The Moth Man (Alex Hastings Series)

by Jennie Finch

  ‘How very ingenious,’ Alex’s mother murmured taking another small, delicate bite.

  Alex repressed a shudder. She remembered her encounter with the Tuna Savoury at the Royal Arms. A large, rambling building set on the road just outside the village, the pub had been the place where Tom Monarch and his gang had planned to set up a new criminal franchise, hoping to control the Levels and the lucrative smuggling operations following the demise of Derek Johns and his followers. The fact that rumours of Derek’s death had been somewhat premature had led to a series of nasty killings and brought Alex into contact with Max Long, a particularly unpleasant drug dealer from Bristol.

  After the police arrived in the shape of Dave Brown and arrested Max and his local dealers, Alex and Sue had visited the pub, talking to Phil and Marie Watson in an effort to untangle their young probationers’ involvement in the scheme. Phil, the landlord, had been desperately apologetic about events, genuinely upset that his establishment had been hosting a criminal gathering on a regular basis. Times were hard, he said, and they had been in dire need of the income. They were trying out a new, cheaper menu and looking at different events in an attempt to bring in more customers. He and Marie insisted they try the latest addition to the menu and Alex found herself facing a plate piled high with tuna and sweet corn sandwiches.

  ‘There’s just something wrong about them,’ she said to Sue as they drove back to the office in Alex’s car. ‘Fish with onion is bad enough but adding sweet corn – and they were almost liquid, there was so much mayonnaise mixed in.’ She shuddered at the memory. ‘Gull vomit.’

  Sue looked up sharply. ‘What?’

  ‘’It was like eating gull vomit,’ Alex repeated.

  ‘Well, thank you for that. Now that image is stuck in my head,’ said Sue who folded her arms and stared out of the windscreen for the rest of the journey.

  The conversation came back to Alex as she contemplated the plate in front of her. It was very possible this was Sue’s revenge.

  With smarting eyes and heavy steps, Alex hauled herself up the steps and into the reception area of Highpoint probation office. Despite the early hour, there were already several young men sitting on the slightly battered chairs in the lobby, waiting to see their probation officers. She cast her eyes over them and with a sinking heart, recognised Brian. A tall, skinny young man with a striking Mohican-style haircut, Brian Morris had been a constant in her life since her arrival two years ago.

  Originally classed as a juvenile, Brian had been transferred to her list when he reached the age of seventeen and in spite of support from his previous officer, Paul Malcolm, and Pauline from the office, he had succeeded in sabotaging just about every chance he had been given. He had even broken Alex’s wrist the previous winter whilst fencing with a pool cue in the day centre. Alex had refused to report his actions, arguing he had been under the influence of an unknown intoxicant at the time and certainly his behaviour had improved for a few months after the incident. He had, Alex reflected, been almost polite the last few times they had met.

  ‘Hello Brian,’ she said, managing a not-too-unwelcoming smile.

  The young man looked up and jumped to his feet, beaming with excitement. He was in a good mood, Alex noted.

  ‘I done it!’ said Brian, his grin revealing the chipped front teeth he had damaged in a fight several years ago.

  ‘Oh, right – well done,’ said Alex, scrabbling around in her memory. Should she be congratulating him, she wondered. Perhaps he was talking about something criminal – or maybe his girlfriend was pregnant. The thought of more little Brians running around made her want to shudder.

  ‘Come on, I’ll show yer,’ he said and scurried out of the front door.

  Hopefully not the pregnant girlfriend then, Alex thought as she turned and followed him.

  The yard looked almost empty when she got to the top of the stairs and she looked around, puzzled by Brian’s abrupt disappearance. Suddenly Lauren turned into the car park, her little Vauxhall heading straight for the reserved space by the foot of the stairs. At that moment, Brian shot out of the old bike shed at the rear of the workshop, feet turning the peddles of his bike at a frantic pace as he wobbled towards her. His shout of triumph was cut short as he ploughed towards Lauren who braked as she tried to turn out of his path. At the last moment, Brian hauled the bike to one side, tipping over and sliding into the office wall.

  Alex ran down the steps towards him, her heart thumping, but Brian was on his feet, a broad grin stretched across his face as he brushed himself off.

  ‘Reckon I should work on them brakes a bit,’ he said, picking up his bike and examining the front forks.

  ‘You dozy bugger!’ yelled Lauren, slamming the car door and stamping across towards them. ‘I almost hit the wall! Think I can afford to get my car fixed? Why don’t you look where you’re going?’

  Alex knew there was little love lost between Lauren and Brian. Whilst at school, Brian and his mates had spent a considerable amount of time and ingenuity tormenting her and when she took the job at the probation office, they were there, waiting to greet her. Alex’s first encounter with Brian had been to admonish him – rather severely – for taunting Lauren and their relationship had veered from mutual dislike to grudging respect ever since. Despite Lauren and Brian’s history, Alex did think her attitude was a bit callous, even for Lauren. After all, he had come close to disappearing under the wheels of the car.

  ‘Don’t,’ said Lauren holding up a hand to Alex. ‘I know what you’s going to say and I don’t care. Sick of this stupid behaviour, I am. And you,’ she rounded on Brian who was still grinning foolishly. ‘You watch what you’s doing and grow up a bit. Gonna get yerself killed one day and it’ll be some other poor driver as has to live with that.’ She turned on her heel and marched smartly up the steps and into the office.

  ‘Harsh words – but with an element of truth,’ said Gordon emerging from the inside of his car, which was parked off to one side by the dustbins. ‘Perhaps you should take your bike back into the workshop and get the brakes looked at now,’ he said to Brian. ‘Certainly before you try it out on the road.’

  Brian nodded and began to wheel the rather battered machine across the yard. Turning back he called to Alex. ‘What you reckon then? Girt fun, this. Never knew I could ride no bike afore!’

  Alex shook her head but still couldn’t prevent a smile creeping through her mock sternness.

  ‘I think he means this is a positive in his life,’ she said. ‘Though sometimes I still get lost in all the double negatives.’

  ‘I would say it gets easier,’ said Gordon as he started hauling out the mats from the back of his car. ‘It would be a lie however. I grew up with the dialect but still encounter something that confuses me on a regular basis.’

  Alex watched him for a moment. Gordon always seemed to be cleaning out his car. Every week he had the mats out or was scrubbing at the upholstery. When she had first arrived she thought he must be obsessively clean or ridiculously proud of his motor but now she knew he had been helping someone out. A lot of the clients or their families had no car of their own and little access to public transport either. Gordon, despite having the newest and smartest vehicle of all the staff, was ever-willing to provide a lift to the lost, the drunk and the extended family, no matter how ill or dirty they might be. Sadly his rewards included car-sick children, incontinent dogs and pints of spilt cider.

  Alex stopped at the reception desk on her way back to her office and had a word with an unrepentant Lauren.

  ‘It was your boyfriend who taught him to ride in the first place,’ she pointed out. ‘He should have instilled a little more discipline.’

  Lauren snorted in disgust. ‘Dave only taught him ’cos you insisted,’ she said. ‘Anyway, don’t reckon ’tis possible to use the words discipline and Brian Morris in the same sentence. Seems he’s always swingin’ from one mood to the next. Never did know where you was with ‘un, not even at school.’

/>   Alex pondered this, sitting at her desk in the cool dimness of her office, a converted store cupboard behind the main day centre. During the winter there had been an influx of ‘recreational’ drugs, a potent mixture of LSD, amphetamines and barbiturates, brought into the area by Max Long, the young dealer from Bristol. Brian had been one of his most enthusiastic customers and his mood swings had become even more extreme whilst under the influence of some of Max’s offerings. Even so, there remained a core of erratic behaviour evidenced by his continuing inability to stick to anything for more than a few days. Brian, she thought, was recidivism incarnate.

  There was a tap at the door and the subject of her musings stuck his head into the room.

  ‘Reckon I wanted to thank you,’ he said as he flopped into the chair in front of her desk. ‘Never had no chance to ride a bike afore and could never have afforded one, neither.’

  His hair was sticking up, the Mohican slightly askew, but apart from that he seemed none the worse for his close encounter with Lauren and the office wall.

  ‘Was wondering,’ said Brian, leaning over the desk. ‘My Dad’s comin’ home soon and I don’t want to be around when he does. Is any way I could be staying at the hostel or mebbe getting a place in town?’

  Alex’s heart sank. It was a good sign, Brian wanting to be away from the toxic influence of his drunken, petty criminal of a father but the odds on finding anywhere he could afford to live, let alone a landlord willing to take a chance on someone with his history, were vanishingly small. Even the tiny stock of rooms held by the semi-official ‘probation landladies’ was under severe strain, both from financial pressures and the sheer numbers of newly released or unemployed clients desperate for somewhere to live.

  ‘I can’t just place you in the hostel, Brian. You know that. I’ll check around for you, but I’m not promising anything. There’s a real shortage of bedsits at the moment. Look, is there anywhere else you could go? Maybe a friend?’

  Brian’s face fell and he stared down at the table for a moment.

  ‘Reckon I’ve used up most of my friends,’ he said. ‘Don’t see much of a welcome, most places.’ He lifted his head and she saw he had tears in his eyes. ‘My Dad – I don’t like leavin’ my kid brother there but ’ent nothing I can do. If’n I is there, he’ll just turn on us, soon as he’s pissed. Figured is maybe time I looked for a job or summat, got a place of my own and our Josh, he could come stay with me when Dad’s around.’

  Perhaps Brian really had finally begun to grow up, she thought as she worked her way unsuccessfully through the list of possible lodgings later that afternoon. The last year had not been kind to him, with the impact of the drug use, several return trips to court and the death of his friend, Darren, who had drowned himself at New Year, his blood stream awash with LSD. Sometimes it took that sort of shock to get through to someone like Brian. Still, he’d had a lot of chances in the past, and thrown every last one away. She had a horrible feeling that, however sincere he might be now, he was too late.

  Walking through town, he enjoyed the sense of anonymity, the disregard for his presence that a new environment offered. No-one knew who he was. No-one knew anything about him and so no-one cared enough to give him a second glance. He settled on the seat in front of the Cornhill Market and spent an amusing half hour watching the people, all the little people with little lives and tiny, tiny concerns. His relaxed pose gave no indication of the contempt he felt for each and every one of them and the bright blue of his eyes was hidden behind dark glasses.

  What was the best part, he wondered. The excitement of the actual event was almost overwhelming, of course. That sweet, perfect glimpse of fear in their eyes was surely one of the best moments in life. There was ultimately very little difference in their reactions. Some took a few seconds longer to slip into hysteria but they all succumbed in the end. It was the shock, he thought. The sudden realisation someone had been watching them, studying them – stalking them. And none of them had the slightest idea it was happening until it was too late.

  He felt a brief shiver run up his spine, causing him to bite his lower lip in an effort to retain a calm, controlled façade. It had been a while, he thought. Time to move on to the next one. He already had someone in mind and the security at the hostel would prove no obstacle to his nocturnal visits. The whole place was a joke – but he needed the cover it offered for a little while. He focussed on behaving himself, making himself follow all the stupid, petty rules. He made sure he reported in to the probation officer he was stuck with for the next few months too. Discipline was important, and he was quite capable of giving the impression of compliance when it suited him.

  The pleasure of the day slipped away abruptly as he remembered he had an appointment to discuss his day centre attendance after lunch. Glancing at his watch, he decided to forego the nauseating spectacle of his fellow residents wolfing down their food at the hostel. Rising from the bench, he strolled across to the market, selecting several pieces of fresh fruit and washed them carefully under the tap in the gents. Walking through the town he ate, using the time to memorise the layout of the unfamiliar streets. You never knew when such planning might be needed and Samuel was always very, very careful.

  Chapter Six

  It was all a bit serious, Alex thought, contemplating her plans for day centre groups. Of course, it needed to have some demonstrable value to the clients and so classes in literacy and the new sessions on budgeting, cookery and basic hygiene, cunningly dressed up as ‘life skills’, were easy to sell to the magistrates. It was a lot harder to get the clients on board however. There was a good take-up for the workshop days especially with a new influx of unclaimed bikes recovered by the police and donated to the service. Some lads also enjoyed the basic woodwork on a Thursday morning and Alex was grateful for the help offered by her colleague, Eddie Stroud, in running it. Her expertise was limited to simple repairs and changing a front door lock – not something she thought they should emphasise, given the clientele.

  There were some issues she was desperate to tackle, principally alcohol education, and she had a lot of ideas on how to make this effective and fun but there were a couple of obstacles to overcome. Gordon had read through the outline earlier in the week and sighed.

  ‘I can see why you want to do this and I think you have some really good approaches,’ he said. ‘However, there are a few issues. Here,’ he pointed to the plan. ‘We cannot serve alcohol on the premises. I know,’ he held up a hand to forestall Alex’s objections. ‘Tiny, taster glasses, we are not charging anything, it is for a very laudable cause but …’ He hesitated before continuing, ‘How do you think the magistrates will react if they find out they are sending someone with a drinking problem to a group where they are offered more alcohol? And what do you think the press will make of it – because they will hear of it and they most certainly will write something sensational and damaging.’

  Alex returned to her office, depressed and despondent. The two strongest sessions both depended on using real beer. Not a lot, but enough to have an effect on the clients. The two most common arguments she heard from her drinkers were ‘It don’t affect me none anyway, I can hold it’ (manifestly untrue, otherwise how did they end up on probation for being drunk and disorderly) and ‘I just likes the taste – that fake beer ’ent the same.’

  Alex had just treated herself to a small computer, a 64k machine that plugged into the back of her television. As well as trying to write simple programs to draw pictures and learning to use a database, she had experimented with the free games that came with it. Despite the fact they took an age to load and the tapes did not remember any high scores, she soon found herself hooked. Running a tiny ant around a maze or piloting a seemingly mentally defective builder across scaffolding full of holes was enormous fun and she and Sue had once sat up until two in the morning, reluctant to stop playing when they were still winning.

  Amongst the cassettes she had found a motorcycle racing game and several weeks ag
o had challenged her friends to a tournament. She was amazed to find how rapidly her ability to manipulate the bike on the screen deteriorated. One glass of wine was all it took for her to start crashing out on previously easy corners. If only she could get the Alcohol Education group to try it, she thought. Let them play a round, then take a small drink and then try again. The results could be striking – but how on earth could she manage it?

  Setting the plans aside with a sigh of her own, she pondered the idea of setting up some more creative groups. Perhaps photography, she thought. It would get them looking properly at their surroundings and offered the chance of some trips out of the town. The office had a minibus that was chronically underused, though Alex was not keen on trying her hand at driving it. There was also the cost of the equipment but she had started drifting round the auction rooms on a Saturday morning and only last week had spotted a box of cameras, old fashioned but quite serviceable. Some of those, a cheap enlarger and a bit of money for supplies and she could get a small darkroom set up in the room next to hers. It was just a dumping ground at the moment and was more poorly lit than her office. Of course, she would have to supervise it very closely. A lot of the day centre clients were young and almost exclusively male. They were not much more than a bunch of kids sometimes and there were some types of photography she definitely did not want to encourage.

  The ringing of her telephone interrupted her train of thought.

  ‘Yes?’ she snapped into the receiver.

  ‘Oh …’ There was a pause before a vaguely familiar voice said ‘Hello? I’m trying to get hold of Alex Hastings …’

  It took her a few seconds to identify the caller but then an unfamiliar, broad smile spread over Alex’s face.