’s dead.”

With the silver cow trotting off towards the edge of the field, dragging its rope behind it, I knelt down and examined Harold for myself. The lad was right. Harold was cold, he must have been dead a while.

“Phone the team, lad. I’ll leave you here to sort things out and I’ll go back to see May. Do you know if he suffered with his heart at all?”

“I don’t think so. What are you thinking, Sir.”

“That maybe he saw someone spraying his cow and gave chase. The effort of running after a few pints could have brought on a heart attack.”

“You could be right. I can’t find any signs of injury.”

“I’ll be back to pick you up soon, lad.”

Leaving Shepherd to take care of Harold, I returned to the car. This was the part of my job that I always hated, delivering bad news to relatives.

Shepherd and I sat in my office, both of us feeling a lot better after our bacon sandwiches and tea. Well, Shepherd had the bacon sandwich; I had toast with low fat spread! Shepherd got out his notebook.

“Silver hairspray is widely available this time of year, Sir. I’ve got the cans, so I will spend this morning seeing who stocks this brand and if they can remember anyone who might have bought several cans all at once.”

“Good idea.”

“So what are we looking at, Sir? Manslaughter?”

“I’m not sure that we can even have a charge of manslaughter.” I shook my head. “The early forensics report says that Harold seems to have been killed by one of the cows; there appears to be a hoof mark on the side of his head.”

“Not a heart attack?”

“The post-mortem will tell us more. But, they don’t think so. It’s hopeless. We have nothing to prove that he was in the field at the same tine as the person spraying the cow. He could have gone in before the cow was sprayed, slipped and been trampled on. He could have gone in afterwards and slipped. We don’t know, lad. The coroner will treat it as an accident.”

“But your instinct tells you …”

“That he saw the person with the spray cans. The cans were on the floor, so the vandal must have dropped them in a panic and legged it. Harold, and remember he was still at the pub at quarter to eleven, would have probably tried to run after them. After a few pints, he would have been unsteady on his feet; he could have fallen and as he lay there in the dark he could have been trodden on by a cow. Sadly, instinct isn’t proof.”

Shepherd looked at his watch. “The shops will be beginning to open now, so I can make a few phone calls.”

He left the office to me and my thoughts. Yet again, I was faced with trying to find someone who seemed to take delight in playing pranks on the gentle beasts of the farmyard. Last night’s escapade had ended in tragedy, the death of an innocent man. I just hoped that this time there would be no murders.

Five

She was still shaking as she sat on the edge of the bed. She could still see Harold Chambers lying there. She was sure that he was dead. Why? He wasn’t meant to die. He was just a harmless old duffer. No, he definitely wasn’t on her list. She took off her boots and lay on the bed, staring at the moon and stars on her ceiling. Last night the wrong person had been killed. Tonight she would make sure that the right one died. She reached under her pillow and pulled out his photograph. His face stared back at her; he was smiling, confident, happy. She traced his lips with her fingers and she shivered with pleasure as she remembered his kisses on her skin. He belonged to her, he should never have cheated on her. After tonight, he would never cheat on her again.

By lunchtime, I had the post mortem report on Harold Chambers. He had died as a result of a blow on the head from one of the cows. Poor devil. We would never know what happened that night, but my gut instinct told me that he had chased whoever was spraying his cow, had slipped and been kicked.

Shepherd knocked on the office door and entered.

“The silver hairspray is not sold locally, Sir. It looks as if it is only available through mail order. There are fifty seven companies in the UK that sell this particular brand and even more overseas.”

“Someone has taken great pains not to be seen buying hairspray. Can you contact these companies and see if they keep a customer list?”

“It will take a while, Sir, but I’ll get WPC Porter to help me.”

“You do that, lad.”

With the office quiet once again I took the opportunity to make a call to Fiona. She answered immediately.

“Mike, I was just going to call you.”

“There’s not a problem, I hope?”

“Far from it. I’m catching the four-forty train later. Can you meet me at the station at eight?”

My heart was running around in circles waving balloons and flags; it had been nearly two weeks since Fiona had left to visit her mother.

“Why the change of plan? I thought you were staying another week.”

“Mum has been invited to the Lake District for a few days, so I told her to go.”

“I’m glad you did. I’ve missed you, Fi.” I was smiling so widely that I thought my face would break into two. “I’ll cook tonight.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll eat on the train. See you soon.”

“Take care.” I put the phone down and ran around the office. Fiona was coming home!

As I was completing my third lap, Shepherd put his head around the door, concerned about the noise in the office. I returned to my chair and picked up a memo. I didn’t look up at him, I just concentrated upon getting my breath back.

“Are you ok, Sir?”

“Never better!” I gasped. “Never better!”

As Fiona and I sat in her kitchen that evening, I felt that life was once more restored to normality. I poured her another glass of wine.

“Mike, I’ve come to a decision.” She reached out and took hold of my wrist. “I’m not going to have any more skin grafts. Do you mind?”

“Why should I mind?”

“But I look so …”

“You will always look perfect to me. So what if you can’t wear a bikini anymore. Neither can I!”

“The scars don’t bother you?”

“Not at all. They make you special, unique.”

She picked up her glass, her eyes sparkling. “You can be a real charmer at times, Mike Malone. So tell me this. How’s the diet?”

I picked up my glass and grinned.

Six

She was getting cold; there was some protection from the hedgerow behind the bus-stop to prevent the wind from getting to her, but the rain was another matter. She was soaked. Still, the rain would destroy a lot of evidence.

Hearing footsteps, she moved position to get a better look at the person approaching. A small figure, with its head down against the driving rain, was walking quickly towards her. It was Sally. Stepping quickly into the bus-stop she waited.

“Hello, Sally.”

“Oh, it’s you. I didn’t see you there.” Sally joined her in the shelter of the bus-stop and wrinkled her nose as the smell of urine hit her. “This place gets worse, doesn’t it?”

“Definitely.”

With one movement, she plunged the knife between Sally’s shoulder blades, forcing it in deeply. As Sally dropped to her knees she withdrew the knife, grimacing as blood covered her gloves. She looked at Sally who was looking up at her, surprised by the attack. As she bent down beside her, she pulled the hood from Sally’s head, grasped her hair and pulled her head back so that she could slide the blood-stained blade across her throat. The sight of Sally’s flesh parting and gaping caused a wave of nausea to overcome her and she swallowed back the bitter bile as she let the body fall among the discarded beer cans. In the moonlight, she could make out a dark pool of liquid gathering under Sally’s body and she shuffled to make sure that it did not reach her feet. Now for the finishing touch. She took the teaspoon from her pocket, pulled back Sally’s right eyelid and plunged the stem of the spoon into the lifeless eye as far as it would go. A mixture of fluid and blood ran over Sally’s face. At last she stood and looked around; everywhere was still quiet. Without a backward glance, she walked down the lane in the direction of the park, jumping and splashing in every puddle that she could find.

I stretched out an arm and fumbled for my phone. Quarter to midnight!

“Malone!”

“It’s Shepherd, Sir. A body has been found in the bus-stop in Deep Dyke Lane.”

“Oh, God! I’ll meet you there.”

“I take it you have to go?” Fiona lifted her head from my shoulder, having already switched off the film that we were watching.

“Sorry. It looks as if I will be a while – a body has been found.”

“Oh no.”

“I’ll ring you in the morning.”

“Ok.” She stretched and yawned.

“You’re worn out. Go on to bed. I’ll lock up as I leave.”

“Ok.”

Stretching again, she got to her feet, and sleepily made her way to the stairs.

“Don’t I get a good-night kiss?” I followed her and put my hand on her cheek.

“Sorry, good-night.”

I stood at the foot of the stairs and watched her disappear around the corner of the landing. When I heard the bedroom door open and close, I switched off all of the lights and let myself out, checking the locks as I did so.

As I got into the car, my instinct sent me a message that this was going to be a murder case; in fact, my mind was already sharpening pencils and organising drawer space in preparation.

I was the last one to arrive. Lights had already been erected at the bus-stop and I could see that Adrian O’Brien was on his knees beside the body. The local service bus was parked further down the lane. Shepherd opened my car door, his face tight with anger and shock.

“It’s Sally Jennings, Sir. Cat’s best friend.”

“Jesus! What do we have?”

“Stabbed in the back and her throat slit. But, Sir, she …” Shepherd took two steps away and vomited onto the side of the road. I waited until he had composed himself.

“Who found her?”

“Dave Watson, the bus driver. This was his twenty-five past eleven scheduled stop.”

“Did he touch anything?”

“He says not. He saw someone lying in the shelter so he got out expecting it was a drunk and found Sally. He called us straight away.”

“Has he given a statement?”

“Not yet. He’s too shaken.”

I pulled my coat on and turned my collar up against the rain.

“I’ll have a word with him in a minute.” Keeping my head down I made my way quickly to join O’Brien.

“Horrible night, Adrian. What have we got?”

I looked down and immediately felt the bile rise in my throat. I had seen most things, but never this. Why would anyone want to inflict such injuries on another human being?

Adrian O’Brien took his glasses off and rubbed them on his sleeve. Having put them back on, he lifted his head to look at me.

“Evening, Mike. Well, she’s not been dead long. An hour if that. The stab wound to the back was deep, but it wouldn’t have killed her. The throat wound would probably have been the fatal blow.”

“The spoon?” I found myself drawn to the macabre sight on the ground in front of me. Sally Jennings was lying on her back with a spoon standing upright in her right eye.

“Deep enough to have penetrated the brain. I think it was done after her throat was slit.”

“Why?”

“Unless the body was positioned after death, which I don’t think it was judging by the way the blood had gathered, then she was lying pretty still when she was stabbed in the eye. If she had been alive, or conscious, we would have seen evidence of struggling. The ground is relatively unmarked.”

I looked around and found myself agreeing with him. There was no evidence at all of a struggle.

“Any defensive injuries?”

“Don’t appear to be any. I think she was attacked from behind and as she fell her throat was slit. Once she was on the floor, well, we can guess what happened next.”

“Thanks, Adrian. How’s Laura?”

“She’s doing fine, thanks.” Adrian beamed with pride. “Only a month to go now before the baby’s here.”

“Enjoy your peace and quiet, Babies are noisy and demanding”

“And you’re a cynic! Anyway, how can I get any peace with you finding dead bodies all over the place?”

I held my hands out helplessly and grinned. “Me? Give my best to Laura?”

“Thanks, Mike. I’ll get the PM report as soon as I can.”

“Thanks.”

I left him to look after the body and turned to find Shepherd. Under the forensic lights, he was on his hands and knees scouring the area around the bus stop, looking for those tiny clues that only he always managed to find.

“Anything, lad?”

He looked up. “The rain hasn’t helped at all, Sir. Everything is wet and muddy.”

“Get home to Cat. I’m off to see Sally’s parents.”

I put my hands in my pockets and was starting towards my car when an idea popped into my brain and scrawled on the wall. I retraced my steps.

“Do you know if Sally had a boyfriend? Has Cat said anything?”

“There is someone, Sir, but Sally wouldn’t tell Cat who it was? And, Cat had heard gossip that Sally was pregnant, but she hadn’t had chance to have a chat with her to find out of it was true.”

“Why wouldn’t she tell Cat who her lover was? She’s her best friend!”

“I’m guessing that it is someone that Cat wouldn’t have approved of, and you know Cat, Sir. She would certainly have told Sally what she thought.”

“True. See what you can find out will you, lad?”

“Yes, Sir?”

I left him and walked back over to Adrian. He looked up as I reached his side.

“Can’t you keep away, Mike?”

“It is possible that Sally was pregnant. Can you confirm it in your PM?”

“Jesus! Two murders! I’ll let you know.”

I walked back to the car and started the engine. As it idled, I thought about what I might say to Sally’s parents; I always hated this part of my job, I hated sitting watching peoples’ lives torn apart. Did they even know that she might have been pregnant? I decided not to mention that until the PM report was on my desk.

Back at the station, my first job was to fetch the crime-board back up from the basement. Sweeping the cobwebs off it with my jacket sleeve, I carefully manoeuvred it up the stairs where I found Grayson waiting for me.

“Are you alright, Sir?”

“A hand would be nice, Grayson,” I panted. “I’m struggling a bit here.”

With Grayson taking one end of it, we carried the board into my office.

“Bit dusty down there, isn’t it?” he grinned as he watched me brushing cobwebs and dust from my jacket and trousers.

“Well, in my opinion, it would be the perfect place to hide a body.” A dead beetle fell from my hair. “Am I respectable again?”

“You’ll do fine, Sir. Mr O’Brien wants you to ring him.”

“Thanks.”

Grayson squeezed himself out of my office and I positioned the crime-board back in its usual place behind my desk. Taking the photos of the murder scene from my desk, I decided to ring Adrian before putting them on the board. Shepherd had found no clues whatsoever when he had searched the area around the bus-stop. Hopefully, Adrian would have something more significant to tell me. I dialled his number.

An hour later, Shepherd arrived with two mugs of tea; Sally Jennings’ death had shaken him and his usual good humour was absent.

“Sit down, lad. How’s Cat?”

“Distraught. I’ll phone Simon later and tell him that she won’t be in today.” He looked at his watch.

“Good idea. Did she say anything that might help us?"

“She has no idea who Sally had been seeing but she did know that he was married. Apparently she had been trying to persuade Sally that there was no future in the relationship, but Sally had told her that the chap was going to leave his wife for her.”

“That’s what they always say.”

“Exactly. And as I said before, Cat didn’t know anything about Sally being pregnant but she had heard the gossip. Have you heard from Mr O’Brien, Sir?”

“Yes. Sally was three months pregnant.”

We were both silent as we thought of the life that had been ended before it had been given a chance to begin. Shepherd got up and went over to the crime-board.

“Sally was a fun person to be around, you know, Sir. This isn’t right!”

“I know, lad.”

I looked at my watch and pushed my chair back.

“Come on, lad. Go home and get your head down for a couple of hours. I’ll see you back here at eight and we’ll go and visit Sally’s parents. I need to look through her things to see if we can find out who this man is.”

“Ok, Sir.”

Together, we left the office and walked through the silent corridor. At the door to the station, I looked up into the velvety black night sky. A silver quarter moon was hanging in the sky over the town, surrounded by hundreds of flickering stars. As I watched them, I wondered whether there were two new stars tonight.

Seven

As the town centre clock struck the half-hour, we pulled up in the car-park and looked around. The town was just starting to wake up. Groups of scruffy teenagers were making their way to school, bags slung on their backs, as they caught up on all the gossip from the night before. I smiled. These teenagers with their bad attitudes were tomorrow’s hope. God help us all! They couldn’t even dress themselves properly. Shops were beginning to take down security panels and a postman, with his faithful bicycle at his side, was delivering letters that were either hoped for or dreaded.

I looked over to the newsagents which I could see was closed. As I watched, even though the tiny shop was in darkness, several people were trying to open the door as they passed, all eager to pick up their usual morning newspapers and cigarettes. In the display window, the brilliantly coloured posters advertising fireworks seemed out of place in a building draped with such clouds of sorrow and loss. Looking upwards, I could see that the curtains of the first floor flat were also pulled together, shutting out the grey October light.

“Come on, lad.”

With heavy hearts, Shepherd and I got out of the car and crossed the square. I rang the bell on the shop door. After a few moments, I heard the lock being pulled back and John Jennings opened the door. Dark circles under his red-rimmed eyes told me that he had not slept since my previous visit.

“Sorry to disturb you, Mr Jennings, but I would like another word with you and Mrs Jennings.”

Silently, he stood back to allow us to enter. Today’s newspapers were stacked in piles around the shop; no one would be reading them this morning. We followed him, in single file, through the shop to the staff entrance as smiling celebrity faces watched our every movement from the shelves. John Jennings opened the door and dragged himself up the stairs to the first floor flat; life had left him, leaving in its wake a tired, defeated shell.

In the kitchen, June Jennings was sitting behind a mug of tea. Looking at the skin that had formed on its surface, I guessed that it had been made several hours previous. Her eyes were also red and sore; Sally had been their only child.

“Hello, Mrs Jennings. Sorry to disturb you again, but I need to ask you some more questions. Shall I get Shepherd to make us all another cup of tea?”

I took the silence to be a ‘yes’ and nodded to Shepherd who set about filling a kettle. I sat down at the table opposite June Jennings; her husband had taken the seat next to her and had placed his hand over hers.

“I'm sorry to bother you again, Mrs Jennings, Mr Jennings, but I think that I may have news that is going to upset you.”

“Our Sally’s dead. What could possibly be worse than that?” John Jennings squeezed his wife’s hand.

“The post mortem result reveals that Sally was three months pregnant.”

The shock waves ricocheted around the small kitchen. June Jennings’s mouth opened in a silent scream of despair and John’s remaining shreds of colour deserted him.

“No! You’ve got it wrong!” John Jennings was struggling to hold back tears; I had just delivered another killer blow.

“I’m sorry, Mr Jennings. I take it that she hadn’t said anything to either of you about it?”

“She was having a baby? She was having my grandchild? Oh, John! We’ve lost them both!” June Jennings buried her face in her husband’s shoulder and his arm went protectively around her.

Shepherd put two mugs of tea down in front of them; like the other mugs on the table, I expected that these too would slowly go cold.

“Do you know who she was seeing?”

“No. I didn’t even know that she had a boyfriend.” John was no longer looking at me.

“Is it alright if Shepherd and I have a look around her room?”

John Jennings nodded slowly. Looking across to Shepherd, I pushed my chair silently back from the table and together we went up the next flight of stairs.

Sally Jennings’s bedroom was at the back of the flat overlooking the river. The soft lilac walls were decorated with bright abstract canvases, the type of modern art that I didn’t understand. Her small white dressing table was covered with bottles of perfume and nail polish; a large white teddy bear sat on her bed.

“You take the wardrobe and I’ll look through the dressing table.”

Shepherd opened the wardrobe door and I caught a glimpse of myself in the interior mirror as the door swung open; instinctively I pulled my stomach in. I sat down at the dressing table and opened the first drawer; inside jars and tubes of various creams and potions jostled for position. I ran my hand over them, listening to the musical clink as they knocked together, and I looked to see if there was anything buried underneath. Nothing. The second drawer was overflowing with tights, stockings and scarves; their softness caressed my skin as I plunged my hand deep within their depths, searching. Nothing.

“Anything, lad?”

“Not yet!”

“Remember to check pockets.”

“I am doing, Sir. So far nothing.”

The third drawer looked promising. A red leather diary was at the top. Underneath it, there were various notebooks and envelopes. Gathering them all together, I took them out and spread them on the bed. The teddy watched my every movement.

The diary was from last year. I flicked through it, but it was empty; there was not one single entry. Evidently it had been a useless gift. The notebooks were full of figures and it looked as if these were Sally’s personal accounts. There were records of amounts spent on magazines, make-up and clothes. Everything was carefully itemised; everything was perfectly ordinary.

“Sir!”

Leaving the clutter on the bed, I joined Shepherd who was on his knees looking through a shoebox. It seemed to be filled with everything but shoes.

“It looks as if this is where she kept mementoes, Sir. Look, there are receipts, cinema tickets and even a football programme.”

“Is there anything that will give us a clue about her boyfriend?”

“Maybe. All of these are pretty recent.” He tipped the box upside down and a sandcastle of paper appeared. He started looking through the receipts that had been hidden at the bottom but were now at the top of the pile. “Even these are recent, Sir. In fact, there is nothing before April of this year.”

“Are they all souvenirs of dates, do you think?”

“It looks like it. Memories of a love affair. It would be romantic if it wasn’t so tragic.”

“Ok. Take the box back to the station and I want you to go through everything and make lists of places, dates and times. If we know where she has been going with this man, then we might be able to find him.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I left him putting everything carefully back into the shoebox while I returned to the envelopes on the bed. The first envelope contained several bank statements. There was nothing unusual in the entries; a regular monthly salary and the usual outgoings of a twenty-something young girl. I picked up the second envelope which was thick and inviting and opened it. Bingo! Letters! I opened the first one which was dated third of May and blushed furiously. This was hot stuff; I had never ever written a letter like this in my life. I loosened my collar, an action that was immediately spotted by Shepherd who trotted over to my side.

“You ok, Sir?”

I handed him a letter. “Sit down and read this.”

He settled himself of the edge of the bed, avoiding the piles of notebooks and started reading.

“Bloody hell! This is….”

“It makes ‘Lady Chatterley’s Lover’ look like ‘The Beano’.”

“Lady what?”

“Never mind.” Didn’t the youth of today read anything? “Is your letter signed? Mine finishes, ‘I fall asleep with the taste of you on my tongue and the scent of you on my skin. Yours forever, Lorenzo.”

“This one is ‘I am aroused just thinking of you. Until tomorrow. Lorenzo.’ Do girls really like this sort of stuff, Sir?”

“Sally evidently did. There are … one, two …. at least twenty letters here.”

“Lorenzo means nothing to me, Sir. Could it be a waiter at Giorgio’s?”

“There are Italian waiters there. I’ll make enquiries when we get back. I’ll take the letters as well. I don’t think that Sally’s parents need to see these.”

“I agree with you, Sir. They are pretty pornographic.”

“Exactly. We’ll go through them for clues and then lose them in the depths of the station. No one need ever know that they existed.”

I put the contents of the drawer back and closed it. Shepherd tidied the wardrobe and joined me. A solitary thought knocked on my mind and opened the door. I listened carefully to what it had to say.

“Just check under the bed, lad. We might have missed something. I’ll look under her pillows.”

Shepherd put the shoebox on the dressing table, got onto his knees and disappeared under the bed. Pulling back her duvet and pillows I found another letter, dated a week ago. Reading it quickly, I found that Lorenzo was thrilled about the baby and promised that he would take care of them both. Shepherd appeared from the other side of the bed and brushed his uniform down.

“Nothing, Sir. Did you find anything?”

“Another letter, dated last week, in which he promises to look after her and the baby.”

“So why kill her?”

“That’s exactly what I’m thinking. These letters may show passion and strong feelings but they do not show murderous intent. Unless, he was very, very clever and didn’t want her to suspect him.”

Shepherd pulled the duvet straight. “Cat did think that he was married. Maybe everything changed after he wrote the letter. Maybe he decided that his marriage was more important and Sally had to go.”

“Maybe. Come on. Let’s get back to the station, I have some letters to read.”

Eight

The town clock chimed twelve and I put my pen down. For the past two hours I had been trying to gather clues from the letters that I had found in Sally’s room. Apart from making me need a cold shower, they had revealed nothing. All I knew about the mysterious boyfriend was that his name was Lorenzo and that he enjoyed a lot of…er…variety! I tried to remember my youth when things were very different; the letters showed a very different experience of love to the one that I had enjoyed when I was Sally’s age. I sighed. Were things really better now? Somehow, I didn’t think so. In my day, things may have been simpler, but they had been just as pleasurable. Shepherd knocked and entered the office, beaming with the satisfaction of a job well done. Sitting down, he spread several sheets of paper on my desk.

“It looks as if there is a regular pattern here, Sir.”

“Go on, lad.”

“Well, I’ve checked the calendar and it looks as if every Wednesday Lorenzo and Sally would go to the cinema in Peterborough; they would always see the late night presentation.”

“Peterborough! That’s a multiplex! No one there will remember seeing them. Now if they had been going to our own little cinema here, then we might have had a chance. Anything else?”

“On most Fridays they would dine at various restaurants within a forty mile radius. A different restaurant every time – there are no duplicate receipts.”

“Looks as if someone was very keen to cover his tracks.”

“Just what I thought, Sir. I get the impression that he knows exactly what to do, almost as if he has done it before.”

I rubbed my chin in thought. These receipts were holding a clue, but I just couldn’t pin down what they were telling me.

“What time were they dining?”

Shepherd ran his finger down the list that he had made. “All of them seem to have been early. Most of the receipts are timed between seven-thirty and eight.”

“I know it’s a long shot, but contact the restaurants and see if they have any record of diners. My suspicion is that he used a different name every time he booked. I suppose he paid cash every time?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“He has done this before. Poor Sally, seduced by a middle-aged Lothario.”

“A what?”

I looked at Shepherd as he struggled to keep up with my intellect. “Just a phrase, lad?”

“What makes you think that he is middle-aged, Sir?”

“I didn’t originally. The letters made me think he was young, considering his…er…appetite for different…er…things.”

“You’re blushing again, Sir.”

I ignored him. “However, the way that he has skilfully covered his tracks makes me think that he has both experience and access to money. Could you afford to take Cat out every week?”

“At the prices that he is paying, definitely not! What about his appetite, Sir?” Shepherd watched me carefully, waiting to see if the blushes would appear again.

“He must have more stamina than me!” I laughed and Shepherd joined in the joke.

At that moment several thoughts rushed into my mind, all jumping around, trying to get my attention. I ordered them to sit down and wait their turn. Closing my eyes, I listened to everything that they had to say. Yes! These receipts were clues after all! I opened my eyes and saw Shepherd staring at me, puzzled.

“Just thinking, lad. Now, how can a husband disappear every Wednesday and Friday without a wife getting suspicious?”

Admiration shone in Shepherd’s eyes at my line of enquiry.

“Well done, Sir. Exactly. Well, she must be out herself. On Wednesdays he has to get back fairly early and on Fridays …” he stopped. “What on earth could she be doing on Fridays? If he is taking Sally to the midnight screenings, then they wouldn’t be getting back here until the early hours.”

“So, evidently she must work nights?”

“Good thinking, Sir.”

“So, we need to find a woman who works Wednesday evenings and all night Fridays. If we find her then we can find her husband.”

“Brilliant, Sir. I’ll start making enquiries.”

As Shepherd scampered out of the office, I picked up the phone and dialled.

By one-thirty I was sitting opposite Fiona in Giorgio’s; the smile on her face told me that she knew exactly why she had received the unexpected lunch invitation. She knew that I had an ulterior motive.

“Spill the beans, Mike.”

“Ok. Besides having the pleasure of your wonderful company for an hour, I did also want to find out if any of the waiters know someone called Lorenzo.”

“So do I have your word that there will be just one question, and not an hour long interrogation in the kitchen while I am left sitting all alone with a glass of wine?”

“Yes, cross my heart.” I leaned across and took her hand. “But then again, this does give me a perfect excuse to spend some time with you, doesn’t it?”

“Charmer!” She squeezed my fingers and then returned to her study of the menu while I studied the delicate laughter lines around her eyes that revealed so much about her gentle, generous character.

Approaching footsteps heralded the approach of our waiter and presently a tall, muscular young man stood at Fiona’s side, smiling down at her. Jealousy lifted its head and glared at him. The dark Italian features gave him a rugged handsomeness that I could never hope to achieve in a million years. His accent however, was pure Lincolnshire.

“Are you ready to order?”

Fiona lifted her head and smiled at him; jealousy got to its feet, ready for a fight.

“Pollo alla crema, please.”

“And for you, Sir?” He looked at me with an arrogant smile that I wanted to wipe off his face.

“The same for me please and two glasses of house white.”

Fiona reached over and laid her fingers upon my wrist.

“Are you sure you want the cream sauce, Mike?”

My stomach growled loudly, demanding a cream sauce. However, I ignored it and smiled sweetly, through gritted teeth. “Can I change that? I’ll have the insalata pollo e verdure.”

“Certainly, Sir.” He smiled once again at Fiona and left us.

“He was nice.” I was annoyed to see that Fiona was blushing slightly. I would have replied but at that moment I was still busy trying to explain to my stomach the reasons why it was not having a cream sauce; judging by the threats that it was making, I was confident that later in the day, I would be troubled by severe indigestion. “Mike, I said he was nice.”

“Was he? I didn’t notice.” I was feeling too grumpy to be nice. Bloody diets!

“Oh, Mike. You old silly! You’re jealous.”

“No I’m not!” Fiona studied me; her clear blue eyes shone and her smile blew away my bad mood. “Ok! Maybe just a little. It was the way he was looking at you.”

Before I had chance to say anymore, I saw him approaching with our wine. He set the glasses down in front of us, and once again smiled at Fiona. As he made to leave, I put my hand on his arm.

“Can I just ask you a question?”

“Certainly, Sir. What seems to be the problem?”

“Do you happen to know anyone by the name of Lorenzo?”

The waiter’s expression changed subtly and he became wary. “Why?”

“Sorry, I should have explained.” I pulled out my ID card and handed it to him. “Detective Inspector Mike Malone.”

The waiter relaxed and smiled. “Sorry, I didn’t realise who you were. The only Lorenzo that I know is Lawrence West from The Lemon Tree. That’s what Dad calls him anyway when he wants to annoy him. Mr West likes to think that his restaurant is much more high class than our little Italian ‘pizza house’. Dad loves to take the mickey out of him. I’ll ask Dad for you to see if he knows anyone by that name if you like?”

“Thank you … er …”

“Marco.”

“Thank you, Marco.”

With a slight bow, Marco left us and returned to the kitchen.

“So that’s Giorgio’s son? I’d never met him before.” Fiona sipped her wine thoughtfully.

“Neither had I. Seems like a nice lad.”

“You!” She kicked me playfully under the table. “A few moments ago you wanted to challenge him to a duel.”

“That was before I knew he was the owner’s son. I like eating here so I’m not going to upset Giorgio, am I?”

“Mr Malone!” I turned and saw Giorgio bearing down on us, arms wide open and a broad smile on his face. He shook my hand and kissed Fiona’s. “So nice to see you again.”

“Hello, Giorgio. Is your son working here now?”

“Only for one year and then he go to university. He is a bright boy.”

“He seems it.”

“You ask Marco about Lorenzo. I only know Lorenzo at The Lemon Tree. Why are you interested in Lorenzo? Is he in trouble?” Giorgio’s eyes twinkled with mischief.

“Not at all, Giorgio. And you should know better than to ask me questions like that.”

“I know, Mr Malone,” he laughed. “I know. Enjoy your meal.”

After kissing Fiona’s hand once again, he disappeared into the kitchen, leaving me with a head full of questions. Lawrence West? Could he really have been Sally’s lover? I recalled how oily and patronising he had been when I had wanted his help in the birthday cake case and decided that any girl who went within ten metres of him would certainly need her head testing. However, at the moment, as he was the only Lorenzo that I could find; I would pay him a visit.

Nine

At three o’clock, Shepherd and I were standing at the front entrance of The Lemon Tree watching an impatient Lawrence West walk purposefully between the tables towards us. There were no lights on in the restaurant and the dim light made the place seem menacing; all very different from the romantic atmosphere created by the soft lighting that had surrounded Fiona and I on the one and only occasion that we had dined there.

Looking at us over the top of his gold-rimmed spectacles, Lawrence West unlocked the door.

“Good afternoon, Mr Malone.” His voice was just as oily and patronising as I remembered it to be. “Is there a problem?”

“Can we come in, please, Mr West? We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Surprise appeared at his shoulder and for a split second, his cut-glass voice deserted him. “Questions? What questions?”

“If we could come in?”

He opened the door and Shepherd and I passed by him into the body of the restaurant. The small, intimate tables were adorned by crisp white linen cloths and upon each stood a small crystal vase holding a single yellow rose. Lawrence West led us to a table at the rear of the restaurant and sat down; he invited us both to join him.

“You said that you wanted to ask me some questions?” The cut-glass voice had returned from its brief holiday.

“Which football team do you support, Mr West?”

Shepherd’s mouth fell open in surprise at my line of questioning and Lawrence West’s expression turned into one of utter contempt at the stupidity of my enquiry.

“Which football team do I support? Is this some sort of a joke? You are wasting my time, Mr Malone. Good-day.” He pulled himself up from his chair and looked down on us.

“Please sit down, Mr West.” I waited and smiled, keeping my eyes fixed upon his. With a sigh of disgust, Lawrence West seated himself at the table once again.

“Thank you, Mr West. Indulge me, please. Which team do you support?”

“Leeds United.”

“Good choice.” I removed my trusty notebook from my pocket and turned to a blank page. Pushing it over to Lawrence West, I held out a pen. “Would you write ‘Leeds United forever’ please?”

Shepherd’s mouth, which had been hanging open in amazement during the exchange, now opened even further. Luckily for him, a flock of starlings had not chosen that precise moment to fly through the restaurant looking for somewhere to roost.

With another grunt of disgust, Lawrence West took the offered pen and scrawled the requested phrase upon the blank page; he pushed both notebook and pen across the table towards me. Closing the notebook with that satisfying snap that I always love to hear, I returned both it and the pen to the safety of my jacket pocket.

“Thank you, Mr West. Now, what can you tell me about your relationship with Sally Jennings?”

While I picked a spoon up off the table to twirl between my fingers, I watched the synchronicity of Shepherd’s mouth closing at exactly the same time as Lawrence West’s mouth dropped open.

“I do not know what you are talking about, Mr Malone. I know of no Sally Jennings.”

“Are you sure … Lorenzo?”

Lawrence West’s face lost its colour and he swallowed several times as he tried to control his panic. When he spoke again, the cut-glass voice had vanished.

“We did have a fling a few months ago.”

“So are you telling me that the affair was over?”

“Yes.”

“So am I to understand that the letter that we found, a letter dated a week ago, and signed ‘Lorenzo’ was not from you?”

“The affair ended some months ago.”

“But Sally used to call you ‘Lorenzo’?”

“Yes.”

“So who is the ‘Lorenzo’ who signed the letter if it is not you?”

“I have no idea.”

I twisted the spoon between my fingers and looked Lawrence West straight in the eye.

“So the baby that she was carrying was not yours?”

Even more colour dropped from his face. “As I said, the affair finished some months ago.” I could see the panic of a liar in his face; on the table, his knuckles were as white as the tablecloth as he clasped his hands tightly together.

“Well, in that case, I have no further questions.” I got to my feet and held out my hand; West’s handshake was weak and his palm was sticky with sweat. I turned to Shepherd. “Come on, lad.”

Shepherd quickly closed his mouth, which had fallen open in surprise again, and scrambled to his feet. With a smile in Lawrence West’s direction, we took our leave and walked back through the dark restaurant. As I unlocked the door to let ourselves out, a glance behind me told me that he was still sitting exactly as we had left him. Once outside, I breathed in the damp October air to rid myself of the scent of untruth that was clinging to my nostrils.

“He was lying to us, Sir.” Shepherd was bouncing on his toes, clearly agitated.

“I know he was, lad.”

“But why let him off?”

“I haven’t. I have let him know that we know all about his sordid little affair. I have let him know that we are on to him and I am giving him time to sweat a little before I produce the hard evidence that will nail him.”

“Why?”

“Because although you and I know that he was having an affair with Sally, I need to gather the evidence to show that the affair had not ended. A comparison of the word ‘forever’ should tell me if he wrote the letters.”

“So that was why you asked him about football teams.”

“Exactly! I needed a sample of his handwriting. Once I have confirmed that he was the author of the ‘love’ letters, then the next interview will be at the station, possibly under caution.”

Shepherd relaxed again and we walked companionably back to my car.

“Do you really think he did it, Sir?”

“I don’t know. I know that he was lying to us about Sally Jennings. But would he murder her? Well the jury’s out. What we need to do now is to try to establish whether his wife knew of the affair. If she did then…”

“Then she might be the killer.”

“Exactly. When we get back to the station, see what you can find out about her.”

“Yes, Sir.”

By five o’clock, Shepherd had all the facts at his finger-tips. Jo West was a highly respected teacher at the local secondary school. On Wednesdays she regularly attended a Pilates class at the local gym and every Friday night, she would catch a train to London to spend the weekend with her mother who was receiving treatment for breast cancer. She would usually return on Saturday evening and spend Sunday with her husband. Therefore Lawrence West was free to do as he wished every Wednesday evening and Friday night, and judging by the letters and receipts that is exactly what he did – whatever he pleased. Now I had to try and establish if she knew of her husband’s extra-marital activities.

“So what do we do now, Sir?” Shepherd settled himself at my desk.

“I think I’ll pay her a visit on my way home and try to establish an alibi for West. I’ll also ask her if she knows anything about Sally Jennings. Her response will tell me all that I need to know.”

“Clever, Sir.”

A knock at the door interrupted us and Grayson entered; he squeezed himself into the office.

“Mr O’Brien sent this, Sir.” He placed a plastic evidence packet on the desk in front of me; it was the spoon that had stabbed Sally. I picked it up and a shiver of excitement ran down my spine.

“We’ve got him!”

“Sir?”

“Look!” I handed the spoon to Shepherd. “It’s from The Lemon Tree. The crest on the stem is identical to the spoons at the restaurant.”

“Are you sure, Sir?”

“Of course I’m sure! I was holding one only two hours ago!” I glared at him for daring to question my genius and Shepherd shrank back in his seat. “Right, I’m going to see Lawrence West’s wife. Go back to the restaurant and question the staff, I want to know what he was doing last night and what time he left.”

“Yes, Sir.” Shepherd bolted from the office before I could chastise him further.

Ten

Jo West led me into the cool entrance hall. The golden wood of the floor shone brilliantly against the cream walls and a family of ornate metal giraffes stood by the stairs, watching me.

“Do come through to the kitchen, I’ve just made some coffee. Would you like a cup?”

I followed her through into the light, airy kitchen and wondered how someone as oily as Lawrence West had ever managed to ‘trap’ someone as gorgeous as this. Jo West was, in my opinion, at least ten years younger than her husband. She was tall, slim and blonde with excellent dress sense; as my eyes travelled down the length of her legs, I saw that she also seemed to have a penchant for very high heels. She poured the coffee and placed a white mug with the words ‘out damned spot’ emblazoned across it in red on the table in front of me.

“This is always the first thing that I do when I get home, Mr Malone. A cup of coffee and five minutes to my self before I start the planning and the marking.”

“What do you teach, Mrs West?”

“You’re the policeman, take a guess,” she laughed. “The clues are all around you.”

I looked at this charming creature and immediately felt such sympathy for her. Her ease of manner and her friendliness told me that she had no idea whatsoever that her husband was a lying, cheating bastard. I pulled my eyes away from her and looked around the kitchen for the ‘clues’. The mug was definitely a huge clue; so was the Shakespeare’s insults tea-towel. She was a woman after my own heart.

“English!”

“Correct!”

“And I take it that you teach Shakespeare.”

“I try to teach Shakespeare, but kids today won’t try to appreciate him. He’s not ‘cool’.”

“What’s your favourite play?”

She rested her chin on her hand and thought. “Mm – it has to be ‘Julius Caesar.’ Some of the speeches send shivers down my spine.”

“Good choice. For me it has to be ‘Winter’s Tale’ because it deals with loss and forgiveness.”

“Very deep.” She smiled at me. “Most people answer that question by reciting the usual suspects like ‘Midsummer’ and ‘Romeo’. You must know your Shakespeare to pick that particular play, Mr Malone.”

“My one and only vice.”

“We’ll have to have a nice long chat sometime. Now, I’m sure that you didn’t pop round to chat about good old Will. What can I do for you?”

I swallowed and took a deep breath while my thoughts stood ready with their notebooks to jot down responses and impressions.

“You have no doubt heard about the murder of Sally Jennings?”

“Yes, that was terrible. Poor girl. I taught her in the sixth form – she was a good student. Do you know who did it?”

I swallowed again.

“Can you tell me what time your husband returned home from the restaurant last night?”

“Why do you want to know about Lawrence?” Fear was in her eyes and I knew that I had a decision to make. Gut instinct told me that this exotic creature knew nothing whatsoever of her husband’s affair with Sally. Therefore, should I tell her that not only was he an adulterer, but he was also a suspected murderer, or, should I make up some excuse and spare her a couple of days’ pain? Reason opened the door and stepped out. After laying all the facts clearly before me, he told me that, actually, I did not have any choice. I took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, Mrs West, but evidence found at the scene of the crime seems to implicate your husband in Sally’s murder. I need to know what he was doing last night.”

The fear in her eyes was joined by its friends, panic and horror; they sat together and watched me.

“Lawrence would have been at the restaurant until eleven, eleven-thirty. I heard him arrive home just before midnight.”

“You heard him, you didn’t see him?”

“Lawrence always unwinds with a drink and a bit of TV when he gets home. I’m usually asleep by the time he comes to bed.”

“What was he wearing yesterday?”

“You want his clothes?” Shock had now arrived to join the other emotions.

“I will need to take them away for tests. I’m sorry.”

By the time Jo West stood up, she had aged twenty years. The life and vitality that had been evident when I arrived had disappeared. With a deep sigh of resignation, she left the kitchen and minutes later I heard her opening drawers upstairs.

I drained my coffee which now left a very bitter taste in my mouth and looked around the kitchen. On a pin-board next to the fridge-freezer, there was a collage of photographs; I went to take a closer look. The happy, smiling faces of Jo and Lawrence West peered down at me and with a great deal of sadness, I knew that Jo West would not be as happy as that again for a very long time.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs drew me to the hallway and Jo West appeared at the bottom of the stairs holding a bundle of clothes.

“I’m pretty sure that he was wearing these yesterday.” She handed them to me. “I’ll get a bag.”

“Thank you,” I called after her. “What about his jacket and shoes?”

“He will have those with him.”

I took the plastic bag from her trembling hand and stuffed the clothes into it. Her face was as pale as parchment and I took her hand.

“I’m really sorry, Mrs West. Thank you for all your help.”

I let myself out of the house, leaving her still standing at the foot of the stairs.

Ophelia was stretched across Fiona’s knee, purring loudly, when I entered the lounge with two glasses of wine.

“That was a lovely meal, Mike.” Fiona smiled up at me as she took the glass.

“I’m glad that you enjoyed it,” I said sarcastically as I recalled the salad that has graced my plate; I had envied Fiona every mouthful of her lasagne.

“Poor darling. Don’t worry, it’ll all be worth it when you can get into your suit again.” She patted my knee as I sat down beside her as if I was a child that needed soothing. My mood hadn’t been good when I had left Jo West’s. Now, after having to force down a meal of soggy lettuce leaves, it was beginning to worsen severely.

“You know what, Fiona? Sod the diet! The suit is old-fashioned anyway. I’m going to buy a new one. There’s a cheesecake in the freezer – do you want a slice?”

I marched towards the kitchen leaving an open-mouthed Fiona in my wake. Even Ophelia had been stunned by my outburst; she had raised her head from Fiona’s knee and was watching me carefully as I left the lounge.

In the kitchen, I pulled the freezer door open and rummaged around in the drawers until I found what I was looking for. A chocolate cheesecake. Slamming the door shut, I threw the cheesecake onto the worktop where it landed with a dull thud. With two forks, a knife and two plates standing ready for action, I took a childish delight in ripping open the box; released from its cardboard prison, the cheesecake sat on the worktop like a solid brown brick! I devoured it with my eyes, my taste buds alive with anticipation. So, what did it matter if it was frozen? I picked up the knife and it slid off the cheesecake. I tried again and this time I succeeded in making a small dent in its glossy brown surface. Retrieving the packaging from the floor where I had thrown it in my eagerness to get to the treasure within, I now examined the small-print. ‘Defrost for three hours at room temperature.’ I threw the knife down in disgust and it clattered loudly as it bounced along the tiled kitchen floor.

“Mike, what’s wrong?”

Fiona was standing in the kitchen doorway, watching me with concern; from behind her legs, I could see that Ophelia had also joined her, clearly worried about my strange mood.

“A bad day at work,” I grunted.

Having picked up the knife from under the kitchen table where it had come to rest, I put it safely in the dishwasher before placing the cheesecake into the fridge to defrost at its leisure. I had lost my appetite. I didn’t look at Fiona the whole time. With a determined stride, I walked across to the sink and as I started to wash my hands, I felt Fiona’s hands come around my waist and rest on my stomach.

“You know, Mike, I would actually miss this if it disappeared.” She eased her fingertips between the buttons of my shirt and stroked my skin. My nerve endings jolted into life and my skin tingled from top to toe. Fiona kissed the back of my neck. Taking hold of her wrists, I pulled her around so that we were face to face and I dived into her clear blue eyes. She responded by kissing the top of my nose.

“Who needs diets?” she whispered. Taking me by the hand, Fiona led me out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

Eleven

She stood at the edge of the field and watched the cows. The moon was hidden and a damp breeze was blowing around her ears and nose. Subconsciously, her hand found the necklace that he had given her as a memento of the consummation of their relationship. It was a small silver cow with diamante eyes, a small silver cow to remind her of their passionate love-making under the stars while the gentle lowing of Harold Chambers’ cows had serenaded them. Brushing all sentimentality from her mind, she shook the spray-cans vigorously and approached the herd. The others followed her, bringing the thick ropes with them. Covered by the rich velvet sky, the cows continued their chewing, oblivious to the figures that were creeping silently towards them. When she reached the edge of the herd, she looked around and selected her victim; the gentle dark creature was sitting with its back to the rest of the herd and was looking skywards, wondering why the moon was strangely absent. Using her spray can as a pointer, she revealed her choice to the others and felt a small stab of pity for the creature with the dark, soft eyes. With lightning speed, the others threw the rope around the cow’s neck and pulled. The knot tightened and the gentle creature tried to struggle to its feet, all the time bellowing in terror while one by one the rest of the herd got up and ambled slowly to another patch of grass, leaving their friend to its fate. By now the terrified cow had had its legs bound tightly and its cries rang out in the silence of the night.

She took a step forward, aimed and sprayed; silver dust hung in the air and then fell like drops of rain onto the cow’s hide. Slowly, the darkness melted and the moon now revealed itself, wanting to be a witness to the events unfolding beneath it. The cow had become a shimmering silver figure at the end of a rope; a silver pendant thrown upon the grass. With the cans empty, the others now took centre stage as they started pulling upon the rope. She went to join them and inch by inch, they dragged the helpless cow across the field. With each movement, the rope tightened that little bit more around the cow’s neck and its cries became heart-rending. When they reached the tree, they threw the rope’s end over the stronger branches and gathered their strength for the final act. With an evil gracefulness they pulled on the rope as if they were ringing church bells. They pulled and the rope bit deep into the bark of the branch as it slid across it. They pulled and inch by inch the cow’s head was lifted from the ground until once again it looked heavenward, although now with unseeing eyes. They pulled and secured the rope by running it round and round the tree like children dancing around a maypole. The cow hung lifelessly, its windpipe compressed by the rope which had cut into its flesh. Caressing her own silver charm, she turned her back on the broken silver cow hanging from its dark chain and headed for home with the others following in her footsteps.

I stretched out an arm and found my ringing phone under the bed.

“Malone.”

“It’s Grayson, Sir. Nigel Henson has found a dead cow.”

“Is it the same as Pete Dean’s cow?”

“Yes, Sir. It’s hanging from a tree and has been painted silver.”

“Ok. Ring Shepherd and tell him to meet me there.”

I looked at my watch; five past five. Beside me, Fiona was still snoring softly, so I tried to get out of bed quietly but all to no avail. Her hand stroked my back.

“Have you got to go? It’s early.”

“Sorry, Fi. I tried not to wake you. Another dead silver cow has been found.”

“Take care. I’ll see you later.”

She rolled over again and I dropped a kiss onto the top of her head before I left the bedroom.

The sky was still making no effort to brighten as I pulled up in the farmyard. Nigel Henson was pacing in front of the barn, waiting for me.

“Why me, Mr Malone? My pigs are both dead, why kill my cows as well?”

“I’ve no idea, Mr Henson.” Memories of his two dead pigs flashed before my eyes. After my experiences in the city, I had thought that nothing further could shock me. I was wrong. The brutal acts that I had seen carried out upon these poor defenceless farm creatures were enough to make even the most hardened policeman quake in his boots. And to think that people always said that life in the country was quiet and peaceful. In books maybe, real life was very different.

The sound of an approaching car told me that Shepherd had arrived and I waited for him to leap out and join us. I noticed that his blond hair looked as if it hadn’t been combed; he had evidently rushed out as soon as Grayson had phoned him.

“Lead the way, Mr Henson.”

We followed Nigel Henson through the quiet farmyard and into the lane. Overnight rain had left huge shimmering puddles which were begging me to jump in them. I shook my head sadly; I might be wearing my wellies, but I didn’t think that Nigel Henson would approve if I were to suddenly leave his side to start leaping and splashing in puddles. Maybe on the way back.

When we entered the field, the image of a cow suspended from a tree, shimmering against the liquid black sky, seemed almost magical. I had to remind myself that it was in fact a murder scene. The other cows were standing at the furthest edge of the field, huddled together for comfort.

“When did you last check on the cows, Mr Henson?”

“I took the dog for a walk at about half-past nine last night. Everything was fine then. But when I came out to start milking, well …”

“Did you see or hear anything strange last night?”

“Nothing. Whoever it was wouldn’t have come through the yard anyway, would they? You can get to the field from the lane.”

“That’s true.”

A movement caught my attention and as I turned around I saw Dan Marshall, the vet, approaching us.

“Morning, Mike.” He extended a hand to me and then greeted Nigel Henson by grasping his hand tightly and talking quietly to him. At last, he turned his attention back to me.

“These bastards certainly like to make animals suffer. The poor thing would have been slowly strangled to death.” There was a bitterness in his voice that I hadn’t heard before and I knew that any agreement on my part was superfluous. I decided therefore, to be business-like and efficient.

“I’ll let Shepherd have a sniff around, and then I’ll let you attend to her. Is that ok, Dan?” He nodded and turned back to talk to Nigel Henson. I turned to Shepherd. “See what you can find, lad.”

Clambering over the gate, Shepherd walked slowly towards the suspended cow, torch in hand. Half-way across the field, he dropped to his knees and began his fingertip search and I watched him scurrying and sniffing his way across the field with a feeling of pride. My affection for the lad had grown since my arrival; his energy, enthusiasm and compassion never failed to life my spirits. On top of all of that, he was a damned good clue-finder.

While I continued watching him, my chin resting on my arms as I leaned over the fence, the sky finally decided to throw back its covers and silhouettes began to take form. As I studied the dead cow, what had seemed almost magical in the darkness, now revealed itself to be a grotesque crime against nature. Even at this distance, I could see the huge sad eyes, now lifeless, bulging out in shock and fear. Eventually, Shepherd pulled himself back to his feet and started to stride out towards me; the bounce in his step told me that he had found something.

“Well, lad?” I shouted across the field.

Shepherd held up his arm, but I couldn’t make out what was in his hand. I waited impatiently. When he finally reached my side, Shepherd handed over a piece of muddy plastic.

“It’s a Zone reward card, Sir.”

“A what?”

“It’s a shop where kids buy computer games – it’s a type of loyalty card.”

“But it’s got no name on it.” I was turning it over and over looking for some sort of ID and frankly, I couldn’t see what Shepherd was so excited about.

“The shop will have a record, Sir. They will be able to see who it is registered to.”

“Excellent! Well done! Go and pay them a visit later.”

While Shepherd brushed himself down, glowing under the light of the praise that I had heaped upon him, I joined Dan who was deep in conversation with Nigel Henson.

“She’s all yours, Dan.”

“Find whoever did this and make them pay, Mike. No creature should suffer as she did. She would have been absolutely terrified.”

Dan Marshall was a vet who had a genuine compassion for all animals; he was a good man.

“I’ll do my best, Dan.”

He clambered over the gate and I heard his boots squelching as he made his way slowly to his patient. Nigel Henson was now leaning on the fence watching Dan.

“Did you find anything, Mr Malone? Do you know who did this?” Sorrow and anger were fighting for prime position in his eyes.

“We might have a lead, Mr Henson. We’ll be in touch.”

I shook his hand and together, Shepherd and I returned to our cars.

Back at the station, I decided to put the photographs of the silver cows on the crime-board alongside those of Sally Jennings. I couldn’t find a link between the two crimes, but, past experience had taught me that strange things happened in this area of Lincolnshire. The office door opened and Shepherd arrived with two mugs of tea while WPC Porter followed him with two plates of hot buttered toast.

“Thank you, Porter. Just what I needed.” I turned to Shepherd as Porter left us, closing the door of the office behind her. “Have you had any thoughts, lad?”

“I think that he is definitely married and possibly in his early 40s.”

I was amazed that a little plastic loyalty card could hold so much information.

“What about his address?”

“No idea.” Shepherd took a bite of toast and wiped the dripping butter from his chin.

“But surely he has to give all of those details, doesn’t he?”

“Would you, Sir?” Shepherd was looking at me incredulously. “Would you really give your address? Why, that would be asking for trouble.”

I picked up my toast and bit into it. The warm butter caressed my teeth and tongue before sliding down my throat; low-fat spread definitely does not give the same amount of guilty pleasure. While I was wallowing in butter, I gave thought to the types of trouble that a person registering for a Zone Card might expect; were all gamers dangerous or was there a certain class of gamer that you had to be wary of?

“But what if he needs to be contacted?”

“At home! No, Sir, mobile phones only. He wouldn’t want his wife to know, would he?”

It was my turn to be incredulous. “Why wouldn’t he want his wife to know? What’s wrong with it?”

Shepherd snorted into his mug and showered me with tea. “I didn’t realise that you were so modern about these things, Sir. Are you saying that you really wouldn’t mind your wife knowing if you were having an affair?”

“An affair! What have affairs got to do with having a Zone Card?”

“A Zone Card?”

“Yes, why wouldn’t he want his wife to know about a Zone Card?”

“Who?”

“The older married man. Keep up, lad.”

“What married man?”

“The one you have been talking about, the one whose details are on the Zone Card.” Shepherd blinked in astonishment and I saw pennies, notes and pieces of eight drop from the sky. “You’re not talking about the card that we found at Nigel Henson’s, are you?”

“No, Sir. I was talking about WPC Porter and her secret lover.”

“So you haven’t got any details from the card?”

“No, Sir. The shop isn’t open yet.”

I picked up my tea and drank, allowing the world around me time to get itself back into some kind of sensible order.

“So, lad, what makes you think that Porter’s mystery man is an older married man?”

Twelve

The town clock had just chimed eleven when Grayson knocked and entered.

“Yes, Grayson?”

“John Jennings has arrived to collect Sally’s things, Sir.”

“Has he made a formal ID?”

“Yes, Sir. WPC Porter went with him.”

“Good, show him in.”

Hastily, I threw my jacket over the crime-board to hide the photos of Sally’s body and had just sat down again when John Jennings entered. He seemed to have lost height and weight since I had last seen him; the person approaching my desk was stooping, curling up to keep the pain from touching him. For a split second, he reminded me of my father just before he died; a frail and frightened old man. I shook the memory away and stood.

“Please take a seat, Mr Jennings. Can I get you a cup of tea?”

He shook his head sadly. “No, thank you, Mr Malone. I’ll just take our Sally’s things.”

“Alright.” I reached under my desk and retrieved a brown paper bag which I placed on the desk between us. John Jennings reached for it and pulled out a white blood-stained jumper. He dropped it to the ground. Trembling, he reached into the bag again and when his hand reappeared a silver chain was dripping from his fingers. He uncurled them and looked into the bowl of his hand.

“I don’t remember her having this. I should though, shouldn’t I?” He closed his hand again. “June will know where it came from. Always close to her mum was our Sally.”

He dropped the chain onto the desk and reached into the bag for the third time, but I wasn’t watching him. I was staring in wonder at the necklace that was on my desk. I was staring in wonder at a necklace that was ringing so many warning bells in my mind that my thoughts were running around looking for ear-protectors. I was staring in wonder at a small silver cow with diamante eyes attached to a silver chain. Why hadn’t the team thought to mention this to me?

“Can I hang onto this necklace for a couple of days, Mr Jennings?” My hand was hovering over it like a kestrel ready to swoop down on its prey. “I need to find out where this came from, it might give us a lead.”

John Jennings was holding one of Sally’s shoes and tears were falling onto its patent leather surface like drops of rain falling onto glass.

“You’ll let us have it when you’ve finished with it?”

“Of course.”

My hand swooped down and the necklace was mine. A silver cow. I didn’t like coincidences.

I was still twisting the necklace between my fingers when Shepherd knocked and entered my office.

“The Zone Card belongs to a Ricky Johnson, Sir. He lives in Eastfield Road.”

“Ok, we’ll pay him a visit.” I held up the necklace for Shepherd to see and saw a flash of shock sweep across his face.

“That’s… Where did you get that, Sir?”

“This was among Sally Jennings’ belongings. Can you ask Cat if she knows anything about it. Her father didn’t recognise it.”

“Will do. The silver cow is just a coincidence, isn’t it, Sir?”

“You know me, lad. I don’t like coincidences.” I dropped the chain into my desk drawer and pushed myself to my feet. “Come on. Let’s see what Ricky Johnson has to say.”

The Johnson’s house was on an estate at the edge of the town; an estate that had a rather unfortunate reputation. Several of the local lads were notorious for causing trouble at night by throwing water bombs and committing acts of petty vandalism; the older residents lived in constant fear of them. Many had been charged and cautioned several times with no effect whatsoever and I often wondered whether my late father’s attitude to crime and punishment was what was needed today; he was an advocate of corporal punishment to show the louts who was boss.

Number Twenty-Seven bore all the hallmarks of an out of control family house. I could even picture the family that lived there before I saw them; tattoos and tracksuits. There might even be a baseball cap thrown in for good measure and there would definitely be a cigarette in the hand and a mouthful of foul and abusive language.

Shepherd and I got out of the car and I double-checked that it was locked securely. He opened the gate. The front grass was in need of cutting and I could see discarded lager cans and cigarette butts trying to hide amongst the jungle of greenery.

“What a nice family environment,” Shepherd commented as he stepped over a plastic spade.

As we approached the front door the screams of an angry child greeted us. I knocked and within seconds the door was wrenched open. Well, I had been right about the tracksuit and baseball cap; I had just forgotten the nose-piercing. She was my height and just as round. Her pink tracksuit did her no favours at all and I made a mental note never to eat another pink marshmallow again. As for the colour pink, well, it would forever be the colour of my nightmares.

“Mrs Johnson?”

“What’ya want?”

Flashing my warrant card, I introduced myself and Shepherd and Mrs Johnson’s face hardened.

“We ain’t done nothing.”

Before I had a chance to respond, a tall bulldog of a man appeared behind her, thankfully not wearing pink. His face bore the scars of many fights and his forearms were decorated with skulls and daggers dripping blood.

“Trouble, Jen?” he growled.

“It’s the filth.”

“What’ya want?” the bulldog barked.

“We want a word with Ricky. Is he in?”

“No! He ain’t?”

The sound of a door slamming within the house made me think that he had spoken the truth. Ricky wasn’t in – now. I nodded to Shepherd who immediately took off down the path and down the street like a sleek greyhound. I waited. Mr and Mrs Johnson waited. Eventually, Shepherd returned, pushing a handcuffed youth in front of him. Ricky Johnson was a smaller version of his father, but with fewer tattoos.

“We’ll have a little chat with Ricky at the station.”

The Johnsons said nothing; they just slammed the door in my face. Smiling at the exemplary parenting skills that I had just witnessed, I made my way back down the obstacle course of the path to my car where Shepherd and Ricky Johnson were waiting.

Ricky Johnson stared back at me from across the table, his shaven head glistening like a freshly washed tomato as he sweated under the florescent lights.

“October twenty-eighth, one thirty-four. Present are DI Malone, DS Shepherd and Ricky Johnson. Mr Johnson, would you confirm your identity for the tape please?”

“Ricky Johnson,” he snarled as he tried to fight his obvious fear.

“Where were you last night, Mr Johnson?”

“Out.”

“Alone?”

“No! I ain’t a billy. I got mates.”

“So, last night you were with your mates?”

“That’s what I just said.” He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “What’s this about? I ain’t done nothing.”

“So, you were with your mates. What did you all do?”

I doodled on the pad in front of me, paying Johnson very little attention. I wanted him to think that this was a minor matter; I wanted him to take the bait so that I could wheel him in.

“Just messed around.” He immediately relaxed and sat back in the chair.

“So what sort of things do you do when you mess around, Ricky?” I still didn’t look at him.

“All sorts.”

“So where did you all go last night?”

“Got a fag on you?”

I removed the packet of cigarettes that I always keep for interviews from my pocket and shook one out. Johnson took it and lit it on the light that I also magically produced. He inhaled deeply and settled himself back in the chair, totally relaxed. I made my move.

“So, where did you all go last night?”

“We had a bit of fun down near Henson’s place.”

“So, in your opinion, killing a cow is fun, is it?”

I watched his face change colour and he leaned forward in his chair.

“I asked you a question, Ricky. Is it fun to kill a cow?”

“I don’t know what you’re on about?” Beads of sweat were beginning to appear on Ricky’s forehead again.

“But you were in Nigel Henson’s field?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you said that you were,” I looked at my doodles, “at Henson’s place.”

“Yeh! We were messing around.”

“Doing what?”

“Nothin’. We weren’t doing nothin’.”

“Just messing around?” As I looked at him, his face reddened and once again he resembled a tomato. “So where exactly were you all messing around?”

“In the fields.”

“Which fields?”

“I dunno! Fields!”

“Were there any animals in the fields?”

“Might have been.”

“Were there any cows in the fields?”

“I dunno. Might have been.”

“Who was with you?”

“Mates.”

“Who?”

“I ain’t no grass.”

I put the Zone Card down on the table in front of him.

“This was found next to a dead cow in Nigel Henson’s field. The cow had been sprayed silver and hanged from a tree.”

Ricky Johnson couldn’t look at me. He kneaded his left palm with the thumb of his right hand as his brain tried to come up with an explanation.

“The card ain’t mine.”

“Oh, it is, Ricky. I have even got a printout of all your recent purchases.”

“I must have dropped it.”

“So, you dropped it next to the cow that you and your mates had killed.”

“No! I must have dropped it some other time that I was in the field.”

“So, if you dropped it some other time, how do explain that it was used to make a purchase yesterday afternoon at four twenty-four?”

“Someone must have picked it up and used it.”

“And then dropped it next to the dead cow?”

“Yes.”

I leaned forward and put both my hands flat on the table. I leaned forward until I was inches from Ricky’s sweating face.

“When I get the results back from forensics, Ricky, they will tell me that your fingerprints are on the rope that was used to kill the cow. So, why not drop the bullshit and tell me exactly what happened last night?”

Tears came in to Ricky’s eyes and I could see a decision being made behind them. Who was he more afraid of – me or his mates?

“Ok. I did it.” He dropped his head; he was more afraid of his mates.

“You did what, Ricky?”

“It was all my idea. I did it. It wasn’t the others, it was me.”

“I still want their names.”

“No!” He was actually terrified. “No! I’ve told you that I did it. That’s it. You don’t need them.”

I nodded to the constable who was sitting near the door. “Take Mr Johnson to the cells. Interview finished at two eleven.”

I turned to Shepherd as the door closed behind Ricky and the constable.

“Well, lad?”

“He was covering. He didn’t kill the cow but he’s too frightened to say who did do it.”

“My thoughts exactly. So, where do we go from here?” I looked at my doodles for inspiration. In the centre of the page there was a cow hanging from a tree on a silver chain. Around the tree were lots of dancing spoons.

“You’ve got that look in your eye, Sir. Please tell me it’s not another nursery rhyme.”

“What is the link between the cows and Sally – apart from the necklace?”

“There isn’t one.” Shepherd pulled the pad over and studied it. He pointed to the dancing spoons. “Weren’t we going to question West again, Sir?”

“Later, lad. I’m letting him sweat a bit first. We’ll catch him at home later before he goes to the restaurant. We’ll talk to him while his wife is there. Did you find out what time he left the restaurant?”

“Not really. He was still at the restaurant at eleven, which was when he let the last employee out.”

“So we don’t know what time he left?”

“No, Sir. No one saw him leave.”

Thirteen

At half-past four, she watched Jo West as she pulled up outside the house. From her position at the bus-stop, she watched as the wife of the man that she loved struggled to lock her car with two heavy bags in her hands. She watched Jo, who was still struggling with the bags, unlock the front door and disappear from sight. Checking her watch, she counted down two minutes and then she made her move.

As the doorbell chimed within the house, she checked her pockets one last time. The lock clicked and the door swung open.

“Hello!” Jo smiled at her, but she did not smile in return.

“I’m from Social Services. There has been a complaint made about you by the parents of one of your pupils and I need to ask you a few questions.”

She watched Jo’s face take on a look of disbelief. “A complaint? About me? Who from? You’d better come in.”

She smiled to herself; she had not even had to bluff her way in with a fake identity card. She entered the hallway with its three giraffes and stood back to allow Jo to lead the way. It was so easy. As soon as she was behind her victim, she pulled the knife from her pocket and plunged it between Jo’s shoulder blades. Uttering a single scream, Jo West fell forward, hitting her head on the polished floor. With a practised movement, she pulled Jo’s head back and opened her throat; blood spurted over the three silent giraffes. Now for the final act. Kneeling down beside Jo’s body, she pushed her over onto her back and looked into her brown lifeless eyes. The final obstacle to her happiness was now removed. She took the spoon from her pocket and forced it into Jo’s right eye, pushing it in deeper until it would go no further. Satisfied, she got to her feet and, without a backward glance, she let herself out of the house.

Shepherd and I stood in front of the crime-board which was looking increasingly like an early Christmas card with its pictures of silver cows. My instinct told me that cows were significant, but I still couldn’t make the leap from the necklace to the field.

“Come on, lad. Let’s go and see West.”

I locked my office door and we made our way through the corridor.

“Any exciting plans for later, Sir?”

“A quiet meal in with Fiona. What are you and Cat doing? And you will remember to ask her about the necklace, won’t you?”

“I will, Sir. Cat and I are going to start looking around for places to hold the wedding reception tonight.”

“Well, if you both need a hand, Fiona and I will be only too pleased to help.”

“Thanks, Sir.”

I opened the station door and breathed in the cold air; I could feel my lungs beginning to tingle as the chill hit them.

“Sir!” The sound of Grayson’s voice set the alarm bells ringing. So much for my interview with West. I crossed my fingers that it was not another cow. I didn’t fancy another stomp across a muddy field.

“What is it?” I turned to meet him.

“Lawrence West has just phoned. His wife has been murdered.”

My heart fell into my stomach. I should have gone to see him earlier; I shouldn’t have tried to make him sweat. I remembered Jo West’s winning smile and sunny personality and I blamed myself for her death.

Shepherd didn’t say a word as we got into my car, but I knew that he too would be thinking that Jo West’s life could have been saved. We pulled out of the station car-park, the team would follow on behind us.

As we pulled up, I could see that the front door of the house was ajar; Lawrence West was pacing up and down the drive. I got out of the car and went over to him.

“Mr West.”

He stopped his pacing and turned towards me; his face was pale and standing next to the sorrow on his cheek, I could see contempt.

“This is your fault,” he spat. “While you were busy accusing me, the real killer was plotting to kill Jo, my sweet, lovely Jo.”

“Where is she, Mr West?”

He pointed towards the house and Shepherd and I entered; West followed us. Bile rose in my throat when I saw the beautiful young woman lying in a pool of her own blood. First impressions told me that she had been killed by the same person that had killed Sally Jennings; the gaping wound in her throat was bad enough, but it was the spoon standing proud in her right eye socket that made her death hard to comprehend. She hadn’t deserved this.

Nodding to Shepherd to start his search, I took West’s arm and pulled him into the kitchen. He fell onto one of the chairs and I sat opposite him.

“Where were you this afternoon, Mr West?”

“You stupid little man!” The polished accent was strangely absent. “You don’t really think that I could…” He looked straight at me and I saw that contempt had been joined by its best friend, hatred.

“I’m not thinking anything yet. I just asked you a simple question.” Anger was not far away, I could hear him rushing to join the party. My instinct had told me that the spoon would be from West’s restaurant. He knew that Jo wouldn’t have been able to give him an alibi for the night of Sally’s murder; he knew that her evidence would help to condemn him. Therefore, she had to die. The bastard! Anger arrived and was standing right beside me.

“I’m not saying anything to you without a lawyer being present.”

“An innocent man doesn’t need a lawyer, Mr West.” I hadn’t wanted a sneer in my voice, but anger had decided otherwise. “Therefore, you must have something to hide.”

“That’s my wife out there! You should be looking for her killer, not wasting your time trying to pin it on me.” His face was red with rage.

“I’m not wasting my time, Mr West.” I stood up. “Lawrence West, I am arresting you for the murder of your wife, Jo West. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Turn around please.”

“You idiot! You’ll pay for this, Malone. Just you wait.”

I handcuffed him and led him out of the kitchen, back through the hall and past the body of his wife. Shepherd stared at the scene, open-mouthed. Adrian O’Brien, who had now arrived and was examining the body, also watched in amazement. A second patrol car was in the drive and I led West over to it.

“Take him in, Constable. I will be there shortly to question him.”

“Yes, Sir.”

I watched as Constable Brooks opened the vehicle door and helped West into the back seat. As they drove away, I sighed. There had not been a glimmer of sorrow for Jo’s death on his face, only layer upon layer of hatred for me.

At half-past six, Shepherd and I were sitting in the interview room with Lawrence West and his lawyer, Phil Goodale. I hadn’t met Goodale before, he was a partner in one of Peterborough’s newest law firms. His hands were folded in front of him as he waited for the interview to begin.

“Interview started at six-thirty. Present are Detective Inspector Mike Malone, Detective Sergeant Alan Shepherd. Mr West and Mr Goodale, if you would kindly confirm your identities for the tape.”

“Lawrence West.”

“Phillip Goodale.”

“Where were you this afternoon, Mr West?” I looked at West, calmly. I was going to enjoy this.

“You really are one stupid bastard, Malone, if you think that I did it.” West leaned forward threateningly and Goodale put out a hand to restrain him. West sat back in his seat.

“Mr West, if you would answer the question.”

“You should be out there looking for whoever killed Jo.” He covered his face with his hands and took several deep breaths. “Where’s your evidence?”

I placed before him a plastic bag containing the spoon that had been removed from Sally Jennings’ eye. A phone call from O’Brien had confirmed my suspicions that an identical spoon had been used to mutilate Jo West.

“Do you recognise this spoon?”

“It looks like the ones in the restaurant.”

“This is the spoon that was used to mutilate Sally Jennings. An identical spoon was used to mutilate your wife.”

“That’s your evidence? A spoon that could be found in any number of restaurants!” The contempt in his eyes was so strong that I feared that it would leap out and punch me on the nose. I noticed that Phil Goodale was wearing a similar expression on his face and for the first time, doubt knocked on the door of my mind. I ignored it.

“Where were you between four-thirty and five-thirty today, Mr West?”

“I can’t say.” West’s voice had dropped and although contempt was still sitting on his cheek, it had been joined by something that I couldn’t quite recognise. It looked almost like shame.

“You can’t say or you won’t say.”

Before he could answer, there was a knock on the door and WPC Porter entered. Immediately, West’s face changed colour and he looked down and studied his nails. Porter hesitantly passed me a note and left.

I didn’t read the note, I was too busy watching West as he struggled to maintain his composure. The man was struggling to breathe calmly and he now looked as guilty as hell.

“Interview suspended at six forty-four.” Shepherd switched off the tape and stood. I stared up at him, mystified. Had the world suddenly gone mad? When had Shepherd taken charge of the interview?

“A word, Sir. Outside.”

Like a puppy, I got to my feet and scampered after him. In the main office, I saw immediately that life as I knew it had ended and had been replaced by chaos. WPC Porter was in tears; her head was on Grayson’s shoulder and he was comforting her. Behind them, Constable Brooks was counting out cash which he was pushing over to a beaming Constable Flowers. Shepherd, however, seemed not to have noticed any of this strange behaviour; he was marching purposefully to my office. I ran after him.

“What just happened?” I asked as I closed the door behind me.

“Didn’t you see it, Sir?” Shepherd was pacing angrily in front of the crime-board.

“See what? I saw West change from looking contemptuous to looking guilty. Guilt was written all over his face. We’ve got him, lad. Let’s get back …”

“We haven’t got him, Sir.”

“What!”

“Did you notice WPC Porter when she entered?”

“Of course, I did. She gave me a note.” The note! I had forgotten to read it. I took it from the pocket that I had crushed it into in all of the excitement and read it. “Damn! There is no evidence on West’s clothes to place him at the scene of Sally Jennings’ death.”

I sat down, deflated. I had been so sure that West had been involved. Was I wrong about his wife’s murder as well? Was my dislike of the man clouding my judgement? Think, Malone! Think!

“Sir!” Shepherd’s voice interrupted my thoughts. “If you had been watching Porter when she came into the interview room, you would have seen her face go just as red as West’s.”

“What…?” The one-armed bandits in my head whirred and clanked and one by one, three cherries appeared in a perfect line. “Are you trying to tell me that West and Porter …?”

“Well, it is a bit strange that both of them turned red with shame, isn’t it, Sir?”

Now it was my turn to turn crimson, but in my case it was not through embarrassment.

“Get her in here. Now!” Anger came back to join me as Shepherd left to find WPC Porter.

Seconds later, a very tearful Porter entered the office and sat down opposite me. Shepherd took a chair and sat at the back of the office.

“It might just have escaped your notice, Porter, but we are presently investigating a double murder.”

“I know, Sir, but …”

“I’m speaking!” I yelled at her and she shrank back into her seat. “I take it that you are having a relationship with West?” She nodded. “So, when were you going to tell me about it? For God’s sake, girl, the man you are involved with is implicated in both murders and you don’t think it is important to let me know of your relationship with him?”

“I was going to, Sir.” Porter sniffed and her hand went to her throat.

“How long has this been going on?”

“Nearly three months, Sir.” Her fingers were wrapped around a chain that lay underneath her collar.

“So, he was seeing both you and Sally at the same time?”

She nodded and I caught a flash of silver between her fingers. With lightning speed I grabbed hold of her wrist, and there between her fingers hung a small silver cow.

“The necklace?”

“It was a gift from Lawrence, Sir.” Her fingers closed around the cow again, to protect it.

“Why did he give you a cow?”

Her cheeks turned crimson. “I’d rather not say, Sir.”

“Do you really want me to arrest you, Porter?” I was exasperated. Now she didn’t want to tell me things!

“No, Sir. It was to … the first time …” She took a deep breath and stared at her knees. “We made love for the first time in Harold Chambers’ field with the cows watching.”

I didn’t dare look at Shepherd, I already knew what expression would be on his face. Porter was still staring at her knees and her face was aflame.

“When did you find out about his relationship with Sally Jennings?” My voice had now softened, anger had left the office and I watched the frightened young woman sitting in front of me; she was struggling to come to terms with the fact that her career was very possibly over.

“I know what you’re thinking, Sir.” She looked at me with a face full of sadness and regret. “I’m now a suspect. But you have to believe me when I say that I didn’t know anything about her.”

“When did you find out?”

“Lawrence phoned me after you questioned him. He wanted to tell me himself. He wanted to beg my forgiveness for cheating on me.”

“Did he also tell you about the baby?”

“He said that Sally had tried to trap him by getting pregnant. He said that he had told her that he would pay for an abortion. He was intending to end the relationship.”

“Well, her being dead has definitely ended the relationship. Did you really believe all of this, this bullshit?” She had seemed such a promising police officer, could she really be so naïve?

“He didn’t kill her, Sir. He didn’t kill his wife either. He couldn’t have done … he was with me this afternoon.”

Anger rushed back into the office, grinning from ear to ear.

“What! Where?”

She shrank back into her seat again. “He came to my flat at about four o’clock, Sir and he left around five-thirty.”

“Forgive me if I’m wrong, Porter,” my voice was rising once again, “but weren’t you on duty this afternoon?”

“Yes. It’s just that it is so difficult for us to meet that we take our chances when we can.”

“Even when you are supposed to be on duty?”

“I’m sorry, Sir.” Her hands were twisting and turning in her lap.

“So, Porter, are you giving him an alibi for the time that his wife was murdered?”

“Yes, Sir.”

The screeches of the chair legs on the floor filled the office as I pushed it back and walked over to the crime-board. Thoughts were running madly around my head. What a bloody mess! I sighed. Porter had had such a promising future, what a silly girl! My impression of her being a young Audrey Hepburn had, after all, been the correct one; she was definitely a Holly Golighty, a girl who always looked after her own pleasures and needs. I turned back to her and she raised her head to look at me, her dark eyes pleading for understanding and compassion.

“I’m suspending you with immediate effect, Porter. You’ll be contacted about a disciplinary hearing in due course. I’m very disappointed in you, lass, very disappointed indeed.”

She took her warrant card from her pocket and with a trembling hand, she placed it on the desk in front of me, sniffing back tears as she did so.

“I’m really sorry, Sir. I know that I’ve made a real mess of everything.” She stood up and slowly left the office.

“Well, that’s that.” Shepherd came over to the desk, picked up her card and turned it over in his hand. “I guess this means that West is in the clear.”

“I’ll go and tell him in a minute.” I sat down and ran my fingers through my hair. “Oh, God. This means that we are back to square one without a single scrap of evidence to go on.”

“Well, we now know the significance of the necklace. Cows! That’s definitely a new one on me.”

“And me. Sex among the cow-pats isn’t my idea of a romantic evening. I think that this also means that the dead cows are somehow linked to these murders.”

“I agree, Sir. I’m also wondering how many other necklaces West has given out.”

“Well done, lad!” I looked at Shepherd with admiration; once again, he had made an important observation. He glowed under my praise. “You’re right. Porter knew nothing about West’s relationship with Sally. So, what if there is another woman out there, a woman who has found out that she is not the only woman in West’s life and she is acting out of jealousy?”

“So what do we do, Sir?”

“First, we’ll go and ask West about his sex life before we release him, and then, we’ll go and have another word with Ricky.

Later that evening, Fiona and I sat in the corner of The King’s Head, comforted by the rich aroma of the wood-smoke that was drifting out from Frank Basset’s open fire. I picked up my glass and my beer glittered in the light of the flickering flames; this truly was amber nectar. I drank in silence.

“You’ll solve it, Mike. You always do,” Fiona’s hand rested on my knee and I enclosed it in mine.

“I’m losing my grip on this one, Fi. I was so sure that it was West. Now I’ve got nothing. He’s refusing to reveal the names of his other lovers even though you would think that he would want the person who killed his wife to be caught. You’d think he’d want to help us, but no. Even the young lad refuses to give us the names of the other lads who were torturing the cows.”

I stared into my glass and Ricky’s haunted, terrified face appeared on the golden surface of my beer. He would rather go to jail than face the anger of his mates.

A cool draft blew around my ankles as the pub door opened and closed.

“Mike!”

I looked up and saw Richard Austin bearing down on me. I stood and extended my hand.

“Richard! Nice to see you. Why don’t you join us?”

“Only if your delightful lady has no objections.” Ever the gentleman, Richard took Fiona’s hand and raised it to his lips; she blushed furiously.

“Please join us, Richard,” she giggled. “You might even be able to cheer Mike up.”

Richard pulled a chair over and settled himself down while I went to the bar to get another round of drinks.

“Same again, Mike?” Frank came over to serve me.

“Please and a pint for Richard.”

“I hear that you have young Ricky Johnson in custody.” Frank looked at me from over the beer taps.

“Word travels fast.”

“That little gang has been causing trouble for the past few months. What have they done this time?”

“You know that I can’t say, Frank. But you might be able to help me.” My heart was leaping up and down with excitement. Did Frank know who the rest of Ricky’s gang were? Did he know the gang-leader? “You don’t happen to know who Ricky hangs around with, do you?”

“The Hooper boys, Dean and Ben. Actually, Ben is a bit of a thug.”

“Thanks, Frank.” I handed over a twenty pound note. “Have one yourself.”

“Don’t mind if I do, Mike. Thanks.”

Fiona noticed the difference as soon as I sat down.

“Well, you’re looking a lot brighter. What on earth did Frank put in your drink?”

“Just a piece of vital information.” I winked at her and then turned to Richard. “How’s the family?”

“Not too bad. Becca is still at university and Fliss has started working evenings and weekends at The Lemon Tree.”

“Really!” I lifted my glass to my lips to hide my expression. “What does she think of Lawrence West?”

“She raves about him. She says that he’s really encouraging and he thinks that she has a lot of potential as a restaurant or even hotel manger. It was her eighteenth birthday last week and he gave her a rather sweet little necklace of a silver cow.”

Shock hit me on the back and my drink went up my nose. I spluttered and coughed until tears ran down my cheeks and my face burned. Not Richard’s daughter? Surely she wasn’t another notch on West’s bed-post – or in his case – his cow-shed?

“You alright, old chap?” Richard hit me firmly between the shoulder blades while I looked at Fiona. Her face echoed my distress; she knew the significance of the little silver cows.

“I’m fine, thanks. Fine.” I sat back and decided to change the subject. “So, Richard, what are your plans for Firework Night?”

Fourteen

The next morning Shepherd and I drove to Latyon Terrace, a part of town that sounded much grander than it actually was. It wasn’t far from Eastfield Road where Ricky Johnson lived and that told me all that I needed to know about it. The Hooper’s house, when we found it, was a red-brick semi-detached property; the front grass had been turned into a parking lot and, judging by the pile of rubbish in the corner, a refuse tip as well. As I turned the engine off, I was aware of a curtain in one of the upstairs’ windows twitching. Our arrival had been noted.

“Do you know the Hooper family at all, lad?”

“Both lads have been caught shop-lifting, and Dean, the younger one was cautioned for breaking windows. Petty stuff, nothing major.”

“Are there just the two boys?”

“And Gemma, the older sister. You’ve met her.”

“I have? When?”

“The Cat and Fiddle, she’s the barmaid.”

I recalled the generous cleavage and dark hair. “She’s their sister?”

Shepherd nodded and together we started to walk towards the front door. A sudden banging in my head told me that a thought was trying to get in; it was trying to tell me something important. When it found the key, no doubt it would announce itself properly and send me off on a totally different line of enquiry. However, until that time, I would content myself with interviewing the Hooper boys.

I knocked on the black front door, noticing that the number seventeen was badly cracked and in danger of falling off. It opened and I found myself looking at a thin, spotty youth whose blond hair was flopping over his face; his jeans were revealing more of his checked boxer shorts than I really wanted to see. Why did lads today insist on wearing their jeans around their knees? If I was a girl, and I was rather glad that I wasn’t, the sight of a pair of grubby boxers would be a turn-off rather than a turn-on.

“Ben Hooper?”

“No – I’m Dean.” The metal braces on his teeth reminded me of a car radiator.

“Well, Dean, I’d like a word with you too. Can we come in?” I flashed my warrant card. “Detective Inspector Malone and Detective Sergeant Shepherd.”

“I ain’t done nothing.”

“I didn’t say that you had.” I kept my voice nice and calm, I had seen the flight light come on in his eyes. “I just want a chat.”

He pulled back the door and we found ourselves in a dark hallway; red flock wallpaper, some of it peeling off the walls, made the atmosphere oppressive. Dean led us into a small sitting room.

“Are your parents at home?”

“Dad’s in the shed.”

“Could you fetch him, please. I’d like him to be present when we talk to you as you are under sixteen.”

“Whatever.”

Dean pushed by us and we heard the back door slam. I looked around taking in the threadbare carpet, the scratched furniture and the brown and yellow wallpaper that had been fashionable in the Seventies. There were very few personal items, just the odd photograph; the whole room was dominated by the ultra smart fifty inch television in the corner. This family had a very different sent of priorities to my own. I noticed that even all of the seats in the room were positioned to provide a grandstand view of the screen; this was definitely not a room for intellectual conversation. In fact, I expected that the only topics of conversation ever raised were football and soap operas.

The back door slammed again and a figure of my own height followed Dean into the room. His close cropped blond hair, designer stubble and laughter lines made me think that he was a friendly, amiable chap. However, the tattoos which covered his arms and neck told me that I needed to tread carefully.

“What’s this about?” The snarling voice added to my feelings that this was a man who used his fists, rather than his words, to make a point.

“Detective Inspector ….”

“I know who you are. What do you want my boy for?”

“I don’t want him. I want to talk to him.”

“What about?”

“Ricky Johnson.”

Father and son exchanged a look and both sat down on the worn green velour sofa. Shepherd and I took an armchair each.

“What about Ricky?” Hooper senior snarled again.

“We have Ricky in custody because he has killed two cows.” At the moment that was the truth, Ricky had confessed to committing the crimes, alone. “I understand that your sons and Ricky are friends?”

“Yes. What of it?” His voice had become guarded and menacing.

“Ricky insists that he committed the crimes on his own and I was wondering if your boys could help us. Were they, perhaps, with Ricky when he went into the cow-fields?”

“Did Ricky say that they were with him?” His right fist gripped the arm of the sofa and his knuckles turned white.

“Ricky said that he was alone, but I find it difficult to believe. A lad of Ricky’s size would not have been able to drag a fully grown cow across a field and hang it from a tree. He must have had some help. I would like your boys to tell me where they …”

“They were with me!” Mr Hooper’s eyes were flashing dangerously. I looked across at Dean who was sitting next to his father with an expression of smugness on his face.

“So you can give me an alibi for both boys?”

“I just said, didn’t I?”

“What do you have to say, Dean?” I turned to Dean again. His expression had not altered, and he stared at me with an air of superiority.

“I was here, like Dad said.”

“No more questions, Malone. I’ve told you all you need to know.” Hooper got to his feet and folded his arms across his body. “Now clear off!”

Shepherd rose, but I remained seated.

“Actually, I have a problem, Mr Hooper.” I examined my watch. “The thing is I have a witness who saw your sons outside The Friendly Shopper at half-past eleven two nights ago, the same night that the second cow was killed”

“Who saw them?”

“You know that I can’t tell you that, Mr Hooper.” I looked at him and smiled, keeping my left hand in my pocket so that he couldn’t see my crossed fingers. Shepherd sat down again with a soft thud. Hooper remained standing, looking down at me as if I was some kind of insect.

“They popped out to get some fags for me. Alright?” His level of aggression had subtly changed.

“It’s quite a walk from here to the town centre, unless of course you cut through Nigel Henson’s field.”

Father and son exchanged another swift glance and I knew that my gamble had paid off. I uncrossed my fingers.

“I drove them. Your witness can’t have been that observant or he’d have seen my van parked outside the shop.”

“So you all popped out together? Did you wake them or were they already awake?”

“What?” His face was turning a dangerous shade of red. I needed to be careful.

“Well, at that time of night, I would have thought that both boys would have been in bed. Why didn’t you just go on your own to get your cigarettes?”

He exploded. “Get out of my house! I’ve already told you that the boys were with me – now piss off!”

“Of course, Mr Hooper.” I got to my feet and smiled at him. “However, I would like both yourself and the boys to come to the station to make a formal statement.” I extended my hand.

Hooper glared at me and didn’t move a muscle, so I put my hands in my pockets and left the room with Shepherd following at my heels. As the door closed behind us, I laughed with relief.

“What witness, Sir?” Shepherd was still confused.

“There wasn’t one. I had a hunch and I was right. The boys were not at home that night, if they had been, then Hooper wouldn’t have needed to try to come up with a reason for them being out. If the boys had been at home he would have torn me, and my witness, to shreds.”

I saw admiration once again fly form Shepherd’s eyes and circle my head like a little golden halo.

“Amazing, Sir.”

Warmed by his praise, I led the way back to the car. It was nine forty-one. If I drove very quickly, I would still be able to grab a bacon sandwich from the coffee shop near the station before they stopped serving breakfasts at ten.

At nine fifty-three I pulled into the station car-park. I had seven minutes to park and get to ‘Take-A-Break’. Perfect. As I swung the car around the building, I braked sharply. In my parking space there was a dark blue Renault Megane. Idiot! Couldn’t he read the name plate on the wall? Swearing under my breath, I drove to the end of the yard and parked my Mondeo in the corner by the far wall. Now I would have to run!

“What’s the next move, Sir?”

Shepherd sat himself down opposite me as I leaned back in my seat, my hands resting comfortably on my stomach which was feeling very satisfied after its bacon sandwich.

“We’ll go and have a word with Gemma at lunchtime. Let’s see if she will give her brothers an alibi as well. In the meantime, I’m going to spend an hour on this blasted cost-cutting report for the Chief.”

“Rather you than me, Sir.” Shepherd got to his feet. “I’ll leave you in peace.”

As the office door shut, I reached for the green folder and opened it. My eyes scanned the columns of figures and I sighed. What a waste of time. I could feel the eyes of Sally Jennings and Jo West peering over my shoulder from the crime-board, pleading with me to find their killer. I closed the folder and pushed it away. The Chief could wait, I had more important things to deal with.

I pulled my blotter closer and jotted down the word ‘cow’. The banging in my head increased, the thought was getting closer. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and let my pen hang over the blotter. Opening my eyes I began to doodle. Images began to take shape as the pen ran from one side of the pad to the other. A moon appeared in the top right hand corner, shining down on a dark silhouette of a cow on a tree branch. From the opposite corner, tiny spoons with arms and legs were running towards to the centre of the pad where they were being lassoed by a chain, a necklace. In the bottom corner, on the right, sat a dog; a dog with long eyelashes and red lips. It was laughing as a couple were disappearing, hand-in-hand, off the edge of the pad. Exhausted, I set the pen down and studied the drawings. Everything seemed to make sense except for the dog. Where did a dog fit into to these crimes? Cows, yes. Trees, yes. Lovers, yes, Spoons, yes. But dogs? It looked as if my subconscious had packed and gone on holiday without telling me. I ripped the page off the blotter, crushed it into a ball and threw it in the bin. That done, I pulled the green folder over to me once again; I knew where I was with numbers.

Fifteen

At five past twelve, Shepherd and I clambered into my Mondeo. I had noticed with growing annoyance, as we had walked through the car-park, that the blue Renault was still in my parking space. If it was still there when we got back from lunch, I would slap a parking ticket on its windscreen. I started the engine and reversed carefully out of the tight space.

“So, lad, will Gemma cover for her brothers? You know her, what do you think?” I turned out of the station yard.

“I don’t know her that well, but from my knowledge of the family, I don’t think that we’ll get very far. She’s big sister, of course she’ll cover for them.”

I stopped at the traffic lights. “Well, at least we’ll be able to have a pint.”

“Cat hates her.”

“Really! That’s not like Cat, she usually has a good word to say about everybody. Why doesn’t she like her?”

The lights changed and I slowly pulled away.

“I don’t know really, she just thinks that she’s a bitch.”

A cacophony of horns rang in my ears as angry motorists let me know exactly what they thought of my emergency stop.

“What did you say?” I turned to Shepherd, my hands gripping the steering wheel.

“Sir?” He looked at me and I saw panic jumping up and down on his face. “You’re causing a traffic jam, Sir.”

“What-did-you-say?” My voice rose to the level of the horns.

“Just that Cat thinks that Gemma’s a bitch. Can we go, sir?” Panic was still using his face as a trampoline.

“Certainly.” I forced the car in to gear, executed a perfect u-turn which was accompanied by even more horns, and retraced my steps. Shepherd was as white as a ghost beside me.

“Are you ok, Sir?”

“Never better.”

I turned in to the station yard, abandoned my Mondeo behind the Renault and ran into the station with Shepherd chasing after me. Throwing the office door wide open, I grabbed the bin and retrieved my crumpled up doodles which I carefully spread out on the desk in front of me.

“There she is. There she is laughing at us.” I jabbed the drawing of the dog with my finger.

Shepherd leaned over the desk. “I’m sorry, Sir, but I have absolutely no idea what you are talking about.”

I sat down and Shepherd did likewise.

“Gemma Hooper is the link that we have been looking for. Look!” I ran my fingers over the drawings. “Cows killed in the moonlight and a laughing dog. She is the dog. She has to have something to do with the deaths of the cows.”

“But she’s a girl!” A look of disbelief was on Shepherd’s face.

“For God’s sake, lad, girls are just as capable as boys of committing heinous crimes. She is behind the dead cows.”

“How? Why?”

“I don’t know. Let’s ask Ricky.”

Ricky Johnson was lying with his face to the wall when we entered his cell; he sat up slowly and swung his legs to the floor. Part of me felt sorry for him; he had been in the cell for barely twenty-four hours, but he seemed to have regressed. He had become a frightened little boy.

“I’ve been talking to Dean Hooper and his dad, Ricky.”

Instantly his eyes widened in fear.

“It seems that the Hooper boys were out and about the other night, just like you were. Why don’t you tell me exactly what happened?”

“What did they say?” Colour was dropping from his cheeks. “They’ll think that I grassed on them.”

“Grassed on them about what, Ricky?”

“Nothing.”

“Ricky.” I sat down next to him. “You don’t have to be afraid of them. Tell me what happened.”

“Nothing happened. They’ll think it was me.” He was twisting his t-shirt between his hands. “They’ll think it was me.”

I decided to change the subject and give him chance to calm down; I didn’t want to upset him further, so I moved onto safer ground.

“What can you tell me about Gemma Hooper?”

Wrong move! Ricky’s eyes widened in terror and his breathing became laboured. He was fighting for breath.

“He’s having a panic attack, Sir.” Shepherd pressed the alarm while I knelt in front of the Ricky.

“Take a deep breath, son. Come on. Breathe in. Breathe out.”

Footsteps thundered down the corridor and Brooks and Flowers appeared at the door.

“Get a paper bag,” Shepherd ordered.

Flowers ran off down the corridor and returned with a white paper bag that I guessed had held his lunch. Shepherd held it over Ricky’s nose and mouth and ordered him to breathe slowly. The bag crunched and crinkled in and out and gradually Ricky regained control.

“You don’t have to be afraid of them, Ricky.” I put my hand on his shoulder.

Ricky shook his head. The panic attack may have subsided, but the terror was still in his eyes. God, what sort of people were the Hoopers?” Nodding to Shepherd, we left Ricky alone once more.

“Well, Cat’s description of Gemma seems to be pretty accurate judging by Ricky’s reaction when I mentioned her name. Maybe she has more to do with all this than we think.”

“Well, if Cat hates her, Sir, then she can’t be a good person, can she?”

“Maybe not. Come on, let’s go and have that drink.”

It was after one when we arrived at The Cat and Fiddle. The bar was busy; the lunchtime rush had just started. Looking around, I could only see one free table so I told Shepherd to take it while I got the drinks.

Bob Archer watched me closely as I approached the bar, an aroma of malevolence was coming off him. Gemma was at the far end of the pub, deep in conversation with a thin, spotty youth; I guessed that it was Ben Hooper, her brother. Rather than wait for Bob to serve me, I decided to gatecrash the Hooper family reunion.

“Hello, you must be Ben?”

“What do you want?” he snapped. “Dad’s already told you all you need to know.”

“I just came in for a drink, and to have a chat with Gemma.”

“I’m busy.” Her dark eyes flashed a warning which I ignored. I noticed that her generous cleavage was covered today by a pale green roll-neck sweater, which was actually very attractive.

“Not too busy to serve me, I hope?” I smiled at her as Ben took that opportunity to slip away.

“What do you want?” She really was charm personified.

“Two pints, please, Gemma and the answer to a question.”

“What question?” Her defence shield had materialised

“Where were your brothers two nights ago at about eleven-thirty?”

“How would I know? I work here, don’t I?” The shield lifted and was replaced by a sneer of contempt at my apparent stupidity. I should have known that she would have been here. With my tail between my legs I retreated to join Shepherd.

“What did she say. Sir?”

I put the drinks down and pulled up a seat. “That she was here, working. Why didn’t I stop and think this through? She’s a barmaid, she works nights. How would she know what her brothers get up to in the evenings?”

Shepherd put his pint down and wiped away his froth moustache with the back of his hand. “But she doesn’t work every night, Sir. She does have nights off.”

“But she said…”

“Yes, Sir. She said. But do we know for certain that she was here?” He picked up his pint again,

“Well done, lad! Well done!”

While Shepherd beamed with pride, I went to talk to Bob Archer. His eyes narrowed as I approached.

“Do you have a moment, Mr Archer?” I saw that Gemma was watching me closely.

“What d’ya want? I’m a busy man.”

“I want to know which nights Gemma has had off recently.”

Archer looked in her direction and I saw her eyes flash and glint. It took him a moment to compose himself before he turned back to me again.

“We’ve been very busy recently. She hasn’t had a night off for weeks.”

I sighed and defeat came up to me and shook my hand. “Thank you for your time, Mr Archer.”

Defeat and I returned to my seat and Shepherd looked up expectantly.

“It’s hopeless, lad. Archer says that she hasn’t had a night off for weeks. He’s scared of her, too. She’s a girl, for God’s sake. Why is everyone so frightened of her?”

“Well, Cat said that she broke her PE teacher’s jaw once.”

“And you let me go and talk to her on my own? Thanks, lad.”

“Sorry, Sir. But I knew that you would be able to handle her.” He grinned. “Now what, Sir?”

“Well, I’m going to finish my pint and then I’ll decide how we are going to break this wall of silence.”

Sixteen

She admired at herself in the mirror. Dark hair tumbled over her shoulders, thick and glossy; her make-up was immaculate. She blew a kiss into the mirror, picked up her bag and left the room.

The back door to the restaurant was open when she got there, so she walked in and the gleaming stainless steel surfaces in the kitchen caressed her reflection. Where was he? She checked her watch. Five o’clock. He should be here getting the paperwork ready for the evening. She walked through the kitchen into the restaurant where silence welcomed her; pure white linen fell in soft folds from the empty tables and in the centre of each stood a small crystal vase holding a single yellow rose. She picked up a spoon and twirled it between her fingers. Where was he? A soft moan rose and fell on the waves of silence around her and she turned towards it. The office! Of course! Another soft moan drifted across the empty room. He wasn’t alone! Hadn’t he learned that he belonged to her? Silently, she made her way across the soft carpet to the office. The frosted glass obscured her view but the moans were becoming more intense. She turned the handle, slowly. She opened the door, slowly. The sight of the naked girl sitting astride him made her blood freeze, slowly.

I switched on the car engine, pleased with my afternoon’s work.

“Let’s see what Miss Hooper has to say now, lad.”

Shepherd shuffled the papers on his knee; three statements from among the regular clientele of The Cat and Fiddle, listing all of the nights that Gemma Hooper had not been at work. It was very funny that they all coincided with nights when cows had been attacked. Such a coincidence! I manoeuvred the car around the small station car-park, angry that the Renault had not moved. My last instruction to Grayson had been to run its registration through the database to find out the owner. I would get my parking space back even if it meant dragging the car to the pound myself.

“I’ll enjoy seeing her wriggle her way out of this.” Shepherd laughed. “Cat also said that she was a lying cow.”

The crash in my head was momentous. The thought that had been knocking for so long had finally entered. I slammed the brakes on and swerved right into the back of the Renault and I watched as, in perfect synchronicity, my bonnet and its boot lifted into the air as the shock waves from the impact rippled through both cars. The airbags in my car inflated and I found myself with a mouthful of plastic.

“You ok, lad?” I pushed the airbag aside.

“Fine, Sir. What happened?”

“I’ll tell you in my office.” I clambered out of my car and surveyed the damage. My Mondeo had been with me for many years but now, sadly, it looked as if she had breathed her last. I patted her on the roof and said a silent goodbye.

“Now we do need the owner’s name and address.”

Together, Shepherd and I returned to the station, passing through the little crowd of interested spectators that had gathered at the door upon hearing the crash; we ignored their amused grins.

In my office, the page of doodles was still spread over the desk. I sat down and studied it while the light in my brain flashed wildly.

“Gemma is the key to this, lad.” I closed my eyes and a picture of her ample cleavage appeared on my eyelids. “The first time that I saw her she was wearing a pendant. It didn’t register with me initially, but your comment made me remember it vividly.” With the image securely locked in my subconscious memory, I opened my eyes. “The first time that I met Gemma Hooper, she was wearing around her neck, a silver cow on a silver chain.”

“So she is another one of West’s lovers?”

“And his most dangerous one.” I pointed to the doodles on the paper. “I should have realised it sooner, the imagery is all there. Cows, moon, spoons. What’s the nursery rhyme, lad?”

“Hey Diddle, Diddle, the …”

“Exactly, The Cat and The Fiddle. The doodles were pointing me there all the time.”

“It’s a coincidence, Sir.”

“Remember, lad. I don’t like coincidences.” I pushed myself to my feet.

“Come on, lets go and have a nice cosy chat with Gemma, We’ll use your car.”

Out in the yard, I could see the team busily sorting out my ‘accident’; Brooks was slowly reversing my Mondeo to a place of rest. Poor thing! She had been a true friend.

She was angry. He had been quick to protect his new lover as soon as he had seen the knife. He had rushed to protect this … this … this slut! How dare he!

“Let her go,” he pleaded, pushing the girl behind him. “She’s just a kid, let her go.”

The girl whimpered as she cowered behind his strong shoulders. She whimpered as she hastily pulled her clothes on. She whimpered as she realised that she was going to suffer the same fate as Sally Jennings and Jo West.

He reached for his trousers, all the time keeping the girl behind him.

“Let her go, Gemma. This is between you and me.”

I opened the door of the pub and looked around just as the town clock struck quarter-past five. Bob Archer was clearing tables and he growled at me as I approached.

“I’d like another word with Gemma, Mr Archer. Is she out the back?”

“She’s not here. She phoned in sick.”

“What wrong with her? She was fine at lunchtime.” Damn, was I too late?

“How do I know? Woman’s trouble, I expect.”

I spun on my heels and we headed back to Shepherd’s car.

“Where to, Sir?” He started the engine and looked at me expectantly.

“She’s no more ill than I am. Right, lad. Think! You’re a girl.”

Shepherd raised an eyebrow. “A girl?”

“Stay with me, lad. You’re a girl and you have discovered that there are rivals for your lover’s affections. What do you do?”

“Fight for him. Confront him.”

“Correct. She’s killed his wife and his pregnant lover. Do you think that she knows about Porter?” I hadn’t told him about Fliss Austin, yet.

“I’m guessing not. She only found out about Sally once the gossip about the pregnancy started.”

“So her next move will be to confront West. Let’s make a visit to The Lemon Tree,”

Shepherd turned the car and we started to make our way out of town.

“Surely she won’t kill him, too.”

“No. She’s just proved her love for him. By killing those in her way, she’s proved that her love is the strongest. She’ll be going to claim her victor’s crown – West.”

“But …”

Shepherd was interrupted by my ringing phone. I answered it.

“Malone.”

“Mike, it’s Richard.”

I rolled my eyes. “Hi, Richard, Look, sorry, this is a bad time. Can I call you later?”

“Wait, Mike. This is important. I think Fliss is in some sort of trouble.”

Beads of sweat suddenly circled my brow. “What sort of trouble, Richard?”

“I don’t know. She keeps ringing me, but when I answer she doesn’t talk. All I can hear are voices. Fliss won’t talk to me. It’s not like her.”

“Have you tried phoning her?”

“She won’t pick up.”

“Where is she?” The sick feeling in my stomach told me that I already knew where she was.

“At work. She had to sort the menus out.”

“Leave it with me. I’ll run by there later and check on her for you.”

“Thanks, Mike. You’re a mate.”

He hung up and I turned to Shepherd who had already noticed my grim expression.

“Step on it, lad. It looks as if Gemma is going to find West with his latest lover. Richard’s daughter Fliss is at the restaurant.”

“But she’s only …” Shepherd was opened-mouthed with shock.

“She has a silver cow on a silver chain.”

“Jesus!”

My hear hit the side window as, without warning, Shepherd put his foot on the accelerator.

She looked into his eye, hoping to see tenderness, hoping to see love; she found only cold fear, fear and despair.

“Did you kill Jo?” he asked. “And Sally?”

“Of course! They were in the way of our love. You know that we couldn’t have been truly happy with them always in the background.” She reached out to touch his cheek but he took a step backwards and she caressed empty space.

“Gemma, it was over between us. You knew that.”

“No!” she screamed. “No! It’s me you love, not them. Me!”

“I don’t love you, Gemma,” he smiled. “I didn’t love Sally. I didn’t love any of them. Jo was the only woman that I ever truly loved and you took her from me.”

Behind him, Fliss whimpered and he turned to the girl. “Sorry, Fliss, I don’t love you either.” He turned back to her. “It was sex, Gemma, just sex and sorry, love, not very good sex either.”

She stared at his smiling, grinning face and the feelings within her changed to icy cold fury.

“The necklace, the poems, the letters. Didn’t they mean anything.”

“Trinkets and words to keep you begging for me.”

Behind him, she saw Fliss sink to her knees. How old was the girl? Seventeen? Eighteen? Judging by the way that she was crouching, head on her knees and facing away from him , she guessed that West had been her first lover. He had taken the kid’s virginity. Poor little Fliss. Used goods!

“Come on, Gemma. Sop being dramatic and put the knife down. I’ll phone Malone and he can look after you.”

The icy ball of fury moved towards her heart and settled there. She stopped loving, she stopped caring, she stopped feeling. She put the knife down.

“That’s better. Now let’s all sit down while I ring Malone. Go and make us all a drink, Fliss, there’s a good girl.”

She sat down at his desk and he sat next to her, patting her knee as if she were a child. “That’s better, isn’t it?”

She saw that Fliss hadn’t moved. The kid was in pieces; her head was in her hands and she was quietly sobbing. She looked at him; she looked at this man that she had killed for. How dare he treat women as objects, as things to be used and thrown aside! Her hand closed around the spoon in her pocket.

“Fliss, I told you to fetch us all a drink.” She watched him turn to the kid, sigh and turn back.

She saw confusion on his face. He didn’t understand why she was holding a spoon; he didn’t understand the expression on her face. When she forced the spoon into his right eye, then he understood. He screamed. The walls shook as his screams ricocheted around the office. She saw Fliss raise her head and immediately cover her eyes and emit a scream that formed a macabre duet with West’s cries of pain. She now stood, and using both hands, she pushed the spoon into his head as far as she could; she felt a slight resistance and then nothing. She watched as he twitched violently and then his body slowly rolled sideways out of the chair and onto the floor. Putting the knife back into her pocket, she went over to the kid.

“Come on, Fliss, let’s get a drink.”

She pulled the girl to her feet and pushed her out of the office. She looked at him once and shut the door behind her.

Seventeen

The Lemon Tree was still in darkness when we pulled up outside.

“What do we do, Sir?”

“We have to go in. Richard’s daughter is in there.”

We left the car and walked slowly up to the restaurant door, looking around us warily. I put my face on the glass and peered into the restaurant. Inside I could see … I couldn’t understand what I was seeing. Inside, at one of the tables in the centre of the room, Gemma was sitting with her arms around Fliss. There didn’t appear to be any sign of West. I knocked gently and Gemma’s head lifted, acknowledged my prescence and then she seemed to whisper something to Fliss. Together, hand-in-hand, both girls approached the door.

“What do you think, Sir?”

“I have absolutely no idea. Be on your guard, it might be a trick. The priority is to protect Fliss.”

The door opened and my first impression was one of total bewilderment. Fliss was red-eyed and dishevelled; it looked as if she had put her clothes on in the wrong order. Gemma, on the other hand, was cold and calm but the front of her jacket was splattered with blood.

“Come in, Mr Malone.” She held the door open. “Lawrence is in the office.”

Fliss sniffed loudly and Gemma’s arm went around her shoulders.

“Go and get West, lad.” I nodded to Shepherd and then turned back to the girls. “Shall we sit down and you can tell me all about it.”

The girls did as I asked and the three of us sat in silence as Shepherd’s footsteps disappeared down the length of the restaurant. I watched Gemma as her hand went into her pocket and she withdrew a knife which she lay on the table in front of her.

“Take it, Mr Malone. I don’t need it now.”

I picked it up using a serviette and dropped it into my pocket. I heard only one set of footsteps approaching and turning, I saw that Shepherd was on his own.

“Mr West is dead, Sir.”

“Call the team.” I turned back to Gemma while Shepherd went out side to secure the building and make the phone call. “Do you want to tell me about it, Gemma?”

“He deceived us all; his wife, Sally, Fliss, me and the others that I don’t know about. He made us believe that we were special, that he loved us, that he needed us. But he didn’t. He used us and then threw us away.”

“If Sally and Jo were victims like you, why did you kill them?” I kept my voice calm and gentle. Gemma still had her arm around Fliss and there was a lot of cutlery on the table in front of her; I didn’t want to upset her.

“I just wanted him to myself; he had told me how I was the only one who had ever made him feel complete. I believed him, so I needed to make sure that the others were out of the picture. I didn’t know the truth then. I’m so sorry.”

“When did you find out the truth, Gemma?”

“This afternoon. I found him and Fliss together and I saw him for what he really was. He’s ruined Fliss, you know that, don’t you?”

I studied Fliss’s tear-stained face, a face that had once been so innocent; it was now naked and ashamed.

I heard the sound of cars pulling up outside and I put my hand gently on Fliss’s arm. “Come on, love. I’ll get a constable to take you home.” Fliss was trembling and she reminded me of a frightened fawn.

Gemma hugged Fliss tightly and released her. Brooks joined us and I put her into his care.

“Take her straight home. Tell Richard that I will call in and see him later.” I touched Fliss’s wrist and she looked at me through watery eyes. “I’ll come and take a statement from you tomorrow, ok?”

She nodded and Brooks led her gently away. I sat down beside Gemma again.

“Shall we go, Gemma?”

She nodded but made no attempt to move, preferring to draw circles upon the white linen cloth with her finger-nails.

“Can you tell me why the cows had to die, Gemma?”

She looked at me and smiled. “I take it that you know about the necklaces?

“I have been told, yes.”

“Lawrence always said that the cow was a symbol of Nature, fruitfulness and life. That was why the first time we made love it was in a cow-field in the moonlight. However, when he tried to end our relationship, the necklace became a symbol of broken promises and lies. It became a dead cow on a chain.”

“Tell me about the spoons, Gemma.”

“Love is blind. The spoons belong to him, so I was using a part of him to stop them seeing him, to stop them loving him.”

I couldn’t find it in me to hate her, to despise her for what she had done. She had been the one blinded by love, a love that had deceived her. I stood up.

“Gemma Hooper, I am arresting you for the murders of Sally Jennings, Jo West and Lawrence West. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Ok, love?” She nodded. “Come on, let’s go.”

I took her arm and side-by-side we left the restaurant. Shepherd was standing beside his car and he opened the back door for Gemma and then slid in beside her.

While Shepherd took Gemma to the cells, I went to my office to start making a report. The faces on the crime-board looked at me with grateful thanks for apprehending their attacker. A brown folder was on my desk waiting for me; the report about the Renault, which, I had noticed, was still in my space. As I opened it and read, my heart stopped and the colour fell from my face. The Renault had been reported stolen five years ago. The attached report, which had come through from the Met, stated that that this vehicle may have been used in a violent robbery in the city five years ago. I gasped for air. The fallout from that robbery had stripped me of all that I held dear; it was the reason why I was now in Lincolnshire with a new identity. What was this car doing here? What was this car doing in my parking space? I didn’t like coincidences.

Shepherd knocked and I pushed the folder into my drawer. I couldn’t deal with that now.

“Are we interviewing Gemma tonight, Sir?”

I dragged my mind back to the present and rubbed my eyes.

“No, lad. We’ll do it in the morning. Go home.”

“Good-night, Sir.”

He closed the door and my thoughts broke out from their locked cupboards and gathered around me, suffocating me. This posting was supposed to have been a clean start, a chance to start again and to build a new life. I was happy here with Fiona and Alan and Cat. Why had the past returned to haunt me? I closed my eyes and forced the memories and fears back into their separate compartments and locked them in. I couldn’t and wouldn’t worry about that now. Instinct told me that there was no such thing as a coincidence; that the car had been left for a reason. Only time would tell me what that purpose was. There was no point in trying to second guess, I would just have to roll with whatever punches were thrown. But that was for the future. Now, now I needed to go home. I needed to see Fiona.

Eighteen

The welcoming aroma of a roasting chicken greeted me as soon as I opened my front door. As I leaned against the door frame and breathed deeply, the traumas of the day melted away. Fiona came in to the hall, followed by Ophelia who rubbed herself around my legs, purring loudly. I bent down to stoke her and she rolled onto her back so that I could tickle her tummy.

“I hope you don’t mind me cooking tonight?” Fiona wiped her hands on a tea-towel. “I thought that we needed to celebrate the end of your diet in style. I’ve even made a treacle sponge for dessert.”

I folder her into my arms and kissed her warmly. “You are a wonderful, wonderful woman, Fiona Davies. Let’s get married.” I felt Fiona stiffen and she pulled away from me. Looking into her eyes, I realised that I had just made one hell of a mistake. To try to cover up my error of judgement, I grinned. “Yes, let’s get married and then I can keep you chained to the kitchen cooking treacle sponges every day.”

Fiona’s eyes were still wary so I kept on grinning. Finally she laughed.

“It might surprise you, Mike Malone, but nowhere in the marriage ceremony, does it mention treacle sponges. Not even in England.”

“Well I will just have to find a country that appreciates the sanctity of the treacle sponge.” I pulled her over to me again and kissed her. She kissed me back and returned to the kitchen.

I sat on the stairs and Ophelia came over to join me. What had I just done? Fiona’s reaction showed me that, as far as she was concerned, marriage was not on the agenda at the moment. I had very nearly rushed her out of my life. No, the next time that I decided to propose I would do it with such style that Fiona would have no hesitation but to say yes. I stood up and went into the kitchen.

Fiona was busy stirring a saucepan, so I went to the fridge, chose a bottle of wine and poured out two glasses; I took one to Fiona.

“You’re not thinking of proposing again, are you?”

“Definitely not!” I laughed. “I don’t want to make an honest woman of you, Fiona Davies, that would spoil all of my fun.”

She threw a tea-towel at me, but missed.

“How’s the case?”

“Solved. I arrested Gemma Hooper this evening. Unfortunately, not before she had killed West.”

“How did you find out that it was her?”

“Oh, I had a bit of special help.”

“Don’t tell me! Another nursery rhyme?”

“How did you guess? Actually, it was ‘Hey Diddle, Diddle, the…”

“I know ‘the cow jumped over the moon’ and all that.”

“Gemma was ‘The Cat and The Fiddle’.”

“Coincidence!”

“Don’t forget the spoons.”

“Oh, Mike, that’s gross and another coincidence.”

She turned round, laughing, and put two plates of chicken, roast potatoes and mixed vegetables on the table; we sat down and after toasting each other, we started eating.

During the course of the meal, I filled Fiona in with the details of the case. After my second helping of treacle sponge, I sat back happy and contented.

“You and I should start going for long walks, Mike.”

“Why?” I reached over the table, took Fiona’s hand and kissed it.

“Exercise. You’ve tried badminton and jogging. Walking is much safer and we could do it together. We could go walking at weekends.”

“Sounds good. As long as there are plenty of pubs along the way.”

With her free hand, Fiona threw her serviette at me and this time she scored a direct hit. “You! How am I ever going to get you into shape?”

“I know just the thing.”

I pulled Fiona to her feet, and leaving the washing up untouched, we climbed the stairs.

###

I hope that you enjoyed Mike’s third ‘adventure. It is always fun to try and link crimes and rhymes. This series is not meant to be taken seriously, it is meant to be whimsical and ,I hope, amusing in parts. The idea for the silver cows actually came from a newspaper report that I read a couple of years ago about two lads being arrested for spraying cows with paint. As for the rest of the story, well, the nursery rhyme had a bit to do with that.

. Mike’s fourth adventure will see him having to solve a very different type of crime - one that involves stolen kisses.