Free Deception by Ken McClure Page B

Neither really,’ replied Steven. ‘I’m here to assess if anything should cause concern to the Department of the Environment but I understand that MAFF have everything under control.’
    ‘ You could have fooled me,’ said Brown.
    ‘ Why d’you say that?’
    ‘ You’ve just heard the local mood for yourself,’ said Brown with a nod to the table behind him. ‘The locals are planning civil war by the sound of it and MAFF and the Scottish Executive are sitting on their arses along the road, arguing the legal niceties over who’s responsible for what.’
    ‘ But they must have had meetings with the community?’ said Steven.
    ‘ One of their chaps gave a talk to the locals in the village hall saying that they were currently looking into discrepancies in the licensing agreement up at Lane’s place. That’s the last I heard.’
    ‘ The legal wrangle’s still going on,’ said Steven.
    ‘ I wish to God, they’d keep people informed,’ said Brown. ‘There’s nothing rumour likes better than a vacuum.’
    Steven silently agreed.
    The conversation was over but Brown was delayed in leaving by a man coming in through the doors of the pub and standing there as if about to make an announcement. As if by magic a hush fell on the place and the man in the doorway said, ‘The Ferguson boy’s dead. ‘Died this morning in St John’s Hospital. His mum and dad were with him, poor wee bugger.’
    ‘ I thought he was holding his own,’ said one man. ‘I thought the three of them were.’
    ‘ He developed a wound infection on top of everything else and it was just too much for him.’
    ‘ Christ, it could hae been Eck,’ exclaimed a man at a table near Steven. ‘Ah’d better get hame and tell Mary.’ With that, he scraped back his chair, got to his feet and left.
    ‘ His boy was one of the swimmers,’ explained one of the others. ‘Makes you think when something like that happens.’
    ‘ It’s about time they did something about they bloody rats up there. They’re all over the bloody place.’
    ‘ It’s the same all over the country, man. I saw it on breakfast TV. Somethin’ to do wi’ the weather getting warmer.’
    ‘ Bloody global warmin’. If it’s no wan thing . . .’
    ‘ They’re vicious little buggers too. I met the vet in the paper shop this morning and he was saying that he had a woman in last night from Gartside. Her Labrador puppy got himself bitten up by the canal. She was in a right state. If some guy hadn’t come along on his bike, the mutt could have been in real trouble. As it was, the guy managed to kill a couple of the buggers and help her get the dog home.
    ‘ I can remember when Meg cornered one in the barn,’ said one of the other men, launching into a rat story.
    ‘ I’ll have to go phone the boy’s death in,’ whispered Brown at Steven’s elbow. ‘I’ll let you know about Crawhill.’
    Steven nodded and found himself alone but not for long. Alex McColl returned, looking less than pleased. ‘Couldn’t get near Rafferty,’ he complained. ‘You’d think he’d be looking for all the press coverage he could get right now,’ he added.
    ‘ Your colleague was just saying that,’ said Steven. ‘Who stopped you?’
    ‘ A couple of guys in suits. They were too polite for minders. Apart from that, they had an IQ bigger than their collar size. When I asked them who they were they told me they were, “Mr Rafferty’s business advisors”.’
    ‘ Everyone’s got a fancy title, these days,’ said Steven.
    ‘ Aye, no one shovels shit these days. It’s, excrement relocation officers, we have to deal with. What’s been happening here?’
    Steven told him about the Ferguson boy’s death.
    ‘ Well, that gives me something to file, I suppose,’ said McColl, looking pleased and getting out his notebook. He missed the look on Steven’s face when he said it.
    ‘ There’s likely to be a pretty weepy funeral too if I’m not mistaken. I’ll get a snapper along for some