Free The Two Towns (The Lakeland Murders) by J. J. Salkeld Page B

if you couldn’t say something nice, and for once she actually took her mum’s advice. It was true, Hall could safely lose a stone or two.
     
    They turned right off the main road towards Grange, and Hall slowed down. The road was narrow, with plenty of humps, bumps and bends.
    ‘This is the Lyth valley now. The farm we’re looking for is three or four miles along here on the right.’
    ‘It’s lovely, isn’t it?’
    ‘It is, and this is the sort of area I was talking about, really. You know, when I talked about the hidden places. We’re just a few miles from Windermere, but I bet that most visitors have never even heard of this place. But until well after the war this was the epicentre of the local damson growing industry.’
    ‘The epicentre?’ laughed Jane.
    ‘You can mock, but just wait until next spring, and you come back along this road then. The damson blossom is absolutely amazing. And the damson gin they make isn’t too shabby either.’
    ‘Now you’re selling it to me.’
    ‘There are nice walks, well strolls really, up there, on Whitbarrow Scar. It’s not Scafell, but it’s a nice place to walk off a Sunday lunch.’
    ‘I’ll remember that, thanks.’
     
    The road undulated along the valley floor, and Hall said something about glacial features, but Jane was thinking about the boy. Back in the office this had seemed to her like the only place he could possibly be, but now she was anything but certain. What would a kid from the town be doing right out here, on a cold November morning and with the first flakes of early snow swirling in the air?
    ‘Not far now’ said Hall, ‘I think it’s the next farm on the right. Yes, look, there it is.’
    Jane saw the little stall that Johnny had photographed, and nodded to Hall.
    ‘Yes, this is the place. No question about it.’
     
    They parked in the yard, next to the house, and got out. Hall knocked on the old oak front door, and Jane stood back a little. The farmhouse seemed to be almost part of the landscape, its stone walls settling into the valley floor over the centuries. No-one came.
    ‘I’ve wasted our time, Andy’ she said. Jane was suddenly convinced that the boy was anywhere but here.
    ‘No’ said Hall firmly. ‘If that’s the case, and he’s not here, then it’s down to me. If we win, it’s down to you, but if not then it was my decision. It’s what they pay me for.’
    He knocked again and, to both of their surprise, a red faced woman opened the door almost immediately. She looked friendly, and even smiled when Hall said that he was a police officer. That surprised him some more, but then it didn’t happen often. Not these days, anyway.
    ‘Is it those poachers again?’ the woman asked. ‘My husband said they’d been out lamping up the valley again last week, like.’
    ‘No, it’s not about that. Could we come in for a minute?’
    ‘Aye, of course. Come through to the kitchen. I was baking.’
    Of course you were, thought Jane.
     
    The two officers sat on rickety chairs at the kitchen tables and drank tea from John Deere mugs. Hall guessed that a rep had left them.
    ‘Have you seen a young lad around here, anytime in the last few days?’
    ‘No. Not in the last few years, come to that.’
    ‘How about your husband? Has he said anything?’
    ‘No, not that I remember. But I don’t always listen.’ She smiled at Jane. ‘He’s at the auction today, is Ted. Do you want me to ring him?’
    ‘Yes, please. And would you mind if we took a quick look around your outbuildings?’
    ‘Of course, aye. You help yourselves. Just watch yourselves, mind. Ted keeps all kinds of rusty old rubbish in those byres.’
    Hall was already getting up before she’d even finished speaking, and Jane followed suit.
    ‘There’ll be scones in a minute.’
    ‘They smell fantastic’ said Hall, glancing at the old cream Aga, ‘so can we pop back in afterwards? We’ll only be ten minutes.’
     
    Hall got his big, police issue torch out of