Dodgy Dogs

The action hits Grange Farm

2011-07-29T10:37:00.006+01:00

Seeing the looks of anxiety on Mrs Hannaford's and Soppy's faces, Brenda decided they needed to develop some strategy in the light of what she had read in the note. As she took the large mug of tea from Mrs Hannaford, she tried to smile reassuringly.

"I must make contact with Inspector Temple. That means I'll need to go into the village."

"You can't, ma dear. Now that chap of Redbourne's is 'ere, you'm never goin' nowhere."

"There be no one 'bout today," Soppy said hopefully. "P'rhaps she could ..."

"Think straight, 'arry! They'm in the village, that's why she can't go. Right into a trap if she did!"

The three sat glumly in silence. There seemed no way out of the situation. The old grandfather clock ticked away the minutes. To Brenda the ticks grew louder and louder.

"Tell 'e what!" Soppy grinned as if he had the solution. "I'll go to the village t'morrer and wait round the Green for an 'our or so! I can chat to some of the old chaps. They might've seen somethin'"

Mrs Hannaford fairly beamed with pride in her Harry, he might not be the brightest lad around but he was brave and honest, in her eyes. Brenda pondered the suggestion.

"They'll be expecting to see me," Brenda said. "But if I describe them to you then ..."

"Oh, I dunno, I really dunno." Mrs Hannaford interrupted. "Just s'ppose ..."

She never finished the sentence. There was a tremendous knocking on the back door. The three of them froze as they saw it open. A tall, fair-haired young man stepped quickly and furtively inside. Soppy got up, his mouth open and a flush spreading across his cheeks. Mrs Hannaford grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Brenda got up instinctively.

"Who the hell are you? What do ..."

"Mrs Ellacott? Mrs Brenda Ellacott?" The stranger asked.

"Yes!" Brenda paled and clutched at the kitchen table for support.

"Thank God!" The young man whistled silently, his whole frame relaxing. "Look, I'm sorry for the shock I've given you all. There's not much time! I'm Constable Truscott.." He paused and corrected himself "Detective Constable Truscott," He added. "I'm working with Inspector Temple." It was Brenda who now relaxed. She nodded reassurance to Soppy and Mrs Hannaford. "I saw Davey and some other bloke in the village. So I took the chance to nip up here."

Mrs Hannaford saw that the bottom of his trousers and his shoes were caked in thick red mud. "You'm come over the 'igh field?"

"Yes! But there's no time - I must tell you that Detective Sergeant Cantwell and his wife were shot - almost two weeks ago. They were outside Inspector Temple's flat." Truscott was pleased to note the effect his words had produced. This was more like being a Mike Hammer clone! He pulled himself together from out of his vivid fantasy world. "They are both recovering."

"Thank the Lord!" Mrs Hannaford said.

"Inspector Temple wants to find out who the man is staying here with Davey. Do you know?"

"We don't," Brenda responded, "but we know he was more than a little on edge when he arrived here. He's got a London type accent. He's still jumpy, though less so than when he first came." She paused, "if he catches you here, there'll be hell to pay!"

Mrs Hannaford tugged at Soppy's sleeve. "Be a good lad, 'arry, watch out front and give us warnin' if you'm sees anythin'."

He did not need to be told twice. Without further ado, Soppy disappeared into the yard. At last, he thought, he was being useful to Mrs Hannaford and Brenda.

"Do you think this man was involved in the shooting?" Brenda asked, hoping the answer would be 'no'.

"That's what we need to find out." Truscott said. "I've got a pretty good description and now you confirm he's not local and probably from London. Inspector Temple and I will have something to work on."

"Redbourne is due here on Friday. There's a big race on Saturday at the County Ground. He's hoping to pull off some big betting job." Brenda glanced at Mrs Hannaford for confirmation. She nodded. "The man that Redbourne landed on the farm arrived quite suddenly, late at night. He's always on the key-vee..."

"What's the 'key-vee'?" Truscott was puzzled, he'd not seen that word in Spillane. Maybe it was code for something.

"On edge, on tenterhooks!" Brenda was irritated, "anyway, what are we supposed to do?"

Truscott didn't know. He was not, however, going to lose face and admit it. Was this man, the shooter. Truth to tell, he did not know. However, he must give them some advice.

"You must be on your guard, all of you. All we do know, is that whoever works with Redbourne is up to no good and probably quite dangerous."

"Oh my Lord!" Mrs Hannaford exclaimed.

Truscott ignored her and tried to think up a strategy, as fast as he could. "Are you going to be at the races?"

"Harry and I have to go. We'll be there looking after the dogs." Forgetting that Soppy's name was Harry, Truscott frowned when the name was mentioned by Brenda. She noticed this and explained. "Harry's the one who knows the most about the dogs, he trains them, cares for them."

"Well," Truscott said, "I'll be there too. I'll try to make contact." He saw her frown. "Don't worry, I'll be careful. Redbourne and his lot, don't know me. They recognise Inspector Temple, so he'll keep a very low profile. Nothing will be done to jeopardise your safety or the ..."

The door opened and Soppy rushed through, in an excited way. "They'm drivin' up the lane. Quick, come with me to the cottage." He grabbed Truscott by the arm and, without more ado, bustled him out through the side-door.

It seemed just seconds but it must, in fact, have been some minutes later that Brenda and Mrs Hannaford heard the car doors slam. The kitchen door was thrown open: Davey and Willis had returned. Both men had been drinking; a strong smell of beer came from them.

"So - what have you two been up to?" Davey leered at them. "Behaving yourselves, we hope!" He leaned over Brenda. "Still with just old Soppy for company, there couldn't have been much fun!" He giggled and turned to Willis. "Shall we show the little lady here what fun really is?"

Mrs Hannaford got up from the table and banged the large copper kettle on the range. The noise startled both men.

"Time for a strong cup of tea, I think." Mrs Hannaford said in menacing tones.

Davey straightened up and grinned at her. "We didn't intend for you to miss out, Mrs H. No need to get jealous!"

Mrs Hannaford picked up the long poker and plunged it into the fire beneath the range. Without being told, Davey and Willis both sat down. Drunk or not - they realised the foolhardiness of angering Mrs H. Besides, if Redbourne heard, he'd do more than threaten them with a poker!

Author's comment to followers

2011-05-21T17:26:00.004+01:00

What can I say? Sorry and sorry again to those of you who have contacted me and encouraged me to keep going.

Harry - I will put finger to keyboard - not an idle promise.

Johnny Bristol - thank you so much for all the reviews in http://crimestoryreviews.blogspot.com - and thanks for nagging me to finish the blog!

I have a half filled notebook with the rest of the story. I have been checking my facts before putting anything more online.

Carole - you've been so encouraging - I promise that a new post will appear asap.

Steele regains his senses!

2011-03-30T17:25:00.001+01:00

Steele slowly regained consciousness in the darkened alley, as the rain began to fall more heavily. He rolled onto his side and was sick. The pain in his head throbbed making it difficult for him to stand up. He clutched at the nearest object to steady himself only to knock a row of dustbins to the ground. The noise was deafening to his aching head. A window was thrown open from a flat above one of the shops and a man shouted out: "Clear off, you bugger!"

He staggered back to the High Street. The lamplight was bright and served to increase the throbbing. He felt in his pocket for loose change, then made his way to a corner phone-box.
Redbourne answered immediately, receiving the news that not only had Temple slipped away but that he had thumped Steele. His first reaction was fury but he controlled himself. He got his car, however, and picked Steele up. Whatever his feelings, he did not want to draw attention to himself or his men. Not after the stupidity of Willis. He was not going to throw away everything he had worked so hard to achieve.

McBride was summoned and duly arrived in a foul mood. Although he enjoyed the benefits of Redbourne's various rackets, the downside was beginning to outweigh the positive. He examined Steele closely.

"That was quite a hit!" He said, after he had examined him thoroughly and tested various reflexes. " You're lucky there's no worse damage." He fished around in his bag and took out some pethidine tablets. He handed them to Redbourne. "Give him a couple now, then two every four to six hours. I'll call in tomorrow to see how he is. If there's any sickness or he gets dizzy, he's to go straight to the hospital." He closed his bag. "Just out of interest, how did it happen?"

Redbourne shot Steele a warning look. He didn't want Temple's name mentioned. "Some bright spark took a dislike to Ted and swung at him. Wouldn't want to get the kid in any trouble though. Drunk too much." McBride nodded, believing not a word of it.

As he drove home, McBride wondered what the reality of Steele's accident had been. If he had known the facts, as Redbourne surmised, panic would have set in. Panic was something Redbourne would not tolerate.

Preparations at Grange Farm

2011-03-19T20:46:00.002Z

Brenda and Soppy were run off their feet. For some reason Steele had stopped coming. No explanations were given. It was Charlie Davey who replaced him. Arriving first thing in the morning he would shout at them, demanding that the dogs were taken to the training track.

He would collect Willis and follow them up the pasture. The two of them watched Soppy's every move. They yelled at him to get the 'bloody dogs moving'. Soppy glanced at Brenda in despair. His precious dogs were running as fast as they knew how.

Willis checked Brenda's records and tutted. "It's not good enough, darlin', not good enough. Redbourne'll do his nut, if you don't do better than this. 'ave you seen the track best times?" She shook her head. "Thought not! We'll just 'ave to give them little doggies something to chivvy them up a bit!" He laughed. He took all the record books under his arm then he and Willis went back to the farmhouse.

"What are they goin' to do, Brenda? They'll hurt the dogs, 'specially Midnight, if they 'chivvy them up'."

"I don't know what they're going to do, Harry! It doesn't sound good. But it's you and me in control of the dogs, remember that. I'll try to see no harm comes to them." Whatever she said, she didn't feel confident that the actuality would be what she told him.

Mrs Hannaford was beside herself with irritation. Her kitchen, once her stronghold was now an endless passageway for Willis and Steele and now for Willis and Davey. Somehow, Davey was not quite as threatening as Steele but she hated him just the same.

No more chats with Harry in peace. Even Brenda kept away. Mrs Hannaford saw no way out. However, one morning after they had come down from the training session, Willis managed to persuade Davey to take him to the village. Steele had never agreed to this however hard Willis nagged him. Davey was more amenable and saw no harm in having a pub lunch.

"Thank God, Charlie, if I stay cooped up with these village idiots any longer I'll shoot myself or them!" He grinned at Mrs Hannaford.

"Hope it'll be alright with the Boss." Davey said.

"Bugger the Boss! He'll never know anyway!"

Soppy and Brenda were coming back with the four dogs they'd been training. They saw Willis and Davey driving away. A look of relief flooded across Soppy's face.

"Let's put the dogs back quickly then go to Mrs Hannaford. We can have a chin wag while they're away. We need to make plans." Brenda quickened her pace towards the barn, then paused. "Harry, can you take the dogs? I want to check to see if there's a note?" He nodded, and she ran back up the hill. Lifting the stone, she found the note. What she read filled her with anxiety for the future.

Truscott & Temple

2011-02-22T16:55:00.005Z

Truscott's bedroom floor was littered with paperback novels. Since Temple had taken him on, he had read and re-read the Mickey Spillane books till they were nearly falling apart. He had now acquired two Raymond Chandlers: The Big Sleep and Farewell My Lovely. Living and dreaming Philip Marlowe's life, he saw the small town of Starmouth transform into Los Angeles, in his imagination. The Blandford Hotel became one of the seedy dives that Marlowe frequented. Judy and WingCo were Velma Valentino and Moose Malloy.

Temple was aware that Truscott was fantasising his way through the daily grind of detection. However, he decided that as long as it kept up his interest in solving the Redbourne case, he'd say nothing.

Cantwell had been discharged from hospital. Baker tried to arrange a place for him at a local convalescent home but he insisted on returning to his own place. His mother came to look after him. Her hostility to everything to do with police work was understandable. It fixed most pointedly on Temple. She saw him as being at the root of her son's problems. However, she mellowed when Temple visited most days and Cantwell appeared to welcome his visits.

Debbie had been sent back to Starmouth Hospital from the Royal Devon and Exeter, once she was deemed to be out of danger. Now, she was in a side room off the main womens' ward.

Consumed with guilt, Temple went to see both of them as often as he could. He ferried letters from one to the other, becoming a veritable go-between.

Above all, Temple was desperate to get word to Brenda at Grange Farm. He guessed that she held the ultimate key to solving the Redbourne connection. But how to get word to her, without blowing the whole situation, worried him.

Truscott, high on the adroit, reckless behaviour of Mike Hammer and Philip Marlowe, and with the enthusiasm of youth, saw no such difficulties. So when Temple arrived at his home late one evening after seeing Cantwell, he had formulated a plan of action.

Truscott's mother wanted Temple to sit in the front room, knowing the mess her son's room was. However, Truscott answered the door and led him upstairs before she could intervene.

Temple picked up a crumpled copy of 'The Big Sleep' lying on the chair next to Truscott's bed. He flicked through it and smiled ruefully

"Truscott, we're not Philip Marlowe and this isn't Los Angeles!" Truscott found his face reddening. He felt like a schoolboy caught out smoking behind the bicycle shed.
"As long as you don't try out any of his inept ways of solving crime, we'll be alright! And before you defend the way he sets about his sleuthing, go and see 'The Big Sleep' at the flicks. It's on in Exeter, as it happens, this week. You'll see there's a trail of death and destruction lying in his wake. And there's been enough of that already in Starmouth." He paused and put the book down. "Now, you phoned the office earlier and said you wanted to speak to me. What's it about?"

"I've done a lot of thinking, Gov. You told me that we needed to be in touch with Brenda Ellacott but that it was too risky. Well, I've thought about it. Why don't I try and meet up with this Soppy Soper and ask him to give her a letter. I can pretend that I'm an old flame of hers."

Temple sighed and shook his head, "He'd never trust you. He was always Cantwell's contact. He was very jumpy even then. Always looking over his shoulder."

"Well why don't I wander round the village. Surely, she'll have to go to the local shop."

"She used to, but don't forget Redbourne's going to be more careful after the shooting." He paused. "However, I think you're right about one thing, we'll need to be in the neighbourhood of the farm. We'll go there tomorrow after I've allocated duties down at the docks to some of the others. Got to keep the Boss happy, haven't we?"

Temple left the Truscott house later than he'd intended. It was already dark as he walked down the High Street. He became aware that he was being followed. He had paused to look into a shop window and saw a tall, thin man on the opposite side of the street stop suddenly and bend to tie up his shoe laces. Walking more slowly, Temple paused once more, appearing to look into another shop. He saw the reflection of the man quite clearly. He also stopped and this time lit a cigarette. Temple guessed that if the man was going to attack, he would only do so away from the High Street. So, he quickened his steps and headed into a small alley that he knew led round the back of the shops. He ducked into the brick arch of the third shop. From there, he had a clear view of anyone coming. The man had been taken unaware by the sudden change in pace of his quarry. He ran across the road and into the alley.

Temple saw that it was Steele. He smiled to himself; it confirmed that Redbourne was involved up to his eyes. Taking out his truncheon, which he always kept for an eventuality like this, he waited till Steele backed out of the alley and stood looking up and down the main street. With a swift stroke, Temple brought the truncheon down hard and expertly onto the back of Steele's head. The man's knees buckled and, with a harsh groan, he fell onto the pavement.

Temple bent down, although slow, Steele's pulse was firm. He dragged the unconscious man back into the alley and left him there. "Don't want anyone tripping over you, do we? Hope your head hurts like hell, when you come to." Temple whispered in Steele's unhearing ear.

Whistling to himself, with a sense of satisfaction, Temple continued walking at a brisk pace until he arrived back at his flat. By then, there was a steady rain falling. This only increased his sense of well-being.

At the Saddlers Arms

2011-02-15T16:55:00.005Z

Redbourne held court like an old-fashioned Mafia godfather. Bellamy and Baker paid him due deference, without losing face in front of McBride and WingCo. In fact, Baker's apparent ebullience allayed some of their anxieties. Redbourne grinned at him.

"Looks like those boys of yours have dug up a right hornets' nest at the docks, Baker. You must be proud of them! Soon get your shooter, I'd guess. One of the Bristol mob, so I heard."

"So it seems, Cantwell did a bloody good job of destabilising the smugglers. They had to get rid of him. Thank the Lord, they didn't pull it off. Even so, he and his wife have had a pretty damn time."

"I'll have to send them off on a little holiday, just to say a 'thank you' from the good folk of Starmouth. What do you think?"

Bellamy broke in, "Very good idea, we owe Cantwell something, at least. So, Clive", he smiled at Baker benignly, "You're pleased with the way things are progressing, are you? No more charging up blind alleys, the way Inspector Temple was won't to do?"

"Temple has been very compliant. The Cantwell business shook him up. He soon realised that the problem lay down at the docks, just as I'd said all along. He's leading the investigations down there."

"No more snooping round my office then?" Redbourne interposed.

"Certainly not! The only reason he'd come to see you would be to place a bet." Baker laughed awkwardly and McBride joined in. "No, I don't think you or the Wing Commander, or you Doctor McBride, have any need to worry about Inspector Temple's sleuthing. He is fixated on the illicit drugs and alcohol haul at the docks. He's even brought in some of the traders who were making a mint out of the stuff. Now he's got them under pressure, we'll soon find the gunman."

"Well then, that calls for a little celebration." Redbourne left and went to the bar bringing back a bottle of malt whisky and a barrel of ice. "Just hope this wasn't part of the contraband, gents, or we'll have some red faces at the County Council and Police Headquarters."

Baker and Bellamy left after one drink. The relief that both men felt was obvious to everyone. Their drive back to Starmouth would be far pleasanter than the drive out.

"Right, boys, let's have another." Redbourne passed the bottle round winking at Steele who had remained silent near the window. "Have a glass, Ted. You bloody deserve one." Redbourne sat back, a catlike smile of satisfaction on his face. "Well, after the little local difficulty we experienced, I think I can now say that the heat has been turned off us. Yep, well and truly turned off. So much so, in fact, that we're going to be running Midnight Boy in the big race at Exeter on Saturday week. I suggest you place your bets early. You'll get a bloody good price. I may even tip you the wink about 2 or 3 other races on the card, nearer the time."

"Are you sure the heat's off, as you say?" McBride asked. "I nearly lost all my latest consignment of drinomyl, when the docks were being taken apart..."

"But you bloody didn't, did you? Stop whining, Sunshine." Redbourne mellow mood had gone as quickly as it had come.

"No, but ..."

"No buts, no bloody buts, doc. You just do what you're flaming told and you'll get your rewards." He threw back the remains of his glass. "And you, WingCO, any comments to make?"

"No, we're more than happy." He lied convincingly.

Redbourne laughed and shook his head. Then he got up. "You two ain't got no balls, that's your problem. By the time we're done, you'd better get some." He laughed then he and Ted Steele left.

WingCo picked up the bottle and poured another glass for him and for McBride. "We've got ourselves into some fine company, doc."

"Hopefully the end is in sight. After a month or two, I'm hoping to extricate myself from this."

"Easier said than done, my old son, easier said than done." WingCo shook his head ruefully at his own words of wisdom. He wasn't sure exactly what he would tell Judy when he got back to the Blandford.

Baker - at one remove!

2011-02-02T17:41:00.002Z

Baker kept a low profile despite his wife's persistent urging that he should give a press conference. She wallowed in the attention she received from surrounding neighbours eager to find out what was going on at the police station.

However, Baker decided that, apart from Regional Headquarters, he would avoid the limelight. He had a shrewd suspicion that the shootings outside Temple's flat were not quite the simple docks-related issue that he had indicated. His anxieties were somewhat relieved by Temple's apparent acquiescence and the lack of badgering for additional resources.

So it was with an increase in his heart rate that he heard the voice of Councillor Bellamy on his phone. When a meeting at the Blandford was suggested, Baker paused. He knew he really should go but, at the same time, he did not want to hear anything that might compromise his position.

Bellamy was insistent, however. The meeting was arranged for late afternoon; there was no avoiding it for Baker.

The Blandford car park was empty when Baker arrived. As he was getting out of his car, Bellamy drove in and tooted the car horn indicating he should go over.

"Get in, I'll drive us to The Saddler's Arms. Too many eyes around here."

The journey was undertaken in almost complete silence. Bellamy did not speak until the small, squat inn was in sight: "Now, we're meeting Redbourne here. It was his idea. I think he's getting Dr McBride and WingCo to join us."

"What's it about?"

"Can't you hazard a guess?"

"I have no inclination to hazard anything, quite frankly."

"A bit late for that, I'd say! We're both in this right up to our necks. So, we'd better listen to our friend Redbourne."

Redbourne's car was already parked near the rear entrance to the inn. Going in the back door, Bellamy and Baker saw Redbourne, Mcbride and WingCo sitting in the small room reserved for private functions.

"Good to see you both!" Redbourne called out. His manner was jovial, no trace of tension. This was in stark contrast to the demeanour of the others sitting near him.

Baker swallowed hard, trying to appear as confident as possible. He knew that when he returned back through the door, he would know things that might well change his entire future. He wished like hell he could avoid hearing them.

The Interloper

2011-01-28T21:05:00.002Z

Brenda hoped that Temple would understand the cryptic note that she had left. She had managed to slip away from Willis, while Soppy kept his attention focused on two of the dogs running round the track.

Willis disliked the dogs but once he had cottoned on that they were a source of ready money, his interest was aroused. So, it was easy to distract him while Brenda placed the note beneath the shed. Willis timed the dogs and looked closely at the record sheets that Brenda had been keeping for sometime.

When she returned, she nodded to Soppy and he quickly looked away. It had worked this time, but Willis, as furtive as a weasel, seemed to have eyes at the back of his head. They both knew that he watched their every move.

With Willis sleeping in the main farmhouse, there was almost nowhere that Mrs Hannaford could meet up with Brenda and Soppy. She didn't dare venture into the cottage for fear that Willis would follow. In the farmhouse itself, Willis stalked them. To Brenda's eyes, he seemed deeply anxious. If only she could find out what he was afraid of. Since there was no local news on the radio and they had not seen any newspapers for some days, they were unaware of the shootings in Starmouth. And that was just how Willis and Redbourne intended it should remain.

Once the news was out, then the trouble would really begin.

The note explained

2011-01-14T17:14:00.002Z

"Reggie arrived at Holly House!!! He brought a new customer who seemed interested in the shop. Sandy and I don't like the look of him. Sandy wonders if he is going to take over the running of the counter. I think I need to watch it. I don't know how easy it will be for me to write you notes again!"

Truscott saw that Temple was interested in the contents but he couldn't understand why. He waited for an explanation.

"Who is this new customer, I wonder? Pity Cantwell's in hospital, I'd like to hear what he thinks." He looked closely at Truscott. "A full explanation would take too long. Suffice to say, we have an inside informant at Grange Farm."

"So I gather. But why the intrigue over this run down old farm?"

"It's where Redbourne has his betting scam base. All the doping and switching takes place here. It's a similar set-up to one he ran in London. Down here he's into horse race fixing as well." He paused wondering just how much he needed to tell Truscott at this time. "You recall the body we fished out of the river in Topsham? Well, Eager Beaver found out about the race fixing. He made copious notes about it. Cantwell and I deciphered most of them. When Beaver's own gambling debts mounted up, he tried to blackmail Redbourne, at least, that's what we thought. Pretty rash thing to do that!"

"Did Redbourne kill him?"

"Not him! He'd never dirty his hands. It was one of his henchmen either Steele or Davey. Anyway, our insider is the widow of Ben Ellacott, the other body fished out of water."

"The man who drowned, the pharmacist?"

"Yes - the drowning was not all it seemed. Cantwell and I were working on Ellacott's pharmacy records. His drugs were being used illegally for Redbourne's business."

"Why wasn't he brought in for questioning? You've got a good case, haven't you?"

"Knowledge is one thing, Truscott, but as you will find out proof before a court is quite another matter."

"Why is the Super so keen that the shootings originate from the smuggling at the docks? You and Cantwell were stirring it up with Redbourne. Also, you seem to know about him from his previous life in London. Surely, Baker should give you resources to go after him?"

Temple started up the engine. He wasn't prepared, at this stage, to tell Truscott everything about the involvement of the so-called county set. He drove to a section of the lane where he could turn the car. Then they headed back towards the village.

"The note we've picked up from Brenda Ellacott is in a very basic code. Cantwell and I met her in Exeter and devised a means whereby she could let us know what's going on at the farm. Holly House stands for Grange Farm. The 'shop' is the dogs being dealt with at the farm. Sandy is Harry 'Soppy' Soper. He's a bit of an enigma. He works on the farm with the dogs. He switches them, when necessary and gives them the drugs. Or so I think. But Mrs Ellacott is obviously fond of him. There's a third person on the farm, a Mrs Hannaford. She's the widow of the man who farmed here for years before Redbourne got his hands on the place."

"So, who's the 'new customer'?"

Temple stopped the car outside the pub. He sat back and thought. "That's what you and I are going to find out, Truscott. Maybe not today or even tomorrow. Redbourne mustn't be spooked into doing something that might jeopardise our catching him. Anyway, time for a pint and a bite to eat."

"I'm not really hungry, Gov."

"Well that makes a change from poor old Cantwell. However, a short half hour in the pub might be worth our while."

The New Team

2011-01-07T17:05:00.004Z

Temple sent a note to Baker requesting Truscott's transfer from uniform to act up in place of the injured Cantwell. He did not expect to be, nor was he, refused. Pleased with the apparent activity round the docks, Baker was only too ready to comply. As long as Temple stayed away from Redbourne and the Blandford, he would be satisfied.

Willis' trail seemed to have gone cold. Temple waited for any possible news from Brenda at Grange Farm but in the interim in order to lull Redbourne into a false sense of security, he and Truscott spent time at the docks. Two loads of contraband spirits and tobacco were found. An additional haul of a small amount of heroin was discovered in a consignment of sugar from the West Indies.

Baker, desperately convincing himself that Redbourne was not involved, was thrilled by the results at the docks. He informed his superiors at Divisional Headquarters that these smuggling operations were undoubtedly associated with the shootings. Cantwell was hailed as the man who had uncovered drug smuggling into the South West. Temple was chivied to make an arrest. The press, mainly local now, pestered Baker for information and he was eager to supply it.

Baker basked in this recent elevation of his profile. His wife was convinced he would receive an Honour in the New Year's List, if only he could get a quick result. Then who knew where his career might go!

**********************************

Truscott and Temple played lip service to Baker's demands. However, after a morning at the docks, Temple winked at Truscott and they headed for the car.

"Right, Truscott, we're off to do some proper detecting now."

"Where are we going, Gov?"

"Patience! Patience! You'll see soon enough."

As they drove out of Starmouth towards Woodbury, Truscott became puzzled. When they stopped in a muddy lane with high hedge-rows on either side, right in the middle of nowhere, he was uncertain what they were doing.

"Right, Truscott, out of the car, boots on!" Temple reached into the back of the car and put on a dirty pair of Wellingtons.

"I haven't got any boots, Gov!"

"God Almighty, Truscott, you and Cantwell are Devon boys! He never had boots either! Lucky for you, there's an old pair in the boot!" He laughed "Boots in the boot! Come on, lad, don't look so bloody miserable. I thought you wanted to be a detective!"

"I didn't think I'd be wading in mud!"

"Didn't you now! Well, detecting is done where the action is, Truscott, not on the mean streets of New York."

Temple's dig at Truscott's reading habits irritated him but he bit his tongue. Instead of responding, he put on the filthy boots which were, at least, two sizes too big for him.

They walked along the hedge until they reached the gap behind the training circuit. There was no one in sight, so they ventured into the top pasture. The farm looked quiet, in the valley below, smoke rising from the chimney. Soppy had just driven the cows into the yard.

"Right, Truscott, let's see if there's anything for us." He went behind the shed and felt around the ground. Lifting the stone, he found the note that he had been waiting for. He waved it at Truscott.

Back in the car, he read the note out loud. Truscott was surprised by this turn of events and waited with bated breath for the news that obviously pleased Temple. 'This was more like it,' he thought.

Gerry Truscott & Mickey Spillane

2010-12-17T19:08:00.005Z

PC Gerry Truscott, now part of Temple's CID team and acting up as Sergeant, realised his fantasies and dreams of becoming a detective had come true. As soon as the briefing with Temple was over and he was off duty, he rushed home. He still lived in his parents' house, though he regarded himself as being quite independent. The fact that his mother still washed and ironed his clothes and prepared his breakfast and supper did not count as forms of dependence to his way of thinking.

His mother smiled when he told her what had happened. If he was pleased, then she was happy. Truscott's father worked in the local library and it was due to him that Truscott managed to get hold of a second hand copy of Mickey Spillane's 'I, the Jury'. His father had also acquired 'My Gun is Quick'. He had also just the previous week got a tattered copy of 'Vengeance is Mine' for his son who was waiting to read it with anticipation.

His mother had a large tureen of soup ready for their evening meal. She had saved up the ration book coupons and bought a chicken. They'd eaten it roasted, stewed and cold and now its carcass was the foundation of the somewhat insipid looking soup.

Still day-dreaming about his future, Truscott ate his meal quickly then rushed to his room to do two things. Firstly, to begin a detailed account of his new case and secondly, to read about Mike Hammer's way of detecting.

A new arrival at Grange Farm

2010-12-09T20:37:00.003Z

Brenda had settled into the routine of life at Grange Farm. She couldn't believe that the mundane activities of helping Soppy with his work, then scurrying around the kitchen for Mrs Hannaford could absorb her time.

At night, she lay in bed and listened to the silence that seemed to lie like a blanket around the entire farm. The only sounds were those of the screech owls and the scurrying of small animals across the yard. There was the occasional lowing from the cows and, of course, the raucous crowing of the cockerel. But from humanity, there was almost nothing. Soppy played solitaire in his room with a tattered pack of cards. Mrs Hannaford knitted by the kitchen stove. Neither of them listened to the radio and there was no gramophone. Also there was little desire to chatter.

For the first time in her life, Brenda was forced onto her own resources. She had come from a talkative and noisy family. Even after the bombing, when her own family had gone, she had Ben. Lord! How he had chatted about their future together. In the first year of their marriage he had such plans, so many ideas. Listening to him, you would think the world lay at their feet and was just for the taking.

Alone in her room, Brenda relived the past. She wept for what might have been if Redbourne had not come into Ben's life. The silence and the peace to think things out had given Brenda a determination that she would survive this. Also, she would ensure that Soppy and Mrs Hannaford survived as well. She was grateful for the time spent at the farm.

They had been left in peace for almost a week. No spying visits from Redbourne, Steele or Davey. No trips to the dog races. Even the dodgy dogs were having a rest from it all. Brenda prayed it would go on like this.

Temple had left her a couple of notes at the drop. She had not shared the contents with either Soppy or Mrs Hannaford. They contained no real information, apart from telling her that Redbourne seemed to be gaining ground. But she had heard nothing from him for several days.

It was a shock to her, Soppy and Mrs Hannaford when early one morning, almost before first light, that Redbourne's car had drawn up in the yard in a shower of gravel and screeching brakes. There was shouting and tooting on the horn.

Brenda went to the kitchen window to see what was going on. Soppy received a sharp slap to his head from Steele which sent him reeling back against the wall. Without waiting, Brenda rushed out into the yard.

"What the hell did you do that for?" She heard herself shout.

"We ask the questions round here, not you!" Steele hissed at her. "If he'd come when he was called, he'd 'ave saved himself a clouting. Good lesson for you, missy! Pick up the case and take it inside. Soppy, here was meant to do it. But since you stuck your oar in, you can do it!" He kicked a large battered case towards her.

Hearing the noise, Mrs Hannaford came out. She saw Soppy's face reddened from the blow. She saw the anger in Brenda's eyes and the surly look on Steele's face. She decided to try to calm things down.

"Why don't 'e all come into the kitchen. 'Tis cold, this time in the mornin'. I've got tea made and some fresh bread."

Despite his ill humour, Steele decided some fresh farm bread and butter would do him very nicely. He turned and beckoned for Willis to get out of the car and follow them.

As soon as she spied Willis, Brenda did not like what she saw. He was cast in the same mould as Steele. The way he walked; the manner in which he sized people up; the sharp furtive glances to ascertain his surroundings, all showed what sort of a man he was.

"I've brought another guest for you, Mrs Hannaford." Steele announced after his second cup of tea. "He's to be looked after proper like! No one is to know he's here. No one. Do I make myself clear?"

"How long is 'e stayin?" Mrs Hannaford asked, innocently enough.

"As long as we please! You don't understand, do you?" Steele shouted. "We tell you when to bloody breathe; when to eat; when to keep your bloody mouths shut! You don't ask nothing! Got it?" Mrs Hannaford nodded. He stared hard at Brenda. "I said, got it? I expect an answer." Brenda bit her tongue and nodded as well.

An hour later, Willis had been shown round the farmhouse. He'd been given a bedroom at the front, so he could watch out for unwelcome visitors. Steele left after more threats to Brenda.

"I'll be back in a day or two, Pete. Things'll have settled down a bit by then." Willis had grinned and agreed that they would and that then he'd be away from this 'bloody rat hole'.

Later in the morning, while Willis was in his room, Mrs Hannaford, Soppy and Brenda met in the barn. Mrs Hannaford was agitated. "What'm us goin to do now? Us can't talk in front of 'im!"

"No. No, we can't." Brenda said. "But I can write you notes and we can meet in the barn."

Soppy was bewildered. His head still hurt from the blow he'd received and he was angry. Brenda told both of them that anger was no good in the situation they were in.

"Our time will come." She said.

Though she now began to wonder when that would be. Above all, though, she wondered what had happened so that Willis needed things to settle down. She wished she could contact Temple and Cantwell, she was sure they would know what had been going on and could help.

Truscott shows his true colours

2010-12-01T18:04:00.004Z

Gerry Truscott had aspired to be a detective rather than a beat constable, for many months. He observed Temple and Cantwell at work and thought their way of policing would suit him just fine. For about a year, he had been reading Mickey Spillane novels. So far, he had devoured three of them: 'I, the Jury', 'My Gun Is Quick' and 'Vengeance Is Mine!'. Though he did not quite see himself as the Devonian version of Mike Hammer, he had strong fantasies. The one thing that Truscott did have going for him was tenacity. At age twenty-two, he was nothing if not determined.

He had a healthy respect for Temple and had done some investigating about his past history. Temple's military record alone gave him a heroic tinge in Truscott's eyes. He had also discovered as much as he could about Temple's work at Scotland Yard and that had intrigued him still more. Unlike Cantwell, who never asked too many questions, Truscott was full of queries about everything and everyone. He had immediately spotted Temple's interest in Redbourne and Dr McBride and this had led him into his own digging around their patch.

So it was with shock and disbelief that he watched as Temple sent people scurrying off to the docks. He was as sure as hell certain that it was not at the docks that the answer to Cantwell's shooting lay. However, he nearly bit his tongue off, when he heard himself telling Temple to be straight with him.

Temple had just told him to get on with what he had been assigned to do. That was something that Truscott did not intend to do. If it was good enough for Mike Hammer to go sleuthing, then it was good enough for him. He would much rather have done it with Temple's blessing and encouragement. But if he couldn't have that then ...

***************

Temple was at first furious then curious about Truscott's unexpected attitude. He had never taken much notice of him. In fact, the incident on Eager Beaver's boat was the first time he had really spoken to him. He had done a good job of observing McBride's surgery and the report was well constructed. However, when he had asked Cantwell about the boy, the opinion was that he was too keen for his own good.

Drumming his fingers on his desk, Temple considered his situation. It would be useful to have someone on the spot who he could use. He went to the door and bellowed down the corridor: "Truscott! Come back in here. Now!"

The other officers who heard the stentorian voice looked sympathetically at Truscott. The Duty Sergeant allowed himself a laugh: "Gawd, lad, sounds like you'm for the 'igh jump, don't it?" Everyone laughed.

Truscott walked down the corridor and opened Temple's office door. He was determined not to be cowed.

"Gov?"

"Truscott! Just what did you mean that I needed to be 'straight' with you? Who the hell do you think you are that I should be straight with you?" He narrowed his eyes and stared at Truscott. If the boy blanched, then he'd know he couldn't work with him or take him into his confidence.

"Gov, I meant just what I said. I know that you don't think the answer to Sergeant Cantwell's shooting is at the docks."

"I see! You're a bloody mind-reader, as well as a cheeky young sod."

"No, Gov. I've been watching you and Sergeant Cantwell and I know it's Rex Redbourne who you think is behind the trouble in Starmouth. And from what I've seen ..."

Temple sat back then banged the desk: "From what you've seen, Truscott! You're paid to see what you're told to see nothing more and nothing less!"

"That's not strictly true, Gov." He paused. "If you'll pardon me for saying so. I see what I see. And I've seen that Redbourne is a right bastard."

Temple couldn't avoid the hint of a grin cross his face. "I see. That's your studied view, is it?"

"It is, Gov."

"Well then, Truscott, you'd better join me, hadn't you? I'll ask Superintendent Baker if you can act up in Sergeant Cantwell's place - just for the time being. But one thing, Truscott, you do not discuss this with anyone else. One thing you've got to learn is that if you work with me then you answer just to me and nobody else."

Truscott grinned from ear to ear. He was almost speechless, 'Mike Hammer eat your heart out.' If he worked with Temple then whatever Temple said was alright by him.

Baker's Satisfaction

2010-11-16T10:09:00.006Z

Temple found himself in a position that he was not used to. He was angry and wanted to lash out in all directions. He knew what was behind the shootings. He was sure that with the right resources he would get to the bottom of it. But he also knew he would not get those resources and that he could expect little or no help from Baker if he pursued the obvious routes. Whether Baker was totally crooked, Temple was not sure. That he was a weak and ineffectual leader was not in doubt, neither were his wife's social ambitions.

Temple made himself a strong coffee and sat in his living room looking out of the window onto the scene of the shooting. Neighbours had avoided talking to him, obviously aware of his mood. But then again, he had always appeared taciturn, particularly since his wife and daughter had left.

He sipped the drink and mused his procedure. In the War, things had seemed simple, find the bastards who were shooting at you and your men and kill or capture them. No questions asked, no answers expected. But here, questions would be asked and answers would have to be given. He did not like the odds of coming out of this unscathed. Of one thing he was grateful, he had the confidence and support of Sam Walters. The trouble was, Sam Walters was over a hundred miles away.

After several minutes during which he paced back and forth across the room, he came to a decision as to how he would act. It was totally against his instincts but then again, he knew his instincts were not perfect.

Back at the station by mid morning, Temple decided to wait for Baker to summon him. He would not take the initiative. This would wrong-foot Baker, he surmised. So, he sat at his desk and waited and waited.

In his own large well furnished office, Baker pondered why Temple had not come storming in to see him. It was so unlike the man. He had been plagued all morning by requests from the press and from headquarters. Both wanted to know what was going on. He had fobbed off the press but the Area Commisioner was another matter.

At last, Baker rang down to the Duty Sergeant and told him to ask Inspector Temple to come to his office. Baker could not see how he would be able to put it off any longer. Temple was, after all, the senior detective in Starmouth.

The two men eyed each other for what seemed to Baker an eternity.

"Sorry about Cantwell and his wife. Dreadful thing to have happened on your doorstep. Dreadful." Temple merely nodded a reply. "I think that he may have come across something at the docks. He never was very good at seeing the full picture, was he?" Temple did not respond. "What do you think, Temple? A smuggling ring, perhaps and he got too close?"

Temple knew damn well it was no smuggling ring. The idea was absurd. But, if that was how Baker wanted to play it, then that was exactly how he would play it too.

Baker waited for the full frontal attack assuring him that it was Redbourne and no smugglers who were behind it.

"I think you may be right, Sir." Temple said. "At least it's a possibility that can't be overlooked."

Baker was dumbfounded. Relief washed over him like the heat from a hot bath. He visibly glowed with surprise and the feeling of tension draining away. Never, in his wildest dreams, had he thought Temple would comply with such reasoning. Perhaps the shootings had unnerved him. But Baker was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Whatever the cause, Temple was compliant and he would not waste the opportunity.

"Good, Temple, very good. We are both on the same track. I want you to get to the bottom of this dreadful affair. Constable Truscott will act as your sergeant, while Cantwell is on sick leave. He's already asked especially for the chance to do this." Temple nodded tacit agreement. "Of course, you'll ask me for any extra resources you need. I don't need to tell you that we must have this solved as soon as possible. Though, of course, since it's a docks issue, I expect any evidence will be long gone. Still, I know you'll do your best, Temple."

Baker stood up but advisedly did not put out his hand as Temple rose to leave. Once the door closed, Baker sat down and nodded his head in satisfaction at the way he had handled the situation. He decided he would reward himself with a lunch at the golf club. After all, he felt, he deserved it.

Temple went to the incident room. He allocated jobs to constables, sending them to the dock area; telling them to take statements; advising them of known villains; issuing photos.

Satisfied he had behaved exactly as if he thought the inception of the shootings had been at the docks, Temple edged away back to his office. Now for the real work.

He had just begun thinking about the situation when Truscott came unceremoniously into the room: "Gov, can I have a word?"

"I'm busy, Truscott, so ..."

"Gov, what are you playing at?"

Temple was shocked both by the question and that it was Truscott who had asked it. Before he could say anything, however, Truscott launched into another statement.

"I'm not quite the fool you might take me for, Gov. I think you should play straight with me."

Plans for Willis

2010-11-12T17:28:00.002Z

Willis knew he had Redbourne by the short and curlies. Whether he wanted to or not, Redbourne had to take care of him, keep him out of the hands of the coppers. He knew this would not last and that once away from Starmouth, he risked becoming a victim himself. He was hot and Redbourne had the reputation for doing nasty things to hot property. Still at the moment, Redbourne had no alternative but watch out for him. He did not want to be implicated himself. He had a nice little business down here.

Redbourne waited for Baker or Bellamy to contact him. There was silence. Yet, they must have guessed that Temple was the supposed hit and not his Sergeant. He also waited for Temple himself to come knocking at the door. He didn't. At first, Redbourne worried about the situation, it puzzled him. Then, his usual sense of confidence and optimism flowed back. Perhaps after all, he was untouchable.

Grange Farm would be the ideal place for Willis for the next week or so, Redbourne reasoned. It was isolated and the three fools there were so terrified of him that they would do whatever he told them. Willis could stay in the main farmhouse with Mrs Hannaford. That way, he wouldn't see too much of Soppy Soper and the Ellacott woman, except around the farmyard..

Redbourne nodded in support of his own thoughts. "Great idea, my son," he said to himself. "You're a bloody genius, that's what you are!"

He left his sitting room and went down to the basement, where Willis had been given a small cell-like room. He threw open the door and sat himself down on a wooden chair. Willis moved away into the corner and eyed him suspiciously.

"Well, Pete, hope you're up for a bit of fresh country air."

"Why?" Willis asked, "what you got in mind?"

"I got some, how shall I put it, some dodgy dogs runnin' round in small circles down on a farm about ten miles from here. You can bloody make yourself useful while you gotta keep out of the way. I can't carry dead weight!" He laughed. "No offence, Pete old son! But you can help out with my little doggies. I got several races coming up. The very least you can do is see the two twerps I got on the farm training these doggies are doin' their jobs right. Okay?"

Willis did not like the idea at all. But he could see no other option. The thought of another stretch behind bars did not appeal. If he had to deal with these bleeding dodgy dogs, then so be it. Just for now, that is. He nodded agreement.

"Right then" Redbourne stood up. "Ted and I'll take you out there tomorrow evening. By then, the cordon round Starmouth will have been lifted. They'll reckon you're long gone. You stay down here. I'll send down food and you can use the bucket. Just like the old days in Pentonville, eh?"

Willis grimaced and was about to make a retort but Redbourne had gone, slamming the door behind him. He sat down on the rickety camp-bed and picked up the newspaper. He wondered who the people at the farm were and what they'd be like.

Vigil

2010-11-10T15:02:00.003Z

Temple peered at Cantwell through the side room window. A young ward sister was checking the various tubes that seemed to be in every available vein. He watched as she wrote down some readings on Cantwell's chart. Then, pursing her lips, she headed for the door. She caught sight of Temple's anxious face and for a moment her face was transformed by a bright smile into a welcoming gesture for him to come in.

"How's he doing?" Temple rasped as quietly as he was able.

"Not too bad! In fact, quite well. He'll be very miserable when he wakes up and quite sore. He'll be pleased to see someone he knows beside his bed."

"When do you think he'll come round?"

The sister thought for some time, "Can't really be sure. But, he is a very healthy person and quite young. He'll have withstood the operation well. The problem will be the shock to his system. Also, before he was anaesthetised, he kept asking about 'Debbie'. We assume that's his wife." Temple nodded. "We'd be grateful if you didn't say too much about her condition since we really don't know how she is. Also, we don't want him to be worried by the situation."

"I'll wait here, Sister." He sighed and sat down heavily on the chair next to Cantwell's bed.

"You don't look exactly thriving yourself, if you'll forgive me for saying so." She paused. "I'll have a sandwich and a cup of tea sent here for you. Can't have you collapsing on us, can we." She smiled again and left the room.

Temple peered closely at Cantwell. He looked extraordinarily vulnerable propped up in the metal framed bed. His eyes seemed almost screwed shut in a fixed grimace. His left side was swathed in bandages; a blood transfusion tube ran down into his wrist. Temple watched the slow steady drip, drip, drip of the drops giving strength back into Cantwell's battered body.

Some time later, the door opened and the same young Sister came in carrying a tray. She drew up a small table next to Temple and placed the tray on it: "Decided to bring it myself. The rest of the ward is quiet and the duty Doctor said he didn't want Inspector Temple keeling over as well as his sergeant." He grinned. "So, you are the famous Inspector Temple." She said handing him a plate of sandwiches. "Now, you just eat all these. I don't want to find a crumb left, when I return."

Temple found, to his surprise that he was quite hungry. In fact, he hadn't stopped for lunch during the day and had been planning to go to the pub for a snack after Cantwell left. The sandwich was good, a thick slice of Devon ham and English mustard on fresh white bread. He drank the tea and sat back watching for any sign that Cantwell was coming to.

As the minutes drifted by, his mind raced around the possibilities of who had fired the shots. That they had been intended for him, he was in no doubt. That they were a direct consequence of Redbourne's dealing, he was also certain. How he could tie the two in was quite another matter. Lacking support from Baker and with no sergeant to help out, he felt at a loss to know how things could possibly work out. Of one thing he was quite sure: one way or another, he would get a result.

He must have nodded off in the chair, because when he looked up the ward and the side room were lit by the dim night lights above each bed. The nurse station was also bathed in a stream of light. Everywhere else was dark. He peered at his watch, then moved closer to the bed to catch the light from the wall.

"Gov! Gov? That you?"

Temple almost jumped out of his skin. He hadn't noticed that Cantwell's eyes were open.

"Christ, Cantwell, you gave me a shock! Sorry, old chap." He paused. "Sorry! Didn't see you had come round. It's me alright! I'm keeping watch over you." He tried to sound jocular.

Cantwell's breathing was shallow and rapid. However, he seemed fully alert. trying to sit up more comfortably, he groaned in pain.

"Hang on! I wouldn't move yet, Cantwell. Shall I call for Sister?"

"No Gov, not yet. Don't want anyone else in here. I want to know about Debbie. How is she? I know she was hit, she got it before I did. I saw her... I saw ... How is she?"

"She's in good hands, Cantwell. They're taking the very best care of her. Only the best for your Debbie."

"But how is she, Gov? Can I see her?"

Temple weighed up his words very carefully. He remembered Sister's comments before he spoke:
"She's had a small op and they're going to take some more x-rays. That's all I know. But she's a fine healthy young woman. She'll be fine, I'm sure."

The comment seemed to reassure Cantwell. He visibly relaxed and sighed deeply: "A shooting - in Starmouth of all places. Who'd have thought it?"

"Not just any old shooting, Cantwell. The shooting of a copper and his wife. You'll be famous by morning. All the national press will be clamouring to know the story."

"Was it the drugs' boys from the docks, do you think? Maybe I stumbled across something big and didn't know it!"

"Let me do the sleuthing, Cantwell. I'll get the bastard, whoever it was. You can be sure about that."

Cantwell was about to ask more when the Doctor and the Sister came into the room.

"I think you should go home and try to get some rest, Inspector," the Doctor spoke quietly but firmly. "You've been invaluable just being here when Sergeant Cantwell recovered from the anaesthetic. Now the best thing you can do is to go home and rest."

Temple was relieved in a way. He ached for a proper sleep. He nodded to Cantwell: "I'll be back later, Cantwell. Rest assured, I'll keep you posted."

On his way out he nodded to the Sister and thanked her for the tea and sandwich. Once in the chill night air, Temple took in a long deep breath. The coming day would be an uneasy one.

In the hospital - again

2010-11-05T17:53:00.002Z

Temple knew his fury would prejudice any halfway decent discussion with Baker. That would have to wait. He vented his anger on Truscott instead.

"Why didn't you have the intelligence to pass on this message? Surely to God, you must have understood its importance." He waved the piece of paper in the unfortunate young man's face.

"Gov, I ..." Truscott watched in dismay as Temple brushed passed him and out into the corridor. Crossing to the window, he saw him get into one of the squad cars and drive away at speed.

Truscott felt sick. He realised he should have checked on Temple's whereabouts as soon as he took the call. He wondered whether it would have saved Cantwell and his wife from the shooting. He decided not to discuss it with anyone other than Temple himself. Though he was irascible, Cantwell had told him that he was always fair.

***************

Leaving the station, Temple headed directly for the hospital. A group of reporters was hanging around the main entrance, so he slipped along the side to the rear of the hospital. He inquired where he would find Cantwell. The nurse hesitated until he waved his identification disk in front of her. Then, she visibly brightened and gave the directions.

The same young doctor who had been looking after Brenda Ellacott was standing together with the ward sister. He turned as he heard Temple's footsteps. A look of concern crossed his face, he recalled the problems he'd had with Temple before. he decided to take the initiative.

"Inspector, I'm sure you will want to know how Sergeant Cantwell and his wife are. Come with me, please." He ushered Temple into a small office away from the ward. He glanced over his shoulder at the sister and pulled a face. If Temple noticed, he did not react but entered the office and turned to face the doctor, bracing himself for the news.

"Inspector, I'll try to give you the information I know you want. But, please understand, it's too early yet to give any precise or accurate details." Temple nodded. "Sergeant Cantwell had a bullet removed from his left shoulder. He hasn't come round from the anaesthetic yet. However, the surgeon thought that he should make a full recovery. He's lost a great deal of blood though and will need a pretty hefty transfusion."

"And Mrs Cantwell?"

"Ah, well, things are more complicated there. A bullet lodged itself in her shoulder. Also, another one passed across her forehead. We aren't yet sure of the extent of her injuries. She may need to be moved to the RD & E in Exeter. It depends on our senior surgeon. He may want a neurological opinion." Temple felt his stomach knot when he heard this. The doctor saw the impact on Temple of all the information.

"When will we know more definitely?"

"A day or two, I think. But, as with Mrs Ellacott, it's difficult to predict these things." His voice had an accusatory tone.

"When can I see my Sergeant?"

"I'm not sure ..."

"Please, doctor, I'd like to be there when he regains consciousness."

"He's in a side room. Of course, you can wait there. But, you must not agitate him in any way." He looked closely at Temple. "You understand?" Temple nodded.

Getaway Time

2010-11-01T17:27:00.003Z

Baker heard the commotion outside the station some time before he saw it. Several local reporters and others whom he did not know were shouting and pushing in a melee at the entrance. One of the locals turned and spotted Baker. In an instant, the whole pack surrounded him, he felt like a trapped animal and desperately tried to maintain some semblance of composure.

Two police officers pushed their way forward and escorted him inside. The door was slammed shut, but even so the noise came through. Visibly shaken, Baker made his way to his office and sat down at his desk. Pulling himself together after a snifter from the brandy he kept in his top drawer, he asked for any reports from the road blocks on the roads leading out of Starmouth. There was nothing. The same result was true for the bus and train stations. Either the man had already escaped or he had found himself a bolt-hole. Now, with Starmouth virtually isolated from the rest of the county, there was nowhere he could go. That was what Baker fervently hoped.

***************

Willis had realised his mistake as soon as the first bullet was fired. Temple was not the man nearing the car. Temple was the man standing in the driveway. He had sprinted down the alley as if he were in a hundred yards final. Somehow, he had evaded Temple who showed as swift a turn of speed as Willis had seen from a copper. He discarded his coat, despite the evening chill, and once he was satisfied Temple had gone, he searched for a phone box. Police sirens seemed to be coming from every direction, but he kept his cool. A phone box stood on the corner of the street. A woman was talking her head off inside but he dared not rush her. Instead, he lit a cigarette and leaned as nonchalantly as possible against a wall. He made sure that she saw him, reasoning that she would finish her chatter a bit quicker if someone was standing nearby.

He waited a good five minutes before she left. Inside the box, the air was hot and smelled strongly of cheap perfume. He dialled Redbourne's office number, praying he would still be there. The phone was picked up almost immediately.

"So! I've heard all the commotion. Done it?" Redbourne sounded buoyant.

"No! It's all gone arse up!" He told Redbourne the story as succinctly as he could.

There was a long silence, once he had finished. Willis knew Redbourne was still on the line, he could hear him breathing heavily.

"Where the fuck are you?"

"In a box at the corner of Rolle Street."

"Ted'll drive down and pick you up. He'll take you straight to my place. We'll talk later. Wait in the box - Ted's just left. He'll be five minutes." The receiver slammed down. Willis glanced nervously out of the box. The street was empty save for two young women carrying shopping bags.

When the call was over, Redbourne went ballistic. Ted left the office to pick up Willis leaving Charlie Davey to get the full brunt of Redbourne's anger.

"Fuckin idiot! I'd throw him to the bloody dogs if I had my way! But we can't do that - not yet! After Ted's taken him to my place, Charlie, we'll have to keep a watch on Willis. Tomorrow, we'll move him out to Grange Farm - wait till all this bloody mess has died down. Then, maybe, we can kill two or three birds with the same stone. Surely to God, I'll get some good out of this mess." He punched the wall with his fist.

First Reactions

2010-10-19T18:35:00.004+01:00

As soon as he entered the office, Temple saw the note propped up on his desk. Immediately he phoned Sam Walter's number. It was answered almost at once, despite the time. Before hearing the news from Sam, Temple blurted out what had just taken place.

"Why the hell didn't you ring me sooner?" Walters asked. "We could possibly have prevented this!" Temple took in a deep breath. "I wanted to warn you that one of Redbourne's old associates, Willis, remember him? Well, he's been away from Camberwell for some time. Three weeks ago, he turned up again. Guess what? He was begging for a 'clean piece'. Said he'd been paid good money for a hit job." Walters paused. "My guess was that you were the target, that's why I phoned. It wasn't your Sergeant and his wife, it was you Willis was after."

"My thoughts exactly, Sam. Christ, what a mess! Cantwell didn't deserve this. And as for his wife ..."

"Is there anything I can do to help, Jim?"

"I need to get my head round this one first. I'm still a bit shocked, I suppose and not thinking too straight. Can I let you know later?"

"You don't need to ask, Jim. You and me both want that bugger, Redbourne, behind bars. Willis may just be the man to lead us to him. By the way, when I said was there anything I could do, I did mean anything .." He replaced the receiver and the call ended.

***************

Baker was in the middle of a pre-dinner drink, at his house with three other couples, when a young constable arrived at the front door. Baker excused himself from his guests, irritated by what he thought must be a totally unnecessary interruption. He would give the chap a pasting for this. However, the young constable's face was white and he was shaking when Baker entered the study where he had been told to wait. Baker realised this was no ordinary interruption and had the sense to wait to hear the message before any bollocking. For once, he was grateful he had exercised restraint. The news devastated him. He dismissed the constable and told him he would be at the station within ten minutes.

Returning to his wife and their guests, he excused himself and told them to carry on without him. He ignored the flash of temper that crossed his wife's face.

As he drove to the station, he mused that the shooting of any officer would have been dreadful. That it had been Cantwell, as well as his wife, made it a total nightmare. The fact that it had all occurred outside Temple's flat made it horrendous.

What could he say to the Press who would undoubtedly have gathered by now. Worse still, what would he say to Temple?

Debbie

2010-10-12T17:30:00.004+01:00

Temple had fought at Anzio and up through Italy into Germany. He had seen men die from explosions and bullets. He had been wounded twice. However, none of this had prepared him for the shock of seeing Cantwell and his wife shot down in front of him.

He caught sight of the figure fleeing down the alley and after shouting to his next door neighbour to take care of Cantwell and Debbie, he ran at speed after the man.

Willis, realising the implications of what he had done and with adrenalin flowing, ran as he had never run before. He had left a hired car at the far end of the alley but knew that Temple would be on him before he could start the engine. He raced to the end of the alley then, without considering where he was going, turned left into another street. This was wider and tree lined. He dodged between the trees then seeing a car drive out from a driveway, he slipped behind the fence - Like as not the house was empty. He edged his way along a tall thick privet hedge until he gained the shelter of a brick built garage. There he sat down on the ground re-loading the Browning.

Temple got to the end of the alley, he also turned left. The street was deserted save for a car driving slowly passed. Temple waved for it to stop. The driver halted jerkily.

"Seen anyone running down the road?"

"No, no one at all. Should I have?"

"There's been a police incident and we thought the man had come this way."

"Sorry, old chap, can't help, seen no one, like I said. Anything I can do?" Temple shook his head. He watched the car move away. He knew he had lost the man. He returned to the scene of the shooting. An ambulance had taken both Cantwell and his wife to the hospital. Two police cars, lights flashing were outside his flat, neighbours were gesturing and talking loudly. There was a general commotion.

Truscott saw him first and rushed to him: "Gov, whatever happened? What's been going on?"

Temple told him what little he'd been able to see from the doorway. He told Truscott to radio to the station the description of the man and the rough direction in which he had disappeared.

Whilst Truscott was doing this, he went over to the car. A pool of blood was on the well of the passenger seat. Pathetically, a blood-stained magazine lay on the driver's seat. A picture of a pretty young housewife proudly holding a white shirt in one hand and a box of Persil in the other was now spattered with blood drops.

Temple backed out. A sudden surge of rage came over him. He decided it was time to go to the station.

Disaster Strikes

2010-10-11T18:34:00.006+01:00

That evening, Cantwell took Debbie in the car to Temple's flat. He reassured her that he would only take about a quarter of an hour, he had no real news to report. Then, they would drive out to the Saddler's Arms for a drink and a pasty and chips. Debbie smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"Alright, Tom, you take your time. I've brought a magazine to read. It'll keep me occupied."

She watched him walk up the garden path that Temple shared with the ground floor flat. She turned to reach for the magazine lying on the back seat. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a tall man in a dark duffle coat standing on the opposite side of the street. She thought nothing of it. Eagerly, she turned to the latest copy of 'My Home'. She admired the woman on the front cover - hair peroxided and sleek, full red skirt and matching lipstick. She decided that the next time she went to the hairdressers, she would take a copy of the magazine and ask for her hair to be styled like this. She turned to the fashion pages and became engrossed.

True to his word, Cantwell emerged from Temple's front door after almost exactly fifteen minutes. They had very little information to exchange and Temple did not want to detain Cantwell and his wife from their evening out.

***************

Willis placed himself away from the lamp-post in case the light came on. He glanced at his watch, still some ten minutes before lighting up but in these backwoods, you could never be sure. He checked the car number plate against what Redbourne had given him. It matched with the car parked opposite him. The woman must be one of Temple's floozies, he guessed. He could not exactly recall what Temple looked like. This was his car and this was where Redbourne said he lived. Thus, the man now walking towards the car must be Temple.

Scarcely bothering to take aim because the road was narrow and the target directly in front of him, Willis fired three shots in rapid succession. The first hit its mark but he was distracted by the figure of a tall well built man appearing in the doorway of the house. The final two shots hit the side window of the passenger side of the car.

Too late, Willis realised his mistake. He heard the woman scream and he backed away into a small alley leading off the street. Then, he ran at speed to where he was not sure.

Temple later said he saw everything in slow motion. He heard the shots, saw Cantwell fall and watched as Debbie slumped forward against the dashboard.

Neighbours from all sides came running towards him. He yelled for them to call an ambulance and the police. His heart sank as he reached Cantwell's still form and he saw Debbie's head crimson with blood.

The Missed Call

2010-10-08T21:27:00.003+01:00

Monday morning, a light drizzle settled over Starmouth. It matched Temple's mood exactly. Today, he thought, I'm not going in to the bloody station. He decided to drive up to the hill overlooking Grange Farm, see if Brenda had left any messages. At least, he might see the dogs. They were a damn sight better than catching sight of Baker. As he drove out of town the mists cleared and Woodbury Common was bathed in sunshine. He took this as an omen that he had done the right thing.

At midday, PC Truscott heard Temple's phone ringing. The Desk Sergeant told him to answer it. It was Sam Walters from the Yard. Truscott grew increasingly flustered as he searched for a pen and something to write on. He scribbled the message and replaced the receiver. He was unsure what to do next. It sounded important and he wasn't sure where Temple was. He propped the note on a pile of files on Temple's desk and hoped he'd see him later in the day.

As later events unfurled, Truscott wished he'd had the sense to find out exactly where Temple was. But he didn't and the consequences were to prove disastrous.

**************

Pete Willis had returned to Exeter late on the Sunday evening. The Browning was carefully concealed in the false base of his attache case. Arriving back at his flat, he called Redbourne to check, one final time, Temple's address and his car number.

It was agreed that Monday evening would be the ideal time for the hit. Redbourne barely concealed his impatience. Willis' parting words to him were:

"Easy does it, Rex. Better to get everything in order. Neither of us wants any slip-ups, do we?"

"Never have been yet, Pete. So I don't expect any now."

As he put down the phone, Redbourne sighed with relief. At last he could tell Bellamy, WingCo and the others that their biggest obstacle had been removed. Then, he could get back to his dodgy dogs.

***************

Countdown

2010-10-06T17:42:00.002+01:00

As he surmised, Temple was not given a replacement for Cantwell. Dutifully, however, Cantwell phoned in most evenings to discuss the day's events.

Temple decided to take the bull by the horns and make himself as conspicuous as he could. Twice in the first week he lunched at The Blandford, taking his time to saunter to the lounge and read the newspapers. WingCo and his wife made their irritation apparent.

On a regular basis, Temple walked passed McBride's surgery making sure he coincided with McBride's sorties out on patient home visits. Their eyes met and Temple always nodded.

He observed when Redbourne and his henchmen left the Turf Accountant office and called in. Each time, Tracey became acutely flustered, just as he had intended.

***************

Willis returned to London, to Camberwell to be precise. He'd been told where he would find a 'clean' handgun. Several times in the last two years he had used guns and he knew that each barrel left a distinct set of striations along the bullets fired. This time, he wanted to make sure there would be no trail leading to him or any of his associates.

The gun he collected was a •25 Browning. It was light and small and fitted easily into his pocket. Since he'd not used one before, he spent time at the boxing gym in East Street. At the back, there was a small gun range. In the old days, it had proved useful. Although the local police knew of its existence, it was seldom raided.

When he felt ready, Willis phoned Redbourne. He was surprised by the response.

"Pete! For God's sake, you're taking your bloody time! Temple's causing us grief by the hour. What the hell 'ave you been doin'?"

Willis laughed, "Rex, calm down! You wouldn't want me to cock it up, would you? I got the piece now and it works fine. I'll be back amongst the yokels by the end of the week."

"You better had! Remember, Pete, this is a nice little earner for you."

**************

The sailors and fishermen at Starmouth harbour became accustomed to Cantwell arriving at the dockside mid morning and parking his car. Then, he mooched about looking for something to do. He looked at the boats, both large and small, as they came into harbour or left it. He watched the cargo being unloaded and then put into lorries. He did this for an hour then went to the small cafe and had a coffee and sticky bun. Out again for another walk round, a chat to some of the men, a peer into the crates then off for lunch.

As far as he could tell, there was nothing really untoward going on: least ways, no big scale smuggling, as Baker had suggested. The odd box of wine and cigarettes did pass through - but that was only to be expected. He turned a blind eye to it. The main traffic was timber and cement, hardly heroin or cocaine.

He was bored. Debbie, however, was delighted with the change. For the first time in years, he was home on time. She could make arrangements for them both to go to the flicks and know he would be there. Also, they had the perk of the car, even when he was off duty. A perk that Baker had given him, quite unexpectedly.

As far as Debbie was concerned, life without Temple was one big improvement.

Baker gets tough

2010-09-07T17:15:00.002+01:00

The morning after Temple's summons to Baker's office, Cantwell received a similar call. He sat at his desk pondering what he could have done wrong. In his opinion, Baker would only ever want to speak to him to issue a reprimand. Despite all Temple's efforts, Tom Cantwell still maintained a poor view of himself. So it was with a degree of anxiety that he walked down the corridor to Baker's imposing door.

Baker waited to hear the knock. He allowed a full half minute to elapse before shouting "Enter." Cantwell, head down and face flushed, walked into the room and stood to attention in front of the desk.

Despite the urgency of the need to remove Cantwell from Temple's sphere of influence, Baker wanted to observe protocol and to avoid giving a seemingly arbitrary order. He eyed Cantwell for a few moments before gesturing for him to sit down. He immediately recognised that Cantwell was anxious. This would be a pushover, compared with the debacle with Temple.

"Sergeant Cantwell, thank you for coming so promptly." Baker cleared his throat and appeared to shuffle some papers. "I have had some good reports about your work."

Contrary to appearances, Cantwell was not gullible. When he heard what Baker said he was suspicious. He knew that Temple hadn't written anything about him. He had always shown him any reports and there hadn't been any for some time. He surmised that Baker was up to something. But what?

"You've worked with Inspector Temple for a considerable period of time now." Baker picked up his fountain pen and twiddled it nervously. "I think it's time for you to gain more experience by working on your own. This will develop your initiative and prepare you for promotion." He paused to see what effect this had on Cantwell. If he expected a sign of pleasure, he was disappointed. There was a look of dismay on Cantwell's face. Nothing daunted, Baker continued. "We've had reports of contraband coming into the port. Same thing is happening at Teignmouth. I want you to keep an eye on things down at the docks for a month or so. Then, I'll review the situation."

Cantwell was taken aback. True he would quite fancy a stint down at the docks. Nice easy life - plenty of off-duty. However, he and Temple had developed some sort of rapport. He had learned a lot from him. More importantly, he felt secure when he was working with him. He pondered how he should play the next move.

"We're in the middle of a difficult investigation, sir, and ..."

"I'll see Inspector Temple gets all the help he needs." He held up his hand to avoid being interrupted. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, Sergeant. I'll be sending out your new rota later today. Good morning."

Cantwell sat still. Baker had uncapped his pen and was scribbling something down. He looked up fiercely and gestured for Cantwell to leave.

Walking back to their office, Cantwell dreaded breaking the news to Temple.

"I'm sorry, Gov, I didn't know how to deal with him. What should I have said?"

"Not much you could have. Let's go for a short walk shall we?"

Once outside the station, Temple felt more free to say exactly what he felt. "This is a ploy to stymie the Redbourne investigation. Baker's been got at." He saw Cantwell's agitation. "Look, this might just play right into our hands, after all. I'll keep you informed about what's going on. Let's meet at The Beacon Inn every Tuesday evening at about 8 o'clock. None of the other coppers go there. We won't be seen - anyway, why shouldn't we have a pint together. No law against it! You use our car, it's been seen around too much near Grange Farm. I'll get another one."

Cantwell looked disappointed. He had hoped Temple would have kicked up a bit more about his removal.

"I'm going to miss having your opinion on things. Still - this might just be useful to us." Temple mused.

Like a dog that's just been told he's a 'good boy', Cantwell instantly brightened. So he was going to be missed, after all. "Any betting I'll find Steele and Davey around the docks. They're sure to be mixed up with some old fashioned smuggling, as well as dodgy dogs!"

Maybe things weren't quite so bleak. He'd have a lot to tell Debbie when he got home.

Pete Willis

2010-08-21T12:40:00.002+01:00

The rush hour cars were easing through the Exeter streets, as Redbourne parked just off the Cathedral Square. A group of French tourists thronged the pavement outside the Royal Clarence. Piles of plush luggage was piled up around them as they scanned the road for their coach. Redbourne elbowed his way through their midst and Steele pointedly gave a kick to a large purple suitcase that toppled onto its side. A small vocal Frenchman protested but was ignored.

Once inside the foyer, they made their way to the bar. Pete Willis was already there sitting on a bar stool and drinking a large whisky. Despite being smartly dressed in a dark grey suit, the man had something of the spiv about him and he looked as though he'd be more at home in the East Street market than at this rather exclusive hotel in Exeter. Willis was a heavily built man with closely cropped black hair and rather protuberant grey eyes. His complexion was sallow but his overall physique indicated he would be no pushover in a fight.

On seeing Redbourne and Steele, he grinned. "Well, well. Just like the old days! Could be back at the Fox on Denmark Hill, eh? Remember the last time we was there?"

Redbourne clapped him on the back and nodded towards a table in the corner, away from the bar and the listening ears of the barman. "Ted, get us all a whisky and soda." He handed him the cash and headed for the table.

"So, Rex, what's the problem? I'm surprised you need any help from me!"

"Remember that copper - Temple? The one who was a right pain in the arse for all of us?"

"Sure I remember him. He got my brother sent down, the bastard. Always looked as though he was still on parade in the army. Don't tell me 'e's down here."

"The bugger's not only here - he's getting right up my nose!"

Steele returned with the drinks and a bowl of crisps. "Compliments of the house, I was told." He handed out the glasses and sat opposite Willis.

"So," Willis asked, "you two been up to no good. Must've been otherwise Temple wouldn't be giving you grief."

"We're doing alright, Pete." Steele said. "Least ways, we was till Temple stuck his nose in." Redbourne nudged Steele to keep his voice down.

"So," Willis leaned closer, "Temple been sticking his nose in where it ain't wanted? Spoiling your little games, eh?"

"He has and it's time we put a stop to him for once and all." Redbourne spoke purposefully.

"You saying, what I think you're saying?" Willis asked. For response, Redbourne nodded. "Like ... finish him off?"

Steele sat forward and looked at Redbourne, "If there's any finishing off, that's my job, Boss."

"Don't be bloody daft. You're too well known in these parts. You'd be an obvious suspect. No, we need Pete here. No one in the sticks would tie us in. You, me and Davey need to be well out of the way with good solid alibis. Use your bloody head for once in your life!" Steele sat back and pondered what he'd heard.

"Willis leaned forward again, "How and when do you want it done?"

"The 'how' is up to you. You've handled this type of thing before. You'll be well paid. As to when, as soon as you like. The sooner the better."

"Since this would be a hanging matter being a copper an all - it'll damn well need to be worth it."

"You'll get £1000 up front now. Then £3000 after the job's done. How does that sound?"

"'Bout right."

"I'll ring you tomorrow and give you details of where he lives and the number of the car he drives. Then it's up to you." He pulled a small parcel out of his pocket and handed it to Willis. "There - £1000 in used notes. When you tip me the wink it's done, Ted'll bring the rest. Okay?"

Willis tried to stuff the packet into his pocket but it was too thick, so he self-consciously put it under his arm before standing up. "As ever, Rex, it's a pleasure to do business with you." He left the bar and Redbourne watched as he went out into the Cathedral Square.

Steele sat sullenly watching Willis, before turning to Redbourne. "All that bloody money. I'd have done it for half that! Is it worth it?"

Redbourne drank his whisky. "Listen, Ted, you, me and Charlie will make ten times that once Temple is off our backs. 'Course it's bloody worth it."

Things get dodgier!

2010-07-31T16:40:00.003+01:00

"Stuart!" Redbourne was surprised to see McBride, "Come into the office. Good to see you. How's things?"

McBride glanced round the room, there was no sign of Steele or Davey. "Things are not so good actually, Rex. That's why I've come. We need a chat to see what's to be done."

Redbourne indicated for him to sit, while he opened the drinks cabinet. "What'll it be?"

"Nothing or maybe..." he paused and looked at the array of bottles. "I'll have a small G and T, Rex."

"So, what's the problem?"

"Bellamy tells me that Baker can't handle Temple and his sergeant. It seems Temple used to work for Scotland Yard and ..."

"Yeah! I know he did. I came across him in London myself." McBride looked worried. "No need to panic, Stuart, he's got nothing on me. He's a real hot head. Jumps to conclusions and rushes in feet first. Leave things to me. If Baker can't sort it, I'll sort it."

"How do you mean 'sort it'?"

"Like I said, leave it to me." He took a long swig of whisky. "What you don't know, can't hurt. Can it now?" He grinned reassuringly.

McBride considered things for a while. He wanted to say, 'no rough stuff', then thought better of it. If he really didn't know, then he couldn't be implicated. So, he reasoned, if Redbourne wanted a free hand, let him. He leaned forward twiddling the cut-glass tumbler watching the play of light on its edges. "I'm sure you know about these things better than I do. I'll leave it to you." He got up to leave. "By the way, how's Charlie doing?"

"Better, thanks to your ministrations! He's still on the painkillers you gave him. He'll be better when the stitches are out."

"I'll do that next week. I'll be in touch." As he reached the door, he turned, "I've had to put out a feeler with a Plymouth pharmacist to get our supplies. You'll have to hang on but it shouldn't be too long."

"Damn well better not! We're almost out of drinomyl. There's several good meetings coming up and I want to be sure of two of the dogs!"

Redbourne sat pondering the situation, after McBride had left. He picked up the phone and dialled. It was picked up almost immediately. "Pete! It's Rex, Rex Redbourne. Yes ... fine ... Listen, I need a favour. Any chance we could meet up tonight? I'll come up to Exeter." He listened carefully to the reply. "Right ... What time?" he looked at his watch nodding to himself. "I'll be in the George and Dragon at half eight. Okay?"

As he replaced the receiver, Ted Steele entered the office looking glum. "Charlie's resting. Still got a headache, so he says." He sat down.

"Don't make yourself too comfortable, Ted. We're off to meet Pete Willis near Exeter."

"Thought he was still up in London."

"Came down to these parts about a month ago. Needed things to cool down a bit. I'll tell you about it on the way. You can drive." He threw him the car keys.

The horns of a dilemma

2010-07-17T12:00:00.000+01:00

Shortly after Temple had left his office, Baker's phone rang. He stared at it before answering. It was Bellamy. Baker froze, it was as if Bellamy had spies in the station noting who visited his office. Maybe he was being paranoid, he thought. "What a pleasant surprise." He forced himself to say. "How are you?"

"I'm fine. I hope I'm in for a pleasant response from you, Clive." He paused. "Have you talked to Temple and sorted things out?"

"I hope so I ..."

"Hope, isn't quite good enough. Either you have or you haven't. Which is it?" Bellamy's tone of voice was distinctly unfriendly.

"Well, he's a very determined man and ..."

"So, I take you have not sorted it out. I'm very disappointed in you, Clive. It'll be nothing to the disappointment felt by the Jacksons, Dr McBride and Rex Redbourne though!" He heard Baker's intake of breath down the receiver. "You'll have to monitor every step he takes. Red tape him, for God's sake. You are the boss, after all. I'll be in touch again." He slammed down the phone.

"Damn! Damn!" Baker said to himself. He was on a loser whichever way he turned. He knew Temple's type and knew he would not be deterred from his objectives. He also knew that Bellamy had his reasons for wanting anything to do with Redbourne quashed. He held his head in his hands and wished retirement was an option for him.

As soon as the conversation with Baker ended, Bellamy rang WingCo at the Blandford and put him into the picture. WingCo digested all that he heard and pulled a face at Judy who was sitting in the office with him. After the brief call, WingCo shook his head. "We'll have to bring McBride in on this, Judy. Unfortunately, we're in this too deep to get out easily. Besides which, we haven't yet made enough money to just up sticks and run for it." He sat back in his swivel chair. "Anyway, why should we get out of it? It's a nice little earner. No flat-footed copper is going to ruin things for us."

"I've got to call in at McBride's surgery, later today. I'll talk things over with him. Between us, I'm sure we can sort things out." Judy tried to reassure her husband. She glanced at the clock. "I think I'll go now, in fact. Afternoon surgery will be ending and he will fit me in at the end, I'm sure."

The receptionist told Dr McBride that Mrs Jackson was waiting. He wondered why she had come and decided it was not just for her health. He left her till last, telling the receptionist to go home, since he could deal with matters.

"More sodium amytal?" he asked Judy.

"Yes, please. But that's not why I've come. I'll be more doped than those bloody dodgy dogs of Redbourne's, at this rate!" She looked closely at McBride. "Which brings me to the real reason I'm here. Bellamy tried to fix things about that Inspector Temple, you know what I mean?" McBride nodded. "Well, it seems he's not fixable! In fact, the more he's warned off, the more he wants to dig into out business! We don't want him and his sidekick snooping round the Blandford anymore."

"And I don't want him monitoring who comes in and out of this surgery." McBride added glancing out of the window. "There's no one there at the moment, so don't look so worried! But when Davey was brought here, the other night, a uniformed copper was standing watching everything that was going on."

"Something's going to have to be done, Stuart, we're all in this too deep and there's more to be made, anyway!"

"I'll have a chat with Rex. He'll know how to deal with the likes of Temple. He's had plenty of practice." He wrote out a prescription for Judy. "Here, try to get some sleep with these. You look tired, Judy."

"Look tired! I bloody feel tired! Having those policemen wandering round has given me nightmares."

After she had gone, McBride drove round to Redbourne's place. Tracey was just leaving, as he walked in. She looked flustered, unsure whether to stay or leave.

"You just go off home, Tracey. Rex and I have some things to discuss. It won't take long though." She smiled gratefully and clattered across the room in her high heels, closing the door behind her.

One step forward two steps ...

2010-07-07T12:27:00.000+01:00

The inn was a fug of cigarette smoke and Temple coughed as it caught the back of his throat. He saw the same small group of old locals sitting in what they saw as their corner of the bar. This time, instead of the silence that had met their last entry, a murmur of greetings was given to Cantwell.

Temple and Cantwell chose a corner table, after they had ordered. Cantwell sipped his bitter with relish.
"You should have a chat with the old boys, buy them a round of drinks. They might have something interesting to say." He held his hand up to stop Cantwell from interrupting."Don't worry, it'll come out of expenses."

Two large plates of steaming pasties and chips were placed in front of them by a young blonde haired girl. Temple began eating slowly, savouring each mouthful of pastry, potato, meat and carrots. It was delicious, even he could appreciate that. Cantwell, not bothering to test the flavours, demolished his meal, scattering crumbs everywhere. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and thought that he wouldn't mind another.

"Go over and get yourself another pint and some crisps. It's obvious you're still hungry. Then go and offer the old blokes their drinks."

Cantwell didn't need to be told twice and Temple watched as the old men's faces lit up when they were offered the drinks. They readily made room for him to sit with them.

"So you'm back again!" The spokesman for the group said to Cantwell.

"Yeah, why not? 'tis a nice place. Anything interestin' goin' on since we was last 'ere?" He slipped into the Devon burr so that they would feel more at home with him.

"Oh! Plenty! Plenty! Tell 'im, Bob. Tell 'im what 'e saw t'other night." The one called Bob, whose face was as brown and wrinkled as a walnut, just nodded. He said nothing. "Go on, Bob, tell 'im."

Bob eventually cleared his throat, took a long swig of cider, then peered closely at Cantwell. "Well 'twas like this, lad. I were goin' up lane near Dimity's place. It were real dark like and I sees a car nose right up the bank, like. There was some young woman stroking one of them skinny dogs. The other dogs was barkin' their 'eads off." He looked at the group around him to make sure they were all listening. "Then round the corner comes this great big jalopy! Then another old van. Them two stopped and a fancy bloke wearin' a suit like a bloody clown's got out. There was some shoutin' and yellin', I can tell 'e!" He paused again to satisy himself they were all paying him due attention. "Then Soppy gets out and 'elps the girl with the dog. Two other blokes lift a man out of the front of the car up the bank. They puts 'im into the van. Then off they goes leavin' Soppy and the girl. Then, I tell 'e, this girl she drives the motor 'erself. She gets it off the bank and then drives it down the lane."

Cantwell listened carefully, nodding appreciatively where appropriate. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Temple was eavesdropping. As soon as the story was finished, there was a general hubbub from the group Cantwell thanked Bob for the story and said he would go and tell it to his friend.

Once back in the car, Temple was quiet for sometime. "Somehow, I don't think that Mrs Ellacott is telling us everything that's been going on and I wonder why that is. Certainly she's a woman of many talents. Quite a woman, in fact."

Cantwell grinned. "You've said that before, Gov."

"What have I said?"

"That she's quite a woman!" He thought better of elaborating on the point.

"I'll drop you back home, Cantwell, then I'm going into the station. I'll phone you later, if there's anything I need to tell you."

Most of the cars were out of the car pound when Temple arrived. He noticed, however, that Baker was still there and hoped he would not bump into him. The hope was forlorn because no sooner was he inside the entrance, than the sergeant on duty called out to him to tell him to go to Baker's office.

Baker had spotted Temple's arrival and rang the desk sergeant immediately. After he had put the phone down, he wondered exactly how he was going to handle Temple. He would have to be firm but subtle and he prided himself that being subtle was one of his fortes. He knew that Temple did not 'do' firmness from others neither did he appreciate flannel. So, Baker concluded, he would have to go straight to the point, no beating about the bush. As for Cantwell, he would do what he was told, maybe he would need to be allocated new duties. No, he was not the problem. It was Temple who needed careful handling.

As it turned out, the meeting was short, sharp and very much to the point. Baker barely began stating his request for Temple to cease harassing important members of the community, when Temple came right up to his desk and faced him in what Baker termed a menacing pose.

"Sir, before you continue, I think you should know that I have been in touch with former colleagues in Scotland Yard. They have informed me that, at least, three of the people Cantwell and I are investigating, have been involved in serious crimes in the London area. There are a number of investigations concerning them that are still pending. So, sir, I cannot see, in all conscience that we can call off our own work."

Baker visibly paled, "You did not ask my permission before involving another force, Inspector. I .."

"Before you go any further, sir, with all due respect, the Yard would greatly appreciate our co-operation. I don't think they would understand it if we suddenly back off."

Baker chewed at his left knuckle wishing he had never agreed to take Temple. Damn it all, he thought, he has out-manoeuvred me again.

"Well, sir, what do you think? Do I inform them that we are still actively pursuing our lines of investigation?"

Baker remained silent. The prospect of even an OBE were diminishing by the second. He could certainly kiss a knighthood goodbye. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Alright, Temple, go ahead but keep me fully briefed. For God's sake try to keep out of Councillor Bellamy's hair. He's got enough clout to get us all demoted."

"Sir!" Temple stood to attention, without agreeing to anything. Returning to his office, he decided to keep the details of the encounter to himself. What Cantwell did not know, he would not grieve over.

Another Meeting in the Village

2010-07-04T20:28:00.003+01:00

The day of the pre-arranged meeting with Brenda Ellacott arrived. Temple and Cantwell drove to the village green early, positioning the car so that they had a clear view of the various streets that converged there. Cantwell observed several locals going into the pub for their lunchtime drink and snack. His own stomach began rumbling actively and loudly. He shuffled on the seat, trying to disguise the cause of the noises from Temple's acute ears. Temple smiled knowing full well that Cantwell's weakness for food was a major driving force in his life.

"We'll have a pint and a pasty, as soon as we've seen Mrs Ellacott. There's no need to fret, Cantwell, so long as she's on time. She usually is reliable."

A few yards further along the High Street, Brenda Ellacott was, in fact, going into Mrs Tyler's shop to buy the twill trousers and sturdy shoes that Mrs Hannaford had recommended. She also bought a grey windcheater to keep out the gusty rain that so often swept the pasture. As she emerged, clutching her shopping bags, she caught sight of Temple's car. Not giving any sign of recognition, she sauntered past and then into the post office and general store. She knew they would have been keeping an eye open for her to appear. She reached into her pocket for the note that she and Mrs Hannaford had concocted together earlier in the morning. She intended to hand it to Temple or Cantwell and say as little as possible to either of them. She felt rather guilty that she was being duplicitous and knew that if she talked to them she was quite capable of giving the game away. Taking the note in her hand, she stood looking at a shelf sporting rows of tinned spaghetti and baked beans. Temple entered the store and indicated that she should join him.

"I can't be long," she said as she stood next to him, "I've written everything you need to know in a note. I won't be back in Starmouth for quite some time. Redbourne intends to keep me at the farm."

"Everything alright?" His voice expressed concern. "You're safe, are you?" She merely nodded, carefully putting the note into his hand then immediately moving away further down the shelves. She stopped to pick up a notepad then, after paying for it, left the store.

Cantwell, sitting observing the comings and goings in the village, saw her leave the store. He watched her head out of the village in the direction of Grange Farm. She had quite a spring in her step, he thought.

Temple lingered a bit longer, bought a copy of the Daily Express, then returned to the car.

"So, what did she have to say, Gov? Couldn't have been much, you were hardly there two minutes before she left."

"Your observations are correct, Cantwell. She said very little. However, she says she's written everything down in this note." He waved the paper in front of Cantwell. "I don't think she was being completely frank with me though. I noticed she had some severe bruising to her face and she seemed rather nervous, not her usual self." He handed the note to Cantwell. "You read it for us both."

Cantwell unfolded the paper and glanced at it for a few seconds before reading it aloud.

"I've been here for over a week now, it seems like forever! Redbourne insists that I stay here until more of the work is done. Then I can go home to collect some of my things.

I had a bit of a run in with the man called Charlie Davey, one of Redbourne's henchmen. He's a rather rough and vicious man. He's managed to upset all of us at the farm. Mrs Hannaford, the former tenant farmer's widow, tells me that Redbourne, Steele and Davey know more than they've told you about Ben's death. In fact, she thought that Davey and Steele were there when Ben died.

There are various things going on with the 'dodgy' dogs. Redbourne has big plans for several meetings coming up in the next month or so. What he's up to is going to be difficult to prove, without involving Soppy Soper. That would NOT (in heavy capital letters) be right and I would have nothing more to do with this should you try to do so! You will have to be patient and think up alternative ways of getting proof. Have you considered finding a police-friendly vet? This might prove difficult, Mrs Hannaford says that most of the local vets are being paid to turn a blind eye to all sorts of illegal activities.

Mrs Hannaford also told me that several of the so-called County set know Redbourne more than passing well. They wouldn't want to see him go under since it might affect their pockets!

I'll leave another note at the 'drop' on Wednesday or Thursday. However, it looks as though I'm in this for the long haul.

Best wishes
Benda Ellacott."

Cantwell stared at the paper, "That's it, Gov, not much hard information, is there?"

"Maybe, maybe not. This Hannaford woman sounds useful though. Also the County set keep cropping up, don't they? Bloody hell, Cantwell, are we still living in Feudal England? We'll have to tie Redbourne into Eager's and Ellacott's deaths. Not even the County set will want to know him then - stuffed pockets or not!" He glanced at his watch. "Come on, time for your lunch. Your stomach rumblings are getting deafening."

Plans are laid

2010-06-17T17:57:00.003+01:00

Once Redbourne, Steele and Davey had left the kitchen, silence fell on Brenda, Soppy and Mrs Hannaford. They heard the Daimler's powerful engine roar into life and then throb its way across the farmyard. No one spoke. They did not even look at each other.

It was only after a few minutes that Brenda's spirit crumpled. She began to sob quietly, tears falling down her flushed cheeks. Soppy became flustered, he had no idea what to say or do. He disliked too much emotion and found it difficult to cope with it. He was still trembling from Redbourne's onslaught and the sight of Brenda's reaction was almost too much for him. Realising the fragility of the situation, it was Mrs Hannaford who pulled herself together first. She patted Brenda on the back.

"There! There, my dear! You'm a brave and good girl! I'm sorry I doubted 'e. The way 'e stood up for 'arry, fair took my breath away." She paused and turned to Soppy. " Fetch the brandy from the cupboard over there, 'arry. Bring three cups."

A large bottle of Courvoisier stood on the top shelf, half hidden behind a row of Toby jugs. Soppy pushed the jugs to one side and reached for the bottle. He looked at it for a second, then brought it to Mrs Hannaford. "I've 'ad this stuff since my Brian's funeral." She said. "Don't like the stuff nor does 'arry. But, I think us all needs a bit right now." She poured out a measure for each of them.

Brenda winced as the liquid burned its way down her throat. Soppy choked and spluttered and grimaced, then chuckled.

"Now then," Mrs Hannaford said. "Us can't go on like this." She paused. "But, at the same time, us can't not go on like this, if you sees what I mean."-

Brenda nodded wistfully, "I know exactly what you mean. I thought I was so clever. I thought I'd get my own back on Redbourne." She paused, then looked directly into Mrs Hannaford's face, "I need to come straight with you both."

Mrs Hannaford instantly stiffened and glanced at Soppy who was still in a state of bewilderment. "So, you'm been spyin' on us, after all!"

"No, not in the way you mean. But, in a way, yes!" She told them everything that had taken place since Temple and Cantwell had first been to see her. She explained that they had been kind to her; she told them about the arrangements that they'd come to in Tinleys in Exeter. Finally, she told them about the drop. Mrs Hannaford took it all in her stride, nodding to herself every now and again. Soppy heard but did not seem to be able to take it all in.

"Well, Brenda, seems to me that your police contacts could prove useful to us, if and when us needs them. Now, let me tell you a thing or two as well, while we're in this confiding mood. She cleared her throat. "Mind you, Brenda, this is just between us three. T'ain't for the police, you'm understand?"

Brenda sat back and sipped at the brandy wondering what on earth she would hear and hoping it was something she could keep from Temple.

"Some months ago, 'arry and me got talking. Us could see things could go real bad for us. I decided to try and see if there was something us could do to 'elp ourselves. I got a little money put by." She leaned closer to Brenda. "So me and 'arry started to put bets on them
dogs that 'arry thought was goin' to do well." Soppy's pale face flushed with pleasure. "So far, we done alright. More than alright. We'm doubled my savings."

Brenda grinned, "What a good idea. If Harry is forced to make some of the dogs dodgy, and I know he doesn't like doing it, then it's only fair you should both see yourselves right." She thought for a moment, "I've got some savings, not much mind. But I'd be pleased to go in with you, if you'd have me, that is."

"What about your police pals?" Mrs Hannaford asked.

"They're pals just so long as they need me. But, like as with Redbourne, once they've used you up, they'll throw you away. I'm a useful tool at the moment - nothing more. They won't help me or you when this is all over."

"You'm right, my dear. You got to take care of Number One. No one else will do that."

"There's just one snag," Brenda said, "I can't get hold of my money unless I can get to a Post Office. I've got a savings account there."

"We got a little Post Office in the village. We can cover for you if Redbourne or one of 'is men comes unexpected like. We need to bet on the next few meetings."

"I knows who's goin' to do well, " Soppy said, "but I ain't always right!"

"We got nothin' to lose, 'arry." Mrs Hannaford said. "And we got lots to gain. Redbourne is sure to get caught out, then we'll be turfed out of Grange Farm."

"Well," Brenda said,"I'll just have to make sure I spin out a long story to Temple. The longer the three of us can make a bit on the side, the better for us!" The brandy was beginning to have its effect, she felt her confidence beginning to rise by the minute. "Tell you what, I need to get another notebook just for us. I'll keep records of our winnings and work out which bookies give the best odds. We'll make more that way."

"Enough to get a smallholding?" Mrs Hannaford asked.

"Maybe - especially if we pooled the money. Let's just wait and see, shall we?"

Camouflaging the 'dodgy' dogs

2010-06-09T17:45:00.002+01:00

As soon as Brenda left, Redbourne joked about her to Steele and Davey. It was as if Soppy and Mrs Hannaford no longer existed. Davey was still smarting from the Saturday night episode, he blamed Brenda for the fact he had stitches to his head.

"She's a stupid cow", Davey said, "if she hadn't acted so bloody daft, I'd not have crashed. Let's get rid of her, like we did her old man."

"Didn't exactly 'get rid' of him, did we, Charlie? He plum threw himself into the bloody river!" Steele laughed. "He saw us coming and thought drowning was a damn sight better than a knife in his guts!" He laughed again.

"Now then, boys, we can deal with little Brenda in good time. Right now, she's useful! Can't afford too many accidents in close colleagues, can we? Besides which, the beating she got in her flat will have taken any fight out of her. She fair came crawling to me for help, she did. Can't disappoint her, leastwise not just yet."

Mrs Hannaford glanced at Soppy, shaking her head imperceptibly to tell him to keep quiet and well in the shadows. No point in drawing attention to themselves.

Brenda returned with the notebooks and looked at Redbourne: "Give it here." He demanded. For several minutes, he examined them closely. Then, he rubbed his chin: "Right then! Fairweather Friend seems to have been doing alright. We'll rest him for the next couple of meetings. One of the brindles," he glanced at the notes, "Master Craftsman, he's no bloody good. So, Soppy, come here!" Soppy edged forward. "This is what you do. I'll get some black dye. You dye the brindle jet black. You done that before, ain't you?" Soppy nodded. "This time, I want the dog as black as Fairweather. Put a dab of peroxide on one foot - to match Fairweather. Then, we'll run him at Plymouth on Saturday. He'll come in near last, if not last."

"Got it, Soppy?" Steele asked.

"What I ..." Soppy began.

"Just do what you're told, Soppy. You don't need to know nothing. Just do as you're bloody told." Steele looked menacingly at Soppy.

"Now then" Redbourne began. "We have Midnight Boy. Another black dog, shows promise. I've got a little something here," he reached into his pocket and took out a small brown medicine bottle. "Just one of these little purple beauties, mixed in with Midnight's snack just after you arrive at the track, that will do nicely." He laughed. "By the time he races, he'll be right on his toes."

"I dunno..." Soppy began.

"You dunno" Steele mimicked. "You dunno! You don't know nothin'. That's why we call you 'Soppy'." He grabbed hold of Soppy by his shirt. "You don't need to know, Sunshine, you just do what you're bloody told."

"Leave him alone, you bastard!" Brenda heard herself say. "He loves the dogs, that's all! I'll take care of it, just leave Harry alone!"

Redbourne looked at her in surprise, "My my! Quite the little firebrand, aren't we! Touching, isn't it? So attached to our Soppy." He grinned. "Alright, darlin', you just make damn sure you do what I said, or else... or else your pretty little face won't be quite so pretty."

Mrs Hannaford felt her heart beating faster than she'd thought possible. She sat down heavily, knocking over one of the cooking pans. It clattered onto the stone floor, startling everyone.

"Don't you go bloody wobbly on us, Mrs H." Redbourne looked around the kitchen. "Just you three do what you're bloody told! Be grateful you're here in this warm kitchen and have a bed to sleep in. Things could soon change for each of you, if you don't behave." He nodded to Steele and Davey. "Come on, boys, back to the office to take more mug's money!" He threw Brenda's notebooks to her. "Keep up the records. I'll be here on Thursday to check the tarted up brindle."

Redbourne arrives at Grange Farm

2010-06-06T21:28:00.002+01:00

Late on Monday morning, Redbourne with Steele and Charlie Davey in tow, arrived at the farmyard. Mrs Hannaford peered through the kitchen window and saw clearly that Davey looked battered and bruised. He had a row of stitches across his forehead and two puffy black eyes.

The kitchen door was flung open and they came in. Without a greeting or smile Redbourne pointed his finger at her.

"Make us all coffee and some biscuits as well. Then, get Soppy and the Ellacott woman in here." His voice was gruff and Mrs Hannaford recoiled in annoyance. Grudgingly, she made the drinks and placed the biscuits on the table.

"Pour the bloody stuff, woman." Steele said. "You don't expect us to do it."

Mrs Hannaford bit her tongue and did as she was told. Then, she left them and ran to find Soppy and Brenda. She guessed they would be in the barn. It was there that she found them feeding the dogs. The atmosphere in the barn was warm and cosy and the dogs were waiting for their food.

"Whatever is wrong?" Brenda asked, putting down the bowl of meat she had been about to give to Midnight.

"You'm okay?" Soppy showed concern by going to Mrs Hannaford and putting his hand on her shoulder. She took in several deep breaths before she could explain anything.

"Redbourne and 'is men are in the kitchen. They treated me like dirt and now 'e is demanding to see you two. 'e's a bloody bastard, that's what 'e is."

Brenda had never heard Mrs Hannaford swear or appear angry. At the same time she thought that any commiserations would not be welcome.

"What do they want with us?" Soppy asked.

"Dunno, 'arry, dunno. 'e thinks 'e's God Almighty. That I does know. And in my kitchen too!" She twisted her apron in her hands.

"Don' worry, we'll see no 'arm is done, won't us, Brenda?"

Brenda nodded but felt distinctly unsure if it was possible. Redbourne held all the cards in his hands, after all.

They went to the kitchen. Redbourne sat appraising them for a few seconds then exploded with irritation. "Are you bloody daft, woman?" He stared hard at Brenda. "It's not you I want to see, it's the records. The records, darlin'. Don't you get it?" He turned and looked at Steele and Davey, raising his eyes to the ceiling. "Go and get the bloody notebooks."

Steele and Davey roared with laughter, though Davey winced with pain as the skin on his face stretched.

"Go fetch, girl!" Steele laughed. "Just be a good bitch. Go fetch!"

Brenda flushed with embarrassment and anger. She glanced at Mrs Hannaford, then she turned to go to get the notebooks.

Trying to unlock the code

2010-06-01T17:05:00.002+01:00

Temple spent the rest of his Sunday afternoon and evening trying to make sense of Eager's notebooks. The writing was difficult enough to decipher without dealing with the cross-referencing between the books. He saw that whenever an entry in the racing details had a large question mark beside it, there was sure to be an equivalent comment in the other book. This would include the same date and dog name followed by the letters BE and SM with either a tick or question mark next to them.

Temple found it all increasingly boring and, after a time, he nodded off in his armchair. He woke some half hour later in a state of panic. The books had fallen to the floor, he had been dreaming again of the War, of the time in Italy when his battalion had crossed the Garigliano river. The nightmare of that crossing still haunted his dreams, even after all the years that had passed. It was the death of his best friend, Gerry, that he could not forget; he still saw him disappearing into the dark fast flowing waters of the river.

Temple's regular yelling out at night had driven his wife into a fury. Her solution was that he should 'pull himself together'. That, he thought, was much easier said than done. Now, he had no one to disturb at night. No one to hear his shouts through the thick walls of the flat.

He shook his head and got up. For a moment he was tempted to pour himself a large whiskey to steady his shaking hands. He glanced at the clock, it was only five o'clock. Instead, he made a pot of tea and opened a packet of biscuits. Then, he returned to the chair and the notebooks. So many deaths end in water, he thought. First Gerry's in Italy, then Ben Ellacott then Eager Beaver here in Devon.

He dunked his digestive biscuit into the tea and cursed as half of it broke off and sank into the cup. Then, he froze as the significance of the notebook entries suddenly hit him. BE was Ben Ellacott; SM was Stuart McBride. The races marked with the question marks always coincided with very fast times for the winning dogs. Eager Beaver had put two and two together and guessed that the dogs were being doped and that BE and SM were somehow providing the drugs.

Had Eager then grown too cocky and tried a little blackmail? Bloody fool, Temple thought, he didn't know who he was dealing with.

Now with BE out of the way, Temple wondered how the group would cope? Could a local family doctor get his hands on drugs as easily as when he had a tame pharmacist to hand?

Feeling quite pleased with the day's work, he packed up the books. Then he sauntered down the road to the pub. He had earned the whiskeys he was about to drink.

Note from Author of Dodgy Dogs

2010-05-28T20:33:00.005+01:00

I've been reading the diaries for the last few weeks. Cantwell certainly scribbled in his notebooks! Spelling is not always his forte either!

However, it was something else that prompted me to jot this note to the blog readers out there! Today, as I was walking round to the local shops a small Morris Minor 1000 van literally shot passed me. It was the old familiar green with wooden panels. Just the type that Temple and Cantwell saw at the County Ground and at the Halfway track. I was amazed to see it in such good order and running so smoothly. Of course it may not date right back to the 1950s but it wasn't much later than the early 60s.

I guess there are many of you who have no idea what a Morris Minor 1000 Traveller looks like.

Here are some images of the Traveller. It will help you get an idea of the type of vehicles that Soppy Soper used to get the 'dodgy' dogs to the races.

A Truce

2010-05-18T17:10:00.005+01:00

Brenda collected the two brindle bitches from the barn. They were both eager to be out, their tails wagging furiously. They pulled her up the sloping pasture faster than she intended. At the top, she stood still to catch her breath. The view back down the hillside to the farmhouse was like a painting. Gently sloping, lush, green fields with cows grazing; the sound of cockerels crowing from the yard and smoke drifting up from the old chimney. No one was in sight.

Taking the papers from her top pocket, Brenda led the dogs to the back of the shed, lifted the
stone and placed them beneath it. She straightened up and took in a deep breath, then set off with the dogs for a walk along the level ground.

"Come on girls," she said to the two dogs, "they might be trying to make you into dodgy dogs but we are going to have a good walk this morning. Nothing dodgy about that." Some half hour later, she returned to the barn. Soppy was about to exercise three more of the dogs who were barking, eager to get out into the fresh air.

"Can I do anymore?" Brenda asked.

"Nah! You'm done enough already. You'm as pale as milk. Mrs 'annaford says you're to go into the kitchen and have a warm drink. She said you fair ran up the hill."

For a moment, Brenda panicked wondering if she could have been observed from the farm. Then she realised it would have been impossible. All she really wanted was to lie down. The previous night had been awful and she felt tired. But a drink would not come amiss.

Mrs Hannaford had two newly baked loaves and a large fruit pie on the table. The smell of baking filled the room and the kettle was boiling on top of the range.

Brenda sat down, "This is just how I imagined a farm kitchen would be. It's so warm and cosy."
As Mrs Hannaford smiled, her face was transformed and Brenda could see the woman whose real personality was kept hidden behind the sour facade.

"I'll make us both a cup of tea, you'm fair frozen. Those clothes you wear are alright for a town but they bain't right on a farm. You needs proper woollies. You'll never survive otherwise."

Brenda looked at her skirt and jacket. It was true, they weren't suitable, "Maybe I ought to buy something better. But Redbourne won't let me go shopping in Starmouth for at least another two weeks."

"Mrs Tyler, in the village, will 'ave all you'm needs: Sturdy twill trousers or riding breeches and jumpers. That's what you'm needs. Keep you warm and dry when you'm with them dogs. You can get some proper walking shoes. Boots is good for the fields but solid shoes is what you need rest of the time." She pointed at her heavy black lace-up booties. "som'at like these."

Brenda's heart sank. The thought of dressing like a land-girl horrified her. But it would, at least, give an excuse to go to the village. "You're right, Mrs Hannaford. I'll try to go to the village soon."

"We'll make a countrywoman of you yet, ma dear." Mrs Hannaford smiled warmly at her.

That afternoon, Brenda walked to the outskirts of the village. She had seen a phone box near the old coaching inn. As she dialled Cantwell's number, she hoped he would answer. She pressed button A and began hastily giving her message: "Sergeant Cantwell, it's me, Brenda Ellacott. I can't be too long - this is just to let you know I hope to be in the village shop, Tyler's that is, on Tuesday lunchtime. Any time between 12:30 and 2 o'clock. Must go." Not waiting for a reply, she replaced the receiver quickly. She did not want to be seen by anyone.

"Who's that?" Debbie asked.

"Work," Cantwell responded, "just work."

"It's supposed to be your off-duty time. I'd give that Temple an earful if I were you."

Cantwell nodded but took out his notebook, just the same. He jotted down the details Brenda had given him. Then he grinned at Debbie, "Let's go to the pub. We can have a bar snack, save you the cooking."

Debbie brightened immediately, "Can we afford it?"

"We had those winnings, didn't we? What's money for, anyway!"

With obvious delight, she ran upstairs to change. She came down wearing her new suit and a bright canary yellow jacket. With her make-up on and a big smile on her face, Cantwell knew why he had married her.

The day after the night before

2010-05-14T17:10:00.002+01:00

Brenda had slept badly on Saturday night. Her head ached and the bump on her forehead was still tender on Sunday morning. She peered into the wooden dressing-table mirror, perched near the washstand. A bluish bruise was developing over her left eye.

She glanced at her alarm clock and saw it was not yet seven. Already though Soppy would be out with the cows. She decided to dress and then write a brief account of what had happened on the Saturday evening; the way Grange Farm dodgy dogs had run and the Charlie Davey roller-coaster of a drive. She used thin air mail paper so it would fold almost flat and fit neatly into her jacket top pocket. She buttoned the pocket and went downstairs passed Soppy's empty bedroom, across the yard and into the farmhouse.

Mrs Hannaford was kneading a large ball of dough, sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She nodded to Brenda, "There's tea in the pot, hot bacon and bread on the side, 'elp yourself."

Brenda buttered two slices of bread and made a bacon sandwich. It smelled good. The butter was melted by the hot bacon and soaked into the bread. She bit into it, savouring the taste. Then, she poured a mug of tea, "Would you like a cup?", she asked Mrs Hannaford.

Mrs Hannaford sighed wearily, wrapped the ball of dough in a damp cloth and put it aside to rise. She wiped her brow with the back of her arm, "Yes, please, that I would! I'm fair done in. Been up since 'alf four and didn't sleep 'ardly at all, last night."

Brenda handed her a mug and they sat silently together lost in their own thoughts. At last, Mrs Hannaford spoke, "Your 'ead looks bad. Does it ache?"

"A bit, but no matter. I just hope that Davey bloke has more than a headache. I'd be glad not to see him again." Mrs Hannaford sipped her tea but made no response. "I wish I didn't have to be here, Mrs Hannaford. I know I'm not welcome and in the way. Believe me I'd rather not be here but I have no choice. I am totally alone in the world and this was the only job I could get. I have to look after myself."

"Same as me and 'arry then. I got no one now and 'e's never 'ad no one."

"Oh! Was he an orphan?"

"A foundling! Left on the church porch some twenty odd year ago. Little bundle wrapped up and left for the vicar to find. Vicar and 'is wife took 'im in for 'bout five year. Then vicar died and we took 'im in. Our own lad was always poorly, so us thought it would be company for 'im." Not wishing to break the flow of the story, Brenda just nodded. She had never before heard Mrs Hannaford speak at such length.

"Well, our boy got worse and worse. 'e died just after 'is tenth birthday. Our little daughter, who were three year younger, died same year. Both had TB, you see. So ..." There was a long sigh. "So, we was left with little 'arry. As strong as four 'orses is 'arry but no 'ead for learnin'. My 'usband thought the world of 'im. Couldn't 'ave carried on at Grange Farm without 'im. Best thing us ever did, taking in little 'arry."

Brenda found tears running down her cheeks. The sight of the exhausted woman and the story she had just been told upset her and put her own plight into perspective. She imagined Mrs Hannaford as a young bride full of hope for the future; two small children running in the yard; the plans for the years ahead. Now, she was little more than a skivvy to a violent crook and all through no fault of her own.

Mrs Hannaford looked up and was surprised to see Brenda's tears, "Whatever is you cryin' for?"

"For you and for Harry. Life's treated you pretty hard, hasn't it?"

"Life weren't meant to be fun, life is life and life is 'ard. And, Mrs Ellacott, you ain't 'ad it easy neither."

"Please call me Brenda. Harry does now and I'd feel much happier."

"Don't know 'e well enough. All I knows is that you work for Redbourne." She heaved herself to her feet and returned to her chores. As she did so, the kitchen door slammed shut in a sudden gust of wind. Soppy came in looking exhausted.

"Sorry! Sorry, Mrs 'annaford, didn't mean to do that! The cows were real stroppy this mornin'. Then some of them dogs wouldn't eat. Don't know when they'll get exercised, I'm plumb tired!"

Brenda seized her chance. She had been wondering how she would get to the 'drop' without being noticed. "I'll take a couple of them now, Harry. I need some fresh air. Which shall I take?"

"Oh! Great! You'll need your boots. If you take two of the brindle bitches, that'd be a great 'elp."

As she led the dogs through the yard, she saw Mrs Hannaford watching her through the window. It seemed she was still not trusted.

Clive Baker is told a thing or two!

2010-05-02T20:44:00.004+01:00

It was one of those early Spring days in Starmouth when all that's bright and beautiful in the world seems centred on East Devon. The sun was high, the sky was the palest of pale blue and the sea was calm. The red cliff, that dominated the end of the promenade, seemed to glow in the strong light. In other words, thought Superintendent Clive Baker, it was a perfect picture postcard vision of his world, his little town.

He enjoyed a Sunday stroll along the promenade, just before lunch. He and his wife always had a late lunch on Sunday, so he relaxed below the brow of the Point, as the local cliff was known. Nestling beneath it, the small cafe looked inviting. He went in and bought a cup of coffee, then went to sit at an outside table.

"Morning, Clive!" The voice uttering the name was carefully modulated and clipped. Baker almost spilled his coffee, he recognised it instantly. "May I join you?" Baker nodded and a tall smartly dressed man sat down next to him. He clicked his fingers at the woman serving behind the counter. She brought out a tray with coffee and biscuits.

Baker guessed immediately that this gesture of seeming camaraderie was not purely social. Anxiety began to prick him. He coughed before speaking:
"What a splendid day, Geoffrey. Are you taking a well deserved break from County Council affairs?"

Councillor Geoffrey Bellamy did not respond. He sipped his coffee and snapped a ginger biscuit in half. The two men sat in silence for what seemed to Baker like an eternity. His agitation was rising by the second. He hoped that his instincts about the purpose of Bellamy's sitting with him were wrong.

At last, Bellamy cleared his throat: "I thought we'd agreed that your men would stop interfering with the business affairs of some of our hardworking townspeople."

"We did and I have told my juniors to do just that. Why? Is there something wrong?"

"They're damn well not listening." Bellamy snapped back. "Two of your plain clothes lot were up at the Blandford this morning. Mrs Jackson saw them. And," he leaned closer to Baker, "last night and for two or three nights previously, a uniformed constable was standing outside Dr McBride's surgery. He was seen taking notes. It's bloody well not good enough. These are prominent members of the community going about their business. Your men are harassing them."

Baker drank the last drops of his coffee, trying to give himself time to think of an answer. The grains of coffee were bitter against his tongue and he wanted to spit them out. Instead, he swallowed them. Before he could respond, however, Bellamy had started up again.

"My daughter, you know, works for Mr Redbourne. She tells me that he's very put out by the way two of your men are dogging him."

"What can I say, Geoffrey. I'll deal with the situation. I have already spoken to the officer I think you are referring to. He's not a local man and is somewhat stubborn. I'll speak to him again."

"Don't just speak to him. Give him orders. You're the Chief Superintendent, after all. Get him transferred, if all else fails."

"Not as easy as you think. He was a major in the war, received a gallantry medal and was highly regarded by the Met."

"Well let the bloody Met take him back! We don't want or need his sort down here." He got up and left Baker musing over the situation.

The return walk home was unpleasant. Neither the sun, nor the sky, the fresh sea air or the seagulls flying could raise his spirits. Thoughts were going round his head. He had always secretly rather admired Temple's persistence and determination. He was the sort of detective he had once aspired to be himself. But his wife's ambitions for socialising had put pay to that.

As soon as he opened his front door, his wife rushed towards him: "Clive, you are so late! We've got to get a move on."

"Why? Who ..."

"We've been invited to a garden party at Sir Martin and Lady Bulstrode's place. We're to be there by 3 o'clock. There's so much to do before then."

By the time the day was over, Clive Baker knew exactly how he had to deal with Temple on Monday morning. He would do anything for a quiet life. If his wife thought he might put any chance of an honour at risk, she would go berserk. And he would certainly be doing that if he annoyed Councillor Geoffrey Bellamy.

Eager Beaver's secrets

2010-04-28T18:52:00.002+01:00

Eager's boat still had police tape round it. If anything it looked even more ramshackle than when they had first seen it. Temple took his torch from the car boot. Once below deck, he shone its beams into every dark recess. The smell was as bad as ever, the dried blood added a musty scent to the already sour air.

"You've searched all the cupboards and drawers?" Temple asked Cantwell.

"Yep, Gov, ever single one."

Temple sat on the bench that ran the length of the cabin. He shone the torch under the bunk, above the bunk, into the galley. "Tap your way along that side." He nodded to the galley side of the boat. "I'll have a go at this side. Listen out for any hollows."

As Cantwell neared the galley stove, there was a noticeable change in tone to his knocks. He looked up excitedly. "There's something here."

Temple snatched a knife from one of the drawers and went over. Half an hour later, they had removed two thin half planks. In the gap between the wood and the hull was a space large enough to hold a fair sized metal box. They lifted it out and placed it on the table. It was a rectangular box about four inches wide by eight inches long and two inches deep. The metal was a dull silver colour and the box itself was heavy. It was also locked. They sat back and looked at it for some time, in silence.

"Did forensics find any keys?"

"No, Gov."

"We'll have to force it then. I don't want to do it at the station. I'd rather wait until we know exactly what's in it, before Baker starts asking his questions again." He pulled a bunch of skeleton keys from his pocket. None of them worked.

"Shall I have a go, Gov? I've got a set of suitcase and padlock keys here." He waved a small bunch in front of Temple's face. Most of them were obviously wrong. However, just as Temple had decided to look for a screwdriver, Cantwell took out a small sturdy key. There was a rewarding click and the box opened.

Cantwell lifted the lid and with the light from the torch, they saw two small note books and a brown pill bottle.

"Looks hopeful!" Temple exclaimed. "You look at that book and I'll examine this one."

The book Temple was reading listed dog race meetings and individual races going back over two years. Beside each race was a list of bets. Every third or fourth race there was a large red question mark followed by the initial 'R'.

The book Cantwell was examining was more like a journal. It also covered the last two years. The writing was small and almost unintelligible. Cantwell shook his head. "Deciphering this will take more than a bit of time, Gov. There's dates, names and most of it looks meaningless. It'll take a hot towel over your head to make any sense of it. The writing is minute!"

"Look, it's getting late." Temple said. "I'll take both books back to my place. You should get back to Debbie. At least you can have some of the afternoon and evening together."

"What about the bottle?"

"I'll drop it into the Path Lab in the morning. I guess this is what those thugs were looking for when they beat the poor bloke to a pulp."

Temple dropped Cantwell off at his home then drove back to his own flat. As he opened the front door, the cold damp air hit him. It was not so different, he thought, from Eager Beaver's boat. The thought depressed him. He lit the gas fire, put on the kettle, cut himself a wedge of cheddar cheese and some slices of stale bread. He switched on the wireless and waited for the kettle to boil.

The Home Service was broadcasting 'Down Your Way' from Oxford. "Bloody boring people with bloody boring lives." He said out loud as he buttered the bread and made the tea. "Still, they're probably a damn sight better off and more content than I am."

After his snack, he took a second cup of tea to the small table by his armchair and began reading one of the books. Before he did so, however, he re-read Brenda's account of the Saturday night fiasco. After two hours solid reading, he dozed off into an uneasy sleep.

Sunday morning gets interesting

2010-04-22T12:14:00.004+01:00

WingCo, Judith and McBride remained closeted in the office for the next half hour. Guests came and went, Cantwell envied their easy manner and evident enjoyment of life. The thought crossed his mind that if Soppy Soper told him the names of a few more dodgy dogs who were winners, then he too might be able to partake of some of the luxuries of the Blandford. Maybe he and Debbie could, at least, have dinner there one evening.

Temple suddenly tensed and nudged Cantwell. Redbourne, dressed in a smart tailored suit, had just come in and was standing in the foyer. He was chattin, in an animated way, to a tall blonde man in a harris tweed jacket. Standing between them Tracey smiled rather inanely.

"Bloody hell, Gov! That's Councillor Bellamy. He's well in with the County Sheriff and the other big-wigs." Cantwell whispered excitedly.

"I know who he is, even in my limited time in this county, you can't avoid his name. Who's the girl? I know she's Redbourne's receptionist but she seems to know Bellamy too."

"She would do, Gov. She's his daughter!"

Temple took in a deep breath and sat back behind the potted plant. They watched as Redbourne ushered Tracey and Bellamy into the Lounge Bar. He ordered drinks for them then went, on his own, to WingCo's office. Some five minutes later, he emerged together with WingCo, Judith and McBride. They joined Bellamy and his daughter.

"No good them seeing us, Cantwell. Redbourne would gloat. If he has Bellamy in his pocket then his influence goes right to the top. We need to re-think our strategy. Let's get out of here."

In the car, Temple's frustration and anger were plain to see. Cantwell felt helpless, not knowing what to say. He thought action might take Temple's mind off the predicament.
"Why don't we drive up to Grange Farm and see if there's anything at the drop spot?"

"Doubt if there'll be anything yet." Temple paused. "But why not? We know Redbourne's tied up for a while."

The winding lanes were deserted so they arrived at the lay-by much sooner than Cantwell had reckoned. Only grazing cows could be seen in the lower pasture; from the farmhouse a thin trail of smoke rose from the chimney. There appeared to be nobody about.

Temple vaulted over the gate, Cantwell climbed laboriously over it. To their surprise, there was a wodge of papers lying beneath the stone. They took them back to the car to read them. Brenda Ellacott had been up early and, as soon as breakfast was over, had walked up the hill to deposit her account of the Saturday night's events.

"Ah ha! So that's how Truscott came to see Steele dragging a man into McBride's surgery." Temple sat back waving the papers. "Pity he wasn't hospitalised! He's a bloody menace."

"Where's this going to get us, Gov? We saw the type of people who Redbourne mixes with. A bit of race fixing will mean nothing to them. 'Specially if they're making something out of it too. If it was horse racing then the toffs might get more careful. They wouldn't want too much scrutiny suggesting that horse races were fixed. But dog racing! They're not going to worry about that. As long as six dogs start a race no one really cares if the result is dodgy or not."

"A bit of race fixing is just for starters, Cantwell! What about drug dealing, GBH and a little case of murder? Can't turn away from that so easily."

"Maybe not! But how the hell do we prove it, Gov? Just tell me that."

"We're going back to Beaver's boat. I'm convinced there's something we missed. Why beat him to death? Just to keep his mouth shut? I don't think so! He had something that they wanted. And, Sunny Jim, we're going to find it."

Coffee and Danish at the Blandford

2010-04-13T12:18:00.001+01:00

Cantwell was about to enjoy a Sunday morning lie in when his phone rang. It was Temple ringing from the station. He asked him to come in to the station; he needed to discuss the case. Cantwell groaned inwardly. This was not his idea of bliss. He replaced the receiver and broke the news to Debbie. She just turned over telling him to make his own breakfast and bring her a cup of tea. In a fit of pique, he washed, dressed and left for the station without breakfast and without making her tea. If she couldn't be bothered to get his breakfast, he'd be blowed if he'd make her tea. Now, as he sat reading Truscott's report, he regretted it. His stomach rumbled and he imagined the fried bread, bacon and egg that he could have eaten.

"Go and get a coffee, Cantwell, and a bun or something. If your stomach rumbles again, you'll bring the ceiling down."

"I'll get you one as well, Gov."

They sat companionably drinking their coffee while Cantwell munched his way though a stale current bun. Temple pointed at the report, "What do you think?"

Cantwell shrugged his shoulders. "Nothing really ..."

"Nothing!" Temple exclaimed loudly. "What's wrong with you? It means that McBride's in this up to his eyeballs together with that lot up at the Blandford. This is the first real evidence."

"You'll never prove it, Gov. He'll just say that he was acting like a doctor and that anyone can consult him when they need medical care."

Temple swigged his coffee and pulled a face. "God! This tastes like bloody acorns. It's worse than we had in the war." He swilled the liquid round his cup. "Still, you're right, Cantwell. Knowing is one thing; proving beyond a reasonable doubt is quite another."

He walked across to the large blackboard that stood near the wall and picked up a piece of chalk. After tossing it around for a few seconds, he began scribbling on it.

"See! One drowned body: Ellacott. One pulverised body: Eager Beaver. One beaten woman: Brenda Ellacott. One very dubious bookie: Redbourne. At least two henchmen: Steele and Davey. Several so-called high-ups, numbers and names unknown - who don't want to know what's going on and certainly don't want us to know. Finally, the key to it all: more than a few dodgy dogs and good old Soppy Soper." He threw the chalk down and turned to look at Cantwell.

Cantwell stared hard at the writing. He could see the links but he knew that Baker would want more than what they had. Temple wiped the board clean and clouds of white chalk dust flew round the room.

"Come on, Cantwell, let's go up to the Blandford again. WingCo and wifey are the jittery sort. Let's make them a bit more jumpy. Mistakes are made when people get nervous."

Cantwell brightened up at the prospect. Glancing at his watch, he saw it wasn't yet eleven. He imagined he might get a coffee and a danish, if he played his cards right.

The Blandford car park was almost full weekend guests had swelled the numbers of the usual locals. Several smart looking couples were in the lounge bar. Cantwell glanced at his unpolished shoes and the frayed edges of Temple's jacket cuffs and thought they were well under-dressed for the place. Without a shred of self-consciousness, Temple went to the bar and ordered two coffees and two danish pastries. The barman, one whom they had not seen before, nodded. He returned with a tray and placed it on the counter.

"Busy, I see." Temple commented.

"Yep. Weekends are getting really good bookings. The Jacksons are really pushing the place."

Temple and Cantwell sat at a low table. The room was a buzz of chatter and laughter. One young couple were puffing away at brightly coloured Balkan Sobranie cigarettes. The woman had a long mother of pearl cigarette holder, which she held in a posed way that irritated Temple. Just as he was about to comment to Cantwell, he spotted Judith Jackson entering the room, a smile on her lips. Her eyes roved round the room until she spotted whoever she was looking for. She appeared not to have noticed Temple.

Suddenly Dr McBride appeared. He headed straight for the bar and ordered a large whisky. He drank almost half of it in one swig. He saw Judith Jackson and immediately crossed the room to be at her side. They spoke together for some minutes, then together they left heading in the direction of the office.

"Guest suddenly taken ill, do you think? Emergency summoning from the management! Or is it distribution of the winnings time?" Temple snarled.

"From Saturday night, you mean?"

"Yes! from our little dodgy dogs running their hearts out at the Halfway." Temple glanced at Cantwell. "You still hungry?"

"Yes! I didn't have breakfast. Debbie was miffed that I had to come in to work. She was in a real strop. Refused to get out of bed."

"Well go and get yourself another coffee and danish, get me another coffee." He gave him a half-crown coin. "Bring them out to the lounge, we can get a better view of the office from there." He crossed the lobby and went into the bright open reception area. An array of large chintz chairs and sofas faced either towards the windows overlooking the gardens, the fireplace or they were scattered at random round small tables. He selected an armchair at an angle to the fireplace. From there he had a clear view of WingCo's office but was shielded from general view by a large overgrown potted plant that looked as though it had been extracted from the Amazon rainforest.

Cantwell emerged from the bar carrying a tray. He peered round, then caught sight of a wave from Temple from behind the thick green fronds. This beat a morning at the station, he thought, as he settled into the soft seat of an armchair. As he sat munching the apple danish, he watched Temple eyeing the office door.

"You know something, Cantwell. I think we'll stay here until we've had enough or been observed. Either way, I hope we can cause a bit of discomfort."

Truscott's vigil

2010-04-08T12:35:00.003+01:00

PC Truscott had been standing on the pavement opposite McBride's surgery for several evenings. Temple had told him to see who went in after the usual surgery times. Being a local man, Truscott knew just about everyone by sight. He made a list of their names and the times of their visits in his notebook. So far, nothing out of the ordinary had taken place and he was bored.

So far on the Saturday evening no one had gone in. Truscott, convinced that he could call it a day, was suddenly startled by the sound of a car driving fast along the road and coming to a screeching halt outside the surgery. Ted Steele got out and rapped loudly on the door. McBride appeared and helped Steele carry a man into the building. Truscott was alert, he noted the van's number and the time of its arrival. Then, he waited. He knew it was only McBride and Steele and the man inside the surgery. The previous person had left several hours before. In theory the surgery was closed. Truscott forgot the cold and damp. At last, there was something to report.

About three-quarters of an hour later, Redbourne drove up and ran up the steps to the surgery. Then, for the next hour or so nothing happened. Suddenly, the door opened and Redbourne and Steele emerged supporting a heavily bandaged man who they led to Steele's van. After a conversation, Redbourne got into his car and drove off. Steele followed some minutes later, driving in the opposite direction. Truscott was busy scribbling his notes when McBride came out. He locked the surgery door behind him, collected his car and also drove away. Satisfied there was no more to be discovered that evening, Truscott returned to the station to make a full report.

He had heard from Tom Cantwell all about the dog racing and what he called the 'dodgy dogs'. Maybe, Truscott thought, just maybe he would get a turn at the County Ground track next time. Anything rather than standing in the pouring rain monitoring McBride's surgery. If his report was good, Temple might put him on a more exciting assignment.

Setting the record straight

2010-04-03T18:44:00.002+01:00

Brenda drove slowly along the winding lanes. The dogs had been tossed around quite enough for one night. As soon as they arrived at Grange Farm, Soppy jumped out and attended to the dogs who had travelled with Steele. They were shivering and whimpering in the cold, having been tied up to the back door of the barn.

Brenda sat quietly for a few minutes trying to take stock of the evening's events. She was exhausted and ached from the crash. Her head was pounding and all she wanted to do was have a hot bath and go to bed. The rumblings from her tummy told her that she was also hungry.

One of the dogs in the back began whining pathetically. The noise broke into her thoughts. She got out, opened up the rear door and peered in. The dogs wagged their tails and stared up into her face with their large brown eyes. She led them all to the barn.

Soppy had just finished dealing with the first set. He had rubbed them down, fed and watered them. He grinned broadly at Brenda:
"Soon 'ave 'em all settled, then us can go to Mrs 'annaford and get 'e sorted."

As they were dealing with the last four dogs, Brenda decided to ask the question that had been on her mind for sometime.

"Harry, why doesn't Mrs Hannaford like me?" She held her hand up to stop him denying it. "No, Harry, I know she doesn't. I can see it on her face."

"Tain't 'e, Brenda. Tis just," he paused. "Tis just she thinks you'm spying for Redbourne. She don't like that. She says you'm tellin' tales on 'er and me."

"Spying for Redbourne." Brenda was shocked. "My God, Harry, you don't think that, do you?"

"Dunno. Usually, Mrs 'annaford knows what's what."

"Well, this time she doesn't know! This time, she's got it all wrong!" She shook her head. "I'm going to have to put her right, Harry."

The kitchen was warm. A fire crackled in the range. On top, a large tureen of soup was bubbling. Freshly baked bread stood on the kitchen table, an inviting smell wafting round the cosy room.

"Wherever you been?" Mrs Hannaford asked anxiously. "You should've been back long ago." She peered at Brenda. "Oh my Lord! What's 'appened to 'e? Let me see." She examined Brenda's head closely. Then she fetched her medical box from the top of the sideboard. She dabbed iodine onto the cut which caused Brenda to cry out in pain. "Hush now!" Mrs Hannaford said. "Tis better us gets it clean." Then she put a large plaster across the cut.

The three of them sat round the table and Mrs Hannaford served out the soup and bread. Soppy began relating the events of the evening, sparing no detail. All the while, Mrs Hannaford watched Brenda closely, observing the exhaustion on her face.

"You've got me all wrong, Mrs Hannaford." Brenda said, at last. "I'm no more a friend or ally of Redbourne than you or Harry. But when you find yourself without a husband, no job, no money and rent to pay - then needs must. I was beaten unconscious, threatened and frightened sick. What could I do but try to get a job with Redbourne, he owed me, after all. What my husband did for him, I don't know, but Redbourne owes me and I'm going to make sure he pays." She looked over at Mrs Hannaford who was staring fixedly at her soup. "I know you don't like or trust me. I don't expect you to like me, why should you? You don't know me. But, I promise you I am not here to spy on you or Harry. I'd never do that."

"I don't think she would, Mrs 'annaford." Soppy butted in. "You should 'ave seen 'er with that Davey bloke. 'e treated 'er real bad - worse than 'e treats the dogs. Redbourne weren't any better to 'er either."

Mrs Hannaford kept her own council. She brought out a huge apple pie and cut three slices. Then she covered each slice with thick, rich custard before handing them out.

The meal continued in silence. Brenda let the warm sweet custard soothe her. She sat back and closed her eyes. For the first time that day she relaxed. Mrs Hannaford watched her and began to wonder whether her first impressions had indeed been wrong.

Nightmare Drive

2010-03-29T18:19:00.003+01:00

Charlie Davey was visibly staggering as he approached the shooting brake. Brenda and Soppy had already loaded the dogs into the back and Soppy had put down three straw bales for them to rest and travel more comfortably. Then, he had gone to the van that Steele was driving to settle the other dogs in there.

Brenda sat hunched up in the front of the shooting brake, leaning as far away from the driver's seat as possible. Davey climbed in and slammed the door. Then, starting up the engine he began driving out of the Halfway track at an alarming speed. Once they reached the high-hedged lanes, the dogs began barking because the brake swerved round the bends and they were thrown against the bales.

"Bloody dogs! Shut up! Shut up!" Davey yelled and banged the dashboard. The smell of beer was almost overpowering.

Brenda reached for the dashboard to steady herself. In an instant, Davey noticed and grinned:
"What! What! Scared are we? Scared? I'll show you what's bloody scary, darlin'"

He pressed the accelerator down hard and swerved into the next bend. The rear wheels began spinning on the greasy damp surface and the brake went into a skid. With horror, Brenda saw the bank coming at them. She braced herself as they slammed into it.

Some seconds later Brenda stirred, blood was trickling down her forehead and nose. The dogs were whimpering in the back. She looked across towards Davey. He was slumped across the steering wheel and was unconscious. A deep gash ran across his face. Blood flowed from it onto his jacket. Getting out of the car, Brenda opened up the rear door. The straw bales had protected the dogs from the hard sides of the brake but they were shivering and sounded quite piteous. She stroked them in turn and spoke gently to them.

Car headlights rounded the corner, Redbourne was at the wheel, Tracey perched on the seat next to him. The car stopped and Redbourne got out.

"What the hell's going on here?"

As he approached the brake, Steele's van also rounded the bend and came to an abrupt halt. In a flash, Soppy was out and running over. Brenda was relieved to see him.

"Is Midnight okay? What about Pippa and the others?"

"They're frightened but those straw bales saved them from anything worse than being shaken about." Brenda said.

"What about you?" Soppy asked. "You've cut your 'ead quite badly." He reached out and touched her gently, evident concern in his blue eyes.

"I hadn't noticed, too shocked, I suppose, and worried about the dogs."

For Soppy, that was the turning point in his attitude towards Brenda. That she was concerned for the dogs' welfare, when she herself had been hurt, said it all for him. He would tell Mrs Hannaford she was wrong about Brenda. If she cared for animals, she was alright by him.

Steele and Redbourne, meanwhile, had been taking a closer look at Charlie Davey. Steele could not have cared less about the dogs and he turned angrily on Soppy and Brenda.

"What about Charlie, eh? Not bothered about him?" Steele was almost snarling.

"He was blind drunk and driving like a madman, He could have killed us all."

"Drunk? Not Charlie. He can hold his drink. You must've upset him, you bitch!"

"Shut up, Ted." Redbourne said. "He needs to see the Doc and pretty quick. I can't take him, I'm going with Tracey to a drinks party, one I can't afford to miss. You'll have to get him there. Take the dogs back to the farm, drop them off, then go on to McBride's place. I'll phone him and tell him to get to his surgery." He turned to Soppy. "You and Brenda get the brake out of the hedge and get back to the farm."

"I can't drive, Mr Redbourne." Soppy said.

Redbourne muttered a stream of obscenities and slammed a fist into his palm.

"I'll drive." Brenda said. Redbourne looked at her in surprise.

"You? Can you drive?"

"I drove munitions trucks during the war. So, yes, I can drive." Her tones were sardonic and bitter.

"Fine then! You drive. Okay, Ted, get on with it, let's put Charlie in the van and you set off. I'll get to a phone and tell McBride that you'll be there in about three-quarters of an hour." He turned to look at the dogs in the shooting brake. "Dogs alright? Bloody hope so! Don't want to loose any dosh on them. What do you think, Soppy?"

"Won't know till I get a proper look back at the farm."

"Give them a rub down and make sure they're fit to run at the next meeting." Soppy bristled. He didn't need to be told how to look after the dogs. But he said nothing. "Well, we'll all be off now. You two make bloody sure you get back in time to see to the dogs in Ted's van."

Soppy and Brenda watched the two vehicles disappear. As Redbourne's car passed, Tracey gave her a disdainful glance before saying something that made Redbourne laugh.

It was cold, it was drizzling and Brenda was shaking with shock and anger. Tracey's look was the final straw. Steele drove passed giving a dagger's look at her and Soppy.

"How'm you goin to get out of the bank?" Soppy asked.

Brenda took in a deep breath and tried to smile:
"With difficulty, Harry. But it would be a great help if you directed me from the side and watched out for any cars that might co0me round that bend."

"Right you are." Soppy was pleased to be useful.

Brenda doube de-clutched and gingerly put the brake into reverse. Slowly by several manoeuvres, she got the vehicle onto the lane. In the mirror, she could see the relief on Soppy's face. He climbed in beside her and smiled.

"Nice bit of drivin, Brenda. Didn't know you was so good at it! You could drive my tractor at the farm."

Brenda realised that coming from him, this was a real compliment and it made her feel a whole lot better about herself. Damn Redbourne, Steele and Davey and damn that stuck-up Tracy. Brenda decided she would stick it out and see them all to hell and back. She pressed gently on the accelerator and drove them back through the dark lanes.

The Races Begin

2010-03-26T21:56:00.000Z

True to his word, Soppy arrived back in time to start the stop watch. If she had been on her own, Brenda reckoned she would have made a mess of some of the timings. Between each race, Soppy disappeared in the direction of the kennels. Each time, however, he arrived on time to help her.

By the end of the third race, she noticed he seemed more excited than usual. His pallor had gone. In fact, his face was quite flushed and his pale blue eyes, normally downcast, were looking her straight in the face. Obviously, something had gone right for him. Brenda decided it would be useful if she could find out what it was. Just as she was about to speak, the loudspeaker crackled into life and announced the results of the third race. Fairweather Friend had won with odds of 33:1. She wondered if that was why he was so pleased. After all, Fairweather Friend was a particular favourite of his. She also noticed that, rather furtively, Soppy had crept round to one of the lesser known bookies and appeared to place a bet. Still, she couldn't be sure about it. She decided to see if she could find out more.

"God! I just wish I'd had a bet on Fairweather Friend." She said. "I could have done with a bob or two. It would've helped get me on my feet again, after Ben's death."

Soppy stepped back a pace and looked at her closely:
"You need the cash?" He sounded quite surprised.

"You bet I do! I can hardly make ends meet. Why do you think I asked Redbourne for a job?"

"P'rhaps Mr Redbourne could 'elp 'e a bit more."

Brenda was unsure of the nature of Soppy's relationship with Redbourne. So she just nodded and gave a wistful smile.

Brenda was nothing if not neat, the record of the evening's races was clear and written in beautifully rounded script. She underlined the winners and their times with red ink. She also noted the times of Redbourne's dogs. Only two out of the six won that evening, another was second, the other three were unplaced.

Redbourne, Tracey and the others did not seem at all dismayed by the results. They spent the greater part of the evening in the refreshment tent swigging second rate beer. Tracey had her Babychams, beer made her feel sick. Brenda did not understand how a girl, obviously from a good home, could not only work for Redbourne but also socialise with him. She guessed there was more to that relationship than she understood.

Soppy and Brenda had what was supposed to be a cup of tea from a stall next to the small wooden stand. However, it looked and tasted like cold brown soup. With increasing concern, Brenda noticed that Davey was none too steady on his feet. He was driving her and several of the dogs back to Grange Farm. The journey out had been hair-raising enough. Davey took the sharp bends at high speed and twice they had skidded. If he was half-cut, his driving could only be worse.

The last race ended and myriads of disappointed punters mooched their way to the exit. Rain had made the grass damp and Brenda's shoes were wet. She was cold and miserable and wondered what on earth she had done to deserve ending up like this. Though she said nothing, Soppy could see her misery. He felt sorry for her. However, Mrs Hannaford's words of warning sounded in his head, so instead of comforting her, he just patted her arm and gave her a smile of encouragement.

"I'll just go ahead and see the dogs are put into the van and shooting brake. Don't want them getting too excited. They'll be tired and wanting their evening meal." He paused. "You be alright, Brenda?"

"Yes, Harry. Thank you for asking. I'll be alright. I'll come and help you bed down the dogs, when we're back at the farm."

If only Brenda had known it, things were not going to be that simple.

The Halfway Track

2010-03-23T17:49:00.003Z

The Halfway was a 'flapper' track. In other words it was not really governed by any rules. Although, on the surface, it seemed rather amateurish, it was well patronised. The toffs on their way back from Newton Abbott races or Haldon point to points would 'round off' their day by visiting the Halfway. The bookies followed the money and usually gathered there en masse.

Unlike the County Ground, the Halfway was a grass track. So it suited Redbourne's dogs just fine. The problem with grass though, is that some dogs can't get a grip on the slippery grass on the bends. They tumble and rocket themselves into the barriers. Several lost toes in the process. Others, more badly hurt, would damage themselves so severely that they were put down by the trainers. It was rumoured that the carcasses were fed to the hounds of the local hunt.

Redbourne had high hopes for the next Halfway meeting. Both Fairweather Friend and Midnight Boy were running as well as four other dogs. Two of the other dogs were no-hopers. The two others were novices and this would be a test of their abilities or lack of them.

Since Ben Ellacott's death, the supply of sodium amytal had almost run out. McBride had promised new supplies but so far none had materialised. Now, they depended on Soppy's instinctive knowledge of the animals; that and his ability to manipulate the dogs' diets.

Redbourne arrived early with Tracey. They had both been at Newton Abbott races with some of Tracey's relatives. Redbourne had won a fair amount of cash. Tracey's uncle knew several of the racehorse trainers and had been given some good tips. So it was with high spirits that he arrived at the Halfway.

Ted Steele drove one of the vans with Soppy in the back looking after three of the dogs. Charlie Davey drove a shooting brake with Brenda keeping an eye on the other three dogs.

Brenda disliked Davey. He was a dangerous, temperamental man. She sensed that he knew more than he said about Ben's death and she vowed that she would find out more. Not a word passed between them during the entire journey, even though it took well over an hour from Grange Farm. As soon as the vehicle stopped, Davey gave her orders:
"Get the brindle dog to the kennel maid. The dog's running in the first race."

Brenda opened the back of the brake. Two of the dogs were asleep. She took the brindle's leash and encouraged her out.

"You come straight back." Davey shouted at her.

Brenda had never been to the Halfway before. She looked round and caught sight of Soppy talking to Redbourne and Tracey. Redbourne beckoned her over:
"Hand the dog to Soppy, he'll deal with her."

"Charlie Davey is expecting me back ..."

"Then he can bloody wait, can't he? Remember who's boss, Brenda. I give the orders round here. Understand?" She nodded. "Good - now I want you to keep a clear and accurate record of all the dogs that run. I want to know where they finish and the time each race takes. Get it?" She nodded again. "You've brought the record book, I hope."

"Yes."

"Well get on with it." As she turned to go, he called after her. "You can go back for a break to Starmouth in about a fortnight. Till then, you just stay put at the farm."

"I thought you said ..."

"You're not paid to think, Bren, you're paid to do as you're told. I make the rules. Your rent is paid on your flat. You have full board and lodgings at the farm. So just shut up and don't complain." He turned to walk away, taking Tracey by the elbow. He said something in her ear which made her laugh and she turned round to look at Brenda.

Feeling completely mortified, Brenda blushed. No one had ever spoken to her like that before and the final knife in the wound was Tracey's amusement. She walked slowly back to the shooting brake. Davey was waiting for her, so she decided to get her word in first.

"I've been given my orders by Redbourne and ..."

"Mr Redbourne to you, Bren. Mr Redbourne. So," he paused, "what's he got you doing? Clearing up the dog shit!" He laughed.

As she reached for the book, he grabbed her wrist:
"You just behave yourself, Bren, or things might get a bit uncomfortable for you. So, you'd better be nice to me."

Pulling her arm away, she slammed the brake's door. Soppy had seen what had gone on between Davey and Brenda. He slipped away from the kennels and found her. Despite everything that Mrs Hannaford had said, he wasn't sure that Brenda was as bad as she had been painted.

"You'm goin to need a race card." He handed her one. "Write down all the dogs' names, then I'll start the stop watch when the race begins. I'll give you the time at the end. I gotta go back to the kennels but I promise I'll be back in time."

Brenda found herself grateful for the help and she smiled wanly at him. She took the card and, with the notebook perched on a wooden post, she began to write down the names for the first four races.

True to his word, he arrived stopwatch in hand, minutes before the first race.

"'Tis goin to be a busy night!" He exclaimed excitedly. Brenda felt her heart sink, wishing she had never got into in this dog racing business. How on earth Ben had been involved, she had no idea. If he had told her about dodgy dogs, she would have soon put him right. As it was, now she was alone and immersed in the business right up to her neck.

WingCo is suspicious

2010-03-20T17:08:00.002Z

As soon as WingCo heard that Brenda Ellacott had been added to the team at Grange Farm, he was very uneasy. He invited Redbourne and McBride for a drink at the Blandford. He hoped that Judy could persuade Redbourne it was a bad idea to let more people in on their schemes.

Redbourne and McBride both arrived at the hotel and were ushered into the Jackson's private quarters. Judy poured their drinks and handed round some snacks. She could tell that Redbourne was amused by WingCo's obvious anxiety.

"So, WingCo, what's worrying you? You don't invite us into your inner sanctum without either wanting something or getting one of your usual panic attacks. Spit it out."

"It's this Ellacott woman going up to the farm. I don't think it's a good idea. We don't know exactly what Ben told her. That is if he told her anything."

"If you hadn't been so bloody unsubtle when you visited her, chum, I wouldn't have had her on my back in the first place." Redbourne wagged his finger menacingly at him. Then he drank a mouthful of his whisky, before continuing. "However, once she came to see me, all in a fluster because of what you'd said, I could see the advantages of tying her in with us. This way, she'll have to behave herself and we can keep an eye on her."

"I agree." McBride interrupted. "She isn't a very bright woman and she'll soon knuckle under up at the farm. In town she could be a loose cannon, asking too many questions. She needs to stay up at the farm until she's so implicated in our schemes that she can't get out. It's a clever idea, Rex."

"My! My!" Redbourne smirked, "We have learnt the language of the underworld, haven't we? Congratulations, Doc, you've just graduated as one of the criminal fraternity. That's exactly how we work!" He finished his drink and held out his glass to Judy. "Give us another, love."

WingCo was not pacified. Wasn't it the case that the first approach to join their set up had been from the Ellacott woman herself? What if someone else had put her up to it?

"Don't worry, darling." Judy stroked his shoulder. "She can't do us any harm, if she's up at the farm."

"But she must hate our guts! I threatened her, didn't I? And Steele and Davey beat her senseless when they raided her flat. Don't tell me that she's suddenly had an overwhelming desire to be one of us."

"WingCo, you don't understand what it's like to have no money. The woman fairly begged me to give her a job. She said she had nowhere else to turn. And, let's be honest, where would she get a job?" Redbourne was beginning to get impatient with WingCo.

McBride understood WingCo's doubts but said that he knew her better than the rest of them:
"I'm telling you, there's no cause for alarm. As long as she has a roof over her head and a plate of food, she'll be happy. She's not like Judy here." He winked at her.

"Stop the fussing, WingCo." Redbourne said. "Turn your mind to the next race meeting. It's going to be at the Halfway. I expect to make a killing." He laughed. "I'm talking finances, you understand, not guns or razors. Will any of you be there?"

"I'm going." McBride said.

"I might, if we've got the full staff that night." Judy added.

"What about you, WingCo? A little entertainment would take your mind off things." Redbourne grinned at him.

WingCo just shook his head. Something still niggled at the back of his mind about Brenda Ellacott. He prayed he was wrong. If he was right, they would all regret this move on Redbourne's part.

Training the dogs

2010-03-17T17:48:00.006Z

Early next morning, Soppy told Brenda there would be a training session on the upper field. She dressed in slacks and some flat shoes, hoping the ground wouldn't be too muddy. She wore a thick yellow jumper but it did not keep out the chill morning air. She vowed to buy more suitable clothes for this sort of work when she returned to Starmouth.

Soppy had two dogs on leashes. Redbourne's man, Charlie Davey, was trying to cope with one very frisky young brindle dog. As soon as he saw Brenda, he yelled for her to come and collect a fourth dog.

Soppy grinned at her and gave her the leash of a large, but thankfully calm, black dog. They led the dogs up the steep slope of the field to the flatter top, where the track had been laid out. As she passed by, Brenda glanced at the wooden shed. She saw at once what Temple had meant, in his note, it would be a useful place to hide information.

Soppy tied the dogs' leashes to four separate posts. There were two brindle dogs with almost identical markings. The only difference between the two was that one had four white feet. The other two dogs were predominantly black. One had two white feet; the other had a white tip to his tail. Brenda wondered how you could distinguish them apart at a distance.

She noticed that one of the dogs got a great deal of attention from Soppy. It was one of the black dogs with the white tip to his tail. He fondled his ears and tickled his muzzle. This irritated Charlie Davey who kept looking at his watch:
"For Christ's sake, Soppy, get a move on. It's too bloody cold to stay up here long."

Brenda stroked the other black dog who looked up at her and wagged his tail. Soppy noticed this and grinned at her:
"'Es called Midnight Boy. So I calls 'im Middy. Nice dog, real gentle like."

Charlie Davey went into the shed and started the generator running. Then he checked the 'hare', testing it in short jerky movements.

"C'mon get the two brindles in the traps and let's get them running. You," he pointed at Brenda, "make bloody sure you get the times right. Get the stop watch stopping and starting to the exact time. The first dog is," he looked at his sheet of paper, "the one with four white feet is ... Pepper's Pick. The other brindle is Julie's Joy." He stared hard at Brenda. "You got that. We need the times for both those dogs. So get it right, or else."

Brenda felt in her pocket for the stop watch. She felt more than a bit anxious. She watched the dogs go into the traps.

"Don't worry," Soppy whispered to her. "I'll shout when the traps go up, then you start the watch. Then, I'll tell you when the circuits are over and you stop it. Okay?" She nodded.

And so the morning progressed. The two brindles running against each other; then the two black dogs; then best brindle against best black and slower brindle against slower black. After a couple of hours, including several long breaks while Charlie Davey fiddled with the electrical circuits, Soppy said the dogs had had enough.

Brenda leaned against the shed and checked she had put all the right times next to the proper names. She felt exhausted, as much from anxiety as from any real work.

Soppy went over to her and asked if everything was alright. He gave her a wide smile which she found disarming:
"You seem very fond of that black dog and he seems very fond of you." She said.

"Yeah, I am that. That's Pal. Leastwise that's what I calls 'im. 'e races under the name Fairweather Friend. 'es special, that one."

"For Christ's sake shut up your nattering. Let's get these dogs back to the farm." He took the same dog he had brought up to the circuit and set off at speed down the hill. Soppy gave Brenda the leash of Middy again. He had Pal with him.

"I'd better go on ahead, Mrs Ellacott. I don't want Charlie just putting the dog back anyhow, like 'e always do. Will you be okay on your own?"

"Harry, call me Brenda, please. I'll just take my time with Middy. You go on ahead." She couldn't believe her luck. It was just what she had hoped for. An opportunity to look more closely at the shed.

She watched Soppy disappear down the hill. Then tethering Middy back to the post, she took a tour round the back of the shed. She bent down and there, just where Temple had described, was the large flat stone. She tore out a sheet from her notebook and scribbled a few hurried lines:

'Found it! Nothing much happening at the shop. Will keep my eyes open in case some new goods come in.'

She put the folded paper carefully under the stone. Then, she returned to the dog who was beginning to whine. As soon as he saw her returning, he wagged his tail. She undid the leash and jogged with him down to the farm, feeling much more confident.

Mrs Hannaford makes plans

2010-03-14T19:00:00.003Z

Brenda was not sure what to make of Mrs Hannaford. She thought the feeling was mutual. If there had been a way of cooking her own meals instead of having them with Soppy and Mrs Hannaford in the farm kitchen, she would have done so. But there wasn't. So she tried to be as unobtrusive as possible. Mrs Hannaford seldom spoke directly to her. Instead she would ask Soppy to pass the bread or the cider. That way they did not need to make eye contact.

One thing Brenda was sure about was that Mrs Hannaford detested Redbourne. Brenda suspected that any welcome she maight have received had been tainted by Redbourne driving her to the farm and ordering Mrs Hannaford to look after her. Mrs Hannaford seemed to have got the notion that Redbourne had sent Brenda to Grange Farm to keep an eye on things and report back to him. Brenda knew she couldn't tell her the truth.

Mrs Hannaford placed a bowl of stew in front of both Soppy and Brenda. Then, she poured a tankard of cider for each of them and sat down wearily.

"You'm okay, Mrs 'annaford?" Soppy asked anxiously.

"Just tired, lad, just tired." Her eyes had softened when she spoke to him and she smiled faintly.

"I'm not tired, Mrs 'annaford, I'll 'elp you if you'm needing anythin."

"No, 'arry. There's no need. I already done the chores. There's nothin more needs doing."

Brenda ate the stew and drank the cider in silence. When she had finished, she offered to help with the washing up. The offer was politely but firmly refused, so she excused herself from the table saying she needed to write some letters.

When Brenda had left, Mrs Hannaford snorted:
"Some letters, indeed!" Soppy looked up surprised at her tone. "'tween you and me, 'arry, she'm goin to write a report about us for that Redbourne."

"What's there to say? There be nothin but word about the dogs."

Not answering, Mrs Hannaford cleared the table mulling over what there might have been to report. Soppy wiped the dishes and put them on the old farmhouse dresser.

"I don't trust that Redbourne nor the men with him!" Mrs Hannaford said at last. "What's 'appened to that chap who was always 'ere before. The one who came with that stuck up bloke with the big moustache."

"Oh, I knows! The man with the moustache is the man who owns the big 'otel in Starmouth. WingCo, they call 'im. T'other man was Mrs Ellacott's 'usband. He'm dead now!"

"Dead! But 'e weren't no age. No age at all."

"Drowned 'e did. That Steele chap told me. Said the man went missing, then washed into a fishing net."

"Oh My Lord!" Mrs Hannaford was shocked. "So what does she say?" She nodded towards the cottage. "She must 'ave said somethin to you."

"She don't talk much. She's not spoke about 'er 'usband to me. Not at all."

Mrs Hannaford wiped her hands on her apron and nodded to herself before she spoke:
"Like as not, 'arry, she is in on this Redbourne's racket too." She peered at him closely. "Tell you what, lad, we got to look out for ourselves. Sure as eggs is eggs, this business with the dogs 'taint goin to end well."

She turned to her small lounge and beckoned for him to follow. She pulled open the top drawer in an old roll-top desk and took out a small green metal box. From round her neck, she drew out a chain. At the end of the chain was a brass key.

"You remember all this, 'arry. In case somethin 'appens to me." She drew out a wodge of large £5 notes. "You knows which one of them dodgy dogs is goin to win, don't e?"

Soppy grinned then shook his head slightly:
"Well, it don't always work out just as it should, Mrs 'annaford. Most times it do, but not always."

"Most times is good enough for me. You and me is goin to go into partnership. I'll give you money to bet on them dogs you thinks will run well. We'll try it out for a while and see 'ow we do. In time, if luck is with us, we'll make enough to get out of this place before the trouble comes."

"Enough to get back the farm?" Soppy was excited.

"Doubt that, lad, but maybe enough to get us a smallholding."

Soppy could hardly contain himself. He vowed to pay more attention to the training sessions. He might even ask Brenda Ellacott if he could see the notes she made after each run. Already though, he was sure of one thing. Fairweather Friend had been described by Redbourne as a 'little goldmine'. He'd overheard him say that to WingCo, Steele and the one they called the 'doc'. Maybe, Fairweather Friend would be a goldmine for him and Mrs Hannaford too.

Brenda's first message

2010-03-12T13:22:00.003Z

The village was quiet, apart from two women gossiping on the corner of the Green, nobody else was in sight. They had parked the car near to the church wall, well out of view of what passed for the main street. Cantwell and Temple went into the shop that was also the post office and newsagent. They bought a 'Daily Telegraph' and observed who else was inside. The two women, whom they had seen talking on the Green, were now doing their shopping. They stared at the strangers for a second or so, then restarted their seemingly engaging conversation. This time, the lady postmistress joined in with great vigour.

Leaving the shop, Cantwell and Temple returned to the car. They sat and waited in silence. At just after 12:30, Temple caught sight of Brenda Ellacott in the rear view mirror. She was walking quite fast and had a small wicker basket on her arm. She ignored the car and went straight to the shop. Temple waited for a couple of minutes, then urging Cantwell to keep an eagle eye open, he returned alone to the shop.

Brenda glanced at him across the newspaper rack and nodded towards the far side of the shop away from the windows.

"I haven't got long." She said in a whisper. "I need to be back just after one thirty and it's quite a walk!" She smiled. "Anyway, I've written some details for you. I don't know if they'll be of use. I've used the code that we agreed. I hope it makes sense."

"I've written directions to the 'drop'. So let's exchange notes." Temple drew out a small brown envelope.

Brenda took a folded sheet of paper from her basket and pretended to drop it. Temple stooped to pick it up and dropped his own envelope into the basket, as he did so.

Without further ado, Brenda turned away and selected a newspaper from the rack, a small tube of toothpaste and a bar of soap. Then, she joined the queue for the till behind two farmhands who had come in for some bars of chocolate. Temple remained browsing the shelves. As she left the shop, she winked at him, then he heard her heels tapping as she went back up the street.

He selected a packet of bourbon biscuits and a bar of chocolate. He knew that Cantwell, at least, would appreciate the purchases.

"She should've been a policewoman, Cantwell, she thinks one move ahead each time. Better than some trained officers, I know." He held up his hand. "And that's not a dig at you! Before you get stroppy! I just wonder what she did during the war. I doubt of she sat at home all day knitting socks."

Cantwell peeled open the chocolate bar and broke off a piece for Temple, who shook his head. He was too busy reading the note. Cantwell allowed the chocolate to melt on his tongue before asking any questions. He assumed Temple would read it aloud:
"Well, Gov, what does she say? Is it anything useful?"

Temple tossed it to him:
"You read it, see what you make of it."

'Reggie drove me to Holly House! I have a small room in the cottage next to Holly House itself. Sandy is also there. He has two rooms upstairs and a lounge. He lets me use this too. The housekeeper lives in the main building. Sandy spends a great deal of time with her.

I've been to see the shop! Not sure what to make of it yet. Lots of goods (if you know what I mean!).

Hope you have found the shop's counter! I think there will be lots to put on it. It looks as though I'll be here all the time, for the next two weeks. That's what Reggie would like.

There is to be an important meeting to discuss the stock next week. I'll be in touch when there is more news. Meantime, I'll visit the counter as often as I can.'

"So Redbourne looks as though he's got a big operation up at the farm." Cantwell mused, as he re-read the note. "Did you give her our note with the directions and plan?"

"Yes, thanks to her quick thinking we exchanged notes easily and without drawing attention to anything. She's quite gifted at this sort of thing." Cantwell grinned. "What's so amusing?"

"Nothing, Gov."

"There obviously is. What is it?"

"I think you quite like Mrs Ellacott."

"Quite like! What do you mean 'quite like'? Of course I like her. She's working damn hard for us and putting her own safety on the line." He narrowed his eyes. "I trust you didn't imply anything else by that remark!"

Cantwell flushed, realising too late that the comment would infuriate his boss. There was a long silence before he cleared his throat:
"Of course I didn't mean anything else, Gov. I just knew you valued her help. That's all!" He glanced sideways at Temple who nodded agreement.

"We'd better get back to the station. Baker will be keeping a beady eye out for us. We can keep to the office for the next couple of days. There's quite enough paperwork to occupy us and it might make Baker happy. We can't afford for him to take us off the case."

"Would he really do that?" Cantwell was incredulous. He'd always believed that those in authority really did know best. The slant on life that Temple had shown him in the last few days troubled him greatly. But he had grown to respect Temple's judgement on matters. So, if he thought Baker was not as straight as he pretended to be, then that's how things were.

"We'll stop off for lunch at the Saddlers' Arms. That suit you, Cantwell?" He looked at the crumbs of chocolate on Cantwell's trousers. "That is, if you've still got an appetite."

"Oh, I'm still hungry, Gov. I'd love a pie or a pasty."

Analysis

2010-03-08T17:49:00.002Z

"I don't see how I can go to the meeting with Brenda Ellacott, Gov." Cantwell poured a second cup of tea for them both.

"Why not?"

"Well, think about it! The village is only a mile from Grange Farm. Soppy Soper is bound to
wander down to the village every now and then. Supposing he just happens to be there at the same time as Mrs Ellacott. He'd recognise me, for sure. That would put the cat among the pigeons,"

"True! If Soppy did happen to be there. It's equally true that if Redbourne or Steele came by and saw me the game would be up then. So what do you think we need to do?"

"Dunno, Gov. We really need more men. Just two of us makes things difficult, since we're both known."

"Look, Cantwell, being a detective isn't the same as being in uniform. It means you have to do detecting without being detected."

"That's easier said than done, Gov, when you're working in a small community. We're not in London, you know!"

"Whoever said life was meant to be easy?" He was becoming slightly exasperated by Cantwell's attitude. However, he had learned from past experience that it did not pay dividends to show exasperation. "We'll arrive at the village early. We can both wear hats. I'll have a trilby and you can have a cap of some sort. Both Soper and Redbourne have only seen either of us bare-headed. I agree it's not exactly a cloak of invisibility!" He saw the doubt cross Cantwell's face. "But it will give enough cover for us to get back to the car, if there's a problem."

"I haven't got a cap."

"Well get one. You can charge it to expenses."

"It's not that, Gov. Debbie thinks caps are for working men. You know .. like farm hands."

"That's just the point, isn't it? We'll be in a small village where every second person is a farm hand! You'll fit in just right." He waited for the idea to lodge in Cantwell's mind. 'God give me patience' he thought.

"So, I'll keep the cap in the office. That way, Debs won't know."

"Let's get back to practicalities, shall we?" Temple tapped the teaspoon against his cup. "As I said, we'll arrive early. We'll do a quick recce. If no one suspicious is around we'll wait outside till we see her coming. I'll wait a minute or two after she's gone into the shop, then follow her inside. You can keep a watch outside. Whatever else happens, I can hand her a note telling her where the drop is."

"I'm not sure I'm cut out for this cloak and dagger stuff, Gov."

"Look, Sergeant, you have no cloak and certainly there's no dagger."

Cantwell realised by Temple's tone of voice that he could explode at any moment. He decided to remove himself from the scene until things had settled:
"I'll just clear away the tray, Gov."

Temple heard him put the tea cups and saucers in the sink. Then, he heard him washing them up. Debbie obviously had him well trained. Left to his own thoughts for a few minutes, he realised he was being unreasonable. Cantwell had not volunteered to work with him. Baker had assigned him. They had worked together for over a year and nothing more exciting than catching speeding drivers and two pick-pockets had come their way. The Redbourne affair would be like a baptism of fire for Cantwell.

Temple looked up as Cantwell came back and sat down. He looked apprehensive.

"The pity is, we don't have Baker behind us." Temple mused.

"Do you think he'll come round."

"If he thinks the County set won't be upset, he'll support us. But - if he thinks they'll not like it, we're on our own."

"What's in it for Baker?"

"I suspect it's because his wife is waiting for our Clive to get, sooner or later, some sort of a gong in the Honours List. Odds are that the so-called County set are important when it comes to nominations for things like that."

Cantwell grinned widely:
"What! Is he hoping to be Sir Clive Baker?" He looked totally bemused by the thought.

"Stranger things have happened. But, I guess that even a humble OBE or MBE wouldn't come amiss. Mrs Baker would have new headed notepaper."

"So, Redbourne is really well in with these nobs, is he?"

"His sort always know who to attach themselves to. They're like the Mafia. They tie people into their dealings so craftily that they are unaware of what's going on. Then, when they wake up. It's too damn late! Their interests are so entwined, they can't get free. So ... it's bloody difficult for the likes of you and me to get a hold on them."

There was a long pause. Cantwell was digesting everything that he'd heard. He wished that in his police training he'd learned a bit more about real crime. It worried him that he might not be up to the job; particularly this case. He knew it meant a lot to Temple and he didn't want to let him down.

"Do you think we will get to the bottom of all this business. You know ... Ellacott, Eager and these dodgy dogs?"

"We will, if we're lucky." He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. "Come on, let's get to the village. We don't want to keep Brenda Ellacott waiting."

Cantwell's House

2010-03-06T17:38:00.002Z

Debbie lifted the net curtain and saw her husband and Temple walking up the garden path to the front door. She was just about to go out and was irritated. She'd wasted the whole morning, so far. Now, she would be delayed still further.

"What's happened?" She asked, slightly alarmed by their unexpected appearance.

"Nothing, love, we've called in to see whether there have been any messages for us."

"As a matter of fact, there was one. I waited in all morning and I was going out to do some shopping, when the phone rang. It was about ten minutes ago. I tried ringing you at the police station but no one could find you."

"You didn't leave a message, did you?" Temple enquired anxiously. The last thing he wanted was for Baker to be tipped off.

"Of course not! You made it clear that I was only to speak to you or Tom. I do listen, you know!" She frowned at him.

"Well, we've got to be careful, Debs, that's all we meant." Cantwell intervened. He knew that his wife could sometimes take offence where none was intended. "What did she say? I assume it was Brenda Ellacott who left the message for us."

"Oh it was her alright. Talked rubbish, if you ask me. But I wrote it down for you. It makes no sense at all." She went to the sideboard and picked up a notepad. "Here it is. I'm going to the shops now."

"Hang on just for a moment, Mrs Cantwell. Just till we've read the note."

Debbie tutted but sat down on the settee clasping her handbag.

"Shall I read it, Gov?"

"Yes, good idea." Temple stood by the window and listened as Cantwell struggled to read his wife's writing:

"She says 'Reggie took her to Holly House. She'll be staying there for a week. Sandy is helping her to look after the shop. She said she walked to the village to get a packet of fags and no one minded. She's used the phone box on the green. She'll be at the shop tomorrow probably between midday and one o'clock.'" He handed Temple the notepad.

"Is that all she said?" Cantwell asked his wife.

"Yes! She wasn't one for small talk. She said she'd only put a small amount of money in the box." Debbie summoned up her courage and said, "Will I get paid for this?"

"Debbie!" Cantwell flushed with embarrassment.

"No, she's quite right to ask, Cantwell. Why should she do this for nothing. Look, Mrs Cantwell, I can't pay you right at this moment. However, I promise I'll see you're paid for your time. Just keep a record of how long you spend waiting around for a call and how many calls you actually take." He glanced at Cantwell. "However, it wouldn't look good if word got out at the station. So neither of you is to say one word of this. I'll put you down as Informant A. That's all anyone else needs to know."

"Remember that, Debbie, don't say a word about this."

She tossed her head and got up from the settee:
"As long as I'm paid, I don't want to know the details. Anyway, I'll be off now, Alright?" She looked at Temple.

"Of course. Oh, thank you, Mrs Cantwell."

When she had gone, Temple glanced at the notes and thought about what Brenda Ellacott had said. He was already planning ahead for the next day.

"Want a cup of tea or coffee, Gov?"

"A cup of tea would be good, thanks."

Cantwell went out into the kitchen leaving Temple in the front room. It was a small terraced house with two bedrooms and with the lounge and kitchen downstairs. The house smelled of wax furniture polish and every surface was bright from constant polishing. The mantelpiece had two brass candlesticks at either end. A small display cabinet housed a collection of toby jugs. Three blue plaster swallows hung, as if in flight, across one wall. A large brass plate and several horse brasses hung on the opposite wall. Several family photos were on a side table in the alcove of the bay window.

It was all very mundane, Temple thought. But it all indicated a family home that was cared for and valued. He compared it with his own flat; no pictures, no ornaments and just one photo of his daughter. Certainly there was no smell of polish. His furniture hadn't felt the touch of a duster for some weeks. For a moment, he regretted the path his life had taken. Then he remembered the friends he had lost at Anzio and put maudlin thoughts from his mind. He straightened his shoulders and took in a deep breath 'It's your road, son, you walk it.'

"I've got some bourbons, Gov. Like a nice bourbon with my tea."

"I'm sure you do, Cantwell," Temple laughed. "I'm sure you do." He sat on one of the chairs and drank his tea. He watched Cantwell dunk his biscuits in his cup and suck out the chocolate filling. "We'd better discuss this message of Brenda Ellacott's and how we plan to arrange the meeting tomorrow."

On the Carpet

2010-03-05T17:43:00.003Z

Temple arrived at the police station early on Monday morning. He hadn't bothered with breakfast in his flat, mainly because there was nothing to eat. He had forgotten to go shopping on Saturday morning and by the time he remembered, the shops were shut. He made do with a pie from the fish and chip shop for Sunday lunch. So, he was pleased to have a cup of coffee and a bacon sandwich in his office.

Cantwell arrived and reported the events of Saturday evening several times. Each time he became more expansive. Temple eyed him closely:
"Just you watch it, Cantwell, you're getting too bloody involved with these bets. It was work, damn it, not a game." He regretted his tone when he saw Cantwell's face fall. "Look, gambling is nothing more nor less than a mug's game. How do you think Redbourne and his ilk have made their money? There's only one winner in gambling and that's the bookie."

"But ..."

"There are no 'buts', Cantwell. Think about it. You only won because you bet on dodgy dogs. The races were fixed, man! If you don't remember that you'll be as lost as Eager Beaver."

Cantwell sat down:
"You're right, Gov. But Debbie really enjoyed it and so did I."

"Well that's fine! But were you enjoying it because it was a bit of fun or was it because you were winning?"

"Bit of both, I suppose."

"Well remember what it was like when you lost! Remember also that you didn't win, it was that Soper chap who told you which dog would win. If he hadn't, you'd have probably lost on those races, as well. You'll need to go to the races again, so just try to keep a hold of your senses."

There was a knock on the door.

"Gov!" Constable Truscott peered round the door. "Sorry to bother you. But the Super wants to have a word with you and Sergeant Cantwell."

"Know what it's about?" Temple raised an eyebrow.

"No, Gov, he didn't say."

"In a good mood, was he?"

Truscott pondered the question as if his answer might be of great significance.
"Neither good nor bad really."

"Ah!" Temple exclaimed, "a veritable scholar, Truscott. What do you think of that, Cantwell?" Cantwell nodded. "Well then?" Temple asked.

"Well what, Gov?" A perplexed Cantwell looked first at Truscott then Temple.

"Surely, you recognised it as a quotation from Shakespeare? From 'Hamlet', in fact. A very useful quotation for a policeman, Cantwell. Or don't they teach 'Hamlet' in Devon?"

Cantwell flushed, he hated Temple's jibes about Devon and the Devonians.

"Anyway, Truscott," Temple got up, "we will obey our master's command and go to see whether it is more good or bad."

As their paths crossed Cantwell's and Truscott's eyes met. Cantwell could read the sympathy and he was furious. He didn't want sympathy from anybody.

Baker had Brylcreemed his hair so that it gleamed thick and sleek. He was like a Dennis Compton clone. When Temple and Cantwell entered his office, he straightened his tie and stared at them both for a few seconds. He looked them up and down as if they were on parade. Temple was amused and Baker saw the slightest flicker of a smile cross his face.

"So, Temple," he said irritably, "what progress, if any, is there in the Beaver murder and this Ellacott business?"

"We're following up several leads."

"What sort of leads?"

"Sergeant Cantwell has established some excellent contacts with greyhound racing punters and ..."

"So," Baker interrupted, "you are still trying to implicate Mr Redbourne, are you?"

"Not implicate, Sir, just trying to unravel some curious goings on at the races."

"You'd do well to remember that Mr Redbourne and several of his associates are generous benefactors of specific police charities. He is also closely associated with, at least, two County Councillors."

Temple did not respond. Instead he looked over Superintendent Baker's head and through the window, as if he had heard nothing. Cantwell muttered what might have been construed as a 'Yes'.

Baker leaned forward at his desk:
"You did hear what I said, Inspector."

"I did, Sir," Temple nodded. "I'll bear in mind what you said, Sir. However," he paused, "I'm sure that you would not want us to overlook anything or not to uncover every possible lead, would you, Sir?"

Forgetting the Brylcreem, Baker ran a hand though his hair. He messed up the sleekness and covered his hand with grease. However, his anger was such that he did not notice:
"I expect all my officers to do what is right. I do expect results and quick results. But, I'm sure you will find that the answer to solving both these cases, if indeed they are linked, lies with Beaver and Ellacott alone. No one else was involved. Do I make myself clear, Inspector Temple?"

"Sir!" Temple said turning to go.

Cantwell followed quickly at his heels, not wishing to catch Baker's eye.

"Come on, Cantwell, let's get out of here. The stink is getting up my nose." Temple said as they walked down the corridor.

They headed for the car park and to an unmarked car for which they had the keys. Temple handed the keys to Cantwell.

"You'd better drive, Cantwell. I don't trust myself not to ram the car into the Super's shining black saloon."

"Where are we going?"

"Let's go back to your place. Maybe Brenda Ellacott has phoned. Anywhere we can get away from Baker."

Cantwell drove slowly through the streets, he was mulling over the events of the morning:
"Gov? Do you really think I'm stupid?" He eventually summoned up the courage to ask.

"What are you on about?"

"That comment about quotes from Shakespeare."

"Oh for God's sake, Cantwell, that was a joke. Of course I don't think you're bloody stupid! I wouldn't work with you, if I thought that!" He looked at him. "Look, I'm just an irritable sod who enjoys riling people. You should know that, by now."

"So you think I'm quite bright then?"

Temple grinned as he got out of the car and slammed the door shut:
"Did I say that?"

Pippa's Boy

2010-03-04T16:56:00.003Z

After the disappointment of the third race, Debbie went to get them both a cup of coffee. When she returned, Cantwell pretended he was studying the card. Of course, he knew exactly what he was going to do but Debbie needn't know.

They sipped the coffee and she looked at her card:
"Nothing really appeals to me, love. Do you fancy any of them?" She tapped her teeth with a pencil.

"I like the sound of Pippa's Boy."

She looked closely at the numbers after the dog's name. Then, she wrinkled up her nose:
"He's no good! He's never won a race. Just like that other dog you did." She scrutinised him for a moment, "Still, you did alright last time."

"Tell you what, I'll take a gander round the bookie's stands and see where I can get the best odds. Then, I'll collect you and we'll go to stand by the winning post, this time."

He ambled along past Redbourne's stand and past the bookie with whom he'd placed the bet on Fairweather Friend. He was giving odds of 10 - 1 and he eyed Cantwell carefully. Further along the row of shouting sidekicks, Cantwell spotted another bookie giving odds of 25 - 1 for Pippa's Boy. He felt for the envelope and recalled what Soppy had said about the dog being worth an each way bet. He decided at last and put five shillings each way on Pippa's Boy. He could not believe how much he had just spent. Still, Temple had said keep the winnings and charge the losses to the kitty. Even so...

He tried to look nonchalant when he collected Debbie. They edged their way to the winning post. The same routine started, the Posthorm Gallop, the parade. Cantwell thought you knew just what to expect but the thrill was that you didn't know the end of the story. He glanced at Debbie. She was clutching his arm and grinning.

"I am enjoying this, Tom. I never thought I would. We must do it again."

Her comment made him feel guilty. They were there, after all, for his work. She had no idea and would have a fit if she knew the truth. Dodgy dogs would be as nothing to her temper, if she thought she was being used. Putting the thoughts behind him, he watched the dogs being loaded into the traps. The first dog went in easily, so did the second. Pippa's Boy who was in trap three had to be shoved in quite firmly. There was a lot of barking coming from all six dogs. Then there was complete silence. Only the slight fizzing noise from the 'hare' could be heard. The traps opened and everyone began yelling at once.

"Come on Pippa's Boy! Come on!" Debbie was yelling.

At the first bend, two dogs tripped and fell rolling towards the edge of the track. Cantwell's heart was in his mouth. One of them was a black dog. Then, he saw that a black dog with a white number jacket was still running. That was Pippa's Boy.

In what seemed like a flash, three dogs rushed past the winning post almost neck and neck. Cantwell saw flashes of colour but nothing else.

"It's between traps one, six and three," a man standing next to them said excitedly. "It's between those three, mate. Just hope it's trap six!"

The dogs were caught and put back on their leashes, then they were led away. Edmundo Ross' voice echoed round the stadium. After what seemed an eternity the speakers crackled back into life:
"There was a photo finish for the fourth race on your card. We will give the result shortly."

Debbie clutched his arm:
"Do you think we've won?"

"Don't know, Debs."

The music blared out again then stopped abruptly:
"The result for the fourth race is as follows:
First, by a short head, Lucky Lady, trap six; second by a short head was Pippa's Boy, trap three ..."

Cantwell did not hear which dog was third. The man next to them was slapping them on the back and punching the air. Cantwell looked at his own ticket and pulled Debbie to the bookie and collected the winnings.

"That's it, Debs, we've had enough excitement for one night. I think we deserve to treat ourselves to a meal." She looked disappointed. "Let's not chance our luck too much, eh?"

They drove out of Exeter to the George and Dragon pub near Countess Weir. Cantwell knew they would get a decent meal there. While they waited for the food, he pondered what he would tell Temple on Monday.

Fairweather Friend

2010-03-03T16:41:00.003Z

Debbie waited for him near the trackside. This time she wanted to be close to the actual race and not watch from a distance. He handed her the ticket for Howard's Hound. She noticed he had another ticket and looked at him quizzically.

"So, who've you done?"

"Fairweather Friend."

Debbie looked at her card and tutted, as if she were an old hand at the game:
"That's no good. He's never even won a race. Look." She pointed out his form. "What a waste of money. At least Howard's Hound has come in second twice in the last three races."

Cantwell began to doubt whether he had done the right thing. Maybe Debbie was right. Then again, it wasn't his money.

The Posthorn Gallop blared out over the speakers. From the corner of his eye, Cantwell caught sight of a scurrying Soppy Soper. Soppy saw him and grinned.

"Who's that?" Debbie asked.

"Oh, just some chap I know. Met him the other day."

"He looks rather odd."

"He's okay - just watch the dogs, Debbie, they'll be in the traps then away and the race will be over in a trice."

Debbie leaned against him:
"I'm really quite excited, Tom. Silly, isn't it? Do you think one of us will win?"

"Fingers crossed, Debs." He found her delight infectious and he became quite absorbed in the whole setup. He almost forgot that really he was on duty and this was no more nor less than police business.

The dogs were put into the traps, the 'hare' was set running. The traps flew open and the dogs tore out and round the first bend. Howard's Hound, a large white dog, was well in the lead. Fairweather Friend, a black dog, was lying in fifth place. Cantwell's heart sank. He was pleased for Debbie but felt a wave of disappointment for himself.

At the final bend, Fairweather Friend made up ground fast. He overtook three of the dogs in front of him. As he flashed past them, it looked to Cantwell as if he had gone into the lead. However, they were standing some distance from the winning post.

The speaker soon crackled into life:
"The winner of the second race on your card is Fairweather Friend by a length; second is Howard's Hound and third ..."

Cantwell never did hear who was third. Debbie had burst out cheering and was jumping up and down:
"We won! We won!"

Two dejected looking punters eyed them in a disgruntled way as they tossed their tickets on the ground. Cantwell had completely forgotten Temple's warning about getting hooked on those 'bloody dodgy dogs'. He was thrilled.

"Let's go and collect the winnings, shall we?"

"How much have we won?" She asked eagerly.

"To be honest, Debs, I'm not too sure. I put a florin on each way for you. Howard's Hound was 10 - 1. I don't know how much they pay out on a second place. You'll get a florin back, plus whatever he gives us. I put five shillings to win on Fairweather and he was 20 - 1."

They edged their way to the first bookie. He grinned at Debbie, as she handed in her ticket:
"Have another go, little lady?"

"Maybe." She smiled coyly, took her money and counted it. "Seven shillings in all, Tom. Not bad for a hunch!" She laughed. "Now let's get yours."

As they approached, the bookie gave them a sour look. He snatched the ticket and spent some time getting out the winnings:
"Beginner's luck, eh? Not so lucky for me though. Why not have another bet? Double or quits."

Cantwell took his money. It was a crisp five pound note plus the original five shillings.

"Oh, you clever old thing, Tom Cantwell! A fiver! You'd better give up being a policeman and take up this betting lark. It pays better and is more fun." She headed back to the trackside to study the race card. "Let's choose something in the third race."

Without the benefit of Soppy's advice, Cantwell knew another winner was highly unlikely. Still, he had to keep her happy and stay till the fourth race when Pippa's Boy would be running.

They peered at the card. Debbie was convinced, once again. Cantwell placed her bet. As he had thought, they lost. Fortunately it was only half a crown.

The prospect of the fourth race set his spirits rising, once again.

The Dogs are Running

2010-03-01T19:25:00.002Z

Debbie was quite excited when Cantwell joined her halfway up the Stands. She was waving her race card around:
"I know who's going to win." she announced. "I overheard that man, in the smart camel hair coat telling his wife that 'Hollywood Star' was an absolute cert. His wife is wearing a really expensive coat and just look at her jewellery. They're the sort who know a thing or two, you can always tell."

Cantwell thought it looked pretty cheap costume jewellery and he wasn't impressed by the supposed smart looking man either. Still, if it was what Debbie wanted, what was the harm.

"Tom! Go and put some money on Hollywood Star - be a darling."

"Hollywood Star. Are you sure?" He glanced at the race card. "His odds aren't good." He heard himself saying.

"How would you know? You don't know anything about dog racing! They obviously do. Please, Tom."

Cantwell went to the least flamboyant bookie he could see and put five shillings to win on Hollywood Star. It was against his judgement, but if that was what Debbie wanted, who was he to argue.

When he returned and gave her the ticket, she was grinning from ear to ear. She had two tubs of cockles and two glasses of ginger beer. She handed him a tub and a glass:
"This is fun, Tom. I'm glad we came."

Suddenly the speakers crackled into life and Edmundo Ross' husky voice filled the air. 'There's an awful lot of coffee in Brazil." echoed round the stadium. Debbie had a mouth full of cockles when she spotted the dogs being paraded onto the track. She waved her wooden fork at them:
"Look, look that's Hollywood Star. She's in number six."

Cantwell sat down on the cold step and ate his cockles and drank the ginger beer. He caught sight of Soppy rushing up to Redbourne's stand. He noticed there was some chalking up, after his visit. However, the distance was too far for him to see what the changes were.

The first race generated much shouting and yelling. It was all over in a flash. Debbie had been jumping up and down and shouting with the rest of the punters. Once it was over, no one knew who had won. One thing was certain though, it wasn't Hollywood Star. She had loped home long after the winning three dogs had crossed the finish.

Nothing daunted, Debbie sat down and studied her race card, like an old hand. She frowned and tutted, then looked up:
"I think it's Howard's Hound." she said. "Put something on it for me, Tom."

"Are you sure? Why Howard's Hound?"

"I used to have an Uncle Howard. He was nice to me when I was little."

Cantwell was about to make a comment but thought better of it. Instead he went back to the same bookie and placed a bet for Debbie. This time he put a florin to win. He then felt in his pocket for the envelope that Temple had given him. He wandered up and down the rows of bookies. All the odds on Fairweather Friend were about the same 10 - 1 was the best. Then he spotted one who gave odds of 20 - 1. He paused for a second, then went up and placed his bet, took the ticket and crossed his fingers.

Soppy's in the know!

2010-02-27T18:31:00.005Z

As soon as Debbie had got through the turnstile, she was dismayed. This place was not at all what she had imagined. There were hardly any other women near the Tote or, as far as she could see, in the Stands. The few who were to be seen were not in smart jackets with silk scarves.

"I stick out like a sore thumb, Tom. I thought you said it was alright if I wore this yellow jacket."

Irritated to be distracted by small talk, at a time when he needed his wits about him, he still managed to be tactful:
"Like I said, Debs, you look great. Anyway, the posh lot don't arrive till later. Besides, I'll be able to find you easily in the Stands, when I get back from chatting to my pal."

Debbie sighed, she knew she was being soft-soaped but at least they were out of the house and it would be an experience. Cantwell handed her a race card and some money:
"See if you can pick a winner. If you do, then just go over to one of the bookies by the rails and place your bet - not too much mind!" He added hastily.

She looked doubtfully at the card but being the sort who would try anything once, she smiled and patted him on the shoulder:
"I'll be alright! You get on with your business. Just try not to be too long."

He left her studying the card while he went towards the collecting ring. Soppy was on his knees brushing a large brindle greyhound. He was talking softly to the animal who was shaking and whining. He spotted Cantwell and nodded towards the bar.

Cantwell bought two pints and waited at one end of the counter where he had a good view of the entrance. Just before the first set of dogs were due to parade, Soppy came in.

"Over here, Harry!" Cantwell called out, "I've got you a pint."

Soppy grinned and drank thirstily. The white head of the beer coated his top lip. He wiped it away on the back of his sleeve.

"Oh, I needed that!" Soppy said. "Now, if I recall, Tom, you'm asking for a tip or two?" Cantwell nodded. Soppy glanced round the bar and when he was satisfied no one else could hear, he leaned closer, "Place some money on Fairweather Friend in the second race. You could do 'im for a win!" He grinned and took another swig of beer. "I thinks an each way bet on Pippa's Boy in the fourth race would be good. Mind you, he might win but I bain't too sure. Each way is best. That any 'elp?"

Cantwell jotted down a mark by each of the dogs on his card:
"That's great, Harry, really great. I need a winner tonight."

"Things still not so good?" Soppy looked concerned.

"No. Not so good. But I'm really grateful, Harry. Anything I win tonight will be good." He sipped his beer. "You here all season?"

"As far as I knows, Tom. Nobody tell me much. One week we's at the County Ground, next we's at the 'alfway, then 'tis off to Plymouth. All over the damn place - and I still got to get up to be with the cows at dawn each day!"

"Where's this Halfway you mentioned?" Cantwell had no idea what Soppy meant by the 'alfway but guessed it must be a small flapper track.

"'alfway to Newton Abbott!" He laughed. "Thought you'd 'ave known that, Tom! You should go there. Tiny grass track - just like where we trains our dogs! No proper stands. But," he paused and edged closer, "lots of good races. We've got three dogs runnin' there next week."

"Really! Sounds interesting. I might go, if you think it's good."

"Too small for you and me to talk there though! You'd just have to watch where I puts on my money. Actually 'tain't my money but it's for the Boss like. Now there's a real 'ard man for 'e." He looked at his watch, drank down the beer and turned to go. "I 'opes all goes well with Fairweather and Pippa."

Cantwell watched him leave. He followed closely behind and saw him go to a bookie at the side of the track. He placed some money, then looking round furtively, went back to the collecting ring.

'Don't know about dodgy dogs!' Cantwell thought. 'But I do know there are some bloody dodgy things going on here.' He looked up towards the Stands and immediately caught sight of Debbie's yellow jacket.

Debbie Cantwell

2010-02-26T19:40:00.003Z

For the second time, Cantwell explained to his wife that she could earn some extra money by taking phone calls for Temple. As usual, she was suspicious of Temple's motives.

"The trouble with you, Tom, is that you don't stand up for yourself. You've been late home every night for a fortnight. You missed two trips to the flicks with me. Your supper has either ended up as burnt offerings or stone cold. Yet, now you think I should help out too!" She paused. "How much?"

"How much what?"

"How much will I get paid?"

"I don't know, I didn't ask."

"Typical!"

"Temple is pretty fair, Debs. I always get my overtime on the dot. He says we can keep any winnings we make tonight on the dogs."

"That's big of him, I'm sure. Still, if it pleases you, love, then I'll do it. Who knows, I might enjoy being a private eye! Anyway, tell me again, who it is who'll be phoning."

"It's a woman called Brenda Ellacott."

"Ellacott, Ellacott ... I've read that name in the paper recently."

"Her husband drowned and the same week she was burgled. But you're not to talk to her about any of that. She still gets upset." He added this quickly, knowing Debbie's curiosity could get the better of her.

"So why would she want to leave messages here?"

"She's helping us trace the burglars who ransacked her flat. That's all." He and Temple had decided that the less Debbie knew, the better for all concerned. She would be happy to help catch burglars, but if she had any idea of what they were really after, it would frighten her.

"So, let's get this straight, Tom. This Ellacott woman will phone me. I take the message then I phone you and pass it on. Right?" Cantwell nodded. "Why can't she just phone your office?"

"Because, we don't want the others to beat us to catching them." He hoped he sounded plausible.

Debbie thought about it as she combed her hair and began putting on her make-up:
"Alright, I'll do it. When will she phone?"

"Not for a few days, I think she thought she'd have some news next week."

"So, am I expected to wait in day after day, just waiting for her to phone?" She sounded irritated.

"No, love, just go on as usual. She'll either find you in or not, as the case may be."

She put on a bright yellow jacket and tied a silk scarf round her neck before turning to him:
"Will this be okay for the races?"

Cantwell glanced at her. Although he had been to the dogs with Temple, he had not noticed what the women were wearing. Debbie always looked good whatever she wore, he thought:
"You look great, Debs."

"You sure, it's alright?"

"Just right."

"Well, we'd better be off. Don't want to miss any of the races, specially since you think you're going to win."

Temple had arranged for them to be loaned a police car for the night. So, instead of the bus journey, they arrived in style at the County Ground. Cantwell felt a surprising surge of excitement at the prospect of the first race. Dodgy dogs or not, this was going to be entertaining.

The Drop

2010-02-25T17:38:00.003Z

From their position behind the hedge, Cantwell and Temple had observed the end of the training session. They saw Soppy collect the two dogs who had been racing round after the 'hare' and put them onto their leashes then lead them down the slope in the direction of the farm.

Ted Steele did not seem keen to have anything to do with the dogs themselves. He merely switched off the circuit and generator, then sauntered down the hill, some distance from Soppy and the dogs.

Allowing some minutes to pass, Temple beckoned for Cantwell to follow him into the field. He easily vaulted the gate, Cantwell climbed over carefully but landed heavily on the other side. Just as Temple had said, the shed was about three inches above ground, supported by several bricks.

"See if you can find a large flattish stone. We can fit it in here." Temple stooped down and ran his hand along the base of the shed.

They both walked the ground adjacent to the track, then along by the hedge. There was no stone that was either flat or large. There were plenty of small round pebbles but nothing sufficiently large to cover a message.

"You'll need to find some sort of watercourse, Gov. Other than that, you'll not find any large stones up here."

"You're probably right. I'd like to get this set up today though. Where do you suggest?"

"I reckon there's a dip in the land over there." Cantwell pointed some fifty yards or so to the east. "We might be lucky somewhere nearby the hedge."

After searching for sometime, they came across a heap of quite large stones. Obviously, the farmer had, some years before, put them there to hold down the roots of an old blackthorn bush.

"Got one!" Temple exclaimed as he held up a grey stone. "This will do just fine."

They walked back to the shed and he placed it at the back midway between two rows of bricks. If you didn't know it was there, it would not be visible to the eyes of a casual observer.

Relieved that everything was done, Cantwell looked at his watch. He would be home late again. He just hoped Debbie would keep his supper warm. He turned to get to the gate. As he did, movements near the farmhouse caught his attention. He pointed to the farm and nudged Temple. Two cars had drawn up in the yard. One was a large black Daimler, the other a Morris Minor shooting brake.

Redbourne got out of the rear passenger seat behind the driver. A smart young woman got out of the other side and Dr McBride got out of the front passenger seat. Charlie Davey had been driving. Three other men emerged from the shooting brake. They all went into the farmhouse.

"Well, well, well! Planning more dodgy dog scams for Saturday, no doubt." Temple murmured.

"Think so, Gov?"

"Sure of it! Let's hope that your pal, Soppy Soper, gives you some good tips!"

As they got back into their car, Cantwell was deep in thought:
"Do you really think that Mrs Ellacott will be able to cope with all this? The farm is isolated, there's no one to call on for help in an emergency."

"As I said before, she's a canny lady. But, I take your point. We'll just have to wait and see then pull her out if things start to get tough."

"That might be too late, Gov."

"Oh shut up, Cantwell! Try, for once in your life to be positive." He glanced at him as he drove fast along the twisting lane. "Just imagine what you can spend your winnings on, after Saturday. Leave the Brenda Ellacott problems to me."

Mrs Hannaford

2010-02-24T21:16:00.003Z

Soppy was tired, he had risen at 4:30 in the morning to prepare for early milking, Then he had driven the cows out to pasture. Some three hours later, he had breakfast in the kitchen with Mrs Hannaford. She had lived on the farm since she was brought there as a young bride by her husband, Joe. He had inherited the tenancy of the farm from his father. He planned to pass it on to their son, when he got too old to handle the heavy work.

But the war had changed everything. Their only son was killed in the North African desert. After the war, the landowner had kept Joe on to look after Grange Farm. Then Joe had died, some three years previously. The landowner who saw his profits rapidly diminishing and the costs rising, sold the farm to Redbourne.

Redbourne kept Mrs Hannaford on together with Soppy who had been herdsman on the farm for nine years. Between them, they had managed to run things. Redbourne collected the profits every week. But for the last year and a half, their lives had been turned upside down. Redbourne had done up one of the barns and brought in the greyhounds. That was when life for both of them had become complicated.

Mrs Hannaford was a large woman who had none of the jolliness associated with large women. The years of hard work and disappointment had made her wary of most people. But she had a soft spot for Soppy. He was the son she wished she still had.

To Mrs Hannaford, Soppy was still one of the few 'real' Devonians, not like the Londoners who seemed to have over run the farm. She could not get her head around the fact of dogs using up good farm buildings and land. Dogs were for farm-work not for running round in circles.

Still, she had reasoned, Redbourne paid her and Soppy to look after them. So she kept 'mum' and said nothing. Recently, after talking things over with Soppy, she had decided to do a little investing of her own. Just so as their future could be safe. So far, she had done very well.

Now, however, she was anxious for Soppy. She saw the exhaustion on his face. The lad was doing two men's work already and Redbourne was demanding more and more. Things could not go on like this, she reasoned. Only that very morning, Redbourne had sent one of his men to tell her that several of them would be coming to the farm that evening to look at the dogs. She had been told she was expected to cook them all supper.

Grudgingly, she took a piece of beef from the larder and cut off several steaks. She smashed each one in turn, wishing it was Redbourne under the weight of her arm. She seasoned the steaks and put them aside. Then she prepared the carrots and potatoes.

Soppy arrived in the kitchen together with some creature of Redbourne's who had been at the farm all afternoon. Mrs Hannaford had taken an instant dislike to him. She told Soppy that this man had small 'piggy' eyes and a nose as 'sharp as a hawks'. She warned him to 'watch yourself when he's around'.

Soppy listened carefully to everything she said. He also disliked the one they called Ted. So if Mrs Hannaford said 'watch out' then watch out he would.

"Had a good day, 'arry?" Mrs Hannaford asked Soppy, when he sat at the table.

"Yeah, s'pose so. Dogs was runnin' just fine. I done the cows too."

She ruffled his hair:
"You'm a good lad."

Ted Steele, who had helped himself to a large tankard of cider, roared with laughter:
"Good lad! Godd lad, is he? Daft bugger, more like!"

Mrs Hannaford glared at him but did not respond in words. She knew from past experience that Ted Steele would only take it out on Soppy when she wasn't around. But she stored everything in her memory. 'Sometime in the future,' she told herself, 'all this will be dealt with.'

Grange Farm visited

2010-02-23T16:51:00.002Z

Cantwell and Temple sat in the car mulling over the day's events. They had both been surprised at Brenda Ellacott's apparent calm and preparedness to put herself in harm's way.

"Thank God, we're dealing with a canny woman, not one of your simpering little girl types. To quote one of her undoubted Hollywood heroines: 'It's going to be a bumpy ride'. She'll need nerves of steel to see this through."

"Gov! I didn't know you were a movie fan. My Debbie has been to see 'All About Eve', three times. We had to go to Exeter, Torquay and then Plymouth just to see Bette Davis in that film and hear that line. But I tell you, my Debbie wouldn't do anything like this Brenda woman, if I got done in. What about your ex?"

Temple gave a laugh and shook his head:
"She'd most likely have given anyone who'd done for me a medal."

"Seriously?"

There was a long silence before Temple answered:
"No, not really. We had been very much in love. It was the war that did for us. I was away on and off for almost six years. She had to cope, on her own, with our daughter. Then, when I decided to move to Devon, she hated the place. No decent shops, no friends, no mother or sister. And, I was working all the hours God gave me." He paused. "So - we didn't really stand a chance. If there had been just half of all that, then we might have stuck it out. Isn't that what most marriages do anyway?"

"You mean, just putting up with each other?"

"Yep."

"I suppose so. Any romance is soon over - even if you don't go away to war or move from your roots."

Temple looked at the map, scratched his chin, then started up the engine:
"Before going back, let's do a bit of a detour passed Grange Farm. We can look out for a likely place for the 'drop'."

It took a short time to find the lane that led along the top field. He parked at the same place they had been before. They set off on foot keeping close to the hedge. The hedge itself was old and many of the bushes were gnarled. It had patches of blackthorn and whitethorn and there was a smattering of holly and here and there oaks. It provided a good windbreak and cover for them.

Suddenly Temple held up his hand for silence. Close by, the sound of barking was clearly heard. As luck would have it, just beyond them was a gate leading from the lane to the field. They peered carefully round the side of the hedge and there right in front of them saw a small circular grass and cinder track. The reason it had been placed there was obvious. It was the flattest area on the farm. Every other section sloped and would be unsuitable for training. But here the soil was somewhat different and had provided the foundations for a relatively large, flat area. It was just right for the track.

Close to the hedge was a small generator box with a line running to the circuit on the track. The wires were attached to a fake electric 'hare'. Two dogs were in full chase of the 'hare'. Soppy Soper and another man were watching the dogs. They appeared to be deep in conversation. Next to the generator was a small wooden shed.

"See that shed?" Temple hissed and Cantwell nodded. "There's a gap between the base of the shed and the ground. There are bricks at intervals to keep the shed base from the ground. The back of the shed is towards us. Messages could be placed under the shed, at that point."

"They could be blown away, Gov. It's mighty windy up here, at the best of times."

"We'll get a stone large enough to fit in the gap and wide enough to cover any note. We'll wait till the training has finished, then take a closer look." He saw Cantwell glance at his watch. "I know, I know it's almost off-duty time. But it won't take long."

Plans arranged

2010-02-22T17:02:00.002Z

Cantwell selected a meringue and cream. He felt guilty when all that Temple and Brenda chose was a cup of coffee. Nothing daunted, however, he crunched his way through the meringue and savoured the rich, smooth taste of the cream. He noticed Temple observing him, but pretended he hadn't. He felt it was the very least he deserved, working for Temple as hard as he did. Before being allocated to him, Cantwell had led a quiet life investigating the odd break-in or two but nothing more taxing. Now, he was working a ten hour day and even at weekends! Things had certainly changed. Strangely though, although he had hated it, in the beginning, now he was starting to find it interesting. Even Debbie had noticed the change in him.

Brenda glanced at her watch:
"I shouldn't get back to the bus station too late. We still have quite a bit of planning to do, don't we?"

"Yes, we do!" Temple pulled out a notebook and handed it to Cantwell. "Take down details of what we decide. We need to set up some way in which we can keep in touch which won't draw attention to you. Using the post is out and I don't see how you can phone us. I'll give you my home number if you can get to a phone in the evening without any problem. I don't think you should ring either of us at the police station." He turned to Cantwell. "Would Debbie take mesasges during the day?"

"Yes," Cantwell nodded, "when she's in - and she'd keep quiet about it too."

"There's a man working at the farm you mentioned. Cantwell met him. His name is Harry Soper - called Soppy - apparently - though he doesn't like that. He doesn't know that Cantwell is police. Now," Temple watched Brenda's reactions carefully, "You'll probably be working alongside this Soper chap. We don't yet know much about him, except that he works with the dogs. From what we saw, he's up to no good himself. But we can't be sure of that, save to say that there were some very dodgy goings on with the way the dogs ran, when he was around."

"We'll still need other methods of communicating though, won't we?" Brenda asked.

"Why not use written messages, Gov, placed somewhere either on the edge of one of the fields or somewhere in the village. I saw something like that in a spy film. They called it a 'drop', I think."

Brenda smiled:
"I think I saw that film too! What a good idea!"

"The village is probably out." Temple commented, "I doubt whether Redbourne will risk too many of his people mixing with the locals. It could be somewhere on the farm's perimeter though. Not too far away that you can't get there without arousing suspicion. But, on the other hand, not in a place where those dodgy dogs could sniff it out."

"Do greyhounds sniff things out, Gov?"

"All dogs sniff things out!" Temple said loudly. "Anything like a note under a hedge would attract them. You couldn't even disguise it with perfume, it would only attract them."

"I thought greyhounds hunted by sight not smell."

"For God's sake, Cantwell, this isn't a convention on the attributes of dogs' hunting abilities!"

Brenda Ellacott burst out laughing" She laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks:
"Oh you two are so funny." She saw Temple was taken aback by her comment. She put her hand on his arm. "Sorry! I didn't mean that to sound rude. It was so lovely to hear you argue. And... I haven't laughed in weeks!"

"Well, I'm pleased there was something amusing to take your mind off things! Look, you need to be off. Leave it to us, we'll arrange something and let you know what we've discovered. We'll need to meet up about a week after you start at the farm. That's when we can tell you our plans in more detail."

"I won't write to the police station again."

"No, it's best if you don't. You could write to my home address but send it to my ex-wife's maiden name. In the meantime." He took the notebook from Cantwell, tore out a page and wrote down his address and the name. He also wrote down Cantwell's contact number and the name 'Debbie'. Then he handed it to her.

The three sat in silence thinking about what else was needed. Time was short and the next step might be quite complicated.

"We need to devise some sort of code - just for the three of us. So that if the message gets found, no one will understand it." Cantwell volunteered the suggestion.

Brenda sat forward and smiled:
"Sounds like fun! More and more like in the movies!"

"It's not fun!" Temple said firmly. "You're dealing with a man who has a history of being involved in violence. He wouldn't hesitate to harm you if he suspected you're endangering his so-called business interests."

"WingCo Jackson and McBride have no idea who they're dealing with, Mrs Ellacott." Cantwell added.

Brenda toyed with her coffee spoon:
"No, you are both right, of course. This isn't a story, it's real. Ben had no idea either, I'm sure of that. Sorry for being silly!"

"So long as you understand what you're getting into. It isn't a no-risk situation. It isn't just a case of dodgy dogs and a penny bet here and there. This is serious crime." Temple hoped he hadn't put her off, but felt he had to be straight with her. "We'll do all we can to monitor what's going on. But we can't be there with you."

"I realise that! But I am still going ahead with it. I owe it to Ben."

Temple reached for his wallet and took out two £5 notes and handed them to her:
"This is to cover the shopping, the post and your time. Unofficially, you're now working for the police." he smiled. "In the meantime, let's think up some initial code."

Cantwell tore out two sheets from the notebook and headed one 'BE' and the other 'Ours'. He handed the one marked 'BE' to Brenda.

"Redbourne can be 'Reggie'" Temple said. "Grange Farm can be 'Holly House'. Soppy Soper can be 'Sandy'. The dogs can be 'the shop'." He pursed his lips as the other two wrote down what he said. "We need a term for the drop itself."

"What about the 'counter', Gov. That would tie in with the 'shop'."

"Yep! Sounds good to me. Now," Temple turned to Brenda. "If you're asked who it is you're writing to at my address. Who is this Barbara Evans? What will you say?"

"That she's an old lady who seldom goes out, who needs cheering up. That I write to her since she is rather lonely."

Temple nodded approval then he called for the bill. he glanced at Cantwell:
"Anything else we ought to be thinking about?"

"Not that comes to mind, Gov."

"Mrs Ellacott?"

"Not at the moment, though there'll probably be loads, the minute I leave here."

"When will you let Redbourne know?"

"Tomorrow morning." She got up from the table. "I'm going to the Ladies now to change back into the red dress. Then, I'll leave here and walk back to the bus station. Wish me luck, gentlemen. I hope I don't need it, but I sure as hell expect I will."

Some half an hour later, Cantwell and Temple waited at the bus station for her to arrive. They kept close to one of the shelters, so that they could observe but not be seen. Most of the people waiting for buses were locals, with one or two tourists complete with luggage and maps.

Temple touched Cantwell's shoulder and pointed to one section of the crowd near the Starmouth bus stop. A short stocky man sat uncomfortably on the edge of a low wall. He was so overtly anxious that you could not help but notice him.

"Poor sod! He doesn't know what he's going to tell Redbourne tonight!" Temple chuckled.

Brenda Ellacott came into the bus station forecourt. She was walking briskly. She carried a large carrier bag with the name of a department store emblazoned across it.

Instantly, Charlie Davey jumped off the wall. Relief flooded across his face. At least now he could say he'd just followed her around the shops all day.

The Starmouth bus arrived and then complete with all its passengers left on its journey. Davey could be seen on the top deck in the back row of seats. Brenda Ellacott, also on the top deck, was at the front.

"Well, there goes one feisty lady, Cantwell." Temple remarked, as they walked back to collect the car.

Down to Business

2010-02-21T19:01:00.005Z

To an objective observer, Cantwell and Brenda seemed like any of the other couples walking into the restaurant. Tinley's was not busy. It was still early for the lunchtime crowd and too late for the morning coffee drinkers. Cantwell chose a table well away from the windows that faced the side road and the Cathedral Square.

Temple, eventually satisfied that no one had been following them, joined their table. He rearranged the seating plan ensuring that Brenda had her back towards the restaurant, while he and Cantwell faced it.

The menu was typical Devon fare. Sausage rolls and chips, steak and kidney pie, cottage pie and, of course, pasty. Temple observed Cantwell licking his lips in anticipation, like a little boy in a sweet shop. It both amused and irritated him in equal measure. He regarded food as a mere fuel to keep him going, not as an end in itself.

He gave their order to a young waitress who had great difficulty with her spelling. Twice she had to consult the menu to see if there were two t's in cottage or whether there were two g's. She brought them three glasses of water, slopping one over Temple's side of the table.

"So, Mrs Ellacott, you wanted some advice, I think."

"When I wrote, I wasn't sure what my ideas were. I knew I wanted to make Redbourne and his thugs pay for what they had done to Ben and me. Then, I thought I would be more effective if I helped your investigation." She paused, twiddling her knife in circles. "Yesterday, I went to Redbourne's office and told him I wanted a job. I said I knew Ben had worked closely with him and now I 'wanted in'."

"How," Temple leaned forward and lowered his voice, "how did you know your husband was working for him?"

"Because that slimy bastard, WingCo Jackson, came to my flat. He behaved in an unpleasant manner. He also let the cat out of the bag about Ben having been crucial to Redbourne's affairs."

"Did he threaten you?" Cantwell asked.

"He didn't hit me, not like the other thug that time you found me. But he said enough for me to feel very uneasy. That was when I wrote to you. Then, yesterday, I knew I needed to act for myself. I asked Redbourne about work as a typist or book-keeper. I told him that now Ben was gone I needed the work and that's not a lie!"

"How did he react?"

"He made it clear that he had a typist. However, he said that for part of each week I could live at some farm where he keeps greyhounds. It would be my job to keep records about the dogs' health, their training etc." She pulled a face. "I really didn't fancy it!"

"Did you say that?" Temple interjected quickly.

"No, I said I needed a day or two to think it over. He got a bit nasty then. Told me not to talk to anyone about it. He said that he couldn't stand blabbing women. That's when I thought he might have me followed and brought the change of clothes today."

The conversation lapsed while they ate their meals. Temple mused over what she had told them.

"Would you feel able to do this work?"

"I think so," she hesitated, "if it means it's one way of getting even with him, then the answer is yes."

Temple sat back with relief. In his wildest dreams, he had not thought there would be an opportunity like this. He would never have had the temerity to suggest such a plan to her. He still felt some qualms about it.

"You know you're dealing with a very dangerous man, don't you? The sort who has no compunction about harming a woman." She nodded. "We'll do our best to protect you but we can't be there on the farm with you. There'll be days when we can't even contact you."

"I know the dangers and I've given it a lot of thought, believe you me. But, honestly, Inspector, I have no other choice. I owe it to Ben."

The waitress came to clear the plates. She returned to give them the menus again. Temple's mind was racing to devise a plan that meant they could keep in contact with Brenda Ellacott without drawing attention to her. That would be a lot easier said than done. He glanced over at Cantwell. No such worries were on his mind. He was facing the dilemma of choosing between meringue and cream or double cream eclair. For a moment, Temple envied Cantwell's ability to switch off from being a policeman. Perhaps, he thought, if he had been able to do the same then he would still have a wife and daughter with him.

The Cathedral Close

2010-02-20T17:32:00.005Z

Temple drove them both to Exeter. The road ran parallel to the river for much of the way. Cantwell noticed that the pasture and fields were still flooded, in places, and the livestock was grazing closer to the road than usual.

The city was not as busy as Temple had expected and he parked the car just off South Street. They walked to the Cathedral Close. Temple surveyed the area carefully:
"You go into the Royal Clarence and wait for her in the lobby."

"Why? What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to see if she's being tailed. Can't be too careful. I'll go to the bus station and follow her to here. Then I'll wait for about ten minutes after she's gone in. If all goes well, I'll come in and join you. If, however, I don't surface, you'll need to make another rendezvous with her somewhere else, not too far away though. Tell her what I'm up to, otherwise she'll be suspicious."

Feeling rather anxious, Cantwell headed off to the hotel. He sat down where he could see the entrance and picked up a newspaper. In a rather unconvincing way, he held the paper in front of him, pretending to read.

Temple walked quickly to the bus station. The Starmouth bus arrived on time and Brenda Ellacott was one of the first to get off. She was wearing a very distinctive red dress and with her shoulder length blonde hair, she made quite a striking appearance.

He frowned, 'why did she have to be so conspicuous', he thought. Temple watched her disappear up Southernhay in the direction of the Cathedral. Four others got off behind her. Then, just as he was convinced she was in the clear, he caught sight of Charlie Davey. His stocky frame jumped off the bus platform and hurried in the same direction as the disappearing figure of Brenda Ellacott.

Temple cursed, under his breath, this was what he had feared. At a distance, he followed behind Davey. Instead of going straight to the Cathedral Square, Brenda Ellacott headed towards one of the large department stores. She went in. Temple was puzzled. He crossed to the other side of the road and watched. Davey, looking bewildered and anxious, rushed into the store realising that inside it would be difficult to keep track of her.

Some twenty minutes later, a woman came through the door and headed towards the Cathedral. If Temple had not been on the lookout, he would never have recognised Brenda Ellacott. But it was her, right enough. The red dress had gone. Instead this woman was wearing a plain black dress and had a brown beret covering her hair, The only giveaway was the rather over-sized handbag that he had seen her carrying when she got off the bus. Now, he guessed why she had brought it instead of a neat shoulder-bag.

He waited for over fifteen minutes. It was 11:45, just fifteen minutes till the scheduled meeting time. Some two minutes later, Charlie Davey emerged. He was red faced and peered up and down the street. Then, his shoulders dropped and he leaned against the department store window looking utterly dejected. He began walking back towards the bus station.

Waiting outside the Royal Clarence for five minutes, Temple assured himself that the way was clear. Cantwell and Brenda Ellacott were sitting next to each other. A small sherry glass in front of each of them. The look of relief on both their faces when they saw him, amused him.

"Oh am I glad to see you, Gov, we were getting a bit jumpy."

"No need. We have here a very able CID agent in the making with our Mrs Ellacott."

Cantwell looked puzzled. Brenda Ellacott laughed, the sort of deep throaty laugh that Temple liked; not a simpering giggle.

"So, Inspector, you saw me!"

"I did, indeed. I saw an apparition in a vivid red dress get off the bus. One that could not be missed in a crowd. Then I saw an inconspicuous lady in a plain black dress just merge with the crowds. Where did you learn that trick?"

"I'm a sucker for Bogart and Cagney films. You learn a thing or two about deception from them."

"Well, wherever you learnt it, I'm glad you did. One of Redbourne's men followed you off the bus and into the store. He came out a long time after you had left. He was angry and upset. He's gone back to the bus station. I guess he's waiting for you to catch the bus back to Starmouth."

"Then, I'll have to put my red dress back on again. I wouldn't want to disappoint him."

"We ought to be off. I suggest that you and Cantwell go ahead of me to wherever it is you've both decided to go. I'll follow you then join you."

"We're not going far, Gov. There's a Tudor style building on the corner of the cathedral close. It's called 'Tinley's'. We can have a light lunch there and keep well out of sight. I didn't think we wanted to march around the city centre."

"Sounds an excellent idea. I'll see you both in there in about five minutes."

The gamblers' fallacy!

2010-02-19T11:11:00.005Z

While Brenda had been having her encounter with Redbourne, Temple and Cantwell spent the entire day at the police station.

The papers they had found in Eager's tin of spam were only just decipherable. Cantwell was convinced he had written in code.

"Listen to this, Gov." He proceeded to read out a string of numbers:

'Halfway 20/09/51 1= T4 2=T6 3=T4 4=T5 5=T1
27/09/51 1= T2 2=T3 3=T5 4=T6 5=T2

County Ground 06/10/51 1= T5 2= T1 3= T6 4=T4 5= T6 13/10/51 1= T2 2= T3 3= T1 4= T2 5= T4 '

"Doesn't make sense to me. Typical of old Eager. He always thought he'd find a pot of gold hidden behind a hedge. If you ask me, he was just playing around with numbers. Trying to work out some sort of winning ploy."

"Most gamblers do that. Have you heard of the Monte Carlo Fallacy?"

"No! What is it?"

"Well, in about 1913 at the Monte Carlo casino, there were a large number of players at one of the roulette tables. In an amazing sequence of events, red came up 26 times in a row. After about the thirteenth or fifteenth time, players became frenzied being convinced that black must come up next. They started gambling recklessly convinced that they should double or treble their stakes . The casino made a fortune! Some players were ruined. But the fallacy still continues. The belief is that if an event has occurred several times in a row, then it cannot go on occurring. Take for instance if I toss this penny coin." He took out a penny and tossed it. "Heads or tails?"

"Heads."

"No, it happens to be tails. But if I go on tossing the coin, what's the likelihood of heads or tails coming up?"

"Dunno, Gov, never thought about it."

"The probability of getting heads in a single toss is 1 in 2. The chances of getting two heads in two throws in sequence is 1 in 4. The chance of getting three heads in a row is 1 in 8. But gamblers don't all realise that each toss is completely independent of the one before and the one coming after. They see some sort of pattern - like the blokes at Monte Carlo. It's not like that."

"Do you think that's what Eager was doing? Looking for a pattern?"

"No. I think he was more canny than that. I think he was checking the race winners against Redbourne's odds. I think he saw what you saw at the trackside. He saw the odds being changed dramatically, just before the start of the race. He put two and two together. But instead of placing his own bets according to the pattern, he'd already lost so much that all he could do was barter with Redbourne. A dangerous thing to do."

"On your piece of paper, he gives the odds, does he?"

"Yep. He wrote down initials then one set of odds then another and the same T4 T6 numbers that you've got. Also, it's the same two dates that you read out. So four meetings in all. I'd guess by then, he was almost broke and just went to the races out of habit. It was then he spotted the goings on with Redbourne's dodgy dogs."

Cantwell scratched his chin and looked at Eager's tiny writing. Then, he glanced at the clock, noticing it was half twelve. Though from the empty feeling in his stomach, he knew it was lunchtime anyway. Temple saw the direction of his thoughts and knew that it was hopeless getting any real work out of Cantwell, if he was hungry. They both went to the canteen.

Canteen food was quite good, Temple thought. At least, it was a square meal for him. In the evenings, a tin of heinz spaghetti on toast was his staple diet. Sometimes, he varied it and had baked beans instead of the spaghetti. He often wondered if his stomach lining had turned the bright orange of the food colouring.

Just as they were eating their meal, Superintendent Baker came in. Not to eat, but to see who was there. His lunches were taken in his own office. He spotted Temple immediately. His eyes narrowed as he looked from him to Cantwell and then back to Temple again. Then he turned on his heels and left.

"Satisfied we're not living it up at the Blandford!" Temple remarked.

"Why is he so worried that we must not upset the Jacksons?"

"When I show you the Met files on Redbourne, this afternoon, you'll understand things a bit better."

They returned to the office and Temple placed a pile of files on Cantwell's desk. Sam Walters had been as good as his word. A large parcel of files had been sent from London. Temple had read them the previous evening. He was curious to see Cantwell's reaction to them.

It took Cantwell some hours to understand and then digest what he had read. At the end of a long period of taking it all in, he looked at Temple:
"My God, Gov, he's had his fingers into every mucky pie going. Blackmail, extortion, race fixing, drugs dealing! It goes on and on! Yet you never nailed him!"

"No - don't rub it in! He was more slippery than an eel and as I told you before, his men never snitched, not once. Too damn scared."

"I see why you think he was involved with Ellacott's disappearance and Eager's death."

"I doubt he actually did it with his own hands. But those thugs of his, Steele and Davey - that's another matter."

"So why doesn't Baker want us to investigate too closely. You'd think he'd be pleased. It'd be a real feather in his cap to catch Redbourne."

"If you read between the lines of the Met files, you'll note that Redbourne always had and still has friends in high places. How they became his 'friends', I'll leave to your imagination. But he has them. You and I Cantwell are plebs! But this time, the plebs will make damn sure we get him. If the Devon County set come tumbling down with him I, for one, won't weep."

"They won't come 'tumbling down, Gov. Their sort never do."

"Just one thing, Cantwell, I don't want anyone - and I mean anyone to get wind of our meeting tomorrow with Brenda Ellacott. Even these walls might have ears! Where Redbourne is concerned, anything's possible."

An Offer! Can Brenda refuse?

2010-02-18T12:14:00.003Z

"Brenda!" Redbourne's greeting was effusive, "This is a pleasant surprise!" He got up from behind the desk and, taking her by the arm, ushered her to a chair. "Ben's death was a terrible shock to us all. I intended to contact you but thought you'd want time to be alone. Then, I heard about the break-in at your flat. Dreadful! You can't trust no one, these days."

Brenda clutched her handbag to control her trembling hands. Now she was actually in front of Redbourne, her trip did not seem such a bright idea. In fact, she wanted to run out of the room.

"So, Brenda, what can I do for you?" He sat behind his large oak desk looking every inch the successful businessman. His dark brown hair was slicked back with brylcreem. His yellow waistcoat was striking against the hounds-tooth check of his suit. Across his grey tie was a gold tiepin in the shape of a horse's head against a horseshoe.

Brenda took in every inch of Rex Redbourne. She had never scrutinised him before. Now she realised he would be quite a formidable opponent, indeed he could be very dangerous.

"Come on, Brenda, you must know why you came to see me." He was getting impatient now.

"I didn't know that ..." she cleared her throat, "that Ben was doing things behind my back. But since he disappeared and that man beat me up and then first Dr McBride and then WingCo Jackson talked to me. Well ... I realised things were going on, Mr Redbourne."

Redbourne sat back and smiled benevolently at her:
"Darlin', you call me Rex. This, 'Mr Redbourne', don't sound too good coming from you. Anyway, what's these 'things' you keep talking about? What exactly do you mean?" He leaned forward again.

Brenda decided to play the part of the naive little woman. She looked down demurely at her handbag before answering him. It would be fatal to be either cocky or challenging, which was exactly how she wanted to be.

"I don't really know. But I get the impression it was something to do with Ben's work as a pharmacist." She looked up trying hard to act the right part. "I've got no one now, Mr ... er Rex. I really wanted to ask if you can give me a job. I've no money of my own. Can I work for you?"

Redbourne was taken aback. He had prepared himself to answer questions about Ellacott and his connections with the business he ran as a bookie. He had not expected to be asked to employ her:
"Doing what exactly?"

"I can type. I do shorthand, book-keeping. I could keep your records for you. I'd do anything like that. I need a job, Mr ... Rex."

Redbourne sucked his teeth. He already had Tracey as his receptionist and typist. She was young, stupid and a good looker. She didn't know much, asked no questions. But more important than all of this, she was the daughter of a Devon County Councillor who played golf with him and with Superintendent Baker. Tracey was a useful pawn in his game plan. Brenda, on the other hand, could be a pain in the arse nosing round where she had no business.

"Tell you what, Brenda, I like you, I liked Ben. I'll see what I can do." He opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a large notebook. He appeared to read it for a few minutes. "As it happens, I might just have an opening for you. It's not the type of work you suggested. It would mean you'd be spending several days and nights away from Starmouth, each week." He snapped the book shut. "But I'm a soft-hearted man, Brenda, I'd see you earned some good money."

Brenda gave what she hoped was a wan smile and looked timidly hopeful:
"Just what work would I be doing?"

"Well, darlin', I have a business interest in a farm, not far from here. Got some clients who own dogs. Right?"

"Dogs?"

"Yeah, dogs - greyhounds. That sort of dog. The chap who runs the farm, he's a mate of mine. He's taken on the training of these dogs. He needs a bit of help."

Brenda looked alarmed, despite her vow to be calm. She knew nothing about farms and even less about greyhounds. Whatever did he have in mind. She took in a deep breath and was about to speak. Redbourne held up his hand to silence her.

"Don't interrupt, I don't like being interrupted." He paused and gave her a cold stare. "Like I said, you could stay part of the week at the farm, watch the training, take down the details of running times. You'd need to keep general notes on the dogs' health etc. You'd help out with the dogs as and when. But my bloke does all the heavy work." He paused again and looked at her. "It's not heavy work - your old man even helped out. You look surprised. Well, Ben did very well out of it. And if you behave yourself, darlin', you'll do well."

Brenda was completely thrown by everything Redbourne had said. She had gone along there with very much her own ideas and they had been totally blown out of the water. She had to think on her feet now:
"Can I think about it. It's rather a surprise."

Redbourne nodded,
"Cos you can. Only," he tapped his desk, "don't take too long about it. Chances like this don't come every day and when they're gone, they're gone."

"Thank you, Rex," She got up from the chair. "I'll give you my answer tomorrow or the day after."

"Day after tomorrow is Saturday. I have a lot on. So make sure you let me know by early Saturday morning. Oh! Brenda, don't go talking about this to anyone. Understand? I don't like blabbing women." He smiled, "It's not too healthy for women round me to go blabbing. Now off you go and make up your mind."

Outside, in the reception area, she leaned against the wall. For a moment, the pounding in her heart echoed through her ears and head. She thought she might faint.

Tracey looked up in alarm seeing Brenda's pale face and the way she seemed to need support from the wall.

"Are you okay? Can I get you something?"

Brenda took in two deep breaths and pulled herself upright:
"No, no, I'm fine thank you. Should've had breakfast this morning."

Tracey smiled:
"Know the feeling. I'm always rushing too." She nodded towards Redbourne's office. "He expects a lot from me."

Brenda looked at her and thought to herself: 'I just bet he does!'

Brenda makes her mind up

2010-02-17T21:01:00.007Z

Brenda Ellacott heard the post drop onto the doormat. She was still in her dressing gown having slept badly the previous night. She ran down the stairs and saw the letter. At once, she knew it was from Temple. She went into the kitchen and made herself a cup of coffee. Then she settled down to read it.

Dear Mrs Ellacott

The police are always here to help you. If we can assist by
discussing matters with you, of course we will.

We suggest that we meet at the Royal Clarence Hotel in
Exeter, opposite the Cathedral. We will aim to be there
at 12 noon on Friday.

My sergeant and I will wait for you in the reception
area. If you are late, please do not worry. We will wait
there for as long as necessary. We look forward to the
discussion.

Yours faithfully

James Temple
Detective Inspector
Devon Constabulary

She smiled to herself over the very formal style of his writing. The phrase 'always here to help you' was like something out of a government information film. So far, in her experience, the police had done very little to 'help' her or anyone in her family. However, the act of kindness at the time of leaving hospital had given her a ray of hope. Anyway, what other options did she have. There was no one else to turn to. All her family had been killed by the bombs that hit Plymouth during the war. She had been away on Salisbury Plain, during the fatal air raid, learning how to drive ambulances.

She and Ben just had each other and now he was gone. Other than driving ambulances during the war, she had few skills. She had basic Pitman typing and shorthand and before her marriage she had worked as a typist. After marriage, she had typed up Ben's records for the pharmacy. Now, she realised, she had not known the half of what went on at the pharmacy.

Sighing, she made another cup of coffee. At first she had been angry with Ben. Now she thought that he had probably not told her what he was up to to protect her. During the last couple of days, she had made up her mind to get even with Redbourne, McBride and WingCo and his smarmy wife. At one time, she had been rather afraid of Redbourne, but not any more. This bloke, Temple, would be her way of getting even.

She washed, dressed and put on her make-up. Then she chose a dark red beret and a warm jacket and her new high heeled shoes. She surveyed herself in the wardrobe mirror. Not bad, she thought, not bad at all. The bruising had faded and under the make-up were hardly visible.

She left the flat and headed down the hill. She walked purposefully, head held high and shoulders back. Certain things needed to be done before the Friday meeting with Temple and his sergeant.

Redbourne was surprised to be told that a Mrs Ellacott was waiting to see him. He'd always quite fancied Brenda Ellacott, neat little figure, pretty face, lovely blonde hair. He grinned, 'I'll see her alright.' he thought. Even if WingCo and McBride said she was being difficult, he would soon settle her. She'd either be eating out of his hand or her pretty face wouldn't be quite so pretty anymore. 'It's up to you, darlin', it's up to you!'

"Show her in, Tracey." Redbourne barked down the intercom.

Grange Farm

2010-02-16T17:08:00.002Z

As they headed back to Starmouth, Cantwell spotted the signpost to Woodbury Common.

"That's near where Soppy Soper works, Gov, Grange Farm is close by Woodbury Common."

Temple braked hard and reversed back to the junction. He peered up the narrow road that was enclosed on either side by tall overgrown hedges:
"Let's take a drive passed. I'd be interested to see what it's like. We can go through the village too."

The village itself was small but well kempt. An old church dominated the skyline. A white-washed pub stood at right angles to the church. There were few villagers to be seen.

"Let's have a pint and a pasty." Temple said glancing at his watch. "I'd guess some of the locals will be doing just that themselves. Be useful to hear what the current gossip is about."

The entrance to the old inn was low and they both stooped to get inside. The bar itself was also low ceilinged with heavy oak beams running lengthwise. Years of use had embedded a smell of cider, beer and pipe-smoke into the walls. When they entered, a silence fell upon three of the older men sitting on stools at the bar. The three turned and stared at them. One of them stopped chewing his tobacco, his cheek bulging with the plug.

"Two halves of bitter and two pasties, please." temple ordered.

The barman eyed them closely, nodded and called out the pasty order through the kitchen hatch:
"Pasty's be 'bout fifteen minutes."

"Fine, we'll take our drinks over there." Temple pointed to a corner table. The three men stared long and hard at him. One of them puffed strongly on his pipe, sending clouds of smoke across the bar. The other two just stared.

"Nice day, gentlemen." Temple said. For response, two of the men nodded.

When they had sat down at the small table, Temple glanced around. The only other people there were two couples sitting together obviously deep in conversation:
"Cantwell, in a couple of minutes, before the pasty is ready, why don't you go to the bar and get some crisps. Get talking to the old boys. Find out what you can about Grange Farm. They'll not be as suspicious of you as of me, especially if you load your Devon burr."

"Devon burr!" Cantwell exclaimed loudly. "I don't have a Devon burr! Debbie says how nice I talk!"

"There's nothing wrong with a Devon burr," Cantwell grinned, "yours is very slight. What I was trying to say was that I am sure you know how to make it broader. You're a good mimic! Try to fall into the old boys' speech patterns. They looked at me as if I was another species of being." He paused. "Besides, it's good training for a budding young detective to try to melt into his surroundings."

Slightly appeased by this, Cantwell nodded. He went over and leaned against the bar, ordering a packet of crisps and grinning at the old men.

"Nice place, this."

Two of the old men listened, then one of them said:
"Yep, it be. You visitin'?"

"Me and my pal just passin' through."

"Where be 'e from?"

"Starmouth."

"Oh!" The third old man said, chewing his tobacco again, "Thought you bain't from these parts."

Cantwell was surprised. Starmouth was no more than half a dozen miles away. But from the last comment, he might as well have said that he came from London.

"Tis only a few mile away. Not that far!"

"Far enough. Starmouth be for 'olidays, this place be for proper work."

"Know Grange Farm, do 'e?" Cantwell tried to sound nonchalant. The three men peered at him closely, as if he had asked something outlandish. "I met old Harry Soper t'other day. Told me 'e worked at Grange Farm."

"Soppy - you means!" The old man wearing a greasy tweed cap exclaimed.

"Yep!"

"Poor bloke, 'e should never 'ave got in with the new man. 'im nor Mrs 'annaford neither. It'll not end well, you mark my words." He took off his cap and scratched his sparse grey hair.

"What won't end well?" Cantwell asked.

"New man don't know nothin' 'bout farmwork. Soppy does it all! Now 'es got these new fangled 'ounds to look after. 'es run off 'is feet."

" 'ounds?" Cantwell tried to sound surprised.

"Yep, those dogs that run round after some old electric 'are. They got some sort of track up on the 'igh pasture." The old man replaced the cap back on his head. "Think of it! Usin' good farmland for dogs!"

"Damn things, they'm barkin' all day and all night." One of the others said.

"Soppy's a cowman not a dog man. 'es too soft is Soppy. 'e don't know what 'es gone and got 'imself into." He touched the end of his nose and shook his head sagely.

"What's he got into?" Cantwell forgot his accent, in his excitement.

"City men come 'ere in big posh jalopies. They don't know bee from a bull's foot 'bout farms."

"City men?"

"Yep. City men."

"One of 'em is a big man. Nasty lookin' cuss. 'es driven in a big black car by some skinny chap. Came in 'ere once and pushed us out of the way." He looked at the other two who nodded their agreement. "Treated us like we was no better than scum."

"Yep." The oldest of the three said. "They shouted at poor old Soppy. 'e, like a bloody fool, ran 'ither and thither for 'em."

At that moment, the barman placed two plates of pasty and chips on the counter. They were large pasties with a rich brown crust and the steam was still rising from them. Cantwell sniffed the air hungrily. The three old men winked at each other, recognising the signs of a hungry man.

"Looks proper good." Cantwell said. The barman grinned in appreciation.

"Go on and get stuck in, lad." One old man said.

Cantwell needed no further prompting and he carried the plates over to the corner table.

Temple had been observing the various exchanges with a growing respect for Cantwell's abilities. He had managed to wheedle his way into their confidence very easily.

"Go and buy them a pint each of whatever it is they're drinking. They're well worth cultivating."

Reluctantly, Cantwell put the plates down and returned to the bar.

"What're you drinkin', boys?" The three grinned with delight. A free pint was not to be sniffed at.

"We all drink draught cider, lad."

"Well, barman," Cantwell said, "make it four then, three for my friends 'ere and one for your good self." When he'd settled up he returned to Temple.

"I've made a note of the cost of all this." Temple said, " I'll take it out of the kitty, when we get back to the station. Can't have you out of pocket."

After they had eaten, Cantwell mused with Temple over what the men had told him:
"Looks like Redbourne comes in here. Not too popular with the locals."

"He wouldn't be. Stick out like a sore thumb in a place like this. More used to the seedier pubs of south east London.

After getting directioons from one of the old men, they left the inn and drove towards Grange Farm. It was about a mile beyond the village, in a steep valley, below what passed for the main road. They parked the car in a lay-by and together they walked across the top field. They kept close to the tall hedge, so that they were relatively invisible from the farm and the lower pasture. A few Devon Red cattle grazed peacefully just below them. Beyond them, the field sloped away steeply. There was a collection of large barns and outhouses, several in need of repair. Two, however, looked as though they had recently been re-roofed.

The farmhouse itself was old, its thatched roof badly needed re-thatching and its walls which had once been whitewashed were now stained with red mud. Two tractors were parked in the yard together with a Morris Minor shooting brake and a landrover. There was no one to be seen.

"Good enough for a first recce, I think we've seen enough. We'll be back again, soon enough, to take a look at this track the old blokes told you about. But for the rest of today, we need to take a closer look at those notes of Eager's." He glanced at his watch. "You'll be able to get off duty early tonight. That'll please your Debbie."

"She won't be too keen next Saturday when I take her to the dogs. She reckons that only common people go dog racing. Now if it was horse racing, that'd be totally different. Still, having her with me will make it look more natural. Agree, Gov?"

"I do indeed, Cantwell, and as long as you don't get hooked on betting on those dodgy dogs, we'll all be happy! You just remember why you're going. You got far too excited with the bets you won last time. Just keep telling yourself, the only reason you won is because the races were fixed - the dogs were dodgy!"

Cantwell grinned:
"I'll try to remember that, Gov!"

Back on Eager's boat.

2010-02-14T12:50:00.004Z

Returning from the Post Office, Cantwell was confronted by Temple waving a set of car keys at him.

"We need to go back to Eager Beaver's boat. Now would be a good time. In all the kerfuffle of finding his body, we never really examined the boat properly."

"I thought the forensic team went over it."

"Maybe. But they didn't report back."

They drove to Topsham in an unmarked police car. The weather was chilly and a low penetrating drizzle covered the surrounding countryside in dampness. The river level was high and Eager's boat was bobbing about on the incoming tide.

This time, they had brought two powerful torches. Below deck, even with the portholes now fully exposed, it was dark and gloomy with a pungent smell of petrol and general mustiness.

The blood had congealed into a dark crusting on the bare boards. The bunk bed had been left in disarray. The upturned chair had been righted and the cupboards and drawers were closed. But it was a dismal place to be.

"You take the bunk apart, rip open the mattress and lift up the boards. It's even worth ripping open the pillow. I'm going to take a closer look at the galley."

Temple got down on his hands and knees and began pulling at the bases of the cupboards.

After a quarter of an hour, Cantwell, covered in dust, began coughing. Rather breathlessly, he called out:
"There's nothing here, Gov."

"Nor here either. But keep going."

"What are we looking for?"

"I'm not sure - but I guess that, from the beating Eager took, someone was trying to get information out of him. It wasn't a punishment beating, it was systematic. Remember what he told you in the pub that night. He seemed very sure of his facts. I wouldn't put it past him, in a rash moment, to drop the hint to Redbourne or Steele, that he knew what was going on."

"Blackmail, you mean?"

"No! Nothing as blatant as that, he didn't have it in him. I'd guess he was trying a trade off against his own gambling debts. You let me off what I owe you and I'll keep quiet about what I know. More that kind of thing"

"So, we're looking for a record or statement?"

"I'll know what, when we find it. If, we find it."

Temple opened the food cupboards. The same tins of beans and spaghetti were piled up higgledy-piggledy. He took each one down carefully. Then at the very back, there was a tin of spam. It had been opened but the tin base had been peeled back by its key so that it stood apparently unopened. Lifting it up, Temple knew it was empty of meat. He pulled the key back and out fell two pieces of paper folded into small squares to fit the tin.

"Bingo!" Temple called out. "Come over here!"

"How on earth did you find it in that spam tin?" Cantwell examined the tin and saw how carefully the base cover had been peeled back and then re-placed.

"My old mother used to hide the housekeeping money in just such a tin!" Temple laughed. "But I knew just where it was! Anyway, let's take a look at these."

He carefully unfolded the papers. In tiny writing, there were dates of meetings, times of races and results. The figures were meaningless to both Temple and Cantwell.

"They don't make sense to us. But I'll bet you that if Eager showed these to Redbourne, Steele or Davey, they'd know exactly what they meant." He leaned against the shelf. "Poor old bugger, Eager should have kept his trap shut."

"Do you think we'll be able to use these figures against Redbourne?"

"Not on their own. But if we ever get to charging him, then they'll come in more than useful. For now, though, not a word about any of this. Old Baker has tried to warn me off the Blandford, next time it'll be off the case altogether. So, keep quiet about this."

Brenda makes a date!

2010-02-13T20:25:00.003Z

Cantwell was in good humour when he woke the next morning. The previous day, Debbie had managed to buy two outfits by combining their clothes' coupons. A red dress and a neat grey costume that fitted at the waist and made her look slim. Her delight was obvious! When this was followed up by a cream tea in the cafe opposite the cathedral, she had forgiven him everything. A night of honeymoon-like bliss made him feel like a boy of twenty again.

So when he walked into Temple's office, he had a big grin on his face. Temple was amused and pleased:
"From the expression on your ugly mug, I'd say your day off paid dividends."

"Just like you said, Gov. I'm amazed how little it takes to please a woman."

"Not all women, Cantwell, just some women. As I can vouch."

"Sorry, Gov," Cantwell spluttered flushing with embarrassment.

"No offence, Cantwell, it's just my jaundiced view of women. You hold onto your more generous beliefs." He pushed a couple of sheets of writing paper towards him. "Take a look."

Cantwell sat down and read the letter:

Dear Inspector Temple & Sergeant Cantwell

First I want to say a big 'thank you' for what you both did for me.
The flat was so neat and tidy. I had been dreading finding a mess.

The groceries were very welcome. I did not expect anything like that from the police.

Secondly, I think we ought to meet. There are things I would
like to talk over with you. I need some advice.

Please write back to me, as soon as possible,
suggesting a time and place.

I think that somewhere in Exeter would be good.
No one would know me there.

Please make the appointment for sometime soon but
do not come to my flat

Your truly

Brenda Ellacott (Mrs)

Cantwell read the letter twice and then looked over at Temple.

"So?" Temple queried, "What do you think? Where would you suggest we meet? You know Exeter well. What's a good place that's central but where we can keep out of general view?"

"There are several cafes, Gov, but I suppose lots of people go in and out. She obviously doesn't want to be seen." He thought for a while. "There's a large hotel opposite the cathedral. We could meet in the lounge and go on somewhere from there. It's not far from the bus station for her either."

"Fine - I'll write now - you can post it - we'll arrange the meeting for noon the day after tomorrow."

Temple decided to write the letter by hand. The typing pool girls might well do copies. He was sure of one thing and that was the less Baker knew about these investigations, the better. His writing was usually a spidery scrawl. This time, he took care that it was neat enough for her to read. He handed it to Cantwell to look at.

"You address the envelope, Cantwell. Your writing is better than mine. Then take it to the Post Office. I don't want it sent with the general post from here."

Superintendent Baker exerts his authority

2010-02-12T18:34:00.006Z

Temple drove back to the station and returned the squad car to the pool. He grabbed a coffee from the canteen and went straight to his office and began thumbing his way through the growing pile of files. Recently they had grown even more. Sam Walters had sent most of his paperwork from the Met dealing with Redbourne's past activities. They ranged from protection with menaces to GBH and race fixing. The whole gamut of crime was there, plain to see on his file. Everything that is except murder. The striking fact, however, was that not one single charge had stuck to Redbourne himself. Some of his henchmen had been convicted, but each time he emerged unscathed. Every case had been stamped 'Insufficient Evidence'.

Temple pulled a face. He recalled how he and Walters had sweated blood to get a conviction for GBH on him in Camberwell. But instead of Redbourne, a very junior member of his 'gang' had done three years. All the time he was in jail, Redbourne took care of the man's family financially. In that way, he built up a loyal bunch of thugs who were prepared to take the rap, if caught, because Redbourne would look after things.

'Like the bloody mafia' Temple thought. 'But I'll get you this time, sunshine."

There was a knock at the door. Constable Truscott timidly peeped his head round:
"The Super wants a word with you in his office, Gov."

"Any idea what for?"

"No. He just said to fetch you 'pretty damn sharpish'."

"Thanks, Truscott, I'll be along shortly."

"Gov," Truscott looked sheepish, "I think he meant now - as of yesterday."

"I'm sure he did," Temple grinned. "I'm sure that's exactly what he meant - and don't worry I'll make it clear you told me just that. But I'll go when I'm good and ready. Not a minute earlier."

Some quarter of an hour later, Temple sauntered down the corridor, up the stairs and stood outside Superintendent Clive Baker's imposing brass name plate. He knocked loudly.

"Enter!" came from inside.

Temple knocked again, even more loudly. This time the voice from within was obviously irritated:

"I said enter. So enter!" The shout was more like a strangled bark.

Temple opened the door and looked round:
"All right to come in, Sir?"

"Are you deaf, man? I said 'enter' two or three times." He looked up at his large wall clock. "Anyway, what took you so long? I told Truscott ..."

"Yes, Sir, I know what you told Constable Truscott. He did say I should hurry."

"Then why this delay?"

"I was filing my case notes, Sir."

"And that took precedence over coming here?"

"I'm sure you would not wish me to leave incriminating files lying about, would you, Sir? You've always made it plain that all officers ..."

"Yes, Temple! I know what I expect my officers to do. Just make sure that, next time, you're quick about it. I don't expect to be kept waiting when I requested them to come at once."

There was a prolonged silence while Baker studied Temple's face. He was not sure whether the man was lacking in insight or just plain insubordinate. He knew that he'd served throughout the war as an officer in the Eighth Army and had a distinguished record. So he wasn't stupid. Baker tapped his desk in irritation, not knowing quite how to handle the situation.

"I had a call, this morning, from the owner of the Blandford Hotel. I gather that you were there today." He looked closely to see Temple's reaction.

"Just having my lunch break there, Sir."

"Your lunch break!" Baker almost exploded out of his chair. "Lunch at the Blandford! Canteen not good enough for you?"

"I was told they had good sandwiches, Sir."

Baker tried to discern whether this was pure insolence or genuine. He did not like the man, he knew that much. The sooner he moved on to another force, the better.

"Was there an issue about my being there?" Temple enquired.

"Did you make your presence known?"

"To whom, Sir?"

"To anybody?"

"The owner's wife, Mrs Jackson, asked my name. I told her. I didn't want to deceive her."

"Anyone else?"

"No, Sir."

"Well, Temple, I don't want you to go there again."

"I didn't know my contract stipulated where I could or could not eat and drink. Could you show me where it states that? I'm sure my contract is in my office."

"Don't be bloody smart with me, Temple. I'm not asking you, I am telling you not to go there again."

"Why would that be, Sir?"

"Because Wing Commander Jackson does not like police officers scaring off his patrons."

"Is that what I was doing, Sir?"

Baker slammed his fist on the desk:
"Don't play silly buggers with me, Temple! You just watch your step or you'll be back in uniform, before you know it! Now get back to your work."

Temple stood up, nodded, then left the office. As the door closed, Baker wondered whether Temple had actually agreed or not.

"Damn the man!" He said. "Damn you for your insolence, Temple."

WingCo & McBride get the panics!

2010-02-11T16:12:00.005Z

McBride watched Temple in his rear view mirror. When he was satisfied that he had gone, he got out of his car and went straight to WingCo's office. Without knocking, he opened the door and closed it behind him. WingCo looked up in surprise.

"What the hell was that Temple chap doing here?" McBride looked flushed and agitated.

"Temple? You mean the policeman? He was here for a drink, so he told Judy."

"Did he ask any questions?"

"Not so far as I know. Why the panic?"

"He's been bothering me, that's why! Bloody officious bastard! Asking about my connections to the Ellacotts and about my other patients."

WingCo paled but remained outwardly calm:
"Well, as Ellacott's doctor, he was bound to ask questions, wasn't he?"

"It was more than that, WingCo. He was going on about my prescriptions. And we both know where that could lead, don't we?"

"Keep your cool! No one can connect us to anything ..."

"Can't they?" McBride sat down heavily opposite WingCo. "You speak for yourself. I've issued false prescriptions for Ellacott, to get the drugs for Redbourne. I could get struck off for that, at the very least."

"It was a mistake, that's all you need say. Blame it on Ellacott, he's dead, after all and can't deny anything! Anyway, doctors always stick together, don't they? You'll never be blamed."

"What about that Brenda Ellacott cow! She's digging around. She knows something's been going on."

"Redbourne will deal with her." McBride looked alarmed. "Don't look so worried! He's not going to harm her. He's going to get her involved. Once in, she'll keep her mouth shut. You know her sort."

WingCo picked up his phone:
"Judy, come on down to the office." He replaced the receiver, then crossed over to his drinks cabinet. A half empty bottle of scotch sat on the top shelf. He poured a double for McBride and a single for himself. "This'll steady the old nerves!"

Judy opened the door and saw immediately, from McBride's demeanour, that something was wrong. She looked questioningly over at her husband.

"Seems both you and Mac here have got the jitters over that Temple bloke. I've got the police sewn up. All I have to do is phone Baker and tell him that we don't want his cops here spoiling our business. He'll soon settle it. He enjoys hobnobbing with the local squires and the Master of the hunt, doesn't he? He wouldn't want to jeopardise his precious wife's invitation to the Hunt Ball."

Judy wasn't really listening. WingCo's judgement on things was not as good as he thought:
"What's worrying you, Mac? Can Temple connect us with Redbourne?"

"Redbourne, no! But as I told WingCo, I issued some prescriptions for Ellacott that were not legit, so that those bloody dodgy dogs could have a dose of something before the races. Ellacott needed the prescriptions so he could keep his books straight."

"Can you get hold of the paperwork?" Judy queried.

"Not unless I can have access to the pharmacy records. I guess that Temple has already got hold of them though."

"Did you keep records?" She asked.

"Of course, I'm bound to by law. Problem was I made them out in the names of patients who either didn't need them or who had recently died."

"Well it's obvious what you've got to do. Change the names and or the dates - whichever - then when Temple comes snooping, just produce your records. Ellacott's dead. Blame him for keeping phony records. Temple will never be able to prove different. Even if it means re-writing the whole damn book, it's worth it!"

"You're right! By God, Judy, you're right. Should've thought of it myself. My records are in ring files, so it's easy to change pages. It's my word and records against a dead man's." He drank the whisky in one gulp. "I'll get back to the surgery now and sort through the prescription files."

McBride got up and went over to slap WingCo on the back:
"I feel a whole lot better now! Anyway, I didn't come here, in the first place, to talk about Temple. When I saw him, I was on my way to give you these." He reached into his pocket and drew out a roll of £5 notes and placed it on the desk. "It's your share of the winnings from the Exeter meeting."

After he had gone. WingCo picked up his phone and dialled:
"Hello there, Clive. It's Bob Jackson here." He paused. "Yes, I'm well, thanks and Judy too. How are you and Vanessa?" He paused again. "Look, sorry to bother you, Clive, but I wanted to ask if you knew why one of your detective inspectors has been rather haunting the Blandford. Is there anything I should know? Anyone I need to look out for?" He winked at Judy. "No he hasn't exactly been bothering us. His name is Temple, so Judy told me. It's just that I don't want some of our patrons to worry that there are problems here." He laughed. "Thanks, Clive. I'll look forward to our game of golf on Sunday." He put the phone down.

"So?" Judy asked.

"I'd say it's all settled, old girl. Clive Baker will keep this Temple bloke out of our hair."

"I hope he bloody well does. For all our sakes."

Temple visits the Blandford

2010-02-10T15:27:00.003Z

The Blandford car park was relatively empty but instead of going there, Temple parked the squad car two side-streets away. Walking through the car park, he scrutinised the various cars but did not recognise any of the number-plates. He did notice, however, that several of the cars were new and expensive. How, in this austere post-war time people had the money to buy Jags and Wolsey's, he could not guess. They were either born to money or, more likely, had made it in crooked dealings. Ever the cynic, he entered the lounge bar. There were more people inside than on the previous occasion when he had been with Cantwell.

He ordered a pint and sandwich from the bar. As he was paying, he glanced up at the mirror behind the bar, it gave a good view of the other customers. Temple scanned various faces but saw no one he recognised. The majority there were well-heeled and not afraid to show it.

Taking his drink and the large ham sandwich, the barman had given him, he sat down at a table in the far corner. From there, he had a clear view of everyone who came or went.

From what he could see, Temple guessed that most of the people were hotel residents and new to the area. There were a few Starmouth people and the noisiest group seemed to be members of the local hunt.

After about twenty minutes, Judith Jackson came in. She stood in the entrance looking round the clientele with her large brown eyes taking in every detail. She spotted Temple and nodded. She then crossed over to the bar and had a confidential chat with the barman. As on the previous time, she worked the room, smiling and chatting inconsequentially. The men enjoyed the attention, the women also responded well to her flattery. 'Quite the consummate performer', Temple thought. She left him until last.

"How nice to see you again. I don't think I caught your name, last time, Mr ...?"

"Detective Inspector Temple."

"Oh! The police!" She smiled and nodded, as if pleased with the knowledge. "We know Superintendent Baker very well. He often comes here with his delightful wife. But it's rare for one of his underlings to visit us."

The emphasis on the 'underlings' was said with a meaningful smile, 'Oh, she's good,' Temple thought, 'Very good indeed.'

Though he nodded, he did not respond to her comment. There was a moment's silence, then she leaned forward and sat down on the chair next to him. She whispered quietly:
"May I ask - are you looking for someone or is this strictly a lunchtime treat, an off-duty call?"

"I'm never really off-duty, Mrs Jackson. But, on the other hand, I'm not exactly looking for anything or anyone in particular."

"Oh! You know my name, Inspector. You are well in formed." She paused, the forced smile beginning to wear rather thin. "I'm not sure how good it is for business to have the police here at the bar." She gave a nervous laugh.

"But no one, apart from you, knows I am the police, as you put it. I'm not broadcasting the fact and I'm sure that you wouldn't."

"Of course not." She put her hand flirtatiously on his arm. "I would not want to jeopardise any investigation you might be doing."

"Seriously, Mrs Jackson, I am just here for a quiet pint and bite to eat." She gave him a sideways glance. "You surely would not grudge me a moment's calm in a busy day.

"Of course not, Inspector. Do forgive me. I read too many crime stories, I suppose." She rose from the seat, putting her hand to her hair and smiling again. "I'll leave you in peace.."

She returned to the bar and spoke once again to the barman. Some minute or two later a pint of beer was on its way to Temple.

"With Madam's compliments, sir." The barman said placing it on the table.

Outside in the lobby, however, Judith Jackson felt far from complimentary. The encounter had left her agitated and irritated. She went immediately to her husband's office.

"We've got the ruddy police sitting in the bar."

WingCo looked up from some paperwork:
"What, Baker?"

"No! Some jumped-up little berk who says he's an inspector."

"So what's the problem?"

"The problem is that we don't need coppers round here at the moment. Or have you forgotten about Ellacott?" Remember the name 'Redbourne', do you? Recall events of the last two weeks?"

WingCo straightened up and peered at his wife:
"There's absolutely nothing to connect us to any of the goings on, nothing at all. Even if Redbourne walked in here now, complete with one of his dodgy dogs, there's no one could connect us. He's just another patron. Just you remember that."

Judith Jackson sat down heavily on one of the high back chairs:
"Yes, that maybe so. But what's he doing here?"

"What does he say he's doing.?"

"Here for a quiet drink, so he says."

"Well, take it at face value, Judy. Don't do anything to encourage him. But, on the other hand, don't do anything to discourage him. Just act natural, as if you've nothing to hide. You're bloody good at that sort of thing, old girl."

Temple finished his second pint then headed out to where he had parked the squad car. As he did so, Dr McBride drove in. The timing, from Temple's point of view, could not have been better. He made a show of recognising McBride, then gave an ostentatious wave, before walking out into the street.

Brenda makes up her mind!

2010-02-09T17:52:00.003Z

Brenda Ellacott was nobody's fool and she was furious with herself that she had not guessed Ben had been getting into deep trouble. How on earth had he risked all by becoming involved with Redbourne, WingCo and Mcbride? Sitting in the kitchen, she stirred an extra spoonful of sugar into her coffee. Pouring in the milk, she watched it swirl into the thick black liquid. It looked disgusting but she needed the caffeine to help her think.

She realised she was in a dicey position. Ben's death had left her expendable. Redbourne et al were not sure exactly what she knew, which was, in fact, zilch. What the hell was she going to do?

She had never had any dealings with the police but the two detectives had treated her well. Redbourne, on the other hand, was a smarmy git who would slit her throat as soon as look at her.

"Stupid cow!" she said out loud. "There's no competition here. It's obvious what I need to do."

She swallowed her coffee and went into the bedroom to Ben's old roll top desk. She pulled out a writing pad and his fountain pen. For a moment, her eyes clouded with tears. She had given him the pen for Christmas two years before. Brushing aside the tears, she filled the pen from the Quink ink bottle and began writing.

An hour later, after three drafts, she had written a letter to Temple. She re-read it, then put it in an envelope.

Never having had to go to the Starmouth Police Station, she was not sure of the address, though she knew, well enough where it was. She decided to walk past, note down the address, then take the letter to the Post Office.

She slipped on a short camel hair jacket and red beret. It was the first time she had left the flat since being brought home from the hospital. It felt good to be out in the open, though the musty smell of the gasometer hit her nose. Then, a gust of wind from the sea blew the sickly smell away.

The net curtains twitched in the windows of several houses near the end of the hill, as she passed by. For a fleeting moment, she caught sight of a woman's face before it withdrew quickly. No doubt tongues had been wagging. First Ben's disappearance, then her beating up, then Ben's death. In such a small town, one such event provoked a ton of gossip; two made a story and three were a positive drama. Brenda loathed being the object of gossip and rumour. Things would only get worse.

Temple was just leaving the police station when he saw her pause outside the building and make some sort of note. He stepped back into the entrance so as not to be seen. He watched as she turned and walked quickly towards the High Street. He was curious, she looked as though she was coming in. He wondered what she was thinking about.

When she had gone, Temple collected one of the pool of squad cars. Cantwell was having a day off to take his wife, Debbie, on a shopping spree. The extra overtime money was to be spent on buying her a new outfit. Cantwell had told Temple, if he did this, she wouldn't moan when he had to do more overtime. That, at least, was the theory. Temple knew, from his own experience, that most women were not so easily satisfied. He hoped for Cantwell's sake, that he was wrong.

Cantwell reports

2010-02-08T19:39:00.004Z

The noise of the Posthorn Gallop was blaring out once again, as Cantwell left the bar. He could just glimpse the white coats of the kennel lads parading the dogs. Because he was taller than average, Temple stood out amongst the crowd by the rails. Cantwell elbowed his way to his side.

"Well?" Temple asked.

"Name is Soppy Soper, real name is Harry but everyone calls him Soppy. He doesn't like it, nor would I." Temple was about to interrupt. Cantwell knew he would tell him to 'get on with it'. So, he launched rapidly into the next piece of information. "He's a herdsman at Grange Farm. Near to Woodbury Common. It seems he looks after lots of other farm animals." He was about to describe them in some detail but thought better of it. "It seems that a greyhound kennels and training centre was set up there. He looks after the dogs. From what he said, they bring in a pretty penny."

"Anything else?"

"I asked him for a tip, just to see how he would react. He told me that if I'd met him earlier this evening then he could have given me one." Cantwell grimaced, he would be damned if he told Temple the rest of the story. Equally well, he'd be damned if he didn't tell him."

"Well, come on, man." Temple was obviously irritated by Cantwell's reticence. "There's more to it, I can see it on your face. Spit it out!"

"He said that if I met him here at the meeting on Saturday, he'd be able to give me a good tip then."

"Excellent! Good work! Why're you looking so miserable? You should be pleased."

"Gov, I promised Debbie that I'd take her out on Saturday with the overtime I got tonight. She'll go mad, if I don't!"

"Take her out to Sunday lunch instead. Somewhere really nice. Use your imagination. Then, if that doesn't do the trick, tell her you'll take her to a tea-dance the following Saturday. You can tell her that your overtime will come in really handy for all those little things she wants."

Cantwell was not so easily convinced. If Temple was so bloody clever at handling women, how come his wife had left him and gone back to London. However, he said nothing.

They did not wait for the next race. Instead they headed for the turnstiles and the car. For Cantwell, the journey back to Starmouth was over almost before it had begun. He was dreading telling Debbie about the dog racing on Saturday.

Soppy Soper appears

2010-02-07T18:28:00.006Z

The so-called bar was a sad affair. The concrete floor was spattered with stains from spilled beer. Fag ends littered the place from one end of the room to the other with clumps of them near the counter itself. The air was a thick fug of cheap tobacco smoke. Regardless of the atmosphere, the place was packed mainly with men and a few drab looking women. Cantwell saw some people he recognised by sight. He doubted whether they would know him.

Temple pushed them both to the bar and ordered two pints of bitter. He grimaced in disgust as two glasses of flat brown liquid were placed in front of him. Cantwell could not believe they got away with selling the stuff but looking at the people clustered round him, he realised they all had other things on their minds.

Moving to one side of the melee, they leaned against the wall and surveyed the scene.

"Did you find out anything, Gov?"

"What I saw ties in with what you've just told me. The kennels are a maze of small dog runs. There are vans and shooting-brakes parked round the perimeter. The poor old dogs are shunted in and out of the transport, to the runs, do their racing, then it's back again to the transport. One helluva racket from barking dogs and swearing trainers. Oh! And the smell isn't great either, it rivals a cesspit." He took a long swig at his pint and pulled a face. "However, Cantwell, all that's unimportant, except for the poor dodgy dogs. What matters is that the blonde chap you saw coming and going to Redbourne's stand was also coming and going to the kennels. He always went to the same two Morris Minor vans. And who else do you think went over to him?"

"Redbourne?"

"Yep! Our pal, Redbourne, and one Dr McBride and the track side vet was pretty pally too! The really interesting thing was that McBride handed Redbourne a bottle. He examined it then gave it to the blonde man."

"Drinomyl?"

"Could be. The forensic lab hasn't got back to me yet about the tablets in that bottle we found. But if it is some sort of amphetamine, it would certainly make a dog run faster, even if it was injured."

Just then, Cantwell saw the blonde man edge his way into the room and push his way to the bar:
"There he is, Gov, the blonde chap. See?"

"Great! Just what I hoped! Try and start up a conversation with him. He might have seen me near the kennels but he won't have seen you. Find out who he is and what his connection is with Redbourne." Cantwell began moving away when Temple grabbed him by the shoulder. "Make sure you find out more about him than he does about you. I'll wait for you by the Tote."

The remark irritated Cantwell. It was totally out of order. If anyone knew how to be subtle, he reckoned, it was him. Hadn't Debbie told him often enough that he was a 'devious bastard'.

The blonde man was leaning against the counter cradling a half pint of beer and eating from a packet of crisps. Cantwell edged next to him, placing his glass on the counter. He then pulled his race card from his pocket and appeared to study it closely.

"What do you fancy in the next race? I'm right out of luck tonight."

The man's pale blue eyes locked on to him for a second or two:
"Dunno."

"No? Pity that! Hoped to buy my little niece a birthday present. Her mother, my sister, she's been real good to me. At this rate, the kid'll be lucky to get a penny chew." Cantwell sipped his beer. "Got any kids?"

The man flushed red and shook his head:
"Me? No - not married. Not even got a girlfriend. My sort of work makes it difficult like. I don't get out much."

"Really! So what sort of work do you do?"

"Animals."

"Animals. Oh, I see you're a farmer."

"No - nothin' so grand. I'm an 'erdsman up at Grange Farm, just near Woodbury Common."

"Herdsman, eh? Must be hard work."

"You'm right bout that. Up at five for the cows then there's the pigs and the dogs."

"Pigs and dogs as well." Cantwell could not believe his luck. "You've got your hands full. Still farm dogs are .."

"Not farm dogs. They're greyhounds, That's why I'm 'ere to look after the dogs. Grange Farm got bought up and it now runs a greyhound kennels and training ring for lots of local owners."

"Really! God, that's interesting!"

The blonde man smiled. When he did, he looked quite boyish. Cantwell realised that he was no more than in his late teens or early twenties, at most.

"'Spose it is interesting. 'Spose it is."

"I've always liked dogs. More a mongrel man though. These greyhounds are valuable, aren't they?"

"Yeah! Some of 'em brings in more damn money than the pigs, that's for sure!" He laughed.

Cantwell held out his hand:
"My name's Tom Carter, pleased to meet you." Why he chose the name Carter, he didn't know. He just hoped he would remember it later on.

The blonde man wiped his hand on his trousers and shook Cantwell's:
"Nice to meet 'e, Tom Carter. I'm 'arry Soper, Though everyone calls me 'Soppy' Soper. Don't much like it, but then what can 'e do?"

"Well, I'd prefer to call you Harry. Do you always brimng the dogs to the races, Harry?"

Soppy Soper looked glumly at his glass before answering:
"I'm brought along to run errands, like. I'd rather be with the dogs though."

"So - how's about a tip, Harry?"

Soppy grinned:
"If I knew somethin' I'd tell 'e. But I don't 'ave a clue for the rest of the card. Now, if I'd seen 'e before the first two races, it'd be a different thing." He glanced over his shoulder. "Tell 'e what, Tom. You come 'ere on Saturday and I'll give 'e a tip then. Meet me 'ere at the bar before the third race. I gotta go now. Got the dogs to see to."

Cantwell watched him down his drink and wipe his mouth on his sleeve. He shook his hand and left. Cantwell, feeling well pleased with himself headed out to tell Temple what he had found out.

Win or Lose!

2010-02-04T11:50:00.005Z

Cantwell was beginning to get a grasp on what this racing lark was all about. Surprisingly, he found it quite exciting. Why on earth should six dogs running round a circuit after an electric hare be exciting?

Well, he thought, it was the atmosphere. The punters had an air of frenzy that was contagious. There was the consulting of the race cards. Next, the study of the form statistics. Then, off to see which bookie gave the best odds. The moment of putting your hands in your pocket, getting out the cash and placing the bet came next. As in all good dramas, there was the lull, the wait for 'The Off!'. Then, in the blink of an eye, you had either won or lost.

That was how old Eager had been enticed into this world, Cantwell thought. Probably, the same thing had happened to Ellacott and to Redbourne's flash pals. Cantwell nodded to himself, that was how they had all got involved. It was not the same for Redbourne, Steele and Davey. They knew they would win, whatever happened. They made money in cold blood, the others just prayed for Lady Luck to touch them on the shoulder.

A nudge from a passing punter drew him back to reality. The second race preparations were already underway. The same music, the tic-tac men waving their arms about, the rapid chalking up of odds. Then the blonde man appeared. Cantwell saw the odds change on Redbourne's board.

Frederick's Fancy's odds changed from 4 - 1 to 10 - 1. Frederick's Fancy was a dark coated dog with two white paws and a white tip to his tail and being paraded by a short stocky lad.

Cantwell felt for the money that Temple had given him. In a sudden rush of adrenalin, he ran over to a bookie with the name 'Marshall' on his umbrella. He put five shillings to win on Frederick's Fancy. He looked at the ticket and was shocked that he had just paid out good money for this flimsy piece of paper. Still, Temple had given him the money.

He clamoured up the stone steps of the stand and waited for the race to start. His heart was beating unaccountably fast as he saw Frederick's Fancy being put into trap two.

The loud shout of 'They're Off!' made him tingle. He and several others leaned forward and watched the dogs tear out of the traps and round the circuit. At first, Frederick's Fancy was bunched in but at the final bend, he surged forward and beat a large white dog by about two feet, in Cantwell's estimation.

Cantwell bit his lip with amazement. He had never bet on anything other than the Pools before. He had never come near to winning on the Pools not even the Easy Six. Now he had won, his very first bet on a dog.

He went over to Marshall's stand and collected his winnings: over £2 plus his original five shillings. Marshall glowered at him as he thrust the money towards him. Cantwell stuffed it into his wallet and went over to the Tote to meet up with Temple.

Temple was standing nonchalantly leaning against a post and observing various people.

"So! Found out anything?" He asked Cantwell.

"Plenty, Gov. Found out plenty. Besides which." He pulled out the two pound notes. "See! I put what I saw into practice and came up with the goods!"

"So what exactly did you see?"

Cantwell related in detail the comings and goings of the blonde man, the changing of the odds on Redbourne's board and the pattern that the first two races had followed. Temple mused on what he had been told.

"There's some sort of bar over there. Let's go and get a drink and talk a bit more."

The County Ground: first race of the evening

2010-02-02T11:57:00.005Z

Temple drove them to Exeter and parked the car in a side road outside the County Ground. Having paid at the turnstile, they sauntered in trying to merge with the mass of people already milling round the Tote.

"Let's have a wander round separately and meet up in about an hour, near here. I'm going over to where the dogs are being exercised. You keep an eye on the track side bookies." He nudged Cantwell's arm and grinned, "place your bets wisely!"

Never having been greyhound racing before, Cantwell walked around the ground watching the crowds of people, mainly men, studying their race cards. Two men were in animated conversation prodding at the cards and alternately nodding or shaking their heads. Cantwell looked at the card, it was double-Dutch to him.

The track side bookies were in a long line. Each bookie had a large umbrella with his name emblazoned round it. Next to this was a blackboard on which a man was feverishly chalking up numbers, he would then look around, then rub them out only to re-chalk new numbers.

Cantwell watched for some time, he followed one of the men's eyes and saw a short fat man standing on a wooden box gesticulating wildly. His hands flew from his nose to his shoulders then back to his nose. Meanwhile the bookie's man was nodding vigorously. This must be the tic-tac man conveying information about the dogs to the bookie, Cantwell thought. Temple had given him some background to what went on at dog races. This was it in action. Cantwell was mesmerised! He was beginning to enjoy the experience.

He walked up and down the rows of bookies, they were shouting out dogs' names and the odds they were offering. It was halfway along the row that he saw a large orange umbrella with the name 'Redbourne'. On the stand next to the umbrella were Ted Steele and his sidekick, Davey. They were shouting as loudly as the rest and did not see Cantwell. He sidled away just as a loudspeaker somewhere above him crackled into life.

"Welcome, ladies and Gentlemen to the County Ground Stadium. We have a full and exciting card tonight. The runners for the first race are as on your card."

As the voice faded, music blasted out and 'There's an awful lot of coffee in Brazil' rang round the stadium. The husky tones of Edmundo Ross and his Latin Band were in full swing. Cantwell had to smile to himself. The music was so out-of-place here in this racetrack on a chill damp evening in Devon.

As the time of the race approached, he saw a blonde, almost albino, man go up to Redbourne's stand. Ted Steele stepped down and walked slightly to the side with the man. There was an animated conversation, then the blonde man walked away quickly. Cantwell watched Steele rub out the odds of two dogs. They changed dramatically. Dusty Night dropped from 10 - 1 to 33 - 1. While at the same time Grosvenor Boy's odds changed from 25 - 1 to 5 - 2. Cantwell noted this on his card. Obviously, the blonde man's appearance had triggered something significant. Cantwell was intrigued.

The speaker crackled again and this time the Posthorn Gallop blared out. Experienced punters recognised the signal and pushed and shoved their way to the rails. A line of six white coated lads and girls led six greyhounds in a parade.

Checking his card, he noted that Dusty Night was in trap four. Whilst Grosvenor Boy, also a black dog was in trap one. He peered at them and, from a distance, it was impossible to tell the two apart. To his untrained eye, each dog looked as good as the next. How on earth you could rate them was beyond his comprehension.

The dogs were led to the starting traps and shortly after the hare was set running. A loud cry of 'They're off!' rippled through the crowd. Men and women started shouting their heads off and waving their tickets in the air. Cantwell strained to see what the excitement was all about.

The six dogs tore out of the traps and after the rapidly disappearing hare. At the first bend, Grosvenor Boy was in fourth place and Dusty Night was in fifth. Then at the final bend, showing an amazing turn of pace, Dusty Night took the lead and passed the post well ahead of the others. Cantwell pursed his lips and whistled to himself as he recalled the odds that Steele had chalked up. Even Cantwell realised that at odds of 33 - 1, you would pick up a pretty penny.

The speaker crackled into life some five minutes later:
"The results for the first race are as follows. First by a length - Dusty Night at 33 - 1. Second by a short head, Portcullis at 10 - 1. Third Brigadoon, at 10 - 1."

Where, Cantwell wondered, had Grosvenor Boy come in the race. He watched Redbourne's group grinning and looking well-pleased with the result. It was at that moment that he saw Dr McBride collecting a wadge of notes from Steele.

So Eager had been right. It was not just dodgy dogs who frequented the race track, it was dodgy bookies and pals. Cantwell was excited at the prospect of the second race.

Extra cash for Cantwell

2010-01-30T21:59:00.003Z

Temple and Cantwell waited for the full autopsy report on Eager Beaver. When it eventually landed on Temple's desk in a brown envelope, it was disappointingly thin. He waved it in the air in Cantwell's direction.

"I always pin my hopes on these damn things and invariably they are a bloody let-down. Read it to me, Cantwell, tell me I'm wrong this time."

Cantwell glanced at it for several minutes before giving the result:
"It seems he had a severe beating before death. There were several broken ribs, broken nose, shattered cheekbone, fracture of the spine. But what killed him was a blow to the back of his head. He didn't drown, Gov. No sign of water in his lungs." He looked up. "So they must have dumped his body overboard after killing him. Poor old Eager. What harm had he done to anyone?"

"Asked too many questions and knew too many answers. That's what he did wrong. Couldn't keep his mouth shut." Temple drummed his fingers on the desk. "Still, all this confirms that Ellacott's death, Brenda Ellacott's beating and now Eager's murder are all connected."

"We don't know that for sure, Gov."

"Maybe, maybe not. But it's time that you and I did a bit more investigating. We're going to the dogs, Cantwell. We know there's fixing going on in these races. The only way to find out is to go into the lion's den, so to speak. There's a meeting tonight at the County Ground in Exeter. Starts about 7 o'clock. We'll stay till about 9.30." He held up his hand to silence the protest he could see coming from Cantwell. "I know evening work is not exactly popular with your Debbie. But you just tell her that I've fixed a great overtime deal for you. You can spend it on her at the weekend. Just give her a call now tell her something's come up at work and that you'll be back late tonight. If you tell her now, she can make arrangements to entertain herself."

Temple was right. Debbie was not best pleased to have the news sprung on her. However, the prospect of extra cash soothed her quite remarkably quickly.

"How much extra?" Temple overheard her ask.

"Not sure, love, but enough for us to go out on Saturday evening. The Gov has fixed it for me. Perhaps, we'll go to the Blandford for a drink, maybe even dinner."

Temple heard the change in Debbie's tone even from where he was sitting. Cantwell grinned and nodded at him when he put the receiver back:
"She's real pleased about the thought of going to the Blandford. Never been there, always wanted too. She'll go to her sister's place tonight." He rubbed his hands together. "That means I won't have to go round there tomorrow."

"Not keen on the in-laws, Cantwell?"

"No, Gov, I'm not."

"Right then, here's some cash." Temple opened a small box that he had in his desk drawer and handed him three pound notes and three florins. "That's for you to bet with. Don't use it all but watch who bets on what dog. Between us, we may see a pattern."

Cantwell counted the money and looked surprised at the amount:
"Gov! There's almost a week's wages here! How much is a bet?"

"Cantwell! Don't you know anything? A bet is whatever you decide to place on a dog. You can do it to win or you can do it to come second or third. You can also do it each way which means if it wins you get a return and if it comes in second or third you also win, but not so much. I'm not going to explain the intricacies of gambling. I'd suggest that you stick to smallish bets. Watch the other punters. See what they're doing. You'll learn."

Brenda 'wants in'

2010-01-27T11:35:00.004Z

WingCo drove back to the Blandford in a state of anxiety. He called Judy into the office and they discussed the conversation he had just had with Brenda Ellacott.

"Without Ben, what use is Brenda? In fact, she was always a bloody liability even when he was getting the pills for Redbourne. Time and again he said that Brenda mustn't know what was going on. Not like you, old girl," WingCo looked fondly at his wife. "No bloody stamina. Not up to making a pretty penny on some dodgy dogs!"

Judy crossed the room and looked at the beer garden. Two couples were sitting at the tables. She strummed her fingers on the windowsill:
"You'll have to talk it over with Redbourne. He'll be expecting some news about the drinomyl tablets. Wasn't he hoping to get them to Soppy Soper this week?"

"He was. The next few weeks' racing will just have to go for a burton, unless we can get our hands on a new supply. McBride said that Ellacott was crucial. He could write the prescriptions but unless Ellacott dispensed them, there was no easy way of getting drinomyl or sodium amytal."

"Well, you'll have to break the news."

"Talking to Redbourne is not as simple as it sounds. We don't want to get too tied in with Ellacott's death. Steele and Davey may not have meant to push him in, but he went in just the same. It was as near as dammit to homicide."

"But it wasn't! Remember that! Anyway, we're in too deep already. Also, we're still short of several thousand pounds that we need if we're to get away from Starmouth." She put her hands on his shoulders and kissed the top of his head. "We need to hang on in till we've got what we need. Just keep your head and everything will be fine. Phone Redbourne now and tell him what you've found out."

Redbourne answered the phone almost immediately. He listened without interrupting WingCo. He could hear Judy's promptings in the background. Cool as ice, that one, he thought. Pity her husband was such an old woman.

"Stop the panics, Bob!" Redbourne said at last. "Brenda Ellacott is nobody's fool. Steele handled the whole thing all wrong. Why he hit her, I don't know. All brawn and no bloody brains, that's Steele for you." He chuckled. "Hell! That's why I hired him! So mustn't complain. You leave Brenda to me, Bob. Oh! By the way, tell that little lady of yours not to worry, Uncle Rex will make it all right. You remember that too. There's more than one source for the pills. We'll get those dogs running like we want, in no time at all."

WingCo put the receiver down. Thank God, it was no longer his problem. He would now have to tell McBride all the facts too.

Neither he nor NcBride had intended to get so deeply involved in Redbourne's set up. At the beginning it had seemed so easy, 'a nice little earner' was how Redbourne had put it. They had all misjudged Redbourne.

Judy had been delighted to get the type of people who Redbourne brought to the Blandford. The hunting, shooting and fishing fraternity had come to Redbourne's parties at the hotel. Some parties they had been too: plenty of champagne, cocaine and girls! To their surprise, a local MP had brought along some of his friends. Judy could not understand why they all seemed to like Redbourne.

'Just a common little bookie', as she labelled him. But he was the one supplying the booze, the drugs and the girls. It had all been great fun and they could not believe their luck.

McBride had been pleased to make good money. After all, what harm was there in writing up some extra prescriptions? No one would check, after all he was on all the important local medical committees. Redbourne had told him just to get the drugs and leave the rest to him.

Ben Ellacott had always been the weak link in the chain, WingCo thought. He fretted over dispensing drugs that could be traced back to him. Still, he had gone along with it too. He had been rather in awe of the company. Not only was he amazed to be at the same parties as the county set, he was naive enough to think that owning the Blandford made you an important person. WingCo smiled ruefully.

So where had it all got out of hand? McBride had discussed it with him a month or two prior to Ellacott's death. He said Redbourne's plans were too big. Not satisfied with running a few dodgy dogs at the local tracks, he was aiming now for some of the London tracks, maybe even the Greyhound Derby.

Ellacott told Redbourne he was getting above himself and should be content with local tracks. He had started to play hard to get. He didn't deliver the drugs on time. That was when Steele and Davey were let loose. That, thought WingCo, was when things had gone sour. Even then, he hadn't thought it would end in Ellacott's death.

WingCo picked up the phone and dialled McBride's number:
"Richie, it's Bob. We need to have a chat. No ... no immediate problems. Come up to the Blandford tonight about eight-thirty. Okay by you?"

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