'Get off, you bastard!' the older man yelled as he pounded up. He tried to kick the dog away as the Jack Russell's screams grew more hysterical.
Then Kale was there. He pushed the other man to one side and grabbed hold of the bull terrier's studded collar. It gave a hacking cough as he yanked it back, holding it so only its hind feet were on the floor. It made another lunge for the smaller dog but he cuffed it across its head and gave it a single, violent shake. Gasping, it subsided, its muzzle shiny and wet.
'Oh, Christ, oh, Christ,' the older man moaned, going down on his knees. The little dog was spasming on the floor, its white coat matted from the blood that pumped from its throat and stomach. 'Oh, look at her, look at her!'
He slid his hands under it and held it to his chest. It twitched spastically, smearing his coat as he tried to staunch the wounds with the same handkerchief he'd offered Ben.
'Your fucking dog, John! I'll kill it! I'll fucking kill it!'
Kale still held the bull terrier by its collar. It wheezed for breath, but the frenzy had gone out of it. He looked without expression at the Jack Russell, then turned and thrust his dog towards the gate.
'In.' The dog ran into the garden, stubby tail wagging. Kale followed it.
The Jack Russell's spasms were dying down. Its owner was crying. 'Did you hear what I said?' he shouted into the garden. 'I'll have it! I'll fucking…!'
An explosion sent a cloud of birds clattering into the air. Ben and the two men froze, stunned, as its echoes died away. The small man, no longer smiling, ran to the fence and stared inside.
'Oh fuck! Oh fucking hell!'
Ben hobbled over, desperately trying to see over the scrap.
The bull terrier lay in the centre of the garden. Most of its head was blown away. One of its legs twitched, then was still. Kale stood over it with a shotgun.
'Fucking hell, John, you shouldn't have just shot him!' The small man sounded appalled.
Kale cracked open the shotgun and let a shell fall from one of its chambers. 'It's my dog. I'll do what I like.'
He looked at Ben as he spoke. Then he snapped the gun closed and limped back towards the house.
'Bastard,' the older man said, weeping over the motionless dog in his arms. He was covered in blood and shit. 'Bastard.'
The smaller man took his arm. 'Come on, Brian.'
They set off down the track.
Ben waited until they were well ahead before he followed them.
Chapter Sixteen
The solicitor took her time going through the photographs.
Her eyebrows dipped into a frown when she saw the ones showing Kale lifting the engine above Jacob's head, rose for those of Sandra Kale and the man in the bedroom. She gave Ben a quick glance before moving on.
He waited silently until she had finished, resisting the urge to try to make himself more comfortable. The chair was well-upholstered, but even after a week his lower back was still painful. The swelling around his nose and mouth had mostly gone, and he hadn't lost any teeth, but the flesh under his eyes remained discoloured. His calf itched unbearably as the chunk the dog had taken out of it slowly mended.
Usherwood came to the end of the photographs. She lay them on the desk in front of her, absently straightening the edges.
'Well…' She drew a deep breath, cleared her throat. 'I can see why you're concerned.'
He waited for her to say something else. She looked down at the photographs again, chewing one corner of her mouth in thought. 'How long have you been watching the house?' she asked without looking at him.
Ben felt himself colouring. 'Quite a while.' He didn't let himself elaborate or make excuses.
She gave a small smile. 'Perhaps it's as well there aren't stricter privacy laws.'
'I wouldn't have cared if there were.' It came out more emphatically than he intended.
The solicitor looked again at the photograph on top of the pile, as though it could tell her something it hadn't already. Her fingers lightly touched the images of torn metal, as though they still possessed the power to cut her. 'So what exactly are you asking me?'
'I want to know how to get Jacob back.'
She pushed the photographs to one side with a sigh. 'I'm afraid it isn't that simple. Courts are very loath to take a child away from his or her parents—or parent in this case. And in Jacob's case it's compounded because he's already had the trauma of being moved from one home environment. It's extremely unlikely that anyone would want to submit him to another upheaval unless it was felt there was absolutely no other alternative.'
'What alternative is there? Leaving him in a dump full of scrap metal, with a stepmother who whores around and a father who's a f—' He stopped himself. '—a maniac?'
'I'm not saying nothing would be done, but taking a child from its parents is seen as a last resort. It would have to be felt that there was a real risk to Jacob in remaining where he is.'
'Kale dangles half-a-hundredweight of metal over his head. Isn't that risk enough?'
'But you admit yourself that he hasn't been physically harmed. I'm only pointing out what the situation is, Mr Murray.'
'I know, I know. I'm sorry.' He made an effort to calm down. 'What will they do?'
Usherwood sat back. 'Once you've voiced your concerns to the local authority they'll hold a case conference to decide what, if anything, needs to be done. If it was thought there was enough of a risk of harm to Jacob—either physical or emotional—they might put him on the Child Protection Register. If the risk is considered significant, then an application for a care order can be made through the courts, and the child placed with a foster family. But that's only in very extreme cases. Which this isn't.'
'So there's no chance of them letting me have him,' he said, flatly.
A rare look of sympathy crossed her face. 'I'm sorry. You could make a residence application anyway. But for Jacob to be permanently taken from his father it would have to be felt that the situation was so bad there was absolutely no way he could ever safely live with him. And, to be blunt, that isn't likely to happen.'
'What about the photos? Don't they count for anything?' She picked them up again, but she was shaking her head as she fanned them out. 'The fact that his wife's having an affair—or affairs,' she added, with a quirk of her mouth, 'isn't going to be seen as significant one way or another, whether she's accepting payment for it or not. Even prostitutes are allowed to have children. As for Kale himself…' She leafed through the photographs until she found one of him holding the block of metal above Jacob. The polarising filter had thrown out the exposure, but Ben had been happy to come out with anything at all. 'Yes, these show he's put his son at risk on one occasion. There's no proof that he'll continue to do so.' She held her hand up to forestall Ben's protest. 'He has a garden full of scrap metal—he'll be told to get rid of it. He's been reckless when he's weight-training—he'll be told to be more careful in future. The most serious charge against him is that he's been deliberately keeping Jacob away from school, but provided he starts toeing the line there, then even that won't weigh too heavily against him. I know you say he's unbalanced and dangerous, but there's nothing at present to actually prove it. Or to justify insisting he have a psychological assessment.'
Ben tasted a bitterness in his throat. 'How about beating me to a pulp and blowing his dog's brains out?'
'Didn't you say you tried to hit him first? And in front of witnesses?'
He looked down at his hands. 'What about the dog?'
'I'm afraid if the police aren't going to take action there's nothing we can do.'
Ben tiredly rubbed his face, accepting the truth of what she said.
After he had retrieved his equipment from the woods he had driven—slowly—to the local police station in Tunford.
The desk sergeant had perked up when he'd limped in, battered and bloodstained, but that had changed when he'd realised who he was talking to. Ben wondered if there was anyone in the town who didn't regard him as lower than s
omething they'd scrape off the bottom of their shoe.
'What exactly were you doing in the woods behind the house, sir?' the sergeant had asked.
'Walking,' Ben had told him, and held his stare while the policeman waited in silence for him to elaborate. He had tried to hold his anger in check as the questions became almost taunting in their bias.
'Sounds to me like he was defending himself, sir,' the policeman commented at one stage, with insulting courtesy. 'If I were you I'd think myself lucky to have got off so lightly.'
Ben knew then he was wasting his time, but he still tried. 'He shot his dog, for Christ's sake!'
'Perhaps he was just being public-spirited, sir. If it had attacked you, like you claim, it'd have to be destroyed anyway.'
'So it's okay for him to go around firing off a shotgun when he's got a child in the house?'
'Provided he's got a certificate for it, and I expect he has. He's a responsible man, sir. Not like some. He knows how to handle firearms.' The sergeant gave a supercilious smile. 'Besides, you get a lot of vermin in those woods.'
Ben had given up. He hurt all over, and reaction had left him weak and exhausted. He needed to have the bite dressed and his smashed nose looked at. More than anything, he needed to get away from that town.
'Drive carefully, sir,' the sergeant had said as he left. 'You look a bit worse for wear. You don't want to get arrested.'
Usherwood was looking at Ben with concern. 'I know none of this is what you want to hear, but I can only tell you what would probably happen. There are very definite rules laid down in situations like this.'
Ben managed a smile. 'I didn't think there were any other situations like this.'
The solicitor looked down at the photographs. 'Can I keep these?'
He nodded. He'd printed several sets of the best ones. All the others, including those of Sandra Kale, naked and clothed, he'd burned.
'I'm not saying the local authority will ignore the evidence. If nothing else it should make them apply pressure to ensure Kale allows you your contact to Jacob,' Usherwood said, with the air of offering an unconvincing consolation prize.
'And what happens if he still refuses?' When. 'Will they take Jacob off him then?'
'No, but you've a legal entitlement. He's got to let you see him eventually.'
Ben gently kneaded the bridge of his nose. It was still tender. 'You've met him. Did he strike you as the sort of man who's got to do anything?' He stood up while she was still considering that. 'I'll be in touch.'
There were too many hours in the day now that he wasn't travelling up to the woods behind Kale's house. He didn't know what to do with the free time, and so he filled it by working.
Zoe was clearly relieved that he was reliable again, seeing it as a sign that things were returning to normal. But Ben couldn't even remember what 'normal' was any more. It was something that had stopped, perhaps for good, when Sarah had died. If anything, he felt more out of synch with himself than ever. He seemed to be functioning on a purely surface level, going through the motions of talking, eating, going out, but without any of it making any impression on him. He couldn't even say he felt depressed, because he wasn't really feeling anything. It was as though he were using only a single room of a large house. Sometimes he was aware of the rest of the rooms waiting for him to retenant them, but he felt no urge to leave his emotional bedsit. That would involve asking himself what his next step was going to be.
And facing up to the fact that there wasn't one.
He had come to the end, without accomplishing a thing.
Kale wasn't going to change. He might appear to if he was forced, but only until he was left alone again, and then Ben would be in the same position as he was now. The closest he would be able to get to Jacob would be through a telephoto lens. He'd already been down that route.
Two weeks after he had visited Ann Usherwood he was no nearer a decision. He hadn't been in touch with her again. There was no point.
He was still only going through the motions of his life when the phone call came through to the studio.
Zoe answered it, then cupped her hand over the receiver. 'Guy for you. Won't say who he is, but says it's important.'
Ben was on a pair of stepladders, replacing a light. 'Tell him I'm busy.' He heard her repeat it.
The model finished checking herself in the mirror. 'Do you think this top needs pinning at the back?' she asked, pulling it between her shoulder blades so it was tighter across her breasts.
He didn't really care but tried to apply himself to the question.
'He says to tell you his name's Quilley,' Zoe said from behind him.
Ben's mind emptied.
'Come on, Ben, do you want to talk to him or not?'
He climbed down from the stepladders. When she held out the phone for him he realised he still had the lightbulb in his hand. For a moment he couldn't think what to do with it. He put it on the window ledge and took the receiver.
'So am I pinning this, or what?' asked the model.
He motioned vaguely for Zoe to sort it out. She gave him an odd look before she moved away.
He put the phone to his ear. 'Hello?'
'Hello, Mr Murray. Long time no see, as they say.'
Anger seared through him without warning. Its strength was debilitating, like a fever. 'What do you want?'
'Just a chat, that's all. Are you still there, Mr Murray?'
There were so many insults and accusations clamouring to be shrieked they closed his throat. If the detective had been in the same room as him Ben would have gone for him. 'I've got nothing to say to you.' His voice was thick.
'You're still a little worked up, I can tell. You shouldn't have taken what happened personally. It was a simple business matter, that's all. Like I told you, I'm in the information business. If one person doesn't want to buy, then you take your wares somewhere else.'
'I don't give a fuck. You're scum. You're a piece of shit.' He was dimly aware of Zoe and the model staring over at him. He turned his back.
'You're entitled to your opinion, of course,' Quilley said. 'But before you get too carried away I'll come to the point. While we're on the subject of information, I've come by some that I think will interest you. In fact, it's fair to say that I know it will.'
Curiosity won over the desire to slam down the receiver.
'About Jacob?'
'Indirectly, I suppose. Or perhaps directly, depending on how you look at it. Let's say it has a bearing on the current situation.'
'What is it?'
He heard Quilley chuckle. 'Ah, now that's the question, isn't it? And of course the next one is how badly do you want to find out?'
'Why should I believe you know anything?'
'I'd have thought you of all people wouldn't need to ask that, Mr Murray. You should know from personal experience that I'm rather good at digging around. Particularly when I think there's something there to be dug up, as it were.'
'So why have you waited all this time?'
'Let's say I found myself in something of a quiet patch, professionally speaking, so I decided to tidy up some loose ends.'
'You mean your work's dried up.' Ben couldn't keep the satisfaction from his voice. 'Stopped getting recommendations, have you?'
'I wouldn't worry yourself about that, Mr Murray. The fact is that I've got something to sell. What we need to establish now is whether you want to buy.'
'I don't know until I've got some idea what it is.'
'If I told you I'd be putting myself at a disadvantage, wouldn't I? I'm afraid you'll just have to take it on faith.' The detective's regret was cheerfully insincere.
Ben chewed his lip. 'How much do you want?'
'Well, now, that's open to negotiation, isn't it?'
'I've not said I'm interested yet. I know what Kale's been doing, if that's all you're offering.'
There was a momentary pause, then another chuckle. 'Who said it was anything to do with him? But I tell you what,' Quilley w
ent on as Ben was absorbing this, 'you have a think about it for a day or two. Ask yourself how much your stepson is worth to you. And then when you've decided give me a ring.' The detective let this sink in. 'A word of advice, though,' he added. 'I wouldn't leave it too long. Nice talking to you, Mr Murray.'
He met Colin in a pub that evening. It was crammed with after-work city drinkers. There were no seats left but he found a corner to stand in by the cigarette machine and the bar. He ordered a pint while he waited.
Colin was late. When he pushed through the pub doors his hair and overcoat shoulders were dappled with melting snow. 'First fall of the year and it isn't even Christmas yet,' he complained, brushing it off.
Ben didn't say anything. The prospect of a Christmas without either Sarah or Jacob made him feel as if he had stepped out into a black void. It had been something else he had avoided thinking about. It seemed to be a day for having things thrust on him.
'I can't stay long,' Colin said, shucking off his overcoat. 'I'm, uh, meeting somebody in an hour.'
'You mean Jo?'
'Er, yeah. Do you want a drink?'
'I'm okay. I'll get you one.'
Ben turned to the bar, giving Colin a chance to get over his discomfort. The affair showed no signs of dying out, but he still seemed to find it embarrassing to talk about it.
'So what did Quilley actually say?' Colin asked, taking the lemon from the tonic he'd requested and nibbling at it. He'd told Ben it was an appetite suppressant. If nothing else infidelity had made him cut down on drinking and lose weight. The cigar habit had been quickly snuffed as well. Ben wondered if Maggie was as unsuspicious of the sudden change as Colin appeared to believe.