Skin

37

Mandy called Flea at midday on the dot. She and Thom had had a long talk. They were calmer now. They’d meet her in Keynsham tonight after work to discuss the ‘way forward’.

‘Where are you now?’ she wanted to know. ‘You sound distant.’

‘I’m outside the district-council offices.’

‘Where?’

‘Trowbridge.’

‘What are you doing there?’

‘Something important. Someone we need to think about. I’ll explain later.’

It didn’t take Flea long to find the department she wanted: down a prefab corridor with dirty windows and a fireproof carpet underfoot. The head of the department was harried, careless: he didn’t namby around asking for warrants – a flash of her card was enough as he took her down to the desk where he thought Ruth Lindermilk’s correspondence would be held.

The clerk dealing with it was a bubbly blonde, in her fifties with an out-of-season lamp tan and lots of gold jewellery, busily working her way through letters that overflowed from three plastic letter trays. ‘We call this CYA corner,’ she told Flea. ‘I work on CYA corner – great, isn’t it?’

‘CYA?’

‘Cover Your Arse. I get all the stuff the other departments want to put in the bin. You know, old ladies complaining the local post office is closing and how the council really wants to deal with the UFOs over Salisbury Plain.’ She indicated a pile. ‘I’ve sent answers to these already. Don’t expect to hear back but I’ve got to file them, keep them for a while just in case.’ She pulled one of the baskets towards her. ‘You said this letter was sent last week?’

‘I think so, yes.’

‘And the name?’

‘Ruth Lindermilk.’

A small smile twitched at the corner of the secretary’s mouth. ‘Lindermilk?’

‘Yes?’

‘I know that name. It’s distinctive.’ She took two stacks of letters in rubber bands and put them to one side. She flicked through the next pile and came up very quickly with a letter on council headed paper, stapled to a piece of flowered notepaper. ‘This covering one is the reply we send them all. Just standard, you know, “we’re dealing with your complaint”. Yacketyyackety.’ She folded the reply letter to the back, ironing it flat with her palms, and scanned the notepaper underneath. ‘Yes, this is her. Ruth the snitch, I call her, because she’s always trying to get these motorists into trouble.’ She passed Flea the letter. ‘Obsessed with wildlife – feeds the hedgehogs and the badgers, and if someone hits so much as a wood louse on the road Ruth the snitch is on to it. Thinks we should be doing something about every frog, mouse and worm that gets squished.’

Flea took the letter and sat on the low plastic bucket chair. The letter was handwritten, bordered with roses and sparrows. It was dated 18 May. The morning after Misty was killed.

To whom it may concern.

Since my last communication to you of 3 January I haven’t heard hide nor hair from you and I’ve now got four more incidents to report. It seems to me like absolutely nothing is being done. One of these last night is a really serious incident where a deer got hit. You will ignore me at your peril.

Date 15 January Time 22.06

Incident: Badger got hit. Crawled to edge with broken pelvis. Lated died there in pain.

Car make and plate: Black or blue Vauxhall

Other comments: Did not stop.

Date 22 January Time 12.00 noon

Incident: Rabbit got hit and killed.

Car make and plate: Silver Land Rover NO7 XWT

Other comments: DRIVER WAS AWARE!!! (Stopped and stared at dead rabbit so knows EXACTLY what he did)

Date 3 March Time 19.45

Incident: Badger got hit. Killed instantly.

Car make and plate: Not sure of make Dark car. First letters of number plate S58.

Other comments: Driver did not bother to stop.

Date 17 May Time 23.11

Incident: Deer(?) got hit. Or large animal. Crawled away Driver was AWARE!!!

Car make and plate: Silver Ford Focus. Last letters of number plate GBR

Other comments: Driver was aware.

As I’ve said on numerous times, I am of the opinion that all of these drivers should be brought in and really hit where it hurts. If these were human casualties you would of solved them no doubt a long time ago. They would be called hit-and-run and the police would be involved. I’ve got evidence I can produce in court if you can get it that far.

Once again, I call for you to chase these wrongdoers and hit them where it hurts. IT IS ONLY A MATTER OF TIME BEFORE ANOTHER OF MY CATS IS KILLED. This worry is causing me sleepless nights and has shortened my life. You can be sued for that too.

Ruth Lindermilk

The secretary had got up from her seat and was bending over a filing cabinet, pulling out sheets of paper from a low drawer. Flea watched her, seeing her but not really seeing her. May 17. Ten past eleven. A silver Ford Focus with the last letters GBR. A ‘deer’ hit on the road at the bottom of the hamlet.

‘Here are the others.’ The secretary came back to the desk and dumped the letters next to the piles from the in-tray. ‘These are all from Ruth Lindermilk.’

Flea pushed them around with her fingers, looking at dates going back to 2001. They were written in the same feverish hand, tabulated with the same columns in which Ruth had carefully entered dates, times, licence plates.

‘Been sending us letters for years. She’s obsessive.’ Flea stacked the old letters up and pushed them towards the secretary. ‘You’re right. She’s mad as a box of frogs. Obviously.’

The secretary took them back to the filing cabinet and dropped them into their slots. Flea folded Ruth’s May letter and slid it into the back pocket of her jeans before the secretary noticed. From the in-tray piles on the desk, she pulled out another letter at random and folded the council’s reply back over it, to conceal that it wasn’t Ruth’s letter. She held this letter up and got the woman’s attention.

‘Thank you for this.’ She pushed it carefully back to the bottom of the pile, where it would take the secretary a few days to deal with. ‘You’ve been very helpful.’