Fethering 02 (2001) - Death on the Downs Read Free Page A

or her next incursion. She tried another smile, her most unburglar-like one, and was about to wind down the window for reassurance when the woman abruptly walked away, dragging an unwilling black and white spaniel in her wake.
    Soon after, the police arrived. A liveried Range Rover with two uniformed officers in the front and a plain-clothes man in the back. Carole felt obscurely disappointed. She’d expected more. A full Scene of Crime team with all their paraphernalia. And yet why? No one knew that a crime had been committed. Even she couldn’t be sure. All the police had to go on was a call from a middle-aged woman who claimed to have found some human bones in a barn. She’d probably got it wrong, they got enough calls from cranks and the confused. Turn out to be sheep bones, cow bones, possibly even chicken bones left from someone’s picnic.
    The plain-clothes man got out of the Range Rover to greet Carole, profuse in his apologies for keeping her waiting on such a disgusting day. He introduced himself as Detective Sergeant Baylis. A thick-set man with short brown hair and a nose surprisingly small in his broad face, he had an avuncular manner beyond his thirty-five years. It should have been patronizing, but to Carole it felt immensely reassuring.
    After her Bad Cop experience, she now felt like the subject of a Good Cop charm offensive. Was it just down to individual officers, or had one of those Home Office directives about the police becoming more user-friendly really had an effect?
    DS Baylis checked the location of her find. “Sounds like South Welling Barn, Hooper. Go and see what you can find.”
    As the Range Rover set off towards the barn, Baylis squinted up at the louring sky. It wouldn’t be long before more rain fell. “I’m sorry, Mrs Seddon, but I would like to check a few details with you.”
    “Of course. Would you like to come and sit in my car?”
    “Very kind, but I think I can do better than that.” He looked at his watch. “Ten to five.” He produced a mobile phone from his pocket. “Will Maples from the Hare and Hounds owes me the odd favour. I’m sure he can find us a warm room.”
    In case any visitor did not know what the small alcove by the bar was called, the word ‘Snug’, carved on an authentically rustic shingle, hung over the doorway. Will Maples, an efficient slender young man in a sharp suit, ushered them in and switched on the log-effect gas fire. Though its initial flare was blue and cold, it soon emanated a rosy flickering glow, rendered suspect only by the fact that the logs never changed their outline or diminished in size. Carole knew about fires like that; she had a similar, smaller one at home in Fethering.
    “Anything I can get for you?” asked the manager. He seemed over-anxious about their welfare, almost subservient, as if DS Baylis had some hold over him.
    The nature of that hold was quickly revealed. “Mrs Seddon’s soaked to the skin,” said the sergeant. “I’m sure she could probably do with a nice warming brandy. That is, Will, if you could see your way to bending the law a little and serving drink out of your licensing hours?”
    Even without the sergeant’s wink and the young man’s blush, the implication would have been unmistakable. The Hare and Hounds had indulged some out-of-hours—probably after-hours—drinking and DS Baylis had turned a blind eye to it.
    “Certainly.” Will Maples bustled behind the bar. “Is brandy what you’d like, madam?”
    It was a drink she rarely touched but, lagged in dampness, Carole couldn’t think of anything she’d like more. “Yes, please.”
    “Just on its own?”
    “Thank you.”
    “And will you take something, Sergeant?”
    “Not while I’m on duty—that’s the line the coppers always use on the telly, isn’t it?” Baylis chuckled. “I’ll have a large Grouse, thank you, Will. Same amount of water.”
    The manager placed a large brandy and the whisky on the table in front of them.