He unlocked the barn door and opened it; slipped into the dark, warm interior; and shut the door quickly behind him. He had a torch, and shone it round the room. He could see a cage with the door open, and knew that it must be where the creature had been before making a bid for freedom. He continued examining every corner of the barn, and suddenly came upon a pair of tiny eyes shining at him. There it was!
Moving one foot a fraction caused the eyes to disappear. He remained motionless, and in a few seconds they were back. Now he could see the shape of it, crouching behind a feed sack. He reached into his pocket, and once more the eyes disappeared. Taking a small piece of cheese, deliberately saved from his sandwich lunch, he placed it on the ground about an arm’s length away from him, then sat back on his heels and waited.
The trap worked, and Justin held the tiny, warm body in his hand and looked at it before replacing it in its cage. It stared back at him, its whiskers twitching. “Sorry old lad,” he whispered. “One day, a great big rat will come along and catch Uncle Pettison by the throat, an’ that’ll be your revenge.”
He put it back gently, and noticed its water dispenser was empty, so he refilled it and then shut the door firmly. He secured the barn, and made his way back to the kitchen, where good smells of rabbit pie were filling the room.
Twenty-five
“So, have you made sure it won’t escape again? Those little people mean big money to me, Justin.” Robert Pettison had phoned Justin from his office, where he had been reading about market stalls selling unusual pets being shut down by local councils. All because of loony campaigners for animal rights, he thought, but it was not all bad news, as there would doubtless be increased scarcity of rare specimens and prices would rise.
The line of supply was for the most part well hidden from the authorities, and although now and then one of the couriers was discovered and dealt with by the law, there was always regrouping and a replacement available.
“Are you coming back to Tresham?” he asked.
“Not Tresham, Uncle Robbo. I’m living in Long Farnden now, remember?”
“Of course! With a careful eye kept on the lovely Lois Meade, I hope?”
“Naturally,” said Justin. “And, by the way, on closer inspection, she really is a looker. No wonder old Inspector Cowgill is so keen!”
“I should have thought you would prefer the daughter?”
“Not a chance. Do you realise she is married to a policeman, one Matthew Vickers?”
“Ah.” Pettison paused for a few moments. “That’s different. Even more important that your flat is locked, bolted and barred.”
“Must go now,” said Justin. “Father has woken up, and Mother’s taking me to see him. He is nigh unto, I’m afraid. Back tomorrow. Bye.”
Pettison replaced the receiver and sat without moving in his chair for a long time. “Married to a policeman, eh?” he muttered to himself finally. “Then the smoke screen will be essential. But young Justin will cope. I always knew his time at drama school would stand him in good stead, despite what his estimable father said.”
*
Josie had already wondered about Justin Brookes, absent so soon from his new flat. He had said he was off on an urgent trip to Lincolnshire to see his father, who was dying. He would be back tomorrow, he said, and he had seemed very upset. Poor fellow. There was something about him that attracted sympathy. So sure of himself as the young actor and executive, and yet somehow vulnerable at the same time. He could not even have had time to do any food shopping.
Perhaps it would be a kindness to make up a basketful of essentials, with maybe one ready meal for when he returned, and leave them in the flat for him? That would mean using her duplicate key to get in and put the frozen meal in the freezer. But she was sure he wouldn’t mind. There could not be any secrets on display. Certainly, he’d had no time for that. She would do it after the shop shut. She glanced at the clock, and saw there was an hour to go.
The door opened and a middle-aged man came in. He smiled, and asked if her vegetables were locally grown. “So nice to find really fresh veg these days,” he said, and picked up an avocado pear and squeezed it. “Nearly ripe,” he said, and put it back on the shelf.
“I’d be grateful if you wouldn’t handle the fruit,” she said. “Most of the vegetables and fruit are locally grown, but some things obviously have to be imported.”
“I don’t know about that, Mrs Vickers. Most things can be grown under glass in this country. In Iceland, you know, they grow bananas in huge greenhouses. Heated by natural hot springs.”