by Jennie Finch
Alex reached over to the table and lifted the receiver, still staring at the map before her.
‘Yes?’ she asked. ‘Oh. Right, hang on.’
She handed the phone to Lauren. ‘It’s your brother,’ she said and turned back to her own thoughts.
‘Who are you,’ she mused. ‘Or what are you?’
Lauren listened and then glanced at Dave.
‘Right, thanks Jonny.’ She replaced the receiver and sighed. ‘Lovely. Just what we needed. He says your sergeant rang – wants you to call in at once. He didn’t want to give Alex’s number so I don’t think they know you is here.’
Dave reached for the phone, then looked at Alex for permission. She waved at him without taking her eyes off the map. Dave dialled through to the Taunton station and listened for a minute.
‘Of course, Sarge. No, I’m in Highpoint but I can get over there right away. Where exactly should I meet you?’ He fumbled in his pockets, juggling the telephone whilst searching for a pen. Alex pulled a biro from her back pocket and handed it to him without a word as Dave recited the address.
‘Yeah, I’ve got that,’ he said as he scribbled on a scrap of paper on the table. ‘What?’ He replaced the phone and frowned at Lauren who was mouthing silently at him.
‘I know that address,’ she said. ‘Look.’ She knelt down next to Alex, turning the map around until she located the village. ‘North Newton – that cottage is out here, see?’ She indicated a spot just outside the village. ‘That’s where Alison lives.’
Alex looked up in surprise.
‘What, our Alison? Alison from the office?’
Lauren nodded, squinting up at Dave.
‘What’s happened?’ she demanded. ‘No, don’t give me all that confidential stuff, neither. Alison’s our friend – well, sort of. We don’t wish her no harm anyway, so why you getting called out over there at this hour?’
Dave struggled for a moment but the impact of two pairs of eyes glaring at him was too much.
‘Her husband rang in,’ he said. ‘They think they spotted the Moth Man in the garden.’ He looked down at Alex and continued. ‘This answers one question anyway. He’s been on a four-week cycle up to now, same as in Northumbria. This is early. He’s escalating.’
‘If it is him,’ said Alex. ‘He’s also losing control if he was seen. Go on – we’ll take Lauren home. And thanks for leaving me out of this.’
Dave grabbed his car keys, kissed Lauren swiftly and headed for the door. ‘Sorry,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘But Alex – thanks. You’ve given me a lot of help.’ With a quick smile he was gone.
‘How do you know where Alison lives?’ asked Alex. ‘I didn’t think you were that friendly.’
‘We was all invited over there for her wedding,’ said Lauren. ‘Just before you arrived it was. She had a right girt fancy party in the garden. Reckon she wanted to show off her house ’cos she was going on about how they was going to put a big conservatory on the back and how close they was to the Grand Estate, almost in the grounds.’
Alex jerked her head up and stared at Lauren.
‘What did you say?’
‘She was boasting about being on the edge …’
‘Before that,’ Alex interrupted.
‘She was telling us about her plans for the cottage. Having a conservatory built and such.’
Alex grinned, a fierce, almost feral smile.
‘All of these places, they’ve got conservatories,’ she said. ‘The women were all sitting out in a glass house with the lights turned on, lit up like a stage. That’s what attracts him. And I think he’s a builder – that’s how he knows the layout of the properties so well. Lauren, we need to tell Dave as soon as we can. I think he’s looking for someone who makes conservatories.’
Chapter Sixteen
He moved down the hill, flitting from tree to tree, then along the dry-bottomed ditch by the side of the road until he reached the hedge surrounding the front garden. All was still and a few birds sang their evening songs, relaxed and drowsy in the warmth of the setting sun. Samuel glanced round the corner of the hedge and spotted the car approaching the house. Finally, he thought. About bloody time. There was usually an hour or so between her return from work and the husband’s arrival but that precious window of opportunity was slipping away as he stood, waiting, in the shadow of the garden wall.
He stepped into the long ornamental grasses that lined the west side of the garden, crouching out of sight as Alison turned her car into the driveway, parking on the concrete in front of the garage doors. She looked decidedly out of sorts as she climbed out of the driver’s seat, collected her bag from the passenger side and stamped into the house without bothering to lock the car. He smiled, unnoticed in his hiding place. If she had any suspicions she would have been much more careful.
Despite his mounting excitement Samuel forced himself to wait. Better she was relaxed, feeling safe in her precious little home. A few more minutes to let her guard down would be worth the delay. He squinted over his shoulder, looking both ways down the road to check all was clear before making his move. His hands were slick with sweat inside his gloves as he pulled the mask down over his face. As he ran, hunched over to keep out of sight, his legs trembled beneath him.
Rising slowly to look through the window, he felt his mouth go dry and he almost vomited as a fit of giddiness threatened to overbalance him into the fledgling roses. His anger was forgotten now, washed away by the strength of his need for this woman. The blood thundered in his ears and his vision narrowed to a tiny, tight focus as he scanned the room. There she was, standing by an empty fireplace holding a couple of letters and swaying slightly. The sound of a popular radio station reached him, thin and tinny through the glass and the rushing in his head. He slid down out of sight again and began to work his way around to the back door. It was time. He eased the door open and stepped through into the kitchen, rewarded by that first, delicious scream as Alison turned and saw his masked, gloved figure silhouetted against the setting sunlight. Two steps into the room and he had the razor ready in one hand as he lifted a finger to his lips to indicate silence. She stepped backwards, stumbling over the legs of a stool and almost falling in her panic.
This was going to be very easy, he thought. She showed no signs of putting up a fight. She just wanted to get away and that was not going to happen. He took another step towards her and froze at the sound of a car turning into the front yard.
When she was finally allowed back into the office to rescue her bag Alison had taken a couple of minutes to make a call to her husband, Marc. (‘Marc, with a “C”,’ she always said when introducing him). Marc was supposed to be working a bit late that evening, but after hearing Alison’s highly coloured version of events decided he really ought to go home.
Alison turned and fled for the front door, screaming in terror as she went. Samuel folded the razor and hastily shoved it back into his pocket, spun round and was out of the door and fleeing across the garden before Alison could open the front door and reach her husband. She flung herself into his arms, weeping hysterically and babbling about moths and Marc wasted valuable seconds trying to calm her.
‘Stay here,’ he said, pushing her into the car. ‘Lock the door. You’ll be safe here. I’m going after him.’ He set off around the house but Samuel was already through the hedge and racing up the track towards the trees. Marc followed as fast as he could but Samuel was strong, extremely fit and driven by fear of what would happen if he were caught. He plunged through the trees, deliberately heading away from the undergrowth where his precious tin was hidden. He knew if he could lose Marc on the marsh then the enraged husband would return to the house to call the police. Samuel could double back, get his clothes and be off before the law arrived.
Marc was dogged but no match for the younger man and after a few minutes he stopped running, staring after the fleeing figure and trying to fix its appearance in his mind. Later, when the police arrived and he and Alison were
giving their statements they could recall very few details. Medium height, they said. Nondescript clothes, rather loose, so it was difficult to give an idea of his build.
‘I didn’t see his face,’ said Alison who had recovered from the worst of her fright and was secretly rather enjoying the attention. ‘He had a black mask on and I couldn’t see through it. Sort of a ski mask thing.’ She was equally unhelpful over how her assailant had been dressed.
‘Just ordinary,’ she said. ‘A floppy shirt and a pair of Hinkleys.’ She ducked her head and clenched her hands tightly as she recalled the moment the intruder stepped through her door. ‘He had a … a knife. Quite thin but very shiny. I saw it in his hand.’ Tears filled her eyes and suddenly she was just a very scared young woman sitting in a room she was not sure she would ever call home again.
The sergeant pointed to the attending WPC who walked over and sat beside Alison, speaking softly to comfort her.
‘Anything you can remember can help us catch him,’ said the WPC. ‘It is very difficult but if you can be brave for a little while longer that gives us the best chance to find who this was.’
Alison nodded, sniffed and accepted some tissues from the WPC.
‘There was one thing,’ she said after blowing her nose loudly. The sergeant leaned forward, looking not unlike an eager retriever hearing a gun. ‘Go on,’ he said encouragingly.
‘His shoes,’ said Alison. ‘It sounds odd I know but I’m sure they were pink.’
There was an instant’s silence before the sergeant cleared his throat.
‘Pink, you say – you’re quite sure of that now?’
Alison nodded and glared at him. ‘I said it was a bit unlikely but they were definitely pink. Those posh ankle boots, they were, with the coloured circles in the soles.’
‘Right,’ said the sergeant nodding to the young constable sitting at the table to make a note of this intriguing piece of information. ‘Well, thank you for all your help. I’ll just pop next door and see how they’re getting on. Maybe you could get some tea?’ he added looking at the WPC. She looked back at him, her face expressionless.
‘Of course,’ she said.
‘Two sugars for me,’ said the young constable who was scribbling furiously in his notebook.
‘You can get your own,’ the WPC snapped as she headed for the stove. ‘I’ve got three years seniority on you.’ The young man stopped, pencil poised above his notebook and blinked at her as, across the room, Alison managed a tiny smile. After a moment she got up from her chair in the corner and began to help the WPC make tea.
In the front room the sergeant was listening to a run-down of Marc’s replies to the same questions he had just put to Alison. The one telling detail was the mention of those pink shoes.
‘Get that out on the radio,’ he said as he hurried out to the car. ‘Could be he’s easy to spot in them.’
The WPC watched from the kitchen as her colleagues tried to raise a response from their radios.
‘Seems we’s just out of range,’ she said blowing on her tea. ‘They’ll be in wanting to use your phone in a minute.’ They were, but by then it was too late. On the hill, hidden behind the mass of brambles and ferns, Samuel stripped off his outer clothes, changed his pink boots for running shoes and slung the whole lot, gloves, mask and all, in the tin. This slid into an old army pack on his back and, still hidden from view, he was off across the Levels, just one more jogger out training for the summer road races.
Despite his outward calm, he was shaken by the narrow escape and failed to notice the straight-edged razor was missing. It lay in the grass half-way between the narrow road and the sheltering trees until discovered by a searching PC later that evening. The grim find led to an intensive hunt through that area and it wasn’t long before someone spotted a set of boot prints, clear and fresh in the slightly muddy ground near the canal.
Dave and the rest of the detectives arrived to take over the investigation and the prints were photographed, cast in plaster and taken away to be analysed along with the razor that Alison identified somewhat shakily.
As the last of the light faded from the sky Dave stood on the hill with Sergeant Lynas looking down on the cottage, now fenced off with crime scene tape.
‘Is it just me or do you feel a bit – uncertain about this one?’ Dave ventured.
Lynas stared ahead into the darkness for a moment before replying.
‘Go on,’ he said finally.
Dave swallowed nervously, aware he was in danger of giving away his clandestine meeting with Alex. ‘He was dressed,’ Dave said. ‘It’s a week early. And the shoes worry me. We’ve never found a clear trace before this but now we’ve got a description, some really distinctive details and a clear footprint.’
‘He’s losing control,’ said Lynas. ‘Happens in the end with most of ’em. Needs to do more, needs it more often. Don’t look so startled lad. You’re not the only one as can read.’
‘The razor worries me,’ said Dave doggedly. ‘That’s a huge change and so is going inside the house. Somehow it seems so much more – ruthless.’
‘Razor bothers me too,’ said the sergeant. ‘Probably for different reasons though. Don’t like to imagine what might have happened if her husband hadn’t come home.’
‘But …’
‘We’ve got the mask, we’ve got the gloves, we’ve got the same day of the week, roughly same time of day an’ all. Similar property, woman on her own. Too much in common to be coincidence I reckon. The Inspector agrees with me – this time we got lucky. Our first break in this case and none too soon neither.’
They walked back to the cottage together. Dave hoped Lynas was right but he had a horrible feeling he was not.
The police had arrested Charlie Dodds as well as Brian Morris and the two young men spent a very uncomfortable night in separate cells at Highpoint police station. When it was obvious there was no suggestion of terrorism, the Inspector, who had spent a fairly miserable night himself in the company of the captain of the bomb squad, had a long hard look at alternative charges. As there were two of them he leaned towards conspiracy – any sort of conspiracy would do. He wasn’t fussy. Just something to keep them off his patch for a while and to show he meant business. Eventually he calmed down a little, though he was not inclined to let them off with a caution.
‘Breach of the peace, at least,’ he insisted when the custody sergeant queried their detention. ‘And no police bail neither. Keep ’em apart and make sure we have a note of anything the little buggers say that might possibly be used in evidence against them. They’re at least sitting there over the weekend.’
With that, he marched out of the station, got in his car and headed home to his house, one of the new-build ‘executive’ buildings Kevin had viewed scornfully on his ride across the Levels. It was after midnight when he got home to find the remains of his evening meal dried out on a plate in the oven. It was not quite the evening he had been anticipating.
In her house beside the River Parrett, Alex found her evening was heading into areas she had hoped to avoid for a few weeks, until she and Margie had a chance to get to know one another a bit better. She had imagined a few quiet meals and perhaps another drive out somewhere rural and undisturbed. Maybe a stroll across the hills or a walk through the Saturday market at Taunton. All of this was accompanied by warm, golden sunshine and a dearth of curious friends who lacked the tact to withdraw and give the two of them some space.
With Dave’s departure they became four at dinner. It was scarcely possible to bundle Lauren into a car and ship her off home and even Alex realised such an action was unlikely to endear her to Margie so Lauren settled down to the meal with the three of them. Alex declined any more wine, aware that she would have to drive Lauren home later that night and she watched rather sadly as Margie’s special bottle was shared around the table. Lauren sipped appreciatively rolling a little around her mouth before swallowing theatrically.
‘That’s right lovely, that!�
� she declared.
Despite all the disruption, Margie seemed to be enjoying herself and the group chatted happily, comparing work experiences and telling stories about themselves until Margie suddenly looked at Alex.
‘So, I couldn’t help hearing some of that before. Tell me if’n is confidential but why was the police asking you about all this?’
Alex tried to seize the escape clause offered by supposed confidentiality but Lauren was too quick for her.
‘Is this nutter running around gardens and up against the windows,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Getting a bit much and, to be honest, most of the police don’t have much idea who it is or why he’s doin’ it. Dave needs to do something good these next few weeks, seeing as he’s only acting detective, so he come over to see if Alex can help. Does anyone else want that?’ She swooped on the last roast potato, added a dollop of gravy and began to eat happily, oblivious to the mixture of confusion and resentment she had generated.
‘I got most of that,’ said Margie slowly. ‘Just wondered why he was asking you, Alex. Not that I’m saying you don’t know your stuff, mind, but – well, seems he was talking like you was an expert.’
Alex took a deep breath, glaring at Lauren who had almost finished her potato and looked as if she was about to say something more.
‘I did a bit of psychology at university,’ she admitted reluctantly, trying to ignore Sue’s raised eyebrows. ‘It seemed interesting at the time and – well, I studied some of the traits and patterns of criminal behaviour. When I switched to philosophy that got mixed in with my final thesis on ethics and society. How psychotic behaviour is not necessarily psychotic if the society in which it occurs is also psychotic. Honestly, it sounds a lot more interesting than it is.’
‘So all this time I’ve been sharing a house with a mind-reading psychologist?’ said Sue.
Alex slammed down her glass of orange juice and pushed her chair back only to be restrained by Margie.
‘Think she’s teasing you,’ Margie murmured.
