doorstep being stared at from behind by the sunken-eyed youth, who had followed the officers as they had walked towards the house but who had always retained a wary distance. Moments later a man appeared at the door, emerging slowly from its interior and he, like the woman, Hennessey and Yellich noted, was also short and squat. He wore baggy brown trousers, an unclean white shirt and a black waistcoat. He wore heavy industrial footwear. The man was, evidently, thought Hennessey, ‘Father’, and speaking in a thick Yorkshire accent he said gruffly, ‘Mother said you wanted something?’ He then reached into his trouser pocket and retrieved a small pipe which he placed in his mouth and commenced to suck it loudly.
‘Yes, we do.’ Hennessey produced his ID and showed it to the man. ‘I am DCI Hennessey and this gentleman is DS Yellich, of Micklegate Bar police station, of the Vale of York.’
‘Aye.’ The man scrutinized Hennessey’s warrant card and gave but a cursory glance at Yellich’s warrant card. ‘Micklegate Bar, that be in York itself.’
‘Yes, quite right, sir, it is just without the walls at the top of Queen Street, at the junction with Blossom Street.’
‘Them road names mean nothing to me, but I do know the bars . . . the gateways in the walls. Mind, I have not been in York since . . . well, since I don’t know when. You’ll be here in connection with the goings on in the five acre?’
‘The five acre?’
‘The field by the wood near Catton Hill village, the police vehicles, the equipment, the mechanical digger, the blow-up tent and the screen, and the men with cameras. So what is happening?’
‘We have unearthed human remains,’ Hennessey replied, relieved that the man, unlike the youth, was obviously willing to talk.
‘I thought as much and I told mother as much. Either dead bodies or digging up the loot from a bank robbery. Not much else would cause the bobbies to dig a big hole in the ground, especially in a wet field like the five acre, hard work that would be. So, human remains . . . a grave? Well, dare say you wouldn’t be knocking on my door if you had dug up a dead dog.’
‘Hardly, sir.’ Hennessey forced a smile.
‘I did wonder,’ the man replied. ‘Thought it had to be something important.’
‘You saw us, I assume?’ Yellich asked.
‘Aye . . . the country is like that. You might not see anybody but it would be wrong to think that you were not being watched, or heard. You know the old saying, “The fields have eyes and the woods have ears”? It’s very true is that old saying. So yes, I saw you, so did a few others. So why come here? Why knock on my old door?’
‘Mr Farrent told us you rent that field . . . so we came here to pick your brains.’
‘Farrent . . .’ The man made a low, growling sound.
‘You are Mr Bowler, Mr Francis Bowler?’
‘Aye, that I am.’
‘And you do rent that field, the five acre?’
‘Aye, that I do . . . and another two hundred and fifty more on top of that.’
‘A large farm?’
‘Only a townie would think that it was large. You need to farm the best part of a thousand acres to make a decent living. I rent the land and the house but will Farrent put up any money towards the upkeep?’ He tapped the door frame. ‘See . . . rotten . . . it’ll fall down on top of us any day now.’
‘Yes . . .’ Hennessey replied.
‘Farrent owns a lot of land round here, we rent it, me and tenant farmers like me. We rent it and we work it. Prices for produce are going down and Farrent still puts up the rent. You’ll have been to his house?’
‘Yes, we have, yesterday.’
‘Aye well, I haven’t ever been there but they say it’s a nice bit of brickwork . . . so that’s what you live in if you own the land and sit back while others work it.’ Francis Bowler raised a finger and indicated the interior of his house. ‘I’d invite you in but you’re safer out here. You can see better out here as well; it’s a bit
‘Yes, we do.’ Hennessey produced his ID and showed it to the man. ‘I am DCI Hennessey and this gentleman is DS Yellich, of Micklegate Bar police station, of the Vale of York.’
‘Aye.’ The man scrutinized Hennessey’s warrant card and gave but a cursory glance at Yellich’s warrant card. ‘Micklegate Bar, that be in York itself.’
‘Yes, quite right, sir, it is just without the walls at the top of Queen Street, at the junction with Blossom Street.’
‘Them road names mean nothing to me, but I do know the bars . . . the gateways in the walls. Mind, I have not been in York since . . . well, since I don’t know when. You’ll be here in connection with the goings on in the five acre?’
‘The five acre?’
‘The field by the wood near Catton Hill village, the police vehicles, the equipment, the mechanical digger, the blow-up tent and the screen, and the men with cameras. So what is happening?’
‘We have unearthed human remains,’ Hennessey replied, relieved that the man, unlike the youth, was obviously willing to talk.
‘I thought as much and I told mother as much. Either dead bodies or digging up the loot from a bank robbery. Not much else would cause the bobbies to dig a big hole in the ground, especially in a wet field like the five acre, hard work that would be. So, human remains . . . a grave? Well, dare say you wouldn’t be knocking on my door if you had dug up a dead dog.’
‘Hardly, sir.’ Hennessey forced a smile.
‘I did wonder,’ the man replied. ‘Thought it had to be something important.’
‘You saw us, I assume?’ Yellich asked.
‘Aye . . . the country is like that. You might not see anybody but it would be wrong to think that you were not being watched, or heard. You know the old saying, “The fields have eyes and the woods have ears”? It’s very true is that old saying. So yes, I saw you, so did a few others. So why come here? Why knock on my old door?’
‘Mr Farrent told us you rent that field . . . so we came here to pick your brains.’
‘Farrent . . .’ The man made a low, growling sound.
‘You are Mr Bowler, Mr Francis Bowler?’
‘Aye, that I am.’
‘And you do rent that field, the five acre?’
‘Aye, that I do . . . and another two hundred and fifty more on top of that.’
‘A large farm?’
‘Only a townie would think that it was large. You need to farm the best part of a thousand acres to make a decent living. I rent the land and the house but will Farrent put up any money towards the upkeep?’ He tapped the door frame. ‘See . . . rotten . . . it’ll fall down on top of us any day now.’
‘Yes . . .’ Hennessey replied.
‘Farrent owns a lot of land round here, we rent it, me and tenant farmers like me. We rent it and we work it. Prices for produce are going down and Farrent still puts up the rent. You’ll have been to his house?’
‘Yes, we have, yesterday.’
‘Aye well, I haven’t ever been there but they say it’s a nice bit of brickwork . . . so that’s what you live in if you own the land and sit back while others work it.’ Francis Bowler raised a finger and indicated the interior of his house. ‘I’d invite you in but you’re safer out here. You can see better out here as well; it’s a bit
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