Doctor Who_ Cats Cradle_ Witch Mark - Andrew Hunt [33]
It was half past seven by the time he drove into the small town of Gwydyr and it took him a further twenty minutes to find a cafe that was open, though while driving around he did locate the vet's surgery
- locked, of course. He sat in the cafe with two cups of strong coffee and a bacon sandwich dripping with melted butter and read a copy of the Spotter that he had found as the sole occupant of a wire-frame newspaper rack. Its front cover bore the headline 'What a loony!' followed by a story about the president of the United States who, apparently, had taken to bathing in cranberry sauce. It took all sorts to make a world, Stevens supposed.
He polished off his breakfast and prepared to leave but decided that a second sandwich wouldn't go amiss, or a third for that matter; half past eight saw him devouring his fifth. That finished, he finally managed to persuade himself that there was such a thing as excess and left. The vet might be at his surgery now so Stevens drove round to it, even though it was only fifty yards up the road.
Standing in the porch, he rang the doorbell and read the white on blue lettering of the small sign.
Stuart Taylor BVSc held surgeries between 8.30 a.m. and 9.30 a.m. and between 5 p, and 6 p.m., apparently. Well, it was 8.37 now and there was no sign of him. Stevens gave the bell a further ring and drummed his fingers on the frosted glass of the porch window. He turned at the sound of a car drawing up outside. A small woman wearing a brown cardigan over a blue uniform got out of the car and came into the porch.
'Hello, is the door not open?' she asked.
'No, I'm looking for Mr Taylor.'
'Well, just hold on, I've got the key in here somewhere.' She rooted through her bag and eventually produced a Yale key. She unlocked the door and held it open for him to follow her through. The waiting room was dominated by dark wooden walls though the sun shone brightly through windows looking on to the garden outside. An alcove in one wall was cut off from the rest of the room by a desk which carried a cash register and stacks of colourful leaflets.
‘Stuart's usually here before me. He has surgery at half past eight, you see. But sometimes he has to go out urgently to farms. He’ll have left a message for me.' She went through a door and emerged behind the reception desk. 'What can I do for you?’
‘I’m a police officer. Inspector Stevens.' He showed her his ID. 'I just wanted a word with Mr Taylor.'
‘There's nothing wrong is there? I’ll just see where he is.’ She rummaged through pieces of paper on a cabinet behind the desk.
‘No, nothing wrong. He phoned me last night and left an interesting message. I'm just following it up.’
‘Oh, well, he doesn't appear to have left a note for me. Maybe he’s still at home.' She picked up the phone, pressed a couple of buttons and then waited. Stevens could just hear the ringing, but there was no reply. She dropped the phone on to the hook disappointedly.’
‘No luck?' he asked.
‘No, I can't think where he can be. It's not like him to go without leaving any message for me.’
‘Well, I'll come back later.' Stevens moistened his lips. ‘I don’t suppose you could tell me the address of any, er, stables that he visited yesterday? He might have mentioned it to you?’
‘No, he didn't say anything.' She looked uncertain. ‘I’m not sure whether I ought ... but you are police, of course. I don't suppose it can do any harm.' She took a green book from under the desk and flipped through the pages. 'Ah, Tremayne's, over at Llanfer.’
‘That’ll be the one. Can you show me where it is?’
‘Yes, just come with me.' She came out through the door and led him into a tiny office where a map of the area hung on one wall alongside a large noticeboard. She pointed out the stable on the map.
‘Well, thanks very much,' he said. 'You've been very helpful. Please tell Mr Taylor that I called and I'll probably come back again later.' He went to the door and stepped out