‘No, nothing like that. The phone just rings and then goes dead.’ ‘No messages?’

  ‘No, nothing,’ said Jennifer. ‘I’ve been up to the cottage to sit with her, but there’s never been any of those calls while I’ve been there. You see, with this business about Dad, I’m not sure whether she’s imagining those calls as well, or whether they’re actually happening.’

  ‘She seems quite rational to me,’ Kate said. ‘I’d say she was very much in possession of all her faculties. Have you reported the calls to anyone? The police or the post office? They can investigate nuisance calls, you know.’ ‘I know, but I’d feel such a fool if she was imagining the whole thing. I wish she’d come to live with us. My husband and I are more than willing to look after her, and she wouldn’t be such a worry to us.’ ‘So how can I help?’ asked Kate. ‘Well, you’re a doctor and you are seeing quite a lot of her now that she’s coming to your classes. I don’t want to make an official fuss about all this, nor do I want Mother to know I’ve spoken to you about it, but, well, I wondered if you would keep an eye on her when she’s here? Just to see if there is any sign of mental deterioration or confusion.’

  ‘Yes, of course I’ll do that,’ smiled Kate, it will be a pleasure. Now, what about these phone calls? Shall I mention them to my husband?’

  ‘Yes, but not officially because they might not be real.’

  ‘But if they are being made, they might be happening to other old folks who are on their own, some kind of juvenile joke perhaps, done by village children. I’ll ask him to bear it in mind and I know that when he’s out on patrol, he’ll keep an eye on your mother’s cottage.’

  “Thank you, Doctor.’ Jennifer Bradshaw smiled gratefully.

  That same morning, just as Nick was leaving to begin his day’s patrol, the garden gate opened and in stormed Claude Jeremiah Greengrass accompanied by the faithful Alfred.

  ‘Now don’t you run away, Constable, I’ve got a complaint to make,’ he shouted.

  ‘A complaint, Claude?’ smiled Nick, wondering what was agitating the scruffy fellow. ‘Somebody been stealing eggs from your hens, have they?’

  ‘No they haven’t, and I wouldn’t bother you with that sort of thing anyroad. Now listen, I’ve been shot at.’

  ‘Shot at? You?’

  ‘Aye, me. Well, Alfred really. Both of us.’ ‘Did they hit either of you?’

  ‘You’re not taking this seriously, are you?’ Claude growled. ‘Look, I was heading for Arncliffe Woods this morning, walking through the fields and minding my own business, when somebody took a pot shot at me. With a twelve-bore. I’m telling you straight. Alfred ran for his life and I got myself hidden behind a tree, I can tell you.’

  ‘Trespassing, were you? Trespassing in pursuit of game? Poaching, in other words?’

  ‘I wasn’t, we were on a public right of way, Mr Rowan, it’s a public footpath through them woods and we were doing nowt wrong. Now it can’t be right to let guns off when folks are walking on public footpaths, can it?’

  ‘True, Claude. Who was this gunman? Did you see him?’

  ‘I did, it was that chap Walker. Raymond Walker.’

  ‘Isn’t he chairman of the local branch of the National Farmers’ Union?’ Nick asked. “That Walker?’

  That’s him, Mr Rowan. Thinks he’s God Almighty at times, but he has no right to shoot at us, and no right to stop me and Alfred from using a public footpath.’

  ‘Is that what he was trying to do? Stop you using that path?’

  ‘Yes, that’s what he yelled at me. It’s through his land, I know that, but it’s been a public footpath for years, Mr Rowan, and always will be. So I want you to have words with him and warn him off.’

  page 317

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Nick drove through the beautiful moorland countryside to Raymond Walker’s imposing home. A successful farmer and businessman, he had renovated the old farmhouse which overlooked the village from the edge of the moor above the railway station. It was not too high on the bleak moorland but stood below the rim of the surrounding hills, almost in a valley of its own. Below it were spread the meadows and arable acres of Walker’s farmland. There were woods too, and some moorland streams which flowed from the deserted heatherclad heights. It was, in fact, an idyllic location.

  As Nick drove into the premises on his Francis Barnett motorcycle, he noticed Raymond Walker sawing some logs with a noisy power saw. Nick eased to a halt and hoisted his bike on to its stand, then walked across to the powerfully built man. Walker was in his mid forties, Nick estimated, a hard-working and ambitious person.

  ‘Morning.’ Walker switched off the saw and laid it on a bench.

  ‘Morning.’ Nick removed his helmet and wiped his brow. ‘Mr Walker?’ ‘That’s me.’

  ‘I’m PC Rowan, Aidensfield Police.’

  ‘I know who you are, Constable.’ His manner was abrupt and almost curt.

  It was clear to Nick that this was not going to be an affable conversation, and equally clear that Walker was not going to invite Nick into the house for a coffee, as most farmers would have done. His attitude was that of a tough businessman rather than a moorland farmer. Dispensing with the usual pleasantries, Nick went straight to the business of his visit.

  ‘I’ve had a complaint about you, Mr Walker.’

  ‘Have you?’

  ‘I understand you shot at a man and his dog this morning.’

  ‘Greengrass and his dog, you mean? Are you saying that old rogue’s had the audacity to complain to the police?’

  ‘He did make a formal complaint to me about your behaviour and I am obliged to investigate the matter.’

  ‘If I had intended to shoot that dog, it wouldn’t be alive now, Constable. He’d have been burying it instead of making such a fuss. That man was trespassing on my land with that lurcher of his, and I warned him off. It was a shot in the air, not aimed at either Claude or that confounded dog of his. That was no more than any other farmer would have done, whether it was Greengrass or a townie wandering about with his poodle.’

  ‘I understand he was on a public right of way, Mr Walker. There is a right of way across your land, I believe, a footpath through the woods?’

  ‘There is, though a right of way doesn’t mean poachers can come and take my game. They’re still trespassing if they’re there for the purpose of taking game, as I’m sure you realise, Constable.’

  ‘I do know that, Mr Walker, but Claude Jeremiah was…’

  ‘You’re not protecting that old villain, are you?’ Walker interrupted.

  ‘I’m not protecting anyone, Mr Walker, but everyone has the right to pass and repass along a public right of way without being harassed, even Claude Jeremiah Greengrass and his dog.’

  ‘The dog wasn’t on a lead, Constable. It was roaming over my land.’

  ‘There is no law about keeping dogs on a lead, Mr Walker, except at lambing time, and then it’s only a local by-law.’

  ‘And did Greengrass tell you about those sheep of mine that have been worried?’ the farmer went on. ‘Eight dead and another five or six injured in the last two months?’

  ‘Are you saying Claude’s dog was responsible?’

  ‘No, I wouldn’t go as far as that, but I’ve a right to protect my livestock.’

  ‘You can’t shoot a dog if it’s not worrying them,’ Nick said. ‘Nor can you go around discharging guns at people who are simply walking along a public right of way.’ ‘I can shoot vermin on my own land …’

  Nick interrupted, ‘If your sheep have been subjected to attacks lately, why haven’t you reported it to the police?’

  ‘There’s no point, is there? It’s too late then. Dogs should be banned from fields and moors where there’s sheep and lambs. I’ve oft said that in print and I’ll keep on saying it until somebody takes some notice.’

  ‘But if you had reported the sheep-worrying incidents, we could take action against the dog-owners who are responsible. Besides, there might be other reports which lead us to the culprits.’

  ‘The damage is done by then, Mr Rowan. Those dogs want stopping before they start. And that’s what’ll happen if I catch any chasing my sheep. Now, you’re not a country-born chap, are you?’

  ‘No, I’m from London.’

  ‘Then you’ll not understand country ways, Constable. When it comes to protecting my own livestock, I take whatever action is right at the time, and if that means shooting a dog, then I shall shoot a dog and you’ll never know a thing about it.’

  ‘It’s a different matter when you threaten people with guns when they are on a public right of way, Mr Walker, and that is what I’m interested in at this moment. I have received no reports of sheep-worrying in recent weeks, either from you or from anyone else, and so that does not concern me.’

  ‘So you believe the word of that old rogue Greengrass rather than me, a respected farmer and businessman, and chairman of the local branch of the National Farmers’ Union?’

  ‘I have received a formal complaint about a member of the public being threatened with a firearm while walking in a public place, Mr Walker, and you know as well as I do that such behaviour cannot be tolerated. If I receive any further complaints about your behaviour in that respect, I shall submit a report to recommend you are not a fit person to be in possession of any firearm.’

  ‘You wouldn’t do that!’

  ‘Try me,’ smiled Nick, returning to his motorcycle. As he drove away, he fumed at this man’s attitude. He was inclined to believe the word of Greengrass on this occasion, but proof of Walker’s threats was difficult to obtain.

  Half an hour after leaving the farm, Nick’s radio crackled into life. It was Sergeant Blaketon and his message was curt.

  ‘Alpha Four Six Six, I want to see you in my office immediately.’

  ‘Ten four,’ acknowledged Nick, wondering what was so urgent.

  Alf Ventress, wallowing under a cloud of smoke, indicated to Nick that Blaketon was in his office and not in a very good mood. Alf managed to convey this message by some curious hand signals because Blaketon’s office door was open. Nick understood Alf’s coded waves and signals. Wondering what lay ahead, he tapped on the office door. Blaketon shouted, ‘Come in,’ and when he saw it was Nick, said curtly, ‘Shut that door, Rowan, and sit down.’ Nick pulled up a chair and sat before the sergeant’s desk. Sergeant Blaketon, on the other hand, got up from his armchair and began to pace up and down the office.

  ‘Rowan,’ he said, ‘I thought you were settling in very well at Aidensfield. In fact, I was telling the Superintendent just the other day that you were doing a good job, that you had developed an affinity with the local people and that you had quickly grasped the essentials of dealing with country folk in a diplomatic manner.’

  “Thank you, Sergeant.’

  ‘Don’t thank me, Rowan. Listen. Now all those high hopes of mine were dashed this morning when you went to visit Raymond Walker. You do know who he is, don’t you?’

  ‘A farmer, Sergeant, a farmer like a lot of other people around here.’

  ‘A wealthy man, Rowan, a businessman, a benefactor to many local charities, a member of umpteen local committees, chairman of the NFU and a close friend of the Superintendent.’

  ‘Is he?’ Nick sounded surprised.

  ‘And you have been accusing him of threatening behaviour with a shotgun and have also had the audacity to warn him that he could be forbidden to possess firearms!’

  ‘If he behaves stupidly …’

  ‘Him? A farmer, a man of distinction in these parts?’

  ‘He threatened Greengrass and his dog with his shotgun, Sergeant.’

  ‘Greengrass? That paragon of virtue? That well known law-abiding citizen of Aidensfield? That dog-lover…’

  ‘Sergeant, Greengrass has just as much entitlement to walk through Walker’s land on a public right of way as any other person, with a dog if necessary, and he should not be subjected to threats, especially from a man armed with a shotgun.’

  ‘Rowan, when it comes to an account of the truth of that incident, who do you think will be believed? Greengrass or Raymond Walker?’

  ‘It’s not a question of who’s going to be believed, Sergeant,’ Nick said stubbornly, ‘It’s a case of what is the

  truth, and for once, I believe Claude.’

  ‘So it’s one man’s word against another. Well, Rowan, I don’t want any repetition of this, so I expect you to warn Greengrass to keep off Walker’s land. Right?’

  ‘But he’s entitled to be there, Sergeant, so long as he sticks to the footpath.’

  ‘Just warn him off, Rowan, that’s an order!’ As he drove back to Aidensfield, Nick felt himself grow increasingly angry at the attempt by Walker to use his influence and power to stop people using a public right of way. He could appreciate the man’s concern if Claude and Alfred had been wandering about his land away from the footpath, but in Nick’s view, this smacked of something deeper. In spite of Blaketon’s strong defence of Walker, Nick knew there was no way he could ban Claude from using that public right of way. He could advise him to keep away, but he could never compel him. Turning all this over in his mind, he made his way to Claude’s ramshackle home.

  ‘I’ve had words with Walker, Claude, and I’ve warned him about his conduct.’ ‘I should think so!’

  ‘But he’s made a complaint about me! I got it in the neck from Blaketon because I threatened Walker with confiscation of his right to possess firearms if he didn’t restrain his activities.’

  ‘Aye, well, good for you, Constable. I’m not one for complaining to the police, but, by gum, he deserved it. I think he’s up to summat, Mr Rowan.’

  ‘Like what, Claude?’

  ‘Dunno, but I’m going to find out!’

  ‘You keep off that land of his, Claude,’ Nick warned. ‘He might not miss next time - he might shoot Alfred!’

  Claude looked crafty. ‘He might not see me, Mr Rowan. I know a bit about camouflage, you know. Us old soldiers learned how to get around unseen in the jungles of Burma and similar spots, dodging bullets from the Japs and coping with snakes and scorpions.’

  ‘Blaketon wants you to stop going on to Walker’s land.’ Nick tried to reason with Claude.

  ‘It’s a public footpath, Mr Rowan. I know it’s not been used for ages and it’s overgrown with briars and weeds, but it’s still a public right of way, it’s on all the maps. I’ve checked.’

  ‘Blaketon thinks it would be wise not to risk walking there, especially with Alfred.’

  ‘Aye, well, the more Walker wants me to stop, and the more he uses his influence to have me stopped, the more interested I am in finding out why, Mr Rowan. Why stop an innocent chap like me taking a stroll with my dog? He’s up to summat and if he’s frightened of somebody finding out what it is, then it must be illegal, eh? I’ll find out and I’ll let you know!’

  ‘Claude …’

  ‘I know, keep my eyes and ears open for men with guns, and don’t let Alfred chase the sheep.’

  ‘I don’t want to know about all this, Claude,’ and Nick drove back home. It was almost lunchtime.

  Over their usual sandwich lunch, Nick and Kate discussed their respective mornings’ activities, including Kate’s discussion with Jennifer Bradshaw. She told Nick of - Jennifer’s worries over her mother’s mental health and of Jane’s conversations with her dead husband. She also mentioned the nuisance telephone calls and asked Nick whether he knew of any other similar pieces of mischief.

  ‘I’ve not come across any,’ he said. ‘If it’s local kids being stupid, I would have been told. They’d probably use the telephone kiosk rather than their parents’ phones, but I’ve not heard of any other cases.’

  Kate frowned. ‘Jennifer’s not sure whether her mother is imagining things or whether this is real, that’s why she hasn’t mentioned it before. Jane’s state of mind is a bit suspect. It must be if she’s talking to her dead husband as if he’s still around. But, as I said to the daughter, a lot of widows and widowers do that. It’s not uncommon and it’s by no means a sign of mental disorder. I mean, people talk to themselves, to their dogs and cats, and even to cows and horses!’

  ‘But this woman’s daughter is clearly concerned about her. Do you treat the old lady?’ he asked, is she one of your patients?’

  ‘She’s on our list, yes. Alex once treated her; just after her husband died she had a breakdown and he arranged specialist counselling for her. She recovered fully, according to our records. I’ve never had to attend to her,’ Kate added. ‘She’s a very spritely old thing, she never seems to ail at all.’ ‘So what will you do now?’

  “There’s not a lot I can do,’ she admitted. ‘But I thought I would make a point of popping in to visit the mother if ever I’m in the vicinity.’

  ‘Good idea,’ he said. ‘And I’ll pop in when I’m passing.’

  ‘She has a greenhouse, you know,’ Kate added. ‘She spends hours in there and that’s when she talks to her dead husband.’

  ‘You might get some plants for the garden,’ he said, it certainly needs some! Offer to buy a few from her.’

  Kate smiled. ‘That’s a lovely reason for popping in to visit her.’

  Next morning, Kate had to call on an expectant mother not far from Jane’s cottage and she decided, on impulse, to pay the widow a visit. She parked in the drive of the cottage; built of local stone, it was a picturesque house in a beautiful location and the sun was bathing the entire area in its crisp and clean glow. As Kate walked towards the door she looked at the greenhouse but there was no sign of Jane; it was rather early to be working there. She rattled the door knocker and waited.

  Jane’s voice called out, ‘Who is it?’

  ‘It’s me, Dr Rowan,’ Kate responded.

  ‘Oh, all right, wait a minute.’