by Agatha Frost
“I saved you one.” Julia pulled a doughnut wrapped in a paper napkin out of her dress pocket. “There’s no coffee left I’m afraid.”
“I never did like the stuff much,” Tommy said, tipping his head to Julia as he accepted and pocketed the doughnut in one of his filthy overcoat pockets. “Not good for the heart at my age.”
Julia tried to place the man’s age, but she couldn’t quite figure it out. His almost skeletal frame and the layer of grime covering his deeply wrinkled skin aged him, but there was a twinkle in his eyes and a youth to his smile that made her think he was younger than he appeared. She placed him in his mid-to-late sixties. Something told her he wasn’t much older than her own father.
Tommy took them across the car park to a small doorway in one of the burnt out warehouses. Black smudges lined the metal door, and it didn’t take much of Julia’s imagination to visualise the flames licking the air as they tried to escape the grand metallic structure.
With his fumbling fingers, Tommy pulled two upturned plastic crates together and tossed a well-worn red blanket over them. He motioned for Jessie and Julia to take a seat as he opted to sit cross-legged on a folded up sleeping bag in the doorway. Julia realised she was in the man’s home.
“Tommy’s in charge ‘round here,” Jessie said. “What he says goes.”
“I don’t know about that, little one,” Tommy laughed as he pulled the squashed up doughnut from his pocket. “People here come and go and do what they please.”
Julia looked around the vast space. There were small clusters of people sipping her coffee and chatting amongst themselves. She noticed that the doorway where Tommy resided was perfectly in the centre of the units, looking out at the broken gate. Like a sheriff sitting on the porch of a small town police station in the Wild West, Julia doubted much got past this man.
“There’s more people here than I imagined,” Julia said, turning her attention back to Tommy as he shakily crammed the pink iced doughnut into his mouth. “I’m surprised the council isn’t trying to do something to help.”
“Oh, they are,” Tommy mumbled through a mouthful of doughnut. “They’re doing plenty to help themselves. This place has been up for sale for redevelopment since the fire. The council is doing all they can to clear us lot away from here, but there’s far too many to help rehouse and the shelters are bursting to capacity. They could arrest us all for squatting, but there aren’t enough cells in the county. This doughnut is delicious by the way. You really do have a talent for baking.”
“Thank you,” Julia said. “So you’re just staying here for as long as you can?”
“And then some,” Tommy said, laughing as he licked his dirty fingers. “Developers are sniffing around everyday. It’s only a matter of time before one of them takes the risk and puts in an offer. They’ll level this place to the ground, stick some luxury apartments on here so those who can afford it will have somewhere nice to live.”
“And those who can’t are just left to move on somewhere else,” Jessie jumped in. “It’s sick.”
“It’s business,” Tommy said with a heavy sigh. “It’s not right, but it’s how the world works. I should know. I used to be one of those developers.”
“You were?” Julia asked, her brows shooting up.
“Oh, yes. Don’t let my exterior fool you,” Tommy said, winking out of the corner of his eye as he brushed the doughnut crumbs down the front of his threadbare jumper. “Before the recession hit, I was a landlord. I had a portfolio of a dozen properties. Then the banks collapsed and people stopped wanting to rent. It started small, but I couldn’t afford the mortgages and I went bankrupt pretty quickly. I lost my career, my house, my wife, and everything in between.”
“That’s so sad,” Julia said, bowing her head.
“It is what it is.” Tommy shrugged, clearly already having let go of his past life. “Life has a funny way of working out like that. It’s not all bad. Folks like you are always there to provide the coffee and doughnuts to those in need. There’s a nice Christian couple, Stella and Max Moon who bring their soup truck here most nights.” Tommy suddenly stood up and jutted his stick out in front of him, his lips snarling. “There’s one of those rotten developers now!”
Julia looked to where Tommy was pointing his stick. A handsome, clean-shaven, well-groomed man in a sharp suit walked into the industrial park, followed by a team of almost identical looking men.
“That’s Carl Black,” Tommy spat through gritted teeth. “He's one of the worst. Doesn’t even look at us like we’re people. Get out of here! Do you hear me?”
Carl glanced in Tommy’s direction but he barely registered a reaction. Julia caught the flicker of an amused smirk, making her instantly dislike the man. He reminded her of her ex-husband.
A couple of people joined in the jeering, some of them tossing their empty coffee cups in the direction of the men. The group behind Carl flinched, but Carl marched forward to the warehouse unbothered.
“There’s a sense of community here, for the most part,” Tommy said proudly. “We look after our own.”
“The most part?” Julia asked, glancing to Jessie.
“Well, every community has its bad eggs,” Tommy said, his bulging eyes darting around the crowd. “Take alcoholic Pete, for example. He’s a drunk. Spends his days begging on the streets and every penny he gets, he spends on booze.”
Julia followed Tommy’s eyeline. A similarly aged man was leaning half asleep against a wall, a can of beer clutched tightly in his hands.
“And then there’s the deaths,” Tommy added.
“Deaths?”
“Dropping like flies recently,” Tommy said, his voice lowering as he leaned in. “It’s what you expect in places like this, especially in the winter. All it takes is a cold night to get those older ones on the drink and drugs, but spring is upon us and people are still dying. Not your usual type, either. We had an eighteen-year-old die last week.”
“Who?” Jessie asked, suddenly sitting up straight.
“Bailey Walker,” Tommy said, dropping his head. “I know you were close to him, Jessie. I’m sorry. I was the one to find him. He was still in his sleeping bag past midday, but that wasn’t like him. He was usually up and spraying his paint cans ‘round the back. Helped him pass the day I think. So I went over and gave him a poke with my stick, and told him to get his lazy backside up, joking of course. But he didn’t move. I pulled his sleeping bag back. He was as white as a sheet, so I sent one of the younger lads running to the phone box on the corner. Ambulance pronounced him dead and carted him away.”
Julia placed a hand over her mouth, which had parted while listening to the story. She looked to Jessie, who was dabbing tears from the inside of her eyes with the edge of her sleeve.
“We were in the same foster house once,” Jessie said. “He got kicked out before I did. He was a good kid, he just – he just got into trouble a lot.”
“What was the cause of death?” Julia asked, turning back to Tommy, who was looking sadly at Jessie.
“Inconclusive,” Tommy said, his jaw gritting tightly. “They say it was a heart attack, but they don’t know what caused it. At his age? Yeah, right. And he’s not the only one. Remember the priest?”
“Father Thind?” Jessie asked, wiping away the last of her tears.
“Michael Thind.” Tommy nodded. “He went two weeks after. Pete found him, dead in his sleeping bag, clutching his rosary beads. That man wouldn’t have hurt a fly. And then there was Robert Culshaw, who went last week. Once again, in the sleeping bag. He used to be a banker in the city, but the recession hit him too.”
Julia’s mouth opened again. She looked around at the people surrounding her, wondering how many of them had lived relatively normal lives before ending up on the streets.
“Isn’t somebody doing something?” Julia urged, edging closer to Tommy. “The police? They must be looking into it?”
“Three dead homeless people aren’t enough to even pique the
police’s interests,” Tommy said with a bitter laugh. “They probably think they were druggies, or drunks. Don’t get me wrong, when the sun sets and we all huddle around the fires, a couple of cans of beer get passed around, but those men didn’t drink any more than the rest of us. Not enough to kill them.”
“And there was nothing else to connect the men?” Julia asked.
“Aside from the fact they were men, there’s nothing I know of,” Tommy said, shaking his head. “Michael was in his fifties and Robert was in his forties. Those two kept to themselves. Like I said, it’s not uncommon for people to die ‘round here, but there’s usually a reason. Healthy men, homeless or not, don’t just die in their sleep.”
“You’re right,” Julia said, pulling her ingredients notepad out of her handbag along with a small metal pen. “Can you give me those names again?”
After Julia had written down the names, they walked back to her car and packed away the equipment. Jessie said goodbye to Tommy and promised to visit soon. When the man hobbled back to his doorway, they jumped into the car and slowly drove out of Fenton Industrial Park.
“Why did you write down those names?” Jessie asked, breaking the silence as they drove back to Peridale.
“I’m going to ask Barker if he knows anything,” Julia said, looking straight ahead at the road as the cogs in her mind worked overtime. “There might be a perfectly reasonable explanation that the police haven’t passed on.”
“It is a little odd though, don’t you think?” Jessie replied quietly as she chomped on her nails.
“It is more than a little odd,” Julia agreed under her breath. “Very odd indeed.”
Peering over the top of her laptop, Julia looked through to the empty café. Jessie was standing behind the counter, scribbling something on a notepad, and the only customer, Julia’s closest neighbour, Emily Burns, was pouring herself a second cup of tea from the pot. Julia liked the serenity of Monday mornings.
She usually used these quiet times to check her stock levels and deep clean every corner of the kitchen, but this morning she was using it to surf the web. Looking back down at her computer, she picked up where she had left off reading an article about Bailey Walker’s death in the Cheltenham Standard. The short article, which didn’t contain a picture of the young boy, treated him as nothing more than a homeless statistic, whose cause of death was ‘inconclusive’ but also ‘non-suspicious’.
She flicked between the three different newspaper articles she had been reading. Robert Culshaw, the ex-banker, was referenced as having two teenage daughters, but the emphasis was strongly on his status as a homeless man. There was a picture, which was credited as being pulled from the Gloucestershire Bank website, showing a smartly dressed, clean-shaven man with neatly cut hair. Julia wondered if the poor man had still looked like that when he was found dead. The third article, about Michael Thind’s death, was a little more colourful. As well as a picture featuring him in his dog collar and black robes, the article went into detail about how Father Thind was fired after it was discovered he had been having an affair with another local clergyman. It then went on to describe the ins and outs of his messy divorce, which somehow lead to the man ending up on the streets.
“What are you doing?” Jessie asked, her sudden appearance startling Julia so much, she slapped her laptop shut. “I thought you were cleaning.”
“I am,” Julia said, her cheeks burning. “I was. I was just looking at something.”
Jessie folded her arms and looked down her nose at the laptop, her eyes squinting tightly. Julia knew she had been rumbled.
“Wouldn’t have anything to do with what Tommy said about those deaths, would it?” Jessie asked cautiously. “Because if you’re investigating, I want to help.”
“I’m not investigating.”
“You investigated those other deaths,” Jessie said, her arms tightening across her apron. “That organ lady and her son, and your father’s brother-in-law. You investigated those and cracked the cases.”
“It wasn’t quite like that,” Julia said, shaking her head. “I just – I was just looking online to cross-check what Tommy told us.”
“You didn’t believe him?”
“Of course I did,” Julia said quickly. “I just wanted to be sure.”
“Well?” Jessie urged, stepping forward and placing her hands on the other side of the metal preparation table. “What did you find?”
Julia sighed and opened her laptop. She hadn’t wanted Jessie to know she was looking into things because she didn’t want to get her hopes up. Things did seem odd, but Julia knew even the strangest things could have the simplest explanations. Jessie hurried to her side and pulled the laptop in front of her.
“There’s not a lot of information in the articles,” Julia said as she looked over Jessie’s shoulder. “I was trying to find a link between them, but there isn’t one that I can see. Aside from them all being men, and their causes of death being ‘inconclusive’.”
“What does that mean?” Jessie asked, turning to stare at Julia expectantly.
“It means they didn’t find a cause of death. Sometimes when people die, the cause isn’t so obvious, so they do some tests, and if they can’t find a reason, they rule it as an inconclusive cause of death.”
“You mean they just couldn’t be bothered?” Jessie snapped, pushing the laptop across the counter and turning to face Julia.
“They only look for certain things if they’re suspicious. Sometimes people do just die and nobody knows why.”
“But three men?” Jessie asked, her brows dropping low over her dark eyes. “You wouldn’t be saying that if three men in this village suddenly died and nobody was trying to figure out why.”
Jessie pushed angrily past Julia and burst through the beads, and back into the café. Julia hurried after her, wanting to explain, even if she didn’t know what she was going to say. Julia knew Jessie was right. If three seemingly healthy men had died in Peridale in a short space of time, nobody would have accepted three ‘inconclusive’ causes of death.
Julia pushed through the beads at the same time Barker walked into the café, clutching a wicker hamper. Without meaning to, Julia scowled at him, angry with herself for upsetting Jessie, who was furiously wiping down an already clean table. Julia looked desperately from her lodger to the Detective Inspector she had been dating for the last couple of weeks, wondering who she should give her attention to. Before she could make up her mind, Jessie decided for her and walked back through to the kitchen, leaving them alone in the café with Emily Burns, who could clearly sense the tension.
“Is this a bad time?” Barker asked with a strained smile as he walked towards the counter.
“It’s fine,” Julia lied, shaking out her curls and applying a smile. “What can I get you, Barker?”
“Actually, I was wondering if I could borrow you for half an hour?” Barker looked awkwardly down to the wicker hamper, which Julia realised was a picnic basket. “I took an early lunch and I wanted to treat you to a picnic on the village green.”
Julia glanced over her shoulder to Jessie, who had resumed reading over the newspaper articles on the laptop screen. Julia turned back to Barker, who was smiling expectantly at her. Could she really turn him down?
“It’s not really a good time,” Julia said awkwardly. “Lots to do today.”
“Oh,” Barker said, frowning a little but retaining his smile. “I thought Mondays were always quiet? Unless you’re expecting a sudden rush later?”
“We’re not,” Jessie said, suddenly appearing behind Julia. “I’ve got things covered here.”
“Are you sure?” Julia asked, trying unsuccessfully to look into Jessie’s eyes.
“Yep.”
Julia reluctantly left her young lodger in charge of the café and followed Barker to the village green, which sat perfectly in the middle of Peridale. Barker laid down a red and white picnic blanket and Julia quickly sat in a position so that she could still see through h
er café window. Emily Burns appeared to be trying to coax some information out of Jessie, but Jessie didn’t appear to be talking.
“Is something wrong?” Barker asked as he unloaded the picnic basket.
“Huh?” Julia mumbled, glancing to the food he had prepared. “I’m sorry, Barker. I’m just a little distracted.”
“Well, if you can give me your attention for thirty minutes, I’ll let you get back to being distracted.” Barker smirked so sweetly, the butterflies in Julia’s stomach danced unexpectedly, bringing her attention to the present.
“Deal,” Julia said, sighing and shuffling across the blanket so that she was sitting next to Barker and couldn’t look at her café. “Did you make all of this?”
“Ah,” Barker said, smirking again. “Not quite. I was coming back from checking something out and passed a lovely looking sandwich shop.”
“And the blanket and basket?”
“Borrowed them from the station’s lost and found,” Barker whispered. “Don’t tell anyone. You’d never believe half of the stuff people hand in.”
“Your secret is safe with me,” Julia whispered back, her hair falling from behind her ear and over her face as she laughed gently.
Barker surprised her by reaching out and tucking the stray strand behind her ear. For a moment, the buzz of the village around them faded away as she looked into his eyes. She gulped, her throat suddenly dry. Laughing again, she turned her attention to the sandwiches as she felt her cheeks reddening.
“Bought or not, this all looks delicious,” she said, her voice suddenly shaky.
Barker unwrapped tuna and cucumber, cheese and pickle, and egg and cress sandwiches, and laid them out on their foil wrappers on the blanket. Julia opted for a tuna and cucumber sandwich, not realising how hungry she was until she took her first bite. She had woken late that morning, and had had to rush through her Monday morning baking before opening the café, meaning she hadn’t had time for her usual slice of toast and peppermint and liquorice tea.
