Silent Terror

by Ted Tayler

  Ursula visited the library on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning. Saturday was the one day in the week when she spent more than the minimum amount of time away from the bungalow. Her first job in the morning was to get her baking done for the coming week. Then she went into town to do her weekly shop at the supermarket. She was strict about delivery time. After her shopping was over, she had lunch at the corner café before spending two hours in her beloved library. She arrived home at four fifteen precisely, to await the supermarket delivery van at half-past four.

  One might have expected Ursula to treat Sundays differently from her parents. However, she attended the Mere Methodist Church services at ten-thirty in the morning and seven o’clock in the evening.

  On this particular Wednesday evening, Ursula sat closer to the roaring log fire. Don Hillier had sawn plenty of wood to keep her warm during this cold snap, but the outside temperature hadn’t risen above freezing all day. The trip to town to visit the library had been an adventure. Almost every step she’d taken on the pavements risked a fall. At seventy-eight, Ursula knew how dangerous that could prove.

  She was thankful to be safe indoors and no longer able to hear the wind rattling the loose guttering Don was due to fix tomorrow. She glanced at the television. How long had it been since the programme she’d been watching had finished? Her mind had wandered. Was there anything worth staying up to watch? Ursula turned off the TV, got up from her chair and went into the kitchen. It was time for a cup of hot chocolate to take across the hallway to her bedroom. As she stood at the sink to fill the kettle, she saw something move in the back garden.

  Was that someone standing under the apple tree in the far corner? She couldn’t make out a face from this distance. What did they think they were doing? Ursula hesitated. Was it her imagination? The trees were twenty yards away, and the movement had ceased. It must have been a trick of the moonlight. The kettle soon boiled and Ursula carried the cup in both hands back into the living room.

  The cup of hot chocolate hit the floor, and Ursula screamed. There was a face at the front window. The image was familiar. The person wore one of those Scream masks that were everywhere at Halloween. A second later, the face disappeared. Ursula scurried to the window as best she could. It must be children, she thought. The little devils wanted to scare her. Well, perhaps it was time to draw the curtains after all.

  As she stretched to draw the curtains together, the masked face sprang up from beneath the window. Ursula screamed again and staggered backwards.

  She cursed the silence.

  Ursula hadn’t closed the curtains completely. She stared at the gap, praying the person had run away. Maybe they were next door now, terrorising her neighbour, Beryl Giddings. This silly game had gone on long enough. She should call the police.

  A shape darted past the window, heading for her front door.

  The landline was in the hallway. Ursula moved towards the door.

  She hadn’t heard the back door opening. All she could think about was the person wearing the Scream mask staring at her through the gap in the curtain.

  Something alerted Ursula to the danger behind her. She turned too late, as she felt a crushing blow to the back of her head and fell to the floor.

  Ursula Wakeley didn’t see the person behind her run to the door to let in their accomplice. Her attackers studied the huddled shape on the floor. The old witch was still breathing. Okay, now it was time to have fun.

  CHAPTER 2

  Thursday, 17th January 2013

  Don Hillier pushed his bicycle along Shaftesbury Road at the appointed time. He passed the gateway to Two Counties Farm as he gingerly made his way towards Ursula Wakeley’s bungalow.

  He thought it odd that Ursula hadn’t drawn her curtains at this time of day.

  Don had set off from home earlier than usual. The gritters were out last night, and the major roads were passable for traffic. Once you ventured onto the side streets and lanes, however, then you were asking for trouble. Don felt safer with his bicycle to lean on as he slipped and skated the last part of his journey. There was a weak sun this morning. The forecast was improving, and the temperature was in low digits.

  He expected to see Ursula at the front door, ready to issue any new instructions, but there was no sign. He rested his bicycle against the front porch, stepped up and rang the doorbell. She couldn’t have gone into town, could she? It was Thursday.

  Don decided to get on with repairing the guttering. He walked to the garden shed at the side of the bungalow and carried the short ladder to the front. He rested it against the top row of bricks, and after checking the foot of the ladder was secure, he climbed.

  The gap in the curtains didn’t allow the handyman to see much of the living room. Two things looked strange to Don. When did he last see these curtains drawn, anyway? He couldn’t recall, and there was a stain on the carpet by the kitchen door. He didn’t believe Ursula would leave it that way for so long. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dark interior of the house, he saw that the back door was open.

  Ursula was nowhere to be seen in the back garden when he fetched the ladder from the shed. He would have heard her. There was something amiss. Don didn’t possess a mobile phone, so he walked to Charles Marshall’s place next door. He knew the older man was up, as he’d seen Charles putting something in the recycling bin when he came along the road. It was probably another empty gin bottle.

  He tapped on the front door.

  “Don, what I can I do for you?” asked Charles.

  “Ursula isn’t answering her door, Charles. The back door’s open. I’m afraid that something might have happened to her.”

  “Do you want me to ring for an ambulance? Maybe Ursula went outside in the dark last night and slipped on the ice?”

  Don knew Ursula’s reaction if they were making a mountain out of a molehill.

  “Do you have her brother Arthur’s number?” asked Don.

  “It’ll be in the directory. Let me give Arthur a call. Come on in out of the cold, Don.”

  Ten minutes later, Arthur Wakeley drove past the Marshall residence and swung into the driveway of his sister’s bungalow. It was clear to Don Hillier that Arthur was not best pleased.

  “I’ll get along there and explain,” said Don, “many thanks for your help, Charles.”

  “No problem. Let me know, won’t you? She can be a funny old stick, but she’s a good neighbour.”

  “You mean she never bothers you,” laughed Don.

  “Ha, exactly,” said Charles.

  When Don reached the entrance to the driveway, Arthur was already inside the bungalow. Don wasn’t surprised that Arthur had a key. He stood outside on the porch and waited.

  Arthur reappeared.

  “You’re as white as a sheet, Arthur,” said Don. “Is everything alright?”

  “I need to phone the police,” said Arthur, “someone broke in last night and…”

  “Not dead,” said Don, “surely you can’t mean someone killed Ursula?”

  Arthur shook his head.

  “I can’t go back in there,” he said, “what he did to her. He must be an animal.”

  Local newspapers carried various reports of the spinster’s murder throughout the police investigation.

  ‘Miss Ursula Wakeley, was seventy-eight-years-old when someone stabbed her to death in her bungalow on Shaftesbury Road, Mere. Her elder brother Arthur found the body. Don Hillier, a handyman, expecting to work for the retired librarian, raised the alarm.’

  ‘Ursula Wakeley’s death prompted the largest police investigation in the town’s history and, despite the attraction of a sizeable reward, they never identified her killer. Police believed the killer lived in the local area and was shielded by a friend or family member after the murder.’

  ‘The killer broke into the rear of her home to rob Miss Wakeley and repeatedly stabbed her when she challenged him. The killer removed a quantity of jewellery from one bedroom. Police estimated the value of the haul at
only two thousand pounds.’

  Wednesday, 27th June 2018 - Devizes

  Neil knew what an idiot he had been. When Gus asked him to hang around for a chat about his trip to Gablecross the other morning, he suspected that it was a smokescreen. Gus knew him well enough by now to know he could handle a fact-finding mission with work colleagues alone.

  No, it had to be Amelia. She was a handful and no mistake.

  Nothing happened after they got into the taxi to make the driver blush, and when they reached her place, Neil had got Amelia out onto the pavement as soon as possible. Her hands were everywhere, urging him to stay, but he insisted he needed to continue the taxi journey home. Yes, she’d rung him at silly o’clock to explain in detail what he could do to her right now. But there was no excuse for her calling Melody the next day, asking her to thank him for a splendid night. That was just vindictive.

  Neil hadn’t found that out until after he left the office and driven to London Road. He intercepted Amelia Cranston on her way to the car park and told her that there could be nothing between them. He was married and wanted to stay married. Amelia didn’t waste a second before telling Neil what she’d done.

  “Why on earth did you do that?” he’d asked.

  “I want you, Neil,” she whined, “and you wanted me too. You can’t deny it.”

  “Whether or not I found you attractive is irrelevant,” he’d said. “I’m not available, and that’s that.”

  “You’ll regret it,” said Amelia.

  Neil had left her standing in the middle of the car park. He didn’t look back.

  After Gus gave them the surprise holiday, Neil drove home, and his first call was to Melody at her mother’s house.

  “Hi, Melody. Please tell me you’re ready to come home. I miss you.”

  “Did you go out with the gang on Friday night, Neil?” asked Melody.

  “We went to the Waggon & Horses,” said Neil. “Gus had delivered the goods yet again on a case. It was a good night. Even Alex Hardy made it.”

  “That silly cow Amelia called me on Saturday morning. I don’t think she’d sobered up yet, because she asked me to thank you for a good night.”

  “She invited herself to our night out,” said Neil. “Amelia worked with me on my Dad’s case, and she filled in for a day or two when Suzie Ferris was missing. I don’t think she’ll ever get a permanent slot on the team. Gus wasn’t that keen to see her there.”

  “Did you share a taxi or something?”

  “Yeah, it made sense, No way was I going out on a Friday night without having a drink. You know me.”

  “All too well,” said Melody. “My Mum’s had enough of me. She keeps asking when I’m going home. I needed her for the first few weeks after we lost the baby, but now I need to be with you.”

  “We can make it work once we’re back together under the same roof, Melody,” said Neil.

  “We can,” said Melody, “what time will you be over to collect me?”

  “I’m leaving now,” said Neil.

  Neil had collected Melody from her mother’s, and they returned home.

  “I can’t believe this,” said Melody as she stepped through the front door.

  “What?” asked Neil.

  “I expected to find you’d been living in a tip for the past few weeks. When did you tidy up the place? Just before you rang?”

  “The house seemed so empty,” said Neil. “I tidied the nursery, so it didn’t add to the pain when you felt ready to come home. Once I started on that, it made sense to keep on top of the rest of the house. It gave me something to occupy my mind.”

  “Mum helped keep me occupied, too; she didn’t want me sitting and thinking of what we’d lost. We can help each other now. I spoke to the doctor on Monday. There’s no reason we can’t try again when we’re ready.”

  “What do you want to do next?” asked Neil.

  “Let’s go up to the nursery together,” said Melody. “I’ve got to face it before I can move on. Once I’ve cleared that hurdle we can spend the rest of your brief break making up for the time we’ve been apart. You know what they say: if it isn’t broke, don’t fix it. We were fine before the miscarriage. We’ll be fine in the future.”

  As they stood in the small bedroom they’d decorated ready for their first-born child, Neil knew Melody was right. They had been happy, and losing the little one was a terrible wrench. There was no reason things couldn’t get back to how they were.

  Neil had to hope that Amelia Cranston’s last comment was an empty threat.

  Wednesday, 27th June 2018 - Warminster

  Luke Sherman and Nicky spent the first morning of their break wondering what to do with their unexpected free time. Luke wanted to jump in the car and head for the coast. A lot of places would be fully booked, but there was always somewhere available in one of the quieter seaside towns.

  As lunchtime approached, Nicky complained that they risked wasting a day. Rather than have a long weekend by the coast, they should do something about the house.

  Luke looked around the lounge-diner and the kitchen.

  “I suppose you’re right,” he reluctantly agreed. “We couldn’t afford to change everything to suit our taste when we moved here. We concentrated on the bedrooms and the bathroom and then stopped.”

  “We’ve got lazy,” said Nicky. “There’s nothing wrong with our furniture and the bits and pieces we’ve added. The walls, ceilings, and doors look tired. Everything needs a coat of paint.”

  “Agreed,” said Luke, “it’s high time the ground-floor rooms got the treatment.

  Five minutes later, they were visiting their local DIY store to buy wallpaper, paint, and tools that their parents had let them borrow in the past.

  As they stood at the checkout with a pasting table, brushes, a set of screwdrivers, twelve rolls of wallpaper, and six cans of paint, Luke nudged Nicky’s arm.

  “Will you marry me?” he asked.

  “Why now?” asked Nicky.

  “Who else does this,” said Luke, pointing at the overflowing trolley, “except an old married couple?”

  “I suppose you’re right,” said Nicky, “in that case, it’s a yes.”

  They had been together for years without feeling the need to make things official. They drove home, emptied the car, decided which room to decorate first, and went back into Warminster looking for rings.

  Luke and Nicky didn’t arrive home until the early hours - any excuse for a celebratory meal and far too many drinks.

  “We need to get up and start on the lounge,” said Nicky. “It’s Thursday already, and it’s gone eight.”

  “I need a shower and breakfast before I can think of stripping off that old wallpaper,” said Luke. “Wouldn’t it be better to pop into town to pick up travel brochures? Last night we couldn’t decide between the Caribbean or the Maldives for our honeymoon.”

  Nicky groaned.

  “You’re incorrigible,”

  “Don’t blame me,” said Luke, “you should have turned me down. So which is it to be? The Maldives or the Caribbean?”

  “The lounge first,” said Nicky, “and we’ll spin a coin tonight after we’ve done a day’s work.”

  “Roll on Monday, when I get back to work,” said Luke.

  Wednesday, 27th June 2018–Urchfont and Devizes

  Gus Freeman was up with the lark.

  Not because he was in a rush to get anywhere. He had sat in the lounge last night, going over the events of the previous week. The Burnside case had left him with more questions than answers. No matter how he tried to analyse it, he kept coming up against a brick wall.

  Times like these left him unable to sleep. Grant Burnside’s case was one that kept gnawing away at him and made him question whether he should still try to do this job.

  After an hour of lying awake listening to bird-song, Gus decided that enough was enough. A shower, followed by a hearty breakfast, was required. There was a slight irritation of a trip to London Road to suffer, and
then he was free for the day.

  Suzie was working. Everything was in place for tonight’s get-together with Bert Penman and his family. Bert’s daughter, Margaret Hadlee, was coming to the village with her nephew, Brett Penman.

  The Canadian veterinary physician was driving Margaret from the Colerne hotel where they were staying. Gus had no idea which of the local places of interest the couple might visit today. He would hear it from Bert’s daughter tonight.

  If he could spend the least time with the ACC, then a good four hours on the allotment wasn’t out of the question. He was his own boss for a change, and he could put the afternoon to good use. Not only catching up with long-delayed chores but having another crack at unravelling the Grant Burnside mystery.

  The shower refreshed him, and the cooked breakfast satisfied the inner man. As soon as he stepped outside the bungalow and felt the warmth of the summer sun, he strode towards the Focus with renewed purpose. It felt good to be alive on days such as this.

  Gus eased his car into the steady stream of traffic on the A342 as it snaked its way through the Lydeway and onwards to the bustling market town. Twelve minutes later, Gus was on London Road. Surely, this was too good to last? He turned into the Police HQ entrance and searched for a vacant spot in the Visitor’s car park. He was in luck.

  As he got out of the car, he glanced up at the ACC’s office window. Should he give Kenneth Truelove the Acting Chief Constable a wave? As usual, it was difficult to tell whether his leader was in a good mood. Rather than risk an altercation on such a pleasant morning, Gus lowered his gaze and headed for the front door.

  “Good morning, Mr Freeman,” said the desk sergeant.

  Things had changed somewhat since that first visit at the end of March.

  Was it possible that the new team the ACC asked him to join could have achieved so much in a mere twelve weeks? After signing in, Gus climbed the stairs to the first floor and scanned the administration area for friendly faces.