in an awkward silence for the two or three minutes it took the old woman to make the tea.
Mrs Turner re-entered the room with three steaming mugs of tea on a battered tin tray. Woodend took a sip of his. It tasted heavily of tannin, and was strong enough to make bricks out of â which was just the way he liked it.
âYou said you hadnât spoken to Mr Dugdale for over forty years, Mr Turner,â he said, when heâd taken a couple more sips of tea. âIs there any particular reason for that?â
âAye, thereâs plenty of reasons for it,â the old farmer replied. âBut none that I want to go readinâ about in a newspaper.â
âHe was away from Whitebridge for a good few years, wasnât he?â Woodend said, trying another tack. âDo you have any idea where he went?â
âNone at all â anâ I donât care, neither. He should have stayed away for ever, if you want my opinion.â
Woodend turned his attention to Mrs Turner. âDo you have any ideaâ¯â he began.
âNo, she does not,â Jed Turner interrupted him â but not before Woodend had had time to read the flicker in the old womanâs eyes.
âSo thereâs really not much you can tell me about him, is there?â Woodend asked.
âI can tell you that heâs a real bad bugger â allus was â anâ that if it turns out he was responsible for them killinâs up at that so-called farm of his, I wouldnât be the least surprised.â
âA real bad bugger?â Woodend repeated. âWhat exactly do you mean when youâ¯?â
âIâve said all Iâm
goinâ
to say on that particular matter,â Turner snapped. He stood up, and placed his half-finished mug of tea on the stone mantelpiece with an air of finality. âSo now, if you wouldnât mind . . .â he continued, gesturing towards the door.
âLet the lad finish his drink before you turn him out into the cold again,â Mrs Turner said. âAnâ while heâs doinâ that, you could make yourself useful anâ go anâ fetch some more logs for the fire.â
Turner glanced down at the pile which already stood by the fireplace. âWeâve plenty ofâ¯â
âI know you of old, Jed Turner,â his wife said with mock severity. âThere might be plenty of wood for now, but later on â when weâre runninâ low â youâll be moaninâ that itâs too dark anâ miserable to go anâ fetch some more. So youâre better doinâ it now.â
Turner gave Woodend an uncharacteristically friendly look â a look which said that even if Woodend didnât have a real job, they were both still men and so both understood that when you were dealing with women it was easier just to do what they wanted, however unreasonable that might seem. Then he rose to his feet and headed for the door.
Mrs Turner waited until her husband had closed the door behind him before saying, âWe havenât got long, so youâd best save time by beinâ straight with me right from the start.â
âStraight with you?â Woodend repeated.
âYouâre not really a reporter at all, are you?â
Woodend looked into the womanâs faded, but still intelligent, eyes and decided there was no point in pretending any longer.
He grinned. âWas I that obvious?â
âWell, you werenât very good at it, if thatâs what you mean. But even if youâd been able to carry it off better, it still wouldnât have worked. As far as my Jedâs concerned, the world revolves around this farm â but I read the papers.â
âAnâ youâve seen my picture in them?â
âMore than once. Anâ my niece once pointed you out to me. She works in the police canteen in Whitebridge, anâ always speaks very highly of you. Says youâre not stuck
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