by N. C. Lewis
Then the woman in the aqua dress screamed.
Chapter fifty-seven
On any other day Fenella would have enjoyed the view. Dexter drove the Morris Minor south along the A595, a two-lane road which snaked through green hills and sloped fields. They were on their way to Low Marsh Prison to speak with the Teal twins. It was close to one o'clock, and the sun in the west splashed shards of gold through a thickening swirl of dark clouds. To the east, a sheen of rain hovered as fine as a mist.
Today, though, Fenella's mind was on the questions she planned to ask the Teal twins. And her eyes were on Dexter, who hummed under his breath an old Eric Clapton tune—"Tears in Heaven." She thought he sounded good.
"La, le la, la-la-heaven, de, de, da,da-way."
After the meal at Nan's, Fenella had agreed to set up a date for her friend, the nurse Gail Stubbs. A foursome with her, Eduardo, Gail, and Dexter at a nice restaurant in Carlisle. And with Dexter so happy, she thought it would be a good time to ask if he was game, but curiosity got the better of her. She had to know why he was humming, then she'd set up the date.
"I like that song," Fenella said, hoping to strike up a conversation so she could pry into his business. "One of Eduardo's favourites. A great song for… lovers, don't you think?"
"Aye, it's a pleasant number, all right," Dexter replied and continued with his hum. "De, de, de, da-da-heaven. Le, la le, le-le, be, de, da."
Fenella knew it was best to let it drop. If Dexter was in a good mood, that was all for the best. She'd just taken a management course about flexibility in leadership. They were told not to ask personal questions. That was the new standard in the Cumbria police. If a member of your team hobbles into work on crutches, you're not supposed to ask what happened. If their arm is in a sling, don't ask. If they are lying on their back and gasping for breath, don't bleedin' ask! Fenella thought it was daft. If anyone on her team fell sick, she wanted to know what was wrong. Screw flexibility in leadership! Dexter was humming and she had to know why. But she'd take her time, tease it out of him.
Fenella said, "Dr Hall's psychological assessment, pretty cool, eh? Got my results straight away: 'Competent.'"
Dexter had his eyes on the road. "Beat me, Guv. Mine said 'Adequate.' Le, la le, le-le, be, de, da."
Fenella watched him for a moment, then said, "Jones came out 'Exemplary.'"
"How'd you know that?"
Fenella grinned. "Same for PC Beth Finn and PC Hoon."
"Guess we are letting the team down, eh, Guv? Le-le, be, de, da."
The car slowed as a large cattle truck swung out of the road and ambled along as though it were a tourist. Fenella watched Dexter, waited for him to mumble a curse, but he broke out into a melodic whistle. That did it!
"Are you going to keep me in suspense for much longer?"
"Sorry, Guv."
"What you whistling about?"
"Can't a man whistle?"
"Not if his name is bleedin' Dexter, and he's never whistled before, or hummed, for that matter."
"I can change, can't I?" He began to hum, glanced at Fenella, and thought the better of it. "Anyway, I thought you had taken that management course on flexibility. Give your team room to be themselves, to flex. That's what you said."
"Well, you can flex your lips and tell me what's up."
The cattle truck slowed to a crawl as it climbed a hill.
"Okay," Dexter said after he eased the gearstick into second. "It's Nellie Cook. We go way back. At one time she was on my list. Gave me some great info, and I helped her out a time or two. Remember that toerag Royce Lee, used to run his business from the Red Sheaf bar?"
"Aye. He were a nasty piece of work." She was glad Royce Lee was still behind bars with no chance of getting out. "Tell me about Nellie."
Dexter seemed to hesitate a moment. "Do you think she is past it?"
Fenella puffed out her cheeks. "Seventy is her next big birthday. I know it takes all sorts, but that's a bit old for her game."
"Aye, that's what I told her. Time to retire." Dexter tapped his thumb on the steering wheel. The cattle truck had reached the brow of the hill, and the road sloped down for the next mile or two. He eased the car through third and fourth as it picked up speed. "We talked about old times and she…"
The cattle truck's brake lights flashed red; its horn blasted as it juddered to a crawl. A camper van had pulled off the verge and into the road. A woman hung out of the passenger-side window taking snapshots of the view.
Dexter cursed and jabbed the high-pitched horn of the Morris Minor. It bleated like an irritated sheep. Fenella grinned. She knew he couldn't keep up his cheerful-man face all day, knew she'd get at his secret.
"So, are you going to tell me why you are humming like we are on our way to karaoke night?"
"It's Priscilla. I met her at Jabbar's, thanks to Nellie. Can you believe she is still singing? She has moved back in with me. We are going to get wed."
Chapter fifty-eight
When they arrived at Low Marsh Prison, it began to rain. Big fat drops splashed against the car. Deep puddles soon formed from the run-off water. "Tears in Heaven," Fenella thought as they made their way across the concrete car park to the visitor centre.
The sky darkened with blasts of thunder against streaks of white light. They picked up their pace to a trot. As they ran, Fenella wondered how PC Beth Finn was getting on with the list of women who'd come into contact with Hamilton Perkins. Maybe she'd find one who wrote to him. It was a long shot, but sometimes they came up trumps. Then her mind turned to the Teal twins. Would they speak to her? Was the visit going to be a waste of time?
Inside, there was a long line. Young mums with babes in arms, toddlers running about the place, moody-looking teens and middle-aged folk with worried faces. One man wore a three-piece, pinstripe suit with a pork-pie hat. Fenella wondered whether he'd come to see a banker who had his hand in the till and got himself locked up inside.
"Keep your kids by your side and mobile phones in hand," boomed a warden. "One at a time, please. One at a time."
There was no fast track for police officers, so they waited their turn. It took twenty minutes to get to the front of the line. Fenella flashed her warrant card. "We are here to see the Teal twins."
"Righto, we've had word of your visit. The twins will be brought up soon. Please go through the door on the right."
Fenella and Dexter stepped through a sliding door to a room the size of a small lift. There they waited for almost a minute until an automatic door swung open. A woman in a grey uniform with her black hair tucked into a bun, greeted them. "I'm the duty chaplain. The Teal twins are in the prayer room."
Fenella glanced at Dexter. He shrugged. She thought they'd meet the twins in a sterile interview room with Perspex screens, hard plastic chairs bolted to the floor, and armed guards with shaved heads.
Fenella said, "Do the twins get many visitors?"
The chaplain shook her head. "They have been in here a long time. Friends stop coming. Even family fade away. Social contact is one of our roles. There are four chaplains, all part time. So at least the twins get to see a different face every few days. We are social creatures; it helps with their mental health to see new faces. This way, please."
They followed the chaplain through a series of sliding doors, each opened by an unseen guard, then crossed a small courtyard where they heard the rain but could not feel the drops. Fenella glanced up to stare at a vast glass roof and wondered if this was the only place where the prisoners could get a breath of fresh air. There was no time to ask as the chaplain continued through another set of automatic doors, then up a handful of stairs to an iron gate which went from the ceiling to the floor.
"This prayer chapel is for our long-term guests," the chaplain said. "They are allowed in one at a time. There is CCTV and two guards on hand at all times. I have to remain in the room with you."
The gate slowly opened, and they walked along a long hallway with wooden doors on either si
de. The chaplain stopped at a door with a "C" painted in black. She unlocked the door and stepped aside to let them in ahead of her.
For a moment Fenella was reminded of a doll's house, for the space was so small. Then she realised that a wall with a Perspex screen inlaid split the room in two. That's when she got her first glimpse of the Teal twins.
An elderly man with a thin neck, wearing black-framed eyeglasses, sat at a desk on the other side of the screen. He wore a dark-grey suit with a pale-blue tie that gave him the look of a Baptist preacher. Fenella recognised him at once. The years had been good to him.
Dexter stood by the door with the chaplain while Fenella took a seat at the desk by the screen and wondered which of the Teal twins she would speak with today. Tim or Jim? Tim was the smiley one, and Jim, a sourpuss.
"I will not keep you long, Detective Sallow," one of the Teal twins said, then scowled.
Fenella sighed with relief. It was Jim. He might be a sour crab apple, but you could reason with him.
"Thank you for taking the time to see me, Jim," she said. She'd butter him up, make him feel special. "This chat means the world to us."
Jim Teal tapped on the screen. "Please ask your friend to come and sit with us." His voice sounded too loud. It came from speakers hidden in the wall. "Detective Sergeant Dexter, isn't it?"
Dexter joined them at the desk. Fenella saw he had a scowl on his face. He'd not forgotten, then. With the twins, it was best to mirror back their expressions. She deepened her scowl.
"It is good to see you, my dear friends," Jim said. There was something about him that was off. Nothing Fenella could put her finger on, but his words came out in the rhythm of a snake-oil salesman whose liniment cured all ills. "Are you comfortable? Then we shall begin. Please ask your questions, my friends. Fire away."
"You shared a cell with Hamilton Perkins?" Fenella opened with a softball question. It helped to loosen the tongue.
"That's right, Detective Sallow. I can see that you've done your homework." Although his lips moved, his expression remained stone cold. "The three of us got along nicely and, if I say so myself, became great friends. I have so many friends, it is hard for me to keep up. New faces visit me each day, some from the good old days. Good mates they are, every last one of them. Not too many from the police these days, though. Not since Maximum Todd sent me to stay in this place."
Maximum Todd was Todd Grey, the judge who sent the twins down.
Jim was talking. "Not that I hold it against him. He was doing his job and providing for his family. A man can't hold that against another man. That'd be like shouting for the tide not to come in."
This was a good start. It could not have gone any better. They'd got Jim to talk, and that was half the battle. Fenella let out a quiet breath.
"And you know Mr Perkins was going to help the police, don't you?"
The question was to test the water. She wanted to know how much Jim Teal knew. Before Hamilton Perkins escaped, he had agreed to show the police where he'd buried the body of his last victim. She was a schoolgirl by the name of Colleen Rae. Superintendent Jeffery had lined it all up. If Perkins led them to the body, Jeffery would take the credit. Fenella didn't care about that. She wanted to help the parents put their child to rest. And she herself needed to gain some peace. She'd not let lost children die, in her mind. Not until they found the body.
Jim said, "That child is all he spoke about. That and God."
The chaplain coughed. She was still standing at the back of the room, arms crossed, listening.
Jim's eyes travelled to where she stood. "Mr Shred found the heavenly father right here in the chapel, and wanted to atone for his sins, didn’t he, Chaplain?"
"The chapel is here to help folks take the first step towards the Lord," she replied.
Jim placed his hands on the Perspex. With a slow movement, he leaned forward so his breath fogged up the screen. "Mr Shred deserves to rot in hell for what he did!"
"Redemption is available to all," the chaplain said. "Including Mr Perkins."
"The git broke out of this place without letting on," Jim replied. "If he'd have said something, I could be on a beach in Spain sipping sangria. Not a good mate, him. Rot in hell, Perkins; rot in bloody hell."
"Now, now, that is not a very Christian attitude, is it?" the chaplain said. "I can see you have a long way to go. But we'll get there, won't we?"
Jim raised an eyebrow, and the beginning of a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. Fenella didn’t want him to break out into a smile. Then she'd have to speak with Tim. And he was a bugger to work with. She half turned to face the chaplain and placed a finger to her lips. The chaplain returned a half nod. She'd got the message.
Fenella said, "Tell me about Perkins, sir."
"I want to talk about redemption and how hot the flames of hell will be that roast Mr Shred." His lips twitched. Both sides. "Since we are in the house of God..."
"We can have a nice chat about that, later."
"No. Now!"
Fenella leaned forward so her forehead touched the screen. They held each other's gaze. Neither looked away. They stayed like that for almost a minute. Then Jim's eyes moved from side to side, and the corners of his mouth twitched.
Fenella felt a moment of hesitation. She could sense he was about to smile. If he did, she'd have to start all over with Tim. Her scowl became a ball of fury as she scrunched up her face and said, "Tell me about Perkins."
Jim blinked. His lips softened into a straight line. "Hazza spoke about God often."
Fenella's chest tightened. She sat bolt upright. "Hazza?"
"Short for Harry."
Could this be the same man Vicar Briar had mentioned? The groundsman who mysteriously appeared a few months ago to work in the graveyard? Hazza was a popular nickname, but she'd not take any chances. Now she'd order the team to find Hazza, fast. She gave a sideways glance at Dexter. He cracked his knuckles. He always did that when they were onto something.
Jim leaned back and folded his arms. "When I said Hazza found God in this room, I spoke out of turn. I suppose he really found God on the operating table when he had his hip replaced. It was always 'Mr Shred' or 'Harry' before that."
That was news to Fenella. She did a spot of mental maths. Perkins would be knocking on a bit by now. Yes, he'd be ripe for a new hip. She wondered if they made it out of the same steel he used for his blades.
Jim was speaking. "Things went wrong. I'm no medical man but he almost died. That's when he saw the light and knew he had to change. He even forgave the surgeon, wrote a letter to make his peace."
Fenella said, "Why forgive the surgeon?"
Jim pressed his hands to his ears as though trying to block a voice which whispered from within. His whole body trembled as he let out a harsh wail. When he looked up, his face had changed. His features took on an angular form, jagged like the edge of a saw. Fenella could scarcely believe her eyes and shuffled her chair back an inch. Yes, it was the same man in the dark-grey suit with a pale-blue tie who stared back through the screen, but he had a gaunt, hungry expression; his eyes were wild and he was grinning.
He wasn't Jim anymore.
He was Tim.
"Tim?" Fenella said as if to confirm. She took her time now. Slowly, she plastered a smile on her face. Not an easy thing to do when you're sitting opposite an evil bugger. But Tim would clam up if you did not smile. "How are we doing?"
"I'd like to go now, please." Tim spoke in short, sharp gasps in a joyful sing-song sort of way with a nervous energy that made his face twitch, his fingers knot, and his eyes dart about the room. "We are done here."
Again, Fenella leaned forward, so her forehead touched the Perspex. "You'll go when I say. Not before. Now, answer my question."
He stared at her through the screen, eyes wide. His nostrils flared. He shook. All the while he grinned. It was a big, wide Santa grin. Although there was no ho ho ho; if he'd put on a few pounds and grew a beard, you could imagine him in red robes
.
Fenella watched his hands curl tight. The Teal twins were violent buggers. Quick with a knife, trigger of a gun. Their idea of a Christmas gift was to give some poor innocent sod a good kickin'.
A fist smashed against the screen.
Fenella didn’t blink. "Aye, go ahead and hit it again if it will make you feel better, pet." She wasn’t done yet, thought she could squeeze him for more details. "I'll be here when the two-year-old goes away and you're ready to continue. And then you'll tell me why Perkins forgave the surgeon."
Tim grinned. "Because the bugger didn't do it right, Hazza walked with a limp after the operation." His voice went higher, his thin neck constricted. The words ended in a wheezing laugh.
Fenella laughed too. As did Dexter. They sensed they were at a critical point and mirrored Tim's actions so he would not clam up. Even the chaplain was grinning. The group snorted like a pack of hyenas. Something important was about to happen. Everyone watched Tim Teal and waited.
"Ha, ha, hee hee, ha," Tim held his gut as his body shook. "Ho, ha, funny, eh?"
"He's got more nuts in him than a squirrel's belly," Dexter whispered.
Fenella agreed. It made her sick to the pit of the stomach, but they had to get the information before Tim clammed up. It was clear he could flip at any time.
When Tim settled down, she said, "You say he wrote to the surgeon?"
"Hazza didn't want the operation." Tim chuckled. It was a spiteful sound like the hiss of a spitting fire. "But the surgeon was from his hometown, St Bees, I believe." His eyes were glassy as if he were in the operating room alongside Hamilton Perkins and enjoying the cut and slice of the knife. He broke out into a wild fit of laughter. "Hazza was in a lot of pain and thought it would be all right. He was wrong… ha ha ha."
"Go on," Fenella said between chuckles. "We are listening."
"When it was over, Hazza walked with a limp. Ha ha ha ha… can't trust women to do anything right. God knows why they let her loose on him with a knife. It's like I've always said, lasses are best kept at home to make babies, not dressed up in clinical gowns and put to work in the operating room, ha ha, hee, ha ha. Hazza wrote the letter to strike the fear of God into the woman. Called herself a surgeon. Olive Thane were nowt but a bloody butcher, hee hee, ha ha."
