Steven made his way back to the bridge, carrying the dog in his arms and with the soldiers leading the way. They helped him up and over the parapet where they parted on good terms. Steven walked down into the village and went into the Post Office where he explained that he’d found the missing dog up by the canal banks with a broken leg. It matched the description of ‘Patch’ on the notice outside, could the Post master telephone the owners and look after the animal until the owners came down to pick it up?
‘It’s no ma problem,’ said the surly man behind the counter. ‘Ye canny leave it here. This is a post office, no’ a cat and dog home.’
Steven had to swallow hard to keep his temper. This was the community the Clarion had described as ‘the close-knit community of Blackbridge’, the one that had been ‘stunned’ by Ian Ferguson’s death.
‘Will you at least make the phone call?’ he asked in a calm voice.
‘If you’ll pay for it. That’ll be 10p.’
Steven held the dog in one hand while he searched for change in his pocket with the other. He found a fifty-pence piece and tossed it at the man. ‘Keep the change,’ he said in an even monotone. There was a moment when the man behind the counter looked like saying something else but the look in Steven’s eyes informed him correctly that he might regret it. He lifted the phone and Steven went outside to wait.
A woman, driving a Citroen estate car with two children in the back arrived at the kerb within ten minutes and was effusive in her thanks. She left to take the dog over to a vet in Livingston and Steven drove back to Edinburgh.
Eve phoned just before three in the afternoon: she sounded excited. ‘I’ve got some news,’ she announced. ‘Trish has asked Childs and Leadbetter to move out of Crawhill.’
‘Has she now,’ said Steven thoughtfully.
‘She arrived back home this morning and spoke to a deputation of village people about the protest over GM crops at Peat Ridge. They all wanted to know if she was still going to support them in ‘their struggle’ as they called it. She told them yes but I got the impression her heart wasn't in it.’
‘I think she was probably told to say that,’ said Steven.
‘That would make sense,’ agreed Eve, ‘judging by what I heard afterwards. Trish had a meeting with Childs and Leadbetter, which I managed to listen in to. I don’t think they realised I was still in the house but Trish had invited me to help her make the arrangements for Thomas’s funeral so I was in the next room. I heard her telling them that she would carry out her part of the bargain but when they’d done what they had to do she wanted them out of her life for ever. In the meantime she didn’t want them staying in the house any more. It was different when Thomas had been there but she was a widow with a reputation to think of.’
‘Good for her,’ said Steven. ‘Did you get any notion of what Childs and Leadbetter “had to do”,’ he asked.
‘No, but like you say, I think she told the villagers she was continuing Thomas’s opposition to the GM crop because they had told her to. It’s these two who want the trouble to continue. Talking of trouble, the police were at the farm today. They seemed to be taking Khan’s shed to bits. Any idea what that was all about?’
‘I asked them to put in an appearance to make sure Childs and Leadbetter behaved themselves,’ said Steven. ‘How did they react to Trish’s request?’ he asked.
‘They argued and said that their job would be much easier if they were allowed to stay on at the farm but if Trish felt strongly about it, they would move out and just turn up during the day.’
‘Have you any idea what they actually do when they’re there?’ asked Steven, suddenly realising that he didn’t know the answer to that.
‘Apparently they spend most of their time out on the farm, taking measurements and testing the soil at various points. I suppose that’s to do with the organic farm project.’
‘Mmm,’ agreed Steven but he was thinking about what Gus Watson had said about them. ‘Has Gus Watson managed to speak to Trish yet?’ he asked.
‘Yes, he came in today and asked her straight about his job,’ said Eve. ‘Trish told him that she had every intention of keeping on the plant-hire business and his job would be waiting for him when his arm was better.’
‘He’d be relieved about that,’ said Steven.
‘He certainly was,’ said Eve. ‘But then he had the nerve to ask for a rise and a proper workshop before the winter came in. Working outside was all right on sunny days in summer, he said, but not for dark mornings in January with frost on the ground and his fingers sticking to the metal.’
‘What did she say to that?’
‘She sympathised and said that she could see the problem and that she’d have him working indoors real soon.’
‘So everyone’s happy at Crawhill?’ said Steven.
‘Like an episode of the Waltons.’
‘But I take it we’re no nearer knowing what Thomas Rafferty did that was so bad?’ said Steven.
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Eve. ‘And I don’t honestly think that Trish is going to tell me.’
‘You tried and I’m grateful,’ said Steven.
‘And I’ll keep trying,’ said Eve. ‘We’ll be together quite a bit until the funeral is out of the way. Will you be going to Tom’s funeral? It’s on Thursday.’
Steven said not because he hardly knew the man, but added that he would be going to James Binnie’s tomorrow.
‘Me too,’ said Eve.
‘Shall we go together?’
‘Mum and Dad are coming back for it. They’ll expect me to go with them,’ said Eve.
‘Then I’ll probably see you there.’
It was raining quite heavily when Steven arrived at Mortonhall Crematorium, which was situated just off a busy main road in the southern outskirts of Edinburgh. He was ten minutes early and sat in his car in the large but almost full car park, hoping he might catch a glimpse of someone he knew among the arriving mourners. He had been warned that this was a large crematorium with more than one chapel operating at the same time. Ending up attending the wrong funeral was entirely possible. He saw two faces he recognised from the streets of Blackbridge and got out to follow them. He picked up that a large crowd had been anticipated for the Binnie funeral so the main chapel had been allocated to it.
The funeral in front was not quite over and members of the family were still shaking hands with mourners at the door as they filed out so mourners for the Binnie funeral were queuing on the road outside. After a few moments Steven could see that the hearse bearing the body of James Binnie had arrived and had paused at the head of a slip road leading down to the chapel doors to await the departure of the cars currently standing there. Steven found himself thinking of aircraft circling over Heathrow and substituted hearses in his imagination, but his face remained impassive. It seemed that a world of appointments and tight schedules reached out beyond death to the very edge of the grave.
The blocking cars moved away from the chapel entrance and Binnie’s hearse glided silently down to stop just past the doors. Ann Binnie was in the following limousine with three people he didn’t recognise but, because of their age, he guessed at them being brothers of either Ann or James. He recognised no one at all in the following limousine — two old women and a white-haired man who walked with the aid of two sticks. The chief mourners entered the chapel and the large crowd outside filed into the chapel behind them. Binnie had obviously been a very well regarded man, thought Steven.