Page 37 of The Chapel of Bones

‘Any big cats?’

The answer was a nod. ‘A couple of pumas. And three lions. One male, two females. No wonder poor old Rex always looks henpecked.’ The statement produced another chuckle.

As if on cue, they heard a loud roar: Rex making his own comment on his domestic situation, perhaps.

‘Have any of your big cats ever escaped?’

Wesley wondered whether he’d imagined the flash of pain in Gadson’s eyes as he took a long drink before shaking his head. ‘Not since my father’s day.’

‘When was that?’

‘I took over when he died ten years ago. I remember one of the pumas going AWOL when I was a kid.’

‘Was it ever captured?’

‘Dad told us it had been shot. But there was a lot of talk around that time about a mysterious beast killing livestock on Dartmoor. I reckon if our puma did survive and it was the Beast, it must be dead by now. Unless it met a lady puma that escaped from another collection and they had offspring. I wouldn’t rule anything out.’

‘You don’t seem particularly worried,’ Wesley said, surprised at the man’s casual attitude to safety.

‘I’m not a farmer. No sheep to worry about here.’

He thought of Rachel and her family trying their best to run a farm. He knew that the loss of livestock was devastating for anyone in their position, but he kept his opinion to himself.

‘No incidents since then?’

Dale took another sip from his glass. ‘I heard that some escaped wild boar have been making a nuisance of themselves on the moor recently, but I assure you my cats are all present and correct. You can go and say hello to them if you like.’

‘We’ll pass on that if you don’t mind,’ said Gerry quickly. ‘What do you know about Jim Baker?’

‘He’s an artist. I give him a free pass to come in ’cause he likes to study the animals. He says he needs to get the anatomy right.’

‘Have you seen his paintings?’

A smirk appeared on Dale’s unshaven face. ‘He might study the anatomy of my animals, but if I had anything like that here, I’d run a mile. Weird things like dragons with fishes’ tails and camels with men’s heads. Like something out of a nightmare.’

‘Are you aware of him taking drugs?’ Gerry’s question was blunt, but Wesley had been thinking the same. Could Baker’s strange visions be the product of some hallucinogenic substance?

‘He told me he used to be heavily into that sort of thing, but now he just sticks to a bit of dope. And this stuff, of course,’ Dale added, waving his glass vaguely in their direction before helping himself to a refill.

‘Has he said why he chooses to paint things like that?’ Wesley couldn’t help being curious.

‘He says they’re manifestations of his anger, whatever that means. Strange bloke.’

‘Any idea what made him so angry?’

Dale took a deep breath. Then he exhaled slowly. ‘Not sure, but I suspect it’s something to do with his past. It’s usually family, isn’t it? Once when he’d had a few he said he was the child of the devil.’

‘Sounds a bit dramatic.’

‘Maybe, but I know how families can really screw you up.’ The words were said with bitterness, as though he was speaking from experience. ‘Some of the things in his paintings look very . . . Horns and hooves and all that. He sometimes goes on about the whisht hounds, seems obsessed with them if you ask me.’

‘He did mention them when we called. Said they’re the devil’s hounds.’

‘That’s what the old local legends say.’ Dale picked up the bottle, and when he saw it was empty, he stood up again and retrieved another from his stash. ‘Sure you won’t join me in a drink?’

The two detectives shook their heads as another roar filled the air.

Dale leaned forward. ‘Not sure I should tell you this.’ He fell silent for a few moments, as though he was making a decision.‘Jim told me once that when he was on one of his acid trips, he thought he saw something really bad, something that changed his life and made him never want to touch the stuff again.’