BLINDFOLD (27 page)

`Not this one,' he promised.

`So . . .' She paused and her lip trembled slightly. `So, if I killed her - when I fell on her, I mean - you'd say so?'

Her eyes were huge now and the desperate plea in them unmistakable. Gideon was pretty sure she'd known all along that the fawn wouldn't survive. She wasn't stupid. What had been tearing her up inside was wondering if she had caused the injury herself.

`If it was your fault,' he agreed steadily, `I would tell you. But it wasn't. It was the beam that killed her and there was nothing anyone could have done. She didn't suffer,' he said then, anticipating her next question.

She scanned his face intensely, wanting to believe him. Behind him a voice said softly that visiting time was over and they were sorry but he would have to go.

`Did you kill her?'Jez asked bluntly, totally ignoring the nurse. `I had to.'

Behind him, the nurse cleared her throat. `Five minutes,' she said. `I can see this is important. But if Ward Sister catches you, I shall deny everything.'

Gideon thanked her, sat himself on the chair beside Jez's bed and took one of her small, bandaged hands in one of his own. `I'm sorry, but it's the way things go sometimes.'

`Joey was mad at me for going in there.'

`Joey's had a fright,' Gideon said. `He knows that if he'd picked you up on time, this wouldn't have happened. People often get mad with other people when they're really mad at themselves.' `That's silly.,

'That's life.'

To cheer her up Gideon told her of their antics with the donkeys that morning and, as he talked, her eyelids began to droop. By the time the nurse returned to see him on his way, Jez was fast asleep. The nurse told him that the child's injuries were confined to minor burns, bruising and the effects of smoke inhalation. She would be out in a day or two.

The frosty night air was a shock after the stuffy warmth of the ward, and Gideon pulled his leather jacket closer about him as he headed back to the car. The multi-storey was dimly lit and unwelcoming, and his footsteps echoed hollowly as he passed between the few remaining vehicles to where he'd left Pippa's runabout. He was desperately, achingly weary and his mind was on hot soup, crusty bread, and collapsing on the sofa at the Gatehouse in front of the woodburner.

Suddenly, as swift and silent as a cat, someone stepped out from behind a van as he passed. Instinctively, Gideon whirled, crouching slightly.

Joey held up his hands in mock surrender. `Kinda nervous, ain't we, pal?' His eyes scanning the shadows, Gideon slowly straightened. Joey appeared to be alone. Ellie would have been a comfort, Curly a decided minus.

`You bastard!' he said, low-voiced. The adrenaline rush in his

over-tired system had produced an unpleasant shaky lightheadedness. `What do you want? I'm not in the mood for any more of your threats. Save them for another day.'

Surprisingly, Joey's cocky self-assurance seemed to ebb a little and his gaze shifted to a point somewhere above Gideon. Managing to resist the temptation to look up, Gideon nevertheless felt a shiver, as though someone had walked over his grave. `I didn't know, yesterday, what you'd done. For Sis, I mean,' Joey said awkwardly. `We saw the fireman today, the one from last night. He came to visit Jez. He said if it hadn't been for you . . .' He broke off, his eyes meeting Gideon's once more. `I said some stuff yesterday . . .'

`Oh, forget it,' he said wearily. `I don't give a damn what you think of me. I like your sister, she's a good kid. Too bad she has to have you for a brother!' He turned away from Joey, back towards the car, but in two swift steps Joey had caught up with him and detained him with a hand on his arm.

`I know you don't give a shit what I think, but I owe you.'

`I didn't do it for you,' Gideon cut in roughly, shrugging the hand off. He'd had enough.

`I owe you,' Joey said stubbornly. `And I don't like feeling obliged to you, so you can soddin' listen! That night with the horse ... I can't tell you who we were working for. He'd know who bloody told you and then I'd be dead. But there was another bloke there, a foreigner. I don't know his name but he was dark - Spanish maybe.'

Gideon's eyes narrowed. This was unexpected indeed. `And the horse?'

`I don't know where that came from. We were only called in, Curly an' me, when they wanted you fetched.'

`Well, what did it look like? That'd be a help.'

Joey thought hard, his brow furrowing. `It was a kind of copper colour, I guess you'd call it, with white legs and white on its face. It was a big sonafabitch, I'll tell you that for nothing.'

Gideon's head was a whirl of unwelcome thoughts.

`Did anyone use a name?' he asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

`Not that I heard, pal. I can't tell you anything else, and I didn't tell you this, you understand? The debt's clear now. If I get any grief over this, I'll come looking for you and my conscience won't trouble me. D'you understand?'

'What? Oh, sure.' Gideon's response was probably not what Joey had hoped for, but he had other things on his mind.

A copper-coloured stallion and a Spaniard. A chestnut and an Italian?

Was it possible? Popsox, the Collinses' ex-showjumping stallion, and Sean Rosetti, the vet?

But why, for Christ's sake? Where was the sense in it?

ELEVEN

EARLY ON SUNDAY MORNING, two days after the fire, somebody rapped on Gideon's front door just as he was making his way downstairs. He looked at his watch, frowning. Five-past eight.

Elsa met him in the hall, winding herself affectionately around his legs in her ritual greeting. He picked her up and draped her over his shoulder as he slid the bolts back and turned the key. Situated as it was in a porch, and being of solid oak, there was no way of seeing who was waiting at the door, and having learned from previous experience, Gideon stood well to one side as he opened it.

A slim frame in jeans and a jacket, short hair and shrewd blue eyes; Logan, out of uniform.

Gideon's heart missed a beat. `What is it? Has something happened?' he asked, with nightmare visions of Naomi and Tim in dire peril.

`Er, no - nothing,' the policeman said. `I was just passing.' Gideon raised an eyebrow. `Don't you guys ever sleep?' he asked, with a touch of asperity. `Eight o'clock on a Sunday is barely civilised.'

Logan had the grace to look a little discomfited. `I forgot it was Sunday. You tend to lose track of the days in this job. I wondered if I might have a word?'

`An official word?'

`Well, about official matters,' Logan hedged.

`Yeah, well, you'd better come in, I suppose.' There was a sharp frost outside and Gideon's feet, as yet bootless, were beginning to freeze on the flagstones of the hall. He stood back to let Logan pass, gesturing in the direction of the kitchen. Elsa, still on his shoulder, bristled at the intrusion and he soothed her as he followed.

`Coffee?' Without waiting for a reply he filled the kettle and stood it on the Aga. Elsa dropped lightly on to the top of the cooker and glared at the policeman from behind the hotplate cover.

`Thanks.' Logan propped himself against the table. `How're the hands?'

Gideon had removed the original, rather bulky dressings the day before and replaced them with light bandages. The blisters were drying out well. In fact, the nagging cough he'd been left with was far more troublesome. `Soon be as good as new,' he said. `How do you like your coffee?'

`Strong, black and sweet. I need the caffeine. I've just finished a double shift. Haven't slept for twenty-six hours.'

He didn't appear to be seeking sympathy and Gideon didn't offer any. `So what was so urgent that it couldn't wait?' he asked, feeding the Aga to encourage it to greater effort with the kettle.

Logan shrugged. `You get a lot of time to think, on surveillance, and I found myself thinking about your friend Tim Reynolds at the Sanctuary. He seems pretty sure the trouble he's been having has its roots next door.' He paused. `What do you know about Slade?'

Gideon had his back to Logan, so was able to hide his surprise at this unexpected question.

`A lot less than you do, I expect,' he replied over his shoulder.

`You went to visit,' Logan stated. `I went to see Milne, not Slade.' `He invited you?'

`Sort of. Casually. I don't think he expected me to take him up on it.'

`So why did you?'

Gideon thought for a moment. `Call it curiosity.' He spooned instant coffee into mugs and poured on the water.

`I wouldn't have thought he was your type . . .'

`We're both artists,' Gideon pointed out. `We had coffee and biscuits, we talked about art, and he showed me some of his pictures.'

`And you didn't even try to find out if or why he's been making trouble for Reynolds?' Logan stuck to the scent like a bloodhound.

`Yes, I tried, but to be honest, he just didn't seem interested in the Sanctuary. He only wanted to talk about things artistic. He's got tunnel vision. I'd say he's a man obsessed.'

`And do you share his views on that subject?'

`His views?' Gideon stirred three spoonfuls of sugar into Logan's mug and handed it to him.

`Thanks.' Logan pulled out a chair and slid into it. `He used to be a troublemaker, apparently. Protested about English masterpieces being sold overseas. Picketed the galleries. Lobbied the Heritage people and the government. Made himself a real pain in the arse, from what I can gather. I thought you'd have known about it, being an artist yourself.' He glanced up at Gideon under his brows.

`I paint animals,' Gideon observed mildly. `That doesn't make me an authority on the history of art and artists. But anyway, that must have been years ago. He's practically a recluse now. Beyond the odd letter to The Times, I shouldn't think he's bothered anybody for a long time.'

Logan shrugged again. Once a troublemaker - always a troublemaker, his body language intimated. `So, did you see Slade while you were there?'

`On the way out. He wasn't exactly overjoyed to find me there. I'd kind of side-stepped the security man.'

Logan blew on his coffee and sipped it. `Was that the first time you'd met him?'

`It was.'

`And?' He gave the appearance of being far more interested in the business of cooling his coffee than the conversation he'd initiated.

`And . . .' Two could play at that game. Unhurriedly, Gideon pulled a chair out, sat sideways on it and stretched his feet towards the warmth. `And, I wondered what a man like him was doing buried in the depths of the country, working for a man like Meredith Milne.'

'Ah,' Logan said. `So it wouldn't surprise you if I said he was known to us?'

`It would surprise me a lot more if you said he wasn't,' Gideon replied frankly. `What's he done?'

Logan rubbed a hand wearily over his forehead and eyes. `Well, he's had a couple of speeding tickets,' he said after a moment.

`And?' Gideon said, mimicking Logan, who flashed him a brief, amused smile of acknowledgement.

`And - nothing,' he admitted, regretfully. `We've nothing else on him but a handful of suspicions. He's been suspected of illegal gambling activities, of fraud, even of extortion, but he always seems to wriggle out of the net. The boys down at Bournemouth nick had him in for questioning after they raided an unlicensed poker club four years ago but they couldn't make anything stick and they had to let him go. He's very good at finding other people to do his dirty work and it seems those people would rather go down than risk pointing the finger. He must have some very unpleasant friends. Of course it's all conjecture. As far as his official record goes, he's a fine upstanding citizen who probably helps old ladies across the road and is kind to small children and animals.'

`Yeah, well, I don't think I'd trust him with my granny,' Gideon said. `So what do you think he's doing at Lyddon Grange? Is he behind the troublemaking?'

Logan pursed his lips. `Almost certainly, but he didn't start it. Milne tried to buy the farm as soon as Mr Reynolds arrived, three months ago; Slade has only been working for him for two months. Before that, he was running a club in Dorchester for a couple of years. When we realised who he was we made a point of keeping a close eye on his activities but somehow he got wind of it and before we could act, he'd upped and left.'

`You think Milne got Slade in specifically to shift Tim from next door? But why? And how would Milne get hold of someone like him? I can't see the old guy visiting Slade's club, can you? Or did he look in the Thompson's Local under T for Troublemaker?'

`I should imagine Renson may have had something to do with it,' Logan said.

`Renson the low-flying helicopter pilot? It was him, wasn't it? What's been done about that?'

`He's been given a caution,' Logan said. `Any more stunts like that and he'll lose his licence. My sergeant seemed to think that was all that was needed.'

`Your sergeant didn't seem very interested at all, to be honest,' Gideon observed. `One might almost have thought he was trying to protect someone he knew . . .'

Logan's eyes narrowed. `One might think it, but it would be very difficult to prove.'

`All right, so why are you telling me all this?' Gideon asked, after a moment. `It's not me who's being driven off my land.' `Joey Dylan is a known associate of citizen Slade. You seem to know Joey. I want to know how.'

`My sister helps at the Sanctuary, as you know. Jez spends a fair bit of time there. Joey is Jez's brother and he picks her up sometimes. I've met him once or twice, that's all. No mystery.' Logan wasn't going to be so easily put off. `I'd say there was a lot more to it than that. And according to Mr Reynolds, it was you who first introduced them to Jez,' he remarked.

`I met her just outside,' Gideon explained patiently. `Her dog was injured and Tim's a vet. It made sense to take her there.' `So you're saying that you first met Joey at Hermitage Farm. Saying, in fact, that Joey Dylan has no connection with the six foot five, fair-haired Joey who was involved in your reported abduction?'

Gideon cursed silently. He should have known that Logan would do his homework and make the connection. He conjured up what he hoped was a suitably embarrassed expression. `Oh, that! That was just a bit of a practical joke that got out of hand.'