DS instead. Had he noticed it across the valley?
‘Of course I did. And the police already asked me a lot of dumb questions about it on Sunday.’
‘What kind of dumb questions?’ I was hoping to get the answers without having to ask dumb questions myself.
Jack obliged. ‘When had I first noticed there was a black car in the middle of the field? I noticed it when I looked out the window Thursday morning. Why didn’t I report it then? Because it’s not my bloody field, that’s why.’
‘Whose bloody field is it?’
‘Tony bloody Blackfield’s bloody field. Bought it for Lane End Farm some ten years ago from the Fairchilds. And Blackfield’s just the kind of bloke to leave an old wreck in it, if only to piss everybody off. Either that or bloody joyriders dumped it there, I thought at the time. Then they told me about the dead guy in the car. Was anyone missing, did I know anyone fitting the description? What, a bloke with half his brain seeping from his ears? No, can’t say I do, officer. And so it went on. Did I know someone called Honeysomething?’
‘Honeysett.’
‘That’s the one. What a stupid name. I’d never heard of him.’
‘I’m Honeysett.’
‘Thought that’s what you said.’
‘It was my car you saw, but I didn’t drive it there. Neither did I stick a dead body in the back. But I’d like to know who did.’
‘That’s understandable, but why ask me?’
‘Got to start somewhere. Where can I find the farmer who owns the field?’
He snorted his contempt. ‘Blackfield? Some farmer. Keep on down the lane, take the first turn to the left, cross the Lam via the bridge, then keep going north, ignoring all else until you see a big ugly mess. And that’s just his face. Ha! You can’t miss it, his place is a shambles. Though what kind of reception you’ll get I can’t say.’
‘You don’t think much of him, then? As a farmer, I mean.’
‘I don’t think much of him in any capacity. He’s not doing much farming though, that’s for sure.’
‘Then what does he do?’
Jack Fryer pulled his unshaven face into the caricature of a grin. ‘That’s a damn good question and you should definitely ask him that. And please come back and let me know what his answer was.’ This thought seemed to produce some genuine mirth for a moment, then his smile vanished without a trace. ‘Now if that’s all, I’d like to get on with this shit here.’
‘Sure. I’ll see myself out.’
On my way to the front door, while searching in my pockets for matches to light a much-needed Camel, I came across a crumpled piece of paper. I unfolded it. It turned out to be the so-called map Cairn had given me at the Rose and Crown. The thing was hand-drawn in black biro in a shaky and spidery line, and the tiny writing on it was so illegible it took me a moment to decide which way was up. I turned round and walked back into the rancid kitchen. ‘One more thing . . .’
‘Yes, Mr Columbo.’
‘This is supposed to be a map of the area. Show me where I am.’
‘You’re back in my kitchen which is . . .’ He smoothed the map on the table and squinted at it. ‘Here. That squiggle is Spring Farm.’
‘Do you know someone called Albert?’
He shook his head.
I felt stupid but I had to ask it. ‘Do you know of any witches around here?’
‘Can never find one when you need one, right? Are you as weird as you appear or is this gin faulty?’
‘Just stuff some kids told me about a witch living in the valley.’
‘Kids? Oh, I think I know who they mean, the Stone woman. Stupid brats. It’s like you’ve stepped into the Middle Ages when you set foot in the valley. People are as superstitious as ever. Hardly surprising with a whole new generation of New Age brats desperate to believe in any kind of crap as long as it’s different from the crap their parents believed in.’
‘Stone woman?’
‘Yes. That’s her name. She’s not as stony as all that. I suppose she’s a target for that kind
‘Of course I did. And the police already asked me a lot of dumb questions about it on Sunday.’
‘What kind of dumb questions?’ I was hoping to get the answers without having to ask dumb questions myself.
Jack obliged. ‘When had I first noticed there was a black car in the middle of the field? I noticed it when I looked out the window Thursday morning. Why didn’t I report it then? Because it’s not my bloody field, that’s why.’
‘Whose bloody field is it?’
‘Tony bloody Blackfield’s bloody field. Bought it for Lane End Farm some ten years ago from the Fairchilds. And Blackfield’s just the kind of bloke to leave an old wreck in it, if only to piss everybody off. Either that or bloody joyriders dumped it there, I thought at the time. Then they told me about the dead guy in the car. Was anyone missing, did I know anyone fitting the description? What, a bloke with half his brain seeping from his ears? No, can’t say I do, officer. And so it went on. Did I know someone called Honeysomething?’
‘Honeysett.’
‘That’s the one. What a stupid name. I’d never heard of him.’
‘I’m Honeysett.’
‘Thought that’s what you said.’
‘It was my car you saw, but I didn’t drive it there. Neither did I stick a dead body in the back. But I’d like to know who did.’
‘That’s understandable, but why ask me?’
‘Got to start somewhere. Where can I find the farmer who owns the field?’
He snorted his contempt. ‘Blackfield? Some farmer. Keep on down the lane, take the first turn to the left, cross the Lam via the bridge, then keep going north, ignoring all else until you see a big ugly mess. And that’s just his face. Ha! You can’t miss it, his place is a shambles. Though what kind of reception you’ll get I can’t say.’
‘You don’t think much of him, then? As a farmer, I mean.’
‘I don’t think much of him in any capacity. He’s not doing much farming though, that’s for sure.’
‘Then what does he do?’
Jack Fryer pulled his unshaven face into the caricature of a grin. ‘That’s a damn good question and you should definitely ask him that. And please come back and let me know what his answer was.’ This thought seemed to produce some genuine mirth for a moment, then his smile vanished without a trace. ‘Now if that’s all, I’d like to get on with this shit here.’
‘Sure. I’ll see myself out.’
On my way to the front door, while searching in my pockets for matches to light a much-needed Camel, I came across a crumpled piece of paper. I unfolded it. It turned out to be the so-called map Cairn had given me at the Rose and Crown. The thing was hand-drawn in black biro in a shaky and spidery line, and the tiny writing on it was so illegible it took me a moment to decide which way was up. I turned round and walked back into the rancid kitchen. ‘One more thing . . .’
‘Yes, Mr Columbo.’
‘This is supposed to be a map of the area. Show me where I am.’
‘You’re back in my kitchen which is . . .’ He smoothed the map on the table and squinted at it. ‘Here. That squiggle is Spring Farm.’
‘Do you know someone called Albert?’
He shook his head.
I felt stupid but I had to ask it. ‘Do you know of any witches around here?’
‘Can never find one when you need one, right? Are you as weird as you appear or is this gin faulty?’
‘Just stuff some kids told me about a witch living in the valley.’
‘Kids? Oh, I think I know who they mean, the Stone woman. Stupid brats. It’s like you’ve stepped into the Middle Ages when you set foot in the valley. People are as superstitious as ever. Hardly surprising with a whole new generation of New Age brats desperate to believe in any kind of crap as long as it’s different from the crap their parents believed in.’
‘Stone woman?’
‘Yes. That’s her name. She’s not as stony as all that. I suppose she’s a target for that kind
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