The Scribbler Iain Maitland (good books to read txt) 📖

it now in case the police come looking soon. Then walk back through the forest and sweep the road up to the outhouse.”

He nodded then stopped, embarrassed, as he heard his brother at the kitchen door.

“That was quick,” the smart brother said. “What did you do with her?”

The slow brother shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another on the doormat.

“She is in the barn.” He looked from the brother to the mother. “Like Mother said I was to do.”

“Have you buried her? You’ve not had time to dig a proper grave. It needs to be done properly. Dug deep.”

The slow brother bent to take off his boots. Pulling first one and then the other. He struggled a little with the second boot.

“I forgot to take the shovel. I will take it up later.” He crossed slowly to the sink to wash his hands.

“Did you do what you had to do, Sonky?” The old woman looked towards him as he finished at the sink and turned towards the larder. “Did you deal with it?”

“Yes, Mother.” He looked away. She did not notice, distracted. And he had his back to the smart brother, who simply echoed his comment, dig her deep, you must dig her deep, so she’ll not be found.

“Go now, Chopsy, you must move the car far away, like I told you to do.” The old woman looked at the smart brother and then at the slow brother. “And you must go back and bury her properly. Say a few words for her soul. And ours. For this terrible thing that we have done.”

She hesitated and then bowed her head and clasped her hands. In a quiet but crackling voice, she spoke, “The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside quiet waters. He restores my soul.”

Both brothers stood quietly where they were, their heads bowed, listening and waiting for Mother to say what she needed to say.

The old woman searched for the words.

The brothers waited patiently until they both thought that she had finished. Then she carried on.

“He guides me in the path of righteousness. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me. Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me.”

She stopped again, her head still bowed, her hands clasped together.

This time, the brothers shifted uneasily.

It seemed to them that Mother was crying softly. Then she finished what she was saying. It was if she were talking now about herself.

“You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil … my cup overflows. Surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life, And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Amen.”

“Amen.”

“Amen.”

The two brothers stood waiting for Mother to sit up and tell them again to go, to hurry. After a moment, a minute, maybe more, she opened her eyes and loosened her hands.

The smart brother looked at her, despairingly. Not sure what to say.

The slow brother stood there waiting patiently.

She sat up. “And then …”

“And then, Mother?” the smart brother asked.

“And then we have to sit and wait and hope that the police didn’t know she was coming here. If they didn’t … you must solemnly promise me that you will bring no more trouble to my door.”

“I promise, Mother,” said the smart brother.

“I promise, Mother,” echoed the slow brother.

She mused for a moment, looking from one to the other.

“But if they did know she was coming here … If they did … it’s only a matter of time before they come to my door. Police in cars. And police with guns. We need to be rid of the car … and the girl … and be ready for them.” 20. SATURDAY 17 NOVEMBER, EARLY AFTERNOON

Gayther sat by the portacabin table, feet up, leaning back in his chair, eating a Pot Noodle with the only utensil he could find – a badly stained teaspoon with a serrated edge. He hated Pot Noodles, usually, but it was all there was to eat, what with the canteen being closed and the local petrol station stuck in the 1970s food-wise. And he was really, really hungry.

Even so, he didn’t particularly like the gooey mess he was spooning carelessly into his mouth. He checked the outside of the pot to see what it was meant to be. Beef something or other. He’d never have guessed. Had assumed it was something spicy, that’s all. But it was warm and filling and so he finished it before starting, without pause, on a bag of cheese Nik Naks.

Three or four minutes later, with his fingers a bright orange and already regretting what he had eaten, he reached into his pockets for a tissue. Out of luck, he wiped his hands clean inside his pockets and decided he wouldn’t test his blood sugar levels that day. They’d be off the scale. Gone twenty, he reckoned. Danger territory.

He looked up through the window on the sunny side. Saw Thomas out the front of the police station, standing by the wall checking his phone.

Waiting, Gayther assumed, for Cotton and Carrie to arrive. They’d come in together. The three stooges.

Place still looks like a builder’s yard, thought Gayther, looking out the back window. A never-ending mess.

He sat up, rummaging through his notes. Four vans for him to check. Two done this morning. Two to do this afternoon after he’d caught up with Carrie, Thomas and Cotton. If any had uncovered a possible, he’d go back with them later. Do it properly.

Nothing suspicious so far, not from the first two he’d visited anyway. One van was parked up on the drive of a semi-retired window cleaner on the other side of Ipswich. He’d knocked on the front door to talk about having his windows cleaned. The man – a William Harrison – was black with grizzled grey hair.