Steven took a shower and revelled in the warm soothing spray for fully five minutes before towelling himself down and putting on jeans and a sweatshirt. Although he felt exhausted, he would have to parcel up the rat before he could go to bed. There was a chance that the courier might arrive first thing in the morning and it was already close to 4 am.
The polystyrene box the nurse had given him was full to the brim with crushed ice when he opened it. This was a bonus: he could afford to use some of it on his injured hand to help reduce the swelling. He brought the tumbler from the bathroom and used it for the moment to store the ice he didn’t need. He continued hollowing out the centre section of the box until the hole was big enough to accept the body of the rat, then he removed the animal from its plastic container and pressed it lightly into the ice and gently packed a further layer of ice over it.
There was no need to keep the chemicals ice cold but it wouldn’t do them any harm, he concluded and it would be easier to make up just the one parcel. He pressed the nine small bottles into the ice surrounding the rat’s body and secured the polystyrene lid to the box with sticky tape. He addressed the box and took it downstairs to leave with the night man, telling him that it was due for collection later that morning.
Steven slept until a little after eleven when he was woken by the sound of a vacuum cleaner out in the hall. ‘The mighty Hoover speaks and I obey,’ he murmured, swinging his legs round and sitting up on the edge of the bed. He was pleased to see that the swelling in his left hand had gone down overnight and it was much easier for him to flex him fingers this morning. A good start to the day, he reckoned. He checked with reception that the rat had been collected. It had.
It was too late for breakfast at the hotel so he washed, dressed and walked up to the local shops where he bought a couple of morning papers and had coffee and croissants in the Montpelier bistro while he planned his day. He had stayed two nights in his present hotel so he thought that he would check out of it and use somewhere different tonight. He would also drive over to police headquarters at Livingston at some point and change his current car for another from the pool.
Steven failed to find any mention of Blackbridge in the morning papers and took this as a good sign. The rat cull was under way and had been milked for credit and there was nothing new on the GM crop front. It was time for the vultures to move on and seek out new reservoirs of human misery. But they’d be back, he thought. This was merely a lull in the proceedings.
It was around three in the afternoon when Steven drove into Blackbridge and knocked on the door of the Binnie household. He had moved hotels and was on his way out to Livingston to change his car when he thought he would call in on the off chance that James might be there and ask if he’d had any contact with Sweeney at the vet school.
‘I’m afraid James isn’t back yet,’ said Ann. ‘Actually, I’m a bit worried about him. It’s not like him not to call in. He’s been away for hours.’
‘Have you tried calling him on his mobile?’ asked Steven.
‘No reply. I keep being diverted to his answering service.’
‘It could be that he’s working somewhere where the signal’s weak,’ suggested Steven.
‘I suppose. But I do wish he’d call in,’ said Ann, wringing her hands. ‘It really isn’t like him.’
‘Do you have a note of his schedule for today?’ asked Steven.
‘I think he had just three calls to make but I’m not sure of the order he was doing them in,’ said Ann. She brought out an A4 sized diary from the drawer of the telephone table in the hall and flicked through the pages. ‘John Simpson at Mossgiel,’ she read. ‘Tom Rafferty at Crawhill and Angus Slater over at Hardgate.’
‘Why don’t you call the farms and ask?’ suggested Steven.
Ann looked indecisive. ‘It’s probably just me being silly. I really don’t like disturbing him when he’s busy,’ she said.
‘But you wouldn’t be disturbing him,’ said Steven. ‘You’ll be phoning the farm. I’m sure they won’t mind telling you if James is there or has been there, and at what time he left.’
‘I suppose… said Ann uncertainly. ‘But it’s like you say. He’s probably out wrestling some cow in a ditch and his mobile’s not picking up the signal.’
You’re obviously worried about him,’ said Steven. ‘I really think you should give the farms a call.’
It started to rain. Ann looked up at the sky and said, ‘Come in for a minute. Maybe I will give them a call.’
Steven stood in the hall while Ann called Mossgiel Farm and asked about her husband. The only part of the conversation that he heard was, ‘I see, right, thank you.’ Ann put down the phone and said, ‘He was there at ten thirty this morning. He left around eleven.’
Next, Ann phoned Hardgate Farm and spoke to someone called Maud. Steven guessed from their conversation that Maud was Angus Slater’s wife.
‘He hasn’t?’ exclaimed Ann. ‘I wonder where he is. He left Mossgiel hours ago.’
Ann told Steven that Binnie hadn’t visited Hardgate Farm yet, something he’d already gathered. ‘So he must be at Crawhill,’ said Steven.
‘Ann dialled the Crawhill number and made a face when it went on ringing without answer. ‘Come on… come on,’ she urged but still no one answered.
‘Why don’t I drive down there and check?’ suggested Steven. ‘It’ll only take a few minutes.’
‘Would you?’ said Ann. ‘I know I’m probably worrying about nothing but I’d be ever so grateful.’
Steven assured her that it was no trouble and left to drive over to Crawhill.
Unusually, the gate at the foot of the access road was open so he drove straight through into the compound in front of the house and got out to have a look around. He was reassured to see Binnie’s Volvo parked at the side of the house and went up to knock on the front door. There was no answer.
He walked slowly round the compound looking for signs of life but found no one. He could see that Rafferty’s mechanic, Gus Watson, had been working on a ditch-digger because an open toolbox was lying next to the partially disassembled bucket arm, but there was no sign of Gus himself.
Steven was beginning to have thoughts of the Mary Celeste when he heard a vehicle approaching. The high revving, low gear sound suggested that it was a four-wheel drive truck and so it proved to be when he saw Gus Watson swing into the yard. He drew to a halt beside Steven.
Steven said, ‘I was beginning to think that Scottie had beamed you up. He looked down at the open toolbox and the scatter of tools around the front of the digger.
I got called away,’ said Gus. ‘Bloody baler we hired out to Cauldstane packed in and old Macpherson was spitting blood this morning. I had to fit a new elastic band tae the pile of shit.’
‘Like that is it?’ said Steven.
‘It’s no’ a mechanic they need round here,’ said Gus. ‘It’s a team frae Blue Peter. Maybe they could make spares out of Squeezy bottles!’ Was it me you were looking for?’
Steven said that it wasn’t but that he couldn’t find anyone about the place. ‘I was actually looking for James Binnie. I see his car’s there.’
‘It wasn’t when I left,’ said Gus. ‘But there must be someone about.’ Have you tried the door?’
Steven assured him that he had and that he’d looked everywhere that was open. ‘I didn’t think anyone would be in any of the locked sheds and the big barn’s locked too.’