Free Gently in Trees by Alan Hunter

fence. ‘This used to be a sporting estate, once, sir. They planted these belts to give cover to the pheasants.’
    ‘And behind that fence is the Battle Area?’
    ‘Yes, sir. It runs right through to Ickburgh. Only the army never come within a mile of this place – they hold their manoeuvres round the old villages.’
    Gently grunted and stared at the fence, which was plainly not of recent origin. Rust was gnawing at the wire mesh and separating in flakes from the metal stakes. Had Stoll needed to be told it was safe to trespass here, or had he simply gone in, taking his chance? Certainly, a man who was seeking badgers might have picked up a hint from the Forestry pamphlet!
    ‘So where’s the gate?’
    Metfield set off again. Now the track ran straight, following the fence. Within a hundred yards they came to the gate; and beside it a Land Rover, in which a man sat smoking.
    ‘This is Larling, sir.’
    The man had got down, and was methodically stubbing out his cigarette. He was dressed in a crumpled tweed jacket and jeans, and an open-necked khaki shirt. A solid-looking man, about forty, his face tanned and roughened.
    ‘He’s the Forestry ranger who found the body.’
    Larling came up slowly to the car. He nodded to Metfield and glanced keenly at Gently. He was shredding the cigarette-butt between thick fingers. He gestured to the pines with his head.
    ‘We’ve got a peeper in there,’ he said. ‘I’ve been parked here twenty minutes. I’ve caught a couple of looks at him since then.’
    Metfield peered into the trees. ‘How do you mean, a peeeper?’
    ‘He was about when I got here,’ Larling said. ‘I heard him backing away through the section. But I could hear he hadn’t gone very far. So I just lit a fag and sat quiet.’
    ‘Know who it is?’
    Larling shook his head. ‘He didn’t come close enough for that. I saw him once over by that snowberry, then again further this way, near the elder. A youngster, I thought. He was wearing a dark shirt, maybe blue. That’s all I can tell you.’
    Metfield fingered his jowls. ‘Probably just a snooper. There’s several cars back in the Ride.’
    Larling nodded. ‘I thought I’d tell you,’ he said. ‘I reckon he’ll have slid off now, with you turning up.’
    They climbed out of the car into the feathered sunlight and the cool, resin odour of the pines. The gate in the fence was also rusted, and the paint of its warning notice dull. Its chain and padlock hung unshackled. Gently tested the action of the latter. The hinged arm moved very stiffly, required strength to spring it when closed. He let it dangle again.
    ‘Is this how you found it when you got here, twenty minutes ago?’
    ‘That’s right,’ Larling said. ‘I haven’t touched it. The gate was shut, but the chain was hanging.’
    Gently looked at Metfield. ‘How did you leave it?’
    Metfield goggled. ‘Chained, of course! That cheeky so-and-so has been poking round there. Larling must have scared him off.’
    ‘Interesting,’ Gently said. He gave his attention to the gate. It was constructed of welded angle-iron, about eight feet high, with the wire mesh attached to it by steel clips. The clips were inserted all round the frame and rusted points stuck out meanly. They stuck out on the opening edge of the gate. And on one was a snag of dark fibres.
    Metfield, who’d been watching, sucked in breath.
    ‘That’ll be off chummie’s sleeve,’ he said. ‘And like as not he scratched his arm – he must have come out of there in a hurry.’
    ‘This wasn’t here earlier?’ Gently said.
    ‘No, sir,’ Metfield said. ‘We’d been all over it. So now I’m beginning to wonder if he’s just a snooper, or whether we shouldn’t be getting after him.’
    Larling spat a shred of tobacco. ‘You’ll need some dogs for that,’ he said. ‘He’ll have had ten minutes’ start, anyway, and if he’s got a car he’ll be away.’
    They both stared at Gently, who was stooping to examine