Abattoir Blues by Peter Robinson

can be a nasty piece of work when he’s got a mind to be.’
    ‘Like?’
    ‘He told me Beddoes hit him once.’
    ‘John Beddoes hit Michael?’
    ‘That’s right. Clipped him around the ear, was how Michael described it. Said it didn’t hurt. He didn’t even bother telling his dad. And once Beddoes thought Michael had been upsetting his precious pigs, chucking stones at them or something. Beddoes threatened to drop him in the sty and said they’d eat him. Michael was just twelve or so.’
    ‘I see,’ said Annie. ‘But that was a long time ago, wasn’t it?’
    ‘Not to them, I don’t think. Long memories. They bear grudges.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Maybe he’s done something to Michael? Beddoes. Maybe he blamed him for stealing his tractor?’
    ‘It’s unlikely,’ Annie said. ‘Mr and Mrs Beddoes didn’t get back from holiday until late last night. The first thing they did when they noticed the tractor missing was call the police.’
    ‘Well, maybe you should talk to them again? Search the premises, or whatever you do.’
    ‘Don’t worry,’ said Annie, ‘We’ll be thorough. Has Michael ever threatened Beddoes? You said John Beddoes terrified him when he was younger. Do you think he might have wanted revenge?’
    ‘You think—’
    Annie held her hand up. ‘I don’t think anything yet, Alex. I’m only asking. Michael’s father was tending to the farm while the owners were away. I talked to John Beddoes, and he mentioned a “tearaway” son. His words, not mine. Frank Lane, Michael’s father, didn’t speak so highly of his own son, either. Or of you. He said he’d never met you, that Michael had never brought you home for tea to meet him.’
    ‘Ha!’ said Alex. ‘As if we were ever invited. He knows nothing about me. To him I’m just the scarlet woman. A tart.’
    Annie let a few seconds go by. ‘I just want to talk to Michael,’ she said. ‘That’s all.’
    Alex gave Annie a disappointed glance, and for some reason, it hurt. ‘You’re all the same, you lot. Just because someone’s made a mistake once, you think they can never put things right, don’t you? Well me and Michael are doing just fine. OK? And he was here with me on Saturday night, all evening and all night, but I don’t suppose you believe that, do you?’
    ‘Why wouldn’t I believe you?’ said Annie. ‘You say you last saw him on Sunday morning?’
    ‘That’s right.’
    ‘Do you think he might have another girlfriend, and that’s where he is?’
    Alex reddened, and her lower lip trembled. ‘No,’ she said, squeezing her fists together and putting them to her temples. ‘What are you saying? Why are you saying horrible things like that? What are you trying to do to me? All these questions you’re asking, things you’re saying. You’ve got me going out of my mind with worry. Stop this.’
    ‘I’m sorry,’ said Annie, ‘but we have to know what’s going on.’
    ‘Why don’t you just do your job and go out and find Michael? He might be lying hurt somewhere.’
    ‘Where?’
    ‘I don’t know. Just somewhere.’
    ‘OK, I’m sorry. Calm down, Alex. We’ll get to the bottom of this.’
    ‘You’re more interested in a missing tractor than what’s happened to my Michael. Admit it.’
    ‘That’s not true.’
    Alex leaned forward and clasped her hands together. ‘Then help me,’ she said. ‘Please help me find Michael.’
     
    The front gates stood wide open and a young uniformed constable waved down Banks and Gerry Masterson as they approached the airfield. Gerry came to a halt, and the officer asked for their identification. Banks didn’t blame him. The young PC wasn’t from Eastvale HQ, and there was no reason why he should know who they were. The officer noted their names down carefully on his clipboard and waved them through. Three patrol cars and Winsome’s Polo were parked willy-nilly on the cracked concrete outside the hangar, five officers leaning against them chatting, two of the men