by Marian Phair
Going over to the cabinet in the corner, he unlocked the drawer marked A-B, and removed the Emily Anderson case file; adding it to Liam’s, he put both in his briefcase. Then taking his jacket off the coat stand; he draped it over his shoulder, and headed out of the station.
CHAPTER 6
It was the night before the Requiem Mass for Liam. Ruth and Sally, both now fully recovered from their ordeal, sat quietly in the church next to Jack and Mary Findley, waiting for the prayer service to begin. Father Patrick had sat Sally down and explained to her as simply as possible what would happen over the next two days, and how the Requiem Mass differed from the ordinary mass. He explained the Holy Communion, and the extra funeral prayers, and told her about the prayer service itself how back in his home country, Ireland, they called it a wake. He told her that after the mass the next day he would say a few short prayers at Liam’s graveside, and then everyone would go to the Community Hall for a reception.
Sally knew her friend and playmate had died, and she would never again hear the sound of his voice, or his peels of laughter at his own little jokes. Nor would she feel his hand on her arm guiding her along. None of these things would happen again. Father Patrick had told her Liam was safe in the arms of Jesus now. She had no real idea of the impact Liam’s death had on his family. At almost nine years of age, she was too young to understand how she hurt Mary, as she sat, singing softly.
‘Safe in his arms, safe in his arms, Liam’s safe in the arms of Jesus.’ She couldn’t see the tears streaming down Mary’s face, as she hurried from the room.
Ruth explained to her daughter that a reception was to be held in the Community Hall instead of the Findley’s home, as there wouldn’t be enough room there.
The whole town was expected to turn out for the funeral mass, because everyone in Abbeville knew and loved Liam, and he would be sorely missed.
“You mean there will be a party afterwards, Liam would have liked that.” Sally said.
“Will they have cheese and tomato sandwiches?” she asked her mother.
“I don’t know Sally, maybe. There will be food of some sort, and drinks.”
The alter bell sounded, and Father Patrick entered, along with his server. They genuflected and the service began. They were around ten minutes into the service, when a young police officer slipped quietly into the church. He tip-toed up to DCI Fletcher and whispered something softly in his ear. Jake listened, nodding his head now and again, then rose and followed the officer out of the church. As they walked along heading towards the station, Jake asked, “Well, what have we got? This had better be important. I don’t like being messed about.”
DCI Fletcher was well known at the station for his quick temper, he didn’t like loose ends, and they appeared to be getting more than their fair share of these just lately. He prided himself on getting the job done quickly and efficiently. Now he had a double murder on his hands, and lots of loose ends to tie-up, including gathering in all the DNA samples from the local males for forensics to check.
“I thought you’d want to be told this straight away, otherwise I wouldn’t have interrupted you during the service. Do you remember Mary Findley phoning in to tell us Ruth Ferguson was going to the cornfield to search for the children?”
“Of course I remember, I took the call. What of it?”
The young constable cleared his throat, and cast a quick sideways look at his superior, trying to judge the Detective Chief Inspector’s mood, not wishing to incur his wrath.
“Well, I remembered reading in the report that Father Patrick said he’d had a word with Percy Grimes over playing with himself in public. If you remember, he’d been seen hanging around where the boy’s were playing.”
Jake interrupted him. “Get to the point man!”
I would if you’d let me finish what I was saying, the officer thought, but never voiced out aloud. Adjusting his stride, to keep up with his boss.
“Well, I took another look at that report, and the note’s from the lad’s diary. Liam mentioned in his diary that Percy Grimes was following him around, and trying to get friendly with him, and I sort of joined the dots. I think Percy Grimes is a paedophile, and I think he somehow got Liam to go with him to his tool shed where he murdered him.” They had reached the station by this time, and the DCI stopped just inside the entrance. It was certainly food for thought, it could all be just coincidences, but it would do no harm to pay a call on Percy Grimes and ask a few questions.
Jake was heading for his office when the duty officer, spotting him, called out, “There’s a message for you, Fletch, from Bill Kershaw. He sent Percy Grimes out to the far field to repair the fence. His cows were getting out through the gap onto the main road. Percy never fixed it, and Bill had to repair the fence himself. He’s been out to Percy’s cottage twice since and there’s no sign of him. Bill said the pigs hadn’t been fed either. That was four days ago, no one’s seen hide nor hair of him since.”
‘Now what, what the hell’s going on round here?” he asked of no one in particular.
In the last twelve months they’d had no real crime at all in their small town. A few drunken brawls, a couple of break-ins, the odd traffic violation, and some bright spark had put graffiti on the ‘Welcome to Abbeville’ sign; it now welcomed visitors to ‘Evil.’ Now, in less than three months he had two murders, and a missing person to solve.
Turning to the officer who had fetched him out of church, Jake said,
“You, come with me. It was your idea to check out Percy Grimes in the first place. Now you can help look for him.”
The young constable almost tripped over himself. Reaching for his coat, before he could even take it off the hook, Jake bellowed in his ear,
“Where’s your name badge?”
The constable looked down at his left pocket. He could have sworn the Velcro badge had been on it earlier, it must still be in his locker. His face turned crimson with embarrassment and he gave Jake a sheepish look.
“I think it’s in my locker, sir.” Almost nose to nose with the officer now, Jake shouted,
“You THINK! Around here we don’t THINK, lad, we bloody well KNOW!”
The constable looked down at his boots. He felt like a little kid being ticked off by a teacher for some misdemeanour.
“You’re new here aren’t you?” Jake asked him.
“Yes, sir. I reported here two days ago.”
Jake knew what that felt like, recalling his own first few days in a new station, and the ribbing he got. He glanced at the number on the young man’s shoulders.
“I can’t keep calling you number one, six, three. Wear your bloody name badge.”
The desk sergeant was looking down at the report book, and trying not to laugh.
“What is your name, by the way?” Jake’s voice softened.
“It’s Tom, sir. Tom Holmes,” the young rookie said, straightening his shoulders.
As he walked away heading for his office, Jake called back to the rookie.
“Well, Police Constable Tom Holmes, get your jacket on while I get my car keys. We’ll take my car. It attracts less attention than a patrol car. We don’t want to go scaring the natives now, do we?”
Jake slipped the desk sergeant Dick Frankton a sly wink as he passed him. Normally, a uniformed officer would have been sent out to deal with this, but Jake had a personal interest in this case, and was determined to be part of it all, every step of the way.
When no-one answered the door of the cottage, Jake sent Tom Holmes around the back. Peering in through the mucky windows, the sills of which were covered with spider webs, bits of dead leaves and other debris, Jake could see nothing amiss. Tom came back shaking his head.
“He’s not out the back. All seems okay. The pigs have been fed and have plenty of food in their trough. I guess that farmer must be coming over here and feeding them.”
“Bill Kershaw,” Jake said. “That’s the farmer’s name, Bill Kershaw.”
They headed ba
ck to the car. If Bill Kershaw had checked with the neighbours over the past four days, and found no sign of Percy, he didn’t think they’d fair any better.
“Where do you think he could be, sir?” PC Holmes asked Jake.
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be sitting in my car twiddling my thumbs now, would I?”
Where the hell do they find these recruits he thought? If this is England’s finest, God help England! Well, he was being a bit harsh, after all, the officer had only just finished his training, and he was eager to get on with things.
“What I mean is, could he have killed Liam and done a runner?”
“How the hell would I know at this stage of the investigation? If I had the gift of sight lad, I’d be worth a bloody fortune. We can’t enter his cottage without justifiable cause. I guess we could drive out to the crime scene, the old tool shed, and sort of back-track from there. See what we can find, if anything.” Well, Jake thought, they had to start somewhere.
The police tape had been torn away. Bits of it still clung to the hedge, and still more lay trampled on the ground. The two officer’s entered the cornfield, and made their way over to the shed. Jake, reaching the door first, found it wasn’t locked, which surprised him a little. He guessed since forensics had found and done all they had to do, there was no further need to secure it. The door was sticking a little where the wood had swelled due to all the rain. He used his foot to kick it open, and entered, with Constable Holmes close on his heels.
The first thing he saw on entering was a body lying on a few old sacks at the back of the shed. The all too familiar stench of death assailed his nostrils
“We’ve found Percy Grimes, Tom. That’s him over there. You go and radio this in, I’ll stay here. Try and retrace our footsteps as close as you can, the ground’s soft after all the rain we’ve had. Try not to disturb the crime scene too much as we need something for scenes of crime, and forensics to work with. Tell the desk sergeant it’s a murder.”
“Yes, sir, but how can you tell from here it’s a murder sir?” Tom asked, trying to peer over his shoulder.
“Bloody Nora,” Jake almost shouted out, but managed to keep his quick temper under control. He shifted his position slightly so that the young officer had a clear view of the body. “You take a look at this, and then you tell me. He didn’t stick a pitchfork into his own chest now did he? It’s not rocket science lad. Go and phone it in!”
“Holy shit! It stinks like rotting meat in here,” Tom Holmes exclaimed, as he got a good look at the crime scene, and the stench of death hit his nostrils. He took a good look at Percy Grimes bloody body lying on the sacks, flies buzzing around, and crawling all over it. Blood spattered everywhere. This was obviously the rookie’s first sight of a real murder victim, Jake realised. He expected him to throw up, but he was pleased to find that Tom Holmes had a strong stomach.
While the constable went off to radio in the finding of the body, and request help, Jake stood still in the doorway, looking at the naked body of Percy lying on a pile of dirty old sacks. A pitchfork was thrust through his chest pinning him to the ground through the sacks. His hedger’s slash hook was embedded in his groin, and there was something protruding from Percy’s mouth. It took Jake a few minutes to realise it was his penis. He felt bile rising up into his throat and turned away, closing the door on the scene of death, and the look of horror on the dead face.
CHAPTER 7
Lucas Bradley was infertile. This fact, along with a nagging wife who constantly complained at everything he tried to do, to make up for not being able to give her the child she longed for; drove him so seek solace in the local public house night after night. Lucas had the sign changed over the door of his butcher’s shop. When his father had owned the business, it was known as ‘Bradley and Son, Family Butcher’s.’
It was now known simply as ‘Bradley’s, Butcher.’
Knowing he would never sire a son of his own to take the business over from him, caused Lucas much unhappiness. They had been married for two years when they finally consulted a doctor about their problem, and both had undergone tests.
Lucas felt it was his wife’s fault they didn’t have a child, and told her so. There was nothing wrong with him, he had told her, but he had married a barren wife.
Then finding the opposite to be true was a serious blow to his manhood.
Evelyn had mentioned adoption many times, but Lucas flatly refused to even consider it. She had tried everything she could think of to get her husband to change his mind, but no amount of begging had altered it. Evelyn’s heart was heavy, and her arms ached to hold a baby of her own.
“If I can’t sire a son from my own loins, I’m damn sure I’m not raising another man’s brat,” he’d told her. As the months slipped by, they grew further apart, until eventually they were leading almost separate lives. They had become just two strangers living under the same roof.
They had been living like this for over a year when Evelyn took a lover to ease the loneliness. While Lucas turned to the bottle for comfort, soon becoming one of the town drunks, his drinking companions were constantly getting into trouble with the local police for starting fights and brawling in the street. Not so with Lucas, he was an amiable drunk. He would drink until he was almost legless before returning home to collapse in a drunken heap across the martial bed. Finally, Evelyn had enough of being kept awake by his drunken snoring, and the nauseating stench of stale beer, and farts in their bedroom. She gathered up all her personal belongings and moved into the spare bedroom, which years ago, they had planned to turn into a nursery.
No matter how drunken Lucas had been the night before, he never missed a single day at his place of business, always opening his shop at the same time each morning, no matter how hung over he was at the time. His customers always found him to be courteous and helpful as he catered to their every whim. He treated every customer the same, no matter how much, or how little, they spent. He made them feel special.
Lucas’s favourite drinking hole, was the ‘Dog and Gun,’ nicknamed the ‘Pup and Pistol,’ by the locals. It was located next to the canal, a mere half a mile from his home. It was also one of the places most frequented by prostitutes, who plied their trade along the towpath behind its many bushes and hedge rows.
One night, Lucas came staggering out of its doors with his drunken boozing partner Harry Taylor. When, by the light from the streetlamps, Lucas thought he saw something struggling in the murky waters of the canal. Moving closer, he saw it was a woman. Lucas called out to his mate who was weaving his way up the path.
“Someone’s in the canal Harry, it’s a woman, come and give me a hand to get her out!” The two drunks managed to pull the woman out without falling in the canal themselves. She lay on the towpath coughing and spluttering, while her rescuers looked on, not sure what to do next. Suddenly, Lucas recognised her. It was Vera Dobbs, a pretty twenty four year old prostitute from the Midlands, that he’d given many a ten pound note to for a blow job, at the back of the Pup and Pistol. When she had recovered enough from her ordeal she told them what had happened to her.
As Vera stood trying to wring some of the water out of her long skirt, she said,
“I was picked up by a punter wearing a red shirt. He came out the pub, drunk as a skunk. I made sure there were no coppers about as I’ve been nicked twice already this month. The ‘old bill’ told me if I was arrested again for soliciting, I’d do time.”
Lucas knew one or two of the local police officer’s who turned a blind eye for the odd freebie. He stood swaying slightly, his hands stuffed in his trouser pockets.
He still made an imposing figure, drunk as he was. His six foot two inch frame was muscular, his face handsome, with a ruddy complexion, and twinkling blue eyes.
Vera had often ran her fingers through Lucas’s short, black curly hair.
“Anyway,” Vera continued, “It was all clear, so I asked him if he fancied a bit of company. He asked how much I charged. I thought since he
was a stranger, at least I’d never seen him around these parts before, I’d up me price.” Vera cast a sly look in Lucas’s direction. He appeared to be staring at a spot above her head.
“So I told ‘im. It’s ten quid for a hand job, twenty for a blow job, and fifty for a fuck, but there’s NO kissing. I don’t allow ‘um to kiss me, you never know where their mouths have been.” Vera said this with a look of disgust on her face.
“Well, he said he wanted a fuck, so we went behind some bushes and did the business. When I was pulling up me knickers, I asked for me money, ‘cus he wouldn’t pay up front. Then he told me he’d spent all his money on booze, and he’s broke. So I started to kick up a bit of a rumpus.”
Harry interrupted her. “Don’t you know gal, you should always get the money off ‘um first. That way they can’t have their fun, and clear off without paying.”
He unzipped his trousers, and proceeded to relieve his bladder in the canal whilst speaking, not in the least bit bothered that she saw him in the act.
“When I was getting a couple of pints in, a bloke bumped into me at the bar spilling me beer. Big devil, built like a brick shit house. He was wearing a red shirt. I’ll bet it’s the same bloke. If I hadn’t had a pint in each hand I’d have flattened him!”
Harry gave his penis a quick shake and shoved it back into his trousers, and did up the zipper.
“You don’t weigh seven stone, ringing wet mate. You couldn’t knock the skin off a rice pudding,” Lucas told him. “But at three quid a pint, I’d have had a go.”
Vera looked from one familiar face to the other before speaking.
“Well, then he, asked me if I could swim. I thought what a damn silly question to ask, but like I said, he was pissed. It was a wonder he could keep it up long enough to do the business. So I told him. No, I can’t blooming well swim! The next thing I know, he hit me hard across the head with a closed fist, and threw me into the canal. Thanks for hauling me out by the way. Only for you guys, I’d have drowned for sure. Anytime you feel like a freebie you know where to find me.”
