Dead Ground in Between Read Online Free Page B

a moment. “But that includes us, and we ain’t old and decrepit.”
    Sam switched on his torch and led the way to the disused shed where they kept their ferrets. They both suspected Mrs. Mohan knew they kept the animals in there, and why, but she had never challenged them. If a rabbit appeared as a special gift for her to make into a stew, she accepted their feeble explanations. They’d come across the poor thing out in the field. A dog had got to it and they’d put it out of its misery. At least four such unfortunates had come to that end while they had been staying there. She didn’t question them, just made tutting sounds at the disgraceful behaviour of the dogs that the farmers insisted on keeping.
    Sam pushed open the shed door. The strong smell of the ferrets sailed out at them. They had three, a hob and two jills. One of the jills was pure white and a good hunter. Tim took her out of the pen and dangled her in his hands.
    “How’s my girl, then? Ready to go and chase some little bunnies for your dad?”
    “Weeping Jesus,” said Sam. “One of these days, the bloody thing is going to answer you.”
    “Ferrets are sensitive. They pick up mood just the way dogs do.”
    “Well, I’m rapidly getting into a bad one, so get a move on.”
    “I think Snowflake should stay at home. She’s been off her feed a bit.”
    “She’s probably knocked up again. Mr. Blizzard there is as randy as a goat…or a ferret. He won’t stop until he keels over.”
    Tim returned the jill to the cage. “You might be right. I’ll give her the time off. She can put her feet up.”
    “Lord help me,” said Sam. “Will you please hurry up?”
    Tim removed the brown male and put it in its carrying box. The remaining ferret reared on its hind legs, its nose twitching.
    “You want to come, Digger?” Tim said. “All right then.”
    He stroked its long back gently then placed it in the other box.
    “Let’s go. Bunnies, prepare to meet your Maker.”
    —
    Even though it was only a local court and dealt with lesser offences, the courtroom was intended to intimidate. It had been built at least four hundred years ago, when peasants knew their place and were made to realize the power and majesty of the law. The panelled walls were dark with age, the wooden benches shiny from use. The magistrates’ seats were on an elevated platform, and the bench in front of them was massive and solid. Behind them, high on the wall, was the county coat of arms, and next to that a large clock.
Tempus fugit. And don’t you miscreants forget it
.
    Below the platform sat the two clerks of the court. The courtroom was not much warmer than the police station andone of them looked quite padded. Tyler thought he was probably wearing a wool jersey or two underneath his official black gown. The other clerk was a woman. The two could have been related, Tyler thought, both elderly, both grey-haired and rather stooped. She was typing rapidly. Facing all of them was the defendants’ dock, lower than the magistrates’, of course.
    Tyler had been directed to a bench at the side of the room, positioned close to the magistrates – he was an upholder of the law, after all. This was where the plaintiffs and any witnesses sat. Across from them were two more benches for those who were up on a charge.
    The usher called out, “All rise,” and the two magistrates entered through the rear door. Tyler knew Desmond, the chief magistrate, but the second man, a stringy fellow in baggy tweeds, was a stranger to him. He had to be Mr. Wendell Hare, retired solicitor. They took their seats and, with much rustling and fidgeting, the other members of the court also sat down. The male clerk handed a sheaf of papers to Desmond, who popped a gold-rimmed pince-nez on his nose. Tyler thought such visual aids had gone out of style decades ago, but obviously not.
    Desmond said something to his colleague, who nodded vigorously. Rowell had read it correctly, Mr. Hare was going to defer to