Fox Evil (15 page)

"Does he say that to the men?"

She nodded. "They love it. They practice self-induced adrenaline rushes to keep their glands in trim."

James looked doubtful. "Does it work?"

"More in the mind than the body, I suspect," she said with a laugh, "but it's good psychology whichever way you look at it. If bravery is a chemical then we all have access to it, and fear is easier to deal with if it's a recognizable part of the process. In simple terms, we have to be frightened before we can be brave, otherwise the adrenaline won't flow… and if we can be brave without being frightened first-" she lifted an amused eyebrow-"then we're dead from the neck up. What we imagine is worse than what happens. Hence my sergeant's belief that a defenseless civilian, waiting day after day for the bombs to fall, is braver than a member of an armed unit."

"He sounds quite a character."

"The men like him," she said with a dry edge to the words.

"Ah!"

"Mm!"

James chuckled again. "What's he really like?"

Nancy pulled a wry face. "A self-opinionated bully who doesn't believe there's a place for women in the army… certainly not in the Engineers… certainly not with an Oxford degree… and certainly not in command."

"Oh dear!"

She gave a small shrug. "It would be all right if it was amusing… but it isn't."

She seemed such a confident young woman that he wondered if she was being kind, trading a weakness for advice in order to allow him to do the same. "I never had to face that specific problem, of course," he told her, "but I do remember one particularly tough sergeant who made a habit of taking me on in front of the men. It was all very subtle, mostly in the tone of his voice… but nothing I could challenge him about without looking stupid. You can't take a man's stripe away because he repeats your orders in a patronizing way."

"What did you do?"

"Swallowed my pride and asked for help. He was transferred out of the company within a month. Apparently, I wasn't the only one having trouble with him."

"Except my subalterns think the sun shines out of the sergeant's backside. They let him get away with murder because the men respond to him. I feel I ought to be able to handle him. It's what I've been trained for, and I'm not convinced my CO's any more sympathetic to women in the army than my sergeant is. I'm fairly sure he'll tell me that if I can't take the heat I should get out of the kitchen-" she made an ironic correction-"or, more likely, get
back
to it because it's where a woman belongs." As James had guessed, she had chosen a subject to draw him out, but she hadn't intended to reveal so much. She told herself it was because James had been in the army and knew the power a sergeant could wield.

He watched her for a moment. "What sort of bullying does this sergeant go in for?"

"Character assassination," she said in a matter-of-fact tone that belied the very real difficulties it was causing her. "There's a lot of whispering about slags and tarts behind my back and sniggers whenever I appear. Half of the men seem to think I'm a dyke who needs curing, the other half think I'm the platoon bicycle. It doesn't sound like much, but it's a drip-drip of poison that's starting to have an effect."

"You must feel very isolated," murmured James, wondering how much Mark had told her about his situation.

"It's certainly getting that way."

"Doesn't the fact that your subalterns kowtow to him suggest they're having problems as well? Have you asked them about it?"

She nodded. "They deny that they are… say he responds to them exactly as a senior NCO should." She shrugged. "Judging by his smiles afterward, I guessed the conversation went straight back to him."

"How long's it been going on?"

"Five months. He was posted to the unit while I was on leave in August. I never had any trouble before, then-wham!-I get stuck with Jack the Ripper. I'm on a month's secondment to Bovington at the moment, but I'm dreading what I'll find when I get back. If I have any reputation left, it'll be a miracle. The trouble is, he's good at his job, he certainly gets the best out of the men."

They both looked up as the door opened and Mark came in with a tray. "Perhaps Mark has some ideas," James suggested. "The army's always had its share of bullies, but I confess I have no idea how you deal with a situation like this."

"What?" asked Mark, handing Nancy a glass.

She wasn't sure she wanted him to know. "Trouble at the office," she said lightly.

James had no such qualms. "A new sergeant, recently posted to the unit, is undermining Nancy's authority with her men," he said, taking his glass. "He derides women behind her back-calls them tarts or lesbians-presumably with the intention of making life so uncomfortable for Nancy that she'll leave. He's good at his job and popular with the men, and she's worried that if she reports him it'll reflect badly on her, even though she's never had any trouble exercising authority before. What should she do?"

"Report him," said Mark promptly. "Demand to be told what his average length of service is with any unit. If he moves regularly then you can be certain that similar accusations have been made against him in the past. If they have-indeed, even if they
haven't
-insist on full disciplinary charges rather than a quiet passing of the buck to someone else. Men like this get away with it because commanding officers would rather transfer them quietly than draw attention to the poor discipline in their ranks. It's a big problem in the police service. I sit on a committee that's producing guidelines on how to deal with it. The first rule is: don't pretend it isn't happening."

James nodded. "Sounds like good advice to me," he said gently.

Nancy smiled slightly. "I suppose you knew Mark was on this committee?"

He nodded.

"So what's to report?" she asked with a sigh. "A good old guy swaps jokes with his men. Have you heard the one about the tart who joined the Engineers because she was looking for a screw? Or the dyke who poked her finger in the sump to check the lubrication levels?"

James looked helplessly toward Mark.

"Sounds like a rock and a hard place," said Mark sympathetically. "If you show an interest in a man, you're a tart… if you don't, you're a lesbian."

"Right."

"Then report him. Whichever way you look at it, it's sexual intimidation. The law's on your side, but it's powerless unless you exercise your rights."

Nancy exchanged an amused glance with James. "He'll be suggesting I take out injunctions next," she said lightly.

"Where the hell are you going?" hissed Fox, grabbing Wolfie by his hair and swinging him around.

"Nowhere," said the child.

He had moved as quietly as a shadow, but Fox was quieter. There had been nothing to alert Wolfie to his father's presence behind the tree, yet Fox had heard him. From the middle of the wood came the loud and persistent buzz of a chainsaw, which drowned all other sounds, so how had Fox heard Wolfie's stealthy approach? Was he a magician?

Shrouded in his hood and scarf, Fox was staring across the lawn at the open French windows where the old man and the two people Wolfie had seen earlier were looking for the source of the noise. The woman-for there was no mistaking her gender without her hat or bulky fleece-stepped through the opening and raised a pair of binoculars to her eyes. "Over there," her lips said plainly, as she lowered the binoculars and pointed through the skeletal trees to where the chainsaw gang was operating.

Even Wolfie with his sharp sight could barely make out the dark-coated figures against the black of the serried trunks, and he wondered if the lady, too, was a magician. His eyes widened as the old man came out to join her and scanned the line of trees where he and Fox were hiding. He felt Fox draw back into the lee of the trunk before his hand whipped Wolfie around and clamped his face against the rough serge of his coat. "Keep still," Fox muttered.

Wolfie would have done, in any case. There was no mistaking the bulk of the hammer in Fox's coat pocket. Whatever fears the razor held for him, the hammer held more, and he didn't know why. He'd never seen Fox use it-just knew it was there-but it held a multitude of terrors for him. He thought it was something he'd dreamed, but he couldn't remember when or what the dream was about. Carefully, so that Fox wouldn't notice, he held his breath and eased a space between himself and the coat.

The chainsaw coughed suddenly and fell silent, and the voices from the Manor terrace carried clearly across the grass. "…seemed to have fed Eleanor Bartlett a load of nonsense. She quoted
terra nullius
and Lockean theory at me like a sort of mantra. Presumably she got it from the travelers because they're unlikely terms for her to know. Rather archaic as a matter of fact."

"No-man's-land?" asked the woman's voice. "Does it apply?"

"I wouldn't think so. It's a concept of dominion. In simple terms, the first arrivals in an uninhabited area can lay claim to it on behalf of their sponsor, usually a king. I can't imagine it could be applied to disputed land in Britain in the twenty-first century. The obvious claimants are James or Dick Weldon… or the village, on the grounds of common usage."

"What's Lockean theory?"

"A similar concept of private ownership. John Locke was a seventeenth-century philosopher who systematized ideas of possession. The first individual in a place acquired rights to it which could then be sold. The early American homesteaders used the principle to fence in land which hadn't been enclosed before, and the fact that it belonged to the indigenous people who didn't subscribe to the notion of enclosure was ignored."

Another man spoke, a gentler, older voice. "Akin to what these chaps are up to, then. Take what you can by ignoring the established practice of the settled community that already exists. It's interesting, isn't it? Particularly as they probably think of themselves as nomadic Indians in tune with the land rather than violent cowboys intent on exploiting it."

"Do they have a case?" asked the woman.

"I don't see how," said the older man. "Ailsa nominated the Copse as a site of scientific interest when Dick Weldon tried to fence it in, so any attempt to cut down the trees will bring the police in quicker than if they'd camped on my lawn. She was afraid Dick would do what his predecessors did and demolish an ancient natural habitat in order to acquire an extra acre of arable land. When I was a child this wood stretched half a mile toward the west. It's hardly believable now."

"James is right," said the other man. "Almost anyone in this village-even the holidaymakers-can demonstrate a history of usage long before this lot turned up. It might take a while to shift them, so the nuisance levels will be fairly high… but in the short term we can certainly stop them felling the trees."

"I don't think that's what they're doing," said the woman. "From what I can see, they're cutting the dead wood on the ground… or would be if the chainsaw hadn't packed up." She paused. "I wonder how they knew this place might be worth a shot. If the ownership of Hyde Park was in dispute then that would be newsworthy… but
Shenstead
? Who's even heard of the place?"

"We have a lot of holidaymakers here," said the older man. "Some of them come back year after year. Perhaps one of the travelers was brought here as a child."

There was a period of silence before the first man spoke again. "Eleanor Bartlett said they knew everyone's names… even mine, apparently. It suggests some fairly meticulous research or a helpful insider passing on knowledge. She was pretty worked up for some reason, so I'm not sure how much to believe, but she was convinced they've been spying on the village."

"It would make sense," said the woman. "You'd have to be an idiot not to recce a place before you invaded it. Have you seen anyone hanging around, James? That wood's perfect cover, particularly the elevation to the right. With a decent pair of binoculars you can probably see most of the village."

Aware that Fox was concentrating on what was being said, Wolfie carefully twisted his head to make sure he wasn't missing anything. Some of the words were too complicated for him to understand, but he liked the voices. Even the murderer's. They sounded like actors, just as Fox did, but he took most pleasure from the lady's voice because there was a soft lilt in it that reminded him of his mother.

"You know, Nancy, I think I've been very foolish," said the older man then. "I thought my enemies were closer to home… but I wonder if you're right… I wonder if it's these people who've been mutilating Ailsa's foxes-such unbelievable cruelty. It's a sickness-muzzles smashed and brushes lopped off while the poor things are still al-"

For no reason that he understood, Wolfie's world suddenly exploded in a flurry of movement. Hands clapped against his ears, deafening him, before he was whisked upside down and thrown over Fox's shoulder. Disorientated, weeping with fear, he was run through the wood and thrown to the ground in front of the fire. Fox's mouth, pressed up against his face, grated words that he could only partially hear.

"Have… been watching? That woman… when… she get there?… heard what they say? Who's Nancy?"

Wolfie had no idea why Fox was so angry, but his eyes widened when he saw him reach for the razor in his pocket.

"What the hell are you doing?" demanded Bella angrily, barging Fox away and kneeling beside the terrified child. "He's a kid, for Christ's sake. Look at him, he's scared out of his wits."

"I caught him sneaking down to the Manor."

"So?"

"I don't want him queering our pitch."

"Jesus wept!" she growled. "And you think frightening the life out of him is the way to do it. Come here, darlin'," she said taking Wolfie in her arms and standing up. "He's skin and bone," she accused Fox. "You ain't feeding him right."

"Blame his mother for abandoning him," said Fox indifferently, taking a twenty-pound note from his pocket. "
You
feed him. I don't have time. That should keep him going for a while." He stuffed the money between her arm and Wolfie's body.

Bella eyed him suspiciously. "How come you're so flush all of a sudden?"

"None of your fucking business. As for you," he said, jabbing a finger under Wolfie's nose, "if I catch you round that place again, you'll wish you'd never been born."

"I didn't mean no harm," the child wailed. "I was only looking for Mum and li'l Cub. They's gotta be
somewhere
, Fox. They's gotta be
somewhere
…"

Bella hushed her own three children to silence as she put plates of spaghetti bolognese in front of them. "I want to talk to Wolfie," she said, sitting beside him and encouraging him to tuck in. Her children, all girls, eyed the stranger solemnly before bending obediently to their food. One looked older than Wolfie, but the other two were about his age, and it made him shy to be among them because he was acutely aware of how dirty he was.

"What happened to your mum?" asked Bella.

"Dunno," he muttered, staring at his plate.

She picked up his spoon and fork and put them in his hands. "Come on, eat up. This ain't charity, Wolfie. Fox has paid, don't forget, and he'll be mad as a hatter if he don't get his money's worth. Good lad," she said approvingly. "You've got a lot of growing to do. How old are you?"

"Ten."

Bella was shocked. Her eldest daughter was nine and Wolfie's height and body weight were well below hers. On the last occasion when she'd seen him, back in the summer at Barton Edge, Wolfie and his brother had rarely emerged from behind their mother's skirt. Bella had assumed their timidity was due to their age, placing Wolfie at six or seven, and his brother at three. Certainly the mother had been timid, though Bella couldn't remember what her name was now, assuming she'd ever known it.

She watched the child shovel food into his mouth as if he hadn't eaten in weeks. "Is Cub your brother?"

"Yeah."

"How old is he?"

"Six."

Christ!
She wanted to ask him if he'd ever been weighed, but she didn't want to alarm him. "Did either of you ever go to school, Wolfie? Or get taught by the traveling teachers?"

He lowered his spoon and fork with a shake of his head. "Fox said there was no point. Mum taught me and Cub to read and write. We went to libraries sometimes," he offered. "I like computers best. Mum showed me how to work the Net. I've learned lots off that."

"What about the doctor? Did you ever go to the doctor?"

"No," he said. "Ain't never been ill." He paused. "Haven't never been ill," he corrected himself.

Bella wondered if he had a birth certificate, if the authorities even knew of his existence. "What's your mother's name?"

"Vixen."

"Does she have another one?"

He spoke through a mouthful. "You mean like Evil? I asked her once and she said only Fox is Evil."

"Sort of. I meant a surname. Mine's Preston. That makes me Bella Preston. My girls are Tanny, Gabby, and Molly Preston. Did your mum have a second name?"

Wolfie shook his head.

"Did Fox ever call her anything except Vixen?"

Wolfie glanced at the girls. "Only 'bitch,'" he said, before stuffing his mouth again.

Bella smiled, because she didn't want the children to know how disturbed she was. Fox was showing another character from Barton Edge, and she wasn't the only member of the group who thought he was following a different agenda from the one of adverse possession proposed five months ago. Then the emphasis had been on family.

"It's better odds than the fourteen million to one chance of buying a lottery ticket, and just as legal," Fox had told them. "At worst, you'll stay in the same place for as long as it takes interested parties to organize a case against you… time for your kids to log on with a GP and get some decent schooling… maybe six months… maybe longer. At best, you'll get a house. I'd say that's worth a gamble."

No one really believed it would happen. Certainly not Bella. The most she could hope for was local-council accommodation on some depressed estate, and that was less attractive to her than staying on the road. She wanted safety and freedom for her kids, not the corrupting influence of delinquent yobs in a pressure cooker of poverty and crime. But Fox was convincing enough to persuade some of them to take the chance. "What have you got to lose?" he'd asked.

Bella had met him once again between Barton Edge and the convoy forming last night. All other arrangements had been made by phone or radio. No one had been told where the waste ground was-except that it was somewhere in the southwest-and the only other meeting had been to make a final decision on who would be included. By that time news of the project had spread and competition for places was intense. A maximum of six buses, Fox had said, and the choice of who went would be his. Only people with kids would be considered. Bella had asked what gave him the right to play God in this way, and he answered, "Because I'm the one who knows where we're going."

The single logic to his selection was that there were no existing alliances among the group, making his leadership unassailable. Bella had argued strongly against this. Her view was that a bonded group of friends would make a more successful unit than a disparate group of strangers, but given a blunt ultimatum-take it or leave it-she had capitulated. Surely any dream-
even a pipe dream
-was worth pursuing?

"Is Fox your dad?" she asked Wolfie.

"I guess so. Mum said he was."

Bella wondered about that. She remembered his mother saying that Wolfie took after his father, but she could see no resemblance between this child and Fox. "Have you always lived with him?" she asked.

"Reckon so, 'cept when he went away."

"Where did he go?"

"Dunno."

Prison, Bella guessed. "How long was he away?"

"Dunno."

She mopped up the sauce in his plate with a piece of bread and handed it to him. "Have you always been on the road?"

He crammed the bread into his mouth. "Not rightly sure."

She lifted the saucepan off the cooker and put it in front of him with more bread. "You can wipe this out as well, darlin'. You've a powerful hunger, that's for sure." She watched him set to, wondering when he'd last had a proper meal. "So how long since your mum left?"

She expected another one word answer, instead she received a flood. "Dunno. I don't have a watch, see, and Fox won't never tell me what day it is. He don't reckon it matters, but I do. She and Cub was gone one morning. Weeks, I reckon. Fox gets mad if I ask. He says it's me she abandoned but I don't reckon that's right, 'coz I was the one always looked out for her. It's more likely him. She was really frightened of him. He don't-
doesn't
-" he corrected himself- "like it when people argue with him. You shouldn't say 'ain't' and 'don't' too much, neither," he added gravely, dropping into an abrupt imitation of Fox. "It's bad grammar and he doesn't like it."