Free Darkmans by Nicola Barker Page A

presumed).
    ‘Yes, Dory, at home.’
    Beede crisply enunciated his response to try and railroad any potential ribbing. It wasn’t a successful ploy.
    ‘A personal arrangement?’
    Still, Dory maintained his little act.
    Beede found himself blushing. He had no idea why. He said nothing.
    Dory’s eyes flew even wider. ‘ What? Beede – Mr Daniel Beede – actually socialising?! ’
    Beede’s flushed but sombre face cracked into a smile (Ah yes. This was the real Dory. The real him. He could be tender yet mocking, could needle you in that special, gentle way of his which even the most ferocious curmudgeon would do well to take umbrage at).
    ‘A date? ’ Dory rapidly expanded on his theme, his blue eyes twinkling. ‘An assignation? ’
    ‘Yes. No, ’ Beede scowled. ‘I didn’t…It’s just some…’
    He started to walk again, then stumbled, slightly, on the narrow pavement ‘…some insignificant person, ’ he finished off, clumsily.
    Dory seemed utterly delighted by Beede’s coy evasiveness. ‘Well perhaps you might ring her?’
    He slipped his hand into his jacket pocket, then grimaced, and tried his other. Nothing.
    ‘We need to cross before we reach the fly-over.’ Beede quickly changed the subject, staring first down the road, then up it. He started off (firmly grasping his trousers) at a slow trot. Isidore glanced left himself, then followed.
    They reached the other side (Beede now a little ahead) and walked rapidly onward. But after only a few moments, Beede abruptly stopped for a second time. Isidore found himself hard-up against the horse’s rump. He took a quick step back. They were standing at the near-end of the fly-over. Cars and lorries were roaring past. Isidore frowned, glanced behind him, saw a small gap in the traffic and took his chance. He speedily overtook the horse.
    Beede was staring down over the embankment to his left and frowning. He seemed deeply preoccupied. A large field lay ahead of them – a semi-circular meadow, full of bleached grass, young trees (huddled inside their protective, plastic sheaths) and a muddle of bushes. They were almost at the point where the road they were taking divided into three separate parts: one section charging boldly onwards, the other two curving sharply off and around to form the different sides (the valves, the ventricles) of a divided heart (or – in the pursuit of absolute anatomical accuracy – the two segregated cheeks of a pair of buttocks). Snuggled into the hinterland of that voluptuous curving were two good-sized plots. The one ontheir particular side currently contained a thin sprinkling of mixed livestock.
    But Beede wasn’t interested in the meadow (nor even in the animals). He was staring past it, towards the Brenzett roundabout which lay a short distance beyond.
    Isidore silently followed the line of Beede’s gaze.
    ‘Oh shit, ’ he whispered.
    It was his car – definitely his car. It was parked in the middle of the roundabout with the driver’s door left wide open (a total hazard to all other traffic). A police car was pulling up behind it (no siren, but with its blue light rotating). Dory blinked (he didn’t generally respond well to anything that flashed).
    ‘Superb timing,’ Beede said dryly. ‘But don’t worry…’ (he was extraordinarily composed)…‘tell them the car was stolen while you were on the job, that you’ve just been phoned and informed that it’s been dumped here. You can imply that the kids in question might’ve released the horse,’ he glanced up at the filly, ‘as part of the prank.’
    Dory’s eyes made sudden contact with Beede’s – for a split second, perhaps even less.
    ‘Quick thinking,’ he murmured (instantly breaking his gaze), his clipped voice tinged with something corrosive –
    Fastidiousness?
    Suspicion?
    Disgust?
    ‘Naval training,’ Beede demurred, with a casual shrug.
    Dory half-smiled then jogged on, across the fly-over and a few yards beyond. Here he turned sharply,