admitting this to Yossa and his
mates. But at that moment money interested him more.
And with any luck he’d soon have money – and lots of it. Money made you somebody. Money bought respect and friendship. Everything
would be different when he had money.
Rachel Tracey marched slightly ahead of Steve, heading for Hoxworthy’s Farm.
‘Shouldn’t we have called at the Old Vicarage?’
‘It’s for sale. There’s nobody living there. It can wait till later,’ she answered sharply.
‘She said there’s been cars up there.’
‘Probably the estate agent showing people around,’ she said smugly. Sometimes Steve didn’t think.
‘I still think we should have a look at the place.’
‘Thinking of buying it, are you?’
He fell into sullen silence as he tried to keep up with her. ‘What’s the hurry?’ he said breathlessly, smarting from her words.
‘We’ve got a lot of work to get through, that’s all,’ she said pointedly, not slowing her pace. ‘You should get more exercise,
Steve,’ she added with a grin he couldn’t see.
The old barn was looming up on her left. Not far now. There was a car parked outside the barn, a car she recognised; a battered
yellow Mini. She slowed down as a familiar figure emerged from the great barn doors.
‘Well, if it isn’t the lovely Rachel. Hello, stranger. Long time no see.’ Neil Watson stepped forward, a wide grin on his
face. ‘Is Wesley about?’
‘Hello, Mr Watson. I thought I recognised the car.’ She looked at the vehicle with distaste, wondering, not for the first
time, whether the thing had a valid MOT. ‘Inspector Peterson’s gone over to Whitely with Chief Inspector Heffernan.’
Neil’s grin widened. ‘Ooh, we are being formal today, Constable.’
‘Sergeant, actually,’ she said coolly.
She had always been a little wary of Wesley’s scruffy friend. There was something anarchic about the man, a disregard for
appearance and authority, that made her instinctively suspicious. But Wesley seemed to like him so, she told herself, he couldn’t
be that bad. Perhaps she just felt uneasy with someone so passionate about uncovering the past that he put it above the conventional
concerns of the modern world.
‘Congratulations.’ Neil did his best to look impressed, but the ends of his lips twitched upward, amused at the young woman’s
pomposity. ‘So what’s been happening?’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked defensively.
‘Well, I presume you don’t call out half the local force to look for a couple of missing hens. What’s been going on? And when
will Wes be back?’
Rachel noticed that Steve was scowling by her side, his usual reaction when Wesley’s name was mentioned.
‘I thought everyone would have known by now. There’s been a suspicious death. A man’s body was found in a field near here
yesterday, so I’m afraid Inspector Peterson will be tied up for quite a while.’
‘Well, if you see him, tell him I’ve got something to show him. Something he’ll be interested in.’
As Neil spoke two men and a woman emerged from the barn doors, staggering under the weight of what looked like half of some
gigantic round table-top, big enough to accommodate King Arthur and a fair number of his knights. They shouted to Neil to
give them a hand, and he trotted over and took hold of a corner. Carefully, with great concentration, they manoeuvred the
great awkward thing and propped it up against the barn wall.
Steve, who was quite content to see other people work, folded his arms and watched. Then, when the huge board was standing
against the rough stone wall, his mouth gaped open. ‘What’s that?’ he muttered, looking at Rachel. ‘Looks like something that
would interest the Vice Squad.’
He edged a little closer, staring at the painted images on the wood. Rachel glared at him disapprovingly. She didn’t want
to waste valuable time while Steve salivated over a filthy old painting of naked,
mates. But at that moment money interested him more.
And with any luck he’d soon have money – and lots of it. Money made you somebody. Money bought respect and friendship. Everything
would be different when he had money.
Rachel Tracey marched slightly ahead of Steve, heading for Hoxworthy’s Farm.
‘Shouldn’t we have called at the Old Vicarage?’
‘It’s for sale. There’s nobody living there. It can wait till later,’ she answered sharply.
‘She said there’s been cars up there.’
‘Probably the estate agent showing people around,’ she said smugly. Sometimes Steve didn’t think.
‘I still think we should have a look at the place.’
‘Thinking of buying it, are you?’
He fell into sullen silence as he tried to keep up with her. ‘What’s the hurry?’ he said breathlessly, smarting from her words.
‘We’ve got a lot of work to get through, that’s all,’ she said pointedly, not slowing her pace. ‘You should get more exercise,
Steve,’ she added with a grin he couldn’t see.
The old barn was looming up on her left. Not far now. There was a car parked outside the barn, a car she recognised; a battered
yellow Mini. She slowed down as a familiar figure emerged from the great barn doors.
‘Well, if it isn’t the lovely Rachel. Hello, stranger. Long time no see.’ Neil Watson stepped forward, a wide grin on his
face. ‘Is Wesley about?’
‘Hello, Mr Watson. I thought I recognised the car.’ She looked at the vehicle with distaste, wondering, not for the first
time, whether the thing had a valid MOT. ‘Inspector Peterson’s gone over to Whitely with Chief Inspector Heffernan.’
Neil’s grin widened. ‘Ooh, we are being formal today, Constable.’
‘Sergeant, actually,’ she said coolly.
She had always been a little wary of Wesley’s scruffy friend. There was something anarchic about the man, a disregard for
appearance and authority, that made her instinctively suspicious. But Wesley seemed to like him so, she told herself, he couldn’t
be that bad. Perhaps she just felt uneasy with someone so passionate about uncovering the past that he put it above the conventional
concerns of the modern world.
‘Congratulations.’ Neil did his best to look impressed, but the ends of his lips twitched upward, amused at the young woman’s
pomposity. ‘So what’s been happening?’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked defensively.
‘Well, I presume you don’t call out half the local force to look for a couple of missing hens. What’s been going on? And when
will Wes be back?’
Rachel noticed that Steve was scowling by her side, his usual reaction when Wesley’s name was mentioned.
‘I thought everyone would have known by now. There’s been a suspicious death. A man’s body was found in a field near here
yesterday, so I’m afraid Inspector Peterson will be tied up for quite a while.’
‘Well, if you see him, tell him I’ve got something to show him. Something he’ll be interested in.’
As Neil spoke two men and a woman emerged from the barn doors, staggering under the weight of what looked like half of some
gigantic round table-top, big enough to accommodate King Arthur and a fair number of his knights. They shouted to Neil to
give them a hand, and he trotted over and took hold of a corner. Carefully, with great concentration, they manoeuvred the
great awkward thing and propped it up against the barn wall.
Steve, who was quite content to see other people work, folded his arms and watched. Then, when the huge board was standing
against the rough stone wall, his mouth gaped open. ‘What’s that?’ he muttered, looking at Rachel. ‘Looks like something that
would interest the Vice Squad.’
He edged a little closer, staring at the painted images on the wood. Rachel glared at him disapprovingly. She didn’t want
to waste valuable time while Steve salivated over a filthy old painting of naked,
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