The Altered Case by Peter Turnbull Page B

Hennessey and Yellich’s gaze was a wooden building, just one storey high, which was of such misshapen appearance because of age and rottenness that Hennessey felt it would collapse in the next strong wind or at the push of a man of but average strength. For his part, Yellich was astounded that the structure was still more or less upright. Two rusting motor cars stood in the long grass beside the building and clearly had not moved in many, many years, and which equally clearly would never move again. Beside the cars stood rusting bed frames, an old-fashioned wood burning stove and an equally ancient mangle. Strewn about amid the weeds and the long grass were rusted metal buckets, the bottoms of which had long vanished with decay, old prams and old bicycle frames. A hollow-cheeked, sunken-eyed youth stared at Hennessey and Yellich with what seemed to the officers to be an attitude of detached curiosity, as if wondering who the officers were and what their business at the farm was, but not questioning them or seeming threatened or concerned by their presence. It was, thought Hennessey, as if the youth was looking at a rare bird which had lighted there, the arrival of which might merit a passing comment over that day’s evening meal.
    George Hennessey and Somerled Yellich walked silently onwards, nodding to the youth as they passed. The youth, for his part, remained motionless to the point that he reminded Hennessey of one who was held in a passive catatonic state. Only the sunken eyes of the youth moved as Hennessey and Yellich made their cautious and unsteady way across the farmyard. The youth made no response to Hennessey’s cheery, ‘Hello there,’ and Yellich’s equally cheery, ‘Good morning to you; lovely day.’ Not a sound passed the lips of the youth, not a fraction did his head even nod in response to either officer, but yet his eyes remained fixed upon the visitors. Hennessey and Yellich walked onwards, past the rotten wooden shed, beyond which, to the right-hand side, was the farmhouse. When seen, the house revealed itself to be a low, squat-looking building which, by its state of disrepair, blended neatly with the wooden shed and general detritus of the yard that had greeted Hennessey and Yellich upon their arrival. The wood of the door and the window frames were clearly rotten, badly so, with peeling paintwork. many of the black tiles on the roof, which sagged in the middle, were loose, dislodged and, in some cases, missing altogether.
    The officers walked slowly up to the door of the house and Hennessey knocked on it with a certain respect and a certain, quite unusual, gentleness. It did not seem to him to be at all appropriate that he should knock loudly, despite being a police officer conducting a murder inquiry. Hennessey intuitively felt that neither the house was structurally strong enough, nor the family emotionally strong enough for either to withstand a sudden and an aggressive declaration of the presence of two police officers. Further, they had, after all, been seen by, he assumed, one member of the household and he further sensed that the farm had an atmosphere of wariness, of being hostile to strangers, and said atmosphere reached him, strongly so.
    The woman who opened the door, and did so slowly and cautiously in response to Hennessey’s soft tap, tap, was middle-aged, short and stocky, with large hands, so observed Hennessey. The woman’s hair was an unkempt mop of grey and black and her eyes a matching steel-grey colour. Her woollen cardigan was grey, her blouse was grey, her tweed skirt was grey and her legs ended in a pair of faded red carpet slippers. The lady of the house held eye contact with Hennessey and then with Yellich, and did so with evident coldness and aggression.
    Just as Hennessey was about to introduce himself and Yellich the woman turned and yelled into the gloom of the house, ‘Father! Father!’ She then turned and walked into said gloom, leaving Hennessey on the