by Jennie Finch
Peter Marks reached past her and grabbed the correct key off a hook, handing it to her with very bad grace. Alex took it, trying not to wrinkle her nose at the whiff of body odour rising from his none too clean shirt.
‘What you want from the fridge anyway?’ he asked, hovering by the desk as if ready to intervene in defence of his cheese.
‘Milk,’ said Alex. ‘Milk for tea. Samuel should have regular hot drinks even if he doesn’t eat anything.’
‘Is already milk in the tea,’ said Peter. ‘Sugar too. All made ready for them in the urn.’
Alex’s distaste finally showed on her face.
‘What if they don’t take sugar?’ she asked. ‘And surely the milk curdles, heated up in that thing for hours.’
‘We use steri’ milk for that,’ said the warden smugly. ‘Don’t go off no matter how long is in there.’
Alex pulled a face as she hurried out of the stuffy office. She had encountered sterilised milk as a student and was of the opinion it was disgusting. She’d known feral cats turn their noses up at a saucer of steri’. Somehow it was no surprise to discover the milk in the fridge, used presumably for the staff tea, was fresh.
When she returned with a beaker of tea, the sugar in a saucer (there was no such thing as a sugar bowl that she could see), Samuel was propped up in bed, his top half clad in a spotless white t-shirt and his lower half safely tucked in beneath the covers. He accepted the mug, taking a token sip before blinking at it and taking another.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘First decent cup I’ve had here.’
‘Alex proffered the saucer. ‘I didn’t know if you take sugar,’ she said.
Samuel smiled rather grimly. ‘Don’t, actually. Just empty calories and fit for those needing instant gratification.’ He took another drink before setting the beaker down on the cupboard next to his bed.
‘Do you want to see a doctor?’ Alex asked.
Samuel shook his head. ‘It’s only a cold,’ he said. ‘Went for a long walk a couple of days ago and got caught in the rain. My own fault.’
‘Do you do a lot of walking?’ Alex asked. It was so rare to get more than a couple of syllables out of Samuel, she figured she’d push her luck. Maybe she could learn something to help her understand this enigmatic young man a little better.
Samuel glanced at her and for an instant the bright blue spark flashed in his eyes before he replied. ‘Look around. There’s not a lot else to do, is there? Don’t particularly like the company so I’m happier on my own. As I’m stuck in this place with a bunch of strangers, out suits me best.’
Despite her reservations, Alex felt a pang of sympathy for him. An intensely private person herself, she could imagine how uncomfortable it must be to be thrown into an artificial society such as the hostel – even more so a prison. How on earth had he coped with that, she wondered?
Samuel leaned back in the bed and watched her, studying her face as he searched for any sign of deceit. A lot of people had tried to befriend him, always for their own ends. He was too clever to fall for the usual mock sympathy of a jumped-up social worker. To his surprise, Alex nodded and gave a tiny smile.
‘Can’t be too comfortable sometimes,’ she said.
He waited for her to begin the tedious and predictable talk about working within his situation as she tried to talk him into co-operating with the fools placed in authority around him. Instead she shrugged her shoulders.
‘Do you want anything else?’ she asked. When he shook his head, Alex glanced at her watch and turned to leave.
‘Let me know when you’re better so I can reschedule your appointment,’ she said. ‘I’ll clear your absence with the workshop and have a word with the staff here. You should rest for a few days and stay in bed if possible.’
‘Thanks,’ he said as she opened the door and stepped out. He didn’t know if she had heard but as he settled back down to sleep he couldn’t help feeling a tiny glow of warmth deep inside. It had been many years since anyone had treated him with any kindness at all. The fact this small act came from a probation officer left him utterly bemused.
Alex had heard but she gave no sign of it, though the hint of a smile curled the corner of her mouth as she headed downstairs to have a little chat with Peter Marks.
The problem with going public with an investigation, Dave thought as he shuffled through the pile of notes on his desk, was that the number of false sightings rose almost daily. Now the garden-owning public of Somerset were aware of his existence, the Moth Man was popping up everywhere.
‘Reckon he must be flying if’n he’s been all these places,’ said Sergeant Lynas leaning over Dave’s shoulder to peer at the messages.
‘So, how do you reckon we should sort out the good stuff from the crazies?’
Dave stared at the heap of paper in front of him and felt his shoulders slump. If he was being honest, he hadn’t a clue.
‘Maybe try matching them up to what we know about the other three?’ he suggested. When Lynas nodded, Dave carried on with a little more confidence. ‘I think there are a few important points, markers perhaps, we can use.’ He hesitated before adding, ‘Of course, it would be best if we could pick out something not in the public eye. Let me check what we kept out of the reports. We did keep some of the details back, didn’t we?’
Lynas smiled grimly as he walked towards the incident board at the far side of the room.
‘We may not all have the benefit of your education, Detective,’ he said. ‘Don’t mean we haven’t picked up a few things along the way. Kept quiet about the stocking over his face so we can chuck out anything where he’s wearing a scarf or one of them balaclava things. Same as any with dark hair or ginger. Natural blond – that could be our ace in the hole – if you excuse the expression.’ Dave grinned as Lynas continued. ‘And we been a bit misleading about the gloves. Didn’t say he was wearing any but did let on there was no fingerprints. People reading that, they might assume there were gloves but we never said – or let on what type neither.’
The door to the detectives’ room flew open and a flustered-looking young PC stuck his head in.
‘Just letting you know,’ he said. ‘Old-Fashioned’s on his way over.’
There was a collective groan from the men and several grabbed their jackets and made for the exit. Dave looked around, puzzled by the sudden exodus. Sergeant Lynas moved smartly away from the incident board and pulled up a chair next to his protégé.
‘Just sit still and don’t try to be clever,’ he hissed as the door slammed open again and the Inspector strode in.
‘Sit down, please,’ said their senior in a soft voice. The remaining men sank slowly into chairs, exchanging anxious glances with their colleagues.
The Inspector stood by the incident board, studying the notes, maps and photographs that covered the surface, waiting until there was total silence.
‘Look upon this as a motivational visit,’ he said finally turning to look at each man in turn. ‘Some encouragement in your work. Because you obviously need it.’ His voice began to rise as he warmed to his theme and Dave looked on in alarm as his face turned a rather striking shade of puce.
‘You have a full complement of officers to help, you have my forensics team working flat out just for you and what have you got to show for all this time and money? NOTHING!’
The whole room of men jumped as he accompanied the last word by striking his fist on the desk.
‘People are SCARED out there. They want to know what is being done. I am being pressured from on high and guess what gentlemen? That means I will be pressuring YOU LOT. Find something. Solve this – I don’t care how, just DO IT.’ He glared around the room, mainly at the top of various heads as each officer stared down at the floor. Finally his eyes met Dave’s.
‘You – Brown. You’re supposed to impress me so get on and do it. You’re supposed to be clever – so work something out!’
With that he marched to the door and was gone.
Th
ere was a collective sigh as the entire room full of detectives let out their breath. A slow, soft muttering filled the silence as they relaxed again, exchanging rather sheepish grins with one another before turning back to their work with decidedly more focus than previously.
‘What did you call him?’ Dave asked Lynas.
‘Old-Fashioned,’ said the sergeant. ‘On account of his methods, see? That, my lad, was a good old fashioned bollocking for the team. Works wonders an’ all. So – you all spurred on to “work something out” then?’
Dave turned back to the pile of notes and reports heaped on his desk.
‘That’s about as productive as yelling “score more goals!” at your football team,’ he grumbled. Just as he started yet another sort-through he spotted something on the floor. One of the messages had fallen off and was lying, almost out of sight, under the lockable cupboard by his side. With a weary sigh he leaned over and pulled it into the light. Probably yet another sighting of a strange man looking at the windows in a funny way, he thought. He was about to drop it into the mass of useless information before him when he noticed the source. Northumbria Police, he read.
‘Sarge – here, I think we might have something,’ he called. The excitement in his voice attracted the attention of the officers closest to him and they turned their attention to the young rookie. Dave read through the brief report again and let out a long sigh.
‘What?’ demanded Lynas. ‘Come on, don’t play silly buggers. What you got there?’ He reached out to take the note but Dave hung on to it and started to read aloud, eyes shining with excitement.
‘Reported incidents bear close similarity to a series of attacks last year in and around the Morpeth area. Unknown man sighted in the gardens of large properties in relatively isolated locations. In one incident a man pressed his body against the windows at rear of house. Despite extensive enquiries no suspect was identified. Incidents stopped in September, after approximately six months.’
‘Well,’ said Sergeant Lynas. ‘Good news and bad in that. Get on to them and try to find out the timings, will you? I’ll get a decent map and see if there’s any clues as to his way of travelling in this.’ He hesitated and then said, ‘Second thoughts, perhaps we should take this to Old-Fashioned. We want some fairly sensitive information and the higher up the food chain we go the more likely we is to get it.’ He noticed Dave’s disappointed expression. ‘Don’t look like that. You get a map and start finding similarities between this lot and ours. Soon as we got more information we’ll put it all together and see what it tells us about him.’
‘How do we know it’s the same man?’ asked one of the detectives. ‘Bloody long way away and a year ago, that is. Where’s he been since then?’
‘I suspect if we can work that out we’ll be a lot closer to finding him,’ said Lynas. ‘This is too clear an M.O. for to be anything other than the same man – or ours is a copy-cat, in which case he came into contact with this joker or was around that area last year and heard all about it. Either way, we know more about him now than we did yesterday.’ He stopped at the door and nodded towards Dave. ‘Get that map out. I’ll be back soonest.’
Dave pulled a clean notepad towards him and began to scribble questions as they rushed into his head. Location could be useful, he thought. Timing too, especially if they were all evenings or on the same day of the week. His current lot were all on a Friday, early evening just as it started to get dark. He stopped for a moment and considered, eyes unfocussed as he chewed the end of his pen. He was oblivious to the men around him, several of whom stared at him, curious rather than hostile towards the newcomer.
Something on the message was niggling at Dave. Should have taken a copy he thought, annoyed with himself at the oversight. Still, there’d not been much time, as Sergeant Lynas had seized the memo and taken it upstairs as soon as he’d read it. What was it about the windows? Only one report said the suspect had rubbed himself against the windows, he was sure. The other times he’d – what – flashed from the garden, maybe. He needed to know which happened first because if the windows came at the end of the series then this could be a sign of escalating behaviour. As the man got more confident he acted out more of his fantasy. The danger was he also needed more reaction, more result, to get the gratification he was seeking. And that meant he might be ready to step up to something even worse.
The house seemed strangely still when Alex got home from work. Sue had left a note saying she was out late doing an evening interview for a report and wouldn’t be back for dinner. Alex wandered through the downstairs rooms switching on the lights and closing her curtains tightly. She had waved her mother off at the station the day before and it was a relief to have her home back, yet for the first time in many years she felt lonely in her own space.
Resisting the urge to turn on the radio to fill the silence with empty sound, Alex set about making something to eat. After her visit to the hostel she had spoken to the workshop manager as promised and then spent a difficult half-hour convincing the local job centre not to stop Samuel’s money as punishment for missing the job interview.
In a vile mood on her return, she had snapped at Alison, her PA. Alison was not really the forgiving sort and Alex realised on reflection there would be little work forthcoming until she had abased herself totally in that direction. How she longed for a return to her old assistant. Lauren could be tricky and quick to anger, she thought, but she never sulked and a brief exchange of words, preferably accompanied by a cake, would have set the situation right. She missed Lauren’s sense of humour, her occasional sharp tongue and her unfailing support. The job seemed so much harder without her some days.
Pushing her half-finished meal aside, Alex sat at the dining table and drummed her fingers on the white cloth. It was a habit her mother hated and despite feeling her absence, a little bit of Alex delighted in the freedom to be annoying in her own home. She rose from the table leaving the remains of her dinner on the table whilst she flicked through the television channels in the fanciful and vain hope a new, fifth broadcaster had miraculously appeared to offer something better than the programming of the existing four channels. She was, of course, disappointed.
Finally, Alex went through to the front room, checked the curtains were still tightly closed and lifted the telephone receiver. She dialled a number from memory and waited, hands only shaking a little, for a reply.
‘Hello? Hi.’ She paused, uncertain how to proceed. ‘I was wondering whether you might – might like to come over and drink that bottle of wine?’
‘I can’t tonight,’ said Margie. ‘Got a really busy couple of days coming up and then I’m back to Bristol to wait’n see if I get the job.’
‘Of course,’ said Alex. A sense of crushing disappointment washed over her and she went hot and cold with embarrassment. ‘I’m sorry I bothered …’
‘I could make it on Friday if the offer’s still open,’ said Margie. ‘Will be lovely to be away from here and wind down a bit with a friend.’
All the breath seemed to rush out of Alex’s body.
‘Hello? Alex – you still there?’
‘Yes,’ Alex managed. ‘That would be – well, that would be wonderful. Er, don’t take this wrong but …’
‘I will need to stay over if I’m drinking,’ said Margie cheerfully. ‘Don’t worry about it – I’m happy with a couch if needs be.’
‘Right,’ said Alex. ‘Well, see you on Friday then. Oh – you know the address don’t you?’
She was grinning like a fool when she replaced the receiver. Then all the doubts came rushing back. Friday would be the first social night since her mother’s departure. Was it too early to introduce Margie to her friends, she wondered. And exactly how was she going to do that when she didn’t know how Margie saw her. God, life was complicated sometimes.
She returned to the television where, a short time later, Sue found her shouting abuse at a government party political broadcast urging all decent people to back them a
nd ensure the country remained safe for their children.
Chapter Fourteen
Samuel was feeling much better after a couple of days rest and was able to resume his regular routine by the middle of the week. Despite feeling a bit shaky first thing in the morning, he rose early and opened the windows wide, stretching and breathing deeply before rolling his arms and shoulders behind him and above his head. It felt good, loosening the muscles after his enforced idleness and he dressed in a clean t-shirt and track suit, ready for the moment the front door was unlocked.
Slipping into the kitchen, he filled a plastic bottle with water from the tap. It was not ideal but tasted marginally better than the water from the bathroom. Besides, he shuddered to think of the germs crawling over the surfaces in the communal facilities. He was just grateful for the relative space and privacy he currently enjoyed due to the lack of room-mates at the hostel.
Hearing the sound of the locks, he left the kitchen, brushing past Bennie, the deputy warden, with scarcely a nod of acknowledgement. He had not forgotten – or forgiven – her actions last week, ordering him out into the rain without a thought for his health or comfort. Without a backwards glance he began to jog down the pavement, heading for the footpath leading on to the Levels.
Bennie stood at the door, watching as Samuel settled into a rhythm, his stride lengthening as he moved comfortably over the pavement and disappeared round the corner. She was convinced there was something very wrong about Samuel Burton, something more than the familiar resentment at the rules and routine of the probation hostel. Still, she thought, as she went back inside to begin preparing breakfast for the residents, there was nothing she could do until he was caught breaking the rules and at the moment he was behaving himself – just enough to avoid being sent back to court anyway. Or, a much more chilling thought, he was too clever for them all and was already embarked on whatever dark, secret plan he held inside.
She felt a shiver run down her back as she pulled the door closed and set off up the stairs to rouse today’s reluctant kitchen assistant from amongst the residents.
