Three Mile Drove, Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

Darren placed a hand on the bonnet of the Jeep, rapping his fingers on the black paintwork, watching Claire’s car become a speck on the flat horizon of the drove.
Go back to the hotel room she’d insisted, lie down –
No way.
He was going to finish off what he’d barely started last night, even though his head was racked with hot pain. Even if it was broad daylight. His conviction of Tomblin’s attempt to kill him was paramount. He couldn’t understand the negative attitudes of Claire and the parson, that they hadn’t even considered seeing things his way. Then there had been Claire’s vehemence that he shouldn’t trespass, and how it had oddly conflicted with the worried look in her eyes when they’d parted. It all served to override his inhibitions, submerging them beneath the adrenaline that surged within.

* *

The morning sun was already fading behind cumulus cloud as he pulled the Jeep to a halt and jumped out. Behind the bank of conifers that shielded Tomblin’s house from sight, a metallic tapping mingled with the intermittent cries of kids carried on the wind. He crossed the makeshift bridge over the dyke and glanced at the derelict house to his left, what could have been the front lawn covered in a mass of bog and undergrowth. His heart rate on the up he approached the open cross-barred gate that created a gap in the trees. He caught sight of the kids first, two boys and a girl in the middle of a rough and tumble, in a concrete yard badly in need of repair. He stared as he approached the house, wondering for one stupid moment whether one might be the missing kid. But that was just what it was. Stupid. Because the resemblance to Tomblin was clear enough to see, prominent foreheads all of them, uneven jaw lines, the same huge hands, even the girl.
He saw them fighting and glance from him to their right, then from the oldest, a kid he judged to be about twelve, came a voice of disapproval as they backed through the open door, though the voice was so thick and ill formed only the tone betrayed his resentment.
And then he saw what had forced their retreat. Looking to his left he saw Shaun Tomblin rising from the battered blue bus he’d been hammering on. ‘You tired of livin’ fella? I thought I’d warned you off,’ the same thick accent though much deeper, carried across the yard as Tomblin stomped towards him. Darren’s initial reaction would have been to back towards the gate, but his own rage held him steadfast. Tomblin almost upon him now, bent his head forward, ‘Now you get this plain and simple,’ he said slapping a huge hand on his shoulder and forcing him towards the gate, ‘I catch you anywhere near my land again I’ll hit you so hard you won’t see daylight for a month.’
Darren swung round, his movement so quick that Tomblin’s grasp was not only freed, but the big man almost fell in the process. He glared up the six inches or so that separated them in height, his temper as high as the wind right now, ‘Your threats don’t scare me Tomblin, any more than your attempts to kill me last night.’
Tomblin adjusted his balance, knotting his bushy brows. He placed his hands against his thighs, ‘What the fuck are you on about?’ His voice lowering to a quiet growl he let the hammer slip to the floor.
‘You were at my bungalow last night as if you didn’t know,’ Darren lifted his face towards Tomblin, ‘you came up behind me, shoved some kind of rag across my face – some kind of poison in it. You thought there was enough to kill me and you placed cans of beer in the kitchen to make it look as if I’d dosed myself with a lethal cocktail.’
‘You’re mad, get yourself off while you still can.’
But Darren wasn’t getting himself off of Tomblin’s land, at least not under his own devices. Tomblin’s hands moved quickly from his pockets, grabbing him in a bear hug so tight his breath seemed to be dying in his throat. He was half carried to the barred gate and hurled to the track outside. He heard the sound of metal as the gate slammed shut and rolled over to see Tomblin’s hands clenching the top bar; he saw renewed anger, barely contained, on the man’s face and the dark look in his eyes. Behind him the children edged out again, gruesome all three, but they weren’t playing now, they were staring with the same animosity that marked Tomblin.
Darren picked himself up, glancing back at the gate, but now Tomblin had gone and he heard the metallic tapping of his hammer on the battered blue bus resuming.
Tomblin was an ogre and his words had done nothing to persuade Darren that he wasn’t hiding something, but he’d been right about one thing, and as Darren forced some air back into his lungs the stark reality of it pierced the air he’d just drawn in like a knife.

*

Claire nodded as Endleberry climbed out of her car; she turned her head and was dimly aware of him walking towards the vicarage. He’d uttered urgent sounding words in her ear, that although she’d acknowledged, not a single one had registered. She’d a dull headache she supposed might have been caused by her own inhalation of the chloroform she’d given Darren last night, or perhaps it was because her own ordeal had built up to such a peak it could no longer be resisted.
But she hadn’t needed to listen to Endleberry’s parting words, his pleadings had rung in her head all the way back from the drove. Now she must think, weigh up what wasn’t easily weighable, the balance was so fine. But first she needed the sleep that hadn’t come last night.
That couldn’t have come. It couldn’t have come because she needed to be certain the dose had worked. That he’d sleep through the night. She needed to be there when he awoke – just in case.

* *

Darren brought his hands down heavily on the wheel, instantly regretting it as the reverberations racked through his body into his aching head. But his actions were born of frustration and something he couldn’t put his finger on. Anxiety, uncertainty perhaps. Because Tomblin had planted doubts in his mind. If he’d have thought for a moment instead of charging at the man with blind accusations, he’d surely have realised that the ogre didn’t possess the sophistication to engineer an incident such as the one that had befallen him the previous night, As little as he knew of the man, it was obvious it wasn’t his style.
And wasn’t it handy that Claire just happened to be on the scene, with the parson, and the parson come to that had supposed to be paying him a genial visit welcoming him to the neighbourhood. If so, he didn’t fit the picture of any clergyman he’d known, few though they might have been. In fact he’d seemed nervous, edgy, hot under the collar if you like. Darren allowed himself a wry smile though it soon vanished as his thoughts turned back to Claire. Her insistence that he shouldn’t trespass on Tomblin’s land had been laced with anger, now she’d been the one to find him unconscious. She’d said she’d happened to be coming out this way, but might that not be a little too convenient? And it was she who’d pushed open the bungalow door he was certain he’d locked the previous evening.
Darren blew out his cheeks and whistled. Through the half open driver’s window of his Jeep he could hear the metallic knocking of hammer on metal. Rap, rap, rap, the blows seemed to be pounding directly into his brain. Whatever purpose it was serving Darren didn’t know. From what he’d seen of the battered bus it probably hadn’t moved in years.
He accelerated away, the rapping gradually receding, becoming a distant thud and then being absorbed by the wind. He’d glanced at the old house as he’d passed, for a split second he thought he’d seen a face at an upstairs window, a child’s face, but of course when he’d glanced again it wasn’t there. All in his imagination, obviously.
But still his senses spoke to him of menace, closing in, some unseen form that would soon materialise, though the thought that made him shudder was that it might take Claire’s form, that somehow he’d allowed his revulsion of Tomblin to eclipse some far more deceptive and guileful menace –
and that it was her – someone he’d developed feeling for, and allowed that feeling to cloud his mind –
He tried to block out all thought of that, but it was like rolling down an old shutter that just kept rolling back up. He passed the bungalow at the top of the drove, the one that might have been desirable once, but that would have been long ago, now it had the same neglected and forlorn look that slotted in perfectly with the rest of the drove. The old man was outside, leaning against the railings and watching him pass, his weather-beaten face unreadable.
Was that all he ever did? Stand and watch the world go by, what very little there was of it in these parts. Stand and watch the world go by, Darren thought again, yes that and issue vague warnings.
A sorry state of affairs.
But if there was so little of the world on show in these parts why was he so sure that a lot lay hidden? Because he knew what he’d heard, he’d practically felt those cries that pierced the air like sirens, the ones Claire had played down.
Yes, Claire again.
Though what was the point in confronting her? None at all. She’d just get angry and he’d get nowhere. His thoughts turned briefly to McPherson, as for the Sergeant, he’d not a shred of positive information to provide him either.
So his earlier intention must be acted out, right now. There was something concealed in the drove and he was going to find it, find it right now, even if the source lead directly to Claire and not to Tomblin, as he’d so plainly thought.
He thought of the face at the window, had it been solely imagination? He should have found out. Time to do so now.
He’d been driving while his head spun thoughts around like a wayward ball, and with a sudden start he realised he was in Norfolk. Now he saw the Norwich sign loom right up at him, an unwelcome indication of how far he’d driven that day.
Darren braked hard, pulled into a lay-by and swung the Jeep in the other direction.

* *

Claire Summerby needed sleep but it wouldn’t come, but then when had it ever readily come to her? She wasn’t one of those people who could fall asleep the second their head touched the pillow, in fact she’d conditioned herself to fight against it in order to delay the nightmares she knew would eventually come. They always did – and now they would be compounded. Because her efforts to prevent Darren from becoming embroiled in Three Mile Drove hadn’t worked and now she knew only too well that if he persisted his safety would be at risk, but Tim McPherson damn him, had been the one to have encouraged, no – pitched him into the heat of things he didn’t understand. Her anger at his actions was matched only by her concern for Darren, and because of that concern she must act.
She frowned, raised herself from the bed she’d been tossing and turning on and picked up the receiver.

* *

McPherson’s phone rang yet again. If he’d had a fancy for trivia, possessed the sort of mind that welcomed nonsense into it like outstretched arms to a long lost friend, then he might question how many times he’d answered it that day, it might turn out to be some sort of record. But he wasn’t one to waste time on useless pursuits, and right now the only thing that bothered him about its ceaseless ringing was that it distracted him from outstanding cases, most of which came accompanied by a mountain of paperwork.
‘McPherson,’ he said mundanely.
‘Tim we need to talk.’
Claire Summerby, perhaps she’d had second thoughts.
‘Is it about Three Mile Drove?’ His voice livening, he swung in his chair, taking his coffee cup in his free hand.
‘What do you mean by involving Darren in that place?’
‘Say again?’ McPherson leaned forward, replacing his coffee cup without taking a sip.
‘You know what I mean Tim, encouraging him to become involved in things that don’t concern him. He’s not a policeman so why involve him in your dirty work?’
‘Struck a raw nerve have I, Claire?’ He noticed the hard edge to her voice, funny, but ever since he’d known her he’d thought there might be one, but it had never come out in the open like this, ‘Now either you’ve a definite thing about him, or there’s something that’s worrying you that you’ve not told me about. Either way you’ve something to hide.’
‘Answer my question, I could report you for encouraging trespass for a start…’
‘My, we have got a bee in our bonnet, haven’t we.’ He shrugged, keeping his voice low key, ‘Your word against mine I’m afraid.’
‘There’s Darren,’ she countered, ‘he’ll…’
‘What makes you so sure he’ll back you up,’ McPherson interrupted, becoming irked by her attitude, though he was damned if he’d let it show, ‘Anyhow it’s hardly a serious disciplinary is it?’ He cupped the phone as a clerk came in, watched while she dropped a file on his desk then ran his eyes quickly over the cover, and then waited until she’d left.
‘Now look, let’s have it, tell me all you know before someone gets seriously hurt – and it could be Darren.’
That was it. That was the point at which she snapped. The whole thing was reaching the level where it threatened her sanity; she had to tell what she knew. ‘I’ll call into the station before you leave. Give me half an hour,’ she said, her spirit seeming as though it had dropped down a well.
It was almost simultaneous, the moment she’d replaced the receiver, the phone in McPherson’s office rung again.