by Jennie Finch
‘Hey,’ she said. ‘It’s me. Wonderful to hear from you.’
Tom was as good as his word and the next week he was back at Ada’s house, complete with a trailer-load of fence posts, a shovel and several rolls of heavy duty wire mesh.
‘Don’t know as this’ll keep him in, mind,’ he said as he and Ada unloaded the van and carried the material across the garden. ‘Would be better if we had maybe an electric fence or summat.’
Ada snorted. ‘Don’t have no money for lights and such, never mind running no ’lectric fence.’
Tom was busy sorting out the posts and placing them on the ground at regular intervals.
‘Well, we’ll see what can be done fer that,’ he said. ‘Is only a small area so we only need a little ‘un, and that just runs on a battery.’
‘Where’m I supposed to get this batt’ry,’ Ada objected. ‘An’ special wire, I suppose?’
Tom gestured towards the van. ‘No worries,’ he said grinning slyly. ‘I thought of all that. Borrowed some, seein’ as is only for a few weeks. Battery’s fully charged an all, so should be good for a week or so.’ He held up his hand to forestall further objections. ‘Don’t be worrying about chargin’ and so on. You leave that to me. You is doin’ my friend a favour, taking his old stud goat off’n his hands for a few weeks so is right you don’t need to pay nothing.’
They worked in companionable silence for a while, Ada clearing the ground and Tom digging the holes for the posts. Together they set up the framework for the enclosure on the left of Ada’s garden before stopping just after noon.
‘Got a bit of rabbit pie,’ said Ada. ‘Bit of spring greens to go with it, if you fancy.’
Tom straightened up from filling around the last of the posts. ‘Sounds just what we need,’ he said following her into the kitchen.
Ada busied herself with the meal whilst Tom washed off under the kitchen tap and bumbled around looking for plates and cutlery. Finally, Ada pointed him towards the kettle. ‘Get some tea on,’ she said. ‘Never mind about the other stuff. I’ll do that in a moment.’
Tom sat at the table, content to watch as Ada rinsed and chopped the greens and added some sliced mushrooms to the pan.
‘St George’s,’ she said, noticing his curiosity. ‘Don’t often get ‘um round here but they was growing out by the edge of the church at Westonzoyland. Verger there, he got no taste for suchlike so I figured I might as well bring ‘um home rather than leave ‘um to be dug over. Left a few mind, so there’ll be some next year too.’
Tom nodded his approval, and shortly turned his attention to the plate she put in front of him. There was a nudge from under the table and he looked down to see Mickey at his feet, nose turned towards him hopefully.
‘Don’t reckon,’ he said. ‘Is much too good. Anyway, is mushrooms bad for dogs?’
Ada laughed. ‘Don’t know,’ she said. ‘Them two’ll eat anything put in front of ‘um though, and doesn’t seem to do no harm. Oh come on in, will yer,’ she added as Mouse peered around the door.
‘Didn’t know you had company,’ came a familiar voice and Kevin walked in, stopping in the doorway to stare at Tom.
‘That were right rude,’ said Ada when Tom had returned to his van and was busy putting his tools away, out of earshot.
Kevin shrugged, his face that of a sulky teenager.
‘Didn’t think to be comin’ home to find some didicoy sitting in my kitchen,’ he said.
Ada rounded on him. ‘Firstly, ’ent your kitchen,’ she snapped. ‘Is my kitchen, my house an’ I’ll have what friends I want in here. Second off, don’t see you bein’ so sniffy about Tom. He’s proper Rom, anyway. And what about all them Fair men you is spending all your workin’ days with? Most of them’s didicoys – or much worse. Bunch of Irish tinkers, half of ’em. You tellin’ me you act like this ‘round them?’
Kevin shrugged again, turning his head to stare out of the back door. ‘Work with ‘un,’ he said. ‘Drink with ‘un too. Don’t mean I want to find none of ‘un hangin’ around my mother.’
‘He’s a good man, is Tom,’ said Ada. ‘He do help I.’
‘He do help himself and all,’ said Kevin looking at the remains of the lunch on the table.
Acting Detective Dave Brown sat at his desk, face set into a frown as he went back and forth through the notes on the two incidents. With typical grim humour, the investigating team had given their unknown suspect the nickname ‘Moth Man’, a title that seemed to sum up his actions rather neatly, but there was something disturbing Dave. He was sure there was something missing in their analysis of events.
There were too many unanswered questions – how did the Moth Man get to the scenes, for example. What did he do with his clothes, for it was obvious he didn’t travel naked. Had he been watching the women for a while, Dave wondered, or did he just stumble on them? In which case, there was the question of how he found them in the first place – and back to how he travelled to two scenes, a good distance apart, arriving at just the right time to find a woman sitting alone in a brightly lit glass room.
Dave sighed and pushed the notes to one side, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. There had to be something to indicate the mode of transport, he thought. Then at least the team could pin down a rough area to watch and start asking questions in the search for witnesses. Their best chance would be to find someone who saw him en route, unless they were going to wait for another attack. Dave grimaced at the thought and pulled the pile of notes back towards him, picked up a pen and began to sort through, searching for the one, tiny, elusive piece of information he needed.
‘How’s it going then,’ said Sergeant Lynas as he dropped heavily into the chair beside him.
Dave shook his head. ‘I don’t see how someone so visible can be so totally invisible,’ he said. ‘Somehow he manages to get into the gardens, probably waits for the right moment, strips off, pulls a stocking over his head, does – what he does – and escapes without anyone except the victim seeing him. I reckon you’ve got to be pretty deranged to do something like this but the execution is so controlled, more the work of a planner. This isn’t an impulsive crime, I’m sure of it.’
Lynas nodded thoughtfully. ‘Reckon you’re right,’ he said. ‘There’s too many ways it could go wrong if he was just drifting round hopefully. He’s chosen these women for some reason and he’s almost certainly been there before. Maybe watched them for a few evenings.’
Dave felt a chill run down his back. Sergeant Lynas’ analysis was compelling. It was the pattern of a sexual predator and from all his reading Dave knew most predators were on an escalating path. More ‘incidents’, more frequently and growing more extreme – that was the pattern. Somewhere out there was a very dangerous man and the police didn’t even know how he was getting around the area. He turned his attention to the victims, trying to establish any common ground between them. Something attracted the Moth Man and if they could establish what it was, perhaps they could prevent another attack.
Alex finished work on time, for once, and left the office looking unusually cheerful. Lauren joined her at the front door and looked up at her quizzically.
‘You’s lookin’ right happy,’ she commented, unlocking her car door and throwing her bag onto the passenger seat.
‘Mmm,’ Alex said. ‘I’m catching up with an old friend this weekend. Well, someone I hope will become a friend …’ She stopped, looking a bit flushed, much to Lauren’s surprise.
‘Right,’ said Lauren and waited, hoping for more details.
‘Ah, remember when Kevin was in Bristol?’
Lauren nodded. Kevin Mallory had been arrested for murder soon after Alex’s arrival at Highpoint and his time in Bristol Prison had been neither happy nor comfortable. In fact, it was generally agreed he would not have lasted much longer if Alex had not been able to prove his innocence and get him released on bail. It had been a personal triumph for Alex, though professionally a bit of a disaster as the probatio
n service took rather a dim view of what they saw as her over-involvement in police matters.
‘There was one prison officer, a woman called Margie,’ Alex continued. ‘She was really helpful. She got him into the sick bay for a week and tried to look out for him. I don’t think it went down too well with some of the other officers, to be honest. Anyway, she’s applied for a job at Shepton Mallet and we’re meeting up before she goes back. She’s got a couple of days over there, sort of trying things out and seeing if it suits.’
Lauren was puzzled by Alex’s reaction but nodded along to her friend.
‘Where you thinkin’ of going?’ she asked. ‘Wouldn’t mind meeting her myself – not often you hear good things about a screw.’
‘Don’t call her that!’ snapped Alex. ‘She’s interested in all the training work they’re doing at Shepton Mallet. It’s getting some really good results and she’s more suited to that sort of work. They’re not much for rehabilitation at Bristol.’
‘Sorry,’ said Lauren. ‘Still, I always wondered what makes someone want to earn a living, locking other people up. So, where’s you going?’
Alex gritted her teeth. Lauren was always eager for a trip out and normally she enjoyed the company. Irreverent, clever and tough, Lauren could enliven any gathering. This time, however, Alex had other plans.
‘We’ve not decided,’ she said, waving one hand vaguely. ‘Probably just get together to catch up a bit, you know.’
There was an uncomfortable silence before Lauren slid into her car and slammed the door shut. ‘Suit yerself,’ she snapped and reversed out of the space with alarming speed.
Alex felt a rush of remorse and raised one hand to call her back but Lauren was gone, having executed a screeching turn in the car park that drew several young men attending an evening session to the door of the workshop to see what was going on. Waving them back inside, she set off down the path by the river, still choking on the hard crumbs of guilt that seemed to lodge in her throat. The sun was shining and she stood for a moment, eyes closed as she savoured the first warm evening of the year. Taking a deep breath, she blinked away the red dots clouding her vision and turned under the road bridge, heading for the back gate to her house. On the river, a swan glided majestically past the banks of vivid daffodils. The flowers were fading as spring edged towards summer but the bright, nodding heads of the last, brave blooms still cheered her.
‘It’s my life and I can do what I want,’ she muttered, a mantra against the intrusions of the world surrounding her.
‘What was that, dear?’ asked her mother who was standing at the sink in the kitchen.
‘Nothing,’ said Alex. ‘Just talking to myself. What are you doing?’
Dorothy gave the cleared draining board a final wipe, wrung out the cloth and spread it out on the tap to dry. ‘I thought I’d tidy up a bit,’ she said as she filled the kettle and set it to boil. ‘Would you like some tea?’
Alex actually felt like a large glass of wine but she nodded and smiled before making her way through to the dining room. She loved her mother dearly but somehow, having her around all the time, she felt herself drifting back into the old role of ‘child’. She almost expected her mother to call up the stairs, reminding her to hang up her work clothes. She could not help wondering, rather uncharitably, how long Dorothy intended to stay.
Lauren was still upset when she got home, her bad mood signalled by the slamming of doors and heavy tread as she marched through the house to her downstairs room. Jonny was lying on the coach, one arm draped elegantly over his face as he basked in the sunshine from the open windows.
‘What’s up, Sis?’ he asked, without moving.
‘Nothin’. Don’t stir yourself,’ said Lauren.
Jonny sat up, uncoiling and stretching as Lauren disappeared into her room, banging the door behind her. He was used to Lauren’s moods and waited patiently until the sound of the radio floated out from the back before ambling over to the door and knocking.
‘So what’s happened?’ he asked, peering round the frame.
Lauren was sitting in front of her dressing-table, chin propped in one hand as she stared moodily at the reflection in the glass. She was struggling to understand why she felt so hurt by Alex’s reaction and so her explanation sounded both lame and petty, even to her own ears. Jonny listened without interruption, his long frame draped over the bed. He loved his sister dearly but knew how short-tempered she could be. Too often in the past, she had spoken without stopping to consider and her harsh words had lost her opportunities, new friends and even, on one occasion, her job.
‘Well,’ he said, once Lauren had finished her rather mangled tale of woe. ‘You shouldn’t take this so personally. Everyone has secrets, everyone’s a bit of a mystery really. So Alex wants to go off on her own this weekend – so what? Besides,’ he added, ‘you did call her new friend a “screw”.’ He hesitated, wondering whether to push his luck as Lauren’s reflection glared at him from across the room. ‘Is not exactly designed to endear you to her, is it? I don’t think I’d want you along after that.’
There was a long pause before Lauren sighed and spun round to face her brother. ‘I suppose,’ she said somewhat reluctantly. ‘Just – maybe I’m missin’ Dave a bit, with him out all hours on this case of his. Don’t seem to have much fun at the weekends at the moment.’
Jonny grinned at her. ‘You make it up with Alex tomorrow,’ he advised. ‘With a bit of luck we’ll get an invite to her house on Friday and I’ll see about a trip out for us if it’s fine.’
Lauren smiled as she slid off the chair. ‘Deal,’ she said. ‘Still, can’t help wondering why she’s so secretive … I know, I know, ’tis none of my business.’
Jonny shook his head as he followed her through to the kitchen. Despite what she said, he knew his sister would use all her cunning to ferret out the truth about Alex and her new friend.
Most of the time he had it under control. That was what he kept telling himself, and it was true – in the main. Most days he just got up, showered and dressed, ate what was put in front of him (or not, if it was too horrible), tidied his personal space and went out to see what the day had in store. There were appointments to be kept, of course. That went with the whole set-up and he did his best to appear calm and responsive to all the busy-body people who seemed intent on interfering in his life. He gritted his teeth and nodded, keeping silent as some thick half-wit with the brains of a cabbage told him how to do something. The workshop was particularly difficult, full of young men who had been there a few weeks and thought they knew everything.
The stuff they produced was terrible too. Shoddy, ugly and unimaginative, all made to a template with no care or skill. It took time to make something properly but no-one was interested. The supervisors moved them from one project to another without any concern for their skill level, let alone personal preference. Worst of all, he was constantly shuffled from one workspace to another, paired with an endless succession of lazy, incompetent partners who regarded his attempts to maintain a clean environment and decent tools as risible. If this was the future of small workshops, he thought, they deserved to be torched, their ashes turned over and stamped down into oblivion.
Working with his head down, shaving the surplus wood away to make a smooth, neat joint, he closed his ears to the sea of vulgarity that swirled around him. Inside his head he was far away, watching and waiting in the cool silence of evening, just him and the woman sharing the moment. His tongue flicked out to touch his lips and he swallowed, taking a deep breath to calm his emotions. His body jerked forwards and he narrowly missed running the plane over his fingers as he was shoved from behind.
‘Oh, sorry – didn’t see yer there,’ said a mocking voice and he swung round to face Andy, a hulking, clumsy lad who fancied himself as a bit of a hard man.
He wrinkled his nose in disgust at the miasma of stale tobacco smoke and sweat that wafted towards him. ‘Reckon I should have been more careful,’ he said and And
y and his cronies shuffled closer, moving in at this sign of weakness. ‘Yes,’ he continued. ‘Should have smelt you coming and got out of the way – you stupid oaf.’
Andy stood for an instant, a look of bewilderment flitting across his face.
‘He’s sayin’ you stink,’ said one of his henchmen helpfully.
‘I got that,’ said Andy rounding on his followers angrily.
Taking advantage of their momentary distraction, he reached behind him and located a chisel, a long and exceptionally sharp tool he had selected in the first week and moved from one workbench to another. Holding it casually in his hand he waited, facing down the bullies who were suddenly rather less eager to continue the conversation.
‘Is only one of him,’ said someone from the edge of the group. For an instant the dynamics swayed back and forth and the lads at the back urged those at the front onwards – and those standing right in front of the chisel edged away.
‘Stopping a bit early for lunch aren’t you?’ cut in the supervisor as he materialised in the doorway bringing a strong smell of cigarette smoke with him. The group melted away, relieved at the interruption. Andy gave a sneer before sloping off, hands in his pockets as he shouldered his way through the rest of the young workforce. The chisel was back on the table before the supervisor noticed anything was amiss and he turned his back on them all, sweeping up the wood shavings and putting the off-cuts in the bin before washing his hands in the tiny cold water sink and heading for the door. Another morning done, he thought. He tried not to count up how many there were left to complete before he could sign off and move on. It made him too angry.
Chapter Seven
Margie stopped her car outside Alex’s terraced house by the river at Highpoint and sat for a moment before getting out. The sun was shining, it was Saturday and she had the whole weekend off for the first time in months and she was meeting up with someone she liked and admired. What, she thought, what could possibly be the reason for the sudden desire to turn around and flee to the security of her room at the hostel in Shepton Mallet. What indeed. There was always this moment, this certainty that she had made a mistake. Forcing herself to open the door, she stepped out into the empty road and, locking the car door behind her, strode across the street to knock on the front door.
