bastards,’ he chuckled. His mobile phone rang. ‘Jesus, can’t a man get any peace?’
Harris fished the phone out of his Barbour jacket pocket and glanced down at the name on the screen. Gallagher.
‘Matty, lad,’ he said, ‘this had better be important. And I mean really important because this is my day off and if you think …’
‘Someone has vandalized the new war memorial at Chapel Hill.’
‘Vandalized? How?’
‘Painted red letters over it so that it reads “Dishonour”. Rob Mackey has already gone off on one. If you look up, you might just see him. He must be in orbit by now.’
‘And there was me thinking it was a buzzard,’ said Harris, glancing up at the leaden skies. ‘Where are you now? In the village?’
‘Yeah. Butterfield is using her womanly charms to persuade Mackey not to kick down Esther Morritt’s door. I keep telling him it’s more likely to be kids but he won’t listen.’
‘It’s too specific for kids,’ said Harris, tossing another couple of biscuits to the dogs. ‘I mean, they didn’t just slap the paint on, did they? There’s a very pointed message in there, if you ask me. Got to be aimed at Mackey.’
‘I guess so but it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s down to Esther, does it? Barry Gough was here yesterday, remember. Trying to waggle his placard about. According to Alison, he was really hacked off at the way he was kicked out of the village by Barnett.’
‘He’s a liability that man.’
‘He certainly riled Barry Gough. And Gough is just the type of crackerjack to do something this stupid.’
‘Not sure I would have said vandalism is his style,’ said Harris, taking a gulp of coffee. ‘Maybe you should have a quiet word with him, just to be sure, though. And Esther as well, for that matter. Be nice to think we could keep a lid on this.’
‘Which is why I rang you. Wondered if you fancied talking to her? Sensitive case and all that. There’ll be lots of media interest once word gets out and I’m hardly her favourite person at the moment so it might make more sense if …’
‘Good try, Matty lad,’ said Harris, standing up, scrunching up the biscuit packet and thrusting it into his bag, ‘but Esther Morritt is your problem. Call it a cultural exchange.’
‘Thought you’d say that,’ said the sergeant gloomily. ‘Think of me while you’re enjoying your hike then.’
‘How many times? I am walking, not hiking. People in stupid bobble hats, they hike.’
‘Yeah, whatever,’ said Gallagher and the phone went dead.
‘Bloody southerners,’ murmured Harris, reaching down to screw the lid back onto his flask.
Having finished his conversation with the inspector, Gallagher walked over to the memorial to join Butterfield, who was standing a few yards from the memorial, watching Rob Mackey as he stared with a thunderous expression at the paint.
‘You not calmed him down then?’ said the sergeant in a low voice.
‘Not sure he’ll listen to anyone, the mood he’s in. I just told him that you were in charge of the inquiry and that he should deal with you.’
‘Now where have I heard that before?’ murmured Gallagher.
The detectives’ attempts to keep the situation low-key were looking increasingly forlorn as a number of villagers started to gather round to watch the altercation.
‘I want that bloody woman arrested!’ said Mackey loudly, turning and striding towards them. ‘She’s a lunatic!’
‘That’s no way to talk about the constable,’ said Gallagher, hoping that the comment would ease the tension. It didn’t.
‘That woman is running a vendetta against me and all you can do is make jokes! You’ve done nothing to protect me from Esther Morritt’s rantings and ravings! And this … this …’ Mackey gestured angrily at the memorial. ‘This is an absolute disgrace.’
‘I agree with you,’ said Gallagher. ‘I just don’t think we should jump to conclusions.’
‘Yeah, come to think of it I did see that
Harris fished the phone out of his Barbour jacket pocket and glanced down at the name on the screen. Gallagher.
‘Matty, lad,’ he said, ‘this had better be important. And I mean really important because this is my day off and if you think …’
‘Someone has vandalized the new war memorial at Chapel Hill.’
‘Vandalized? How?’
‘Painted red letters over it so that it reads “Dishonour”. Rob Mackey has already gone off on one. If you look up, you might just see him. He must be in orbit by now.’
‘And there was me thinking it was a buzzard,’ said Harris, glancing up at the leaden skies. ‘Where are you now? In the village?’
‘Yeah. Butterfield is using her womanly charms to persuade Mackey not to kick down Esther Morritt’s door. I keep telling him it’s more likely to be kids but he won’t listen.’
‘It’s too specific for kids,’ said Harris, tossing another couple of biscuits to the dogs. ‘I mean, they didn’t just slap the paint on, did they? There’s a very pointed message in there, if you ask me. Got to be aimed at Mackey.’
‘I guess so but it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s down to Esther, does it? Barry Gough was here yesterday, remember. Trying to waggle his placard about. According to Alison, he was really hacked off at the way he was kicked out of the village by Barnett.’
‘He’s a liability that man.’
‘He certainly riled Barry Gough. And Gough is just the type of crackerjack to do something this stupid.’
‘Not sure I would have said vandalism is his style,’ said Harris, taking a gulp of coffee. ‘Maybe you should have a quiet word with him, just to be sure, though. And Esther as well, for that matter. Be nice to think we could keep a lid on this.’
‘Which is why I rang you. Wondered if you fancied talking to her? Sensitive case and all that. There’ll be lots of media interest once word gets out and I’m hardly her favourite person at the moment so it might make more sense if …’
‘Good try, Matty lad,’ said Harris, standing up, scrunching up the biscuit packet and thrusting it into his bag, ‘but Esther Morritt is your problem. Call it a cultural exchange.’
‘Thought you’d say that,’ said the sergeant gloomily. ‘Think of me while you’re enjoying your hike then.’
‘How many times? I am walking, not hiking. People in stupid bobble hats, they hike.’
‘Yeah, whatever,’ said Gallagher and the phone went dead.
‘Bloody southerners,’ murmured Harris, reaching down to screw the lid back onto his flask.
Having finished his conversation with the inspector, Gallagher walked over to the memorial to join Butterfield, who was standing a few yards from the memorial, watching Rob Mackey as he stared with a thunderous expression at the paint.
‘You not calmed him down then?’ said the sergeant in a low voice.
‘Not sure he’ll listen to anyone, the mood he’s in. I just told him that you were in charge of the inquiry and that he should deal with you.’
‘Now where have I heard that before?’ murmured Gallagher.
The detectives’ attempts to keep the situation low-key were looking increasingly forlorn as a number of villagers started to gather round to watch the altercation.
‘I want that bloody woman arrested!’ said Mackey loudly, turning and striding towards them. ‘She’s a lunatic!’
‘That’s no way to talk about the constable,’ said Gallagher, hoping that the comment would ease the tension. It didn’t.
‘That woman is running a vendetta against me and all you can do is make jokes! You’ve done nothing to protect me from Esther Morritt’s rantings and ravings! And this … this …’ Mackey gestured angrily at the memorial. ‘This is an absolute disgrace.’
‘I agree with you,’ said Gallagher. ‘I just don’t think we should jump to conclusions.’
‘Yeah, come to think of it I did see that
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