Bumping Uglies

Chapter Six

The following couple of days drifted past with all of the alacrity of an arthritic sloth. There was a time, not so long ago, when the prospect of forty-eight hours with nothing to do would have sent me into a tailspin.

Not anymore.

Now I tended to just go with it, like a cork bobbing on the stream of life.

Sophie didn't call me the night I went through Richard's flat. She also failed to give me a ring the following day. It was pretty odd behaviour; I thought she might have at least a passing interest in what I had found, or indeed whether I had found anything at all.

Her lack of communication actually worked well for me, as I wasn't ready to share what I had found and really didn't think lying to a client was the foundation of a successful working relationship.

Of course, as autumn began to set-in there was plenty to do around the farm and so I couldn't really lounge about the place, entirely unemployed.

In fact, Thatch had given me a checklist.

I needed to collect and process firewood to get through winter. I would need kindling, cording and some fuel logs. Luckily, the small wood at the edge of the farm was the perfect source and I was able to combine this task with some coppicing and clearing of dead wood.

I also needed to scout out some sources of free grub around the property. There was a long thicket of brambles that was providing a great crop of blackberries, a couple of chestnut trees that seemed to be heavy with spiky bundles of sweetening nuts and a patch of potatoes and other root vegetables that were growing merrily in a bed that had been first planted by Ty.

The day after I had searched Richard's flat, I busied myself with a range of distraction activities.

As to what I was distracting myself from, well, that was the thing.

I was spending a lot of time thinking about Sophie; her relationship with Richard and its apparent oddities. I was brooding on why she had kissed me on impulse, rather than do anything else to warn me of the approaching police. I was also moping about her reaction afterwards and why she had then not called to find out what had happened.

Perhaps she knew all about Richard's photographic escapades. Perhaps she knew about the hidden laptop. If that were the case, why was she involving me in this whole business?

Mostly, I busied myself that day so as to have a legitimate excuse about why I could not call her.

So it was that I spent the morning working the woods. I passed three hours by felling, dragging and then chopping firewood with an axe. Doing so in the warmth of an early autumn sun also served as a pretty serious workout.

Around midday, I collapsed in a sweaty heap; my shoulders, back and arms burning with the comforting fire of a job well done.

I checked my phone, nodded sagely at the lack of contact from Sophie, or anyone else, and munched my way through a doorstep ham and pickle sandwich.

I began to feel faint pangs of guilt about not working on the case at all.

Upon returning home the night before, I had pinned the photos I had found up on the wall of the hayloft and gone over them again carefully. I was hoping to find something that might help me identify the women in them, but had to give it up as a bad job when I realised all that was happening was that they were making me feel vaguely horny.

Working as intended, I mused, but not helpful. I took them down ruefully and stacked them neatly in a corner of the loft.

Of the two other potential leads I had gleaned from Richard's flat, the betting slips and the laptop, the slips would have to wait. I would need to visit town for that one, and ideally with a photo of Richard, for which I would need to... call Sophie.