by Marian Phair
The party went on for longer than intended, the children were having such a great time; even the adults joined in with ‘Pin the tail on the Donkey,’ and amid squeals of delight from the children, prizes were handed out. Several times during the proceedings Ruth had caught Scott watching her as she moved around replenishing the plates of cakes and the drinks. She was acutely aware of his presence, and tried to avoid eye contact with him in case her face betrayed her feelings. Eventually Father Patrick thought it was time to bring things to a close, and each child received a bag of sweets as a parting gift. The party had been a huge success. With Sally now finally being accepted by the local children, for the funny, intelligent, and caring girl she really was. She made three very special friends that afternoon, Ruben Taylor and his younger sister Julie, nicknamed ‘mouse,’ because she was so tiny, and their ten year old cousin Anita Rouse. Over the next few months these children would become very close, and have a deep and long lasting friendship.
Ruth had tried to avoid Scott as much as possible during the party, afraid that the strong sexual emotions his nearness had aroused in her would show in her face.
Now, as he helped to clear up, and stack the tables and chairs, she was acutely aware of his presence. Leaving the men to put away the furniture, she slipped away to enjoy a much needed cup of coffee. Her mind was in turmoil. She had been fully aware of his eyes following her, as she moved around filling up the plates of cakes and sandwiches, rapidly being emptied by hungry young mouths. Once, she had actually caught him staring openly at her, and as their eyes met, she saw his darken with lust, and a slow, sexy smile crept over his face. He gave her a sly wink, and she felt as if her legs were turning to jelly. A flush was spreading through her body as she found herself getting aroused. Embarrassed, she tore her gaze from his, and struggled to compose herself before anyone could notice her discomfort, then, for the rest of the afternoon she had avoided him. This had not escaped the notice of the vigilant, Father Patrick. Only he, it seemed, was aware of the sexual tension between the two.
Ruth leant against the window frame in the lounge, gazing out at the rolling countryside spread before her, as she sipped at her coffee, and mulled over the day’s events, trying to come to terms with her emotions. She could still feel the pressure of Scott’s lips on hers, and wondered what would have happened if Father Patrick hadn’t come into the kitchen when he did. She had wanted the kiss to go on forever, and when it ended so abruptly, she felt sad, and disappointed that it hadn’t been allowed to. She was so lost in thought that she didn’t hear Scott approach, his feet noiseless on the deep piled carpet; so when he said, “Hi,” she jumped out of her skin, spilling her coffee.
“Sorry I startled you, you must have been miles away,” he drawled.
Ruth just stood staring at him a look of panic on her face. Her reaction surprised him, and he raised an eyebrow. She swallowed and licked at her dry lips, managing to get out a “Hi.” It came out all husky. Forcing herself to gain control, she managed a smile. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
He smiled back, his smile slow and sexy, making his hazel eyes crinkle slightly at the corners. She felt herself redden under his steady gaze. He was so handsome, charisma oozed from his every pore; warmth spread through her body, and she felt herself losing control, and this made her angry. What was wrong with her? She had never felt like this before in her entire life, not even her late husband Jack had turned her on this way. Molten lava was going through her veins instead of blood; she fought the urge to tear off all her clothes, and offer her body to this hunk of a man standing before her. His eyes were slowly travelling up and down her body, his very nearness driving her crazy for him.
“You spilled your coffee down your dress, honey,” he stated.
Ruth tore her eyes away from his, and looked down at the dark brown stain on the front of her dress.
“So I did,” she replied, her voice coming out all croaky. She cleared her throat, and said, “I’d better go and change and get this into the wash before the stain sets in and ruins it; so, if you’ll excuse me.”
She kept her eyes averted as she spoke and tried to go past him not waiting for his reply. He reached out a hand towards her and touched her bare arm, she felt an electric shock go through her whole body at his touch, and flinched. Mistaking his touch for a rebuff, his hand dropped to his side, and he stepped away from her.
“I’m sorry, I came to apologise to you for my behaviour earlier. You looked so darn beautiful standing there with butter-icing on your fingers, and a ‘little girl lost’ look on your face, as if you were wondering what to do next. I guess I kinda got carried away. Is that why you have been avoiding me all afternoon, ‘cus I overstepped the mark?” he asked.
“I haven’t been avoiding you,” she lied. Then using anger to hide her confusion, said.
“I hate it when people shorten the word ‘because’ to ‘cus.’ I’m always correcting Sally on that,” she said crossly.
Scott looked at her angry face, guessing he had inadvertenly upset her again.
“Sorry, Ma’am,”
“Oh, do stop apologising. There’s no need. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to change, this stain is drying as we speak and I have a limited enough wardrobe as it is.”
Why was she snapping at him, she wondered. He looked like a little boy who had been caught with his fingers in the cookie jar; she wanted to cuddle him and tell him she was sorry. She was angry with herself really, and not with him. She lost control of her senses when he was around, his very presence left her feeling confused and frustrated.
“I guess that means you won’t let me buy you a cup of coffee?” he drawled, making coffee, sound like ‘caw-fee.’
At the mention of the word coffee Ruth let out an “Agh!,” and with a toss of her head, she stormed out of the room. Scott stood for a moment or two, a look of bewilderment on his face, then turned on his heel, and went in search of Father Patrick.
CHAPTER 19
Thirty-four Station Road was crowded as police officer’s went about the business of taping off the area and gathering evidence. A car pulled up and Chief Inspector Mike Robbins got out, and slamming the door closed behind him, he strode over to the nearest officer.
“OK. What have we got?” he asked him, as he continued towards the house.
“We have one dead body in the front room, sir, and another in an upstairs bedroom, two females. The body upstairs is a young female, and from what we can make out from the position of the body, and the amount of blood loss, it looks like an abortion gone wrong. We found a bloody, wire coat hanger, that appears to have been the instrument used to procure it. Of course all this has yet to be confirmed.”
“What of the other woman?” he asked. As they entered, an officer was busy taking photographs of the crime scene. Lily’s body lay in a crumpled heap at his feet.
“She appears to be in her late sixties, or early seventies, and fit’s the description given by neighbours as the owner of the property, a Lily White. Apparently she didn’t live here herself; she rented it out. According to the neighbours, the house has stood empty for weeks. The last tenants did a moonlight flit and left the place in a mess.
We don’t know what went on here, or who the young girl upstairs is. There is no sign of this Terry Jones, who we were told, planned to rob the place.” They stepped aside to let the forensic team do their job.
The Chief Inspector quickly took in the scene, his keen eyes missing nothing.
“Head caved in, no sign of a weapon near the the body,” he muttered to himself.
“Has anything been removed from the premises yet?” he asked the constable.
“No sir. They are still processing the scenes,” he replied.
“We found a handbag on the floor, next to that small table by the window, there’s no cash inside, just a few loose coins and a cheque book. Three stubs were dated, with amounts paid out, and to whom, apart from the fourth one. The cheque is missing, but the blank stub is still
in the book, the rest are intact. There are no house keys, or any keys found for that matter. Maybe the killer took them with him. I’ve made a note of the missing cheque number, just in case it turns out to be of significance. There’s also a letter from Smith and Johnson’s estate agents. Apparently the old dear was planning on selling the house, and there’s an itemised quote for two grand from a Timothy Simpson to do up the place.”
“Right then, we’ll circulate it on the PNC for Terry Jones, and bring him in for questioning. We know he came here to rob Lily White, so the sooner we find him the better. Anything to identify the body in the bedroom?” he asked as he led the way up the narrow staircase.
“Nothing at all to go on there, I’m afraid. Not at the moment. We can only hazard a guess at her age, and what took place here,” the officer told him.
The coroner was bent over the body when they entered the bedroom. The Chief Inspector knew him well, having both attended the same university, and had struck up a friendship that had lasted throughout the last thirty years.
“Hello, Leo, what have we got?” he asked the grey haired figure bent over the bed. “Hi, Mike, this is a mess.” Dr Leo Jackmann spoke without looking up from his task.
“It appears this young lady bled-out from an abortion. The fetus is in a bloody cloth on the floor. I will know more when I get her body to the mortuary. My guess is whoever did this botched up abortion, had to have some idea of the proceedure, if not the right tools and conditions for the job. I doubt it was a first attempt at doing this sort of thing.”
“Humph. Could the old dear downstairs have done this?” Mike Robbins nodded his head towards the body on the bed. “Then, she got bumped off by this Terry Jones when he came to rob the place. If that’s what happened, I wonder how he got in?
The door was locked, so there must have been a third party here while this was taking place. The door has a Yale lock, and I noticed the catch is up, so it would have closed and locked behind whom ever left here, and it would require a key to open it again from the outside.”
He turned to the constable whose eyes appeared to be glued to the bloody body lying on the bed before him, and looking as if he was trying hard not to throw up.
“Find out all you can from the neighbours. Ask if they have seen any strange men coming or going in the last few days.” The officer turned away to go and do as he was asked, and as he left the room, his chief called out after him.
“Give them Terry Jones’ description and see if anyone recognises him. I’ll be back in my office. I have one or two loose ends to tie up on another matter. The sooner we catch this Terry Jones and bring him in for questioning, the better.”
He turned his attention back to the body on the bed. Poor kid, she couldn’t be more than eighteen or nineteen, he had a daughter of his own around the same age.
He shuddered to think how he would feel if it had been his own child lying there.
God help her parents when they found out who she was, he wasn’t relishing the thought of having to tell them how their daughter had died.
“I’ll leave you to do your job, Leo. Let me know as soon as you can when you have something more for me to go on. I’ll see you at the club later. We’ll have a pint and play catch-up. Around seven o’clock suit you?”
“Ok, Mike, will do. Yes, seven o’clock will be fine. See you then.” With that the two men parted company to continue with the affairs of the day, each in their own way.
CHAPTER 20
In the junkyard lying under the old rusted truck, Albert considered his next move.
Much calmer now, his pounding heart had calmed down; his cold calculating brain had taken over. It was almost nightfall, when he decided he would wait a while longer. To slip away under cover of the darkness, and try to get to Lexington, and into Lily’s place. Hopefully he could find food and anything else that would be of use to him there. He knew it would be useless trying to get back to the Star and Garter.
The police would surely be watching his place by now. He needed to put as much distance between Buxton and himself as he could. The die was cast, leaving him no other choice.
Eventually, the hustle and bustle in the streets nearby died down as dusk turned into nightfall. Dishevelled, hungry, and half-naked, Albert crawled from his hiding place and carefully stepping over bits of rusted metal and other debris, he made his way to the entrance of the junkyard. Peering around the rotted gate post, he checked to make sure the way was clear before emerging from his hiding place. The street was deserted. So without further ado, he left the yard, and keeping where possible, in the shadows of the buildings, he made for the High Street, and the railway station.
He was almost at his destination when a police car came around the corner at the top end of the street, heading in his direction. Without stopping to think, Albert scrambled over the fence beside him, and dropped down into an allotment landing among the vegetables. Panting heavily from his exertion, he lay on the dirty ground, fighting to gain control of his breathing, and praying he hadn’t been seen in the cars headlights. His luck held, and he sighed in relief as the police car passed by his hiding place and continued on its journey.
Albert stood up swiping at the soil clinging to his trousers, then froze; the figure of a man stood before him. The man stood in silence watching him, his hat was obscuring most of his face, and Albert couldn’t make out his features in the darkness. He must be all of six foot eight, Albert thought, as he clenched his fists, preparing to fight if he had to.
“Sorry, mate, no harm done. I wasn’t trying to steal anything,” he told the silent figure before him. The man remained where he was, neither moving nor speaking.
“I’ll be off then,” he told the figure. Then he asked, “Is there another way out of here, I sort of ‘fell’into your garden, so to speak?”
The figure remained silent. Albert took a step closer to the man, prepared to push past him, and find a way out. ‘Fuck him,’ he thought. ‘If he cuts up rough, and wants a fight, as tired as I am, I won’t let him beat me.’ He almost laughed out aloud, when he was close enough to see the figure that had put the wind up him. He’d just spent the last five minutes talking to, a scarecrow.
“Well, Mr Scarecrow,” he told the figure, “You certainly scared the daylights out of me for awhile. Nice shirt you’re wearing, mind if I borrow it, my need is greater than yours.”
He removed the tartan shirt from the scarecrow, and gave it a good shake before putting it on and tucking the tail into his soiled trousers. He needed to get on his way. Enough time had been wasted already. He had to put as much distance between himself and Buxton, and find somewhere safe to hide before daylight. Getting back over the fence was going to be a problem without something to stand on, as the ground here was much lower than on the other side. Looking around as best as he could in the darkness of the garden, he could see nothing that would be of any use to him. Then he came across a path which appeared to run along the length of the allotment, separating it into two large plots. Heading away from the fence he had scrambled over earlier; he followed it, and eventually came to a shed, beyond which was a gate. Although it was locked he had no difficulty climbing over it from his side.
Albert’s original idea had been to get on board a train, heading for Lexham. His plan was to cross the tracks and slip on board unnoticed, and hide in one of the toilets, thus avoiding the ticket inspector. This plan was thwarted when he saw a police patrol car parked up at the station. Were they onto his tracks already? This didn’t seem possible, but he couldn’t take any chances, so he hurried away in the opposite direction. Under the light of a street lamp he noticed the filthy state of his hands and clothes, and his shoes were caked in dirt. In fact the cleanest thing on him was the faded tartan shirt he had stolen from the scarecrow. He knew he had to get cleaned up, and get a change of clothes somewhere, and quickly. His dishevelled appearance would only attract unwanted attention.
A young couple were strolling along arm-in-arm and heading
towards him.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, kept his head down, and his eyes on the ground as they passed. He needn’t have bothered, for they were so engrossed in each other, they hadn’t even noticed him as he hurried by them. His hand touched something solid in the pocket of his trousers; he was surprised to find it was Rosemary’s mobile phone. He had forgotton all about it. He was even more surprised to find that it wasn’t broken, what with all the scrambling and falling around he had been doing.
He swiftly checked his other pockets. Lily’s house keys were still there, as was the cheque, much to his relief.
Suddenly, a door opened, close by, and a man stepped onto the pavement in front of him, and staggered off up the road. Albert looked up and saw he was standing outside a public house, and realised the man who had just left these premises, was drunk.
Where there was a pub, there would be toilets. If he could slip in without attracting attention to himself he could get cleaned up, and maybe he could persuade the publican to change the cheque for him but first things first. He opened the door and was pleased to see that there was a corridor leading off to his left with a sign on the wall showing the location of the toilets. Judging by the noise coming through the door in front of him, that was the main bar. The door to his right had a painted sign reading Lounge. He turned left and went down the corridor, and pushed open the door marked ‘Gents,’ relieved to find it was empty. He went over to the sinks, and caught sight of his reflection in the mirrored wall above them. Shocked, Albert didn’t recognise the face looking back at him. The dirty, unshaven face in the mirror stared at him, with eye’s that held a haunted look. He had long red tracks down both cheeks, where Lily’s nails had raked his face, partially hidden by the new growth of stubble. He looked like a down-and-out who had been living rough for some time, not the neat and tidy snappy dresser he had been just the day before. Was it only twenty four hours ago?
