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Authors: Peter Robinson
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said, spearing a mouthful of sausage. “Have you any idea who it was we found up there?”
After a short silence, Nicholas said, “We get quite a lot of visitors in the area, Inspector. Especially when we’re blessed with such a fine start to the year. There’s nobody local missing, as far as I know, so it must be a stranger. Can’t you check?”
“Yes,” Banks said. “Of course we can. We can go through every name in every hotel and guest-house registration book and make sure everyone’s accounted for. But, like you, I’m sure, we’re all for anything that saves extra effort.”
Collier laughed. “Naturally. But no, I can’t think of anyone it might be.”
“Your victim hadn’t necessarily come through Swainshead, you know,” Sam pointed out. “He could have been heading south from Swaledale or beyond. Even from the Lake District. He could have set off from Helmthorpe, too, or any number of other villages in the dale. Most of them have at least one or two bed-and-breakfast places these days.”
“I know,” Banks said. “Believe me, we’re checking.” He turned to Fletcher. “I hear that you own quite a bit of land?”
“Yes,” Fletcher said, his dark eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Walter sold it me when he gave up farming and went into the food business.” He glanced at Nicholas, who nodded. “Neither Nick here, nor his brother Stephen wanted to take over—in fact Walter hadn’t wanted them to, he’d been preparing to sell for quite a while—so I thought I’d give it a go.”
“How is it working out?”
“Well enough. I don’t know if you understand much about Dalesfarming, Mr Banks, but it’s a hard life. Old Walter himself had had enough, and he was one of those men—rare around these parts— with enough vision to get out and put what he’d got to better use. I’d never blame a farmer for wanting a different life for his sons. I’ve got no family myself,” he said, and a hard look came into his eyes. “I’m not complaining, though. I make a living—the EEC and the National Parks Commission notwithstanding.”
Banks turned to Nicholas. “What do you do?”
“I teach English at Braughtmore, just up the road here. It’s only a small public school, of course, but it’s a start.”
“But you don’t actually live there?”
“No. Hardly necessary, really. The house is so close. The pupils live in. They have to do; it’s so damn far from civilization. And we have housemasters. Some of the teachers live in the grounds, but a couple of others have chosen to settle here in the village. The school’s only five miles north, quite isolated. It’s a good school, though I say so myself. Do you have any children, Inspector?”
“Yes. A boy and a girl.”
“What school do they attend?”
“Eastvale Comprehensive.”
“Hmm.” The corner of Collier’s lip twitched, giving just a fleeting hint of a sneer.
Banks shifted uneasily in his chair. “Your brother runs the family business, I gather.”
“Yes. Managing Director of Collier Food Enterprises. It’s over the Lancashire border, about ten miles west, just off the main road. The arrangement suits us both perfectly. Stephen never had a great deal of academic ambition, despite the excellent education he received, but he’s bright and he’s put his mind to good enough use—making money. It was one of father’s wisest moves, buying up that old mill and setting up the food-processing operation. And as for me, I’m happy with my books and a few pliant young minds to work on.” Again he bared his teeth in a smile.
They had all finished their drinks and Banks was wondering how to edge them gently towards the murder again, when Fletcher stood up and excused himself. Immediately, the others looked attheir watches and decided they ought to leave and take care of various tasks.
“There’s nothing else, is there, Inspector?” Nicholas asked. “No,” Banks said. “Not yet.”
Freddie Metcalfe ambled over to the
After a short silence, Nicholas said, “We get quite a lot of visitors in the area, Inspector. Especially when we’re blessed with such a fine start to the year. There’s nobody local missing, as far as I know, so it must be a stranger. Can’t you check?”
“Yes,” Banks said. “Of course we can. We can go through every name in every hotel and guest-house registration book and make sure everyone’s accounted for. But, like you, I’m sure, we’re all for anything that saves extra effort.”
Collier laughed. “Naturally. But no, I can’t think of anyone it might be.”
“Your victim hadn’t necessarily come through Swainshead, you know,” Sam pointed out. “He could have been heading south from Swaledale or beyond. Even from the Lake District. He could have set off from Helmthorpe, too, or any number of other villages in the dale. Most of them have at least one or two bed-and-breakfast places these days.”
“I know,” Banks said. “Believe me, we’re checking.” He turned to Fletcher. “I hear that you own quite a bit of land?”
“Yes,” Fletcher said, his dark eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Walter sold it me when he gave up farming and went into the food business.” He glanced at Nicholas, who nodded. “Neither Nick here, nor his brother Stephen wanted to take over—in fact Walter hadn’t wanted them to, he’d been preparing to sell for quite a while—so I thought I’d give it a go.”
“How is it working out?”
“Well enough. I don’t know if you understand much about Dalesfarming, Mr Banks, but it’s a hard life. Old Walter himself had had enough, and he was one of those men—rare around these parts— with enough vision to get out and put what he’d got to better use. I’d never blame a farmer for wanting a different life for his sons. I’ve got no family myself,” he said, and a hard look came into his eyes. “I’m not complaining, though. I make a living—the EEC and the National Parks Commission notwithstanding.”
Banks turned to Nicholas. “What do you do?”
“I teach English at Braughtmore, just up the road here. It’s only a small public school, of course, but it’s a start.”
“But you don’t actually live there?”
“No. Hardly necessary, really. The house is so close. The pupils live in. They have to do; it’s so damn far from civilization. And we have housemasters. Some of the teachers live in the grounds, but a couple of others have chosen to settle here in the village. The school’s only five miles north, quite isolated. It’s a good school, though I say so myself. Do you have any children, Inspector?”
“Yes. A boy and a girl.”
“What school do they attend?”
“Eastvale Comprehensive.”
“Hmm.” The corner of Collier’s lip twitched, giving just a fleeting hint of a sneer.
Banks shifted uneasily in his chair. “Your brother runs the family business, I gather.”
“Yes. Managing Director of Collier Food Enterprises. It’s over the Lancashire border, about ten miles west, just off the main road. The arrangement suits us both perfectly. Stephen never had a great deal of academic ambition, despite the excellent education he received, but he’s bright and he’s put his mind to good enough use—making money. It was one of father’s wisest moves, buying up that old mill and setting up the food-processing operation. And as for me, I’m happy with my books and a few pliant young minds to work on.” Again he bared his teeth in a smile.
They had all finished their drinks and Banks was wondering how to edge them gently towards the murder again, when Fletcher stood up and excused himself. Immediately, the others looked attheir watches and decided they ought to leave and take care of various tasks.
“There’s nothing else, is there, Inspector?” Nicholas asked. “No,” Banks said. “Not yet.”
Freddie Metcalfe ambled over to the
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