by David Woods
After half an hour he could just see the mansion ahead through the sheets of rain, and most of the windows were lit as usual. He stopped, wondering if he should go any closer, but decided no one would be out in this weather, and moved forward until the stables came into view. An outside light illuminated the concrete yard and he crept closer in the shadows, hoping that perhaps Angela would check her horses before retiring, as she said she always did.
Angela ran up the path away from the house, her feet slipping on the greasy surface. She could hear the man behind getting closer and her heart was thumping as she pulled up her dress to try to move quicker. The light from the stable yard came into view and she had just reached the concrete area when the man behind dived on her legs. She was pitched forward on her stomach, the breath driven from her body as her head crashed against the rock hard surface. The last thing she saw was a flash, and then blackness.
Jim heard a noise, looked around the corner of the end stable and saw a man kicking Angela as she lay motionless on the ground. He roared as he ran towards her assailant, who looked up and literally froze at the sight of such a large wild-looking man approaching him at speed. But the man dodged to one side and was ready when Jim turned and advanced again. He had never fought with anyone in his life, and was not ready for the blow delivered to the side of his head, making him see stars. A second punch to his stomach doubled him up and he went down. When he opened his eyes, Angela’s face was only a foot away, and she looked asleep. The sight of her made him desperate and he leapt to his feet, punching the now unprepared thug in his stomach as he buckled from the force of Jim’s anger. Jim grabbed his jacket and trousers, lifting his body high above his head before letting him crash to the ground. Jim dived on him, battering the man’s head and body with ferocious punches. He felt ribs crack as he released his anger but suddenly stopped, disgusted with himself. This feeling changed to deep compassion as he bent over his beloved Angela.
The rain had flattened her clothes against her body and her face was white. He rolled her over gently and carried her to the nearest stable, half-filled with hay bales. He laid her out, pulling her torn dress together to hide an exposed breast. Her body felt cold, so he raced along the front of the stables to the tack room and found a large horse blanket. He folded it double, laid it carefully over her and then sat beside her, his whole body gripped with grief. He kissed her cold and wet forehead. “Please wake up, Angela.”
He had a horrible feeling her injuries were worse than they had seemed before. The sound of footsteps alerted him. He looked over the stable door to see a tall man carrying a gun and peering at the body lying face down on the ground. He was saying “ ’arry. Get up, you silly sod.” The tall man rolled his accomplice over and stepped back in horror. “Oh, Christ.” Looking wildly around, he ran back towards the house.
Jim went back and sat beside Angela, and five minutes later heard a car move away with screeching tyres. He sat on the hay bales, filled with remorse and despair. Angela showed no sign of recovery. He stroked her hair and face, talking to her softly, but when he felt her pulse it was weak and her breathing shallow. He knew he should call an ambulance, but found it difficult to tear himself away.
A short time later he looked out of the stable at the man still motionless on the concrete. He listened, thinking he could hear the sound of fire, and smoke was carried towards him with a gust of wind. The rain had stopped and he returned to Angela, kissing her forehead again and dropping to his knees in front of her. Then for the first time in his life, he prayed. Tears ran down his cheeks as he earnestly asked for Angela’s good health to return. After a few minutes he got up when he heard the sound of running feet. He looked out the door as two men approached and shouted to them. “Call an ambulance. There’s a badly injured girl in here.”
The first man turned around and ran back shouting, “Okay. I’ll do it.”
The second man ran over to the body lying on the concrete. “My God. He’s in a mess.” He bent down and touched the man’s face, pulling his hand away immediately. “I think he’s dead.” He ran across to Jim. “Where’s the girl?”
“Laying here.”
The man looked down at Angela. “My God. It’s Miss Angela.”
A gust of wind blew smoke into the stable and the two horses in adjoining stables whinnied and stamped their feet. The man looked up at Jim. “Have you seen Sir William and Lady Osborne?”
“I haven’t.”
“I hope they aren’t in the house, ‘cause it’s well alight. We can’t get near it ‘cause of the heat.”
The sound of the fire engine bells stopped the conversation, and the farm worker ran off to meet it.
Jim stayed with Angela for another half an hour. The intense heat from the fire was causing the stable yard and buildings to steam, and he was just about to move her when medical help arrived. The two ambulance men ran to the man lying on the concrete, and the first to arrive said to his colleague, “He’s dead. We’d better find the girl.”
Jim shouted from the stable. “Over here. Please come quickly.”
He helped them lift Angela on to the stretcher, and watched as they drove away with their bell ringing loudly.
Jim was getting concerned for the horses, so he put a head collar on Gemma, and led her towards the farm buildings away from the heat. A farm worker met him. “I’ll show you where to put her.” The man gave him a strange look. “Who are you, then?”
“Oh, I just thought I could help out.” Jim ran back to the stables to find the other horse, a brood mare. She had become very agitated, with smoke filling the stable and the heat almost unbearable. He threw a rug over her, covering her eyes. He talked as he led her out, putting her in a loose box normally used for sick cows and next to Gemma, who whinnied and nuzzled up to him. “Don’t worry, ole girl, your mistress’ll recover soon.” He walked back towards the burning house and noticed policemen arriving in plain cars. They ran towards the house and stables, but were soon halted by the heat and smoke.
Jim stared at the fire, thinking about Angela and how happy they had been a few hours before. Now she could be badly injured, and he had no chance of seeing her again for a long time. His depression deepened, and he felt sick when he thought about the man whom he had killed, laying on the concrete. He remembered the thud as the man hit the ground, and how he had battered him unmercifully. He turned from the fire as the contents of his stomach reached his mouth. Five minutes later, as he leant against a gatepost, the feeling of nausea subsided, but he felt weak and disgusted with himself as he staggered into the nearby cowshed. He found a cold tap, and the cold water splashing over his face brought him back to reality. He drank directly from the tap and walked outside again to be confronted by a burly-looking policeman.
Chapter Five
The ambulance took Angela to the casualty department of the local hospital, where the doctor suspected she was suffering from brain damage. He called a consultant who declared her to be seriously ill, and still in a coma she was taken to intensive care. Her other injuries included bad bruising to the ribs and arms.
Garry Osborne had just gone to bed when the telephone rang. It was the farm manager, Peter French. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Mr. Osborne, but the big house is on fire.”
“Oh God. Have you called the fire brigade?”
“Of course. They’re here, but we can’t find your mother or father.” Garry was stunned and stammered. “W-what about Angela?”
“She’s injured and has been taken to hospital.”
“I’ll leave straight away.” He dressed quickly and ran downstairs and out to his red M.G.
The policeman gave Jim a strange look as he spoke. “One of the farm workers says you were first on the scene.”
“Yes. That’s probably true.”
“What’s your name?”
“Jim Grainger.”
“Where d’you live?”
Jim pointed to the forest. “Over there. In a shooting lodge.”
�
�Where? In the wood?”
“Yes.”
“You’d better come and see the inspector.”
They walked across the crowded farmyard to the farm office. Jim was introduced to Inspector Brian Green, who was sitting on the farm manager’s desk. He looked at Jim, carefully taking in every detail of his appearance. The police constable told the senior officer what he had been told, and the inspector turned to Jim. “So you live rough, do you?”
“No. I said I live in a shooting lodge.”
“Oh, yes. And how long have you lived there?”
“About a year.”
“And do the owners know about this?”
“No.”
“So you’re trespassing?”
“Yes. I suppose so.”
“Tell me about your movements this evening.”
“I went for a walk.”
The inspector nearly choked. “In the middle of a storm? And only wearing shoes. You’ll have to do better than that.”
“I was hoping to see Angela.”
“You mean Sir William’s daughter? And I suppose you’re friendly with her?”
“Yes. You could say that.”
The inspector got up and walked around the room, frowning as he sat on the edge of the desk directly in front of Jim. “You’re suggesting that Sir William’s daughter would want to be friendly with a wild looking gypo, living rough in a wood? Have you looked in a mirror lately?”
Jim was stunned and just shrugged.
“You’d better start telling me the truth.”
Jim looked at the middle aged balding figure and said sternly. “I am telling you the truth.”
“I do hope so. Now tell me what happened on that walk.”
“I thought I might see Angela checking her horses before turning in so I waited, hiding around the side of the stable in the dark.” He hesitated.
“Go on. Then what happened?”
“I heard a noise, and when I crept forward I saw Angela on the ground being kicked in the side by a man.” He became tense, gripping the chair, as he remembered every detail of the awful scene.
“Go on. What happened next?”
“I ran across the yard to try to save her, but the man turned on me and we had a fight. I saw what he’d done to Angela and I couldn’t stop myself.” He hesitated again, feeling sick.
The inspector stared at him and then walked back to the chair.
Jim continued, “I must have hit him too hard. When the fight was over I carried Angela into the stable.”
The inspector was silent for a minute and then said loudly. “So you admit killing this man?”
“Yes I do.”
The inspector shouted to the sergeant standing outside and he came in immediately. “Yes, Sir.”
“Arrest this man. Take him back to the station, take his statement and lock him up. We’ll charge him in the morning.
“Right away, Sir.”
“And cuff him.”
Jim was led away to a police car, feeling stunned and confused. He was jammed tightly between two policemen, who remained silent until they reached the station. “Come on, gypo,” said one of them.
“Okay. But I’m not a gypo.”
“Don’t give us any trouble.”
They took him down some concrete steps and bundled him into a small cell with a bunk against one wall. The steel door clanged shut behind him and he shuddered as he sat down heavily. He looked around the stark room, which had a dim light high above revealing a small window with bars too high to reach. He cupped his head in his hands and tried to imagine he was dreaming, but to no avail. The full impact of the situation was beginning to bear down on him. He paced up and down the room trying to calm himself down and then lay on the hard bunk with his eyes closed, picturing himself back among the trees and animals. Towards morning he eventually dozed off to sleep, dreaming about his forest paradise. His dream was interrupted by the clanging of metal doors along the corridor and, when he looked up at the small window, he could see daylight. Realising where he was, the loss of freedom and fresh air made him desperate and he bellowed, rattling the door.
A gruff voice shouted “Shut up gypo.”
Jim yelled and screamed, then collapsed on the bunk. He felt his life was falling apart and there was no hope of returning to his former freedom.
* * *
Garry Osborne arrived at the farm to find it swarming with police and firemen. Peter French greeted him and took him to see the inspector in charge, who explained the situation. “I’m sorry about your parents, Sir. It appears they were inside during the evening, but they cannot be accounted for now.”
“How d’you know they were in?”
“The cook said she prepared a meal for them.”
Garry sat down and stared at the floor.
‘‘I think you should prepare yourself for bad news,” Brian Green said softly.
“I am.”
“We’ve recovered the body of a ginger-haired man, who was beaten to death.”
“Who was he?”
“We don’t know. Could he have been a guest?”
“I don’t know.”
The fire brigade worked all night getting the fire under control. When Garry arrived at the hospital to see Angela, he was told she was in a deep coma and likely to stay that way for some time.
By the time he returned to the farm daylight was approaching, and firemen were preparing to search the burnt-out building with special equipment. Inspector Green had left and a new shift of policemen was on site. Meanwhile Garry was asked to identify the ginger-haired man at the local mortuary and the sight of the battered face made him feel sick, and he turned away. “I don’t know him. Who did that?”
“A wild looking gypo who says he was trying to save your sister.”
“Oh yes. A likely tale!”
The firemen recovered the remains of Sir William and Lady Osborne, and after forensic tests, they were both found to have shattered skulls, their bodies too badly burned to reveal any other evidence.
Peter French’s wife administered Garry a stiff drink and sent him to bed. He was utterly exhausted and slept until the next morning.
Inspector Green returned to work the next afternoon to sift through the evidence. “Go and fetch that gypo,’’’’ he said to his assistant, Detective Sergeant Mike Evans. “Better take some help. He might be dangerous.”
Jim was brought in and seated at a table. The inspector looked at his face, which looked even more troubled than the previous night. What little skin that was visible was white, his eyes were bloodshot and his hair had dried matted together with grey ash stuck to it. His beard had also got flecks of ash clinging to it. The inspector smiled to himself, convinced that any jury would convict a man of murder if he looked like this one.
Jim spoke first. “How’s Angela?”
“In a deep coma.”
“My God. That’s terrible. Poor Angela.”
“Yes. Especially for you, if you caused her injuries.”
Jim pulled himself upright and stared straight at his interrogator. “I love that girl. I couldn’t harm her.”
“So you say, now. Calm down. I want the truth about your movements.”
Jim repeated his story again, the sergeant duly writing it down, and when he had finished the inspector grunted. “So you’re sticking to your story?”
“Yes, of course I am. It’s the truth.”
“Now I’ll tell you what I think. You were part of a gang of robbers who burgled the big house, and then set fire to it. You fell out with one of them, killed him and the others cleared off leaving you to face the consequences. Then you made up this story about protecting the girl.”
Jim was stunned at these accusations and stammered. “B-but I’m not part of any bloody gang.”
“Prove it.”
“I’ve lived alone in that wood for over a year.”
“That’s what you say. But can you prove it?”
“Angela’ll bear me out.”
“Angela is in no position to say anything. Sergeant, prepare to charge this man with murder.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Now you horrible gypo, you can expect further charges to follow. Like arson, robbery with violence and causing grievous bodily harm.”
“But I didn’t do any of those things.”
“I’m going to prove you were part of that gang, and then you can expect a long stretch in prison.”
Jim was stunned and speechless as the sergeant carried out the formalities. Two policemen led him back to the cell and he collapsed on the bunk, this time giving way to tears. A lifetime in a small cell was more than he could contemplate, and he tried to think of a way to end it all.
Inspector Green went back to his office to think about the case, but his deliberations were interrupted by the sergeant.
“I’ve got the report about the ginger-haired stiff.”
“Who was he?”
“Harry Briggs. A small time thief suspected of violence, but it could never be proved. He normally worked with his brother, John.”
“I see. You’d better find his brother.”
“Yes, Sir. The report says Harry died as a result of a severe battering delivered with superhuman force.”
“That’ll nail that gypo good and proper.”
Inspector Green’s men searched the remains of the house and found the safe door open. They searched the forest, finding the lodge containing Jim’s possessions, which they listed carefully and then secured the door with a padlock. The inspector visited the scene of the crime and listened to his detectives’ reports. A car had been seen leaving the house at high speed during the evening at about the right time, but no clear description was available. The list of items found in the shooting lodge was presented and the inspector read it thoroughly. He was just folding it up when Garry Osborne arrived in his sports car.
“How are your investigations going, Inspector?”
“Quite well, Sir.”
“Have you charged that gypo, yet?”
“We’re about to, but he denies arson and robbery.”
“I bet he does.”
