Whispered Bones (A DI Fenella Sallow Crime Thriller Book 2)

by N. C. Lewis

  Chapter fifty-nine

  PC Hoon felt sick to his stomach. He stood by his table in the restaurant of the Dog Inn while the woman in the aqua dress screamed.

  "He stole my handbag!!"

  PC Hoon stared at the woman and he stared around the restaurant and he stared at the handbag in his hands. He felt like he was going to throw up.

  Right about now he should have been in the pub in St Bees having a chat with the landlord about any new faces seen in the village. There might have been a free bag or two of prawn cocktail crisps thrown in too, because the publican would rather give away the out-of-date packets than toss them in the bin. PC Hoon had never thought of himself as getting caught; yet, in this moment, with his fingers clasped tight around Miss Aqua Dress's handbag, he knew he was looking at time behind bars. And the men behind bars didn’t like police officers. He shuddered at the thought of what they'd do to him.

  He spun towards the door through which he came, with half a hope of making a dash for it. It would only take three swift strides and a yank on that bloody big door handle.

  But life moved faster than his thoughts.

  The handle eased down. Skeleton Bob stomped in with a woman in a tie-dye dress and floral cowgirl boots—the owner. Her bug-shaped sunglasses still rested on her forehead, but her frizzed Afro curls stuck out like devil's horns.

  PC Hoon's eyes darted to the kitchen door. There was always a fire escape in the kitchen, wasn’t there? If he made a dash for it now...

  The kitchen door flew open, and the male waiter with the high-pitched voice marched in. There was no dance to his step or butterfly flit now, just the solid jackboot step of a soldier. Behind him was a fat man with a red face dressed in white, with a soft, checked cap on his head. The fat man carried a butcher's cleaver—the chef.

  What if he jumped from table to table? PC Hoon had seen something like that in the movies. Yes, it would get him to the window. But the restaurant was on the second floor. If he jumped, he'd not bounce to his feet and sprint away as they did in the film.

  There was no way to avoid it now. No way out. In that moment of fear, his mind went back to that day in the cloakroom where he first stole a handbag. The brass plaque on the wall seemed to swell in his mind.

  DOMINUS DEUS TUUS IGNIS CONSUMENS EST.

  The Lord your God is a consuming fire. Deuteronomy 4:24

  PC Hoon felt so hot, it was as if the flames of hell were about to consume him. He closed his eyes for a beat and saw nothing but the flare and flash of fire. He opened his eyes and gaped at the staring faces.

  For an instant, everyone stood still. Nothing moved in the room. The ceiling fans hummed with an ominous buzz. There was still an hour or so before the end of lunch, but the savoury aromas turned sour, and the breeze from the fans cut through the air with a chill edge.

  PC Hoon's head tick-tocked between the owner, Skeleton Bob, the waiter, the chef, and the woman in the aqua dress, whose face had gone a deep shade of purple. He sucked in a breath through his teeth and cast his eyes across the tables of watching diners. There was nowt in his future now. Nowt but a yawning cavern of darkness.

  He forced a smile as he placed the handbag carefully on the table and reached for his pocket. "Well done," he said in as commanding a voice as he could muster. He withdrew his hand from his pocket and flashed his warrant card at the woman in the aqua dress. "I'm from the police, here to check on the security protocol of this establishment." Next, he turned to the owner and Skeleton Bob. "Your response to this simulated theft is outstanding. I must commend you on your security arrangements."

  His hand reached out for the handbag. There was no hiding the tremble. He picked it up and turned back to the woman in the aqua dress.

  "Always keep your valuables in plain sight or lock them away out of sight, ma'am."

  She gave a little gasp and stared at him in horror as the penny dropped. "Oh, I am so sorry… I thought… well, you see…" Her face went from purple to cherry red. "Thank you, Officer. It was silly of me to leave it on the table. It won't happen again."

  PC Hoon turned to the owner, smiled, and opened his mouth but was thrown off for a moment by her piercing stare. He ploughed on. "Like I say, this outfit has strong security in place. I'll write a report and have it in the post to you by next week." He stooped down and picked up his black bag. He'd change back into his uniform in the car. "My only suggestion would be to install CCTV cameras."

  He left the room with fast steps, willing his legs not to break out into a run.

  Back in his car, PC Hoon breathed like a hog and sweated twice as much. He'd got away. There were no cameras. Still, he'd not pass through this village again. Ever. There was the report for the owner, of course, but he'd not write that. And he was done with those bloody handbags too. What the hell was wrong with him? It was over now. He was through with them. Now, all he wanted was a clean slate.

  He started the car and remembered Maude. They'd be no fresh start while she held on to the evidence—his entire collection of handbags. He swore long and hard. The shock of that revelation stirred his brain cells to action. The plan he had been mulling over for days suddenly fell into place. After he'd had his chat with the pub landlord in St Bees, he'd deal with Maude. He thought again of the brass plaque in the St Bees Priory cloakroom and grinned.

  "Dominus Deus tuus ignis consumens est," he whispered under his breath.

  And now he knew exactly what he was going to do to his wife.

  Chapter sixty

  Chad Tate hid in the bushes.

  He peered through binoculars with such an intense focus that he didn't hear the background splash of waves against the cliffs. Nor did he hear the rustle of wind through the trees nor the warning scream of a herring gull.

  It was three in the afternoon and already getting dark. He crouched in the foliage and adjusted the focus to get a better view of the kitchen window of PC Hoon's cottage. The curtains were open as usual. A soft red plume of light shone from a floor lamp next to the door.

  Chad shut the store early. CLOSED FOR LATE LUNCH, BACK IN AN HOUR read the note he'd tacked on the door. But he'd already eaten, the bread and cheese digested with a doughnut for dessert. He'd been careful to take the dirt track across the Pow Beck bridge, so he was certain no one had seen him. The growing dusk offered cover for him to settle into his post.

  The first night of his watch began on Sunday when he heard a rumour that PC Hoon had moved into the spare room at Mrs Lenz's house. He'd take the card out of the window the next time she came in and hand it to her in a flourish. Tell her how well written it was. She'd love that and tell her friends. He'd soon have a store window full of cards.

  Nothing beats word of mouth.

  Chad brought a flask of hot tea with him, because on his first night it had been so cold, he had left early and didn’t get to see her. That was a mistake, one which he'd not make twice. So tonight he had his hot flask with a stick of beef jerky in case he got hungry. He liked to watch and supposed he got a taste for it as a child in New York City where he'd sit at the window and stare into the neighbour's bedroom.

  Tonight, hidden in the bushes with the creeping cold, he settled in to watch the Hoon house. He told himself he wasn't a Peeping Tom or some weird creep. He loved Maude. She knew that and came to the store for free packets of fags.

  It had started with a flirt a few months ago.

  They'd kissed.

  Chad closed the store and shut the blinds. They'd made rough love between the loaves of fresh-baked bread and tins of Heinz baked beans.

  A sound rustled in the undergrowth. Chad spun around. A rabbit scampered from a blackberry bush, watched him for a moment, nose twitching, then scurried off again just as quickly.

  He turned his gaze back to the cottage. It wasn't obsessive to spy on his future wife, was it? Now that PC Sid Hoon had moved out, the road was clear. He'd propose, and they'd soon be man and wife. Only then would he tell her his secrets.

  In the light of the
setting sun, more herring gulls flocked. They hovered above the treetops, their beaks stretched wide as they screamed and screamed and screamed.

  Chad sighed. The birds were right. Viv Gill and Pearl Smith were mere tufts of cheap tat. Third time lucky. Maude was it. She had said she wanted to marry him the second time they'd made out between the bread and beans.

  "I'm tired of being the wife of a village bobby who has no ambition," Maude had said as she sucked on a cigarette. "A storekeeper's wife is a step up in status and comes with free fags. Not that it matters to me. I love you, Chad."

  And he loved her too. Yes, she might be a bit long in the tooth, but she could still bear him a child. A daughter who he could… play with. He closed his eyes and imagined the future. He and Maude would snuggle up together up in his dim room above the shop and watch his grainy videos. And now it looked like PC Hoon had moved out, and she was free to move in with him. Before the wedding bells tolled, she would be with child.

  Chad would have phoned, but she said never to call her mobile phone or visit the house. Maude would show up at the shop for her free fags. That's when they made love, and he, his plans. But it was Monday evening, and she didn’t stop by the store. Nor did PC Hoon.

  The sinking sun gave one last blast of gold as if to push back the creep of night. Yellow streaks shone through dimpled clouds. Shadows mottled the trees. A blast of chill wind whistled in from the sea. Chad shivered, zipped his coat up tight, but did not take his gaze from the kitchen window.

  There she was! A dark shadow flitting about the room as a moth to a bulb. Chad refocused the lens to get a better view. She moved in a floaty sort of way as if she were… dancing. Yes, Maude was dancing. That lifted his heart.

  He craned his ears to hear the faintest strains of the tune. She loved Elton John. Was it "Candle in The Wind"? He waited. Waves crashed against the cliffs. The trees creaked. Wind rustled the bushes. He was too far away to hear. So he watched her dance and imagined he was with her.

  After a few minutes, he glanced at his watch. He should get back to the store to reopen. But he wanted to see his Maude now. Make love in her bed rather than on a sack between the aisles. How could he wait until the next time she came to the store?

  Then it struck him.

  It whispered to him like an Elton John love lyric. PC Hoon was gone. The coast was clear! He clambered from his hiding spot and hurried across the lane. A frisky dog determined to get its oats.

  Chad was out of breath when he reached the front door. He pounded with an urgent fist. They'd make love tonight, then plans. A small do at the registry office in Port St Giles, and he'd repaint the flat above the shop in a colour of her choice. He could hardly wait to hear that her good-for-nothing husband had left.

  He pounded the door again.

  It opened wide.

  Chad staggered back three paces, eyes wide.

  "Yes," said a fat man with the face of a walrus. He wore a blue bathrobe which stopped above his bare knees. Pink socks encased his fat feet—Pete Clarke, the bank manager!

  "Who is it, honey?" Maude's voice carried above the piano melody of "Candle in the Wind."

  "It's Mr Tate, from the store. Did you order a delivery?"

  There was a long silence.

  Maude appeared at the door in a see-through négligée.

  Chad stared at his hands, then he stared at Mr Clarke's bare knees, then he stared at Maude.

  "I'm so sorry," Maude said. "I should have told you. I'm getting a divorce. When it comes through, Pete and I will get married."

  "We'll have a big do in St Bees Priory," Mr Clarke added.

  Maude gave a girlish giggle. "Next month, I'm putting this house on the market. Pete has put in an offer for the mansion that overlooks St Bees school. I've always wanted to be the wife of a bank manager, and I shall be very soon. Not that it matters. I love you, Pete."

  Chad couldn’t believe his ears. Rage boiled. He did his best to keep it under control by sucking in a breath and letting it out slow.

  "But what about us?"

  "There is no us, Chad. I made a mistake." Maude turned to Mr Clarke and flung her arms around him. "The naughty man made me do it for a packet of fags. You'll forgive me, won't you, Boo Bear?"

  "Oh yes," he said as the door closed. "But you'll have to make it up to me tonight, Hot Lips."

  Chapter sixty-one

  "Is this really necessary?"

  Dr Olive Thane sat on a huge couch in the hardwood-floor lounge of her house. She tapped a finger on her chin. It was a nervous tick. Fenella and her team had arrived as dusk faded to night. The surgeon's house, in the most expensive part of St Bees, had five bedrooms and a three-car garage. On the deck, large clay plant pots stood in elegant rows, although it was too early for shoots to show. There were pear trees and rose bushes all tidy and neat, and the walled garden's lawn sloped to a pond that backed onto Hemlock Woods.

  "I mean, it seems you've brought an entire squadron. There must be ten police officers hiding on our grounds." Dr Thane continued to tap her chin.

  Fenella thought she'd do more than tap her chin if the boys in blue showed up in a big pack at her home. She'd yell bloody murder and kick the buggers out. But she'd laid the groundwork with Dr Thane in their chat on the phone, one of her tricks to oil the wheels. She did not mention Hamilton Perkins on the call. It might have put the fear of God into the woman.

  "Dr Thane," Fenella said, "we believe our suspect is in the area and intends to pay you a visit. We want to be here when he arrives, so we can take him back to his home."

  "Oh, come on!" Dr Thane pointed at Dexter and waved her arms about in a vague way. "You guys didn't show up for some small-time crook. I wasn't born yesterday. What's going on?"

  Dr Thane was in her fifties and a senior surgeon. Life and death were part of her day. Fenella considered for a moment and said, "Here's the deal. We are trying to track down a man who escaped from Low Marsh Prison. You treated him."

  Dr Thane waved a frustrated hand. "We never know the backgrounds of our patients, only their medical records. If a patient came from Low Marsh Prison, I'd be none the wiser. Our job is to treat those in need. I've taken an oath to that effect, and I have done my best throughout my career to uphold it."

  Olive Thane oozed such professionalism, Fenella felt in awe. She'd never be as well dressed or smooth with her speech. And she loved Dr Thane's necklace of white pearls, her peach blouse and tweed skirt. On herself, classy clothes clung to the bulges she'd rather hide. Anyway, she'd spill coffee on fancy clothes the minute she wore them. Nowt wrong with yoga pants and a loose-fitting blouse; they get the job done.

  Dr Thane was still speaking. "What I don't understand is why he would want to come here?"

  Fenella said, "We believe you performed a hip replacement on a Mr Perkins." She had checked and doubled checked that fact. "And we know Mr Perkins is very upset because he now walks with a limp."

  "Perkins… Perkins… Low Marsh Prison..." Dr Thane jerked to her feet. "Are you saying I'm the target of that maniac killer, Mr Shred?"

  "Aye, luv," Fenella replied, not sugar-coating it. "That about sums it up."

  Dr Thane rubbed her hands. "Thank goodness Albert is away for the week. His heart is not good, and all this excitement… well, it's for the best that he is in Zürich."

  Albert Thane was her husband. He'd built an empire selling medical devices. Everyone in Cumbria had heard of the man and many a sick person had been revived through the magic of his electronic boxes. Fenella recalled watching him on a black-and-white newsreel and thought he must be in his eighties by now. That his ticker still ticked, she supposed, was due to one of his own medical devices.

  "Okay," Fenella said. "So you are on your own tonight?"

  Dr Thane sidestepped the question. "I hope to God you catch Mr Shred. The thought of him running lose in my garden gives me the creeps."

  "We'll get him. He's not run far, and he won't run long."

  "Inspector Sallow, we came her
e for a quiet life." Dr Thane slowly shook her head. "I lived in Carlisle for almost twenty years, thought the countryside would be peaceful. Last year my handbag was stolen from a Women's Institute event in St Bees Priory. And now this!"

  She walked over to the drinks cabinet where Dexter hovered, eyeing the booze and rubbing his chin.

  "Please help yourself," Dr Thane said. "I know you are on duty, but I won't tell anyone. And pour me a double of whatever you're having. This all comes as quite a shock."

  "Aye, I think a tot or two will help," Dexter replied. "But I'll not drink tonight. What you having, Guv?"

  Fenella felt tired. A glass of something nice might put a bit of pep back into her step. She glanced about at the expensive furnishings, and oil paintings of rolling green hills and white sandy beaches. "A small glass of sherry will do the trick." It was the right sort of place for that treat, reminded her of a lush room on a television advert. She'd sip it slow as they talked. "Just to chase away the chill."

  As they settled into their seats, Dr Thane pressed a button, and the fireplace leapt into life.

  "Very nice," Fenella said and took a delicate sip.

  "Could get used to this," Dexter echoed.

  Raised voices came from the hallway followed by a sharp knock on the door. Before anyone got to their feet, it flew open. Vicar Briar rushed into the room followed by PC Beth Finn.

  "Oh, Cain, you are here!" Dr Thane moved towards the vicar and threw her arms about him. "You'll stay the night, won't you?"

  "Aye," the vicar said. "I'll do that."

  His green cassock was neatly pressed. There was a shine to his shoes. If Fenella didn't know any better, she'd have thought he was dressed in the clergy's equivalent of "Sunday best."