Unti Peter Robinson #22 Read Online Free Page B

noticed, young lady, but it’s lambing season, and with no help that means long days and even longer nights. Those young ’uns don’t always know the most convenient time to be born.”
    â€œDid you notice anything wrong at all while you were over at the Beddoes place during the week? Hear anything? See anything?”
    â€œNo. But that’s not surprising. If you’ve been up there, you’ll know there’s a fair bit of distance between us. Two miles, at least, as the crow flies.”
    â€œYes, but I think you’d probably hear a tractor starting up, for example, wouldn’t you?”
    Lane’s face cracked into a mocking smile. “You don’t think they just got on it and drove it out of there, do you? They’d have needed summat to take it away, a flatbed lorry or summat.”
    â€œThere would have been some noise,” said Annie, blushing at her mistake. “A lorry, van, flatbed, whatever.”
    â€œAye, but you hear lorries and cars from time to time. Even tractors. Nothing unusual about that in the countryside.”
    â€œIn the middle of the night?”
    â€œWhen your days are as busy as mine, you sleep like a log. I wouldn’t have heard the bloody Angel of Doom blowing his trumpet. I said I didn’t hear owt unusual, and I didn’t. I’d have reported it if I had, wouldn’t I?”
    â€œWhat were you doing here on Saturday night?”
    â€œWatching telly, when I finally got the chance. Not that it’s any of your business. Then sleeping.”
    â€œMight Mrs. Lane have heard something?”
    Lane snorted. “Not unless she’s developed superhuman powers. She’s stopping with her mother out Whitby way.”
    â€œOh. Is her mother ill?”
    â€œNo. More’s the pity. Old bag’s as fit as a fiddle and twice as squeaky.”
    â€œSo your wife’s on holiday?”
    â€œI suppose you could call it that.” Lane snorted. “Extended leave.”
    Annie sighed. “Mr. Lane,” she said, “I’m just trying to get some basic information here.”
    â€œWell, the basic information, if it’s any of your business, which it isn’t, is that she’s gone. Left. Bolted. Buggered off. And good riddance. Been gone two years now, and she still hasn’t got out of the old bag’s clutches. Serves her bloody well right, is what I say.”
    â€œI’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Lane.”
    â€œDon’t be,” Lane snapped, his face darkening. “I’m not. Though what it’s got to do with Beddoes’s tractor I don’t know.”
    â€œWe just try to gather as much background information as we can, sir,” Doug Wilson chimed in. “It’s perfectly routine.”
    Lane gave Wilson a withering glance. “Has anyone ever told you you look just like that bloke who plays Harry Potter?”
    Wilson reddened.
    â€œWatch them with your son, did you, Mr. Lane?” Annie said. “The Harry Potter films?”
    â€œLeave my son out of it.”
    â€œIs he here? Can we have a word with him? Maybe he heard something.”
    Lane stubbed his cigarette out viciously in the ashtray. Sparks flew onto the upholstery. It was a wonder he hadn’t burned the place down years ago, Annie thought.
    â€œHe doesn’t live here anymore. He says there’s nowt for a young lad in this life, around this place. Nowt to do, nowt worth doing. Nowt but hard graft. I just about reckon he might be right.”
    â€œSo what does he do?” Annie persisted.
    â€œDon’t ask me. He lives in town. Wanted his own ‘space.’ I can’t help it if he’s drinking himself silly, like they do, or smoking Ecstasy.”
    Annie stopped herself from telling him that ­people don’t usually smoke Ecstasy. It would only antagonize him further. “Is your son involved with drugs, Mr. Lane?”
    â€œI’ve no idea. He