The Devil Came to Abbeville

by Marian Phair

  “This always happens to me. Every time I bake, the flour dust gets up my nose,” she told him.

  “Would you do me a favour and get my handkerchief out of my pocket for me please? I need to blow my nose.”

  “Certainly. Which pocket is it in?” He placed his mug in the sink, and went over to where she stood waiting with her floured hands held out in front of her.

  “It’s in the right-hand pocket of my skirt.”

  Scott lifted Ruth’s apron to one side and reached into her skirt’s pocket. His heart did a double-flip at their close proximity. He could smell the delicate floral scent of her perfume, and felt a stirring in his groin. As he removed the handkerchief, a scrap of paper fell to the floor. Ignoring it, he held the handkerchief to her nose and she blew into it, thanking him as he returned it to her pocket. He bent to retrieve the scrap of paper, noticing the message in Latin.

  “This fell from your pocket when I took out your handkerchief. I didn’t know you could speak Latin.” He held it out for her to see.

  “Oh, I’d forgotten all about that. No, I don’t speak Latin, or any other language for that matter.” she smiled at him. “I found it in Sally’s room, and I meant to ask Father Patrick if he would translate it for me.”

  “Maybe I can tell you what is written here.” He studied the scrap of paper.

  “You can read Latin? Wow! You’re full of surprises.” She looked at him in admiration.

  “Latin was one of the subjects I majored in. This is a line from Dante’s Inferno.

  It was written above the door that was supposed to be the portal to hell. Translated, it means, ‘Abandon hope, ye who here enter.’ This is not an exact translation because, ‘Leave behind all hope, you who enter,’ is, I believe, the correct saying, and the Latin for that would be, if memory serves, ‘Relinquite omen spem, vos qui intratis.’

  From the kitchen doorway Father Patrick shouted a “bravo” startling them both. Ruth spun around to face him as he came into the room.

  “Aw! Father, you nearly gave me a heart attack. I didn’t know you were there.”

  “Just how long have you been standing there, Patrick?” Scott asked him.

  “Long enough to hear your translation my friend,” he smiled genially.

  “I have a headache, and came to get a glass of water to swallow these with.” He held out his hand so they could see the two tablets in his palm. Going to the cupboard next to the sink, he removed a drinking glass, half-filled it with cold water from the tap, and swallowed the tablets. Then he went over to the cooker, and lifting the lid from the pan, sniffed at its contents, before replacing the lid.

  “Ah, I thought I could smell meat cooking. So, we’re having steak and kidney pie tonight, Ruth. I guess that means you’ll be staying for dinner, Scott?” He raised a quizzical eyebrow in his direction.

  Scott moved away from Ruth’s side, and resumed his perch on the table’s edge.

  “I haven’t been invited, yet, but I’d like to get my laughing gear around some of that pie. It sure smells good.” Scott glanced at Ruth who was busy lining a pie dish with pastry.

  “Well, in that case, you can consider yourself invited. That is if Ruth think’s she will have enough pie to go around. What do you say Ruth? Shall we treat this American intruder in our kitchen to a piece of your steak and kidney pie?”

  He watched in amusement as Ruth’s cheeks reddened. The mystery of the scrap of paper, and its contents, temporarily forgotten.

  “That’s fine by me, Father. No problem. I’ll prepare extra vegetables to go with it.”

  Ruth didn’t look up as she replied to his question, she kept her hands busy, and her eyes downcast. The thought of having Scott’s company at dinner delighted her, and she was afraid her delight might show if she looked up. Just lately, she had found her thoughts turning more and more to Scott Holden, secretly watching him as he sat in animated conversation with Father Patrick. She loved the sound of his voice, its dulcet tone sending shivers of delight through her. As she listened to his anecdotes, her mind would wander onto other thoughts of him, and she found it hard to concentrate on anything else when he was around. Charisma oozed from his every pore. She loved the way he ran a hand through his hair, pushing back a wayward lock that inevitably fell onto his forehead when he moved his head too quickly. On many occasions, she had had to restrain herself from reaching out and running her hand through his hair.

  Then there was the cute habit he had of rising one eyebrow, while he considered a question put to him.

  The other day when she carried the tray of coffee and biscuits into the study, where the two men sat in conversation, Scott had jumped up, and striding over to her, on his long jean clad legs, had said in his sexy drawl. “Here, let me take this, it looks kinda heavy.”

  As he took the tray from her, their hands had touched briefly, and their eye’s met. She had been amazed at the sudden shock that went through her body at his touch, and she had sensed, by his expression, that he felt the same. Something stirred inside her, something she hadn’t felt in years. She was confused by these feelings, and afraid of the thoughts that came into her head. Thoughts of a sexual nature would creep into her mind whenever he was near, and no matter how hard she tried to push them away, they would sneak back in uninvited.

  The sound of Scott’s voice in her ear brought her out of her reverie.

  “If you show me where y’all keep things around here, I’ll lend a hand with the vegetables.”

  “That’s okay, Scott, I can manage thanks,” she told him, secretly willing him to stay.

  “Anyway, you’re a guest, and Father Patrick would never forgive me if I was to deprive him of your company just to help me in the kitchen. Isn’t that right, Father?” Addressing the last statement to him, she turned to where he stood in the doorway watching them closely.

  “Leave me out of this conversation,” Father Patrick told her.

  “I’ve plenty to occupy me until dinner time. If Scott is willing to help you, then let him do so. To quote a Chinese proverb, ‘Many hands make for light work,’ Ruth. I’ll see you both later. I must get back to my clerical duties.”

  As he left the room, Father Patrick heard Scott ask Ruth what vegetables she wanted him to prepare. He smiled secretly to himself as he walked away.

  He wondered if Scott would take this golden opportunity to ask Ruth if she would like to ‘step out’ with him.

  CHAPTER 16

  There was nothing impressive about twenty four Buxton High Street. It was a small painting and decorating shop, with rooms above in which Timothy Simpson and his wife, Hilda, had lived in for the past twenty years. Timothy was in the habit of opening up early each morning to supply the painters and decorators, starting their day’s work. In a small room at the back of the shop, little bigger than a broom cupboard, he had installed a special machine for mixing paints. This machine had been a sound investment for his business. From the many colours on the paint chart taped to the wall above the machine, he could now blend hundreds more in varying shades, to satisfy even the most difficult of customers. His business was doing well enough to take on a young apprentice, a nineteen year old by the name of Kevin Edwards.

  Kevin lived with his widowed mother on Lime Tree Avenue, in an end of terrace house, which was part of a small row of terraced houses, owned by the local council. Kevin proved to be a quick learner, and in less than a year, was working on his own. Cheerful and reliable, he soon made many friends among the painters and customers alike, and work was plentiful. The young man proved to be an asset to the company.

  So much so, that Timothy Simpson decided to purchase a second-hand ford transit van, the keys to which he handed over to Kevin on passing his driving test. Now Kevin was mobile and free to work further a field, but this proved to be his undoing.

  Life could not have been sweeter for Kevin Edwards during his first six month’s

  of working alone. He had a steady girlfriend, a set of wheels for getting around, an
d his boss had given him a rise in pay. Then one weekend in early May his path crossed that of one Terry Jones, a twenty-two year old petty criminal. From that meeting, Kevin’s fate was sealed.

  Terry Jones was an opportunist, and in young gullible, Kevin Edwards, he found his ideal stooge. In less than six weeks into their friendship he had Kevin taking drugs. Once Terry Jones had his victim hooked, it was only a small step to make use of the lad in his criminal activities. Off his face on methamphetamine and cannabis, Kevin would allow the van to be used to transport stolen goods, and as his drug dependency grew, he himself slid down into a life of crime. Then the inevitable happened. Kevin’s girlfriend, and the love of his life, grew tired of his erratic behaviour and after one dreadful incident, she dumped him.

  Kevin bought a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates, and went to her home in an attempt to try and win her back; prepared to grovel if that’s what it took.

  He parked the van at the kerbside in front of the Anderson’s home, and took the steps from the path to her front door, two at a time; knocking on the door, he stood waiting anxiously for it to open. The door opened, and, Rita Anderson, her hair in rollers and a tea towel in one hand, stood in the doorway glaring at him.

  “You’ve got a cheek coming here after the way you’ve behaved. What do you want?”

  “I want to see Emily. To tell her I’m sorry. I bought her these.” He held the flowers and chocolates out for her to see.

  Rita gave him a scornful look. “Emily’s not here, she’s gone to live with her aunt in Abbeville. We had a bust up over the likes of you. I kicked her out this morning, even though she told me she was finished with you, and why. Just you stay away from her, and don’t come here again; if you do, I’ll set the dog on you.”

  She went to close the door in his face, but before she could, he rammed his foot in the door way, preventing her.

  “What’s the name of this aunt Emily’s gone to live with?” he demanded.

  “Get your foot out of my door, before I call the police, you drug addict,” she told him.

  “I will when you tell me her aunt’s name, and where to find her,” he replied.

  Rita could tell from the look on the youths face that he wouldn’t leave until he got what he wanted.

  “Her name’s Harriet Walker. She lives somewhere in Abbeville. Not that it will do you any good. Even if you found her she wouldn’t let you anywhere near Emily. Just stay away from all of us.”

  Kevin removed his foot, and she slammed the door shut, and as he turned to walk away, he heard the key turn in the lock.

  Rita Anderson watched his departure, from behind the net curtain in the front room. She was surprised when he lifted the lid on her wheelie bin and dumped the flowers and chocolates into it, before getting into his van, and driving off. Painful memories came flooding back as she watched the van disappear. Memories she had forced to the back of her mind more than seventeen years ago, when she had fallen for her cousin Harriet’s husband, and they had a torrid affair. Then, pregnant with Emily, she had been forced to move away, severing all ties with her family. She had been an unmarried mother, disowned by her own, and now she had turned her back on her own child.

  Kevin Edwards, his mind bitter and twisted by his heavy use of drugs and alcohol, vowed his revenge on the ones who he felt had wronged him, as he sped along the highway towards Abbeville, in search of the girl who had dumped him.

  Two week’s later his job went down the pan. Customers complained to Timothy Simpson, that Kevin wasn’t turning up to finish jobs he had started for them, and that the work he had done so far, was unsatisfactory. In the end, Timothy was losing so much business, that he was left with no choice but to take back the van, and sack the youth who had once been such an asset to his company. Now Kevin joined the ranks of the unemployed, and having no funds to support his addiction, he turned to stealing from his widowed mother’s purse, shoplifting, and getting deeper and deeper into a life of crime.

  Terry Jones sat nursing his pint, in the Nags Head, waiting for his stooge, Kevin, to arrive. The place was quite busy now it was doing pub lunches; workers from the factory down the road would pop in most lunch times for a bite to eat and a pint or two, before heading back to work. He spotted Kevin weaving his way towards him through the throng at the bar holding his pint aloft, taking care not to spill any beer. Kevin plonked himself down on an empty stool beside his friend, and set his pint down on the table.

  “What’s up?” he asked him. “You said it was urgent. You got a job on or something?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got something lined up, but the thing is, we need cash to buy the gear to do the job with. If we can set it up, we won’t have to worry about money for months. I’m talking mega lolly here.”

  “So, what’s the job? Can’t we nick the gear we need?” Kevin asked, sipping sedately at his pint.

  “No, mate. We have to keep it kosher and buy what we need, so as not to bring the old bill down on us. The first thing the police would check is the hardware used. No, we need money for what I have in mind. So, any ideas where we can get our hands on a stash of ready money?” He leant back in his seat studying Kevin’s face. Terry already knew that Timothy Simpson kept a stash of money in a cash box in the flat; the lad had told him as much when they first met. Timothy would only bank the takings at the end of each month, preferring to keep as much cash to hand in case of an emergency. Terry had already formulated a plan to rob Timothy of his money, but he wanted the idea to come from Kevin. He wanted to see if the lad had the balls to do what he had in mind. He was prepared to use as much force as was necessary to gain his end, but would Kevin be just as keen to go to any lengths to support him?

  “Well, if we time it right, I know where we can get a lot of cash.” Kevin told him.

  “In fact, I might know of a couple of places.” Hearing this, was even better than Terry had thought.

  “Oh? So where are these two places?” he asked, with a sly look on his face.

  “Well, my old boss for one. I told you about his cash box. The other place is a house in Station Road. I was supposed to do it up for this old dear. We quoted two grand for the job, and she was to have put the money up front for it. Well, the job hasn’t been started, and she’s there, because I saw her going in with a neighbour yesterday. So, I bet if she hasn’t paid Timothy Simpson yet, she will have the cash on her. So either way, there are two lots of lolly up for grabs.” He reached for his pint, and guzzled it down. Over a few more pints of ale the two laid down their plans.

  CHAPTER 17

  Nathan Walker turned up the collar of his jacket and shoved his hands deep into the pockets. With his head bent into the driving rain, he made his way up Buxton High Street, to Timothy Simpson’s shop. He was more than a little irritated to find the door locked and the closed sign up when he arrived. A quick look at his wrist watch told him that the door was usually open some fifteen minutes by now. Even more unusual, he couldn’t raise anyone by knocking. He turned and retraced his steps, and went down the narrow entry that led to the back of the shops, and walked along until he came to the rear of number twenty four.

  There were signs of a forced entry at the back door of the shop; someone had used a tool to break the frame round the lock. He pushed open the door and called out. Getting no response, he made his way towards the back. In less than a minute, badly shaken, he rushed out the door, and sped through the rain to the nearby police station.

  It was Timothy Simpson the police found first, when they accompanied Nathan Walker back to the High Street shop. He had been beaten to death in the shops back room. In the bedroom they found his wife, barely alive, but with such dreadful injuries, she died before they could call for an ambulance.

  It was clearly a case for Buxton’s murder squad. Chief Inspector Mike Robbins, took command of the detectives, in a thorough search of the crime scene.

  Near the doorway through which the murderer had entered, they found a crude homemade mask, fashioned fro
m a pair of ladies tights. When Chief Inspector Robbins was shown this, he knew almost certainly that the criminal was a local man, whose face was familiar enough to need hiding. Robbery was thought to be the motive, but the detectives found over three thousand pounds in a large envelope in a kitchen drawer.

  A cash box was found close to the body of Timothy Simpson. It had obviously been forced by the intruder and plundered of its contents. Chief Inspector Robbins suspected that the couple had been beaten to death when the criminal had been disappointed in the amount of money found in the cash box. He must have expected to find far more. Photographs were taken, and the crime scenes mapped out.

  The coroner was called out to examine the bodies, and they were taken to the mortuary for further investigation.

  Several hours passed before the scenes of crime officer’s had completed their tasks.

  Three sets of fingerprints had been lifted from the cash box. When comparisons had eliminated the prints of both Timothy and Hilda Simpson, known to have handled the cash box, it became clear that the remaining prints belonged to the killer. The police focused their attention on finding Buxton - based criminals to get a fingerprint match. Whilst this was going on, they got their first breakthrough.

  It came from Samuel Jenkins, a milkman working for United Dairies. He had been passing the painting shop at around six thirty that morning, and had seen a young man hurry out the back entry and down the High Street, heading in the direction of Station Road. He described the youth as being of average height, dark haired, and around twenty years of age; wearing faded blue jeans, a brown sweater, and a baseball hat pulled down low at the front concealing most of his face. He told the police that the youth had been carrying something tucked under one arm, but he couldn’t see what it was. The youth had dumped it in a waste bin at the end of the road. The chief sent an officer to retrieve the item, and he returned in due course with a pair of paint stained overalls that also contained some suspicious looking dark brown stains. The overalls were sent to forensics to be tested for evidence.