by Jennie Finch
Brian watched from the shadows, startled by the abrupt appearance of someone way out on the Levels at such an early hour. Keeping very still, he squinted across the concrete trying to identify the figure silhouetted against the grassy mounds. For a moment he thought he’d been spotted, but then he realised the figure was rubbing at his eyes as if dazzled by the sun. Strange, he thought. Maybe he was sleeping rough or just been poking around in the shade. As the figure turned towards the gap in the hedges leading towards Westonzoyland, Brian got a good look at his face.
‘That new bloke from the hostel,’ he muttered. ‘Now, what the hell’s he doin’ all the way out here?’
He waited until the new bloke disappeared behind the boundary hedge before stepping out into the sunlight, dragging his latest acquisition behind him. Brian had need of some sort of income, and quickly. He really did want to get away from the family home before his father returned in a few weeks and recent events had caused him to pause and reflect on some of his recent life choices. Laudable as this all was, however, he was still not exactly looking at his situation in a truly realistic manner. His delight at finding the abandoned metal detector he hauled behind him was evidence he still tended towards the quick-fix sort of solution.
The metal detector had been lying in a large patch of brambles, presumably flung there in disgust by its previous owner. It was old, battered and in need of a new battery pack but Brian was undeterred by the weight of his find or its awkward shape. He reasoned it would be easier to hide the machine on the airfield somewhere and take the battery into town to source a replacement. He was surprised to discover most of the weight was the battery but, still undeterred, he managed to prise it loose without damaging the connections and put the leaking, corroded pack to one side as he considered the possible hiding places for the rest of the machine.
The obvious place was in one of the overgrown ruins, but the appearance of Samuel Burton from the doorway of the largest building rather put paid to that idea. After some thought, Brian dragged the metal detector off to the side of the runway where the concrete was broken up and piled off to one side. A few minutes hard work, and his find was covered with lumps of hardcore and an artistic dusting of leaf debris and twigs. Brian stepped back to admire his handiwork from several angles. Not bad, he thought and, hefting the battery up in both hands, set off towards the main road. A trickle of fluid seeped through the broken casing and coated his fingers but he ignored the discomfort, intent on getting into town before he was spotted. Behind him, on the side of the runway, a trail of dusty footprints marked his path away from the metal detector.
Kevin had become used to rising earlier in the day whilst off on his travels with the Fair and Ada was surprised to see him sitting at the kitchen table, a fresh pot of tea in front of him, when she came in after collecting the eggs from her hens.
‘Morning,’ said her son, rising from his chair and pouring her a cup.
‘Morning,’ she replied, taking the beaker and folding herself into the chair opposite. Momentarily lost for words, she took a sip from her tea before placing the cup on the table. ‘Sleep well?’ she asked finally.
Kevin nodded, his mouth full of toast. He’d learnt to make his own breakfast too, she noted.
‘Fancy a boiled egg to go with that?’
Kevin grinned and nodded again. ‘Reckon,’ he said. ‘Don’t find nothing to match they eggs from your hens. Right special, they is.’
Ada stood up and turned to the stove, hiding a smile of delight. There had been few enough compliments in her life and her son’s new attitude seemed to light up the whole morning.
Pushing his chair back from the table after wolfing down his breakfast, Kevin said, ‘I got to go into town today, see to a few things. Anything you wanting from Highpoint?’
Ada’s mouth dropped open in astonishment. ‘No, reckon I’m good,’ she managed.
Kevin nodded and gathered up his dishes, carrying them to the sink to wash.
‘Hold on,’ Ada said. She leaned over and plucked the empty egg shell from the plate, dropping it into an old plastic box where it joined several others lying in a mess of tea leaves. ‘Slugs,’ she said in response to Kevin’s unspoken question. ‘They’s a bit too fond of the leaves but when they go sliding over the shells, they comes all unzipped. And no need to use no poison or nothing on my veggies, neither. Oh, don’t you give me that sad face,’ she added. ‘If they stays off my garden they don’t come to no harm. Now, hang on a moment.’
Seizing a spoon, she pounded the eggshells into sharp edged fragments, mixing in the leaves before handing the box to Kevin.
‘I’ve got some herbs growing out front. Patch of thyme, bit of rue – just put this round the roots will you – leave the box on the step and I’ll get it later.’
Kevin picked up his denim jacket and slung it over his shoulder, tucking the plastic box under his arm as he headed out of the back door and around the corner of the cottage. The front of the house was a mixture of flowers and greenery with clumps of small bushes placed in the sunniest locations. Bees clustered around the rosemary and buzzed contentedly amidst sprigs of early lavender. Kevin shook the slug mixture round the bed, then stood for a moment, blinking in the bright sunlight and just enjoying the warmth as it soaked into him like warm honey.
His good mood was ruined when he opened his eyes and met the cynical gaze of Samuel, standing across the narrow road and staring in at him.
‘What you looking at then?’ Kevin shouted.
Samuel shrugged and turned away.
‘Don’t know,’ came his reply. ‘The label’s fallen off.’
Kevin felt his temper rising, his fists clenching as this stranger sauntered off down the road.
‘Bugger off! Don’t you come round here again, you!’ he yelled.
Samuel swung round and glared back at him.
‘I believe this is a public road and I’ll walk along here whenever I want. Understand boy?’ He stretched out the last word in a mocking imitation of Kevin’s accent, walking backwards with a mocking sneer on his face before turning away again.
Six months ago Kevin would have been over the fence and after this insolent stranger but that was before his recent travels. He had grown up over the winter, learning to curb his temper and starting to see some things from another person’s perspective. He was physically bigger too – all the lifting and heaving around of the Fair’s complex infrastructure had helped develop some decent muscles. It was ironic he was now more than capable of holding his own in a fight but far less inclined to throw the first punch. Instead he contented himself with a universally recognised rude hand sign.
There was a scuffling sound behind him and Ada appeared around the corner.
‘Just some dickhead hanging around across the road,’ he said, hastily lowering his hand. He glanced at his wrist and added, ‘Better be off or I’ll be missin’ the bus.’
Ada nodded as her son slipped his jacket over his shoulders and held out the empty box. He was wearing a watch, she realised. Not a fancy one, just one of those cheap plastic ones you could pick up from a garage. The sort with numbers – what did they call them? She puzzled for a moment before it came to her. Digital – that was it. A digital watch. He’d never had a watch before, but then he’d never bothered with a job before neither. First he was writing letters, then making his own toast, now he was paying attention to the time. Seemed like the Fair was going to be the making of him, she thought with a nod of approval.
‘You be wanting any dinner then?’ she asked.
Kevin thought for a moment and then shook his head. ‘Don’t wait for us,’ he said. ‘I’ll get somethin’ in town if’n I is hungry. Bye now.’ He gave a little wave and headed off down the narrow track towards the main road, leaving his mother smiling fondly as she watched him stride off into the distance. Definitely a turn for the better, she thought as she went back inside and began tidying the kitchen.
Chapter Eight
Lauren was up ea
rly that Saturday morning, flinging open the curtains and smiling as the sun shone through. Dave was working again but Jonny had promised her a trip out and she had already decided where she wanted to go. Along the coast there were a number of small coves, each with their own character. Over the years, Lauren had explored them all, but her favourite was Kilve, a rocky bay with one of the best fossil beaches in the country. A trip to Kilve was always a favourite day out, especially if it was combined with a pub lunch at the old inn nestling behind the sand dunes.
The phone rang as she was finishing her breakfast and the unexpected voice of Dave Brown made her smile.
‘I’m really sorry I can’t go with you today,’ he said.
‘Is all right,’ Lauren replied, licking the last of the jam from her fingers. ‘I know you got to work. Is more important you get this weirdo so just you crack on and show ’em all how good you really is.’
Before his move to the detective squad, Lauren had suffered a severe fit of jealousy, the strains of his long hours and weekend overtime making her feel neglected and unloved. They had come close to breaking up and only Dave’s determination to hang on to her had kept them together. Since his transfer, however, Lauren had developed a bit more patience. She understood how important this chance was and although she tried not to show it too obviously she was proud of Dave and his achievements. If that came with a few weekends without him, well, it was worth it as far as she was concerned.
There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs and Jonny, wearing only his boxer shorts and a tee shirt, poked his head round the corner.
‘Was for me,’ she said replacing the phone on the hook. ‘You getting up now?’ She tilted her head to one side, scrutinising her brother’s face. ‘Look a bit rough, mind.’
Jonny glared at her, his eyes bloodshot as he stepped rather gingerly down the stairs. Alex had called off the usual Friday night dinner, unsure of how her mother might react to some of the more unorthodox opinions and relationships of her friends and so Jonny had spent the evening in Highpoint, returning long past midnight in a taxi, humming tunelessly as he stumbling upstairs.
‘I’m fine,’ he snapped. ‘Any coffee on the go?’
Lauren gestured to the enamel pot on the stove and waited until he shuffled back to the table, mug in hand.
‘So, where do you fancy going today?’ said Jonny after taking a restorative gulp from his coffee.
‘Reckon is going to be a lovely day,’ said Lauren. ‘Tide’s out around lunchtime so I really fancy Kilve.’
Jonny groaned softly. Kilve beach was a walk best described as ‘energetic’, the approach little more than a farm track and the path around some of the more interesting outcrops of rock was uneven and rough underfoot. There was a distinct lack of shade out by the sea and in the summer sun, the light was blindingly bright, glittering off the sea and the white rocks. He had enjoyed a rather good night last night but he suspected he was going to pay for it today. Still, he thought, he’d promised Lauren the day out of her choice and he didn’t intend to disappoint her.
‘Give me a couple of minutes to finish this,’ he said, holding up the mug. ‘And I’d better be putting a few more clothes on. Don’t want to end up frightening the public like dumb ol’ Martin Ford.’
Dave Brown put the phone down with a sigh. He was relieved that Lauren was taking all this overtime so well. It certainly made his life a bit easier, knowing she was happy and was going out to enjoy the day but he could not help wishing he was going too. He had spent the last week going over and over the same information, reading and re-reading the interviews, notes and reports. When he closed his eyes at night, he could see the photographs from the two crime scenes in his mind, as clearly as if they were taped to his eyelids. He bent over his latest attempt to plot the links between the two incidents, a complex matrix that tried to make comparisons in every area he could think might be relevant but he kept coming to the same conclusion.
The most important bits of information were all missing. What the two incidents had in common was ‘don’t know’. Don’t know what the motivation might be, don’t know if the actions were premeditated, don’t know whether they were complete or if he was interrupted – that was especially ominous and Dave didn’t like to think what might happen were he to chance on a victim without neighbours or someone else within earshot. Didn’t even know how the hell he was getting to the houses in the first place.
Dave flung his pen down in disgust, rose from the table and stood in front of the incident board, studying the map with its two pins. The door opened and Sergeant Lynas walked in.
‘Anything you can add?’ he asked.
Dave shook his head angrily.
‘I don’t know if he’s clever or lucky,’ he said. ‘I only know we don’t have anything like enough to catch him at the moment.’
The sergeant nodded, staring at the map. ‘It’s like that sometimes,’ he said softly. ‘We have to wait, hope he makes a mistake.’
Dave’s shoulders slumped as he heard his own thoughts spoken out loud. ‘You mean we need another one, don’t you. You’re hoping he’s going to strike again.’
Sergeant Lynas gave him a hard look. ‘I’m not hoping he’ll strike again,’ he said coldly. ‘If anything I’m hoping the bastard falls into a deep ditch and lies there in agony until we pick him up the next morning. However, I have to admit, we need more than we’ve got right now. A lot more.’
Dave flushed, squirming uncomfortably before his superior’s wrath, and started to stammer an apology.
Sergeant Lynas waved his hand, silencing him.
‘I know exactly what you mean,’ he said. ‘But you need to watch how you say it. A member of the public hearing you talk like that – doesn’t bear thinking about. So, exactly what do we have and where do we go from here?’
Dave walked back to his desk, anxious to make up for his hasty words.
‘Similar time of day,’ he said. ‘Both early evening, just as it’s getting dark. Could be because of the need for darkness, for hiding perhaps, or it could be – maybe he works during the day?’
Lynas nodded and made a note on the board.
‘Good. Now you’re thinking like a detective. Anything else?’
Dave felt the tension leave his chest a little.
‘Some distance apart,’ he said. ‘The Monkton attack was around five kilometres south of the incident at Goathurst.’
Lynas shook his head.
‘Don’t give me all that metric rubbish,’ he muttered. ‘How far in real distances is that?’
Dave did a quick calculation in his head.
‘Just over 3 miles,’ he said. ‘And almost exactly due south – only a few degrees off. But there’s no direct route between them so maybe he’s coming from the east. There’s Highpoint out there – Taunton to the south or Petherton perhaps. Maybe he’s from one of them. Mind you,’ he continued, lost in speculation, ‘could be he’s travelling from work. Both days were working days, nothing at weekends – so far anyway.’
He glanced up to see Sergeant Lynas nodding in approval.
‘Right. Well, you write that all up and see what else you can tease out of this mess. I’m off to the lab to see if they’ve got anything else for us.’
Dave nodded, his attention already fixed on the notes in front of him. What did they have so far, he asked himself. A man – a tall man, blond – here he suppressed a grin – with a stocking over his head … Dave stopped and blinked his eyes, then started rummaging through the folders in front of him. No stocking found at either scene so he’d taken it away with him. Either he was knowledgeable and careful or he needed to keep hold of it for next time. Maybe both. So where did a man get hold of a pair of stockings? Easy enough nowadays – every supermarket and corner shop sold them. But a single man might be wary of buying them regularly and the type of behaviour this man displayed suggested he was probably not the sort to have a regular, loving girlfriend.
His hand stopped over on piece of pa
per, a transcription of the notes from Miss Taylor, the first victim. It didn’t say specifically but he got the impression the stocking was dark – darker than most every-day stockings, anyway. Otherwise she would have been able to tell his hair was a light shade, he reasoned. Black stockings might be easier to trace, a bit more memorable if it came to checking shops and supermarkets. He realised he was clutching at straws but even so, he went in search of his sergeant. He had an idea and they needed to do another interview with the victims as soon as possible.
Alex sat in Margie’s car, trying to enjoy the sensation of being driven by someone else but she was uncomfortably aware of the beating of her heart, fluttering and twitching in her chest as she sat, pulled tight by the safety belt against the seat.
‘You comfortable there?’ asked Margie, risking a quick glance away from the twisting road.
Alex nodded and managed a sickly smile.
‘Fine,’ she said, tugging at the seat belt where it was cutting into the side of her neck. ‘Really, I’m just a bit tired.’
Margie glanced in her mirror and pulled the car over to the side of the road, stopping hard up against a hedge.
‘Here,’ she said, leaning over Alex. For a moment Alex felt Margie’s body pressed against her as she reached for the bracket holding the belt. There was a popping sound and the pressure on her neck eased suddenly as Margie slid the anchor point down the door pillar.
‘I don’t hardly ever have passengers,’ said Margie as she shifted back into her seat and put the car in gear again. ‘Last time was my hulking girt brother and it was a bit low for him, even right up at the top. Don’t reckon they designed these bloody things for women anyway.’ She tugged impatiently at her own belt as it pulled across her chest. ‘Is alright for men but we got a lot more stuff in the way to get hurt.’
Alex felt herself begin to relax as she grinned, nodding in agreement.
