Saxon

by Stuart Davies

  Pike’s muttering had turned to his views on his recently deceased neighbours. As they entered the cottage, he was making it clear that he had little liking for either of the ladies and no sympathy for their passing. Nor did he have any time for their unnatural lifestyle. Shouldn’t be allowed, as far as Pike was concerned. Saxon let him talk. Neither he nor Parker would have dreamt of interrupting Pike at this stage.

  They took in their surroundings. The fact that Pike didn’t offer them anything like a cup of tea wasn’t a problem. It was a relief. Pike’s exterior appearance would have told them that the cottage wasn’t likely to be any cleaner or more wholesome. And indeed, it wasn’t. If anything, it was worse than they could have anticipated. The place was just disgusting and the smell of dog piss nearly made them keel over. Even the surface of the sink had stalagmites.

  Pike sat down and made himself comfortable. He didn’t offer them a seat, for which again they were both grateful. All the more so when they noticed the two dogs hadn’t stopped scratching for one second since they arrived, and the chairs were likely to be the hive of whatever it was that was biting today.

  Saxon thought he’d detected a slight smile on Pike’s weathered features when the murders were mentioned. It was hard to put an age on Pike, just by looking. Their records showed that he was just past 50 but he looked quite a bit older.

  Pike became more talkative the less the two policemen said. This was a ploy Saxon used when suspects with room-temper-ature IQs weren’t forthcoming with information. Just as nature abhors a vacuum, so the vast majority of people dislike silences during a conversation.

  While Saxon stood as far from Pike as was practical within the small confines of his front room, apparently giving him his undivided attention, Parker wandered around, generally eyeballing the place. He had two reasons. The first was to look for anything incriminating and the second was the hope that maybe, if he kept moving, the Jack Russell would stop trying to shag his leg.

  Pike seemed unable to concentrate on both of the men at the same time and this was clearly worrying him. Several times during his monologue, he glanced behind to check that Parker was not too far away.

  ‘Mr Pike,’ interrupted Parker, ‘are you a birdwatcher by any chance?’ Parker looked down at the ever-persistent Russ, as he tried to shake him off his left foot, wishing at the same time that he had some anti-riot CS gas spray.

  Suddenly, Pike lurched forward, delivering Russ a firm swipe across his hindquarters. ‘Will you leave that man’s fuckin’ leg alone you daft little bugger – you don’t know what you’ll catch.’ Russ yelped and ran out through the front door. Pike continued, ‘What do you mean – birdwatcher?’ he said incredulously. ‘I ain’t got no time for that sort of rubbish. I watch ’em for a second or two just before I blows their ’eds off, if that’s what you mean.’ Pike grinned at his little joke.

  Parker tried to laugh, in the interests of furthering the information flow, but found he couldn’t. ‘Well, Mr Pike, it’s these binoculars here,’ he said, indicating an expensive-looking pair on the windowsill. ‘Big, aren’t they?’ He picked them up and came to stand beside Saxon so that the two of them were facing the sitting Pike. He leaned forward. ‘I’ll bet you can see right into your neighbours’ sitting room with these,’ he said, in a low and conspiratorial voice.

  Pike was taken aback, both at the sudden friendliness and the implied suggestion that, unusually for him, he picked up on immediately. ‘I don’t know about that,’ he said quickly. ‘Never looked, did I. Mind my own, don’t I.’ Pike began to squirm. And it wasn’t just from the broad spectrum of animal life inhabiting his chair and quite possibly his underwear too.

  Parker persisted. ‘Come on, Mr Pike, they were sitting here, right by the window, and I’m sure that if I look through them I’ll be able to see Barbara Jenner’s house quite clearly.’ He took a couple of steps back to the window. Pike half stood out of his chair. Parker noticed but continued to put the binoculars up to his eyes. ‘Oh my, there it is,’ he said, trying to sound as sarcastic as possible. Parker had a perfect view of Anvil Wood House. From Pike’s front-room window, the drive and the front door were both in plain view.

  Saxon pressed Pike on this point saying. ‘Surely, Mr Pike, there must be nights when there’s not much on the telly.’ Pike didn’t answer. Saxon turned to Parker. ‘Wouldn’t you say, Parker?’

  Parker turned back from the window. ‘I’d say that happens more often than not these days, what with the soaps and the cookery shows and the garden makeovers.’ He laughed, almost sincerely.

  ‘Makes you wonder why you pay for a licence, doesn’t it, Mr Pike?’

  Pike started at the mention of the word licence, just as Parker had intended he should. It was irresistible. Pike held his breath.

  Saxon was aware of the diversion and a part of him shared Parker’s amusement, but he wanted to pursue the binoculars theme because, with no evidence that could help them pinpoint the killer, anything at all that Pike might have seen could be useful and could even change the course of the investigation.

  ‘So, you’re bored with the telly,’ Saxon went on, ‘and you happen to see the binoculars there, by the window. Why wouldn’t you look through them, just to see what’s going on out there. After all, if you don’t like quiz shows and you’re not into ideal homes, there’s nothing much on the box that’s worth watching, is there?’

  Pike breathed again. They weren’t going to pursue the licence question, thank heavens.

  ‘Well, no, s’pose not, but…’ he started, with relief.

  ‘…Nobody’s going to arrest you for looking, are they’, continued Parker. ‘After all, it’s your window, it’s your view,’ he said.

  ‘Well, all right, I might’ve took the odd peek, now and then,’ Pike admitted. ‘And I ’ave seen things, you know, comings an’ goings from time to time.’ He warmed quickly to this new subject. ‘Mostly I was keepin’ a lookout for crooks and the like. Someone might come and nick me plants or me chickens or something.’ He was almost indignant. ‘We gotta look after ourselves out ’ere, you know. By the time you lot turn up, we could all be murdered an’ dead.’

  Saxon smiled to himself. He’s on a roll now; there’ll be no stopping him with a bit of luck. He remained silent, as Pike continued to reinvent himself as the guardian of the neighbourhood watch.

  ‘And did you see any comings and goings last night?’ Saxon asked him.

  ‘No, I didn’t, I wasn’t ’ere.’

  ‘Where precisely were you, Mr Pike?’ asked Parker.

  ‘Out.’

  ‘Fine, that’s a great help. Where out?’ Parker pressed him.

  ‘I was rabbitin’ with a lamp.’

  ‘Come on, Mr Pike, you can tell us more than that – we need to know exactly where you were rabbiting, or maybe it wasn’t rabbits you were after.’ Saxon paused for a second. ‘Maybe you were out killing a couple of dykes, Mr Pike. You didn’t like Barbara Jenner, did you, Mr Pike? You didn’t care for Ms Field either. I don’t think you’re telling us everything.’ Saxon fixed Pike with a stare that made him think, for some reason, of the rabbits that were caught suddenly in the light beam when he went lamping.

  ‘Bleedin’ ’ell,’ Pike shouted. ‘What you accusin’ me of? I ain’t done nothin’. I wasn’t even ’ere. I told you.’ Pike was in a panic all over again. He suddenly realised he’d been having a long conversation with the enemy. Not like him at all. And look where it had got him. With a policeman at close quarters either side of him, Pike was feeling somewhat overwhelmed. The questions seemed relentless, and so fast.

  These bastards ’ave ’ad talkin’-fast training, an’ I’m getting into trouble ’ere. Another wave of fresh sweat was added to the several already coating his body.

  ‘We’re not accusing you of anything, Mr Pike,’ said Parker quickly but not too reassuringly. ‘It’s just that we want to be very clear that you understand how important it is that you tell us the truth here.’

  �
�We need to be able to cross-check your information with that we receive from other witnesses,’ said Saxon, planting the thought in Pike’s mind that there was little point in lying since they were already in possession of a great many facts. By suggesting to Pike that his information would only be used to corroborate something they had already heard from somebody else, Saxon hoped to prise more out of Pike than the latter would normally have felt comfortable disclosing.

  ‘You can see how it would look to a suspicious policeman’s mind. If you can’t explain where you were last night, and what with people knowing that you didn’t exactly get on with the two ladies, well, people might put two and two together…’ Saxon paused for his words to take effect.

  Pike looked up. ‘Give me a minute to get me ’ed together, you’s confusing me somethin’ rotten.’ He paused to gather his thoughts. ‘I might have seen something last night, I was out, but I wasn’t snooping. I never done nothin’ like that. I ain’t never bin no fuckin’ pervert. I wasn’t watchin’ the poof women, and they was poofs you know; I don’t ’old with that, you know.’

  He nodded across at Saxon, as if any right-thinking man would be agreeing with him. ‘I was in the field behind their ’ouse, down the far end. I done a sweep with me lamp and I seen some eyes. But there was something different about them they was in the wrong place – too high they was.’ He shuddered. ‘Not many six-foot rabbits round ’ere I can tell you. Fair gave me the shits.’ He shook his head, as if the memory was still too real. ‘At first I thought it was an owl flyin’ in my direction like, but it never moved, just fuckin’ hovered there, like it was lookin’ at me – nearly crapped me self, I did. Then suddenly they was gone.’ He stopped and Saxon waited to see if anything else was forthcoming.

  Pike obliged. ‘I come ’ome fuckin’ fast, I can tell you, like shit off an ’ot shovel.’

  Saxon felt encouraged by this information. ‘Tell me, Mr Pike, if you thought you saw someone lurking around your field at that time of night, why didn’t you ring the police? You could have saved the lives of those two women.’

  Pike shrugged with a look of total disbelief. Saxon went on, ‘How do you know it wasn’t an owl sitting in a bush, Mr Pike? Looking in your direction? Maybe it went to sleep, that would account for the eyes suddenly vanishing.’

  Pike was quick to respond. ‘Shows what you fuckin’ townie people know, don’t it?’ said Pike, triumphantly. ‘Owls don’t nod off to sleep at night, they fuckin’ ’unt, don’t they? Starve to death otherwise, wouldn’t they? Don’t you know nothing about the countryside?’ It was so clearly a rhetorical question that neither Saxon nor Parker felt called upon to answer.

  Pike hadn’t finished. ‘And there ain’t no trees in that spot for one to perch on anyway. No, that weren’t no owl, that was someone standin’ there watchin’ me. I know the countryside, an’ I know country people, they don’t go an’ stand about at night unless they’re poachers, and there aren’t none of them round here, or they’ve lost their bleedin’ nuts. An’ if I ’ad called you lot, ’ow long would it’ve taken you to fuckin’ get here? Answer me that.’

  ‘Mr Pike, do you think that if it was someone watching you that they would have recognised you, bearing in mind that the light would have blinded them temporarily?’

  Pike looked slyly at Saxon. ‘Don’t be daft, if it was a local person they would know I goes lampin,’ but if it was a stranger all they’d ’ave to do is follow me tyre tracks across the fields to ’ere. But don’t you go worryin’ ’bout me, I’ve got me dogs and if it comes to it I’ve got me guns too.’

  ‘But of course, Mr Pike, we can’t condone the use of guns in that sort of situation. If you have any worries then you must call us,’ said Saxon, handing Pike his card.

  ‘What’s the good of that, you lot only hurry to help rich people in big ’ouses.’ He was belligerent again, sensing that the interview was coming to an end and that somehow, against the odds, he had survived much better than he’d expected to. ‘I can look after meself. You keep yer card and give it to someone who needs it.’

  Saxon took the card back but placed it next to the phone, which was by the front door, underneath what looked like a dead chicken.

  ‘Well, I’ll just leave it here. Let’s just say you can use it if you think of anything that may be of interest.’

  Saxon could tell that for all his bravado, Pike was a frightened man.

  Lurch was staring up at his master, they clearly had an unspoken bond. The poor dog was picking up on the fear that Pike was exuding and it too had a frozen expression of blind terror etched on its face. Lurch farted nervously and audibly, and the smell, combined with the odour of dog piss permeating the cottage, was too much for the policemen. Russ, who had crept back into the cottage and was dozing on the remains of a rug, was oblivious, whimpering gently from time to time in his sleep as he no doubt fantasised about policemen’s legs.

  They thanked Pike for his help, told him that he would have to make a statement and were quickly out the door to the safety of the car. Saxon spoke first. ‘Christ, Parker, what does that dog eat to make that kind of smell?’ They both breathed deeply, grateful for some relatively fresh air.

  ‘Right,’ Saxon went on. ‘I want SOCO to take a look around that field – get the charming Mr Pike to take them to the exact spot where he saw the phantom eyes. There may be some interesting footprints, but then again, it is a bit dry maybe for footprints.’

  ‘Yes,’ Parker answered. ‘We’ve ruled out sleepy owls and we never did believe in six-foot rabbits,’ he laughed. ‘So there’s got to be some other explanation.’

  ‘But even if there’s the remotest possibility it’s our killer,’ Saxon said, ‘why on earth would he go into the field in the first place?’

  ‘God knows, sir. Maybe he heard Pike’s Land Rover cruising around the field and just wanted to check in case he’d been seen.’

  Saxon paused for a moment, then said with a wry smile, ‘Shame Pike didn’t get a twitchy trigger finger and accidentally blow his brains out.’

  ‘Come now, sir, that would never do would it?’ Parker paused for a few seconds. ‘Not a bad idea now you mention it.’

  Friday, May 17, Thicket Lane, Upper Norwood, 11.00AM

  Keith Jenner was speechless. This was not his normal condition. He put the phone down on the policeman and slumped into a chair. He had made no response to the condolences offered, but the police were used to dealing with people in shock and didn’t take it personally. Not that Jenner would’ve cared about offending a policeman.

  His mind was working overtime. Vaguely aware of the news reports the day before about murders in Sussex, he had never imagined that it could have involved Babs. His sister was dead.

  His stomach shrivelled at the thought of any incriminating evidence the police might find at her place. Please, God, let her have been careful. She would’ve been. She was clever. She was the bright one. Their mother had seen to that by getting her into a decent school.

  When Mr and Mrs Jenner had parted company, Keith had had no hesitation about going with his father. He knew which side his bread was buttered on. Dad was much more fun and life would be better with him. He occasionally wondered how his life would’ve turned out if he’d stayed with Babs and his mum. Well, at least he was alive, even if he was apprehensive about what the next few days had to bring.

  He wondered about her will.

  Friday, May 17, Cookbridge, Sussex, 4.30PM

  Gertraud Bishop held a tissue to her mouth, struggling to understand what had been said. She’d been dreading a phone call like this, ever since she’d seen the news report. How could it have happened? How did they know? What would Angus say if this was all resurrected? How was she going to keep it quiet from him? Why had she ever got involved?

  She needed a Prozac.

  Saturday, May 18, Dingmer Gliding Club, 4.30PM

  Jake Dalton made a tight turn, and he looked to his right as the wing of his glider bowed and strained under the
G-force. Jake was a more than competent pilot, and from his early childhood had dreamt of being a fighter pilot. However, the opposition from his parents was overwhelming, causing him during his teens to run away several times, weather permitting of course.

  Mr and Mrs Dalton senior were both doctors, his mother was a consultant orthopaedic surgeon and his father a plastic surgeon. Money was not a problem. It was made clear to Jake that they would be so proud if he followed the family tradition and embarked on a career in medicine.

  He caved in, reluctantly at first, but after a few months at St Thomas’s he realised that medicine could be a lucrative career and maybe it was quite interesting too.

  Jake was six feet tall and handsome. Friends used to joke that he resembled an Action Man toy, sporting a similar haircut, and always wearing combats. He was fit and strong, a keep-fit fanatic who regularly worked out and attended martial arts classes.

  This time of the year the weather was perfect for gliding, plenty of thermals meant it was possible to keep your glider in the air almost indefinitely, or until nature called suggesting you sat somewhere else. Jake decided to glide until the light started to fade, running through a routine of rolls and loops and a spot of hill soaring.

  He worked well with Dr Clarke and found him intellectually stimulating, he knew so much, with his years of experience. While Jake was struggling to find the solution to a problem, Clarke would sometimes pre-empt him by not only knowing the answer but also the question before it was even asked. He had a knack for knowing, and a definite talent for anticipation.

  For three years, Jake had been Clarke’s assistant, finding the job both interesting and challenging, but also enjoying the fact that certain stresses of operating as a normal doctor were removed. He didn’t actually have to keep any of his patients alive. It was a bit late for that. And the job gave him loads of time to fly.