No Holds Barred (28 page)

He saved the material to a memory stick, deleted what was on the computer, then switched off and went to bed.

Daniel wasn't rostered on the following morning, but he still rose early and eight fifteen found him next door in the vet's waiting room.

When he gave his name, the Saturday receptionist regarded him doubtfully. She had found him waiting on the doorstep when she opened the door.

‘Do you have an appointment?' she asked now, scanning the screen in front of her. ‘It's appointment only.'

‘I think he'll see me. Tell him it's about Norman Boyd.'

‘I don't understand  . . .' she said, perplexed.

‘That's OK,' Daniel told her. ‘You don't have to, but Mr Symmonds will.'

Casting another doubtful look in his direction, as if unsure whether he should be left alone in the building, the receptionist slid off her stool and disappeared through a door into a back room.

There was a sizeable pause. Daniel imagined the elderly vet's dismay upon receiving the message and wondered if he would try to delay by refusing to see Daniel.

After a minute or so, however, the receptionist returned and told Daniel that Mr Symmonds would see him in his consulting room.

Daniel found the vet apparently busily engaged in sorting through the stock on his shelves.

‘I can only give you a minute. I have a client arriving at any moment,' he said over his shoulder.

‘Why did you agree to see me?' Daniel asked.

Ivor Symmonds turned.

‘Well, because  . . . I mean, you're a friend of Jenny's, aren't you? I treated your dog.'

‘Not because I mentioned Norman Boyd, then?'

Symmonds looked flustered. ‘I don't understand why you think that would interest me.'

‘Even if I said that I've seen him and his son leaving here by the back door, after hours.'

‘Vets work long hours, Mr Whelan. There is no “after hours” as such.'

‘So it was a consultation?'

Symmonds shrugged, with an attempt at nonchalance. ‘I expect so.'

‘You don't remember? It was only a few days ago. I had it in mind that it was more of a dispensing issue. I thought they might have been picking up a few bits and pieces for their own use, if you know what I mean.'

‘Don't be ridiculous!' The words were coldly hostile, but Daniel could read the fear in the older man's eyes.

‘I think we both know I'm not,' he said quietly. ‘Why don't you tell me what's going on? I know the Boyds own and use fighting dogs, and I know you know. But what I don't know is why you're keeping quiet about it. What have they got on you? Jenny has a lot of time for you, and I'm willing to believe that you aren't doing this for monetary gain, but you need to be honest with me.'

The vet hesitated, but just as Daniel felt he might be about to open up, the receptionist put her head round the door.

‘Your eight thirty is here, Mr Symmonds.'

‘Er, thanks. Won't be a minute.' Symmonds nodded to the girl, who withdrew, apparently unaware of the tension inside the room.

The vet planted his hands firmly on his examination table as if taking a stand. ‘I really don't have a clue what you're talking about, Mr Whelan, and, as you can see, I'm very busy, so I shall have to ask you to leave now.'

Daniel sighed.

‘Fair enough. If you prefer to talk to the police  . . .' he said as he turned away.

For a moment, he thought his threat hadn't worked, but just as he reached the door, the vet said urgently, ‘No, wait a minute! I need to think.'

Obligingly, Daniel waited, but he didn't move from his position by the door. For what seemed an age, Symmonds stood with his head bowed, rubbing one hand across his brow. Finally, he came to a decision.

‘OK, I'll tell you,' he said, suddenly looking several years older as the fight went out of him. ‘But you have to promise you won't go to the police.'

Daniel shook his head.

‘I can't promise that. You know as well as I do that this can't go on, and the police are bound to be involved on one level or another.'

‘It's not so much for me, but my son,' the vet pleaded.

‘Tell me, and then I'll see what I can do.'

Silence stretched over several seconds as Symmonds looked down at the tabletop and then up at Daniel once more, despair in his face.

‘You're right. It has to stop.
I
can't carry on like this, either; it's been a living hell. You've no idea.' He glanced up at the clock, which showed half past eight.

‘They can wait a few minutes, I'm sure,' Daniel said, interpreting the look.

Symmonds nodded. ‘It started last year. My wife, Enid, had been diagnosed with cancer. The doctors said it was inoperable and it was just a matter of time. We were devastated – we'd always been close; childhood sweethearts, married nearly forty years, and now they were saying we might only have six months. Then we heard about a treatment – a new drug, only just coming on to the market from America – but the doctors wouldn't prescribe it. It was too expensive, they said. If we wanted it, we would have to go private, but we couldn't afford to do that. Don't get me wrong, I'd have done anything to raise the money, but things have been tight and the house was already mortgaged, and, with the state of the economy, my bank wasn't keen to remortgage. Enid accepted it, but I couldn't. I felt so helpless – useless.

‘About that time, the Boyds approached me, wanting me to supply them with drugs, dressings and suturing materials.' He paused and looked at Daniel. ‘My first instinct was to show them the door and report the matter to the police, but Norman had done his homework, damn him! He knew about Enid and the treatment we wanted – I suppose it was fairly common knowledge around the village. We'd even had offers of help from well-wishers, but nowhere near the amount we needed. Anyway, Boyd offered me the exact amount if I'd supply him with what he needed and turn a blind eye. What was I to do? I told myself if I didn't supply him, someone else would, and that wouldn't help Enid, would it?'

Daniel didn't answer. He couldn't condone the vet's actions, but he could sympathize with his dilemma. Who could say what one mightn't do if put in that position?

‘It made me sick to the stomach, but I took their money,' Symmonds continued after a moment. ‘I told Enid it was a bequest from a distant relative. I'm not sure she believed me, but by then she was too ill to care very much. She died before the treatment could start.' His voice cracked a little, and he stopped to take a deep, steadying breath. ‘I tried to give the money back and put a stop to the whole thing, but it was too late. I had already given them one batch of stock, and Norman Boyd said if I didn't honour the agreement, they would tell my son. And if I told the police, they would claim that I had been supplying them for years.'

‘But surely your records would show that wasn't the case,' Daniel protested.

Symmonds smiled sadly. ‘It's not quite that simple. It might sound clichéd, but I'm an old-fashioned vet, in it for the animals, not the money. One or two of my clients struggle to pay from time to time, and I have been known to waive my fees occasionally, just to see that an animal gets the treatment it needs. Usually the client finds some other way to settle the debt – payment in kind, you know the sort of thing. It's part of village life and it works very well on the whole. I never thought it would be a problem, until now.'

‘I heard you had a row with your son. Was that about the Boyds?'

Symmonds nodded. ‘Yes. He found out. Saw Taylor leaving one time with a bagful of stock and checked the records. He was furious. I couldn't make him understand. He just wouldn't listen. That's when he walked out. It was a huge blow, but I couldn't blame him. It's what I would have done in his place, and in a way I was relieved. If anyone did find out, at least he wouldn't be involved.'

‘What did you do with the money?'

‘I gave it to charity. To the RSPCA – anonymously. I didn't know what else to do. I sent a note saying I hoped they might use it in their campaign against dog fighting. I even mentioned the Boyds.'

‘
Did
you?'

‘Yes. It made me feel a bit better, but not much. But, then, nothing's come of it.'

‘You never know. These things take time,' Daniel said.

Symmonds looked curiously at him.

‘So, what's your interest in all this? I've given you enough information to get me struck off and yet I don't even know who you really are.'

‘My interest is in getting these evil bastards stopped,' Daniel stated. ‘If I can do it without dragging you into it, I will, but I can't make any promises.'

‘I remember you were asking about the missing cats and dogs, last time you were here.'

‘That's what initially started me thinking, but I've found out a lot since then.' He paused. ‘I have to trust that you won't mention my visit to the Boyds.'

Symmonds looked offended.

‘Of course I won't. I want this stopped as much as you do.'

‘But you have a lot to lose if the truth comes out.'

The vet shook his head. ‘I made my decision when I told you the truth. I won't go back on it now. I'll just have to take my chances. Whatever the outcome, whether the truth comes out or not, it's time for me to retire.'

Watching the man closely, Daniel was inclined to believe him.

EIGHTEEN

‘
D
on't you trust me?'

Daniel stopped, his hand on the door handle of the drivers' lounge, and listened. It was Monday evening and he'd finished work a good half-hour before but had called in at the farmhouse on his way past.

The voice he'd heard was Dek's, and he waited with baited breath for the answer.

‘It's nothing personal.' The reply, as he'd expected, came from Taylor. ‘We don't trust anyone with that kind of information; it's the only way to be sure. All I can tell you is that it'll be soon, and I shouldn't even be telling you that, so keep it under your hat, OK?'

Dek's next remark was muted, but Daniel heard Boyd's response.

‘Ricky? Christ! I don't know. Sometimes I think he must have been swapped at birth. The bloody cottage and now this. And to make matters worse, the dog's dead. Got bitten through the neck, apparently. I mean, he wasn't anywhere near pit-weight. The old man's spitting fire! He had plans for that dog. It was supposed to breed some size into the Butchers' strain. Any fool could see it was going to be a late starter – any fool except my fucking brother, that is. He's a loose bloody cannon! He could have blown the whole operation.'

Once again, Dek's reply was inaudible. Boyd's tone became placating.

‘I know you wouldn't. Personally, I'd sooner trust you than him, but he's family, and family means a lot to the old man. Look, I'm gonna get going. I'm gagging to see this new machine he's bought. It's fuckin' massive, by all accounts. Wanna come?'

His voice grew louder as he approached the door, and Daniel was startled into action. Moving swiftly to the outer door, he opened and then slammed it shut, so that Boyd's first sight of him was walking towards the lounge. His quick thinking worked. Boyd looked mildly surprised to see him but not alarmed.

‘You're late,' he commented.

‘So are you,' Daniel countered.

‘Been cosying up to the boss again?'

‘That's right.' Daniel wasn't going to rise to the bait.

‘Good luck there, mate. She's got another admirer now, so I hear.' With this parting shot, Boyd was gone, with Dek on his heels, leaving Daniel to wonder how it was that McCreesh's visit had become common knowledge.

Thursday was a half-day for the Summer Haulage drivers, the afternoon being set aside for Gavin Summers' memorial service.

The numbers at Great Ditton parish church were good, most attending, Daniel suspected, out of respect for Jenny, whose family were well known and well liked in the area. From what he could gather, Gavin had made few real friends during his time at the farm.

One surprising member of the congregation, as far as Daniel was concerned, was Jenny's neighbour, Liam Sellyoak, whose presence caused a stir among the younger football enthusiasts attending.

Drifting to Jenny's side during the reception afterwards at The Fox and Duck, Daniel quizzed her on it.

‘I don't know. I had no idea Gavin even knew him. I was as surprised as you.'

‘Perhaps he's trying to win brownie points with you,' Daniel suggested wryly.

‘Well, he's wasting his time. But whatever the reason, it's made Harry's day. He's going round with stars in his eyes.'

Daniel looked through the window to where the children were amusing themselves on the mini adventure playground in the pub's garden area. As far as he knew, Drew had never shown any sign of worshipping sporting heroes. He seemed to have been born without a sporting gene in his make-up, for which Daniel wasn't overly sorry.

‘I thought I saw George and Marian at the back of the church,' he said then. They had slipped in unobtrusively just as the service was about to begin.

‘Yes. I was hoping to have a word with them, but they seem to have gone,' Jenny said, looking round the room.

Daniel felt he could make a shrewd guess as to the reason for that but he said nothing. His gaze tracked across to where Taylor, Dek and Terry MacAllister were taking full advantage of the hospitality. Reg stood a little apart, looking morose and depressed, as he had ever since the loss of his dog. Of Summer Haulage's former drivers, Mal Fletcher and Dean Stevens, there was predictably no sign.

Ivor Symmonds approached, patently ill at ease and just as obviously trying to avoid catching Daniel's eye.

‘Jenny, my dear. I must be going. Patients to see, you understand. I'm so sorry for your loss. If there's anything I can do.'