Nothing But Lies Page 18

  ‘Maybe we’ve got it wrong,’ he said to Taz, who stood watching him with his head on one side. ‘You don’t care, you just want to get in the woods, don’t you? Call yourself a police dog? You should be helping me.’

  Taz’s answer was to jump at Daniel and then run ahead of him, tail waving happily, to where a sign and a dirt path flattened by the regular passage of feet marked the way into the trees.

  He knew from the map that the path ran parallel to the Rufford Manor boundary for the best part of a mile before veering fairly sharply away to the right, following the lower ground. At this point, he would make his way uphill to the top of the ridge and hope to find a viewpoint from which to observe the property on the other side without himself being seen.

  In spite of the half dozen cars in the car park, Daniel only met one group of walkers. As was his habit, Taz dropped back to his side as they approached, and regarded the two women with their assortment of children with supreme indifference. He treated their two golden retrievers with a similar aloofness, but bestowed upon a brindle and white Staffie, a look of such seething hatred, with all his hackles raised, that Daniel had to make a grab for his collar.

  ‘Sorry. He was bitten once,’ he explained to the mums, but they were too busy anxiously gathering their children to them to respond to his apology, and hurried past on the other side of the track.

  Reaching the bend in the track, Daniel paused to survey the slope he intended to climb. It was steeper than he had expected, even though the contour lines on the map had shown it to be a considerable feature of the landscape. Bracken was thick at ground level, covering the rising land with a sea of green, whilst above, a mixed canopy of oak and ash, liberally interspersed with tall pines, spilled dappled sunlight onto the forest floor. There didn’t seem to be a path of any kind to follow and Daniel had resigned himself to ploughing uphill through the undergrowth, when Taz, who had been casting about at the side of the track, suddenly became animated and dived into the bracken, nose to the ground, and disappeared.

  Daniel moved the fronds aside. Sure enough, there was a narrow path of beaten earth barely six inches wide, which was clearly a regular byway used by wildlife, and although the ground was too dry – even after the downpour of a few nights before – for footprints, he could see evidence that something bigger had recently passed that way in the bent and bruised bracken stalks at intervals along the way.

  ‘Steady, Taz. Wait for me,’ he called in a low voice, and was rewarded by the sight, some thirty feet away, of the dog’s head lifting above the greenery to look back at him.

  Because of the limited visibility and because he didn’t want Taz to initiate a full Search and Detain on what might possibly just be an innocent member of the public out birding or worse still, looking for a secluded place to have a pee, he told him to sit and wait.

  Once he caught up, he took a tracking line and harness from his backpack, and put them on the dog. His tracking thus given the official stamp, Taz leaned into his harness eagerly. This was his business; this was what he lived for, and Daniel had to keep checking him in order to be able to keep up.

  On four legs, Taz made nothing of the hill but Daniel, labouring in his wake, discovered to his cost that although they were following a path, it was by no means clear, and several times he stumbled over fallen branches and small, knotty tree stumps, or had to duck under fallen timber. The bracken was chest high and the atmosphere humid, pungent with the smell of it and buzzing with insects. He was sweating and breathing hard, and by the time he reached the crest of the ridge, he was sure that unless the person they were tracking was stone deaf, they would be well aware of his presence if they were anywhere within fifty yards of him.

  At the top of the hill, the trees rose like a wave and dipped down the other side. A little way off, to one side, a stand of beeches kept the encroaching bracken at bay, and leading a very reluctant Taz off his track for a moment, Daniel took the opportunity to have a rest and survey his surroundings.

  Taking a swig of water, he poured some into a special foldout drinking bowl for the dog, who drank thirstily.

  Even though he had climbed a good three hundred feet, the outlook was disappointing, the slope being more gradual on this side of the ridge so that his view was blocked by the leafy tops of the neighbouring trees. It seemed he’d have to get closer.

  Swinging his backpack into place once more he clipped the dog’s lead back onto his harness and giving him the command to track on, they moved back to the narrow path and set off down the slope.

  After only a couple of minutes of working his way downwards Daniel could see open sky ahead and before long the path came out of the trees and ran along the edge of a steeply shelving section of hillside. Below were open spaces of heath and grass, dotted with smaller trees and scrubby growths of blackthorn and brambles. At the foot of the hill, around a hundred yards away, was a thick bushy hedge interspersed with trees, and beyond it, pastureland. Rufford Manor land.

  Although the narrow, animal path swung right to follow the contour of the hill, Taz didn’t hesitate, but plunged straight on, over the edge of the escarpment and down.

  ‘Hey, wait!’ Daniel hissed, giving three quick tugs on the tracking line. It was his own way of telling the dog to stop, when he didn’t want to raise his voice. Taz stopped obediently but with evident frustration.

  ‘Sshh!’ he said, to quieten the whining protest. ‘We need to look before we leap, OK?’ Safely off the skyline, it would be a good time to take stock of his surroundings. He had a pretty good idea who Taz was trailing, but even so, he didn’t particularly want to blunder into her before he had had a chance to see what she was doing out there. If she was on the same mission as he was, it was quite probable that she would have hunkered down somewhere on this hillside to watch the valley below, and if she was tucked in the shade of one of the patches of scrub, he might not see her until Taz marked her position with a frenzy of barking as he had been taught to do.

  He unbuckled the dog’s harness and took it off and finding his own clump of blackthorn to sit under, took his binoculars from his backpack and fitted them with the anti-reflective lens covers that were invaluable for covert surveillance. The honeycomb filters lowered the light levels a little but it was an acceptable trade off to cut out the danger of attention being drawn to his position by sunlight flashing on the lenses. He began to sweep the hillside methodically from side to side with the glasses, from just below his position to the very bottom of the valley.

  There, he could see that just outside the field boundary was a stony track following the line of the hedge along the bottom of the valley until it disappeared from his view into the trees to his left. Directly below him, a field gate opened onto this track, and getting his map out, he located the track, denoted by a faint dotted line alongside the boundary; easy to miss with all the contour lines. From the section he was looking at and tracking left, it appeared to lead eventually to the road on the side of which he was parked, but half a mile or so further on. With a sigh, he realised that if he’d spotted it earlier, he could have saved himself the climb over the top of the ridge.

  Looking down the hill once more, his eye was caught by a movement and picking the binoculars up again he saw a figure in khaki cropped trousers and a grey-green T-shirt walking along the track towards the gate. By the short blonde hair, Daniel identified the walker as Chris Haynes, and at her heels trotted a terrier of indeterminate parentage.

  As he watched, she reached the gate onto the Rufford Manor land, and with the briefest of glances around her, vaulted it in impressive style and disappeared from view. The terrier squeezed under the gate and followed her.

  ‘Now, where are you going?’ Daniel muttered, scanning the pastureland beyond the hedge. Off in the middle distance he could see the slate rooftop of the manor itself, partially hidden by the trees that surrounded the formal garden. Like him, Chris would have seen that it was impossible to find a good vantage point from the hill but surely the
woman wasn’t going to try to walk close enough to watch the house and garden. The risk of discovery would be very real with so much open land to cover.

  As he watched, the trespasser came into view again and Daniel realised she was making her way towards a small wooden building that was tucked under the hedge not far from the gate. At first, it looked like a field shelter for stock but closer inspection revealed that it had doors in the end nearest the gate. They appeared to be padlocked.

  Chris Haynes reached the building and hefted the padlock in her hand before bending down to put her eye to the door. Apparently unsatisfied, she then circled the building, perhaps looking for a window or a weak point. It was while she was hidden from Daniel’s view and he lowered the glasses for a moment, that his attention was caught by movement on the periphery of his vision.

  A Land Rover was approaching along the track outside the boundary hedge. With his heart rate accelerating on behalf of the woman by the shed, he watched to see if it would stop at the gate or drive on by.

  It stopped and a figure got out that, even without the binoculars, Daniel could identify as Cal McAllum, the Scotsman he had seen at the show. Wearing jeans and a leather waistcoat over a red vest, with shades and the same baseball cap he had worn before, he walked round the front of the Land Rover, took a key from his pocket and began to unlock the padlock on the gate.

  ‘Shit!’ Daniel muttered. By now, he imagined Chris Haynes must be well aware that she had company, but she was in a perilous position and could only hope to avoid detection by staying hidden at the far end of the shed. Daniel felt detached and useless in his position on the hillside, but until Cal was back in the Land Rover, he dare not move for fear his movement caught the man’s eye. It crossed his mind to act as a decoy by showing himself, but it was by no means certain that unless he went close enough to reveal his identity, the Scotsman would do any more than note his presence, and Daniel didn’t want to be forced to show his hand, if he didn’t have to.

  Lifting the binoculars again, he watched Cal pull the gate wide, return to the Land Rover and drive through, before getting out to close and lock the gate once more. Daniel couldn’t see the woman and the dog, who were presumably hidden at the far end of the shed, and devoutly hoped that the Scotsman wouldn’t see them either. He didn’t imagine that the fact of her being female would earn her any leeway if he found her on Rufford Manor land, where he seemed very much at home.

  The Land Rover was moving again now, disappearing behind the hedge, heading for the shed, and Daniel decided the time had come to move closer, just in case he needed to take a hand in proceedings. He stuffed the binoculars in the backpack and then, with a reckless disregard for the health of his ankles, he set off at speed down the slope with Taz bounding at his side.

  He angled across the hill to keep the thickest part of the hedge between him and the vehicle, and once in the valley bottom, followed the track back, walking on the turf at the side of the stones and keeping Taz at heel, until he was level with the shed on the other side of the hedge.

  Cal had driven the Land Rover inside the building and as Daniel listened, he killed the engine and, in due course, came out and closed the doors. He could just see the man’s head and shoulders through a gap in the vegetation and as he replaced the padlock and turned away, it began to look as though Chris would be lucky. But then Daniel heard a muffled yap and with a sinking heart, saw the Scotsman freeze as he clearly heard the same. At the sound of the other dog, Taz was on full alert, too, and was inclined to rumble until Daniel twitched his collar and whispered an urgent, ‘No!’

  On the other side of the hedge, Cal started to move silently towards the back of the shed and Daniel lost sight of him. Moving quietly, himself, he shifted his position to bring the Scot back into view, and was surprised to see Chris Haynes walk out from behind the building with the terrier under one arm and meet him head on.

  Her startled cry was masterly. If Daniel hadn’t been sure she knew Cal was there, it would have fooled him. So, she had decided to try and brazen it out.

  ‘Who the bloody hell are you and what are you doing in here?’ Cal demanded.

  ‘I – I’m sorry. I wasn’t doing anything. That is, Nipper came in here hunting rabbits and I couldn’t get him to come back.’

  ‘This is private property. It says “Private” on the gate, can’t you read?’

  ‘I know. I can read, but Nipper can’t,’ Chris said, with a nervous laugh.

  Cal wasn’t amused. ‘Don’t try and get clever with me, woman! You should keep the animal on a lead if you can’t control it.’

  ‘He saw the rabbit run through the hedge and followed it. It’s not my fault. I couldn’t just leave him here.’

  Cal took off his baseball cap and scratched his head, thoughtfully. Then he replaced it and stepped closer to Chris.

  ‘You see, it’s like this. I don’t like trespassers, and I especially don’t like dogs. If I see that little rat in here again, I’ll shoot it. And that goes for you, too! BANG!’

  Chris took a hasty step back, looking scared. ‘You can’t go round threatening people like that!’

  Cal lifted his hands. ‘Threatening? I didn’t say a word, yer honour. Who’s to say I did? The rat? Eh? Now get out, and don’t come back!’

  Chris began to edge round him, but as she passed him, Cal suddenly shot out a hand and stopped her.

  ‘Wait! What’s this?’

  Chris had a camera and binoculars slung over her shoulder and he had caught hold of one of the straps. She had no choice but to stop.

  ‘It’s a camera.’ This time Daniel felt her uneasiness could well be genuine, and wondered what pictures she had shot with it.

  ‘I can see it’s a fuckin camera! What have you been doing with it? And don’t say taking pictures.’

  ‘B-but I have. B-birds,’ she stammered. ‘I’m a birder, I’ve been trying to get shots of the buzzard up on the hill.’

  ‘A buzzard? That’s hardly rare enough to interest a real birdwatcher.’

  ‘I know it’s not rare. It’s part of a study. No! Let go! What are you doing?’ She tried to pull the strap out of his hand, but he had hold of the camera itself now and was fiddling with it. ‘You can’t do that!’ she exclaimed, jerking it out of his hands, and almost in the same instant, without apparent thought, he backhanded her across the face, knocking her to the ground. The terrier, shaken from her hold, yelped and ran for the gate.

  Daniel had seen enough. Stamping and scuffing on the stony track, he assumed an American accent and called out, ‘Sweetheart? Honey? Have you found that dog yet? What’s going on?’

  ‘Yes, he’s here!’ Chris called, following his lead seamlessly. She scrambled to her feet. ‘I’m just coming.’

  It seemed that Cal shared Daniel’s unwillingness to be seen, for with the imminent appearance of back-up and therefore a witness on the scene, he made no further attempt to detain Chris or her camera and within a very short space of time, she was climbing back over the gate and onto the track.

  As she turned towards him, Daniel could see that the Scotsman’s blow had bruised her cheekbone and drawn blood from her nose.

  ‘What the hell?’ he exclaimed, keeping in character. ‘What happened to your face, honey?’

  ‘Leave it, please,’ she said. ‘He’s not worth it!’

  ‘He?’ Daniel demanded. ‘Someone did this to you?’

  ‘No, please. I shouldn’t have been in there. Please leave it!’

  ‘I’d listen to the lady, unless you want some of the same,’ Cal remarked loudly from beyond the hedge, and then, when Daniel didn’t reply. ‘No, I thought not. Fuckin’ Jessie!’

  ‘I’ll call the police,’ Daniel said then, feeling that his American alter-ego would say that, at least to save face.

  ‘Call away,’ came the reply. ‘Your word against mine and anyway, I don’t live here – I’ll be long gone.’

  Taking a cautious look through the gap in the hedge he’d used earlier,
Daniel could see the Scot standing near the doors of the building. It was obvious that even though he was chary of being seen, he wasn’t going to abandon his position until he was sure the trespasser and her American partner were long gone.

  ‘He’s watching,’ he said quietly to Chris. ‘Come on, let’s go. I left my stuff on the hill. Are you OK?’

  ‘I’ll live,’ she said, wiping her nose on the back of her hand as they started to walk, and regarding the resulting bloody smear dispassionately. ‘Thanks to you. Were you following me?’

  ‘Yep. Though I was coming out this way anyway. It seems great minds do think alike.’

  ‘My mind doesn’t feel very great at the moment,’ she said ruefully. ‘Bloody stupid to let myself get caught like that. Where is the little sod, anyway?’

  ‘Behind you.’

  Chris turned to look down and Nipper wagged his stump of a tail unrepentantly.

  ‘Bugger!’ she said suddenly, grabbing at the camera, which still hung over her shoulder. She stopped, holding it up. A small compartment was open, its hinged flap dangling. ‘The bastard took the memory card.’

  ‘What’s it got on it? Anything incriminating?’

  She frowned. ‘Not really. A couple of shots of the view from the top of the hill – but even on full zoom, they didn’t show much of the house – and actually, as it happens, a few of the buzzard that really was hanging around.’

  ‘You are a birder,’ Daniel said as they started to tackle the slope. ‘And there was me, impressed with your quick thinking.’

  ‘So if you were close enough to listen to all that, why didn’t you come to my rescue?’ she demanded.

  ‘You heard him,’ Daniel said. ‘I’m a Jessie.’

  Chris cast him a sideways glance. ‘And the real reason?’

  ‘OK. It was obvious he didn’t know you and I thought you might just get away with your “innocent rambler looking for her dog” story. But I’ve met our friend the Scotsman before, and if I’d shown my face he might well have suspected the both of us of being up to no good.’